Routledge International Handbook of Religion in Global Society 9781138182509, 9781315646435

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Routledge International Handbook of Religion in Global Society

Like any other subject, the study of religion is a child of its time. Shaped and forged over the course of the twentieth century, it has reflected the interests and political situation of the world at the time. As the twenty-first century unfolds, it is undergoing a major transition along with religion itself. This volume showcases new work and new approaches to religion which work across boundaries of religious tradition, academic discipline and region. The influence of globalizing processes has been evident in social and cultural networking by way of new media like the internet, in the extensive power of global capitalism and in the increasing influence of international bodies and legal instruments. Religion has been changing and adapting too. This handbook offers fresh insights on the dynamic reality of religion in global societies today by underscoring transformations in eight key areas: Market and Branding; Contemporary Ethics and Virtues; Intimate Identities; Transnational Movements; Diasporic Communities; Responses to Diversity; National Tensions; and Reflections on ‘Religion’. These themes demonstrate the handbook’s new topics and approaches that move beyond existing agendas. Bringing together scholars of all ages and stages of career from around the world, the handbook showcases the dynamism of religion in global societies. It is an accessible introduction to new ways of approaching the study of religion practically, theoretically and geographically. Jayeel Cornelio is Associate Professor and the Director of the Development Studies Program at the Ateneo de Manila University, Philippines. François Gauthier is Professor of Religious Studies at the Social Sciences Department of the Université de Fribourg, Switzerland. Tuomas Martikainen is the Director of the Migration Institute of Finland, Finland. Linda Woodhead is Distinguished Professor of Religion and Society at Lancaster University, UK.

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Routledge International Handbook of Religion in Global Society

Edited by Jayeel Cornelio, François Gauthier, Tuomas Martikainen and Linda Woodhead

First published 2021 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 52 Vanderbilt Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2021 selection and editorial matter, Jayeel Cornelio, François Gauthier, Tuomas Martikainen and Linda Woodhead; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Jayeel Cornelio, François Gauthier, Tuomas Martikainen and Linda Woodhead to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data A catalog record has been requested for this book ISBN: 978-1-138-18250-9 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-64643-5 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by River Editorial Ltd, Devon, UK

Contents

List of tables Acknowledgments List of contributors Introduction: religion in global societies Linda Woodhead, François Gauthier, Jayeel Cornelio and Tuomas Martikainen

x xi xii 1

PART I

Market and branding

17

1 Christian churches’ responses to marketization: comparing institutional and non-denominational discourse and practice Marcus Moberg

19

2 ‘The Greatest Leader of All’: the faces of leadership and Christianity in contemporary Brazil (1980s–2010s) Karina Kosicki Bellotti

31

3 JPCC: a megachurch brand story in Indonesia Jeaney Yip, Susan Ainsworth and Chang Yau Hoon

42

4 Rebranding the soul: rituals for the well-made man in market society Anne-Christine Hornborg

52

PART II

Contemporary ethics and values

63

5 The prosperity ethic: the rise of the new prosperity gospel Jayeel Cornelio and Erron Medina

65

6 Islamic ethics in Muslim Eurasia: prosperity theology vs. renunciation? Aurélie Biard

77

v

Contents

7 Public morality and the transformation of Islamic media in Indonesia Arie Setyaningrum Pamungkas 8 Pious-modern subjectivities in the Palestinian West Bank: identity formations and contours between the individual and the familial, the local and the global Ferial Khalifa 9 ‘We are overfed’: young evangelicals, globalization, and social justice Catherine Rivera 10 ‘Mediacosmologies’: the convergence and renewal of indigenous religiosities in cyberspace Laurent Jérôme

95

105

117

129

PART III

Intimate identities

141

11 Saints, sinners, and same-sex marriages: ecclesiological identity in the Church of England and the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Denmark Karen Marie Leth-Nissen

143

12 When two worlds collide: Asian Christian LGBTQs coming out to parents Joy K.C. Tong, Samuel Kang, Peter Lee and Hyo-Seok Lim

155

13 Gender politics and education in the Gülen Movement Duygun Gokturk

166

14 Global Catholicism, gender conversion and masculinity Ester Gallo

174

PART IV

Transnational movements

185

15 Pilgrimage, traveling gurus and transnational networks: the lay meditation movement in contemporary Chinese societies Ngar-sze Lau

187

16 Globalization and asceticism: foreign ascetics on the threshold of Hindu religious orders Daniela Bevilacqua

199

17 Maya revival movements: between transnationality and authenticity Manéli Farahmand vi

212

Contents

18 Defending tradition and confronting secularity: the Catholic Buen Pastor Institute Esteban Rozo and Hugo Cárdenas

226

19 The globalization of the Catholic Church: history, organization, theology Isacco Turina

234

PART V

Diasporic communities

245

20 Dialectics between transnationalism and diaspora: the Ahmadiyya Muslim community Katrin Langewiesche

247

21 Transnational religious movement: the Turkish Süleymanlı in Indonesia Firdaus Wajdi

258

22 Young Buddhists in Australia: negotiating transnational flows Kim Lam

268

23 The formation of global Chinese Christian identities Joshua Dao Wei Sim

277

24 Church as a homeland and home as a place of worship: the transformation of religiosity among Georgian migrants in Paris Sophie Zviadadze

292

PART VI

Responses to diversity

303

25 Interreligious dialogue in international politics: from the margins of the religious field to the centre of civil society Karsten Lehmann

305

26 Faith, identity and practices: the current refugee crisis and its challenges to religious diversity in Southern Europe Viviana Premazzi and Roberta Ricucci

315

27 Urban public space and the emergence of interdenominational syncretism Peter van Gielle Ruppe

326

vii

Contents

28 ‘As local as possible, as international as necessary’: investigating the place of religious and faith-based actors in the localization of the international humanitarian system Olivia J. Wilkinson 29 Religion, national identity and foreign policy: the case of Eastern Christians and the French political imaginary Alexis Artaud de La Ferrière 30 Religious echoes in secular dialogues: global glimpses of peacebuilding Xicoténcatl Martínez Ruiz 31 City of gods and goods: exploring religious pluralism in the neoliberal city Gina Lende (with Bankole Tokunbo)

336

349

362

374

PART VII

National tensions

387

32 Islam, politics, and legitimacy: the role of Saudi Arabia in the rise of Salafism and Jihadism Mohamed-Ali Adraoui

389

33 Religion and nationalism in post-Soviet space: between state, society and nation Denis Brylov and Tetiana Kalenychenko

399

34 Religion, nationalism and transnationalism in the South Caucasus Ansgar Jödicke 35 The sacred and the secular-economic: a cross-country comparison of the regulation of the economic activities of religious organizations David M. Malitz

410

420

36 Religious identities in times of crisis: an analysis of Europe Didem Doganyilmaz Duman

432

37 Poetry in Iran’s contemporary theo-political culture Maryam Ala Amjadi

444

viii

Contents

PART VIII

Reflections on ‘religion’

457

38 Questioning the boundaries of ‘religious’ and ‘non-religious’ actions and meanings Carlo Genova

459

39 Religion in the Anthropocene: nonhuman agencies, (re)enchantment and the emergence of a new sensibility Oriol Poveda

469

40 Science and religion in a global context Michael Fuller

478

41 Religion through the lens of ‘marketization’ and ‘lifestyle’ François Gauthier

488

Index

500

ix

Tables

11.1 11.2 11.3 11.4

x

Model of the gap between English society and the Church of England Relationship between population, affiliates, and governing bodies of the Church of England Model of the gap between Danish society and the Danish folk church Relationship between population, affiliates, and governing bodies of the Danish folk church

145 145 146 146

Acknowledgments

From the very start we knew that the Routledge International Handbook of Religion in Global Society would be an ambitious project. As editors, we wanted it to advance the study of contemporary religious transformations around the world. It was thus a deliberate effort to seek contributions from younger scholars and from those who are based in the Global South. From the 200 or so who responded to our call in 2017, we selected 41 proposals, which, taken together, present an exciting picture of religion in global society today. We want to honour each contributor who took the time and effort to closely work with us at various stages. This handbook recognizes not only the diversity of its authors but also the pioneering work emerging in many parts of the world. We also want to thank our colleagues at Routledge who believed and exercised tremendous patience for this project. Catherine Gray and Gerhard Boomgaarden led us through the process as we were developing it at the onset. Mihaela Diana Ciobotea made sure that it saw the light of day. We are also thankful to Robbin Dagle for his help in preparing the index. Erron Medina, our editorial assistant based at the Ateneo de Manila University, deserves full credit for coordinating closely with our contributors and ensuring that the manuscript was ready for submission. He is a young scholar who himself is already making a mark on the study of religion and politics in the Philippines. Jayeel Cornelio, François Gauthier, Tuomas Martikainen and Linda Woodhead

xi

Contributors

Mohamed-Ali Adraoui holds a PhD from Sciences Po Paris. Currently a Marie Curie

Fellow at the LSE, Adraoui has held positions at the European University Institute, the National University of Singapore, and Georgetown University. His articles have been published in International Affairs, International Politics, Journal of Historical Sociology, Mediterranean Politics, and the Georgetown Journal of International Affairs. Susan Ainsworth is Associate Professor in Organizational Studies at the University of Mel-

bourne. She is an internationally recognized expert in discourse analysis, qualitative methods, older workers and gender within organizations. Her research interests also include privacy and employment, specifically with respect to new technologies such as social networking sites and social media. Maryam Ala Amjadi spent her childhood in India and writes poetry in English. She received

the ‘Young Generation Poet’ Award in the 1st International Poetry Festival in China and was awarded an Honorary Fellowship in Creative Writing by the International Writers Program (IWP) at the University of Iowa. Presently, she is a PhD Fellow in Text and Event in Early Modern Europe at the University of Kent and Universidade do Porto. Karina Kosicki Bellotti is Professor of Contemporary History of the Federal University of

Paraná (Brazil). Among her publications are the book Delas é o Reino dos Céus (Annablume/ Fapesp 2010) and chapters in The Cambridge History of Religions in Latin America and The Media and Religious Authority. Daniela Bevilacqua is a postdoctoral Research Fellow at SOAS, working for the ERC-

funded Hatha Yoga Project (2015–2020). Her research interests include Hindu asceticism and ascetic practices, analyzed through an ethnographic and historical perspective. She authored Modern Hindu Traditionalism in Contemporary India: The Ś rı̄ Matḥ and the Jagadguru Rā mā nandā cā rya in the Evolution of the Rā mā nandı̄ Sampradā ya (Routledge). Aurélie Biard is a Postdoctoral Fellow in the Central Asia Program at George Washington

University’s Institute for European, Russian and Eurasian Studies. She is also an associated researcher at the Centre for Turkish, Ottoman, Balkan, and Central Asian Studies, Paris. Denis Brylov is Associate Professor in the Department of Cultural Studies, National Peda-

gogical Dragomanov University (Kyiv, Ukraine) and an Associate Professor in the Department of Religion Studies, Kazan Federal University (Kazan, Russia). xii

Contributors

Hugo Cárdenas is a Researcher in the School of Human Sciences at the Universidad del

Rosario. Jayeel Cornelio is Associate Professor and the Director of the Development Studies Program

at the Ateneo de Manila University and an associate editor of the journal Social Sciences and Missions. He has published extensively on religious change in the Philippines, with respect to youth, politics and development. He is the author of Being Catholic in the Contemporary Philippines: Young People Reinterpreting Religion (2016) and editor of Rethinking Filipino Millennials: Alternative Perspectives on a Misunderstood Generation (2020). Alexis Artaud de la Ferrière is Senior Lecturer in Sociology at the University of Ports-

mouth. Previously, he was a Lecturer in the Department of Politics and International Studies at SOAS, University of London. He finished his MPhil and PhD at the University of Cambridge, where he also worked as Research Associate at its Centre for the Study of International Relations in the Middle East and North Africa (CIRMENA). Didem Doganyilmaz Duman is a faculty member at the Department of Political Science

and Public Administration, Izmir Democracy University – Izmir/Turkey and a research collaborator at the UNESCO Chair in Intercultural Dialogue in the Mediterranean, Tarragona/ Spain. She received her MA and PhD (Cum Laude) degrees from Universitat Rovira I Virgili (Tarragona/Spain). Her areas of research include identity politics, religion-based identity conflicts, Islamophobia, and populist politics. Manéli Farahmand is the Director of the Geneva-based Intercantonal Information Center

on Beliefs. She holds a joint PhD from the Universities of Lausanne (Switzerland) and Ottawa (Canada), for which she received the Prize of Excellence from the Vaudoise Scientific Society. She was also a Lecturer at the Universities of Lausanne and Fribourg, handling courses on contemporary religiosities and ethnographic research. Michael Fuller is Senior Teaching Fellow at New College, University of Edinburgh. He is

the author and editor of numerous books and papers in the field of theology and science. He is Vice-President for Publications of the European Society for the Study of Science and Theology, a Fellow of the International Society for Science and Religion, and an honorary Canon of St Mary's Cathedral, Edinburgh. Ester Gallo is Associate Professor of Social Anthropology in the Department of Sociology and Social Research at the University of Trento. Her research interests include migration, gender and religion, and academic displacement and refugees. François Gauthier is Professor of Religious Studies at the Social Sciences Department of Université de Fribourg, Switzerland. Canadian-born, he bridges scholarship between French and English and practises interdisciplinarity. He is the author of Religion, Modernity, Globalisation: Nation-State to Market (2020) and co-editor (with T. Martikainen) of Religion in the Neoliberal Age and Religion in Consumer Society (both 2013). Carlo Genova is Associate Professor in the Sociology of Culture in the Department of Cultures, Politics and Society at the University of Turin.

xiii

Contributors

Duygun Gokturk is Assistant Professor in the Department of Educational Sciences at the Middle East Technical University. Her research interests include the sociology of organizations, sociology of education, race, ethnicity, social class and gender, qualitative research methods and ethnography. Chang-Yau Hoon is the Director of the Centre for Advanced Research at the University of

Brunei Darussalam (UBD). He is also Adjunct Research Fellow at the University of Western Australia from where he obtained his PhD. Prior to joining UBD, he was Assistant Professor of Asian Studies and Sing Lun Fellow at the School of Social Sciences, Singapore Management University, where he was awarded the SMU Teaching Excellence Award and Research Excellence Award. Anne-Christine Hornborg is Professor Emerita in the History of Religions at Lund Univer-

sity. She has published on indigenous cosmologies, animism, ecology and religion, ritual practices and new spiritualities. In recent years, she has studied new ritual contexts in late modern Sweden. Laurent Jérôme is Professor in the Department of Religious Studies at the Université du

Québec à Montréal. His areas of expertise include anthropology of religions, aboriginal studies, co-construction of knowledge, youth culture and cultural practices, and indigenous religious traditions. Ansgar Jödicke holds a PhD in the Study of Religion from the University of Zurich and a venia legendi (habilitation) from the University of Fribourg, Switzerland, where he is a Senior Lecturer in the Department of Social Sciences. Tetiana Kalenychenko holds a PhD in Sociology of Religion (National Pedagogical Drago-

manov university, 2018). She is currently working in the field of conflict transformation and peacebuilding as dialogue facilitator, trainer, and mediator. Samuel Kang is a PhD candidate in Intercultural Studies at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, Deerfield, Illinois. Ferial Khalifa is an independent scholar and researcher. She earned her PhD in Middle Eastern Studies from the University of Manchester and her MA in Sociology from the University of Chicago. Her PhD thesis was on women’s Islamic activism in the West Bank, Palestine. Dr Khalifa’s research interests include Muslim women’s piety and agency, Islamic movements and religion, and aesthetics. Kim Lam is Research Officer for the Centre for Resilient and Inclusive Societies. She is based in the Centre’s Youth, Diversity and Wellbeing in a Digital Age Stream. She has a background in the sociology of religion, Buddhist studies and youth studies. Currently, she is working on a range of projects relating to religious youth, social cohesion and youth wellbeing. Katrin Langewiesche completed her doctorate at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences

Sociales in France. She currently teaches at the Department of Anthropology and African Studies at the Johannes Gutenberg-Universität, Mainz in Germany. She works on religious xiv

Contributors

plurality in modern societies, faith-based organizations, Catholic convents in Europe and Africa, and Islamic transnational networks. Ngar-sze Lau is currently Lecturer at the Education University of Hong Kong, and Honorary Research Associate at the Department of Cultural and Religious Studies at the Chinese University of Hong Kong. Her research focuses on transnational meditation and mindfulness communities in contemporary China, Taiwan, and Hong Kong. She has published on meditation traditions, contemplation, and healing. Peter Lee (PhD, Trinity Evangelical Divinity School) is an intercultural researcher and an

ordained Presbyterian minister. He currently works as Korea Doctor of Ministry Program Liaison Officer and Affiliate Professor of Intercultural Studies at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School, Deerfield, Illinois, USA. Karsten Lehmann is Research Professor at the University of Education Vienna-Krems and

Senior Research Fellow at the Institute for Systematic Theology and Religious Studies. He was a Research Fellow at the Berkley Center in 2011. Lehmann has previously held positions at the Université de Fribourg and University of Bayreuth. Gina Lende is Associate Professor in religious studies at the Norwegian School of Theology, Religion and Society (MF). Her PhD was on the growth and development of Pentecostalism on the African and the Latin American continent. She has conducted field work in several different regions. She is currently working on religion, gender and politics, as well as religion and humanitarianism. Karen Marie Leth-Nissen is Visiting Researcher in the Department of Systematic Theology

at the University of Copenhagen. Her research focuses on how individualization and marketing affect the national church in Danish society. Hyo-Seok Lim (PhD, Trinity Evangelical Divinity School) serves as a pastor at Bethel Korean Presbyterian Church in Maryland. He has been involved in different types of ministry for Korean youth and young adult groups in South Korea and elsewhere. David M. Malitz is Lecturer in the Faculty of Arts, Chulalongkorn University. He holds a double master’s degree in Business Administration and Japanese Studies from the Universities of Mannheim and Heidelberg, and a doctoral degree in Japanese Studies from the University of Munich. His research interests lie in Japanese-Thai relations and the history of ideas in Japan and Thailand. Tuomas Martikainen is Adjunct Professor in Comparative Religion at the University of

Helsinki, Finland. He is the author of Religion, Migration, Settlement, and the co-editor of Muslims at the Margins of Europe (with J. Mapril, A. Khan), The Marketization of Religion, Religion in the Neoliberal Age, and Religion in Consumer Society (all with F. Gauthier). Xicoténcatl Martínez Ruiz received his PhD in Religious Studies from Lancaster University. He is Editor-in-Chief of the journal Innovación Educativa at Instituto Politécnico Nacional, where he also conducts research on the philosophy of education, Indian philosophy, and peace and non-violence. xv

Contributors

Erron Medina is Research Associate in the Development Studies Program at the Ateneo de

Manila University. He is pursuing graduate studies in political science at the Department of Political Science, University of the Philippines Diliman. His research interests include politics of religion, populism, comparative politics, political communication and social theory. Marcus Moberg is Professor in the Study of Religions at Åbo Akademi University, Finland. His main research interests include the sociology of religion, religion in market and consumer society, the discursive study of religion, and religion, media, and culture. His recent publications include Church, Market, and Media (Bloomsbury 2017) and the Bloomsbury Handbook of Religion and Popular Music (Bloomsbury 2018). Arie Setyaningrum Pamungkas holds a PhD at the Institute of Asian and African Studies, Humboldt University. She is a faculty in the Department of Sociology, Universitas Gadjah Mada. Oriol Poveda obtained his PhD in sociology of religion at Uppsala University. He earned

his MA in Jewish Studies and Philosophy at the University of Heidelberg, and has worked on different grassroots media projects in Mexico, Israel and Palestine. Viviana Premazzi is Senior Lecturer in Cultural Intelligence and Gender and Social Policy

at the University of Malta. She is an accredited trainer in intercultural and interreligious conflict management. Roberta Ricucci is Associate Professor at the Department of Culture, Politics and Society, University of Turin, where she teaches sociology of interethnic relations and sociology of Islam. She was a Visiting Research Fellow at Princeton University, Monash University in Melbourne and the University of Western Australia in Perth and a guest Visiting Associate Professor at the Center for the Study of Religion and Society at the University of Notre Dame. Catherine Rivera is a PhD candidate at the School of People, Environment and Planning,

Massey University. Her research focuses on 21st-century citizenship formation among young Christians who are involved in social justice practices. She is also a tutor at the School of English and Media Studies in the same university. Esteban Rozo is Professor at the School of Human Sciences, Universidad del Rosario. Joshua Dao Wei Sim is a historian of Christianity and Modern China. He recently graduated

with a PhD from the Department of History at the National University of Singapore, where he is currently a doctorate trainee. His dissertation was on the transnational and intellectual history of Chinese evangelicalism in the twentieth century. Joy K.C. Tong, who holds a PhD from the National University of Singapore, is currently

teaching sociology at Purdue University, Indiana. She was Affiliate Professor of Chinese Studies at Trinity Evangelical Divinity School. She has published books, articles, and book chapters on Christianity in the US and Asia, including Overseas Chinese Christian Entrepreneurs in Modern China (Anthem, 2012).

xvi

Contributors

Isacco Turina is researcher in cultural sociology at the University of Bologna. He has worked mainly on contemporary Catholicism, focusing first on consecrated life (hermits and virgins) and eventually on the Vatican's moral doctrine on sexuality, bioethics, human mobility, and ecology. He has also conducted fieldwork on the lived ethics of radical animal rights advocates. Peter van Gielle Ruppe is Scientific Staff in the Faculty of Mathematics and Natural Sci-

ences (Geographic Institute) at Humboldt University. Firdaus Wajdi is Assistant Professor of Islamic Studies at Universitas Negeri Jakarta. He com-

pleted his PhD at Western Sydney University in 2016. He is currently coordinator of the Islamic Education Program at Universitas Negeri Jakarta and board member of the Indonesian Islamic Education Lecturer Association (ADPISI) of Jakarta. Olivia J. Wilkinson is the Director of Research at the Joint Learning Initiative on Faith and

Local Communities. She has a PhD and a master’s in humanitarian action from Trinity College Dublin and Université catholique de Louvain, respectively. Her studies focus on social and cultural capital in disaster response and the influence of secular and religious values in shaping humanitarian action. Linda Woodhead MBE is Distinguished Professor of Religion and Society at Lancaster University. She has held visiting positions at Stanford University, the University of Münster, Ateneo de Manila University and the University of Ottawa. Her books include That Was the Church That Was: How the Church of England Lost the English People (with Andrew Brown), A Sociology of Prayer (with Giuseppe Giordan), Christianity: A Very Short Introduction, Religion and Change in Modern Britain (with Rebecca Catto), A Sociology of Religious Emotions (with Ole Riis), and The Spiritual Revolution (with Paul Heelas). Jeaney Yip is Lecturer in Marketing at the University of Sydney Business School. Her research is multidisciplinary and involves the study of discourse and identity in religion, consumer culture, gender and Asian contexts. She has published in Marketing Theory, Journal of Macromarketing, Pacific Affairs, Social Compass, and South East Asia Research. Sophie Zviadadze is Associate Professor at Ilia State University and the Chair of the Master Program in Religious Studies. She graduated from the Faculty of International Law and International Relations at Iv. Javakhishvili Tbilisi State University, specializing in International Relations. She received her PhD in Political Science and Sociology from University of Muenster.

xvii

Introduction Religion in global societies Linda Woodhead, François Gauthier, Jayeel Cornelio and Tuomas Martikainen

Like any other subject, the study of religion is a child of its time. Shaped and forged over the course of the twenty-first century, it has reflected the interests and political situation of the world at the time. As the twenty-first century unfolds, it is undergoing a major transition along with religion itself. This handbook explores these changes. The academic study of religion was developed in a context of industrialization, urbanization, European colonialism and world war. Nation-states, some with colonial territories, were the dominant political unit at the time. Inevitably, the subject reflected this situation, even when it took a critical stance. ‘Religion’ was often identified with one of the handful of ‘world religions’ that colonial powers had helped to classify as such. ‘Primitive religions’ were also a subject of study, first by administrators and missionaries in the colonies, and later by anthropologists. Christianity and the churches occupied a particularly prominent place in the scholarly imagination, shaping how many imagined ‘real’ religion. Where Christianity was powerful, mainstream churches were still closely integrated with the nation-states in which they were located, often as established national churches. The question of ‘secularization’, whether religion was declining as people transitioned from traditional and rural settings to modern urban ones, was high on the agenda. By the start of the twenty-first century, things were starting to look very different, and the study of religion has been changing in order to keep up. Nations remain powerful as units of political power and social identity, but nation-states have been challenged by wider global forces, whether economic and cultural flows, or supranational corporations and other organizations. Some empires have collapsed, including the British and the Soviet ones, but the United States and China have retained de facto imperial power. Overall, ‘the West’ has been losing dominance, as multilateralism has replaced post-Cold War unilateralism. The influence of globalizing processes has been evident in social and cultural networking by way of new media like the internet, in the extensive power of global capitalism and in the increasing influence of international bodies and legal instruments. The flow of global capital around the world and the concentration of wealth in the hands of a small number of corporations have challenged the power of nation-states and their political institutions. In the process, the salience of national boundaries has been both challenged and reasserted, with some calling for a world without boundaries where capital and labour can move freely, and 1

Linda Woodhead et al.

others opposing such ‘globalism’. By the early twenty-first century, popular anti-globalist movements were emerging to defend the power and legitimacy of many aspects of national government. Some conservative populist movements voice nostalgia for a time when the nation-state was the locus of power and the backdrop of personal and collective identity. Now, however, all this happens against a global backdrop. Religion has been changing and adapting, too. The kinds of religion that attracted the attention of earlier generations of sociologists of religion still bore the impress of their contemporary national and colonial contexts. The insights into such religions are still valuable. But these forms of religion are now in competition with newer kinds that are integral to the challenges and opportunities of globalized societies. For example, African traditional religions that were previously stigmatized as ‘primitive’ have been undergoing revival, while everyday ‘lived’ kinds of religiosity of enormous variety have started to be taken much more seriously – as seriously, perhaps, as ‘official’ kinds of institutional religion. The pressures and opportunities of marketization and consumerism have inspired various new kinds of ‘prosperity religion’ which offer to enhance people’s material, physical, psychological as well as spiritual wellbeing, which have also come to scholarly attention. So too has the way in which women and other marginalized groups have struggled for greater influence and power and accelerated the growth of ‘alternative’ kinds of spirituality that give them a more central role. Global flows and connections have made possible all sorts of new religious linkages and alliances – the sheer scale and reach of the internet and its ability to nurture a plethora of social groups has helped facilitate this. Religion of all kinds has become bound up with many kinds of identity formation and struggle that generally have to do less with national identity than with a myriad of subcultures focused around shared interests, aspirations, lifestyles and identities. It is this new and still emerging situation that this handbook sets out to capture. It was planned in order to do so as effectively as possible. This meant re-examining the way a handbook is put together. Instead of being led by a team of established editors from the West, it has been led by an earlier career scholar from the Philippines, assisted by three other editors in Finland, Canada (then Switzerland) and the UK. Instead of commissioning authors already within the editors’ own limited networks, open calls were placed on as many lists as possible, all around the world. Early career scholars were encouraged to come forward because many will be developing new agendas in the study of religion and picking up on new phenomena. The editors devoted time to helping contributors edit their chapters, because English was a second language for so many. All chapters follow a similar template and are written in an accessible way. In disciplinary terms, the editors all owe a debt to the social scientific study of religion, hence the focus on religion in global societies. But given the book’s awareness of the geographical limitations of social science, it welcomes new topics and approaches that move beyond existing agendas. As such, it offers an accessible introduction to new ways of approaching the study of religion practically, theoretically and geographically. In bringing together a diverse group of often younger scholars from around the world, it reflects the dynamic reality of religion in global societies today.

Framework This opening, orientating chapter presents the framework of this handbook and some of the major themes arising from the chapters that follow. It helps to crystallize an emerging agenda for the study of religion in the contemporary world.

2

Introduction

‘Religion’ and the Westphalian era As Peter Beyer (2013) suggests, the political situation that shaped the academic study of religion as it came to birth can helpfully be characterized as ‘Westphalian’. At a time of growing European power, the Treaty of Westphalia of 1648 consolidated nation-states and their boundaries in an effort to bring greater peace and stability. Part of the settlement concerned religion, which was brought under national jurisdiction by the formula cuius regio eius religio (whose reign, his religion). In other words, whoever was sovereign could determine the official, national religion. Religion was defined from top-down. As the power of monarchs waned over the course of the following centuries relative to that of state governments, so the latter came to play a more central role in regulating the religious affairs of the nation. This meant that there would usually be one official ‘established’ religion in a national territory, with the treatment of other ‘minority’ religions being a controversial matter. Even when toleration was extended, these minority religions were disadvantaged relative to the official religion (which, in the case of European powers, was always Christian but could be Protestant, Catholic or Orthodox). Religions outside the West were shaped by this model too, either by the colonial powers that ruled them or by their own national governments: the nation-state shaped religion and religion shaped the nation-state. An important element of the Westphalian settlement was that religion was increasingly differentiated from other aspects of society to become a separate sphere in its own right, with its own officials, rules and boundaries. Instead of being part and parcel of state and society as it once had been – integral to education, healthcare, law and politics – it became more bounded and autonomous. This helped give rise to the idea of separate, discrete religious ‘traditions’ or ‘world religions’. For example, in India under British colonial rule, a census of religion was introduced in the mid-nineteenth century that has had a lasting influence on how people imagine and measure religion. It measured religion in terms of separate ‘traditions’ or ‘communities’ – Hindu, Muslim, Christian and so on, and has remained an important tool of governance as well as scholarship. Religious communities themselves have often accepted this approach and tried to consolidate, reform and purify themselves accordingly. In the process, religions and their leaders have entered into competition with one another, either peacefully or violently. By the twentieth century, world religions competed with one another not just within national territories but across the globe, seeking status, followers and resources. Initiatives designed to foster better relations by way of inter-religious dialogues have also developed. The differentiation of social spheres led also to the growth of the sphere of the secular. As religion separated and became more autonomous, so other spheres like politics, health and education began to define themselves as not religious – often as scientific not religious. This dichotomy between the religious and the secular became a defining feature of modernity and of the study of religion. Secularism, the ideology behind the drive to separate religion from the rest of social life, often bears the impress of its national origins. In some countries, national constitutions and ideologies are defined as secular in the sense that the state is neutral with regard to religion (as in India), whereas others are secular in an atheist and anti-religious sense, as in communist countries with Marxist ideologies that sought to curtail or destroy religion (like the old USSR and China during the Cultural Revolution). Thus the influence of the Westphalian model continues into the twenty-first century, with religion still treated by many governments and legal systems as an autonomous sphere. Some countries still have an official, state-sanctioned religion (e.g. Iran) and national identity is still closely bound up with religious identity. Others recognize a limited number of

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official, registered and tolerated religions (e.g. China). Still others allow more of a free market in religion under the banner of ‘religious freedom’. The latter has taken on different forms especially in postcolonial societies with varying attitudes towards religious freedom (e.g. compare Singapore and the Philippines). However, by the last quarter of the twentieth century it was increasingly clear that we were entering what Beyer (2013) refers to as a ‘post-Westphalian’ era in which religion is more de-linked from both national identity as well as from old religious authorities. Instead of being structured by the nation-state, religion now takes many new forms that are less constrained by national governments and boundaries. It shifts from being a bounded sphere to something much more fluid, and starts to de-differentiate from other societal spheres, for example it creeps back into healthcare systems to offer healing and wellbeing, or it makes use of mass media and models itself on the entertainment industry – like the US televangelism of the 1980s and 1990s. At the same time, religion and ‘spirituality’ also take increasingly ‘de-traditionalized’ forms, especially in practice, while simultaneously certain groups and leaders make more intense claims to be the ‘real’ representatives of a religious tradition (the true, orthodox Christians, real Hindus, etc.) Thus ‘religion’ becomes more varied and hard to pin down, either in theory or practice. The situation is ‘messier’, to use Beyer’s word (2013: 671), and very different than when many classic works on religion were written (see also Gauthier 2020).

Globalization To speak of the current religio-political situation as ‘post-Westphalian’ is to signal that our old ways of approaching the subject are no longer adequate, and that we need new approaches to supplement them. We can go further than that, and speak not just of what was but of what is taking its place. If we can discern emerging patterns and coherence, the impression of ‘messiness’ will disappear. As the title of this handbook suggests, one useful step in this direction is to think in terms of globalization. One of the first scholars to reflect on the new importance of globalization was a sociologist who took a particular interest in what was happening to religion, Roland Robertson (1992). Early in the second part of the twentieth century, Robertson noticed that new kinds of post-national, transnational social formations – like the United Nations and the British Commonwealth – were growing in influence. He drew attention to the rise of global consciousness, a sense of all belonging to a common humanity, a single planet, a global whole. This did not necessarily mean that people gave up their old allegiances and sense of identity and belonging, but they maintained these against a wider horizon. The global now framed the local, in a way that was new and more inescapable than ever before. Robertson (1995) coined the term ‘glocal’ to capture the way in which people might still maintain situated, local commitments but against a global backdrop. He saw that the global and the local had grown in importance but the national and colonial were declining, and he reflected on the importance of religion within this change. Although still belonging to national societies, wider global horizons and connections have never been more important or contested. Since Robertson, there have been many different reflections on globalization. Despite differences and debates there is significant agreement around a broad definition that emphasizes the increased density and frequency of social interactions and cultural representations that now operate on an international or global scale rather than national or merely a local one (e.g. Held et al. 1999). Sometimes this is referred to as ‘space-time’ compression (e.g. Harvey 1989). It affects all that it touches. As Sylvia Walby puts it, 4

Introduction

‘globalization is a transformative process in which the units within the process change as well as the overall environment’ (2009: 36). It is widely recognized that globalization is not new. The ancient world was far better connected than is often imagined. Moreover, a succession of empires throughout history have pursued global territorial domination. Religion is ‘the original globalizer’ (Lehmann 2002: 299). In the past, ‘Sufi orders, Catholic missionaries, and Buddhist monks carried word and practice across vast spaces before those places became nation-states or even states’ (Rudolph and Piscatori 1997: 1). The difference today is that globalization takes new and more intense forms, affecting religion in new ways in the process. Whether one resides in Guangdong, Montevideo, Bishkek, Phnom Penh, Vancouver, Bamako, Asuncion, Davao, Maputo, Kosice, the Fijis, Cali, Nizhni Novgorod, Khartoum, Coimbra, Rabat, Perth, Oklahoma City or Bandung, the vast majority of us today live with the sentiment of being part of a connected whole that is included or excluded in, wishful or resentful about, global time and global flows. A first set of approaches to globalization that stresses increasing homogenization and the elimination of local and national differences. For example, George Ritzer’s The McDonaldization of Society (1993) highlights the global spread of fast-food culture with its standardized and standardizing practices. Everywhere you go, you can eat the same products in the same way. Similarly, shopping centres across the world look similar and feature the same brands. Global corporations strive for global dominance and push the same products, and the same modes of work and consumption are promoted everywhere. A small global elite, the wealthy ‘one percent’, has accumulated more wealth than many nations and more power than many politicians. They exploit the whole globe and its populations for profit. Finance capital moves freely across boundaries by way of electronic transactions and wage labour is employed wherever it is cheapest and most docile. Culture is spread by way of the internet and data-streaming services, resulting in an increasingly narrow and homogenized set of cultural references. Some commentators have viewed this ‘flattening’ of planet earth as a good thing, leading to economic growth and development and greater freedom for more people. Others greet it with alarm. Anti-globalization thinkers worry about growing economic inequality, the erosion in the capacity of nation-states to take autonomous action for the good of their people, the control of culture and ideas by a small number of commercial providers, the health risks like pandemics, and the challenge to freedom and democracy (e.g. Kellerman 2020). A second set of approaches to globalization places more emphasis on its many different pathways and on ‘multiple modernities’ (e.g. Eisenstadt 2002). Attention is drawn to how different countries and localities modernize in different ways and at different speeds. Some writers have emphasized the durability and resistance of differences between societies, cultures and ‘civilizations’. In The Clash of Civilizations (1998), for example, Samuel Huntington argued that there are several distinct and enduring world cultures, most of which have a religious basis. He and his followers discuss the Western, Latin American, African, Islamic, Sinic, Hindu, Orthodox, Buddhist and Japanese civilizations. All of these have been modernizing and changing, but not in the same ways. Far from their differences dissolving, they have often been heightened in the process. The example that is often cited is enduring tensions between Islam and the West. Most global flows emanate from and touch down in particular locations, and notions of territorialization and embodiment cannot be dismissed altogether (Sassen 1991). Steven Vertovec’s (2007) discussion of ‘superdiversity’ highlights how major cities have become the epicentres of cultural encounter and change. Around the world, many cities, especially in emerging economies (e.g. Dubai), aspire to 5

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become global hubs (Roy and Ong 2011). In this light, while the homogenization thesis assumed a new kind of ‘Westernization’, global connections are often more complex and multi-directional. Sidestepping the influence of the West, societies elsewhere in the world have become examples and rivals with one other with respect to governance, public health and urban planning (Chua 2011). South-South cooperation now challenges the dominance of the ‘Global North’ in such areas as education and policy-making, as well as resource extraction and building of infrastructure (e.g. China’s initiatives in Africa). Nevertheless, it is increasingly clear how much resistance globalization of all kinds provokes, and as we see in the reassertion of national, local, regional and local commitments and the refusal to accept many of the ‘imperatives’ of globalization (Saul 2005).

Marketization A related approach that emerges from this book as particularly helpful for understanding religion in a contemporary, ‘post-Westphalian’ situation, is that of ‘marketization’, including the integral process of consumerization (Gauthier 2020). The links between marketization and globalization are close. Starting roughly in the 1960s in the West and affluent countries elsewhere, and then more recently in the Global South and parts of Asia, what might be called a ‘global-market regime’ arose to challenge the old Westphalian ‘nation-state regime’. This was due not only to the growing strength of capitalism in practice but also to the increasing influence of a ‘neo-liberal’ ideology that promoted the supposedly ‘spontaneous’ regulation of the freemarket as a better alternative to nation-state-driven central planning. Increasingly, the (global) market was promoted as more efficient than the state and as better able to deliver human freedom, material wellbeing and economic growth. The credibility of this view was enhanced after 1989 by the collapse of communism and the ‘triumph’ of capitalism and the free-market. Countries like communist East Germany were quickly subsumed into the market-logics of West Germany in the process of German unification. China also embraced some of the neo-liberal approach. What has happened in the decades since is the progressive colonization of all social spheres within an economic logic under the banner of ‘rationalization’, ‘efficiency’, ‘pragmatism’, ‘globalism’ and ‘economic realism’. The neoliberal advance led to a roll-back and diminishing of the power of the nationstate and a reconfiguration of its nature and function – now understood as ensuring the optimum conditions for economic growth, above all. Talk of ‘governance’ started to take over from ‘government’. This illustrates a shift in how power and authority are instituted and exercised (Gauthier, Martikainen and Woodhead 2013a). Government designates a centralized, vertical exercise of power within well-delimited hierarchies and categories, contained by the nation and its people in the case of democratic government. The concept of governance, on the other hand, was developed in the field of business administration and invokes a more horizontal imaginary with ambiguous democratic and often anti-democratic aspects (Sørensen and Torfing 2005). Governance involves a punctual, networked, pluricentric and multi-level type of regulation in which mutual trust and negotiation among interdependent actors are key (Martikainen 2013). The ideal of governance is to avoid rigid institutionalizations in favour of relatively supple institutional frameworks with ‘contingently articulated rules, norms, knowledge, and social imaginaries’ (Sørensen and Torfing 2005: 197). Presented as a participatory, value-neutral and optimizing form of self-regulation, governance is informed by the idea of the global free market and champions technical and judicial processes over supposedly arbitrary ‘top down’ political regulation. In practice, 6

Introduction

counting and measuring come to new prominence, as do compliance and regulation, with managers and experts increasing their power (Saul 2005; Graebner 2015). The impact of neoliberal reforms and practices on social services and welfare provision as well as on religion have been spectacular, and have been a factor in blurring the boundaries between the religious and the secular. For religion, marketization changes the environment in which religious institutions and authority work and introduces new ways of managing human and economic resources. Religious institutions in a Westphalian context were often bureaucratized, hierarchical, vertical and regulated by the state. Now they are often forced to downsize, rationalize their activities, develop communication strategies and branded identities, outsource administrative tasks and cast their ‘mission’ as the provision of profitable services meeting the individual ‘needs’ of spiritual ‘consumers’ in the new global-market regime. They compete for market share in a global ‘religious marketplace’. Even traditional Christian churches, for example, adopt new media and marketing language (Moberg 2017). The ideology of religious freedom that appeals to a human rights legal framework is compatible with this new regime, and is increasingly invoked by governance mechanisms and religious actors alike, the latter using it to protect their right to proselytize and remain free from state ‘interference’ (Sullivan et al. 2015). Thus religion takes on new forms and roles (Juergensmeyer 2003; Lechner 2006). In some instances, it powers movements of resistance, for example in relation to the Arab Spring. Faith-based NGOs operate in many parts of the world, like Africa, to mediate between the pressures of the global market and everyday life. In other cases, new networked, supple, charismatic, horizontal and transnational religious organizations offering consumers immediate benefits, both worldly and supernatural, have grown so much they now challenge established forms of religion and their social and political privileges. Many religious ‘enterprises’ start to look and even perceive themselves more like businesses than public sector utilities or arms of the state. Marketization involves consumerization. A consumer culture is characterised by the imperative of self-expression and therefore visibility, as individuals and collectives struggle to be recognized (Gauthier, Martikainen and Woodhead 2013b, 2013c; Gauthier 2020). Visibility becomes an imperative, and an objective in itself. Social media and a more visual culture reinforce these tendencies. Some scholars, including some in this volume, look at megachurches and Islamic movements and new modes of prosperity around the world in this light. Concentrated in Southeast Asia and Latin America, they point out how many celebrate accumulation and consumption as virtues and evidence of divine favour (Chong 2018). Modern consumption is about far more than the purchase of goods or services: it is about modernizing the self, expressing one’s identity, producing community and common values, and circulating values and symbols. Now the consumer provides the model for the subject and the citizen. Religious ‘suppliers’ have to produce attractive religious products that will appeal to consumers. Religion becomes a matter of choice more than tradition – something that has to be voluntarily entered into rather than something handed down that one is born into. Born-again Muslims, Hindus and Catholics join Pentecostals in accepting that ‘authentic’ piety must be entered into through a personal commitment and choice, well beyond the confines of the West. Thus an ethos of consumerism shapes religion from below as much as neoliberal marketization shapes it from above. As a result, much religion becomes detached from its ancient moorings in state, society, family and neighbourhood and becomes more deinstitutionalized, mediatized (transmitted through communications and social media) and 7

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event-based. Nationally-shaped forms of religion cede territory to new imagined transnational and global communities such as the global Ummah, or transnational networks of ‘orthodox’, ‘Bible-believing’ Christians, or transnational communities of like-minded neopagans. Expressive-authentic religion that appeals to the subjective depths of each individual grows in importance (Heelas and Woodhead 2014). As contributions in this volume on ‘Intimate Identities’ show, cultural and consumer objects reinforce identity choices in religion, including in relation to gender and ethnicity. Religion is not just subjectivized but also projected outwards in dietary customs, rituals and visible symbols. Identity is communicated by way of symbols, signs and things that can easily be transmitted via new media. In that sense, religion increasingly becomes a matter of lifestyle. Religion is also a means by which individuals and communities push back, resisting ‘inevitable’ economic imperatives and neo-liberal logics, and creating alternative personal and collective identities, both with one another and with the gods.

Religion in global societies Taken as a whole, the chapters in this volume confirm that the processes discussed above are better understood not as a uniform and homogenizing but as uneven and with varied effects on different social institutions in different parts of the world. Religion illustrates this as well as anything; globalization provides many trajectories for religion (Juergensmeyer 2003). Part of the success of many religious global movements, like Pentecostalism, for example, lies in their ability to intertwine global tradition and networks on the one hand with local culture on the other (Lechner 2006). Many of the new religious ‘waves’ or ‘projects’ that have spread across the globe over the last century are bound up with new global processes including consumerism, advertising, branding and marketing; rapid communications; rationalization and standardization; and global flows of capital and financing. As the chapters under ‘Transnational Movements’ show, some of the most prominent examples are the rise of global Christian Charismatic revivalism (‘Pentecostalism’), global Islamic revivalism (‘Islamism’), indigenous revival movements and fundamentalism. The latter is manifest in different guises within different religious traditions, e.g. Hindu, Buddhist, Jewish and Christian fundamentalism. ‘Prosperity religion’ may also be viewed as a global wave that is adapted by different religious traditions, as may ‘spirituality’ and neo-paganism, which exhibit different cultural variants with some common features. It is easy to exaggerate how homogenous such movements are. Sometimes a term like ‘Pentecostalism’ or ‘Islamism’ obscures more than it reveals and overlooks significant differences. As many chapters show, differences and variations within these global cultural projects are often as notable as similarities. Thus the chapters in the first section (‘Market and Branding’) relate these developments to the pervasiveness of the market economy and the global connections in which they are embedded. The volume discusses the transnational character of some religious groups and dynamics – from lay meditation movements in Chinese societies to youth Buddhists in Australia (see ‘Transnational Movements’ and ‘Diasporic Communities’) – and how these have a marketized dimension. Local religious groups originating in East Asia, for example, have been successful in expanding around the world. Buddhist organizations like Soka Gakkai in Japan and Tzu Chi in Taiwan assert not only their economic power but also the achievements of the economies they represent by extending humanitarian work in places afflicted by conflict and disaster (Huang 2009; Lau and Cornelio 2015). The same can be said about the global expansion of indigenous churches, which are driven not only by 8

Introduction

a postcolonial reclaiming of what they believe to be authentic Christianity, but also by a desire to demonstrate and spread economic and divine power. Born in the Philippines, Iglesia ni Cristo (Church of Christ) and the Kingdom of Jesus Christ, for example, are Restorationist churches which now have millions of members around the world (Cornelio 2017, 2020). From humanitarian work to church planting, these global projects, enabled by the rise of aspirational middle class followers, contribute to pluralism and global civil society, following some common paths of development, but rooting them in different ways in local situations. As well as accommodating global pressures, including economic and cultural ones, the volume shows how religion can be a force for resisting and providing alternatives. Some examples involve resistance to pressures that are seen as alien, Western and/or colonial, and draw on indigenous and non-Western traditions. The Iranian revolution of 1979 was an early and influential example at a macropolitical level. (Juergensmeyer (2017) argues that fundamentalist movements have in common, despite other differences, a rejection of modern Western secularism.) Other examples include resistance to Western scientific ideas like Darwinian evolution, or sexual and gender norms such as pro-homosexuality, for example in Nigeria and Ghana, or to economic determinism and globalism, even in the USA. In Europe, the use of religious symbols, customs and practices by Muslims – like the wearing of head and face coverings by women – to secure personal, cultural and communal identity and piety has been profusely commented upon. The revival of indigenous forms of religious and spiritual practice, from traditional healing practices to neo-Heathenism, is another example that both exemplifies some aspects of globalization and resists others. As well as fostering global connections and universalism, globalization encourages difference and particularity. This is why the local, and the nation-state as a boundary marker, remain important, a point illustrated by contributions under the section ‘National Tensions’. Although this volume highlights profound changes in global society and how these affect the study of religion, we do not suggest that we are now entering a new stage in a neat evolutionary social process. That way of thinking has been deeply influential in modern, western social science: the idea that pre-modern or ‘traditional’ societies gave way to modern, industrial ones, which then gave way to post- or late-modern, post-industrial (or ‘new industrial revolution’) ones. By drawing on Beyer’s idea of a Westphalian and postWestphalian situation and highlighting globalization and marketization as essential categories for understanding it, we do not endorse the evolutionary approach. We reject the idea that there is a unilinear progression from a religious premodern phase to a secular modern one followed by a post-secular postmodern one. The studies that follow confirm that this is both too simple and too ‘colonial’ a model (as if all societies follow a template set by ‘advanced’ western ones).

A coexistence approach In taking a more global view of recent developments, what this volume actually shows is that the current situation contains sediments from the Westphalian and colonial past layered together with more recent developments, that the different phases or logics sometimes conflict and sometimes do not, and that there are important local, societal and regional differences. There is ‘coexistence’ of different pathways and trends and sediments, not a succession of neat evolutionary phases (Cornelio 2014). A co-existence approach is appropriate to the deeply pluralistic nature of post-Westphalian, post-colonial and global-market embedded societies, cultures and situations. Thus, the co-existence 9

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approach is useful in making sense of religious change among the youth in East and Southeast Asia (Cornelio 2015), for example. While aspirational youth have turned to prosperity-oriented megachurches in places like Singapore, Hong Kong and South Korea, they have also been attracted to the philanthropic work of new Buddhist movements in Taiwan. And yet within the region, young people have also embraced religious nationalism, some of which have imbibed violent extremism against religious minorities in places like Thailand and Indonesia. In terms of theory, these cases mean that existing meta-theories like that of ‘secularization’ or ‘industrialization’ do not have to be abandoned, for there are certain arenas in which they still apply and illuminate. But these concepts and associated theories have to be applied in a more modest way that is open to exceptions and counter-evidence and complementary processes. For example, a single locality or a single person often contains both secular and religious elements and gives support both to secularization theory and to ideas about the persistence and reinvention of the religious. Similarly, the ‘post-Westphalian’ situation does not mean that nations and nationstates have lost their salience for religion and secularity, but that it can no longer be assumed that nations are the most relevant units for case studies and comparisons, or that wider movements and variations can be ignored. In this layered, sedimented situation with important societal variations, old and new theoretical approaches can be utilized in a creative interplay, which may also give rise to new concepts, approaches and theories. Flexibility and pluralism of thought is an appropriate reflection of real-world conflicts and interplays of power, identity and belonging, in which the past and the present and ideas about the future all play a role.

Themes Besides the general framing of this volume, some additional themes also emerge from its chapters.

Secularization and pluralization From philosophy to social sciences, from Hegel to Weber, from Nietzsche to Heidegger and the Frankfurt School, secularization was long held to be a defining feature of modernity. It was assumed by many academics that some day all societies would be secular. The theory of secularization, said José Casanova, ‘may be the only theory which was able to attain a truly paradigmatic status within the modern social sciences’ (1994: 17). Today, the influence of the theory has waned. The evidence to support it has proved mixed. In Europe, Australasia and – increasingly – the US, religion (chiefly Christianity) has indeed declined. But outside these countries, and in the more global perspective of this volume, it is the vitality and inventiveness of religion which is usually more apparent than its decline. We see an increasingly plural situation in which secularity and religion co-exist not just across the globe, but in the same societies and even the same institutions and in personal lives. Pluralization has turned out to be a more helpful meta-framework than secularization. It is also the very situation to which many religious initiatives are responding. The chapters under ‘Responses to Diversity’ provide compelling illustrations in the form of peacebuilding, interreligious dialogues and faith-based humanitarian action.

De-privatization and de-traditionalization The process of social differentiation that was such an important feature of the Westphalian settlement led to the privatization of religion. As religion gradually separated from other 10

Introduction

public activities like education and medical care it was also relegated to an increasingly private realm. Some states and societies actively circumscribed the extent to which religion could enter into public life. Within a global perspective, however, it is now much clearer how patchily this process took place both within and between different countries. It has never really taken place in many parts of Asia, for example, whereas in others like Singapore, Malaysia, and China it has happened to a greater extent. In some countries, like the Philippines, a dominant religion (here Catholic Christianity) still retains many privileges and a high public presence, and in many Middle Eastern states Islam is still the official state religion. In other countries, like Russia and Turkey, religion was privatized and then, after 1989, actively de-privatized by political leaders working closely with religious ones. As several chapters show, religion is also entering into public space and de-privatizing in relation to the market, the media, leisure and healthcare. Religion has also been ‘de-traditionalizing’ insofar as it has spilled over the old Westphalian boundaries of religious denominations and ‘traditions’ (Catholic, Protestant Jewish) and ‘world religions’. As some chapters show, these identities and their supporting institutions remain important, and many political, interfaith and other arrangements and initiatives continue to legitimate them. However, for many kinds of religion and personal religiosity these categories have lost the importance they once had – to such an extent that it would not have been appropriate to structure this book around them.

Shifting religious authority What counts as authority in religion and religions is in flux. The Westphalian situation favoured male-led, hierarchical religious institutions with clear chains of command and designated representatives who could do business with the state. In reality, religiosity never fitted neatly under such authority, and ordinary people continued to shape and use religion for their own purposes. What is different today is that centralized religious authorities are increasingly losing their grip in many parts of the world. Religious leaders have less ability to enforce conformity and ordinary people have many more opportunities to claim it. New religious leaders have emerged to reshape the religious landscape across the globe – whether women developing new, less sexist, kinds of spirituality, entrepreneurial leaders establishing new kinds of prosperity religion, or charismatic Islamic teachers making use of the internet to spread their message. The internet is a medium that challenges religious, educational and cultural elites – priests, professors, journalists and editors – whose power depended on maintaining a monopoly over knowledge and cultural symbols. Now, anyone can be a cultural producer on the multitude of different platforms the internet supports, for better or for worse. Thus the authority of scripture, tradition, hierarchical office, ritual and other elements of religion are also being challenged and reconfigured. The picture is very diverse. Fundamentalism, for example, exalts scripture over all other forms of religious authority, leading to a clash with more traditional forms of authority. In other kinds of religion, charismatic forms of leadership are stealing ground from bureaucratic and traditional ones. Entrepreneurial, charismatic-led and weakly-institutionalized religious organizations are emerging whereas established religious institutions are being challenged. One area is ethics and religious virtue (Cornelio 2016). The chapters under ‘Contemporary Ethics and Values’ demonstrate the power of religious actors to reframe prosperity, social justice and public morality. Successful local leaders and initiatives can quickly go global via new networks, bypassing national structures. New actors have emerged to challenge the order in most parts of the world. Overall, these upheavals of

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authority lead to a more unregulated, rapidly-changing situation than before, one which state authorities often find hard to regulate, or even to understand.

Everyday, lived, tactical religion Flux in religious authority is mirrored in changes in the way that we think about religion, not least in academic terms. The tendency of Western scholars to privilege Westphalian ‘official’ kinds of religion has been challenged by taking a view of religion ‘from below’ and not just from above. Feminist thought has played a major role in questioning the old approach. Nancy Ammerman (2006) and Meredith McGuire (2008) introduced the concepts of ‘everyday religion’ and ‘lived religion’ respectively, enlarging the spectre of sociology of religion’s enquiry and favouring ethnographic and qualitative methods. Woodhead (2013) puts power into the picture by talking of ‘strategic’ versus ‘tactical’ religion. The ‘strategic’ is close to the ‘official’ and covers those forms and agents of religion and secularity that operate from a position of structural and institutional power. Strategic forms of religion look outward, set rules and plan the future from a position of power. More tactical approaches act within the context dictated by the strategic, but may do so subversively and for different ends. Less powerful individuals, groups and networks exercise tactical power, sometimes very effectively. There are many examples in this volume of how the official and the everyday, the tactical and the strategic, shape one another, and sometimes come into conflict. In the process, religious change often takes place.

Identity and lifestyle Since identity is no longer firmly grounded in inheritance or tradition, nor secured within the framework of the nation, it becomes the object of a more personal and often continuous quest: Who am I? Who are we? Where do I belong? Where do we come from? Where are we going? With the advent of the internet, the scope for exploring becomes almost infinite (at least within a language group). Within an increasingly visual culture and in the context of consumerism, every outward sign and object and purchase may be the means of identityproduction. Lifestyle is about personal identities that are tied to consumer goods and practices: what you eat, drink, wear is important. In religion, outward symbols like dress, diet, visible ritual actions and so on gain new importance. The market exploits this potential, hence the rise of the ‘halal market’ and ‘Islamic banking’, sharia-friendly packaged vacations and five-star Mecca pilgrimages, for example, or the increasingly thin line between fashion and religious dress (Lewis 2013, 2015; Gauthier 2018). This can be used by new religious and spiritual communities in recruiting members across national borders, as both the rise of ISIS and of global paganism illustrates. It may also spur the growth of religiously-endorsed neo-nationalism and populism, as in parts of the former Soviet Union and more recently in western Europe and the US. Many of these movements promise a better alternative to a global, cosmopolitan identity that is widely perceived to be beneficial to a few, not the many. As many chapters illustrate, religion becomes one more possibility within the bustling marketplace of mediatized cultural identities.

Migration and movement International migrants now constitute around 3.5 percent of the world population and far more in richer or safer countries that attract inward migration. If we presume that an 12

Introduction

average international migrant has meaningful relations with five people in another country or countries, we could speculate that approximately twenty percent of the world’s population is now directly affected by international migration. There is also an unprecedented volume of global circulation for purposes of work and tourism. In 2018, the number of international tourist arrivals was around 1.4 billion. Whether inside a country or internationally, temporary, circular or permanent, the move to a new place has forced countless individuals, families, kin and other social groups to reorganize their lives. Social reproduction and relations now take place across sometimes vast distances, producing new social environments and changing old ones. Jointly with increased religious and ethnic pluralism due to diversification of migratory streams, today’s migrants face the question of reorganising their lives in their new places of settlement. Inevitable cultural and religious adaptation and change takes place, including the remoulding of the environment itself (Levitt 2004). Simple theories of cultural assimilation fail to address the multiplicity of outcomes, while they correctly point out to the persisting power of the local context. Transnational religious movements and diasporic communities have emerged across the entire globe. The networks of their connections are much more complex now and can entirely bypass the West in new South-South triangulations. Persecuted religious minorities, such as the Ahmadiyya, or Jewish groups, can now share resources across the planet, including a vibrant marriage market. Religious movements offer alternative identifications to culturally dominant ones, and provide transnational networks to perform these identities. Thus migrant second-generation youth negotiate with their elders and peers in Sydney as well as elsewhere about the correct ways of being and performing their religion, as about the relationship to the evermore socially distant country of departure. Yet, contact remains, if by no other means, then due to the social remittances they share with those who have remained. All over the world, increased religious pluralism creates a new situation and new challenges, provoking varied and often creative reactions to the issue or ‘problem’ of religious diversity (Beaman 2017).

Boundaries and Borders While nation-states seek unity within their own territories and guard their borders, the global market, increased mobility and the internet, often work across national borders and dissolve barriers. This has been encouraged by free trade and free labour movement agreements supported by transnational bodies like the EU, ASEAN, MERCOSUR, the IMF, the WTO and corporate interests like those represented at economic summits like those in Davos, Dubai and Kuala Lumpur. It is also driven by the displaced, the poor, and economic migrants. In response, boundary-crossing has emerged as a major theme in the study of religion, with advances in understanding religion’s role in ‘crossing’ not just ‘dwelling’ (Tweed 2008), in creating new ‘hybrid’ identities, in negotiating difference, and in operating within the shifting sands of a global market of unequal exchanges. The tension over borders and boundaries, and between those that wish to guard their integrity and those that wish to open then up to global trade and cultural circulation, is intense.

The religious and the posthuman – bringing the gods back in? One boundary that is challenged in the current situation is that between the religious and the non-religious. Examples discussed in this volume include pilgrimage and tourism, rituals 13

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and prayer, entertainment and consumption. Increasingly, it can be hard to label such things as ‘religious’ or ‘secular’. This is related to the disintegration of the religious – and ‘religions’ – as a clearly differentiated realm, coherent in its own terms and entirely separate from the secular. Yet in some areas of the scholarly study of religion, the influence of secular assumptions remains. Nowhere is this clearer than in the great taboo that surrounds taking seriously the idea of a God and other supernatural beings in their own right. If they are to be studied, it is in terms of their social functions and correlates, as if the gods were mere epiphenomena of more ‘real’, this-worldly forces, reassuring the secular mind that religion is based on an illusion. As the final section of this volume brings out (Reflections on ‘Religion’), such assumptions are facing growing challenges, both in theory and in practice. Theoretically, the agency of non-human objects and entities is being entertained more seriously in many fields – from environmental science to science and technology studies (e.g. Haraway 2007; Latour 2007). Ideas like those of ‘Gaia’ and the ‘anthropocene’ help to decentre the human and expose a wider distribution of agency within a much longer time frame. This ‘posthuman’ or ‘nonhuman’ cultural turn, combined with a turn to everyday lived religiosity, is also starting to make it possible to take more seriously the reported beliefs and experiences of many religious people. Without slipping into confessional ‘theology’ or apologetics, these important trends challenge the encroachment of secular-based perspective and call for a renewal of the way we consider religion in global societies.

Conclusion This volume demonstrates the importance of recent transformations that concern all social spheres, including religion. The world of today is not the same as when the modern study of religion was inaugurated at the start of the twentieth century or when it developed into different disciplines later in the century. Inevitably, these periods shaped the way we understand religion, and supported certain assumptions that are now showing their limitations: methodological nationalism, the differentiation of social spheres, over-focus on official, institutionalized religion, blindness to issues of race, colonialism and gender and implicit secularism. The chapters that follow show how things are starting to change. They explore how religion takes shape today, and leave no doubt that attempts at fitting it in old megacategories like ‘world religions’ or ‘inter-national relations’, valuable though they have been, are no longer enough. Religion is enmeshed in the current contestations between local, global and national powers, playing an active role. Marketization and globalization and corollary processes of consumerism and ‘lifestylization’ are important. So too are growing changes and challenges to existing forms of ‘rational’ and ‘traditional’ power and authority, within and beyond religion. There is a need for multi-layered sensitivity, as macro, meso and micro level developments are intertwined with each other, across cultural and geographical boundaries, and as relations between the local, the global and the national are reconfigured. Religion retains many continuities with the past, but is no longer what it used to be. It is certainly not disappearing. Gods and spirits remain consequential right across the world, even if they take new forms. Religiosity can no longer be encapsulated in a set number of traditions, or a clearly differentiated social sphere, or in ideas of linear progress. The authorities that used to control and contain it are increasingly challenged by new actors and groups claiming power for themselves and their gods. This handbook shows how the study of religion is changing to take account of this new situation, 14

Introduction

a situation in which many different cultures and a more complex idea of what constitutes ‘religion’ have come to the fore, and in which scholars from across the world are increasingly making their voices heard.

References Ammerman, N. (ed.) (2006) Everyday Religion: Observing Modern Religious Lives. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Beaman, L. (2017) Deep Equality in an Era of Religious Diversity. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Beyer, P. (2013) Questioning the Secular/Religious Divide in a Post-Westphalian World. International Sociology 73(2): 109–129. Casanova, J. (1994) Public Religions in a Modern World. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. Chong, T. (2018) Pentecostal Megachurches in Southeast Asia: Negotiating Class, Consumption and the Nation. Singapore: ISEAS. Chua, B.-H. (2011) Singapore as Model: Planning Innovations, Knowledge Experts, in A. Roy and A. Ong (eds.), Worlding Cities: Asian Experiments and the Art of Being Global. Malden, MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell, pp. 29–54. Cornelio, J. (2016) Being Catholic in the Contemporary Philippines: Young People Reinterpreting Religion. London and New York: Routledge. Cornelio, J. (2017) Religious Worlding: Christianity and the New Production of Space in the Philippines, in J. Koning and G. Njoto-Feillard (eds.), New Religiosities, Modern Capitalism and Moral Complexities in Southeast Asia. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 169–197. Cornelio, J. (2020) The Philippines, in K. Ross, T. Johnson and F. Alvarez (eds.), Edinburgh Companions to Global Christianity: Christianity in East and South-East Asia. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, pp. 242–253. Cornelio, J. S. (2014) Is Religion Dying? Secularization and Other Religious Trends in the World Today, in P. Hedges (ed.), Controversies in Contemporary Religions. Santa Barbara, CA: Praeger, pp. 219–246. Cornelio, J. S. (2015) Youth and Religion in East and Southeast Asia, in J. Wyn and H. Cahill (eds.), Handbook of Childhood and Youth Studies. New York: Springer, pp. 904–915. Eisenstadt, S. (ed) (2002) Multiple Modernities. New Brunswick: Transaction. Gauthier, F. (2018) From Nation-state to Market: The Transformations of Religion in the Global Era, as Illustrated by Islam. Religion 48(3): 382–417. Gauthier, F. (2020) Religion, Modernity, Globalisation. Nation-State to Market. London and New York: Routledge. Gauthier, F., T. Martikainen and L. Woodhead. (2013a) Introduction: Religion in Market Society, in T. Martikainen and F. Gauthier (eds.), Religion in the Neoliberal Age. Political Economy and Modes of Governance. Farnham: Ashgate, pp. 1–20. Gauthier, F., T. Martikainen and L. Woodhead. (2013b) Introduction: Consumerism as the Ethos of Consumer Society, in F. Gauthier and T. Martikainen (eds.), Religion in Consumer Society. Brands, Consumers and Markets. Farnham: Ashgate, pp. 1–24. Gauthier, F., T. Martikainen and L. Woodhead. (2013c) Acknowledging a Global Shift: A Primer for Thinking about Religion in Consumer Societies. Implicit Religion 16(3): 261–276. Graebner, D. (2015) The Utopia of Rules. On Technology, Stupidity and the Secret Joys of Bureaucracy. Brooklyn, NY and London: Melville House. Haraway, D. (2007) When Species Meet. Minneapolis: University of Minnesota Press. Harvey, D. (1989) The Condition of Postmodernity. Cambridge: Blackwell. Heelas, P. and L. Woodhead. (2014) The Spiritual Revolution: How Religion Is Giving Way to Christianity. Oxford and Malden, MA: Blackwell. Held, D., A. McGrew, D. Goldblatt and J. Perraton. (1999) Global Transofrmations. Cambridge: Polity Press. Huang, C. J. (2009) Charisma and Compassion: Cheng Yen and the Buddhist Tzu Chi Movement. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Huntington, S. (1998) The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of the World Order. London: Touchstone.

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Juergensmeyer, M. (2003) Thinking Globally about Religion, in M. Juergensmeyer (ed.), Global Religions: An Introduction. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 3–13. Juergensmeyer, M. (2017) Terror in the Mind of God, 4th edition. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Kellerman, A. (2020) Globalization and Spatial Mobilities: Commodities and People, Capital, Information and Technology. Cheltenham: Edwar Elgar Publishing. Latour, B. (2007) Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor Network Theory. New York: Oxford University Press. Lau, A. and J. S. Cornelio. (2015). Tzu Chi and the Philanthropy of Filipino Volunteers. Asian Journal of Social Science 43: 376–399. Lechner, F. J. (2006) Trajectories of Faith in the Global Age: Classical Theory and Contemporary Evidence, in J. Beckford and J. Walliss (eds.), Theorising Religion: Classical and Contemporary Debates. Aldershot: Ashgate, pp. 44–59. Lehmann, D. (2002) Religion and Globalization, in L. Woodhead (ed.), Religions in the Modern World: Traditions and Transformations. London: Routledge, pp. 345–364. Levitt, P. (2004) Redefining the Boundaries of Belonging: The Institutional Characteristics of Transnational Religious Life. Sociology of Religion 65(1): 1–18. Lewis, R. (2013) Modest Fashions. Styling Bodies, Mediating Faith. London: I.B. Tauris. Lewis, R. (2015) Muslim Fashion. Contemporary Style Cultures. Durham, NC and London: Duke University Press. Martikainen, T. (2013) Multilevel and Pluricentric Network Governance of Religion, in T. Martikainen and F. Gauthier (eds.), Religion in the Neoliberal Age: Political Economy and Modes of Governance. Farnham: Ashgate, pp. 129–142. McGuire, M. (2008) Lived Religion: Faith and Practice in Everyday Life. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Moberg, M. (2017) Church, Market and Media. A Discursive Approach to Institutional Religious Change. London: Bloomsbury. Ritzer, G. (1993) The McDonaldization of Society. Newbury Parks, CA: Sage. Robertson, R. (1992) Globalization: Social Theory and Global Culture. London: Sage. Robertson, R. (1995) Glocalization: Time-Space and Homogeneity-Heterogeneity, in M. Featherstone, S. Lash and R. Robertson (eds.), Global Modernities. London: Sage, pp. 25–44. Roy, A. and A. Ong (eds) (2011) Worlding Cities: Asian Experiments and the Art of Being Global. Malden, MA and Oxford: Wiley-Blackwell. Rudolph, S. H. and J. Piscatori. (1997) Transnational Religion and Fading States. Boulder, CO: Colorado Press. Sassen, S. (1991) The Global City: New York, London, Tokyo. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Saul, J. R. (2005) The Collapse of Globalism. London: Atlantic Books. Sørensen, E. and J. Torfing. (2005). The Democratic Anchorage of Governance Networks. Scandinavian Political Studies 28: 195–218. Sullivan, W. F., E. S. Hurd, S. Mahmood and P. Danchin (eds) (2015) Politics of Religious Freedom. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Tweed, T. (2008) Crossing and Dwelling: A Theory of Religion. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Vertovec, S. (2007) Super-diversity and Its Implications. Ethnic and Racial Studies 30(6): 1024–1054. Walby, S. (2009) Globalization and Inequalities: Complexity and Contested Modernities. Los Angeles, CA and London: Sage. Woodhead, L. (2013) Tactical and Strategic Religion, in N. Dessing, N. Jeldtoft, J. Nielsen and L. Woodhead (eds.), Everyday Lived Islam in Europe. Aldershot: Ashgate, pp. 9–22.

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Part I

Market and branding

1 Christian churches’ responses to marketization Comparing institutional and nondenominational discourse and practice Marcus Moberg

Introduction Accelerating processes of marketization are having a notable impact on the religious field worldwide. On a broader macro-level, the rise of market and consumer society has coincided with a set of major transformations in the global religious field, including a sharp decline in institutional forms of religion, an increasing elevation of the subjective over the collective, and a growing emphasis on the experiential over reason across different types of religions and religious traditions (Gauthier, Woodhead et al. 2013, p. 4). On an institutional meso-level, neoliberal public-sector deregulations have given rise to a situation of ‘generalized religioussecular competition’ (Stolz and Usunier 2014, p. 5) as religious communities have increasingly become forced to compete with various non-religious actors in an expanded field of social agency and marketplace of ideas and lifestyle choices. While the effects of market and consumer society can be explored in relation to a wide range of religious phenomena and types of religious communities, this chapter focuses on its impact on the changing discursive practices and modus operandi of various types of Protestant Christian churches around the world. As argued by Gauthier (2015, p. 79), in an increasingly marketized social and cultural environment, institutional forms of religion that have maintained dense organizational and bureaucratic structures and the ‘characteristics of the earlier state regulatory model’ have been experiencing progressive, and indeed accelerating, decline on a worldwide scale. By contrast, the types of religions that have embraced and actively sought to adapt to currently prevalent marketized, entrepreneurial, and consumer-oriented models have fared relatively well, and even continued to grow. As will be illustrated in more detail later in relation to a few notable cases, on an international level, the independent non-denominational Protestant Christian field has increasingly become molded in accordance with market models and consumerist sensibilities. Independent Evangelical, Charismatic, and Pentecostal congregations ranging from North America and Europe to East Asia and the Global South have since long embraced

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advertising, marketing, and branding as tools for proselytization and church expansion. For these types of churches, new marketized realities generally appear as the taken-for-granted, natural state of affairs. Indeed, these types of churches often view themselves as players in an extended marketplace of ideas and lifestyle choices, which is also clearly reflected in their discursive practices and the ways in which they organize and present their activities and provisions. The situation with regards to long-established institutional Protestant mainline churches throughout Europe and North America remains notably different. Following decades of continuing decline, most of these types of churches are currently struggling to retain or regain their historical societal and cultural positions. Due to their high degrees of bureaucratization and historical embeddedness in national-statist structures, the impact of ongoing processes of marketization on these churches has mainly come in the form of mounting pressures, both external and internal, to adapt to new social organizational realities and new forms of ‘governance’-inspired church–state and church–third-sector partnerships. Following these developments, the orders of discourse of these types of churches have become increasingly permeated by market- and new public management (NPM)-associated discourse and terminology. Focusing on the contemporary official discourse of various types of Protestant churches in different parts of the world, this chapter aims to highlight the usefulness of viewing the accelerating marketization of the Protestant religious field as a largely (although by no means exclusively) discourse-driven process. The chapter also briefly considers some of the main ways in which marketization discourse has become materialized in actual practice across various Protestant Christian church contexts.

The ideational and discursive dimensions of market society The origins of currently prevailing understandings of the ‘market’ can be traced back to the early liberalism and classical political economy of the 18th and 19th centuries. In the liberalism of thinkers such as Smith, Mill, and Ricardo, the ‘market’ appeared as the key independent social coordination mechanism that was to facilitate individuals’ rational pursuit of their self-interest ‘without compromising the autonomy of their choices’ (Slater 1997, p. 42), thus laying the foundations for the subsequently developed notion of ‘market society.’ As explained by Slater and Tonkiss (2001, p. 8), while the notion of market exchange can be used to denote a wide range of different types of exchange, ‘thinking about modern social order in terms of “market society” implies the primacy of one mode of exchange—based on market transactions—which has come to dominate, restructure or marginalize all others.’ Such understandings of the market as a prime governing principle of the social became increasingly established during the first decades of the post-World War II era as capitalist societies were transitioning from a ‘Fordist’ economy based on the industrialized and standardized mass production of goods towards a ‘post-Fordist’ economy based on more flexible and specialized modes of production. As part of these developments, consumerism also emerged as the principal ethos, both social and cultural, of modern capitalist societies (e.g. Slater 1997, pp. 24–25), along with the consumer as ‘master category of collective and individual identity’ (Trentmann 2006, p. 2). The notion of a ‘market society’ reached its eventual full realization following the global expansion and establishment of neoliberalism in the early 1980s. Grounded in an unwavering belief in the power, efficiency, and rationality of the free, non-regulated market and the extension of market imperatives across all societal domains and sub-systems, neoliberal 20

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restructurings of the global political economy have greatly affected the basic structure and organization of contemporary societies across the globe (e.g. Harvey 2005). While the spread and perpetuation of neoliberal ideology has been instrumental in bringing about a wide range of actual, tangible social restructurings and transformations across the world, its ideational and discursive impact on the present-day social institutional and organizational field has been equally notable (cf. Bourdieu and Wacquant 2001; Thrift 2005; Mautner 2010). It is important to recognize, therefore, how the spread of neoliberalism has gone hand in hand with an increasing perpetuation and normalization of market-associated discourse, language, and terminology across virtually all social and cultural domains and thus served to propel a general process of marketization. The concept of marketization is generally intended to capture the extended historical process whereby: [a] market logic has come to provide a means of thinking about social institutions and individuals more generally, such that notions of competition, enterprise, utility and choice can be applied to various aspects of people’s working lives, access to public services and even private pursuits. (Slater and Tonkiss 2001, p. 1) In its ideational dimensions, marketization can be understood as a largely discourse-driven process that involves the increasing permeation of market-associated language, discourse, and terminology into new social domains, including in particular domains that have traditionally been considered ‘non-economic,’ such as education, healthcare, non-profit and ideological organizations, and religion. In order for the study of religions to be able to adequately appreciate the impact of these developments on the present-day religious field, Gauthier, Martikainen, and Woodhead (2013, pp. 261–262) have argued for the need to construct a new ‘alternative paradigm for understanding religion today, outside the secularization/postsecularism episteme.’ In contrast to so-called ‘economics of religion’ approaches (e.g. new paradigm approaches and rational choice theory), such a broader alternative interpretative framework would avoid reducing social realities to economic determinants and instead be aimed at drawing our attention to ‘the noneconomic [i.e. the ideological, ideational, and discursive] dimensions and effects of market economics and their correlates in globalizing societies’ (Gauthier 2015, p. 72, emphasis added). This approach to the character and fate of religion in neoliberal market society would thus be one that underlines the role of ‘market ideas’ (Carrier 1997)—in the sense of market economics-inspired ideologies and discourses—as prime vectors of contemporary social and cultural change on the whole, including religious change.

The effects of marketization on Protestant Christian churches The new general socioeconomic environments and circumstances that have emerged following neoliberal restructurings of modern societies have brought a multifaceted set of highly significant consequences or ‘spillover effects on contemporary religion’ (Martikainen 2012, p. 180). As argued by Martikainen, as a first notable effect, we can now clearly discern ‘a growing role of economic reasoning among religions in the new political economy,’ including an increasingly ‘wide use of business-oriented practices’ such as different managerial techniques, advertising, marketing, branding, and different types of ‘organizational restructuring’ (Martikainen 2012, p. 177). Closely related to this, a second notable effect has been the degree to which religious 21

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communities have not only adapted to ‘market rationalities’ but increasingly also started to act and reconfigure themselves as businesses and commercial enterprises (Martikainen 2012, p. 178). In broader perspective, the effects of processes of marketization on the contemporary, both non-denominational and institutional, Protestant field can be viewed in light of EspingAndersen’s (1990) crude and much debated, but nonetheless heuristically useful, tripartite ideal-type distinction between three main types of post-industrial ‘welfare capitalism’ regimes: the liberal (including e.g. the United States, the UK, Australia), conservativecorporatist (including e.g. Germany, France), and social-democratic (including e.g. the Nordic countries). This typology orders societies on the basis of their respective degrees of ‘decommodification’ as it relates to principles of labor-market organization, the distribution of resources, social stratification, and social security. While liberal regimes tend to be characterized by lower levels of state intervention and a higher reliance on market forces in the creation of welfare and social security, conservative-corporatist regimes instead tend to take a middle road and develop insurance contributions-based welfare regimes. Socialdemocratic regimes are, by contrast, characterized by much more interventionist and universalist welfare and social security principles and policies (cf. Isakjee 2017, p. 6). While many societies clearly remain representative of one of these ideal types, the typology is best understood in terms of a continuum that allows for movement. Indeed, the global spread of neoliberal political economy has served to propel a general movement of all types of societies towards the liberal end of the spectrum (cf. Koenig 2005). This is also reflective of the general ways in which, as Gauthier puts it, the increasing proliferation and implementation of neoliberal ideology and policies have come to propel a ‘complex and multifarious set of processes through which economics has dislodged politics as a structuring and embedding force’ (Gauthier 2015, pp. 71–72).

Marketization in the non-denominational Protestant Christian field Primarily emerging as a response to the fundamental social and cultural changes of the 1960s, non-denominationalism has become epitomized by the spread of non- or cross-denominational neo-evangelical, Charismatic, and Pentecostal so-called ‘seeker sensitive’ churches (Miller 1997). As a particular type of religious phenomenon, non-denominationalism has since spread throughout all corners of the world, with large and growing congregations having been established throughout Latin America, African countries such as Ghana, South Africa, and Nigeria, and East-Asian countries such as South Korea. Primarily targeting the ‘unchurched,’ seeker-sensitive churches tend to emphasize the relationship between faith and personal development and success. While the teachings of these types of churches tend to lean towards the conservative side, they typically also carry the promise of fundamental life transformation and improvement through religion. Non-denominational churches have also been quick to embrace new media technologies as a central means of promotion and proselytization (e.g. Einstein 2008; Hackett 2009). Moreover, it is not uncommon nowadays for these types of churches to utilize different types of market research in order to be able to identify core publics and ‘customers,’ to gear services to niche audiences, to enhance their ‘quality’ and entertainment appeal, and to reduce the demands put on (potential) customers in terms of lifestyle, belief, and commitment (Einstein 2008; Stolz and Usunier 2014, pp. 17–18). In many notable respects, these types of churches have thus increasingly modeled and structured themselves as businesses and come to view themselves as players in an expanded marketplace of ideas and lifestyle choices. Consequently, their primary aim is to cater to the personal religious tastes and sensibilities of the individual. While the proliferation of these types of churches can be observed throughout 22

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societies with different welfare regimes, they have in large part emanated from, and also arguably grown the most, in socioeconomic and sociocultural contexts that lean towards the liberal end of the spectrum. Houston-based Lakewood Church, one of the largest megachurches in the liberal-regime United States, provides a case in point. Singled out by Einstein (2008) as one of the most prominent ‘faith brands’ in the United States, Lakewood Church has grown exponentially since its establishment in 1959 and developed into an international multi-media ministry with a strong emphasis on the relationship between faith and personal development. Understood as ‘spiritual products that have been given popular meaning and awareness through marketing’ (Einstein 2008, p. 92), faith brands are characterized by their close association with key people such as leading personas and various types of ancillary church/ community-related products such as books, DVDs, courses, etc., all of which are marketed and advertised in highly sophisticated ways. The official discourse of Lakewood Church is heavily centered on its leading pastor, Joel Osteen, and the theme of personal achievement and success. In terms of genre and style, the official discourse of the church as found on its official website (lakewoodchurch.com) is blatantly promotional. It is aimed at making the church and its high production-value services, activities, and products as attractive as possible and to deliberately connect them to wider cultural discourses on personal development, successful living, and the ‘entrepreneurial self.’ Only very little is revealed about the actual organizational structure, strategies, or working routines of the church. This, however, is perfectly in line with Lakewood Church’s focus on providing its adherents with attractive individual provisions rather than offering any type of ‘public utility’ for which a higher degree of transparency might be required. The Melbourne-based seeker-sensitive Pentecostal-evangelical megachurch Hillsong, known for its self-produced and heavily branded own style of popular worship music, provides another good example of the increasingly close relationship between non-denominationalism and market and consumer sensibilities. Since its establishment in liberal-regime Australia in 1983, Hillsong has evolved into a transnational multi-site and multi-media ministry with local branches in several major cities around the world. Similar to Lakewood church, the teachings of Hillsong emphasize the relationship between Christian faith and both private and professional personal growth and development. For example, the congregation offers people what it calls ‘master classes’ ‘designed to speak to the leader within us all—to stretch our thinking and help us take our churches and lives forward with new innovative ideas’ (hillsong. com a). Although Hillsong is registered as a non-profit organization, it is structured like a commercial enterprise (Wagner 2014, pp. 61–63). However, apart from a brief account of its ‘Corporate Governance’ provided on its official website (hillsong.com b), the official discourse of Hillsong reveals little about internal deliberations on strategic or other organizational issues. Rather, its official discourse is highly promotional and focused on what the church can provide for the individual member or potential member. The close relationship between market and consumer culture values and imperatives and the non-denominational field also extends to non-Western contexts which constitute ‘emerging market’ societies with mixed economy regimes. Among countless examples, Lagos-based megachurch Christ Embassy (also known as Believers LoveWorld Incorporated) provides a clear illustration. Since its establishment by leading pastor Chris Oyakhilome in 1987, Christ Embassy has developed into an international (and controversy-ridden) conglomeration of churches with several million followers worldwide. The church has actively embraced a range of different types of media for the purposes of communicating its messages, as can be seen in its strong online presence, hugely popular television program 23

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Atmosphere for Miracles (Hackett 2009), and large number of church-related books by its leading pastor—all of which are internationally marketed in sophisticated ways (Adeboye 2003, p. 143). Often situated in the ‘prosperity gospel’ mold, the teachings of Christ Embassy center on the relationship between faith and social mobility and emphasize material wealth as a natural outcome of their particular vision of faithful life and living (Adeboye 2003; Hackett 2009). For example, the ‘Resources’ section of the church’s official website contains an article titled ‘Just keep growing’ that provides the following closing encouragement: If you desire to experience continual growth in every area of your life, then you must build your spirit with God’s Word. Remember that God is willing to give you much more than you could ever imagine (Ephesians 3:20). Start declaring right now, that the Word of God is growing in your finances and health the same way it’s growing in your heart. (cristembassy.org) As this example illustrates, the teachings of Christ Embassy emphasize the intimate connection between faith and both personal and material development and success. This example is also further illustrative of Christ Embassy’s official discourse more generally: it is highly promotional and geared towards individual members and potential members. As the above brief discussion illustrates, many non-denominational Protestant churches around the world have adopted and fully internalized the discourses of market and consumer society. In addition, they have consciously aimed to materialize these discourses in actual practice through configuring their services, messages, and activities in ways that correspond to the consumption-oriented sensibilities of modern individuals (e.g. Einstein 2008). Their official discourse therefore closely mirrors what these churches actually do. Moreover, they all share a drive towards continuous growth and expansion in the context of what they view as a competitive environment of religious and other lifestyle choices. Unconstrained by dense bureaucratic structures, they are free to pursue their aims, which is also clearly reflected in their individual- and consumer-oriented official discourse and its actual practical materialization. In this, their general character is thus also reflective of the broader liberal regimes in which they are embedded.

Marketization in the institutional Christian Protestant field Compared to the increasingly individual- and customer-oriented discourse of many nondenominational churches, as discussed earlier, the response of long-established institutional Protestant churches to ongoing processes of marketization have largely become expressed through an idiom of crisis and need for thoroughgoing organizational change. The response of these types of churches is closely connected to the ways in which neoliberal restructurings have brought about a range of significant changes in public-, third-, and private-sector relations, including those between church and state. While the effects of processes of marketization on the contemporary institutional Protestant field have been both multiple and multifaceted, they have become particularly visible through the ways in which these types of churches have become increasingly susceptible to NPM-inspired organizational values and criteria of organizational effectivity (cf. Martikainen 2012, p. 178; Moberg 2017). By now firmly established across liberal, conservative-corporatist, and social-democratic regimes alike, the principal objective of NPM

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is to reform public-sector bureaucracies by subjecting them to a set of instrumentalrationalist private-sector measures as part of a more general effort to enhance their ‘effectivity’ and ‘performance’ (e.g. Pollitt et al. 2007). NPM has also provided the justification for, and brought about a range of, actual public-sector deregulations and new types of ‘public-private partnerships’ as part of a more general social-organizational shift from ‘government’ (in terms of state power on its own) to ‘governance’ (a broader configuration of state and other key actors, organizations, and elements in wider civil society) (Slater and Tonkiss 2001, p. 143). In many cases, these developments have entailed notable expansions in the ‘opportunity structure’ of religious organizations through opening up new areas of religious/faith-based secular partnerships and modes of cooperation (Martikainen 2012, p. 180). In the liberal regime of the United States, where state and religion have been firmly legally separated for centuries and the religious landscape has always been organized along denominational and congregational lines, the changing fortunes and discursive practices of the long-established so-called ‘mainline’ Protestant churches provide apt illustrations of an increasing adoption of market- and NPM-associated discourse and values on the part of institutional religious organizations. The US mainline churches all established dense bureaucratic structures already in the early 20th century as part of their concentrated ‘Social Gospel’ engagement in social issues and causes (Thuesen 2002). While they all continued to grow until the 1950s, the 1960s came to mark the start of a long process of perpetual mainline decline that has continued into the first two decades of the new millennium with Pew Research Center’s 2014 Religious Landscape Study documenting a decrease in mainline membership from 18.1 percent of the adult population of the United States in 2007 to 14.7 percent in 2014. In spite of their numerical decline, however, the mainline churches nevertheless retain close relationships to the core social establishment and continue to act as central participants in various forms of church-, state/government-, and third-sector partnerships (e.g. Lantzer 2012). In the words of Wuthnow and Evans (2002, p. 19), the ‘model’ for mainline church life has increasingly become ‘that of a network, or referral system.’ As a central part of these developments, the mainline churches have also become increasingly prone to adopt market-associated discourse, values, and imperatives and to reconfigure their organizational cultures in accordance with new NPM-associated criteria of organizational effectivity. Indeed, when looking at the official discourse of US mainline churches, the perpetuation of market and NPM imperatives and values is clearly visible already at a cursory glance. Above all, we find an increasing emphasis on and preoccupation with strategic thinking and the proliferation of notions and terms such as ‘cost-effectiveness,’ ‘flexibility,’ ‘total-quality management,’ ‘marketing,’ and ‘branding.’ There are also plenty of examples of the actual materialization of such discourses, ranging from the establishment of new working units such as the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America ‘Mission Advancement Unit’ to large-scale undertakings such as the United Methodist Church’s 2001 Igniting Ministry and 2009 Rethink Church advertising and marketing campaigns (Moberg 2017). The US mainline churches therefore provide examples of churches that have remained deeply embedded in the social structures of a strongly liberal regime but nevertheless largely followed a pathway towards marketization that resembles that of public institutions. In the liberal regime of the UK, an increasing perpetuation of market-associated discourse and imperatives is also clearly observable in the changing discursive practices of the Church of England (CoE), which still retains its formal status as state church. The CoE reached its modern-time high point during the ‘Anglican decade’ of the 1950s (Davie 2015, p. 29) after 25

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which a period of radical change set in during the 1960s when traditional institutional religion, as represented by the CoE and the other traditional churches, became challenged on virtually all fronts. Based on a new realization that thoroughgoing changes were required in order to keep the church à jour with cultural developments and remain socially relevant, the CoE opted for an accommodating approach to modernity and ‘became part of the social fabric and the reigning moral and cultural ethos’ (Woodhead 2012, p. 15). Following its own experience of progressive decline and changing social status, the CoE has devised a number of strategic initiatives aimed at stemming the state of perpetual decline that it finds itself in. These include the broader Anglican and ecumenical so-called Fresh Expressions initiative, the principal purpose of which is to create new ways in which the church can reach beyond the parish level and ‘overcome the limitations of the “inherited model”’ (Davie 2015, p. 146). The Fresh Expressions initiative emerged out of a series of previous large-scale strategic undertakings such as the so-called Breaking New Ground initiative in 1994 and the Mission-shaped Church: Church Planting and Fresh Expressions of Church in a Changing Context initiative in 2004, all of which were designed to aid what the CoE has come to refer to as ‘church growth.’ As part of these initiatives, official CoE discourse has also become increasingly marked by an emphasis on strategic thinking and the heavy employment of market and NPM notions and terminology (for a more detailed discussion see Moberg 2017, pp. 102–109). Here, too, the pathway that the CoE has taken towards increasing marketization closely resembles that of other public institutions. Similar developments have also been observed on the institutional Protestant field in conservative-corporatist settings such as those of the Netherlands (Sengers 2010) and Germany (Schlamelcher 2013). In the social-democratic settings of the Nordic countries, market and NPM values and imperatives have also clearly made their way into the official discourse of the Nordic Lutheran majority churches, which all retain close structural relationships to their respective states. While the Nordic countries have all witnessed significant neoliberal public sector deregulations in recent decades and thus gradually moved towards the liberal end of the spectrum, they still retain many characteristics of the socialdemocratic model. Beginning already in the 19th century as part of their growing concerns to remain closely aligned with the political and social establishment and the everyday concerns of the population at large, the Nordic churches grew increasingly liberal, inclusivist, and pragmatic in general outlook (e.g. Kasselstrand and Eltanani 2013). They have all developed dense bureaucratic structures and continue to maintain a strong presence on every level of society. Lutheran uniformity culture has, however, been considerably weakened following steadily decreasing church membership figures coupled with accelerating religious diversification since the early 1970s. But although structural relationships between church and state have likewise been progressively weakening over a period of several decades, they still remain strong, especially at the level of administration and finances. Beginning in the early 1990s, the Nordic churches have all gradually transformed themselves into civil-service and public utility-oriented institutions and increasingly come to adopt third-sector organizational models. However, as they have traditionally been strong supporters of the Nordic welfare state model, their social work and welfare provision has traditionally been, and in large part remains, closely coordinated with that of the state and local secular municipalities. In Sweden, following new legislation and the disestablishment of the Church of Sweden (CoS) in 2000, its general order of discourse has yet increasingly become marked by an emphasis on strategic thinking and NPM imperatives. The changed legal status of the CoS has also brought some identifiable changes in its self-perception as a public institution (e.g. 26

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Petterson 2013; Moberg 2017). For example, the CoS has increased its investments in communications and ICT and adopted a range of actual marketing practices as part of its efforts to construct one single and all-encompassing ‘Church of Sweden brand.’ As Kornberger (2010, p. xiii) reminds us, branding has developed into a ‘new management framework that turns old wisdoms upside down by conceptualizing the organization from the outside in.’ The earnest adoption of banding on the part of the CoS thereby also clearly signals a general shift from a public state organization type of mindset towards that of a quasi-autonomous non-governmental organization. In Denmark, where the ties between church and state have remained the closest and strongest in wider Nordic comparison (Nielsen and Kühle 2011), the general order of discourse of the Church of Denmark (CoD) has become increasingly marked by calls for renewal and change. It is important to note, though, that as the CoD retains the status of official change church and legally remains under the authority of the Danish Ministry of Ecclesiastical Affairs, its official discourse consequently also remains more closely aligned with that of the Danish public administration field more generally. Denmark thus constitutes a special case where the CoD remains an integral part of the social and political establishment. As explored in detail by Rasmussen (2018), this state of affairs provides part of the explanation as to why the official discourse on the CoD, beginning in the early 1990s, has become so strongly permeated by NPM-associated discourse, values, and imperatives while simultaneously remaining strongly embedded in a public utility and ‘civil service’ idiom. One notable way in which marketization discourses have become materialized within the CoS and CoD is through the ways in which increasing investments in areas such as communication and ICT, marketing, and branding have led to the forming of new working units focusing on these types of issues as opposed to more ‘conventional’ forms of church work (Schlamelcher 2013). Another notable way is through the actual marketing and branding endeavors that have taken place and the visibility they have generated. As the above discussion illustrates, the official discourse of institutional Protestant churches in the United States, the UK, and the Nordic countries has become increasingly permeated by market- and NPM-associated discourse and organizational values. In sharp contrast to non-denominational independent churches, the official discourse of institutional Protestant churches generally continues to reflect an establishmentarian and ‘public utility’ mindset, although this may be slowly changing. Their increasing adoption of market- and NPM-associated discourse is perhaps best explained by the fact that they have maintained organizational structures that remain geared towards public, collective social engagement rather than a focus on individual needs and sensibilities. Since their continued active civic engagements largely take place through their bureaucratic structures, this makes it more likely for them to become subjected to stronger inter-organizational ideological and discursive influence and pressures to conform to new NPM-associated values and criteria of institutional and organizational effectivity (Moberg 2017, p. 76). But marketization discourses have also come to provide these churches with ready-made explanations and taken-for-granted ways of talking about ‘proper’ and ‘effective’ institutional and organizational culture, and it is to a large extent on the basis of such discourse and values that new church imaginaries are now being reconstructed.

Conclusion This chapter has aimed to highlight the various ways and degrees to which different types of Protestant Christian churches have embraced the ideational and discursive traits of 27

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market and consumer society. The discussion in this chapter has been based on the contention that actual, practical changes in the organizational structure, communication practices, and modus operandi of social institutions and organizations in general tend to be intimately connected to broader changes in discursive practices and changing institutional and organizational imaginaries. In this regard, Esping-Andersen’s (1990) typology of welfare regimes provides a general framework for understanding the broader social and political economic contexts in which such changes occur. However, as the above discussion shows, the pathways that institutional Protestant churches have taken towards increasing marketization have been largely similar across societies with both liberal and social-democratic welfare regimes. Exploring the official discourse of religious communities—whether institutional and traditional or more newly established and independent—in particular social contexts at particular points in time, provides scholars with important clues as to what actual, practical developments we might expect to see in the future. A focus on the dialectical relationship between discursive and social change thus provides scholars with a particular set of tools for the identification and analysis of some of the main ways in which broader processes of discursive change relate to, and often also translate into, religious change. More specifically, a discursive approach provides scholars with valuable tools for identifying the ways in which changing discursive practices may become operationalized as part of the construction of new imaginaries for religious agency in a broader social and cultural environment marked by market imperatives and the ethos of conspicuous consumption. In addition, it also provides tools for identifying how new discursive practices may become materialized through the actual reconfiguration of religious activities, provisions, organizational structures, working routines, etc. It remains clear, though, that a fuller understanding of the actual, practical consequences and effects of ongoing processes of marketization on the future organization, life, and practices of religious communities cannot be adequately assessed on the basis of an analysis of their official discourse alone. Future research could usefully strive to combine an analysis of the changing discursive practices of religious communities with in-depth empirical explorations of how the operationalization and materialization of market and consumer culture discourse, values, and imperatives actually play out and are negotiated in real-life situations in different types of religious contexts around the world.

References Adeboye, O., 2003. Pentecostal challenges in Africa and Latin America: a comparative focus on Nigeria and Brazil. Afrika Zamani, 11–12, 136–159. Bourdieu, P., and Wacquant, L., 2001. NewLiberalSpeak: notes on the new planetary vulgate. Radical Philosophy, 105 (Jan-Feb), 1–5. Carrier, J. G., 1997. Preface. In: J. G. Carrier, ed. Meanings of the Market: The Free Market in Western Culture. Oxford: Berg, vii–xvi. christembassy.com. Just keep growing. Available from: www.christembassy.org/?p=10895 [Accessed 8 May 2018]. Davie, G., 2015. Religion in Britain: A Persistent Paradox. Malden, MA: Blackwell Publishers. Einstein, M., 2008. Brands of Faith: Marketing Religion in a Commercial Age. New York: Routledge. Esping-Andersen, G., 1990. The Three Worlds of Welfare Capitalism. Cambridge: Polity Press. Gauthier, F., 2015. Religion, media and the dynamics of consumerism in globalising societies. In: K. Granholm, M. Moberg, and S. Sjö, eds. Religion, Media, and Social Change. London: Routledge, 71–88.

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Gauthier, F., Martikainen, T., and Woodhead, L., 2013. Acknowledging a global shift: a primer for thinking about religion in consumer societies. Implicit Religion, 16 (3), 261–275. Gauthier, F., Woodhead, L., and Martikainen, M., 2013. Introduction: consumerism as the ethos of consumer society. In: F. Gauthier and T. Martikainen, eds. Religion in Consumer Society: Brands, Consumers, Markets. Farnham: Ashgate, 1–26. Hackett, R. I. J., 2009. The new virtual (inter)face of African Pentecostalism. Society, 46 (6), 496–503. Harvey, D., 2005. A Brief History of Neoliberalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. hillsong.com a. Hillsong corporate governance. Available from: https://hillsong.com/policies/corporategovernance/ [Accessed 8 May 2018]. hillsong.com b. The experience. Available from: https://hillsong.com/conference/experience/#about [Accessed 8 May 2018]. Isakjee, A., 2017. Welfare state regimes: a literature review. IRiS working paper series. University of Birmingham. Available from: www.birmingham.ac.uk/Documents/college-social-sciences/socialpolicy/iris/2017/IRiS-WP-18-2017UPWEB18.pdf [Accessed 12 August 2018]. Kasselstrand, I., and Eltanani, M. K., 2013. Church affiliation and trust in the state: survey data evidence from four Nordic countries. Nordic Journal of Religion and Society, 26 (2), 103–119. Koenig, M., 2005. Politics and religion in European nation-states. Institutional varieties and contemporary transformations. In: B. Giesen, ed. Religion and Politics: Cultural Perspectives. Leiden: Brill, 291–316. Kornberger, M., 2010. Brand Society: How Brands Transform Management and Lifestyle. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. lakewoodchurch.com. Available from: www.lakewoodchurch.com/Pages/Home.aspx [Accessed 8 May 2018]. Lantzer, J. S., 2012. Mainline Christianity: The Past and Future of America’s Majority Faiths. New York: New York University Press. Martikainen, T., 2012. Towards a new political economy of religion: reflections on Marion Maddox and Nicolas de Bremond d’Ars’. Social Compass, 59 (2), 173–182. Mautner, G., 2010. Language and the Market Society: Critical Reflections on Discourse and Dominance. New York: Routledge. Miller, D. E., 1997. Reinventing American Protestantism: Christianity in the New Millennium. Berkeley: University of California Press. Moberg, M., 2017. Church, Market, and Media: A Discursive Approach to Institutional Religious Change. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Nielsen, M. V., and Kühle, L., 2011. Religion and state in Denmark: exception among exceptions? Nordic Journal of Religion and Society, 24 (2), 173–188. Petterson, P., 2013. From standardised offer to consumer adaptation: challenges to the Church of Sweden’s identity. In: F. Gauthier and T. Martikainen, eds. Religion in Consumer Society: Brands, Consumers, Markets. Farnham: Ashgate, 43–58. Pew Research Center, 2014. Religious Landscape Study. Available from: www.pewforum.org/2015/05/ 12/americas-changing-religious-landscape/ [Accessed 17 October 2016]. Pollitt, C., van Thiel, S., and Homburg, V., eds., 2007. New Public Management in Europe: Adaptations and Alternatives. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Rasmussen, J. H., 2018. The marketization of church closures. Religion, 48 (3), 474–486. Schlamelcher, J., 2013. The decline of the parishes and the rise of city churches: the German Evangelical Church in the age of neoliberalism. In: T. Martikainen and F. Gauthier, eds. Religion in the Neoliberal Age: Political Economy and Modes of Governance. Farnham: Ashgate, 53–67. Sengers, E., 2010. Marketing in Dutch mainline congregations: what religious organizations offer and how they do it. Journal of Contemporary Religion, 25 (1), 21–35. Slater, D., 1997. Consumer Culture and Modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Slater, D., and Tonkiss, F., 2001. Market Society: Markets and Modern Social Theory. Cambridge: Polity Press. Stolz, J., and Usunier, J.-C., 2014. Religions as brands: new perspectives on the marketization of religion and spirituality. In: J. Stoltz and J.-C. Usunier, eds. Religions as Brands: New Perspectives on the Marketization of Religion and Spirituality. Farnham: Ashgate, 3–25. Thrift, N., 2005. Knowing Capitalism. London: Sage. Thuesen, P. J., 2002. The logic of mainline churchliness: historical background since the reformation. In: R. Wuthnow and J. H. Evans, eds. The Quiet Hand of God: Faith-Based Activism and the Public Role of Mainline Protestantism. Berkeley: University of California Press, 27–53.

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Trentmann, F., 2006. Knowing consumers: consumers in economics, law and civil society. In: F. Trentmann, ed. The Making of the Consumer: Knowledge, Power and Identity in the Modern World. Oxford: Berg, 1–27. Wagner, T., 2014. Branding, music, and religion: Standardization and adaptation in the experience of the “Hillsong Sound”. In: J.C. Usunier and J. Stolz, eds. Religions as Brands: New Perspectives on the Marketization of Religion and Spirituality. Farnham, UK: Ashgate, 59–73. Woodhead, L., 2012. Introduction. In: L. Woodhead and R. Catto, eds. Religion and Change in Modern Britain. London: Routledge, 1–33. Wuthnow, R., and Evans, J. H., 2002. Introduction. In: R. Wuthnow and J. H. Evans, eds. The Quiet Hand of God: Faith-Based Activism and the Public Role of Mainline Protestantism. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1–25.

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2 ‘The Greatest Leader of All’ The faces of leadership and Christianity in contemporary Brazil (1980s–2010s) Karina Kosicki Bellotti

Introduction This chapter analyzes the leadership discourses and practices based on Christian values propagated in Brazil in the past 30 years. Colonized by the Portuguese from the 1500s to the 1800s, Brazil has a major Catholic tradition, yet is well-known for its wide religious diversity, which includes native religions, African diaspora religions (Candomblé and Umbanda, mainly), Spiritism (by the late 19th century), Protestantism (also by the 19th century) and Pentecostalism (20th century). The 20th century was also marked by an influx of immigrants with Eastern and Muslim traditions, along with the introduction of New Age practices. All of these were minority religions (Dawson 2007; Schmidt and Engler 2016). Since the 1980s, Brazil has seen a sharp rise in Evangelical Christians, mainly Pentecostals, due to their direct evangelization in peripheral zones inhabited by low-income Brazilians, as well as their use of media and marketing resources (Chesnut 1997). Evangelicals were 6.6% of the population and Catholics were 89% in 1980, and in the 2010 religious census (IBGE 2010), Evangelicals reached 22.2%, while Catholics were 64.6% of the population. Initially founded by US missionaries, Evangelical churches were nationalized by the early 20th century, but the bonds with US Evangelicalism continues until today, through the media, theological institutes, and circulation of laypeople and preachers (Bellotti 2016, pp. 451–461; Freston 2016, pp. 430–450). During these 30 years, Brazil was also a developing Latin American country that entered the globalized world and economy, facing hyperinflation, recession, and social insecurities, as the consequences of 20 years of civil-military dictatorship. From 1964 to 1985 the country was ruled by the military, with the support of right-wing sectors of civil society (Skidmore 1990). Although some of these problems were overcome by the mid-1990s and 2000s, global issues strikingly affected the country. These included fierce economical competition, an increase in work hours and low paid jobs, and the ebb and flow of speculative capital. In this context, books and services teaching leadership skills based on Christian values or on Jesus Christ himself, written mainly by US authors, have appeared in the Brazilian selfhelp industry, along with advice from other spiritual and religious traditions. Reliable figures

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on the sales of those books are unavailable, but more titles are placed on the market each year, as is also the case with books on Christian living, Esoterism, and Prosperity. The former theme became popular as new churches arose with the Health and Wealth Gospel. Nevertheless, in a moment of economic and social despair, the apparently timeless recipes for individual success and victory became part of the discourses and practices of Brazilian Christians. Therefore, this chapter aims to historically approach distinct guides for leadership offered by Christian means of communication to equip religious leadership with the knowhow of the business and managerial world and endow lay people with Christian leadership skills and morals. Since the media play a fundamental role in the diffusion of such discourses and practices, the theoretical frame of this study is the analysis of religion, media, and culture regarding the self-help culture and leadership studies. General aspects of such products and services will be presented to evaluate how, and what kind of, readership is addressed in such media. Furthermore, the studies on religion and economy are paramount to understanding the rise of neoliberalism and its impacts on the religious field, with the increases in consumerism, individualism, management, governance, and marketization. What kinds of religiosity and values are appreciated, and which ones are rejected when Jesus Christ is portrayed as C.E. O. or ‘The Greatest Leader of All’? As these messages are conveyed in a self-help culture, the leadership model is individually driven, referring to a direct relationship between the leader and his/her followers, and devoid of further historical and social conditions that explain the leader’s tribulations. Yet, the presence of Jesus as role model is conveyed as an alternative to an allegedly egocentric and greedy contemporary culture. As much as some of the authors wish to give an ethical model of leadership conduct, such advice calls into question whether and how a Christian-based leadership can be reconciled with the recent development of globalized and neoliberal capitalism.

Self-help literature, leadership lessons, and the American Jesus In the recent Brazilian religious field, the main battlefield has become between the media and the market, used to conquer the hearts and minds of Brazilians with effective solutions and spiritual comfort for everyday life problems. The growth of the self-help publishing industry in Brazil since the 1980s was one of the venues in which religious writers from different traditions became popular, stimulating an increasing tendency of individual religious and spiritual autonomy over the course of the 20th century. The theoretical frame of religion, media, and culture studies aims at the complex relations between media and religion. If the first studies were on the instrumental uses of media by religious institutions (Horsfield 1984), this field had lately incorporated different perspectives on both subjects (Morgan 2008; Lynch et al. 2012). By media I refer not only to the means of communication but also to the communication systems that permeate everyday life in the globalized context. Thus, media are meaning-making systems, engaged in the social construction of reality (Morgan 2008; Gauthier 2014, pp. 75–88). By religion, I refer to the religious and spiritual beliefs and practices of both individuals and social groups, related or not to traditional religious institutions. The deinstitutionalization and detraditionalization of religion enhanced religious autonomy and the media are at the very core of the reshaping of religion in terms of identity construction, consumerism, and expressions of authenticity— characteristics of the neoliberal and globalized context since the 1980s (Gauthier et al. 2016). Such processes can be observed in Brazil, and, in the main subject of this chapter, the circulation of Christian leadership discourses, refer to a media phenomenon built by 32

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independent religious agents—writers, consultants—aimed at a wider audience. A historical approach to the relations between media and religion is useful for comprehending the trajectory of the self-help literature and the leadership lessons from the United States to Brazil. Self-help literature has been one of the most enduring popular genres and has become the primary vehicle for religious agents to convey advice from their experiential point of view, fomenting a media culture based on an individualistic and therapeutic approach to numerous types of problems. Donald Meyer (1988), Roy Anker (1999), Cohen and Boyer (2008), and Erin A. Smith (2015) demonstrate that self-help literature has roots in AngloSaxon Calvinism from the late 18th and early 19th centuries, diffused with the popularization of printed media in the United States. By the turn of the 20th century, these books focused on the adaptation of one’s personality to succeed in the urban-industrial and impersonal world of work and business. Thus came the popularity of positive thinking, mind cure, personal magnetism, among other techniques to fight daily problems and personal issues with the power of the mind and faith (Meyer 1988). To this day, this genre specializes in how to deal with emotions and thoughts, with short chapters and sentences, suggestions of application of lessons, self-reflexive questions, popular wisdom, and quotes of celebrities, scholars, political authorities, and religious leaders to give legitimacy to the author’s ideas (Illouz 2007). Since the printed media of the 19th century (Schneider and Dornbusch 1958; Meyer 1988), selfhelp literature has shaped and sold religious narratives and advice for success, victory, happiness, and self-realization within a therapeutic, experiential, and pragmatic religiosity, in cultural products like the books and Christian coaching and consulting services analyzed in this chapter. Self-help literature became popular in the 20th century, with wide distribution throughout the world. In Brazil, there has been a surge in religious publication since the 1980s. The growth of the Evangelical population has run in parallel with the increase in Evangelical publishing over the past 30 years, which sold mostly translations of US authors, such as Max Lucado, Benny Hinn, and many others. Among the themes approached by these books was leadership, which combined Christian values and lessons with the secular leadership literature. Such production in the United States bloomed by the 1980s (Rost 1991), following the rise of yuppie culture and valorization of highly competitive marketplaces, in times of nascent globalization, or what Boltanski and Chiapello (1999) named the ‘third spirit of capitalism,’ marked by neoliberalism. In his analysis of the field of leadership studies since the late 19th century, Rost (1991, p. 94) demonstrated that the language of the leadership literature came from the industrial paradigm of management and social psychology. That meant: good leadership means good management, especially after the 1980s, when US discourses and practices regarding leadership were part of a mythological narrative of the socalled enduring position of the United States as a world military, political, and economic leader. Such literature was also released in Brazil with translations into Portuguese. The leadership discourses give us a glimpse of the wider processes of globalization and neoliberalization of religion. Therefore, another theoretical frame is given by the studies on religion and economy, developed by Gauthier et al. (2013a, 2013b), which are pertinent to explaining why anyone should aspire to become a ‘leader’ and not just a manager. Since the late 1970s, in the affluent Northern Hemisphere, neoliberalism has risen as the dominant economic ideology, pushing the globalization processes along with consumerism and individualism: ‘from being embedded within the social, the political and the religious, the neoliberal age is that in which market economics are henceforth that in which other social realities are said to be themselves embedded’ (Gauthier et al. 2013b, p. 13). 33

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In Brazil, although neoliberalism as economic politics was not implemented until the late 1990s, consumerism and individualism have long been valued as distinct expression of status, in a profoundly unequal society. According to Gauthier et al. (2013b), religion and economy are not separate spheres, although not reduced to one another. The economic changes resonate in the religious field in the form of the neoliberalization of religion, i.e., religion becomes deregulated and directed to individual consumption, providing this-worldly, experiential, and emotional solutions to everyday issues, in which freedom of choice is imperative (Gauthier et al. 2013b). This generates the paradox by which ‘deregulation’ shapes religion in novel ways, in tune with a ‘market model,’ and according to new modes of authority and authenticity that are oriented toward experience and self-realization. Neoliberalization also enacts the valorization of marketization, governance, and management. The latter is crucial to our analysis, since all the books explored in this chapter (and many more on religion and leadership) use management language and concepts to depict religious leadership. As Gauthier et al. write: Management lies at the crux of the economy, politics, society and culture (. . .) as with consumerism, management has infused social life to the point where it provides the language with which personal and social aspirations and realities can themselves be expressed. (Gauthier et al. 2013b, p. 16) Our case study shows one particular means by which this process has produced novel and intricate crossovers between economics (management) and religion that have penetrated whole strands of mainstream culture. Although managerial books and manuals have existed since the early 20th century, by the 1980s, they focused on the production of the leader, and when they appropriated the Christian symbolism to humanize the workplace, also hid the mechanisms of exploitation and profit of capitalist companies behind the religious/spiritual curtain. In this context, religious literature of leadership has been released in the United States and translated into Portuguese, prescribing lessons of leadership for church leaders, and role models of leadership for laypeople based on examples of Jesus, taken from diverse interpretations of the Gospels, mixed with concepts of leadership developed from the early 20th century onwards. Some such theories are: the great men or traits theory (leadership is explained by one’s exceptional traits), behavioral theory (leadership is determined by the sole relationship between leader and follower), and excellence theory (typical of the manuals of management, featuring CEOs; popular in the 1990s) (Rost 1991, pp. 13–36). Such theories can still be seen in both secular and religious leadership books today, as in the examples that follow. From the books of the 1990s to the leadership media industry of the early 2000s, there is a predominance of US authors in the religious field. These authors also offer courses, webinars and seminars, and consulting services worldwide, holding representation in countries such as Brazil. Especially in the Evangelical Brazilian field, the presence of North Americans in the marketplace of culture is common and welcomed as a sign of prestige. And the reason that Jesus is the primary character in such literature is also historical—not only because he is the main figure of Christianity but also due to the US Protestant transformation of his figure in the popular culture at the turn of the 19th through the 20th centuries (Prothero 2004). Since the 19th century, the figure of Jesus Christ has become increasingly devoid of his supernatural characteristics to fit human representations, becoming more a US national icon 34

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than a deity. This strategy has helped to shape Jesus for national mass consumption, interreligious understanding (the creation of the concept of Judeo-Christian culture in the early 20th century), and missionary purposes. Jesus was the son of God made man among humanity, whose examples can be followed by anyone. The fact that his humanity was the main material for popular literature and pop culture portraits also explains this preference for his story and personality as role model (Prothero 2004).

Jesus as leadership model Before the popular portraits of Jesus as a model leader of recent decades, just a few books explored this idea. One of the first was Bruce Barton’s The Man Nobody Knows (1925), presenting a masculine representation of the Jesus of Nazareth. The servant leadership model was first developed by Robert Greenleaf in The Servant as Leader in 1970, in which Jesus is a servant leader, i.e., a humble leader who serves (and sometimes sacrifices himself for) his followers, with high moral and ethical standards. As neoliberalism advanced, the representations of Jesus as leader became popular by the 1980s and 1990s with US books like Jesus C.E.O. by Laurie Beth Jones (1996), Lead like Jesus (2005) by Ken Blanchard and Phil Hodges, and The Servant—or The Monk and the Executive, by James C. Hunter (2004). Hunter’s volume has popularized the idea of servant leadership in Brazil in the 2010s, demonstrating that while religion is reshaped by economy, economy also can be conceptualized in religious and spiritual terms (Gauthier et al. 2013b, p. 9)—such are the following cases. James C. Hunter, Baptist and human resources specialist, wrote The Servant, a fictitious story of a frustrated executive who seeks refuge in a distant monastery to rethink his life. There, he finds a former and famous C.E.O. who became a monk and taught leadership based on Jesus Christ and the Golden Rule (to treat others as one would like to be treated). Although the monk is one of the main characters, his Catholic affiliation is not mentioned. The book mixes situations of daily challenges of leadership, ideas from management and social psychology theories, and lessons of a non-authoritative type of leadership that make leaders put first the needs of their followers. Although the author affirms that these lessons can be used in any type of organization, his language is permeated with management jargon, referring to business and work relations primarily. Jesus is mentioned as the main example of love and understanding, but the idea of servant leadership does not refer to any biblical passage. Hunt sustains that most problems between employees and employers in companies come from their bad relationships, yet he is silent about the capitalist nature of work relations. The application of the Golden Rule and the Servant approach to relations would bring happiness and satisfaction to all, and it would make for a better world if used in other social organizations. The contemporary world suffers from egocentrism and greed, so servant leadership would contribute to the improvement of relations between leaders and followers. Such ideas are typical of the behavioral theory of leadership in which there is only the interaction between the leader and the follower, while other variables affecting work relations, such as market demands, economic variations, and political regulations, are absent. As such, this literature conveys deeply neoliberal values and an exclusively individualist, de-socialized, and depoliticized conception of the social world. According to Hunter, in his third book, Back to the Monastery (2014), 80% of copies of his previous books were sold in Brazil, although there is no data on the profile of its buyers. Around four million copies of his first two books were sold, according to the cover of the third book, but no precise data are available. Recently, in 2016, a major public bank, the 35

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Bank of Brazil, offered an instructional online certification course based on Hunter’s work to its employees. Also, a theater play based on the book, named The Monk and the Executive, was promoted by a human resources company called Valoriza-te (Value Yourself, in Portuguese), which staged the play for companies, universities, schools, and the general public (Monge 2018). Since 2018, the company has been offering an online course, providing the play in full HD, along with weekly lessons on leadership, such as: ‘Is authority built on service and sacrifice? How?,’ and ‘The greatest leaders were servants: Gandhi, Martin Luther King, Mother Theresa’ (Curso 2018). The behavioral approach to leadership is also present in Lead like Jesus (2007), by Ken Blanchard and Phil Hodges. Hodges is a Christian and a human resources specialist, and Blanchard is known for his management books from the early 1980s (Blanchard and Johnson 1982), in which the leader gradually delegates more tasks to his/her subordinate, according to his/her level of expertise. According to the authors, this model was also offered by Jesus to his disciples—a practical leadership model for every organization, with the main objective of transforming followers into leaders. A new model of leadership is urgently needed, in the face of the disbelief in traditional models of leadership in society. Therefore, Jesus of Nazareth, servant of God, is the ultimate model of humble leadership, which can promote the kingdom of God based on love, justice, and service in any situation. However, the language of business and management reminds us that such goals can be translated into efficacy and excellence in organizations. It produces better results: the best service for clients and employees, overcoming incompetency, and bringing success, which would stimulate ethics and honesty. The servant leader becomes an asset to the company. As Michel Foucault (2008) observed, one effect of neoliberalism is that individuals are shaped by the entrepreneurial model, leading them to be oriented toward economic productivity and growth, as well as to style themselves as entrepreneurs. Here, the religious figure of Jesus serves to give transcendent legitimation to this neoliberalization of the self at the same time that it reframes religion and religious leadership in neoclassical economic terms. The management of emotions is also targeted by Lead Like Jesus. The demonstration of compassion by Jesus preceded the contemporary preoccupation with emotional intelligence (Goleman 2005) in organizations. In The Servant (Hunter 2004), love is not only an emotion but also something to be put into action for the greater good. It is interesting to note that emotions are welcomed to be part of the world of work, but only if controlled to be productive, rationalized. Eva Illouz (2007) defends that capitalism has instituted a new culture of emotions, an ‘emotional capitalism,’ in which ‘affect is made an essential aspect of economic behavior and in which emotional life—especially that of the middle classes— follows the logic of economic relations and exchange.’ And, according to Thomas Frank (2002), when such emotions are conveyed by a man, he is considered noble—the leader cares—but when the same emotions are shown by a woman, she is considered weak and uncontrolled. Most of the leadership books available in Brazil are written by men, referring to a male-oriented type of organization. In Jesus C.E.O. (1996), by Laurie Beth Jones, as in The Servant (Hunter 2004), Jesus sacrificed himself many times on behalf of his disciples, until he made the ultimate sacrifice on the cross. The idea of sacrifice is present in Jesus C.E.O., as Jones advises her readers that the leader should put first his followers, his employees, his subordinates, his clients—service and sacrifice go hand in hand, indicating a close relation with the post-industrial reality of work, with extra working hours taking the scarce time of leisure, to achieve excellence and productivity. One book directly associated Jesus with the Prosperity (Health and Wealth) Gospel: The Leadership Secrets of Jesus (1996), by Mike Murdock, Prosperity preacher. Jesus was an 36

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entrepreneur who solved problems and marketed his products—salvation being the most important product—with joy and boldness. He was persecuted and misinterpreted, and yet he understood the insatiable appetite for excellence and personal development. The book carries managerial and prosperity language directed to a presumed readership of entrepreneurs (or aspiring entrepreneurs), claiming that Jesus was rich and wanted to multiply people’s finances, fulfilling the will of God. However skewed and improbable the foundations in scripture for such affirmations may be, such representations of Jesus resonate with the Prosperity Gospel, which claims that a good Christian deserves financial rewards due to his/her personal sacrifices. Exit narratives of humbleness and poverty in the Gospels, as well as any foundation for social and humanitarian interpretations, such as those found in Liberation theology and Social Gospel. These books usually don’t include explicative notes to US cultural references; neither do they provide comments of Brazilian editors about the application of these leadership lessons to the Brazilian reality. They convey the figure of Jesus as the same, today, yesterday, and tomorrow, and yet he becomes multiple according to each appropriation of his figure. He is usually portrayed with his human traits and extraordinary personality, devoid of his historical context. It’s a personal Jesus who helps readers cope with the world of deregulated work, giving a sense of self-worth to readers who wish to overcome their challenges. These books present an open interpretation of leadership, success, victory, to be imagined by each reader from his/her experience. This a-temporal characteristic is one of the main ingredients in the longevity of this genre, along with its open interpretation, and in countries like Brazil, the fact that the authors are foreign also attracts readership. Readers are also treated as individuals devoid of their historical, social, and cultural context, whose problems and solutions depend on their own actions and thoughts. There is no specific data on readership, but from the appropriations of the leadership concepts analyzed in the next section, these ideas circulate within and outside the religious communities.

Leadership services in business and Christian fields In the Christian services for the development of leadership skills available in Brazil, Christian coaches, counselors, pastors, and other specialists claim to be inspired by Jesus as a role model of leader. The Christian leadership lessons become part of a greater industry of leadership worldwide, in which the frontiers between the secular and the sacred realms are blurred, to the point where the leader is someone vested with both spiritual and material qualities. In instructional materials for MBA courses at the Getúlio Vargas Foundation, one of the most prestigious business institutions in Brazil, there are modules of leadership with a historical approach to managerial studies and the latest tendencies in leadership studies (Motta 2011). The materials reinforce the idea that the leader is not a manager and must be committed to the growth of the team, allowing each member to reach his/her full potential and become a leader him/herself—in other words, to become a prophet of self-realization through entrepreneurialism. The leader must have a vision, an idea of mission, a sense of responsibility and accountability, sensibility to listen to his/her subordinates. In terms of emotional intelligence, the leader should connect emotion, reason, morals, ethics for the greater good, while bearing impeccable character and honesty, as everyone is looking up to him/her. It is a heavy weight on his/her shoulders, as the leader is deemed to be the cause of success or failure of a team or even a company. 37

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Several Christian services and professionals aim to develop appropriate leadership skills, such as the Global Leadership Summit, promoted worldwide by Willow Creek Community Church (Global 2018), the US megachurch founded by Bill Hybels (Sargeant 2000). The summit is hosted in the United States and is a two-day event with several speakers from both religious and secular fields, such as US megachurch pastor Rick Warren and mega-rock star Bono, who share their experiences of success as leaders. In Brazil, the GLS has been broadcast since the early 2000s in partnership with Evangelical churches, along with Brazilian facilitators and translated instructional material, provided by the company Envisionar. That company also offers its own online training courses, books, and consulting services for churches, children’s ministries, and Christian businesses. The consultancy aims ‘to help churches, denominations, or organizations to identify what God wants to do [with them] and proposes practical strategies on how to execute such plans’ (Capacitação 2018). The company also sells courses to prepare leaders, whether in churches or secular organizations— in their portfolios there are many modules to be personalized by the customers (Cursos de Capacitação 2018). A growing tendency in the leadership field is Christian Coaching, which has existed in the United States since the early 2000s and among Brazilian professionals and companies since the early 2010s. On one of these services’ websites, there’s a quote from Jack Welsh, the famous General Electric C.E.O. and best-selling leadership author: ‘In the future, all leaders will be coaches. S/He who won’t develop such ability, will be automatically discarded by the market’ (Act Coaching 2018). The fact that the quotation is displayed by a coaching company—Act Coaching—with texts on Christian Coaching, is indicative of how rapidly coaching is being appropriated by Christian professionals. According to the Institute of Christian Coaching, Christian coaching is a process of helping people develop, whose practices are based on biblical teachings. The relationship between coach and coachees is based on such virtues as love, humility, and sincerity. Many Brazilian Christian coaches are certified by the International Association of Christian Coaching and by the Federation of Coaching, US organizations that provide guidelines for the work of coaches. Will Christian coaching be the final frontier of the leadership programs—until another idea of authority or power becomes the new gospel? This is a new issue, to be followed by future studies.

Challenges in the studies on leadership, media, and religion The focus of this chapter was the analysis of discourses on and practices of leadership, based on representations of Jesus Christ as a very flexible role model, which inspires Christian and secular services of leadership skills’ improvement in the contemporary global and neoliberal economy, within a management culture. This is a typical case of an intricate relationship between religion, economy, and media, in which leadership content and messages are framed by mediatic experiences—in this case, the leadership lessons conveyed by self-help books and by different social practices, like the play, the training courses, the counselling, and coaching services, in both religious and secular instances. The Brazilian Evangelical field has always been influenced by its US Protestant and Pentecostal counterparts, consuming their media, as seen in the case of the leadership industry. Thomas Frank (2002) maintains that the discourse of leadership, especially servant leadership, is ambivalent: as it preaches being in the service of others, the churches and leaders who embrace it are usually committed to church growth—multiplying leaders and 38

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members—which puts considerable pressure on them. Further studies must be conducted to explore the impact of leadership models on the dynamics of the churches, their leaders, and their flock. This chapter therefore complements Moberg’s chapter in this handbook, which analyzes a linked phenomenon in the likes of the churches’ responses to the marketization of religion. Yet more research is needed to fully assess the breadth and complexities of such a reconfiguration of religion due to marketization and neoliberalization as we go deeper into the processes of globalization. In addition, since the leadership culture is entangled with the neoliberalization of religion, and of society as a whole, how are non-Christian religions in Brazil and elsewhere responding to such trends? If leadership is worth studying and encouraging in the religious field, more than role models, various experiences of leadership should be analyzed as historical and social facts, with their contingencies and potentialities. One particular facet must be considered: the role of women in the religious field, usually underestimated by institutional hierarchies, but with constant activity in prayer circles, healing services, pastoral care, and community services. Not only in Brazil but in Latin America as a whole, in disenfranchised areas, women deal with the problems of poverty, violence, and gender inequality. Instead of looking at constructed role models, future leadership authors could bring real-life examples of challenging leadership, preferably with transnational comparisons. In the Brazilian case, the circulation of leadership initiatives explored in this chapter shows the intertwining of secular and religious notions of leadership as neoliberal capitalism unfolds. The appeal of religious figures like Jesus of Nazareth as role models serves the purposes of religious agents to provide ethical examples of leadership, but their readership is also burdened with the weight of responsibility of becoming a leader in every aspect of their lives. The example serves to show how religion is reformatted to cater to ethics (i.e., how individuals should behave, versus collective projects and morality) as well as inner-worldly versions of salvation (self-realization, health, wealth). In addition, it shows how neoliberalism shapes religion and also how religious figures such as Jesus are somewhat ‘naturally’ absorbed in neoliberalism-drenched cultures, thereby providing it with transcendent legitimation. Another challenge for the study of contemporary religion is the relationship between leadership principles and political activism—which Christian leadership role models are present in the agenda and the socioeconomic activity of Evangelical politicians and their supporters? This becomes pertinent as large sections of Brazilian Evangelicals have supported a neoliberal and populist politician such as Jair Bolsonaro, the Christian right-wing presidential candidate elected at the end of 2018. Another challenge is the investigation of the relationship between the concepts of poverty and wealth, and the religious narratives and solutions for social inequality and inequity in the global economy—what are the actual roles taken by Christian leaders, regardless of their theological differences, in the face of social and economic inequality? Given the sacralization of the market, or ‘capitalism as religion,’ as Walter Benjamin (Löwy 2009, pp. 60–73) put it, in contemporary global societies, how—and which— religious discourses and practices may confront the serious consequences of environmental and human degradation?

Acknowledgments I am deeply thankful to Dr. François Gauthier for the suggestions, additions, and careful editing, and to Dr. Bethany Lynn Letalien for the attentive revision. 39

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References Act Coaching, 2018. Available from: www.actcoaching.com.br/. [Accessed 15 Apr 2018]. Anker, R., 1999. Self-Help and Popular Religion in Early American Culture: An Interpretive Guide (American Popular Culture) (vol. 1). Westport, CT: Greenwood. Barton, B., 1925. The Man Nobody Knows: A Discovery of the Real Jesus. New York: Grosset-Dunlap/The Bobbs-Merrill Company. Boltanski, L. and Chiapello, E., 1999. Le nouvel esprit du capitalisme. Paris: Gallimard. Bellotti, K. K., 2016. The Religious Media and Visual Culture in Latin America. In: V. Burnett-Garrard, P. Freston, and S. C. Dove, eds., The Cambridge History of Religions in Latin America. New York: Cambridge University Press, 451–461. Blanchard, K. and Hodges, P., 2005. Lead Like Jesus: Leadership Development for Every Day of the Year. Nashville: Thomas Nelson. Blanchard, K. and Johnson, S., 1982. The One Minute-Manager. New York: William Morrow and Company. Capacitação, 2018. Envisionar. Available from: www.envisionar.com/capacitacao/. [Accessed 21 Apr 2018]. Chesnut, R. A., 1997. Born Again in Brazil: The Pentecostal Boom and the Pathogens of Poverty. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Cohen, C. and Boyer, P., 2008. Religion and the Culture of Print in Modern America. Madison, WI: The University of Wisconsin Press. Curso EAD O Monge e o Executivo, 2018. Valoriza-te Desenvolvimento Humano. Available from: https://ead.omongeeoexecutivo.com.br/portfolio-item/programa-mdlap/. [Accessed 20 Apr 2018]. Cursos de Capacitação, 2018. Envisionar. Available from: www.envisionar.com/capacitacao/cursos/. [Accessed 20 Apr 2018]. Dawson, A., 2007. New Era – New Religion: Religious Transformation in Contemporary Brazil. Aldershot: Ashgate. Foucault, M., 2008. The Birth of Biopolitics – Lectures at the Collège de France, 1978–1979. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Frank, T. E., Spring 2002. The Discourse of Leadership and the Practice of Administration. Journal of Religious Leadership, l (1), 7–30. Freston, P., 2016. History, Current Reality, and Prospects of Pentecostalism in Latin America. In: V. Burnett-Garrard, P. Freston, and S. C. Dove, eds., The Cambridge History of Religions in Latin America. New York: Cambridge University Press, 430–450. Gauthier, F., 2014. Religion, Media and the Dynamics of Consumerism in Globalising Societies. In: K. Granholm, M. Moberg, and S. Sjö, eds., Religion, Media, and Social Change. New York: Routledge, 71–88. Gauthier, F. and Marikainen, T., eds., 2016. Religion in Consumer Society: Brands, Consumers, and Markets. Farnham Ashgate. Gauthier, F., Woodhead, L., and Martikainen, T., 2013a. Introduction: Consumerism as the Ethos of Consumer Society. In: F. Gauthier and T. Martikainen, eds., Religion in Consumer Society: Brands, Consumers, and Markets. London: Routledge, 1–24. Gauthier, F., Martikainen, T., and Woodhead, L., 2013b. Introduction: Religion in Market Society. In: F. Gauthier and T. Martikainen, eds., Religion in the Neoliberal Age: Political Economy and Modes of Governance. London: Routledge, 1–18. Global Leadership Summit, 2018. Willow Creek Community Church. Available from: www.willow creek.com/events/leadership/. [Accessed 15 Apr 2018]. Goleman, D., 2005. Emotional Intelligence: Why It Can Matter More than IQ – 10th Anniversary Edition. New York: Bantam Books. Greenleaf, R. K., 1970. The Servant as Leader [Online]. Available from: www.leadershiparlington.org/ pdf/TheServantasLeader.pdf. [Accessed 15 Feb. 2016]. Horsfield, P., 1984. Religious Television: The American Experience. Harlow: Longman. Hunter, J. C., 2004. O monge e o executivo: uma história sobre a essência da liderança. Rio de Janeiro: Sextante. Hunter, J. C., 2014. De volta ao mosteiro. Rio de Janeiro: Sextante. IBGE (Brazilian Historical-Geographical Institute), 2010. Censo demográfico 2010. Características gerais da população, religião e pessoas com deficiência. Rio de Janeiro: IBGE. Illouz, E., 2007. Cold Intimacies: The Making of Emotional Capitalism. [e-book]. Cambridge: Polity Press.

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Jones, L. B., 1996. Jesus CEO – com Jesus no coração da empresa – usando a sabedoria milenar para uma liderança criativa. Rio de Janeiro: Ediouro. Löwy, M., 2009. Capitalism as Religion: Walter Benjamin and Max Weber. Historical Materialism, 17, 60–73. Lynch, G., Smith, J., and Strhan, A., eds., 2012. Religion, Media and Culture: A Reader. London and New York: Routledge. Meyer, D., 1988. The Positive Thinkers: Popular Religious Psychology from Mary Baker Eddy to Norman Vincent Peale and Ronald Reagan. Middletown, CO: Wesleyan University Press. Morgan, D., ed., 2008. Key-words in Religion, Media and Culture. New York and London: Routledge. Motta, P. R., 2011. Apostila MBA – FGV. Módulo Liderança e Inovação. Rio de Janeiro: FGV. Murdock, M., 1996. The Leadership Secrets of Jesus: 58 Wisdom Keys that Can Unleash the Greatest Miracles you’ve Ever Experienced. : MA: Wisdom International. O Monge e o Executivo, 2018. Valoriza-te Desenvolvimento Humano. Available from: https://omon geeoexecutivo.com.br/. [Accessed 20 Apr 2018]. Prothero, S., 2004. American Jesus: How the Son of God Became a National Icon. New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux. Rost, J. C., 1991. Leadership for the Twentieth-first Century. Westport, CT: Greenwood Publishing Group. Sargeant, K. H., 2000. Seeker Churches: Promoting Traditional Religion in a Nontraditional Way. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Schmidt, B. and Engler, S., eds., 2016. Handbook of Contemporary Religions in Brazil. Leiden and Boston: Brill. Schneider, L. and Dornbusch, S. M., 1958. Popular Religion – Inspirational Books in America. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Skidmore, T., 1990. The Politics of Military Rule in Brazil (1964–1985). Oxford: Oxford University Press. Smith, E. A., 2015. What Would Jesus Read? Popular Religious Books and Everyday Life in Twentieth-century America. Chapel Hill, NC: The University of North Carolina Press.

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3 JPCC A megachurch brand story in Indonesia Jeaney Yip, Susan Ainsworth and Chang-Yau Hoon

Introduction Marketing is a ‘pervasive social activity’ that has been broadened beyond the commercial sector to reach once public, non-profit, welfare and religious institutions and organizations (Kotler and Levy 1969). The concept of ‘branded religion’ (Twitchell 2004; Zinkin 2004) reflects this spread of marketing with some arguing that religions are basically ‘faith brands’ (Einstein 2008) that compete in a spiritual marketplace. These faith brands are ‘spiritual products that have been given popular meaning and awareness through marketing’. Like consumer products, they are packaged and produced to appeal to consumer tastes, which can be reoriented to target specific audiences or market segments. However, we approach marketing as a set of practices and discourses that reflect, produce and constitute a particular kind of society (Brownlie and Saren 1997; Morgan 1992) and the markets, organizations, consumers and consumption objects within it. Thus, organizations that employ marketing practices, including religious ones, are also engaged in a process of constructing their own identities and those of the consumers they are targeting (Appadurai 1986; Gauthier, Woodhead and Martikainen 2013; Miller 1987). In this chapter we explore the effects of marketing discourse on a type of church that has experienced phenomenal growth in the Southeast Asian region, megachurches. Megachurches are Protestant congregations of more than 2,000 people (Thumma and Travis 2007), often Pentecostal and/or charismatic in origin or style, but many are increasingly moving towards a strategy of establishing their own brand. The megachurch phenomenon itself is socio-culturally constructed and embraces discourses of ‘Americanness’ (Ahdar 2006) with ideologies of freedom and liberal individualistic notions of a person’s choice of faith. This practice of branding churches is thriving in Southeast Asia, where it is intertwined with marketing. As a business function that is ubiquitous within consumer culture, marketing has permeated religion to operate within this sphere rather than separately from it. Branding is a marketing strategy, but it is also part of management practice (Schultz, Antorini and Csaba 2005). Through brands, organizations attempt to construct a unified, coherent version of their preferred identity to communicate to external and internal audiences. In order to be recognizable, a brand needs to be sufficiently familiar and similar

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to what is already known to be comprehensible. On the other hand, it needs to be distinct and differentiated in order to justify its existence. Branded organizations conceive everything they say and do as potential communicators of their identity, including organizational dimensions such as leadership, personnel, architecture and design, policies, practices, product information and so on (Christensen, Morsing and Cheney 2008). Seen in this way, branding is not simply a tool of the marketing department but fundamental to the construction and communication of corporate identity, capable of affecting all stakeholders (Kärreman and Rylander 2008). Megachurches are arguably ‘branded organizations,’ where the attempt is to brand the organization as one coherent integrated entity (Ind 1997), a recognizable archetype of ‘very large Protestant’ congregational church, yet also differentiated from others. In this chapter we explore the dynamics of church branding in a case study of a megachurch, Jakarta Praise Community Church (JPCC), based in the capital city of Indonesia and how it balances its international affiliation and outlook with culturally and geographically embedded identity that resonates with an upwardly mobile, urbanized middle class in the world’s largest Muslim nation.

Context, state of the art, concepts and methods Indonesia is a large country in terms of size and population (estimated 260 million people in 2017). It is the world’s fourth largest country by population and has the world’s largest Muslim majority population. Against the backdrop of ethnic diversity, rapid economic growth and modernization in recent years, Indonesia is the world’s 16th largest economy according to McKinsey (www.mckinsey.com/global-themes/asia-pacific/the-archipelagoeconomy) and its recent growth has been predominantly fuelled by consumption due to increasing income as opposed to exporting and manufacturing. This increase in consumption is fertile ground for marketers targeting growth for their businesses. In this context of rapid economic development and expansion of consumer markets, megachurches are experiencing phenomenal growth in Indonesia (Hoon 2013). Megachurches are often Pentecostal in orientation, a non-denominational movement that emphasizes the gift of the Holy Spirit, miracles and certain spiritual experiences, particularly among young people and those aspiring to upwards social and economic mobility. They typically deliver lively worship through contemporary music and media technologies and feature dynamic preachers who convey bite-sized Christian messages that aim to address the practical daily needs of the audience. Furthermore, the Pentecostal work ethic and faith practices resonate with the norms and behaviors of post-industrial capitalism, in particular with the demands of neoliberal economies. Barker (2007) argues that the ‘prosperity gospel’ constituting the crux of many Pentecostal churches filters all economic experiences and material well-being through the spiritual lens of faith and miracles. According to this type of theology, the accumulation of capital is seen as a sign of blessings from God that ought to be celebrated, and they have a ‘cultural mandate’ to bring Christianity into the marketplace and offer churchgoers promises of self-development, prosperity and material growth (Pahl 2003). Pentecostal and Charismatic megachurches in urban Indonesia are correspondingly a ‘faith of an emergent middle class’ because their practices are able to tap into the aspirations for upward mobility (Chong 2015, p. 218). As well as class, megachurch growth in Indonesia has important ethnic and geographical characteristics. They primarily cater to an urbanized churchgoer, particularly well-to-do Chinese Indonesians. For example, Jakarta is home to the largest number of ethnic Chinese compared to other cities in Indonesia and more than 43

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40 percent of the Chinese Indonesian population are Christian. A majority of Chinese Indonesians are middle class and above (Ananta et al. 2015), including the propensity for the Chinese to be ‘rich’ (Chua 2004, p. 476). It is deeply embedded in perceptions (Koning 2018) that the entrepreneurial ‘rich Chinese’ in Indonesia go to churches that promote personal success and multitude blessings, a trend also observed in nearby Malaysia and Singapore (Koning and Dahles 2009). This reflects a multitude of factors including the marginalization of the Chinese minority identity in Malaysia and Indonesia and political forces shaping their orientation towards trade and commerce in these countries. According to Koning (2018), Chinese Indonesians play a major role in leadership, membership and support contributing to growth in numbers in megachurches in Indonesia. Like their counterparts in Singapore (Yip and Ainsworth 2015), many megachurches have made a strategic choice of using a commercial rather than a religious facility such as a shopping mall, in order to bypass the onerous licensing requirements. Under the 2006 Joint Regulation of the Minister of Religious affairs and the Minister for Internal Affairs, in order to construct a place of worship, applicants need to obtain letters of recommendation from various officials and written consent from 90 members of the congregation and at least 60 members of the local community of another religion. In the absence of strong state institutions, acquiring such permits is often subject to negotiation with politico-bureaucrats who use them as a method of rent-seeking (McLeod 2010). The application for a legal permit often involves certain forms of routinized corruption, such as bribery of state officials and paying local residents for their signatures. Hence, a branded church operating in a mall in Indonesia is not just an example of religion embracing market logic (Chong 2015) but also a response to the context-specific restrictions and regulation of religion. Shopping malls provide excellent security and protection from vandalism and mob attack, as well as the convenience of a one-stop location where church members can worship, shop and dine (Gudorf 2012). While there is an existing body of literature within marketing and business that regards religious organizations as operating in a spiritual ‘market’ (Miller 2002; Zinkin 2004), our approach adopts a different orientation. Rather than seeing marketing as merely a set of actions and processes undertaken by organizations to increase customer satisfaction, brand awareness and market share, we understand marketing as a discourse and the ‘market’ as a social construction, not a pre-existing objective entity. If marketing is treated as a discourse, it becomes possible to analyze and critique the ways in which it structures, organizes, shapes and constructs markets, consumers and organizations rather than simply accepting its pervasiveness as an extension of applicability across contexts. From a discourse perspective, the market is a concept constructed by human actors who draw upon familiar ideologies and discourses. This discourse is a social process that is based on relationships and constructions that are based on the market logic. When this logic gets transferred to a context not previously involved with the market, the result is marketized discourse (Mautner 2010). Fairclough (1992) originally described this as restructuring the order of discourse based on the model of the market, an effect of marketization on discursive practices. Marketization gives rise to practices such as the sale of products and services, advertising the brand, scripting sermons with messages other than Christian theology, selecting groups of customers to cater to, and all other activities that traditionally would not have been involved in a ‘non-marketing’ context such as a church. In turn, the marketization of religion produces a subject position for the believer that incorporates consumerism, appealing to their aspirational ideals. However, there has been little analysis of the actual 44

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processes of marketization by which a church brand is constructed and even less in nonWestern contexts. Accordingly, we focus on how JPCC discursively constructs its church brand, specifically focusing on strategies the church deploys. Two authors conducted field observation in 2012, 2013 and 2017 while a collection of the church’s artefacts (music, sermons, books, church newsletters) comprised the dataset from 2007–2017 which informed the analysis of this chapter.

The JPCC brand story For Twitchell (2004, p. 24), ‘brands are made to be consumed and witnessed.’ While Christianity is a belief system, JPCC is a brand. Often dubbed as gereja orang kaya (church for rich people) and gereja artis (church for celebrities), JPCC constructs its brand using twin strategies of affiliation and mirroring, and translation. Both of these reflect transnational networks among megachurches in the region, particularly the relationship with the Australian-based Hillsong Church. Here, ‘strategy’ is taken to mean a plan of action with varying degrees of elaborateness and intentionality that is realized in various practices in the discursive construction of a brand identity (cf. De Cillia, Reisigl and Wodak 1999). JPCC started in 1996 as a ‘small prayer meeting’ with 10 people (www.jpcc.org/en/our_s tory.html). With humble beginnings in Jakarta, JPCC now draws a 12,000 congregation in two church venues. One of the venues is on the top floor of a shopping mall, Kota Kasablanka, while the other is in Wisma Nusantara as part of the annexe of the Pullman Hotel located in the central business district of Jakarta. The church arguably competes with shopping and must appeal to the middle class and its aspirations. Consistent with megachurches worldwide, JPCC is very much driven by the vision and personality of its senior pastor, Jeffrey Rachmat. As founder, he is the church’s senior pastor and was educated in the Netherlands. Another senior associate pastor, Jose Carol, joined the church in 1999 after having lived and worked in Germany for 14 years. In their account of JPCC’s history, Rachmat and Carol claim it belongs to a denomination called the Jemaat Kristen Indonesia (JKI). JKI denominationally emerged out of the Anabaptist and Mennonite traditions (www.jpcc.org/en/our_story.html). However, JPCC in its brand story development and growth neither affiliates nor identifies with this origin and openly claims it is ‘nondenominational’ (Live in Kharismatic JPCC 2014). The church added Sidney Mohede to its leadership team as the church’s network pastor, who is also the creative director of the church’s worship and was educated in the United States. These ‘Western educated’ pastors contribute to the construction of a church brand that is modern, befitting its location in Jakarta. JPCC sees itself very much as a church for the city of Jakarta and does not have intentions of ‘church planting’ or expanding to other cities. Although Indonesia is a non-English speaking nation, in Jakarta, English is often used and mixed with local languages (Tanu 2014). However, the manner and extent of English use varies with style and class. JPCC mainly uses English in its music and preaching signifying their alignment with modernity, ‘Westernism’ and upward class mobility. The church audience is predominantly young, mainly in their late teens and 20s to 30s, with few older than 50 years of age. Dress is informal and yet stylish while branded fashionable handbags are common among women. Pastors also dress either fashionably hip with leather and denim jackets, or corporate looking suited up, but always looking modern and highly presentable. JPCC is the only South East Asian (the rest are predominantly U.S. churches) counterpart with an affiliation to Hillsong Church, based in Sydney, arguably the largest non-denominational 45

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megachurch from Australia whose worship music is sung globally. Hillsong itself has expanded directly into 20 countries under its own Hillsong brand and has widespread international connections and a music label that is distributed globally. Interestingly, in 2017, Hillsong opened a branch in Bali directly under its brand and leadership. This was Hillsong’s first ‘Asian’ expansion following rapid widespread growth in Europe, the United States, the UK, Latin America, South Africa and even Israel. Bali is a tropical island which is Hindu majority (rather than Muslim), but also a popular holiday destination for Australians. Hillsong has traditionally focused on ‘Western’ markets in growing its brand (its first overseas expansion was the UK) and tightly manages its brand expansion strategy which assures consistency, coherence and amplification of its church brand in both global and local settings. JPCC, rather than being a direct subsidiary of Hillsong or its local base, however, is part of a transnational network of like-minded churches, led by Hillsong. This is constructed by Hillsong as belonging to a ‘family’ of churches and people, whose members are free and autonomous but ‘belong’ together in relationships of reciprocal support and shared vision: The HILLSONG FAMILY is a group of like-spirited, forward thinking, kingdombuilding visionaries and ministries working TOGETHER for a greater cause. This group of churches and ministries are joining our ‘FAMILY’ in an effort to develop and strengthen one another—a family relationship in which to find wisdom and encouragement, spiritual accountability and support as they continue to build the church and ministry that God has uniquely called them to do. This is not the foundation or beginnings of a Hillsong ‘denomination’, nor are they ‘Hillsong Churches’. The spirit behind the HILLSONG FAMILY is empowering rather than controlling; with each of the churches listed below maintaining their own name, autonomy and identity. In trying to express what this looks like—we are simply formalizing a relationship that has already been communicated through culture, behaviour and word . . . These churches see Hillsong as their primary, but certainly not their only relationship or family. (quoted from https://hillsong.com/family/about-hillsong-family/) Hillsong’s size and market dominance in both music and church practice has resulted in many smaller churches attempting to emulate what they perceive as a successful role model. However, Hillsong’s formal recognition of some as part of their ‘family’ bestows legitimacy and market recognition on affiliates such as JPCC. This is not part of a co-branding exercise: JPCC is not branded as Hillsong-JPCC but has a separate place-based identity. Nevertheless, JPCC’s progress and development mirrors Hillsong in delivery, style and practices while translating this model for its local context. In this way, JPCC relies on its affiliation and familiarity with the Hillsong model to be successful. This includes using standardized and ‘well-proven’ methods of church practices from Hillsong such as producing an in-house music label, organizing annual, themed conferences and musicals, drawing international speakers from a global (often Hillsong) network, merchandising what is preached and crafting sermons for practical living with diluted theological underpinnings as well as featuring successful, highly presentable leaders and worshippers on stage. It regularly draws on guest speakers/pastors internationally, infusing sermons with popular culture anecdotes, humour, role-playing and the use of props on stage similar to a talk show which reconstructs a sermon to be more a form of entertainment rather than about teaching biblical theology. With sermon titles such as ‘A Better You,’ ‘Look Up,’ ‘Love Yourself,’ ‘You are Blessed,’ ‘Personal Freedom,’ ‘Living Large,’ ‘The Power of Influence,’ ‘The Secret of Building 46

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a Healthy Relationship,’ ‘Overflow,’ ‘God Wants You to Prosper,’ JPCC’s sermons promote a sense of pragmatism, a positive psychology peppered with bible verses which provide theological legitimacy. JPCC has been producing worship music since its first album launch in 1997. Under the label of True Worshippers led by Sidney Mohede, its worship pastor, they rebranded to JPCC Worship in 2011 for communication consistency and to signify that music production was synonymous with the church. Like Hillsong then, JPCC has achieved brand awareness as a church because of its music. Hillsong partnered with JPCC in its global music project in 2012 where albums are produced by translating Hillsong songs into local languages. JPCC was also one of the ‘stops’ as part of the Hillsong Worship Asia Tour in 2015. Apart from music production, JPCC operates an active women’s ministry very similar to Hillsong’s Colour Sisterhood and an annual themed conference called Treasures Women which glamorizes women empowerment in a glossy, fairy tale-like tone. The women’s ministry is led by the senior pastor’s wife, Angela Rachmat, and Hanna Carol (Jose Carol’s wife) who are both highly visible and active on Instagram (www.instagram.com/hchanna carol/?hl=en), posting pictures of pretty images, fashion, holiday pictures in Europe and exotic destinations and makan cantik (a cultural phenomenon rampant in Jakarta as a form of aesthetic eating where the intention is to be seen dining in fine and beautiful settings for the purposes of social media posting), all displays of glamorous, upper class lifestyles. Indonesians are one of the biggest users of social media (Jurriens and Tapsell 2017). In 2016, Indonesia had 76 million Facebook users, which is the fourth highest in the world, while Jakarta is being called the ‘most active city on Twitter’ (Lipman 2012). This form of visibility (physically and through social media) displays the flamboyancy of orang kaya baru (literally New Rich People in Indonesian). The pastors and their wives use social media to promote church-related events, but also they construct a public imaginary of their personal life. For example, Sidney Mohede, the church’s creative director and network pastor, has over 380,000 Twitter followers, a 300,000+ Facebook community and millions who have viewed his (and JPCC’s) YouTube performances (www.hallels.com/articles/12701/20150326/ sidney-mohede-shares-about-his-work-with-the-indonesian-church-darlene-zschech-israelhoughton-and-his-new-ep.htm). Photos of the pastors, their wives and families, celebrations such as birthdays and anniversaries, fine dining and holidays are prolific posts to elicit envy, as a form of invidious consumption. This is evidenced by the comments and responses to these posts. Through postings of positive and beautiful moments (church and personal), these visuals contribute towards the brand’s image in positioning itself as a progressive, dynamic and relevant church with leaders who lead successful, happy lives worthy of emulating. This regular visualization of success, positive appearances, beautiful settings is paramount towards brand building. Social media is also a central way the church promotes its ‘mega event’ spectaculars. Mimicking Brian and Bobbie Houston (senior pastors of Hillsong), who are also active on social media, megachurches such as JPCC and Hillsong aptly uses social media marketing in drawing their transnational ‘consumers’ to its brand and personalities. Like Hillsong, JPCC stages, packages and produces musical spectaculars (with an entryfee) such as Bun cerita dari Shangkarta and Goodbye Monotown. Christmas musicals performed by JPCC’s Performing Arts ministry (similar to Hillsong) are also part of their regular practice in supporting the spectacularization strategy. As JPCC produces and markets its own brand of church along with its merchandise, this practice is guided by the market discourse that not only elevates the sovereignty of the consumer but transforms church practice into a business-like operation that continuously produces according to market conditions. While the church service is constructed through performance that enhances the experiential aspects 47

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of the ‘product,’ the church actually employs standardization practices in ‘packaging the product’ as every service is audio-recorded in order to be sold straight after each service. Given the size of the megachurch and due to the multiple church services on any given weekend, there is standardization and homogenization of structure that serves two purposes for the church. First, the standardization processes allow the church to package and market the production of its offerings whether they are church services or corporate artefacts such as its music or books. Second, the standardization conditions its consumers to become quickly familiar with the JPCC way of experiencing church as the structure of the service is not liturgical—there is no order of service printed or published, but churchgoers come to know what to expect from their previous experience of the church. A sign of ‘belonging’ to JPCC is therefore familiarity with its particular approach to staging worship, knowing what to do and when. JPCC therefore encourages repeat consumption, which is part of the marketing discourse that, on the one hand, promotes brand loyalty, but on the other, requires continued effort to ensure it occurs. JPCC achieves this through its retail operations, Insight Limited, where it sells its in-house produced church merchandise (books, packaged sermons) including other items such as fashion clothing, home furnishings, accessories and gift items. Through the Hillsong family and the increasing awareness of its own JPCC brand, the church relies on transnational networks to modernize its church services. Its speaking circuit has included ‘Western’ pastors (predominantly U.S.) such as A.R. Bernard, Rick Goodwin, Paul Scanlon, Holly Wagner, Lisa Bevere, Robbi Sonderger, Casey Treat, Paul de Jong, among others often drawn from the Hillsong network. Likewise, Jeffrey Rachmat has reciprocally spoken in Hillsong congregations. Bringing in Western pastors to its Jakarta services legitimizes JPCC as an international church brand and constructs an ‘imaginary’ for its churchgoers that they are connected to a global, transnational network. This further aligns with class aspirations of the emerging Indonesian consumers yearning for Western modernity and its associated developments. We argue that JPCC is using twin strategies to construct its own brand of church: mirroring and affiliating (with Hillsong) as well as translating the Hillsong model in a way that resonates with its Indonesian context and supports its brand story of being an indigenous, place-based megachurch. The similarities between JPCC and Hillsong are many: they both literally perform their brand identity through their approaches to worship, relying heavily on popular culture genres in their services, spectaculars and events. The use of popular music in JPCC’s church services deliberately aims to combine enjoyment and worship. In other words, it is part of the church’s practice to orchestrate, incorporate, script, produce and perform in ways with content that constructs enjoyment for the audience. However, the emulation of the Hillsong model takes on a different inflection because of their relationship as part of the Hillsong ‘family’: JPCC can claim affiliation in a way that gives its mirroring of Hillsong’s approach greater legitimacy and meaning. They can claim a similarity of outlook and approach without being derivative of, or subordinate to, the Australian-based Hillsong. At the same time, because of the unique and complex cultural setting, mere emulation of Hillsong would not be workable—it requires translation and adaptation to resonate with churchgoers in Jakarta. This allows it to maintain a sense of distinct, geographically embedded identity—a different source of legitimacy. Like identity, brands can be thought of as a dynamic set of processes continually constructed through ongoing interactions and relationships between self and others (cf. Hatch and Schultz 2002, p. 991). In the case of JPCC and its relationship with Hillsong, these processes are used to accomplish the essential components of brand identity: establishing sufficient similarity and familiarity to be recognizable; and achieving sufficient 48

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difference from alternatives, both local and global, to appeal to consumers. The two strategies used by JPCC to construct its brand story—mirroring and affiliating on the one hand and translating on the other—are each important but also intertwined. Both strategies marshal different sources of legitimacy: recognition and validation by a global leader and membership of a transnational network of megachurches that appeals to the aspirational, upwardly mobile consumer; as well as local, culturally-specific and place-based credibility that develops from its own brand story as an indigenous Indonesian megachurch.

Conclusion and future research JPCC’s brand story operates and thrives in a politically and socio-culturally complex context where Christianity is a minority religion. By disassociating with any denominations, JPCC navigated established norms surrounding denominational churches and instead constructed its brand, drawing on the model of Hillsong. It pragmatically mixes practices and ideologies that combine the most attractive facets of charismatic worship style, the prosperity teachings of Pentecostalism, the modernity of ‘Western’ speaking and speakers and the currency of consumer culture in constructing a ‘relevant’ brand that is engaging to the yearnings of urban middle-class Indonesians. Affirming what Cornelio (2008) labels as ‘postdenominational,’ we suggest that JPCC is a ‘new paradigm church’ that aspires to be more market-friendly rather than seeking or demonstrating allegiance to any denomination. Instead, the international and transnational networks fulfil a more strategic objective of guaranteeing success, growth as well as contributing to its brand appeal. JPCC constructs a church brand that is synonymous with lively music, relevant and familiar ‘feel good’ inspirational messages and offer an attractive one-stop shop for wellbeing. This strategy ensures that the offerings are not only different from traditional (especially denominational) churches but contemporarily appealing. Through discursive processes of mirroring and affiliating (with Hillsong) as well as translating the model for a Jakarta based context, JPCC locates itself in relation to transnational networks and middleclass aspirations of the ‘good life.’ This brand is constructed for competitive circulation and its practices and artefacts designed to appeal to current consumer ideals and class aspirations that reflect segments of the population in its particular geographical location. Our case study suggests a range of areas for future research. Firstly, the megachurch is a form of religious organization that is international, and was popularized in the United States. However, it has been reconstructed in diverse cultural contexts around the globe. Future studies could explore how megachurches mobilize different sources of legitimacy. In this regard, it would be interesting to explore how megachurches whose brand is strongly anchored in a particular place deal with questions of internationalization. Secondly, internationalization can take many forms. This account of JPCC illustrates how important transnational networks are to the growth and identity of religious organizations. In particular, it is important to explore how the relationship between organizations is constructed in public communication as the meaning of brand and identity is relational in nature. Thirdly, rather than being denominational or liturgy-oriented religious organizations, megachurches such as JPCC are pastor-focused. Future research could explore the dynamics of leadership within megachurches and how ‘the way leadership is done’ (Guthey, Clark and Jackson 2009) varies between and within cultural contexts. Here the concept of the ‘human brand’ (Thomson 2006) could be useful in understanding the centrality of pastors to the marketing of ministries, their products and services. JPCC is of course only one of several branded churches in Indonesia that are thriving. Comparative studies could investigate the range of similarity and variation in megachurches within this complex and dynamic environment. 49

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4 Rebranding the soul Rituals for the well-made man in market society Anne-Christine Hornborg

Introduction In 2003–2007 I received funding to do research in the field of ritual studies, which was an eye opener for me. Methods focusing on the process of turning a performance into a fullscale embodied experience give new ways of analyzing formalized practices. Also, the diversity of rituals opens up new exciting ways of applying ritual theories and methods in analyzing contemporary society (Bell 1997, pp. 258, 266–267; Collins 1998, p. 1; Grimes 2014, pp. 189–193). The variety of rituals allows us to find both formalized actions without commitment on the part of their participants and those with intense emotional dedication (Merton 1957, p. 131). For example, liturgical rituals can be performed as a routine, without embracing the theology embedded in them (Rappaport 1999, p. 117). Rituals may also challenge power and provide opportunities for building new identities (Grimes 1996, p. xiii). This can be done by taking part in a meaning-creating drama (Geertz 1973, p. 11). Thus rituals can play important roles in contexts that we usually do not identify as religious, which compelled me in the beginning of the 2000s to focus on a manifold of ritualized healing and coaching practices in contemporary Sweden. These practices were not performed within traditional medicine or the church. How do we explain the emergence of these practices? And how are they to be classified? The practitioners avoided such concepts as religion, rituals and soul and preferred spirituality, techniques and ‘the inner potential.’ One explanation for the need to design new rituals can be found in the restructuring processes in society. Research and statistics (SCB 2004) on sick leave and illness in Sweden show that many do not feel particularly well, despite the Swedish welfare system. The neoliberal policy in the 1990s opened up opportunities for private entrepreneurship in education and health care which were formerly under state funding and now demanded the worker to be productive and produce profit. This resulted in stress-related problems. New public management called for the need to develop the ‘human inner capital’ in order to sell oneself as a creative, innovative worker. Restructuring of workplaces, especially in health care and schools, affected primarily the health of women who are in the majority of these sectors, and where the new requirements for efficiency are

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more difficult to implement due to the nature of the work (SCB 2004; Theorell 2006, p. 19; Hornborg 2012a, p. 158). These structural changes gave birth to new practices. Firstly, entrepreneurs found niches where they marketed solutions to various problems generated in the 1990s. Employers invited these entrepreneurs to their workplaces since they offered activities that would improve results and foster a better working environment. Secondly, the practices did not challenge societal structures, but instead taught individuals to find personal ways of handling their shortcomings.

Designing rituals for a new soul How are formalized practices designed and a new concept of soul introduced in order to create the well-made person in market society? Market society is a global phenomenon, in which everything is possible to convert into money and business, including buying enchanted rituals for new personas. Thus the process of ‘marketization’ also embraces everyday life, which has implications for shaping religious ideas and identities. In analyzing the design of new, market-adapted practices, adopting methods in the field of ritual studies is useful (Hornborg 2012d). By focusing on the ‘ritual language’ and how intense emotions and feelings of transformation are created through performances, I saw similarities in how Pentecostal preachers and world-leading coaches like Anthony Robbins have consciously integrated ritual acts in their preaching. In these acts, happiness and feelings of fulfillment are highlighted, a state of mind which Abraham Maslow (1964) has described as ‘peak experience’ (Robbins markets himself as a ‘Peak Performer Strategist’). The new practices also reveal a clear secular prosperity theology with conversion narratives about a new, better life, including evangelistic messages for the salvation of people. In the 1990s some of the lay therapists also offered life coaching that would be marketed just as coaching. The major breakthrough in Sweden for coaching was the government’s big investment in job coaching in 2009, when three billion (SEK) were allocated in three years to coach the unemployed to find jobs. Society now needed job coaches, school coaches, yoga or mindfulness instructors who would use suitable practices to lead the unemployed, the teacher, the student, or the burnt-out individual to work out different strategies to find a job, foster a better learning environment, or be more creative and self-fulfilled at work. Clifford Geertz writes (1973, p. 11) that rituals are partly models of and for society, where the individual in the practices combines the cognitive worldview with the more ethical and emotional aspects (ethos). By dramatizing performances, participants feel engaged in the rituals. The first question thus concerns rituals analyzed here as models of society: How do they reflect society so that they feel ‘natural’ to perform? The second question concerns rituals as models for society: What visions are built into these practices to give participants hopes and intense feelings of renewal? How is branding a new concept of the soul performed?

Models of society and new forms of secular religion A prerequisite for introducing layman therapy and coaching is that there must be an openness to these practices. Frank Furedi (2004) describes today’s society as a ‘therapy society’ and it has become fashionable and natural to talk about oneself. This is enhanced by media with programs hosted by Doctor Phil and Oprah Winfrey and soap operas or selfhelp literature which put the individual in focus. The therapeutic talks on television have an 53

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effect on viewers who read their own problems into the life stories of others. The boundaries between private and public are dissolved. Facebook, Twitter and other social media platforms further contribute to this process. The new rituals are modelled after this therapeutic society and today’s popular mindfulness practice is one example of how an Asian tradition (sati) is disembedded from one context and globally transformed and embedded in Western therapeutic practice (Hornborg 2014). The school is an example: Take control of your autopilot (discovering your inner freedom), Managing stress and worries . . . 10 minutes a day [with mindfulness] can change your life, mindfulness in the classroom (help students to deal with stress and worries). (fowelin.com, my translation, the target group is ‘All educational and other staff, and from preschool to high school’) On the companies’ websites former consumers act as advertisers for the products: ‘It’s great to hear staff say that they’ve become much calmer in using the methods from the mindfulness course. Just think of how such simple methods can deliver such fast and visible results’ (ibid., stated by a principal and purchaser of the course above, my translation). Advertisements promise individual redemption by offering solutions: You’ve lost the joy, the driving force and all the energy you had when you started working as a teacher . . . We help you find a working structure and provide tools for creating frames for your teaching. (reimer-coaching.se, my translation) The individual shall be creative and innovative both at work and in private life. It is no longer desirable to distinguish the private from the public. The goal is to be ‘authentic’ and ‘genuine,’ but how does this reflect the values in society? Although promising the birth of the ‘authentic me,’ the question is whether these performances only design a similar personality for all. If so, it is a model of the neoliberal persona, needed to be successful in contemporary society. We will now analyze the different characteristics of the practices that rebrand the soul.

Characteristics of the new modern rituals The first feature of the new rituals is that they clearly put the individual in focus. We can therefore classify them as individual-centered rituals (or performance-centered, Humphrey and Laidlaw 1994, p. 8), which are less regulated than the liturgical ones. Catherine Bell describes that today’s society focuses on the individual, influences the ritual style and analyzes this category of rituals as practices where ‘doctrines and ethical teaching are downplayed in favor of language that stresses highly personal processes of transformation, realization, and commitment’ (1997, pp. 189–190; see also Hornborg 2012a, p. 99, 2012b). We can see examples of this in companies’ advertisements: ‘The process is designed to suit your particular life situation’ (ninahallberg.com, my translation). A second characteristic is that rituals should realize the inner self. The soul is under construction, which means that it has an inner potential that needs to be unlocked through rituals. Cecilie Eriksen characterizes this thought figure as ‘spiritual essentialism,’ which she defines as ‘an innate inner divine core that we should find the way to and develop’ (2007, 54

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p. 81, my translation). Human life is seen as the result of a constant ‘fall from grace.’ From birth, a moment loaded with positive energy, the individual will further on create a ‘false self’ that causes suffering. Through introspection and guided journeys into the inner self, the individuals will find their essence for healing and defeat destructive powers. A coaching company expresses this as follows: ‘We will help you to find your inner passion and driving force that will make you reach the goal you want’ (springes.se, my translation). Indeed ‘potential’ is a constantly recurring key concept: Developing their inner potential gives enormous power and joy in life. It also creates a sense of trust and meaning . . . Coaching is about development, and that the company or school invests in helping the employee to find and use his or her full potential for the benefit of the company. (coachfalck.se, my translation)

A religious or spiritual practice or just a technique? Branding the soul in market society as the ‘inner force,’ ‘potential,’ or ‘authentic me,’ raises an important question. Is this designing of the soul performed as a religious or spiritual practice? Or is it just as a technique? Since there has been an intense debate in Sweden whether secular events – like school exams – can be performed in churches, questions have also been raised by some as to why it is allowed to introduce Asian traditions like yoga, which might be classified as a religious ritual, in the classroom. Therefore, a group in 2012 asked the Swedish authority for schools (Skolinspektionen) to consider yoga a religious practice, and demanded that it should not be performed in the secular classroom (dagen.se 2012). But Skolinspektionen answered (2012-10-23) that this way of performing yoga was not a religious practice, but a technique that taught pupils to focus to improve their health and well-being. The new practices are rarely classified as religious among practicing entrepreneurs, but rather often as spiritual. One entrepreneur asserts that ‘for me spirituality and religion are two, sometimes totally different phenomena. Spirituality dwells everywhere and is certainly not synonymous with Christianity, Islam, Hinduism or any other of our world religion’ (tommypalarsson.se, my translation). The references to spirituality could be a way to market courses to the workplace, since spirituality is often discussed and defined by the practitioners as a universal endeavor. It unites humanity. By contrast, religions are cultural manifestations that separate people and even become a source of conflicts (Hornborg 2012a, 2012c). Since it is embedded in human nature, there is not, according to this view, any harm in performing spiritual courses at work. Spirituality is viewed as a powerful inner energy with the capability to increase working capacity, overcome stress-related problems and empower the individual.

The problem of legitimacy The third feature of these new rituals is that leaders must demonstrate quality to legitimize their self-made business. One way of doing it is by signaling knowledge and skills through titles. These self-certified titles look similar to academic exams, but the latter cannot be used by laymen as these are protected by law (e.g. psychologist, registered psychotherapist). Diplomaed, licensed, accredited or authorized are common prefixes to coach and therapist. Many companies sell education where the buyers are offered these newly created titles that 55

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the company uses in its marketing. Another way of asserting legitimacy is to baptize companies with names associated with existing educational institutions in society, for example Health Academy, Coach Academy, Swedish Institute of Dealing with Bereavement. The quality of treatments must also be rooted in a reliable knowledge system. Companies usually refer to three sources on which their businesses are based. The first is tradition, which is often Asian, with roots in global religious movements in the 1960s and 1970s such as New age, hippie culture, Transcendental Movement and yoga (see McMahan 2009; Oliver 2014). Science and personal experience are the other two foundations (Hammer 2001, pp. 44, 87, 92, 122–124, 130–133, 169). Thus, when undergoing training to become a Certified Mindfulness & ACT Coach, one is exposed to references to Zen Buddhism: ‘Mindfulness originates in Buddhism, and especially Zen Buddhism’ (kjellhaglund.com, my translation). It needs to be emphasized that while the new rituals are Asian (like zen and yoga), they have been disembedded from the Asian context, spread globally and then reembedded in a market-adapted context. References to science also play an important role to convincingly argue for a certain practice and its performative effects (Hammer 2001, pp. 202–203, 502–502; Hornborg 2012b). A trainee is thus exposed to claims such as the following: Research shows that a number of symptoms among the participants such as pain and sleeping problems have decreased significantly. Other researchers have later demonstrated a number of other positive outcomes of the regular exercise of mindfulness: lower blood pressure, release from chronic headache, reduction of stress, improvement of fibromyalgia and increased production of the hormone melatonin. In addition, fewer symptoms could be detected in multiple sclerosis, with shorter treatment times with light treatment for patients with psoriasis and minor problems for patients with irritable bowel syndrome. (kjellhaglund.com, my translation) Important differences from research and traditional medicine are the entrepreneurs’ references to personal life experiences, crises or self-development (Hammer 2001, pp. 331–334, 504–505). The narrative of life stories is often ritualized in the practices and becomes part of the performance (Hornborg 2012a, pp. 159–162). On websites, entrepreneurs describe their experiences of not having fully lived their lives or having been burnt out or uninspired at work. But now, with the method they offer, they show how they have found their way ‘out of darkness.’ The significance of personal stories in healing from diseases has interested several researchers and they have classified them in different ways: as kinds of therapeutic narrative genres (Illouz 2008, pp. 152–156), curative stories (Winroth 2004, p. 140) or disease memoirs (Furedi 2004, p. 41). Illouz says that the therapeutic narrative genre emerges as an answer to the increasing therapeutic approach in society. She describes (2008, p. 172) how it consists of a brief summary with the essence of the story, an orientation that embeds the story in time and space. It also includes the participants, a series of events of significance for the process, an evaluation that includes the meaning of events and the narrator’s feelings about these, and then a solution. The path to happiness, self-development or success is reflected in the story, but the basic idea is that behind a successful life are sufferings, shortcomings or illnesses. The suffering is required for the healing to be initiated, and the narratives are part of the healing process because they are needed to reflect and rebuild the individual’s self-development, and thus inspire a certain design of therapeutic or coaching performance. The different individual preparations follow the ‘grand narrative,’ that is, the company’s own step-by-step models of walking from 56

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ignorance, darkness and illness, to gain insights into what opportunities are available. By following these steps, the individual takes part in the transformation of the new self that is promised by the sellers (Hornborg 2012a, pp. 114–129). This therapeutic genre often lives in a symbiotic relationship with conversion stories and includes both retrospective and prospective dimensions. The restraint lies in the fact that the past is still haunting the daily life of the individual, but a promise of a new life is also embedded in the narrative. With increased insight into the past and the search for the inner self, the individual achieves a reconciliation to find a better being-in-the world. This includes regaining good health and better self-confidence, without being lost in the past as a prisoner. The individual is redeemed, but it is also the responsibility of the individual to take full control of the new orientation (Illouz 2008, p. 184; Hornborg 2012a, pp. 188–124). These conversion stories of describing major transformation into a new self also become the driving force to be a missionary for others: Today my life is far from being perfect, but I’m more in touch with my inner, true self, I feel better, feel less stressed and enjoy much more of my life . . . I want to inspire and support you to get closer to yourself. (vipassanalivscoach.se, my translation) The ambition is important, and there is a very normative and political dimension in the stories. The ‘converted’ or healed make their life stories into a role model for others to follow, since they consider that this method has changed their condition of realizing their authentic selves (Winroth 2004, p. 140; Hornborg 2012a, pp. 118–119). The importance of personal experiences can be used as a mark against the power of traditional school medicine and its practitioners. Medical conversations can be described as being a holdback to the ‘authentic’ encounter. The boundary between the private and public roles becomes fluid and in the exercises it can even be presented as undesirable and an obstacle when the inner ‘human capital’ is to be stimulated and highlighted by the coach or therapist (Hornborg 2012a, pp. 84–86). A coach’s role in the conversation can be described as follows: Who am I claiming myself to be that I can teach you all this? Am I a person who is always happy and without any trouble? No, I am not. But I have used the techniques which I teach in the course over and over again in my life to constantly renew and improve different parts. (enkeltochroligt.se, my translation)

Quick-fix and adapted to market society The fourth feature of the new rituals is that they quickly want to awaken intense emotions of renewal. Failure to achieve the desired effects makes these rituals vulnerable. In addition to failed performances, the consumer has also invested time and money on a product that promised emancipation. Therefore, the buyer wants a guarantee for the item they will consume. Companies are aware of this, hence the promise of immediate effects: In a simple way, in just a few hours, reaching the innermost potential and clearing all blockages in a much faster, deeper and more effective way than any other existing method, was a fantastic experience. (resanterapi.com, my translation) 57

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The new rituals are market-adapted to attract buyers, both private individuals and employers. The human ‘being’ becomes a product that can be sold and bought in a marketplace and as such it fits well into the market society (Carrette and King 2008 [2005]; Hornborg 2013). ‘About us,’ ‘prices,’ ‘contact us,’ reminds website visitors where and how material goods are sold. In many cases companies follow current trends and in my research I could follow how they have quickly transformed and been recreated to better adapt to changes in the market (sometimes with the same founder but using a new company name).

Models for society: what visions are created for the new soul? To exemplify how rituals are performed in designing visions of finding the ‘inner self,’ I have chosen two individual-centered practices that have spread globally and also found their way into Swedish society. The first is a layman therapy (The Journey) and the second is performed by the above-mentioned coach, Anthony Robbins, who is often referred to in coaching practices.

‘Deep inside a huge potential beckons’ The quotation in the headline is from Brandon Bays’ book of layman therapy The Journey ([2008] 1999, p. v). The book provides guidelines on how a Journey therapy can be designed. The Journey is richly represented in many countries, including Sweden, and might also offer coaching, since this market has grown. Bays’ layman therapy emerges from her personal experience and describes how she suffered in 1992 from a cancer tumor, as big as a basketball in the stomach, but by means of an inner journey she cured herself miraculously in six weeks (Bays 2008 [1999], pp. 39–40). This is what Bays now offers others (2003, p. xi) – a method of rapid healing from both physical and psychological shortcomings like ‘depression, jealousy . . . low self-esteem . . . anxiety . . . allergies, acute asthma, eczema, cancer of many kinds, Crohn’s disease . . . arthritis, migraines and even the common cold.’ During her inner journey, Bays has intense experiences of getting in touch with the ‘Source,’ which in her descriptions assumes religious dimensions. Bays also uses the term ‘flow’ for this ecstatic state (2008 [1999], p. 63). She describes the ‘Source’ (Bays.youtube) as a ‘huge potential’ which can create all opportunities for the individual. But this potential can be blocked. Therefore, the Journey method is designed and performed in such a way that the individual can reconnect with the inner power: ‘I’d found a way to have sustained direct experience of the infinite intelligence, Source’ (2008 [1999], p. 64). Bays explains healing in a science-like way and refers to Indian doctor Deepak Chopra’s theories that strong pressure can block cells so the individual gets sick (Chopra left traditional school medicine for alternative treatments like Ayurveda). According to Chopra, cell memories can be reprogrammed by internal influence so that healing occurs. Bays is critical of traditional medicine and the doctor she first met when she was ill: ‘was not a doctor who wanted the whole picture, the real facts, which included the emotional side of things. She wanted her idea of what the facts were’ (2008 [1999], p. 31). In the Journey ritual, the therapist talks with the client in a way that awakens intense emotions. Focus is given to painful childhood experiences, which should be vented and ended with a process of forgiveness. This happens with visualization exercises and in different ‘steps,’ similar to ritual acts. In these acts, the client visualizes a trip through the body in a spaceship together with a chosen mentor. The spaceship’s fuel is ‘powered by your own body wisdom, by the part of you that makes your heart beat and your hair grow’ 58

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(Bays 2003, p. 177) and goes firstly to the place that is affected by illness. The client and mentor then enter a campfire where the client as a child is waiting. Now the perpetrator is revealed as the one who causes all the pain and illness. The adult hugs the child, a forgiveness process begins, the adult leaves the fire together with the mentor on the spaceship, which begins the healing process. The Journey therapist then wakes up the client from the session and convinces the participant that the healing process will continue on its own ‘and your cells will replicate without you even thinking about it’ (Bays 2008 [1999], p. 189). The ritual can be finished with a hug or a glass of water (Hornborg 2012d, p. 412). There is also a moment of reflexivity and evaluation that takes place after the performance. Ronald Grimes (2014, pp. 72–73) discusses the evaluation of rituals under the term ‘ritual criticism.’ In this case the therapist and the client discuss what has happened in the various stages of the Journey and evaluate the performance. This opens up for the therapist, together with the client, to further correct the client’s experiences and focus on his or her needs. The post-processing of the ritual experience may create feelings of transformation that the ‘client’ did not encounter in the ritual process itself. The framing of the ritual, with a clear beginning and end, is thus more open in these individual-centered rituals as far as the end is concerned, unlike the liturgical ones that are more strictly regulated and framed. The Journey treatment can be specifically designed for children to use in the public sector as well. Liberating Kids’ Shining Potential offers training for ‘schoolteachers, school counsellors, and children’s therapists . . . in addiction treatment centers, by abuse groups, children’s support organizations and social service organizations . . . priests, nuns, ministers, rabbis, monks, pastors and swamis from a wide range of spiritual traditions’ (Bays 2003, p. vii).

Unleash the power within! Market society demands that workers should not only use their inner potential to be more productive at work, but they should also use it for creative leadership and developing ‘human capital.’ On YouTube, we can see a clip of how coach Anthony Robbins stages his performance during one of his many public events, using color, lighting and music. His dazzling white shirt against a blue background and victory gestures give Robbins a powerful appearance and charismatic aura. He is introduced alongside the world’s various leaders such as the Dalai Lama, Gorbachev, Nelson Mandela and Bill Clinton, whom he says he has met, emphasizing his authority as a source of inspiration. People testify to his ability to change people’s lives and a newspaper article states that ‘the world cannot get enough of Robbins.’ The question is asked what character Robbins inherits and the answer is: ‘He’s got the edge – and he gets results.’ Robbins begins his event by saying that there is a moment in life when we can make a decision to pursue radical change. This can be done quickly on a weekend by performing a practice called ‘Unleash the Power Within.’ Robbins’ performance can be divided into four important acts, which can be analyzed as a ritual manual that step by step will reveal how the inner force is found and released. The first step – or ritual act – The Firewalk Experience, tells that the participant can walk on glowing coals just to show that everything is possible if there is a strong enough will. In the next act, Power of Momentum, the participant must develop a strategy for change. It is followed by act three, Breakthrough and Transformation, and the final step is Power of Pure 59

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Energy. Robbins says that energy is the foundation for everything and nothing is impossible with the help of this force. He allows several witnesses to express the major changes that have occurred with the new strategic tools he has given them. People tell about their past lives; their business was bad, their marriage was bad. But after the encounter with Robbins, they have fulfilled their lives and are successful both at work (the money flows in) and in the family. Rechaud Bell, who had stuttered from childhood, now testifies how quickly he was released from this problem. His message is powerfully expressed: ‘I was a stutterer – but now I’m Rechaud!’ His inner true self – the real Rechaud – was not a stutterer. Robbins question to the audience is: ‘Are you ready for a new start?’ The audience’s answer is ‘Yes!’ He also uses a big water gun to spray (baptize?) the audience while they lift their hands and express rebirth and joy.

What if the inner potential is not found? There is no doubt that modern rituals have structural similarities with revival movements and conversions to a new life. The strong focus on the individual reflects today’s therapeutic society and also modernity that embeds people more in abstract rather than local identities. But what happens if the ritual fails with respect to its performative effects? Robbins clearly points out that it is the individual who is to blame. The market looks the same yesterday as today, the finances as well as the family situation, but a new flow changes the conditions for the individual. It is the individual’s moral responsibility to address the personal problems. Sin will not unleash the power within. Societal criticism transforms into self-criticism and the responsibility lies in the individual, as depicted in this description about being a job coach: You have one sole responsibility as a coach and it is to ensure that the dialogue is productive, that it goes forward so that the person is given the opportunity to create the results he or she wants. The one you are coaching is responsible for everything else: the job search project, his or her life, family situation, the finances and the dog. It’s not you as coach who delivers or produces anything. It is the jobseeker’s own responsibility to achieve the goal, regardless of the circumstances. If the labor market is not favorable, the person needs to take even greater responsibility. Waiting and hoping that the conditions will be better is to become a victim of the circumstances. (haeu.se, my translation and italics)

Conclusion By using Swedish society as a case study, this chapter has discussed how the market society has affected religious language and ritual design and created a kind of secular religion with structural similarities with revival movements. New formalized therapeutic or coaching practices offered by companies or entrepreneurs have been introduced with a focus on selfdevelopment and healing, which respond to the new needs for the individual both in private life and at work. The courses and treatments in focus in this chapter have been classified and analyzed as individual-centered rituals. These rituals are specifically designed to deal with illness and foster a vision for a better life. Although religion has been kept out of workplaces in secularized Sweden, these practices have gained traction in rebranding the soul and engendering a new concept of the person. Religion and soul as orienting ideas are 60

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abandoned, and spirituality and inner potential are preferred concepts. Legitimacy for the practices refer to religious traditions (mostly Asian, adapted to global/Western society), science and personal experience. If a tradition is chosen with religious roots (for example, yoga), the practices are redefined as spiritual or a technique. Authenticity is a buzz word, referring to the pursuit of the inner self more than adherence to tradition. But a careful analysis of the ‘authentic me’ also reveals more about designing a personhood that would better fit market society, than displaying a unique or specific personality. Narratives of the practices include intense emotional transformation, which has similarities with conversion stories, including missionary ambitions to redeem others from not being released. Layman therapy and coaching activities thus reflect Swedish society’s secularization process, global influences, the therapeutic turn and structural changes in the 1990s. The process remains relevant given neoliberalism. As such these practices are models of society. The rituals also become models for the individual and society in creating and incorporating images and visions by rebranding the soul to fulfill the ‘inner self,’ which longs for redemption to become a well-made person.

References Bays, B., 2003. The Journey for Kids: Liberating Your Child’s Shining Potential. Hammersmith: Element. Bays, B., 2008 [1999]. The Journey: A Practical Guide to Healing Your Life and Setting Yourself Free. New York and London: Atria. Bell, C., 1997. Ritual: Perspectives and Dimensions. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Carrette, J. and King, R., 2008 [2005]. Selling Spirituality: The Silent Takeover of Religion. London: Routledge. Collins, E., 1998. Reflections on Ritual and on Theorizing about Ritual. Journal of Ritual Studies, 12(1), 1–7. Eriksen, C., 2007. Det guddommelige selv på arbejde. In: J. Haviv, ed. Medarbejder eller modarbejder – religion i moderne arbejdsliv. Aarhus: Klim, 81–91. Furedi, F., 2004. Therapy Culture. Cultivating Vulnerability in an Uncertain Age. New York: Routledge. Geertz, C., 1973. The Interpretation of Culture: Selected Essays. New York: Basic Books. Grimes, R. L., 1996. Readings in Ritual Studies. Upper Saddle River: Prentice Hall. Grimes, R. L., 2014. The Craft of Ritual Studies. New York: Oxford University Press. Hammer, O., 2001. Claiming Knowledge: Strategies of Epistemology from Theosophy to the New Age. Numen Book Series: Studies in the History of Religions, vol. XC. Leiden, Boston, Cologne: Brill. Hornborg, A. C., 2012a. Coaching och lekmannaterapi: En modern väckelse? Falun: Dialogos. Hornborg, A. C., 2012b. Secular Spirituality in Contemporary Sweden. Swedish Missiological Themes (SMT), 100(3), 303–321. Hornborg, A. C., 2012c. Are We All Spiritual? A Comparative Perspective on the Appropriation of a New Concept of Spirituality. Journal for the Study of Spirituality, 1(2), 247–266. Hornborg, A. C., 2012d. Designing Rites to Reenchant Secularized Society: New Varieties of Spiritualized Therapy in Contemporary Sweden. Journal of Religion and Health, 51(2), 402–418. Hornborg, A. C., 2013. Healing or Dealing? Neospiritual Therapies and Coaching as Individual Meaning and Social Discipline in Late Modern Swedish Society. In: F. Gauthier and T. Martikainen, eds. Religion in Consumer Society: Brands, Consumers and Markets. Farnham: Ashgate, 189–206. Hornborg, A. C., 2014. ‘Hitta dina inre resurser’ – mindfulness som kommersiell produkt. In: K. Plank, ed. Mindfulness: Tradition, tolkning och tillämpning. Lund: Nordic Academic Press, 177–202. Humphrey, C. and Laidlaw, J., 1994. The Archetypal Actions of Ritual. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Illouz, E., 2008. Saving the Modern Soul: Therapy, Emotions, and the Culture of Self-help. Berkeley: University of California Press. Maslow, A., 1964. Religions, Values, and Peak Experiences (Kappa Delta Pi Lecture Series). Columbus, OH: Ohio State University Press. McMahan, D. L., 2009. The Making of Buddhist Modernism. New York: Oxford University Press.

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Merton, R. K., 1957. Social Theory and Social Structure. Glencoe: Free Press. Oliver, P., 2014. Hinduism and the 1960s. London and New York: Bloomsbury Academic. Rappaport, R. A., 1999. Ritual and Religion in the Making of Humanity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. SCB (Statistiska Centralbyrån), 2004. Sjukfrånvaro och ohälsa i Sverige: En belysning utifrån SCB: s statistik. Örebro: SCB: tryck. Skolinspektionen, 2012-10-23. Anmälan angående yoga i utbildningen vid grundskolan Östermalmskolan i Stockholms kommun. Dnr 41-2012:2569. www.skolyoga.se/uploads/9/0/8/2/9082645/41-20122569_beslut.pdf (Accessed 21 January 2018). Theorell, T., 2006. I spåren av 90-talet. Kristianstad: Karolinska Institutet University Press. Winroth, A. C., 2004. Vardagligt och livsviktigt berättande om hälsa och bot. In: M. Eklöf, ed. Perspektiv på komplementär medicin. Malmo: Studentlitteratur, 133–146.

Internet sources coachfalck.se. www.coachfalck.se/coachforforetag.php (Accessed 5 October 2015). dagen.se 2012-10-23. www.dagen.se/debatt/sag-nej-till-yoga-i-skolan-1.111907 (Accessed 19 June 2016). enkeltochroligt.se. www.enkeltochroligt.se/?page_id=3 (Accessed 9 December 2011). fowelin.com. www.fowelin.com/index.php/mindfulness/mindfulness-i-skolan (Accessed 5 October 2015). growing.se. www.growing.se/coaching/ (Accessed 5 October 2015). haeu.se. www.haeu.se/node/132 (Accessed 25 December 2010). kjellhaglund.com. www.kjellhaglund.com/utbildningar-kurser/lar-dig-leva-har-nu-i-mindfulness/ (Accessed 5 October 2015). ninahallberg.com. www.ninahallberg.com/resanterapi.html (Accessed 8 December 2010). remier-coaching.se. www.reimer-coaching.se/vara-tjanster/lararcoaching (Accessed 30 October 2014). resanterapi.com. www.resanterapi.com/jag.htm (Accessed 5 October 2015). sorg.se. www.sorg.se/dokument/kursbeskrivning_workshop.pdf (Accessed 26 January 2011). springes.se. www.springes.se/index.php?option=com_content&view=article&id=4&Itemid=4 (Accessed 5 October 2015). tommypalarsson.se 2016. www.tommypalarsson.se/personligcoachrelationscoach-mening-andlighetreligion.php (Accessed 19 September 2016). vipassanalivscoach.se. www.vipassanalivscoach.se/ (Accessed 5 October 2015).

YouTube clips Bays.youtube. www.youtube.com/watch?v=J9cnF3Egc0w (Accessed 5 October 2015). Robbins.youtube. www.youtube.com/watch?v=zjm10gcqOKg&list=PL6BE9764C303DB0A6&in dex=2 (Accessed 5 October 2015).

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Part II

Contemporary ethics and values

5 The prosperity ethic The rise of the new prosperity gospel Jayeel Cornelio and Erron Medina

Introduction A new prosperity gospel has arrived. It promotes an individualized work ethic, backed by a religious conviction that promises financial returns. We call this the prosperity ethic. It has two features: sacralizing self-help and celebrating consumption. By offering a message that combines spiritual renewal, wealth creation, and happiness, the new prosperity gospel attempts to reinvent well-being from one that is collectively attained to one that is individualist, faith-based, and work-oriented. That it sacralizes work ethic with a conviction that God wants to bless people is how the new prosperity gospel has evolved from its older version. Invoking various biblical texts as guidelines to be rich and successful, the prosperity ethic aims to ensure financial growth and freedom from debt. We argue that the prosperity ethic is the new prosperity gospel. The old prosperity gospel, as we explain below, is miracle-oriented. A message of hope for the poor, it preaches that breakthroughs are achieved through giving and positive confession. The prosperity ethic, by contrast, expects its followers to adopt practical skills related to investment and financial management. To do so follows the will of God who wants His people to be rich and happy. As a result of this emphasis, the prosperity ethic attracts aspirational middle class followers. The combination of a hopeful message for a hardworking segment is appealing to a precarious middle class given turbulent and uncertain economic situations. This chapter makes the case for the rise of the new prosperity gospel as follows. First, we will discuss the original forms of the prosperity gospel and its roots in Pentecostal Christianity and the New Thought Movement. Second, ideas about self-help will be revisited to map the current spiritual and work-oriented innovations in the practice and preaching of the prosperity gospel. Finally, we explain the prosperity ethic in terms of its features: sacralizing self-help and celebrating consumption. This section will provide some illustrations to demonstrate the differences. We propose in the end that these developments, shaped by the global neoliberal economic regime, are religious innovations that address economic insecurity and build on personal aspirations for spiritual growth and material success.

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The prosperity gospel At its core the prosperity gospel is a ‘wildly popular Christian message of spiritual, physical, and financial mastery’ preached around the world (Bowler 2013, p. 3). It professes that material and spiritual provisions from God are a result of faith-driven obedience to His commandments (Hunt 2000a; Mboya 2016, p. 16). Thus faith, wealth, health, and victory punctuate its messages proclaimed in preachings, books, radio and television programs, and now social media. Oral Roberts, Creflo Dollar, Kenneth Copeland, and Kenneth Hagin are some of the names associated with prosperity preaching. While megachurch pastors tend to be its most prominent figures, their counterparts in smaller congregations are no less influential. This is how the prosperity gospel has gained traction not just in the US but also in many places in the Global South. The rise of megachurches in Southeast Asia, for example, is worth investigating in this light (Chong 2018). At the same time, Christians from different denominations one way or another subscribe to the tenets of the prosperity gospel. In this section we briefly discuss these themes and relate them to its influences in Pentecostalism and the New Thought Movement.

Faith and the spoken word Faith is the foundation of the prosperity gospel. It is an ‘activator, a power that unleashes spiritual forces and turns the spoken word into reality’ (Bowler 2013, p. 7). Faith enables victory which renders the ‘material reality as the measure of the success of immaterial faith.’ This shows a ‘special form of Christian power to reach into God’s treasure trove’ where believers can elicit physical and financial miracles. Here, the power to shape life chances through faith can be seen as a ‘negotiating’ activity between God and individuals (Machado 2010). The working assumption is that material blessings are automatically included in salvation as the rightful inheritance of Christians (Hunt 2000b). Faith, which is the means to claim blessings from God, thus becomes the central tenet of prosperity messages (Attanasi 2012). Manifesting one’s faith, the spoken declaration is vital in this regard, a principle derived from New Thought. We will come back to this point shortly. What matters at this point is that making declarations follows the ‘the law of attraction,’ which asserts that ‘human beings create their own future through their thoughts and words’ (Maritz and Stoker 2016). Criticisms, of course, have been set against these claims. Among theologians, controversies revolve around the basis for such proclamations and around the question as to whether it is self-serving or God-serving (Ma 2011). There are also a lot of scriptural debates that surround prosperity in relation to Christ’s atonement (Mbamalu 2015). Others argue that such teachings are a ‘commercialization of the gospel’ and that giving was never a prerequisite to receive blessings from God (Gbote and Kgatla 2014). The centrality of the power of the mind (or positive thinking) predominantly defines the shape of the prosperity gospel in the West. What accounts for its success around the world? For some scholars, the key to understanding its wide acceptance lies in the prosperity gospel’s functions (Hasu 2006, p. 685): (1) to satisfy human wants and needs, which God did not intend to be evil in the first place, and (2) to support church activities and evangelism. In a concrete sense, the prosperity gospel has sacralized personal desire. Applying it in one’s life can be an individualized spiritual technique to face uncertain material situations without feeling guilty about the evils of being rich. At the same time, it affords one an entrepreneurial mindset in

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which personal actions can unlock not only economic breakthroughs but also stable physical well-being and spiritual maturity (Haynes 2012, pp. 125–128). We will come back to this point later to propose how the entrepreneurial mindset is taking on a new form among prosperity preachers.

Roots of the prosperity gospel The prosperity gospel in the West was largely influenced by Pentecostal Christianity and the New Thought Movement (Coleman 2000; Robbins 2004; Albanese 2007; Barker 2007; Attanasi 2012, p. 3; Hutchinson 2014). Both have shaped the contents of prosperity teaching and the expectations of its followers. Pentecostal Christianity highlights the work of the Holy Spirit within individual believers. This comes with having a deep personal relationship with God. The work of the Spirit is embodied in several gifts which are accorded to the faithful such as speaking in tongues, the power of healing, and prophecy. A report from Pew Research (2006) states that compared to Christians who come from other denominations, Pentecostals tend to be more believing of the reality of the rapture, miracles, the inerrancy of the Bible, and mission. They also adhere to a ‘fourfold gospel of divine healing, personal salvation, Baptism of the Holy Spirit, and Christ’s [soon] return’ (Bowler 2013, p. 21). In addition, Pentecostalism is different from other denominations with its egalitarian church structure by challenging hierarchical and gendered spiritual or religious roles in worship (Robbins 2004, Barker 2007, p. 415). In turn, Pentecostalism has widened the opportunity for ordinary people to experience spirituality although in a more individualized form. Explanations for the spread of Pentecostalism range from theological to sociological (Kay 2013, pp. 21–23). First, Pentecostalism can spread easily because its beliefs and practices are ‘transposable’ and ‘portable,’ attributes that pose no radical threat to the default value systems of a receiving social environment (Csordas 2007, p. 261). Second, its focus on ‘power evangelism’ strengthens lay ministers who serve as a democratizing force rooted in the belief that God is working directly in the lives of individuals. Lastly, the exercise of spiritual gifts also makes people more active in discovering their own contributions, which then account for church participation and growth. Pentecostalism also has the capacity to foster personal discipline that suits the current neoliberal economic paradigm (Barker 2007, p. 408). In effect, Pentecostal churches act as an institutional alternative to state-led agencies. They do this by valuing material well-being as a result of personal salvation. Economic affluence is thus understood as a consequence of personal beliefs and miracles. Hence, the increasing number of Pentecostals rides on the progress of neoliberalism as it ‘normalizes the transnational nature of contemporary life’ (Barker 2007, p. 425). For example, preachers interpret labor migration as a holy move by God to transfer one group of believers from one place to another (Barker 2007, p. 425). From this, one can directly attribute the quality of life—which includes success and prosperity—to the kind of relationship one has with God. Spiritual mediators are no longer needed to interpret spiritual messages and to channel blessings. The other main influence of the prosperity gospel was the New Thought Movement (Bowler 2013). Some of its most influential American figures were Phineas Quimby, Norman Vincent Peale, and E.W. Kenyon. Their writings inspired the message of such preachers as Kenneth Hagin, Pat Robertson, and Oral Roberts (Coleman 2000). Influential female speakers also contributed to strengthening belief in the power of the mind and its spiritual capacities. Mary Baker Eddy and Aimee Semple McPherson were known for their 67

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initiatives that emphasized mind-power, healing, and emotion-based preaching (McDonald 1986; Stackhouse 1988; Blumhofer 2004; Hall 2007; Maddux 2012). While they have been criticized for entering the male-dominated sphere of religion and theology, their influence cannot be discounted. For example, Eddy’s focus on healing inspired her to found Christian Science (Hall 2007, p. 81). Mary Baker Eddy’s book, Science and Health, was used in various churches since ‘Christian theology had to be practical’ (Hall 2007, p. 82). In her attempts to revive Christianity’s importance for the lost, Aimee Semple McPherson did not confine herself to any denomination. Her Pentecostal orientation centered on the belief that ‘both human need and Jesus Christ remained the same.’ In this light, the ever-present power of God in Jesus could meet the needs and desires of his children anytime (Blumhofer 2004, p. 225). Harnessing the power of the mind, New Thought is often characterized as a metaphysical religion ‘that claimed some unity of God and individual mind, with the ability to manifest change in the world’ (Hutchinson 2014, pp. 28–29). Metaphysical religion has been an important dimension of the present religious landscape of the US (Albanese 2007). Four principles underpin New Thought: the power of mind-as-consciousness, the belief in multiple corresponding cosmic worlds, the dynamism of psychic energy, and salvation based on healing and therapy (Albanese 2007, pp. 13–15). In addition, this movement emphasizes the superiority of spiritual reality over matter and the belief in the generative power of positive thought (Bowler 2013, p. 12). It teaches that the mind has the capacity to make things happen in the physical world. In effect, the prosperity gospel cannot be taken as a singular moment in the history of contemporary Christianity. It traces its roots back to the New Thought Movement and older forms of Pentecostalism. But taken together, these influences fueled individualism and sanctified people’s desire for upward mobility, which, as far as the US is concerned, materialized in the latter half of the 20th century. The result has been the unparalleled success of the prosperity gospel in the US and around the world (Bowler 2013, p. 11). Moreover, its theology took time to take shape, become coherent, and be transported around the world, with the help of influential religious groups such as the Word of Faith Ministries in Sweden (Coleman 2002, p. 8). The theological foundation is that God, through the death of Christ, has already provided all the needs of humanity including success over spiritual, physical, and economic problems (Hasu 2006, p. 679). This belief could provide means for individuals to interpret their life struggles and aspirations, thereby dismissing economics and politics as more viable viewpoints. Put differently, the prosperity gospel, for emphasizing the power of the mind, places the burden on the individual to solve problems. It enables believers to take control and manage the effects of uncertainties in their own lives. By the same token, financial misfortune and health problems are explained as a result of one’s quality of thinking.

The new prosperity gospel? In this section, we propose that the prosperity gospel is once again undergoing a process of change. Following the account above, we agree with Bowler (2013, p. 7) that it is ‘a popular religious imagination that has not yet ended.’ Indeed, as it gains traction around the world, the prosperity gospel takes on its own life with varying consequences on politics, culture, and society. For example, the conviction that God has predestined His people to become rich might be a typical story among Pentecostal churches and other denominations in Zimbabwe and other countries in the Global South (Gunda 2018). But these contexts 68

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have also fostered the undisputed role of prophets who receive direct revelations from God not only to perform miracles but also see into the future. Although supernatural aspects remain ever present, what we wish to highlight in this section are noticeable shifts that call for sociological assessments. These observations are based on our ongoing project on the prosperity gospel in the Philippines, but we see resonances elsewhere: sacralizing self-help and celebrating consumption.

Sacralizing self-help In older forms of the prosperity gospel, one’s task is to simply believe, profess, and give money to the Lord’s anointed individuals and their ministries. In this light, subscribing to the gospel is an investment in miracles (Wiegele 2005). In recent years, we notice that individual responsibility has become more pronounced in the messages of contemporary prosperity preachers (Obadare 2016, p. 4). This they do through self-help, which emphasizes practical steps to achieve individual prosperity. In the Philippines, similar market lessons combined with Christian teachings can also be observed. They deviate from the older prosperity gospel of El Shaddai preacher, Brother Mike Velarde for whom giving money is key to becoming rich (Wiegele 2005; Kessler and Rüland 2006). Chinkee Tan and Bo Sanchez provide an interesting case. They are wellknown wealth coaches and mentors who speak religious messages while teaching life lessons focusing on finances. Chinkee Tan is a celebrated preacher and mentor in the Filipino Evangelical community. His books discuss spirituality and financial freedom. On the other hand, Bo Sanchez, a Catholic lay worker, has established his own ministry called Light of Jesus Family (LOJ), which has attracted a significant number of followers. They have a weekly gathering called The Feast in a stadium in the middle of one of Manila’s most successful commercial complexes. On its website,1 the Feast is described as a Sunday assembly where people attend prayer and worship activities and listen to ‘practical Christian living’ messages. Its growth is spearheaded by other ‘feast builders’ who are also into writing spiritual books for evangelistic purposes. Bo Sanchez, as the founder, has written a number of bestselling books about financial and spiritual success. Bo Sanchez’s group, LOJ, is worth describing in detail. On its website, the group declares itself to be Catholic but also welcomes attendees from other churches. LOJ, which began as a prayer group in Manila in the 1980s, now has a global reach. The predominance of English preaching in The Feast deviates largely from the typical Sunday Mass in the Philippines. Its services are held in ‘malls, movie houses, restaurants, civic centers, offices, and homes’ to reach the ‘unchurched.’2 The group also has a publishing arm, Shepherd’s Voice. It publishes Bo Sanchez’s books and other writing, most of which tackle financial security and getting rich.3 Apart from its weekly services and publications, the group is also known for organizing spectacular events that blend spiritual growth with financial concerns. For example, in December 2018, The Feast adopted a month-long series titled ‘G: Winning the Game of Money.’ The series focused on gift (earning money), goal (purpose of having money), and grit (money management).4 LOJ also hosts the Kerygma Conference, an annual event that promises ‘an overflowing experience of change and inspiration.’ This conference partners with the most successful companies in the country and other financial organizations. Sessions focus mainly on three themes: family relations, investment and money matters, and spiritual lessons. Taken together, LOJ’s services, publications, and events are all spectacular feats that serve as avenues for Bo Sanchez to sacralize self-help. 69

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What makes Tan and Sanchez notable is that even though they belong to different churches, both of them have transformed the prosperity message into an aspirational one filled with practical tips to achieve their life goals. Theirs is aspirational first in terms of upward mobility while aiming for a fulfilling spiritual life. Second, their message is practical as they offer specific and concrete financial pieces of advice to become successful. These rules are then justified by Biblical passages regarding wealth, money, and giving. For example, Bo Sanchez suggests investing 20–30% of his readers’ money in retail treasury bonds, mutual funds, and the stock market (Sanchez 2013). He believes that profit is encouraged in the Scriptures. He cites the Parable of Talents as an illustration (Matthew 25: 25–26). In his book, the Catholic lay preacher instructs his readers to ‘monetize’ their Godgiven gift to overcome financial difficulties. Similarly, for Chinkee Tan, to be rich demands following necessary steps. What steps does he propose? Aside from having a correct money mindset, one must learn the specific practices of the rich. For Tan, productivity can be achieved by instilling work ethic and discipline to counter procrastination (Tan 2014). In other words, a change in lifestyle must be accompanied with proper investments in knowledge and skills about getting rich. Attending seminars about financial management and reading financial literacy books are strategic investments. In effect, these authors are asking their readers to have the ‘right’ mindset to achieve prosperity. To receive blessings, practical steps must be followed like a blueprint. According to Tan and Sanchez, whom their followers consider ‘life mentors,’ it is possible to combine spiritual and financial abundance at the same time. People can have financial freedom while maintaining a good spiritual well-being. Their books are filled with themes concerning wealth and blessings, and faith and positive thinking. Indeed, the prosperity ethic espoused by Tan and Sanchez has behavioral consequences. According to Neubert et al. (2014, p. 141), ‘with confidence that their work is honoring God, people may be willing to take more risks or, conversely, to take only risks with a high likelihood of positive results’ in their work or business initiatives. What is also worth noting here is that the messengers themselves become the message. Their life trajectories exemplify what hard work, if done right, can accomplish for an individual. In her provocative work, Nicole Aschoff (2015, p. 10) refers to these individuals as ‘the new prophets of capital.’ Inspirational figures like Oprah Winfrey, Bill Gates, and Sheryl Sandberg criticize capitalism but do not call for its end. Instead, they want a better version of capitalism in which care of the self, among other aspirations, is emphasized. In our view, the preachers of the prosperity ethic are among these new prophets of capital. They present self-help as the means to achieving a full life, which, incidentally, is also the message of Jesus, at least according to the preachers we mentioned above. In the prosperity ethic, the full life is financially rewarding. It is, to use the name of Bo Sanchez’s gathering, a ‘feast.’ Self-help ideas are helpful in this regard as they make desirable goals in a market economy achievable for the individual (Peck 2010; Kenney 2015; Poon 2015). Self-help reading materials serve as a blueprint in transforming behavior and actions (Kenney 2015, p. 664).

Celebrating consumption The other feature of the prosperity ethic is the unapologetic enjoyment of the good life. Older forms of the prosperity gospel have been arguably about overcoming one’s circumstances by experiencing God’s ‘breakthrough.’ In this sense, one is always waiting for a miracle to happen. Confessing one’s faith and giving money are means of investing in 70

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miracles, which, at the divinely appointed time, will come soon (Wiegele 2005). By contrast, the declaration of the prosperity ethic is that life has to be enjoyed here and now. This is a nuance we wish to highlight here. The prosperity ethic teaches that God intends His people to be richly blessed. In other words, Christians must be unapologetic about prosperity and material benefits, which is ultimately tied to how Christians see themselves. Some examples are called for. Joel Osteen, who himself has written a number of books about happiness and well-being, is a forerunner of the prosperity ethic that celebrates consumption. The Texas-based preacher asserts that happiness is tied to consumption. To consume and enjoy financial prosperity is central to Osteen’s theology of money and view of the Christian good life (Mundey 2017, p. 337). Osteen’s message suggests that God wants the faithful to enjoy luxuries in life by having consumerist blessings. In Osteen’s first book, Your Best Life Now, he explains that people’s ability to feel and enjoy God’s blessings are hindered by their own orientation as unworthy and undeserving of these favors (Johnson 2018, p. 30). Hence, changing their understanding of themselves is the key to receiving God’s material and non-material favors. In effect, they are not waiting for any miracle. Miracles are for God’s people to experience now, a point that Osteen’s counterpart in Singapore, Joseph Prince, also echoes. The pastor of New Creation Church is known for his book, Destined to Reign. Although Prince asserts that he does not preach any prosperity gospel, he nevertheless proclaims that the gospel of Jesus must result in success, restoration, financial achievements, and much more. Like Osteen, crucial for Joseph Prince is one’s selfunderstanding. Believers must see themselves as capable of accessing the ‘superabundant supply of grace’ (Goh 2018, p. 197). This self-care evident in their books and preachings is how Osteen and Prince come close to the sacralized self-help genre described earlier. Similar observations are found in the South Korean context where contemporary prosperity preachers teach that God’s blessings must be enjoyed. It is ‘magical-speculative individualism’ (Suh 2019, p. 13). Here, success and prosperity are results of not only having a relationship with God but also an appreciative attitude towards His provisions. David Yonggi Cho, the famous pastor from Yoido Full Gospel Church, is known for his theology of blessings that emphasizes God’s miraculous intervention in people’s economic conditions (Ma 2011; Suh 2019, p. 12). Even in African American religious communities, research shows that the enjoyment of the good life has gained traction. This is in spite of the renewed call to revive African prophetic preaching in relation to social justice. Yet the popularity of prosperity theology has appealed more to the majority of African Americans primarily because teachings about faith, hope, and empowerment are now tied to upward mobility (Mumford 2012, p. 381). In other words, upward mobility entails the capacity to enjoy material things and afford a consumerist lifestyle. The spiritual value of faith, hope, and empowerment have been transformed in favor of the prosperity ethic.

Sociological explanations How do we account for the rise of the prosperity ethic as a new form of the prosperity gospel? In our view, the answer lies in the global market economy that affects religious life in different parts of the world, especially among those who belong to the rising (and yet precarious) middle class. One way of approaching this relationship is by recognizing how religion responds to people’s desire for upward mobility, stability, and the good life. These are questions that matter in religious societies that are at the same time undergoing massive economic shifts. This is the case in many parts of the Global South. Our immediate context is the Philippines 71

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where we are conducting research on religious innovations and the shifts in the prosperity gospel and other forms of moral conservatism (Cornelio 2020a). It is very telling that the Philippines, for being increasingly embedded in global trade, is now projected to be among the biggest economies in the world by 2050 (Business World 2015). And yet this development leaves many far behind especially among the younger ones whose life chances are affected by varying access to education, healthcare, and other resources (Cornelio 2020b). How relevant is the prosperity ethic? Self-help books, for one, thrive by telling readers what they need and how to achieve them. The assumption is that the self ‘can be contacted, explored, and empowered with the right knowledge and technique’ (Kenney 2015, p. 664). This message gains strong acceptance especially within a market environment where achieving economic mobility is framed as an effect of individual choice and personal will (Poon 2015, p. 140). It is also in this light that sacralizing it makes self-help a more acceptable approach to life especially in religious societies that are at the same time marketoriented. Market societies demand that their citizens be fully equipped for the changing needs of the world. Making the burden heavier for individuals is the failure of the welfare model in many societies. In fact, in many parts of the Global South, it is impossible to fully implement the welfare model given that state resources are limited and exposed to corruption. In addition, market-oriented development expects people to fend for themselves through education, career planning, and financial investments. These are areas now sanctified by religion in the form of the prosperity ethic. Indeed, self-help necessarily invokes self-reliance, industriousness, and discipline (Poon 2015, p. 141). The combination of older prosperity messages and practical tips on financial literacy has gained popularity with the rise of an aspirational middle class. With the ‘correct’ mindset, the middle class is enjoined to change their attitudes (and therefore their work ethic) according to practical tips and biblical justifications for prosperity (Peck 2010, pp. 9–10). As a result, the prosperity ethic is blind to the larger social structures of inequality that may affect people, especially those who are disenfranchised from the benefits of a growing economy. The individualistic spiritual and prosperous life it fosters focuses on ‘positivity as life resource’ which compels ‘citizens to be selfconstituting and resourceful’ (Bowler 2015, p. 631). Put differently, the continuous expansion of growth-oriented churches ‘blesses’ the market environment (Maddox 2012, p. 154). As far as its believers are concerned, the prosperity ethic blurs the line between religion and the market, as is the case for megachurches in Singapore (Yip and Ainsworth 2016). Finally, the theology of consumption has become a new dimension of the contemporary prosperity gospel. The prosperity ethic, as we have been observing it, is not only about hard work that follows sound advice for career, money, and other investments. It also emphasizes the enjoyment of blessings. What is important is to make an evangelistic message through caring and making one’s own body beautiful and prosperous (Maddox 2013, p. 110). By instilling this preference for material luxuries, the ‘ideology and lifestyle of consumerism can be salvific in itself’ (Maddox 2013, p. 111). The irony, of course, is that it calls for a celebration of consumption that may not be tenable in the long run. This explains why, within the same US context, the call for self-sufficiency (and anti-welfare policies) is balanced with a message of compassion for the poor (Hackworth 2010, p. 103). These discourses for charity and compassion mitigate the crushing effect of neoliberal economics on those who cannot compete. 72

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To summarize, the prosperity ethic, in our view, is an innovation among prosperity preachers that responds to the situation of an emerging middle class in many societies (especially in the Global South). The combination of self-help and consumption matches the delicate situation of the middle class, who, while benefiting from the rising economy, also feels the anxieties of competition—locally and globally. The reason is that while the middle class might be growing in the developing world, it is also precarious given geopolitics, uneven global trade, and corruption. Moreover, even in economic powerhouses like South Korea and Singapore, countries that play a role in the rise of the prosperity ethic, their middle class is now vulnerable to fierce competition among equally educated citizens in the region and the rest of the world. It is in this light that the prosperity gospel has a natural fit for a changing global economic environment that witnesses the emergence of the new (but precarious) middle class. Clearly, the market economy is very much tied to the religious life (Moberg and Martikainen 2018). It is in this sense that the prosperity ethic as we have documented it finds continuities with the aspirational disposition of the old prosperity gospel and its origin, Pentecostalism. Taken together, these movements desired recognition for the disenfranchised. Pentecostalism and the old prosperity gospel appealed to people from the margins, in terms of class, race, and gender (Martin 2001). But what is remarkably different with the prosperity ethic is that it is not catered for the marginalized even if some of its messages might appeal to the least equipped. The reason is that the financial skills it expects from its followers demands competencies available to those who already have the resources and educational background. This is to be expected given that its messengers are themselves ‘overcomers’ of their own limitations, preachers who are successful as well in their industries. We agree with Aschoff (2015, p. 91) that these ‘prophets of capital’ advise their listeners to ‘turn [their] gaze inwards and reconfigure [themselves] to become more adaptable to the vagaries and stresses of the neoliberal environment.’

Conclusion This chapter has proposed that a new prosperity gospel is rising. We have called it the prosperity ethic. As we have spelled out, the ethic has two features: sacralizing self-help and celebrating consumption. Taken together, these features value upward mobility and invoke Biblical and Christian principles to justify practical rules to acquire wealth. The prosperity ethic differs from the old prosperity gospel. The main difference is the content. The old prosperity gospel relies heavily on the promise of financial miracle, which is activated through the power of confession and giving. The prosperity ethic, by contrast, emphasizes financial growth through self-help and other practical tips concerning investment and resource management. As a result of these emphases, the old prosperity gospel and the new prosperity ethic have attracted different audiences. The former is a message of hope for the poor. The latter works for the aspirational (but precarious) middle class. Although our work has been focused on the Philippine scene, we have drawn on illustrative cases elsewhere. It is important to note that the increasing presence of self-help ideas in achieving religiously motivated prosperity intertwines ‘spirituality, self-actualization, and stuff’ (Aschoff 2015, p. 63). By instilling concrete market techniques into the practice of spiritual prosperity, economic aspirations are fueled by spiritual dynamics through financial accumulation. All these are justified by Christian principles. Jesus, as it were, wants believers to live a full life. 73

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We end on a critical note. The success of the prosperity gospel and its new form, the prosperity ethic, has taken place at a time when liberation theology and other convictions related to social justice have also declined. This is because the global market economy has engendered an individualistic ethos that demands agility on the part of any aspirational individual. In this sense, the preachers of the prosperity ethic we have mentioned here are all about ‘breakthroughs’ and ‘victories’ through careful planning of one’s life, aided by a theology that blesses wealth and consumption. Using the metaphors of religion and the economy, the ‘market’ has taken over the ‘kingdom’ (Nolan 2008). Does space still exist though for a theology of inequality? And what conditions might challenge proponents of the prosperity ethic to critically confront social justice (Sutterlüty 2016)? In fact, a new dilemma for the prosperity ethic is increasingly undeniable: the global disappointment over the market economy, as evidenced by the rise of illiberal regimes around the world. Recent theological reflections that revisit the communitarian elements of social teaching are promising. But their promise of ‘interrupting capitalism’ seems to be unpersuasive compared to the appeal of the prosperity ethic (Shadle 2018, p. 4).

Notes 1 2 3 4

See See See See

www.feast.ph/about/. http://feaststories.com/. https://shop.kerygmabooks.com/product-tag/shepherds-voice-publications/. https://www.feast.ph/g/.

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Nolan, A., 2008. Jesus before Christianity. Quezon City: Calretian Publications. Obadare, E., 2016. ‘Raising Righteous Billionaires’: The Prosperity Gospel Reconsidered. HTS Teologiese Studies/Theological Studies, 72 (4), e1–e8. Peck, J., 2010. The Secret of Her Success: Oprah Winfrey and the Seductions of Self-Transformation. Journal of Communication Inquiry, 34 (1), 7–14. Pew Research Center, 2006. Spirit and Power: A 10-Country Survey of Pentecostals. Washington, DC: Pew Research Center. Poon, A., 2015. Helping the Novel: Neoliberalism, Slef-Help, and the Narrating of the Self in Mohsin Hamid’s How to Get Filthy Rich in Rising Asia. The Journal of Commonwealth Literature, 52 (1), 139–150. Robbins, J., 2004. The Globalization of Pentecostal and Charismatic Christianity. Annual Review of Anthropology, 33, 117–143. Sanchez, Bo., 2013. The Abundance Formula: The Four Simple Steps that Make Good People Rich. Quezon City: Shepherd’s Voice Publications, Inc. Shadle, M., 2018. Interrupting Capitalism: Catholic Social thought and the Economy. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stackhouse, J., Jr., 1988. Women in Public Ministry in 20th-centruy Canadian and American Evangelicalism: Five Models. Studies in Religion, 17 (3), 471–485. Suh, M.-S., 2019. Two Sacred Tales in the Seoul metropolisL the Gospels of Prosperity and Development in Modernizing South Korea. Social Compass, 66 (4), 561–578. Sutterlüty, F., 2016. The Role of Relgious Ideas: Christian Interpretations of Social Inequalities. Critical Sociology, 42 (1), 33–48. Tan, C., 2014. Secrets of the Rich and Successful. Parañaque: Church Strengthening Ministry, Inc. Wiegele, K., 2005. Investing in Miracles: El Shaddai and the Transformation of Popular Catholicism in the Philippines. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Yip, J. and Ainsworth, S., 2016. ‘Whatever Works’: The Marketplace Mission of Singapore’s City Harvest Church. Journal of Macromarketing, 36 (4), 443–456.

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6 Islamic ethics in Muslim Eurasia Prosperity theology vs. renunciation? Aurélie Biard

God does not love the arrogant and vainglorious, nor those who are stingy and who hide the benefits that God has bestowed on them . . . nor those who spend of their substance so as to be conspicuous before others. (Koran 57:23–4, 4:36–8)

Introduction The post-Soviet states that comprise Muslim Eurasia, defined as a place (space) located both in Asia and Europe (Mostafa 2013), provide a unique case for looking at the new ways in which religion and economics are coming to interact on a global scale. With the fall of the USSR, these once-isolated areas were suddenly confronted with globalization, in a process more brutal than that experienced by the rest of the Muslim world. This study rejects an insular view of the region, which has seen the same religious pluralism as anywhere else. Indeed, the opening of the Soviet borders at the turn of the 1990s allowed for new inflows and the import of foreign religious models, including proselytizing Islamic and Protestant movements, to the post-Soviet space. More often than not, these transnational movements are denounced by the local authorities as ‘sects’ that serve foreign interests, while the so-called ‘traditional’ religions— Islam (Ḥanafı̄ sm), Orthodoxy, Judaism and Buddhism—are all treated as part of a republic’s historical legacy. The goal of this chapter is to study the mutations of Islam in the wake of the fall of Communism and the integration of Muslim Eurasia into a globalized economy and culture, with a particular focus on the emergence of Islamic ethical systems that reject globalization due to its Western roots. The analysis focuses on two post-Soviet Central Asian republics with a Sunni Ḥanaf ı̄ majority, Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan. Both speak Turkic languages and have a nomadic tradition. Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan’s political situations are contrasted. Kazakhstan has had an authoritarian state oligarchy since the fall of the USSR in 1991. President Nursultan Nazarbayev, the ‘Leader of the Nation’ (Elbasy), ruled Kazakhstan for three decades before unexpectedly resigning on March 19, 2019 during a televised address to the nation. On

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June 9, 2019, Kazakhstan elected as president Nazarbayev’s hand-picked successor, KassymJomart Tokayev, who pledged to continue the policies of his predecessor. Kyrgyzstan’s hybrid regime, meanwhile, has seen several transfers of presidential power since independence via ‘revolutions’ or ‘coups’ against incumbent elites. Nevertheless, both states have been shown to redistribute wealth in accordance with the logic of clientelism, a reality that has discredited these states as providers of public goods. For the Kazakh and Kyrgyz populations, the abrupt transition to a market economy—in the early 1990s, both states collaborated extensively with the World Bank and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) and ‘approved the “Western” blueprint of a free market economy’ (Botoeva 2018, p. 244)— was mainly experienced as trauma and signalled, above all, the total bankruptcy of the state and its mission. As most of society found itself impoverished, the dismantling of Soviet industries and the savage privatization of the 1990s gave rise to a new privileged class. The success of this privileged class arose from the control it exerted over the shadow economy, something deeply shocking to a population accustomed to a uniformity of lifestyles. Moreover, although Kazakhstan is far wealthier, stark economic inequality is apparent in both states. Kazakhstan, a ‘rentier economy’, whose current population is 18.5 million, relies heavily on oil, which accounts for 60 percent of its exports and more than 40 percent of state budget revenues. The country has been economically strengthened by two decades of ‘shock therapy’ and massive foreign investment in hydrocarbons. As in the rest of the region, its growth in the 2000s can be explained by the rise in consumption and the boom in the construction and financial sectors, but not by the creation of new industrial wealth or technological innovation. Kyrgyzstan (6.4 million inhabitants), meanwhile, is mired in poverty: nearly half the population (55 percent of rural dwellers and 28.3 percent of urbanites) lives below the poverty line. The problem is particularly acute in the southern regions of the country, which are overcrowded and suffer from a severe land shortage. In response, significant migratory flows—more than half a million citizens—leave the country each year, mainly for Russia and Kazakhstan, where they meet market demand for labour and send home the remittances on which Kyrgyzstan’s economy and state budget depend. In both post-Soviet republics, young people, in particular, have turned to Islam in search of values and ethical norms, which are shaped by the permanent interaction between the ‘local’ and the ‘global’ that characterizes globalization. These reinterpretations of Islam have turned it into an identity-building tool for acquiring selfworth and tend to centre on the economic (especially the acquisition of material goods and wealth). Although Islam is often thought of as a set of fixed beliefs, it is not unequivocal in meaning and orientation; it can be used for different ends. One such end is the rejection of neoliberal globalization, which is perceived as the triumph of capitalism. According to the revivalist proselytizing movement Tablighi Jama’at (in Urdu) or Jama’at at-Tabligh (in Arabic), the corollaries of consumption-based capitalism (e.g., materialism) divert the individual from ‘pure’ Islam. Key leaders of this pietistic movement in Muslim Eurasia, as Aisalkyn Botoeva points out, ‘insist that capitalism and the free market are first and foremost about idolizing the economy’ (2018, p. 254). Founded in India under British colonial rule (between 1925 and 1927), this ‘preaching group’ has grown from a local movement into a preeminent global Islamic current (Gaborieau 2000). Its annual gatherings (idj̲timā ʿ) in India, Pakistan and Bangladesh regularly attract millions of worshippers. In Western countries—especially Britain, France, Belgium and Canada—in the 1970s and 1980s, the Tabligh was often the principal religious organization in which Muslim immigrants participated (Gaborieau 2007); in more recent decades, it has lost ground to the (quietist) Salafi movement. 78

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At the same time, Islam can equally well be used to legitimize the global market economy: new entrepreneurs from the urban middle classes of countries like Kazakhstan are giving capitalism a religious gloss. The reworkings of Islam in these two post-Soviet societies, dislocated by sudden changes linked to the collapse of the Soviet welfare state and the forces of globalization, have given rise to two ethical systems divided in their approach to the economy. In the first system, Muslim entrepreneurs who profess ‘bourgeois’ faith embrace an urban middle-class capitalist ethic, while in the second, Tablighi Jama’at militants advocate for the renunciation of worldly goods and for material and spiritual asceticism that facilitates drawing closer to the divine (zuhd) (Ingram 2011) as part of a perpetual quest for purity and personal salvation. Both Islamic ethical systems are enmeshed in the ‘local vs. global’ debate that is central to current globalization trends. To some degree, Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan seem to embrace a ‘global’ Islam that is localized by being practised differently in each country. Proponents of ‘global’ Islam—in this case, the new Muslim entrepreneurs among the urban middle class in Kazakhstan’s millioninhabitant capital, Nur-Sultan (formerly Astana)—imbue it with Kazakh characteristics and the ethnic nationalism and anti-Western orientation propounded by the confessional bureaucracy (muftiyyat). They hope to reduce Islam to an ethnic national identity or even to a de-Westernized and de-Russified identity. Yet the true appeal of ‘global’ Islam is the theme of prosperity. Rooted in neo-evangelism’s prosperity gospel, it promises new Kazakh entrepreneurs wealth, upward mobility and social respectability. Consequently, ‘global’ Islam is conservative and market-oriented. It forges individuals who are well adapted to the norms of globalized market capitalism—or at least willing to conform to its dictates. At the same time, ‘local’ Islam has become a space for the production of the ‘global’. The revivalist movement Tablighi Jama’at is, paradoxically, a ‘local’ religious tradition that has provided a matrix for the creation of transnational faith communities in Muslim Eurasia and beyond. The Tabligh broadly adheres to the teachings of the Deobandi school (Arabic: Dā r Al-ʿulūm—‘House of Learning’), named after Deoband, near Delhi, in which seminary the Indo-Pakistani reformist movement was founded in 1867 (see Metcalf 1982; Reetz 2008; Ingram 2018). The Deobandi school’s theological position has always been heavily influenced by the 18th-century Muslim reformer Shā h Walı̄ -Allā h and the early 19th-century Indian Wahhā bı̄ yah, giving it a very puritanical and orthodox outlook. The syllabus is highly traditional; modern disciplines that are not relevant to a proper knowledge of Islam and can lead to sinful innovation (bidʿa) are ignored. The modern practice of Islam is studied only in order to purify it from unorthodox accretions. The Deobandi school adheres to a reformed Ḥanafı̄ Sunnism that eschews the cult of saints but accepts a purified form of Ṣūfism (Reetz 2006). It enjoins an austere practice of Islam, including female seclusion (purdah), the prohibition of music and a ban on attending cinemas (Gaborieau 2007). The Tablighi apostolate are reminiscent of proselytizing Protestant preachers: self-financing itinerant groups patrol the streets both at home and abroad, systematically going from door to door across the land, much as the Mormons do. The primary objective is to deepen the faith of those who are already Muslims and purify their religious practice. Tablighi Jama’at is much more active in Kyrgyzstan than in Kazakhstan, since Kyrgyzstan is the only republic in Eurasia not to have banned the movement. The country’s current Mufti, Maksat Hajji Toktomushev, is himself a former member of Tablighi Jama’at who drew international attention for pronouncing an anti-homosexual fatwa in 2014. In Kazakhstan, where the Tabligh is banned, Tablighis tend to go underground in order to escape state repression. It is worth remembering that post-Soviet Kazakhstan and, to a lesser extent, Kyrgyzstan have not hesitated to intervene directly and massively in the religious field by repressing so79

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called ‘bad Islam’, aptly exploiting the threat of ISIS to promote ethno-denominational identities centred on ‘good’ Islam (supposedly national, territorialized and loyal to the current regime). In a region experiencing globalization, the Kyrgyz and Kazakh political authorities promote a type of local Islam in which all pan-Islamist dimensions are marginalized and the focus is on supporting a specific Kyrgyz or Kazakh national identity. This ‘good’ Islam corresponds to a reified Kyrgyzness or Kazakhness and serves as a vehicle for the adoration of the nation and its supposed uniqueness—the ‘Kyrgyz way’ or ‘Kazakh way’. This reflects the general drift of post-Soviet politics: for the authorities seeking to legitimize their independent states, there is no better tool than the symbol of the nation, which offers the most inclusive membership and the broadest range of cultural material. Today, nationalism rooted in ethnicity tends to be positioned as a politically correct ideological framework in Kyrgyzstan and Kazakhstan (Laruelle 2012). Yet whether we are dealing with Tablighis or adherents of a Market Islam (i.e., Market Muslims) that is morphing into ‘bourgeois’ Islam among the urban middle classes of Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan, this chapter argues that they are united in their condemnation of globalization, which they see as a Western imposition on the rest of the world, and in their promotion of anti-Western puritanism. Indeed, the main thesis defended here is that although these Puritanical Muslims are divided over whether they see the global market economy as legitimate, they universally consider the Western values propagated by globalization (particularly the defence of LGBTQ rights) to be corrupting influences on the individual at the micro level and society at the meso level. Puritan Islamic ethics and/or puritanical conservatism are therefore the watchword for protests against globalization-asWesternization (of lifestyles in general and mores in particular). Tablighis and Market Muslims alike deploy moral conservatism, foregrounding a reified Islamic virtue and purity that has to be protected or defended against the assaults of ‘decadent’ Western values propagated by globalization. Whether its proponents are capitalist or anti-capitalist, this morally conservative Islam stands, as Patrick Haenni reminds us, in opposition to prior forms of ‘Enlightenment Islam’ (Chebel 2004) which was both secularized and state-centric.

Context: state-of-the-art concepts and methods This chapter draws from François Gauthier’s (2017) theoretical framework, according to which current mutations of Islam (like other religions) take on the specific shapes and social location which they do as a consequence of their modelling in accord with the characteristics of what he calls the ‘Global-Market regime’. This regime has emerged over the course of the last few decades as a result of the latest phase of globalization, in which the rise of economics as a socially structuring force in global societies has acted to rearrange, reconstitute and reconfigure the institutions inherited from the former National-Statist period. For Gauthier, religion in the Global-Market regime is best understood against the backdrop of the joint rise of neoliberalism as a dominant ideology and set of policies and practices and that of consumerism as a consumption-oriented and desirable cultural ethos. Historically, these trends emerge differently depending on whether one starts from Western welfare states or Soviet-led communist states, yet both cases provide variations on a common theme. It corresponds to a profound reshaping of religion and the emergence of new Market-shaped religious phenomena. It is important to note that the ‘Market’ here is understood both as relating to economics and as the idea of a spontaneous and immanent type of social regulation.

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The mutations of contemporary Islam: a marketization-informed perspective Gauthier stresses how religious phenomena in the Global-Market regime either espouse Market forms (e.g., Pentecostalism) or construct themselves against Westernization and its supposed materialism and moral corruption. In our case, we can distinguish between the emergence of an entrepreneurial and business-minded ‘Market Islam’ on the one hand, and fundamentalist currents which oppose such processes of neoliberal ‘Westernization’ on the other. While the latter proposes that Islam return to its origins, before its supposed ‘corruption’ by external influences, it contributes in practice to reshape Islam according to the new grammar of the Market regime. The notion of ‘Market Islam’ was first coined by Patrick Haenni (2005), based on his study of the moralist preacher ‘Amr Khalid in Egypt. Haenni’s notion embraces a broad spectrum of trends within Islam that are all characterized by the blending of neoliberal values (self-realization, individual productivity and performance, competitiveness, effectiveness and efficiency, empowerment, mobility, personal success and achievement) and Islamic practices, turning ‘Market Muslims’ away from collective social and political projects. Market Islam is not the prelude to the establishment of an Islamic state, but one of the vectors of the privatization of the state, even of the liquidation of the welfare state (Haenni 2005, p. 11). As for the Deobandi-affiliated Tablighi Jama’at, it is a quietist fundamentalist movement (Frykenberg 1994, p. 605) that opposes processes of ‘Westernization’. The Tabligh, as Barbara D. Metcalf points out, cultivates a mutuality and corporate identity constituted in the experience of missionary travel, ostensibly marking a contrast with mundane life and consumer society. This is a specific Islamic lifestyle (in terms of behaviour, clothing and discourse). Specifically, it is a Deobandi-inspired Sunna (the normative custom of the Prophet or of the early Islamic community) lifestyle that the Tablighis are advocating for and publicly displaying through specific practices: ‘The very image of the simply dressed, non-instrumental itinerant preacher implicitly devalues the wealth, success, and rootedness, that most of the society desperately seeks’ (Metcalf 1994, p. 717). Yet in so doing, Tablighis also partake, as we shall see, in the Global-Market model that predicts that religion is reconfigured into lifestyles: being involved in the Tabligh is indeed a born-again type of personal lifestyle choice which individuals can quit at any time without sanction (Dasetto 1988) and/or drift in and out of by participating sporadically in predication missions, in line with consumerism’s ethics of authenticity and expressivity. The Tabligh Islamic lifestyle corresponds to a mise en scène of the self that requires readily recognizable signs of identity and belonging through a distinct attire (fashion) that conveys a specific Islamic aesthetic. Through a specific type of Islamicized consumption, this lifestylization of Islam comprises a well-defined set of ethics (i.e., of guidelines as to how to live) as well as what presents itself as an alternative Islamic identity, in opposition to supposedly consumerist, materialist and amoral Western and Westernized lifestyles. The consumer-oriented religiosity fashioned by the ethics of Tablighi ‘authenticity’ turns ‘proper’ Islamic consumption into a tool for constructing expressive identities and therefore intersects with the market logics of the neoliberal age. The practices of Tablighis and Market Muslims alike exemplify the shift from largescale societal and political change to ‘narrower, more self-oriented goals of claiming and realizing individual and group identities’ (Yavuz 2003, p. 278). This shift from collective reform projects (political Islam) to individualized religiosities concerned more with ethics and identity is coupled with a lack of social contestation as well as the absence of a discourse on the growing social inequalities in both republics. These currents leave

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aside former demands regarding social justice, except in terms of charity (in the case of Market Muslims). Both Tablighis and Market Muslims reject state-funded welfare. During the 1970s, political Islam opposed the Western capitalist system, applying Marx-inspired critiques to a system it judged exploitative and, therefore, unfair and damaging to the disenfranchised. Today, on the contrary, Market Muslims align themselves with the market-sanctioned compassionate conservatism of US Republicans and, consequently, as Patrick Haenni (2005) observes, with the philosophical battle that underlies it: the enforcement of a new definition of modernity, emancipated from the heritage of the French Enlightenment. As for Tablighis, they can be considered, to put it somewhat provocatively, as economic ‘libertarians’ insofar as they advocate the elimination of state regulation as concerns their activities (including their trading activities). The only area in which both Market Muslims and Tablighis value state action is regarding mores and morality-related issues.

‘Puritanical’ Islam, the market economy and transnationalism in Muslim Eurasia In post-Soviet Central Asia, the relationship with Islam is structured around young people’s search for meaning in a context where more than half the population is under the age of 25 (Roche 2010). This is taking place in the midst of socioeconomic upheaval: the market economy has widened the gap between rich and poor and created new social structures that divide the winners and losers of this transformation. Key sectors of state action such as public health and education have been severely weakened. These humiliating ‘social misfortunes’—widespread and brutal pauperization, severe job insecurity and unemployment, elders’ loss of status and prestige, and the elimination of collective reference points—have spurred some citizens to emigrate, while others have turned to Islam as a means of restoring their dignity. Islam not only allegedly cures the evils that pervade modern Central Asian society, it also provides a route to self-fulfilment via a set of practices that allow the individual to (re)integrate society and even climb the social ladder. Adherence to Islamic ethical norms (akhlā q), manners and behaviour (ā dā b) may further allow for self-purification and individual reform (Arabic: islā h) that leads to not only celestial but also terrestrial salvation. The Islamic revival in Central Asia, particularly among the youth, is dominated by transnational movements such as Tablighi Jama’at and by transnational strands of the Islamic prosperity gospel. Tablighi Jama’at is committed to propagating the faith (tablı̄ gh) across state borders (see Noor 2012) and attempts to define a Muslim identity that is de-territorialized. The example of the Tabligh illustrates how neo-fundamentalism is involved in globalization, in the sense that it allows identities to ignore territories and cultures. Identities are based on individual choice and a set of markers with little content but high differential value. Islam is, for some, an opportunity for identity recomposition, which can be achieved in two ways that are mutually compatible: the construction of a local Islamized space (e.g., around a mosque) and accession to the umma, or at least to the ‘faith community’, or local and/or transnational neo-community through participation in an internationalist network such as the Tabligh. The transnational Tablighi community seeks to defend an ideal ‘niche society’ and/or global umma composed of ‘pure’ and ‘authentic’ Muslims, modelled on a fantasied ancient Medina in which everyone observes Islamic norms. Both as a sociocultural process and as an ideology, transnationalism relies on a give-and-take between a localized centre (historical or imaginary) that concentrates its resources and local communities that have become militant, such as the Tablighis. The latter, who belong to a transnational Tablighi ‘community of 82

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faith’, are trying to ex-culture themselves—that is, they are withdrawing from the dominant culture that was once their own but has since become negative, ‘pagan’, anti-religious and destructive (Roy 2008). As for adherents of a transnational Islam adapted to the rationale of the market economy, their full participation in global consumer culture does not make them open to allegedly universal liberal Western values (cosmopolitan liberalism, religious pluralism and cultural liberalism). Evidently, therefore, it is possible to be both pro-capitalist in economics and ‘illiberal’ with respect to moral values, the rule of law and democracy, especially among young people. For this youth-led ‘illiberalism’, Gulzhigit Ermatov writes, cultural and political liberalism is, in Muslim Eurasia, to blame for ‘moral decay and degeneration in society’ (2016, p. 11). Market Muslims’ model for such a combination—which appears, at first glance, to be quite paradoxical—is Dubai, to which they refer almost systematically when they imagine an ideal society that combines modernity (more precisely, a postWestern modernity), Islam and a business-friendly environment. This has remained the case even as Dubai’s consumer-driven economy and brash business model have begun to be questioned: the city-state’s capital markets are now moribund, unlike those of Abu Dhabi, the UAE’s oil-rich capital and by far the wealthiest member of the seven-strong federation. This adulation of Dubai is connected to Market Muslims’ practices: they often migrate, take business or religious trips, or start businesses there (see Stephan-Emmrich 2017a; Mirzoev and Stephan-Emmrich 2018; Stephan-Emmrich and Schröder 2016). In their advocacy for the Islamization of mores (as opposed to their Westernization), Tablighis and Muslim capitalists promote an exclusivist and elitist puritanism with anti-Western accents. Islamic puritanism can be broadly defined as a reform project that consists of an individual and collective effort to go back to the source—that is, to the Koran and Sunna—in order to encourage Muslims to live in accordance with the norms and values of their religion. Islamic puritanism therefore seeks to restore rigid adherence to Islamic codes (Adraoui 2013). Scholarly research on Islamic puritanism has mainly focused on Salafism in the Middle East (Laoust 1932; Berque et al. 1966; Rougier 2008; Lacroix 2011), as well as its appeal to young people in Western countries (Adraoui 2013; Meijer 2014). As far as the post-Soviet space is concerned, the most important works are historical studies that explore the links between Muslim reformism and modernity (Dudoignon et al. 1997; Dudoignon 1992). Worth noting is the study of Jadidism, the 19th- and early 20th-century Russian Muslim intellectual movement that developed in response to colonial hegemony and the modern age (Khalid 1998). As for studies of ‘Puritan’ Muslims in Muslim Eurasia, they have mainly dealt, in the case of Tablighis, with the articulation between the transnationalism of Tablighi networks and their local discourses and practices, especially in Kyrgyzstan. The transnational nature of the movement has not prevented it from establishing, by the late 2000s, many connections with secular and religious authorities in Kyrgyzstan (Ismailbekova and Nasritdinov 2012; Toktogulova 2017). Pelkmans (2017) has explored both the power and the fragility of conviction in the case of Tablighi Jama’at while focusing on Tablighi techniques for making and keeping their conservative Islamic ideas relevant, believable and embodied. Discussion of Market Muslims, meanwhile, has centred on rural economic entrepreneurs’ development of an ethic of economic success since before perestroika (Dudoignon and Noack 2014). For the contemporary period, such scholars as Gül Berna (2015, 2017), Schröder and Stephan-Emmrich (2016), Stephan-Emmrich (2017a, 2017b, 2018), StephanEmmrich and Mirzoev (2016), Aisalkyn Botoeva (2017, 2018) and Alima Bissenova (2016, 2017, 2018) explore emerging Islamic businesses and lifestyles and how local actors—be they

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entrepreneurs, religious authorities, migrants or state officials—come to articulate different orientations of Islam in the market. The two case studies presented here are based on extensive fieldwork conducted in a Tablighi jama’at (community) in Kyrgyzstan and among Kyrgyz and Kazakh Market Muslims, using the anthropological method of total immersion, between 2007 and 2017. The first relates the story of Mollah Kudaybergen, a healer who cares for Naryn’s alcoholics, whom I first met in 2007. Since its construction in 2010, Kudaybergen has also been the imam of the new mosque built with Saudi petro-dollars. The case study also discusses the experiences of Azamat, a pious Kazakh businessman who owns a prosperous cement company in Astana, the Kazakh capital; this study was conducted in 2017. The second case study features Imam Askar, a rural migrant who became a Tablighi (Kyr. daavaci) member in Bishkek, the capital city, in the early 2000s. This material was collected in the village of Geologia, in the district (rajon) of Sokuluk, near Bishkek, where Imam Askar lives, in early 2010, before President Bakiyev was removed from power and fled the country.

From ‘global’ to ‘local’: ‘market’ or ‘bourgeois’ Islam and the Islamic Calvinist ethic In Muslim Eurasia, the Islam of the ‘disinherited’ that was prevalent among those dispossessed by privatization, shock therapy and the confiscation of wealth by oligarchs in the 1990s has morphed into a ‘prosperity theology’. In other words, in the post-Soviet area, as elsewhere, Islam has conformed or adapted to the rules of the global market and capitalist economy. This theme of prosperity is universal and is rooted in neo-evangelism. Kazakhstan is the flagship example of the development of a Market Islam that is morphing into a ‘bourgeois’ Islam among the urban middle classes of countries with rent economies in Muslim Eurasia. High growth rates throughout the 2000s allowed for the emergence of new middle classes across the country, including in the capital, Nur-Sultan (Astana) (Bissenova 2014, 2017), which has since 1998 attracted hundreds of thousands of migrants from different regions of the country. This intersected with the globalization of Islam to produce a ‘bourgeois’ variant of religious practice. Devotees of this ‘bourgeois’ Islam expect religious facts to align with their expectations and interests. These new merchants of faith, many of them preachers, legitimate their accumulation of capital under the post-Soviet patronage system by reference to a prosperity gospel, an approach that continued even in the face of the economic crisis that forced Kazakhstan to devalue its currency, the tenge, in August 2015. For pious Muslim entrepreneurs from the new urban middle classes, personal enrichment is perceived as positive—divine repayment for exemplary conduct based on the principles of Islam—so long as money is ‘properly acquired’ and purified by paying tax (zakā t corresponds to one-fortieth of an individual’s income, while ushr entails giving up to 10 percent of profits to the needy). With the notion of salvation through work, these new middle classes have invented an Islamized version of the Puritan ethic, adherents of which likewise saw the wealthy as ‘God’s favourites’. This Islamic Calvinist-type ethic combines strict piety with intense entrepreneurship, heavenly salvation and the here-and-now: for the believer, to whom prosperity is promised, the reward is immediate and visible. For this Muslim ‘pious bourgeoisie’, displaying piety is the path to middle-class status. The inculcation of Islamic values and ethics is seen as part of the process of embourgeoisement—that is, of developing bourgeois respectability as well as social and cultural capital. Even if Market Islam is carried by the urban middle classes, it tends to affect all social classes. Lower social classes do not escape this market formatting of Islam. 84

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An example of this can be seen in the poverty-stricken republic of Kyrgyzstan, where I found that some Islamic actors put prosperity with a market logic at the centre of their teachings. Those ‘left by the wayside’ by the economic ‘shock therapy’ carried out in Kyrgyzstan in the 1990s are key targets of this preaching. Mollah Kudaybergen, for example, focuses his advocacy for a ‘return’ to Islam on alcoholics and drug addicts in Naryn, where 90 percent of the local population lives below the poverty line. Kudaybergen has opened a mosque in his own home, where he tries to first rehabilitate his patients through the rite of dem-saalù (‘breathing’ on a patient after reciting some sūras) as well as exhorting them to pray. Once patients are rehabilitated, Kudaybergen strives to (re)integrate them into society. He has even struck a deal with an employment agency to help his patients find work once they have recovered. In his work, the ‘return’ to Islam is clearly seen as the first step on the path to personal fulfilment and material success. Kudaybergen uses appeals to economic gains to engage with alcoholics and homeless individuals: When I meet an alcoholic in the street, I approach him and say, ‘Why do you drink a lot?’ I say just that and then I leave. The second time, I dress very nicely and I take a lot of money with me. I then say to him, ‘You drink a lot; if you didn’t drink, you would be like me, well dressed’, and then I show him my money. ‘You must read the namaz [pray], and if you behave well, if you do not drink, you will also have money’. Then I leave without giving him any money. The sick person is left to reflect. Some of Kudaybergen’s former patients, healed through his care and re-Islamized through his preaching, have allegedly become prosperous notables through their practice of Islam. They serve as examples to his current patients, who are marginalized and underprivileged. The process of embourgeoisement among the new urban middle classes, meanwhile, is embodied by Azamat, a successful Kazakh businessman who owns a prosperous cement company that has a quasi-monopoly on government contracts for construction in Nur-Sultan. Azamat is a devout Sunni Ḥanafı̄ Muslim, a rite that corresponds to the state-advocated ‘good’ Islam. Azamat has a private zakā t fund for helping orphans, the disabled and the needy through which he distributes his wealth, and established a free madrasa in Nur-Sultan. Through these charitable deeds, Azamat seeks to lead by example, increase his social prestige and gain bourgeois respectability. The cultivation of Islamic discipline is similarly connected to the development of civic virtue and urbanity. It is worth noting that the new urban cultural codes are loaded with references to Islam. Halal cafes are, for instance, trendy in all the big cities of the country. In Kyrgyzstan, the presence of Islam in the urban public space is even more undeniable (for instance, in the Kyrgyz capital, Bishkek, Islamic popular literature is on sale in kiosks and big supermarkets, as are halal products, and Islamic fashion shops are sprouting up). Furthermore, in Kyrgyzstan (unlike Kazakhstan and the other republics of Central Asia), public institutions now include prayer halls. The view that the public space should be gradually ‘normalized’ by Islam-inspired values such as ‘modesty’, discretion and gender segregation is a growing tendency among the Kazakh and Kyrgyz new urban middle classes. Islam is seen, in particular by the youth, as a new code promoting individual morality and a more normative public space. The new Muslim entrepreneurs I studied in Nur-Sultan hold neoliberal economic views and support the globalized capitalist market economy, which they pair with conservative moral values. Kazakh youth as a whole are supportive of the symbols of a market economy, such as a private sector, entrepreneurship and the banking system, but not of ‘liberal’ social and cultural values, as surveys conducted by the Friedrich Ebert 85

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Stiftung confirm. Only 18 percent of young Kazakhstanis consider Western countries to be a good model of development (13 percent for European countries, and only 5 percent for the United States); 17 percent of respondents believe that Western values are becoming increasingly prevalent in society, while 69 percent agree that Kazakhstan’s culture should remain distinctive and resist outside influences and intrusions (cited in Laruelle 2018). This calls into question Nasr’s (2009, 2010) contention that Muslims who are partisans of a Market Islam are necessarily ‘liberal’ due to their legitimation of the market economy. Both at work and at home, a prosperous businessman such as Azamat adheres closely to conservative Islamic mores, implementing separation between the men and women who work in his company and maintaining gender segregation that is close to purdah (female seclusion) at home (male and female family members are, for instance, separated into two different rooms during meals and other gatherings). This conservatism is coupled with a desire to protect oneself from foreign (Western) imperialist influences, such as US movies or haram (forbidden) consumerist goods. Azamat and his family make sure their lifestyle is as ‘halal’ as possible: their leisure time and holidays are S̲ h̲ arı̄ ʿa-compliant (they vacation in Turkey and in Dubai, the favourite destination of Azamat’s wife), the family goes exclusively to the new trendy halal cafes in Nur-Sultan, and their children are educated in Fethullah Gülen Turkish schools. This conservatism also includes a nationalist, anti-colonialist opposition to Russia. As a patriotic businessman, Azamat considers it imperative to ‘produce Kazakh’ in order to compete economically with Russia. Along the same lines, he is fighting for the Kazakh language to be favoured over Russian, be it in the administration, the media or education. On this basis, Azamat welcomed Nazarbayev’s decision to shift to the Latin alphabet in 2025. This decision is indeed a very strong sign of Nazarbayev’s will to increase Kazakhstan’s cultural distance from Russia and symbolize its autonomy. The Soviet-sounding state programme called ‘Modernizing of the National Consciousness’, launched in 2017, is also a project of cultural empowerment of Kazakhstan in the face of Russia’s cultural dominance in the post-Soviet space. Thirty years after perestroika, Kazakhstan is still facing profound changes in its nationbuilding, with growing interactions between the state organs and several segments of society (Laruelle 2018). Kazakhstan offers, as Marlène Laruelle (2018) point out, a ‘multifaceted state narrative about the nation’s identity, with several competing repertoires’, and the same is true for Kyrgyzstan. In both post-Soviet republics, where there is minimal diversity of political expression, a new generation of practising Muslim businessmen/politicians are holding key positions of power. They combine both ‘nationalist-minded’ agendas and ultra-conservative values that echo the conservative laws and the anti-Western and anti-liberal atmosphere that prevails in Russia. This new generation of politicians with open references to Islam—a conservative and even rigorist Islam, not the folkloric and secularized interpretation of Islam inherited from the Soviet period—seek to justify their economic activities and gain popular support by proposing a new political discourse. It is characterized less by post-Soviet references than by Islamic values, similar to that of Erdogan’s party in Turkey before his authoritarian shift. In this new ‘post-post-Sovietism’, there is no longer a confrontation between a secular state and Islam—thus debunking the idea of a necessary dialectical opposition between the two—but a peaceful Islamization of society and state institutions through the progressive co-optation of Islam by state structures and the free market agenda. Against that backdrop, the advocates of bourgeois Islam such as Azamat display respect for political norms (they are loyal to the authoritarian regime and display respect for the 86

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status quo) as well as for social hierarchies, arguing that money acquired through halal business (no bribes, no ribā (interest)) and economic success should be praised. This bourgeois Islam for middle classes and elites, which draws on the Ḥanafı̄ rite, could be consensual: the philanthropy of its devotees allows it to substitute for the state in guaranteeing the population access to basic public goods and services, while its conservative (even illiberal) values and its nationalist-accented anti-colonialism are popular. This bourgeois Islam could therefore be promoted as the embodiment of a new, de-Russified and de-Westernized, Kazakhness or Kyrgyzsness that combines ethnic identity, Ḥanaf ı̄ Islam and free market ideologies. This bourgeois Islam illustrates how the idea of the nation, with its links to ethnicity, can assert itself in a global context and help build indigenous/local identities. In a sense, the nation serves as a buffer between imperial forces, globalization and the local.

From ‘local’ to ‘global’: Tablighi transnational networks in Kyrgyzstan and the ethic of renunciation The Tablighi Jama’at movement is a paradoxical case where a local religious tradition has provided the foundation for faith communities worldwide. Tablighi Jama’at has transformed into a transnational entity that operates across state borders. Tablighi Jama’at is a modern movement. As Barbara Metcalf writes, it: [c]reates a voluntary, transnational society, apart from the state. It helps constitute an ideology of individualism in its radical concern with personal salvation, made possible by faithful action and in its emphasis on individual choice [. . .] Also characteristic of many modern movements is Tabligh self-consciousness about ‘authenticity’, coupled with an ideology that is increasingly expressed as an alternative to ‘the West’. (1993, p. 606) Looking at Tablighi Jama’at, it becomes clear how a local religious tradition became global by spreading a universal model of human behaviour through the imitation of Muhammad and his companions. This extends beyond beliefs to include clothing, gestures, behaviours, the rhythms of daily life and topics of conversation that exclude anything that is connected to the impure domain of ‘culture’ or refers to the diversity of cultures and civilizations—that is, to history (Roy 2008). The export-oriented Sunna expounded in the didactic monographs and textbooks written by Muḥammad Zakariyyā Kā ndhalawı̄ (1898–1982) between 1928 and 1964, which are collections of hadith, must therefore appear detached from the Deobandi school in order to present itself as universal (i.e., not tied to the South Asian cultural context). One individual who has embraced in Kyrgyzstan the Tablighi outlook is Imam Askar, a rural migrant who became a member of Tablighi Jama’at (Kyrgyz: daavaci) in Bishkek, the capital, in the early 2000s. Askar was seduced by what gives the Tabligh its universal appeal: the intensity of the personal commitment, the simplicity of the message and a tight-knit group that offers unconditional emotional support. Through religion, Askar was able to remodel his own identity, an empowering experience. Today, he is proud to see himself as a zealous Muslim preacher who ‘forbids the wrong and commands the right’ according to the Koranic injunction (see Cook 2000), rather than as a poor and uprooted migrant. In the course of his identity mutation through religion, Askar has reconstructed his view of the meaning of life and his system of ethics by internalizing the etiquette of this pietist movement. His main sources of inspiration are textbooks, with their specific hadith commentaries consulted by Tablighis for guidance, whether at home or in the mission field. 87

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Tablighis’ profound internalization of these texts—they are read in groups, often aloud, and are memorized—allows each follower to become autonomous, able to make Tabligh-aligned choices without hesitation. According to Barbara Metcalf, ‘followers attempt to live by hadı̄ th but in such a way that they aspire to internalize the written/heard texts to the point that they ideally become, in a sense, “living hadı̄ th”’ (Metcalf 1993, p. 585). Among Tablighis in Kyrgyzstan, including Askar’s jama’at, the most read and most cherished textbook or pamphlets (risā la) are the Hikā yā t-i sahā ba (Stories of the Companions). This book provides a template for individual and group behaviour by laying down two paths: one from the past, described in tradition, and one from the present, which has deviated substantially from the model set by the first (Metcalf 1993, p. 587). The text pays substantial attention to the spiritual values that dominated the Sufi milieu of the 13th century, offering detailed guidance on inculcating personal virtues—steadfastness, fear of Allah, abstinence and self-denial, piety and scrupulousness, self-sacrifice, devotion to the Prophet and so on (Metcalf 1993, p. 587)—into everyday life. For the Deobandi-affiliated Tabligh, Sufism is therefore conceived exclusively as an individualistic concern: the ‘ethical reform (islah) of the self’ (Ingram 2011). The model, based on the Deobandi interpretation of the lifestyle of the Prophet and his Companions, who are used as moral exemplifications, is intended for application to every circumstance. It comments on contemporary failures in order to inspire change: virtually every story draws a comparison between the present and the past, noting present failures to achieve a Sunna lifestyle: Those in times past lived frugally and humbly, worked with their hands, made any sacrifice to fulfil divine commands and spread the faith. They were passionate in their quest for knowledge—knowledge defined, one might note, as remembering hadı̄ th. They did not compete for worldly gains. They did not define taraqqi [progress] as it is defined today, as accumulation of worldly goods. (Metcalf 1993, p. 588) Despite the unfavourable contrasts between an idealized past and what is presented as a corrupt and decadent ‘present’, the main message of the text is that a return to the past— when people lived out the ideals expressed in hadith—is possible. Sunna, as portrayed in Tabligh-specific hadith commentaries, is a personal lifestyle choice (Gugler 2011, p. 341); a modern Sunna lifestyle can therefore be chosen and adopted in the ‘present’ and lead to moral fulfilment through the Islamization—or what Thomas Gugler more appropriately terms the ‘Sunnaization’—of one’s clothing, speech and behaviour (2011, p. 341). Individuals have the opportunity to stage their imitatio Muhammadi (Schimmel 1994, p. 90) in public space. The elements of this modern Sunna lifestyle pave the way to personal salvation: the more one adheres to the Tabligh programme, the more spiritual rewards—or ‘paradise points’ (tawab; Kyr. sawap) are gained. By living correctly in this world, individuals prepare for their salvation in the next. For the Tablighi neo-community of which Askar is part, a Sunna lifestyle means sacrificing with humility to please God. Askar therefore complies strictly with the Tabligh programme and etiquette, including such subtle embodied sensibilities as how to eat, pray and wash, in order to dwell eternally in Paradise. The pietistic movement advocates the progressive detachment of ties with this world by means of prayer—dhikr (remembrance, which corresponds in the Tabligh with the recitation of fervent prayers), ‘ilm (knowledge of God) and khuruj (lit. military expedition; ‘exit’)—which is supposed to allow the true 88

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believer to find the serenity to which the soul aspires. Family, work, social position and material well-being are mere distractions from this goal (Kepel 1987). Indeed, ‘everything involving economic outcomes—material goods, money, and success in this life—should be secondary for devout Muslims’ (Botoeva 2018, p. 254). As success is always taken to be proportional to individual effort, Askar scrupulously carries out all obligatory and supererogatory religious rites, devoting all his time to worship. From a Tablighi perspective, the extreme poverty of Askar, his wife and their two children—occasioned by the fact that Askar does not work, except in an unpaid position as the imam of an unregistered mosque— shields them from the temptations of (over)consumption and other ills. Indeed, Askar’s younger brother, who inherited the family’s livestock, indicates that Askar lives only for daavat and namaz (prayer), following therefore what is advocated in the Hikā yā t-i sahā ba, the Stories of the Companions: ‘In fact, the Sahā ba would sacrifice the whole world for their prayer (namā z)’ (Mā lik ed., p. 60 quoted in Metcalf 1993, p. 594). Despite their sharp criticism of capitalism and the free market, most Tablighis, as Aisalkyn Botoeva points out, do not resist participating in the economy in their daily lives, even as they emphasize the need to be ready to give up profit in the name of their piety and prioritization of God. Indeed, the majority of Tablighis in Kyrgyzstan do not sacrifice their material survival as Askar does (provoking constant criticism from his wife) in order to comply strictly with the ideals of frugality and asceticism propounded by the ethics of renunciation or zudh, not least because Tablighis also insist that a ‘proper’ pious Muslim should be economically self-reliant. Such self-reliance could be achieved ‘through entrepreneurship if necessary’ (Botoeva 2018, p. 255). Tablighis in Kyrgyzstan, Botoeva explains, occupy specific economic niches: [they] actively seek ways of establishing their own private businesses, primarily in trade and agriculture (e.g., selling Muslim attire at bazaars, reselling used cars, and working plots of land). They also actively support each other through market activities, using mosques and their dava’at groups as venues for consolidating business partnerships and justifying the community-based approach to commercial activities as one means of paving the way to heaven. (2018, p. 255) Botoeva adds that some members of the Tabligh in Kyrgyzstan developed economic partnerships, ran their businesses together and ‘expressed genuine pride at their material success’ (2018, p. 255). Nevertheless, ‘such spiritualists always framed material success in terms of the freedom and ability it gave them to practice a rigorously Muslim life’ (Botoeva 2018, p. 255). Even a pietistic proselytizing movement like the Tabligh engages with marketization, since ‘marketization transforms religion into lifestyles, practices, and voluntary adhesion’ (Gauthier 2018, p. 387). This is precisely what Tablighis are doing: promoting and advertising the Sunna lifestyle in the public space—even though Tablighis like Askar refuse to participate in consumer society. Advertising this lifestyle requires that individual born-again Tablighis express their franchized ethics and identity-oriented brand of Islamic religiosity through visible, public signs, thus ‘making the specific qualities of their salvation goods visible in public spaces’ (Gugler 2011, p. 343). These public signs correspond to a specific dress code: wearing the veil for women and the Pakistani shalwar-kameez for men. The latter are also distinguished by their beard without a moustache, the cap (taqiyah) or turban on their head and the rosary and siwak stick they carry. These public signs, Tablighis hope, 89

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make them recognizable as ‘pure’ and ‘authentic’ Muslims, allowing them to draw attention and inspire others in post-Soviet Kyrgyz society to follow their example. In reality, however, they only make Tablighis look ‘backward’, ‘radical’ and potentially ‘fanatical’ in the eyes of the broader population with secular sensibilities (see Nasritdinov and Esenamanova 2018). The (re)publicization of Islam based on Tablighi understanding, which is blurring the private and public realms and thereby ‘deprivatizing religion’ (Casanova 1994), can be understood ‘as a consequence of the rise of the neoliberal world order and the spread of consumerism’ (Gauthier 2018, p. 401). Indeed, though Tablighis disdain consumerism, the public expression of their Islamic identity—through the dress code described above—is in itself a form of consumerism, echoing ‘the fashion for veiling’ as analysed by Baris Kiliçbay and Mutlu Binark Kamal in the case of Turkey (2002). It should be noted that this dress code has recently undergone a number of adjustments in order to deter suspicion from local authorities. Local media and Kyrgyz traditionalists had criticized davaachi who had returned from trips to India and Pakistan for wearing the ‘Pakistani’ dress code in emulation of what is, for Tablighis, the Sunna lifestyle. Davaachi now tend to alter their dress to suit national and local tastes. Members are encouraged to wear a chapan robe and national headgear like a felt kalpak (the traditional Kyrgyz hat), although a turban is permitted during prayers. This change in dress code has resulted in Kyrgyz Tablighis attempting to standardize and market a corporate Sunna lifestyle with an aesthetic that is half global/universal and half Kyrgyz/local. This visibility and publicization, even if frustrated, becomes political. The Tabligh has focused on ways to achieve the formation of a core of the truly faithful and the consolidation—through a body of doctrine—of a supranational cultural code. The ‘total’ faith preached by the Tabligh involves living outside mainstream society at the same time as saturating that society’s public spaces with Tablighi religious signs advertising the Sunna lifestyle. Tablighis see mainstream society as fundamentally hostile to ‘authentic’ Islam; the Tabligh therefore frames itself as a movement for the bottom-up re-Islamization of society, with the spiritual progress of individuals as its main concern. With tens of thousands of members and support in certain powerful economic circles, the Tabligh could mobilize against the Kyrgyzstani regime should it feel threatened with being banned. The Kyrgyz authorities, conscious of this, have sought to ‘ride the wave’ of Islamization and give it some direction by creating a davaat department within the muftiyyat. Particularly among the youth, they have sought to encourage an apolitical conservative re-Islamization that would help heal certain social ills (unemployment, crime, drugs, etc.) while containing the threat posed by Islamic groups that seek to oppose ‘impious’ political regimes. This effort has, in turn, allowed the government to appear friendly towards Islam and its blossoming and not as a kafir (infidel)—and therefore illegitimate—leadership in the eyes of believers (Biard 2017). Although Tablighis condemn globalization, considering it a Western imposition on the rest of the world, they are in fact perfectly adapted to it. Globalization allows for the creation of a web of regional networks that may be dispersed across the globe but which share similar logics and social representations—precisely the situation in which the numerous Tablighi jama’ats find themselves. Transnationality is decisive in the formulation of Tablighi Jama’at’s neo-fundamentalism: networks replace territory. Community life takes place in isolation within the network and not within a defined territory. It requires rupture, retreat and the organization of a space surrounding a charismatic leader (military leader or âmir in the Tablighi vocabulary) and/or a faith community (jama’at). This takes place in ‘Islamized spaces’—considered as pockets of resistance that Tablighis hope will eventually attract more 90

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Tablighi ‘converts’—based on what Barbara Metcalf calls the ‘New Medinas’ (1996) within modern cities and villages.

Conclusion: future pathways for research These Islamic ethical systems—the Prosperity Theology from Market Islam and the Tabligh’s ethics of renunciation—whose adherents, be they capitalists or anti-capitalists, seek purity and individual virtue, both promote an elitist puritanism in the face of the supposed moral decay of the West. In order to be ‘virtuous’ Muslims, pious bourgeois capitalist Muslims and Tablighis alike must fiercely defend themselves against the decadent values of ‘Western Babylon’. A notable example is LGBTQ rights, which are considered ethically desirable in the West, whereas these groups see them as evidence of a moral laxness that corrupts both individual and society. This anti-Western puritanism links two models of Islam that appear to be economically and politically in opposition to one another, in that one seeks to embody a regionalized nation-state while the other rejects the nation-state as a horizon of meaning. Ironically, however, this anti-Western puritanism has in fact borrowed many features and themes from the object of its contempt, even imitating the conservative family values promoted by the Kremlin and the Orthodox hierarchy in Russia, conservative Catholicism in France and Evangelism in the United States. Tablighis and Market Muslims alike want to make the Prophet’s tradition, the Sunna, the norm for individual behaviour. In their view, every Muslim should imitate the ‘pious predecessors’, understood as Muhammad’s companions (the sahā ba) in Medina’s idealized first community (622–661). It is, however, difficult to bring this ideal to fruition because it is subject to a circular logic: the political can only be based on individual virtuousness, but virtue can only be fully acquired if society is truly Islamic. Life ethics and lifestyles are used to challenge globalization as a Western phenomenon, in spite of the fact that Westernization is a fait accompli. Partisans of these alternative Islamic ethical systems are themselves the products of Westernization and globalization. The societies in which they have evolved are neither ‘traditional’ nor ‘traditionalist’ but hybrid and cosmopolitan: they have already undergone authoritarian Soviet modernization. With rural exodus and emigration, traditional conviviality, respect for elders and consensus have been shed, replaced with conservative values built around Islam, especially the defence of the ‘traditional’ family. Local populations have the same values as people in any modern city: they engage in consumerism and strive for social mobility. The universes of young people, in particular, are made up of Western elements: social media, films, music, cafes and TV reality shows promising glory and fame. By rejecting a Westernization they have already internalized, Tablighis and Muslim capitalists are in fact voicing the myth of authenticity in borrowed and inauthentic language. But this does not prevent Tablighis, especially, from presenting themselves as reformers, censors and defenders against the threat of foreign influence, an influence that encourages people to abandon their sacred texts and forget their morals. The central question raised by these two case studies relates to the interactions between the state and these conservative—and sometimes competing—Islamic models. Do these Islamic movements’ critiques of Westernization extend to the contemporary Kazakh and Kyrgyz states? Whether bourgeois Muslims or Tablighis, believers in these countries do not spend their time praying: they have expectations of the political and economic system as citizens of these countries, in particular in the aftermath of the 2014 economic crisis and in a context of stark social inequality. Socioeconomic and cultural issues also haunt these 91

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Islamic communities, since a posture of pure religion without any participation in the broader society is untenable in the long run (Roy 2008), even for the ostensibly apolitical Tablighi communities (Gaborieau 1997). This raises the question of how Muslim capitalists and Tablighis, vying for recognition from the state authorities and advocating for the preservation of their interests, are entering politics and what they are demanding. It is also worth exploring how post-Soviet states are trying to channel pro-Islamic protests by condemning the corrupt and corrupting West. How do states incorporate these social demands into their visions of Islam without facing threats to their political legitimacy as secular states? Officials, whether in Kazakhstan or Kyrgyzstan, need to be careful not to alienate foreign and Western investors and to translate their anti-Western ideology into loyalty to the incumbent regime, along the lines of the Chechen model. Indeed, the latter implies ‘Kadyrovism’, named after the Chechen President Ramzan Kadyrov (see Laruelle 2017). Kadyrovism, which promotes a hard-line pietism and is loyal to existing regimes while remaining fundamentally anti-Western—as evidenced by the 800,000-strong antiCharlie Hebdo demonstration Kadyrov led in January 2015—and puritanical, is enjoying increasing prosperity in both Russia and Central Asia.

References Adraoui, M.-A., 2013. Du Golfe Aux Banlieues. Le Salafisme Mondialisé. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Berque, J., et al., 1966. Normes et valeurs dans l’islam contemporain. Paris: Payot. Biard, A., 2017. Islam, ethno-nationalism, and transnational ‘faith community’ in Kyrgyzstan. In: P. Michel, A. Possamai, and B. Turner, eds. Religions, nations, and transnationalism in multiple modernities. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 107–134. Bissenova, A., 2014. The master plan of Astana: between the ‘art of government’ and ‘the art of being global’. In: Ethnographies of the state in Central Asia: performing politics. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 127–148. Bissenova, A. 2016. Building a Muslim nation: the role of the central mosque of Astana. In: M. Laruelle, eds. Kazakhstan in the Making: Legitimacy, Symbols, and Social Changes. New York/London: Lexington Books, 211–229. Bissenova, A., 2017. The fortress and the frontier: mobility, culture, and class in Almaty and Astana. Europe-Asia Studies, 69 (4), 642–667. Bissenova, A., January, 29 2018. Fitting into a Secular Society: The Discreet Charm of Kazakhstani Muslim Entrepreneurs. Oral presentation within the Central Asia Program on “‘Bourgeois Islam’, Prosperity Theology and Ethics in Muslim Eurasia”, in the framework of the CERIA (Central Eurasia-Religion in International Affairs) Initiative, generously funded by the Henry Luce Foundation, at The George Washington University. Botoeva, A., 2017. Transnational Islamic banks & local markets in Central Asia. In: P.J. Luong, ed. Islam, Society and Politics in Central Asia. Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, np. Botoeva, A., 2018. Islam and the spirits of capitalism: Competing articulations of the Islamic economy. Politics & Society, 46 (2), 235–264. Casanova, J., 1994. Public religions in the modern world. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Chebel, M., 2004. Manifeste pour un islam des Lumières: 27 propositions pour réformer l’islam, Paris: Fayard. Cook, M. 2000. Commanding Right and Forbidding Wrong in Islamic Thought. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dudoignon, S., Is’haqov, D., and Möhämmätshin, R., éds., 1997. L’Islam de Russie. Conscience communautaire et autonomie politique chez les Tatars de la Volga et de l’Oural, depuis le XVIIIe siècle. Paris: Maisonneuve et Larose. Dudoignon, S.A., 1992. La réforme des institutions d’enseignement éthique, théologique et juridique dans le monde tatar et en Transoxiane, du “premier renouveau” à la soviétisation (1767–1937). Thesis (PhD). Université de Paris III.

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7 Public morality and the transformation of Islamic media in Indonesia Arie Setyaningrum Pamungkas

Introduction The growth of media in post-authoritarian Indonesia is the result of greater press freedom established by President B.J. Habibie in 1999. Despite strict media censorship, the use of the internet in Indonesia since the mid-1990s opened up an alternative source of information for the public, especially for Suharto’s opponents (Sen 2011, pp. 1–2). All segments of the media community, including Islamic media, have moved rapidly towards more diversity and plurality, freed from the past constraints of state censorship and propaganda. The practices and symbols of Islam in the post-Suharto era are very much represented in both print, electronic, and digital mass mediated forms. This phenomenon has shaped the Indonesian socio-cultural landscape by moving it in a more Islamic direction. Islamic values and symbols are reinforced in the public sphere, and are more visible and gendered than before. In my view, the development of modern Islamic media in Indonesia is in accordance with the spirit of revivalist Islam, which promotes Islamic piety, rather than political Islam. Revivalist Islam refers to a context where Islam is manifested through expansive piety movements characterized by populist support for Islamic virtues and striking obedience towards Islamic doctrines (Lapidus 2002, p. 823). Revivalist Islam not only includes pious movements characterized by passive and apolitical spiritualism, it also resonates with radical and militant transnational Islamic movements (Hrair 1980, pp. 2–3). To go back in time, the development of the printing industry and mass press enabled Islamic sacred texts to be publicly accessible in the early 19th century, which in turn catalyzed the production of Islamic publications (Feener 2007, pp. 7–8). Historically, Islamic activism in Indonesia is not a new phenomenon. It existed in the colonial period and expanded in the postcolonial era. In the Indonesian colonial context, the Islamic press also helped to awaken the national conscience and shape the nationalist movement. In the postcolonial era, the Islamic press were inclined to support the establishment of a political constituency in the form of a nation-state. It also mediated fears about the polarization of global power during the Cold War years between the competing ideologies of capitalism and socialism, as Sukarno tended towards socialist ideas. The Masyumi (Majelis Syuro

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Indonesia or the Council of Indonesian Muslim Association), a major Islamic political party during the 1950s liberal democracy in Indonesia, contributed to this evolution. However, the party was banned in 1960 by President Sukarno following allegations of involvement in a coup, weakening the popularity of Masyumi and its publications. Despite the dismantling of the Masyumi party and Sukarno’s preference for secularist leftist groups, as well as active repression policies regarding ‘superstitious’ types of religion, Islam was still considered an important resource for building the national character. In this period, non-partisan Islamic media tended to echo Sukarno’s political agenda for consolidating nationalism and the critique of neocolonialism as expressed by the ‘Non-Aligned Movement’ founded in Bandung in 1955. During the political turmoil of 1965 which led to the elimination of the Indonesian Communist Party and the massacre of communist sympathizers, mass media, including the Islamic press, came under strict political scrutiny. Despite political pressures on mass media under the following Suharto regime, the industry for popular culture grew as the government shifted to a western model of industrialization and a market system for the first time. Robert Hefner (1997) emphasizes that a vast market of Islamic books, magazines, and newspapers started to develop in the late 1970s, while mosques proliferated in Indonesian towns and villages. During Suharto’s New Order regime, political Islam was restricted, as the regime promoted secular development programs similar to those employed during Sukarno’s rule. However, the government helped to promote Islamic piety in order to gain political support, especially from Islamic communities after some disputes with particular Islamic groups that ended in mass demonstrations, for instance in the case of a growing demand to regulate marriage laws in the 1970s (Pamungkas 2015). Andrew Weintraub (2011) argues that mass mediated forms of Islam have played a key role in the Islamization process in Indonesia. Amidst political changes, revivalist Islamic media are defined as seeking a balance between the market expansion of religious commodities and Islam. Shifting away from the state-centric strategies of political Islam, Islamic revivalism seeks to popularize and disseminate certain forms of Islamic teachings in order to reinforce Islamic values and practices that converge around the idea of an Islamized public morality (Pamungkas 2015). Since the diversity of Islamic media in Indonesia also represents the variety of Islamic organizations, it is important to locate their various interests with regard to their entanglements with the state. Concerns with public morality also become the focus of competing political interests that challenge the legitimate political authority (i.e. the state). This has been particularly the case in the post-Suharto era and the return, in 1998, to liberal democracy and the deregulation of the media sphere. With regard to the transformation of Islamic media in modern Indonesia, this chapter provides a study of Islamic media as an inseparable part of da’wa, with public morality as a central issue. Moreover, this chapter specifically discusses how particular themes related to public morality are generated by Islamic activism in particular historical contexts.

Theoretical frameworks: identity politics, popular culture, and the commodification of Islam Da’wa is translated as the ‘proselytization of Islam,’ ‘issuing a summons’ or ‘making an invitation.’ For many Islamic groups and organizations, da’wa is reimagined and articulated into commodified forms directed not only at religious self-healing and personalized forms of worship and practice but also towards generating social and political changes. Unlike the piety movement established in many traditional Muslim rural areas, which includes traditional forms of Sufism, the Islamic piety movement in Indonesia emerged from the 96

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Muslim urban middle classes over the course of the 20th century. The motivation to become ‘better Muslims’ has encouraged Muslim middle classes to upgrade their understanding and practices of Islam through study with a new class of religious authorities. These authorities range from scholars at state tertiary institutions and universities, to selftutored lay scholars with backgrounds in other fields like religious education, media (particularly TV and radio), and culture (Howell 2010, pp. 284–285). Most Islamic media label themselves as da’wa, which acts to label their activities as Islamic and provides a frame for their mission. The content of da’wa media aims to reinforce public morality, as the case of the role of such media in the debates leading to the introduction of the Pornography Law in 2008 illustrates. Da’wa missions involve public campaigns for Islamized and conservative moral and ethical standards and the promotion of personal discipline, and often involve the production of ‘moral panic’ around sensitive issues. Public morality issues are commonly justified through the religious obligation of amr makruf nahi munkar, or commanding the right and forbidding the wrong (see also Khalifa’s contribution in this volume). Literature about identity politics and popular culture have been successfully invested as part of this da’wa mission. It proposes religious messages as self-help resources in order to apply Islamic principles to everyday life and promote piety as a pillar of Muslim identity. In her own work on media, Birgit Meyer (2009) points out that religious media propose ‘aesthetic formations’ which connect imagination and virtues. Through viewing or reading, an audience participates and in many cases identifies with a ‘shared style’ that opens up spaces of imagination in which the subject can transpose her or himself at the same time that it integrates them into socio-religious formations. In this respect, aesthetic formations compose social formations in which the process of forming subjects merges with the making of a community (Meyer 2009, p. 3). Audiences are not purely innocent or passive actors, as modern media is active in the creation of societies and identities (Kellner 1995, p. 30). Consumers at this point have the power to alter popular culture in a cultural display of contested meanings and social values. This perspective helps to explain the motivation among Indonesian urban middle class Muslims to pursue an identity as better Muslims, because engaging with the da’wa mission and interactive media provides a vector for identity, questions of ethics (how to live), as well as creating imaginary bonds between likeminded and like-aspiring people, and therefore a sense of belonging and markers of community. They also provide a sense of spiritual immediacy; it is a form of religious action in its own right (see Howell 2010, p. 294). To get an understanding of how social formations are shaped by Islamic media, Eickelman and Anderson (2003) suggest the concept of ‘Muslim public spheres’ to account for the way in which, in Muslim majority countries, a new sense of the public is shaped by open contests over the authoritative use of the symbolic language of Islam. The rapid access to contemporary forms of communication makes it possible for Muslims to build up social connections and constituencies. In fact, new technological forms of communication have enabled a modern sense of religious and political identity that extends across trans-local horizons (Eickelman and Anderson 2003, p. 9). The notable rise in the practice of veiling for women in public can be linked to advancements in the media. It appears both as the product of intense media activity and a form of media in itself, as it is blended in with fashion and invests the public space as a symbol that is tied to the intertexuality of media discussions, publicity, opinions, and contestations. While veil wearing is not traditional in Indonesia, it is not something completely new. What is new is how the veil has become part of a self-expressive way to affirm oneself as modern for middle-class Muslims. What is modern here is that Islamic piety is coupled with a sense of cosmopolitanism and fashion 97

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that simultaneously makes a claim of piety. What is striking here is the blending of ‘Islam’ (reference to a transcendent or sacred belief) and popular culture (that is considered commercial or secular) through consumerism, that is fashion and the conspicuous commodification of Islamic symbols in everyday Muslim lives. Through these dynamics, veil wearing participates in the production of the Muslim public sphere (Brennen 1996; Jones 2007). The concept of the Muslim public sphere illustrates how Muslims build their understanding of Islam and share ideas about it across physical, cultural, and geographic boundaries. This is made possible through the fact that media allows for the visualization of ideas, which can be rapidly shared and duplicated and become a strategic part of Islamic da’wa (e.g., Eickelman and Anderson 2003; Salvatore and Levine 2005; Hirschkind 2006). The mediatization of Islamic da’wa practices includes narratives about Islam drawn from the Qur’an, and also other narratives which explain other forms of Islamic piety that Muslims find relevant to their daily life. Da’wa strategies make use of symbols, references, and rhetorical devices that use a language of Islam that is familiar to Indonesian Muslims and therefore acculturates and grounds global and transnational trends in the local culture. In the current development of Islamic media in Indonesia, Islamism has become a particularly influential ideology that values visible Islamic signs, piety, and an assiduous religiosity. Since the start of the 21st century, Islamic piety as promoted by Islamism has become omnipresent in the Muslim public sphere through commodified and mass mediated forms such as tele-preachers and Islamic-themed feature films. The Islamist cultural movement influenced by the Egyptian Muslim brotherhood of Ikhwanul Muslimin-Salafi’s (ikhwani) teachings in Indonesia initially began in the 1970s during the Suharto New Order period and expanded throughout the archipelago in the 1990s through networks of campus da’wa activists, including in some of the leading secular state universities in Indonesia. The movement translated the major ikhwani texts from Arabic into Indonesian and created an underground network for the circulation of Islamic publications. A consequence has been the adoption of ikhwani-derived Arabic terminologies into Indonesian with respect to various bodily practices and discipline. The term hijrah, which refers to strict veiling rules, is a notable example of a notion that has spilled out from the tarbiyah movement into the general public. Paradoxically, the New Order restrictions on political Islam, followed by the depoliticization of the secular campuses in Indonesia in the 1970s, had a greater impact on forming da’wa practices than official political recruitment. By shifting from outright politics into popular culture, book promotion, mediated religious sermons, and especially private religious education were key to the recruitment of da’wa activists during this period. The increasing commodification of Islam in contemporary Indonesia is also due in large measure to the socio-economic, technological, and cultural changes that have taken place in recent decades, driving the pursuit of moral certainty, spiritual enrichment, and piety as an identity (Fealy 2008, p. 16). The increasing commodification of Islam can also be identified as a result of the combined thrust of neoliberalism and consumerism. The effects of neoliberalism have been important in Indonesia regarding structural economic and political changes as well as state regulation more generally, for instance the deregulation of the media starting in the 1990s. As for consumerism, it emerged progressively in the 1970s and accompanied the formation of a new middle class in the 1980s and 1990s, leading to the ‘Asian Tigers’ economic crisis. This penetration of consumerism in Indonesian society has been accompanied by an acculturated version of what Charles Taylor calls the modern individualistic culture of authenticity, which promotes an expressive self (Taylor 1991). François Gauthier, Tuomas Martikainen, and Linda Woodhead have argued that religion has been globally reshaped within the framework of a Market type of regulation through the 98

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combined pull of neoliberalism and consumerism in particular, and the rise in importance of economics over all other social spheres in general (Gauthier et al. 2013a, 2013b; Gauthier 2014). In a recent book, Gauthier (2020) has applied this framework to the case of Indonesia, showing how media and consumerism are essential variables to consider for understanding recent religious changes in this country. The history of Islamic media and the particular destinies of da’wa missions examined in this chapter exemplify the shift from a political and state-centric type of regulation to a consumerism-driven and expressive Market one over the course of the last decades, and the consequent rise in importance of culture and social practices in the formation of a Muslim public sphere. My aim in linking the concepts of identity politics, popular culture, and the commodification of Islam is to provide an analysis of how Islamic media in contemporary Indonesia have generated a Muslim public by focusing on selected themes related to ‘public morality.’ I turn to debates that led to the adoption of the 2008 Pornography Law and the 2016 blasphemy case involving a non-Muslim political figure to illustrate these dynamics. Through these examples, I argue that neoliberalism and consumerism have had a profound impact that has shaped the ways in which Islamic moral codes have been produced, promoted, and appropriated on the whole of the political spectrum (see Fischer 2008; Rudnyccki 2009; Gauthier and Martikainen 2013a).

Da’wa strategies of public morality: the case of women’s magazines In the 20th century, during the colonial period and the birth of Indonesia as a nation-state, the Islamic press disseminated content about practicing worship, but also the interpretation of Islam regarding the social, economic, and political conditions of society as a whole, in what can be called the emergence of Islamic modernity in Indonesia. The foundation of the Sjarekat Islam (1911) and Muhammadiyah (1912) movements aimed through their publications to contribute in the transformation of traditional Muslim society into a fully modern one, namely through the reform of Islam in accordance with the principles of state sovereignty and its corollary, nationalism (Masud 2009, pp. 259–260). Claims of a ‘global Islamic revivalism’ started to emerge in the 1930s and became a source of resistance to colonialism, buttressed by the establishment of a transnational network of Muslim scholars. The da’wa strategy then aimed at constructing a sense of Muslim identity geared towards the suppression of colonialism. One finds an example of such ideas in the first Islamist magazine Madjalah Pembela Islam (The Islamic Defender Magazine) published by Ahmad Hassan and influenced by the Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood (Feener 2007, pp. 10–14; Pamungkas 2017). Following Sukarno’s authoritative turn in the wake of the 1955 elections, this brand of political Islam was seen as problematic, leading to the dismantlement of the Masyumi party, in spite of the cultural legitimation it could provide to resistance against neocolonialism in the Cold War era (Madinier 2015; Pamungkas 2017). Similarly, the transition from Sukarno to Suharto was characterized by the establishment of a tight control over media and any criticism against the government. It included restrictions and state censorship of mass media, including the Islamic press. Although former Masyumis’ publications like the Panji Masyarakat magazine and Abadi newspaper were republished in the early days of the New Order by former Masyumi activists, both publications were banned again by the Suharto regime after the Malari incident in 1974. Both publications criticized the New Order government for embracing a free market system and allowing Japanese investments in Indonesia. Due to political scrutiny during the New Order, many Masyumi activists led by Mohammad Natsir avoided a direct confrontation 99

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with Suharto, paving the way for an alternative method of da’wa propagation through cultural activities. Natsir established a non-political organization that officially functioned as part of the Dewan Dakwah Islamiyah Indonesia (DDII) da’wa mission in the early 1970s. The DDII established relations with several non-governmental organizations in Egypt and Saudi Arabia. Although the DDII promoted literature associated with political Islam, which it translated into Indonesian, the material was not easily accessible by the public during the New Order period. However, it was through such efforts that the DDII successfully generated a network of young da’wa activists in several leading secular campuses through their cultural da’wa activities (van Bruinessen 2002). The New Order government presumed that the da’wa activities were cultural, not political, and this inaugurated a new type of transnational da’wa activism that later became known as the Tarbiyah movement (Pamungkas 2015). the Arabic word tarbiyah is literally translated as ‘education.’ In fact, the da’wa movement combined its views on political Islam with mentoring techniques and thus created a hierarchical societal structure based on the members’ knowledge of Islam and their apprenticeship in mentoring sessions. Following the demise of Suharto, the Islamist da’wa party PKS (the Justice and Prosperous party) was established in 1998. In the New Order era, material promoting political Islam was disallowed from public representation. On the other hand, the New Order regime began to open up a vast sphere for the practice and discourse of Islamic piety in the 1990s. The Suharto regime began to embrace certain liberal Muslim scholars and allowed the establishment of the Indonesian Muslim Intellectual Association (ICMI) in order to benefit from their support in a period when its legitimacy, namely within the military, was eroding. Since the New Order era, Islamic media (magazines and newspapers) have tended to promote personal piety and also serve as a medium to campaign for government-related programs. Amanah, a popular Islamic women’s magazine, and Republika, a newspaper affiliated with the ICMI, are two examples. The fall of the New Order in 1998 also contributed to the decline of the nationalist discourse in popular Islamic media. Rather, it is the Islamic media who have subscribed to transnational Islamic ideologies that have enjoyed widespread public circulation, namely due to the state’s deregulation of its control over Islamism, as a side-effect of neoliberal policies and the rise of market logics in the post New Order era. Nevertheless, Islamist political journals like Sabili, Tarbawi, Saksi, Ummi and Annida were born at the peak of the Suharto period as underground (and therefore illegal) publications. They presented themselves as radical Islamic media emphasizing the importance of jihad. However, only Ummi has survived until today. This is because Ummi (literally meaning ‘my Mother’) has successfully transformed itself from a radical jihadist women’s magazine into a popular Islamist magazine with fashion and lifestyle pages and ‘People’ type content. This transformation was influenced by the impact of the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks in New York and the Bali bombings that same year, namely the polemics and disputes among Muslims in Indonesia on the definition of the true meaning of jihad. Ummi is an interesting case study of the survival of a popular Islamist magazine that has adopted the pop style of a modern women’s magazine and a fully consumerized identity. The significant influence of Ummi’s efforts to push the political agenda of the Islamist party PKS is evidenced by the magazine’s role in the establishment of the Pornography Law in Indonesia in 2008. Ummi became the political mouthpiece of the PKS in disseminating discourse about pornographic activities in response to the wide circulation of print materials which featured mostly photographs of ‘naked women’ and texts about sexual intercourse in the early 2000s. On this account, however, Ummi’s concern with public morality not only addressed the issue of pornography (found in mass mediated forms), but aimed to further 100

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strengthen the normative sexual order more widely. This included a rejection of any explicit sensual, intimate, or erotic displays in public. Nudity, especially the full or partial exposure of men’s or women’s external genitals, women’s breasts and buttocks, as well as intimate kissing and any gesture imitating sexual intercourse, was seen as inappropriate. This was conveyed through narratives arguing that a law was needed to address these issues to protect the next generation of Indonesians from moral degradation. The discourse was symbolically associated with an Islamic feminine construct of Ummu Madrasa (mother of education), referencing Islamic doctrines that assign women to be the moral protectors of society. The Islamist agenda of situating women as moral gatekeepers is an inseparable part of what is called the marhalah da’wa. This refers to five strategic phases of da’wa: achieving selfimprovement (islah an-nafs); founding an Islamic family (islah al bait al Muslim); improving society (islah al mujtama); improving governance (islah al hukumah); and liberating Muslims from non-Muslim power (tahrir al watan). These goals aim in turn to return to the glory of Muslim ethical rules (rules for living) in order to produce and institute the global Umma. It is interesting that Ummi’s fully commodified and cosmopolitan matrix, with its alluring covers and features, by no means signifies a liberal attitude to sexuality; on the contrary. Ummi has proven itself to be an effective medium for propagating the da’wa movement’s project to transform public morality through the production of content related to the Islamic sexual normative order. Despite its opaque Islamist political agenda, Ummi essentially serves patriarchal capitalism, like many other secular women’s magazines, through the mediatization of commodified and conservative Islamic feminine identities. In this context, media like Ummi are actively involved in the re-stylization and commodification of Islamic activism, working towards forms of collective engagement by addressing particular market niches which it converts into putative adhesions to Islamist ideas, practices, and attitudes to morality. This includes arranged marriage programs to create the ideal Umma (Islamic polity) as well as other profit-making programs that incorporate Ummi’s fandom as cultural intermediaries assigned to advertise the consumption of Islamic goods, services, and leisure products for a larger market. Ummi has also proved its ability to cope with technological transformation by proposing a digital platform for its magazine and relaying interactive content and promotions on social media. Today, Ummi is the leading Muslim women’s magazine in Indonesia, and its Facebook fan page sported a million subscribers by the end of 2017. Ummi magazine is a new icon of pious and capitalist Muslim women.

Moral panic as da’wa strategy Another particularly effective strategy of the da’wa movement for acting upon public morality issues has been creating what social scientists call ‘moral panic’—a threat to societal values and public concerns (Cohen 1973; McLuhan 1994 [1964])—with respect to certain controversial issues, namely through social media. This is evidenced by the blasphemy case against Christian Governor of Jakarta Basuki Tjahaya Purnama, or Ahok, in 2016, ahead of the early 2017 local elections. The allegations were issued from Islamist groups such as the FPI (the Islamic Defenders Front), a vigilante organization established with support from the Indonesian army in 1998, and the GNPF-MUI (the National Movement of the Fatwas Guard), a collective organization with members from Hizbut Tahrir Indonesia and the PKS party, with the support of the MUI (Indonesian Ulema Council). Blasphemy allegations on the part of the Governor made it to public attention after a short video containing an edited version of a speech Ahok gave was published on Facebook by an Islamist social media campaigner, Buni Yani, on October 6, 2016. The edited video showed a section of an 101

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August 2016 public speech in which Ahok cited the Qur’an in support of his critique of the FPI’s support of other candidates. At first, nobody protested Ahok’s speech, including the predominantly local Muslims in the audience. However, the FPI and the GNPF MUI were successful in framing an argument according to which Ahok, as a non-Muslim, had no right to cite the Qur’anic verse and that he sought to deceive Muslims in his bid for re-election as the Governor. The campaign against Ahok went as far as a court case accusing him of blasphemy, which was widely disseminated on social media and popularized through the hashtag #BelaQur’an (Defending the Qur’an). This hashtag, generated by the GNPFI-MUI media center, facilitated access to posts about the blasphemy case that could easily be shared or copied. The media campaign about the blasphemy case eventually coalesced into a social and political movement called ‘the Action to Defend Islam’ that included serial mass protests combined with religious sermons. The largest mass protest, referred to as the 212 Action, took place during the Friday prayer on December 2, 2016 in Jakarta. The movement successfully influenced the court, which found Ahok guilty of blasphemy in April 2017. He eventually lost his position as Jakarta Governor to the hand of his competitor, Anies Baswedan, who benefited from the support of Action to Defend Islam later that spring. These mass protests also resulted in economic gain for some participants in the movement. For example, the protests helped to establish the ‘Koperasi 212,’ a Shari’a-based economic cooperative that promotes household products sponsored by members of the 212 Action. In this regard, the Islamist groups involved in the movement tried to persuade Muslim communities to develop an alternative economy in support of pribumi businesses, or businesses owned by presumed ‘native’ Muslims, to challenge the dominant role of the Chinese minority in the private sector of the Indonesian economy. Another product of the movement was the installation of tours featuring a series of religious sermons throughout Indonesia, managed by Action to Defend Islam. The religious sermons gave precedence to the call to build ‘the pribumi economy,’ spreading fear of ‘alien’ threats which coalesced anti-Chinese sentiments in Indonesia. In fact, this call was more about boycotting nonMuslim products and Chinese businesses rather than a promotion for the expansion of an ‘Islamic capitalism.’ In other words, the blasphemy case and the Action to Defend Islam movement situated the battle for hegemony over the Indonesian and Muslim public sphere in the media and economic arena, shifting the politics of Islamism away from strictly political to consumerised forms in which subjective appropriations of ‘proper’ Islamic moral codes are married to a capitalist ethic of prosperity.

Conclusion The Islamic media in Indonesia boasts its Islamic identity and relays its da’wa strategies as a ‘call’ or ‘invitation’ to practice a ‘proper Islam’ through the appropriation and expression of Islamic symbols and partaking in a consumerist Islamist culture. Islamic media in this respect is a powerful actor in the production of a ‘Muslim public sphere’ and the definition of Muslim morality. Through mediatization and consumerization (Gauthier 2020), a Muslim public is created for a ‘market niche’ that organizes around an easily recognizable Islamic identity. The transformation of Islamic media in Indonesia emphasizes public morality, especially through visible signs of personal piety. The sociological and cultural processes of incorporating da’wa strategies, public morality, and the creation of a Muslim public in contemporary Indonesia exhibit four main types of Islamist rhetoric: (1) the promotion of a formal expressive Islamic identity in the public sphere especially, through popular culture; 102

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(2) the airing of preaching and religious sermons in the mainstream electronic media and the multiplication of social media use. More specifically, popular Islamist media in Indonesia have targeted women and youth as consumers by promoting formal piety and their participation in the Islamic polity referred to as the Umma; (3) the definition and targeting of an oppositional and depreciated ‘other’ (e.g. the Chinese minority) as a critique of inherited pluralism in a multicultural Indonesian society; and (4) opaque political propaganda within religious forms of worship that make use of social media to mobilize masses for supporting particular political interests and partisan constituencies. Such types of Islamist rhetoric are in fact facilitated by the works of cultural intermediaries made possible by the development of the modern media industry and advanced digital technology, which are themselves embedded in capitalist modes of production. Mediated da’wa forms, especially since the start of the 21st century, have functioned not only as a sphere of political contest but also as a ‘display’ and means of promotion of material culture, namely through the presentation of an authentic Islam simultaneously constructed as a modern lifestyle. The mainstream media strategy which consists of inserting personal piety into the public sphere is supported by the provision of an ‘alternative lifestyle’ (to secular models of political modernity) that is legitimized by its appropriation and expression in the daily lives of Indonesian Muslims (see Gauthier 2020).

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Jones, C., 2007. Fashion and Faith in Urban Indonesia. Fashion Theory, 11 (2/3), 211–232. Kellner, D., 1995. Cultural Studies, Identities and Politics between the Modern and Postmodern. London: Routledge. Lapidus, I.M., 2002. A History of Islamic Societies (2nd Edition). Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Madinier, R., 2015. Islam and Politics in Indonesia: The Masyumi Party between Democracy and Integralism. Singapore: NUS Press. Masud, M.K., 2009. Islamic Modernism. In: M.K. Masud, A. Salvatore and M. van Bruinessen, eds. Islam and Modernity: Key Issues and Debates. Edinburgh: Edinburgh University Press, 237–260. McLuhan, M., 1994 [1964]. Understanding Media: The Extentions of Man. London and New York: The MIT Press (reprint). Meyer, B., 2009. Introduction. In: B. Meyer, ed. Aesthetic Formation: Media, Religion and the Senses. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 3–29. Pamungkas, A.S., 2015. The Dakwah Media in Post Suharto Indonesia: From Politics of Identity to Popular Culture (the case of Ummi). (Thesis). Humbolt University of Berlin. DOI: 10.18452/17136 Pamungkas, A.S., 2017. Membela Islam? Dakwah, Konstruksi Moralitas dan Ruang Publik Muslim dalam Sejarah Media Islam di Indonesia. In: S. Margana, S.U. Dewi Ningrum and A. Handayani, eds. Agama dan Negara di Indonesia: Pergulatan Pemikiran dan Ketokohan. Yogyakarta: Penerbit Ombak, 9–31. Rudnyccki, D., 2009. Market Islam in Indonesia. Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institution, 15 (1), 183–201. Salvatore, A. and Levine, M., 2005. Religion, Social Practice and Contested Hegemonies: Reconstructing Public Sphere in Muslim Majority Societies. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Sen, K., 2011. Introduction: Re-forming Media in Indonesia’s Transition to Democracy. In: K. Sen and D. Hill, eds. Politics and the Media in Twenty First Century Indonesia. London and New York: Routledge, 1–12. Taylor, C., 1991. The ethics of authenticity. Cambridge, MA: Cambridge University Press. van Bruinessen, M., 2002. Genealogies of Islamic Radicalism in Post Suharto Indonesia. Southeast Asian Research, 10 (2), 117–154. Weintraub, A., 2011. Introduction: The Study of Islam and Popular Culture in Indonesia and Malaysia. In: A. Weintraub, ed. Islam and Popular Culture in Indonesia and Malaysia. London: Routledge, 2–17.

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8 Pious-modern subjectivities in the Palestinian West Bank Identity formations and contours between the individual and the familial, the local and the global Ferial Khalifa

Introduction: subjectivity and the new pious-modernity I cannot continue to live like other women do, without a mission in life . . . I want to be a person with impact . . . to reform society. Subjectivity is a state of mind (Allen 2002), affect, desire (Ortner 2006) and inner life (Biehl et al. 2007). It also refers to the culturally constituted meanings and ways of perception that animate the acting subject (Ortner 2006, pp. 107, 110). Subjectivity qualifies the subjects to ‘think through their circumstances and to feel through their contradiction’ (Biehl et al. 2007, p. 14). It assumes the subject’s intentionality (Allen 2002), reflexivity and agency (Ortner 2006), while remaining attentive to issues of social determination and processes of domination and resistance (Biehl et al. 2007, p. 9). The focus on subjectivity since the 1980s in the human and social sciences is part of a paradigm shift from ‘evolutionary reasoning and methodological positivism to agency and . . . context-bound interpretation of modernity and self’ (Göle 1996, p. 6). With respect to the study of Muslim women and societies, this has meant moving away from ‘universalistic master-narrative of modernization’ towards more particular ‘articulations between modernity and the local fabric’ (Göle 1996, p. 7). In her seminal study of the Islamist veiling movement of female university students in Turkey in the 1980s and 1990s (the ‘Turban Movement’), Göle does not so much explore how secularism replaces religion, following a universal model of modernization/secularization, but rather decodes Turkish constructs of modernity (ibid.). Göle observes that by veiling themselves, lower- and middleclass young Islamist women on Turkish university campuses were distinguishing themselves both from ‘traditional uneducated women’ and their mothers, whose traditional religiosity

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was seen as lacking in ‘knowledge and praxis’ (1996, pp. 4–5). It lacked, in other words, intentionality and reflexivity. Göle concludes that in their adoption of the turban instead of the scarf, these women were not reproducing tradition as much as they were actively ‘shift[ing] from traditional to modern realms of life’ (1996, p. 4). In short, these women were constructing their own brand of pious and modern subjectivities. Likewise, in her ethnographic study of Lebanese Shi’i women’s everyday practice of Islam, Lara Deeb ‘clothes’ terms like ‘Islamization’ and ‘Islamism’ by seizing them in their local contexts (2005, p. 5), unravelling how women’s everyday practices are ways of debating and conciliating between modern and pious definitions of the private and public self (2005, p. 6). Deeb argues that these everyday practices construct an ‘ideal womanhood’ that is both modern and pious, producing a new meaning of what it is to be modern in which modernity and secularity, as well as materiality and spirituality, are enmeshed rather than opposed. This chapter explores some of the contours of this new form of female subjectivity whose pillars are to be both pious and modern in the context of the Palestinian West Bank. It does so through the example of the life story of a particular dā ʿiya (a Muslim woman preacher) known as Dā ʿiya Nur who voluntarily practices da’wa (calling). Women’s Islamic activism in the Palestinian West Bank dates to the late 1960s, yet proliferated during the 1990s. These developments occurred at the same time as a global human rights discourse replaced Palestinian national politics as a major discursive trope, following the Oslo Accords. This chapter argues that these transformations are to be read as being closely linked to the new geopolitical conditions created by the collapse of communism and the rise of neoliberalism and the massification of ‘post-Cold War consumerism’ across the Muslim Middle East (Haenni 2005, p. 11). It was also linked to the decline of political Islam in favor of ‘The New Islamism of the Middle’ and what Patrick Haenni calls ‘Market Islam.’ Ethnographic fieldwork for this chapter was conducted in the Palestinian West Bank during the summers of 2010 and 2011. During my fieldwork, I participated in two women’s weekly piety groups, which met in mosques, and conducted 20 in-depth interviews with dā ʿiyat (women preachers). This chapter is based on my interview with senior Dā ʿiya Nur. I decided to interview Dā ʿiya Nur because she was renowned for her well-attended weekly public piety meetings, which were especially popular in the late 1990s.

Senior Dā ʿiya Nur’s socio-cultural repertoire of piety and the contours of the new Islamic modernity Senior Dā ʿiya Nur was born in the early 1950s to an urban middle-class family in the Palestinian West Bank, where her father owned a handcraft workshop. In the early 1970s, she earned a diploma from a West Bank teacher training college. She then accepted a teaching position, which she enjoyed tremendously, confessing in retrospect having ‘given to her students from her very blood.’ After marrying a West Bank businessman who was sympathetic to the Muslim Brotherhood, her husband asked her to give up her teaching job to take care of their children, because in his family ‘women were not to take a job [outside the home].’ After her youngest daughter turned six, Dā ʿiya Nur resisted her husband’s directive and insisted on studying Islamic law (shariʿa). She argued that she ‘could not live like a lost person (shakhs ̣ d ̣ā ͐ iʿ), without a mission in life, like other women did,’ and that she ‘wanted to have an impact, to reform society.’ Dā ʿiya Nur enrolled in a distance learning program in Islamic law, completed a degree in Islamic jurisprudence and started preaching in private homes to women in her area. 106

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In the 1990s, a businessman offered his locale for free to accommodate the growing attendance at her home piety sessions, enabling her to reach a wider audience. Dā ʿiya Nur was proud that more than 100 women from all social classes and professional categories, including retired teachers, physicians, lawyers and stay-at-home mothers, would come to hear her. In addition to Quranic readings, a typical weekly meeting discussed community health concerns, such as water shortages, nutrition, food safety and storage, as well as personal status laws on divorce and child custody. Dā ʿiya Nur’s long years of preaching to women in private homes and later in a public hall made her a senior dā ʿiya, yet also drew her attention to the numerous social problems in the Palestinian West Bank. She listed some of these problems: Fathers hindering the marriage of their working daughters in order to benefit from their paid salaries; parents making their clever boys leave school and send them instead to work in order to earn some more money; divorcees with child custody and inheritance problems. Dā ʿiya Nur frames those problems in (Islamic) human rights terms, describing them as ‘issues of rights and duties (h ̣uqū q wa-wā jibā t).’ According to her, the moral categories which define the licit and the illicit (al- h ̣alā l wa-l-h ̣arā m) are meant to safeguard those rights, but because of the public’s ignorance of these categories, the rights of many people, especially those of women and children, are violated. She affirms being ‘so concerned that people understand those issues of rights and duties, [especially that] many women are ignorant of their rights.’ Her answer to such challenges is pro-active and empowering: ‘if you [a woman] have a right, go for it.’ In interview, Dā ʿiya Nur insists that her religiosity was unlike her father’s, ‘who worshipped in private and had no [social] impact,’ as well as different from her husband’s, who was sympathetic to the gender stance of the Palestinian Brotherhood, and whose religiosity was ‘propelled by his fear for ʿird ̣ (honour).’ ʿIrd ̣ (honour) in Middle Eastern society is a cultural code that defines women in terms of their sexuality and considers them a threat to social order unless under the supervision of a male subject who controls their conduct. Honour therefore reflects the male desire to control the female body and sexuality to ensure female modesty (see Abu Lughod 1999, pp. 85–110). But rather than submitting to this code of honour which limits her role to the private sphere, Dā ʿiya Nur envisions herself as a social entrepreneur with a public aim and mission to reform society. Against the traditional masculine authority of her husband and the Islamic Brotherhood, Dā ʿiya Nur draws on her identity as a Muslim woman entrepreneur and neoliberalism-inspired Islamic ethics (see Atia 2012) to carve out for herself a public space through daʿwa. Examples of such ethics are entrepreneurship, personal progress, self-development, hard work and commitment, having preached for years for free. Dā ʿiya Nur’s framing of the social and moral status of women in the Palestinian West Bank in Islamic human rights terms parallels the rise of global human rights discourses that started to prevail there in the mid-1990s. Dā ʿiya Nur’s redefinition of a Muslim religiosity also resonates with the 1990s shift in the Middle East from the political Islam of the 1970s towards what Patrick Haenni calls ‘Market Islam’ and its insistence on individual piety rather than state-centered large-scale social change as a result of global economic and political changes from nation-state ideologies towards neoliberalism and consumerism shaped realities. Dā ʿiya Nur’s mode of religiosity indicates a non-political, bottom-up moral reform approach to social change. With her modern education in Islamic law, she holds an intermediate position between an older and more traditional generation of women preachers from the 107

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Palestinian West Bank who were active in local urban piety groups as early as the 1950s, and the younger generation of the politically active (Islamist) women of Hamas. Finally, Dā ʿiya Nur’s insistence on her right to work and public visibility through da’wa echoes central gender problematics which many Islamic reform movements have addressed since the late nineteenth century. In the next section, I will discuss these Islamic reform movements, focusing on the Muslim Brotherhood and The New Islamism of the Middle. The section will highlight these movements’ approaches to social reform and gender, stressing how these contributed to the formation of women’s pious-modern subjectivities in the Palestinian West Bank, through its local Brotherhood.

Modern top-down and bottom-up state-oriented Islamic reform movements and their gender stances Modern Islamic gender ideology dates back to late nineteenth- and early twentiethcentury Islamic scholars and reformers who, in response to increased Westernization, called for the modernization of the Muslim world and for a reform in Muslim women’s conditions without abandoning Islam. Mohammad ‘Abdu (1849–1905) articulated the rationale for this call, arguing that Islam granted women their rights before the West but had been ‘at fault in the education . . . of women’ and for not sufficiently acquainting them ‘with their rights’ (Ahmed 1992, pp. 139–140). Al-Tahtawi (1801–1873), Jamal alDin al-Afghani (1839–1897) and Mohammad ‘Abdu stressed the value of education for both sexes. Al-Tahtawi recommended that girls be granted ‘the same education as boys,’ because ‘this was the practice in the strongest nations’ (Ahmed 1992, p. 133). When, following their 1882 occupation of Egypt, the British restricted government education, Mohammad ‘Abdu established charities and ‘private committees’ to attend to the education of ‘both sexes’ (Ahmed 1992, p. 138). Mohammad ‘Abdu also stressed the need for a reform in ‘marriage practices’ that kept women back (Ahmed 1992, p. 139), and al-Tahtawi associated such ‘reforms’ against the social norms that ‘oppressed’ women with ‘national renewal’ (Ahmed 1992, p. 134). The reform agenda of these late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Islamic scholars remained at the heart of the ‘modernization project’ of their twentieth-century successors, the Muslim Brotherhood (Abu Lughod 1998, p. 243). Founded in Egypt in 1928 by Hassan al-Banna, the Brotherhood was soon to become a regional Islamic movement with strong popular appeal. However, from its beginnings as a moral reform movement intended to spread the ‘correct understanding of Islam’ (Soage 2008, p. 22), the Brotherhood quickly became a main source of political opposition to the Egyptian state. Violent attacks on public places were attributed to the Brotherhood, and in 1948, the Brotherhood was accused of the murder of Prime Minister Mahmood al-Nokrashy Pasha (1888–1948). The Brotherhood’s founder and political leader Hassan al-Banna was assassinated shortly thereafter, and it was believed that the Egyptian state’s security apparatus was responsible. In 1966, the Brotherhood’s political leader and ideologue Sayyid Qutb (1906–1966) was executed, following the attempted assassination of President Jamal ‘Abd al-Nasser. The high cost of the state-oriented, top-down approach to social change promoted by both Hasan al-Banna and later Sayyid Qutub turned the Brotherhood into a dangerous contester of the state and thus led to its ban and the expulsion of its leaders from Egypt. Among those expelled from Egypt in the 1960s was Shaykh Yusuf al-Qaradawi, who developed the tenets of The New Islamism of the Middle. This current emerged in the 1980s and 1990s in response to militant Islamism and was shaped by both the ‘successes and 108

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failures’ (Baker 2003, p. 3) of the Islamic Brotherhood. The aim of The New Islamism of the Middle was to design an Islam-based authentic brand of modernity which stood at arm’s length of both Western-style state-centric secularism and revolutionary political Islamism. For al-Qaradawi, the spirit of Islam does not favor extreme positions as much as a middle stance between the strict and literal application of Islamic law (Shariʿa) and its abandonment (see Stowasser 2009, p. 181). After Qutb’s death, his legacy on the Arab East’s Brotherhood (Egypt, Syria and Jordan) distinguished it from its counterpart in North Africa (Tunisia, Morocco, Algeria). The Brotherhood in the Arab East regarded Islamic doctrine and political party as inseparable. In contrast, the Brotherhood in North Africa regarded Islamic creed and an Islamic political party as distinct entities. Islamic creed represents Islamic faith and community; an Islamic political party, however, represents numerous ethnic and religious groups assembled within a single entity (Muhrram 2016). Politically, the Brotherhood in North Africa was pragmatic, relaxing its stance on the implementation of Shari’a in exchange for a place in the political representation of power. Unlike state-oriented Islamic movements such as the Iranian Islamic Revolution, Islamic movements in Tunisia and Morocco in power after the 2011 elections did not announce the establishment of an Islamic state nor ‘seriously attempt at reviewing the existing legislation . . . on religious [Shari’a] grounds’ (Abdel Ghafar and Hess 2018, p. 2). These political differences between bottom-up and top-down Islamic movements mirrored different gender stances. When in the late 1970s Iranian women’s political participation in the Iranian revolution gained momentum, Ayatollah Khomeini (1902–1989), the political and spiritual leader of the Iranian Islamic Revolution, endorsed Iranian women’s participation in the Iranian revolution as Islamic ‘religious duty’ (Kian 2014, p. 188). However, once in power, Khomeini endorsed a paradoxical stance on gender in which ‘true Muslim women’ were to be active in the public sphere but ‘docile’ and ‘dependent on their husbands at home’ (Kian 2014, pp. 192, 189). Furthermore, after the establishment of the new Islamic republic, inequality between Iranian men and women was institutionalized, as Islamic law (Shari’a) became the republic’s primary source of legislation (Kian 2014, p. 190). A sequence of codes subsequently curtailed women’s rights in both the public and private spheres (ibid.). Salient among these codes was the Islamic dress code, which made the veil compulsory for ‘the entire female population of Iran’ (ibid.). The gender stance of the traditional Brotherhood was more conservative than that of the late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Islamic scholars. Perhaps the best explanation of this difference is Ayubi’s observation that the latter scholars ‘were striving to modernise Islam,’ while the former ‘were striving to Islamicise modernity’ (1991, p. 231). As the founder of the Muslim Brotherhood, Hassan al-Banna was an advocate of women’s participation in the communal base of the Brotherhood, but he recommended that a woman only be educated ‘with that which she requires to fulfil the mission and duty that God created her for: to take care of her home and her children’ (Al-Banna 1988, p. 11). In contrast, al-Tahtawi considered equal education for both sexes necessary for ‘harmonious marriages’ and acceptable for women to enter men’s professions when necessary (Ahmed 1992, p. 136). He also considered ‘women’s intelligence [as] . . . in no way limited to matters of the heart but . . . extending to the most abstract ideas’ (ibid.). Based on the rationale that Islam forbids the mingling of sexes, al-Banna insisted that women be prohibited from work and political participation (1988, pp. 19, 18), and even preferred that they pray at home (ibid.). Despite drawing inspiration from al-Banna’s adherence to an Islamic form of modernity, The New Islamism of the Middle disagreed with al-Banna on those grounds. For example, al-Qaradawi allowed women’s education, 109

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work and political participation, on the basis of a non-textual and pragmatic interpretation of Islamic Law. In arguing for women’s political participation, al-Qaradawi proposed that the Islamic principle of guardianship (al-qiwā ma), which dictates that men are responsible for the women in their lives, applies only to the husband’s role in the domestic sphere, not to the public or political spheres (Stowasser 2009, p. 203). Islamists in North Africa had similar gender positions. Al-Ghannoushi, for example, has denounced the restriction of Muslim women’s education to basic reading and writing because of the corruption of the ‘education milieu’ (2012, p. 74). He also opposes the view that women should not participate in public life and work outside of the home on the grounds that the outside world is corrupt. Instead, al-Ghannoushi argues that women should be empowered to navigate the corrupt world within an Islamic framework (2012, p. 80). Likewise, al-Turabi wants women to participate in public life and even believes in a woman’s right to assume the political leadership of her country. Al-Turabi similarly holds that Muslim women can even lead men in prayer, can marry ‘People of the Book’ (Christians and Jews) and that the Islamic veil was not meant to cover the head—all views which al-Qaradwi firmly rejected. How did the traditional Brotherhood and The New Islamism of the Middle shape piousmodern subjectivity? To come back to Dā ʿiya Nur, her rejection of the Brotherhood’s conservative views of women, which her husband endorsed, led her to embrace the more progressive views of The New Islamism of the Middle. In order to better understand how these views were shaped, the following section further describes the composition of the Palestinian West Bank’s Brotherhood and how their traditional ideas about gender came to be.

Palestinian West Bank’s traditional Brotherhood and their gender stance The Brotherhood’s presence in Palestine dates to the mid-1940s, when branches of the Egyptian organization were established in several Palestinian cities, including Haifa, Jaffa, Hebron and Nablus (‘Uwaysi 1998, pp. 153–168). However, after the annexation of the Palestinian West Bank to Jordan after the 1948 Arab-Israeli war, the Palestinian West Bank’s Brotherhood became part of the main Brotherhood party organization in Jordan. The Palestinian West Bank Brotherhood’s ideas on gender, therefore, were influenced by those of its counterpart in Jordan. According to Abu Hanieh, unlike Egypt’s Brotherhood, which has integrated women activists into its organization since the early 1930s, in Jordan, variations in the social structure (e.g., tribalism) and Jordanian Brotherhood’s conservative interpretation of Shariʿa did not allow for a similar model of women’s participation to emerge (2008, p. 89). In fact, the Brotherhood in Jordan argued that women’s integration into the Islamic movement went against acceptable Islamic norms, and Jordanian women were not accepted into the Brotherhood until the early 1990s as a consequence (Abu-Hanieh 2008, p. 92). Robinson observes that Gaza Strip Islamists were political activists and that those in the Palestinian West Bank were more philanthropic (2003, pp. 120–122). The Gaza Strip’s Islamists, who came from poor families, were younger. They developed their political activism on university campuses and directed their activism against the Israeli occupation. Palestinian West Bank’s Islamists, however, were older. They came from urban and uppermiddle-class merchant backgrounds and advocated a bottom-up approach to social change through charity work and Islamic preaching in Palestinian West Bank’s mosques and Quran teaching centers. Their financial relations with affluent Arab countries like Saudi Arabia and Kuwait helped them sustain their moral reform mission and welfare programs. The 110

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traditional Islamists of the Palestinian West Bank and their support of women’s Da’wa activism nurtured Dā ʿiya Nur’s approach to moral reform. Few Palestinian West Bank women engaged in militant actions against the Israeli occupation during the second Palestinian uprising (2000–2005) on behalf of the Islamic Resistance Movement (Hamas) and other Islamist groups, limiting female militant activism in time and scope. Political and militant Islam in the Palestinian West Bank quickly subsided as the Palestinian second uprising gave way to the penetration of consumerism and neoliberalism deep within the fabric of society.

The global context and its regional and local processes: neoliberalism, consumerism and the rise of market Islam According to Gauthier, the last half of the twentieth century has seen consumerism and neoliberalism progressively transform societies and culture worldwide, including religion (2018, p. 382). As a ‘set of business and managerial ideologies,’ practices and policies, neoliberalism emerged as a dominant force within world politics at the tail end of the 1970s (Harvey 2005). This is before translating into Structural Adjustment Programs led by the World Bank (WB) and the International Monetary Fund (IMF) meant to ensure an efficient transition of previously stateowned services into the market economy over the course of the 1980s and 1990s. Politically, the neoliberal revolution has acted as a shift from a ‘government’ type of governmentality, that is of a vertical, top-down, bureaucratized and nation-driven and state-enforced kind of regulation, to a ‘governance’ type of governmentality, that is a civil society-centered, bottom-up, horizontal and supposedly non-coercive, partnership and punctual type of regulation ‘involving non-state actors and organizations’ as well as the state (Gauthier 2018, p. 398). In order to react and adapt to these changes, Gauthier notes how religious institutions (e.g., churches, but also bureaucratized religious movements such as the Muslim Brotherhood) started reforming their ‘structure and functions’ according to neoliberal business management principles (2018, p. 399) and began to perceive and present themselves as ‘entrepreneurs’ (2018, p. 390). These processes are observable in the Palestinian West Bank, becoming particularly prominent over the course of the 1990s and the turn of the millennium, considerably changing the social, cultural, economic and political environment within which Islam in particular, and religion in general, have evolved. In this same period, the Palestinian West Bank transformed to become a consumer society, with consumption as a prevalent and desirable ethos. The expansion of consumption as a practice that entails identity, community and meaning (Gauthier 2018, p. 387; Douglas and Baron 1978) started changing the modern notion of the autonomous self from the ‘rationalist’ to the ‘reflexive’ (Lury 2011, p. 29), even well outside of the confines of the Western world, driving individuals to express themselves through life patterns and consumption choices. Although individualistic and individualizing, Gauthier insists on the ways in which the emerging consumer culture of global society is ‘paradoxically intensely social’ because an expressive brand of individualism is in ‘continuous need for a community . . . actual or virtual, to recognize and validate these ever-constructing identities’ (2018, p. 401). This characteristic is important, as it has allowed the changes brought about by the penetration of consumerism to develop in non-Western societies and cultures where social bonds are still profoundly enmeshed in more traditional and honor-based forms of extended familial bonds. This is why the processes which Gauthier calls marketization have changed religion into ‘lifestyles, [experience-based] practices, and voluntary [forms of] adhesion’ (Gauthier 2018, p. 389) also in regions such as the Palestinian West Bank. 111

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It is against such a backdrop of the joint rise of neoliberalism and consumerism that one can understand Patrick Haenni’s (2005) claim that the Middle East has seen the rise of Market Islam. Based on Haenni’s analysis, Gauthier (2018, p. 405) notes how Market Islam moves attention ‘away from collective, politically oriented projects towards individualistic, practical concern . . . linked to economic performance [and] introduces [within Islam a novel brand of] prosperity theology in which material affluence and individual success are interpreted as signs of baraka (grace).’ Gauthier moreover observes that the rise of Market Islam has made it imperative for Muslim women to ‘express their religious identities publicly . . . through clothing . . . i.e. through consumption’ (2018, p. 404). Rather than signifying the perdurance or return of political, mediaeval or traditional Islam, these new Muslim women’s Islamic life-style choices point towards ‘a new synthesis of Islam and modernity’ (Haenni 2005) in ‘post-Cold War consumer capitalism’ (ibid.). The evolution of Islamism in several Middle East societies illustrates this shift from political Islam to Market Islam. In Egypt, Bayat observes that by 1997, the ‘complex’ Islamist phenomenon, of which the Muslim Brotherhood, with its grassroots organizations and groups, and militant Islamism, which was particularly strong in the southern part of the country during the early 1990s (2007, p. 136), had subsided because of state crackdowns and the spread of personal piety movements. Islamic media, including fashion and leisure magazines, publicized an Islamic lifestyle that was especially appealing to upper-middle-class women such as the ‘New Rich’: a class which was the product of the economic opening (infitā ḥ) policy of Egypt as of the late 1970s. For this category of Egyptians, personal piety and Islamic lifestyles eased the anxieties caused by their new affluence, the fluidity of the global world and the multiplicity of life options by providing access to signs of piety and conformity with Muslim morality, without sacrificing their desire to partake in the flows of modernity in its global-capitalist form. As another example, Turkey’s economic liberalization program (1980–1993) created new ‘opportunity spaces’ for Islamic groups to advance their ‘Islamic ideas and practices’ (Yavuz 2004, p. 270). Kiliçbay and Mutlu (2002) note that Turkish entrepreneurs have identified the market of women’s Islamic fashion as a high growth potential and opportunity-rich segment in which economic interests and social status could be harmonized with the Islamic faith (2002, p. 503). A Turkish Islamic fashion industry flourished as a result, leading to both the incorporation of global brands into mainstream women’s consumption and the Islamization of the consumer culture. Kiliçbay and Mutlu show how the emergence of such a specifically Islamic type of consumerism shifted the meaning of Turkish women’s veiling. This practice henceforth developed along three complementary forms: ‘hybrid’ veiling, first, which expresses Turkish women’s Islamic identity, social status and aspirations, as well as their taste for modern fashion (2002, p. 507); more traditional veiling (Tassatur), secondly, consisting of a scarf covering the head in a way that reproduces inherited ways of expressing the Islamic code; and political veiling, thirdly, which covers the head and shoulders and asserts the public presence of political Islam (2002, p. 503). In the Palestinian West Bank, neoliberalism and consumerism gained momentum after the Oslo Accords. Political and militant Islam in the Palestinian West Bank waned as the second uprising ended and was replaced by a striking transformation in West Bankers’ modes of consumption and lifestyles. The construction of new Palestinian towns (e.g., Rawabi and al-Rihan), the extension of most Palestinian West Bank’s cities and towns, facilitated by flexible lending policies driving a thriving construction sector, and the growing number of banks, shopping malls, hotels, coffee shops, restaurants and brand-fashion stores, all attest to this sudden and profound transformation. 112

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These developments were accompanied by a boom in Islamic dress, food, medicine, investment banks, private schools, leisure activities, sociability practices and life rituals (e.g., weddings). Islamic dress stores such as Hijabbi (‘my veil’), Jilbabi (‘my Islamic ‘dress) and alZiyy-al Islami (‘Islamic dress pattern’) proliferated. They reflect the preferences of middleclass women who want to express their Islamic identity not necessarily through their mothers’ traditional scarf, which partly covers the head, nor through political veiling, a long dress with a long white veil that covers the head and shoulders, but through a ‘hybrid’ form of Islamic dress, designed by international, Turkish and local brands. In 2013, a branch of the London-based Islamic Design House was established in Ramallah, the centre of the Palestinian Authority, thus turning Ramallah into a major brand city among those of Saudi Arabia, the United Arab Emirates, Kuwait and Jordan. These transformations were accompanied by a shift from Palestinian national politics to a global human right discourse, discussed in the section that follows.

From national politics to a global human right discourse in the Palestinian West Bank The failure of neoliberalism’s Structural Adjustment Programs in the 1980s and 1990s modified the neoliberal development agenda from sole market enablement to include the issue of human rights, which did not naturally flow from the latter as planned. This readjustment moved the focus towards measures meant to invigorate civil society and promote good governance, corruption limitation, poverty reduction and participation (Merz 2012, p. 52). In the Palestinian West Bank, a global human rights discourse emerged with the conclusion of the first Palestinian uprising in the early 1990s. Through international aid, this discourse contributed to shape the local development agenda and national politics, and had an effect on the constitution of Palestinian subjectivities. A growing Palestinian dependence on international aid after the Oslo Accords intensified this process. For example, external financial aid to West Bank and Gaza was ‘until the end of the 1980s, a regional matter’ (Challand 2009, p. 80), provided by financial sources from the PLO, the Jordanian-Palestinian Joint Committee, the Arab Fund for Economic and Social Development, and the Islamic Development Bank (Da’na 2014, p. 130). However, after the Oslo Accords, according to the Palestine Economic Policy Institute, Western external foreign aid to the West Bank and Gaza increased by over 600 percent between 1999 and 2008, while NGO funding increased by over 500 percent over the same period (Palestine Economic Policy Research Institute 2007). The expansion of the NGO sector was so pronounced that by 2001, over a third of all existing NGOs had been established after the Oslo Accords (Challand 2009, p. 80). Most significantly, the highest external aid to NGOs (30%) went to those involved in ‘rights-based’ undertakings (Palestine Economic Policy Research Institute 2007). Growing reliance on international aid altered Palestinian NGOs’ local development agenda from rural development to rights-related agendas, such as gender, environment and civil society (Da’na 2014, p. 132). International aid, with its peace-related development agenda, ‘narrowed [the] Palestinian political space’ (Da’na 2014, pp. 129–130) as a consequence, and shaped subjectivities (Merz 2012, pp. 50, 52). Therefore, while ‘positive neoliberalism’ started molding ‘societies and subjectivities’ in the mold of ‘enterprise and individualism’ (ibid.) globally, in the Palestinian West Bank, it caused a weakening of the Palestinian ‘collective national resistance movement by replacing political mobilization with civic engagements’ (Hanafi and Tabar 2005, p. 30). Thus, training workshops and advocacy campaigns addressing the rights of Palestinian women, children, the poor, the disabled and 113

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other vulnerable groups increased as of the late 1990s. The election of the first Palestinian Legislative Counsel (PLC) in 1996 and the anticipation of a Palestinian state at the end of the five-year transitional period, as projected by the Oslo Accords, intensified NGOs’ rightbased advocacy. Women’s NGOs believed that it was their chance to introduce legal reforms regarding Palestinian women’s conditions, based on the Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Discrimination against Women (CEDAW). It was in this euphoric climate of human rights activism that the Palestinian Women’s Centre for Legal Aid and Counselling (WCLAC) established the two-year project entitled ‘Palestinian Model Parliament: Women and Legislation.’ It identified ‘provisions discriminatory to women’s rights’ in Palestinian law and proposed they be amended by the PLC (Welchman 2003, p. 42). In 1998, the project proposed to amend the Personal Status law as concerns the minimum marriage age as well as the conditions of divorce, guardianship, polygamy and child custody. The project argued that the proposed amendments were in line with the international human rights law and the CEDAW (Welchman 2003, p. 47), both ratified by the Palestinian Authority. Although it brought unprecedented attention to Palestinian Personal Status law, the project was met with heated opposition. Shari’a court judges and seventy Shari’a-college instructors, university deans and imams signed a memorandum urging the PLC to reject the draft law (Welchman 2003, p. 49). The memorandum argued that ‘most of [the suggested] provisions [were] in explicit violation of God’s Book and the Prophet’s Sunna and the consensus (ijma’) of the Muslims’ (Welchman 2003, pp. 52–53). When a sub-committee of women was appointed to advise a general committee on drafting a unified personal status law for both the Gaza Strip and the West Bank, the Deputy Chief of Justice argued that it be limited to women with expertise in and a commitment to fiqh (Islamic law) (Welchman 2003, p. 47). Women believing in ‘sources of authority’ outside the fiqh, such as the women of the Model Parliament, were therefore cast as not qualified for inclusion (ibid.). With the outbreak of the second Palestinian uprising in 2000, the Palestinian Model Parliament project was suspended. Yet this public debate among Palestinian secular and Islamic groups about the amendment of the Palestinian personal status law, as well as its resonance in the Palestinian West Bank community enabled Dā ʿiya Nur to articulate her pious-modern-ness in terms of (Islamic) human rights. As an example, she framed the problems of women and children in the Palestinian West Bank as violations of their human rights, but she also grounds these rights in the Islamic legal tradition. The following illustrates how these rights are understood as being Islamic based on Dā ʿiya Nur’s pious-and-modern viewpoint. In his comparison of Islamic and modern human rights conceptions of the term ‘right,’ Mossa notes that Islam stresses three kinds of rights: God’s (h ̣uqū q Allah), individuals’ (h ̣uqū q al‘ibā d) and those which are a mix of both (hybrid) (2000). The first stress a Muslim’s religious duties to God, the second to others (i.e., secular, civil rights), while the third emphasizes a combination of secular and religious rights. Mossa suggests that in Islam, ‘devotional and civil rights have the same moral status’ (ibid.). Based on Tuck’s (1979) distinction between active and passive rights, Asad (2003, p. 30) concludes that modern human rights are based on active rights: rights of the individual as such. Passive rights stress rights as reciprocal and interpersonal obligations (h ̣aqq and wā jib). Given this distinction between ‘global modern’ and Islamic notions of rights, it is interesting to note that Dā ʿiya Nur defines Islamic rights as both reciprocal (i.e., passive) and hybrid. That is, she defines Islamic rights as a mixture of one’s religious duties to God and one’s civil and reciprocal obligations to others. She thus conveys a notion of rights as a moral obligation not only in terms of ‘ibā dā t (worship) but also in terms of muʿā malā t (worldly, pragmatic affairs). In casting Islamic rights as hybrid, Dā ʿiya Nur creates a pious-modern-ness 114

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that transcends (and challenges) the secular/religious dichotomy at the basis of the liberal conception of modern polity. In advancing that one’s civil rights (e.g., the rights to education, health, work and safety) are not separated from God’s rights, she stresses the enmeshment of the religious and the secular, an essential theme for her pious-modern subjectivity.

Conclusion This chapter has discussed the formation and contours of pious-modern subjectivities among Muslim women activists in the urban Palestinian West Bank. Through the analysis of the life story of senior Dā ʿiya Nur, whose long years of preaching to women in private homes during the 1980s and in a public hall during the 1990s, made her a senior dā ʿiya proud that more than 100 women from all ages, social classes and professional categories, including retired teachers, physicians, lawyers and stay-at-home mothers, would come to hear her. A typical weekly meeting which she used to head consisted of a Quran reading session and a discussion of community health concerns, such as water shortages, nutrition, food safety and storage, as well as personal status laws on divorce and child custody. In her preaching, she also drew her attention to the numerous social problems in the urban Palestinian West Bank. The chapter has also highlighted the gender dynamic in Dā ʿiya Nur’s familial and marital settings that shaped these contours. The contributions of the global and regional contexts are clear: the global shift from nation-state regimes to neoliberalism and consumerism; the shift in the Middle East from political Islam to personal piety and Market Islam; and the rise of a global human rights discourse. These regional and global shifts and processes have been taking place in the Palestinian West Bank since the late 1990s. In addition, international foreign aid was a catalyst in shifting Palestinian national politics from political mobilization to civic and human-rights based activism, while neoliberalism, consumerism and Market Islam transformed the Palestinian lifestyle from below.

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9 ‘We are overfed’ Young evangelicals, globalization, and social justice Catherine Rivera

Introduction Generational transmission of religious knowledge and practice is a common way that religions around the world ensure their continuance (Ward 2013). Research by scholars of religion suggests that youth in western countries, where Christianity has historically been predominant, increasingly prefer to identify as either ‘spiritual but not religious,’ or as not having any religion at all (Pratt 2016; Putnam and Campbell 2010; Ward 2013). This seems to indicate that generational transference of religious beliefs is not as effective as in the past. Amongst those young people who do stay connected with their natal family faith, such as the majority of participants in my research, there are changes taking place that are challenging established religious praxis and theology around a number of issues, in particular those pertaining to social justice. This chapter focuses on young, Millennial evangelical Christians and why they want to be involved in social justice work, which often takes place on short-term trips (STTs) overseas. The young Christians who take these trips are often encouraged by their leaders to experience ‘God’s global heart’ (Baillie Smith et al. 2013), and have their worldview expanded from the local to the global through becoming ‘world-changers’ (Hancock 2014). Evangelical world engagement throughout the 20th century emphasized conversion and ‘saving souls,’ often combined with charity work (Bebbington 1989; Bielo 2011; Elisha 2011, Ryan 2013). Yet amongst Millennial evangelicals, who are globally engaged and technologically savvy, interest in trying to convert others is fading and there is a rise of interest in social justice (Bielo 2009; Jian Lee 2015; Markham 2010). The internet, especially social media, is a driving factor for this change through connecting people on an unprecedented scale. This topic has relevance because the change in emphasis from conversion to social justice is already causing a shift where evangelical groups spend their money, of which they have a lot, often millions of dollars (Elisha 2011; Hoffstadedter 2011; Swanson n.d.). Evangelicalism is a movement within Christianity, mainly amongst Protestants, and is an ‘international, trans-denominational community with complicated infrastructures of institutions 117

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and persons’ (Marsden 1984, p. ix). It crosses many denominations and is intertwined with Pentecostalism, Christian Fundamentalism, and the Charismatic movement (see Armstrong 2000; Coleman 2006; Coleman and Hackett 2015). The most common definition of Evangelicalism comes from historian David Bebbington and includes four main defining characteristics. These are: a strong focus on reading the Bible, an emphasis on Jesus’s death on the cross as atonement for sin, converting non-Christians through evangelism and mission work, and helping others through action (Bebbington 1989). Evangelicalism is rooted in 17th-century German Lutheran Pietism, which emphasized action-based Christianity, and a ‘transformed heart’ (McGrath 2005). The focus on being active was framed as taking God’s love to the poor and downtrodden (Dormor et al. 2003; Olsen 2007). Many evangelicals in 18th- and 19th-century Britain and the USA did this by starting social movement campaigns including outlawing the slave trade, the temperance movement, campaigning against child labour, and for union rights and penal reform (Armstrong 2000; Luhrmann 2012; Wallis 2008). In the early 20th century some Protestants formed the Christian Fundamentalist movement, partly as a reaction against evangelical social movements, complaining that they distracted the Church from its most important goal; learning the Bible and getting people’s souls saved so they could go to heaven (Armstrong 2000; Luhrmann 2012). Fundamentalism gained traction in evangelical Churches and much of the social justice work they had undertaken previously stopped (Armstrong 2000; Noll 1994). In the 1960s there was a push to get back to ‘action-based’ Christianity through the Charismatic movement, a group of Protestants who had been influenced by Pentecostalism (Coleman 2006; Stetzer 2013; Yong 2015). The Pentecostal movement started in California in 1901 and emphasizes supernatural experiences such as healing, prophesy, and experiencing the Holy Spirit (Yong 2015). During the 1970s, the countercultural ‘Jesus People’ movement, also situated in California, combined Pentecostalism with a more modern and contemporary form of charismatic Christianity based around catchy and upbeat praise and worship music. Influential evangelical denominations such as Calvary Chapel and The Vineyard grew out of this period (Butler Bass 2012; Luhrmann 2012; Ward 2013). Since the mid-1980s western evangelicalism has been strongly influenced by a group of US Christians called ‘the Moral Majority’ movement, founded by conservative pastor Jerry Falwell (Coleman and Hackett 2015; Harding 2001). Based in Christian Fundamentalism, the movement has been successful in moving many evangelicals worldwide to the political right, and emphasizes ‘moral values,’ epitomized in anti-abortion and anti-homosexuality campaigns (Bielo 2014; O’Neill 2014; Whitehead and Baker 2012). Just how politically right-wing US evangelicalism has become was highlighted in the 2016 US election as over 80% of white evangelicals voted for Republican candidate Donald Trump (Smith and Martinez 2016), arguably the most ‘un-Christian’ candidate to ever run for US President. In response to conservative evangelicalism there has been a rise in progressive evangelical activism, particularly in the USA (Bruinius 2017; Lovett 2018). Movements like Rev. Jim Wallis’s ‘Sojourners,’ are drawing on evangelicalism’s past engagement with social movements to challenge evangelicals to take a stand against the politically conservative Christianity that has come to define evangelicalism in the eyes of many (Wallis 2008). Other popular Christian progressive activists, authors, and teachers include Shane Claiborne of the ‘Simple Way’ Monastic Community, Rev. Nadia Boltz-Webber from the Evangelical Lutheran Church, author Rachel Held-Evans, and Franciscan friar Richard Rohr who founded the New Mexico based ‘Centre for Action and Contemplation.’ Numerically there are currently more conservative Evangelicals than progressive ones. This is mainly due to 118

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demographics, as most conservatives are concentrated amongst the Boomer generation (Jones and Cox 2016; Wuthnow 2012). However, through the use of blogs, podcasts, social media, books, and conferences, liberal progressivism is growing amongst evangelicals under the age of forty (Bruinius 2017; Gasaway 2014).

From conversion to social justice As well as being an academic and a researcher, I have spent a considerable part of my life involved in evangelical churches in New Zealand. My father and grandfather were pastors and charismatic, evangelical church culture was my ‘norm’ growing up. My background has given me first-hand knowledge of this particular religious setting, which was useful when conducting research on young evangelical Christians and social justice. Often evangelical engagement with those outside church circles, especially on an international scale, has entailed missionary work. This meant ‘proclaiming the gospel,’ usually through preaching or trying to engage others in conversations about God. Charity work was also encouraged, but missionaries were not meant to be aid workers. Unlike mainline Protestant denominations such as Anglicans or post Vatican II Catholics, who are more comfortable challenging structural injustices, for evangelicals the emphasis has been on individual salvation, getting to heaven when you die, and taking as many people as possible with you (Choi-Fitzpatrick 2014; Coleman 2014; Mostert 2014). Knowing evangelicalism’s strong emphasis on ‘saving souls,’ I was curious to hear a young leader in a church service in 2011 declare to the congregation that he felt he didn’t have the right to go overseas and tell people what they should believe. Instead, he encouraged church members to get involved with ‘justice-based’ projects, such as building houses with Habitat for Humanity. I then heard that an evangelical organization I had previous contact with now had a training school based on Christianity and social justice issues. Students would learn about trade aid, human and sex trafficking, child soldiers, and the role of economic policies in global inequalities. I began to wonder about this change in emphasis from evangelism based on verbal proclamations to social justice work. STTs with a focus on service work are becoming more popular amongst Christian youth. If the Christians going on these trips are not keen on converting others, what are they doing instead? Why the shift in focus? Has there been a change in theology? Or is it something else? Could it be that the cultural ‘flows’ of globalization have more power to reshape evangelicals and their institutions than they realize?

Globalized Millennials and social justice Millennials are generally considered to be the generation born between the early to mid-1980s up to end of the 1990s (Strauss and Howe 2000). Sometimes maligned as narcissistic, inward focused, and addicted to technology (Milkman 2017; Twenge and Campbell 2012), other research suggests that Millennials are in fact more civically engaged than their predecessors from Generation X, and more likely to be progressively liberal in their political and social worldview (Eagan et al. 2015; Milkman 2017; Smith 2013). Evangelical Millennials, although generally more conservative than their peers, have considerably more liberal attitudes towards gay marriage, LGBTQ rights, and climate change than evangelicals from the Boomer generation (Diamant and Alper 2017; Dillon 2015; Harper and Kennely 2009). Another attribute of many western Millennials is that they are more likely than the generations before them to show awareness that they are not only citizens of a nation state 119

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but also of a global community (Pew Research Centre 2014). The move from a local to more globalized identity can be explored through the concept of global citizenship. Global citizenship is a contested term (Jorgenson and Shultz 2012); however, it generally refers to the rights and responsibilities one has that go beyond the borders of a political state to an imagined global community (Baillie Smith et al. 2013; Oxley and Morris 2013). A ‘good’ global citizen is one who is empathic to other cultures (Brunell 2013), acknowledges different worldviews (Oxley and Morris 2013), embraces cultural diversity (Reysen and Katzarska-Miller 2013), and is aware of social justice and human rights issues (Fanghanel and Cousin 2012; Propst 2014). The ‘social justice’ aspect of being a global citizen refers to the idea that some groups and individuals have gained societal advantages at the expense of others, and that this needs to be corrected (Miller 1999). It is about providing fair distribution of rights, resources, and opportunities (Cramme and Diamond 2009). Whilst social justice has most often been associated with the nation state through welfare programmes, the concept is now being tied to mitigating the effects of globalization on the world’s poor. Principles of social justice, such as those outlined in the 1948 UN Declaration on Human Rights, are taken to be applicable universally (Banai et al. 2011).

The shaping of Christian Millennials Globalization is an intrinsic part of our planetary makeup in the early 21st century, which affects economies, the environment, immigration patterns, and communication technology amongst other things. Globalization is not new. Many historical empires, including the Romans and the Spanish Conquistadors, have increased contact between different parts of the world. However, the current version of globalization that started after World War II has connected the world on a scale unprecedented in history (Rhoads and Szelenyi 2011). As such, the Millennial generation in many societies lives a type of life unthinkable for their great-grandparents. The interplay of global and local is intertwined throughout a single day; chatting on Messenger with a friend in London, a video conference at work with the Sydney office, and home in the evening to a debate on US politics on Twitter. What are the effects of this explosion of global ‘flows’ on Millennials? Does it make them more open to diversity, more accepting of others, or more inclined to consider themselves ‘global’ as opposed to ‘local’ citizens? What happens when religious beliefs are mixed into this bricolage? To investigate these questions, I set off to conduct anthropological research in 2015 amongst a group of young people taking part in a Christian social justice training school in New Zealand, which I will refer to as ‘The Course.’ The Course was run by an international Christian organization and consisted of three months of lectures and a two-month trip to Southeast Asia where the students put into practice the ideas and principles they had learned. At the end of the practicum period, the students returned to New Zealand for a short debriefing and then flew home to their own countries. At The Course I sat in on two units of the course lectures, and generally ‘hung out’ with the students and staff. I also recorded interviews with thirteen females and one male, aged between 17 and 34. Questions and topics covered in the interviews centred on why the participants were interested in social justice, and how their faith shaped their views on world engagement. There were two participants from Denmark, six from the USA, and one each from Singapore, Germany, Switzerland, England, India, and Canada; surprisingly there were 120

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no New Zealand students. The international makeup of The Course made it a great place to observe globalized evangelicalism up close in one physical location. My research participants were interested in global issues and felt that actions of social justice were a way to address inequality and injustice. They were also Christians, mostly with evangelical leanings. The religious/faith aspect of their identities formed a specific type of global citizen that negotiated continually between an inner world of experiencing God through spiritual practices such as prayer, and then taking his love out into a ‘broken’ world through actions of social justice such as helping human trafficking victims or advocating for orphaned children. They interacted with these types of social justice issues through the internet, and people they met on STTs.

Digital technology and the internet In the early 21st century, the internet is changing institutional Christianity in a number of ways. Digital technology can be a ‘threat to offline authority’ (Campbell 2013, p. 6), since it allows people to browse and in essence ‘pick and choose’ between different sources of spirituality. These sources are outside of conventional religious supervision, such as a pastor or priest (Campbell 2013; Lewis 2016). Although Christian institutions and churches are increasingly involved in social media, there are still attempts to keep control of the medium by censoring what goes on their social media platforms, or removing divisive material (Lawrence 2015). Nevertheless, social media such as Facebook and Twitter are very hard to restrict, and enable the bypassing of traditional religious ‘gatekeepers’ by taking opinions and information directly to the computer screens of Christian Millennials. Although the students I interviewed were not trying deliberately to get around their church leaders, they had moved to online sources to learn about human trafficking and other social justice issues that were not discussed in their churches. The amount of material that is available to Christian Millennials through the internet has the effect of making local church pastors or leaders redundant as sources of information or authority on these topics. The internet was the first place my research participants went to learn about faith and social justice issues, participate in activism, and how they found out about The Course in New Zealand. Rose said, ‘I look at the internet and read blogs and stuff. I don’t really read books. I like to research stuff, so if I hear about something I’ll google it and I’ll skim through.’ Similarly, Brooke followed many of her favourite social justice organizations through Facebook and other social media: ‘I’ve got a ton of different organizations I follow, probably about 60 different organizations; their postings, blogs.’ Social media did not just inform the students, they also used it as a way to make their family and friends aware of global issues. Rae mused that ‘I would say a lot of what I know comes through social media, that’s a really big tool that people use. It’s the one I use when I want to get the word out about something.’ During lectures the students were given website addresses to learn more about social justice issues like child soldiers and fair trade, and were reminded to share them on their social media accounts to raise awareness. The majority found The Course through its website after searching for keywords such as ‘Christian social justice.’ Brooke said, ‘I found it online. I just googled and it was one of the first ones that came up. New Zealand, that’s awesome.’ April had a similar story, ‘I just typed in “justice” and looked up all the locations that came up.’ The fact that April is Swiss and Brooke is American, and that The Course was in New Zealand, was not a problem. It didn’t matter where in the world they had to go to learn about social justice, travelling

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made it even more interesting, evidenced by Adele’s observation that ‘I wanted to go to New Zealand because it looked so beautiful, and I really wanted to learn about justice.’ Another point to note about religion and digital technology is the way religious groups present themselves on the internet and are influenced by the visual emphasis of digital communication. Gauthier and Uhl (2012) note that religious websites, like all other websites, are competing for attention in a crammed digital landscape, which means that relevant graphics, music, and moving visuals are important. When examining the website of the Vatican they observed that the emphasis is on the Pope himself, instilling ‘a personalised rapport between the individual and the Pope, while Jesus and God . . . are virtually absent’ (Gauthier and Uhl 2012, p. 58). Similarly, I found during my research that some of the most popular Christian websites used by the students to learn about the social justice issues they were interested in concentrated on connecting the viewer with the issue rather than Jesus or God. An example of this is the website of ‘A21 Campaign,’ the organization most often mentioned by the students I interviewed. A21 is a non-profit organization that campaigns against human trafficking. It is run by evangelical Christians and its founder is a former pastor from an Australian evangelical mega-church. Students such as April and Brooke had learnt about human trafficking through this website. When examining A21’s website, one would be hard pressed to identify them as specifically Christian. There are no Christian symbols, such as crosses, and the language used is more akin to the human rights movement. As Gauthier and Uhl found when examining the Vatican’s website, there is an emphasis on visual experience to learn about human trafficking, rather than the Christian beliefs of the A21 staff. Experiencing vivid depictions of the injustices going on in the world through the internet can make ‘over there’ seem much closer to home, and in a sense de-territorialize issues of social justice. It is at this point that many Millennials, like my participants, want to get out and ‘do something.’

Interactions with ‘the other’ in a transnational world Many Christian organizations send large numbers of young people on STTs overseas (Trinitapoli and Vaisey 2009). Participants take part in activities such as working with children, painting or building structures, teaching English, or working with local churches. It is estimated that by 2006, 1.6 million Christian Americans annually were taking part in STTs (Priest et al. 2006), and numbers have continued to increase (Hancock 2014, Howell 2009). As Robert Priest et al. (2006, p. 434) point out, ‘American pastors and their congregations are amongst the most “overlooked globalizers” of our world.’ These trips are often the first time young western Christians visit a developing country and it makes a lasting impression, spurring people to want to change the poverty that has so shocked them. Most of The Course students had already travelled outside their home countries. Some of this travel was on STTs, other travel was personal or through their employment. April had spent a year in the USA as an exchange student, Cathy had been to China on an STT, and Dora had backpacked through a number of countries. Other participants had been to Mexico, Vietnam, Laos, South Africa, Kenya, and Ghana. Vicky was raised in Singapore, went to university in Scotland, and then worked for the UN in 27 different locations as a doctor. Often it was through travel that the students had come face to face with victims of injustice. Mary was deeply affected by her experiences in Mexico: 122

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I got to see first-hand what human trafficking looked like and got to walk through and talk with some of the prostitutes. That just wrecked me completely, I was sixteen or seventeen at the time and for me I’ve always lived my happy little life. Here I was standing in the middle of a Mexican street and it was happening right there. Educational institutions, such as universities, were another place where students had interacted with people and ideas that contributed to a globalized worldview. Adele made friends with Middle-Eastern refugees at her European university: My heart really broke for those people and the injustices they deal with. We are living in a good country. We have welfare and money enough to protect them and are still saying no and making their lives horrible and they live in fear of what is going to happen next. It changes everything when they become your good friends. Kim studied law and international politics at her US university, which led her to travel to three African countries for research on the effects of AIDS on family formation. Spending this time overseas had made her aware of many global issues such as corruption, western imperialism in aid work, and the downside of orphanages.

Changes in belief and practice Digital engagement, overseas travel, doing The Course, and home country contact with ‘the other’ contributed to changes in religious beliefs and practices that the students had learnt in their churches and families, especially since most of them were brought up in the faith. One of those who had changed their views was Greg who told me that when he was growing up ‘we used to be really afraid of this thing called the “social gospel” . . . for the society that I’m from they think if you start thinking about people’s physical needs you’ll forget about the spiritual needs.’ However, doing The Course had changed his viewpoint: [n]ow I’m starting to think ‘oh yeah, Jesus wants us to make a difference in the world’ and it’s good to feed people and to set them free from human trafficking, it’s not an unspiritual thing to do, it’s really good . . . it’s actually what Jesus wants. Acquiring more knowledge on social justice issues had made some of the students frustrated with the lack of teaching about social justice and a continuing emphasis on conservative morality in their churches. Rose said, ‘I was always asking “why aren’t we talking about social justice issues in the church?” . . . Some churches are still super conservative, like if you mentioned the word “homosexuality” they’re like “arghh, blasphemy.”’ In a similar vein, Greg said, ‘in my church we teach about how to deal with abortion and all that stuff but there’s not a lot of focus on justice, or doing justice.’ Cathy forcefully pointed out: [t]hat is my gripe with the church. I explained to them there are twenty-seven million trafficking victims around the world and we are Christians sitting right here. They keep talking about Christ dying on the cross, they keep talking about salvation. It’s important but I think we are overfed with that. Other students such as Dora and Alice said they felt that many of their Christian friends lived in a church ‘bubble’ and didn’t know much about social justice. Their comments 123

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indicate that whilst awareness of social justice is growing in evangelical churches, these students still feel that they are in the minority. It is through attending training like The Course, or going to large events organized by evangelical youth-orientated organizations, that young evangelicals are able to interact with other Christians interested in social justice issues. April had been to one of these events in the USA, ‘Passion Conference,’ along with 35,000 others, where three million dollars was raised for anti-human trafficking organizations (Malhotra, n.d.).

‘Right’ beliefs vs ‘right’ action Thinking critically about world issues that are right before their eyes had made many of the students more comfortable with uncertainty regarding what were ‘correct’ beliefs. Mary reflected that ‘this course has made me think a lot more, I feel that I have less certainty . . . I don’t know everything, I’ll never know everything.’ It has been noted that younger Christians interested in social justice are more ambiguous regarding the importance of ‘right beliefs,’ but more strident as to ‘right actions’ (Butler Bass 2015; Markham 2010). Proper theology was not as important as the right and correct actions that God wanted them to take to stop injustices. Rather than only listening to sermons and discussing theology, the students were interested in acting on social justice issues and helping others through practical action such as the biblical command to ‘feed the hungry and clothe the naked’ outlined in Matthew 25. Cathy told me during our discussion: The Bible says God defends the cause of the fatherless, the widow; he loves the foreigner residing amongst you and he gives them food and clothing. God does that, and we have God in us, are we doing that? Are we? The students on The Course were told they needed to have practical skills to offer people experiencing injustice; good intentions were not enough. The emphasis is on what Jesus did, and said to do, rather than on theological intricacies that didn’t have much ‘real-world’ application. As progressive Christian author Brian McLaren states: ‘actions speak volumes about God that could never be captured in a text or a sermon’ (McLaren 2006, p. 171).

Conclusion: a new reformation? What the future could look like Encounters overseas contribute to the formation of what a good Christian global citizen should look like and can reinforce the understanding that God is global, international, and supra-cultural; that ‘the gospel and the message that binds us together transcends culture’ (Baillie Smith et al. 2013, p. 129). Brooke echoed this sentiment during her interview: ‘that’s why I love The Course, because you’re with so many people from so many different cultures, different minds, different hearts, you can come together.’ These Millennials interacted with a world that extended far beyond their hometowns. There are a number of areas where globalized, evangelical Millennials could potentially change institutional Christianity. Firstly, the way that knowledge is formed and interacted with, especially on social justice issues, has moved its locus away from local church congregations and their leadership. It was noticeable during the research process that it was not the influence of local church congregations that were forming the student’s ideas on social justice, but rather influences from outside their faith communities. These ‘struggles for control of mediation’ 124

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(Cannell 2006, p. 17) between the ‘world’ and the Church are nothing new but are being exponentially heightened by new technologies such as the internet and social media. Rather than using their churches as a source to learn about social justice, young Christians are using a different knowledge ‘grid.’ For the students in my research this grid consisted of a combination of ideas from social humanitarianism learned at university and on the internet, and personal, emotional connections with marginalized victims of injustice at home and during STTs overseas. These experiences with people from different ethnic groups and religions extend beyond national borders and can lead Christians who see themselves as global citizens to question theology that emphasizes ‘hard truth,’ and beliefs. Secondly, having a focus on action rather than ‘saving people from their sins’ has the potential to challenge one of Bebbington’s core traits of evangelicalism: evangelization. Many younger Christians already take a dim view of traditional missionary work, associating it with colonialism and promoting westernized cultural values (Hartz 2018; McLaren 2006). The god the students wanted to take out into the world was not a wrathful being who smites sinners; the emphasis was on a god that is broken hearted over injustices and wants people to have a good life now, rather than waiting for heaven. Emphasizing God’s goodness has led some evangelicals to focus on ‘prosperity’ teaching; that God will give personal health and material wealth to Christians who believe and have enough faith. However, my participants talked more about holistic, community wellbeing than about economic wealth for individuals. Salvation encompassed the whole of a person and their society, and not just one’s individual, eternal soul. This indicates a change in an important theological concept, which is where God’s kingdom dwells. Rather than trying to save people for the kingdom hereafter, emphasis moves to helping others experience God’s good life here on earth. During my interviews there was hardly any mention of heaven or hell, a trend also noted by Markham in his research on young evangelicals interested in social justice (Markham 2010). For them, being God’s ‘hands and feet’ (Butler Bass 2015; Hancock 2014) and helping the global poor becomes the main emphasis for how they engage with the world, rather than trying to convert people. In conclusion, the students involved in my research felt strongly that it is not enough anymore to wait for heaven for the exploited to get the justice they deserve; there are tools available in the here and now to remedy social justice issues. Through using social media, they could raise awareness of social justice issues. They can also jump on a plane and go to places where these things are happening, such as Cambodia or Thailand, where human and sex trafficking is perceived to be rife, and try to stop these practices. After all, if one is a global citizen, then the whole world is God’s. There is evidence, including my own research, which indicates social justice practices are growing amongst young evangelicals. Further research is required to ascertain how widespread the phenomenon of young evangelicals and their interest in social justice actually is, and whether evangelical social justice engagement is not just ‘charity’ or evangelization under a more fashionable name. Evangelicalism is a widespread and global phenomenon. As such, researchers need to take into account cultural, ethnic, and denominational differences when trying to define what constitutes evangelical social justice. What is clear is that not all evangelicals are conservative, and there is a change of direction that is moving younger evangelicals in a more politically progressive direction in western countries. As generational change takes place, Millennial evangelicals have the potential to reengage institutional evangelicalism with practices of social justice that they lost at the beginning of the 20th century. Then a new reformation will indeed be on the cards for this branch of Christianity. 125

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10 ‘Mediacosmologies’ The convergence and renewal of indigenous religiosities in cyberspace Laurent Jérôme

Introduction In Canada the 1960s marked a turning point for indigenous peoples. Their aspirations and conceptions of the world have since then been expressed in academic research, films, political actions, as well as spiritual and religious choices. Despite ever-growing interest, the contemporary religious practices and representations of the indigenous peoples of Canada remain poorly understood. Indigenous religious traditions are plural and diverse and are ceaselessly reformulated through the development and reinforcement of numerous networks, including, increasingly, through digital communication technologies. Religion is an important factor in the social and political reconstruction of these peoples, and remains closely linked to contemporary processes of identity and cultural affirmation and to the definition of national and transnational indigenous identities. Indigenous affirmation movements have gained further traction through the use of social network sites and media coverage of the Idle No More movement, for instance (Jérôme 2015; Sioui Durand 2014; Tupper 2014; Wood 2015). Today, these processes take on various forms: dictionaries and interactive online training courses on indigenous languages, mapping apps, virtual museums, heritage protection websites, videogames inspired by traditional mythologies, spiritual and religious websites, and so on. All these manifestations remain consistent with traditional indigenous knowledge while illustrating the contemporary cultural shifts affecting the religions of indigenous societies. By exploring new creative platforms, they have created hyperspaces for indigenous celebration and resurgence (Simpson 2011, 2017) through text, art, videogames and virtual worlds. This chapter explores the diversity and complexity of indigenous religious dynamics, as well as some examples of the process of indigenization of virtual worlds through the very particular case of the management of death and mourning in socio-digital networks. What does religious diversity entail in these virtual worlds? How is the relationship with the ancestors expressed? What are the functions played by the concepts of territory, solidarity, reciprocity and relations with non-humans?

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Indigenous religious landscapes: the complexity, diversity, and tradition of ‘networking’ Talking of indigenous spiritualities or religions represents a major challenge for both researchers and indigenous peoples alike, mainly because of their diversity. The colonial histories of the indigenous peoples of Canada and Quebec share numerous points in common with those of the United States or Australia: the creation of reserves, the confiscation of territory, deplorable material conditions (some communities still have no access to running water or electricity), profound social problems, the consequences of sometimes violent processes of assimilation, as well as Christianization. Secondly, the historical sources that give access to pre-colonization practices and representations are essentially those left by the first explorers or missionaries. Although rich in detail, they are marked by an ethnocentrism typical of the colonial period and suffer from the absence of the viewpoint of the indigenous peoples themselves concerning their own practices and traditions. Thirdly, and I return to this point later, we can observe that the term religion has no equivalent in indigenous languages. In Atikamekw (the language of one of the ten First Nations of Quebec), the term utilized for religion is aiamihe, which literally means speech. Finally, what constitutes indigenous tradition is an object of debate. For some, indigenous traditions have been reappropriated and thereby distorted beyond recognition (the theme of cultural appropriation as cultural theft, for instance in neo-shamanism). For others, indigenous traditions are believed to have completely disappeared in the wake of assimilation policies and Christianization. On this issue, Laugrand and Delâge (2008) argue that it would be mistaken to believe in the complete disappearance of the precolonial ancestral indigenous value systems and practices. They are rather subjected to profound reconfigurations today. They are used in healing processes and are solicited within new forms of resistance, as Jean-Guy Goulet (2000) has reported among the Lakota, who refuse to allow the presence of tourists and media in their ceremonies. Such dynamics are shaped by a historical context marked by successive and radical ruptures with the ancestral ways of life, the transition from nomadism to a sedentary lifestyle, and the influences of Catholicism and other Christian denominations, including Evangelicals and Baptists. The following factors combine to reshape indigenous religious landscapes: 1.

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Heightened exchanges with other Canadian First Nations are highly influential and contribute to formalize and normalize certain practices and representations, such as the pow-wow, which are large gatherings where dances and songs are performed (Buddle 2004). Other examples include the ceremony of the first steps, the sweat lodge, tobacco offerings, the medicine wheel as well as drumming, all of which have become defining features of a new Pan-Amerindianism, which breaches transnationally across North America and even beyond, in Central and South America. Shunning the term ‘religion,’ which is associated negatively with Christianity, the term ‘spirituality’ (whether Pan-American or traditional) is sometimes used to describe the larger religious systems in which these practices are embedded (Bousquet 2007; Doran 2005; Fontaine 2006). Rituals play several roles: they help to maintain social relations with the non-human world, to ensure maintenance of the order of the universe in which humans and non-humans cohabit (e.g., the sweat lodge as a ritual of communication), to guarantee protection from non-human entities (e.g., through the use of tobacco offerings), as well as to heal. In historic and ethnographic sources on the Algonquian, for instance, one finds abundant

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2.

3.

references to practices such as the ritual festival makushan, the shaking tent rituals, the sweat lodge as well as scapulimancy (reading porcupine shoulder-blade bones), all of which are linked to hunting and communication with the spirit-world (Armitage 1992; Brightman 2002[1973]; Flannery 1939; Hallowell 1976; Speck 1977[1935]). Among these, the sweat lodge and the vision quest have been the object of a formidable renewal and reappropriation within neo-shamanic circles (Brault 2005; Bucko 1998; Csordas 1999; Prins 1994; Waldram 1997a, 1997b). The settling process combined with the rise of a new Pan-Amerindianism has produced new forms of knowledge transmission: everywhere in Quebec, Canada and the United States, spiritual gatherings occur which are based on traditional medicine (Adelson 2000, 2001). It is increasingly common in indigenous communities that encounter ‘professional’ ritual officiants whose main activity consists in accomplishing spiritual retreats (isolation, fasting) and performing rituals for indigenous, nonindigenous and mixed publics. This is a relatively new phenomenon, as is their new legitimacy to perform and revive ‘ancestral’ traditions which are constructed through a mixture of handed-down and retrieved knowledge (including from ancient missionary sources and academic scholarship) as well as contacts with other indigenous peoples. Some of these officiants travel across Canada and the United States, but also increasingly to South America (Peru, Bolivia and the Amazon especially). The opposite is equally true, since numerous South American ‘shamans’ or ‘healers’ are invited to perform rituals in the Amerindian communities of the North, in a network of exchange and reciprocity. Finally, the historical influence of the Catholic and Protestant Churches and the rapid expansion of Pentecostalism on indigenous religious systems needs to be considered (Laugrand 1998; Servais 2005; Westman 2008). Through the intermediation of its missionaries, the Catholic Church advocated the eradication of certain practices, both within the public spheres and in the more secluded context of the hunt camps. Today Catholicism and Protestantism are weighed down by their involvement in indigenous boarding schools and other practices of assimilation, even though many elders remain devotees. Amerindian spiritual practices are heavily influenced by mainline Christianity, while Pentecostalism is a recent yet very significant actor (Tanner 2005; Bousquet 2007). Not only have indigenous groups developed resistance strategies in response to the missionaries, they have also rethought their worldviews by appropriating diverse dimensions of Christianity.

Overall, though, there has been a significant process of rejection of mainline Christian denominations (the ones that were involved with the state in pursuing assimilation), especially among younger generations. During a field trip to Kangiqsujuaq in the semiautonomous Inuit region called Nunavik (Jérôme and Kaine 2014), I met Father Jules Dion, of the Oblate order. He spoke of the different religious movements in the village and recalled how he gradually found himself alone in Nunavik: There have been Catholic missions in most of the villages: Kuujjuarapik, Puvirnituk, Ivujivik, Salluit, here, Wikenbé, Quaqtaq, and Kuujjuaq. All these villages had resident priests, two per village. And then after a while, twenty years, for example in Ivujivik, there were no more conversions. There were no Inuit asking to become Catholic. So they closed the mission. In Salluit, it was the same. Puvirnituq too. Quaqtaq too. Here the mission has remained open because there are Catholic Inuit. In the other villages, 131

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there are none. So three-quarters of the time, I have been alone. That is to say, during the first years, there were one or two of us, in Quaqtaq. But later, since 1960, without doubt, I have been alone. In November 2011, a few months after my stay in Kangiqsujuaq, I invited seven Inuit representatives to select objects from the collection in the Quebec Museum of Civilization Quebec and explain their choice. Mattiusi Iyaituq, a celebrated contemporary Inuit artist, chose one of his own sculptures on display. After he presented the context in which the sculpture was made, an exchange on shamanism took place between him and another Inuit present, providing an insight into the debates that animate Inuit society today on the question of shamanism: Shamanism was very important in our past. Before Christianity was introduced in our culture, shamanism was bad. Because Christians said shamanism is bad. Many shamans were doctors, they told the hunters: if you go there you will see such-and-such animal. You will kill one, two, or three. And so they would come back with what the shaman had said. Because the shamans were able to travel by air without planes, they were able to transform into a bird, a seal or whatever . . . and they were able to travel unnaturally to places we cannot visit today. As I want to keep the culture from my past alive, I’ve made many shamanistic sculptures, but never bad shamans. LK, a forty-year-old Inuk, was keen to respond: I have a comment about that, not necessarily a question because I think shamanism is viewed by the Inuit in a sort of ambiguous way. In fact, some Inuit, in the more religious (i.e., Christian) sector of our society, say that shamanism is bad, whether they were good or not, it’s not from God, so it’s considered bad. So they think we should not learn about shamanism because it was banned. I think it’s time, like Mattuisi is saying, for us Inuit to also learn more about our past before Christianity; so we can learn about our real true values, those we still have today, which come from that period. We talked about food this morning, how it was used to guide people’s conduct, it comes from that time. Good or bad exist in both shamanism and Christianity; good and bad exist side-by-side in Christianity too. So, I don’t think Christianity should trump shamanism. I think shamanism should now start to return on equal terms in our society. This relationship to shamanism among the Inuit is reminiscent of the processes of encounter between traditional religious systems and those of religions other than Christianity. Concepts such as dualism (Armitage 1992) and syncretism (Goulet 1998), which have been used in academic literature, mask the complexity of the interactions between indigenous traditions and Christianity. In my view, Laugrand’s (2002) use of the concept of reception in the case of the Inuit is more appropriated as it emphasizes the ways in which Christianity, which was in many cases imposed on indigenous peoples, has in the end been appropriated and integrated into the Inuit and other indigenous traditional religious systems. In such a complex and moving context of interaction which has moved in the last decades from colonial to post-colonial, concepts such as ‘religion’ and ‘spirituality’ have certain heuristic limits. In order to avoid these limitations and open a less normative space of interaction with indigenous realities, researchers have tended to adopt the use of the concept of cosmology, which is increasingly used by indigenous peoples themselves across the Americas. 132

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‘Mediacosmologies’: forces, powers, and animism in virtual mode In the transfer of the term ‘cosmology’ from an emic to an etic meaning, scholars refer to a conception of the world that organizes space and time, structures rituals and stories, carries the memory and voices of the ancestors, and frames practices of linkage and reciprocity with the land and the entities dwelling in it (Ingold 2000). In the frame of this contribution, ‘indigenous cosmology’ refers to a conception of the world based on the multi-various relations which bond all beings in the universe in a web of obligations and responsibilities, whether human or ‘non-human’—an indigenous category that includes beings classically known as ‘spirits,’ for example animal spirits and other spirits present in nature (Kohn 2013; Poirier 2016). As Van Woudenberg tells us, the oral traditions of the Wabanaki, for example, speak of ‘the interconnection between all people in the universe,’ including the earth and the land, which are considered living and ‘sacred’ beings (2004, p. 76). Following Laugrand (2013a), I argue that cosmologies are first and foremost constructed, sustained and passed on via embodied interactions. In this chapter, I also use the term mediacosmology, first suggested by the Kanien’kehá:ka intellectual, curator and artist Steven Loft (2014). In an article, Loft emphasizes the idea of a technical, scientific, relational, ritual and communicational continuity between traditional indigenous systems and the virtual world. Rather than emphasizing incompatibility between the digital realm and the ancestral traditions of indigenous peoples, Loft echoed a trend within these communities, which have massively converted to the use of the internet and cell-phones, by considering the new virtual world as a new arena in which to translate, renew and update indigenous conceptions and practices. For instance, digital means of communication could be used to rekindle and maintain extended kinship ties as well as relations with humans and nonhumans more generally,1 namely through the sharing of stories on social media, creating a new space for the construction and dissemination of collective memory. In an interesting twist of history, the internet and social network sites have emerged as spaces that can and have been invested in ways that enable the voices of ancestors to be heard and indigenous stories and memories to be transmitted, as well as being tools of communication and mediation between time, space and even worlds (De Largy 2013; Wachowich and Scobie 2010; Warschauer 1998). In accordance with Loft’s perspective, the indigenous peoples of Canada make abundant use of the internet and social media, and smartphones are the first consumer object, even in very remote areas, such as the Great North. Facebook, in this respect, is the main social media platform used in indigenous communities. What follows is a categorization of the different ways of appropriating, engaging in and even inhabiting (in Ingold’s sense of dwelling) in digital worlds, through the example of rituals around death and grief.

Practices and knowledge linked to death and mourning Death is only a stage in the great circle of life. It strengthens the spiritual relationship with the ancestors while ensuring a consolidation of our relations with the younger generation. (Gilles Ottawa, NIKPIS, 2002, cited in Nikatcikan, L’Héritage) Death can take diverse forms, as we are reminded by the anthropologist Louis-Vincent Thomas, a specialist in the study of death and dying. It can be physical, mental, biological, social, cultural and/or spiritual. For Thomas, these different forms are a point in common in 133

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Western societies: ‘The theme of the cut is always found. Thus the dead and the mourners are physically and socially rejected from the world of the living’ (Thomas 2003, p. 9). The indigenous peoples and anthropological studies of non-Western societies have taught us, however, that the dead often still have much to do in the world of the living, and that the living do not lack creativity when it comes to remembering the deceased. In numerous indigenous societies, the dead become ancestors and participate actively in balancing the world of the living. This is what Gilles Ottawa, an autodidact researcher originating from the Atikamekw community of Manawan (Central Quebec) wished to emphasize in the thought cited above. Death is not an end, but a stage; it is not nothingness, but a sensory experience with the ancestors; it does not cut off the world, but ensures a continuity with the following generations. Considering that mourning and death in numerous societies are subject to rituals that highlight the body, what happens to this bodily dimension in a space often described as ‘virtual’? How do socio-digital networks operate in continuity with the indigenous cosmologies experienced and expressed in everyday life, particularly in relation to death and mourning? What is the place of the body in indigenous funerary rites? Many interlocutors cite the importance of gathering around the deceased at the moment of displaying the body in the houses. The dead person is considered a voyager. This gathering of the family is essential since it allows their emotions to be expressed through prayers, songs, anecdotes and the sharing of food. The body of the deceased thus gathers the bodies of the living, who dress and shoe it, preparing it for the voyage west, considered a departure that requires considerable attention. Like other groups from the Algonquian linguistic family, the Atikamekw perceive the person as having a body (wiaw) and a soul (atcakw). The two are intrinsically linked in the conception of the person (iriniw). The soul is considered to be a significant entity endowed with an autonomous power regardless of the context of expression: the person, non-human entities or the invisible world (animals, plants, rocks, spiritual entities, the journey of the soul after death, dreams). Other ritual stages and gestures are essential to the preparation of this voyage. The preparation of the grave, for example, is an important responsibility, generally assigned only to men. The ritual gestures surrounding death and mourning all revolve around the idea of a continuation of the person’s life beyond his or her physical presence: preparation for the journey, the wake, meal, songs, prayers, the use of a black ribbon for a year afterwards to materialize the absence of the deceased . . . All these gestures constitute a desire to affirm the presence of the person through his or her body and soul despite death. But what becomes of these ritual gestures and practices in cyberspace?

Materialization of absence More than a support tool, Facebook can become as space for bringing together the deceased, the bereaved and their circle of relations (friends and family), like the domestic space can be at the moment of the display of the body. Facebook is also a means by which the bereaved person can share images (photos, texts) of the ritual gestures made to pay tribute to the memory of the deceased person and materialize their presence. People thus share images of plates and food for the deceased, the black ribbon hanging on a chair or a candle on which the name and photograph of the deceased are found. This sharing of images of ritual gestures performed in everyday life shows how mourning and the accompaniment in death that takes place in the ‘actual’ world is extended into digital space and socio-digital networks. This is equally the case of the photomontages made in homage of the deceased, which give rise to new visual creations. 134

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The socio-digital networks also emerge as places of creativity in which numerous indigenous users invest during mourning. Following the death of William Mathieu Mark in 2015, a respected Innu elder and drummer originally from the Unamen Shipu community (Quebec), messages of condolences and support were posted on Facebook. Numerous photomontages, leading to a reconfiguration of the indigenous image, were placed online and widely shared. In one photomontage, a young Innu man created especially for the socio-digital networks an image that linked four important dimensions of Innu cosmology (North Coast of Quebec), namely the forest (Nutshimik), the territory (Nitassinan), the light (awac) and the drum (teueikan), with the face of the deceased elder in the background. The territory is an omnipresent theme in the photomontage memorials created to honor the deceased. The photomontages form part of a new visual culture in the indigenous context, fostered by the possibilities for sharing them on socio-digital networks. The references to material culture (the drum) and immaterial culture (relations to the territory, the drum’s communicative power) are associated with the images of the deceased, whose presence on socio-digital networks is in keeping with a fundamental principle of indigenous cosmologies in relation to death: the dead, having become ancestors, still have much to do in the world of the living. While the creation of tribute pages is a common practice on Facebook, in an indigenous context this practice results in the writing of original texts in the indigenous language. These tribute pages foster the development of a new visual culture, founded on one of the ancestral principles of figuration, combined with the technological possibilities of fusion and references to themes like territory, forest and the drum (teueikan).

The body and the expression of emotions on socio-digital networks But how is a central part of these rituals and this relation to the body, namely the expression of emotions, expressed on the socio-digital networks? Emoticons were created to encourage the expression of joy, laughter, anger or sadness. For a long time, the proposed aesthetic was based on representations of the Western body, uniform, white. Increasingly, though, emoticons have been created to better reflect the ethnocultural diversity of the users of Facebook and sociodigital networks in general. Aware that the development of emoticons was related, for example, to African American minorities, and following the current movement of decolonization of knowledge and images in indigenous environments, one company is engaged in a process of creating culturally adapted emoticons. Indigicons (Indigenous+Emoticons) was thus born from the desire to culturally anchor the digital expression of emotions from an indigenous aesthetic perspective: a ‘stereotypical Indian’ face with braided hair and feathers, is used to express different emotions. Marked by anger, sadness, tiredness or laughter, this face is also depicted with devil horns or an angelic halo; shaved and tattooed, it becomes a warrior and serves to express political struggle. Numerous other emoticons have been created: the emoticon of the raised fist, for example, is used to express resistance, while the image of the drum or the bear paw are employed to refer to the sacredness of certain objects of material culture or relations to certain animals. This reappropriation of digital visual culture, which involves a large degree of standardization and stereotyping, can be considered a political gesture embedded within broader strategies of media recognition, but also in the current processes of indigenous identity affirmation. In these creative acts, it is important not to underestimate the role of an essential dimension of indigenous cosmologies, namely that of humour and self-mockery. The aesthetics of some of these emoticons, like the features of this ‘Indian’ face that seems to be taken from a comic strip from the 1960s, or those of the bloodthirsty warrior, make it 135

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possible to mock the enduring prejudices of the majority society concerning indigenous peoples, which oscillate between pessimistic views linked to suicide and social problems and the romantic view of the ‘Indian of Nature’ living under a tipi. Through these emoticons, it is also possible for indigenous people to reappropriate a self-image and practice self-mockery by playing on the myth of the ‘vanishing Indian’ (the brave and proud Indian ready to die) which has long marked the history of artistic representations of indigenous people and continues to fuel clichés and prejudices concerning indigenous peoples in the United States and Canada. A political act aimed at reappropriating digital space through a more representative image, this project is also an act of affirmation promoting a greater visibility and awareness of indigenous cultures in digital space.

Digital space as domestic and ritual space? The engagement in digital worlds seems to be a strategy favored by numerous indigenous groups worldwide to preserve the vitality of their cultures, their heritage, their cosmologies and their relations with the religious sphere (Jérôme, Biroté and Coocoo 2018; Jérôme and Veilleux 2014; Lewis 2014; Lumby 2010). This strategy is aimed in particular at processes of transmitting local knowledge to young people evolving in the contingency of cultures that, with social networks like Facebook, tablets and smartphones, are now becoming largely digital (Laugrand 2013b; Laugrand and Luna-Penna 2013). For indigenous peoples, it is a question of affirming their specificity within a global culture, inscribing their approach to identity in a spirit of socialization and sharing with the contemporary world (Alexander et al. 2009, p. 240). Here the affirmation of identity and culture does not involve the preservation of existing worldviews or knowledge, but the appropriation of digital space in order to share and enrich their identity. Warschauer thus suggests that the internet constitutes an excellent network for exploring identity (Warschauer 2006, p. 154). The ability to circulate anonymously or to embrace fictive identities allows young users to experience what is specific to them. The case study of Singleton et al. (2009)—conducted in Western Australia with indigenous young people frequenting an information technology skills development program—also reveals the affirmative potential of such an approach to appropriating these technologies. Mastering technological media allows young people to develop agency (Singleton et al. 2009, p. 405). The appearance of indigenous cultures within digital media can also be read as a process of these nations regaining power in the face of a global world, the former becoming participants of a shared space where their social, political and cultural concerns are now visible (ibid., p. 406). The internet and new media in general are thus becoming a new space of creative and transformative resistance (Iseke 2002; Jérôme and Veilleux 2014) in the sense attributed by Ortner (1995). The internet has emerged as a complementary initiative (Ginsburg 1994, 2018; Ginsburg and Myers 2006), inspired and nourished by existing heritage initiatives and projects (museums, cultural centres). The success of the enterprise of transmission through information technologies (or other media like comic strips) seems to reside in the process itself of constructing these new spaces. Two elements appear to be essential here: self-determination and the respect for local cosmologies. The anthropologist Naomi Adelson, a specialist in health and the concept of healing in indigenous contexts, draws a parallel between social networks (more specifically the internet) and their ritual dimension in her exploration of the creation of neologisms linked to these new technologies. In the North Cree dialect, she recalls, the word for computer is kaamsinaastaahthich, a term that can be translated as ‘what the shadows write by themselves.’ The term is almost identical to the word for film, aahtikaashtaahtihch, ‘what the shadows play 136

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by themselves.’ In Atikamekw, by comparison, the word for computer is Kinokepitcikan, ‘the thing that remembers for a long time.’ The internet is designated by the term Kice kinokepitcikan, ‘the big thing that remembers for a long time.’ It is well-known that indigenous languages are descriptive of the actions and things (here the machines) whose logic or operation they aim to render comprehensible. But Adelson reports that another term is utilized among the Cree of Whapmagoostui to trace the connection between computers, and more specifically the internet, and a very powerful ancestral form of communication. Adelson tells us that some Cree elders jokingly call the internet a contemporary form of kusaapihchikin, the shaking tent, a shamanic communication ritual that has today disappeared (Adelson 2012, p. 268). This analogy speaks volumes about the power that these Cree elders may attribute to digital networks and new technologies, beyond any religious affiliation. It also shows the potential for renewal of indigenous religious traditions. Thus it matters little whether people are primarily linked to the Pentecostal, Catholic, traditionalist or Evangelical movement, they will use the internet and socio-digital networks to express and manage their grief, but also to maintain relations with the ancestors and the dead. Far from influencing or serving to recruit followers, the socio-digital networks are perceived as a new strategy for sharing and for community relations in a form complementary to other kinds of large gatherings, like the spiritual gatherings, retreats to the territory, masses or pow-wows.

Conclusion At international level, the UN Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples (UN 2007) establishes a universal framework for respecting the rights of indigenous peoples. Articles 12, 25, 34 and 36 relate more specifically to indigenous spiritualities, since indigenous peoples are recognized to have the right to ‘practice, develop and teach their spiritual and religious traditions’ (Art. 12), to ‘maintain and strengthen their distinctive spiritual relationship with their traditionally owned and otherwise occupied and used lands’ (Art. 25), to ‘develop and maintain their . . . spirituality’ (Art. 34) as well as to ‘maintain and develop contacts, relations and cooperation, including activities for spiritual, cultural, political, economic and social purposes, with their own members as well as other peoples across borders’ (Art. 36). But how can we comprehend such complex universes, which make and unmake themselves continually, under the influence of multiple movements, sometimes successive, more often simultaneous? Catholicism, Pentecostalism, the Evangelical and Baptist Churches, traditions and neo-traditions, exchanges with neighboring groups, all participate, whether through rejection or affiliation, in shaping indigenous conceptions of the past and present world. They maintain specific knowledge, such as that linked to managing grief and death. Like many indigenous groups and communities throughout the world, the indigenous peoples of Canada and Quebec maintain, weave or consolidate networks of exchanges with other Nations in Canada, the United States and more recently South America thanks to the internet and socio-digital networks. Since the 2000s, the moment when internet connections spread to the communities, the networks expanded. Some Mapuche leaders (Chile) organized to travel and give lectures in Wemotaci (Atikamekw, Quebec); some Atikamekw travelled to Chile or Peru to better understand the local perceptions and uses of the coca leaf. Regular exchanges were organized between spiritual leaders, as in the case of Ricardo Tsakimp, a Shaur healer from Ecuador living in Sucua, in the province of Morona Santiago, who has visited Atikamekw and Innu communities in Quebec several times. While these exchanges between indigenous groups are not new, they take on a whole other dimension in the current context of development of socio-digital networks. 137

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Note 1 Here I am referring to all the non-human entities with whom humans interact in indigenous cosmologies and ontologies (game, fish, bodies of water, plants, ancestors, astral bodies, spirits, etc.).

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Jérôme, L., 2015. Les cosmologies autochtones et la ville: sens et appropriation des lieux à Montréal. Anthropologica, 57 (2), 327–339. Jérôme, L., Biroté, C. and Coocoo, J., 2018. Images de la mort et ritualisation du deuil sur les réseaux socionumériques: des usages de Facebook en contexte autochtone. Frontières, 29 (2). https://www. erudit.org/en/journals/fr/2018-v29-n2-fr03541/ Jérôme, L. and Kaine, É., 2014. Représentations de soi et décolonisation dans les musées: quelles voix pour les objets de l’exposition C’est notre histoire. Premières Nations et Inuit du XXIe siècle (Québec)? Anthropologie et Sociétés, 38 (3), 231–252. Jérôme, L. and Veilleux, V., 2014. Witamowikok, ‘dire’ le territoire atikamekw nehirowisiw aujourd’hui: territoires de l’oralité et nouveaux médias autochtones. Recherches Amérindiennes au Québec, 44 (1), 11–22. Kohn, E., 2013. How Forests Think. Toward an Anthropology beyond the Human. Berkeley: University of California Press. Laugrand, F., 1998. L'évangélisation sans missionnaire: l'apostolat des prosélytes inuit dans l'Arctique de l'Est canadien. Mission (Ottawa), 5 (2), 163–194. Laugrand, F., 2002. Mourir et renaître: la réception du christianisme par les Inuit de l'Arctique de l'Est canadien (1890–1940). Quebec: University of Laval Press. Laugrand, F., 2013a. Pour en finir avec la spiritualité: l’esprit du corps dans les cosmologies autochtones du Québec. In: A. Beaulieu, et al., ed. Les Autochtones et le Québec: Des Premiers Contacts au Plan Nord. Montreal: Presses de l’Université de Montréal. 213–232. Laugrand, F., 2013b. ‘Divines entreprises’ sur la toile. La nébuleuse évangélique et pentecôtiste chez les Autochtones du Canada. Histoire, Monde, Cultures Religieuses, 27, 101–126. Laugrand, F. and Delâge, D., 2008. Introduction. Traditions et transformations rituelles chez les Amérindiens et les Inuits du Canada. Recherches Amérindiennes au Québec, XXXVIII (2–3), 3–12. Laugrand, F. and Luna-Penna, G., 2013. Isuma.tv ou la Babel du Grand Nord: religions, images autochtones et médias électroniques. Recherches Amérindiennes au Québec, 43 (2–3), 31–47. Lewis, S., 2014. A better dance and better prayers: systems, structures, and the future imaginary in Aboriginal new media. In: S. Loft and K. Swanson, eds. Coded Territories: Tracing Indigenous Pathways in New Media Art. Calgary: University of Calgary Press. 49–77. Loft, S., 2014. Mediacosmology. In: S. Loft and K. Swanson, eds. Coded Territories: Tracing Indigenous Pathways in New Media Art. Calgary: University of Calgary Press. 170–186. Lumby, B., 2010. Cyber-indigeneity: urban indigenous identity on Facebook. The Australian Journal of Indigenous Education, 39 (S1), 68–75. Ortner, S.B., 1995. Resistance and the problem of ethnographic refusal. Comparative Studies in Society and History, 37 (1), 173–193. Poirier, S., 2016. Ontologies. Anthropen.org. Paris: Éditions des Archives Contemporaines. Prins, H., 1994. Neo-traditions in Native Communities: sweat Lodge and Sun Dance Among the Mic Mac Today. In: W. Cowan, dir. Papers of the 25th algonquinist conference. Ottawa: Carleton University. 383–394. Servais, O., 2005. Des jésuites chez les Amérindiens ojibwas: Histoire et ethnologie d’une rencontre, XVIIe-XXe siècles. Paris: Éditions Karthala. Simpson, L.B., 2011. Dancing on Our Turtle’s Back. Stories of Nishnaabeg Re-Creation, Resurgence, and a New Emergence. Manitoba: ARP Book. Simpson, L.B., 2017. As We Have Always Done: Indigenous Freedom through Radical Resistance (Indigenous Americas). University of Minnesota Press. Kindle Edition. Singleton, R.R., et al., 2009. Youth empowerment and information and communication technologies: A case study of a remote Australian Aboriginal community. GeoJournal, 74 (5), 403–413. Sioui Durand, G., 2014. Un Wendat nomade sur la piste des musées. Pour des archives vivantes. Anthropologie et Sociétés, 38 (3), 271–288. Speck, F.G., 1977 [1935]. Naskapi. The Savage Hunters of the Labrador Peninsula. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Tanner, K., 2005. Economy of grace. Philadelphia: Fortress Press. Thomas, L.-V., 2003. La mort. Paris: PUF. Tupper, J., 2014. Social media and the idle no more movement: citizenship, Activism and Dissent in Canada. Journal of Social Science Education, 4. https://doi.org/10.2390/jsse-v13-i4-1354. United Nations. 2007. United Nations Declaration on the Rights of Indigenous Peoples. United Nations. Van Woudenberg, G., 2004. Des femmes et de la territorialité: début d’un dialogue sur la nature sexuée des droits des autochtones. Recherches amérindiennes au Québec, 34, 75–86.

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Wachowich, N. and Scobie, W., 2010. Uploading selves: inuit digital storytelling on YouTube. Études/ Inuit/Studies, 34 (2), 81. Waldram, J.B., 1997a. The Way of the Pipe: Aboriginal Spirituality and Symbolic Healing in Canadian Prisons. Peterborough: Broadview Press. Waldram, J.B., 1997b. The Reification of Aboriginal Culture in Canadian Prison Spirituality Programs. In: M. Mauzé, dir. Present Is Past. Some Uses of Tradition in Native Societies. Lanham: University Press of America. 197–214. Warschauer, M., 2006. Technology and Indigenous Language Revitalization: analyzing the Experience of Hawai’i. Canadian Modern Language Review, décembre. Westman, C., 2008. Understanding Cree Religious Discourse. Doctoral thesis, Department of Anthropology, University of Alberta, Edmonton. Wood, L.J., 2015. Idle No More, Facebook and Diffusion. Social Movement Studies, 14 (5), 615–621.

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Part III

Intimate identities

11 Saints, sinners, and same-sex marriages Ecclesiological identity in the Church of England and the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Denmark Karen Marie Leth-Nissen

Introduction In Danish popular understanding, ‘saints’ are people who are already active in church and part of a tight community. In this understanding, we perceive ‘saints’ as special and stronger Christians. They are active in church and attend worship on Sundays. Most of both the English and the Danes visit church less often, if ever. Societies include both the minority active in close church communities, and the majority going from occasional use to no use of the church at all. This chapter discusses whether the old majority churches want to keep on being churches for all people in their societies, even those who might not feel related to church. The churches’ reactions to the public debates on same-sex marriages in church show which factors are crucial in determining the future course of an old majority church intertwined with society. Citizens in the countries of Northern Europe are on average positive towards same-sex marriage (Lindberg 2016). Attitudes towards same-sex marriages have also changed in Britain. Siobhan McAndrew shows using British Social Attitudes data (1989–2014) that resistance towards same-sex marriages in Britain has fallen from 70 percent among people identifying with the Church of England in 1989, down to less than 30 percent in the same group. Among people identifying with ‘no religion,’ the same numbers have fallen from 50 percent resistance to 10 percent in the same period (British Religion in Numbers, 2017). In Denmark, 68 percent of the population supports same-sex marriages in church (YouGov/ Centre for Church Research 2015). The public debate on civil same-sex marriages in several countries (Bóasdóttir 2012) has raised a new complex of problems for churches. The gap between popular and official church understanding of human sexuality challenges the two old national churches of England and Denrmark. Since the Reformation, we see an intertwinement of these majority churches and their nation states (Christoffersen 2006). The churches are covering their countries through geographical parishes. The Church of England has a territorial presence through its 12,557

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parishes and 16,000 parish churches.1 Likewise, the Danish folk church is an established church present in the whole country, having 2,123 parishes and 2,354 church buildings.2 Every parish in both countries has at least one parish church and most often a churchyard surrounding it. The parishes and their ministers serve the whole community. We call these churches by law established churches (Christoffersen 2006). Given their embeddedness in nation states, one might expect the Church of England and the Danish folk church to adapt to societal changes. With same-sex marriages, the churches chose another path. The churches’ reactions reveal their view on how to be a proper church today; they reveal their ecclesiological identities. I place the churches on a continuum going from ecclesial to societal church, using sociologist of religion Linda Woodhead’s concepts of ecclesial and societal church. Woodhead’s concepts are helpful in explaining the consequences of the churches’ decisions on same-sex marriages. The processes described here show how the Church of England and the Danish folk church negotiate their ecclesiological identities, and who has the power to pull the church in an ecclesial or societal direction. I work in a method combining Hegstad (2013), Percy (2010), and the new Nordic wave of ecclesiology and ethnography (Leth-Nissen 2018). Data for the analysis include qualitative source studies (2010–2016), as well as quantitative data on church attendance and lay engagement in church. The Church of England reacted to civil same-sex marriages in the way Woodhead (2016) predicted, increasing a clerical and authoritarian identity. The responses and briefings of the church show how the Church of England is pulling in an ecclesial direction, thus widening the gap between the British society and the Church of England. The Danish folk church has negotiated same-sex marriages in church for decades, setting inner-church unity over the church–people relationship. Parliament functions as the formal Synod of the church and it settled the matter by introducing same-sex marriages in the church in 2012. The lengthy debate has most likely wounded the church’s relationship to the people.

Context, state-of-the-art, concepts, and methods The Church of England: power structures and change The gap between the Church of England and British society has been widening since the start of the 20th century. In 1917, a court judgement ruled that the law of England was not Christian. In 1919, Parliament made a partial disestablishment of the Church of England when it placed Church legislation (Canon Law) in the Church Assembly (Brown and Woodhead 2016, p. 51). The Church Assembly transformed into the General Synod in 1970 and has three Houses, the House of Bishops, the House of Clergy, and the House of Laity. Peers elect the bishops and clergy for the two clerical houses. However, Parliament kept control of canon law, as all three Houses of Parliament need to agree to pass new measures.3 Thus, Parliament is sovereign and works as the actual governing body. The Anglican Communion is taking part in informal negotiations on change, too. The highest body of the Communion is the Primates meetings, comprising the ‘chiefs,’ the archbishops or equivalents from the 39 provinces of the Communion. Almost every decade, the Archbishop of the Church of England calls a Lambeth conference for discussion on church matters relevant to the whole Communion. The Primates meetings and the Lambeth conferences has no binding authority on member churches.4

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The debate on female ordination widened the gap even further. A 1975 report found that there were no theological constraints to female clergy. For years, Church of England preferred tradition and male headship to the equality for women, following developments in society. The Church of England accepted female deacons from 1987, and female ministers from 1992, with the first ordination in 1994 (Shaw 2014). The church accepted female bishops in 2014 (Encyclopedia Britannica 2017). The debate on homosexuality widened the gap, too. A power struggle during the 1980s between the church parties of the liberals and the conservative Evangelicals left the conservatives in power. As a result, the Church of England continued to ignore the needs of homosexual people for recognition by the church (Brown and Woodhead 2016, p. 56).5 In 1991, the bishops used a new distinction in their own statement on homosexuality. Homosexuality was acceptable for lay people. However, active homosexual clergy was intolerable and only celibacy would make homosexual clergy able to stay in church (Shaw 2014, p. 348).6 Table 11.1 shows how the values gap has widened between society and the Church of England. During the same period, there has been a declining use of rites of passage. With baptism as the example, the English baptized half their children in the Church of England in around 1900. Today the figure is around 12 percent.7 Affiliation is down to 28 percent of the population, with 1.7 percent of the Electoral Roll as formal members. Sunday attendance is around 1.3 percent (Table 11.2). These examples show that the relationship between English society and the Church of England is unstable. The power of changing the church’s direction lies with the General Synod of the Church of England and it has until now favored inter-church unity over staying a societal church. Within the Communion, a widening gap between liberal and traditionalist views of homosexuality is threatening to split the Communion. From 2008, alternative Anglican bodies claimed to represent the ‘true Anglicans’ who condemn homosexuality (Sachs 2017, p. 113).

Table 11.1 Model of the gap between English society and the Church of England.

English society Church of England

Values in 1900 Conservative, patriarchal Conservative, patriarchal

Values in 2012 Liberal, equality Conservative, patriarchal

Table 11.2 Relationship between population, affiliates, and governing bodies of the Church of England. Church of England General population8 Affiliated to the Church of England9 Electoral Roll members10 Sunday attendance11

Number 62,756,200 17,571,736 1,044,800 827,200

Percentage 100% 28% 1.7% 1.3%

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The Danish folk church: power structures and change In the Danish constitution of 1849, the church went from being the church of the King to being ‘the Danish folk church, governed by law’ (Christoffersen 2017). The Ministry of Church Affairs administers the daily business of the church and brings forward new developments. As church legislation is part of the Danish body of common laws, the Parliament initiates and passes new legislation for the church. Thus, the Danish folk church has no synod. When issues are strong in the public debate both inside and outside the church, the Minister of Church Affairs names a committee for a report on the matter, with members representing various church parties and other stakeholders as the clergy’s union, the bishops, university theologians, and the parish councils. Through the 20th century, the folk church has followed the general developments of society. Parliament approved female ordination in 1947, and in 1948, the Danish folk church was the first church to ordain a female minister (Præstholm 2014, p. 93). However, the issue of homosexuality has haunted the Danish folk church for decades. Homosexual clergy experienced hardship, and the church has debated the issue in the open since the 1970s (Præstholm 2013). In 1989, Denmark became the world’s first country to approve legal civil partnerships.12 Then, the possibility of having same-sex marriages sparked a major debate among the three church parties, which has been going on ever since (Table 11.3). The Danish folk church still has 77 percent of the population as formal members, with baptism as the ritual turning you into a member. Some 64 percent of infants are baptized (2015). The Danish folk church accepts that the people are not active in church and have no obligation of activity connected to membership. Church attendance is around 2 percent, around 114,000 per Sunday (Table 11.4).13 The examples show that the relationship between the people and the church is rather stable in Denmark.

Method I am inspired by the descriptive ecclesiology of theologian Harald Hegstad in his The Real Church (2013), seeking the ‘real church’ instead of the ‘ideal church.’ I follow theologian

Table 11.3 Model of the gap between Danish society and the Danish folk church.

Danish society The Danish folk church

Values in 1900 Conservative, patriarchal Conservative, patriarchal

Values in 2012 Liberal, equality Increasingly liberal, equality

Table 11.4 Relationship between population, affiliates, and governing bodies of the Danish folk church. The Danish folk church General population Formal members of the Danish folk church14 Sunday attendance

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Number 5,706,100 4,388,000

Percentage 100% 76.9% 2%

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Martyn Percy’s pursuit of the implicit theology of the church (Percy 2010, p. 4). Percy argues that we must research ‘the hybridity of culture and theology’ within the church (2010, p. 7). I conduct comparative ecclesiology as in many of the new approaches on ecclesiology and ethnography, using document sources, quantitative statistics, and survey data. The method in the field comprises a rather broad social sciences approach and makes room for experiments.15

Theory: the concepts of ecclesial and societal church For the analysis of the churches’ reactions to debates on same-sex marriages, I use Woodhead’s (forthcoming) concepts of societal and ecclesial church. Woodhead describes the churches as societal churches (forthcoming) in her analysis of the changes in the seven old majority churches of Northern Europe. Building on theologian and philosopher of religion Ernst Troeltsch’s (1911) concepts of ‘church type’ or ‘sectarian type’ of Christianity, Woodhead views church as a cultural institution in a national setting, and places churches on a continuum between societal and ecclesial church. A societal church focuses on being the salt of the earth, being present everywhere for everybody. It has a national presence in places, institutions, and, above all, in existentially open situations. Societal church wants the church to come to the people. In contrast, ecclesial church focuses on being the light of the world, and emphasizes tradition, order, a congregational church, and church attendance. Ecclesial church wants the people to come to the church (Woodhead forthcoming). A societal church is tied to the state, the nation, and the society. Both the Church of England and the Danish folk church have exceptional positions in the states as the by-law established churches. By name they connect to the national identity as they are ‘of the nation’ (Church of England) or ‘of the people’ (Danish folk church). Earlier, being a citizen meant being baptized (Leth-Nissen 2018, p. 7; Woodhead forthcoming). The two churches connect to their societies through many ‘insertion points’ as chaplains in various sectors as prisons, military, schools, and health, or through a multitude of local community events having the local church as a driving force or participant (Woodhead forthcoming; LethNissen 2018, p. 14). The Church of England has 1,415 chaplains (Report on Church of England chaplaincy 2014, p. 8). Chaplains make up 11 percent of all the clergy (2014).16 In Denmark, out of 2,200 full-time minister positions, one-sixth are chaplains in schools, hospitals, the army, and more (Leth-Nissen 2018, pp. 107–108). With more pluralism, we gain a differentiation of cultural identities and a following de-differentiation of secular and religious spheres. Woodhead has described how the churches react to the individual-level tendency to mix religion, becoming ‘increasingly clerical and authoritarian’ (Woodhead 2016, p. 46). Woodhead concludes that societal churches who try to be ecclesial ‘end up alienating their core support’ (Woodhead forthcoming).

Substantive discussion The question of same-sex marriages evoked heated debates within the organizations of both the Church of England and the Danish folk church.

The Church of England: the price of inter-church unity In Britain, Parliament introduced civil partnership under Common Law in 2005, and in 2012, the government wanted to introduce equal access to marriage for same-sex couples. The British government consultation on same-sex marriages in 2012 stated that the 147

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government did ‘not think that the ban on same-sex couples getting married should continue.’ A listening exercise had found that same-sex couples suffered in the then situation and this was the basis of the consultation (Equal marriage: a consultation 2012, p. 1). The Church of England responded, as did 228,000 others. This was the highest number of responses to a government consultation ever, and a majority of the responses wanted religious same-sex marriage to be possible, even though the consultation proposed only a civil same-sex marriage (Equal marriage: The Government’s response 2012, p. 6). After discussions in the Archbishops’ council and the House of Bishops, the Church of England’s response came from the Archbishops, and it recommended that the government left the issue and stayed with civil partnership only (Church of England response 2012). In the response, the Church of England emphasized that there is no ban on same-sex marriages.17 The arguments of the response had ethical, biblical, judicial, and procreational aspects, the strongest argument being the judicial, as Canon Law cannot be in conflict with Common Law. In Canon Law, marriage is between a man and a woman (Canon B30). The Common Law (Marriage Act 1949) says all residents of a parish, ‘irrespective of his or her religious affiliation’ has the right to marry in the parish church (Church of England response 2012, p. 6). Canon Law cannot be contrary to the laws of the realm. Thus, a new law redefining marriage would force Canon Law to change. On top of this, the Church of England feared a court case on discrimination if the Bill passed in this manner. If same-sex marriage were to be allowed for all, then religious same-sex marriage would also be allowed for all (Church of England response 2012, p. 8).18 Thus, the Church of England argued, the proposal had to change to protect the church. The other arguments argued that this legislation would harm ‘the common good’ of society and that marriage is about complementarity and children. Instead of rejecting equal marriage, the government drew up a bill for reading in the Houses of Parliament. The government’s response stated an explicit respect for Canon Law although the Parliament is sovereign to Canon Law. To protect the Church of England and other faith communities from conducting marriages against their theologies, the government introduced a ‘quadruple lock.’ The ‘lock’ has four elements: A) No religious organizations or individual ministers can be compelled to conduct same-sex marriages or let these happen on their premises. B) They can only do so if they expressly opt-in to the possibility of conducting same-sex marriages. C) Amending the Equality Act of 2010 ensures that religious organisations are not discriminated. D) Exempting the Church of England and Church of Wales in the law to avoid conflict between Canon Law and Common Law (Equal marriage: The Government’s response 2012, 17–18). The Church of England tried to influence the MPs of the House of Commons and House of Lords by directing briefings to the MPs before the second and the third Readings in the Houses (Church of England Third Reading Briefing 2013). The briefings insisted on the ‘quadruple lock’ in the legislation as crucial to protect the Church of England, but aimed at a full rejection of the bill. Church of England failed, and both Houses approved the bill on 16 July 2013. It received Royal Assent by the Queen the following day. The whole process shows that the Church of England wants to prescribe how people should live their lives. The response and briefings contain arguments that date back to 1900. 148

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By then, the Church of England was a major influencer. English society and the Church of England built on the same foundations of patriarchal values and paternalism. Thus, the Church of England was at ease with keeping up and celebrating the lives of the English people (Brown and Woodhead 2016, p. 69). As ministers and bishops cannot be active homosexuals (because of the Higton motion), chances are that the share of homosexual clergy is lower than the average in the population. If so, a vote in favor of same-sex marriages in the General Synod may be even less likely. The House of Laity comprises lay people who are all Church of England members on the Electoral Roll and are voted in by their local deanery synod.19 Thus, the House of Laity comprises the church’s active people and not the broad Anglican laity. For a comparison of the active laypeople and the broad laity, the share of lay members on governing boards of the Church of England amounts to 150,300 or 0.2 percent.20 The connection between the Church of England and the people is not strong. Lay people have a low influence on the direction of the church. These lay people are special from the general population, since they are active in the church. The Church of England’s governing bodies have the power to change the church, but they only represent a small group of the affiliates and an even smaller share of the general population. The responses and briefings on same-sex marriages from the Church of England show that the church still perceives itself as a major influencer. However, the government seems to have long seen that the church is not present in people’s lives anymore, and made their decisions in accordance with this. The ‘quadruple lock’ seemed like a way of silencing the Church of England. The data on use of church, affiliation, and power structure show that the Church of England is becoming a more ecclesial church, providing activities for only a small faithful group of people. This takes all the power out of the ‘common good’ argument of the Church of England because of the contradiction between having ecclesial characteristics and caring for the common good of society. Here, the Church of England seems split between a previous societal identity and a still more ecclesial identity. Although the Church of England moves in an ecclesial direction, the Anglican Communion still struggles with the issue of homosexuality. The Episcopal Church of USA issued a ritual for same-sex marriage in 2016. As a reaction, the Anglican Communion suspended the Episcopal Church at the Lambeth Primates conference in 2016.21 The suspension emphasizes the challenge of being a church in a Western context but part of a global communion.

The Danish folk church: the price of inner-church unity Denmark has had a civil partnership act since 1989, and for years, the bishops and the church parties have debated the possibility of a blessing in church. The Danish bishops formed a committee in 1995 and produced a report in 1997 on blessings and civil partnerships. Here they state that civil partnership differs from marriage. An explicit argument against a church ritual for same-sex couples was the broad national and church resistance (Report of the committee of the Minister of Church Affairs on Danish folk church and civil partnership, 2010, p. 27). All organizations of the conservative church party ‘Inner Mission’ criticized the bishops’ committee and formed a counter-committee. Their counter report, also from 1997, found no biblical theological foundation for blessings or prayer for same-sex couples (ibid., p. 28). In 2005, the bishops still found no common agreement on the issue. A group of six bishops with the Bishop of Greenland issued 149

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guidelines for blessings of civil partnerships. This group of bishops emphasized that after the harsh debate of the recent years the church had to speak up on this issue. With their issuing of the guidelines for blessings, they wanted to distance themselves and the church from condemnations of homosexuals (ibid., p. 27). The discussion on same-sex marriage in church was an issue in Parliament from 2004. The political parties discussed whether to make a law for same-sex marriage in church before the church asked for it, or to wait for the church to ask (ibid., p. 29). In 2009, the Minister appointed members for a committee on same-sex marriages. He chose the members from amongst the largest stakeholders in the Danish folk church. The committee represented all church parties (Inner Mission, The Grundtvigians, and Tidehverv). Besides these, members were theological advisers from Aarhus University and the University of Copenhagen, and representatives of the National Association of Parish Councils, the ministers’ association, and the bishops (ibid., p. 6). In their 2010 committee report, the arguments on the issue were several. Biblical interpretation supported the tradition that marriage is between a man and a woman. The committee acknowledged that the patterns of family life are changing (ibid., p. 32).22 A sociological argument was the increasing popular perception of same-sex couples, also among clergy of the Danish folk church (ibid., p. 34). The report discussed the theological aspects of the unity of the church. As the official creed of the Danish folk church, the Augsburg Confession states that the true unity of the church rests on ‘the gospel rightly preached and the sacraments duly administered’ (CA VII). Thus, a majority of the committee found that homosexuality falls outside the Confession. Thus, diverging stances on the issue will not harm church unity (ibid., p. 34). The majority declared that same-sex partnerships do not have a Christian past and tradition, but they would not declare homosexuality a sin. A same-sex partnership should be within the teachings of the Bible and be possible to integrate the theology and the church. The Bible and the tradition says that a marriage must be between a man and a woman. Thus, a gender-neutral ritual would harm the perception of marriage (ibid., p. 34). The 12 members could not reach an end agreement. In the Ministerial report of 2010, nine members agreed that a blessing of a civil partnership should be possible in church. Six members wanted same-sex partnerships to be possible in church through a new ritual parallel to the marriage ritual. Eleven members agreed that marriage should still be between a man and a woman, while same-sex rituals should be partnerships (ibid., pp. 36–39). The following consultation showed that half of the bishops favored the church blessing, half a legal binding ritual.23 In March 2011, the Minister of Church Affairs from the political Conservative party prepared a bill based on the report. He aimed at a parallel ritual, not a change of the whole marriage law, since this was the wish of the church.24 In October 2011, the power of Parliament changed to the Social Democrats, the Socialistic Folk Party, and the Radical Party. The new government’s platform said, ‘The government will lift the ban on marriage of homosexuals in the Danish folk church.’25 In parallel to the English case, the word ‘ban’ was controversial since it has never been a ban but just not a possibility. When the Minister of Church Affairs lined up a proposal, it was for a change of the whole marriage law and went beyond the report and consultations. On the proposal, he held a public consultation on the Parliaments’ promises.26 Following this, the Minister drew up a bill and on 12 June 2012 Parliament approved the law (Law no. 532 of 12/06/2012), together with new legislation guaranteeing the church ministers their individual freedom to refuse to perform the ritual.27 Four days after, eight out of ten bishops issued guidelines for rituals for both same-sex marriages and blessings (Præstholm 2014, p. 115). 150

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The reluctance in taking a stand may have made many people lose their patience with the folk church. The withdrawals from church reached a new high in 2012 with over 21,000 members resigning. Some 12,000 of these left church before the approval of the law and they may have left in haste.28 It also disturbed the unity of the church although only seven ministers left the church after the new law. The process shows that Parliament has the power to keep the folk church societal. Lay people on the governing boards of the folk church amount to 12,922 or 0.2 percent of the general population and have no direct influence on the direction of the church.29

Conclusion This chapter has shown how issues on human sexuality challenge on one side, the unity of a global church community such as the Anglican Communion. On the other side, the issue challenges the bond between a national church and its population. The changing liberal attitudes towards homosexuality are at the core of this dilemma, as the changes are more evident in the Global North than in the Global South (Bóasdóttir 2012; Lindberg 2016). In this case, the introduction of same-sex marriage in Britain caused a decade-long struggle between church parties in the Church of England. The British population favored the introduction of same-sex marriage and hoped for the church to introduce it, too. In the end, the Church of England chose to keep peace with the Anglican Communion and not challenge the member churches of the Global South. Instead, the Church of England further alienated the church from the British people and widened the already considerable gap between people and church. The Church of England pulls in an ecclesial direction, wanting the church to be the light of the people. There is a risk that the British population with this development has given up on the Church of England and ignores any light it might try to shine. In Denmark, the Danish folk church is closely connected to Danish society, and has no formal bonds to other church communities outside Denmark. As in Britain, the Danish population favored the introduction of same-sex marriage in church. However, the bishops and the church parties favored inner-church unity over staying a societal church, and would not recommend establishing equal marriage. Thus, the folk church hesitated and harmed its relationship with the general population. In 2012, Parliament passed legislation making equal marriage possible in church and a majority of the bishops issued guidelines for same-sex marriage in church the following week. Here, the absence of a church synod keeps the Danish folk church in line with Danish society as Parliament takes the heavy decisions on behalf of the church. Although innerchurch discussions had been heated on the issue, things calmed down once the legislation had been passed by Parliament. The Danish folk church stayed a societal church, wanting to be the salt of the earth. The case also shows that in high-profile issues, the Danish people have the power of the Danish folk church, as the synod is actually the Parliament. This makes sense, as 75 percent of the Danish population are members of the church. On same-sex marriage, the theological arguments of the Church of England and the Danish folk church were the same during the processes of 2010 to 2013. The arguments said that marriage according to the Bible and tradition is between a man and a woman. Thus, the church cannot redefine marriage and same-sex couples should have a parallel ritual not called marriage. In the end, it was not theology, but the difference in power structures and power of the church parties that turned same-sex marriage into a reality in the Danish folk church but not in the Church of England. 151

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The Danish folk church is weak in relation to the people. This keeps its ties to the people strong. The Church of England is stronger in relation to the British people and chooses unity in church over unity with the people. This wears down its ties to the British people. Further research on the issues of church identity and power structures should look into whether the Church of England is changing towards an ecclesial church. Because of a shift in power between the church parties, the General Synod was instrumental in stopping same-sex marriages in the Church of England, as it has directed the Church of England on the issue on homosexuality since 1987. Further perspectives to explain the power shift in the Church of England would include analyses of resolutions of the Lambeth conferences of 1978, 1988, 1998 and 2008 as well as an analysis on the cases of openly homosexual ministers Gene Robinson and Jeffrey Johns. It would be fruitful to examine also the issues of polygamy and divorce, which Lambeth agreed the member churches could treat as local issues. At the same time, research into the agency of church ministers would add new aspects to our knowledge on the future of the Church of England. Within the 2012 debate on samesex marriages, the actors were the Parliament, the General Synod, and the Anglican Communion. How do church ministers relate to the discussions and decisions, being the direct representatives of the church to the British people? Because of the governance structure of the Danish folk church, the church parties did not have the power to stop a change in the marriage law. Further questions for research in the Danish folk church would clarify whether the folk church for the sake of inner-church unity pulls towards a more ecclesial church. Further research should analyse the 2015 committee report on governance models for the folk church and compare it to synodal governance models in the other Northern European majority churches.

Notes 1 2014. Church of England Statistics for Mission 2014, 3.12. 2 Parishes in 2013. Homepage of National Association of Parochial Church Council Members www.menighedsraad.dk/menighedsraadene/fakta-om-folkekirken/ [Accessed 4 March 2016]. Church buildings in 2015. Ministry of Church Affairs https://wiki2.org/en/Church_of_Den mark [Accessed 7 March 2016]. 3 The House of Commons, the House of Lords, and the House of Bishops. 4 www.anglicancommunion.org/structures/instruments-of-communion/primates-meeting.aspx [Accessed 21 April 2018]. Besides the Lambeth conferences and the Primates meetings, the Communion has the Anglican Consultative Council, which comprises members of the laity, archbishops, bishops, priests, and deacons, and is held almost every three years. 5 Church activists took the House of Laity hostage. It then turned into the forum of a crucial debate on homosexuality. The Higton motion on homosexuality was passed, stating that sex can only be between a man and a woman, that homosexuality is a sin, and that church leadership should be exemplary in all matters including sexual morality (Brown and Woodhead 2016: 56). In 1989, the Osborne report was dismissed as being too liberal and was never published. It had only done what the resolutions of Lambeth 1978 and 1988 asked for (Shaw 2014: 348). But the Higton motion had changed the scene. 6 The document is called ‘Issues in Human Sexuality.’ 7 Page 27 figure 10. www.churchofengland.org/media/1477827/2010_11churchstatistics.pdf [Accessed 19 November 2016]. 8 2014. Population of England, Wales, and Scotland put as one, as the YouGov data provided for affiliation is based on this population. Total is 62,756,200. National Office of Statistics www.ons. gov.uk/ andwww.gov.scot/ [Accessed 11 March 2016]. 9 28 percent said they were affiliated to the Church of England in a 2015 YouGov survey (YouGov Woodhead 2015). Population is the total, as the YouGov data provided for affiliation is based on the population of England, Wales, and Scotland. National Office of Statistics www.ons.gov.uk/ and www.gov.scot/ [Accessed11 March 2016]. 152

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10 2014. Statistics for Mission. 11 2014. Statistics for Mission (Report on Church of England Chaplaincy 2014:15) provided data for Sunday attendance in October 2014 in the Church of England: 827,200. 12 www.retsinformation.dk/Forms/R0710.aspx?id=59485 [Accessed 19 November 2016]. 13 Stable rate for many years set at 2% (Iversen 2014, p. 128). Population (2016) 5,707,251. National Statistical Office. http://danmarksstatistik.dk/da/Statistik/emner/befolkning-og-befolkningsfrem skrivning [Accessed 12 March 2016]. Two% is 114,145. 14 2016. National Statistical Office. http://danmarksstatistik.dk/da/Statistik/emner/befolkning-ogbefolkningsfremskrivning [Accessed 12 March 2016]. For a comparison of the different membership models of the Church of England and the Danish folk church, see Friis Jensen and Leth-Nissen (forthcoming). 15 For a thorough overview and discussion on ethnography and ecclesiology (see Leth-Nissen 2018, pp. 53–54). 16 When you use figures of clergy full-, part-time-, and self-supporting clergy. 17 www.churchofengland.org/our-views/marriage,-family-and-sexuality-issues/same-sex-marriage/samesex-marriage-and-the-church-of-england-an-explanatory-note.aspx [Accessed 29 February 2016]. 18 ECtHR art. 12 on the right to marry and art. 14 on no discrimination. 19 Admission to the Roll is accepted for persons who are baptized, 16 years and up, residing in the parish in question, and declaring to be a member of the Church of England. If not a resident of the parish, being a regular worshipper in the parish church is an alternative way of admission. Being on the Roll ensures eligibility as well as voting power for the Parochial Church Council. Church Representation Rules, part 1. www.churchofengland.org/about-us/structure/churchlawlegis/ church-representation-rules/part-i.aspx#ba2 [Accessed 22 March 2016]. 20 2014. Calculation has been done with the kind help in both method and data of Bernard Silverman, Professor of Statistics, University of Oxford; Dr. Bev Botting, Head of Research and Statistics, Archbishops’ Council; and Louise McFerran, senior statistical researcher at the Archbishops’ Council. All details available from author. 21 www.archbishopofcanterbury.org//articles.php/5658/read-the-communique-from-the-primates-ofthe-anglican-communion [Accessed 29 February 2016]. 22 Within the Danish folk church, views go from biblical literalism to a liberal and culture-open theology of marriage (Report on Civil Partnership 2010, p. 33). 23 www.dr.dk/nyheder/politik/stigs-foerste-hovedpine-homo-vielser?rss=true [Accessed 18 November 2016]. 24 www.b.dk/nationalt/per-stig-moeller-homovielser-skyld-i-kirkeflugt [Accessed 18 November 2016]. 25 Page 66 in Helle Thorning-Schmidt’s Government’s Platform: www.stm.dk/publikationer/Et_Dan mark_der_staar_sammen_11/Regeringsgrundlag_okt_2011.pdf [Accessed 18 November 2016]. 26 14 May 2012 www.altinget.dk/kalender.aspx?id=12302 [Accessed 18 November 2016]. 27 www.retsinformation.dk/Forms/R0710.aspx?id=142282 [Accessed 18 November 2016]. 28 Statistics Denmark figures on withdrawals www.km.dk/folkekirken/kirkestatistik/ind-og-udmeldel ser/arkiv/ [Accessed 18 November 2016]. The high number of withdrawals could also be because in March the same year it became possible to withdraw via email. 29 2013. Homepage of National Association of Parochial Church Council Members www.menigheds raad.dk/menighedsraadene/fakta-om-folkekirken/ [Accessed 4 March 2016].

References Bóasdóttir, S. A. 2012. Same-Sex Marriage: A Burning Issue in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Iceland. In: A.-L. Eriksson and G. Gunner, eds. Exploring a Heritage. Eugene and Oregon: Pickwick Publications, 97–114. Brown, A. and Woodhead, L. 2016. That Was The Church That Was. London: Bloomsbury Publishing. Christoffersen, L. 2006. Intertwinement: A New Concept for Understanding Religion-Law Relations. Nordic Journal of Religion and Society, 19 (2), 107–126. Christoffersen, L. 2017. Fri og lige adgang til Vorherre. In: N. H. Gregersen and C. Bach-Nielsen eds. Reformationen i dansk kirke og kultur 1914–2017, III. Odense: Southern Denmark University Press, 195–228.

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Encyclopedia Britannica, 2017. Church of England. www.britannica.com/topic/Church-of-England [Accessed on 24 April 2018]. Friis Jensen, P. and Leth-Nissen, K. M. forthcoming. Understanding belonging to church: The cases of Church of England and the Danish folk church. In: L. Woodhead and H. R. Iversen eds. The Persistence of Societal Religion. The Old National Churches of Northern Europe. Hegstad, H. 2013. The Real Church: An Ecclesiology of the Visible. Eugene: Wipf and Stock Publishers. Iversen, H.R., 2014. Hvorfor forstår vi kirkestatistik, som vi gør? Historien om den danske kirkestatistik. In: M. V. Nielsen and H. R. Iversen, eds. Tal om kirken. Undersøgelser af Folkekirkens aktivitets- og deltagerstatistik. Publikationer fra Det Teologiske Fakultet 57. København: Det Teologiske Fakultet, Københavns Universitet, 115–128. Leth-Nissen, K. M., 2018. Churching Alone: A Study of the Danish Folk Church at Organisational, Individual, and Societal Levels. Thesis (PhD). University of Copenhagen. Lindberg, J. 2016. Renegotiating the Role of Majority Churches in Nordic Parliamentary Debates on Same-Sex Unions. Journal of Church and State, 58 (1): 80–97. Percy, M. 2010. Shaping the Church, the Promise of Implicit Theology. Explorations in Practical, Pastoral, and Empirical Theology. Farnham: Ashgate. Præstholm, B. H. 2013. From Breaking News to Old News. Studia Theologica - Nordic Journal of Theology, 67 (2): 128–143. Præstholm, B. H., 2014. Kønfrontation?: Køn, kultur og forandring i nyere dansk teologi. Unpublished thesis. Aarhus: Institut for Kultur og Samfund, Afdeling for Teologi, Aarhus Universitet. Sachs, W. L. 2017. Sexuality and Anglicanism. In: J. Morris ed. The Oxford History of Anglicanism, Volume IV. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 93–116. Shaw, J. 2014. Conflicts within the Anglican Communion. In: A. Thatcher ed. The Oxford Handbook of Theology, Sexuality, and Gender. Oxford University Press, 340–356. Troeltsch, E. 1911. The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches. New York/Evanston: Harper and Row. Woodhead, L. 2016. Intensified Religious Pluralism and De-Differentiation: The British Example. In Society, 53 (1): 41–46. Woodhead, L. forthcoming. The Surprising Resilience of Churches of Cool Trust. In: L. Woodhead and H. R. Iversen eds. The Persistence of Societal Religion. The Old National Churches of Northern Europe.

Sources British Religion in Numbers, McAndrew, S., 2017. Attitudes to Homosexuality. www.brin.ac.uk/fig ures/attitudes-towards-gay-rights/clements-figures-attitudes-to-homosexuality-01-2017-f9/ [Accessed 27 April 2018]. Church of England Marriage (Same-Sex Couples) Bill. Commons Report and Third Reading Briefing. 2013. www.thinkinganglicans.org.uk/uploads/13.05.16%20Marriage%20%28Same%20Sex% 20Couples%29%20Bill%20Commons%20Report%203rd%20Reading%20CofE%20Briefing.pdf [Accessed 23 April 2018]. Church of England response to Government consultation on same-sex marriage. 2012. www.churcho fengland.org/sites/default/files/2017-11/GS%20Misc%201027%20government%20consultation% 20on%20same%20sex%20marriage.pdf [Accessed 21 April 2018]. Church of England Statistics for mission. 2014. www.churchofengland.org/sites/default/files/2017-11/ 2014statisticsformission.pdf [Accessed 23 April 2018]. Equal civil marriage: a consultation. 2012. Equal marriage: The Government’s response. 2012. Law no. 532 of 12/06/2012. Law on changes to the law on marriage and divorce, law on legal consequences of marriage, and on lifting the law on civil partnership. Marriage (Same-sex Couples) Act. 2013. Report of the committee of the Minister of Church Affairs on Danish folk church and civil partnership. 2010. 1–67. Report on Church of England chaplaincy. 2014. www.rcc.ac.uk/downloads/todd-slater—dunlop-2014report-on-church-of-england-chaplaincy.pdf [Accessed 19 Nov 2016]. YouGov/Centre for Church Research. 2015. Dataset on Church Use and Life Style. http://teol.ku.dk/cfk/ undersoegelser/ [Accessed 27 April 2018].

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12 When two worlds collide Asian Christian LGBTQs coming out to parents Joy K.C. Tong, Samuel Kang, Peter Lee and Hyo-Seok Lim

Introduction There is a bourgeoning literature on religion and queer sexuality. Most of this literature focuses on the negotiation between a Christian’s sexual and religious identities (Beagan and Hattie 2015; Comstock 1996; Ganzevoort et al. 2011; Liboro 2014; Rodriguez and Ouellette 2000; Thumma 1991; Wilcox 2003, 2009). And even though there is a growing attention on LGBTQs from non-Western culture, studies on queer Christians have rarely prioritized them, particularly Asian.1 This might be due to the misperception that the number of LGBTQs remains small and insignificant among Asians, whether in the USA or worldwide. But these perceptions are not necessarily true. In the USA, according to a Gallup survey in 2012, 4.3% of Asians identified as LGBT, compared to 3.2% of white Americans who identified as LGBT.2 In Asia, although LGBTQ rights are still limited in most countries, a 2019 survey by The Economist3 found that 45% of respondents in the Asia-Pacific believed that same-sex marriage is inevitable in the region. The lack of understanding of Asian Christian LGBTQs, both in the USA and the global society, has perpetuated stereotypes about the group and their same-sex realities. On the one hand, it is assumed that the experience of white Christian LGBTQs can be generalized to the entire Christian community and that there is no need to differentiate between the racial experience and sexual identification of different groups. On the other, when thinking about Asian Christian communities, we assume them to be “supra-homophobic,” meaning that if the LGBTQ individuals among them ever came out, they would face multiple marginalizations. But both of these assumptions need to be verified through empirical studies. Studies show that religion, sexuality, and culture do not exist in isolation; they are social categories dependent on one another for meaning (Collins 1998; Crenshaw 1989; King 2000). To understand the intersectional relationships of these categories, we need to examine how, and in what ways, culture influences the experience of Christian LGBTQs. This chapter aims to serve two purposes. Focusing on Asian Christian LGBTQs in the USA, its first aim is to provide descriptive information on the coming out experiences of Asian American Christian LGBTQs. Second, it systematically analyzes parental responses

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towards the coming out of their child and its effects on the parent–child relationship. We will focus our investigation on one particular event, that is, coming out to parents, as highlighted by our participants and by studies (Marrow 2006) as the most difficult, yet most significant, of all coming out events. In-depth interviews with 35 Asian Christians in North America, most of whom live in the USA, are the data source for this study.

Background of the study: Confucianism, Christian faith, and coming out to parents The term “Asian American” encompasses 43 different ethnicities and over 100 different languages and dialects (Cousins 2014). Asian Americans are from different class backgrounds, religious beliefs, and life experiences, too. While numerous differences exist among them, they are distinctive as a social group and share some similar cultural values and morals.4 It happened that most of our participants, who were recruited through a snowballing method, traced their roots to East Asia, that is, China, Taiwan, Korea (also Vietnam and Singapore), which share general cultural similarities deeply rooted in Confucianism.5 We will provide a brief discussion about Confucian values with respect to family and sexuality that might affect our participants’ coming out experience.

The influence of Confucianism on family life Confucianism provides a distinctive set of values that define the characteristics of family and of the good life. It promotes family harmony and social solidarity over an individual’s wellbeing and defines a successful life as one that fulfills one’s obligations in a set of hierarchical relationships of which family is the center. Parents see children as reflections of themselves and they are expected to invest everything in their children (Hom 1994; Li and Orleans 2001). In return, children obey their parents and protect the family’s name over the life span. To that end, it is a duty of children, particularly sons, to get married and have children of their own blood. Same-sex relationships are clearly problematic because they not only prevent individuals from fulfilling their most important duty as children but also disrupt the Confucian order of gender norms. It is no wonder that studies show that Asian Americans are the ethnic group that is most opposed to gay marriage in California.6

The influence of Christian faith Evangelical Christianity has become immensely popular among many Asian immigrants in the USA, especially Koreans and Chinese.7 Many are drawn to ethnic churches as they provide a community that identifies with immigrants’ cultural heritage as well as helps keep their children from “immoral” influences of US culture (Chen 2006; Zhan 2002). Often, ethnic churches selectively teach cultural values that conform to the Christian tradition and reproduce gender and age-based hierarchies (Carnes and Yang 2004; Chong 1998; Min 2003). Studies (Chong 1998; Zhou and Bankston 1998) have found that second-generation Asian Americans who are more religious are also more likely to embrace ethnic identity and traditional values. Cultural and family values are preserved through ethnic churches, though now reinterpreted with biblical justification. Shrake (2009) shows how Korean American churches embody a synthesis of Confucian practice with fundamentalist theology8 when addressing the issue of homosexuality. 156

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Coming out to parents Disclosure to parents always poses difficult and complex issues for LGBTQs. Asian traditional values have made the already challenging coming out appear almost insurmountable. A recent survey of a large multicultural sample of LGBTQs found that Asian Americans were the least likely to be out to their parents compared to the rest of the US population (Grov et al. 2006), a result that echoed earlier studies on Asian Americans (Chan 1989; Chung and Szymanski 2006; Fong 2002). In a “post-closet” age, when coming out is assumed to be more common and less difficult for most Americans (Seidman et al. 1999), Asian Americans continue to see coming out to parents as “the biggest personal issues” (Fong 2002). “The clash of values” between parents and their gay child results in parents disowning their child, refusing to acknowledge their child’s sexual orientation, avoiding the subject of sexual orientation altogether, or not wanting anyone to know, including family members (Kahn 1997; Leong 1996; Liu and Chan 2003). While reconciliation between parents and their child can occur over time, it is usually a long and difficult process (Chung and Szymanski 2006; Li and Orleans 2001; Yang 2007). Paradoxically, for families that reached eventual reconciliation, it was the strong Asian family values that helped to make this happen (Han 2001). Little is known concerning the lived experience of Asian American LGBTQs who identify as Christian. Their religious commitment might make their experience different. This research is an attempt to capture their voices.

Methods In 2015, we9 interviewed 35 LGBTQ individuals of Asian descent who identified as Christian and resided in the USA or Canada. Twenty-seven of them identified as gays and lesbians, four bisexual, two transgender, one pansexual, and one asexual. Ethnically, 22 were Chinese (from mainland China, Taiwan, and Singapore), 6 were Korean, 2 were Vietnamese, 2 were Filipino, and 3 were half-Asian. The majority of them were in their twenties and thirties. More than half were in a same-sex relationship, including three who were engaged and six who were married. In terms of their family’s religious affiliation, 18 participants had parents that attended conservative/evangelical and mostly ethnic churches (5 were children of pastors/ missionaries), 2 had parents that attended mainline Christian churches, 8 had parents that attended Catholic churches, and 2 had parents that attended Adventist churches. We recruited our participants through personal connections and LGBTQ online groups. We also contacted a few Asian American LGBTQ activists, and through their help, some interviewees were contacted. All the interviews were conducted either face to face or over an online video conference. The interviews lasted about 75 minutes. Each interview was semi-structured with five topics that covered family relationships, religious involvement, community, cultural/ethnic identity, and sexual experience. We recorded each interview and transcribed them. We identified common themes and used NVivo to facilitate our coding and analysis of the data. As expected, self-reported data has both advantages and limitations. It allows participants to tell their stories freely, but it also contains bias. We should see our interviewees’ stories as a reflection of their interpretation of past events. The goal of this study was not to make an argument about their experience, but to provide a contextual and detailed description of how cultural and religious values mixed and affected LGBTQs’ coming out to their parents.

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Findings To tell or not to tell: reasons for (non-)disclosure to parents Most of our participants came out to their parents, and they did so after college or after securing a job. Eight of them (about 23%) still had not come out to their parents—three were in their twenties, three in their thirties, and two in their forties. In contrast to the average age of coming out to parents for general Americans, which is 19 years old (Arnett 2014) or even 14 (LaSala 2010), our interviewees are obviously late bloomers. Their delay in coming out was not because they did not have a stable romantic relationship with a queer partner, neither was it because, as suggested by Troiden (1989), they were uncertain about their sexual orientation. Many had come out to friends and siblings and some had been in a committed same-sex relationship for a while.

Reasons for not coming out to parents Our study showed that the greatest obstacle associated with not coming out to parents was the fear of bringing shame to the family. Many came out to their parents only after they had achieved certain milestones in their career. This attempt, which is quite distinctly “Asian,” is consistent with the achievement-oriented mentality of Asian culture. They hope their professional certificates or job titles will save their parents’ face in front of relatives and prevent others from seeing their parents and themselves as an “ultimate failure.”10 Roger, a physician, recalled that he “didn’t make any moves until I finished my training and my fellowship and I had a job . . . Then I was like 31.” Also a physician, Fred waited until he found a job in Chicago before he came out to his parents. John, a lawyer, said he kept postponing his coming out until he was admitted in law school. Upon counting, Keith, a 40-year-old MBA student, said that at least four of his Asian American gay friends were, like him, still in the closet. In his words: In the Asian context you date the ideal, your ethnicity, makes the mom really happy. And then second tier is a different Asian ethnicity, right? And then there’s like whites, Hispanics, and blacks. So below that into the ground of hell is being gay. It doesn’t matter what ethnicity. Gay is worse than anything else. It is the ultimate dishonor and shame to a family name. Keith’s half-joking comment was harsh, but it revealed the fear that many Asians hold in regards to coming out to their parents.

Reasons for coming out to parents Given the high costs for coming out, the majority of our respondents (77%) were nonetheless out to their parents. Although a few were pushed out by siblings or “caught” by their parents, most had made an effort to come out to their parents. Their reasons were varied, but the most common reason was they wanted to be “authentic and true” to their sexual identity. Many decided to come out because living a lie and a split life was stressful and disheartening. Also, they did not want their parents to discover the fact through others. When the cost of keeping closeted is sufficiently high and hiding is no longer optimal, many come out to their parents.

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Parental response to coming out The responses of parents were varied, but they can be categorized into four major types.

Disapproval Among our interviewees that have disclosed to their parents, all but three said that at least one of their parents has reacted intensively negatively upon their coming out. Many parents were greatly distressed, going back and forth from denial to anger to blaming their child, themselves, and others. Often, in pain and tears, they asked their child, as Oneida’s11 mother did, “How can you do this to me?” or Hannah’s father, “Why do you do this to me?” These questions reveal their perception that their child has selfishly chosen a lifestyle that is wrong and sinful, as most parents assumed that “same-sex attraction is a problem that a Chinese or Korean family would not have.” Believing that their child had been led astray by Western culture, Asian parents often made many attempts to “correct” the child. Some resorted to Asian family honor, as with Hannah’s father, who pleaded with her to “make a sacrifice for the family, make a sacrifice for Cathy [her six-year-old cousin], think about her and how this affects her.” Some resort to spiritual intervention, as Lewis’s parents who performed exorcism on him, and Sue’s parents, who resort to parental authority that “we know the Bible better than you . . . and so what we think is what God thinks,” which according to Sue, “shut me back into closet.” Some resort to guilt induction, as with one respondent’s mother, who attributed her ovarian cancer to her lesbian daughter as a punishment from God.

Silence Silence is a typical way for Asians to sustain a state of peaceful coexistence within the family, even if it is only superficial. Pastoring a large Chinese congregation in Chicago, Pastor Andy recalled how his church remained silent when one of its youth leaders came out publicly. Although church leaders discussed the issue in meetings, they remained silent in public. Andy said, “From our tradition, we prefer to keep it silent. The more you talk about it, it will snowball, and you’re opening a can of worms.” Calvin’s experience illustrated the silent treatment: My dad didn’t say much and still hasn’t said much regarding this. The only time he has said something was when he had prostate cancer and thought he was gonna die. That was the only time when I actually heard him saying anything to me about it. He basically asked me how the guy that I was dating treated me. In some Asian families in the USA, the silence is a result of a history of very little parent–child communication, which is due partly to the language barrier. John commented, “we never talked about our faith to each other . . . because my parents, all their spiritual vocabularies are in Mandarin and none of mine is in Mandarin.” No doubt the communication would be more awkward if it was about one’s sexuality. As Hom and Ma (1993) suggest, many Asian American LGBTQs have difficulty verbalizing their gay identity to their parents because they do not share the language and reference of their immigrant parents. Even if they speak their parents’ language, their “mother tongue” does not give them the language to express their sexuality adequately (Lim 1996).

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Empathetic The two most supportive parental responses that we gathered from our interviews were from Henry’s mother and John’s father. Henry recalled his coming out to his mother, during which his Vietnamese mother responded, “I don’t know what you mean when you say you are gay. But if you teach me, I will learn to understand.” In John’s case, he thought his conservative parents would disown him if he disclosed to them. He had planned a trip for his parents’ 30th wedding anniversary, and in his mind, “It was like the last good times that we had together and then after that I figured I’d basically come out to my parents and then, you know, that is the end of that chapter.” But, to his surprise, his father, who was a church elder, said, “I trust that whatever you do, you feel that there is where God leads you to.” None of our participants said that their parents welcomed or affirmed their homosexuality. Not many responded like Henry’s mother. Even in John’s case, his father continued to believe that homosexuality was wrong although he respected his son’s decision. Several of our respondents’ parents showed various degrees of empathy during or after their disclosure in an effort to keep the parent–child relationship. Amy described her father replied to her coming-out email in a “very kind and accepting way.” Her father’s empathetic attitude had opened a door for both to have a conversation about her sexuality. However, Amy was aware of her father’s struggle, as she said, “Over time, it is kind of obvious that it was a big struggle for them [parents] to comprehend and deal with it.”

Acceptance A pattern that we found in our data is that, over a period of time, many parents come around to accepting their child’s sexuality, acknowledging that being gay is not a choice neither is it a preference that can be changed or a phase that will go away. Asian culture values a son more than a daughter as a son is responsible for preserving the family name. Thus, men typically face more difficulties in gaining their parents’ acceptance towards their same-sex sexuality than women. With this in mind, we selected stories of three gays to illustrate the gradual but significant increase of parental acceptance towards their same sex attraction. Roger’s father was an example, “My father took about two years before finally meeting him [his Asian boyfriend] . . . Our parents have gotten to know each other a little bit, and we actually spent Christmas together last year.” Fred, who recently became engaged, said although his parents were still uncertain about attending his wedding, they had progressed to discussing a topic that was more advanced than the wedding. “She [mom] is bothering me, being, ‘When are you going to have your own genetic kids?’ And no longer being, ‘When can I set you up with a date?’ . . . I can’t imagine her asking me this five years ago.” And Lewis’s parents, who performed exorcism on him when he first came out to them, attended Lewis’s wedding, although they refused to be part of the ceremony: They love us but they are unable to say that we are [a] married couple because they are very committed evangelicals. I think what has changed over the years that they see the humanity and the substance of our relationship, but cannot bring themselves to use the word “marriage.” Now, my parents call Henry up on his birthday and give him a present. That’s about as close as it gets.

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Effects of coming out on the parent–child relationship Closer relationship Even though coming out created tensions in most Asian families, several participants mentioned that their relationship with their parents had eventually become closer compared to before their coming out. One example was Amy, who said that over many discussions with her parents about her thoughts and struggles, she noticed a new dynamic emerging in her family, “The first year was a bit of just kind of getting to know each other again and feeling safe again . . . then there is like the whole process of healing.” In Max’s case, the healing began from the inside. “[Before coming out] I projected my anger toward my family members. I always had anger with them. But now my attitude toward them became different. And the relationship became different, became loving.” Fred shared a similar experience, “My relationship with my parents has actually improved a lot . . . as a teenager I knew that I wouldn’t fit in with what my parents want. Because of that, I acted out.” Coming out could open a window for both the Asian parents and the LGBTQ child to process their emotions and face past conflicts, then probably to restart their interactions in a positive way. Surprisingly, there are more fathers than mothers who reacted tolerantly when they first discovered their child’s same sex attraction. We also found that more father-child relationships were said to have grown stronger after disclosure, although many were closer to their mothers before disclosure. As in the case of John, who came out to his parents at the end of his first year in law school, “My mom was sort of shocked and she was unhappy. But my dad was very surprisingly [kind] towards me.” John did not have a good relationship with his father before he left for college. Then a year later he came out to his father. Instead of causing stress in the newly established father-son relationship, the painful but honest disclosure had brought both closer together, offering them an opportunity for dialogue. As Han (2001) finds in his study, Asian fathers are normally less involved with child-rearing, and thus when the child is in “trouble,” such as coming out, the fathers feel less responsible for it than mothers. This might explain why their handling of their child’s disclosure is generally less emotional, making them more accessible to their child during the turmoil of coming out.

Intentional separation Some parents wanted their child to remain in the closet, at least at certain times and within their Asian communities. Yet, exactly how the line separating “coming out” from “closeted” is drawn is different in each family. Fred’s parents set the line of coming out between his immediate family in the USA and his extended family in Asia. Although he was getting married soon, his mother requested that the news be kept only within the immediate family. John’s mother wanted the line to be drawn between his friends and her friends. This was tricky as John and his parents attended the same church; most of his friends’ parents knew his parents. So, the deal was, “I would only talk [disclose] to those friends that promise to keep it from their parents.” In Hannah’s case, the line was drawn between “your life with her” and “your life with us.” When the two worlds collided, this created a “pressure zone” for all—when Hannah’s girlfriend visited her home during the previous Thanksgiving, her parents did not step into the living room where Hannah and her girlfriend were hanging out, but kept to themselves in the kitchen the whole time.

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The separation of the two worlds can persist for decades. Kelly came out to her parents 25 years ago, but so far, her mother and her two siblings still have not been ready to accept her girlfriend. In Kelly’s words, “When I’m by myself my family and I are very close. But when I have a partner then three of them kind of go away. That’s sad for me and for them.” The impassable barrier was clear to Kelly: the life based on her sexuality versus the one in which she lived with her family and their expectations.

Estranged relationship In some cases, the event of coming out caused a deterioration in the already tenuous parent–child relationship. John’s parents discovered his same-sex orientation and threatened to disown him. A few years later when he came out publicly to the ethnic church to which both his parents and he belonged, the fissures grew deeper in the family. His parents avoided engaging: They rather just not discuss it [gay issue]. As soon as it comes up they want to change the subject. I’ve sort of orphaned myself from being emotionally dependent on my parents, wanting them to be the kind of parents that understand me and that empathize with me. John was obviously hurt by his parents’ reaction. But he might not have known the level of humiliation that his parents experienced in their Chinese church because of his disclosure, including rumors and criticism about their parenting, their character, and their faith. Pastor Andy, who served in the Chinese church that John’s family attended, said in our interview, “Most people in the church and in the community would think that if John suppressed his same sex desire, get married, have sons and daughters, it will be an honoring thing to do.” By disclosing his sexual identity, John has, from an Asian cultural perspective, shown to the world that he and his parents have failed—moral, social, familial, personal, all at once. This would turn into one deep wound that could take years to heal.

Conclusion Through in-depth interviews with 35 Asian Christian LGBTQs in the USA, this chapter focused on Asian parental reactions towards the coming out of their child and its effects on the parent–child relationship. Given its limited scope, the results should not be seen as representative of Asian LGBTQs in general. But they could provide a glimpse on the challenge of coming out in families from Confucian-influenced culture worldwide. There are several findings that we found to be salient. First, contrary to the common assumption that Asian Christian LGBTQs would most likely stay in the closet, we found that a majority of our participants had come out to their parents. Yet, consistent with other studies, our participants generally indicated a strong struggle in disclosing their sexuality to their parents and had delayed as much as they could in doing that. One main reason responsible for this is their fear of bringing shame to their parents. To compensate their parents for the shattered dreams and reputation, many have waited until they were financially stable or had achieved certain milestones in their career before coming out to their parents, hoping that their achievements would make their coming out more bearable for their achievement-oriented parents. Second, surprisingly, besides disapproving and keeping silent, the two most familiar patterns of Asian parental reactions against a family conflict such as coming out (Lee 2015), there were parents who were reaching out to their child or even accepting their 162

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sexuality. Although none of our participants said that their parents welcomed or affirmed their homosexuality, about one-third of our participants said that, over a period of time, ranging from years to decades, one or both of their parents came around to accepting their sexuality. Third, although coming out creates tensions in most families, as expected, several participants mentioned that their relationships with their parents had eventually become stronger and closer. Interestingly, there were more fathers than mothers who reacted in a tolerant way during or after their child’s coming out. Maybe this is because fathers’ handling of conflict is less emotional, which, ironically, due to the typical Asian father’s more distant relationship with their child, has made them more accessible than mothers to their child during the turmoil of coming out. We also found a significant number of parents who wanted their child to remain in the closet within a certain community, especially their ethnic community. They wanted to draw a line between their child’s life based on his or her sexual identity and the one in which he or she lived with them. As long as the line was kept accordingly, the parent–child relationship seemed to work well. Also, we found that some family relationships became seriously estranged or damaged by the event of coming out. As part of the larger discussion of religion and sexuality, this chapter aims to add the voices of the understudied population of Asian LGBTQs. Through these stories of 35 individuals, we have shown the importance of culture in explaining Christian behaviors. Given the limitation of our study, a study of a wider demographic of Asians is needed to make a more general case about the effects of cultural values on Christian LGBTQ individuals.

Notes 1 There are a few notable exceptions (Lee 2015; Tannenbaum 2013), in particular, Cheng (2013). 2 4.0% of Hispanics and 4.6% of African Americans identified as LBGT. 3 Pride and Prejudice: assessing progress in Asia Pacific. May 29, 2019 https://eiuperspectives.economist. com/strategy-leadership/pride-and-prejudiceassessing-progress-asia-pacific?utm_source=MediaOutReach. 4 The Rise of Asian Americans, 2013. Available at www.pewsocialtrends.org/2012/06/19/the-riseof-asian-americans. 5 Besides Confucianism, East Asian families are also influenced by Buddhism and Taoism to various degrees. But since Confucianism is more crucial than other beliefs in defining the nature of relationships within the family, we will only focus on Confucianism. 6 The National Asian American Survey 2013 shows that 73% of Korean Americans disapproved of same-sex marriage, followed by Filipino and Vietnamese Americans. The Chinese were slightly more opposed (49%) than in favor (41%). 7 The religious identities of Asian Americans are quite varied. According to the Pew Research survey, most Koreans (61%) were Christian, about a fifth of Chinese Americans (22%) were Christians, most Filipinos were Catholic, and a plurality of Vietnamese were Buddhist. In total, 26% of Asian Americans were unaffiliated, 22% were Protestant (13% evangelical; 9% mainline), 19% were Catholic, and the rest were Buddhists, Hindus, etc. 8 According to the Pew Forum, 94% of Asian American Evangelical Christians believe that the Bible is the “Word of God,” and 52% believe that the Bible is “literal, word for word.” 9 The team included seven PhD students taking the course on Qualitative Research Methods along with the instructor for the course. 10 Kim 2004. Kim writes that, in the Korean American Christian community, coming out would be “quite literally, the ultimate failure—moral, social, and personal all at once. It would nullify everything good that I have done and would stand as the single mark upon me.” 11 As requested by Oneida Chi, we used her real name in this chapter.

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Marrow, H. B., 2006. Negotiating gender, generation, work, and community: Brazilians in the United States. Congress of the Latin American Studies Association San Juan, Puerto Rico 15–18 March 2006. Min, P. G., 2003. Immigrants’ religion and ethnicity: A comparison of Korean Christian and Indian Hindu immigrants. In: J. Iwamura and P. Spickard, eds. Revealing the sacred in Asian and Pacific America. New York: Routledge, 125–142. Rodriguez, E., and Ouellette, S. C., 2000. Gay and lesbian Christians: homosexual and religious identity integration in the members and participants of a gay-positive church. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 39 (3), 333–347. Seidman, S., Meeks, C., and Traschen, F., 1999. Beyond the closet? The changing social meaning of homosexuality in the United States. Sexualities, 2 (1), 9–34. Shrake, E., 2009. Homosexuality and Korean immigrant protestant churches. In: G. Masequesmay and S. Metzger, eds. Embodying Asian/American sexualities. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books, 145–156. Tannenbaum, C. N., 2013. Gay, Asian, and religious: the search for religious community by queer Asian Americans. Thesis. The College of Wooster. Thumma, S., 1991. Negotiating a religious identity: the case of the gay evangelical. Sociological Analysis, 52 (4), 333–347. Troiden, R., 1989. Gay and lesbian identity. New York: General Hall Inc. Wilcox, M., 2003. Coming out in Christianity: religion, identity, and community. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Wilcox, M., 2009. Queer women and religious individualism. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press. Yang, T., 2007. Coming out process among Asian gays and lesbians. Thesis (Master’s). California State University, Long Beach. Zhan, L., 2002. Asian Americans: vulnerable populations, model interventions, and clarifying agendas. Sudbury, MA: Jones & Bartlett Learning. Zhou, M., and Bankston, C., 1998. Growing up American: how Vietnamese children adapt to life in the United States. New York: Russell Sage Foundation.

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13 Gender politics and education in the Gülen Movement Duygun Gokturk

Introduction The historical roots of the Gülen Movement (GM) go back to the Nur (Light) Movement, which was established by Said Nursî (1877–1960) in the nineteenth century, during the Ottoman Empire, in response to the state’s gradual Western-oriented transformation. After Nursî’s death in 1960, the Nur movement split into factions and the GM was the most prominent one in Turkey. M. Fethullah Gülen (1938–), a follower of Said Nursî and called hocaefendi (esteemed teacher) within the community, is the leading figure of the GM. During his early years, as a religious functionary, he noticed the importance of education in the development of the Islamic faith and in acquiring and cultivating Islamic virtues. Similar to Nursî, Gülen initiated his education project through the first male-only ‘religious summer schools . . . where hundreds of students received Islamic education’ (Balci 2003, p. 152). In the following years, these summer camps were transformed into ış ık evleri (houses of light), dormitories, schools, dershane (private tutoring courses), and universities, as the essential sites and instruments of Gülen’s Islamic activism. In these spaces, the community aimed to institute religious practices and regulate the everyday lives of students by applying them to disciplinary pedagogical forms, and accommodating family life and roles. The GM has been analyzed as a form of relationship between the state and religion (Turam 2007), or as an actor in civil society (Turam 2007; Yavuz 2003), or in terms of more recent pragmatic accommodation to neoliberal restructuring of the state and market relations (Hendrick 2013; Tugal 2017). A different range of studies is concerned with the Movement’s pedagogical project (Agai 2007; Ç obanoğlu 2012; Tee 2016). What is missing is an analysis of women’s role and involvement in the Movement. Based on an eight-month ethnographic work at one of the Movement’s high schools, this chapter examines the community’s gender and pedagogical discourses through two interrelated themes: first, the role of a prominent persuasive pedagogical discourse within the community, known as ‘commending right and forbidding wrong’ (emr-i bi’l ma’rûf neyh-i ani’l münker); second, a focus on the sisterhood institution, an informal mobilization network in the GM. This chapter considers cultural norms within the GM by examining how everyday religious pedagogical practices and gender discourses of the community are grounded in discourses of moral and social order. I show that regular patterns of micro-level practices 166

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create a gendered cultural habitus that is learnt via repetition and embodied dispositions within the pedagogical process. Thus communal practices play an active role in creating ‘a set of systems of durable, transposable dispositions’—what Pierre Bourdieu calls habitus, the result of conscious or unconscious practices and thoughts (Bourdieu 1990).

The rise of the Gülen Movement In Turkey, with the establishment of the republican regime in 1923, the public visibility of religion became a controversial issue. Under the umbrella of single-party regime, the Cumhuriyet Halk Partisi (People’s Republican Party, CHP), until 1950, ‘sought to remove religion from the public and social realm’ and reduced it to ‘a matter of individual faith and prayer’ (Gözaydın 2009, p. 1215). In the following years, the CHP regime established the Diyanet İş leri Bakanlığı (Turkish Presidency of Religious Affairs) to consolidate religious culture under the state-led policies and institutions. Meanwhile, the religious segments of society sought to overcome the dichotomy between the secular state and religion. In line with this, the emergence of the Demokrat Parti (Democratic Party, DP) in the 1950 elections became part of the solution to the current dichotomy. But the main opposition bloc with a religious character emerged in 1970 with the formation of the Milli Görüş Hareketi (National Outlook Movement, MGH) (Hendrick 2013). In those years, the GM started to flourish under the guidance of M. Fethullah Gülen, an associate imam in İzmir province of Turkey. By the late 1970s, Gülen was delivering public sermons to large crowds and the Movement’s education project was activated through Gülen’s lectures at summer camps, so-called ‘houses of light.’ At the end of 2013, the ruling party in Turkey (AK Party) decided to close down the dershane sector, the main site in recruiting GM students (Ugur 2017). In the wake of a failed coup of July 15, 2016, the conflict escalated into a permanent impasse, the government linking the coup leaders to the GM and defining it as the ‘Fethullah Gülen Terror Organization (FETÖ).’ The failed coup revealed the powerful presence of Gülenists in the military and other state institutions such as legal courts, the police, education, and health. In the aftermath of July 15, 2016, the government declared a state of emergency, which ended in July 2018, during which thousands of employees were dismissed over suspected links with terror groups. The GM has dedicated its energy to ambiguous political activism through integrating its mobilization strategies and networks into the state institutions—such as by focusing its efforts in military, legal, health, and edcation units, as part of its ‘self-described non-political mobilization’ (Yavuz & Koç 2016; Hendrick 2013, p. 55). In her ethnographic study, Turam (2004) indicates that the growing influence of the GM is mainly observed in more secular countries in Central Asia and the West, including the USA (Turam 2004), rather than in the Arab-Muslim world and Iran. In this context, the GM aims to ‘reconcile Islamic faith and ways of life with a secular institutional milieu’ (Turam 2004, p. 261). In Turkey, with the election of the AK Party in November 2002, the political atmosphere became charged with ‘conservative democratic’ directions that enabled the GM to develop an apparent relationship with the AK Party (Turam 2004) and play ‘the most influential player in the AKP-led passive revolution’ (Hendrick 2013). This relationship enabled the GM to promote itself in public and private spheres of society. Meanwhile, the Movement concentrated on connecting to the market economy for the sake of expansion—in mass media, private education, trade, finance, and charity networks (Hendrick 2013). First, the GM created its own education institutions and media outlets to cultivate its loyal adherents, becoming ‘the leading private producer of “Turkish Islam”’ 167

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(Hendrick 2013, p. 24). In a second phase, the GM contributed to the global market economy by producing goods and services and playing an active role in creating the conditions of their own reproduction (Hendrick 2013). At the same time, the GM paid close attention to mobilization techniques at the micro level and started to institutionalize various local communication networks. The main organizational strategies active in local networkswere schools, student dormitories, apartments, and the sohbet meetings (conversation/ reading circles) (Hendrick 2013). During a conversation with one of the community teachers, she explained to me the reasons behind the emergence of the GM: The Hizmet movement was the result of imposed restraints on religious practices and difficulties of maintaining religious integrity in the public sphere . . . There was a demand for the movement . . . The conflict between my religion, Islam, and modernization [was also a crucial reason for establishing the Hizmet] . . . [Through the Hizmet], faith transformed from imitation to recognition. Thus, the GM succeeded in playing a role in society by reframing the cultural program of modernity, gradually establishing a social change without contestation from the secular state structures, and through forming and consolidating its cultural hegemony in public and private spheres. During our conversations, one of the community teachers said that ‘this community was the result of the weakness of the faith in society’ and that Islam ‘was politicized as the ideology of cultural self-preservation and opposition to colonial rule,’ in opposition to the modernity project (Karpat 2001, p. v). This counter-hegemonic cultural program was activated through political and civilian mobilization—mobilization in ‘parliament, the presidency, the state apparatus and education, business, media, and public relations’ (Hendrick 2013, p. 25). In other words, the GM consolidated its power in the state and civil society gradually. It came into conflict with the state, its institutions (e.g. military) as well as with the AK party only in recent years, and very much because of its success in consolidating its power.

An institutionalized pedagogical model This section is an in-depth discussion of (1) emr-i bi’l ma’rûf neyh-i ani’l münker as a hegemonic pedagogical discourse and (2) of the institution of sisterhood as a pedagogical medium in the GM. Foucault (1995) argues that the art of government involves the art of self-government, connected with morality; the art of properly governing a family, which belongs to the economy; and the science of ruling the state, which concerns politics (p. 91). In the GM, preserving a continuity between these categories is ensured by emr-i bi’l ma’rûf neyh-i ani’l münker, which is ‘concerned with the maintenance of public morality’ (Mahmood 2005, p. 59). The community’s pedagogical institutions become active sites for this by establishing a normative-disciplinary network that deploys teaching methods for the cultivation of a desirable human character with certain habits and attitudes. In this context, the principle of emr-i bi’l ma’rûf builds new networks of governmentality within the community. The word ma’rûf means ‘what is known, recognized, and accepted’ whereas münker means ‘what is not recognized and approved’ (Çağ rıcı, nd). This is mentioned in a number of places in the Quran, for instance the surah Ā l ʻImrā n (The Family of Imran) and surah At-Taubah (The Immunity). It addresses ‘a community calling to good, and enjoining and actively promoting what is right, and forbidding and trying to prevent evil’ (in appropriate ways). For 168

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the GM, the most efficient way of fulfilling this approach is to know one’s interlocutors, avoid debates, develop negotiations, and show tolerance. This offers a moral structure that regulates everyday social life and its institutions. The principle goes beyond forbidding wrong and commending right. It helps maintain public and communal morality and construct moral behavior. It is associated with a ‘duty of rescue’ (Cook 2001), of which one of my interviewees speaks in the following way: The primary role we play in this school as teachers is to help students in saving their spiritual values and life. In doing so, we prefer not to appear in the foreground, and taking into consideration Hocaefendi’s recommendations, we prefer not to highlight the perfection of the Hizmet movement. The principle emr-i bi’l ma’rûf neyh-i ani’l münker plays a crucial role in mediating the relation between students and community teachers and it activates a well-ordered solidarity network which, in turn, makes possible particular ways of relationality and supports a strong patronage system. The GM school I observed was a boarding school, where students lived in dormitories and female teachers played special attention to their needs and concerns. In their relations with students, they employed images of motherhood or sisterhood to exert their authority, while simulataneously enabling the community to transfer familial virtues of loyalty, harmony, chastity, trust, intimacy, care, and respect. The use of these quasi-familial forms and relations bothered some of these students at some point, as they felt that ‘their private lives and areas are violated.’ Thereby, they were uncomfortable with the communal model of family relations and friendship. The duty of rescue infiltrates into the lives of community members and inserts itself through multiple practices, such as a specific manner of caring, restless motivation, and individualization. This reminds us of the profile of a shepherd in reference to a pastoral type of power (Foucault 2009). Thus, an inquiry into the role of emr-i bi’l ma’rûf neyh-i ani’l münker directs us to the practices accumulated and retained through the principle and the emotional patterns and dispositions embedded in it.

Sisterhood: creating female habitus In the school, quasi-familial forms and ties are key resources that secure communal relations. Organized around family-based bonds and relations, the school institutes ties of devotion and inspires community members to pursue a life in accordance with the virtues of communal life. It welcomes nuclear family-based micro interactions, authority patterns, intimate relations, and patronage networks. Each unit or microstructure harbours a variety of emotions that are ‘tied to an economy of action that follows from the experience of that particular emotion’ (Mahmood 2005, p. 140) and ‘aligns individuals with communities—or bodily space with social space—through the very intensity of their attachments’ (Ahmed 2004, p. 119). In the GM, these attachments are designed to ensure communal coherence and solidarity. For instance, one of the female teachers indicated that if her husband were not a member of the GM, it might be challenging or impossible to stay and be active within the community. In his writings, M. Fethullah Gülen (2013) emphasizes the importance of arranging marriage as follows: Marriage cannot be random people of a certain level obliged to get married. While for women getting married is vacip (obligatory), for others marriage can be mekruh (revolting 169

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and inappropriate in the sight of the God). Without taking into account all these things, if a person establishes a conjugal bond only considering the physical needs they cannot contribute to the future of society. (pp. 42–48) Therefore, selecting a partner and establishing conjugal bonds become necessary conditions for the vitality of community. This also ties the movement to the market. As Hendrick (2013) remarks: [a]lthough its goals are anchored on a conservative, faith-based social identity, and although its methods are often non-transparent, GM actors are reliant on the market for their continued expansion and are thus best presented as products of, rather than as a fundamentalist reaction to, the processes of neoliberal globalization. (p. 9) In this equation, family, as a mobilization unit and as a neoliberal formulation, plays a central role due to its potential to shape the socially conservative and progressive character of the community and promoting ‘Turkish ethnic pride as equally constituent of twenty-first-century Turkish national identity’ (Hendrick 2013, p. 21). Pierre Bourdieu’s concept of habitus involves a coordination between ‘outward behaviors (e.g. bodily acts, social demeanor) with inward dispositions (e.g. emotional states, thoughts, intentions)’ (Mahmood 2005, p. 136). Bourdieu also places a strong emphasis on the transfer of habits. Thus, the formulation of communal habitus depends on acquiring the communal habits that take root through the assiduous cultivation of emotional and rational practices. In this context, the principle of emr-i bi’l ma’rûf neyh-i ani’l münker is noteworthy since it is regulated by a variety of recurrent performances in a school setting, which serve to fix specific communal habits in one’s character. According to Gülen (2013), an ideal societal model institutionalizes motherhood as the primary role of women in the communal order, and constitutes female virtues and practices in accordance with this model. In one conversation, a female teacher notes: In terms of disciplinary methods, I prefer to use emotional alternatives rather than aggressive ones. As ladies, we are responsible for mobilizing male students’ emotional intelligence. Another informant admits that ‘since I am married, I can act comfortably in my relationships with my students . . . When you are married students cannot fancy you. That is why unmarried women teachers should be more careful.’ In terms of participating in the school’s decision-making process, one female teacher shares that: [d]ue to the participation of both male and female teachers in these meetings, I do not feel comfortable. I would be more comfortable if it is organized only among women teachers. Certainly, being an unmarried woman constrains me from participating. I am more cautious during those meetings to protect my chastity and honor. Female teachers’ practices are guided by the emr-i bi’l ma’rûf norms and diffuse into the others’ lives to construct and transmit a communal habitus. Patterns of familial life and relations are central to this.

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The transfer of familial bonds, emotions, and associated protocols into a pedagogical medium blends familial roles and pedagogical ones. During the fieldwork, it was difficult to separate an image of family-oriented life and school life within a pedagogical medium. For instance, one aspect of this alliance includes recognition of familial roles that are essential in crafting the web of dependent bonds (Donzelot 1979), ties of affection which mask forms of communal hierarchies through tying them up with intimate relations. In the community, this is characterized through certain familial roles, such as sister (abla) and brother (abi) roles. The resultant structure transfers familial virtues in ways that are capable of securing communal order and solidarity. In the movement, the model of sisterhood strongly shapes gender discourses and behaviors. Involvement, for one, is in service to communal values, which enables female teachers to develop intimate, familial-like relationships with female students. The other way is a form developed among female teachers which reveals gerontocratic authority and practices of communal patriarchy. Both forms of sisterhood are governed by the discourse of gender segregation, which is predicated upon the principles of fıtrat as the most central reference in building gendered acts within the community circles. The community teachers provided a common definition for fıtrat: God-given characteristics. The concept of fıtrat stands for an intrinsic natural tendency or disposition which can be considered as a discursive space where gendered practices are deepened and emotions are enhanced. One of the female teachers, who is in her mid-twenties and lived in the movement’s houses in her undergraduate years, noted that: My religious sensibilities are part of my fıtrat. I believe that the innate characteristic of fıtrat is Islamic, and then it can be converted into the other religious orientations. Since one’s fıtrat is one’s God-given characteristics, I think that men are not emotional; we are more emotional than men are. This difference is related to fıtrat. A male teacher, who was involved in the community in his high school years, asserted the following: Fıtrat of men and fıtrat of women are different but complementary to each other, fıtrat of women is different, but it found itself with the help of fıtrat of men. (Gokturk 2017, p. 9) When I directed the question of fıtrat to ‘the most experienced sister’ in school, she explained that: Fıtrat is a proper persona that fits to the ideal of creation . . . There is a difference between fıtrat of women and men. Women face some difficulties in life because of their emotional character. In daily life, men’s agenda is busy with the issues of power, social status, and pride. (Gokturk 2014, p. 120) The institutionalization of fıtrat functions as a regulatory apparatus that affects bodily practices and forms socially and communally contingent norms, thereby producing and consolidating communal forms of power structures (Gokturk 2017). As one male teacher states, ‘by nature the community is masculine, and the masculine attributes of the community make it powerful, or [if] the community [is] powerful, then its nature is masculine’ (Gokturk 2014, p. 105). Nevertheless, Fethullah Gülen was opposed to the interruption of women’s university education due to the headscarf ban, which was issued following the 1980 coup d’état. According to Gülen, ‘wearing a headscarf is füruat, a secondary issue in comparison to the 171

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primary aspects of Islamic faith’ and the public presence of women, as part of the Movement’s mobilization strategies, is essential (Akbulut 2015). This pragmatism was also evident in the comment of a biology teacher, who said that: I am trying to be neutral when teaching the subject of evolution. I warn students about this: you should learn evolutionary theory in order to answer the questions asked during the national entrance exam, but you do not have to believe in that. In summary, a frictionless integration of a series of characteristics of family life and power relations into the movement’s habitus has a pivotal role in consolidating and mobilizing its norms, reshaping the discourses of solidarity, organizing a pastoral type of pedagogical model, and accumulating recognition in the forms of gendered and religious power within changing modern contexts.

Conclusion This chapter has examined how discourses on womanhood within the GM are institutionalized within communal circles through integrating quasi-familial chains of authority and a set of practices into a pedagogical domain. These practices bring together the private and public spheres and help the GM to achieve a non-confrontational interaction between them. In a school setting, this alliance is activated through an overlap between the teacher and the sister (abla) roles. For instance, as teachers GM women loyally observe the Ministry of National Education (MNE) curriculum. But in the role of sister they are active in the reproduction and maintenance of community habitus. The sisterhood model exemplifies techniques of self-governing and self-disciplining by ‘pursuing a set of values linked to personal work discipline, family relations, and communal solidarity’ (Gokturk 2014, p. 175). Thus a hegemonic form of conservative sisterhood supports female power and authority and cooperates with male counterparts to consolidate gender complementarity. Female teachers are able to develop intimate, familial-like relations with students and govern their souls and lives. By employing images of sisterhood and brotherhood (or motherhood and fatherhood), the communal life creates personae that are ‘powerful but not punishing, moral guardian[s] but never distant or unengaged, threatening but always loving, tough-minded but emotionally vulnerable, self-sufficient but forever in need of human companionship’ (Cucchiari 1990, p. 692). Both sisterhood and brotherhood are governed by the discourse of gender complementarity that is predicated upon the principles of fıtrat. We have seen how the discourse of emr-i bi’l ma’rûf neyh-i ani’l münker (commending right and forbidding wrong) plays an important role in governing historically sedimented pious practices. As a final remark, this research opens a space for a discussion of the difficulties of participant observation in ethnographic research. Drawing on my field experience with the GM, I admit that one of the methodological difficulties concerned my position as a researcher in the community and to the views that community members developed about it. Although I was aware of the controversial position of the Movement in Turkey before doing fieldwork, I soon realized that there are more complex local relations and negotiations that I had not known about. Some felt that a proper representation of the community could not be achieved without being a community member or a sympathizer of the Movement. I observed reluctance on the part of some of the female teachers to cooperate with me, and those who did generally kept a respectful distance between us. Thus the role of the researcher is mediated through the norms of a tight-knit movement with clear gender norms. 172

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References Agai, B., 2007. Islam and education in secular Turkey: State policies and the emergence of Fethullah Gülen. In: R. W. Hefner and M. Q. Zaman eds. Schooling Islam: The culture and politics of modern Muslim education. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 149–172. Ahmed, S., 2004. Affective economies. Social Text, 79 (22/1), 117–139. Akbulut, Z., 2015. Veiling as self-disciplining: Muslim women, Islamic discourses, and the headscarf ban in Turkey. Contemporary Islam, 9 (3), 433–453. Balci, B., 2003. Fethullah Gülen’s missionary schools in Central Asia and their role in the spreading the Turkism and Islam. Religion, State & Society, 31 (2), 151–177. Bourdieu, P., 1990. The Logic of Practice. Translated by Richard Nice. California, CA: Stanford University Press. Çobanoğlu, Y., 2012. Altın Nesil” in Peş inde Fethullah Gülen’de Toplum, Devlet, Ahlak, Otorite. İ stanbul: İ letiş im Yayınları. Cook, M. E., 2001. Commanding right and forbidding wrong in Islamic thought. Cambridge, UK: Cambridge University Press. Cucchiari, S., 1990. Between shame and sanctification: Patriarchy and its transformation in Sicilian Pentecostalism. American Ethnologist, 17 (4), 687–707. Donzelot, J., 1979. The policing of families. London: Hutchinson. Fethullah Gülen, M., 2013. From seed to cedar: Nurturing the spiritual needs in children. New Jersey: Tughra Books. Foucault, M., 1995. Discipline and punish: The birth of prison. New York: Vintage Books. Foucault, M., 2009. Security, territory, population: Lectures at the College de France 1977–1978. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Gokturk, D., 2014. Women teachers at the Gülen community school in Turkey: an ethnographic study. Thesis (PhD). Purdue University. Gokturk, D., 2017. Ethnographic account of a pedagogical project: Sisterhood institution in the Hizmet Movement. British Journal of Sociology of Education, 39 (5), 654–668. Gözaydın, İ. B., 2009. The Fethullah Gülen movement and politics in Turkey: A chance for democratization or a Trojan horse? Democratization, 16 (6), 1214–1236. Hendrick, J., 2013. Gülen: The ambiguous politics of market Islam in Turkey and the world. New York: NYU Press. Karpat, K., 2001. The politicization of Islam: Reconstructing identity, state, faith, and community in the late Ottoman state. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Mahmood, S., 2005. Politics of piety. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Melucci, A., 1980. The new social movements: A theoretical approach. Social Science Information, 19 (2), 199–226. Mills, C., 2007. White ignorance. In: S. Sullivan and N. Tuana eds. Race and epistemologies of ignorance. Albay: State University of New York, 13–39. Tee, C., 2016. The Gülen Movement in Turkey: The politics of Islam and modernity. London: I&B Tauris. Touraine, A., 2002. The importance of social movements. Social Movement Studies, 1 (1), 89–95. Tugal, C., 2017. The uneven neoliberalization of good works: Islamic charitable fields and their impact on diffusion. American Journal of Sociology, 123 (2), 426–464. Turam, B., 2004. The politics of engagement between Islam and the secular state: ambivalences of ‘civil society’. The British Journal of Sociology, 55 (2), 259–281. Turam, B., 2007. Between Islam and the state: The politics of engagement. Redwood City, CA: Stanford University Press. Ugur, E., 2017. Islamists and the politics of democratization: Evidence from Turkey. Contemporary Islam, 11, 137–155. Yavuz, M. H., 2003. Islam in the public sphere: The case of the Nur movement. In: M. H. Yavuz and J. Esposito eds. Turkish Islam and the secular state: The Gülen Movement. Syracuse, NY: Syracuse University Press, 1–8. Yavuz, M. H. and Koç, R., 2016. The Turkish coup attempt: The Gülen Movement vs. the state. Middle East Policy, XXIII (4), 136–148.

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14 Global Catholicism, gender conversion and masculinity Ester Gallo

Introduction Within studies of global religion, gender has remained somehow marginal, particularly in sociological and anthropological work. Pioneer studies focus on women in relation to migration and transnationalism, but rarely adopt a more relational approach that includes an analytical angle on men and masculinities. The aim of this chapter is to explore how membership within a Catholic transnational movement produces changes in gendered family relations and in models of masculinity. It focuses on the peculiar role played by men’s conversion to principles such as chastity, vulnerability and family sacrifice in the spreading of a new global model of Western-centred Catholicism. It takes as a case in point the European Catholic reformist movement known as the Neocathecumenal Way (henceforth NCW), focusing specifically on laic missionary men within the movement. The NCW selects (mainly) European missionary families to evangelize abroad. In doing so, their aim is twofold: to create new NCW communities within existing parishes, and to strengthen global connections between the Roman centre of Catholicism and its worldwide realities. Two elements of the NCW make it particularly interesting for the study of religion in global societies. First, the movement successfully brings about the Vatican’s aim to reassert itself as a contemporary transnational public actor. It does so by actively engaging with the economic, political and social areas of concern—such as those related to family, gender, migration or the environment—where the Catholic Church seeks to fulfil its pastoral mission (Ferrari 2006). Importantly, this global engagement has to contend with the ‘progressive disentanglement’ of Catholicism from ‘its traditional sites and civilization’ (Geertz 2005, p11), and with the development of new religious institutions, understandings and experiences across the globe (Van der Veer 2001; Hüwelmeier and Krause 2010). At the same time, however, the transnational mission envisaged by the NCW also aims at realigning the multivariate expressions of this religion to its Roman Catholic centre. Second, the transnational mission of the NCW reveals ongoing changes in the traditional global dimension of the Catholic Church. While the NCW is partly integrated within the traditional structures and hierarchies of the Catholic Church, it also assigns importance to charismatic leaders and to grassroots missionary initiatives. It overcomes the classical distinction between the

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centralized nature of Catholic transnationalism and the more flexible and decentralized spontaneity of Protestant and Charismatic ones (Rudolph 1997; Coleman 2000; Levitt 2003). Gender plays an important role in the global mission of the NCW, which rests on the principle that global evangelization is better promoted by laic families who ‘enflesh’ in their daily lives ‘the reality the Church seeks to communicate’ (cf. Himes 2006, p. 17). Families in mission actualize an archetypical form of Christian diaspora (Gallo 2016a): an ‘early Church’ comprised of travelling subjects who ‘function as the seed to disseminate the message of Jesus’ while remaining loyal to the holy centers (Baumann 2000, p. 319; Levitt 2003; Gallo 2016b). The NCW missionary model refers less to a ‘de-sexualized’ male or female religious actor and more to men and women en famille, who are considered to be more successful in spreading reformed Catholicism globally. Members’ subscription to various principles regulating sexuality, marriage, reproduction and parenthood publicly translates Christian teachings into concrete forms of exemplary conduct. In the NCW ethos, the fact that these principles become tangible in the everyday conduct of ‘ordinary’ men and women, make religious norms more plausible and attractive to future converts. The chapter argues, first, that the project of creating a reformed global (Catholic) society through missionary activities rests on a gender conversion: both men and women are required to undergo a deep transformation in terms of their identity and family relations, and to make this transformation available and debatable publicly. Second, it suggests that men’s transnational religious activities, in particular, foster a specific model of globalization: not so much a multidirectional process that opens up spaces for syncretism and cross-cultural understanding of religion, but as a centre-periphery expansion from a (European) centre to countries that are considered geographically and substantially ‘distant’ from normative Catholicism.

Debating gender in global religions This chapter responds to the need for a more relational approach to gender within contemporary studies of transnational religious flows, and of the role played by religiously informed models of femininity and masculinity in the development of a global society (Boyd et al. 1996; Krondorfer and Hunt 2012; Fedele 2013; Gallo 2018). By focusing on the NCW, the present analysis brings to light ongoing changes occurring in the gendered organization of transnational missionary activities, and explores the role played by religiously informed models and experiences of masculinity in the framing of a global society. The link between gender and religion has received little attention, and limited studies focus on femininity (King 2005; Woodhead 2007). Scholars note that within the framework of secularization theory on the privatization of religion, men are seen to engage with the rational logic of the public sphere while de-identifying with religion, while women tend to nurture the flame of religious tradition in the domestic sphere (Cannell 2006; Woodhead 2007). However, such analyses—in focusing on why men are not religious—do not explain why religion may attract men across different contexts or historical periods (Thompson and Remmes 2002; Werner 2011), or how global religions inform and are shaped by understandings and experiences of masculinity. From a different but related perspective, within recent studies of global Christianity, there is a tendency to take the consolidated structures of the Catholic Church for granted (Casanova 1997; Gallo 2016a), while most attention is paid to the decentralized and spontaneous features of Protestant and Charismatic globalizations (Coleman 2000; Hann 2007). This may result from the fact that Catholicism is generally assumed to be an expression of ‘institutionalized transnationalism,’ in which a centralized and hierarchical organization spreads through the sending of official religious representatives (Levitt 2003). However, the NCW promotes 175

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important changes in the globalization of Catholicism today, insofar as it entrusts laic missionaries with the authority and responsibility usually associated with priests or nuns. It also partly seeks to decentralize the decision-making processes involved in transnational evangelization, shifting them to some extent away from traditional institutions (like the Vatican, the National Episcopal Conferences, or the parishes) and towards NCW leaders and missionary members. Religiously informed gender norms are pivotal in the transnationalization of missionary activities and in the related project of shaping the contours of a global (Catholic) society. Studies of colonialism have yielded valuable insights into the interplay between gender and religion in global societies. Scholars have highlighted how the globalization of Christianity deeply redefined the gendered family norms of colonized peoples according to a ‘universalist’ model of Christian morality (Comaroff and Comaroff 1991; Rafael 1993; Gallo 2017). More recently, however, modern circulations of people, money, media and technology have contributed to transform religion ‘from below,’ partly reversing the traditional flow from ‘the West to the Rest’ (Beyer 2003; Hüwelmeier and Krause 2010). Transnationalism today paves the way for renewed models of gendered participation in congregational life and global society (Fedele 2013; Gallo 2016c). As Maskens (2015) notes, membership of globalized religions not only fosters men’s search for spirituality but also their embeddedness in domestic life. Global religious consciousness ‘should not be considered uniquely as a cognitively cultural system’ but involves physical and material activities (Coleman 2000, p. 5), through which members’ religiosity and gendered identities are transformed. This chapter highlights how the renewed transnationalization promoted by the NCW arises from the movement’s critique of traditional gendered forms of Catholic evangelization, and of the global society it seeks to create. The NCW sees ‘traditional’ missionary activities as too distant from the everyday concerns of ordinary people, and unnecessarily tolerant of the socio-cultural variety of gendered family ideologies and relations. The movement both draws and departs from the global church envisaged since the Second Vatican Council, also known as Vatican II (1962). The latter, at least in principle, assigned legitimacy to a global society that was inspired by universal Catholic principles yet also embedded in specific socio-cultural contexts. It acknowledged that this contextual variety presented opportunities for a global renaissance in Catholic religiosity (Wogman 2000). In contrast, the NCW reasserts new universal orthodoxies that challenge the contextual variety of a global Catholic society, as well as the existence of different gendered family cultures. By actualizing what could appear to be a neo-colonial form of Catholic globalization, the NCW also challenges the fluidity, dynamism and syncretism often associated with contemporary global societies. As such, the study of the interplay between gender and religion within NCW transnationalism is highly relevant to the broader understanding of the (traditional) tension between the universal and localized nature of the Church from a contemporary viewpoint.

Context and methods The NCW was founded in 1964 by Kiko Arguello and Carmen Hernandez, as a response to Vatican II. The NCW advocates for the need to move beyond the official celebration of orthodoxy towards the transposition of norms into good practice, and for the restoration of the institutional credibility of the Catholic Church. Its project reflects a dual concern: to re-evangelize Europe vis-à-vis the challenges posed to native Christian churches by secularization and immigrant religions (Gallo 2016b), and to realign world Catholicism with its Roman ‘centre.’ Although it was initially viewed with suspicion by the Vatican,

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its Official Statute was recognized in 2008. The NCW is today a powerful grassroots movement within mainstream Catholicism, with a membership of around a million. There are at present no studies of the NCW and access to its official documents is difficult, however. The analysis in this chapter draws on 35 semi-structured interviews conducted from 2011 onwards in Italy (Perugia and Rome), the UK (London), Turkey (Izmir and Antakya) and India (Bangalore) with NCW lay national leaders, priests, families in mission and parish-based members. The field locations were selected to facilitate research across three distinct types of places: those where the movement is strongly rooted and ‘closer’ to a majority-faith tradition (as in Italy); those where the NCW speaks to other Christian majoritarian denominations (as in the UK); and those where Catholicism coexists with non-Christian majority religions (as in Turkey and India).

The global dimension of the NCW In the early 1960s, Vatican II placed renewed emphasis on the Catholic Church as a transnational actor concerned with humanitarian issues (Casanova 1994) and addressed the family as the primary concern of global Catholic evangelization. Seeking to more closely address people’s everyday concerns (Himes 2006), Vatican II conceived of gendered domestic relations as the locus for the true development of the Christian personhood. Since then, this approach has continued to drive the Church’s involvement in questions concerning marriage, procreation, abortion, homosexuality and new reproductive technologies, within and beyond the nation state. The NCW well exemplifies the postconciliar ethos in promoting a reformed global Catholicism by making gendered family relations a central concern—and an agent—in its evangelizing mission. The ‘return’ to pre-marriage chastity, high birth rates within marriage (with procreation being seen as one of the most important conjugal aims), heterosexuality and inter-family solidarity are among the principles the NCW aims to foster through the formation of capillary parish networks worldwide. Families in mission are sent by the NCW to set up small communities within pre-existing parishes abroad. Once in the receiving destination, they set up weekly meetings with parishioners where they debate key political issues relating to family unity, sexuality and reproduction, conjugality and parenthood, and offer wider teachings on the movement’s values and purposes. Classical courses in preparation for birth, baptism and marriage take place alongside more modernist discussions about sexuality (including homosexuality), reproduction (and new technologies that may be involved in this), adoption (e.g. by single parents) and divorce. Rather than simply dismissing these topics as ‘sinful’ or ‘private,’ discourses of sex, the unorthodox family, and science and technology are contested ‘from within.’ To this end, gynaecologists, doctors and scientists belonging to the movement are actively involved in supporting Catholic ideas on reproductive politics and gender relations. Each NCW parish in Europe is encouraged to generate new families in mission. By caring for those people who have not yet been reached by ‘the message,’ it is believed that a higher degree of religiosity can be achieved. Further, families in mission primarily promote intra-Catholic conversion, as opposed to the conversion of non-believers or those of other faiths.

Gender conversion and transnational missions An important element that emerges from interviews with laic missionary men is the role of conversion to the NCW in supporting their engagement with transnational evangelization. 177

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Entering the movement is both a personal act of self-transformation and a commitment to a global social change. The global society that gendered conversion seeks to communicate is centred on the family—crucially, however, it is centred on the family as a normative public model, as opposed to the family as a private domain for the nurturing of religiosity. As discussed in the previous section, it upholds and promotes religiously informed values such as chastity outside of marriage, procreation within marriage, male and female sacrifice, and exposure to uncertainty and vulnerability—all goals that can be achieved through the equal participation of men and women in domestic and public religious life. Gender conversion aims at creating a global society through concrete personal and family journeys and through the material, spiritual and emotional support offered to missionary families by ‘local’ NCW parishioners who stay ‘back’ in Europe. Overall, it requires the development of a ‘new man,’ whereby the family, the locality and the global society are threaded into a common mission of reform. It expects men not only to ‘experience new gendered models as “good men”’ (Burchardt 2018, p. 55), but to act to bring societies worldwide closer to renewed Catholic orthodoxies. A brief look into the meanings of conversion is useful here. Entering the NCW demands a break with past ‘false’ and ‘banal’ expressions of Catholicism and requires a change in the self en-famille. As in the context of global Pentecostal Christianity studied by Maskens (2015), religious conversion is primarily a gender conversion, insofar as it marks a move from ‘old men’ to ‘new men.’ The NCW distances itself from some of the features identified with ‘traditional’ hegemonic masculinity—for example careerism, authority, a public-oriented social life and disengagement from domestic tasks. It prompts men to rework imbalances in the sexual division of domestic labour, and condemns authoritative expressions of masculinity in the home (see also Aune 2010). The NCW gendered critique revisits the asymmetry between the value placed on pre-marriage chastity among women, in particular, and the traditional Church tolerance of freer male sexuality and adultery. The NCW ascribes great importance to abstinence before marriage for both men and women: this is seen as sending an exemplary message in a secularized society where sexuality is deemed to have been commodified. The global nature of the NCW is significant in driving men’s gender conversion. In turn, the embracing of new gender models underpins their vocation for transnational evangelization, as illustrated by the discussion below. This was part of an interview with Tommaso (37), who currently lives with his family in India: ESTER:

You have always been a member of a parish in Rome, what has changed now? The Church has always been global . . . but normal parishes carry on their own life, in a provincial way. Before I entered the NCW I had no sense of really belonging to something bigger. Here parishes are interconnected worldwide—they help each other, they carry out common projects, they work to create better families. So you feel you are changing and yet also part of a wider mission.

TOMMASO:

Gender conversion is thus both an outcome and an engine of the global nature of the movement: by promising missionary men the chance to play an agentive role in building a reformed society, it also offers greater scope for personal transformations. While the NCW subscribes to the traditional emphasis placed by Catholicism on the community, it also draws from Protestant valorizations of individual agency. As a result, the movement recognizes the importance of well-articulated grassroots initiatives and values personal charisma and initiative. Although it makes decisions about missionary families, it is the latter who put themselves forward for transnational religious work. Missionary families depend on their activities and goals from the NCW headquarters, with NCW leaders required to mediate 178

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between Vatican representatives, National Episcopal Conferences and receiving parishes in relation to evangelical activities. Parts of the Catholic establishment within and beyond Europe view the transnational religious work of such missionaries as an untameable force that eludes institutionalized control. At the same time, however, the establishment supports the development of a capillary network of NCW communities because of its success in mobilizing devotees transnationally in relation to specific political projects, such as the regular World Youth Days, more occasional events such as the Protest Day against New Reproductive Technologies (which took place in Madrid in 2009) or, more recently, anti-gender campaigns in Europe. Conversion requires the convert to detach him or herself from previous allegiances (Gallo 2016a), a radical change that becomes particularly fraught with tensions when men decide to enter into missionary activities. On the one hand, transnational missions require the renunciation of previous lifestyles and professional activities. This often leads to open conflict with non-NCW family members, who may condemn NCW couples for exposing themselves and their children to uncertainty and/or the danger of religious fundamentalism. On the other, missionary men become fully dependent—both materially and emotionally— on the network of NCW parishes. The latter engage in transnational activities in a variety of ways: for example, parishes sustain missionary families abroad through regular self-taxation; they dispatch regular packages containing sacred readings, food items or other supplies; and parish members are often sent abroad for temporary periods to offer free childcare, domestic support and spiritual comfort. As mentioned previously, the movement also sends doctors, scientists, social workers and family counsellors to destinations around the world in order to support the NCW discourse through scientific arguments. In terms of the longstanding transnationalism of the Catholic Church, the NCW has introduced the relatively novel idea that evangelization must be carried out through the ‘extraordinary’ sacrifices of ‘ordinary’ men (and women) in order for the expansion of Catholicism to also succeed in creating a moral order. Personal gendered transformation is expected to become a symbol of true religiosity and to have an impact on society well beyond the limits of the person, the community and the nation-state. The popular NCW saying that ‘the Way is for distant ones’ well exemplifies the ‘inner’ and ‘outer’ dimensions of conversion: a relational change from within, alongside a wider geopolitical project of expansion. These two layers of conversion are often entangled in men’s accounts of their missionary roles, and are braided into the concrete organization and functioning of transnational activities.

The limits of transnational missions: exposure, failure and conflict The problems that missionaries encounter in translating NCW teachings into practice cement a sense of collective sacrifice, but also raise dilemmas. Missionary men experience a double break in their gendered relations and identities once they decide to ‘go global’. Firstly, they are often stigmatized by non-NCW kin and friends for sacrificing ‘real blood relations’ in favour of strangers in distant locations, and may be targeted as bad sons and irresponsible fathers. Their evangelical commitments demand that they prioritize certain ties over others, and create ambivalences in the transnational dimension of family life: thus, they strengthen the global interconnections between missionary families and parishes but create fissures in ‘external’ social ties. Sacrificing pre-existing ties is a trope through which missionary men make sense of their global mission: a symbol of their distance from the ‘ordinary’ phenomenology of Catholic life. Secondly, men who become laic missionaries often lose their ‘traditional’ roles as family breadwinners. Missionary activities allow men to gain a new standing vis-à-vis NCW communities—something that can potentially 179

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compensate for the sacrifices made in terms of leaving professional positions, financial security or family support ‘behind.’ However, difficult encounters with receiving societies can frequently lead to evangelical failures, which can also make it necessary for missionaries to return to their home parishes. Men’s evangelical failures often result from the tensions generated by the public dimension of evangelization. Gender conversion not only requires men to be oriented towards the domestic needs of the household (Fedele 2013) but also requires that models and experiences of male domesticity are shared in public. Men are expected to carry out evangelical activities in public places such as parks or squares, and to attract a wider audience within and beyond the parish. The fact that evangelization touches upon ‘private’ concerns related to sexuality, conjugality, reproduction and parenthood while simultaneously aiming for a highly public form of visibility has been a source of conflict within the Catholic community in different contexts. These conflicts reveal an opposition between the global society project envisaged by the NCW and, the persistent—if not growing—relevance of national religious institutions in defending culturally inflected ideas and norms of Catholic belonging. The universalist ambition of the NCW, combined with its Western nature, exposes laic missionary men to critiques, derision and ostracism from ‘ordinary’ non-missionary men and women, as well as from religious representatives. Receiving Episcopal Conferences and parishes, for instance, may clash with the Vatican or the NCW in relation to evangelical activities carried by out by ‘white missionaries.’ In Bangalore (South India), the NCW is often criticized by the Indian Episcopal Conference because its teachings (such as the promotion of higher birth rates) are inimical to national projects around reproduction and public health. Public evangelization in South India is also subject to legal sanctions under the Forced Conversion Law: indeed, in 2010, a number of NCW members were arrested and accused of practising proselytizing activities. In the same year, the NCW was banned by the Japanese National Conference of Bishops, which considered the movement’s teachings to be incompatible with the national culture and family values. Prior to this, the Archbishop of Tokyo had publicly accused the Vatican of giving priority to the directions set by the NCW headquarters in Rome and marginalizing the views of national religious authorities. In 2013, NCW missionaries in Antakya (a multi-religious city on the border between Turkey and Syria) were publicly attacked by local religious and civil society representatives after the NCW criticized the Church there for its tolerance of inter-faith marriages and unofficial polygamy among local Muslim families. Preaching Catholic purity and normative superiority was considered a risky endeavour in a context where local religious and government authorities work for inter-faith dialogue between a (majority) Muslim population and minority Jewish, Greek Orthodox and Catholic communities. In all of these cases, missionary families were ‘called back’ by the NCW under Vatican instructions. The return from the missionary destination is viewed by missionary men as an abdication from the project of a global Catholic society. Men experience the problems arising from transnational religious work as personal failures, which become a deep source of insecurity in relation to the foundations of their own conversions.

Conclusions This chapter has discussed how gender and religion are entwined within contemporary projects of building a global (Catholic) society. Transnationalism has characterized Christian expansion (and religious expansion in general) in different ways through history (Comaroff and Comaroff 2001; Van der Veer 2001; Levitt 2003). The analysis of the contemporary role that religion plays in framing a global society should therefore consider how the new 180

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builds on the old, and how the transnational nature of religious flows has changed in the process. Transnational flows not only lead to changes in the understanding of religion but also transform the practices and relationships through which religion is lived in the everyday. Indeed, the assumed transcendent nature of Christianity has channelled a distinctive disjuncture between its supposed immateriality and the worldliness of gendered family life (Cannell 2006; Keane 2008). However, as the analysis here has shown, gender is an important dimension of religious expansion. There is a need to foster analyses of religion in the context of globalization by discussing how models and experiences of femininity and masculinity are transformed by transnational religious flows and, in turn, how they influence popular beliefs and lives across borders. At a broader level, the interest of the NCW lies in its innovative post-Vatican II role in promoting changes in the transnational work of evangelization—from a centralized and hierarchical network of religious institutions (at supranational, national and local levels) towards the gradual introduction of more grassroots and fluid forms of global religious expansion. Gender conversion holds relevance for an articulated understanding of the complex global organization of the NCW, and of its evangelical mission. While the importance ascribed to gendered family models draws from the global ethos of Vatican II, it also draws from the more recent acknowledgement of the unsuccessful nature of the attempts made by the established Catholic Church to move closer to the concerns of ordinary people worldwide. Normative positions are less attractive to people if promoted by transcendent religious figures; they become more credible at a global level if they are instead put forward by men (and women) who witness the vision of a reformed global society through their own daily lives. Influenced by a post-conciliar religion that aimed to be at once ‘modern and public’ (Casanova 1994, p. 9) in shaping a global society, gender conversion prompts men to engage with political questions related to worldly affairs of domesticity, reproduction, sexuality and overall family life well beyond their local and national horizons. The expansion of the NCW beyond Europe seeks to bring lay missionaries closer to different Catholic realities worldwide. At the same time, however, it assigns new importance to Roman Catholicism as the centre of orthodoxy and authenticity (cf. Ferrari 2006). This chapter argues that gender conversion is key to transnational missions and highlights both its private and public dimensions: becoming a member of the NCW is both an act of personal self-transformation and a commitment to a global mission. It further argues that—at least in principle—the global society envisaged by the NCW leaves little space for the fluidity, creativity and syncretism usually associated with globalization. Instead, NCW transnationalism is centred around the spreading of new religious and gendered orthodoxies that are intended to realign families to a specific model of ‘the family.’ This family model is based on the NCW critique of secularized European societies, but it is also constrained by the movement’s limited dialogue with the cross-cultural varieties of Catholicism that are officially valued by the modern church. In recent decades, the transnationalization of Catholicism has meant not just the increasing internationalization of Rome but also the rising importance of the National Conferences of Bishops (Casanova 1997). This has contributed to growing tensions between global religious movements, the Vatican and Episcopal Conferences in single sovereign states, and must be taken into account in analysing the tensions between the NCW’s contextual and universal globalizing aims. Gender and family are national concerns for societies that are the objects of evangelization, partly in relation to projects of national development and modernity. In different receiving contexts, religious and political authorities are concerned with what is perceived to be an ‘invasive’ and ‘culturally insensitive’ religious approach to gender and family. They subscribe with reluctance to a project that runs the risk of re-enacting colonial

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logics of conversion and assimilation, even as it connects Catholic believers with the holy centre of Rome.

References Aune, K., 2010. Fatherhood in British Evangelical Christianity. Men and Masculinity, 13 (2), 168–189. Baumann, M., 2000. Diaspora. Numen, 47 (3), 313–337. Beyer, P., 2003. De-centering Religious Singularity. Numen, 50 (4), 357–386. Boyd, S., Longwood, W.M., and Muesse, M.W., eds., 1996. Redeeming Men. Louisville: Westminster JK Press. Burchardt, M., 2018. Saved from Hegemonic Masculinity? Current Sociology, 66 (1), 110–127. Cannell, F., 2006. Introduction. In: F. Cannell, ed. The Anthropology of Christianity. Durham, NC: Duke University Press, 1–50. Casanova, J., 1994. Public Religion in the Modern World. Chicago, IL: Chicago University Press. Casanova, J., 1997. Globalising Catholicism and the Return to a Universal Church. In: S.H. Rudolph and J. Piscatori, eds. Transnational Religion and the Fading States. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 121–142. Coleman, S., 2000. The Globalization of Charismatic Christianity: Spreading the gospel of prosperity. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Comaroff, J., and Comaroff, J.L., 1991. Of Revelation and Revolution. Vol. I and II. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Comaroff, J., and Comaroff, J., eds., 2001. Millenial capitalism and the culture of neoliberalism. Durham: Duke University Press. Fedele, V., 2013. The Diasporic Islamic Masculinity and the Reformulation of European Islam. Nòmadas, 39 (3), 1–23. Ferrari, L., 2006. The Vatican as a Transnational Actor. In: P.C. Manuel, L.C. Reardon and C. Wilcox, eds. The Catholic Church and the Nation-State. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 33–49. Gallo, E., 2016a. Diaspora by Design? Conversion and Belonging in Contemporary Global Catholicism. Diaspora, 19 (1), 51–73. Gallo, E., 2016b. Introduction: South Asian Migration and Religious Pluralism in Europe. In: E. Gallo, ed. Migration and Religion in Europe. Comparative Perspectives on South Asian Experiences. New York: Routledge, 1–28. Gallo, E., 2016c. A Suitable Faith. Catholicism, Domestic Labour and Identity Politics among Malayalis in Rome. In: E. Gallo, ed. Religion and Migration in Europe. Comparative Perspectives on South Asian Experience. New York: Routledge, 249–266. Gallo, E., 2017. The Fall of Gods. Memory, Kinship and Middle Classes in South India. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Gallo, E., 2018. Religion, Masculinity and Transnational Mobility: Migrant Catholic Men and the Politics of Evangelisation. In: B. Yeoh and B. Brown, eds. Asian Migrations and Religious Experiences. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 177–199. Geertz, C., 2005. Shifting Aims, Moving Targets: On the Anthropology of Religion. The Journal of the Royal Anthropological Institute, 11 (1), 1–15. Hann, C., 2007. The Anthropology of Christianity per Se. European Journal of Sociology, 48 (3), 383–410. Himes, K.R., 2006. Vatican II and Contemporary Politics. In: L.C. Reardon and C. Wilcox, eds. The Catholic Church and the Nation-State. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 16–31. Hüwelmeier, G., and Krause, K., 2010. Introduction. In: G. Huwelmeier and K. Krause, eds. Travelling Spirits. Migrants, Markets and Mobilities. London: Routledge, 1–16. Keane, W., 2008. The Evidence of the Senses and the Materiality of Religion. JRAI, 14 (1), 110–127. King, U., 2005. General Introduction: Gender Critical Turn in the Study of Religion. In: U. King and T. Beattie, eds. Gender, Religion and Diversity. Cross-Cultural Perspectives. London: Continuum, 1–12. Krondorfer, B., and Hunt, S., 2012. Religion and Masculinities. Religion & Gender, 2 (2), 194–206. Levitt, P., 2003. You Know, Abraham Was Really the First Immigrant. International Migration Review, 37 (3), 847–873. Maskens, M., 2015. The Pentecostal Reworking of Male Identities in Brussels. Etnogràfica, 19 (2), 323–345. Rafael, V., 1993. Contracting Colonialism. Durham, NC: Duke University Press.

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Rudolph, S.H., 1997. Introduction. In: S.H. Rudolph and J. Piscatori, eds. Transnational Religion and the Fading States. Boulder, CO: Westview Press, 1–19. Thompson, E.H., and Remmes, K.R., 2002. Does Masculinity Thwart Being Religious? Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 41 (3), 521–532. Van der Veer, P., 2001. Transnational Religion. Trans-com Working Paper WPTC-01-18 [online]. Available from: www.transcomm.ox.ac.uk/working%20papers/WPTC-01-18%20Van%20der% 20Veer.pdf. Werner, Y.M., ed., 2011. Christian Masculinities. Leuven: Leuven University Press. Wogman, P., 2000. Christianity and Politics. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press. Woodhead, L., 2007. Gender Differences in Religious Practice and Significance. In: J.A. Backford and J. Demerath, eds. The Sage Handbook of the Sociology of Religion. Los Angeles, CA, London, New Delhi, and Singapore: Sage, 550–570.

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Part IV

Transnational movements

15 Pilgrimage, traveling gurus and transnational networks The lay meditation movement in contemporary Chinese societies Ngar-sze Lau

Introduction ‘Sufi orders, Catholic missionaries, and Buddhist monks carried word and praxis across vast spaces before those places became nation states or even states’ (Rudolph 1997, p. 1). In the context of global religions, sacred landscapes, pilgrimage, migration and diaspora, missionary activities, and transnational religions network have become important themes of study. The ‘spatial turn’ in the humanities and social sciences has had an impact on the study of space, place and location in religious studies (Knott 2010, p. 476). Scholars have paid attention to religion and migration since the early 1990s. Kivisto (2014) has discussed how religion might function to allow for social adaptation among new immigrants. For instance, the Brick Lane Jamme Masjid in the East End of London has been home to distinct religions since the eighteenth century among immigrant groups: Christianity, Judaism and Islam. From the case study of Chinese converting to Christianity in Iowa City, Chinese churches became new homes providing social support to those new immigrants and students from mainland China. Migration and the growth of diaspora communities around the world are instrumental in building transnational religious networks. Transnationalism is a process that immigrants tend to sustain in their social relations to link societies of origin and settlement. These relationships cut across geographic, cultural and political borders (Basch, Schiller and Blanc 1994). In the case of Cuban-Americans building a shrine Our Lady of Charity in Miami, Tweed (1997) shows how religions ‘dwell and cross’ to create spaces among migrants who cultivate rituals and myths and foster imaginations of the homeland. Asian Buddhists who migrated to the United States, Canada and Brazil have built Buddhist temples to preserve their traditional faith to maintain their ethnic and cultural identity (Kawanami 2012). Transnational migrants recreate a new form of global religions with new geographical spaces to make their local identities more meaningful and stronger than their political identities (Levitt and Schiller 2004).

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Transnational religious networks developed by migrants are well-discussed. However, transnational religious networks developed by pilgrims or travelers are under-researched. This chapter examines the recent emergence of lay meditation activities and transnational religious networks in contemporary Chinese societies since the start of the twenty-first century. Global flows from the East to the West, and then from the West back to the East, have become the main causes of the recent popularity of lay meditation practices in Chinese societies. In the following sections, I will first introduce the context of Buddhist modernism which gave rise to the lay meditation movement in Asia in the nineteenth century. With the effort of spiritual seekers traveling to Asia from the West, lay meditation was transformed to become secular, psychological and scientific. From my ethnographic study, I will discuss how lay meditation practices have been introduced to Taiwan, Hong Kong and mainland China by Chinese travelers and traveling gurus since the start of the twenty-first century. I argue that Chinese engagement with the transnational lay meditation movement demonstrates a new trend in the contemporary Chinese context—the privatization of spiritual experiences.

Pilgrimage, Buddhist modernism and the rise of the lay meditation movement in Asia As a global and historical religion, Buddhism provides many examples of religious places and movements with pilgrimage routes, missionary activities, sacred landscapes and global developments (Kawanami 2012). Coleman and Eade (2004b) argue that pilgrimage is not merely a journey of creating sacred space, but as ‘cultures in motion’ linking different understandings of movement, such as performative action creating social and cultural transformations. Turner and Turner (1978) suggest that the pilgrim is making ‘a spiritual step forward’ (p. 15) by escaping from the everyday life and cutting ‘across the boundaries of provinces, realms, and even empires’ (p. 6). Social and psychological transformation happens in various embodied motions including walking, kneeling, crawling and dancing over the journey towards the sacred destination. Pilgrims have contributed to the continuous transformation of Buddhism with new modes of expression. With the foundation of the Theravā da tradition in ancient India, Mahā yā na traditions were developed and introduced to Central Asia and China through the Silk Road around the first century. After that, Mahā yā na Buddhism spread to Japan and Korea via China. Given the historical development of Chinese Buddhism, Mahā yā na doctrines and practices were seen as superior to early Theravā da Buddhism. The doctrines of early texts, such as the Āgamas, and practices of Theravā da Buddhism in Southeast Asia were marginalized as inferior Hīnayā na in the Chinese context until recent decades. Moreover, in the Chinese Mahā yā na Buddhist tradition, Chan meditation has been practiced exclusively by monastics only (Welch 1967). However, the encounter between Asian Buddhist reformers and Orientalist Buddhist scholars in the early twentieth century led to a major change concerning the concept and imaginaries of ‘Buddhism.’ Modern Buddhism and Buddhist scholarship were constructed by the colonial encounter. Despite the critical reflections on Orientalism, the Orientalist discourses about modern Buddhism inevitably continue in the Western imagination. The global lay meditation movement is rooted in the modernization of Buddhism over the colonial era in Asia, especially in Ceylon and Burma.1 As McMahan (2017) argues, the effort of building an alliance between Buddhism and modern science by Buddhist reformers was not only critical in confronting the colonial regime but also contributed to the globalization of Buddhist meditation. With the support of Western theosophists, Anagā rika Dharmapā la 188

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(1965), the most prominent Buddhist reformer in Ceylon, revived Buddhism not only by establishing the Maha Bodhi Society, but also by assimilating Buddhist doctrine to scientific understanding.2 Vipassanā or ‘insight meditation’ is a contemporary form of meditation modernized by Ledi Sayadaw, a Buddhist scholar and meditation teacher in Burma (Braun 2014). When the British colonized Burma in 1824, Buddhism was not supported by the political regime.3 With the hope that lay people would take up the responsibility of preventing the decline of Buddhism, Ledi decided to teach them Buddhist philosophy and meditation, which was traditionally restricted to monastics. By placing more emphasis on vipassanā meditation rather than the cultivation of mental absorption (jhā na), Ledi simplified and edited the Abhidhamma as a set of systematic practices. He also traveled to villages across the country to initiate a new tradition of mass lay meditation using printed literature in the early twentieth century.4 In the 1950s lay meditation spread to other Asian countries as a transnational practice after the independence of Burma. U Nu, the first prime minister, sought to project Myanmar as a nation state based on a Buddhist identity by inviting Mahā si Sayadaw to teach at a new state-supported meditation center—Mahā si Thathana Yeiktha. With the support of government officers and military leaders, the number of meditators and meditation centers grew exponentially within a few years (Jordt 2007). Mahā si promoted revitalized vipassanā meditation, known also as the ‘new Burmese method,’ using tape recordings which were later on replayed for new yogis. Over 700,000 Burmese yogis had practiced at Mahā si’s centers by 1972. Vipassanā meditation also became a diplomatic link between Myanmar and other countries that Mahā si and his disciples were invited to travel to to teach, such as Sri Lanka, India, Indonesia, Thailand, Nepal, the UK and the United States.5 This has inspired the lay meditation movement to spread with new meditation centers established in other Asian countries. For example, in Thailand, the Mahanikai sect revived the lay meditation movement and patterned itself following Mahā si’s meditation center model (Cook 2010, p. 31). Meditation classes were offered at the branches of Mahanikai monasteries throughout the country, attracting many from the middle class. Since the 1970s, lay meditation has further spread around the world. S.N. Goenka, a Burmese-Indian businessman, established transnational vipassanā meditation centers with his tailored ten-day curriculum. Goenka (2002) believed that vipassanā , as a universal, scientific and therapeutic practice, can be practiced by anyone in the world.6 He promoted vipassanā as an art of living, a secular technique, like a physical exercise for developing insight (Hart 1987). Goenka even interpreted dhamma (Sanskrit: dharma) as a universal truth rather than Buddhist doctrine. Vipassanā meditation was then introduced to secular institutions including prison, hospitals and schools by traveling meditators. In 1976, the Vipassanā Meditation Center was first established in India and then overseas in Massachusetts in the United States in 1979. There are now over 300 centers set up all over the world.7 In summary, lay meditation was modernized in Asia and then spread to other Asian countries because of traveling gurus and meditators.8

The flourishing of transnational lay meditation in the West and Chinese societies In this section, I will discuss how the transnational lay meditation has flourished in the West, the rest of the world and Chinese societies, including Taiwan, Hong Kong and mainland China. The Orientalist and romantic projection of Buddhism has inspired Western spiritual seekers. David McMahan (2008) identifies the adaptations of Buddhism in North America as 189

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a hybrid form of indigenous Buddhist concepts mixed with discourses of psychology, romanticism and science. Because of the influence of the Enlightenment’s epistemological claim of scientific rationalism, the Buddha has been redefined as a rational figure and even a Victorian gentleman (Prothero 1996). Buddhist teachings have been characterized as rationalist, empirically based, psychological, ethical and free from superstition. McMahan (2008, p. 11) argues that the Romantics ‘project the hope that the ills of western society can be assuaged by the supposedly more spiritual, primal wisdom of Asia.’ Buddhism, a foreign spiritual tradition from the East, has been expected to fulfill the role of the re-enchantment of the materialist Western societies. Western spiritual seekers started visiting meditation centers in Asia, particularly Myanmar and Thailand, to learn meditation in the 1960s. International meditation centers in Asia have been described as important missionary venues for spreading Buddhist teachings to the world. Foreign meditators with any religious background are welcome to experiment with meditation as an ‘alternative way of living’ by teachers at international meditation centers (Schedneck 2015, pp. 175–176). Foreign yogis are not requested to convert to Buddhism. Meditation has been adapted to foreign yogis and labeled as a universal practice with the rational Orientalist imaginaries, including for the purposes of psychological healing and well-being. Meditation has become a form of relaxation for international meditators as well as a way of exploring Buddhism. In this modern context, decontextualized forms of meditation have been globalized rapidly since the 1970s. After learning modernized meditation in Southeast Asia, some Americans and Europeans brought meditation teachings and vipassanā practices back to the West. One of the most explicit examples is the establishment of the Insight Meditation Society (IMS) in Massachusetts by Jack Kornfield, Joseph Goldstein and Sharon Salzberg. They traveled to Asia to practice various forms of Buddhist meditation and vipassanā .9 They, as firstgeneration US meditation teachers, invited well-known Asian meditation teachers, such as Mahā si Sayadaw and Dipa Ma, to travel to the United States to lead meditation retreats. Gaia House, a branch of the IMS, was established in the UK in the early 1980s.10 In the West, the dialogue between Tibetan monks and Western scientists on emotions, neuroscience and Buddhist meditation since the early 1980s has inspired research.11 Some disrobed monastics, such as Jack Kornfield and Alan Wallace, also contributed to the psychologization of Buddhist doctrine and meditation practices. Kabat-Zinn (2011), a molecular biologist and a practitioner of Hatha yoga and Korean Zen, developed the Mindfulness-based Stress Reduction (MBSR) program at the University of Massachusetts in 1979. The effectiveness of MBSR in reducing symptoms of stress and psychosomatic diseases has aroused increasing research interest in mindfulness and other diseases (Williams and Kabat-Zinn 2013). Another successful case is the development of Mindfulness-based Cognitive Therapy (MBCT) by clinical psychologists Mark Williams, John Teasdale and Zindel Segal (2012). MBCT is recognized by National Institute of Clinical Excellence (NICE) as an effective practice for preventing depression relapse in the UK.12 The application of mindfulness programmes in a clinical context has popularized mindfulness meditation in counselling centers, schools, prisons, workplaces and even the military in the West. In summary, in the past few decades, Western spiritual seekers, who learnt vipassanā meditation in Asia, have brought lay meditation to the West from the East. The scientific research and application of mindfulness by scientists has further secularized and globalized meditation. But since the 1990s, modernization and globalization have facilitated the introduction of vipassanā meditation and mindfulness programs from the West to Asia, including Chinese societies. Most lay meditation practices were generally introduced into Taiwan first in the 190

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1990s, then to Hong Kong and later mainland China. In the mid-1980s, with advantageous socio-economic and political conditions in Taiwan, many Chinese Buddhist organizations modernized rapidly with the support of the urban middle-class.13 Within a decade, with the notion of ‘Buddhism in the human world,’ a few successfully developed into worldrenowned transnational Buddhist organizations (Madsen 2007).14 Vipassanā meditation and mindfulness programs were introduced to both monastics and lay in Taiwan. Books of world-renowned meditation teachers who visited Europe and North America were firstly translated and published in Chinese before any actual introduction of meditation practices. For example, Our Real Refuge, a collection of dhamma talks by Ajahn Chah, was translated into Chinese in 1992 and reprinted over 50,000 times (Ziyan 2009). There are over ten charitable or commercial presses that publish books about the teachings of significant meditation teachers, including Mahā si Sayadaw and U Pandita Sayadaw from Myanmar. Lin Chung-on, a physicist, was the first Chinese who imported vipassanā meditation to Taiwan (Dharma Light Monthly 2000). After reading books on vipassanā practice in the late 1980s, he invited Luangpor Thong from Thailand to teach meditation in Taiwan in 1992. The Mahasati Association was later set up in 2002 to promote the practice.15 After attending a tenday vipassanā retreat led by S.N. Goenka in Nepal in 1995, Lin invited Goenka to Taiwan to teach the first ten-day vipassanā retreat for 220 participants a few months later. The first Vipassanā Meditation Center in Taiwan was officially established in 1997.16 Quite a few famous meditation teachers from Myanmar and Thailand have been invited to Taiwan to lead retreats frequently since the 1990s (Chen 2012; Metta 2002). At the same time, Taiwanese monastics and lay started travelling to Myanmar and Thailand to learn meditation. A free guidebook introducing various international meditation centers in Asia was published by a Taiwanese monk (Metta 2002).17 There are now several transnational organizations established by Chinese meditators in Taiwan actively promoting the teachings of Mahā si, Pa-Auk from Myanmar and Luangpor Thong from Thailand.18 The spread of meditation in Hong Kong was influenced by Chinese meditation books and meditators from Taiwan. For example, the establishment of the first vipassanā retreat using Goenk’s teaching was facilitated by Taiwanese meditators in 1997 (Lau 2014). There are now two centers providing meditation retreats.19 Meditation teachers in various traditions from Myanmar and Thailand have been invited to Hong Kong to lead retreats. Quite a few meditation organizations promoting lay meditation have been set up by Hong Kong meditators (Lau 2014, pp. 28–35).20 Mindfulness programs were introduced in Hong Kong and then Taiwan. Helen Ma, a clinical psychologist, first introduced MBSR in a hospital in 1997. She invited Kabat-Zinn to Hong Kong to lead a mindfulness retreat for social workers and healthcare professionals in 2004. She and Peta McAuley have organized Chinese-speaking and English-speaking mindfulness teaching supporting groups for sharing mindfulness teaching experiences at regular meetings. In 2012 Ma set up the Hong Kong Centre for Mindfulness and organized MBCT training for healthcare professionals. Quite a few NGOs promote mindfulness programs to the public.21 Over 4,000 healthcare professionals and patients have finished MBSR or MBCT training programme by 2013 (Lau 2014, p. 36).22 The book, Wherever You Go, There You Are by Kabat-Zinn and published in Chinese in 2008, attracted some attention to the counseling and education field in Taiwan. The first MBSR program was organized at Fangsheng Monastery by the abbot and Peggy Tsai in 2011. Later MBSR and MBCT programs were promoted rapidly with established organizations in clinical and secular settings by Elsa Huang, Roy Te-Chung Chen, Tsungkun Wen and Yen-hui Lee (Lau 2014, p. 37). Jon Kabat-Zinn and Mark Williams were 191

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invited to Taiwan a few times to lead mindfulness retreats. In the past few years, a few Taiwanese mindfulness teachers have visited mainland China to teach mindfulness and be involved in events with Kabat-Zinn. In summary, transnational networks of lay meditation and mindfulness have been developed quite strongly in Taiwan and Hong Kong since the turn of the century. Since the 1990s, the dramatic economic growth of China has surprised the world and encouraged both inbound and outbound tourism (Guthrie 2009). With the changing party–state policies and economic growth in the early 1980s, religious practices and mind–body healing in diverse traditions have been reinvented, redeveloped and even imported into mainland China. For instances, the qigong ‘fever’ (Palmer 2007), the ‘psycho-boom’ (xinli re) (Pritzker 2016) and health cultivation (yangsheng) culture (Dear 2012) have provoked the popularity of body technology for healing, intersecting with traditional culture and science, lifestyle, nutrition and Chinese medicine. Martial arts films, such as Shaolin gongfu in the 1980s, initiated the ‘Chan fever,’ which sparked popular interest in Buddhist tourism, practices and notions of well-being.23 There are, however, some difficulties. On the one hand, the materialistic orientation of some Chinese monasteries and the lack of Chan masters disappointed some devout Chinese Buddhists. On the other, it has not been easy to revive the traditional Chan practices in a few years due to a lack of prominent Chan meditation teachers and also a generation gap in monastic lineages caused by both political turmoil and economic blooming (Birnbaum 2003; Xueyu 2015). With the party–state relaxing the tourism policy and the influence of globalization, educated Chinese Buddhists, including monastics and lay people, have traveled to countries in Southeast Asia to seek out ideal meditation teachers and meditation teaching since the turn of the century (Lau 2018). In my fieldwork in contemporary China, I found out that the individualized spiritual experience has become the key motivation for Chinese practitioners who travel repeatedly to Southeast Asian countries to explore the ideal dhamma. The living conditions in traditional Chinese monasteries (with a huge room shared with many people) are not regarded as satisfactory by young, educated and urban middle-class Chinese practitioners. My informants, such as Yaozhen and Zhou Fu, mentioned that a single room is an ideal meditation accommodation, and they said they could find their ‘paradise’ in Myanmar, but not in China. Nevertheless, Chinese travelers risk the challenges or danger during their trips, including the tedious visa application process, different languages, food difficulties and vulnerabilities to tropical diseases (Lau 2018). Chinese women, including nuns and lay, could hardly access and learn the traditional Chan practices. Until now, most Chan halls (chantang) refuse entry for women. I argue that this is one of the main reasons that some Chinese travel to learn meditation in Southeast Asia, where meditation centers welcome both men and women. In my study, Bhiksuṇī ̣ and lay women from China had fruitful experiences of their pilgrimages (Lau 2018). After returning to China, many Chinese yogis, including monastics and lay people, would share their experiences with friends in their meditation communities. In the 2010s, these practitioners have ‘transplanted’ the Theravā da meditation experience to their community, from Myanmar or Thailand to China. They have created sacred spaces and propagated their favorite teachings through networking, organizing practice groups (gongxiudian), fund-raising and even establishing new meditation centers in mainland China. For example, U Paṇḍita Sayā daw and Chanmyay Sayā daw from Myanmar, disciples of the world-renowned insight meditation teacher Mahā sī Sayā daw, have been invited to teach meditation in retreats at Chinese Buddhist monasteries in Beijing, Wenzhou and Jiangxi Province. Globally known meditation teachers 192

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such as Jack Kornfield, and mindfulness teachers including Jon Kabat-Zinn and Mark Williams, have been visiting China to teach meditation since 2011 (Lau 2014).24 Various transnational meditation communities of specific teachings have been rapidly developed by travelers through cyber technologies in mainland China. Information about teachers and teachings, photos and audio clips of dhamma talks, and electronic books have been shared on websites. Announcements of retreats and regular practice groups and the recruitment of volunteers are shared through popularly used mobile applications. Special events of meditation centers in Southeast Asian countries, updates of teachers in Burma or Thailand, especially their health conditions, are shared and exchanged among the members of these communities. Fundraising schemes are also launched within the virtual communities by activists for the construction of new meditation centers in China and Southeast Asian countries (Lau 2018). Based on my ethnographic study in mainland China, the existing lay meditation activities in contemporary China can be categorized into four main models. The first model involves retreats based on only one tradition upheld by Han Buddhist monasteries. For example, retreats according to Goenka’s teachings are organized mainly in five centers attached to Buddhist monasteries. Mahasati meditation of Luangpor Teean from Thailand is promoted at the Shifo Monastery in Sichuan. There is a policy context here. According to the Regulations on Religious Affairs, all religious activities can only be held in religious venues.25 The second model refers to retreats based on various traditions upheld in different Han Buddhist monasteries. For example, retreats based on some teachings of Mahā si Sayadaw, U Tejaniya Sayadaw and Luangpor Pramote are hosted by different monasteries across the country. The third model involves the Theravā da Buddhist community. Dhammavihā rī Forest Monastery, established as a permanent meditation center, mainly promotes the teaching of Pa-Auk Sayadaw (Lau 2018, pp. 126–189). Finally, the fourth model involves secular activities. These are mindfulness programs held at universities, yoga clubs or resort centers. Meditation teachings from Myanmar and Thailand have reached China because of traveling gurus and returning yogi during the 2010s. These meditation retreats attract mainly the educated middle class, university students and professionals (Lau 2017). In fact, learning transnational meditation from famous teachers has become trendy among urban people. Mind–body healing in particular is one of the key attractions to the new types of meditation. Some devoted meditators have visited meditation centers in Southeast Asian countries over a few weeks or even a few years to practice. Many Chinese enjoy communicating directly with their Burmese meditation teachers and practicing with yogis from all over the world, even though some of them could not speak any English. Some others feel excited and show gratitude to become short-term monks and nuns, while the practice is not highly encouraged in the Han Chinese tradition. The common advertisement and registration process is through virtual platforms such as Weibo and WeChat, as well as the most popular mobile phone apps emulating the functions of Facebook (Lau 2018). However, religion is perceived as a politically sensitive issue in China. The tension brought about by the local communities and global forces may result in the construction of hybrid religious identities. Some Chinese Mahā yā na Buddhist monasteries have developed their meditation retreats in a hybrid way with some elements from Theravā da Buddhist meditation and mindfulness. Despite the restriction of religious activities by the party–state, yoga clubs, health centers, offices or homes have become venues for these regular meditation activities. Virtual communities of a specific tradition are organized via WeChat to announce news about retreats and other activities. In summary, globalization, economic growth, international travel and new forms of communication technology are facilitating religious activities and establishing transnational lay meditation networks in contemporary Chinese societies. 193

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Conclusion: modernized meditation, ‘subjective turn’ and global spiritual seeking Mark Juergensmeyer (2012, p. 716) points out that religious phenomena are part of a ‘global drama,’ which should be understood with multiple frames of references, including secular ideologies. He reminds us that studying global religion is about studying ‘cultural change and interaction,’ including religion in its global contexts, religious diasporas, religious ideas and the ‘emerging spiritual and moral sensibilities of globalized, multicultural societies’ (p. 719). In this chapter, I have examined the historical development of transnational lay meditation movements, which began in Southeast Asia before reaching the West. They then spread to Hong Kong and mainland China via Taiwan. I have argued that, instead of migration, religious traveling has been the key force behind the growing transnational lay meditation network. The initial significant influence was the modernization of meditation in Southeast Asia and the ‘subjective turn’ in the West. In the Southeast and South Asian contexts, meditation practices have become accessible to the laity since the early twentieth century as a result of concerted efforts to confront the decline of Buddhism in the region. Western spiritual seekers since the 1960s have traveled to Asia to learn meditation, inspiring later on the popularity of vipassanā meditation in the West. In the late 1980s, some Taiwanese encountered Western spiritual seekers and the teachings of contemporary living meditation teachers in Southeast Asia. All this has taken place with the advantage of religious freedom and economic growth, the mass publication of Chinese translated books, and retreats organized in the region with teachers from Thailand and Myanmar. Traveling has allowed the Chinese to learn meditation and then establish meditation communities in various Burmese and Thai traditions in Chinese societies. As Kim Knott (2016, p. 41) suggests, in the late modern context, more people are choosing to ‘turn to the self’ and individualize their religious experiences. McMahan argues that Buddhist meditation has become detraditionalized and privatized after the encounter with Western modernity (2008, pp. 183–192). He explains that the increasing attention of meditation among Westerners can be seen as a ‘subjective turn,’ which has also involved Romantic, psychological and rationalist orientations. From the Orientalist perspective, while ‘the West’ is materialist and rational, ‘the East’ is spiritual, subjective and intuitive. The shift from ‘the West’ to ‘the East’ may be a reaction to the development of industrialization and scientific knowledge. Despite the ongoing debate on the category of New Religious Movements (NRMs) (Fox 2010), Bryan Wilson (1992) argues that NRMs arise as a private form of religion with the increasing disappearance of religion in the public sphere. In my study of the transnational lay meditation in the Buddhist context, the popular literature on both vipassanā meditation and secular mindfulness are referenced from traditional Buddhist canons. I argue that the lay meditation movement is a new expression of the religious tradition instead of an NRM. The modernized image of Buddhism as a rational and scientific endeavor was not only fostered by Western enthusiasts but also by Asian Buddhist teachers (Metcalf 2002, pp. 348–364). For instance, after Carl Jung’s works on yoga, Daoism and Buddhism were popularized in the West, the encounter between Zen and psychoanalysis initiated by Japanese Zen teacher D.T. Suzuki and psychologist Erich Fromm also drew attention to the therapeutic approach of Buddhism. The teaching of some monks from Tibetan Buddhism, Korean Zen or Japanese Zen in the West in the 1960s formed part of the New Age Movement (Heelas 1996). Nevertheless, Western psychologists and scientists have further secularized Buddhist meditation since the 1980s. Meditation in ‘the East’ has

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been seen as a manifestation of the ‘subjective turn’ and self-reflexivity, in contrast to the materialism and rationalism of ‘the West.’ Nowadays middle-class spiritual seekers from Chinese societies such as Taiwan, Hong Kong and China try to find their ideal meditation teachers by spending time and money in a similar way. From my observation, the trend of Chinese individuals practicing Theravā da meditation has followed a similar way to those international yogis. Ninian Smart (2006) imagines that there will be a ‘coming world civilization’ with common spiritual and moral elements uniting people on the planet. This may embrace the phenomenon of globalized spiritual seeking with the tendency of privatization and selfreflexivity of spiritual experiences. It has led to a reconstruction of the meaning of religion and Buddhism in the contemporary Chinese context.

Notes 1 I refer to Sri Lanka and Myanmar as Ceylon and Burma in the colonial period respectively. 2 For example, Dharmapā la took karma and rebirth to evolution, and causes and conditions (hetupratyaya) to causality in science (McMahan 2017, p. 115). 3 In 1886 the British colonial government forced the last Burmese king to be exiled in India. Ledi (1846–1923) foresaw that Buddhism would not be protected by the state anymore. 4 Over 300,000 were educated with Abhidhamma by Ledi’s efforts between 1903 and 1926 (Braun 2013). 5 Mahā si Sayadw visited several Asian countries for teaching vipassanā meditation. For the spread of Mahā si meditation in Indonesia, see Bond (2003); in Thailand, see Cook (2010); in Nepal, see LeVine and Gellner (2005). 6 Goenka states, ‘Some people take [Vipassanā ] as a religion, a cult, or a dogma, so naturally there is resentment and opposition. But Vipassanā should only be taken as pure science, the science of mind and matter, and a pure exercise for the mind to keep it healthy’ (2002: 31). 7 There are 188 centres and 138 non-centres providing vipassanā meditation courses. See Worldwide directory of Vipassanā Meditation www.dhamma.org/en/locations/directory [Accessed May 8, 2018]. 8 Unlike Sri Lanka and Myanmar, Thailand, which has never been colonized by a Western country, did not experience a similar dramatic Buddhist reform. Nevertheless, anthropologist Tambiah (1984, 1977) argues that the Thai forest tradition, a forest-wandering monastic community that began in the Northeastern provinces of Thailand, was reconstructed in the early twentieth century. It was a lineage started by Ajahn Mun, a well-recognized enlightened person (arahant). With the expansion of the nation-state, the Thai forest tradition has become institutionalized by secular elites. Ajahn Chah, who trained under Mun’s lineage, has attracted many young Western men to join the monastic community in Thailand since the 1960s. His western disciples, particularly Ajahn Sumedho, have formed the largest Theravāda monastic communities in the West since the 1980s. Ajahn Sumedho became the first abbot of Amaravati Monastery, located near London. See the website of Amaravati Monastery https://forestsangha.org/community/monasteries/continents/europe [Accessed May 8, 2018]. 9 See the website of Insight Meditation Society www.dharma.org/ [Accessed May 8, 2018]. 10 See the website of Gaia House https://gaiahouse.co.uk/ [Accessed May 8, 2018]. 11 See the website of Mind & Life Institute www.mindandlife.org/[Accessed May 8, 2018]. 12 See the website of NICE www.nice.org.uk/ [Accessed May 8, 2018]. 13 The abolition of Martial Law in 1987 facilitated political democracy, economic growth, civil society and religious freedom (Madsen 2007). 14 The most famous three transnational Chinese Buddhist organizations are Fo Guang Shan, Tzu Chi and Dharma Drum Mountain (Madsen 2007). 15 Mahasati Meditation in Taiwan www.mahasati.org.tw/home/index.php [Accessed May 8, 2018]. 16 There are now two centers in Taiwan, see website www.tw.dhamma.org/zh-tw/ [Accessed May 8, 2018]. It is estimated that over 60,000 people have attended vipassanā retreats in Taiwan. 17 This free guidebook provides information about different meditation traditions, weather, visa issues, etc. in many Asian countries, including Laos, Cambodia and Indonesia. 18 It is estimated that over ten organizations promote transnational lay meditation, e.g. Luangpor Thong’s teaching is promoted by Mahasati Meditation www.mahasati.org.tw/xoops/index.php [Accessed May 8, 2018]; Pa-Auk’s teaching is promoted by Taiwandipa www.taiwandipa.org.tw/

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19 20

21 22 23 24 25

[Accessed May 8, 2018]; Mahā si’s teaching is promoted by MBSC http://mbscnn.org/NewsList. aspx?CLASS=195 [Accessed May 8, 2018]. See the website of Hong Kong Centre www.mutta.dhamma.org/new/HKVMC_Chi/ HKVMC_Home_Chi.html [Accessed May 8, 2018]. E.g. The Hong Kong Insight Meditation Society www.hkims.org/ [Accessed May 8, 2018]; The Association of Godwin’s Spiritual Friends www.godwin.org.hk/ [Accessed May 8, 2018]; Hong Kong Theravada Meditation Society www.hktheravada.org/enaboutus.asp [Accessed May 8, 2018]. E.g. New Life Psychiatric Rehabilitation Association https://newlife330.hk/ [Accessed May 8, 2018]. See the website of mindfulness programmes in Hong Kong https://mindfulness.hk/en/newest/ [Accessed May 8, 2018]. Chan is a word translated from dhyā na, a Sanskrit term meaning ‘meditation,’ which is the equivalent to the Japanese term Zen. Jack Kornfield visited China in June 2015 https://mp.weixin.qq.com/s/2a8T5XAwSq6bn qi7AA_ilA [Accessed May 8, 2018]. A revised Regulations on Religious Affairs, issued in June 2017, implemented more detailed rules on religious venues and activities. See the website of the State Administration for Religious Affairs of PRC www.sara.gov.cn/old/ztzz/xxdzjswtl/ [Accessed May 8, 2018].

References Basch, L., Schiller, N. C. and Blanc, C. S., 1994. Nations unbound: Transnational migration, postcolonial predicaments, and the deterritorialized nation-state. Langhorne, PA: Gordon and Brench. Birnbaum, R., 2003. Buddhist China at the century’s turn. China Quarterly, 174, 428–450. Bond, G. D., 2003. The Contemporary Lay Meditation Movement and Lay Gurus in Sri Lanka. Religion, 33, 23–55. Braun, E., 2013. The birth of insight: Meditation, modern Buddhism, and the Burmese monk Ledi Sayadaw. Chicago: Univesrity of Chicago Press. Braun, E., 2014. The birth of insight: Meditation, Modern Buddhism, and the Burmese Monk Ledi Sayadaw. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press. Chen, C., 2012. The development and influence of Theravā da Buddhism in Taiwan: A globalization perspective. Taiwanese Sociology, 24, 155–206. Coleman, S. and Eade, J., 2004a. Introduction. In: S. Coleman and J. Eade, eds. Reframing pilgrimage: Cultures in motion. London and New York: Routledge, 1–25. Cook, J., 2010. Meditation in Modern Buddhism: Renunciation and change in Thai Monastic life. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dear, D., 2012. Chinese Yangsheng: Self-help and self-image. Asian Medicine: Tradition and Modernity, 7 (1), 1–33. Dharma Light Monthly. 2000. An interview with Lin Chung-on about learning Buddhism. Dharma Light Monthly, 12, 1–6. www.ss.ncu.edu.tw/~calin/article2008/00.pdf Dharmapā la, A., 1965. Return to righteousness: A collection of speeches, essays and letters of the Anagarika Dharmapala. Colombo: Ministry of Education and Cultural Affairs. Fox, J., 2010. New religious movements. In: J. Hinnells, ed. The Routledge companion to the study of religion. Abingdon: Routledge, 339–353. Goenka, S. N., 2002. Meditation now: Inner peace through inner wisdom. Onalaska, WA: Vipassana Research Institute. Guthrie, D., 2009. China and globalization: The social, economic and political transformation of Chinese society (Revised Edition). Abingdon: Routledge. Hart, W., 1987. The art of living: Vipassana meditation as taught by S. N. Goenka. Mumbai: Embassy Books. Heelas, P., 1996. The New Age Movement: The celebration of the self and the sacralization of modernity. Oxford: Blackwell. Jordt, I., 2007. Burma’s mass lay meditation movement: Buddhism and the cultural construction of power. Athens: Ohio University Press. Juergensmeyer, M., 2012. Global religions, beliefs, and ideologies. In: H. K. Anheier, et al., eds. Encyclopedia of global studies, vol. 2, SAGE Reference, 715, accessed 23 Mar. 2017, http://go.galegroup.com/ps/i.do? p=GVRL&sw=w&u=unilanc&v=2.1&id=GALE%7CCX4183000225&it=r&asid=ce9fc4af23f4e5c58a 8cc18cbcf21b82.

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Kabat-Zinn, J., 2011. Some reflections on the origins of MBSR, skillful means, and the trouble with maps. Contemporary Buddhism, 12 (1), 281–306. Kawanami, H., 2012. Buddhism. In: H. K. Anheier, et al., eds. Encyclopedia of Global Studies, vol. 1, SAGE Reference, 141–145, accessed 23 Mar. 2017, http://go.galegroup.com/ps/i.do?p=GVRL&sw=w&u=u nilanc&v=2.1&id=GALE%7CCX4183000062&it=r&asid=e23427f3edc601e80ed2a956a706e56c. Kivisto, P., 2014. Religion and Immigration. Cambridge: Polity Press. Knott, K., 2010a. Geography, space and the sacred. In: J. Hinnells, ed. The Routledge companion to the study of religion. Abingdon: Routledge, 476–491. Knott, K., 2016. How to study religion. In: L. Woodhead, C. Partridge and H. Kawanami, eds, Religions in the modern world: Traditions and transformations (3rd ed.). New York: Routledge, 15–40. Lau, N. S., 2014. Changing Buddhism in contemporary Chinese societies, with special reference to meditation and secular mindfulness practices in Hong Kong and Taiwan. Thesis (MPhil). University of Oxford. Lau, N. S., 2017a. Desire for self-healing: Lay practice of satipaṭṭhā na in contemporary China. Asian Medicine: Tradition and Modernity, 12 (1–2), 317–335. Lau, N. S., 2018. Modernising Buddhism: Emergence of Theravā da meditation communities in contemporary China. Thesis (PhD). Lancaster University. LeVine, S. and Gellner, D. N., 2005. Rebuilding Buddhism: The Theravā da movement in twentieth century Nepal. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Levitt, P. and Schiller, N. G., 2004. Conceptualizing simultaneity: A transnational social field perspective on society. International Migration Review, 38, 1027. Madsen, R., 2007. Democracy’s Dharma: Religious renaissance and political development in Taiwan. Berkeley: University of California Press. McMahan, D., 2008a. The making of Buddhist modernism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. McMahan, D., 2017. Buddhism and global secularisms. Journal of Global Buddhism, 18, 112–128. Metcalf, F. A., 2002. The encounter of Buddhism and psychology. In: C. S. Prebish and M. Baumann, eds. Westward Dharma: Buddhism beyond Asia. Berkeley: California University Press, 348–364. Metta, B., 2002. A guide to monasteries and meditation centres in Asia [原始佛教道場指南 ]. Tainan: Woyu Publication. Palmer, D., 2007. Qigong fever: Body, science and utopia in China. New York: Columbia University Press. Pritzker, S. E., 2016. New Age with Chinese characteristics? Translating inner child emotion pedagogies in contemporary China. Ethos, 44 (2), 150–170. Prothero, S. R., 1996. The white Buddhist: The Asian odyssey of Henry Steel Olcott Bloomington: Indiana University Press. Rudolph, S. H., 1997. Introduction: Religion, states, and transnational civil society. In: S. H. Rudolph and J. Piscatori, eds. Transnational religion and fading states. Boulder: Westview, 1–24. Schedneck, B., 2015a. Thailand’s international meditation centers: Tourism and the global commodification of religious practices. Abingdon: Routledge. Segal, Z. V., Williams, J. M. G. and Teasdale, J. D., 2012. Mindfulness-Based Cognitive Therapy for Depression (2nd ed.). New York: Guilford. Smart, N. 2006. The global future of religion. In: M. Juergensmeyer, ed. The Oxford handbook of global religion. New York: Oxford University Press, 625–30. Tambiah, S. J., 1984. The Buddhist Saints of the forest and the cult of amulets Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Turner, V. W. and Turner, E. L. B., 1978. Image and pilgrimage in Christian Culture: Anthropological perspectives. New York: Columbia University Press. Tweed, T. A., 1997. Our Lady of the Exile: Diasporic religion at a Catholic Shrine in Miami. New York: Oxford University Press. Vásquez, M. A., 2016. Chapter 15 Religion, globalization and migration. In: L. Woodhead, C. Partridge and H. Kawanami, eds. Religions in the modern world: Traditions and transformations (3rd ed.). New York: Routledge, 431–452. Welch, H., 1967. The practice of Chinese Buddhism 1900–1950. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1967. Williams, J. M. G. and Kabat-Zinn, J., 2013. Mindfulness: Diverse perspectives on its meaning, origins, and multiple applications at the intersection of science and dharma DiverMin. In: J. M. G. Williams and J. Kabat-Zinn, eds. Mindfulness: Diverse perspectives on its meaning, origins and applications. Abingdon: Routledge, 1–17. Wilson, B., 1992. The social dimensions of sectarianism. New York: Oxford University Press.

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Xueyu. 2015. The socialist transformation of Chinese Buddhism [中國佛教的社會主義改造 ]. Hong Kong: The Chinese University of Hong Kong Press, 2015. Ziyan. 2009. The analysis of non-profit publications of Theravā da Buddhism (A). Management for Buddhist Libraries, 50, 15–21.

Five key texts Coleman, S. and Eade, J. eds. 2004b. Reframing pilgrimage: Cultures in motion. London and New York: Routledge. Knott, K., 2010b. Chapter 9 Geography, space and the sacred. In: J. Hinnells, ed. The Routledge companion to the study of religion. Abingdon: Routledge, 476–491. Lau, N. S., 2017b. Desire for self-healing: Lay practice of satipaṭṭhā na in contemporary China. Asian Medicine: Tradition and Modernity, 12(1–2), 317–335. McMahan, D., 2008b. The making of Buddhist modernism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Schedneck, B., 2015b. Thailand’s international meditation centers: Tourism and the global commodification of religious practices. Abingdon: Routledge.

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16 Globalization and asceticism Foreign ascetics on the threshold of Hindu religious orders Daniela Bevilacqua

Introduction Indian ascetics, with their ideals of spirituality and detachment, have captured the Western imagination since the end of the 19th century. While some Indian gurus began to travel internationally to spread their teachings, at that time it was almost impossible for a foreigner to become part of a Hindu traditional religious order (sampradā ya). However, this began to change in the second half of the 20th century, and today not only can foreigners be initiated, but some of them are even able to obtain important religious titles. This chapter focuses on these groups of foreigners as representative of contemporary changes that have come about as a result of the new possibilities of cultural and religious exchange offered by a globalized society, as well as a revolution in travel and communication; changes that have allowed individuals to overcome strict identities connected to the geographical-socialcultural milieu in which they grew up. As pointed out by D. Lehman (2002, p. 346), the interaction of religion and globalization has moved boundaries, bringing different practices to new groups and new settings and creating multifarious identities that crisscross frontiers. This has led to a dialectical process of Westernization of the East and Easternization of the West. Westernization is often explained as occurring ‘largely because the West exercises power over other civilizations, whether the power is military, economic, political, or cultural in nature’ (Campbell 2007 p. 40), and often includes several ideals (like equality and female emancipation for example) that are seen as necessary today for the ‘improvement’ of society. Similarly, the presence of Indian gurus in the West has contributed to interest in the ‘wisdom of the East,’ which has frequently been cast since the 19th century as providing ways to overcome ‘disillusionment with the wisdom of the West’ (Campbell 2007, p. 41). Foreign Hindu ascetics represent a case in which the Easternization of the individual may lead to the Westernization of the chosen Eastern path. This chapter describes some of the trajectories of foreigners who have been initiated into Hindu traditional ascetic orders. First, the dichotomy between Modern Hindu Traditionalism and Neo-Hinduism will be introduced. It will be seen that the ascetics on whom this chapter focuses belong to orders that can be described as part of the former. It

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will then be argued that because of new communication technologies, new politicaleconomic contexts and the presence of foreigners themselves, this form of Hinduism acquires in some contexts features more commonly found in Neo-Hinduism.

Contexts and methods An understanding of contemporary Hinduism can begin by considering the word Hinduism to be an umbrella term under which further classifications are possible. A useful one is that proposed by De Michelis (2004, p. 37), in which Hinduism is divided into Classic Hinduism, Modern Hindu Traditionalism and Neo-Hinduism, thus making clear that various Hinduisms coexist, each characterized by the influences it has received and assimilated, and the changes that it has subsequently undergone. Following De Michelis (2004, p. 37), Classic Hinduism has to be considered as including not only what belongs to the Brahmanic tradition and is testified to in orthodox texts, but also sampradā yas belonging to heterodox streams. It was present in the pre-18th century context, before the advent of British colonial power in India. Subsequently, British presence promoted Westernization and its ‘imported culture,’ which affected ‘traditional ways of life in a noticeable degree’ (De Michelis 2004, p. 38). The influence has in part led to the rise of Modern Hindu Traditionalism and Neo-Hinduism. As already mentioned, this dichotomy is of fundamental importance in understanding the directions that Hinduism has taken in contexts influenced by, and resulting from, globalized circumstances. Using Halbfass’s definitions (1990, pp. 219–220), 19th century Neo-Hinduism and Classical Hinduism are distinguished by ‘the different ways in which they appeal to the tradition, the structures which they employ to interrelate the indigenous and the foreign, and the degree of their receptivity vis-a-vis the West.’ This does not mean, however, that Neo-Hinduism breaks with tradition. Rather, it invokes it ‘to find in it the power and context for its response to the West,’ but as ‘the result of a rupture and discontinuity . . . basic concepts and principles of this tradition have been reinterpreted and provided with new meanings as a result of the encounter with the West’ (Halbfass 1990, pp. 219–220). Other features of Neo-Hinduism include the following: ‘the tendency to give more weight to a new rational reading of the texts, bypassing traditional schools; less allegiance to sampradā yas and gurus; a tendency to regard God as abstract and aniconic; and an emphasis on direct religious experience’ (Sardella 2013, p. 235). The gurus who began to leave India at the end of the 19th century to preach in the West belonged to the wave of Neo-Hinduism and had to communicate with Western audiences unfamiliar with Hindu deities and practices. In doing so, ‘Western values are firstly embraced and then included in a new vision of Hinduism,’ and the transnational diffusion of Hindu-based beliefs and practices ‘implied a process of Westernization, which started even before they crossed Indian frontiers’ (Altglas 2011, p. 234). Neo-Hindu gurus are referred to as ‘modern gurus’ because, following Jaffrelot’s definition (1999, pp. 195–196), they place particular emphasis on ‘individual growth, social concern and religion as a code of conduct for every man to make life a success,’ and because their ‘spiritual practice is based on discourses in English with messages adapted to the urban middle class with whom they often share the same background.’ In an effort to be universal or global, these gurus and their movements were affected by transnational processes, often supporting and promoting ideas that were not those of India’s ancient tradition, but rather those of the counter-cultural milieu (Altglas 2011, p. 237). In the 1960s, young people in Western societies, driven by a desire for rebellion and by the search for unconventional forms of 200

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awareness, became fundamental social agents, open to cultural innovation and ready to reject preconceived historical-cultural heritage (Palmisano and Pannofino 2017, pp. 128–129). In that period, several modern gurus provided a generation of Westerners with various spiritual teachings and practices. For example, Maharishi Mahesh Yogi developed Transcendental Meditation; Swami Muktananda introduced the path of Siddha Yoga; Swami Sivananda founded the Divine Life Society; and Bhaktivedanta Swami founded the International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKON) (Altglas 2007; Khandelwal 2012). Directly or indirectly these gurus encouraged spiritual ‘searchers’ to go to India. Some seekers, however, did not find gurus associated with Neo-Hinduism, but rather found ascetics belonging to sampradā yas representative of Modern Hindu Traditionalism, which appears as a middle path between Classical Hinduism and Neo-Hinduism. Modern Hindu Traditionalism resists ‘the closer contact with the West of Neo-Hindu thought and practice, but also the views of classical Hinduism that were perceived to be outmoded’ (Sardella 2013, p. 236). It preserves an essentially unbroken continuity with the tradition, carrying on what is already present while also making additions and extrapolations. Whereas Neo-Hindu gurus are referred to as ‘modern,’ in this chapter gurus and ascetics representing Modern Hindu Traditionalism are referred to as ‘traditional.’ A fundamental difference between Neo-Hinduism and Modern Hindu Traditionalism concerns the idea of Sanā tana Dharma, a label with which in the 19th century Hindus began to refer to their eternal or universal religion. Modern Hindu Traditionalism considers Sanā tana Dharma to be ‘a pure interpretation of Hinduism, drawn from a plurality of texts, inclusive of the Vedas, Puranas, Upanishads and Tantras,’ and therefore it supports the presence of the various sampradā yas with their diverse approaches, rites and ceremonies (Kasturi 2010, p. 123). NeoHinduism, on the other hand, aims for a unified Hindu religion rather than the plurality of the sampradā yas. Indian traditional asceticism has indeed been characterized by various orders, groups and subgroups whose members follow sā dhanā s (religious disciplines) that vary with respect to the importance given to devotional practice, to the outside world and to the body as a means of liberation. The foreigners dealt with in this chapter belong to some of the sampradā yas that today are representative of Modern Hindu Traditionalism and in which asceticism demands the renunciation (saṃnyā sa, virakt) of social life. Many of these sampradā yas have historically upheld caste hierarchies and not admitted lower castes or women, who in any case often face strong opposition from their families and society to a path of asceticism. Such a path is not considered appropriate for women since it takes them beyond the boundaries of a safe, normal, social life (Bevilacqua 2017). Traditional asceticism, however, is not a rigid structure: its history shows that constant adaptation has allowed ascetic traditions to survive, transforming themselves in the wake of wider social and religious changes (Bevilacqua 2018, pp. 13–15). The presence of foreigners, both male and female, in these orders today is an example of this adaptation and is in itself a remarkable change. Nevertheless, scholarship on foreign ascetics in traditional sampradā yas is still a relatively inchoate field, apart from a handful of monographs (Allop 2000; Tillis 2004), autobiographies (Swami Agehanenda 1961; Rampuri 2005), articles (Khandelwal 2007, 2012) and references to foreign ascetics in more general publications on asceticism (Hausner 2007). During my own fieldwork among sā dhus in India, however, I met a number of such foreigners and collected information from informal conversations with them, both in India and abroad. I also collected information while talking with Indian sā dhus and collected data from websites and Facebook pages managed by foreign ascetics. Although the number of individuals presented is limited to 16, their ages (from 24 to 70 years old), origins (Europe 201

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and the Americas) and social backgrounds mean that they constitute a diverse sample that can provide valuable insights and the basis for an analytical framework. Although there are no numerical data available, my experience at religious melā s (fairs) suggests that the majority of foreigners have joined traditional Ś aiva orders, rather than Vaisṇ ̣ava groups. Clearly, I do not consider here foreigners belonging to modern Vaisṇ ̣ava groups which nevertheless claim a more ancient lineage, such as the ISKON which was founded in 1966. In addition, the sample illustrates ways in which the relationship between traditional ascetics and foreigners changed between the 1970s and the present, allowing us to catch glimpses of wider transformations within Hindu asceticism.

Foreigners on the path of Hindu traditional asceticism At the beginning of the 20th century, while modern gurus began to initiate foreigners in the West—Swami Vivekananda, for example, initiated two ascetics in New York, a middle-aged Russian Jew known as Swami Kripananda and an elderly American lady of French extraction known as Swami Abhayananda (Sil 1997, p. 163)—Hindu traditional orders in India kept their doors closed to them. According to Brahmanic sources, not all castes can undertake the ascetic path and many, as already noted, do not include lower castes or women. Foreigners were considered outcastes and by definition ineligible. Swami Agehananda Bharti, who was born in Vienna in 1923, reports in his autobiography that in the 1940s he had to be initiated by an Indian guru who belonged to a Neo-Hindu sect because, ‘according to the 90 per cent of orthodox Hindu opinion, anything of this sort is impossible—you have to be born a Hindu’ (1961, p. 46). Foreigners began slowly to be admitted into those orders, however, which have a history of accepting low-caste disciples, such as the Nā gā section of the Daś nā mı̄ sampradā ya, the Udā sı̄ n akhā rā ̣ and the Nā th and Rā mā nandı̄ sampradā yas. Nā gā s are the naked saṃnyā sins (ascetics) traditionally grouped in regiments—called akhā rā ̣ —that form the army of the Daś nā mı̄ sampradā ya (see Clark 2006). As suggested by Gross (1992, p. 73). These akhā rā ̣ s had allowed entry to landless peasants and the urban unemployed, who were then able to acquire an ‘identity, a sense of security and a potential for accumulation of wealth.’ The Udā sı̄ n akhā rā ̣ , on the other hand, probably inherited its openness from Sikhism, to which it was initially connected. The lineages of the Nā th sampradā ya, an order traditionally associated with the practice of haṭha yoga, also do not discriminate between castes and in the Rā mā nandı̄ sampradā ya the ascetic path is allowed to anybody regardless of gender, caste or religion. Rā mā nandı̄ ascetics are usually called vairā gı̄ s and the order has a history of admitting disciples from low castes (see Bevilacqua 2018). Despite these examples of open recruitment, the first generation of foreign sā dhus had nonetheless to struggle to be admitted to ascetic orders when they arrived in India in the 1970s. R. Purı̄ , who was born in the United States, faced much opposition to his initiation into the Jūnā akhā rā ̣ —one of the seven akhā rā ̣ s which are part of the Daś anā mı̄ sampradā ya— and several sā dhus disagreed with it because as a non-Indian he had no gotra (clan) and therefore he could not be given a janeu, the sacred thread received by the three higher castes (Brahmans, Ksatriyas and Vaiś yas) during the ceremony of upanayana, which marks a second ̣ social and ritual birth and eligibility to study the Vedic texts. He was finally initiated when, like other persistent foreigners elsewhere in India, he found an individual guru who was willing to give him a chance and who appreciated his commitment to the austere, ascetic lifestyle. The fact that this lifestyle could also be seen as ‘alternative’ satisfied the specific ideals of those first seekers who reached India on the wave of the counterculture movements (see 202

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Campbell 2007, p. 14). For example, S. Dā s and G. Bā bā reached India in the 1970s after leaving their countries (Italy and Canada respectively) as a sign of protest against Western political systems. India represented for them, on the other hand, a place where individuals could be themselves and where jobless and wandering ascetics were supported and respected. S. Dā s met his Udā sı̄ n guru by chance and was taught some yoga, meditation, mantras and the daily rituals. G. Bā bā did not reveal his affiliation to me. Another foreign ascetic, I. Nā th, arrived in India when he was only 14 years old and initially began to wander with ascetics. Later he met the man who was to become his guru and remained with him. At that time, being initiated into these orders meant first spending months with the guru, following him in his pilgrimages and wandering, often in very hard conditions. As J. Dā s from the UK told me, meeting with the guru over the years was uncertain, depending to a certain extent on chance, since there were no mobile phones or sophisticated communication methods at the time and often the meeting point was given according to religious festivals happening in this or that holy city. Foreign disciples were not given any special treatment or rights, and it was the foreigner who had to adapt to the situation if he wanted to be part of the order. Exemplary is the story narrated by the disciples of D. Girı̄ , who was originally from Italy and was a saṃnyā sin of the Ā vā han akhā rā ̣ who seriously followed the ascetic path and spent a lot of time in India with his guru before returning to Italy. Later he changed his affiliation because his akhā rā ̣ did not want to recognize the disciples that he had initiated abroad. After a protracted dispute, however, he eventually had his 100 disciples accepted by the Jū nā akhā rā ̣ . Today the situation is different, with many gurus more than willing to accept foreign ascetics and an increasing number of foreigners ready to become initiated into traditional orders. To understand this new situation, we have to look at the Indian and global socioeconomic context since the 1990s.

Changes in the ascetic world Political powers and wealthy individuals have always supported ascetics and religious centers. By the 1990s, the national policy of economic liberalization opened up India’s markets to the world and businesses began to operate in a more competitive global economy (Fuller and Harris 2001). In the same period the political religious nationalism of the Bhartiya Janata Party (BJP) and the continuous propaganda of religious and cultural associations such as the Vishwa Hindu Parishad (VHP) and the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS) transformed the public sphere, which became increasingly religious in tenor with Hindus more assertive about celebrating their religion and identity in direct opposition to Muslims and Christians (Fuller and Harris 2005, p. 227). As argued by Nanda (2009, p. 144), indeed, ‘economic globalization and neo-liberal reforms have created the material and ideological conditions’ that enabled Hindu religiosity to grow. The support of the state became ‘a channel for pumping taxpayers’ money into promoting temples, ashrams, and pilgrimage spots,’ making Hinduism a ‘rapidly growing and lucrative market’ (Nanda 2009, p. 109). Thus, a threesided partnership between the secular state, temples, and corporate interests was created: [t]he government provides land either as a gift or at a throwaway price for temples’ investments in schools, universities, hospitals, and other charities . . . At this stage, industrialists and business houses step in: they make donations to build and sustain these religious institutions headed by the holy man/guru they may happen to revere. (Nanda 2009, p. 114) 203

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Many wealthy people direct their devotion towards modern gurus, but many continue to support more traditional ones because the connection with a specific traditional sampradā ya responds to a demand for authenticity and religious authority by the faithful. The amount of money that flows into the religious world is far more than in the past, and with it has come greater participation of lay people in the activities of religious centers as well as increased numbers of lay people in the company of ascetics. As a Rā mā nandı̄ sā dhu told me, up to a few decades ago religious gatherings were attended mostly by sā dhus: there was not the huge participation of lay people that occurs today. The organization of religious festivals has at the same time come under the control of politicians, transforming such festivals into tourist attractions for both Indians and foreigners. Today ascetics can rely not only on larger numbers of supporters coming from the middle and upper classes of society but also on supporters from abroad. The roads to the East are, indeed, more accessible. According to M. Nanda (2009, p. 16): The creation of trans-planetary communication networks in the last thirty years or so is something radically new . . . another dimension of space—‘super-territorial space,’ or space that is not linked to any specific physical territory on the map—has become widely available for carrying out all kind of activities. New transnational religious networks are emerging ‘as globalization disembeds religions from their historic homelands and scatters them around the world’ (Nanda 2009, p. 172). This means that a single individual can now remain in a temple or small religious setting but, because of new technologies, is able to reach any corner of the globe and have the opportunity to become globally famous and attract followers. As stressed by Nanda (Nanda 2009, p. 14), for the first time in human history, it has become technologically feasible for ordinary people, using everyday, household gadgets, to communicate across oceans almost as easily as it is to talk to their neighbor across the street. Even those who lack the resources and the opportunities are becoming aware of the possibilities. In recent years, the Internet and then social media like Facebook and WhatsApp have provided an interesting window on the life of sā dhus and been a factor in the increased interaction between ascetics and the wider society. Lay people donate to ascetics not only money but also material things (such as laptops, mobile phones, and even motorized vehicles) that are changing their lifestyle. As well, many ā ś rams are today becoming so predisposed to hosting lay people that they have the comforts of guesthouses, with amenities such as hot water and flushing toilets. This situation is well accepted by many ascetics because the more disciples and followers they have, the more political or charismatic power their order will have as well. At the same time, wealthy devotees can support their guru to achieve higher status. While making a donation or giving a daksiṇ ̣ā after receiving a religious title has been quite a normal procedure, the possibility of making a payment before entering a religious order or getting a title has now opened up. Lay Indian people may support their gurus by purchasing titles in this way, and foreigners do it as well. That is why there are now more and more sā dhus who search for foreigners (especially during religious gatherings), knowing that some will also pay a lot of money to be initiated or to skip some steps of the training. Such sā dhus may also have in mind the increased recognition they could obtain through the foreigners and the likelihood that 204

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foreigners will return to their countries of origin, only to come back to India with more money and perhaps friends. Furthermore, some sā dhus see foreigners as their ticket for flying abroad, an interest that is quite common among the new generations of sā dhus. Several young ascetics disclosed to me that after having traveled far and wide in India, they now wanted the opportunity to travel abroad and see the world. But to accomplish this, they know they need not only the economic support of devotees but also letters from individuals in other countries to assist with getting visas. This openness to foreigners is clearly not always or only based on utilitarian motives, and some ascetics, as already noted, can be genuinely curious about foreigners and prepared to accept them as disciples. For example, in her study of the Nā th sampradā ya, Bouillier (2008, p. 280) argues that today’s monasteries show a less sectarian attitude and are open to those who want to apply a more individual approach to the tradition of the order. There is also an interest among some gurus and ascetics in new approaches that can better satisfy the religious quest of a wider society that now spills far beyond the geographical borders of India, and one in which requests (for example, for ceremonies, initiations or visualization of Gods and Goddesses) can come from all over the world. For similar reasons, some gurus and ascetics adapt their religious methods according to the new interests of followers and supporters, and ascetics belonging to traditional sampradā yas, for example, often give foreigners a very simplified idea of Hinduism, closer in fact to Neo-Hinduism. They may also use ‘New Age’ concepts that they themselves have learned from other foreigners or the Internet. This chapter will now further illuminate these changes in ‘the ascetic world’ by examining more closely the place of foreigners in traditional religious orders in recent decades, and attitudes towards those foreigners.

Foreigners on the threshold of ascetic lives Newer generations of foreigners often approach Hindu philosophies being moved first by the practices—yoga, chanting and meditation—which are seen as instruments through which to fight today’s materialism, bureaucratization and consumerism (Altglas 2008). Since the end of the 19th century, modern Indian gurus have ‘used’ yoga—or better a transnational version of it—as a means by which to represent Indian spirituality and attract a Western audience (Strauss 2005; Singleton 2010). Since yoga became a globalized practice, yoga groups with religious connotations have sparked interest in gurus and traditional orders connected with yoga practice, such as the Nā th sampradā ya. This happened in the case of M. Nā th, an accomplished guru of Russian origin who went to India in search of Nā th yogis to deepen his knowledge of yoga. Later he became a world-famous teacher and today he has about 100 students in various countries (such as Israel, Latvia, Spain and the United States) through which he spreads the sampradā ya’s teaching of yoga and the Nā th tradition. On the same path is S. Nā th who runs a yoga school in the Czech Republic. At the same time, there are individuals who reached India without a precise plan, in search of answers to their imprecise questions but who decided to take initiation and remain in India after having ‘mystical’ experiences. For example, Austrian C. Dā s had a ‘spiritual awakening’ while collecting ś aligrams (holy stones dedicated to the god Visṇ ̣u), and in 2008 became initiated into the Rā mā nandı̄ sampradā ya. She now lives a retired life with her guru in Uttar Pradesh. M. Nā th, from Italy, went to India after he dreamed several times that Lord Krṣ ṇ ̣a was suggesting he should find his path there. Eventually he was initiated into the Nā th sampradā ya. 205

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Foreigners may become sā dhus for a number of other reasons. One is the appeal of belonging to an ‘exotic’ sect, while others may be attracted to the charisma to be gained by becoming a guru. It is not rare, in fact, for ‘successful’ foreign ascetics to become gurus, with followers all around the world through social media. ‘Old’ foreign ascetics can drive new generations towards Hindu asceticism and people initiated between the 1970s and 1990s became bridges from their own country to India. Many created in their countries a path for those who might be called ‘sā dhus at a distance,’ which is to say sā dhus who were not initiated in India and follow their religious discipline abroad. When I asked H. Girı̄ , an Italian saṃnyā sin, why so many young foreigners were attracted to Indian ascetics and spirituality, he replied: But because of drugs. You meet a guru, or a guru calls you to sit with him and share a chillum. Then you start enjoying the smoking. And that is the main practice initially. But then the guru gives you also some teachings, and if you are interested you continue and dig into Indian spirituality. This consideration was true for most of the foreign ascetics I met: their first encounter with Indian spirituality was with its chillums and only later came its theories, or in some cases a Westernized version of its theories. The Easternization of some individuals, indeed, leads at times to a Westernization of traditional asceticism or simply an adaptation of it according to the particular people involved. Either can result for them in lives lived on a kind of threshold. The concept of ‘threshold’ here is similar to that of liminality defined by Turner (1967, pp. 95–98) as a state of being ‘betwixt and between’ in which liminal people ‘are necessarily ambiguous,’ since their conditions ‘elude or slip through the network of classifications that normally locate states and positions in cultural space,’ and they become therefore outside ‘the’ single, accepted social reality. Since the term liminality has been amply used and developed (see Thomassen 2009), I prefer to use ‘threshold’ to describe the position of foreign ascetics. The threshold represents a doorsill, an intermediate, in-between place that potentially allows entry to a space, but at the same time can represent a limit if this entrance is not completely actualized. The threshold can become a place in which innovations occur because it is where two realities (in the current case ‘Eastern’ and ‘Western’) meet. Below, I discuss the various ways in which this threshold manifests. A first aspect of the threshold manifests in the confrontation of foreign ascetics with Indian society. Indian ascetics also confront society, of course, and occupy a threshold in which they are supported by it without being part of it. At the same time, however, they are a familiar sight and the position of the renouncer is generally accepted. However, the presence of foreigners among ascetics always arouses a particular curiosity: during religious gatherings Indian people very often stop in front of camps where foreign ascetics sit or smoke, simply to take photographs. To the general Indian population, it seems that, despite having taken a dı̄ ksā ̣ and being theoretically as respected as Indian ascetics, a foreigner in India is perceived first of all as a foreigner. Foreign ascetics also live on the threshold of their society of origin, a threshold made more precarious by the fact that to many they represent a very unusual religiosity, perhaps between the exotic and the bizarre. Therefore, it can be very difficult to live off alms, as ascetics do in India, while at the same time following a religious discipline. An example is given by D. Girı̄ : when he is in Italy he stays in his temple, which is in a very remote place, and spends his time alone, doing his practices. Since he has only a few supporters who can 206

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take care of his expenses, however, he often finds it difficult to travel to India. To overcome this problem, he is sometimes obliged to work, even though that is not normally permitted by his order, and on rare occasions he organizes small yoga training sessions that attract a few curious Italians. A second aspect of the threshold is a ‘cultural’ one, arising because foreigners do not always understand or accept the norms of the new Indian society they enter. When abroadformed-sā dhus go to India to immerse themselves in their ‘religious tradition’ they find that the ‘theory’ they have learned does not always correspond to the realities in India. The Italian J. Girı̄ was initiated in Italy in 1995 when he was just 17 years old and went to India only twice. In Ujjain, he was quite confused about his sā dhanā and was scolded by his brethren because he could not easily sit with crossed legs on the floor, revealing an absence of daily practice. However, this aspect of the threshold is also felt by older ascetics, who got initiated in India but are no longer integrated into their religious order. They are following a path they decided upon when they were young and are somehow ‘stuck’ in their ascetic life. For example, neither S. Dā s nor G. Bā bā lives in an ā śram of their ascetic order, although both have connections with various pilgrimage centers in India. They now spend most of their time with other foreigners they meet in India and who often become their source of support. Money for daily survival, or how to earn it when not in India, is a major problem. Interestingly, Khandelwal (2012, p. 215) provides similar examples of foreigners ‘stuck’ in Rishikesh. These conditions often lead to lives on the edge of multiple identities: several foreign ascetics are on the threshold between an ascetic life and a kind of lay-life in ascetic garb. Without a full awareness of what an ascetic life really entails—or, sometimes, despite knowing what it entails—they prefer to adjust it according to their own needs and according to life events. A particularly revealing aspect of a lay-life in ascetic garb is the fact that many foreign ascetics, despite taking saṃnyā sa, have relationships with women. This is the case, for example, of R. Purı̄ : during religious gatherings he seems a well-integrated sā dhu, but most of the time he lives in Goa with a partner in his ā śram, where he gives teachings and organizes yoga retreats. S. Dā s as well was in a relationship for 18 years. Despite his order being a celibate one, he said that the decision is up to the individual and that his guru taught him so. However, according to his ascetic brethren, this is absolutely untrue and demonstrates his unreliability, meaning that he is an ascetic only by clothing. J. Girı̄ has also been criticized for his relationship with women, but like S. Dā s he said that his guru taught him that celibacy is not necessary because the intention in the sā dhanā is more important. This is an issue that also affects Indian sā dhus, who by rule are celibate, but if a ‘simple’ sā dhu is discovered to have a partner, he is likely to be expelled from the order unless he is very influential or has only a religious relationship with his partner. This is not the case with foreigners. It would seem, then, that Indian gurus are not particularly strict when it comes to foreigners. Low expectations and inconsistent behaviors towards them are often present, and this indicates a fourth aspect of the threshold in regard to the teachings they can get. There is sometimes a kind of cultural indifference and diffidence towards a non-Indian individual that becomes a lack of transparency and incompleteness of information. Some Indian ascetics have suggested to me that Indian gurus limit their teachings because they do not consider foreigners completely worthy: despite all, they are the result of a ‘karma’ which made them grow up outside India. Other Indian ascetics might limit their teachings because they interpret the fact that many foreigners do not follow the rules as proof of their lack of a serious commitment to the sā dhanā . The comment I received most often about foreign 207

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ascetics was that they are sā dhu manoranjan ke liye, sā dhus for amusement, although at the same time there are some foreign ascetics who are obviously committed to the practice and are therefore held in high esteem. Khandelwal (2012, p. 217) reported that, according to a Swami she met, although: [t]here are some [foreigners] who genuinely wanted to take sannyasa . . . the majority wanted orange robes for their personal vanity . . . to go back to the West and pose as swamis without any qualification whatsoever and then to make disciples. Consequently, foreign ascetics who live abroad are accepted to a degree but are also considered with suspicion, because they can appear and disappear from the sampradā ya and because—as a sā dhu told me—‘what they do once they are back is out of our jurisdiction.’ Some foreign ascetics seem to spread teachings more similar to Neo-Hindu movements than the teachings of their own religious orders. As we have seen, indeed, Neo-Hindu movements aim to spread a universal message that detaches ‘Hindu practices and beliefs from their specific cultural, national, and religious roots’ (Altglas 2010, p. 240). Following an approach of ‘religious appropriation’ (Tomlinson 1999, p. 84), they often make a process of selection, adaptation and interpretation of the teachings that they have learned, often simplifying them. This appropriation can also lead to adaptation of the sampradā ya’s rules to make them more suited to social realities outside India. For example, the Russian-born M. Nā th took the permission of his guru to initiate foreigners, and today his community of followers is quite spread out. In the Nā th sampradā ya there are two stages of initiation (dı̄ ksā ̣ ): the first is the aughar dı̄ ksā ̣ , which refers usually to the training time, while the second is called darśanı̄ and refers to the full accomplishment of the teachings (see Bouillier 2017). M. Nath claims, however, that an aughar, or individual who has received the first initiation, can decide whether to live as a householder or an ascetic. This represents an important variation because in the Nā th sampradā ya in India an aughar is necessarily a renouncer and cannot maintain the previous social life style. Furthermore, M. Nā th is also giving initiation to women, something that a male guru is not allowed to do in India: generally, a woman should be initiated by another woman. Gender indeed represents a final aspect of the threshold for female foreign ascetics. In the male-dominated ascetic world, as already noted, the traditional ascetic path is usually very arduous for Indian women, which is a reason why only a few groups have a female section (Bevilacqua 2017). However, Vijaya Ramaswami (1997) and Ursula King (1984) suggest that renunciation has become more, not less, accessible to women over the last century, with an increasing number of modern female gurus (who can often be considered to be in the NeoHinduism streams) and female ascetics as well. According to Amanda Lucia (2014, p. 16), there are two reasons that have caused female ascetics to appear more frequently in modern politics, social movements and academic publications: first, ‘the intellectual tides instigated by the political impulses of subaltern studies and feminism have brought forth a generation of anthropologists and scholars of religion who have actively sought out women’s narratives of renunciation’; and second, ‘Westernization and globalization have introduced the rapid transformation of modern Indian society in the twentieth and twenty-first centuries’ therefore ‘these modern forces challenge the primacy of Brahmanical exclusions of women and have created new cultural spaces for a multiplicity of voices occupying positions of religious exemplars.’ Likely because of these modern forces, female foreigners have been more readily accepted in the ascetic path. Although many are involved in the practice of sevā (service) and belong 208

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to ā śrams that run schools and hospitals, several distinguish themselves by their more austere practices. For example, a Japanese sā dhvı̄ called Keiko Mā tā was allowed to practice austere and rigorous training at altitudes between 5,000 and 6,000 meters in the Himalayas with Hari Bā bā and under the guidance of Pilot Bā bā , a sā dhu from the Jū nā akhā rā ̣ . Keiko Mā tā and Svā mı̄ Ānand Lila Girı̄ , a Russian sā dhvı̄ , were bestowed with the title of mahā man ̣d ̣aleśvara (spiritual guardianship and Superior of a religious district), one of the highest titles of the Hindu religious hierarchies which had been given to hardly any sā dhvı̄ s in the past, indicating therefore a meaningful change. Female foreigners, however, sometimes are unaware of the etiquette that should be followed with male ascetics and this leads at the very least to misunderstandings. There are also cases of misbehavior on the part of Indian ascetics who apply certain ideas about foreign women (such as that they are open-minded and sexually available) to foreign sā dhvı̄ s, and several cases of sexual harassment and rape of foreign female ascetics have been reported. However, I have also heard many stories of young sā dhus who were completely captivated by Western female disciples and ended up marrying them and leaving India to start lives as householders.

Conclusion Globalization has created a favorable background for the circulation of people and ideas. According to Tsing (2000, p. 336), circulation is a central theme of globalization: ‘Many things are said to circulate, ranging from people to money; cultures to information . . . circulation is thus tapped for the endorsement of multicultural enrichment, freedom, mobility, communication, and creative hybridity.’ The circulation of ideas and cultures through new media, and the circulation of people due to new means of transport, have created ‘new opportunities for the global transmission of religion’ so that religious leaders can ‘communicate easily the universal ideas of transnational religions to their expanding communities worldwide’ (Juergensmeyer 2006, p. 9). In this chapter we have seen the circulation of traditional Hindu asceticism, and that the increased presence of foreigners in traditional orders has been driven by a new socioeconomic, political and religious context in India, one that derives from globalization. Although the attention of scholars is often on modern gurus because of their international appeal, this chapter has focused on traditional gurus and orders. These gurus, who represent what we have defined as Modern Hindu Traditionalism, are often considered as social leaders thanks to their traditionally legitimized authority. However, they often maintain this authority thanks to a predisposition to ‘evolve’ their role according to changed social conditions, crossing domains and therefore extending their range of action. The inclusion of foreigners as disciples can be seen as part of attempts by ancient sampradā yas to modernize and indeed their traditions survive because they are in a constant state of evolution. The presence of foreigners may indeed be a catalyst for this evolution, because it creates conditions in which the needs of the Other (a foreigner) are very obvious and require immediate answers. Foreign ascetics, therefore, have begun to occupy a place in the evolution of Modern Hindu Traditionalism. We have seen that they approach and live Hindu asceticism in various ways, interpreting and including it in their lives according to their needs. As disciples of traditional gurus, they can support their masters, helping them to manage relationships in India and abroad through sophisticated social media and expanding their area of influence or power. As gurus themselves, they can spread the teachings of their religious orders beyond 209

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the boundaries of India also adapting those teachings and thus ‘glocalizing’ Modern Hindu Traditionalism: creating it in different shapes in different geographic areas, but coexisting with a ‘universal’ shape (Robertson 2003). In so doing, they sometimes approach NeoHinduism, and we have also seen a Neo-Hindu influence in the ways Indian sā dhus interact with foreigners. It is clear that both Modern Hindu Traditionalism and Neo-Hinduism are rapidly changing, influenced by both tradition and modernity, in order to satisfy the religious questing not only of a multifarious Indian society but now numbers of foreigners as well.

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King, U., 1984. The Effect of Social Change on Religious Self-Understanding: Women Ascetics in Modern Hinduism. In: K. Ballhatchet and D. Taylor, eds. Changing South Asia. Hong Kong: Asian Research Service, 69–83. Lehman, D., 2002. Religion and globalization. In: L. Woodhead, P. Fletcher, and H. Kawanami, eds., Religions in the Modern World: Traditions and Transformations. London: Routledge, 299–315. Lehmann, D., 2003. Religion and Globalization. In: C. Partridge, L. Woodhead and H. Kawanami, eds. Religions in the Modern World: Traditions and Transformations. London: Routledge, 408–428. Lucia, A., 2014. Reflections on Amma: Devotees in a Global Embrace. Berkeley: University of California Press. Nanda, M., 2009. The God Market. How Globalization Is Making India More Hindu. Noida and London: Random House Publishers. Palmisano, S. and Pannofino, N., 2017. The Emergent Tradition of the New Spirituality. In: S. D. Mills, ed. Religion: Past, Present and Future Perspectives. New York: Nova Science Publishers, 123–148. Ramaswami, V., 1997. Walking Naked: Women, Society, Spirituality in South India. Shimla: Indian Institute of Advanced Study. Rampuri, B., 2005. BABA: Autobiography of a Blue-Eyed Yogi Sadhu. New York: Bell Tower. Robertson, R., 2003. Globalisation or Glocalisation? In: R. Robertson and K. White, eds. Globalization: Critical Concepts in Sociology. Vol. 3. London: Routledge, 31–51. Sardella, F., 2013. Modern Hindu Personalism, the History, Life, and Thought of Bhaktisiddhanta Sarasvati. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Sil, N. P., 1997. Swami Vivekananda: A Reassessment. Selinsgrove: Susquehanna University. Singleton, M., 2010. Yoga Body. The Origin of Modern Western Practice. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Strauss, S., 2005. Positioning Yoga. Balancing Acts Across Cultures. New York: Berg Publishers. Thomassen, B., 2009. The Uses and Meanings of Liminality. International Political Anthropology, 2 (1), 5–28. Tillis, M., 2004. New Lives, 50 Westerners Search for Themselves in Sacred India. Varanasi: Indica. Tomlinson, J., 1999. Globalization and Culture. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Tsing, A., Aug 2000. The Global Situation. Cultural Anthropology, 15 (3), 327–360. Turner, V., 1967. The Ritual Process, Structure and Anti-Structure. New York: Cornell University Press.

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17 Maya revival movements Between transnationality and authenticity Manéli Farahmand

Introduction In a public conference on ‘The Maya calendar,’ Ian Xel Lugold, a Californian author with connections to New Age circles, was asked by a member of the audience how Mayas came to devise their calendar. His responded as follows: We do not precisely know. They have their own legends. The legends are all we actually know about it. Their legends tell that a person, or a god, named Itzamma, came down to the Maya people and delivered information about language, writing, mathematics and the calendar. So, they received this information as a gift. Where Itzamma came from, and where he went, we do not really know. And frankly, it is none of our business to know where they got it. It is much more important what we do with this information now. (Ian Xel Lungold, ‘The Mayan Calendar. The Evolution Continues’. YouTube, accessed on April 12, 2019—part 9, 3 min.) Lugold’s answer reveals how pragmatism rules as concerns matters of authenticity and religious authority, a characteristic that is widespread among Westerners interested in ‘Mayan spiritualities.’ This pragmatic logic involves ‘considering real what they perceive to be useful’ (Champion 2004, p. 70) and is a central aspect of what Véronique Altglas calls ‘religious exoticism’ (Altglas 2014), which she defines as a way of constructing and idealizing otherness, and taming it through forms of decontextualization and romanticization (Altglas 2014, p. 24). Such processes are at work in the various contests about religious authenticity within the transnational circulation of actors, values, practices, imaginaries and symbols that characterize whole strands of the New Age nebula, enhancing hybridization. Connections between so-called New Age spiritualities and ethnic ‘cosmovisions’ have been particularly fertile since the 1990s, for example in the production of transnationalized imaginaries surrounding the December 2012 phenomenon in neo-mayanists publications. The millenarian approach of ‘2012’ flourished in Californian circles close to the New Age (Mayer 2014). The term cosmovision refers to an understanding of the world centered on the interrelationship between human beings, nature and

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the cosmos (Galinier and Molinié 2006, p. 23; Macleod 2013), and which is said to be typical of the Indigenous people of Latin America. These authors reported having visited different archaeological sites in Central America in order to decode the ‘Long Count’ of the Mayas, a pre-Hispanic calculating system made up of 13 cycles also known as b’ak’tun, with each of these cycles corresponding to approximately 394 years (Sitler 2006). The date ‘21.12.12’ was believed to mark the end of the 13th cycle and the beginning of a ‘period of greater human enlightenment’ (Sitler 2006, p. 26, cited from Argüelles 1987). Mexican-American neo-Mayan authors like José Argüelles see ancient Maya civilization as ‘carrying a primordial message for the spiritual evolution of the planet’ and considered this date to be ‘an important step’ in the harmonization of the relationship between humans, nature and the cosmos (Bastos, Engel, and Marcelo 2013, p. 315). In his book The Mayan Factor (1987), Argüelles wrote that Mayan identity was not confined to ethnicity and thus accessible to everyone, thereby universalizing the significance of the 21.12.12 date. In his account, remarkable historical figures such as Plato, Pythagoras, Goethe and Jung had all been ‘Mayas,’ and thus carriers of a perennial brand of Mayan wisdom. Argüelles was one of the first neo-Mayanists of the 2012 Phenomenon to have disseminated the vision of a mythical, decontextualized and universal Mayan wisdom and identity, and his writings inspired an entire generation of non-Indigenous neo-Mayas. The aim of the chapter is to show how ‘indigeneity’ has been reinterpreted and reappropriated within a contemporary transnational context. This will help to highlight the recent emergence of so-called ‘neo-ethnic’ hybrid traditions and identities of which neoMayanity is only one example, in relation to issues such as authenticity and the symbolic quest for legitimacy. My argument draws from the results of a multi-sited research project among transnational neo-Mayan circles, extending from the Americas to Europe. I argue that neo-Indigenous performativities represent new ways of doing religion in which complex processes and claims of belonging, expression, identity and authenticity are at work.

Varieties of Mayanity Transnational religious dynamics have profoundly transformed the territories of ethnic identities in Central America. Following James MacKenzie (2017), one can distinguish between three types of competing identities. • •

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First, there are traditionalist types of syncretic cosmovisions (costumbristas), which are found mainly in territorialized Indigenous communities, and are centred around the cult of Catholic saints. Second, forms of Mayan revivalism, such as that heralded by activists from urbanized and middle-class ‘Maya’ movements. This has been a widespread trend in Guatemala since the 1990s, for instance. MacKenzie refers to this type in terms of ‘Maya Spirituality,’ stressing how its proponents often seek to purify pre-Colombian Mayan beliefs and practices from Catholic influences (MacKenzie 2017, p. 359). Finally, the range of New Age neo-ethnic ‘spiritualities’ (e.g. neo-Indian, neo-Aztec, neo-Mayan and neo-Incan) which are born out of transnational dynamics and which combine New Age references and claims regarding ‘Indigenous Spiritualities.’

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The present chapter focuses on the third and last type comprised of people who adhere to neo-ethnic ‘spiritualities’ and consider themselves ‘Indigenous at heart’ or by ‘reincarnation.’ I call the latter neo-Mayan, who are part of a more widespread, de-territorialized and globalized movement for which New Age and tropes of self-realization provide the grammar as well as the format. Towards the end of the 20th century, in the absence of historical facts supporting the belief in the coming of the ‘New Paradigm of Aquarius,’ some scholars questioned whether New Age understood as a ‘new religious movement’ would fade out. Scholars have hinted at an important change within New Age, which has diffracted into innumerable networks of ‘alternative’ therapies based on individual transformation and well-being (Champion 1995). Authors have therefore talked about the shift towards a sort of ‘post-New Age’ or ‘Next Age’ (Mayer 2014, p. 8 cited from Hanegraaff 1996; Introvigne 2001; Melton 2007). Using the example of neoMayanity, this chapter seeks to illustrate the current extension of New Age through new and transnationalized processes which are reshaping ethnic identities. The 2012 Phenomenon has played a major role in this respect, and deserves our attention. It is helpful to distinguish between Mayanity and neo-Mayanity. Neo-Mayanity can be defined as the most recent transnationalized and spiritualized form of self-identification with the Maya which do not require ethno-linguistic anchoring. Mayanity, on the other hand, retains a relation with Mayan cultures and a form or another of direct historical heritage. A historian of Mayan civilizations, Mercedes de la Garza, defines Mayanity as the property of a series of communities which inhabit several regions of present-day Central America, from Mexico, Guatemala, Belize, western El Salvador and western Honduras. While these communities do not form a homogeneous cultural whole and speak different languages (not simply dialects) and have diverging customs and historical legacies, they do share certain common traits which enable them to be classified as a singular cultural unit (De La Garza 1999). From a historical perspective, the generic term ‘Maya’ is a polysemic, socially constructed ethnolinguistic concept (Chavarochette 2013, p. 134). The political and legal definitions covered by this category also vary from one national constitutional framework to another. In Mexico, for example, the word ‘Maya’ designates ethno-linguistic communities associated with specific territories (Villa Rojas 1985, pp. 46–78): Yucatán (Mayas Yucatecos), Chiapas (Lacondones, Chols, Tseltales, Tsotsiles, Tojolabales, Mames) and Tabasco (Chontales). However, some recent historical and anthropological works have questioned Mayan ethnicity and its boundaries. Wolfgang Gabbert (2001), for instance, has demonstrated that there is no empirical evidence of any shared Mayan ethnic self-identification among Mexican indios or indígenas, whether in colonial times or at the end of the 19th century. The term ‘Maya’ was established as a category by the colonial powers, based on supposed ‘biological’ criteria rather than self-identification. Moreover, Mayan identity is unpopular nowadays among certain indigenous Mexican communities (Loewe 2007). In Yucatán, for instance, some people speaking Yucatec do not identify as Maya, claiming they are ‘not Indigenous’ (Castañeda 2004, p. 38). Mayan self-identification is restricted to a small section of the middle class, an urban indigenous elite that works in governmental institutions, development or education. Lower classes tend to prefer calling themselves mestizo, mayer, campesino, gente del pueblo or otsilmak” (Gabbert 2001, p. 476). These discrepancies help explain the ease with which the term ‘Maya’ has been appropriated by a wide array of people, including certain Western New Age adepts. In sum, ethnic categories and classifications in Central America tend to be negotiated and defined by context and interactions (Barth 1969) rather than given and stable.

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Neo-Mayas, for their part, perform a hermeneutical shift in their interpretation and appropriation of the term Maya. By using it exclusively as a means of ‘spiritual’ and symbolic identification, they move the term away from the classical boundaries of ethnicity, language, territory, history and heritage. Neo-Mayas call themselves ‘Mayas at heart,’ in reference to the work of religious studies scholar Marion Bowman (1995). In her research on contemporary Celtism, Bowman uses the expression ‘Cardiac Celts’ to designate people who ‘feel’ and identify as Celtic: ‘Celticity is coming to be seen as a quality or a matter of choice rather than an issue of history, geography, language or ethnicity: it is a thing of spirit, not of heritage’ (Bowman 1995, p. 245). The consequence of this is that anyone can be or become a ‘Cardiac Celt’ since the relationship is ‘emotional and spiritual.’ The same process is at work among the neo-Mayas, who identify as Maya and claim to ‘act ritually Maya,’ without being ethnically attached or otherwise to ‘the Maya.’ Significantly, some neoMayas present themselves as ‘the reincarnation of cosmic Mayas.’ In such cases, the lineage is an obvious (re)construction. The prefix ‘neo’ is fitting as it underlines this type of reconstruction and (re)appropriation of ‘Indianity’ which has emerged in Latin America since the 1990s (Galinier and Molinié 2006). Paradoxically, the prefix references a movement ‘back’ to an ancient cultural heritage, as the result of an encounter between the local and New Age global networks (De La Torre and Gutierrez Zuñiga 2013, p. 155). The notion of ‘neo-Mayanity’ is a compromise which aims to capture both the actors’ modes of self-identification while signaling the essentially performative and constructed nature of these identities.

Translocal territories of Mayanity at heart The ethnographic examples I present in this chapter are part of a wider set of data from a multi-sited research project among different neo-Mayan milieus as observed in Guatemala, Mexico, Germany and Switzerland, between 2012 and 2015. As part of a larger interconnected ensemble that includes a large body of literature, video, conferences, workshops and festivals, these territories are traversed by transnational networks of healers, neo-shamans and seekers invested in Maya-bound ‘shamanistic’ initiations. The research sought to collect the varieties of motivations that lead people to identify with Mayan spirituality, while tying them to the life-stories (see Bertaux 2005 [1976]; Bertaux and Kohli 1984) and religious pathways of the actors as way to define common imaginaries and the modes and dynamics of such reinvented traditions (Capone 2014). The purpose was to situate biographical elements—ruptures, crises, transitions—which lead participants to change their lifestyles through processes of religious exoticization. ‘Mayas at heart’ share certain socio-demographic characteristics. They all live in urban areas and are mostly non-Mexican or Mestizos (which ‘invites at least a nominal association with an indigenous ancestry’ [MacKenzie 2017, p. 360]). They come from the upper middle-class (and occasionally upper-class backgrounds) and often sport university-level education. Research revealed how ‘Mayas at heart’ explain their turn to Mayan spirituality as the result of a dissatisfaction with former lifestyles and their disappointment with Catholicism. Former lifestyles, actors confessed, were based on social success: marriage, family, work, social performance and wealth. Their narratives evoke a moment of crisis in the form of a divorce, an illness or a bereavement, for instance, which prompted them to reassess and redirect their personal values, objectives and trajectories. ‘Mayas at heart’ often confess being initially attracted to Mayan spirituality because of the millenarianist, end-of-the-world prognosis and messages about the calendars. The experiential nature of this religiosity counts as another oft-mentioned reason for their interest. A majority insist on the appeal of the applicability of Mayan spirituality to everyday life, such as working 215

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with the four elements or four directions as well as prescriptions applied to water, food and breathing. Many confess to owning a Mayan altar at home and using it for daily prayer as well as to assist in their personal development. They look upon Mayan spirituality as a ritualistic and deeply pragmatic system, easily accessible and readily exportable. Most neo-Mayas also practice other forms of rituals and alternative therapies and techniques such as reiki, women’s circles, sweat lodges, yoga, astrology, numerology, neo-Kabbalah, tarot and various other forms of body work (e.g. massage). Such practices radiate from the capital, Mexico City, and are spread through an intra-national network of holistic healers, reaching outposts such as Mérida (capital of the State of Yucatán), where I conducted part of the fieldwork. Mexico City is portrayed to be ‘progressive,’ as its population is in majority in favor of the right to abortion, gay marriage and adoption. This contrasts with the rest of Mexico where a more or less secularized form of Catholicism still has influence on issues relating to family and couples (Blancarte 2013, p. 137). This is especially true in Yucatán. As a state, Yucatán is considered to have some of the most conservative values in Mexico and a high level of sexual and domestic violence towards women. A high percentage of its inhabitants self-identify as Catholic. In addition to this, the region has seen an important rise in Protestant evangelical and Pentecostal churches in the last few decades, as well an increase of those claiming ‘no confession’ (Hernández Hernández, Gutiérrez Zúñiga and De la Torre 2016). As a sign of the penetration of New Age and personal development tropes within the fabric of this otherwise conservative and traditionalist region, public spaces in Yucatán are flooded with holistic flyers, brochures and posters. Mystic tourism linked to the ‘2012 Phenomenon’ starting in the early 1990s contributed to the rise of this holistic milieu, despite an initially hostile context. Research shows that neo-Mayas from Mérida have adopted holistic or neo-ethnic worldviews in challenging social environments, in the face of conservative and traditionalist milieus closed to holistic worldviews. Some of them confess disguising their beliefs and practices in the face of evangelicals and Catholics who perceive them as ‘deviant’ and even ‘satanic’. They declare having suffered humiliation in both family and the workplace, which has compelled them to develop themselves as independent (and somewhat underground) neo-Mayan therapists. Mayas at heart cite therapeutic reasons to justify their involvement in this neo-Mayanity. This is the case of Cristina, a 40-year-old mestiza from Mexico City. A child of the Mexican bourgeoisie, she is now a psychologist and has two children. She received a Catholic education and used to be at the head of her own company before her life changed dramatically following her son’s illness. While exploring non-medical solutions to complement his treatment, she received training in alternative therapies and was later initiated into Mayan spirituality through, a neo-Mayan movement from Yucatán (south-East Mexico). She then travelled to Córdoba, Argentina, where, over several months, she completed specialized training in ‘therapies of the soul.’ Her transnational network emerged through ‘non-hazardous’ encounters, which she understands as steps in her initiation, and she began to simultaneously attend different holistic circles. She later travelled to Australia for an ‘individual pilgrimage’ at Mount Uluru (Ayer’s Rock), recognized by natives for its importance within Aboriginal symbolism. In her narrative, Cristina ‘mayanizes’ this pilgrimage to a far-away place by referring to it as part of ‘the sacred serpentine walk,’ following the name of Yucatec pilgrimages to Mayan temples in the classical period. In her story, Uluru serves as a symbolic equivalent to a Mayan pyramid, thereby dissociating it from its native (Australian aboriginal) cosmology. For Cristina, Mayan identity is something like an ontological posture, a ‘state of being-in-the world’ or a ‘spirit.’ She recalls a particularly striking experience during a neo-Mayan workshop: 216

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And all of a sudden, a Maya appeared wearing a tunic, and I said, ‘Well, what’s that?’ In fact, it reminded me of a lot of things from my life, no? And he started to talk to us about the Mayas. It was in a marble lounge in Mexico City. In a neighbourhood called Bosques de las Lomas, which is a very upper-class neighbourhood, no? And they told him, ‘You’re going to get sick on the marble floor,’ and he answered, ‘There are no sicknesses, it’s all in your mind. I am more than this body.’ Wow! I said, ‘I want that, too. Where did you learn that? I want that, too.’ He then told me, ‘I’m Maya, but the Maya isn’t an area, it isn’t a territory. The Maya is cosmic.’ ‘Even if I wasn’t born in Mérida, can I be Maya?’ That was my first question. ‘Of course, you can. Mayas are from all over the world. When you feel called from the sun. We’re all children of the Sun.’ In the 1970s, Mexico saw the rise of Mexicanidad (Mexicanity). This social movement was initiated by urbanized intellectual mestizos, who sought to recover ancient heritages and reIndianize the national culture. Performing an ‘idealized reinterpretation of the pre-Hispanic past and an exaltation of an archetypal image of the Indian’ (De La Peña 2001, p. 96), the movement produced two strands: radical Mexicanity and neo-Mexicanity. The former was characterized by politicized, anti-Western and anti-syncretic discourses as well as a ‘radical Indianist nationalism,’ which valued ‘authentically Indian’ culture (De La Peña 2001, p. 101; De La Torre and Gutierrez Zuñiga 2011, p. 183). The latter was more ‘spiritualist,’ transnationalized, pluralistic and related to a New Age-style global project. Many neo-Mayas like Cristina had been initiated to neo-Mexicanist circles before getting in touch with neo-Mayanity. Both act to universalize the figure of the indigenous in general and the Maya in particular. The reference is not to the ethnic Mayas of Central America, but to a global form of ‘primordial energy,’ accessible from within, from the ‘depths of the self’. Mayanity is thus transformed into an essence that can be combined with an infinite number of symbolic representations and practices. The Consejo de Ancianos y Sacerdotes Mayas, which was established in the 2000s and whose executive committee sits in Mérida, Yucatán, coordinates the meetings of continental Indigenous representatives working towards the ‘development and promotion of Maya cultural values.’ It also holds local ceremonies and fights against ‘any form of cultural discrimination and economic marginalization of the Maya people’ (official document, General Assembly of December 21, 2014). In 2015, Ricardo became the first non-Maya to be initiated into the Mexican Council of Maya Elders. Born in Mexico City with Oaxacan, Mixtec and Zapotec roots, Ricardo practices Mayan acupuncture, Mayan massage and ‘pre-Hispanic sound healing,’ and confides feeling ‘Maya in his heart.’ His relationship with Mayan spirituality is internalized, affective and subjective. In this contemporary view of Mayanity, Mayan identity is situated in a meta-historical and meta-cultural time-space which enables its transnationalization in a variety of local contexts. Such view raise a number of issues regarding authenticity.

Issues of authenticity In The Children of the New Age, Steven Sutcliffe (2003) describes a history of the New Age in Anglo-Saxon culture from the 1930s to the 1990s. The author deconstructs the idea of a New Age movement while showing how this ‘false category’ has nonetheless become firmly rooted in the sociology of new religious movements. Rather than characterizing New Age as a movement or a homogeneous entity, he conceives it as a loose term to refer to the heterogeneity of so-called ‘alternative spiritualities.’ More than a movement, New Age is better envisaged as a widespread and ill-defined community of seekers. Similarly, Latin American scholars such as De la Torre and Gutiérrez Zúñiga refrain from using the term 217

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New Age as a substantive, describing it rather as a ‘matrix of meaning’ that revolves around holistic and millenarian worldviews and cosmologies which predict the arrival of some kind of ‘New Era’ (De La Torre and Gutierrez Zuñiga 2013). Such an approach is fruitful for seizing the recent hybridizations that have occurred between Mayan spirituality and New Age on at least two counts. First, it sheds light on the dynamics by which traditional cultures and identities have been recast as both de-historicized and de-territorialized. Secondly and simultaneously, these developments have acted, somewhat paradoxically, to ethnicize New Age (at least discursively) by grounding it in Latin American Indigenous cultures. Indigenousness-seeking movements generally develop transnationally within the New Age as a ‘matrix of meaning’. ‘Transnational,’ meanwhile, refers to any phenomenon that crosses cultural boundaries (Capone 2010, p. 238). This concept emphasizes the idea of a multidirectional process which multiplies a tradition’s ‘places of reference’ and roots, against a background of ‘power relations’ (Capone 2004, pp. 16–17). A body of scholarly literature has recently investigated the Indigenousness-seeking process within New Age in Latin America. Renée De la Torre and Cristina Gutiérrez Zúñiga (2011, 2013), Carlos Alberto Steil, Renée De la Torre and Rodrigo Toniol (2018), Francisco De la Peña (1999, 2001), has suggested generalizing the use of the prefix ‘neo’ to mean the ‘requalification of the traditional’ (De La Torre and Gutierrez Zuñiga 2013, p. 18) within transnational fluxes, e.g. neo-tradition, neo-religion, neo-Mexicanity, neo-Indian, neo-Inca, neo-Aztec and neo-ethnic. Galinier and Molinié (2006) refer to this general movement as ‘neo-Indianism,’ by which those ‘symbolic appropriations of the past’ are seen as ‘different’ from the ‘authentic’ practices of ‘ethnic Indian’ communities. Such a perspective goes beyond description, however, by providing academic legitimacy to normative claims as to what constitutes an ‘authentic’ set of practices and beliefs. This is problematic, as it inherently opposes supposedly pure and immutable ancestral practices to impure bricolage, thereby disqualifying the social actors’ experiences involved in the latter. This, I argue, goes beyond what should be the task of the social sciences in the analysis of such phenomena. A transnational approach, on the other hand, makes it possible to avoid making authenticity into a normative tool for defining these movements since drawing the frontier between ancestral and crafted traditions is challenged by the fact that the reality in the field is muddy. For instance, even in rural communities, strands of Indigenous people are reinterpreting their practices in the terms of spirituality and with references to energies and chakras, even though this remains the case of a minority. Many community curanderos (healers) say they practice ‘authentic’ Mayan sweat lodges and integrate pan-Indian and New Age references, even though these are importations and constructions. Neo-Mayanity thus questions the classic distinction between the supposed ‘inauthentic’ quality of New Age and the ‘purity’ of traditional Indigeneity. Thus, authenticity is a discursively constructed notion. Scholars have underlined how the question of authenticity haunts contemporary religious reconfigurations, and how it simultaneously emerges as an issue in social sciences. The argument of Gauthier (2020) and Meintel (2020), for instance, is two-fold. First, they relate the emergence of the heightened concern for authenticity to a profound shift in the structures of authority due to globalization and the massification of its consumer and hypermediated culture. Second, they note how the social sciences have tended to qualify New Age type bricolage as inauthentic in contrast to supposedly pure and authentic Indigenous cultures (Gauthier 2020, p. 3). As concerns the latter, they note how phenomena such as the 218

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ones described in this chapter—in which Indigenous cultures themselves are profoundly transformed and remixed—show the untenable nature of such categorizations, which they decry as being fundamentally normative. Discourses on ‘authenticity’ and ‘purity’ can be observed among a wide range of neoMayan people including Europeans, Indigenous elites, Mayan communities or even mestizos who revitalize ‘Mayan identity.’ Neo-Mayanity is indeed characterized by a tension between the quest for purity and for syncretism. This tension includes power issues related to legitimacy. Perceptions also play an important role. The notion of syncretism is often synonymous with impurity, whereas purity denotes something authentic and positive. For most neo-Mayan leaders, purity and authenticity are specifically accompanied by a radical rejection of ‘syncretism’ as a synonym of failure in their ‘mission’ to preserve ‘Mayan purity.’ Their life stories emphasize the fact that they were initiated in a ‘traditional’ way by Abuelos, the Elders from the Yucatán communities. The stories surrounding their traditional initiation grounds their spirituality in a local cultural heritage and therefore makes it more ‘authentic.’ The question of authenticity is indeed at the heart of the neo-Mayan phenomenon, and it emerges from the field as a key notion for thematizing identity boundaries. Overall, neoMayas tend to legitimate the authenticity of their practices and beliefs on the basis of their efficacy and the grounds of experience. In this respect, they participate in what Canadian philosopher Charles Taylor has called the ‘ethics of authenticity and expressivity,’ according to which each person is unique and must find within the self the nature of this uniqueness and express it through various forms of conducts, adhesions, fashions and lifestyles, for instance. These ethics, Taylor argues, which emerged within the Western and Westernized bourgeoisie in 18th- and 19th-century Romanticism, became massified in the second half of the 20th century through the dynamics of consumerism and its globalization. As Gauthier states, this ‘expressive’ dimension implies that for ‘each individual, having an irreducible singularity,’ it has become a ‘social imperative to discover and express it as an identity principle.’ Researchers such as Charles Lindholm (2002, 2013), François Gauthier (2009, 2012, 2020), Deirdre Meintel (2020) and Daniela Moisa (2011) have noted how these ethics and the focus on the quest and expression of authenticity have penetrated and even shaped recent changes within religion worldwide. These shifts promote the internalization of human experience, the spiritualization of nature, the enhancement of an immediate connection with the sacred, and a focus on the pursuit of personal and shared experience that transfers regimes of authority away from the legitimation provided by tradition or institutions such as churches (Gauthier 2012, p. 103, cited from Taylor 2003, pp. 79–80). Yet Gauthier insists on how this ‘expressive identity’ requires ‘validation, legitimization and therefore recognition by others or by a social authority’ (2012, p. 104), and therefore does not amount to a form of atomized individualism. Rather, such identities need to be constantly recognized in order to be substantiated, and thereby require forms of ‘communitization’ (Gauthier 2014), whether in the actual or virtual realm. Gauthier’s account captures the romantic quest for authenticity that occurs within neo-Mayan and neo-shamanic networks more generally, in which the West is devalued on the one hand, while exoticism and extra-European ‘archaism’ are valued on the other (Gauthier 2009). In a forthcoming contribution focusing on authenticity, Gauthier and Meintel further examine the interactions concerning the ‘quest for an authentic soul’ that brings to the fore issues regarding ‘truth, legitimacy, and knowledge.’ These have become central themes in ‘periods of conflict and profound change’ (Gauthier and Meintel, forthcoming). Transnationalization and globalization are processes which, as we have seen, do play an important role in shaping how the dynamics of authenticity unravel within neo-Mayan circles. 219

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Authenticity is at the centre of neo-Mayan discourses and their relation to issues of power and authority. While some neo-Mayan leaders are criticized by their peers for their tendency to Westernize and export their practices, others are valued as legitimate authorities precisely because they circulate and gain recognition within Western and transnational New Age networks. As such, transnationality may be either positive or negative depending on the context and the personalities involved. Transnationality generates internal competition between the acceptance and dissemination of Westernized practices and their rejection on the grounds of their inauthenticity. The issue of syncretism is similarly at the center of rival claims, and it carries negative connotations. As Charles Stewart and Rosalind Shaw (1994, p. 7) argue, authenticity always depends on discursive strategies: What makes them ‘authentic’ and valuable is a separate issue, a discursive matter involving power, rhetoric and persuasion. Thus, both putatively pure and putatively syncretic traditions can be ‘authentic’ if people claim that these traditions are unique, and uniquely their (historical) possession. The quest for authenticity in the creation of these new hybrid identities thus raises the sensitive issue of cultural appropriation. Groups that seek New Age indigenousness are often considered ‘knowledge robbers’ and criticized for their production of images of Indigenous peoples, idealizing their ‘pre-industrial’ lifestyles and casting them as nostalgic artefacts of a ‘Golden Age’ (Boissière and Farahmand 2017). A transnational approach makes it possible to go beyond these perspectives and emphasize the diversity and multilateral dimensions and dynamics of cultural appropriations, for example from the peripheries to the centers (the neo-colonial missionary societies), and from the centers to the peripheries, which result in complex and shared processes of identity foundation and production (Argyriadis and De la Torre 2012, p. 13). Neo-Mayas leave Latin America and circulate towards Japan, Western Europe, South America and North America. By contrast, Westerners travel to Central America in search of exoticism and ancestrality (De La Torre 2011). As a result of these movements, all parties are affected and changed, and it is useless to try to oppose authentic indigenousness to inauthentic appropriations. It is important to stress how this transnational multi-directionality does not prevent the development of class hierarchies that have incidences on the access and recognition of these transnational identities. Not all actors from all social classes have access to (or simply want to access) neo-Mayanity. As we have seen, neo-Mayanity tends to develop within the mostly urbanized and educated middle classes. In addition, neo-Mayan claims can become a source of local conflicts, competitions and divisions. However, the issue of cultural appropriation still needs to be addressed, and I refer to the approach developed by Janice Hladki (1994). She suggests that we understand cultural appropriation as a complex phenomenon that goes beyond simple power relations involving resistance, subversion and opposition. For Hladki, the multilateral constitution of such hybrid identities challenges any attempt at containing them within dichotomous oppositions such as oppressor and oppressed. As neo-ethnic spiritualities continue to grow and transnationalize, issues of cultural appropriation become increasingly problematic and attempts at opposing normative classifications are thwarted by the increasing blurring of the frontiers between the centre and periphery dynamics among generalized multilateral relations. I therefore agree with Christina Welch’s (2002) critique of the categorization of ‘bad New Agers’ and ‘Indigenous victims,’ based on her research on New Age appropriations of North American sweat lodges.

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Rites and initiations: becoming neo-Maya Neo-Mayan rituals are characterized by the use of specific accessories and ritual clothing, sets of objects, pre-Hispanic social hierarchies and sounds. On May 1, 2014, I took part in the annual pilgrimage at the archaeological site of Uxmal, Yucatán, an ancient Mayan city. The participants started to march in a single file, arranged according to hierarchical positions, with the Elders taking the lead. The procession made its way to an ancient ceremonial pyramid, the highest in the region at 32 meters. Once the procession arrived at the temple, the followers shouted Hu Hunab Kú!, which can be translated as ‘primordial energy’ among the New Age Mayanity (see Argüelles 1987), several times before performing a ritual inspired by pre-Hispanic ceremonials. In this reconstitution, the followers collectively prayed to the four directions and four elements, invoking specific divinities and brandishing their power sticks to the sky. The ritual ended with collective songs devoted to the earth, the sun, light and universal love. By enacting this spatially, linguistically and materially constructed neo-indigenous performance, the group were claiming to be ‘true Mayas.’ The Maya Solar Tradition is an emblematic neo-Mayan collective. This movement was founded in Mérida in the late 1980s by Mother Nah Kin (Madre Nah Kin), a Mexican mestiza woman. Nah Kin was trained in a variety of spiritual paths throughout the world, including Buddhist and Hindu-inspired teachings, South American shamanism, Western esotericism, reiki, lithotherapy, rebirthing and Osho dynamic meditation, before creating her own neo-Mayan movement. The Maya Solar Tradition seeks to return to a Maya Golden Age by initiating disciples to the ‘highest of Maya cosmologies’ (Kin 2012 [1997], p. 2). The movement is built on dynamic processes of transnationalization. Rituals and mythologies have roots in a revised version of the local Yucatec Maya tradition, which is inflected with global images, symbols and meanings. The leader as well as its members enjoy significant transnational geographical mobility, and branches have been created in Latin America, Europe and as far as Japan. At the end of the 1990s, Mother Nah Kin started to circle the world in order to perform her rituals oriented towards the sacred date of 2012. An increasing number of Westerners were drawn to her message and journeyed in turn to Yucatán to in situ performances. Mexican mestizos, Western New Agers and spiritual holistic therapists, mostly women between 40 and 60 years old working in urban areas, participated in the movement’s activities in Yucatán, taking these teachings and experiences back to their own local contexts. At the end of the 1980s, Mother Nah Kin went to Switzerland to give lectures on the end of the Mayan calendar, thereby drawing on a broad segment of the Western esoteric repertoire (Mayer 2011). On December 21 of that year, she organized a ‘planetary spiritual summit’ in Uxmal, the ancient Mayan city, which marked the end of the ‘Long Count’ of the Mayan calendar. In a spirit of unity, spiritual leaders of the New Age from around the world took part in the event, offering their teachings, building relationships and promoting future transnational exchanges. As part of its activities, the Maya Solar Tradition offers three modules of training to become a fully qualified ‘Maya.’ After completing the modules, the participants receive a diploma, a ‘power stick’ (a ritual object said to be inspired by pre-Hispanic indigenous tradition), and a set of ritual accessories. They are also given a Mayan-inspired name. The initiation modules feature an eclectic range of references which are all related to Mayanity according to the logic of correspondence. For example, during one initiatory module, one of the leaders exclaimed: ‘The human body has seven chakras that you all know. The Mayas knew these chakras and worked with them as centers of power.’ Following one participant’s

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question on the relationship between Mayanity and ‘karma,’ the same instructor replied: ‘The chakra of the Hara is the one that keeps the soul. The best process of liberation is service, the dharma that comes from the word “to give.”’ By such practices, Mayan references were integrated into New Age imaginaries, related to neo-Oriental interpretations and vice versa, as such tropes were systematically referred back to a ‘Mayan’ origin. The Maya Solar Tradition is one example among others which shows how the 2012 Phenomenon became a crucible in which Mayanity and New Age were reconfigured and remixed, created new identities, religiosities and authenticity claims.

Conclusion The 21st century has been characterized by extensive social, cultural and religious transformations. The neo-Mayan phenomenon shows how new forms of ‘ethnic spiritualities’ are being created which challenge notions of ‘purity’ and show how quests for authenticity do not produce idiosyncratic, individual expressions as much as variations on a theme provided by overarching processes of transnational dissemination of the tropes of self-realization, experience and the ethics of authenticity and expressivity. More precisely, the research that founds this chapter identified a shift in the social representations of the ‘Maya.’ Starting roughly in the 1980s in certain social milieu, a movement emerged by which the Maya has become a multifarious signifier which has been appropriated and reinterpreted through processes of de-ethnicization, universalization and reconfiguration as a means of connection with a ‘primordial inner energy.’ This universalization has enabled the Mayan identity to be combined with a wide range of symbolic representations which have constructed it as a locus for religious investments. A central argument of this chapter is that Mayan references have been transformed by the encounter with the globalized field of the New Age, reinterpreting ethnic and territorial borders and producing new hybrid symbolic systems. Multidirectional transnational processes have produced contests about authenticity, identity and ethnicity as well as inscribed local hierarchies within the nexus of global New Age networks. A paradoxical situation emerges by which local traditions are reasserted while they are reformed as global friendly. The result is the emergence of a system of complementary yet competing and in some instances opposing ‘niches’ which negotiate their singularity and difference. For neo-Mayas, insertion into a local context, with its codes and references, acts to provide authenticity and purity. At the same time, insertion within transnational networks provide another set of legitimacy through the parameters of New Age. Mayas at heart are mainly well-educated, female, urbanized, Mexican mestizos and Western or Westernized seekers of upper middle-class backgrounds. The experiential, pragmatic and therapeutic dimensions of these religiosities emerge as central motivational factors. Mayan identity is de-territorialized in favor of a subjective and inner relation to Mayanity. The self-identification is perceived as an important resource for identity and ethics in daily life, such as the daily use of the Mayan calendar, prayers, rituals around the altar or Mayan transcendental meditation as a tool for personal development and self-development through the cultivation of self-acceptance, self-awareness and empathy towards the self. The same can be said about the symbolism of the four elements (water, air, earth and fire) and purification rituals. Other practices include weekly rituals inviting ‘abundance’ and offerings to Mother Earth in the form of cereals, lentils, beans, sunflowers seeds, fruit seeds, corn, sesame seeds and money.

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The anticipation that the world would end in 2012 generated a number of important transnational events and alternative neo-Indian pilgrimages. This had repercussions for the tourist industry across central America. For example, between 15,000 and 20,000 visitors attended the archaeological site of Chichen Itzá on December 21, 2012. The fact that the end of the world did not occur on that date did not dampen enthusiasm for neo-Mayan religiosities. Interpreting the date to mean the beginning of a more spiritual and self-conscious era, there has been a significant increase in shamanic imitations in urban public places and ancient sacred sites across Yucatán, Mexico and many regions of Latin America. Indeed, as Jean-François Mayer noted, the majority of New Age milieus ‘did not expect a visible and externally verifiable event for 21 December 2012’ (Mayer 2014, p. 41). For the seekers, 2012 was an opportunity ‘to evolve on the energetic dimension’ rather than ‘the material or terrestrial level.’ It was above all a moment of ‘spiritual transition.’ From an anthropological point of view, 2012 contributed to accelerate the creation of hybrid neo-ethnic identities, halfway between reinvented indigeneities and a globalized form of New Age. Concretely, the anticipation was a factor that spurred the transnational spread of neoMayan beliefs, as conferences, workshops and rituals flourished. Thanks to the 2012 prophecy, neo-Mayan spiritual leaders travelled extensively, creating and solidifying an ever-extending transnational network (Farahmand and Rouiller 2016, p. 66). The result has been both a diversification and standardization of the mythologies, ritual clothing, ritual objects and healing practices that make up the neo-Mayan symbolic system. For the leaders as well the participants, the more they travel and the more they experience, the more they gain a symbolic legitimacy on the global stage of New Age and deepen their connection to their Mayan identity and cosmovision. As we have seen, this transnationalization is stimulated by a paradoxical desire to return to Indigenousness while inscribing it within the nexus of global flows. In response to this two-fold dynamic, one might think that it opens accesses neo-Indigenous identities by ‘emancipating’ them from the particularism of their cultural roots (for this democratized access see Rossi 1997, pp. 20–21). However, data show that ethnic and national references remain central in neoMayan quests for authenticity, with references to pre-Hispanic objects and instruments, mythological figures and places. In the context of transnational, virtual and effective social connections, it is possible ‘to feel Mayan,’ to think and act Mayan without ethnoterritorial ties to such an identity. What imports is a mixture of personal choice and personal calling in this New Age type of born-again religiosity.

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Lindholm, C., 2013. The Rise of Expressive Authenticity. Anthropology Quarterly, 86 (2), 361–396. Loewe, R., 2007. Euphemism, Parody, Insult, and Innuendo: Rhetoric and Ethnic Identity at the Mexican Periphery. The Journal of American Folklore, 129 (477), 284–307. MacKenzie, J., 2017. Politics and Pluralism in the Círculo Sagrado: The Scope and Limits of PanIndigenous Spirituality in Guatemala and Beyond. International Journal of Latin American Religion, 1 (2), 1–23. Macleod, M., 2013. Mayan calendrics in movement in Guatemala: Mayan spiritual guides or day-keepers understandings of 2012. The Journal of Latin American and Caribbean Anthropology, 18 (3), pp. 447–464. Mayer, J.-F., 2014. Le réveil du Nouvel Age: 2012 comme chemin de salut. In: J.-F. Mayer and M. Farhmand, eds.. Le phénomène 2012. Fribourg: Cahiers de l’Institut Religioscope, 12, 5–14. Meintel, D., 2020. Religious Authenticity and Commitment. Studies in Religion, 1–19. Doi: 10.1177/ 0008429820930692. Melton, J.G., 2007. Beyond millenialism: Then new age transformed. In: D. Kemp and J. Lewis, eds. Handbook of new age. Leiden: Brill, 77–97. Moisa, D., 2011. Etre un vrai orthodoxe ». L’identité religieuse au carrefour des registres d’autenticité. Diversité Urbaine, 11 (2), 45–68. Rossi, Ilario. 1997. Corps et chamanisme. Essai sur le pluralisme médical. Paris : Armand Colin. Sitler, R. K., 2006. The 2012 Phenomenon. New Age Appropriation of an Ancient Mayan Calendar. Nova Religio: The journal of Alternative and Emergent Religions, 3 (9), 24–38. Steil, A. C., De la Torre, R., and Toniol, R., 2018. Entre trópicos. Diálogos de estudios Nueva Era entre México y Brasil. México D.F.: Centro de Investigaciones y Estudios Superiores en Antropología Social (CIEASAS); Potosí: El Colegio de San Luis. Stewart, C. and Shaw, R., 1994. Introduction: problematizing syncretism. In: C. Stewart and R. Shaw, eds.. Syncretism/Anti-Syncretism: The Politics of Religious Synthesis. London: Routledge, 1–26. Sutcliffe, S. J., 2003. The Children of the New Age. A History of Spiritual Practices. London: Routledge. Taylor, C., 2003. La diversité de l’expérience religieuse. William James aujourd’hui. Montreal: Bellarmin. Villa Rojas, A., 1985. Estudios etnológicos: Los Mayas. Mexico City: Universidad Autónoma de México. Welch, C., 2002. Appropriating the Didjeridu and the Sweat Lodge: New Age Baddies and Indigenous Victims? Journal of Contemporary Religion, 1 (17), 21–38.

Interviews Andrea, Uxmal, May 5, 2014. Maria, Uxmal, May 4, 2014. Nah Kin, Mérida, May 13, 2014. Ricardo, Mérida, February 9, 2015. Suzana, Mérida, April 11, 2014.

Websites www.maxisciences.com/fin-du-monde/la-fin-du-monde-pour-le-21-decembre-2012-meme-les-mayasn-039-y-croient-pas_art28053.html, accessed on June 25, 2018. www.youtube.com/watch?v=fPvC7dv-ROo&feature=relmfu, accessed on April 12, 2019.

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18 Defending tradition and confronting secularity The Catholic Buen Pastor Institute Esteban Rozo and Hugo Cárdenas

Introduction Despite the fact that traditionalist Catholics criticize Vatican II, they demonstrate how the Catholic Church after Vatican II has reconfigured the relationship between clergy and laity. Unlike the First Vatican Council (1869–1870) where ‘clergy governed the laity within the life of the church and lay members did not have their own distinctive mission’ (Pope 2004), lay members of the Instituto Buen Pastor (IBP) have their own political agenda not under direction of the clergy. This agenda includes participating and intervening in secular debates through religious means and practices. The ways in which traditionalist Catholics become visible in the public sphere include the political use of Catholic rituals (such as traditionalist liturgy and processions) in public spaces, as well as the participation in prayer chains such as ‘40 Days for Life’ in which they converge with Christians from other religious denominations. Although traditionalist Catholics criticize the ‘false ecumenism’ promoted by the Church since Vatican II, in their political practices Catholics deploy a ‘practical ecumenism’ that produces alliances with other Christian churches and political parties, leaving aside any kind of doctrinal differences. The politics of religion deployed by lay members of the IBP question clear-cut divisions between politics and religion, revealing how the secular may be confronted and inhabited through the defense of specific religious traditions. Religious practices can constitute specific forms of political participation and expression that by no means follow liberal conceptions of politics as a sphere separate from religion (Mahmood 2005, p. 4).

A public ritual On October 18, 2015, the celebration of Christ the King at the IBP chapel began with a procession on the streets of a neighborhood in Bogota called La Soledad. The procession was led by young acolytes who held the flags of Colombia and the Vatican. They were followed by the military police’s marching band (which guarded the little girls wearing veils), the priest representing the Holy Power, and the nuns walking behind the marching band. The

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priest stood under a small canopy marking his political status and held in his hands a monstrance with a large host at its center. The host in the Holy Sacraments incarnates Christ the King, which accounts for the solemn nature of the procession and the presence of the military as escort. Behind the priest and the nuns were the laymen and women of the chapel. Laymen wore formal suits and ties, while the female members of the chapel were dressed in long skirts and old-fashioned attire with white veils covering their faces. The procession arrived at the statue of José Prudencio Padilla, an Afro-Colombian military and navy leader who fought in the Spanish-American wars of independence. An altar was installed before the statue of Padilla and the monstrance was placed on it by the priest. The sermons delivered in public liturgies like this have strong political connotations and commemorate different martyrs killed while defending the Christian faith against secular persecution. In this sermon, the priest quoted the Book of John 18:33–38, which narrates the story of the judgment of Christ at the hands of Pontius Pilate. During his sermon the priest recalled how in the judgment of Christ, Pontius Pilate refused to recognize the fact that Christ’s kingdom ‘[was] not of this world.’ The priest claimed that the transcendental character of the Church and Christ was not recognized in this world, given that the ‘global government’ was behaving in a manner similar to that of the Jews who had chosen to save Barabbas instead of the truth represented by Christ. This interpretation focused on the fact that the people of God had the chance to choose between the truth of Christ or the material salvation of modern Barabbas, whom the priest also named as the ‘guerrilla insurgent leader’ standing against the Romans. Although the procession of Christ the King and the appropriation of public streets in Bogota by members of the IBP are often not considered to be political acts, because the final objective is to pledge allegiance to the transcendence of Christ the King, this is not what we observed. At the climax of the Mass, the priest raised the Holy Sacrament, while the choir, along with the military and lay members, rang bells before the presence of Christ. But during the celebration of Christ the King in 2015, a demonstration interrupted the normal ending of the Mass. Lay members began to cry out: ‘Viva Cristo Rey! Viva Cristo Rey!’ [Long live Christ the King]. This happened even if the prescribed practice was to pray and meditate after consumption of the host. This disruption of the sacramental order was described to us by the acolytes as being part of a ‘holy war,’ like that of the Cristeros War in Mexico (1926–1929) when the end of every Mass was followed by shouts among the laity who had participated in the Mass. The representation of the laity as soldiers of God allows the laity of the IBP to articulate their political agency as defenders of sacramental duties and Catholic traditions. The wider debates in the public sphere in which they engage include issues such as gay marriage, adoption of children by gay couples and abortion. While the liturgical reforms of Vatican II were predicated on the idea of ‘lay passivity’ in the Tridentine Mass, which led to the Sacrosanctum Concilium calling for ‘full and active participation by all the people’ present at Mass and the use of vernacular languages instead of Latin (Dinges 1987, p. 144), the active political participation of lay members of the IBP in the public sphere defies this charge of passivity.

The Instituto Buen Pastor The IBP was established in November 2009 in Bogota, following the creation of the Institut du Bon-Pasteur in Bordeaux in 2006 by the Catholic priest Phillipe Laguérie. In 2005, Pope Benedict XVI reestablished the Tridentine Mass and permitted its use as an ‘extraordinary 227

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ritual,’ along with the new ritual of the Mass that had been institutionalized with Vatican II. The purpose was to achieve reconciliation with the members of the Society of Saint Pius X (SSPX), created in 1970 in opposition to the changes brought to the liturgy and the Catholic Church by Vatican II. In 1969, Cardinals Alfredo Ottaviani and Antonio Bacci, with the support of French Archbishop Marcel Lefebvre, wrote A Brief Critical Study of the New Order of the Mass (Ottaviani and Bacci 1996), in which they argued that the structure and order of the new Mass had taken out of the liturgy the mystery of the real presence of Christ, and suggested that the liturgical reform of Vatican II disrupted the religious authority of the clergy in the ritual. Ironically, the politics of religion promoted by lay members of the IBP in the public sphere take place in a society where Catholicism has lost its status as the national religion and the Church has lost its hegemonic control over institutions such as public schools and social care. Until 1991 Colombia was formally a Catholic nation, at which point a new Political Constitution was issued approving ‘religious freedom’ and the separation of church and state, marking the end of the old Concordat signed in 1887. From the end of the nineteenth century, the national government had close ties with the Vatican and this made Catholicism the national public religion par excellence. This new Political Constitution opened the door to a new kind of Christian politics, developed mostly by Pentecostal churches with the creation of Christian political parties and the reevaluation of Colombia as a Catholic nation. Lay members of the IBP interpret the constitutional reforms of 1991 as a threat to the Catholic foundations of society and a conspiracy against the moral authority of the Church over the nation. The reforms are seen as the attempt by secular powers to undermine the Catholic faith. Lefebvre, who founded SSPX in 1970 in France, conceived Vatican II ecumenism as dangerous, given that the Catholic Church was ‘recognizing other faiths not as false doctrines but as perfectly legitimate religions offering equally valid access to God’ (Stoekl 2006, p. 94). In 1976, Pope Paul VI suspended Lefebvre a divinis after he ordained thirteen priests of the SSPX on the day of St. Peter and St. Paul, without the permission of the Pope.

Liturgical reform, politics and the secular Vatican II (1963–1965) initiated a modernization of the Church and the adaptation of its doctrines and practices to the age (Gonzalez 1987, p. 7). In the Sacrosanctum Concilium the Church is recognized as a historical institution subject to change, emphasizing the need to adapt liturgical practice (or Roman rite) to the spiritual needs of the current laity. Among the most important changes in liturgy promoted by the Sacrosanctum Concilium are the use of vernacular language in church, as well as congregational responses to the priest’s prayers, receiving the host with the hands without kneeling, singing contemporary hymns, and the priest’s celebration of Mass from an altar facing the people (Dinges 1987, p. 141). Sacrosanctum Concilium attempted to ‘overcome the tendency of laity to regard Mass attendance as a form of duty parade,’ and to address a concern that the ‘laity were not properly participating in the liturgical action which was taking place but had accepted the standing of spectators’ (Rowland 2008, p. 123). The active participation of laity in the Sacred Liturgy was thought to have an ‘effect on a person’s subjective response to God’s gift of grace, which is difficult to achieve if his or her spiritual disposition is that of the merely passive spectator’ (Rowland 2008, 124). Traditionalist Catholics, including lay members of the IBP, criticize the ‘new Mass’ institutionalized after Vatican II on the grounds that it left behind the mystery of the 228

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incarnation, death and resurrection of Christ. For traditionalist Catholics, the new Mass has become just a worldly commemoration of the death of Christ, similar to Protestant liturgy. It ‘lacks the dramatic tension because there is no sacrifice, there is only the reading of scripture and fellowship’ (Rowland 2008, p. 134). The use of vernacular languages in the new Mass is said to contribute to the loss of the mystery of Christ, since vernacular languages vulgarize the mystery through a simple narration of sacrifice, rendering impossible the enactment of the sacrifice of Christ as it occurs in traditionalist liturgy. For traditionalist Catholics, the invocation of Christ in the Mass is only made possible through particular uses of Latin that include specific modes of intonation, Gregorian chants and the performance of the death of Christ as a present event. Defenders of Tridentine Mass believe that the real presence of Christ in the ritual is only perceived through the mystery of actions and practices involved, leaving unnecessary and reprievable any exposition of what is secretive, as happens in the new Mass where the death of Christ is narrated during the offering. The differentiation that traditionalist Catholics establish between the narration of the death of Christ and the real presence of Christ that is achieved in the Tridentine Mass is political as well as theological. In the traditionalist liturgy the priest and the laity always look towards the altar, not at one another—whereas in the new liturgy, the emphasis shifts from the ‘model of an individual priest standing between Christ and the community as an exclusive spiritual mediator, to that of the priesthood and ministerial character of the community’ (Dinges 1987, p. 148). The fact that in the Tridentine Mass only priests have the religious knowledge and power to invoke the presence of Christ, marks a strong hierarchical division between priests and lay members. However, these hierarchies between priests and lay members at the IBP can be contested both within liturgy and outside of it. In the IBP, the traditionalist liturgy creates the perfect scenario for pastoral guidance and religious pedagogy, in which the young members of the congregation participate as both acolytes and students of the faith, and are considered defenders of the Tridentine Mass against the risks of the post-Conciliar Church and the secular world. The pastoral guidance of all the members of the IBP plays an important role in the chapel, because a great number of the members are newcomers to the traditionalist Mass and need guidance in order to fulfill the sacramental purification required to receive the host. Most of these newcomers are middle-class young men with technical education, looking for a religious life (as acolytes, for example) and the possibility of becoming traditional priests. Newcomers also included middle-class women with families and their children who were the main subjects of catechization. Some of the newcomers were also relatives of members of the police and the military. The sacramental purification means that the members have to recognize their sins, attend confession regularly and recover the grace required to receive the Holy Body. In the IBP, grace is not easily achieved; it is the outcome of an arduous process of learning and disciplinary practices. There is a strong correlation here between the experience of faith, knowledge and the disciplinary practices that make them possible. As Talal Asad points out, it is the power which is articulated through different practices and institutions that creates the conditions for experiencing religious truth (Asad 1993, p. 35). In addition to the celebration of the Tridentine Mass, the IBP has also created ‘spiritual and doctrinal conferences,’ where the attending priests are holders of the knowledge of the faith, and lay members the students. In these spiritual and doctrinal conferences, lay members learn about the Church, its history and doctrines, as well as the theological foundations of traditionalist liturgy. Priests of the IBP also give advice to lay members at these conferences on how to behave in their everyday lives without losing grace. The advice given to lay members includes counseling on which individuals they should avoid, those 229

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they must not become romantically associated with, and how to deal with issues such as feminism, atheism and liberalism. These conferences also include lessons on secular events which have affected the religious authority of the Catholic Church or have led to the political persecution of members of the Church at different historical moments (as they believe is the present-day case with the IBP). That which might be considered a secular achievement, such as the French Revolution, the advent of human rights or reproductive rights for women, among others, are considered by members of the IBP to be part of a conspiracy to dismantle the Catholic faith worldwide. One of the historical events most frequently mentioned during the Mass and at the conferences is the Cristero War in Mexico that took place between 1926 and 1929. The Cristero War was a widespread struggle in many central-western Mexican states against the secularist, anti-Catholic and anti-clerical policies of the Mexican government under the presidency of Plutarco Elías Calles (1920–1930). Members of the IBP perceive their current situation as resembling that of the Cristero War and consider the Freemasons to be their principal enemy. The latter are believed to be part of a ‘global government’ which Jews and Protestants also participate in. The priesthood and the laity at the IBP feel they are confronting a secularizing state (led by Masons), whose ultimate aim is to destroy the family (understood as the foundation of society), the Catholic faith and the Church. In this sense, grace as conceived of within the IBP entails a particular engagement with the world and a particular way of performing Catholic faith both in public spaces and in everyday life. Laity and priests consider participation in the Tridentine Mass to be a way of defending and spreading grace throughout society and the Church. In their sermons and conferences, priests criticize the ecumenical approach of the Catholic Church and the current pope Francis I. For example, priests at the IBP frequently criticize the Encyclical Letter Laudato Si’ of the Holy Father Francis on Care for our Common Home (2015), because they consider it to be a deviation from the mission attributed to the Church that has historically consisted of ‘saving souls’ and preparing for the second coming of Jesus Christ. According to the members of the IBP, the publication of this encyclical letter by the Vatican in 2015 shows that the current Church is concerned with secular politics and issues such as the environment or the critique of capitalism, while leaving behind the grace that should fuel pastoral action in the world. Priests of the IBP criticize the position of the new pastoral model, pointing out the Church’s lack of clarity regarding the true means of salvation. This critique of Pope Francis’s encyclical letter on Care for our Common Home goes hand in hand with the critique of the ‘modern clergy’ who seem to confuse what is gracious with what is not, as happens for example with the masses that are carried out in order to bless pets such as dogs, who are not considered to be subjects for salvation. Thus lay members of the IBP criticize the current Holy See because they consider it to be under the influence of liberal, modern and, in some cases, leftist ideologies, which discard Catholic doctrine. Lay members of the IBP also criticize the influence of Liberation Theology on the priesthood in Colombia during the 1960s and its principal representative Camilo Torres who was killed in 1965 fighting alongside the leftist guerrilla ELN (National Liberation National Army). National clergy are criticized for transitioning from being in charge of national education and morality, to becoming one of the main negotiators between the leftist guerrillas and the national government, as has occurred during the twenty-first century. While Vatican II proposed that the Church should adapt to the changes brought by secularism and modernity, priests and lay members at the IBP consider secularism and modernity to be the historical enemies of the Church, requiring confrontation through 230

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different means. Specifically, they criticize the dogmatic constitution of Vatican II as it appears in the Lumen Gentium. The fact that the Lumen Gentium includes in the people of God not just those who have been baptized, but also those that ‘do not profess the faith in its entirety or do not preserve unity of communion with the successor of Peter,’ is seen by members of the IBP as a false ecumenism. Traditionalist Catholics of the IBP see themselves as soldiers of Christ the King and the continuation of the long history of struggle of the holy Church against its enemies. In this sense, members of the IBP hold a restricted notion of the people of God, one which includes only those who like themselves are willing to defend the Church as soldiers of Christ. Therefore, all of the members of the IBP celebrate the day of Christ the King as a recognition of the ultimate authority of Christ on earth, which is interpreted differently depending on the country where it is celebrated. For instance, traditionalist Catholics in Spain associate the celebration of Christ the King with the assertion of Spain as a Catholic nation, also commemorating Francisco Franco’s ascension to government in 1939 (Gonzalez 2014). In the case of the IBP, as we demonstrated at the beginning of the chapter, the celebration of Christ the King is used as a public display of Catholic faith as standing against secular institutions and the marginalization of Catholicism in society.

Political causes and alliances Despite the fact that lay members of the IBP criticize the new notions of the ‘people of God’ devised by Vatican II as false ecumenism, in their political actions they establish alliances with Pentecostal and Christian churches through movements such as ‘40 Days for Life.’ This organization was originally initiated in 2004 by David Bereit in Texas and currently enjoys a global reach. In Colombia, ‘40 Days for Life’ is supported by the Church and led by lay members of various churches. The anti-abortion campaigns organized by ‘40 Days for Life’ consist of forty days of prayer and fasting that start on Ash Wednesday and include shifts where members stand outside foundations or organizations that perform abortions or give assistance to women in relation to reproductive health. In 2006, The Constitutional Court in Colombia approved abortion in three specific cases: when the health of the mother is at risk, where fetus malformation is detected, and when pregnancy is the outcome of rape. These campaigns are usually carried out simultaneously in various places in Colombia and worldwide. In the anti-abortion campaign of 2018, the Colombian city of Pereira’s mayor attempted to prohibit the prayer and fasting of members of the ‘40 Days for Life’ movement in front of organizations that promoted women’s reproductive rights. The mayor’s argument was that these public protests ‘undermine the fundamental rights of pregnant mothers, imposing their criteria upon abortion.’ However, representatives of ‘40 Days for Life’ challenged the mayor’s decision in a letter which argued that abortion is still characterized as a felony in the National Penal Code and quoted the article 20 of the Colombian Constitution which guarantees every person the ‘liberty to express and spread his thoughts and opinions . . . without censure.’ This event reveals how the political participation of lay members of Catholic Churches in Colombia is coordinated through alliances with Christian churches, while also making strategic use of secular law for religious ends. This kind of political participation was clearly present on October 2, 2016 when peace agreements with the FARC (Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia) were submitted to a public referendum and the electorate rejected the agreement with 50.22% of the vote. The political coalition 231

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against the peace agreement was led by politicians such as the former attorney general Alejandro Ordoñez, who is an active member of the SSPX (which defends Tridentine Mass), and former president Alvaro Uribe. The victory of this political coalition in the referendum was attributed by analysts and the press to the active participation of Christian voters. Members of the IBP interpreted this victory as a victory of the people of God, which contradicts their initial critiques of the ‘false ecumenism’ of Vatican II. In other words, ecumenism constitutes a doctrinal problem inside the IBP as it challenges the religious authority of the Church, but ecumenism becomes a politically useful tool in order to intervene in the public sphere and secular debates. The existing literature on recent religious change in Latin America tends to perceive Catholic and other Christian Churches as opposed to each other (Levine 1997), competing for the allegiance of believers in a market of symbolic goods where Catholicism has lost its religious monopoly and political hegemony (Bastian 1997, 2012; Beltrán 2013). The way in which lay members of the IBP articulate their political agency in the public sphere through alliances with other Christian churches and denominations leads us to rethink the opposition as doctrinal differences between them tend to disappear when common political and moral agendas emerge. Nonetheless, there are differences in terms of how traditionalist Catholics and other Christians direct political participation in the public sphere. Since 2000 a number of the Christian churches in Colombia have begun to create political parties in order to participate in electoral politics with their own candidates. The most well-known case in Colombia is the Church of God Ministry of Jesus Christ which was created in 1972, and which in 2000 created its own political party called the Independent Movement of Absolute Renovation (MIRA). Unlike Christian churches that have created their own political parties, traditionalist Catholics mainly direct their politics of religion through rituals (such as the Tridentine Mass) and processions inside the chapel and in public places, as we described in the chapter opening. However, ideological convergences between traditionalist Catholics and other Christians are present through religious practices such as the prayer chains that take place in front of institutions promoting female reproductive rights. One of the major anti-abortion campaigns organized in Bogota by ‘40 Days for Life’ took place in September 2015, when people of different religious denominations prayed and fasted for forty days in front of Profamilia and Orientame, two well-known institutions that assist women in terms of reproductive health, as well as performing abortions. This vigil provoked conflicting reactions from the people working in the institutions and the neighbors living close by.

Conclusions In this chapter we have analyzed how lay members of the IBP articulate forms of political participation and intervention in the public sphere through the performance of traditionalist Catholic rituals in the chapel of the IBP and public spaces of Bogota. The active political participation of lay members of the IBP in the chapel and in public spaces defies the idea that the practice of Tridentine Mass produces merely passive spectators (Rowland 2008, p. 124). Through the participation and defense of traditionalist liturgy and other rituals, lay members of the IBP become politically active in the public sphere, displaying religious symbols and practices in public spaces. Given that these practices constitute political manifestations through religious means, they question any clear division between the political and the religious. 232

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One of the main critiques of Vatican II by lay members of the IBP concerns the ecumenism that it promoted, but despite this critique of the ‘false ecumenism’ of the Church, lay members of the IBP have developed a ‘practical ecumenism’ that consists of political alliances with Christian churches from other denominations. These alliances are expressed through religious practices such as prayer chains and vigils, where Catholics and other Christians converge and where doctrinal differences become irrelevant for political purposes. Clearly, the relationship between politics and religion is not simple, especially in former Catholic nations that have recently implemented political reforms that recognize religious freedom and the separation of church and state (Vaggione and Morán 2017). Therefore, it is necessary to analyze how the relationships between politics and religion are reconfigured in the context of religious pluralism and political reforms that try to limit the power of the Catholic Church.

References Asad, T., 1993. Genealogies of religion. Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press. Bastian, J.-P., 1997. La mutación religiosa de América Latina. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Bastian, J.-P., 2012. La modernidad religiosa: Europa latina y América Latina en perspectiva comparada. Mexico City: Fondo de Cultura Económica. Beltrán, W. M., 2013. Del monopolio católico a la explosión pentecostal: Pluralización religiosa, secularización y cambio social en Colombia. Bogota: Lecturas CES. Dinges, W., 1987. Ritual conflict as social conflict: Liturgical reform in the Roman Catholic Church. Sociological Analysis, 48 (2), 138–157. Gonzalez, F., 1987. Prólogo. In: J. P. Restrepo ed. La iglesia y el estado en Colombia. Bogota: Banco Popular, 7–37. Gonzalez, J. M., 2014. El catolicismo tradicional español ante el caso Lefebvre (1976-1978). Hispania Sacra, 66 (2), 489–513. Levine, D. H., 1997. Protestants and Catholics in Latin America: A family portrait. Bulletin of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, 50 (4), 10–42. Mahmood, S., 2005. Politics of piety: The Islamic revival and the feminist subject. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Ottaviani, A. and Bacci, A., 1996. A brief critical study of the new order of the Mass. Available from: http:// archives.sspx.org/SSPX_FAQs/brief_critical_study_of_the_new_order_of_Mass-ottaviani-interven tion.pdf [Accessed 30 April 2018]. Pope Francis., 2015. Encyclical on capitalism & inequality. On care for our common home. London: Verso. Pope, S., 2004. Introduction: The laity and the governance of the Catholic Church today. In: S. Pope, ed. Common people: The laity and governance of the Catholic Church. Washington: Georgetown University Press, 1–24. Rowland, T., 2008. Ratzinger’s faith: The theology of pope Benedict XVI. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stoekl, A., 2006. French Catholic traditionalism and the specter of reactionary politics. South Central Review, 23, 89–106. Vaggione, J. M. and Morán, J. M., 2017. Introduction: Laicidad and religious diversity: Themes in the debates on the regulation of religion in Latin America. In: J. M. Vaggione and J. M. Morán, eds. Laicidad and religious diversity in Latin America. Cham: Springer, 1–20.

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19 The globalization of the Catholic Church History, organization, theology Isacco Turina

Introduction In this chapter we propose an analysis at three levels—historical, organizational and theological—of the globalization of the Catholic Church in the twentieth and early twentyfirst centuries. These three dimensions have evolved together to transform it from a mainly European-based organization into a global actor. In a sense, the Church has always aspired to a universal mission: the evangelization of all mankind (originally, ‘catholic’ meant ‘universal’). Indeed, in the seventeenth century the Jesuits were already active on a global scale (Clossey 2008). But the rest of the Church was deeply involved in European politics. Until the end of the nineteenth century most of its followers were European, and so was its hierarchy. But the sweeping events which shaped modernity profoundly remoulded its structure. What had initially seemed a dramatic shrinking of its means and scope triggered important changes, which, in the end, turned into unexpected opportunities to expand its influence worldwide.

Historical dimensions Historical dimensions concern macro-historical changes like secularization in Europe, the loss of temporal power of the popes, and global demographic trends. These processes have evolved independently and often against the wishes of the Church, which has tried hard to resist them. Until the French Revolution and despite the loss of religious monopoly in Europe after the Reformation, the Catholic Church still acted within the frame of the alliance of secular and religious powers in the government of societies. Centuries of fierce conflict between the popes and the Christian emperors over matters of jurisdiction and legitimacy did not shake, but rather confirmed, the general idea that secular powers were of divine origin and therefore needed approval by the religious authority. Contrary to this political theology, the French revolutionaries established the sovereign power of the people. In a wave of violent reaction against the former establishment, they persecuted the clergy, confiscated ecclesiastical properties and brought the French Christian monarchy to an abrupt

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end. The subsequent Napoleonic reforms spread new models and theories of secularized state power throughout Europe. In particular, the building of the modern Italian state led to a direct confrontation with the popes, who still governed over the Papal states in Central Italy. The Italian troops conquered the city of Rome in 1870, thereby ending the temporal power of the papacy and, incidentally, interrupting the First Vatican Council where Catholic bishops were closing ranks around the Pope and proclaiming his infallibility. This was a traumatic event for the Church, which until the 1950s perpetuated an official policy of resistance, hostility and de-legitimation of modern secular powers. And yet, as Casanova (1997) has argued, the loss of temporal power paved the way for a new universal role of the popes as policy makers and opinion leaders, which we will examine later. Demographic trends generated other macro-historical processes, which have shaped the contemporary Church. In the second half of the nineteenth century, mass migrations of European Catholics to America and Australia began to shift the global distribution of believers. The Vatican had to devise new programs to provide religious and material aid to these migrants (Turina 2015). In the long run, this proved to be a successful policy. In the USA, traditionally a Protestant country, about 23% of the population is now Catholic (Center for the Study of Global Christianity 2013, p. 62). European mass migrations were followed by the migration of Latinos—most of them Catholic—from Mexico and Southern America. While future trends are open to change, the foundation of a distinct American Catholicism, which has had a profound impact both on US society and on the Church itself, is mostly the work of migrants. Besides migrations, sheer demographic growth has a strong impact on religions, and it is rapidly changing the face of the Church. The future growth of Catholicism largely depends on Catholic communities in the global South (Jenkins 2002). Currently about 59% of all Catholics live in Latin America and Africa (Secretaria status ecclesiae 2016, p. 43). Those continents, which were once lands of evangelization for European missionaries, now represent the bulk of Catholicity and are themselves promoting evangelization elsewhere, including Europe, where it is increasingly common to see African priests or Indian nuns.

Organizational dimensions While these processes are part of great historical changes and have evolved mostly independently of the Church itself, which could do little to stop or manage them, at the organizational level we identify the structural adjustments of the Church in response to these trends. We will focus on five of these changes: the election of bishops; the College of Cardinals; the diplomacy of the Holy See; the network of Catholic NGOs; and the uses of media.

The election of bishops One of the benefits accruing from the loss of temporal power and the separation of Church and State has been the centralization of the appointment of bishops in the hands of the Pope (Costigan 1966). After centuries of struggles between Rome and the secular powers, in the twentieth century the Holy See gained almost complete control over the appointment of bishops worldwide, the notable exception being currently the People’s Republic of China. In the course of this process, the bishops were freed from the grip of local powers and brought under Rome’s direct control. Once mainly a local élite, Catholic bishops are now more like a corps of officials with a relatively homogeneous education who act in 235

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accordance with, and under the surveillance of, the Pope. This centralization has allowed for a global political agenda orchestrated by the Holy See, as in the case of the campaign against abortion and reproductive rights under the pontificate of John-Paul II.

The College of Cardinals Until the Second Vatican Council (Vatican II), the College of Cardinals that elects the pope used to be mainly European and particularly Italian; now it is genuinely global and increasingly so. European cardinals are 42% of the electors, while cardinals from Latin America, Asia and Africa, altogether represent 44% of the electorate and their share is likely to increase in the coming years (data from the website www.vatican.va, last update 28 June 2018; cardinals can elect the Pope until the age of eighty). Churches from the global South are gaining weight within the universal Church and they have begun to shift from the periphery to the centre of the organization. They increasingly provide institutional leaders—and more recently Francis himself, the first pope from the Southern hemisphere.

The diplomacy of the Holy See Although the Vatican City is the smallest country in the world, it is the only existing case of a religious organization that can act as a state. Diplomatic relations are key to its politics. The Vatican currently entertains bilateral relations with 180 states and holds the status of permanent observer at the UN. Its delegates participate on a regular basis in the assemblies of the UN and of its organisms like UNESCO, ILO, WHO and FAO. It is notably a member of the Executive Committee of the UNHCR, a member of the OSCE and maintains formal relations with the EU. The Holy See generally enjoys a good reputation for its endorsement of peace, human rights, religious freedom and the rights of migrants and refugees. However, its engagement does not go without criticisms. Its opposition to abortion, reproductive rights and same-sex marriage has led to tensions and ambiguities when women’s rights or the rights of homosexual people are at stake. Nevertheless, the Holy See has acted consistently in favor of debt relief for poor countries, against the Iraq War in 2003 and for the rights of Christian minorities in the Middle East (Shelledy 2004). It has sustained campaigns for universal access to water, food and medicine, and it has upheld the cause of poor peasants and indigenous people against land exploitation in Latin America and the Philippines. The Pope’s public statements deal mostly with social, spiritual and moral issues, but they can have significant political meaning. This has been notably the case with John XXIII during the Cuban missile crisis in 1962, while the diplomacy and travels to Poland of John-Paul II are credited with having favored the fall of the communist regimes in Eastern Europe (Linden 2009).

The network of Catholic NGOs While official diplomacy is centralized in Rome, a large number of faith-based organizations around the world assume the task of putting into practice the Catholic teaching in a variety of social, political and local arenas. This task, which used to be undertaken mainly by religious congregations and societies of apostolic life, since Vatican II has been increasingly in the hands of lay Catholics. The galaxy of Catholic NGOs covers a wide range of ideological positions and material tasks, from assistance to the poor to intergovernmental lobbying (Trigeaud 2014). Part of this network is coordinated by the Holy See through its 236

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departments; but generally these NGOs enjoy a great deal of leeway or they work mainly with the local clergy. In addition to their material work they can act as a powerful network of information, especially in the case of conflicts, humanitarian emergencies, or in contexts where the official Church is not allowed to move freely. For example, in the 1970s when Vatican delegates had little chance of passing beyond the Iron Curtain, Caritas Internationalis and other NGOs continued to bring material and financial help, to maintain informal contacts between Eastern and Western Europe, and to provide information on the real condition of Catholics under communist regimes (Della Cava 1997). The overall influence of this network has not yet been fully assessed, but it seems to be considerable. Some of these organizations have gained an international reputation, like the Community of Sant’Egidio, which works with the homeless in Rome and at the same time ‘has developed the world’s probably best expertise on the Balkans and in certain African conflicts (Burundi, Congo)’ (Matlary 2001, p. 93). Catholic activists are also at the origin of fair trade organizations, like Max Havelaar (Landron 2008, pp. 406–410).

Uses of the media Since the 1920s the popes have been aware of the ubiquitous role of mass media in contemporary society and of their influence on the public. Their response has been twofold. On the one hand, they have made use of the new media to spread their own message. On the other, they have warned against the danger that they represent for the public. Thus, in 1931 Pius XI broadcasted the first radio discourse by a pope and in 1936 he issued an encyclical (Vigilanti cura) in support of Catholic campaigns of moral censure of films, including the boycott of those that fell below moral standards. In 1963 Vatican II confirmed in its decree Inter mirifica this double concern: to make good use of the mass media for Catholic purposes and to keep watch on possible misuses. At the turn of the twenty-first century the Church has adopted the Internet as a new means of publicity and evangelization (see the 2002 document The Church and Internet, by the Pontifical Council for Social Communications). Gauthier and Uhl (2012, p. 59) have shown that the Holy See’s official website ‘emphasises a personal rapport with the Vatican, namely through the living symbol of the Pope.’ In recent decades the popes, beginning with John-Paul II, have indeed become media celebrities and the media have been eager to cover some news stories concerning the Church. While this has proved successful on the occasion of events like papal journeys, the election of a new pope or the 2000 Jubilee in Rome, media attention has backlashed in the case of scandals involving the clergy and the Roman curia. As Alain Woodrow has contended, ‘the Catholic Church was quick to grasp the way it could utilise the media for its own ends, but much less willing to accept the legitimate demands made upon it by those same media’ (Woodrow 2003, p. 209). The pontificate of Benedict XVI, racked by frequent scandals, has shown how much relations with the media have become a priority for the government of the Church. In a ‘commitment to reorganize’ the Holy See’s information system, in 2015 Pope Francis established the Secretariat for Communication, tasked with coordinating the Vatican media and maintaining relations with external media.

The theological dimensions These structural adjustments have been accompanied by doctrinal changes. Here we focus on the Catholic doctrine as it appears in papal teachings. These teachings provide contents, guidelines and inspiration for the activities of Catholic communities and organizations 237

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worldwide. We will review five recurrent topics in the magisterium of the popes since Vatican II: human rights; migrants and refugees; family, sexuality and bioethics; economics; and environment and climate change. Taken together, these issues contribute to forging a global Catholic teaching. It is global because it deals with matters of international significance and also because it is intended to target not only Catholic believers but all mankind. Each of these issues has inspired campaigns and commitment, and it has received considerable attention from the media, scholars and the public opinion, sparking debates and sometimes provoking vehement criticism. For better or worse, this participation in the public sphere has helped greatly to increase the visibility of the Church and its influence in contemporary social and political processes.

Human rights The Church’s reception of human rights has had a troubled history (Menozzi 2012). Initially associated with the Declaration of the rights of man and of the citizen of the French Revolution, the hierarchy considered such rights as a modern error. In the field of conscience, everyone must follow the truth, so that there is no freedom to hold or disseminate false (i.e. not Catholic) opinions. Well into the twentieth century, the Church was still opting for an official religion enforced by secular powers. Vatican II helped to advance the debate, accepting the principles of religious freedom and freedom of conscience, together with the separation of Church and State. John XXIII’s 1963 encyclical on peace, Pacem in terris, was the first to uphold the discourse of human rights. In the 1980s, John-Paul II grafted the doctrine of human rights on his own theology, which put the human person at the center of the Church’s advocacy. He openly endorsed the work of the UN and was viewed by many as a champion of human rights who spoke on behalf of all humanity. Since then, the issue of human rights has become commonplace in the magisterium of Church leaders and in the campaigns of many Catholic NGOs. This attitude is not completely consistent, however. Tensions frequently arise on the subject of women’s rights, reproductive rights, or the rights of homosexual people, with liberal and radical movements routinely accusing the Church of sustaining and perpetuating a patriarchal and heteronormative order (Chong and Troy 2011). The Church itself is not a democratic society in any case, and its vision of human dignity stems from a conception of men and women as created by God, which is not easily reconcilable with more secular approaches. Nonetheless, in the second half of the twentieth century, the Catholic thought has turned towards a positive assessment of democracy, peace and human rights. According to Huntington (1991) and Casanova (1996), in the 1980s and 1990s the Church became a decisive actor in the transitions from dictatorial to democratic regimes in many countries throughout the world.

Migrants and refugees The concern of the Church for the fate of migrants was initially determined by the vicissitudes of Catholic migrants. In the 1940s Pius XII spoke in favour of the free circulation of Catholic believers worldwide and against discrimination in their new lands of settlement. In the aftermath of World War II he publicly embraced the cause of war prisoners and refugees independently of their religion, advocating a rapid and peaceful return of all people to their homes. In 1951, the Holy See was among the twenty-six states that promulgated and signed the Geneva Convention on the status of refugees. Vatican II further 238

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developed this interest. In the dogmatic constitution Lumen Gentium, the Church identifies itself as ‘the wandering people of God’ whose members live ‘still as pilgrims in a strange land.’ Concern for mobile and displaced people has gone hand in hand with a selfconscience of the Church as a supranational entity, not bound to the Westphalian system of frontiers, territorial jurisdiction and national citizenship (Turina 2015). Since Paul VI, the popes have been travelers on all continents, and papal journeys have become regular media events. John-Paul II was an indefatigable traveler. Visits provided him with opportunities to pursue political aims or to settle conflicts with local churches. In the course of his sojourn he met political leaders and he would personally follow diplomatic relations between the Holy See and secular governments. Modern transportation technology enabled him to combine a solid central power with ceaseless mobility. It therefore comes as no surprise that he was an advocate of human mobility. Lately Pope Francis has been a vocal defender of the rights of migrants. On his first papal trip he visited the Mediterranean island of Lampedusa— a gateway to Europe for thousands of migrants and asylum-seekers from North Africa. In a sermon on Lampedusa he remembered the deaths at sea of hundreds of them and criticized the indifference of host countries.

Family, sexuality and bioethics Breaking a longstanding tradition of reticence on sexual matters, in his 1930 encyclical Casti connubii Pius XI made the first public statement on eugenics and birth control, basically condemning the intervention of states (forced sterilizations, certificates of eugenic marriage) as well as attempts by the couples themselves to limit the number of their children. Casti connubii marked the beginning of an ongoing struggle among the Church, secular powers, public opinion and the medical world around questions of sexuality, human life and what would be later known as bioethics (Turina 2013a). The official doctrine on this matter has not been immutable, however. In 1951 Pius XII permitted the use of natural means of fertility control based on estimates of the ovulation cycle. But in 1968, when considerable numbers of lay Catholics—especially in Western democracies—were persuaded that the doctrine was about to be further liberalized, Paul VI reaffirmed the ban on the pill as well as any other contraceptive method except the ‘natural’ ones. His encyclical Humanae vitae was a watershed in the contemporary history of the Church (Massa 2010). It widened the gap between the laity and the hierarchy that Vatican II had begun to close and it exacerbated the culture war between liberal and conservative Catholics. The Holy See has often tried to influence, through its political and diplomatic forces, liberal secular legislations concerning abortion, euthanasia, same-sex marriage and the diffusion of gender theory (Dobbelaere et al. 2015). Indeed, this may be the only domain where tensions between the Church and the modern world, which have been largely resolved in other fields, are still strong. The Holy See has shown a propensity to ally with such unlikely partners as Muslim states in order to counter UN programs on reproductive rights (Chong and Troy 2011). It would be wrong, however, to see the Church as univocal. John-Paul II thwarted internal plurality, and he made conformity with sexual morals the standard of loyalty to the hierarchy. Since his death many dissenting voices—including members of the clergy—have publicly emerged, showing that the Catholic world is far from being of only one mind. Benedict XVI had timidly begun to relax the ban on condoms, and Francis has insisted on the primacy of pastoral care over doctrinal anathemas, thereby adopting a more nuanced consideration of subjective and contextual factors. Nevertheless, the dispute over same-sex marriage and gender theory still continues between the Catholic hierarchy and liberal movements around the world. 239

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Economics As part of the social doctrine of the Church, inaugurated by Leo XIII in 1891 with the encyclical Rerum novarum, the Catholic teaching on economics traditionally emphasizes the dialogue between labor and capital and the need for a wage that guarantees a decent life for workers and their families. In a polemic against communists on one side and free-market enthusiasts on the other, the Church has stressed the role of intermediate bodies like trade unions and grassroots organizations. In 1931, Pius XI opted for corporatism as the system best able to assure a just and reasonable economic order. In the 1950s Pius XII was a moderate supporter of free enterprise (Percy 2004). After Vatican II, the doctrine on economics became global. Populorum progressio (1967) by Paul VI brought North-South inequalities and economic development to center stage. In 1991, immediately after the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the encyclical Centesimus annus by John-Paul II was read by some as welcoming free entrepreneurship and capitalism (Novak 1993). Although this interpretation would need to be qualified—John-Paul II was certainly no advocate of the consumer society—the international financial crisis that began in 2008 caused a shift towards a more open critique of the negative consequences of global capitalism. The claim that the economy ‘must be structured and governed in an ethical manner’ runs through Benedict XVI’s encyclical Caritas in veritate and has been forcefully reiterated by Pope Francis. Indeed, the latter is developing a strong indictment of the ruthlessness of global corporations and the misdeeds of impersonal financial transactions which altogether are worsening the conditions of poor people worldwide and exploiting them (Cavanaugh 2015). Just as John-Paul II’s campaign against communism drew on his personal experience under the Polish regime and had the Cold War as its backdrop, Francis’s message against global inequalities takes stock of his Latin American background as well as the global justice movement (in 2014 the Vatican summoned a World meeting of popular, i.e. grassroots, movements). His teachings dovetail with pre-existing Catholic initiatives for economic justice, such as those for debt relief, fair trade or the Economy of Communion project by the Focolari Movement.

Environment and climate change In 2015, Pope Francis’s encyclical Laudato si’ on ‘the care for our common home’ has evoked comments from various sections of the public, including scientists, politicians and social movements. The Church’s engagement with ecology dates back to the early 1970s (Keenan 2002), but Laudato si’ was the first document to give a full-fledged account of the environmental crisis. The official Catholic attitude towards environmentalism differs from that of many secular movements because it is wary of demographic policies. It stops short of ‘deep ecology’ and biocentrism and it shuns references to Eastern spirituality which are commonplace among many activists (Turina 2013b). But even within these limits, Francis has strongly denounced land exploitation and pollution by governments and corporations as well as weak, superficial environmental policies. He emphasizes the link among safeguarding the environment, global justice and the misdeeds of an unbridled free market. He pairs ‘the cry of the earth and the cry of the poor,’ a sentence that echoes the title of a book by the Brazilian liberation theologian, Leonardo Boff. Taking stock of the scientific consensus on global warming, he rebukes climate change deniers. Together with his indictment of neoliberalism, this stance has earned him the reproaches of Catholic conservatives, notably in the United States and Australia. It is noteworthy that he makes frequent references to the documents of National Bishops’ conferences, a detail which suggests the slow formation of a genuinely global theology, nourished by non-European and particularly Southern Churches.

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The issues examined above have allowed the Church to take an active role in the most urgent debates that have riven modern societies in the past century. They have channeled political alliances and they have favored convergences and cleavages with other agencies. They have induced theology to confront living problems and they have fueled grassroots commitments. They have accompanied the globalization of the ecclesiastical structures and they have given it corresponding global contents. They have contributed to keeping the visibility of the Church high and to having its voice heard by other relevant actors worldwide. They are a witness to the engagement of the Church with the modern world at the same time as the Church was loosening its former rejection of it.

Conclusion Our three-level analysis started with those historical changes that in the past two centuries have affected the Church and pushed it into the turmoil of modernity: secularization, the separation of Church and State, the loss of temporal power, mass migrations and world demographic trends. The initial reaction was one of outright rejection of these and other characteristics of modern societies. These unwanted changes, however, triggered a series of organizational adjustments that in the long run have shaped an unexpected new profile of the Church. The popes could finally manage the appointment of bishops; through the encyclicals and thanks to the new technologies of communication, they have learned how to address an international public, gradually gaining a wide reputation as world leaders, relevant political actors and even media celebrities; the establishment of a skilled diplomatic corps and of a network of Catholic NGOs has greatly enhanced the power of the Church as mediator in international relations and as a provider of information and services on different continents; the College of Cardinals summoned to elect the Pope has shifted from a mostly Italian and European entity to a genuinely global constituency that represents also Southern and Eastern countries—after about twelve centuries, the election of a European pope is no longer taken for granted. Doctrinal developments have accompanied these structural changes. The pre-conciliar magisterium was more concerned with otherworldly matters. Now it is deeply involved in contemporary social and political issues. The Church has often something to say about the most hotly debated topics in the public sphere. Its main areas of intervention include peace and human rights, migrants and refugees, sexuality and bioethics, economics, and the environmental crisis. As a result of these processes, the Catholic Church has left behind its former identity as a European-based organization to take on a truly global profile. If this is an accomplished fact, it is nevertheless difficult to make a critical assessment of the next challenges. On the one hand, the Pope attracts worldwide attention and media coverage. But this high visibility risks becoming a two-edged sword when disastrous news emerges: the recent child abuse scandals have greatly eroded the credibility of the Church, particularly in the United States, Ireland and Belgium but also in Peru. Moreover, an excessive concentration on the Pope might be a liability if it hides problems that emerge at grassroots level. Pope Francis has put evangelization and pastoral care at the top of his agenda. Indeed, the Church is losing followers to the profit of secularism, especially in Europe and North America, and of Protestant and Pentecostal Churches, particularly in Africa and Latin America. In China too, which is likely to be strategic for the future of world religions, Independent and Protestant Christians outnumber Catholics and they are growing faster than them (Center for the Study of Global Christianity 2013, p. 36). The balance between élite power and grassroots vitality is likely to be a major stake for the future of the Catholic 241

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Church. In the end, its prestige as a world actor is founded on its representing large masses of believers. If it were to lose substantial numbers of followers, in the long run the influence and legitimacy of its leaders would also predictably wane. Another crucial point concerns internal ideological division. The post-conciliar fracture between liberal and conservative Catholics is still not reconciled and may endanger the unity of the Church. An almost exclusive focus on the person of the Pope can temporarily hide these problems and enhance the influence of Catholic élites, but it does not really help to cope with them. The balance of power between the center in Rome and the National Bishops’ conferences is also a delicate matter that causes deep concern when an official agenda is de facto ignored or disregarded. For all his authority, John-Paul II was more successful in assuring public compliance with his positions on abortion than he was with peace. As Linden remarks, ‘despite the ability of parts of the Church to leap nation-state boundaries in pursuit of the Common Good, the Church has rarely transcended ethnic and national identities in times of war’ (Linden 2009, p. 275). The civil war of 1994 in Rwanda opposing two ethnic groups, both of them Catholic, is a tragic reminder of this inability. The upsurge of new grassroots Catholic movements, from the loosely organized Charismatics to the strictly disciplined Neocatechumenal Way, also raises questions about the liturgical and doctrinal consistency of the various branches of the Church. On the external front, inter-religious relations represent a crucial challenge for the twenty-first century. Indeed, inter-faith dialogue is strictly intertwined with political and diplomatic affairs. Currently, the persecution of Christian minorities in the Middle East is a formidable obstacle to Muslim/Catholic dialogue, while ecumenical rapprochement with Orthodox Christianity in Russia is hindered by fears of Catholic proselytizing. Likewise, ‘it seems that dialogue between Jews and Catholics will still be held hostage by the unsolved Palestinian issue’ (Vukić ević 2015, p. 70). Therefore, in a time when religion has become a major variable in international relations, the establishment of peaceful collaboration between the Catholic Church and other religious actors seems particularly doubtful and delicate. Finally, the Church’s constant visibility has raised the issue of public accounting. The child abuses cases, together with financial and political scandals that have swept the Vatican in recent years (Thavis 2013), have dramatically exposed the traditional culture of secrecy which until recently was widespread among the clergy and deeply entrenched within the Roman curia. Theological analyses of public accounting and the civil responsibilities of the clergy are few and far between. The damage that this unpreparedness has caused to the global image of the Church is only too evident.

References Casanova, J., 1996. Global Catholicism and the Politics of Civil Society. Sociological Inquiry, 66 (3), 356–373. Casanova, J., 1997. Globalizing Catholicism and the Return to a ‘Universal Church’. In: S. Hoeber Rudolph and J. Piscatori, eds. Transnational Religion and Fading States. Boulder: Westview, 121–143. Cavanaugh, W., 2015. Return of the Golden Calf: Economy, Idolatry, and Secularization Since Gaudium Et Spes. Theological Studies, 76 (4), 698–717. Center for the Study of Global Christianity, 2013. Christianity in Its Global Context, 1970-2020. Society, Religion, and Mission. South Hamilton: Center for the Study of Global Christianity. Chong, A. and Troy, J., 2011. A Universal Sacred Mission and the Universal Secular Organization: The Holy See and the United Nations. Politics, Religion and Ideology, 12 (3), 335–354.

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Clossey, L., 2008. Salvation and Globalization in the Early Jesuit Missions. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Costigan, R. F., 1966. State Appointment of Bishops. Journal of Church and State, 8 (1), 82–96. Della Cava, R., 1997. Religious Resource Networks: Roman Catholic Philanthropy in Central and East Europe. In: S. Hoeber Rudolph and J. Piscatori, eds. Transnational Religion and Fading States. Boulder: Westview, 173–196. Dobbelaere, K. and Pérez-Agote, A., eds., 2015. The Intimate. Polity and the Catholic Church. Leuven: Leuven University Press. Gauthier, F. and Uhl, M., 2012. Digital Shapings of Religion in a Globalised World. The Vatican Online and Amr Khaled’s TV-preaching. Australian Journal of Communication, 39 (1), 53–70. Huntington, S. P., 1991. The Third Wave: Democratization in the Late Twentieth Century. Norman: University of Oklahoma Press. Jenkins, P., 2002. The Next Christendom: The Coming of Global Christianity. New York: Oxford University Press. Keenan, M., 2002. From Stockholm to Johannesburg: An Historical Overview of the Concern of the Holy See for the Environment, 1972–2002. Vatican City: LEV. Landron, O., 2008. Le catholicisme vert: Histoire des relations entre l’Église et la nature au XXe siècle. Paris: Cerf. Linden, I., 2009. Global Catholicism: Diversity and Change since Vatican II. London: Hurst & Company. Massa, M. S., 2010. The American Catholic Revolution: How the Sixties Changed the Church Forever. New York: Oxford University Press. Matlary, J. H., 2001. The Just Peace: The Public and Classical Diplomacy of the Holy See. Cambridge Review of International Affairs, 14 (2), 80–94. Menozzi, D., 2012. Chiesa e diritti umani: Legge naturale e modernità politica dalla rivoluzione francese ai nostri giorni. Bologna: il Mulino. Novak, M., 1993. The Catholic Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. New York: Free Press. Percy, A. G., 2004. Private Initiative, Entrepreneurship, and Business in the Teaching of Pius XII. Journal of Markets & Morality, 7 (1), 7–25. Secretaria status ecclesiae, 2016. Statistical Yearbook of the Church 2014. Vatican City: LEV. Shelledy, R. B., 2004. The Vatican’s Role in Global Politics. SAIS Review, 24 (2), 149–162. Thavis, J. (2013) The Vatican Diaries. New York: Penguin. Trigeaud, S.-H., 2014. La géopolitique de l’Église catholique. Annuaire français de relations internationales, 15, 765–779. Turina, I., 2013a. Vatican Biopolitics. Social Compass, 60 (1), 137–151. Turina, I., 2013b. L’Église catholique et la cause de l’environnement. Terrain, 60, 20–35. Turina, I., 2015. Centralized Globalization: The Holy See and Human Mobility since World War II. Critical Research on Religion, 3 (2), 189–205. Vukić ević , B., 2015. Pope Francis and the Challenges of Inter-civilization Diplomacy. Revista Brasileira De Política Internacional, 58 (2), 65–79. Woodrow, A., 2003. The Church and the Media: Beyond Inter Mirifica. In: A. Ivereigh, ed. Unfinished Journey. The Church 40 Years after Vatican II. London: Continuum, 208–224.

Key texts Casanova, J., 1996. Global Catholicism and the Politics of Civil Society. Sociological Inquiry, 66 (3), 356–373. Casanova, J., 1997. Globalizing Catholicism and the Return to a ‘Universal Church’. In: S. Hoeber Rudolph and J. Piscatori, eds. Transnational Religion and Fading States. Boulder: Westview, 121–143. Jenkins, P., 2002. The Next Christendom: The Coming of Global Christianity. New York: Oxford University Press. Linden, I., 2009. Global Catholicism: Diversity and Change since Vatican II. London: Hurst & Company. Shelledy, R. B., 2004. The Vatican’s Role in Global Politics. SAIS Review, 24 (2), 149–162.

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Diasporic communities

20 Dialectics between transnationalism and diaspora The Ahmadiyya Muslim community Katrin Langewiesche

Introduction My aim in this chapter is to draw attention to the complementarity of the concepts of diaspora and transnationalization by analyzing certain religious movements, using the example of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community. The concept of diaspora can be used as a framework for studying particular social formations that arise within processes of transnational mobilization. The transnational perspective highlights the importance of individual mobility, religious media, and educational and health institutions in conveying religious ideas across large geographical distances. The example of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community emphasizes the importance of religion and religious actors as brokers and outcomes of global exchange. The Ahmadiyya was founded in British India in 1889 by Mirza Ghulam Ahmad, an Indian Muslim scholar (1835–1908). The movement holds a unique place within contemporary Islam because, although its members consider themselves Muslim, they are not recognized as such by the majority of Muslims. Since the 1974 Islamic Conference in Mecca, the Ahmadiyya has been excluded from the Islamic community by fatwa (legal opinion given by a recognized authority). Within the Ahmadiyya, there were theological differences and disagreements regarding the founder’s successor prompting the splitting of the movement into two groups as early as 1914: the Lahore Ahmadiyya (Ahmadiyya Anjuman-i Isha`at-i Islami—AAII) and the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community (Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at—AMJ). The missionaries of the Lahore Ahmadiyya were the first to reach Europe and those who were met with greatest success among Europeans from World War I onward, until World War II transformed the situation entirely. Jonker (2016) explains these transformations by adapting missionary ideas to changing political and intellectual contexts. While, on one side, the progressive Islam of the Lahore Ahmadis and their rational approach fitted well in the period of experimentation and intellectual awakening between the two world wars, the millenarian Islam of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at, on the other side, with its promise of redemption through charism settled in a post-war, then Cold War atmosphere and began to conquer one European capital after another.

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The vast majority of Ahmadis in Europe and in the world today belong to the Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at, whose administrative headquarters have been in London since 1984 because the Ahmadis are persecuted in their home country, Pakistan. The Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at is represented in over 200 countries around the world. Although the group is attracting many converts, especially in Africa, a very large proportion of its members are still Pakistani or of Pakistani origin. The Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at sees itself as a reform movement within Islam. Indeed, the traditional tenets of Muslim Reformism—personal interpretation of the Quran and the purge of Islam from local traditions—are present in Ahmadi Islam. An important characteristic of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at is that it is missionary-oriented, with a special emphasis on peaceful proselytizing aimed at Muslims and non-Muslims alike. Travelling from the periphery to the center of the European empires the Ahmadiyya movement was the first Muslim migrant community from the Indian subcontinent who engaged in a ‘reversed’ mission flux (Gaborieau 2001). In its writings, the Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at refers to the sources of Islam. The Quran is considered to be an infallible book revealed by God. Furthermore, the sunna (practice of the Prophet Muhammad), as well as his traditions (hadith), are considered to be fundamental as long as they do not contradict the Quran. Ghulam Ahmad refers to the Hanafite school of law and to the independent interpretation of the legal sources (ijtihad) by scholars of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at (Ahmed 2012, pp. 13, 49). The Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at links the demand for a return to true Islam with active faith spreading, which is in line with some Wahhabi-Salafi currents. This ethos resembles US evangelical media campaigns. It also calls for the veneration of their spiritual leader (like in some Sufi brotherhoods) and manages its international communities centrally (which resembles the clerical structure of the Catholic Church). The Ahmadiyya can be described as the outcome of cultural interactions in a colonial environment and long-term transnational exchanges combining diverse threads into one religious movement that adopted its own way.

Ahmadiyya studies, methods, and concepts Although the Ahmadiyya movement has received scholarly attention both on the Indian subcontinent where the movement was founded (Lavan 1974; Friedmann 1989; Gaborieau 1994; Khan 2015; Qasmi 2015) and in the diaspora (Beyler et al. 2008; Ross-Valentine 2008; Curtis 2009; Lathan 2010; Skinner 2010; Green 2014; Jonker 2016), the level of research in Africa is not sufficient. The only transnational study for the African continent dates back to the 1960s (Fisher 1963). In addition, there are several national studies on Benin (Bregand 2006), Burkina Faso (Cissé and Langewiesche 2019), the Ivory Coast (Yacoob 1986), and most recently a historical study on the Gold Coast, today’s Ghana (Hanson 2017). Recent transnational studies are largely lacking, even though the outstanding pieces of research by Green (2014), Hanson (2017), and Jonker (2016) have identified precisely these global connections. The few studies on the Ahmadiyya deserve to be placed in a larger theoretical context, namely that of transnational religious research. Thus, the empirical example of the Ahmadiyya movement is nourished by the theoretical discussion about the complex relationship between religion and globalization.

Multilocal fieldwork My interest in the activities of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community began in 2009 with a series of interviews with employees and the doctor of the Ahmadi hospital in Ouagadougou, 248

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the capital of Burkina Faso. They allowed me to participate in many medical outreaches and cataract operations in villages around the capital and distributions of medicines in the prison. In 2014 and 2015, I conducted systematic research in France, Germany, Burkina Faso, Ghana, and Benin, following the activities of various Ahmadi communities and participating in their events, in particular the Jalsa Salana, an annual meeting of days of prayer organized in every country hosting an Ahmadi community.1

Concepts: transnationalism and diaspora In the context of the debates surrounding globalization, researchers introduced the idea of transnationalism to analyze complex links between migrants, their countries of origin, and their host society (Glick Schiller et al. 1992; Vertovec 1999). Faist (2000) stressed that transnational phenomena do not develop solely through migration but also through the exchange of goods and ideas among NGOs, business connections, associations, religious movements, and churches (Lauser and Weissköppel 2008). Two characteristics must be highlighted when outlining this idea of transnationalism, be it in the area of religion or other sectors: this term refers to crossing borders in the sense that links are created and sustained between persons of the same national background but in different places. Second, the term indicates the possibility of crossing borders in the sense of an exchange of political, religious, and social ideas and interests. This indicates the mobilizing forces that transnational groups or networks can exercise within states or any given society. The first characteristic is obvious: the exchange of goods and information, and people’s mobility, clearly establish connections. In contrast, rather than assuming eventual effects in advance, the second characteristic—the mobilizing force of transnational links—remains to be proved empirically for each case (Weissköppel 2005a). Transnationalism is an analytical and descriptive concept associated with such subjects as mobility and the formation of networks. It refers to processes that extend beyond national borders. The traditional definition of diaspora as religious or national groups who live outside their country of origin is rooted in concepts of ‘community’ and ‘dispersal,’ which are frequently associated with persecution (Cohen 2008). The term diaspora is not solely an analytical category used to describe social phenomena in the academic context; it is used equally commonly in political debates in the defense of individual interests. In contrast to the concept of transnationalism, which remains an academic term, diaspora can be envisaged as a political project, which serves in the defense of interests and ideologies (Bauböck 2010, p. 315). When the practices and discourses of a group and the ways in which they are maintained and respected in a transnational community across generations are considered from an empirical perspective, the concept of diaspora quickly emerges. This concept alludes to cultural idiosyncrasies and identity markers such as language, food, clothes, and their importance for delineating the borders of the religious community. For historical reasons, the Ahmadiyya movement is strongly linked with the Pakistani diaspora but gradually includes new converts of different nationalities and cultures. As a result, its identity markers and boundaries are changing and shifting. This movement offers a good example for the study of a Muslim diaspora which is increasingly displaying its transnational character. Three dimensions deserve attention if we wish to compare the ideas of transnationalism and diaspora with a view to deploying them for the analysis of a specific case (Bauböck and Faist 2010): 249

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1.

2.

3.

The phenomenon of transnationalism encompasses all kinds of social formations (for example, scientific networks and social movements alike). This concept is broader than that of diaspora, which is associated with groups and territories (Levitt 2001). The dimension of identity and mobility. While transnationalism stresses individual mobility across borders thanks to the constitution of networks, the concept of diaspora is focused on collective identities. Finally, the third difference between the two concepts concerns their inscriptions in time (Cohen 2008). The studies on diasporas are more suited to the long-term perspective and integrated into the historical context than transnational analyses which focus on recent migratory flows.The interest in combining these two concepts lies in recording the recent changes within the Ahmadiyya movement and understanding its adaptation and resistance to different contexts.

Transnational spaces bridging transnational movement and diaspora Some of the Ahmadiyya’s global and local practices highlight this dialectic between transnationalism and diaspora. During the annual assemblies of the Ahmadiyya, the Jalsa Salana, a yearly event taking place in each country where the Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at is settled, the transnational practices are physically concentrated and updated. These meetings are not only days of prayer for spiritual fulfillment but also an occasion to meet relatives and friends from all over the world, and to present the multiple professional and educational Ahmadi networks, the humanitarian association linked to the religious organization (Humanity First), the matrimonial agency of the Movement (Rishta Nata), and its widereaching media activities. The Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at conveys their message through a highly developed media network. Nowadays, its international television plays an important role for the growing number of converts and to counter the accusations of heterodoxy (Scholz et al. 2008; Sevea 2009). In Africa, radio broadcasts are just as important in order to reach out large sections of the population as well as all Muslims who would never take part in their meetings because of the Ahmadiyya’s outsider position. There are several reasons accounting for this outsider position.2 The main reason is that the Ahmadis believe their founder is not only a reformer of Islam but also the promised Messiah and Imam Mahdi. Other Muslims see this belief as a contradiction to the dogma that Mohammed is the ‘Seal of the Prophet.’ This led to controversies over the interpretation of the Quranic term ‘Seal of the Prophet’ (khatam-al-Nabiyyin). Ghulam Ahmad understands khatam not as the ‘last’ but as the ‘best’ and ‘greatest’ of the prophets. Ghulam Ahmad and other thinkers of Islamic mysticism before him (Muhyi al-Din Ibn alArabi, 1165–1240) make their case by emphasizing the difference between legislative prophets (anbiya tashri’) and non-legislative prophets (anbiya la tashri’ a lahum) (Friedmann 2003, pp. 73–75). Ghulam Ahmad sees himself as a non-legislative prophet who has come to revitalize the teaching of the Quran as the last scripture, and who acknowledges Muhammad as the last prophet. The Ahmadiyya’s commitment in the fields of education, health, and development has a clearly missionary purpose even if they carefully keep mission and humanitarian work apart (Langewiesche 2020). The movement funds both its missionary activities and its social projects through its members’ contributions. Members must donate between 6–10% of their net income to the community. These internal contributions do not exempt Ahmadi Muslims from the standard zakat. Mission activities combined with the strong veneration of their 250

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charismatic leader and a centralized organization are the main elements which allow the spreading of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at all over the world. Every country has a national president (the Amir) and a chief missionary. The Amir, a position comparable to that of an ambassador, is the direct representative of the khalifa. Every Amir is advised by an elected executive office including several departments. Inside the Ahmadiyya movement, there are sub-communities for boys (7–15), for men under 40 (Khuddam), for men over 40 (Ansar), for girls (7–15) and for women (Lajna). The women’s organizations are organized independently and are under the sole authority of the khalifa. The local, regional, and national department heads are in close contact with the international headquarters in London. Local and national departments together organize major events, such as the Jalsa Salana, which would otherwise overburden local communities financially. The Jalsa Salana can be analyzed as transnational spaces connecting the global Ahmadiyya Muslim Community and its Pakistani diaspora. I use the concept of transnational spaces with respect to Marcus (1995). In his programmatic text he suggests tracking ‘communication spaces’ like crossover points in a network.

Professional and educational associations Each country publicly rewards its academic graduates during the annual Jalsa Salana. In Germany, where the biggest European assembly of Ahmadis takes place (and in 2016, 33,000 Ahmadis gathered to pray and undergo spiritual training), the khalifa himself presided over the ceremony for awarding medals to the new graduates. The community claims ‘tens of millions’ of faithful.3 However, independent sources variously estimate the community at between 10 and 20 million members worldwide, thereby representing around 1% of the world’s Muslim population.4 In some countries, like Pakistan, the members cannot proclaim they are Ahmadis because of the persecutions. For this reason, any estimation of the exact number of Ahmadis is difficult to establish for the organization itself and research institutions alike. However, even in western countries, the Ahmadiyya rarely discloses its exact numbers of faithful.5 This tendency to remain discreet regarding the number of members in the community is part of a narrative of a religious truth situated beyond history and the commensurable. The realistic demography is of lesser importance than the vision of an increasing and ever expanding religious movement. Within the movement, great emphasis is placed on the education of all members, from childhood to adulthood, and for both men and women. The Ahmadis’ understanding of education covers both religious and scientific instruction. Particular attention is paid to the education of girls and women. As a result, it is possible to encounter numerous Ahmadi women in both Africa and Europe, who exercise socially prestigious professions requiring extensive university studies. This promotion of the education and professionalization of women on the part of the Ahmadiyya does not, however, rule out the requirement for the strict separation of the sexes within the community, within families as soon as strangers are visiting them and, as much as possible, within public spaces. The professional involvement of women into society is encouraged by the community under the condition that the woman is able to respect the purdah (i.e. the correct behaviour/clothing) and that her professional activity does not prevent her from taking care of her children’s education and doing the housework. During the Jalsa Salana, members of the various professional associations can meet directly or be informed about the activities of the respective associations. There exist international associations according to professions for Ahmadi lawyers, professors, interpreters, and 251

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engineers, who offer support and internships to young Ahmadis at the beginning of their careers.6 In every country there are also national student associations to provide tutorials and counsel about professional or academic careers. The movement requests all members to offer their services to the community for free for at least three months each year. For example, young Ahmadi Burkinabés completing their agronomy studies come to provide their help in Nigerian villages during their vacation. This system of religious service creates a permanent circulation between villagers and people who have a cosmopolitan habitus and are connected to the globalized world. This system encourages young, well-educated Ahmadis to regularly visit a village and not to sever links with rural life as is often the case for young people who have studied and who do not return to the village either because they do not wish to do so or because they lack professional prospects in rural areas.

Humanity First: a humanitarian and development association During the annual prayer days, the activities of the Ahmadiyya-initiated non-government organization (NGO), Humanity First, are presented to the public. In 1995, the Ahmadiyya religious movement set up a humanitarian organization. Humanity First is devoted exclusively to humanitarian aims, whose activities benefit the entire population of a country and are explicitly not associated with proselytizing. Humanity First offers a wide range of social and charitable services in over 43 countries across 6 continents. Like many Islamic NGOs, it concentrates its actions on Muslim countries or those with a substantial Muslim minority population. In Africa, Humanity First funds hospitals, schools, orphanages, and different kinds of infrastructure for villagers. They organize medical camps and emergency aid in crisis situations. In Europe, Humanity First organizes blood donations, actions of cleaning of public spaces, or support to the homeless. By building schools and respecting the public curriculum, by integrating their healthcare centers into national schemes, Humanity First is one of the transnational Islamic NGOs aligning their activities with the public policy of the countries where it works and within the legal framework of its host countries. The case of Humanity First illustrates that an Islamic missionary movement like the Ahmadiyya Muslim Jama’at, whose emphasis is on mosque building and da’wa, can launch a humanitarian NGO that strictly separates mission from aid and focuses on poverty alleviation. Yet both organizations are based on the same values and religious norms. For Ahmadi Members of Humanity First the bridging of religious activism and development cooperation emerges as an ideal way of pursuing religious social activities in a global society that requires professionalism and economic performances (Langewiesche 2020).

Ristha Nata: an international matrimonial agency The encouragement to acquire advanced scientific education and to engage in the local civil society via development cooperation goes hand in hand with the practice of arranged marriages. Be it in Germany, the UK, or Burkina Faso, it is recommended that parents choose a partner for their children. They are supported in this endeavor by a department, the Ristha Nata, which operates as an international matrimonial agency for and among Ahmadis, and organizes national seminars, often during the Jalsa Salana, which enables mothers to establish contact with other mothers who are looking for spouses for their children. During these seminars, the mother of a boy, who is identified as such by a blue ribbon, can approach a woman wearing a red ribbon indicating that she has a daughter to marry off, with a view to exchanging information. Strict endogamy is recommended within 252

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the community. An Ahmadi girl is allowed to marry only an Ahmadi husband; if she does otherwise, she will be obliged to leave the jama’at. An Ahmadi man may wed a nonAhmadi woman as her conversion is hoped for. These endogamic rules are adapted according to regional customs particularly in order to integrate the new converts. Endogamy facilitates the maintenance of transnational connections of the global community, allows the development of new networks, and helps to expand the community (Balzani 2006). Nonetheless, in Africa strict endogamy is practiced between Ahmadis of Pakistani origin, which gives the impression of a cultural segregation between Ahmadis of Pakistani and African origin.

Wide-reaching media activities The Ahmadiyya has several publishing houses and printing centers in each sub-region to publish the international magazine Review of Religions and all the Ahmadi literature. Green emphasizes how important, in view of reaching out to new regions of the world, the publishing of newspaper articles, making speeches, and founding magazines were as early as the 1920s, when the first Punjabi missionary arrived in the American Midwest (Green 2014). The often free distribution of this literature is part of a method for gaining new members, just like Quran translations in all languages, radio broadcasts, and the Muslim Television Ahmadiyya (MTA). The global satellite TV MTA consists of four international channels. Since 2006, it has been possible to watch the Friday Sermons live on MTA simultaneously translated into eight languages. Within a few days, they were made available through smartphone apps (on the website al.islam, in 18 languages or via PowerPoint presentations). The Ahmadiyya has an important online presence with their official page al.islam (but also the pages of each national community and innumerable personal blogs). During the annual prayer days, the Ahmadi literature is given away or sold in all languages and exhibitions of Quran translations are made accessible. At the Jalsa Salana in Germany a translation service in more than 15 languages ensures that all members receive simultaneous translation of the sermons and of the lectures held in Urdu or German. All technical tools, such as simultaneous interpretation or the iconography of the movement rolled out in the various media channels, help to create coherence and cohesion in a context of exclusion from the ummah in order to establish a collective harmony where members understand each other and are morally united by faith in the power of the caliphate (Langewiesche 2021). During the Jalsa Salana, today’s Ahmadiyya Muslim Community’s challenge of maintaining the coherence of a transnational discourse without falling into the particularism of a Pakistani diaspora is particularly visible. Some requirements, which formerly served to maintain the Pakistani identity, have been relaxed to facilitate the acceptance and integration of new converts. For example, learning the Urdu language is no longer mandatory even if learning this language is encouraged so that all members may read the basic scriptures. The Imams give their Friday speeches in the respective national language or have them translated if necessary. Another example of this flexibility is food. At the annual meetings, special meals are proposed for guests and new converts, much less spicy, and fat-free, than Pakistani dishes. The wearing of the veil is also adapted to the customary dress of different countries. It is not mandatory to wear a veil covering the nose and the mouth, a type of veil still largely worn by Pakistani women. Many Ahmadi women wear a scarf loosely draped around their heads, like Mauritian women, or a simple cap or hat in keeping with the current fashion. Strict endogamous marriage rules are gradually loosened due to local customs. Traditional almsgiving is translated into a humanitarian narrative. 253

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In contrast, one important element of the Ahmadi-Pakistani diaspora identity is maintained: the commemoration of the persecution and the celebration of the martyrs. Although the Ahmadiyya is no longer a diaspora whose members share the same migratory history and traumatic experience of persecution, the reference to the martyrs functions as a symbol of the unity of all Ahmadis. In local parishes and during the national Jalsa Salana’s exhibitions in honor of the Martyrs are set up again and again, and numerous Ahmadi publications deal with the political, sociological, legal, or theological aspects of their persecution (Gualtieri 1989; Ahmed 2012; Arif 2014; Qasmi 2015). This culture of remembrance is ‘iconographic,’ whose social capital makes it possible to bridge the wide geographical areas that separate the individual communities and to maintain a common framework of experience (Bruneau 2004). Khan (2015, chapter 6, 7) examines in detail how persecution has influenced the Ahmadi identity by altering the movement’s theological worldview.

Conclusion The Ahmadiyya Muslim Community reminds us that a transnational organization does not only open up new horizons. It is also about withdrawing into the community, and thus drawing up new borders. It exemplifies what Peter Geschiere and Birgit Meyer describe as the paradox between ‘global flows’ and ‘cultural closure.’ The Ahmadiyya Muslim Community is one of many empirical examples of the fact ‘that people’s awareness of being involved in open-ended global flows seems to trigger a search for fixed orientation points and action frames, as well as determined efforts to affirm old and construct new boundaries’ (1998, p. 602). Cohen (2008) advances the proposition that in the face of the insecurity of our global age, many social groups want to reach in and to reach out, to be simultaneously ethnic and transnational, local and cosmopolitan. They combine the ‘comfort zone’ provided by the community of a diaspora by sharing the intimacy of the same religion and way of life with ‘questing impulses’ from transnational connections. Within the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community such tensions become visible, the analysis of which makes it a particularly exciting research subject. The Ahmadiyya Muslim Community is in constant tension between globalization and identity, transnationalism and diaspora. Not only does the researcher struggle with the global and the local, but it is also the case for the Ahmadis who have to overcome the vision of an authentic (Pakistani) culture to integrate their movement in the globalized world. Through its history, the Ahmadiyya is closely linked to Pakistan, but the cornerstone of the community is not a national origin, but a specific religious faith and its practices. The khalifa and his entourage accepts the relaxing of certain requirements which formerly served to maintain the Pakistani identity. This flexibility facilitates the acceptance and integration of new converts. Further research is needed to verify the assumption that how the Ahmadiyya Muslim community and the Lahore Ahmadiyya deal with converts is one of the key differences between these two branches of Ahmadiyya. Beside their ideological divergent this contrasting integration of converts may well account for the more successful expansion of the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community compared with that of the Lahore Ahmadiyya. By means of the Ahmadiyya movement it becomes clear how transnational religious organizations contribute to social dynamics that change local contexts as well as global ones. They engage in development cooperation, inter-Islamic or inter-religious dialogue, integration work, and media relations beyond the strictly religious sphere. The Ahmadiyya Movement was a highly politicized movement in the beginnings of its history in Pakistan, and is becoming politicized again today in its home country and the South Asian context, but it claims to strictly avoid interferences in the political agendas of the host countries. As a matter of fact, leaders and scholars of the Ahmadiyya interpret the specific 254

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religious rights and duties in such a way that they can be brought into line with the legal and social principles of every host state. The international Ahmadiyya movement has no political agenda. But undoubtedly it can be qualified as a political actor in the broader sense. They participate in socio-political decision making and in the process of elaborating new rules. They participate in the organization of social life in the different countries where they settle. Nevertheless, the political consequences in the respective countries in which the Ahmadiyya Muslim Community is active and its contributions to governmental politics remain to be investigated. In addition, there remains to be analyzed how the intra-Islamic dialogue and the acceptance of the Ahmadiyya has developed in secularly oriented states in Europe, Africa, and the United States in order to assess the repercussions of this tendency of recognition in secular states on the global movement. The dialectic between the local and the global means that local integration or rejection of the Ahmadiyya also has repercussions on the global movement. By getting entangled with temporal institutions, religious diasporas in general, not only the Ahmadiyya, have reoriented their spiritual mission. This process shows how local politics shape religious transnational identities. Finally, the example of Ahmadiyya illustrates the theoretical assumption that religion is a key element for social cohesion in a phase of geographical dispersion or ethnic and national diversification of a diaspora. New transnational practices are linked to the diasporic phenomenon in complex ways. It is a plausible hypothesis that increasing intercultural opportunities should act as a catalyst to move local cultures first into diasporic space then, via conversion and integration of outsiders, to a more transnational or cosmopolitan arena (Cohen 2008). Conversion and integration are important elements for the transformation of a diaspora into a transnational group. The religious distinctiveness of such groups as the Ismailis, Alevis, and Rastafarians usually tends to set them apart as ethnic groups whereas Ahmadis can no longer be considered as an ethnic or national group because of their policy of conversion. Combining transnational and diaspora concepts helps to theorize the connection between religion and globalization in terms of changing frameworks entailed by migration or minority status and mission.

Notes 1 I am grateful to the family of Sameena Nasreen in Ghana, the Härter and Zubair families in Germany and the families of Dr. Bhunoo, Khalid Mahmood and Mahmood Nasir Saqib in Burkina. I also appreciate the welcome of the family of Farooq Ahmad in Benin. In France, I am very grateful to Shafiqua Ishtiaq and her family, to the family of Naseer Ahmed and to Astou Dramé, Munirah Doboory, Ameenah Nabeebaccus and Rokiah for the time that they devoted to me and for their kindness in answering all my questions. The different field visits were generously funded by the Gerda Henkel Foundation. 2 Beside the interpretation of the prophet’s doctrine, the Ahmadiyya differs from other Muslims mainly in the interpretations of the Jihad concept and of the doctrine on Jesus. For a detailed analysis of the reasons why Ahmadiyya is seen as a heterodox movement, see Lathan (2008). 3 www.alislam.org/library/ahmadiyya-muslim-community/. 4 Minahan (2002, p. 52) and World Religion Database 2016 quoted by http://a-m-l.blogspot.fr/ 2017/07/ahmadiyya-population-in-world-2016.html [Accessed 11 March 2018]. 5 In Germany the community has given an estimation of 50,000 in 2005 and 35,000 in 2013 (revised during the proceeding to join the corporation of public law (Körperschaftsverfahren)). http://remid.de/ info_zahlen/islam/ [Accessed 12 March 2018]. In 2016, it was assumed that the number of Ahmadis in Germany was 45,000. 6 For example, the International Association of Ahmadi Architects & Engineers (IAAAE), the Ahmadiyya Muslim Teachers Association (AMTA), the Association of Ahmadi political scientist and lawyers.

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Lathan, A., 2010. Reform, Glauben und Entwicklung: die Herausforderungen für die AhmadiyyaGemeinde. In: D. Reetz, ed. Islam in Europa: Religiöses Leben heute. Ein Portrait ausgewählter islamischer Gruppen und Institutionen. Münster: Waxmann, 79–108. Lauser, A. and Weissköppel, C., eds. 2008. Migration und religiöse Dynamik. Bielefeld: transcript. Lavan, S., 1974. The Ahmadiyya Movement: History and Perspective. Delhi: Manohar Bookservice. Levitt, P., 2001. The Transnational Villagers. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Marcus, G. G. E., 1995. Ethnography in/of the World System: The Emergence of Multi-Sited Ethnography. Annual Review of Anthropology, 24, 95–117. Minahan, J., 2002. Encyclopedia of the Stateless Nations. Ethnic and National Groups around the World. Vol. I. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. Qasmi, A. U., 2015. The Ahmadis and the Politics of Religious Exclusion in Pakistan. London: Anthem Press. Ross-Valentine, S., 2008. Islam and the Ahmadiyya Jama’at: History, Belief, Practice. London: Hurst. Scholz, J., Selge, T., Stille, M., and Zimmermann, J., 2008. Listening Communities? Some Remarks on the Construction of Religious Authority in Islamic Podcasts. Die Welt des Islams, 48, 457–509. Sevea, I. S., 2009. The Ahmadiyya Print Jihad in South and Southeast Asia. In: R. M. Feener and T. Sevea, eds. Islamic Connections. Muslim Societies in South and Southeast Asia. Singapore: Institute of Southeast Asian Studies, 134–148. Skinner, D. E., 2010. Da’wa and Politics in West Africa: Muslim Jama’at and Non-Governmental Organizations in Ghana, Sierra Leone and The Gambia. In: B. Bompani and M. Frahm-Arp, eds. Development and Politics from Below. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 99–130. Vertovec, S., 1999. Conceiving and researching transnationalism. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 22, 447–462. Weissköppel, C., 2005a. Transnationale Qualitäten in Netzwerken von Sudanesen in Deutschland. Nord/ Süd Aktuell, 19 (1), 34–44. Weissköppel, C., 2005b. Kreuz und quer. Theorie und Praxis der multi-sited ethnography. Zeitschrift für Ethnologie, 130, 45–68. Yacoob, M., 1986. Ahmadiyya and Urbanization: Easing the integration of rural woman in Abidjan. Asian and African Studies, 20, 125–140.

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21 Transnational religious movement The Turkish Süleymanlı in Indonesia Firdaus Wajdi

Introduction Indonesia is a Muslim majority country saturated with Islamic movements. With a population of over 250 million, approximately 80% of whom are Muslim, Indonesia represents a huge market for promoters of Islamic piety, not only from within the region but also from across the globe. Indonesian graduates of Saudi Arabia’s universities and Al Azhar Universities of Egypt have established the link between the Middle East and Indonesia and extended religious influences from the Middle East (Abaza 1994; Azra 2004; Laffan 2011; Subhan 2012). While global linkages between the Arab Middle East and Indonesia are well documented (see, for example, Bryner (2013); Machmudi (2008); Mandaville (2009); Zulkifli (2013), relatively little academic attention has been given to the Turkish-based movements established in Indonesia since the late 1990s and early 2000s. Turkish organizations show different characteristics from the previously mentioned scripturalist, Salafist, and Islamist transnational movements and newly salient groups. The newly arrived Turkish movements exhibit a more peaceful and accommodating approach to Islamic renewal and life in multireligion societies (Wajdi 2018). This chapter focuses on the Süleymanlıs, little known as a transnational movement and previously under-studied in Indonesia. The establishment of the Süleymanlı’s United Islamic Cultural Centre of Indonesia (UICCI) in Jakarta in 2005 signalled a widening of Turkish Muslim outreach to Indonesia. It is distinctive among the Turkish transnational organizations in that it maintains links with the Nakş ibendi Sufi order as well as provides a transnational Islamic boarding system. This newcomer, with its distinct way of offering hizmet (religious services), enriches the diversity of Indonesian Islam.

Concepts Although it focuses on the Indonesian branch of the Süleymanlı, the UICCI, this chapter seeks to understand that organization as part of a transnational movement. This ethnographic

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study of the Turkish Süleymanlı movement in Indonesia seeks to contribute to the growing understanding of religious movements that take shape in the form of transnational organizations supported by electronic communications and travel. It also aims to understand the UICCI as a new development in global Islamic movements in the Indonesian context. Utilizing the framework of transnationalism, it will also draw on further concepts to explain the UICCI’s development and adaptation, including the theory of ‘opportunity spaces’ developed by Hakan Yavuz (2004), and that of ‘glocalization’ introduced by Roland Robertson (1995). The goals of this case study are thus to document the development of the UICCI in Indonesia and extend knowledge of Turkish transnational Islamic organizations by recognizing the UICCI in Indonesia as a distinctive element in the expanding array of transnational religious movements, and to contribute to a more comprehensive picture of transnational organizations in late modernity.

Context and state of the art Religious communities are among the oldest transnational actors. They began centuries ago, with the proselytizing led by universal or ‘world’ religions, even before the formation of nation states. However, scholarly studies of transnational religious movements only became significant in the 1990s, when a considerable number of academic studies began to focus on religious groups as key participants in transnationalism (Rudolph 1997). Nowadays, many religious organizations are transnational. They are particularly evident in diasporic communities that have resulted from globalization, the collapse of empires, and major wars. Moreover, the improvement in communications, which accompanies and facilitates globalization, increases the ability of religious organizations to find new audiences, both home and abroad. Transnational religious movements are able to coordinate and integrate outposts across the world as never before and they are therefore likely to continue to develop and to play a significant role in global society (Schiller et al. 1992; Vertovec 2009). An important development in the study of religion in society is the recognition that many religious movements are transnational, and transnational in a new way. This section presents a brief discussion of scholarly definitions of the term ‘transnationalism’ (Schiller et al. 1992; Vertovec 2009) and examines transnationalism in relation to religious movements, with particular emphasis on Muslim transnational organizations. It then reviews the literature on two other theoretical approaches: ‘opportunity space’ (Yavuz 2004) theory, and ‘glocalization’ (Robertson 1995) theory. Transnationalism has a broad meaning, referring to multiple ties and interactions that link people and institutions across the borders of nation states (Jackson et al. 2004). Among its many definitions, transnationalism can be said to refer to ‘communities of outlook that include persons and organizations that share common world views, purposes, interests, and practices which they communicate and act across national borders and jurisdictions’ (Juergensmeyer 2005). In addition, Portes argues that ‘the concept of transnationalism provides new perspectives on contemporary migratory movements and offers hypotheses about the patterns of settlement and adaptation of immigrants in the new land’ (Portes 2001). There are at least three reasons, aside from their universalistic framing, why world religions continue to be so active across community and national boundaries. First, they have a tendency toward missionary expansion and intensive penetration of social life. Second, world religions always contain some competitive impulse. Thus, according to Juergensmeyer (2003), ‘they are “religions of expansion” despite their geographical and cultural roots being 259

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in one locality.’ In addition, all world religions have traditions of pilgrimage to the sites of their historical origins or to places associated with figures and events of significance to believers, such as Shalosh Regalim for Jews and Hajj for Muslims (Kitiarsa 2010). The second major impetus to the study of transnational religion was post-World War II migration to North America and Western Europe. This was seen as a phenomenon of transnationalism (Roudometof 2005). Indeed, migration in the post-war era has been a major subject of transnationalism studies in general. However, transnationalism is not limited to the movements of migrants. It is a broad category that refers to a wide range of practices relating to the activities of migrants, their interactions with other people, and organizations linking their host lands and homelands (Portes et al. 2007; Vertovec 2009). Although immigrants and refugees from predominantly Muslim countries have been migrating to and settling in Europe in substantial numbers since the end of World War II, their religious affiliations were not noted by scholars prior to the mid-1980s (Tiesler 2009). In the early post-World War II days, immigrants were seen in terms of their economic function (for example, as guest workers), their legal status (for example, as refugees), and above all, their ethnic-national category (as Turks, Pakistanis, Bangladeshi, Afghans, and so on). One reason for this is that they did not display many public signs of religiousness (Kettani 1996). Another reason is that the public and those academics in post-war and postcolonial Europe who discussed the topic of migrants did not see themselves as scholars of religious studies (Nielsen 1992). This situation changed significantly after the mid-1980s when religious activities became more obvious among the diaspora communities. In addition, at that time scholars began to introduce new academic topics, such as ‘the new Islamic presence in Europe,’ ‘Muslims in Europe,’ and ‘Islam in the West,’ which appeared more frequently and so became recognized (Tiesler 2009). Immigrants’ religious affiliations came to be seen as a significant feature of their social adaptation. The third advance in the study of transnationalism was in the 1990s, when the technical facilitators of globalization, such as electronic communication technology and rapid transportation, enabled diasporic communities to be more intensely involved with their countries of origin, and to develop ever more effective transnational networks supporting their religious groups (Brettell and Hollifield 2000; Vertovec 2009). This development helps to explain the contrast scholars have observed between older and younger or more recent migrants. In summary, studies show that religious movements have long been transnational. Now, in the modern era of globalization, with sophisticated communications, transport, and bureaucratic structures, religions are manifesting this feature in new ways.

Methods In this research, the detailed ethnographic study of Süleymanlı UICCI branches in Indonesia was complemented with a ‘micro-ethnographic’ (Bryman 2008) study of Süleymanlı branches in other parts of the world. This included the study of two Turkish branches in Istanbul (Yavuz Selim and Zeytinburnu), one in Frankfurt (Verband der Islamischen Kulturzentren e.V. Islam Kültür Merkezleri Birliği, Frankfurt Ş ubesi), and one in Melbourne (Meadow Heights). This approach proved particularly important, and indeed crucial, for understanding how the Süleymanlı have adapted in different countries. Turkey was chosen because it is the home of the Süleymanlı movement. Germany is home to the oldest and largest late twentieth-century Turkish diaspora community. Australia is home to a smaller, 260

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and different, diaspora community within a multi-ethnic and multi-religious settler society. Both the German and Australian Süleymanlı movements played significant roles in the establishment of the Indonesian Süleymanlı. Finally, Indonesia is home to a Muslim majority population with a limited Turkish diaspora community.

Substantive discussion Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan’s proselytizing (dakwah) began in 1924, when the early Kemalists implemented their secularist policy limiting religious expression. So, the early years of the Syeikh’s dakwah were difficult, as such activities were treated as ‘forbidden’ (T. yasak) and could be severely punished. At this time, however, according to Abi Zaitin Burnu, the Syeikh demonstrated his courage in reviving Islam in Turkey. Due to the security issue, Süleyman performed ‘hidden’ or ‘silent’ dakwah, teaching religion to Muslims by just going from one house to another. It is said that in the beginning he taught just one student, and that this student later brought two other students, and then the pattern continued until the students grew into a community (jamaah). In 1959, the Süleymanlı movement first established branches outside Turkey. For the Süleymanlı this was a point of transition from a national to a transnational movement. According to Abi Zaitin Burnu, the first outreach of the Süleymanlı abroad was to Germany, where there was a large Turkish migrant community. Then followed outreach to Turkish migrant communities in the Netherlands and other European countries. This was followed, in the 1970s, by their expansion to the Balkan countries and, at about the same time, to the United States and Australia, where there were also Turkish migrants. Later in the 1990s Süleymanlı began a new kind of outreach: not to Turks living outside Turkey but to Muslims of any ethnic or national background in foreign countries. Thus, they started establishing schools in substantially Muslim areas of the former Soviet Union countries (Russia and Kazakhstan) and then in Africa and Asia after the turn of the century. The Süleymanlı trace this impetus to carry their religious service abroad to their Syeikh, who early on predicted that the jamaah he formed would become an international movement. Tunahan is said to have been aware of this possibility when he predicted: ‘You will be flown to other countries to give lectures.’ So, for the Süleymanlı, going overseas to perform dakwah is a jihad, and a part of the Islamic teaching they believe needs to be done. If one dies during the hizmet, then he dies as syahid (a martyr). While religious motivation has clearly been important in driving the overseas expansion, so also have social factors. These include recognition of the market for religious services in non-Muslim majority countries where Turkish migrant workers have established substantial communities. Also, the Turkish Islamic revival movements that had moved into the public sphere since the 1970s and had grown rapidly in their home country, including the Süleymanlı and the Fethullah Gülen and the Nurcu movements, were in a position with newly developed management and business structures to extend themselves overseas. Thus, the pull of the need for religious instruction in Muslim communities abroad and the ensuing outreach response by the movements reinforced pressures within them to formalize their organizational structures. The Süleymanlı have gone the farthest in developing hierarchical bureaucratic structures to coordinate their domestic and international activities.

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Here, one could argue that the Süleymanlı, when they became transnational, extended their original aim (which was to preserve the Islamic religion in Turkey in the face of what they saw as the threat of secularism), to global Islamic revivalism and purification of the religion according to the Hanafi, Shafi, Hanbali, and Maliki schools of law. In sum, by the 1970s, the Süleymanlı movement had changed from a small, mostly faceto-face jamaah into a formally constituted bureaucratic organization. This stage in the life cycle of a social movement, defined by Blumer as ‘formalization’ (Blumer 1951), is characterized by multiple levels of organizational management and formally defined offices and areas of authority. This stage was achieved by the Süleymanlı movement after the death of its founder, under the direction of abimist Kemal Kacar. The movement is presently under the direction of abimist Arif Denizolgun. Both leaders have promoted awareness that a coordinated strategy is necessary across all of the Süleymanlı’s branches. Therefore, the Süleymanlı’s transnational management works through five bolge (regions) across the globe, and stratified levels of management within those regions. The Süleymanlı also select abis for management positions according to their skills and abilities to assume the responsibility of running the schools and businesses. After successfully developing their Qur’an education institutions in Turkey, the Süleymanlı then developed their hizmet outside of Turkey. The following section gives examples of Süleymanlı branches in two countries with significant Turkish migrant communities. The need for religious education and leadership in these communities represents an ‘opportunity space’ for the organization (Yavuz 2004). The Süleymanlı chose Germany as a suitable country in which to expand, largely because it is home to the world’s largest overseas Turkish diaspora community. The beginning of the organized labor migration from Turkey to Germany was in October 1961, when Turkey and Germany signed a bilateral agreement for the recruitment of Turkish workers to Germany. Before 1961, participation of Turkish workers in post-war labor migration to Western Europe had not—at least officially—taken place (Küçükcan 2004). A Central Recruitment Office was established in Istanbul in that year, and by the year’s end, 7,000 Turkish workers were living in Germany. In 1962 the first Turkish social and political organization in Germany, the Union of Turkish Workers, was established in the Cologne Region, evidencing the large-scale labor migration from Turkey to Western Europe that had already taken place. The Süleymanlı in Germany are able to run their private boarding schools, teaching Turkish culture and Islamic studies. In Germany, the Süleymanlı claim that their schools work hand in hand with the German government, supporting a policy of integrating Turkish Muslims into German society. They claim that they meet the needs of Turkish Muslims in Germany for religious activities by providing imams and religious teachers. They say that Turkish Muslims therefore need not feel alienated from their adopted country, since their needs are being met by the Süleymanlı, who always encourage an excellent attitude to living in German society. It could be argued that by building the boarding schools in Germany the Süleymanlı have, in fact, helped Turkish immigrants integrate there, as they use these educational institutions not only to teach the religion of Islam and Turkish culture but also to help the students accept Germany as the country where they were born and now live and work. This is evidence of what Ersanilli and Saharso (2011) have argued: that an inclusive government policy has a positive impact on migrants’ settlement country identification. While the Süleymanlı are free to operate their schools in Germany, they receive no support from the state other than the permit to run their schools. For this reason, they rely heavily on the Turkish diaspora community in Germany, or on their ‘brothers’ in Turkey, 262

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for funds. Nonetheless, they have been able to build up their network of schools over the years through good management and by offering education. Following a similar pattern to the one they adopted in Germany, the Süleymanlı have spread their network as far afield as Australia. They began their hizmet there in 1971, in Melbourne, Victoria. Once again, they were able to meet the demand for religious education among Turks abroad—in this case Turks who had migrated to Australia or who were born in Australia but had Turkish ancestors. Evidence of Turks moving to Australia from the island of Cyprus for work is noted in the 1940s; then during the Cyprus conflict, between 1963 and 1974, a number of Turks were forced to migrate to Australia (Yağmur and Van De Vijver 2012). Further, large numbers migrated to Australia after a bilateral agreement was signed between Turkey and Australia in 1967. According to the 2006 census, between 150,000 and 200,000 Turkish citizens were in Australia at that time, and between 40,000 and 60,000 Turkish Cypriots (Yağmur and Van De Vijver 2012). The largest numbers of Turks in Australia are in Melbourne, Sydney, and Wollongong. Australia’s migrant Turkish population, of approximately 90,000, is among the four largest, along with those of Germany (2.5 million), the Netherlands (400,000), and France (390,000) (Yağmur and Van De Vijver 2012). When the Süleymanlı chose to offer their hizmet in the form of Qur’anic education in Australia in 1971, it seemed obvious to begin in Melbourne, since that city was where the largest concentrations of Turkish immigrants were to be found. The Süleymanlı then set up another branch in Auburn, NSW, where Turkish Muslims had established the Gallipoli Mosque, one of the largest mosques in the Sydney region. I had the opportunity to visit the headquarters of the Australian Süleymanlı in Melbourne and speak with young abi there about the location of their boarding schools. So far, they have established schools in only two states, Victoria and New South Wales. In Victoria they have two boarding schools for male students and one for female students, and in New South Wales they have just one new school for male students, located in Auburn, NSW. The Süleymanlı schools in Australia provide boarding facilities for their students so they can sleep and eat there as well as study and receive Islamic teaching just as other Süleymanlı students do in Turkey. During my visit to the Süleymanlı boarding school, Meadow Heights, I was able to witness first-hand what I had read on their website. As in Germany, the Süleymanlı in Australia primarily offered their hizmet to Turkish communities. When I visited the Australian Süleymanlı’s headquarters at Meadow Heights boarding school in Melbourne, I could see that all the abis and students were Turkish or had a Turkish background. Although the abi who accompanied me was born in Australia, he also had a Turkish background and began his service as a teacher in the school after completing the tekamul level in Turkey. The above outline shows how the Süleymanlı initially aimed to expand their service beyond Turkey only to Muslim diaspora communities, responding to the significant demand from Turkish families living overseas for religious education. Although the Süleymanlı have become a transnational organization, their Turkish headquarters still coordinates and directs hizmet institutions globally. The history of the Indonesian Süleymanlı dates back to 2004, when a young Süleymanlı member from Turkey, who had served in Africa, touched down in Jakarta. He was Abi Zoltan, the abi now running the UICCI. He arrived in Jakarta with limited knowledge of the Indonesian language, and no companions or relatives, but with a spirit of hizmet for serving the community in the way of Süleymanlı. With struggle and hard work, Abi Zoltan successfully established the first branch in Pejaten, South Jakarta. Later, 263

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in 2007, a group of Turkish abis came to Indonesia to join in the development of Süleymanlı education there. They eventually took Süleymanlı education to all three major islands: Java, Kalimantan, and Sumatra. In Turkey the Süleymanlı use the name ‘Kuran kursu’ to designate their schools, while in Australia they use the word ‘dormitory,’ and in Indonesia, they have come to use the word ‘pesantren.’ Thus, in addition to including the names of Indonesian sympathizers in their deed of foundation, the Süleymanlı in Indonesia have also given their schools the same name as the local traditionalist Islamic education institutions, pesantren. This shows that they have been aware of the local social environment and have been willing to adapt or adopt local terms that are suitable to the movement’s activities. This represents an instance of what has been called ‘glocalization’ in a transnational movement. In Turkey, their country of origin, the Süleymanlı are known as providers of Kuran kursu (boarding school Islamic education), or more specifically, ‘Süleymanlı Yurtları’ (Süleymanlı residence or dormitory). This latter name has been translated into Indonesian as ‘Asrama Sulaimaniyah’ (Süleymanlı dormitory) and has been used since the establishment of UICCI in Indonesia in 2005. According to Abi Bayram, when the Süleymanlı Yurtları are referred to as ‘asrama’ in Turkey, the Turkish initially think that the Süleymanlı provide boarding with an Islamic education, including the Qur’an memorizing program (tahfidz) (one of the flagships of the Islamic movement). However, in the Indonesian context, the term ‘asrama’ is understood simply to mean residential accommodation for students of any sort. Indonesia, as a Muslim majority country, has a long history of Islamic education. In terms of traditional Islamic education within a boarding school system, ‘pesantren’ is the term with which Indonesians are familiar. So, when the UICCI introduced the term ‘asrama,’ claiming to provide Islamic education, this did not meet with much success. Indonesian Muslims regard ‘asrama’ as merely referring to a boarding home or shelter, without the provision of a religious education and the opportunity to practice Islam on a daily basis as the term ‘pesantren’ suggests. This became an issue for the enrollment of prospective students into UICCI boarding schools. Taking this into account, the management of UICCI eventually changed the name ‘asrama’ to ‘pesantren.’ In fact, the Süleymanlı went even further to distinguish their specialist pesantren type by adding ‘tahfidz,’ the Qur’an memorization, to the name, thus showing that, as in Turkey, Qur’an memorization is the flagship program of the residential schools. The name Pondok Pesantren Tahfidz Rawamangun (Rawamangun [district] Qur’an Study Boarding School) is an obvious example of this strategy. One could wonder why the Süleymanlı agreed to change a globally established name. In fact, they have always made great efforts to respect local terms and blend in locally. When they left Turkey to go to a country with an almost insignificant Turkish population, the Süleymanlı had to ‘sell’ themselves to local people. It would seem logical that they would decide to use the term ‘pesantren’ for their boarding school system in Indonesia; the UICCI is evidently willing to ‘glocalize’ in some respects within the local community, and this decision has worked well for it in Indonesia. Since 2009, the UICCI has been successful in gaining support from the Ministry of Religious Affairs and through this association has been able to establish branches in major cities of Indonesia.

Conclusion This chapter has been mainly concerned with the Süleymanlı in Indonesia, who have approached non-Turkish Muslims to recruit them as members. They have shifted their orientation from Turkish diaspora Muslims only to any Muslim willing to accept their 264

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service (hizmet) or participating in it. This gives us clear evidence that one of the ideas of being transnational is changing to the new focus while at the same time holding the connection and maintaining the traditions of the origin country. This is one way that the Süleymanlı assert their branding as transnational Sufi movements (Milani et al. 2017). The Süleymanlı have made it possible by looking at Indonesia as a country with the biggest Muslim population. This is not only to address people who could accept their services but also those who would like to give support and contribute to the management of the Süleymanlı in general. Using their religious term, this expansion is inevitable as religious values and blessings (barakah) need to be shared with everyone, an idea that was once confirmed by their highest leader, Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan. To make this expansion into reality, the Süleymanlı have made new opportunity spaces. The opportunity spaces are basically the avenues to promote social interaction as suggested by Yavuz. It refers to the ‘social sites and vehicles for activism and the dissemination of meaning, identity, and cultural codes’ (Yavuz 2004). These spaces are sites of social interaction that allow new possibilities for forming networks around shared meanings and enriching associational life. In the Indonesian context, the opportunity spaces take the form of the unique Islamic boarding school, which is free of charge for young Indonesian Muslims. This is proven to be attractive to Indonesian residents who not only accept the service but also are willing to give support and contribute to the development of the Turkish origin transnational organization. In addition, the Süleymanlı have worked together with the Indonesian government to establish their branches and assist with their international programs. This is a new pattern as the transnational movement tends to distance itself from the state elsewhere. This support did not come from the very beginning of the establishment of the Süleymanlı in Indonesia in 2005. In fact, this positive attitude of the Indonesian government only took shape after the Süleymanlı glocalized themselves to fit into the Indonesian Islamic education system, instead of insisting on the Turkish model and conception. Glocalization (Giulianotti and Robertson 2007; Robertson 1995; Roudometof 2005) took shape by changing the name of the Turkish boarding school (T. yourt, I. asrama) into pesantren. This adoption of the local term while maintaining the advantage of global movement has resulted in gaining formal support from the Ministry of Religious Affairs. This also noted the changing attitude of the Süleymanlı because in their home country, they tried to distance themselves from the Turkish government. Furthermore, the Süleymanlı in Turkey even did not allow any involvement of its followers in politics as Syeikh Süleyman Hilmi Tunahan himself had a difficult experience with the government and politics during his time. Sufi teaching also exhorts the members of the Süleymanlı to maintain some distance from worldly matters such as politics. This attitude has shifted a lot among the Süleymanlı. Although the members of the Süleymanlı did not become involved directly in politics in Indonesia, their willingness to be closer to the government has signalled a shift. The challenge of the Süleymanlı in Indonesia to maintain distance from politics will be put to the test once the movement has gained considerable followers. Further work might examine Süleymanlı organizations in other Muslim-majority regions that do not have a Turkish diaspora community, to identify other circumstances that have helped or limited the movement’s growth there. In general, there is a need for studies that provide a more complete picture of transnational Islamic movements. At present, studies of Islamic revivalist movements are interested in violence and capturing the state, as in the case of groups originating from Arabia, Central Asia, and South Asia. Further work could redress this imbalance. It would also allow for further theoretical refinement and best appreciation 265

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of the cultural and political scope of transnational Islamic movements. This would provide a better understanding of transnational Islamic movements in the contemporary world.

References Abaza, M., 1994. Indonesian Students in Cairo: Islamic Education, Perceptions and Exchanges, Paris, Association Archipel. Azra, A., 2004. The Origins of Islamic Reformism in Southeast Asia: Networks of Malay-Indonesian and Middle Eastern ‘Ulamā ’ in The Seventeenth and Eighteenth Centuries, Crows Nest, N.S.W., Allen & Unwin. Blumer, H., 1951. Social Movements. In: H. Blumer and A. M. Lee eds., Principles Of Sociology, New York, Barnes & Noble, pp. 199–220. Brettell, C. and Hollifield, J. F., eds., 2000. Migration Theory: Talking across Disciplines, New York, Routledge. Bryman, A., 2008. Social Research Methods, Oxford, Oxford University Press. Bryner, K., 2013. Piety Projects: Islamic Schools for Indonesia’s Urban Middle Class. PhD, Columbia University. Ersanilli, E. and Saharso, S., 2011. The Settlement Country and Ethnic Identification of Children of Turkish Immigrants in Germany, France, and the Netherlands: What Role Do National Integration Policies Play? International Migration Review, 45, 907–937. Giulianotti, R. and Robertson, R., 2007. Forms of Glocalization: Globalization and the Migration Strategies of Scottish Football Fans in North America. Sociology, 41, 133–152. Jackson, P., Crang, P., and Dwyer, C., 2004. Transnational Spaces, New York, Routledge. Juergensmeyer, M., 2003. Global Religions: An Introduction, Oxford, Oxford University Press. Juergensmeyer, M., 2005. Religion in Global Civil Society, Oxford, Oxford University Press. Kettani, A. M., 1996. Challenges to the Organization of Muslim Communities in Western Europe. In: W. A. R. Shadid and P. S. V. Koningsveld eds., Political Participation and Identities of Muslims in NonMuslim States. Kampen, The Netherlands, Kok Pharos, 14–35. Kitiarsa, P., 2010. Missionary Intent and Monastic Networks: Thai Buddhism as a Transnational Religion. Journal of Social Issues in Southeast Asia, 25, 109–132. Küçükcan, T., 2004. The Making of Turkish-Muslim Diaspora in Britain: Religious Collective Identity in a Multicultural Public Sphere. Journal of Muslim Minority Affairs, 24, 243–258. Laffan, M. F., 2011. The Makings of Indonesian Islam: Orientalism and the Narration of a Sufi Past, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press. Machmudi, Y., 2008. Islamising Indonesia: The Rise of Jemaah Tarbiyah and the Prosperous Justice Party (Pks), Acton: ANU E Press. Mandaville, P. G., ed., 2009. Transnational Islam in South And Southeast Asia: Movements, Networks, and Conflict Dynamics, Seattle, The National Bureau of Asian Research. Milani, M., Possamai, A., and Wajdi, F., 2017. Branding of Spiritual Authenticity and Nationalism in Transnational Sufism. In: P. Michel, A. Possamai and B. S. Turner eds., Religions, Nations, and Transnationalism in Multiple Modernities, New York, Palgrave Macmillan, 197–220. Nielsen, J. S., 1992. Muslims in Western Europe, Edinburgh, Edinburgh University Press. Portes, A., 2001. Introduction: The Debates and Significance of Immigrant Transnationalism. Global Networks, 1, 181–193. Portes, A., Escobar, C., and Radford, A. W., 2007. Immigrant Transnational Organizations and Development: A Comparative Study. International Migration Review, 41, 242–281. Robertson, R., 1995. Glocalization: Time-Space and Homogeneity-Heterogeneity. In: M. Featherstone ed., Global Modernities, London, Sage, pp. 25–44. Roudometof, V., 2005. Transnationalism, Cosmopolitanism and Glocalization. Current Sociology, 2005, 113. Rudolph, S. H., 1997. Religion, States, and Transnational Civil Society. In: S. H. Rudolph and J. P. Piscatori eds., Transnational Religion And Fading States. Boulder: Westview Press, 1–26. Schiller, N. G., Basch, L., and Blanc-Szanton, C., 1992. Transnationalism: A New Analytic Framework for Understanding Migration. Annals of the New York Academy of Sciences, 645, 1–24. Subhan, A., 2012. Lembaga Pendidikan Islam Indonesia Abad 20: Pergumulan Antara Modernisasi Dan Identitas [20th Century Indonesian Islamic Educational Institutions: Struggle between Modernisation and Identity], Jakarta, Kencana.

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Tiesler, N. C., 2009. Muslim Transnationalism and Diaspora in Europe: Migrant Experience and Theoretical Reflection. In: E. Ben Rafael and Y. Sternberg eds., Transnationalism: Diasporas and the Advent of a New (Dis)Order, Boston: Brill, pp. 417–444. Vertovec, S., 2009. Transnationalism, Abingdon, Routledge. Wajdi, F., 2018. Globalization and Transnational Islamic Education: The Role of Turkish Muslim Diaspora in Indonesian Islam. Jurnal Adabiyah, 18, 176–186. Yağmur, K. and Van De Vijver, F. J. R., 2012. Acculturation and Language Orientations of Turkish Immigrants in Australia, France, Germany, and the Netherlands. Journal Of Cross-Cultural Psychology, 43, 1110–1130. Yavuz, M. H., 2004. Opportunity Spaces, Identity, and Islamic Meaning in Turkey. In: Q. Wiktorowicz ed., Islamic Activism: A Social Movement Theory Approach. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, pp. 270–288. Zulkifli., 2013. The Struggle of the Shi’is in Indonesia, Acton, ANU Press.

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22 Young Buddhists in Australia Negotiating transnational flows Kim Lam

Introduction This chapter introduces two bodies of theory and method on religion. More specifically, it discusses the literature on transnational flows of religion and mobile religion, as well as ‘lived’ or ‘everyday’ religion. Transnational flows of religion have contributed to the emergence of new opportunities to negotiate religious identities and to exacerbate, alter, and lessen racial and religious tensions. So far, less attention has been paid to the ways these processes are operating outside the Global North. In response, this chapter offers a microstudy of how they play out in experiences of ‘lived’ or ‘everyday’ religion among some young Australian Buddhist practitioners who are immersed in transnational flows of religion across Australia and Asia.

Theoretical developments in the study of religion and migration While religion has long crossed borders, the period of ‘thick’ globalization since the late 1970s has led to increasingly complex and intensified flows of religion and culture. As a corollary to this, research in the fields of international migration and sociology of religion have benefitted from significant cross-fertilization and mutual development. This is evident in the ways that research on religion and global flows has come to reflect new understandings of migrants as significant religious actors. Several researchers have documented these research developments. Ebaugh (2010), for example, has identified three stages in the development of research in this field, with a shift in focus from immigration to transnationalism and globalization. In the first stage, research on religion and the ‘new immigrants’ in the 1990s was centrally concerned with the role of religious institutions in helping migrants settle into receiving countries. This research was exemplified by Warner and Wittner (1998), and focused on the ethnic composition of immigrant religious groups, language use, gender roles, and generational issues. Research during this stage also looked at the spread of immigrant religion beyond ethnic and religious boundaries, as well as the global implications of transnational religious flows (Yang and Ebaugh 2001).

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In the second stage of research, Ebaugh (2010, pp. 105–6) observes that research focused more on how religions co-existed and were transformed across sending and receiving countries. The work of Levitt (1999, 2003, p. 849) was central to this shift. Levitt showed that the religion of immigrants had a significant impact on religion in their home countries because transnational migrants produced new mixes of belief and practice that were sent back to home countries in the form of ‘social remittances.’ Third, Ebaugh (2010) observes that research on religion and migration has taken on an increasingly global dimension, moving beyond a focus on ties between sending and receiving countries. For example, once religion returns to the home country, family members and friends themselves migrate in many receiving countries around the world, consequently impacting global religious systems. Taking into account these findings, researchers have recalibrated their research on religion and migration to study the global system rather than smaller subunits such as the state (Beyer 1994, pp. 1–2). Significantly, Robertson (1994, p. 121) has identified ‘the theological and religious aspects and implications of globalization theory’ for sociological research. For example, some sociologists of religion have looked at how religion may be a homogenizing force, such as in the global Hindutva and Gulen movements (Levitt 2003, p. 848), while others have observed greater religious diversity as individuals negotiate local religious identities in relation to the world (Robertson 1994).

Mobile religion The theoretical and methodological implications of moving towards research on religion that centers around the global have been influentially discussed by Thomas Tweed and Manual Vasquez, who offer a useful orientation towards viewing religion as ‘mobile.’ In his review of research on Buddhism, Tweed (2011) observed that no adequate theory or methodological framework had emerged in scholarship on Buddhism, particularly with respect to flows of religion and culture. Seeking to foreground both the dynamism and porousness of religion and culture, Tweed (2011) proposed a ‘translocative’ analysis of religion that built on his earlier theory of ‘crossing and dwelling’ (Tweed 2006). In the latter, Tweed focused on the ways religion both ‘crossed boundaries’ and dwelled or made homes in various locations. In proposing a translocative theory of religion (Tweed 2011), he placed additional emphasis on ‘crossing,’ movement, or change, not only in relation to religious flows but also Buddhist ideas of impermanence, no-self, and dependent origination. As Tweed (2011, pp. 24–5) outlined, a translocative approach to religion has several methodological implications. These include an imperative to ‘follow the flows’ (of people, artifacts, institutions, and practices), ‘notice all the figures crossing’ (who is present and absent), ‘attend to all the senses and all religion’s components’ (when researching religion), ‘consider varying scales’ (or geographical regions beyond the national), and ‘notice how flows start, stop, and shift’ (in ways that recognize how flows are mediated by power relations). Similarly, Vasquez (2008) has developed a ‘networks’ approach to studying religion, that centers around a recognition of increasing connectivity and fluidity in an era of globalization. Vasquez (2008, pp. 153, 167) also emphasizes the ways global connectivity is characterized by socio-economic inequalities and ‘new exclusionary boundaries’ that may restrict certain flows, and indeed, reinforce rather than collapse borders. To account more fully for processes of ‘segregation, surveillance, and control,’ and the social inequalities that are preponderant in an era of globalization, Vasquez (2008, pp. 151, 169) suggests that a networks approach enables scholars to explore ‘relatively stable but always contested differentials of power, of inclusion and exclusion, or cooperation and conflict, of boundary-crossing and boundary-making.’ 269

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‘Lived’ or ‘everyday’ religion Drawing on Vasquez’s (2008, p. 165) account of mobile religion, it is important to relate global flows of religion to issues of context and diversity, looking at the ways religion may simultaneously contribute to both ‘ecumenical cosmopolitanism’ and ‘exclusionary particularism.’ This can be done by looking at the ways ‘local, grassroots, official, national, and transnational actors define and live religion’ (Vasquez 2008, p. 156). Similarly Levitt argues (2003, p. 852) that the methodological implications of researching transnational and global religion include an attentiveness to the ways ‘ordinary individuals live their lives across borders.’ ‘Lived religion’ has been described by McGuire (2008, p. 12) as an approach that enables scholars to understand ‘how religion and spirituality are practiced, experienced, and expressed by ordinary people (rather than official spokespersons) in the context of their everyday lives.’ This approach directs attention towards the actual experiences of religious individuals, looking at how religion is continually interpreted by individuals ‘within the circumstances of his or her histories, relationships and experiences’ (Orsi 2003, p. 174). In this regard, improvisation and the ability to pick and mix from various sources through ‘cultural bricolage’ (Orsi 1997, p. 7) becomes ‘the norm, rather than the exception’ (McGuire 2008, p. 185). Ammerman (2007, p. 5) makes a similar point, utilizing the term ‘everyday religion’ to emphasize the importance of looking for the many ways religion may be interwoven in the lives of ‘non-experts.’ She contends that while individuals’ experiences of ‘organized religion’ and ‘official’ ideas about religion are still important, ‘they are most interesting to us once they get used by someone other than a professional.’ A lived or everyday religion approach can help shed light on how cosmopolitan identities and racial and religious tensions are negotiated on the ground. More specifically, looking at these lived experiences helps scholars identify the factors that may enable religious individuals to adopt fluid, relational, and cosmopolitan identities, as well as the forces that contribute to inclusion, exclusion, surveillance, and control.

Case study This chapter examines how these processes play out in a microstudy of 22 young adult Buddhist practitioners living in Australia, aged 18 to 30, who are enmeshed in transnational flows of religion and culture between Australia and Asia.1 As Barker (2017, pp. 375–6) suggests, the growth of transnational flows of Buddhism in and out of Australia and Oceania, along with the increase in second, third, and beyond generation Buddhists in these nations ‘give rise to many questions about the lived status of Buddhism,’ ‘as opposed to nationally endorsed views on the integration and effects of Buddhist organizations.’ These generational changes are perhaps most usefully explored by focusing on the experiences of young people—the millennials and post-millennials—whose highly mobile lives have been noted by youth studies researchers (Robertson, Harris and Baldassar 2018), and for whom intense upheavals in relation to politics, the casualization of the workforce, detraditionalization, frequent overseas travel for study, work, and place, familiarity with technologically mediated networking, and precarity relating to employment and the establishment of life trajectories, are regular features of everyday living (Furlong and Cartmel 2007; Harris, Wyn and Younes 2010; White and Wyn 2013). The study employed a narrative method of interviewing, which pays attention to individuals’ temporal lived experiences and processes of change regarding the self (Elliot 2005, p. 6).

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Young Buddhists within and beyond Australia Like other Western countries such as the United States, Canada, and France, Australia accepted large numbers of refugees from Vietnam, Cambodia, and Laos in the aftermath of the Vietnam War through its refugee program, which saw up to 22,000 refugees settled in Australia per year from the early 1980s (Refugee Council of Australia 2012). The influx of these refugees significantly bolstered the number of people identifying as Buddhist in these countries, with Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS) data recording the percentage of Buddhists in Australia for the first time in 1981, at 0.2% or 35,073 people (ABS 1981, p. 12). In 2016, the percentage of Australians identifying as Buddhist grew to 2.4% or 563,674 people, making Buddhism the second most popular minority religion in Australia after Islam and the major Christian denominations. By comparison, the percentage of individuals identifying as Buddhist remains notably lower in the United States, where Buddhists made up only 0.7% of the population in 2014 (Pew Research Centre 2015), and Canada, where Buddhists made up 1.1% of the population in 2011 (Statistics Canada 2011). In the UK, only 0.4% of the population identified as Buddhist in 2011 (Office for National Statistics 2015). In terms of transnational flows, Australia’s geographical proximity to Asia is of particular interest. As Rocha and Barker (2011, p. 10) observe, this has made the development of Buddhism in Australia ‘different to the growth of Buddhism in other Western countries.’ While the geographic proximity of Australian to Asia is likely to be responsible for the higher percentage of Buddhists in Australia than other Western countries, it also has the capacity to heighten inequalities relating to socially constructed categories of race and ethnicity for the Australian Buddhist community. Tensions relating to racialized and ethnic differences, specifically involving ‘Asian’ versus ‘Western’ subjectivities, are exacerbated by the fact that the majority (over 50%) of individuals identifying as ‘Buddhist’ in 2011 were born in an Asian country (ABS 2011). Indeed, Rocha and Barker (2011, p. 6) point out that many chapters in their recent edited volume, Buddhism in Australia: Traditions in Change ‘delve into Anglo Australians’ social, political and cultural capital vis-à-vis Asian Australians’ lack of these.’ As they maintain, these inequalities should be understood within the context of Australia’s historical ‘ambivalence toward Asia,’ which can be observed in political maneuvers that have at various periods distanced Australia from the Asia region, and have shown a desire for a closer engagement with Asia at other times. The politics of Asian inclusion or exclusion, and its effect on Buddhist youth identity negotiation, are worth exploring in more detail particularly among young adult Buddhist practitioners, who have grown up in a national context where anti-Asian sentiment (particularly during Senator Pauline Hanson’s2 initial rise to prominence in the mid-1990s) has operated alongside an official multicultural policy, which supports the maintenance of diverse ethnic and religious identities. The growing complexity of cultural diversity has prompted scholars to develop new conceptual frameworks that recognize increasingly diverse, and often ambivalent, subject positionings. Harris (2013), drawing upon both Vertovec’s (2007) concept of ‘super-diversity’ and Noble’s (2011) work on ‘hyper-diversity,’ asserts that in an Australian context, diversity is not only increasing but is also subject to countless transmutations in everyday practice as people reflexively position themselves in relation to others in novel ways. She contends that these more complex, contextualized subject positionings held by young people are ‘ushering in a new kind of multicultural citizenship’ which reflects ‘young people’s expressions of post-minority identities and their multiple, dynamic—and at times conflictual—modes of relationality’ (Harris 2013, pp. 4–5).

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Young Buddhist practitioners in Australia need to be understood within this new framework of multicultural citizenship, due to their movement between multiple social contexts involving Asian, Western, Buddhist, and non-Buddhist elements in multicultural Australia, in which notions of belonging and exclusion based on single categories of ethnicity, race, religion, or nationality may overlook the micro-dynamics of contextually based subjectivities. In a globalized and detraditionalized Buddhist era, multiple boundary crossings are standard; young Buddhist practitioners continually traverse numerous social contexts on account of both their hybrid ethnic identifications (for example, Chinese-Australian Buddhist), as well as their movement within and beyond religious institutions. In each set of circumstances, young Buddhist practitioners are required to make themselves anew; they must adopt or develop appropriate identifications and modes of relationality befitting the circumstances. The dispositions they adopt or develop as they move from one context to the next are likely to be complex and multifaceted, and have yet to be explicated in studies of Buddhist youth.

Global flows and mobilities For many participants in the study, socialization into a Buddhist identity in Australia was facilitated by physical encounters of visiting monks, or opportunities to travel overseas. Beth, for example, explained that she initially became interested in Buddhism following an encounter with a visiting monk, who she then stayed with in Sri Lanka. For Fabian, his exploration of Buddhism took him to two different countries, where he spent several months in each country immersed in Buddhist communities. The effects of globalization are illustrated dramatically here, as Fabian initially became interested in Buddhism after attending a Buddhist center which aims to facilitate practice in a Western cultural context. He then became interested in Zen Buddhism after becoming involved in a group in Asia practicing in the tradition of Thich Nhat Hanh, an exiled Vietnamese monk. Several years later, he went to Europe for four months to live in a Buddhist community practicing in the tradition of Thich Nhat Hanh. These examples demonstrate the role of global flows in shaping Buddhist identity and practice, long past the initial settlement of ethnic Buddhist communities in Australia. These findings resonate with McMahan’s (2008) contention, that globalization has disembedded Buddhism from ‘traditional social networks,’ spreading Buddhism to a diverse range of contexts which can now be accessed via a range of mediums, both locally and globally. While participants’ Buddhist socialization was facilitated by international travel and communication, they also had access to a wide variety of Buddhist resources, often in the form of books, or accessible via technology. Bob first came into contact with Buddhism by reading a book about the Buddha given to him by his mother. Ellen also mentioned that she first learnt about Buddhism through reading a book about Buddhism and watching a documentary about Buddhism on television. For Henry, digital media was his main source of information about Buddhism—he subscribed to email newsletters from various Buddhist groups, as well as the Facebook pages of Buddhist groups and well-known Buddhist figures, which he checked and read frequently. As a number of participants indicated, having to piece together multiple influences required considerable individual responsibility and effort, and was further complicated by participants’ own changing interests, needs, and life circumstances. At times, participants were required to adjudicate between competing discourses about Buddhism, which had been brought into contact through the global circulation of ideas, practices, and artefacts relating to Buddhism. These included simplistic interpretations of the Dalai Lama’s teachings, misunderstandings about Buddhists, and perceptions of Buddhism as an ‘Asian’ religion which was in conflict with Western cultural norms. Ben, for example, explained: 272

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I think that a lot of people don’t understand what Buddhism’s about . . . well they see the Dalai Lama and they think it’s all about well just live your life and be happy. I think Buddhist philosophy’s a lot deeper than that, it’s based on the idea that life is suffering. And there is a way out of that, um, through right action. These findings are consistent with Bouma’s (2006, pp. 98–9) observation that contemporary forms of religiosity in Australia are now ‘less reliant on the formal organizations’ of religious institutions, and are part of a trend towards ‘do-it-yourself’ religiosity which reflects larger cultural trends of increased levels of personal agency and decision making. Other misunderstandings that participants were required to negotiate included the perception that Buddhists were attempting to cut themselves out from society and eliminate all their desires (Candice). These misunderstandings could sometimes create a distancing or dislike of Buddhism, and a perceived clash between Buddhism and Australian or Western culture, as discussed in the next section.

Buddhist identity and ‘Australian’ culture For some participants in the current study, there were perceptions of a binary between Buddhism and the West. Evie, for example, likened her practice of Buddhism to the experience of an international student coming to live in Australia. When asked if she had experienced any conflict between Australian culture and Buddhist practice, she answered: Hell yes . . . I feel that Australian culture is so much against the type of lifestyle that Buddhism is promoting me to live, and I find that conflict or that contradiction really, really difficult, to the point where I feel like I’ve now become so Buddhist that . . . I feel like I’ve lost a lot of my Australian culture, or like I’m starting to understand a lot, what it must feel like for an international student to come and live in Australia. Perceptions about the conflict between Buddhism and Western culture were not unidirectional; they were also evident in the positioning of Buddhist identity during interactions that participants had with others. This was observed in comments questioning the legitimacy of White Buddhist practitioners, from people who had difficulty seeing the compatibility between Buddhism and being White or Western. Ben, for example, noted that people often questioned his ethnic origins once they found out he was a Buddhist. He said, ‘often the question is, oh really. Are you fully European? Why are you Buddhist?’ Tenzin, too, noted the perceived disjunction between Buddhism and Western culture, revealing how he was verbally abused for wearing his Buddhist robes in public, and labelled a ‘fraud, or charlatan or something like that.’ He explained, ‘I think it’s ‘cause I was White and I was in the robes, and he thought I was a faker.’ Tenzin likened the experience of being Buddhist and a Westerner to belonging to ‘two different tribes,’ a predicament he ultimately chose to resolve by disrobing as a monk. While not all White participants experienced such a conflict between their religion and race, perhaps due to the fact that most did not take the step of becoming ordained and wearing Buddhist robes, the experiences recounted here illustrate the ways Buddhism is still perceived by many to be an ‘Asian’ religion, to be practiced solely among Asian immigrants and their offspring. Despite longstanding global flows of Buddhism, these perceptions are still salient in the minds of those who seek a clear demarcation between ‘East’ and ‘West,’ and the religions which supposedly belong to each. Globalization brings ‘East’ and ‘West’ in closer contact in ways which may be confronting, yet also serves as a productive space for the development of subjectivities which transcend bifurcated views about so-called ‘Asian’ and ‘Western’ religions. 273

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Complicity One strategy participants used to negotiate incompatibilities between Buddhism and Australian culture (for example, Australia’s binge-drinking and meat eating culture) was complicity. Beth, for example, said she was ‘still learning’ to reconcile Buddhism with Australian culture, implying an acceptance of existing social norms rather than a desire to challenge the status quo. Indeed, many participants chose to make adjustments to their own behavior to accommodate their religious preferences. Candice chose to act as the designated driver to avoid drinking while condoning it in her friends, while Faye chose to chant in her head to avoid offending others. Candice admitted that her decision to act as the designated driver allowed her to ‘get out of it in a really cowardly way,’ while Faye emphasized that a privatization of religion was part of Australian culture, stating, ‘that’s my country so that’s how I go with it’ [laughs]. These examples illustrate the simultaneous positioning of some young Australian Buddhist practitioners in both Buddhist and Western cultures, and the acceptance of Australian cultural norms. It is worthwhile unpacking these examples further, and questioning the reasons for such complicity, or unwillingness to engage in visible displays of religiosity. I suggest here that the unwillingness to challenge existing social norms regarding religion can be attributed to a ‘cosmopolitan irony’ (Turner 2001, 2002) which young Australian Buddhist practitioners both adopt and respond to in their negotiations of belonging. As Turner (2002, p. 149) argues, an ironic distance is ‘the most prized norm of wit and principle of taste’ when individuals are required to continually interact with strangers. According to Turner (2001, p. 148, 2002, pp. 55, 58) the irony of cosmopolitanism lies in distancing from one’s own culture in order to respect other cultures in a contemporary, globalized world. In the case of young Australian Buddhist practitioners, cosmopolitan irony is reflected in participants’ simultaneous commitment to Buddhism, and their hesitations in speaking about and practicing their religion in public, out of respect for those practicing other religions. In the examples above, Candice makes a point about not stopping friends from drinking, showing a respect for diversity and an ‘ironic distance’ from her own religion. Similarly, Faye demonstrates an awareness and respect for the preferences of her housemates to not be exposed to foreign religious practices. Yen and Anh also related how they were sometimes hesitant about mentioning Buddhism to others due to their awareness of cultural diversity in Australia. Yen for example said: [b]ecause we’re so multicultural . . . you gotta be a . . . people are a bit sensitive sometimes, and you don’t wanna like, I don’t want people to get upset if I say anything, you know. Especially if I think they’re a great person, but sometimes religion does get in the way for some, some people. So . . . I generally try and phrase things carefully. Be a bit more politically correct. In this case, Yen describes the value of rising above an attachment to any particular culture or religion, and sees this as necessary in the context of cultural diversity. The confrontation of diverse religious beliefs is described here as something that has the potential to lead to emotional distress, yet is also an expected feature of everyday life in multicultural Australia. Consequently, it must be anticipated and managed by distancing oneself from one’s own culture. Although participants from the study did not cite particular Buddhist teachings, Buddhist concepts such as dependent origination (pratī tyasamutpā da), no-self (anattā ), and impermanence (anicca) appeared to manifest in experiences of negotiating Buddhist identity in an Australian

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context. In particular, a recognition of pratī tyasamutpā da, or interdependence, appeared to manifest in participants’ perceptions of belonging in an Australian national context, with participants adopting strategies of practicing Buddhism which complemented, rather than challenged, Australian culture. A recognition of anattā also appeared to be evident in participants’ contextualized experiences of religious belonging. It is also evident in the perceived absence of a monolithic ‘Buddhist’ or ‘Western’ identity. It is likely that recognition of anicca or impermanence gave participants a heightened awareness of the changing circumstances within which Buddhism was negotiated, and potentially predisposed them towards changing themselves. However, more research is required to support this possibility and to ascertain whether these findings resonate with the experiences of other young Buddhists globally.

Conclusion In this chapter, I have used a ‘lived religion’ approach to investigate how 22 young adult Buddhist practitioners negotiated transnational and global flows of religion between Australia, Asia, and beyond. I have explored the impact of racializing discourses which regard Buddhism as an ‘Asian religion,’ and the ways these racializing discourses affect the negotiation of Buddhism in an Australian context, which continues to serve as a site for the reproduction of ambivalence regarding Asia. I have suggested that participants’ negotiations of Buddhism take these ambivalences into account and rework them in ways which transcend the ‘East’/‘West’ binary, signifying the development of more cosmopolitan dispositions. As Buddhism continues to traverse geographical boundaries, the development of such dispositions may become more pertinent to maintaining social harmony and peaceful coexistence. As the field of religion, mobility, and globalization continues to change, future research may focus on explicating the religious teachings and practices which facilitate the development of these dispositions, and the contexts in which they might manifest globally.

Notes 1 For further details about the study, see Lam (2018). 2 Pauline Hanson is an Australian right-wing politician who has built her political trajectory on a populist and conservative platform. She initially gained prominence for comments made during her 1996 maiden speech to parliament, where she claimed that Australia was ‘in danger of being swamped by Asians’ (Pauline Hanson’s One Nation Political Party 2015).

References Ammerman, N., 2007. Introduction. In N.T. Ammerman, ed. Everyday religion: observing modern religious lives. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 3–18. Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS), 1981. Census: population and dwellings—summary tables. Australian Bureau of Statistics (ABS), 2011. Table builder [online]. Available from: www.abs.gov.au/websi tedbs/censushome.nsf/home/tablebuilder?opendocument&navpos=240 [Accessed 26 December 2016]. Barker, M., 2017. Buddhism in Australia and Oceania. In M. Jerryson, ed. The Oxford handbook of contemporary Buddhism. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 366–380. Beyer, P., 1994. Religion and globalization. London: Sage. Bouma, G., 2006. Australian soul: religion and spirituality in the twenty-first century. Port Melbourne, VIC: Cambridge University Press. Ebaugh, H.R., 2010. Transnationality and religion in immigrant congregations: the global impact. Nordic Journal of Religion and Society, 23(2): 105–119.

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Elliot, J., 2005. Using narrative in social research: qualitative and quantitative approaches. London: Sage. Furlong, A. and Cartmel, F., 2007. Young people and social change: new perspectives. 2nd ed. Milton Keynes M: Open University Press. Harris, A., 2013. Young people and everyday multiculturalism. New York: Routledge. Harris, A., Wyn, J. and Younes, S., 2010. Beyond apathetic or activist youth: ‘ordinary’ young people and contemporary forms of participation. Young: Nordic Journal of Youth Research, 18(9): 9–32. Lam, K., 2018. Self-work and social change: disindividualised participation amongst young Australian Buddhist practitioners. Journal of Youth Studies. Available from: www.tandfonline.com/doi/abs/ 10.1080/13676261.2017.1421312?journalCode=cjys20 Levitt, P., 1999. Social remittances: a local-level, migration-driven form of cultural diffusion. International Migration Review, 32: 926–949. Levitt, P., 2003. ‘You know, Abraham was really the first immigrant’: religion and transnational migration. International Migration Review, 37(3): 847–873. McGuire, M.B., 2008. Lived religion: faith and practice in everyday life. Oxford: Oxford University Press. McMahan, D.L., 2008. The making of Buddhist modernism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Noble, G., 2011. Countless acts of recognition: young men, ethnicity and the messiness of identities in everyday life. Social and Cultural Geography, 10(8): 857–891. Office for National Statistics, 2015. How religion has changed in England and Wales. Available from: www.ons.gov.uk/peoplepopulationandcommunity/culturalidentity/religion/articles/howreligion haschangedinenglandandwales/2015-06-04 Orsi, R., 1997. Everyday miracles: The study of lived religion. In: D. D. Hall, ed. Lived religion in America: Toward a history of practice. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 3–21. Orsi, R., 2003. Is the study of lived religion irrelevant to the world we live in? Special presidential address, Society for the Scientific Study of Religion. Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, 42(2): 169–174. Pauline Hanson’s One Nation Political Party, 2015. Pauline Hanson – leader and senator (QLD). Available from: www.onenation.com.au/paulinehanson#maiden [Accessed 6 March 2017]. Pew Research Centre, 2015. America’s changing religious landscape. Available from: www.pewforum.org/ 2015/05/12/americas-changing-religious-landscape/ [Accessed 26 December 2016]. Refugee Council of Australia, 2012. History of Australia’s refugee program. Available from: www.refugee council.org.au/getfacts/seekingsafety/refugee-humanitarian-program/history-australias-refugee-pro gram/ [Accessed 27 December 2016]. Robertson, R., 1994. Religion and the global field. Social Compass, 41(1): 121–135. Robertson, S., Harris, A., and Baldassar, L., 2018. Mobile transitions: A conceptual framework for researching a generation on the move. Journal of Youth Studies, 21 (2), 203–217. Rocha, C. and Barker, M. eds., 2011. Buddhism in Australia: traditions in change. London: Routledge. Statistics Canada, 2011. Two-thirds of the population declare Christian as their religion [online]. Available from: https://www150.statcan.gc.ca/n1/pub/91-003-x/2014001/section03/33-eng.htm. Turner, B.S., 2001. Cosmopolitan virtue: on religion in a global age. European Journal of Social Theory, 4(2): 131–152. Turner, B.S., 2002. Cosmopolitan virtue: globalization and patriotism. Theory, Culture & Society, 19(1–2): 45–63. Tweed, T., 2006. Crossing and dwelling: a theory of religion. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tweed, T., 2011. Theory and method in the study of Buddhism: toward ‘translocative’ analysis. Journal of Global Buddhism, 12: 17–32. Vasquez, M., 2008. Studying religion in motion: a networks approach. Method and Theory in the Study of Religion, 20: 151–184. Vertovec, S., 2007. Super-diversity and its implications. Ethnic and Racial Studies, 30(6): 1024–1054. Warner, R.S. and Wittner, J.G. eds., 1998. Gatherings in diaspora: religious communities and the new immigration. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. White, R.D. and Wyn, J., 2013. Youth and society. South Melbourne: Oxford University Press. Yang, F. and Ebaugh, H.R., 2001. Transformations in new immigrant religions and their global implications. American Sociological Review, 66: 269–288.

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23 The formation of global Chinese Christian identities1 Joshua Dao Wei Sim

Introduction Over the last few decades, some leading scholars of Chinese diaspora studies have vigorously prosecuted the case for examining the overseas Chinese as diverse peoples and communities (Nonini and Ong 1997, pp. 3–33; Malvezin 2004, pp. 49–60).2 These scholars agree that there is a need to dispel the image that the overseas Chinese have been a monolithic, cohesive diasporic entity. They warn that perpetuating the image of a homogeneous overseas Chinese tribe could conjure serious misperceptions, one being that the overseas Chinese have been part of an ‘integrated whole in the form of a network, like a cobweb’ (Chan and Ng 2000, p. 286). Yet, overseas Chinese Christians have not been frequently included in the mainstream of this conversation. Indeed, examining them would strengthen the case about diversity within the Chinese diaspora. What makes this more curious is that Christianity in China has become a bourgeoning sub-field within China area studies and the history of Christianity since the 1980s. Why then has less attention been paid to these diasporic Christian communities? Is it because they have been considered as adherents of a foreign religion and, therefore, not seen as ‘Chinese’ enough? Has the lack of perspective about diasporic Christianity prevented scholars from seeing their value? It is worth noting that scholars of religion have started to pay more attention to these religious communities. The most prominent examples derive from sociological studies on Chinese religion in the twenty-first century; studies pioneered by Yang and others (Yang 1998, 1999; Carnes and Yang 2004; Wang and Yang 2006) have been able to cast the spotlight on Chinese Christians in the United States. This is partly because Christianity became the dominant religion of these immigrants during the latter half of the twentieth century. In historical studies, Tseng (1999, 2008) has examined the construction of nationalistic and evangelical identities in US Chinese Protestantism during the twentieth century. These studies have provided reasons for Christianity’s attractiveness in diasporic communities while demonstrating how the religion aided the immigrants in their adaptation to a foreign land. The recent opening up of new directions in the study of Christianity, such as World Christianity, have also provided more impetus for scholars to focus on the overseas

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Chinese. This has been due to the realization about the importance of studying indigenous Christianities within their local and global contexts. As a recent volume on global Chinese Pentecostalism (Yang et al. 2017, p. 2) suggests, ‘it is time to examine Chinese Christianity . . . in the context of global networks.’ Nevertheless, the task of realizing a global outlook on Chinese Christianity remains in its infancy and more work needs to be done to achieve the goal. This chapter attempts to address the above-mentioned problems and advance the objective of conceiving a globally oriented Chinese Christianity by conceptualizing about overseas Chinese Christianity through the lens of identity. Here, identity refers to individual and group-based discourses which are constructed through beliefs, actions, participation and events. Institutions like the state and religious bodies play a crucial role in fostering such discourses in diasporic communities by appealing to the effectiveness of these discourses in solving the exigencies of the day or creating hope for the future (Duara 1998, pp. 660–666; McKeown 1999, p. 331; Kuo 2013, p. 14). To be clear, the focus of this study will be on diasporic Chinese Protestant communities. As shall be seen, these communities were able to develop discourses which enabled them to simultaneously affirm their ethnic and/or political identities with their religious identity. More specifically, it is shown that religion became the basis upon which the former two identities were developed and articulated. In order to accomplish this, I propose that three identity types, namely evangelical identity, religious nationalism and religious ethnocentrism, became the major identities which were constructed in many Chinese Protestant communities in Southeast Asia, North America and across the globe since the late nineteenth century to the present day. This study takes a diachronic approach in unpacking these three identity types in order to draw out historical continuities and discontinuities. Essentially, the goal of this chapter is to tell the Christian side of the story in the Chinese diaspora. Lastly, diasporic Chinese Catholic communities are not covered in this chapter. Historically, Catholics have been at the forefront of devising alternative discourses and teachings that have enabled the accommodation of Chinese cultural values and familial structures within their faith (Lee 2003; Menegon 2009). However, these discourses are predominantly local in nature and subordinated to the authority of the Catholic Church. Thus, the Catholic story deserves to be told as an independent analysis in a separate study.

Three views of overseas Chinese identity Before discussing the three identity types, I begin by exploring the work of several scholars who sought to form a coherent understanding of the Chinese diaspora. One of the primary sites which such research has taken place is in the study of overseas Chinese identities. Generally, a number of questions have been asked. How were the identities of the overseas Chinese constructed in specific historical situations? How were multiple identities negotiated, balanced and reconstructed in increasingly diverse cultural contexts across the world after World War II? How did the increasingly globalized outlook of migration and capitalism shape the construction of these identities? How did these identities negotiate and position themselves within the local and global during an era of fluid, multi-directional movement of people, ideas, capital and institutions? Different conceptual schemes have been proposed as possible ways to examine the formation of these identities. For the purposes of this chapter, I will raise three relevant schemes. The eminent historian Wang Gungwu was one of the earliest scholars to propose several approaches to understanding overseas Chinese identities. Wang sought to analyse them in 278

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two ways. Firstly, he attempted to match various groups of overseas Chinese and time periods to particular identities. In his influential 1988 study, Wang proposes two streams of identity which evolved over time. The first stream emphasizes political identity, where the dominant Chinese nationalist identity of the overseas Chinese in Southeast Asia during the 1920s and 1940s gave way to local national identities by the 1950s. This is because they sought to assimilate themselves into their new nation-states and push for ethnic minority status (Wang 1988, pp. 5–6; Huang 2010, pp. 8–9). The second stream carries a cultural emphasis. Wang explains that before World War II, most Chinese in Southeast Asia had a strong historical identity which emphasized traditional values and institutions ‘to sustain Chineseness.’ This historical identity was eclipsed by nationalist identity during the 1930s and 1940s. By the 1950s and 1960s, Chinese communities developed a ‘more flexible’ cultural identity to aid their integration into the new nation-states (Wang 1988, pp. 6–7). Secondly, Wang proposes a conceptual model to deal with the complex existence of multiple identities among Southeast Asian Chinese after World War II. Through his modelling, he shows how the notion of norms—that is, ‘ideal standards which are binding upon members of a group and which serve to guide . . . or regulate their behaviour’—could have an influencing effect on the multiple identities of the overseas Chinese (Wang 1988, p. 15). These identities include what he calls ‘normative’ ethnic, national, class and cultural identities, which are respectively shaped by a particular norm. For instance, cultural norms most directly shape the normative cultural identity of the Chinese. However, the type of cultural norm which influences the normative identity could result in the manifestation of different combinations of identities which make up cultural identity. This could include the assertion of historical identity alongside modern cultural identity or the emphasis on modern cultural identity above all other identities (Wang 1988, p. 14). In all, Wang has demonstrated the importance of understanding these identities as processual, historically produced discourses which have been able to co-exist alongside each other since the rise of modern Southeast Asia. The Chinese state’s role in shaping overseas Chinese identity is another interpretive framework which was developed. Wang has shown that from the 1920s to 1950s, the ‘predominant’ communal expression of the Southeast Asian Chinese was ‘Chinese nationalist identity’ (or huaqiao/Chinese sojourner identity) (Wang 1988, p. 2). This nationalist identity started to emerge from the 1890s when various groups of Chinese nationalist actors such as the revolutionary republicans and the Qing state sought to impose their brand of ideology on Chinese immigrant groups in Southeast Asia who were organized along various community lines such as linguistic groups and native-place societies. As Duara (1998, pp. 661–662) observes, these nationalist actors ‘sought to transform’ these ‘multi-stranded’ communities ‘into a Chinese-ness that eliminated or reduced internal boundaries on the one hand, and hardened the boundaries between Chinese and non-Chinese on the other.’ This was accomplished through the assistance of instruments such as newspapers, schools and political parties that were started in the various places where Chinese immigrants had settled (McKeown 1999, pp. 322–326; Lee 2006). The final scheme is about the shaping of overseas Chinese identity through participation in transnational practices, institutions, networks and culture. McKeown (1999, p. 331) has argued that participation in practices like migration and nationalism created a sense of ethnic identification among the overseas Chinese. In his words, ‘participation depended upon and produced Chineseness. A person was Chinese by virtue of the fact that he moved through networks channeled through Hong Kong . . . or Xiamen . . . participation in these experiences and processes made people Chinese.’ Similarly, Nonini and Ong (1997, p. 23) 279

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also posit that overseas Chinese participation in transnational practices was a means of fostering identities which can be seen as subversive alternatives to ‘modern regimes of truth and knowledge.’ These regimes are the Chinese family, capitalist workplace and nation-state. In their view, participation in these practices enables evasion of ‘normalizing discourses,’ ‘disciplining practices,’ or familial expectations which have been ‘inscribed’ upon them by the state or familial system. Chinese transnationalists, in this sense, circumvent or resist these regimes by ‘moving between national spaces’ or exploiting loopholes in these regimes in order to gain an advantage or carve out their own pathways. Three important perspectives can be learnt from these conceptual schemes; they are historically produced multiple identities, the state’s role in shaping identity, and participation in alternative modernities like transnational practices, networks and institutions. These perspectives are important and relevant as they can aid us in analysing the three global Chinese Christian identities. That is because the perspectives—which describe specific processes involved in the construction and negotiation of identities—were also actively seen in the formation and evolution of the three Christian identities. Here, it should be noted that the process of religious identity formation has been typically interactional in nature as religion partnered with these perspectives to produce variegated shades of identity (Duara 2003, pp. 57–58). For Protestantism, evangelicalism became central to this process.

Three global Chinese Christian identities Evangelicalism was central to the construction of identities among diasporic Chinese Protestants as it became the predominant expression of their faith from the 1920s and 1930s.3 Several case studies (Tseng 1999; Yang 1999; Nyíri 2003; Zhu 2004; Ireland 2012; Kwan 2015; Sim 2015) on Chinese evangelicalism in Singapore, Sarawak, Eastern Europe and North America have demonstrated its strong presence in these regions. The prevalence of this tradition can be partly attributed to the impact of prominent revivalists and evangelists who were trained in the independent Christian sector in China during the 1920s to 1940s. Men such as John Sung (Song Shangjie, 1901–44), Watchman Nee (Ni Tuosheng, 1903–72), and Andrew Gih (Ji Zhiwen, 1901–85) exerted their religious influence over Christians in China and the diaspora through their itinerant revival campaigns and evangelistic work (Bays 2012, pp. 128–40). Some of them, such as Gih and Nee’s coworkers, also established their own independent evangelical organizations across the globe in order to reach the different transnational Chinese communities (this point is covered in the identity type religious ethnocentrism). These men have been characterized by scholars of Chinese Christianity as ‘God-centered and Scripture-oriented,’ ‘evangelical and anti-liberal,’ and the ‘vanguard of a revival’ who ‘stressed repentance, conversion, holiness doctrine and discipleship’ (Harvey 2002, p. 24; Leung 2004, p. 89). Major denominational church leaders in the diaspora also played a big part in cementing the dominance of evangelicalism. They saw fit to appropriate it as the central version of their faith and imbue their congregations with such teachings. Nevertheless, evangelical theological beliefs and attitudes should not be seen as the sole arbiters of identity formation. Focus should also be placed on the global industry of networks, institutions, ideas, material culture and practices that evangelicalism gave rise to. These elements should be seen as sites that were utilized or appropriated by the Chinese. As Noll (2003, pp. 18–19) suggests, evangelicalism was an ‘ever-expanding, ever-diversifying family tree’ of revival promoters that was perpetuated globally by means of publications, networks and associations. This expansion and diversification also extended into Chinese 280

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societies across the globe by the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. In this sense, evangelicalism should be seen as a multi-faceted movement which was transnational in nature and able to provide the Chinese with a range of options to ‘redefine,’ select and appropriate for their specific diasporic contexts (i.e. migratory, cultural and political circumstances) (Zheng 2017, pp. 12–18). Now, we shall take into account these considerations as we examine the processes by which the three identities—evangelical identity, religious nationalism and religious ethnocentrism—were constructed across various contexts and time periods.

Evangelical identity (1930s to present day) The evangelical identity can be considered as the most important identity type which was formed in Chinese Protestant communities across Southeast Asia and North America. This identity was largely fostered through the appropriation of evangelical traditions, such as popularizing practices like revivalism and evangelism, and promoting conservative evangelical beliefs. These practices and beliefs became the main ideas and values which influenced the way Christians sought to engage with culture in their context. This meant that the priority in cultural engagement was slanted towards evangelical means and ends; the goal was to shape individuals, families and societies into believing that Jesus Christ was the most desirous way to personal salvation. There are two reasons why evangelical identity was promoted. Firstly, prominent Chinese revivalists and evangelists exerted a strong evangelical influence on diasporic Chinese churches through their revival campaigns, publications and independent parachurch/church institutions that they established in the twentieth century. On the other hand, leaders of these Chinese churches saw the adoption of evangelical practices as a means of gaining more autonomy from the Western missions. This was particularly the case in Southeast Asia. In Malaya, the denominational Chinese churches, especially the Methodists and Presbyterians, had been actively taking steps to become more autonomous from missionary control since the 1900s. Compared to other denominations such as the Anglicans or Baptists, the Methodists and Presbyterians led the way in implementing policies to encourage the devolution of power from the missionaries to the Asian leaders (Band 1972; Cheung 2004; Lau 2008). It was through this climate of change that church leaders saw revivalistic and evangelistic practices as prime ways of augmenting their efforts. The goal was to develop Three-Self Chinese churches—self-supporting, self-governing and self-propagating churches—through such means (Kwan 2015, p. 80; Sim 2015, pp. 47–48). Here, I demonstrate how the formation of this prevailing evangelical identity was in a large part due to the intense efforts of the Protestant leaders to utilize the evangelistic bands that John Sung established in the 1930s to 1940s to instil revivalism and evangelism as the principal way of building self-propagating churches while projecting evangelical activism into culture. The evangelistic bands that Sung established through his successful revival campaigns across Southeast Asia and China were one of the most effective institutional agents in creating popular evangelism. Although the bands were autonomous from the churches, they collaborated with them to form band chapters, effectively becoming ‘their lay evangelistic arms’; this meant recruiting and training church members to engage in regular evangelism (Sim 2015, p. 49). It was reported that the work of the bands brought about significant increases in attendances at Singapore’s Chinese Presbyterian and Methodist churches (Band 1972, pp. 537–538; Koh 2014, p. 24). The various bands set out at least once a week, in 281

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many cases, engaging in open-air evangelism at different locations in the city and villages. In terms of the open-air engagements, they were based on a preaching template, an example of which can be found in the constitution of the Sibu (Sarawak) evangelistic bands. In this template, the bands would attract crowds by singing catchy hymns and choruses, preaching from the Scriptures and advising the people to repent and believe in God through a standard set of topics which were repeatedly reused (1936 Constitution of Sibu Christian Evangelistic Band 1986, p. 36). This preaching template was also utilized by the bands in Singapore till the late 1940s and in their missionary efforts to the Chinese villages in Malaya during the 1930s to 1960s (Zhang 1946, pp. 108–110; Tow 2001, pp. 146–148). An important point here is that being equipped with this open-air preaching template enabled the laity to easily acquire the rudiments of evangelism and apply it in almost any setting. The easy acquisition of these proselytizing tools likely contributed to the higher uptake of evangelistic tasks in churches across Malaya.4 Secondly, the diasporic Christians saw the need to adopt evangelicalism as a response to the perceived rise in secularism, materialism and theological liberalism in their specific contexts during the twentieth century. Put differently, evangelicalism acted as an alternative religious modernity which was deployed to recover biblical authenticity and doctrinal orthodoxy in their faith. During the 1930s and 1940s, Sung and the leaders from the Malayan Chinese churches issued instructions to the bands and congregations to heed conservative doctrinal teachings and be wary of heretical preachers and theological liberalism (Sim 2015, p. 53). Across Southeast Asia and North America after World War II, conservative Chinese Christian leaders and workers worked tirelessly to establish networks of independent global evangelical organizations in order to stem the tide of theological liberalism and communism through the vigorous championing of evangelicalism (Gih 1973, pp. 1–41; Tseng 2008, pp. 135–147). The establishment of evangelical seminaries like the Singapore Bible College, the Southeast Asia Bible College in Indonesia and several others in Taiwan, Hong Kong and North America during the 1950s, ensured that the next few generations of church leaders were thoroughly evangelical in identity (Gih 1973, pp. 33–41; Rubinstein 1991, pp. 95–115; Sim 2015, p. 72). The prominent Chinese revivalist Calvin Chao (based in Singapore during the 1950s) was a strong proponent of such action. He commented that if he could start an evangelical ‘Bible school’ in Singapore, he could ‘train a new generation’ of evangelical leaders to take over the denominational churches and forestall the influence of modernism (Gih 1973, p. 33). Timothy Tseng demonstrates how Chinese American Protestantism was successfully ‘reconstructed’ by four evangelical influences, making it the predominant expression of the Chinese Protestant faith since the 1970s. For instance, Tseng (2008, pp. 138–144) shows how USborn Chinese Protestants attempted to resist and replace the influence of mainline liberal Protestantism in Chinese churches by starting annual Bible conferences with ‘fundamentalist and dispensational roots’ and establishing new congregations that were aligned to evangelicalism. In short, belief in the veracity and relevance of the evangelical alternative modernity for the times meant that it was prioritized as the important strategy for cultural shaping. One implication of this analysis concerns the relationship between the construction of evangelical identity and Chineseness in the diaspora. The case studies demonstrate how the identity-making projects of religious institutions emerged as an alternative to the state’s initiatives to shape the overseas Chinese into loyal subjects. Nevertheless, this did not mean that the Protestants sought to be direct competitors with the state; as will be seen, 282

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evangelicalism became a congenial ideological platform for the Protestants to incorporate nationalistic imaginations, enabling them to hold both identities simultaneously and with no conflict in interest.

Religious nationalism (1880–1940s) In Kuo’s (2017, p. 16) recent edited volume, he defines ‘religious nationalism’ in China as ‘the interpenetration, overlapping, or syncretism of religion and nationalism.’ He adds that this term comprises two sub-categories: A nationalism that incorporates existing religious elements or develops a new state cult in national ideologies . . . public education systems, and national holidays; and a religion that incorporates nationalist imaginations in its theology, ritual, and religious organization. It is the latter sub-category that I am tackling in this part.5 A study by Chau (2017, pp. 116–137) within the same volume develops this concept in further detail. Drawing on two case studies, Chau shows how religious nationalism could be defined as ‘nation in religion’ and ‘religion in nation.’ The former refers to the construction of religious meanings in significant practices (e.g. ‘literati-oriented’ practices) which are believed to be directly connected to the fate of the modern Chinese nation-state. The latter pertains to the creation of religious spheres in China which allowed religious adherents to imagine themselves as members of a particular religious sphere; such an imaginary helped to ‘solidify the boundaries of China’ as these spheres were ‘subordinated’ to the territorial imagination of the nation-state. Here, I demonstrate how the religious nationalism identity of the overseas Chinese Protestants was both a national and transnational development; that is, the evangelical faith of the Protestants was implicated with transnational imaginations of the state and willingly subordinated to the agenda of the state. My usage of the term ‘religious nationalism’ refers to how the nationalism of the Christians was influenced by their faith, and vice-versa. In short, it was a synthesis that encompassed nation in religion and religion in nation. This part concentrates on the late nineteenth century to World War II as the Chinese nationalist identity was predominant among the diaspora in this timeframe. There were two scenarios that underlay the formation of transnational religious nationalism. The first scenario relates to the ambitions for autonomy of the Malayan Chinese churches. In order to demonstrate that their Christianity was not foreign-led and thoroughly indigenous in concern, thinking and organization, the church leaders launched initiatives to display that they were just as nationalistic as the other overseas Chinese communities. Like the three different statist nationalist groups from China that sought to ‘nationalize’ Chinese immigrants in Southeast Asia, the church leaders took up the same mantle to nationalize their own congregations in the 1930s and 1940s (Duara 1997, p. 39, 1998, pp. 660–666). One major initiative which demonstrates religious nationalism was the development of a transnational Protestant sphere in Singapore—a prime example of religion in nation. This was seen in the founding of the Singapore Chinese Christian Inter-Church Union6 in 1931, or what can be rendered as Singapore Huaqiao Christian Inter-Church Union because the noun ‘Chinese’ is actually a translation of the term huaqiao. The Union was founded by a group of immigrant pastors from the three major Protestant denominations in Singapore— Methodists, Presbyterians and Anglicans. What made the establishment of this Union unique 283

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was that the pastors attempted to imagine themselves as part of China’s Protestant sphere by creating transnational linkages that enabled them to express their loyalty to China. At the same time, the local Singapore sphere which they established became a site to rally the churches in British Malaya around their nationalistic cause. In short, the pastors appropriated the huaqiao label in order to effectively integrate the religious with the political for the diaspora (Hang 1971, pp. 144–145; Sim 2015, p. 43). This synthesis was seen through the creation of religious discourses which fostered a transnational imagination of the nation in religion. Local Chinese newspapers like the Nanyang Siang Pau (NYSP) and the Malayan Methodist periodical Nanzhong regularly carried articles about these issues (NYSP, 15 Apr 1938, pp. 22, 30; Koh 2014, pp. 44–45). Religious prayers and liturgies emphasizing the miserable state of war-torn China were constructed by the Union’s leaders to invoke feelings of religious nationalism for their homeland—that is, an urgent cry for God to deliver China from war and restore peace. A key theme of nationalism during the 1930s was ‘national salvation’ (jiuguo). As a recent study demonstrates, the Chinese Methodists in Southeast Asia participated in ‘a [particular] Chinese Christian discourse on China’s salvation.’ Like most conventional narratives on jiuguo then, they regarded ‘failure’ and ‘selfishness’ as causes for China’s national weakness. However, they went beyond the commonly proposed jiuguo solutions of ‘modernity’ and ‘mutual assistance’ by advancing evangelicalism as the ‘ultimate antidote’ to the nation’s problems (Kwan 2015, pp. 28–30, 43–48). The leaders of the Union—who were influenced by the Methodist discourse—also engaged in this type of religious nationalism. For instance, in a special prayer meeting organized to commemorate the second anniversary of the Second Sino-Japanese War in July 1939, the Union’s leaders offered their diagnosis of China’s problems. They urged participants of the event to ‘beseech’ God to ‘forgive’ the Chinese citizens of their sins of ‘idol worship’ or superstition and ‘rebellion against God.’ They also offered their solution to the problem: the Chinese citizens were called to ‘repent’ and ‘believe’ in Jesus Christ (Nanzhong, July 1939, pp. 16–17). By appropriating the discourse of national salvation, the diasporic Protestants were able to join in the conversation about China from their transnational sphere; they did so by forming their own interpretation of the conflict and transforming their religiosity into an outlet to express their affection for China. Tseng (1999, p. 24) demonstrates how racial discrimination and social dislocation experienced by the Chinese immigrants in the United States from 1880–1927 created the conditions that fostered religious nationalism in Chinese Protestant churches. Specifically, evangelicalism provided the Chinese immigrant converts with a ‘persuasive worldview’ to ‘cope’ with these ‘disruptions’ while acting as a ‘catalyst that propelled many . . . onto the paths of social activism [and] Chinese nationalism.’ This is the second scenario. Here, he explains how a synthesis involving an interplay between religion in nation and nation in religion emerged. From 1880 to 1902, the influence of evangelicalism enabled converts to acquire a strong evangelical identity; however, national concern quickly synthesized with evangelicalism. Due to the discrimination that they faced in US society, their evangelistic concerns became ‘obsessively’ focused on China and their fellow immigrants. From 1900 to 1919, the emphasis of their religious nationalism shifted from evangelism to the evangelical critique on ‘backward, pagan China’ as a response to China’s tumultuous political modernization. By the 1920s, their religious nationalism shifted towards a national salvation discourse that was similar to that of the Malayan Chinese Protestants. This developed because of their growing animosity towards Western imperialism which fostered a ‘decisive rejection . . . [of] the Euro-American model’ (Tseng 1999, pp. 24, 31, 36).

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These case studies demonstrate how different communities of overseas Chinese Protestants incorporated transnationalist imaginations about China into their faith and situated their identity-making projects within the limits of the nation-state. Different aspects of faith were integrated with politics in order to generate types of religious nationalism that fitted with the specific historical context. It should be noted that a strident Taiwan-centred anti-communist religious nationalism arose after World War II among significant numbers of Chinese evangelicals who emigrated to Taiwan and other parts of the world to escape China’s Communist takeover. These evangelicals—who were loyal to the Kuomintang— were crucial in establishing an Asian Christian anti-Communist league which was a major religious organization that opposed Communist China till the 1980s (Chin 2016). Although this particular religious nationalism is beyond the scope of this chapter, it serves as a good contrast to highlight the formation of a non-political, globally oriented ethno-religious identity for various overseas Chinese Christian communities during the postcolonial period.

Religious ethnocentrism (1950s to present day) Religious ethnocentrism arose as a major identity type after World War II. This identity type refers to the formation of an ethnic-centred—rather than China-centred—overseas Chinese Protestantism that constructed discourses about their evangelical identity through independent Chinese evangelical institutions and networks that were established across several continents. These discourses include narratives that emphasize the special obligation of the Chinese Christians to evangelize the world, the need to proselytize the Chinese diaspora, and new global ethno-religious mappings which are based on the mission and objectives of these institutions. In short, evangelical identity was both infused with ethnic concerns and recontextualized within new ethnic-centred religious spatial mappings (Yang 2002; Nyíri 2003, pp. 267–274; Tseng 2008, pp. 135–138; Huang and Hsiao 2015, pp. 384–385). One should note that religious ethnocentrism displaced religious nationalism within the diaspora from the 1950s, though many Chinese who emigrated from China in the 1950s and 1960s remained privately loyal to the Republic of China. As Tseng (2008, p. 136) notes, those who emigrated to escape Communist China shifted ‘their hopes for Chinese Christianity on the Chinese Diaspora rather than on China.’ Another point is that the construction of these discourses also happened in conjunction with the assimilation of these Chinese communities into their adopted homelands. Many of these first-generation migrants thus preferred to emphasize their ethnic and cultural belongings (whether through religion or in their family units) over loyalty to China as they sought to settle permanently into their new homes (Yang 1999, pp. 132–162). In this part, two case studies will be utilized to outline the ethnic-centred discourse making of these transnational Chinese evangelical institutions. The first example pertains to Gih’s post-1940s work where he established an organization known as Evangelize China Fellowship (ECF) in many countries. ECF can be seen as representative of several major transnational entities which were formed by various Chinese revivalists and evangelists, such as Dzao’s Bread of Life churches and Wang’s Chinese Overseas Christian Mission. ECF was founded in 1947 in Shanghai as an indigenously run ‘faith mission’ for the purpose of training Chinese nationals ‘to win their own people.’ Subsequently, because the organization was forced to close in Shanghai, it went on to establish work in Hong Kong, Taiwan and Southeast Asia. ECF was responsible for setting up a range of organizations in these regions. Alongside churches which were established in cities and rural areas, ECF also established theological colleges in Taiwan and Indonesia. 285

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Christian schools, kindergartens and orphanages were also founded across these regions. The institution also had a publications arm known as Sheng Tao Press which issued publications like the periodical Shengming (The Life), and other books and gospel pamphlets. Shengming, like many Chinese evangelical publications of its day, was circulated to Chinese communities across the five continents (Gih 1970, 49–51; Doyle 2006). ECF’s concern for the overseas Chinese can be seen through its work in Indonesia since the 1950s. Gih visited Indonesia in 1951 and became aware of the large numbers of Chinese in the new nation-state; he also realized that the Chinese churches in Indonesia were in need of theological colleges to train their pastors. In his eyes, the need for evangelism and theological education became major impetuses to start an ECF chapter in Indonesia. Gih’s newfound concern for the overseas Chinese spurred him to establish the Southeast Asia Bible College in 1952 to train full-time workers for the churches and missionaries to the ‘unevangelized’ areas in the nation. According to Gih, the College would come to play an important role among the Chinese churches in Indonesia; 85 percent of these congregations would be ‘manned’ by graduates from this school by 1970 (Gih 1973, 22–37). In this sense, ECF can be seen as a transnational entity which was deeply involved in ethnic Chinese evangelization and the creation of its own ethno-religious landscape through its network of workers, organizations and publications. While this first example is demonstrative of how an important institution utilized its transnational resources, networks and organizational entities to construct an evangelicalism that was thoroughly interpenetrated with ethnic concern, the next example traces the construction of a particular religious ethnocentric discourse—the special status of Chinese Christians as the ‘new chosen people of God’ for the evangelization of the world from the 1970s (Huang 2017, pp. 87–88). According to Chan (2006, pp. 88–89), the special status of Chinese Christians was first promoted by the Back to Jerusalem (BTJ) movement, which was inspired by a 1940s Chinese evangelistic movement with the same English name. The current BTJ movement ‘calls for the mobilization of 100,000 . . . Chinese missionaries from China to launch into the Islamic-dominated Central Asia region and eventually spread the Christian faith to Jerusalem ready for the Second Coming of Christ.’ Chinese Christians are regarded as the ‘chosen’ group for the evangelization of Central Asia because of the movement’s belief in God’s selective usage of particular ethnicities throughout human history to complete His plan for evangelizing the world. That is to say, ‘the Christian faith traveled from the West to East through Western missionaries and [is] now carried back by Chinese missionaries to where it had originated to complete the mandate’ of worldwide gospel proclamation. To be sure, the BTJ movement originated in China. However, Pál Nyíri (2003, pp. 290–291) observes that BTJ’s idea has moved into the mainstream of Chinese evangelicalism, especially among several prominent overseas Chinese evangelical leaders and institutions today. Several of such leaders have offered their interpretations about this idea. One example is Su’s global ‘historiography of the Chinese campus ministry’ (1945 to post-2007) which has influenced many contemporary overseas Chinese Christians. Su is the founder of an important organization called Overseas Campus Ministry. By periodizing the history of the Chinese campus ministry into seven different phases, he fashioned a historical interpretation about the ‘progressive preparation’ of the Chinese Christians for the worldwide missionary task. He argued that this began in 1945 when campus ministries were started in China, before their subsequent openings across the globe. Su also explains how the gospel has been promulgated ‘in a circle’ by the Chinese—first beginning in China before moving out to Asia and the West and returning to China in the late 1980s. In practical terms, this has also meant that 286

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converted Chinese students who studied in Western universities have been seen by these institutions as valuable human resources to ‘bring their faith back to China’ (Huang and Hsiao 2015, pp. 386–389; Huang 2017). In a way, the development of religious ethnocentrism as an identity type since the 1950s is a demonstration of how the overseas Chinese flexibly adapted to the global post-war order. They ingeniously integrated faith with ethnic concerns in order to re-make their organizations into transnational enterprises while simultaneously carving out substantial ethnic spaces by deploying religious ethnocentric discourses that projected their own concerns, ambitions and imaginations of the ethno-religious space. Some recent studies have demonstrated that class has been an important factor in enabling global Chinese communities to identify with evangelicalism. These studies point to the evangelical/Pentecostal megachurch phenomenon which has arisen in places with substantial Chinese communities (such as Southeast Asia and Taiwan) during the late 1980s. Most of these megachurches have managed to recruit Chinese-majority congregations. In a recent edited volume on the Southeast Asian context, Terence Chong observes that Pentecostal megachurches have managed to find connection and congruity with the different middle class groups in the neoliberal capitalist economies of Malaysia, Singapore and Indonesia. In particular, their ‘narratives of distribution,’ prosperity gospel theologies and constant focus on the immediate experience of the spiritual dimension can be considered as class-based religious discourses that are employed to attain wide appeal from these middle-class groups (Chong 2018, pp. 8–9). While I agree with the importance of class in building such appealing non-ethnic religious narratives, it can also be observed that the ethnic factor has not received much attention from these same group of studies. This is partly because most of the attention has been devoted to English-speaking (or in the case of Indonesia, Bahasaspeaking) congregations where ethnicity is either deliberately de-emphasized or has a marginal status (Hoon 2018, p. 25). Class-based discourses are thus important in appealing to these groups as they carry a culturally superior language-based orientation which is closely associated with its class-based status (i.e. the English language is the dominant and preferred language of the middle-class groups in Singapore and Malaysia). More attention should be paid to other language-based (e.g. Mandarin, Hokkien, Cantonese, Tamil) groups within these megachurches. Scholars should examine whether class-based discourses are just as effective in such contexts. My suspicion is that ethnic-based narratives may be more prevalent in these circumstances due to the more Asian cultural orientations of these congregations. In the same vein, Pentecostal-leaning congregations from Chinese-based organizations such as Bread of Life or True Jesus Church should be subjected to a similar examination in order to determine whether the strong appeal of class-based discourses also holds true in their circumstances.

Conclusion This chapter has demonstrated how historical and contemporary circumstances from the late nineteenth century to the present day, and the different processes which emerged from these circumstances, were involved in the construction of the three major identity types of overseas Chinese Protestantism. While scholars examining overseas Chinese Christianity have discussed the development of these identities since the late 1990s, few studies have attempted to synthesize the global trajectories of these identity-making efforts into a working conceptual framework. In a way, this chapter follows the work of several scholars of the Chinese diaspora who attempted to provide conceptual accounts of identity making in 287

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secular and religious overseas Chinese communities (Wang 1988; Nonini and Ong 1997; Duara 1998; McKeown 1999; Yang 1999). Specifically, this chapter has argued that religion has been central for identity making within the Chinese diaspora; as I have shown, religion acted as a basis—in multiple ways—to build Chinese Christian identities in variegated diasporic communities across the globe over several generations, starting from the late nineteenth century. In particular, the evangelical tradition— not just in terms of its theology but also its practices, institutions, ideas and networks— underpinned identity construction efforts. From a historical perspective, evangelicalism has been the constant factor in the construction of the three identities. In this sense, scholars like Tseng and Nyíri have been right to focus on the importance of evangelicalism in the formation of global Chinese Christian identities in different settings. In the final analysis, evangelicalism—in all its different aspects and related traditions—serves as an important starting point for conceiving a globally oriented Chinese Christianity; that is, how these men and women appropriated evangelicalism to build a transnational religious industry that connected, influenced and affected adherents and non-adherents of the faith across the Chinese diaspora. More broadly, the study alerts scholars to the need to bring religion, especially Christianity, into a direct conversation with mainstream Chinese diaspora scholarship. Integrating findings and analytical tools from Chinese Christian and diaspora studies into research on relevant communities and individuals will enable scholars to tease out more associations between secular and religious diasporic communities. These associations risk being missed out if the subjects are investigated from merely the perspective of one subfield. In short, through such integration, this chapter has shown that the Chinese Christians were active participants of the larger global diasporic landscape; the difference was that they either appropriated secular means for religious uses, or participated in the Chinese diasporic world through their religious connections. Finally, this chapter has been a demonstration of the ‘multitudinous forms of Christian religious orientation’ which arose in the context of a global Chinese diaspora. This multiplicity within overseas Chinese Christianity deserves further attention because of the variegated nature and constant movement of the Chinese across different transnational spaces. Such multiplicity signifies the constant shifting and changing which has taken place among individuals, institutions, networks and communities within overseas Chinese Christianity over time (Madsen 2017, pp. 319–320, 324–325). Therefore, scholars should endeavour to study overseas Chinese Christianity in all its diversity and richness across different planes, contexts and times.

Notes 1 I extend my deepest thanks to Wang Zhixi for his insightful comments which have helped to improve this chapter. 2 I will not be engaging in the debate of whether terms like overseas Chinese, Chinese overseas, Chinese diaspora or transnational Chinese are more appropriate for characterizing such communities. I am largely using these terms interchangeably and if there are historically specific terms that should be applied (such as huaqiao), I will specify the usage of the terminology upfront. 3 Evangelicalism is popularly defined by its key theological emphases: conversion (desire for all to turn to Jesus Christ), biblicism (Bible as highest authority in life), activism (evangelistic and social action) and crucicentrism (centrality of Christ’s death and resurrection for salvation) (Noll 2003, p. 19). Here, ‘evangelicalism’ is preferred over ‘fundamentalism’ because the latter can be seen as a subgroup of the former. Moreover, prominent Chinese revivalists who have been identified as fundamentalists learnt their Christianity from various strains of the global evangelical movement.

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4 This paragraph is heavily reliant on the analysis from my recent study ‘Chinese Evangelistic Bands in Nanyang: Leona Wu and the Implementation of the John Sung-Inspired Evangelistic Band Model in Pre-War Singapore’, Fides et Historia 50:2 (Summer/Fall 2018): 52–3. 5 Kuo calls this sub-category ‘nationalist religion.’ I am, however, not following his labelling in this chapter. 6 The Chinese name is Xinjiapo huaqiao jidujiao lianhehui.

References Historical sources Band, E., 1972. Working Out His Purpose: The History of the English Presbyterian Mission 1847–1947. Taipei: Cheng Wen. Bays, D. H., 2012. A New History of Christianity in China. United Kingdom: Wiley-Blackwell. Gih, A., 1970. The Church behind the Bamboo Curtain. Marshall, Morgan & Scott: London. Gih, A., 1973. Revival Follows Revolution in Indonesia. London: Lakeland. Hang, P., 1971. Xinjiapo huaqiao jidujiao lianhehui jianshi [A Short History of the Singapore Chinese Christian Inter-Church Union] in P Hang, Fan xinfu zhengdao ji [The Sermon Collections of Paul Hang], Fan xinfu: Singapore. In: M. N. C. Poon, ed. 2015. Song shangjie yu nian shiji xinjiapo huaren jidujiao de lingcheng [John Sung and the Spiritual Pilgrimage of the Twentieth-Century Singapore Chinese Church]. Singapore: Trinity Theological College, 258. Jidujiao budaotuan jinchen juxing guonan jinshi qidaohui: zhiluo yayi libaitang chongman fan qinglüe qingxu yijiaotu yin buneng huiguo shadi baotou daku [Singapore Christian Evangelistic League’s Prayer and Fasting Conference for National Difficulties Was Organized This Morning: Anti-invasion Feelings Were Rife in Telok Ayer Chapel, One Believer Cried Uncontrollably for Not Being Able to Return to China to Kill the Enemies]. Nanyang Siang Pau, 15 April 1938, 30. Shalaoyue shiwu jidutu budaotuan guizhang (yijiu sanliu nian) [Sarawak Sibu Christian Evangelistic Band Constitution (1936)]. 1986. Shalaoyue weili gonghui jidutu budaotuan wushi zhounian jiniankan [Sarawak Methodist Church Christian Evangelistic Band Fiftieth Anniversary Commemorative Magazine]. Shalaoyue weili gonghui jidutu budaotuan: Sarawak, Malaysia, 36. Tow, T., 2001. Son of a Mother’s Vow. Singapore: FEBC Bookroom. Weiguo qidao [Praying for the Nation]. Nanyang Siang Pau, 15 April 1938, 22. Xingzhou huaqiao jidujiao lianhehui qiqi jinianri tonggao tongdao qi [Public Announcement Note to Compatriots about the Singapore Chinese Christian Inter-Church Union’s of the Second SinoJapanese War’s Anniversary Commemoration]. Nanzhong, July 1939, 12 (7), 16–17. Xingzhou jidutu budaotuan gedui zuzhi yilan [Overview of Setup of Individual Teams in Singapore Christian Evangelistic Band]. 1936. Singapore Christian Evangelistic Band, 93–103. Zhang, Q. H., 1946. Xingzhou jidutu budaotuan quanti zhiyuan xinchun budaoji [Singapore Christian Evangelistic Band All-Committee Members Chinese New Year Evangelism]. Singapore Christian Evangelistic Band Magazine: Fifth Edition, 108–110.

Scholarship Carnes, T. and Yang, F., eds., 2004. Asian American Religions: The Making and Remaking of Borders and Boundaries. New York: New York University Press. Chan, K., 2006. Missiological Implications of Chinese Christianity in a Globalized Context. In: P. P. Kumar, ed. Religious Pluralism in the Diaspora. Leiden and Boston: Brill, 73–95. Chan, K. B., and Ng, B. K., 2000. Myths and Misperceptions of Ethnic Chinese Capitalism. In: K. B. Chan, ed. Chinese Business Networks: State, Economy and Culture. Singapore: Prentice Hall, 285–302. Chau, A. Y., 2017. The Nation in Religion and Religion in the Nation. In: C. Kuo, ed. Religion and Nationalism in Chinese Societies. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press, 117–141. Cheung, D., 2004. Christianity in Modern China: The Making of the First Native Protestant Church. Leiden: Brill.

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24 Church as a homeland and home as a place of worship The transformation of religiosity among Georgian migrants in Paris Sophie Zviadadze

Introduction ‘Going to church is like being in Georgia for a while,’ recalled Anna, a 27-year-old lady living in Paris. The attachment to homeland has a distinctive character for Georgians living in the diaspora. Living in a foreign country revitalizes the nationalistic sentiments and religious belonging. Under the emotional stress of adapting to a new culture and set of values, religion also changes among Georgian migrants. During the process of integration into the new society, the rate of religious participation decreases, and individuals form their religious orientations more independently. They are less likely to be linked with institutional religion and religious authorities. This is in contrast to strong institutional religion, the authority of religious leaders, and traditions in Georgia. Among post-socialist countries, Georgia’s religious boom has survived the longest and it continues to stand out for having the highest rate of religiosity among post-Soviet countries. After the demise of the socialist regime and against the backdrop of systemic transformation, the importance of religiosity has been on the rise in many countries in Eastern Europe (Pollack et al. 1998; Pollack 2011). After the restoration of Georgia’s independence, the importance of religion gained a new momentum. For many Georgians, the importance of religion in everyday life is high. Surveys show that 81% of respondents consider themselves to be Orthodox Christians, with 56% in the 18–35 years group going to church once a month or more (Caucasus Barometer 2013). According to another survey, 73% believe in God while 81% of respondents see religion as key component of national identity (Pew Research 2018). The specific aspects of religious landscape in today’s Georgia are ‘visibility of religion’ in the public sphere and the high level popularity of the Georgian Orthodox Church. The role of the church as a stronghold of national culture has been strongly upheld by religious leaders and the wider public. The transition from Soviet secular ideology to high religiosity shows signs of the ‘deprivatization of religion’ as well (Casanova 1994, 1996).

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The religious life of Georgian migrants in Paris reveals the contrasting picture of religiosity for Georgians living in Georgia. This chapter explores how religiosity is changing for Georgian migrants when they live in other countries. Is religion important for Georgian migrants after moving to a foreign country? How does a secular and pluralistic society influence the religious identity and practices of Georgian migrants in Paris? This chapter will primarily focus on the religious identity of second-wave Georgian migrants. The diaspora gathers mostly students and labor migrants. The diaspora is constantly changing, in contrast to the first wave Georgian diaspora (the descendants of Georgians who migrated to France after the Soviet occupation of Georgia in 1921). In general, the waves of Georgian migration to France happened in two historical periods. Migrants of the first wave sought shelter in France after the Soviet occupation of Georgia in 1921, which resulted in the destruction of the Democratic Republic of Georgia (1918–1921). In the aftermath of the collapse of the Russian Empire and the 1917 Revolution, Georgia’s First Democratic Republic was founded on May 26, 1918. In 1921, the Constituent Assembly of Georgia adopted the first constitution of the Republic. On February 25, the Soviet Army invaded the country and declared Soviet rule. The second wave of migrants followed the collapse of the Soviet Union and Georgia’s independence. The driving force of the second wave was a long and devastating process of political and social transformation of the country. The two generations of migrants are marked by the two Georgian Orthodox parishes in Paris: St. Nino’s Church founded in 1927 catered to first generation migrants. St. Tamar’s Church, built in 2009, has since been frequented by second generation Georgian migrants. Each church has its own Georgian parish.

Theoretical overview The vitality of religion is determined by various factors in post-socialist countries. ‘New freedom of religion’ and an ideological vacuum are typical of countries going through political and social transformation (Pollack 2003). Georgia was not an exception to the post-socialist revitalization of religion after the change in political system. Generally, in order to explain rising religiosity in post-socialist Eastern Europe, scholars’ arguments are based on the specificities of religious culture in the region (Norris and Inglehart 2004). The transformation of religion in post-communist Georgia can be labeled as the deprivatization of religion (Casanova 1994). The religious renaissance in the post-independence period presumably represents part of the more general proclivity of the ‘return of religions’ and the ‘desecularization of the world’ (Berger 1999). Sociologists believe that post-communist countries offer a different and more complex picture of religious transformation (Tomka 1995). Scholars take a look at the features and the dynamics that characterize state building, nationalism and religiosity both in Soviet and post-Soviet periods (Spohn 2012, p. 30). The link between national and religious identity is common in many Eastern European countries. This phenomenon is extremely vivid in Georgia. In describing the religious transformation in Georgia, the significance of religion for cultural and national identity should be kept in mind. As Hervieu-Léger argues, religion in modernity may serve not only as a source for experiencing spirituality but also as a chain of memories through which knowledge of the past and the myths of the formation of the nation, culture and history are connected to the present. The link between religion, memory and identity allows religion to continue to exist in modern times (Hervieu-Léger 2000). Casanova also argues that the extent to which religion is connected to the past of a nation may account for the vitality of the church and religion in the modern day (Casanova 1994). One of the characteristics of post-Soviet Georgian society is the emergence of religion in the public sphere, with a strong influence of the Georgian 293

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Orthodox Church over political affairs. In a new political and social reality, the Church managed to reinforce its authority by monopolizing the national space and thus shaping the new national narrative (Serrano 2010; Zedania 2011). In general, the tradition of a national church shared by countries with an Orthodox culture nurtures and facilitates the closeness of nationalism and religion. Over the course of many years the Georgian Orthodox Church and the Patriarch Ilia II have enjoyed the highest trust ratings among citizens. According to the Pew Research Center, 81% of respondents in Georgia see religion as a key factor of their national identity (Pew Research Center 2018). It is thus not surprising that many studies focus on religion and nationalism in Georgia. However, in the Georgian context, a question still needs to be answered regarding whether we could expect secularization with the political and social transformation of Georgian society, more specifically a decline in the social function of institutional religion (or religious privatization) (Dobbelaere 2002). Paradigmatically, the scholars view with suspicion the ‘compatibility’ of secularism and pluralism (as compared to Catholicism and Protestantism) with Orthodox Christianity (Martin 1996; Berger 2004). But how is it being Orthodox Christian in a different cultural environment? How can secular society influence one’s religious identity and religious expression? Living in the diaspora could be one of the possible avenues to observe religious transformation. After moving to a foreign country, a migrant’s religion may change. Under the stress of adapting to a new culture, secular and urban life, the role of religion could change. Gabriel, for example, considers modernity and the process of individualization as the key drivers of religious privatization. He argues that the very process of individualization accounts for the diminished role of the church and religion (Gabriel 1996). For Taylor, religious experience and religiosity in the modern age become part of ‘expressive individualism,’ and are separated from institutional religion and religious authority (Taylor 2002, p. 84). Along similar lines, Luckmann offered the view that the privatization of religion in Western societies does not mean its demise, but rather the transformation of the form of religion, including the decline of the role of institutional religion (Luckmann 1991). Today, the transformation of religion and religiosity becomes even more diverse and eclectic, which involves privatization, deprivatization and the rise of different religious expressions (spirituality, New Age, patch-work religiosity, popular religiosity) (Knoblauch 2008). Living in the diaspora could explain why and how religious practices change. Religion helps people to adapt to a new context—‘to negotiate their minority status and rights’ (Knott 2016, p. 71). When people move from their home country to another, they are often exposed to a totally different cultural and social environment. People experience new and different cultures, values and social rules. They live with new stresses and pressures in a foreign country. As Connor argues, in this situation religion could be a lower priority for immigrants. Therefore, immigrants are often generally less religious after moving between countries (Connor 2014, p. 50). But Connor offers another explanation for the changing meaning of religion among migrants. It is that their religious or spiritual lives become important, so they become active and go to churches or mosques or other religious institutions. In his broad study, Connor observes four different forms of relations between religion and migration: moving faith, changing faith, integrating faith, transferring faith (Connor 2014). Yet, there could be other patterns. An immigrant’s religion changes, and it has both positive and negative effects. Connor takes into account the specificities of immigrant religious groups, the place of settlement and the type of integration (Connor 2014, p. 75). As for the role of religion among migrants, the scientific community views this question from many angles (Ebaugh and Chafetz 2000; Johnson 2012; Garnett and Harris 2013; Garnett and Hausner 2015). Researchers pay close attention to the pattern existing between the 294

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transformation of religiosity and the integration of migrants (Van Tubergen 2007). A widely shared view suggests that religiosity becomes stronger in migrant groups, and the rise of religiosity is particularly evident in Europe (Lagrange 2014). However, this picture is not homogeneous. Rather, it may be influenced by the laws of a host country, as well as local religious and cultural diversity. Researchers believe that security issues and a level of integration and religious diversity have a significant influence over religiosity among migrants. However, there is a common characteristic that suggests that migrants are more religious than their host communities. In such cases, the economic standing of the country, its level of religious pluralism and the degree of protection of the freedom of religion all have a share in shaping patterns of religiosity (Aleksynska and Chiswick 2011). Regarding these questions and in general, the religious culture of Orthodox Christian diasporas and, specifically, the religious life of Georgian migrants, is less researched. This chapter draws on various qualitative methods including face-to-face interviews, a biographical narrative and ethnographic fieldwork. The study focuses on second-wave migrants who arrived in Paris after the collapse of the Soviet Union at different times for a temporary stay. All the respondents have led intensive religious lives. In total, 55 persons (35 students and 20 labor migrants) of both sexes and with different records of living abroad, were interviewed. The specific feature of Georgian migrant life in Paris is that they do not live together in certain places. The only time they meet each other is whenever they gather at a Georgian Orthodox parish or whenever they celebrate National Day (May 26th).

Religion as culture and ‘church as the homeland’ The waves of Georgian migration to France took place in two historical periods: migrants of the first wave sought shelter in France after the Soviet occupation of Georgia in 1921, which resulted in the destruction of the First Georgian Republic. The First Georgian Republic was founded on May 26, 1918. In 1921 the Constituent Assembly of Georgia adopted the first Constitution of the Republic. On February 25, the Soviet Army invaded the country and declared Soviet Rule. The ruling government of the Georgian Republic and most of the members of the Founding Council left for France in 1921. In 1929, Georgian migrants founded St. Nino Church and Parish in Paris. The community was governed not by the Georgian Orthodox Church but by the Ecumenical Patriarchate of Constantinople because of the political situation back in Georgia. Georgian migrants refused to have anything to do with the Georgian Orthodox Church for its collaboration with the Soviet authorities. There was no contact between the Georgian Orthodox Church and St. Nino’s parish up until the 1960s. The first contact between the Georgian Orthodox Church and St. Nino’s parishioners was established in 1962, when the Patriarch Efrem II of the Georgian Orthodox Church visited members of the Georgian diaspora at Leuville, near Paris, during his visit to France, where he took part in the World Council of Churches (WCC). This research is focused on the second wave of migrants, which followed the collapse of the Soviet Union and Georgia’s independence. According to official statistics, a wave of outward migration from Georgia after independence reached its peak in 1992–1996. Up until 2003, migratory flows remained relatively low and stable. However, the rate of migration has been on the rise since 2004 (Badurashvili 2012). The periods of migration of Georgians abroad coincide with significant political and socio-economic fluctuations in the country’s recent history (CRRC/ISET 2010). The driving force of the second wave was a long and devastating process of political and social transformation that befell the country, together with social and economic crisis, the civil war and ethnic conflicts. The 1990s saw 295

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the beginning of labor migration to the West. Later on, during a period of relative stability, Georgian youth started to leave the country not only in search of better economic opportunities but also to pursue education. Descendants of the first migrants continue to attend services at St. Nino’s Church, which is also known as ‘the church of the old generation of migrants.’ The second, St. Tamar’s Church, is located in a suburb of Paris (Villeneuve-Saint-Georges), and has been in operation since 2009. Both churches are considered as ‘little Georgia’ in France. The church creates sacred and national spaces abroad. It is not unusual for diasporic nationalism. It often involves attachment to the imagined homeland. Affinity between religious and nationalist ideas is one of the characteristics of religious culture in Georgia. This factor contributed to the growing reputation of the Georgian Orthodox Church after independence. In the process of social and political transformation, the Georgian Orthodox Church as a national church acquired the role of ‘protector of everything national.’ The Georgian youth see the role of the church mainly in protecting the national culture and less so in relation to social problems and the protection of vulnerable groups (Zviadadze 2015). Indeed, the role of religion for cultural and national identity is a specific mark of religious culture in Georgia. Does it matter too for those in the diaspora? ‘When I was a newcomer, I would attend church every Sunday.’ This is something that every migrant says, regardless of the purpose for their arrival and the conditions they have managed to create for themselves as migrants. For newcomers, the church is a sanctuary where migrants, tired of their stressful lives and daily alienation, can seek refuge. The first six months, or even year, of Parisian life, and a fresh start in a new cultural and social environment, are a time when nostalgia becomes too strong to handle. During a migrant’s early period outside their home country, the church is a place for socialization and adaptation. The church is most frequented by au-pair girls and so many Georgians refer to St. Tamar’s Church as ‘The Church of the Au-Pairs.’ St. Tamar’s Church is known as ‘little Georgia’ among its parishioners. ‘When I am in the church, it feels like being back home.’ This statement represents the most common reason why migrants, regardless of their previous level of religiosity, hurry to the church as soon as they arrive in Paris: to cope with longing for ‘Georgians and Georgian speech.’ Even when patterns of attendance change later on, cultural belonging to the church remains, and they go to celebrate Easter anyway. Many Georgians who have been living in a French environment miss being with Georgians badly. For those Georgians who are poorly integrated into French society (including students and labor migrants), meeting and communicating with Georgians is of utmost importance. In spite of the fact that the migrants of today can have online contact with their families and friends, a physical Georgian environment created by the church is still vital to them. Being in the church remedies the nostalgia. Arguably, however, engagement with fellow Georgians in a religious environment makes it even more complicated to integrate in the host communities. This fear has been raised by some migrants, as well as those who are more engaged in the parish’s activities or who have little exposure to French communities (or local universities). Life in a parallel society was most evident in the case of migrants arriving in France in the early 1990s. For most migrants living in the French environment, visiting church means ‘visiting Georgia’: ‘As Sunday is my only day-off, I spend it in the church. But I feel good here, I feel as if I am in Georgia’ (Nino, 43). For families living in Paris, the church has a cultural function too. The Georgian language, Georgian songs and dance classes add a national and cultural dimension to the church’s religious space. For these Georgian families, these classes are seen as a means to ‘keep Georgian culture alive, as the 296

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children hear French all the time at home and school’ (Tamar, 46). The church often hosts community initiatives and cultural events, while the church choir members are also trained to perform Georgian folk songs. They often get invited by Georgian parishes in other places to perform for a local Georgian audience. In this respect, the church functions as ‘the keeper of national characteristics’ and religion, as part of culture and tradition, creates a picture of the Georgian community in Paris. So, the church is not only a spiritual space but also, and maybe more so, a cultural space that resembles the nation in a foreign country.

The privatization of religion in Paris among Georgian migrants ‘I do not speak about my religion at work. Once, I said that I was fasting, and my French colleagues were so surprised . . . They looked at me as if I was strange and an old-fashioned person,’ said 35-year-old Nino, who works in a French company. Nino decided not to mention anything about her religion in her French circle. She is still very religious and goes to the Orthodox Church every Sunday. For her, the church and attendance in the liturgy are much more important than meeting other Georgians. So she goes to other Orthodox Churches. Even so, the frequency of their religious practice is not changing, but she tries not to show her religiosity in public, and does not speak about religious issues: ‘I accept it is France, and here people are very secular. I am religious, but I have a hidden faith.’ There was another factor in adapting to the French secular way of life. Migrants, especially students, became more individualized, busier, and their way of life changes. The major trend observed among Georgian migrants is the declined role of the church and religious practice in their lives over their time in France. My study has discovered that as time passes, Georgian migrants in Paris tend to become busier and stressed and it has impacted on their religious life: ‘when you have only one day-off a week, you just want to spend that time relaxing, just staying at home. I rarely go to church on Sunday.’ (Sophie, 27). Adapting to Parisian life means eventually acquiring a new social circle and becoming better integrated. Often, the Georgian migrant prefers to do other things than going to church: ‘Religion occupies an important place, but with the challenges of the everyday, I cannot manage to go to church. I have two Sundays free every month and sometimes I go out with friends’ (George, 28). So religious life among migrants tends towards the privatization of religion. When it comes to more successful Georgian migrants, or those who have a long record of living in Paris, it is possible to observe a trend towards the privatization of the culture of leisure (Putnam 1995). The following quote is indicative of the stressful way of life (Simmel 1969). On weekends I go out together with my family . . . the Georgian church is far from my place and I am tired of being trapped between my job and home . . . the beauty of Paris fades away within a year . . . I may want to spend the whole Sunday by myself to rest. (Alexander, 30) A group which can be arbitrarily designated ‘followers of private religiosity’ is the largest and most diverse among Georgian migrants. This is not a group of people with religious identity whom Davie (1994) labels ‘believing without belonging.’ They are people who believe and belong without going to church. However, what does not change in the diaspora life is the celebration of religious holidays, in particular Christmas and Easter: 297

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At Easter I always go to church . . . I cannot do this on a weekly basis. I keep some icons and candles at home . . . ones that were brought from Georgia . . . I am too busy to go every Sunday to Church, but I burn a candle at home. (David, 28) The decline in religious practice and preserving only a religious affiliation with Orthodox Christianity can be considered a transformation of religiosity. It is not diminishing the belief but changing the expression of religion. It means that the cultural function of religion is much stronger. The religious practices of Georgians tend to change according to time, socialization and economic standing; their quality of integration; and the social environment. However, despite these changes, Christianity remains indispensable for cultural selfidentification. Being a Christian means being Georgian rather than attending the church. Georgian migrants in Paris demonstrate a greater indifference towards religious institutions and practice, but a strong emphasis on believing in God: ‘I may not go to church, but I prefer having faith in my heart. I do not think one has to go to church on a daily basis’ (Ana, 25). Unlike their compatriots in Georgia, migrants in Paris voice stronger criticisms of the Georgian Orthodox Church, and question religious authorities: I am not an atheist, but I do have my own opinions with respect to certain things. I do not like what is going on in the Church in Georgia. I do not approve of religious radicalism. Nor do I want a church where the priest never gets questioned, when priests drive Jeeps and their parishioners are hungry in Georgia. (Tamar, 34) It should be mentioned that it is not just individual religiosity that is shaped by the new context, but rather the Georgian Orthodox Church abroad too. In Georgia, the Georgian Orthodox Church is concentrated entirely on the strengthening of its public authority and financial power. St. Tamar’s Church seems more ‘social’ than churches in Georgia. The archpriest and parishioners pay regular visits to hospitals where Georgians, who arrived in France for medical purposes, are being treated. St. Tamar’s Church and its parish often organize charity concerts to provide financial assistance to needy families in Georgia. The church is not only a place for social gathering but also a shelter. Those who have no accommodation in Paris for various reasons can stay in the church temporarily. The church also provides a Sunday meal for those who have little means to afford food. Another characteristic among migrants is that religion is no longer a taboo topic and arguments they provide in support of their views reflect the environment they have been living in: ‘French society is laicistic. They are not religious, but respect the faith of others.’ Migrants demonstrate a transformation in their outlooks, a stronger tolerance towards different opinions and respect for pluralism: I no longer think that what we have is the best and the oldest . . . I have seen that others also have their stuff, and even better. I abandoned egocentric thinking . . . an acknowledgement of diversity helps us make a move towards others. I would frown when I heard that Moroccan guys liked me. Eventually, I tied the knot with a Moroccan man. (Maya, 37) Transformation is best observed in their changed attitude towards followers of other religions or those who belong to the LGBT community. On May 17, 2013 around 20 civil activists 298

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announced that they were going to celebrate the international day against homophobia in Tbilisi. It was followed by a massive rally of anti-gay activists including orthodox clergy. The opponents used physical force to settle scores with them: I was following the events of May 17 online, and I thought to myself that a few years ago I could have been that angry person taking to the streets against homosexuals or their defenders. Now I have changed. One really grows up in some ways . . . Homosexuals or people from thousands of other ethnicities are your neighbors or co-workers. It is you who are obsessed with this stuff. (Alexander, 45) The privatization of religion is well demonstrated in their criticism of religious institution and its withering authority. This transformation of religiosity is less evident in Georgia, but it is something that is easily observed in Paris. As mentioned earlier, living in the new environment of Paris a migrant’s outlook is also influenced by the process of individualization. Changes in their lifestyle and outlook are best reflected in their independence and individualism: ‘traditions and Georgian public opinions cease to shape your private life . . . here you do everything by yourself. You are independent. You have to cope with everything on your own . . . it was here also that I acquired a work ethic’ (Irakli, 30). The transformation is obvious in sexual life (in the form of premarital sexual intercourse) and sexual ethics. New skills are acquired throughout their life in Paris, as well as mental anxieties and a fight for survival which is typical of the modern urban lifestyle in metropolises (Simmel 1969; Wirth 2011): ‘France gave me the power to fight. Many could not pull through, and went back to Georgia’ (David, 29). Because of the accelerated pace of life and the lack of spare time, as well as changes in outlook shaped by pluralistic and secular social environment, religion has become more and more private among Georgian migrants.

Conclusion Migrants bring not only nationalities with them but also their religion and culture (Connor 2014). In the case of Georgian migrants, religion and culture go hand in hand. But they move from a religious country to a secular city, and their religiosity changes in the foreign country. The new social and cultural environment is a challenge for religious life. In the diaspora religion plays either a more significant or less important role in their everyday life. Religion may be a bridge to, or hindrance for, migrants in their integration in the host society. To assume the research on religiosity of Georgian migrants in Paris, religion plays a significant role for newcomers. It is a source of emotional stability and overcoming cultural alienation. For many migrants going to church is being in Georgia for a while. Church is not only a spiritual space but also, and maybe more, a cultural space recreating the nation in a foreign country. Church attendance and religious socialization help them adapt to the new reality and overcome difficulties during the early period. For many, the importance of the church diminishes over time, and migrants who would routinely attend Sunday Mass would later attend just one or two religious celebrations throughout the year. Through the mental chaos of the first period of living in a diaspora, religion has an integrating function, but later religion becomes less important in everyday life. With time, adaptation and increasing integration in society a migrant’s religion tends towards privatization. Urban life in a secular and pluralistic society has influenced the religious expression and religious practices of Georgian migrants in Paris. Migrants have less and less time to go to church, so they burn 299

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candles at home: ‘I believe in God, but I do not attend church services . . . I do not think this is the most important thing.’ A growing number of migrants, especially the youth, come to prefer more private forms of religiosity. They are busy, stressed: ‘I believe in God but I cannot manage to go to church . . . I may want to spend the whole Sunday all by myself to rest.’ Georgian migrants practice more individual forms of religiosity. This trend is in accordance with the expectation that a modern lifestyle and individualism lead to the privatization of religion (Wilson 1982; Gabriel 1996; Dobbelaere 2002). The decline in religious practice and preserving only a religious affiliation with Orthodox Christianity point to a more cultural function of religion among Georgian migrants. Signs of the privatization of religion are perhaps among the most important findings of the research. Because this kind of process is not obvious in Georgia. It should also be noted that the findings of the research cannot be generalized to all Georgian diasporas. The religiosity of members of diaspora groups is very much influenced by local culture, society and respective state policies. Even in Paris, migrant religiosity is shaped by a number of factors, including religious life in the homeland, the duration of one’s stay in Paris and the level of their integration into French society. Migrants express higher tolerance towards different opinions and a respect for pluralism. Years of living in Paris have changed their religious culture, as they have become more tolerant and open towards other religions and cultures. Unlike their compatriots in Georgia, migrants in Paris voice stronger criticism towards the Georgian Orthodox Church and even question religious authorities. Migrants have become more skeptical towards the church’s attitudes to several issues. Religious authorities who are very popular in Georgia do not play an important role in how their life is orientated in Paris. Migrants believe that changes in their lifestyle account for diminished religious practices. The case of Georgian migrants also verifies other sociological views. In accordance with Luckmann’s (1991) thesis, modernization and individualization lead to a change in the social forms of religion but not to the disappearance of religion. Throughout their lives in French society, a migrant’s belonging to Orthodox Christianity becomes publicly ‘invisible,’ but religion remains a marker of national identity. No matter how religious a person may have been back in Georgia, and what kind of life this person now lives in Paris, for most migrants, religion represents part of their national identity. In this sense, religion as a cultural phenomenon undergoes little changes during their lives in Paris. Religious symbols, feasts and the church are representations of national culture for migrants. For many migrants, in their own words, the Georgian Orthodox Church in Paris is ‘little Georgia.’ In the face of the privatization and individualization of their lives and a diminishing spiritual life, belonging to Christianity is significant for their national identity. • •

Respondents’ names in the chapter have been changed. Research was conducted in 2016 and was supported by the Project CASCADE— Exploring the Security-Democracy Nexus in the Caucasus, 7th PCRD of EU.

References Aleksynska, M. and Chiswick, B. R., 2011. Religiosity and Migration: Travel into Ones’ Self versus Travel across Cultures. Discussion Paper No. 5724, May. Badurashvili, I., 2012. The Socio-Political Impact of Labour Migration on Georgia [online]. CARIMEast Research Report, N.21, Available from: www.carim-east.eu/media/CARIM-East-2012-RR-21. pdf [Accessed 12 April 2018].

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Berger, P. L., 1999. The Desecularization of the World. A Global Overview. In: P. L. Berger, ed. The Desecularization of the World: Resurgent Religion and World Politics. Washington: Eerdmans, 1–18. Berger, P. L., 2004. Christianity and Democracy: The Global Picture. Journal of Democracy, 15 (2), 76–80. Casanova, J., 1994. Public Religions in the Modern World. Chicago. University of Chicago Press. Casanova, J., 1996. Chancen und Gefahren öffentlicher Religion. Ost- und Westeuropa im Vergleich. In: O. Kallscheuer, ed. Das Europa der Religionen. Ein Kontinent zwischen Säkularisierung und Fundamentalismus. Frankfurt am Main: Fischer, 181–210. Caucasus Barometer, 2013. Caucasus Barometer 2013 [online]. Caucasus Research Resource Center. Available from: https://caucasusbarometer.org/en/cb2013ge/codebook/ Caucasus Research Resource Centres CRRC/International School of Economics at Tbilisi State University/ISET, 2010. Development on the Move: Measuring and Optimising Migration’s Economic and Social Impacts in Georgia, Tbilisi. Available from: http://iset-pi.ge/images/Social_Po licy/Georgia_final_report_Migration.pdf [Accessed 12 April 2018]. Connor, P., 2014. Immigrant Faith: Patterns of Immigrant Religion in the United States, Canada, and Western Europe. New York: NYU Press. Davie, G., 1994. Religion in Britain since 1945: Believing without Belonging. Oxford: Blackwell. Dobbelaere, K., 2002. Secularization: An Analysis at Three Levels. Bern: Piter Lang. Ebaugh, H. R. and Chafetz, J. S., 2000. Religion and the New Immigrants: Continuities and Adaptations in Immigrant Congregations. Walnut Creek: Alta Mira Press. Gabriel, K., 1996. Religiöse Individualisierung oder Säkularisierung. Biographie und Gruppe als Bezugspunkte moderner Religiosität. Gütersloh: Kaiser/Gütersloher Verlagshaus. Garnett, J. and Harris, A., 2013. Rescripting Religion in the City: Migration and Religious Identity in the Modern Metropolis. Farnham: Ashgate. Garnett, J. and Hausner, S. L., 2015. Religion in Diaspora. Cultures of Citizenship. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Hervieu-Léger, D., 2000. Religion as a Chain of Memory. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Johnson, P. C., 2012. Religion and Diaspora. Religion and Society, 3 (1), 95–114. Knoblauch, H., 2008. Spirituality and Popular Religion in Europe. Social Compass, 55 (2), 140–153. Knott, K., 2016. Living Religious Practices. In: J. B. Saunders, E. Fiddian-Qasmiyeh and S. Snyder, eds. Intersections of Religion and Migration: Issues at the Global Crossroads. New York: Palgrave Macmillan, 71–90. Lagrange, H., 2014. The Religious Revival among Immigrants and Their Descendants in France. Revue française de sociologie, 55 (2), 139–178. Luckmann, T., 1991. Die unsichtbare Religion. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp Verlag. Martin, D., 1996. Europa und Amerika. Säkularisierung oder Vervielfältigung der Christenheit – Zwei Ausnahmen und keine Regel. In: O. Kallscheuer, ed. Europa der Religionen. Ein Kontinent zwischen Säkularisierung und Fundamnetalismus. Frankfurt a.Main: S. Fischer, 161–180. Norris, P. and Inglehart, R., 2004. Sacred and Secular. Religion and Politics Worldwide. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Pew Research Center, 2018. Eastern and Western Europeans Differ on Importance of Religion, Views of Minorities, and Key Social Issues, 28.10.2018, Available from: www.pewforum.org/2018/10/29/east ern-and-western-europeans-differ-on-importance-of-religion-views-of-minorities-and-key-socialissues/?fbclid=IwAR1mgOD96mlazXdyvd5aAHwe5lPCHkY-rtJ9c1tl8peE6cTkSXWmbgqUzj0 [Accessed 12 November 2018]. Pollack, D., 2003. Religiousness Inside and Outside the Church in Selected Post-Communist. Countries of Central and Eastern Europe. Social Compass, 50, 321–334. Pollack, D., 2011. Renaissance des Religiösen? Veränderungen auf dem religiösen Feld in ausgewählten Ländern Ost- und Ostmitteleuropas. Archiv Für Sozialgeschichte, 51, 109–140. Pollack, D., Borowik, I. and Jagodzinski, D., 1998. Religiöser Wandel in den postkommunistischen Länder Ost- und Mitteleuropas. Würzburg: Ergon. Putnam, R., 1995. Tuning in, tuning out: The strange disappearance of social capital in America. PS: Political Science & Politics, 28 (4), 664–684. Serrano, S., 2010. De-secularizing National Space in Georgia. Identity Studies, Revue of Ilia State University, 2, 37–58. Simmel, G., 1969. The Metropolis and Mental Life. In: R. Sennet, ed. Classic Essays on the Culture of Cities. New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts, 47–61.

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Spohn, W., 2012. Europeanisation, Multiple Modernities and Religion-The Reconstruction of Collective Identities in Post-Communist Central and Eastern Europe. In: G. Pickel and K. Sammet, eds. Transformation of Religiosity. Religion and Religiosity in Eastern Europe 1989–2010. Wiesbaden: Springer, 29–50. Taylor, C., 2002. Varieties of Religion Today. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Tomka, M., 1995. The Changing Social Role of Religion in Eastern and Central Europe: Religion´s Revival and Its Contradictions. Social Compass, 42, 17–26. Van Tubergen, F., 2007. Religious Affiliation and Participation among Immigrants in a Secular Society: A Study of Immigrants in The Netherlands. Journal of Ethnic and Migration Studies, 33 (5), 747–765. Wilson, B., 1982. Religion in Sociological Perspective. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Wirth, L., 2011. Urbanism as a Way of Life. In: R. LeGates and F. Stout, eds. The City Reader. New York: Routledge, 96–104. Zedania, G., 2011. The rise of religious nationalism in Goergia. Identity Studies in the Caucus and the Black Sea Region, 3, 120–128. Zviadadze, S., 2015. Visible Religion and Invisible Human Rights in Contemporary Georgia. In: International Conference Political Rights and Religion, 9–12 December, Zagreb.

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Part VI

Responses to diversity

25 Interreligious dialogue in international politics From the margins of the religious field to the centre of civil society Karsten Lehmann

Introduction: Interreligious dialogue as an international phenomenon Since the start of the twenty-first century, interreligious dialogue (IRD) has developed into an increasingly significant dimension of international politics. There is for one the so-called ‘IRD Movement’ (Boehle 2002; Halafoff 2013), consisting of multiple individuals, networks and organizations that emphasize interreligious dialogue as a means of religious cooperation. These actors conduct a variety of activities, from coming up with official resolutions on world peace to organizing local development networks and international expert meetings. Some of them are very active in international politics. But the notion of IRD has also entered into international, political discourse itself. It has been integrated into official policy documents of the UN as well as the EU and other international bodies. In 2002, the United Nations’ General Assembly (UN-GA) began to issue resolutions on IRD (UN-GA 2002). In 2008, the Council of Europe published a White Paper on intercultural dialogue that puts particular emphasis on the ‘religious dimension’ of this type of dialogue (Council of Europe 2008). And finally, a few years ago, the European People’s Party (EPP-Group) organized a conference in Zagreb to celebrate 20 years of IRD in Europe (EPP-Group no date). On the basis of these observations, the chapter presents a two-directional argument to make the point that analysis of IRD can help understand global religion and politics. It will show (a) how IRD has developed into a central dimension of international politics and (b) to what extent IRD activities are influenced by international politics. To make this argument, the chapter approaches the phenomenon of interreligious dialogue primarily as a semantic marker for a discursive field. In this field, a variety of different concepts (with respective nuances of meaning) are used, such as interreligious, interfaith, multi-faith dialogue, encounters or relations. The chapter analyzes the interdependences between the social field constituted by references to these notions and international politics, seen here as a very specific dimension of global processes (Lehmann 2018b).

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On the notion of IRD In general, research on IRD has two main strands. First, publications by practitioners of dialogue who see dialogue primarily as hermeneutic process. Second, a relatively new strand of research focuses on the socio-cultural role of IRD in contemporary society.

IRD as a process of hermeneutics Most authors in the first strand have a formal training in institutions of higher religious education with degrees in Christian theology or Quranic Studies. Their publications tend to focus on three major fields of analysis. They have for one produced a wide range of definitions that highlight varied dimensions of dialogue in different fields of action. In most cases, these definitions put particular emphasis on the individual dimension of dialogue, which has decisive normative underpinnings (Forward 2001; Merrigan and Friday 2017). In the edited volume Understanding Interreligious Relations, Marianna Moyaert defines IRD in the following way: Dialogue is connected deep down with the search for truth and a striving for wisdom. It excludes fanaticism. A fanatic is a person who, convinced that he is absolutely right, locks himself up in his own position and refuses any critical testing or challenge. Dialogue presupposes precisely the engagement of people with critical minds, who question the obvious and also allow others to challenge them. (Moyaert 2013, p. 206) Many scholars in this first strand argue that dialogue is such a highly complex process that one has to distinguish several dimensions of dialogue so that it can be applied appropriately. The most influential of these typologies is probably that of the ‘Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue’ and the ‘Congregation for the Evangelization of Peoples.’ In 1991, these two bodies of the Vatican published a document entitled ‘Dialogue and Proclamation’ that identifies four types of dialogue: a) The dialogue of life, where people strive to live in an open and neighbourly spirit, sharing their joys and sorrows, their human problems and preoccupations. b) The dialogue of action, in which Christians and others collaborate for the integral development and liberation of people. c) The dialogue of theological exchange, where specialists seek to deepen understanding of their respective religious heritages, and to appreciate each other’s spiritual values. d) The dialogue of religious experience, where persons, rooted in their own religious traditions, share their spiritual encounters such as contemplation, faith and ways of searching for God or the Absolute (Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue/Congregation for the Evangelization of Peoples 1991). In addition, authors of the first strand offer valuable data on the history of IRD and present-day dialogue activities around the world (Kuschel 2011; Braybrooke 2013; Latinovic et al. 2016). Publications also tackle the development of dialogue in different national contexts (Merdjanova and Brodeur 2009; Iwuchukwu 2013; Marshall 2017; Aguilar 2018). Finally books, leaflets as well as websites are dedicated to the practical implementation of dialogue (Swidler 2014; Rötting et al. 2016; Druel 2017; Garred and Abu-Nimer 2018).

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IRD as a socio-cultural phenomenon The second strand of research is dominated by sociologists, political scientists and scholars of religion who analyse IRD primarily as a socio-cultural phenomenon (Dussert-Galiant 2013; Sinn 2014). Most of their analyses do not start from concepts of what IRD is supposed to be, but from the observation that dialogue has become a semantic marker in a variety of socio-cultural contexts. Accordingly, the editors of a 2018 special issue of Social Compass on ‘Interreligious Relations and Governance of Religion in Europe’ explain their inquiry in the following way: The articles selected for this special issue set out to systematically describe and understand the characteristics and the role of the ‘interreligious sector’ in the governance of religion . . .The case studies included share an understanding of the multifaceted nature of the interreligious movement and its internal diversity and complexity. This is reflected in a variety of terms used to denote the semantic field of the phenomenon, such as interreligious, interfaith, multifaith and interconvictional. (Griera and Nagel 2018, p. 304) On this basis, the editors also introduce a tentative concept of what they identify as interreligious dialogue within the context of the special issue: Generally speaking, these initiatives share three characteristics, as they (1) include the participation of persons or parties belonging to at least two different religious traditions (or life stances in the broader sense), (2) exhibit a minimum of planning, duration and coherence compared to situated incidents of interreligious encounter and (3) are driven by the will to foster interaction among religiously diverse people in order to bring forth specific consequences, such as mutual understanding or community cohesion. (Griera and Nagel 2018, p. 305) This relatively new approach adds a different dimension to the analysis of dialogue (Lehmann and Koch 2015). The proponents of the second strand rather approach IRD as a phenomenon that helps to better understand the role of religion within differentiated, pluralized (post- or late-) modern societies. So far, the majority of such studies focus on either (a) local (and sometimes national) IRD activities, or (b) the more general interrelations between IRD initiatives and specific sectors of society (Klinkhammer et al. 2011; Nordin 2017; Ipgrave et al. 2018). The latter highlight the complex networks that constitute dialogue activities within their socio-cultural contexts and their relationships to other social fields such as politics and economics (Griera 2012; Nagel 2016).

Three cases of international IRD organizations This section considers three organizations that are (a) explicitly doing IRD, (b) international in outlook and (c) frequently perceived as central to international IRD activities (Lehmann forthcoming). The first is the ‘World’s Parliament of Religions’ that took place in Chicago in 1893, which served as a point of reference for the establishment of an international IRD organization under the name ‘Council for a Parliament of the World’s Religions’ in 1993. The second case is the ‘World Conference on Religion and Peace (WCRP),’ which also began as a singular event that took place in 1970 and afterwards slowly transformed into an

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international IRD organization presently called ‘Religions for Peace/International.’ The third case is the ‘United Religions Initiative (URI),’ which was formally established in 2000. It is a new foundation in the field of IRD with an international outlook. These three cases highlight three stages in the history of IRD activities that are still significant today.

The ‘Parliament’: first attempts ‘from the margins’ The 1893 ‘Parliament’ is probably the most intensely explored singular event in the history of modern IRD (Mouzzouri forthcoming). The Parliament took place in what can be described as the pre-Herbergian period of the history of US religions, which was still very much dominated by Protestant denominations at an early stage of modern globalization (Herberg 1955; Berger and Huntington 2002; Beyer 2006). It was a local event with an international agenda that had primarily been organized by members of US denominations. A side event of the 1893 World (Columbian) Fair in Chicago, it included speakers from different Christian denominations (primarily from the USA) as well as from other so-called, world religions (primarily Hindu and Buddhist). In most cases, these speakers used the Parliament as a platform to present their respective religious positions to a wider audience (Lüddeckens 2001; Seager 2009). The main actors that initiated the 1893 Parliament would at the time have been considered on the margins of the religious field (King 1993; Molendijk 2011). Unitarians and Universalists played, for example, a highly significant role in the preparation and implementation of the Parliament, whilst official Anglican and Muslim (and later on also Catholic) representatives were critical about the meeting and did not formally participate (Seager 1989). Such marginality was typical of most early IRD activities in the twentieth century, like the ‘Religiöse Menschheitsbund (RMB)’ (Choi 2013) and the ‘World Congress of Faiths (WCF)’ (World Congress of Faiths no date). The former was organized by Professor of Systematic Theology Rudolf Otto (best known for his book Das Heilige), the latter by the army officer and explorer Francis Younghusband.

WCRP: increased activism in civil society The ‘World Conference on Religion and Peace (WCRP)’ took place in Kyoto, Japan in 1970 (Pedescoll forthcoming). This case broadens the perspective of the present discussions towards Asia in general and Japan in particular (Reader 1991; Coulmas 2014). The WCRP has to be seen in relation to the social changes of the 1960s, not only within the religious field but also politics, and amidst processes of increasing decolonization, the emergence of new social movements, the Cold War and especially the resistance to the Vietnam War (Marwick 1998; McLeod 2007). At present, our knowledge about the 1970 conference is still very much influenced by the publications of the Unitarian Universalist and long-time Secretary General of WCRP, Homer A. Jack (1993). The Asian dimension of the early history of the WCRP—with its particular actors, ideological cleavages and down-to-earth financial problems—has not been sufficiently analysed yet. Within the present argument, the WCRP highlights a new dimension of IRD activities. Its organizers wanted to show that religions could play an active role in the consolidation of peace around the world and that dialogue among religions is the best way to reach this aim (Wettach-Zeitz 2007). This moves the focus away from conceptual and theological matters towards wider socio-cultural engagement—in this case on peace and disarmament. Later, this 308

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new emphasis diversified to include not only questions of peace and disarmament but also sustainable development, women and youth. In this respect, the establishment of the WCRP demonstrates close links to the agenda of the ‘Temple of Understanding’ (Temple of Understanding no date) with its particular focus on the UN as well as the ‘International Association for Religious Freedom’ (International Association for Religious Freedom no date)—the latter underscoring the link between IRD and human rights. All these organizations triggered a stronger integration of IRD activities into the newly emerging strands of international civil society. The respective changes had unintended consequences for IRD including an increasing focus on formal religious representation.

URI: support from within religious hierarchies Formally established in 2000, the ‘United Religions Initiative’ (URI) is a network of local groups coordinated from the so-called ‘Global Office’ in San Francisco that has been strongly encouraged and supported by William E. Swing (at the time Episcopal Bishop of California) to form and sustain a worldwide network of local dialogue activists (Singha forthcoming). In this manner, URI has grown into one of the major new international actors in the field of IRD. The formation of URI coincided with the breakdown of the bipolar world order and the pre9/11 discourse on religion. It was influenced by debates on the ‘Clash of Civilizations’ but not the so-called ‘War against Terror’ (with its particular focus on Islam)—even though the latter later on shaped URI’s responses around the world (Huntington 1996; Thomas 2005; Toft et al. 2011). Today URI is structured around so-called ‘Cooperation Circles’ that are organized locally and specialize in specific ‘action areas’ such as community building, education, human rights and media. Here, traditional interfaith and intercultural dialogue is only 1 out of 14 Action Areas. Interestingly, URI’s primary governing body, the ‘Global Council,’ comprises members of Cooperation Circles that define themselves by formal links to religious traditions—be it as ‘practicing Hindu,’ serving ‘on the boards of Grace Cathedral,’ working as ‘General Secretary of the National Council of Churches’ or as a ‘Wiccan Elder and High Priest of Coven Trismegiston in Berkeley, CA’ (United Religions Initiative no date). Under the leadership of W. E. Swing, this illustrates how URI is supported from within religious hierarchies. Thus URI has been established from within different traditional religious hierarchies but its main focus is to explicitly work on the grassroots level. As such, it can be compared to the ‘Council for a Parliament of the World’s Religions’ (Parliament of the World’s Religions no date) and the ‘(Oxford) International Interfaith Centre’ (International Interfaith Centre no date).

Integration of IRD within the context of the UN-GA The following section deals with documents that are of particular symbolic significance within international politics—the resolutions of the United Nations’ General Assembly (UN-GA). It reconstructs a shift within the constriction of religion from human rights and religious freedom to IRD and harmony.

Context of the UN-GA The UN is one of the most inclusive intergovernmental organizations in existence today. Its General Assembly brings together formal representatives of 193 member states (and two observer states) that are unofficially organized in five regional groups (Gareiss and Varwick 2014; Jesensky 2019). Since the 1960s and 1970s, a so-called ‘Third UN’ of non-governmental organizations 309

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(NGOs) and other civil society actors has been gaining significance within the organization (Jolly et al. 2009; Weiss et al. 2009). Since the start of the twenty-first century, the UN has more and more developed into a global institution that serves as one of the central arenas for the formulation of international discourses—on human rights, health issues, peace and disarmament. Religiously affiliated NGOs play a significant part in this process (Lehmann 2013). Multiple religiously affiliated organizations have successfully applied for the status of an NGO formally accredited to the UN’s Economic and Social Council (ECOSOC) and other specialized UN agencies (Fitzgerald 2011; Haynes 2014; Lehmann 2016; Baumgart-Ochse 2019). This formal status provides them with a certain degree of access to UN processes. Thus, even though the religiously affiliated NGO community at the UN is highly diversified, some of the IRD organizations are very much aware from the processes at the UN that they have to a certain degree been integrated (Lehmann 2019). Within this wider setting, the concept of IRD has gained increasing prominence.

IRD within the documents of the UN-GA To understand the significance of the references to IRD within the General Assembly, one has to keep in mind that the latter began to adopt resolutions dealing with religion in the 1960s. It started doing so with the Krishnaswami Commission for a ‘Convention on the Elimination of all Forms of Religious Intolerance’ (UN-GA 1962). Even though a final declaration on the elimination of all forms of religious intolerance only materialized in 1981 (UN-GA 1981), the above resolution can be seen as a starting point for the UN’s appreciation of religion with respect to the wider discourse on religious freedom. It approaches religion within a very traditional, instrument-based approach to human rights. In other words, for about four decades since it was established, the General Assembly had been framing explicit references to religion almost exclusively within the context of human rights discourses. Interestingly, this is still the main frame of reference for the UN’s approach to religion. In contrast, the General Assembly’s references to IRD (and later on to harmony) are a rather recent development (Lehmann 2018a). The 2002 resolution on the ‘Elimination of all Forms of Religious Intolerance’ (strongly influenced by members of the Regional Groups ‘Asia-Pacific’ and ‘Africa’) is the first resolution that mentions IRD (UN-GA 2002). In doing so, the resolution linked religion to the older UN discourses on dialogue—initially introduced in the 1980s, referring to dialogue as a results-oriented tool to improve the international situation (UN-GA 1986) and expanded during the 1990s towards the so-called dialogue among civilizations (UN-GA 1998). The 2002 resolution also served as the starting point for the increasing prominence of IRD in UN discourse (UN-GA 2004). Eventually this led to the following resolution on ‘The Promotion of Interreligious Dialogue’ in 2004 in which the General Assembly: 1.

3.

affirms that mutual understanding and interreligious dialogue constitute important dimensions of the dialogue among civilizations and of the culture of peace; ... invites the Secretary-General to bring the promotion of interreligious dialogue to the attention of all Governments and relevant international organizations and to submit a report thereon, including all views received, to the General Assembly at its sixtieth session (UN-GA 2004).

The above quote has to be seen in relation to the Islamist terrorist attacks of the early 2000s in New York City, Djerba, Madrid, Istanbul and London. It illustrates how this new 310

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discourse moves the emphasis away from individual rights towards a terminology that is more ambiguous. It can be argued that the categories of dialogue and harmony are much more open to vagueness and misuse. Nevertheless, the new string of resolutions on IRD and harmony underlines the increasing international significance of discourse on IRD. This new trend is being institutionalized. Abdullah II of Jordan was, for example, successful in launching the ‘World Interfaith Harmony Week’ as an annual UN observance week in 2010 and positioning it as a major point of reference in many dialogue circles (UN-GA 2010). In addition, the last decades have seen the establishment of international organizations dealing with IRD like KAICIID, the Center for Interreligious and Intercultural Dialogue in Vienna/ Austria established by four member states (Saudi Arabia, Austria, Spain and the Holy See) in 2012 (KAICIID – Dialogue Center no date). This trend has repercussions for IRD activities. The establishment of international organizations with a particular focus on IRD has strengthened the third strand of the dialogue movement with its particular emphasis on official hierarchies. At the same time, the link to the UN and international civil society strengthens the second strand in as far as IRD-NGOs have to position themselves within the wider NGO community and the activist dimension.

Conclusion This chapter has looked at IRD and international politics. It has referred to the resolutions of the UN-GA to show how IRD has become an important dimension of the discursive construction of religion within international relations. The discussion of three IRD organizations highlights some fundamental changes, from a theological exchange ‘within the margins’ of the religious field to a shift towards activism within civil society and, finally, its recognition among representatives of religious hierarchies. This discussion suggests three sites for future research. First, more empirical analyses of the historical development of IRD activities in their respective socio-political contexts are needed. They must then be related to the history of human rights (Bobbio 1999; Fritzsche 2009). Second, there is also a need for studies of IRD in relation to the role of religion in the public sphere. From this perspective, IRD might be seen as a strategy of public representation by religious actors; or it could be interpreted in relation to the pluralization of religious actors as well as of the relationships between religious and secular actors (Berger 1999, 2014). Third, more conceptual reflections to better understand the justifications that form the basis for IRD activities and their developments over time. The establishment of an IRD discourse within the context of the UN-GA supports a reading of dialogue as a reaction to secularization and pluralization. Finally, it would be helpful to link IRD research to those strands of the academic study of religion that underline the contingencies of the discursive construction of religion (Kippenberg 1983; McCutcheon 1997; Stuckrad 2003). Accordingly, future research will have to put additional emphasis on the power relations within dialogue activities as well as mechanisms of inclusion and exclusion that are based upon these processes.

References Aguilar, M. I., 2018. Interreligious Dialogue and the Partition of India. In: Hindus and Muslims in Dialogue about Violence and Forced Migration. London and Philadelphia, PA, Jessica Kingsley Publishers (Studies in Religion and Theology). Baumgart-Ochse, C. and Dieter, W. K., eds., 2019. Religious NGOs at the United Nations: Polarizes or Mediators? London and New York (Routledge Studies in Religion and Politics).

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Berger, P. L., 1999. The Desecularization of the World—A Global Overview. In: P. Berger, eds. The Desecularization of the World, Resurgent Religion and World Politics. Washington, DC, Ethics and Public Policy Center, 1–18. Berger, P. L., 2014. The Many Altars of Modernity—Toward a Paradigm of Religion in a Pluralist Age. Berlin, De Gruyter. Berger, P. L. and Huntington, S. P., eds., 2002. Many Globalities—Cultural Diversity in the Contemporary World. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Beyer, P., 2006. Religions in Global Society. London and New York, Routledge. Bobbio, N., 1999. Das Zeitalter der Menschenrechte. Berlin, Wagenbach. Boehle, J., 2002. Inter-religious cooperation and global change: From a clash of civilisations to a dialogue of civilisations. Pacific Review: Peace, 14 (3), 227–234. Braybrooke, M., 2013. Widening Vision—The World Congress of Faiths and the Growing Interfaith Movement. Oxford, Braybroke Press. Carrette, J. and Miall, H., eds., 2017. Religion, NGOs and the United Nations—Visible and invisible Actors in Power. London, Oxford, and New York, Bloomsbury Academic. Choi, J. H., 2013. Religion als ‚Weltgewissen’—Rudolf Ottos Religiöser Menschheitsbund und das Zusammenspiel von Religionsforschung und Religionsbegegnung nach dem Ersten Weltkrieg. Wien and Berlin (Studien und Dokumentationen zur Praktischen Religionswissenschaft). Coulmas, F., 2014. Die Kultur Japans—Tradition und Moderne. München, CHBeck. Druel, J., 2017. Je crois en Dieu!—Mois non plus—Introduction aux principes du dialogue interreligieux. Paris, CERF. Dussert-Galiant, D., 2013. Le dialogue interreligieux—Entre discours officiels et initiatives locales. Rennes, PU Rennes. Fitzgerald, T., 2011. Religion and Politics in International Relations—The Modern Myth. London and New York, Bloomsbury Publishing. Forward, M., 2001. A Short Introduction to Inter-Religious Dialogue. Oxford, Oneworld Publications. Fritzsche, P. K., 2009. Menschenrechte—Eine Einführung mit Dokumenten. Paderborn, München, Wien, and Zürich, UTB GmBH. Gareiss, S. B. and Varwick, J., 2014. Die Vereinten Nationen—Aufgaben, Instrumente, Reformen. Toronto and Opladen, UTB GmBH. Garred, M. and Abu-Nimer, M., eds., 2018. Making Peace with Faith—The Challenges of Religion and Peacebuilding. Lanham, Boulder, CO, New York, and London, Rowman & Littlefield. Griera, M., 2012. Public Policies, Interfaith Associations and Religious Minorities: A New Policy Paradigm? Evidence from the Case of Barcelona. Social Compass, 59, 570–587. Griera, M. and Nagel, A. K., 2018. Interreligious Relations and Governance of Religion in Europe: Introduction. Social Compass, 65, 301–311. Halafoff, A., 2013. The Multifaith Movement—Global Risks and Cosmopolitan Solutions. Heidelberg, New York, and London, Springer Science & Business Media. Haynes, J., 2014. Faith-Based Organizations at the United Nations. New York (Studies in Religion, Politics, and Policy). Herberg, W., 1955. Protestant, Catholic, Jew, an Essay in American Religious Sociology. Chicago, IL, University of Chicago Press. Hopgood, S., 2013. The Endtimes of Human Rights. Ithaca, NY and London, Cornell University Press. Huntington, S. P., 1996. The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order. New York, London, and Toronto, Simon & Schuster. Ipgrave, J., Knauth, T., Körs, A., Vieregge, D., and von der Lippe, M., eds., 2018. Religion and Dialogue in the City—Case Studies on Interreligious Encounters in Urban Community and Education. Münster (Religious Diversity and Education in Europe). Iwuchukwu, M. C., 2013. Muslim-Christian Dialogue in Postcolonial Northern Nigeria: The Challenges of Inclusive Cultural and Religious Pluralism. Basingstoke and New York (Christianities of the World). Jack, H. A., 1993. WCRP, a History of the World Conference on Religion and Peace. New York, World Conference on Religion and Peace. Jesensky, M., 2019. The United Nations under Ban Ki-Moon—Give Diplomacy a Chance. Cham, Springer. Jolly, R., Emmerij, L., and Weiss, T. G., 2009. UN Ideas that Changed the World. Bloomington, IN and Indianapolis, IN (United Nations Intellectual History Project). King, U., 1993. Rediscovering Women’s Voices at the World’s Parliament of Religions. In: E. J. Ziolkowski, ed. A Museum of Faiths—Histories and Legacies of the 1893 World’s Parliament of Religions. Atlanta, GA, Scholars Press, 325–343.

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Kippenberg, H. G., 1983. Diskursive Religionswissenschaft—Gedanken zu einer Religionswissenschaft, die weder auf einer allgemein gültigen Definition von Religion noch auf einer Überlegenheit von Wissenschaft basiert. In: B. Gladigow and H. G. Kippenberg, eds. Neue Ansätze in der Religionswissenschaft. München, 9–28 (Forum Religionswissenschaft). Klinkhammer, G., Frese, H. L., Satilmis, A., and Seibert, T., 2011. Interreligiöser und interkultureller Dialog mit MuslimInnen in Deutschland—Eine quantitative und qualitative Studie. Bremen (Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Religionswissenschaft und Religionspädagogik). Kuschel, H., 2011. Leben ist Brückenschlagen—Vordenker des interreligiösen Dialogs. Ostfildern, Patmos-Verlag. Latinovic, V., Mannion, G., and Phan, P. C., eds., 2016. Pathways for Interreligious Dialogue in the TwentyFirst Century. Basingstoke and New York (Pathways for Ecumenical and Interreligious Dialogue). Lehmann, K., 2013. Shifting Boundaries between the Religious and the Secular—Religious Organization in Global Public Space. Journal of Religion in Europe, 6, 201–228. Lehmann, K., 2016. Religious NGOs in International Relations—The Construction of ‚the Religious’ and ‚the Secular’. London and New York (Studies in Religion and Politics). Lehmann, K., 2018a. The Construction of the Concept of ‘Religion’ in the United Nations’ General Assembly— From Human Rights to Dialogue and Harmony. In: S. Brunn and R. Kehrein, eds., Handbook of the Changing World Language Map. Heidelberg, Springer International Publishing, np. Lehmann, K., 2018b. Religiöse Vielfalt in Österreich erforschen—Religionswissenschaftliche Anregungen zum Begriff der Interreligiosität. Wien (Antrittsvorlesungen an der KPH Wien/Krems). Lehmann, K., 2019. Religiously Affiliated NGOs. In: T. Davies, ed. Routledge Handbook of NGOs and International Relations. London and New York, Routledge, ch. 28. Lehmann, K., ed., forthcoming. Talking Dialogue—Eleven Episodes in the History of the Modern Interreligious Dialogue Movement. Berlin, Basel, and Boston, MA, De Gruyter. Lehmann, K. and Koch, A., 2015. Perspectives from Sociology: Modeling Religious Pluralism from Inward and Outward. Journal of Inter-Religious Dialogue, http://irstudies.org/journal/perspectives-from-soci ology-modeling-religious-pluralism-from-inward-and-outward-by-karsten-lehmann-and-anne-koch/ [Accessed on 15 April 2019]. Lüddeckens, D., 2001. Das Weltparlament der Religionen von 1893—Strukturen interreligiöser Begegnung im 19. Jahrhundert. Berlin and New York (Religionsgeschichtliche Versuche und Vorarbeiten). Marshall, K., 2017. Interfaith Journeys—An Exploration of History, Ideas and Further Directions. Washington, DC, World Faiths Development Dialogue. Marwick, A., 1998. The Sixties—Cultural Revolution in Britain, France, Italy, and the United States, c. 1958 – C. 1974. Oxford and New York, A&C Black. McCutcheon, R. T., 1997. Manufacturing Religion—The Discourse on Sui Generis Religion and Politics of Nostalgia. Oxford, Oxford University Press. McLeod, H., 2007. The Religious Crisis of the 1960s. Oxford and New York, Oxford University Press. Merdjanova, I. and Brodeur, P., 2009. Religion as a Conversation Starter—Interreligious Dialogue for Peacebuilding in the Balkans. London and New York (Continuum Advances in Religious Studies). Merrigan, T. and Friday, J., eds., 2017. The Past, Present, and Future of Theologies of Interreligious Dialogue. Oxford, Oxford University Press. Molendijk, A. L., 2011. To Unite Religion Against All Irreligion, The 1893 World Parliament of Religion. Journal for the History of Modern Theology/Zeitschrift für Neuere Theologiegeschichte, 18, 228–250. Mouzzouri, M., forthcoming. A Symbol for Interreligious Dialogue—The Beginning of the Modern Interreligious Dialogue Movement (World’s Parliament of Religions/1893). In: K. Lehmann, ed. Talking Dialogue—Eleven Episodes in the History of the Modern Interreligious Dialogue Movement. Berlin, Basel, and Boston, MA, De Gruyter. Moyaert, M., 2013. Interreligious Dialogue. In: D. Cheetham, D. Pratt and D. Thomas, eds. Understanding Interreligious Relations. Oxford, Oxford University Press, 193–217. Nagel, A., 2016. Religious Pluralization and Interfaith Activism in Germany. Studies in Interreligious Dialogue, 25, 199–220. Nordin, M., 2017. Secularization, Religious Plurality and Position: Local Inter-Religious Cooperation in Contemporary Sweden. Social Compass, 64, 388–403. Pedescoll, J., forthcoming. When Fear Becomes Peace—Transforming Interreligious Dialogue into a Social Movement (World Conference on Religion and Peace/1970-). In: K. Lehmann, ed. Talking Dialogue— Eleven Episodes in the History of the Modern Interreligious Dialogue Movement. Berlin, Basel, and Boston, MA. Reader, I., 1991. Religion in Contemporary Japan. Basingstoke and London, De Gruyter.

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Rötting, M., Sinn, S., and Inan, A., eds., 2016. Praxisbuch interreligiöser Dialog, Begegnungen initiieren und begleiten. Sankt Ottilien, Eos Verlag U. Druck. Seager, R. H., 1989. Pluralism and the American Mainstream: Views from the World’s Parliament of Religion. The Harvard Theological Review, 82, 301–324. Seager, R. H., 2009. The World’s Parliament of Religions—The East/West Encounter. Chicago, IL, Indiana University Press. Singha, S., forthcoming. Search for Inclusive Language—A New Stage of Awareness Inside the Interreligious Dialogue Movement (United Religions Initiative/2000-). In: K. Lehmann, ed. Talking Dialogue—Eleven Episodes in the History of the Modern Interreligious Dialogue Movement. Berlin, Basel, and Boston, MA, De Gruyter. Sinn, S., 2014. Religiöser Pluralismus im Werden—Religionspolitische Kontroversen und theologische Perspektiven von Christen und Muslimen in Indonesien. Tübingen, Mohr Siebeck. Stuckrad, K. V., 2003. The Discursive Study of Religion—From States of Mind to Communicative Action. Method and Theory in the Study of Religion, 15, 255–271. Swidler, L., 2014. Dialogue for Interreligious Understanding—Strategies for the Transformation of Culture-Shaping Institutions. New York and Basingstoke (Interreligious Studies in Theory and Practice). Thomas, S. M., 2005. The global Resurgence of Religion and the Transformation of International Relations—The Struggle for the Soul of the Twenty-First Century. New York and Houndmills (Culture and Religion in International Relations). Toft, M. D., Philpott, D., and Shah, T. S., 2011. God’s Century—Resurgent Religion and Global Politics. New York and London, W. W. Norton & Company. Wettach-Zeitz, T., 2007. Ethnopolitische Konflikte und interreligiöser Dialog: Die Effektivität interreligiöser Konfliktmediationsprojekte analysiert am Beispiel der World Conference on Religion and Peace-Initiative in Bosnien-Herzegowina. Stuttgart, W. Kohlhammer Verlag.

Primary sources and websites Council of Europe, ed., 2008. White Paper on Intercultural Dialogue—Living Together as Equals in Dignity. Strasbourg, Council of Europe. EPP-Group, ed., no date. www.eppgroup.eu/newsroom/news/20-years-of-interreligious-dialogue [Accessed on 15 April 2019]. International Association for Religious Freedom, ed., no date. https://iarf.net [Accessed on 15 April 2019). International Interfaith Centre, ed., no date. http://iicao.org [Accessed on 15 April 2019]. KAICIID- Dialogue Center, ed., no date. www.kaiciid.org [Accessed on 15 April 2019]. Parliament of the World’s Religions, ed., no date. www.parliamentofreligions.org [Accessed on 15 April 2019]. Pontifical Council for Interreligious Dialogue/Congregation for the Evangelization of Peoples, ed., 1991. Dialogue and Proclamation—Reflection and Orientations on Interreligious Dialogue and the Proclamation of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, Rome, www.vatican.va/roman_curia/pontifical_councils/interelg/documents/ rc_pc_interelg_doc_19051991_dialogue-and-proclamatio_en.html [Accessed on 15 April 2019]. Temple of Understanding, ed., no date. https://templeofunderstanding.org [Accessed on 15 April 2019]. UN-General Assembly, 1962. A/RES/1781/XVII. UN-General Assembly, 1981. A/RES/36/55. UN-General Assembly, 1986. A/RES/41/91. UN-General Assembly, 1998. A/RES/53/22. UN-General Assembly, 2002. A/RES/56/157: Para. 9. UN-General Assembly, 2004. A/RES/59/23. UN-General Assembly, 2010. A/RES/65/5. United Religions Initiative, ed., no date. https://uri.org/who-we-are/global-council-trustees [Accessed on 15 April 2019]. Weiss, T.G., Carayannis, T., and Jolly, R., 2009. The “third” United Nations. Global Governance, 15 (1), 123–142. World Congress of Faiths, ed., no date. www.worldfaiths.org [Accessed on 15 April 2019].

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26 Faith, identity and practices The current refugee crisis and its challenges to religious diversity in Southern Europe Viviana Premazzi and Roberta Ricucci

Introduction There is no doubt that the subject of migration is one of the most important and most controversial aspects of European political debate in the 2010s. Indeed, a lot has happened in just a few years. A severe financial crisis influenced a reduction in public resources and increased unemployment while ISIS appeared on the international scene and the Islamic State claimed responsibility for attacks against symbolic places of the Old Continent (from Paris to Nice, Brussels, Berlin and Barcelona). This perception of immigration is also certainly motivated by the significant arrivals of asylum seekers (and refugees) who have challenged the EU’s internal cohesion. The upsurge occurred in the first six months of 2015, when Greece overtook Italy in the number of arrivals during the summer, which is ideally considered the starting point of what has been rapidly named the ‘refugee crisis.’ Consequently, the nexus between these episodes and immigration has been improperly established and exploited throughout the years, particularly by populist, anti-immigrant forces. With the growing number of refugees and asylum seekers, the effort undertaken by some countries and the resistance of others to their reception, as well as the increase in deaths at sea, have been a real test for inter-ethnic and inter-religious relations throughout Europe especially in the countries bordering the Mediterranean. Among these countries, Italy is the context in which the issue has been most relevant. The political repercussions have not taken long to be noticed. The latest elections have revealed the growing clout of right-wing and populist parties, perceived by many as a reaction of the population to the growing arrivals and to the fear of their different religions, particularly Islam and its more radical forms. In the public discourse, all new arrivals belong to Islam and the fear of being under an Islamic invasion re-emerges. Media commentators and politicians in Europe, particularly in Italy, sometimes stress the risk of Islamization and Islamic terrorism. This became more acute after the proclamation of the so-called Islamic State in 2014 and the attacks carried out by ISIS supporters in Europe.

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Yet it is incorrect to speak of an ‘Islamic invasion.’ According to a survey at the end of 2017 from the Pew Research Center (2017), there were about 25.7 million Muslims registered in Europe—4.9% of a population of over 740 million people, with the highest percentage in France (5.7 million, 8.8% of the population) and Germany (about 4.9 million, 5.5% of residents). Given this data, however, the perception is totally different, as demonstrated by an Ipsos Mori survey (2016) that measured the gap between public perception and the reality in 40 countries in 2016. The findings stated that the actual Muslim population in Italy was 3.7% while the perception was 20%. However, this was not only the case for Italy. The average French person estimates that 31% of the population was Muslim, almost one in three residents, while the true figure was 7.5%. In addition, German and Belgian respondents all believed that more than a fifth of the resident population was Muslim, while the figure ranges from 5% in Germany to 7% in Belgium. But religion is not only important as part of the identity of migrants and refugees or a political argument in the debate. Religious associations and immigrant faith-based organizations play a key role in terms of advocacy, concrete projects and strategies in the area of reception and integration activities. Despite there being a rich body of literature on migrations in these times,1 studies investigating religion within immigrant communities, including its role and impact on asylum seekers and refugees, have been less extensive. However, evidence from some contemporary ethnic groups suggests that ethnic religion may play a strong role in the lives of those who fit into the heterogeneous group of migrants. The chapter summarizes the main religious issues that are currently guiding the debate in Europe dealing with faith and immigrants. Specific focus will be devoted to the role played by ethnic-religious associations, immigrant religious associations and faith-based networks in the host societies in the relationship between religion and settlement paths of refugees and asylum seekers. In the above-mentioned framework, Italy has become an interesting case study for a significant number of policies, initiatives and projects, which started there and later on were adopted elsewhere in Europe. The chapter tries to outline the above-mentioned issues in the following three sections by using an interdisciplinary methodology.2

Immigrants and religion: believers and religious symbols under the ethnic umbrella For some time now, the relation between immigration and religion has been central to the interest in migration studies. In the US literature, Herberg’s (1955) assimilation model of Protestants, Catholics and Jews (triple melting pot) inspired many studies (Heft 2006; Koenig 2008). According to this model, the support of integration provided by religion (and religious institutions) favours the persistence of a strong religious identity at the expense of an ethnic other. In fact, since then numerous studies have demonstrated how ethnic congregations favour, through their activities, the persistence or the strengthening of a marked ethnic identity for the first generation and, in many instances, the second (Hirschman 2004; Massey and Higgins 2011; Connor 2012, 2014). Over time, the increase of migrations from non-European countries has further enriched the US debate, drawing attention to religious instances outside the Judeo-Christian tradition. The increase in the number of Muslims, Hindus and Buddhists in the United States has directed scholarly attention to the question of whether strong religious traditions (leading to active believers) favour a better process of integration of immigrants and, above all, of their children in the host society, as evidenced in research on young Asians who profess 316

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themselves Catholics (Wuthnow 2005; Eck 2007). The US debate on ‘immigration and religion’ has since moved to Europe (Foner and Alba 2008; Kivisto 2014), where attention was given initially to the Muslim presence (Continental Europe) and the Sikh presence in the UK (Singh 2012) and, in more recent times, to Orthodox, Catholic and other Christian groups among the migrant diaspora (Vertovec and Wassendorf 2005; Voas and Fleischmann 2012; Hausner and Garnett 2015). Yet, despite the affirmation of increasing religious pluralism within the population, research in Europe has concentrated on the growing Muslim presence (Hunter 2002; Cesari 2013), with observations on and studies considering different viewpoints (Emerson 2009; Bowe 2010; Meer et al. 2012; Van De Pol and Van Tubergen 2014). Furthermore, the perspectives of refugees and asylum seekers, and their religious points of view, are also underrepresented in studies in Europe (Crane 2003; Gallo 2014). According to existing literature on this specific topic, the processes of social integration, as well as the definition of cultural and religious identity, in many instances, are filtered through relations with religious institutions and integration institutions. They are represented mainly by associations and organizations belonging to religious congregations (Foner and Alba 2008). In the current debate regarding this matter, how faith and religious belonging intertwine with societal insertion and then integration is understudied. Indeed, discussing relations among faith, identity and practices in the migratory framework means considering the role of places of ethnic worship and whether religious identity changes along the development of the integration paths. These arenas do not play a merely religious role. They are pre-eminent players too in offering welcoming and welfare services. On the one hand, immigrants feel at home in places of worship, where they find religious leaders who speak their native language, share the same ethnic background and cultural traditions, and understand the difficulties emerging from mixing their old way of life and the requests of the new society (Cesari and McLoughlin 2005; Levitt and Lamba-Nieves 2011). Ethnic worship centres are also considered in the debate among experts as a stage in a process of assimilation and from the point of view of the role and objectives of religious organizations. With respect to behaviour, values, traditions in the transition from the first to other generations, there is a progressive abandonment of the need for ethnic religious institutions in favour of religious organizations already present in the host society. In this sense, organizations should assume intercultural aspects and transform themselves into intercultural religious organizations. On the other hand, the recent, continuous arrivals bring out spiritual needs that can best be satisfied when the migrants can find a comprehensible and familiar linguistic and cultural scenario. This means that it is better not to dismantle churches, mosques and ethnically affiliated organizations because they can be spaces in which various aspects of assistance are offered, from spiritual to material. They can be spaces where they can express their own values—religious and cultural—without being judged, discriminated against or stigmatized. Often, asylum seekers and refugees (as ‘first generations’), being in a new reality without familiar linguistic-cultural references, favour seeking refuge in religious groups that offer recognition and reinforcement of identity. This is mainly because attendance at churches, mosques and other places of worship allows meeting others from the same country with whom they share experiences and needs (Chivallon 2001; Carol et al. 2015). Moreover, centres of worship (churches, mosques, prayer halls) can be a reference point for them to carry out functions typical of religious organizations in emigration. They also foster social bonds (McKay 1982; Ebaugh and Chafetz 2000; Portes and Hao 2002; Cadge and Ecklund 2007; Gilbert et al. 2012). 317

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Faith-based organizations: leading players in the management of social and religious cohesion During the 2010s, changes brought about by globalization, immigrant settlements and increased ethnic, religious and linguistic diversity in Southern European countries (e.g. Greece, Spain and Italy) have reinforced the need for policies capable of promoting social inclusion and preventing conflict. On the one hand, mainly due to migration, we are witnessing an increase in the presence of heterogeneous cultural groups as part of the socio-economic fabric of cities. On the other, there is an exploration of how interculturalism can help foster social inclusion. In recent years, more links have been forged between interculturalism and social inclusion, a development that has sometimes given rise to effective inclusion initiatives. But sometimes they remain on a superficial level. This is the case, for example, with intercultural festivals. These events are devoted to raise awareness of the cultural traditions present in a city without necessarily pursuing a greater social inclusion of these groups or fostering closer relationships and intercultural dynamics between natives and migrants. The results have been precarious balances, greatly alleviated by voluntary organizations, between sectoral and administrative bodies interested in promoting intercultural dialogue and/or conflict mediation (Caponio and Ricucci 2015). The Mediterranean crisis fermented by the Arab Spring and consolidated by the Syrian exodus has called into question the integration processes underway in many European cities and countries. The main reasons have been identified as the growing numbers and biographical characteristics of the players (often poorly educated, dark-skinned and Muslim), and the increased reception costs. The tragedies of Lampedusa, Ceuta and Lesbos have attracted public attention to the subject—attention that has also made clear the crucial role played by religious associations and charitable organizations. This has resulted in the following: a) public appeals for welcoming refugees and asylum seekers by the most important religious leaders like Pope Francis on a global level with effects at the local level, b) crisis management actions of the various Christian and Muslim religious organizations (humanitarian corridors, first aid assistance and first reception), and c) events and initiatives especially at the local level to promote the meeting of refugees and asylum seekers and the host community. Considering the first aspect, in September 2017, Pope Francis launched the Caritas International global ‘Share the Journey’ campaign to create opportunities for encounters between migrants, asylum seekers and refugees, and local communities around the world. The aim was to change the debate about migration and successfully break down fear and racism. The campaign promoted a global effort among Caritas organizations in creating increased places and opportunities for communities to find out more about migrants and refugees and to join in shared experiences and initiatives. The campaign was prompted by Pope Francis’s repeated calls to promote the culture of encounter, which emphasized the importance of building stronger relationships within communities and to face the increasing challenges in the world with united, rather than individualistic, efforts. Moreover, Pope Francis outlined a shared responsibility to welcome, protect, promote and integrate asylum seekers and refugees at all stages of the journey through the Twenty Action Points for the Global Compacts. He called for every parish in Europe to welcome one family. Many religious (Catholic) organizations like Caritas and Comunità di Sant’Egidio supported the idea. For the transit and destination of asylum seekers and refugees, church partners in different countries also provide critical information, translation and language services, as well as legal resources. This is to let refugees’ and asylum seekers’ families know their rights and what

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options are available in order to make informed decisions. Caritas is well known internationally for providing vital food, living items and dignified shelter so that the families of refugees and asylum seekers—especially women, children and the elderly—can have their basic needs met. Moreover, Caritas, together with other organizations, has been active in promoting legal pathways for asylum seekers and refugees, including resettlement, humanitarian corridors, labour mobility and family reunification to ensure that they can move with safety and dignity. Such organizations make sure that the families do not fall prey to smugglers and traffickers. In Poland, for example, with the consent of Cardinal Kazimierz Nycz, a group of Catholic and secular NGOs launched a campaign entitled ‘Communities of Shelter.’ This campaign aimed at supporting local communities and representatives of the Catholic Church who wanted to prepare for admitting refugees. The initiative was a response to the call from the Polish Episcopate to create so-called humanitarian corridors to Polish parishes for particularly vulnerable refugees. The initiative was to complement Caritas’s ‘Family-for-Family’ programme whose aim was to financially support families in the Middle East. The Community of Sant’Egidio is the other international Catholic organization actively involved in facing the refugee crisis since the beginning. With such projects as ‘Together with the New Europeans: From Emergency to Reception and Integration,’ what they carry out is designed above all to provide initial reception services. These include healthcare and legal assistance, clothing distribution, baby items, school kits, emergency health kits, mobile phone minutes and public transport tickets. In Italian cities during the refugee crisis, the influx of asylum seekers and refugees from countries with Muslim majorities has offered opportunities for shared activities between Muslim and Christian Catholic organizations strengthening both the Muslim and the European/Italian identity of both Muslim refugees and Muslim refugee workers (Khallouck 2018). In fact, Islamic associations3 in Southern Europe also run programmes for refugees at various levels covering all areas of refugee relief such as first aid, beds, food, and guidance and support activities. ‘Emergenza Siria’ (asylum seekers mainly from Syria aiming to go to Germany but stuck at the Central Station in Milan) is a good example which shows close coordination with other national, local and religious (mainly Christian Catholic) associations. These contexts, in which some of the workers were refugees themselves, help refugees to overcome difficulties through proactive participation in public and political life, following the role model of those who ‘made it.’ The shared history of fleeing creates trust between the refugee workers and the refugees who are considered equals. Often, for the refugees and asylum seekers, being in a new reality without familiar linguistic-cultural references, can push them to seek refuge in religion. This is mainly because attendance at churches, mosques and places of worship allows meeting other migrants from the same country with whom to share experiences and needs (Bastenier and Dassetto 1993). The worship centres during the so-called refugee crisis were confirmed to be a point of reference (McKay 1982; Portes and Hao 2002): I feel well when I am in church. I think of my mother at home and get a little homesick. She and I often went to church together. Here I can come with my sister only sometimes because she often has to work on Sundays too. But when we come, we meet a lot of people we know and chat with them until it closes. It’s like being in Ukraine and it does us good, especially when outside, round and about, we hear Italians complaining about foreigners, therefore about us. (F, Ukrainian, 53-year-old) 319

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Again, at the local level, during Ramadan, the organization of iftars (fast-breaking) or feasts open to the public become opportunities that bring together Muslims and non-Muslims (Premazzi 2017; Khallouck 2018). They allow the refugees and asylum seekers to feel welcomed and concretely experience a sense of community in their new host society. In these shared practices, they encounter a nuanced experience of Italy that, on the one hand, prevents naivety, and, on the other, anxiety, with reference to society. As Rohe (2016) argues, religion is not decelerating but accelerating the process and the progress of integration when it helps refugees to make social and economic needs meet in a way that allows them to experience linguistic, cultural and religious familiarity in the new country: We have never worked with so many associations as we do now. What happened has also had a positive aspect in that it drove us to meet, to talk, to understand one another. Its weight is most certainly felt in the media, for example a lot of nonsense is said on talk shows, creating this climate where people come up to you and ask: ‘And what do you think about ISIS? And what do you think about terrorists coming from Libya? And what do you think about refugees,’ yes, that happens, but on the personal level we have not observed any substantial change of attitude. Rather there has been even more coordination with the security forces. Perhaps the only positive thing all this has given us is the fact that it has driven us to converse, to collaborate and to get to know one another better. There has never been such collaboration and dialogue among different religious organizations and people before. There is also talk about a conference of religions here in Turin, different projects which are being worked out. (Islamic representative, Turin)

The religious experience: risks and opportunities Current migratory waves are rapidly modifying the physical features of neighbourhoods, the school population and the structure of small businesses. Compared with their situation twenty years ago, immigrants have introduced many profound changes or transformations that one would need a global vision to understand (Hanley et al. 2008). As Ammermann (2007, p. 234) reminds us, ‘in order to understand religion one needs to pay attention both to the micro world of daily exchanges and the macro world where the broadest social structures act.’ What is happening today is nothing new with respect to the migratory landscape. Even in the early 19th century, the experience of Polish immigration into the United States, as described by the sociologists Thomas and Zaniecki, offered insights that still matter today: what is happening in their new daily life; what happened in their countries of origin (i.e. how religious socialization developed); and what transnational relations with religious organizations are—to what extent countries of origin intervene in managing religious issues4 (Vasquez and Knott 2014). Some of our members come from Ghana, from Senegal. Obviously, they pray in a different way, and sometimes the ‘habitual’ churchgoers resent their spirituality through gestures, songs and movements with which they are not familiar. This situation has given rise to a great debate. Should we organize worship only for them? But some say this would be like putting them in a ghetto; others say that—although we belong to the same Church and, being in Italy, should adapt—we are too different. (Methodist Church representative) 320

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Religion is a marker. It doesn’t matter if you are Muslim or Catholic. You are what your country of origin says you are. This is our life as immigrants: we cannot choose what we want to do, who we want to believe in . . . I’m Filipina and when teachers at school speak about me, they immediately class me as a village woman, with a mother involved in domestic services, with a high level of religiousness and strong moral values. It is the same for my Egyptian friends. They are treated as dangerous, or as at risk, because they are supposed to belong to Islam, and everyone in Europe fears Muslims. What a mistake! They don’t attend a mosque or any community events anymore. If you grow up in a migrant family, their cultural and religious traits will be yours. You don’t have any chance to express yourself or to be considered as a person with his/her own identity. (F, Filipino, 19-year-old) The label of foreigner often places subjects in a dimension without space or time, causing them to be considered as people with no history or values (or with too much history and incompatible values, as in the case of Muslims) and immune to transformations. All migrants, as well as citizens, asylum seekers and refugees, are fully involved in these transformations: For us from Nigeria, Mass is an important occasion for meeting the community. It is much more than prayer; it is gathering as a family, feeling at home. We feel as though we were back in Lagos. We feel safe, here we can be ourselves and there is a Nigerian priest who has been in Italy for years. I would like to pray more, even where I live, in a welcoming centre. We don’t all have the same religion. We have been told that it is better to pray alone; religion can cause problems because we are Catholics, Muslims, Animists too, and the others I do not know. There is no place to pray, anybody who wants can go outside. But it is a small town and there is no mosque, for example. Even the Catholic Church is not always open, and I am afraid to go alone when there isn’t a Mass for Nigerians. You know how they look at you—that is not the right place for you even though we are all believers. (F, Nigerian, 26, asylum seeker) On the contrary, as stated above, religion for refugees and asylum seekers can play an important role in promoting their identity and sense of belonging and, even more, can also help asylum seekers deal with the frustration of waiting for their status to be defined and give them a break by supporting them to find a sense of moral certainty and their place in the world (Roy 2002, 2007): One prays always. One prays when one is setting out, when one is about to set out, when one is at sea. You pray when you arrive, to express thanks. For some people praying is not thinking. When you have nothing left, all you can do is pray. Some really believe. Muslims, Christians, invoking the spirits: altogether while we are waiting for them to get us moving. In the waiting, the silence, languages and prayers get mixed up. The same happens at sea. As long as you have strength and are breathing, then silence. Those who have a crucifix hold it tightly; some verses of the Koran [are heard]. Then those who survive continue to pray in the reception centres, in silence. (Malian woman, 24) In fact, in the process of the application procedure, asylum seekers may intensify their religious affiliation or even convert to another religion. Religion, when practised together 321

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with their co-religionists, can offer them stability and a framework in which to live as believers in European society. For asylum seekers, the discrimination suffered or the curiosity and attention to their countries of origin and to their religion (especially for Muslims due to terrorist attacks in Europe) are factors that can stimulate new reflections about their personal identity and personal and collective religious affiliation. This can produce a process of review and reinvention of religious practices in view of progressively detaching them from their ‘ethnic’ religion. This can also encourage religious individualization and possibly, also, radicalization: In the centre where I used to work, many asylum seekers asked for an imam who then became their point of reference. There were also ‘inter-religious’ houses (centres) that worked very well and others where intransigent attitudes, one against the other occurred. For them, religion remains a strong identity point and waiting for a resident permit can cause frustration and risks of radicalization. (Social worker, asylum seekers centre) The ways in which immigrants’ cultural identities change over time and under the influence of society at large, as well as the relationship between immigrants and society, are generally crucial issues in the study of the integration process. For asylum seekers and refugees, this process is more complex because it overlaps with identity formation. Such formation began in their home countries and then continues in the receiving society after experiencing dramatic events, personal loss, exploitation and traumatic events (e.g. periods in Libyan jails, time spent in passeurs’ hands, and so on).

Conclusion The role of associations in the inclusion of immigrants has been examined and found to have many positive aspects. Specifically, the four main functions outlined by other scholars are also confirmed by our analysis: overcoming isolation, providing material help to community members, defending the interests of the community, and promoting the community’s culture. In addition, associations can play an important role in helping community members to enter the host society through networking and information sharing. Feeling part of a community helps to discover what Sayad (2004) has called ‘new roles against the stigma.’ In other words, when there is an effort to enhance and empower migrants, refugees and asylum seekers, they can challenge the stigma around them. Through religious organizations, asylum seekers and refugees become involved and can have an active role in the community. The association and its role in society can also help to overcome differences and include everyone, regardless of one’s ethnic origin and nationality. It can help in fostering friendships, relationships and networks. While praying together, people may feel closer to one another rather than feeling divided because of their differences of age, social class or culture. Asylum seekers and refugees, through religious associations and centres, can find their ‘place in the world,’ even if only for a few hours, even if far away from home; the community offers an identity, a role, a sense of belonging and important relationships, helping and accompanying them in different ways. Thus, with the help of the most important religious leaders, religious organizations can act as accelerators of integration, mutual knowledge and cross-community networking. Taking care of others, especially those in need in the community, also teaches them not only to be entitled to rights but also duties and responsibility towards others and the community as a whole. The community thus 322

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becomes a space where they can practise social skills and assert their rights and perform duties. In such community, they can overcome the crystallized, simplified and dangerous figure of a believer (radical Muslim in most cases) painted by the media.

Notes 1 For a literature review, see Gungwu 2018. 2 Qualitative interviews were carried out within the project ‘Continuity and Change in Migrants’ Religiousness in Southern Europe.’ Specifically, in this chapter, the reader will find quotations from interviews with key informants, religious leaders, administrators and immigrants collected in Italy. For more information, see Ricucci 2018. 3 Islamic Relief has put forward a three-point Agenda for Action to tackle the crisis, including a Europe-wide humanitarian response as refugees travel across the continent, greater commitment to resettling refugees in European and other countries, and a fresh diplomatic effort to end the conflict in Syria, providing food packs to refugees, as well as small cash grants to the most vulnerable, and translation and support services to help people get the assistance they need. 4 We can recall the role of Catholic chaplaincies set up by European religious orders in Australia and in the United States during the last century to support Catholic immigrants, with priests speaking European languages or dialects; and more recently the role played by Muslim countries in funding the building of mosques and sending imams.

References Ammermann, N.T., 2007. Everyday Religion. Observing Modern Religious Lives, Oxford, Oxford University Press. Bastenier, A. and Dassetto, F., 1993. Immigration et Espace Public: la controverse de l’intégration, Paris, L’Harmattan. Bowe, J.R., 2010. Can Islam Be French? Pluralism and Pragmatism in a Secularist State, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press. Cadge, W. and Ecklund, E.H., 2007. Immigration and Religion. Annual Review of Sociology, 33 (1), 359–379. Caponio, T. and Ricucci, R., 2015. Interculturalism: A Policy Instrument Supporting Social Inclusion? In: R. Zapata-Barrero ed. The Intercultural Turn for Cities: How to Conceptualize and Monitor It? Cheltenham, Edward Elgar, 20–34. Carol, S., Helbling, M., and Michalowsky, I., 2015. A Struggle over Religious Rights? How Muslim Immigrants and Christian Natives View the Accommodation of Religion in Six European Countries. Social Forces, 94 (2), 647–671. Cesari, J., 2013. Religion and Diasporas: Challenges of the Emigration Countries’. INTERACT Research Report, no. 1, 2013. Cesari, J. and McLoughlin, S., 2005. European Muslims and the Secular State, London, Ashgate. Chivallon, C., 2001. Religion as Space for the Expression of Caribbean Identity in the United Kingdom. Environment and Planning D: Society and Space, 19, 461–483. Connor, P., 2012. Balm for the Soul: Immigrant Religion and Emotional Well-Being. International Migration, 50 (2), 130–157. Connor, P.C., 2014. Immigrant Faith: Patterns of Immigrant Religion in the United States, Canada, and Western Europe, New York, NYU Press. Crane, K.R., 2003. Latino Churches: Faith, Family, and Ethnicity in the Second Generation, New York, LFB Scholarly Publishing. Ebaugh, H.R. and Chafetz, J.S., 2000. Religion and the new immigrants: Continuities and adaptations in immigrant congregations, Walnut Creek, CA, AltaMira Press. Eck, D.L., 2007. Prospects for Pluralism: Voice and Vision in the Study of Religion. Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 75 (4), 743–776. Emerson, M. ed., 2009. Ethno-religious Conflict in Europe. Typologies of Radicalisation in Europe’s Muslim Communities, Brussels, Centre for European Policy Studies (CEPS).

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Van De Pol, J. and Van Tubergen, F., 2014. Inheritance of Religiosity among Muslim Immigrants in a Secular Society. Review of Religious Research, 56 (1), 87–106. Vasquez, M.A.A. and Knott, K., 2014. Three Dimensions of Religious Place-making in Diaspora. Global Networks, 14 (3), 326–347. Vertovec, S. and Wassendorf, S., 2005. Migration and Cultural, Religious and Linguistic Diversity in Europe: An Overview of Issues and Trends, Oxford, Compass. Voas, D. and Fleischmann, F., 2012. Islam Moves West: Religious Change in the First and Second Generations. Annual Review of Sociology, 38, 525–545. Wuthnow, R., 2005. America and the Challenges of Religious Diversity, Princeton, NJ, Princeton University Press.

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27 Urban public space and the emergence of interdenominational syncretism Peter van Gielle Ruppe

Urban public space as multi-religious space Huge cities are inherently linked to social diversity. Not only do they attract and accommodate people of various backgrounds, but the urban public space itself serves as a fabric of difference and social innovation. In his classic manifesto on urban studies, Simmel (1976) describes the individual’s daily struggle against an overload of impressions and information, which results in the evolution of unique personal identities. The concentration and heterogeneity of people, ideologies, skills and goods that are immanent to the urban public space, cause a dense interplay that constantly creates new cultural and social formations (Mumford 1937; Wirth 1938). Nowhere does this contingency become as manifest as in the urban public spaces, where social heterogeneity and the liberties tied to anonymity are most extensive and serve as the foundation for a multitude of simultaneous processes of social adaptation and individualization. Simply said, people who otherwise would not have interacted with each other do so in a city’s public spaces on a regular basis (Sennett 1991). The public in secular societies is prototypically conceived as the sphere of reason (Calhoun 2008), which implies limitations to religion. Nevertheless, numerous authors (most notably Casanova 1994) have over the years pointed out a continuous presence of religion in the public sphere in a variety of secular national contexts. While religion can be detached from societal spheres as politics and economics in a formal sense, its factual embedment in society unfolds in the public in alternative ways. On the one hand, religious institutions maintain their importance in secular societies due to historically developed structures, strategic partnerships with political and economic actors, and legal agreements within the hosting states. On the other hand, religiosity remains an impartible attribute of many of the individuals who constitute society and is reflected in their social practices, since freedom of belief comes along as an accompanying feature of secularity. While religious subjects find themselves in a situation in which they cannot evict the secular principles on which society is founded, at the same time society has to accept the rootedness of their worldviews in the sacred (Calhoun 2008, p. 10).

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In urban public space, secularity does not necessarily mean the absence of religion, but in some sense even quite the contrary. While secularity abolishes religious hegemony in society by setting limits to the overall importance of one dominant religion, at the same time it opens up the possibility of religious co-presences and thereby competition, which can be quite stimulating for the religious field as such. Whereas large-scale religious activities usually require the approval of regulatory political bodies, the religiosity of individuals—as a personal liberty—is out of reach and therefore relatively free to manifest in urban public spaces. Thus, religious presence occurs as a side effect of the general religiosity in society, but as well as a consequence of intentional action, since public space poses a valuable resource in order to reach people (Delgado 1999). In contrast to most places of worship, which are homogeneous in terms of religion, urban public space enables interaction with outsiders, and thereby with potential converts. Proselytization may be considered a general aim of most religions who hold claims to absolute validity. Interactions in the public space usually imply a low level of commitment, which enables an unconstrained mode of communication and proselytization. The retreat of religion into the private sphere is often pointed out as the crucial element of secularization theory, since it was assumed that religion would vanish in the long term if it is first isolated from society (Casanova 1994, pp. 19ff.). A religion that is an integral element of public life, will, on the contrary, steadily take part in the reproduction of society. Consistent with Arendt’s (1958) notion of the public as a common project resulting in a durable whole, mere access guarantees the continued existence and evolution of religions. While religious heterogeneity in a society implies a plurality of religious symbolic systems in the public space, secularity—the absence of a hegemonic religion—unfolds in a setting of contingency and personal insecurity (Delgado 1999, p. 151), which ultimately favours individual approaches to religion. To illustrate this argument, I will use empirical data from Guayaquil, Ecuador, where the traditionally dominating Catholicism is challenged by a rising Evangelicalism. The crucial role of urban public space in spreading the respective religious agendas translates into a considerable presence of both denominations. The interplay of different, yet similar symbolic systems enables religious exchange and adaption, which cause the emergence of individual syncretic beliefs. The data consists of observations in the city during five months in 2013 and interviews with its residents as well as representatives of different religious communities and the municipality of Guayaquil.

Multiple religious participation Intricate religiosity, which goes beyond the beliefs and practices of one clearly defined denomination, currently enjoys rising interdisciplinary attention. Since singular religious affiliations prove to be inadequate to understand individual action and broader social patterns in an increasing number of cases, academic fields like political science (Putnam and Campbell 2012), sociology (Wuthnow 2005; Sigalow 2016), religious studies and theology (Cornille 2002; Rajkumar et al. 2016) engage in a more differentiated understanding. Spatial approaches giving insight on conditions and modes of the interactions between different religious systems (Burdick 1996; Orsi 1999; Knott 2005), however, are rather scarce to date although interest is growing. The diversification of religion on a global scale (Pew Research Center 2017) can be attributed to an increased mobility and interaction of religious subjects, but also the continuous process of global urbanization that leads to a pluralization of lifestyles (Brenner 327

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and Keil 2014). All of these processes correspond with widespread tendencies towards increasing acceptance of religious diversity (Chaves 2013). As an illustration, while at least 90% of Latin America’s population was Catholic until the 1960s, by 2010 the share was less than 70% (Pew Research Center 2014). The considerable number of people joining Evangelical and other Protestant churches or rejecting organized religion altogether opens up spaces for religious identities that are in between the established denominations and cannot entirely be grasped by the concept of conversion. ‘Conversion’ traditionally refers to the swap of one singular religious involvement in favour of another (Gillespie 1991). It includes a major alteration in one’s worldview and a fundamental change of the religious habitus that implies a reorientation in the mental and social life of the believer (Edgell 2012, p. 254). In this respect, DeGloma (2014, pp. 13ff.) differentiates a three-step narrative consisting of ‘a past state of “darkness,”’ a ‘discovery and personal transformation’ and the achievement of a ‘state of “light.”’ On the other hand, multiple religious participation was perceived as a modification or even lesser version of conversion for a long time (Thatamanil 2016, p. 10; Lynn Carr 2017, p. 61), since it requires the combination of different (and often even competing) religious systems. Multiple religious participation is based on the addition of external religious practices and beliefs, while at least parts of the former are retained. Thereby, the mending of different religious systems takes place within the spiritual life of a single person. Concepts to grasp multiple religious participation are manifold. Some authors pursue approaches that limit themselves on the hybrid practices of believers. The particular manifestations in this case are attributed to a multiplicity of separate original traditions as forms of ‘lived’ or ‘everyday’ religion and interpreted as an incoherence between the formal doctrines and actual everyday practice (Hall 1997; Ammerman 2007, 2013; McGuire 2008). Accordingly, religious subjects in pluralistic societies are able to draw elements from a variety of religious systems more freely (Lyon 2000; Partridge 2004), to switch codes depending on the circumstances (McAlister 1998) or even to translate religious concepts into different frameworks (Murphy 1988). Other concepts favour the idea of individualized sets of beliefs and practices as religious systems in their own right. Despite remaining ties, ultimately they overwrite the original religious identity in favour of a new one. In this regard, ‘syncretism’ poses the most popular and yet a very fuzzy term. Even though numerous attempts to clarify the definition were made in the past (for example Pye 1971; Colpe 1977), there is considerable disagreement and the term continues to be used in a loose manner. The term ‘syncretism’ was originally applied to the persistence of autochthonous religious practices and beliefs despite a concluded Christian proselytization in (post)colonial contexts (Kraemer 1954; Anacin 2015). In its contemporary form, it refers to a dynamic process, which is caused by the overlap of different religious systems and a social adaptation (Pedrucci 2016). This poses a renunciation to the original meaning, which implied a diminution or the jumbling up of religion (Pye 1994). One can speak of syncretism if elements, clearly recognizably belonging to at least two religions, merge. They exceed the addition of different religious elements and ultimately lead to their coalescence into something new. The process includes practices, beliefs and religious communities (Sigalow 2016). Considering the fact that by this definition in essence any religion is a product of syncretism, in order to maintain the raison d’être of the term Pye (1994) argued for a distinction between synthesis and syncretism. While he understands the former as the conclusion to a process and the stable formation of a new religion, the latter is characterized by its processual nature. Pye (1994, p. 222) highlights that in syncretism:

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[t]he close association of elements of diverse origin is commonly more complex than [a mere mixture] and is not necessarily stable or permanent. It is noteworthy that closely associated traditions may rediverge after some time, with a reassertion of distinct strands of meaning. He names three characteristics of syncretistic patterns: they are coherent for the person concerned at the time, they are ambiguous in that they usually combine divergent meanings, and they are temporary in that the ambiguity tends to some kind of resolution. In her work on the United States, Sigalow (2016) identifies four conditions that determine the emergence of syncretism: the similarity of the merging religions, the historical and social tensions between them, the compatibility of symbols and practices, and the level of constraints and encouragements towards syncretism. Despite the sophisticated theoretical differentiation, it is necessary to point out that these approaches ultimately still pose generalizations in order to ease understanding, while religion may take even more individual forms than they allow (Bellah and Madsen 1996, p. 221).

Interdenominational syncretism in Guayaquil The Ecuadorian Constitution passed in 2008 is often considered the most secular in Latin America and even the world (Asamblea Constituyente 2008). While freedom of religion has existed in Ecuador since the end of the 19th century, laicism and secularity are now highlighted as core foundations of the state, while the Catholic Church—despite its historical and structural relevance—and even God, are not mentioned explicitly anymore. The constitution grants absolute religious equality and extensive rights to religious practice. Religious plurality is pointed out as a key attribute of the Ecuadorian society and national identity. Nevertheless, restrictions to religious activities in the public space can be applied in cases of offences towards religious liberty and diversity as well as security and traffic concerns. Guayaquil has a population of about 2.5 million people and a reputation for very vivid public spaces. They are traditionally the location of social, political and commercial life (Andrade 2006, pp. 174ff.). Guayaquil accommodates the seat of an archdiocese and contains approximately 200 Catholic Churches (Catholic Hierarchy 2015). The official share of 85% of the population being Catholic in 2013 seems exaggerated, since infant baptism and the Catholic Church’s involvement in state services such as education and health care inflate the numbers. In fact, the reach of Catholicism diminishes constantly and especially among the youth who have become more and more alienated by the Catholic Church (P Pierre 2013, personal communication, 28.09). Nevertheless, the urban space is considerably shaped by Catholicism, in the form of iconic churches, statues, murals, the naming of the streets, etc. Non-Catholic religions started to gain notable presence in Guayaquil from the 1960s onwards and are exclusively associated with Christianity. Various Evangelical churches make up the bulk nowadays, while there are also smaller groups of Jehovah’s Witnesses, Seventh Day Adventists and Mormons (Holland 2009, pp. 11ff.). The estimated share of Evangelicals in the population of Guayaquil is 10–20%, depending on the sources. Even though the exact number is hard to determine for reasons that will be clarified, it is known that in 2011 there were more than 2,000 evangelical congregations in the city (Gestdepro 2011). While some are integrated in larger associations, 40% act independently, often competing with each other, which fuels the quick growth. Two convictions of the Evangelicals are crucial to their presence in Guayaquil’s urban public space. On the one hand, they cherish an individual approach to interpreting the 329

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Bible, which—in opposition to clerical authorities—is perceived as the chief God-given truth and imperative to everyday life (Smilde 2007). On the other, they are characterized by an intense commitment to preaching the gospel. Missionary work does not aim primarily for the achievement of formal conversions, but rather for spreading the wider idea of a personal and intense relation to God. The public spaces are essential in this respect, since they offer access to the whole of urban society and therefore many persons who are dissatisfied with their religious lives and open to new ideas (Delgado 1999, pp. 141ff.). Therefore, most of Guayaquil’s squares, parks and street-corners are crowded with Evangelical lay preachers who share their thoughts on biblical contents and their implications. Furthermore, Evangelicals often organize open air round tables to discuss the Bible and distribute pamphlets, which spread spiritual and mundane messages. Collective activities in the public spaces such as masses and processions, which demand permits, are usually negated by the municipality on grounds of a disproportionate obstruction of traffic (F Loor 2013, personal communication, 12.06). The preachers are from heterogeneous social backgrounds, perform expressively and use various kinds of auxiliary means, such as microphones, music, costumes and assistants, which are helpful to attract attention. Sometimes they limit themselves to re-narrating classical Biblical motives, but mostly they turn to practical matters of everyday life, such as sexuality, family, children, politics, poverty, violence, crime, drugs and alcohol. Put simply, the Evangelical gospel highlights the advantages of a devout life and lays out a vision of an alternative society in which prosperity will come to true believers and inequalities of ethnicity and gender will be abolished eventually (Smilde 2007). It offers an ethical framework for society and normative ideals for individual conduct, which are presented as cornerstones of a true faith. This stands in opposition to the critique of a fading Catholicism whose incoherence and heresy are blamed for the pathologies in society. A direct linkage between religious life and secular matters increases the relevance of the Evangelical gospel and expands its reach, while efficient networks of mutual solidarity within the Evangelical communities seem to confirm the spiritual claims. Evangelical presence and religious discourse are the foundation of the rapid growth of the denomination and large numbers of conversions at the expense of Catholicism. The search for a personal relation to God, the appeal of religious services in the congregations and the emphasis on ethics in everyday life pose the main motives (A Ordóñez 2013, personal communication, 16.09). Despite all mutual criticism and conflict between both denominations this dynamic is supported by the common Christian roots of Evangelicalism and Catholicism (C Parra 2013, personal communication, 24.07). The similarities deriving from a shared holy scripture, the same central figures and events, ease the swap of religions, but also allow people to transcend the dividing lines between the two denominations. As one interviewee states: I used to do it [use a crucifix and participate in processions], like every Catholic should. Lately . . . I diverged from religion. But now, when I have the time, I visit the Evangelical temples on weekends. No one really knows if I am Catholic or Evangelical. I am what I am. I do have an inner faith and I think that the religion is not that important. The person is. And if someone tells me that I am a Catholic, I just respond that I believe in God. In the end, all of those religions helped me to understand the word of God. The Catholic religion could not have done this alone, but that does not mean, that I have to enrol to another religion. I am Catholic since I was born. (Street interview 2013, 10.09, own translation) 330

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In between the adaptation and the refusal of a belief, the public space offers a mode of interaction that is fuelled by the co-presence of divergent yet similar religious discourses and symbols that are non-coercive at the same time. The circumstances initiate mundane conversations about ethics and the condition of society, but also on strictly religious matters such as the importance of belief, the role of clergy, the sacredness and significance of biblical figures, and the use of statues and crucifixes. In the absence of a religious hegemony, people are able to reach individual positions through these interactions, rather than reproduce premade ones. As another interviewee says: Catholics believe . . . I believe in the almighty God, in his son, the virgin Mary and the Saints. The Evangelicals don’t, they only believe in God and his son. I talk to them, I am Catholic but I just like religion . . . when I listen to the Evangelical religion, everything that deals somehow with God is good . . . I respect their religion and they have to respect mine. After all, we have freedom of religion. Instead of claiming, that the things are like this or that, it is better to talk. Concerning religion, you have to talk to each other to learn something. (Street interview 2013, 09.09, own translation) The blurring between the two denominations is put into practice predominantly by people departing from Catholicism. One Evangelical official confirmed that some Evangelical communities consist in great quantities of believers who still consider themselves Catholics (F Loor 2013, personal communication, 12.06). Since a majority of Evangelicals in Guayaquil used to be Catholics at some point in their past, their conscious choice of religion in combination with adult baptism cause a stronger rootedness in Evangelicalism. Additionally, the high intensity of religious life in Evangelical communities and the discourse against Catholicism hinder religious openness in the other direction. Still, a position in between the denominations in some cases appeals even to Evangelicals, e.g. to worship the Virgin Mary, which officially is frowned upon. Furthermore, the intersections between the denominations enable people to choose their religious identity depending on how the communities respond to them. As one tells me: There are also homosexual persons like myself. And the Evangelicals . . . instead of including the people, they push them away and hide them in some corners, where they don’t have to see them, so that they can have only the decent people in their temples . . . That’s why I prefer to go to the Catholic Church. Things are different there, not that repressive, way more relaxed. (Street interview 2013, 13.09, own translation) While the phenomenon of interdenominational syncretism applies to a limited number of people, the process of merging in the public spaces is more advanced in reference to religious symbols. The paramount importance of the Bible in Evangelicalism causes a symbology based on text and quotes. Phrases like ‘Dios guía mi camino (God leads my ways),’ ‘Christo, te amo! (Jesus, I love you!)’ or passages from the Bible are ubiquitous in Guayaquil as graffiti, decorating public transport and private cars, clothing, shop signs and so on. Due to their popularity and presence in the public spaces, they have gradually spilled over into the Catholic community (C Pienchester 2013, personal communication, 13.06). Today, they are hardly of use in identifying Evangelicals, but rather serve as a common denominator with Catholicism. Another example is the habit of permanently carrying around a Bible, which originally used to be associated exclusively with Evangelicals. However, the same applies for traditional Catholic characteristics, like the religious greeting 331

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‘Dios te bendiga! (God bless you!),’ or kneeling or carrying a veil in churches among woman, which nowadays can be observed in both communities. The merging manifests most in the offers of street vendors of religious items who do not aim to cater for the needs of a particular denomination. The most iconic Catholic habits like the use of statues, crucifixes and rosaries pose an exception and are usually condemned among Evangelicals. Thus, the shared symbols pave the way for further interactions between the two denominations and clear the way for the evolution of religious identities. Here as elsewhere, Evangelical elements are more likely to be universalized, while Catholic ones are considered with somewhat more skepticism among Evangelicals.

Political factors While the spiritual foundation of Catholicism in Guayaquil is fading, the Catholic Church can build on a favourable relation with the political leaders of the city. After a century of grave instability, the Social Christian Party (PSC) has managed to stay in power continuously since 1992. Its political success is possible due to an alliance with the Opus Dei led archdiocese of Guayaquil, which is illustrated best through personal overlaps on various levels. For example, the urban police force and the military frequently support Catholic events, representatives of the archdiocese are always present in municipal events, and the long-term major—and member of Opus Dei himself—Jaime Nebot, is often the honorary guest in religious gatherings. The Church systematically incites its followers to support the traditionalist agenda of the PSC and in exchange benefits in many ways (Andrade 2006, p. 162). Regarding the emergence of interdenominational syncretism two points are crucial. On the one hand, the Catholic Church has unrestricted access to the city’s public spaces and uses them for larger activities on a regular basis. On the other hand, Catholicism is the central element of the political discourse on values in society and identity—which is of particular significance considering Guayaquil’s long-lasting demands for autonomy and its competition with the country’s capital Quito. As a consequence, the Catholic Church can present itself as an object of political relevance and incarnation of local tradition (G La Mota 2013, personal communication, 08.08). Processions and open air masses in public space are perceived as events of general interest and attract people from the entire urban society. The scope is boosted by live music, dancing and firecrackers, so that the events regularly include persons of other beliefs as well as non-believers. It is common for political symbols like national and regional flags and even logos of the PSC to be used in combination with Catholic symbology in processions. Furthermore, the political symbols decorate Catholic Churches on secular holidays. Numerous Catholic monuments along with the principal churches remain Guayaquil’s landmarks and objects of great historic relevance. They are located in the most appealing places in the city, which enhances the visibility of Catholic core elements and promotes them as part of the daily routines of the urban population. In exchange, the Catholic Church campaigns for statues honouring past political greats of the PSC—like the controversial León Febres Cordero— pushing the merger of denomination and city even further. The ties between Catholicism and Guayaquil are reflected also in the naming of informal residential areas, like Ciudad de Dios (City of God), La Trinidad (Trinity), Monte Sinaí (Mount Sinai), Voluntad de Dios (Will of God), Casa de Fe (House of Faith). Regardless of the secular constitution, Catholicism thus holds a state-religion-like status on the urban level, with implications for the political identity and social environment of Evangelicals and non-religious persons. Self-identifying with Guayaquil to some extent 332

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equals a self-identification with the Catholic Church, as is illustrated by the following quote of a municipal official (M Marriott 2013, personal communication, 18.06): ‘It is beyond doubt, that Catholicism is the central element of identity in cultural, historical, sociological, spiritual and ethical regards, in Latin America, in Ecuador and as well in Guayaquil.’ While Evangelical symbology became popular as universal symbol of religiosity in Guayaquil, Catholic symbology is ubiquitous even beyond the religious. Consequently, crucifixes, rosaries and respective tattoos are not only signalling devoutness or an affiliation to the Catholic denomination, but in many cases they pose as symbols of popular culture and fashion (Street interviews 2013, 09.09–13.09). Nevertheless, they manifest performativity in favour of Catholicism and contribute to the dispersion of Catholic beliefs and practices.

Conclusion Competition and conflict are an inherent part of the religious co-presence of Evangelicalism and Catholicism in the public spaces of Guayaquil. They are fought out mostly with words, but occasionally build up into violence. While it is often the differences which trigger the conflict, the reasons for the competition can really be found in the similarities. Evangelicals reject the use of statues and a clerical hierarchy; Catholics reject lay preaching and an alleged fanaticism. Still, it is the commonality of holy scripture and central theological elements that are a threat to the denominations as religious entities in their own right. Even though the very existence of the denominations may not be at stake, the dynamics of conversions and multiple religious participations are proof of a given vulnerability. Consequently, the natures of the opposing communities are rarely the subject of church debates, other than in a demonizing manner (P Pierre 2013, personal communication, 28.09). This substantiates Sigalow’s (2016) suggestion that a compatibility and similarity of practices and tenets in the original denominations favours the emergence of syncretism. Given the condition of religious freedom, the urban public space enables the interaction of different religious practices, symbols and associated meanings. It facilitates urban dwellers’ ability to interact with religion in a nonchalant manner, which neutralizes the initial hurdle. While the religious habitus within any denomination can be assumed as heterogeneous (Tse 2013), the circumstances of urban public space considerably augment its contingencies. Religious subjects’ capability to handle their own religiosity in flexible and reflexive ways (Mellor and Shilling 2014) has the potential to blur the dividing lines between denominations and produces new syncretic identities, even though they are confined to a minority. The general notion of monolithic religions has deficits for understanding certain particularities of individual religious lives in the context of post-modernity. Syncretism remains a valuable concept in this regard, since it acknowledges the possibility of temporal and unique religious identities. More work needs to be done to grasp the extent of syncretism and the religious and secular foundations enabling it. However, the significance of syncretism for the further evolution of the original denominations as well as new religious systems potentially evolving from it make it worth the effort.

References Ammerman, N.T., 2007. Everyday Religion: Observing Modern Religious Lives. New York: Oxford University Press. Ammerman, N.T., 2013. Sacred Stories, Spiritual Tribes: Finding Religion in Everyday Life. New York: Oxford University Press.

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Pew Research Center, 2014. Religion in Latin America: Widespread Change in a Historically Catholic Region. Washington: Pew Research Center. Pew Research Center, 2017. The Changing Global Religious Landscape. Washington: Pew Research Center. Putnam, R. and Campbell, D., 2012. American Grace: How Religion Divides and Unites Us. New York: Simon & Schuster. Pye, M., 1971. Syncretism and Ambiguity. Numen, 18, 83–93. Pye, M., 1994. Syncretism versus Synthesis. Method & Theory in the Study of Religion, 6 (3), 217–229. Rajkumar, P., Jesudason, R., and Dayam, J.P., 2016. Many Yet One? Multiple Religious Belonging. Geneva: World Council of Churches. Sennett, R., 1991. The Conscience of the Eye: The design and social life of cities. London: Faber & Faber. Sigalow, E., 2016. Towards a Sociological Framework of Religious Syncretism in the United States. Journal of the American Academy of Religion, 84 (4), 1029–1055. Simmel, G., 1976. The Metropolis and Mental Life: The Sociology of Georg Simmel. New York: Free Press. Smilde, D., 2007. Reason to Believe: Cultural Agency in Latin American Evangelicalism. Berkeley: University of California Press. Thatamanil, J., 2016. Eucharist Upstairs, Yoga Downstairs: On Multiple Religious Participation. In: P.J.R. Rajkumar and J.P. Dayam, eds. Many Yet One? Multiple Religious Belonging. Geneva: World Council of Churches, 5–26. Tse, J.K.H., 2013. Grounded Theologies: ‘Religion’ and the ‘Secular’ in Human Geography. Progress in Human Geography, 38 (2), 201–220. Wirth, L., 1938. Urbanism as a Way of Life. American Journal of Sociology, 44, 1–2. Wuthnow, R., 2005. America and the Challenges of Religious Diversity. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

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28 ‘As local as possible, as international as necessary’ Investigating the place of religious and faith-based actors in the localization of the international humanitarian system Olivia J. Wilkinson

Introduction Humanitarianism, assistance for those in need following disaster, forms an integral part of contemporary global society. It is an international system by which support is provided from countries with resources, to those areas without sufficient resources, to respond and recover after conflict and disasters following natural hazards. The international humanitarian system is recognized as ‘the network of interconnected institutional and operational entities through which humanitarian assistance is provided when local and national resources are insufficient to meet the needs of the affected population’ (ALNAP 2015, p. 18). While much effort is expended for altruistic reasons, it is also a battleground of power, used as a soft power by governments to fulfill foreign policy agendas (Kelman 2012), by private companies to capitalize on extreme circumstances (Klein 2007), and by civil society organizations, from the international to the local, to assert their place and their agenda (Barnett and Weiss 2011, p. 12). Given the extent of humanitarian needs around the world and the fact that the system created for response decades ago is struggling to keep up with those needs, the international humanitarian system has been called ‘not just broke, but broken’ (Spiegel 2017). The power dynamics of the international humanitarian system have disproportionately favored Western elites. As Jan Egeland, former United Nations Under Secretary-General for Humanitarian Affairs and Emergency Relief Coordinator, put it: ‘The danger is that humanitarianism, a universal imperative and shared intercultural system of principles, has become so Westernized in its funding, staffing, organization structure, and political profile that it risks long-term adversity in many non-Western settings’ (Egeland, cited Barnett and Weiss 2011, p. xviii). In an ‘increasingly competitive marketplace for humanitarian goods and services’ (Weiss 2013, p. 55) in which large international organizations are already jostling for power and space, it is a challenge for local and national organizations to assert their place. Religion is a significant yet

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little acknowledged (Ferris 2011, p. 621) element of these power dynamics. Barnett and Weiss (2011, p. 23) pinpoint that ‘much of the current criticism of Western aid agencies centers around the limitations of their Judeo-Christian cultural bias among what are increasingly Muslim clients.’ The undercurrents of the humanitarian system have played out an all too familiar structure of inequality between the Global North and Global South. Religion has a legitimizing power (van Meerkerk and Bartelink 2015) which can be used for better and worse. There are many ways in which religious and faith-based actors in the humanitarian system have continued structures of inequality. Usual criticisms include that they are biased towards their co-religionists (lack impartiality), unprofessional, and even dangerous in the actions they take for proselytization. These have all been proved correct in certain circumstances. Examples range from a group proselytizing in Afghanistan that led to the killings of another group who were mistaken for them (Davies 2010), aid tied to conversion following the tsunami in Sri Lanka (Rohde 2005), and the large numbers of evangelical organizations arriving in Haiti following the earthquake in 2010 and resulting in the high-profile case of missionaries charged with kidnapping children (Quinn 2010). By starting the chapter on a mostly negative note (the humanitarian system is broken, power dynamics favor Western elites, and religious and faith-based groups have played some role in this), I mean to outline from the beginning that there is much to be desired in the contemporary international humanitarian system from all sources: faith-based, religious, secular, and everything in between. Powerful forces of neoliberalism (Barnett and Weiss 2011, p. 19) and the effects of climate change (Walker, Glasser, and Kambli 2012) have grown the humanitarian sector to an ever greater size (Lattimer and Swithern 2017, p. 8). The effect of secularism in this growing system has also led to the privatization, marginalization, and instrumentalization of religious and faith-based actors (Ager and Ager 2015, p. 12). Yet the localization agenda is meant to offer some hope. With its pronouncement that humanitarianism should be ‘as local as possible, as international as necessary’ (UNSG 2016, 30), the United Nation’s Secretary General’s report for the World Humanitarian Summit in 2016 set out to advocate for greater equality between international and local organizations and a shift in power and financing from international to local actors. With these calls for shifting power dynamics, much is at stake for local and national actors who have long been working to respond to disasters in resource-limited environments. Of relevance for this chapter, much is also at stake for those that are religious or faith-based among local and national actors. This chapter examines the intersections of religion and humanitarianism as discussions about shifting power and localization are at the fore of international humanitarian discourse. The chapter first provides a framework of definitions for local, national, and international religious and faith-based actors to demonstrate the nuances needed to even begin to talk about localization and local faith actors. The discussion then progresses to an analysis of the localization debate to show the ways in which international policy debates impact the effectiveness of local religious actors in humanitarian responses. Overall, I argue that local faith actors are legitimate parts of the international humanitarian system, but that many of the decisions made about the expectations on them are dominated by discourse from stakeholders at the international level.

Religious and faith-based actors in humanitarianism Religious actors come under many guises and are called by many different names in humanitarianism. There is no definitive consensus on whether the words ‘religious’ or ‘faith’ are more relevant when speaking of humanitarian actors with non-secular backgrounds. At 337

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times, both are used. For example, a recent international conference in Sri Lanka was titled ‘Localizing Response to Humanitarian Need: The Role of Religious and Faith-based Organizations’ (emphasis author’s own).1 Acknowledging that these terms (religion and faith) are much debated within theology and the social scientific study of religion at large, the purpose of this chapter is not to enter into purer definitional debates about each word, but discuss how these terms are applied in humanitarian contexts. For humanitarian and international development contexts, Lunn offers the breakdown that religion should be seen ‘as an institutionalized system of beliefs and practices concerning the supernatural realm; spirituality as the personal beliefs by which an individual relates to and experiences the supernatural realm; and faith as the human trust or belief in a transcendent reality’ (Lunn 2009, p. 937). As a starting point, this already helps differentiate between ‘religious’ and ‘faith’ actors in humanitarianism. Religious actors in humanitarianism are those that are part of religious institutions. For example, a mosque that provides shelter for displaced people, or a church committee that organizes distributions of material assistance from the church building. These are religious actors in humanitarianism because they are directly and undeniably linked to a religious institution, through their use of religious infrastructure, presence of leaders from the religious institution in the humanitarian efforts, and affirmed membership of a religious institution. It also includes the full range of religious hierarchies that are active in humanitarian issues. Recognizing levels of power, a figure such as the Pope holds religious influence on humanitarianism in the ways in which, in recent notable cases for example, Pope Francis has spoken out for refugees and migrants (Pope Francis 2018). Pope Francis also sent a direct message to the World Humanitarian Summit in 2016. In it, he stated: Today I offer a challenge to this Summit: let us hear the cry of the victims and those suffering. Let us allow them to teach us a lesson in humanity. Let us change our ways of life, politics, economic choices, behaviors and attitudes of cultural superiority. Learning from victims and those who suffer, we will be able to build a more humane world. (Vatican Radio 2016) While he did not attend himself, he sent a high-level delegation to the Summit. The Pope therefore aims to use soft power in humanitarian affairs, acting as a moral voice and representing around one-seventh of the world’s population. These examples demonstrate why religious actors can be seen as a specific designation of humanitarian actors. To say that an actor is ‘faith-based’ sounds, at first glance, the same as ‘religious’ actor. A subtlety of the application of these terms means that faith-based and religious actors are largely different entities, however. While those religious actors will have a faith on which their humanitarian actions are based, the field of ‘faith-based’ actors has some specific features. Faith-based humanitarian actors are those who express affiliation to a religious tradition but can vary in their adherence to and closeness with that tradition. Thaut outlined four main traits that demonstrate the scale of ‘faith’ in the ‘faith-based’ categorization. They include the organization’s mission (whether it includes a statement of faith in its mission statement), its ties to a religious base or authorities (do religious leaders sit on its board, for example), its staff policies (are staff required to sign a statement of faith), and its base of donor support (what percentage of donations come from religious tithing, for example) (Thaut 2009, p. 328). Speaking of, what she calls ‘international religious’ organizations at the UN, Petersen (2010) suggests a scale also with four parts, which includes religiosity (religious affiliation), orientation 338

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(goal, motivation, methods), organization (age, spread, size, origin, structure, membership representation, economy), and positioning (relations to state, markets, other non-governmental organizations (NGOs), etc.). From her analysis at the UN, she finds that: [t]he religious aspect is indeed significant, but it is a significance that is continuously expressed in widely differing ways and with widely differing consequences. In itself, religiosity is not necessarily a characteristic that tells us anything about the person or organization possessing it. If we want to understand religious organizations, we cannot merely characterize them as religious, based on a prejudiced conception of the significance of religion, and leave it at that. Instead we have to examine how, when and why these actors are religious. (Petersen 2010) Both Thaut and Petersen help demonstrate that faith-based organizations mostly exist on a continuum rather than a distinct categorization that places them in or outside of a ‘faithbased’ designation. Whether using the words religious or faith-based to describe an organization, we limit ourselves if we only think of the organization in those terms or tie predefined meaning to those terms. It is worth recognizing, therefore, that a sharp division between religious and faith-based actors creates a false binary, but with a fuller understanding of nuances between different types of actors, the terms can help parse out useful distinctions. Also to note, some scholars now prefer to use terms such as ‘faith-inspired’ to recognize the variations of faith influence on organizations along a continuum (Marshall 2014). It has also been noted that many of the larger international faith-based/inspired organizations operate within the secularized standards of the humanitarian system, to the extent that they have very few distinguishing features apart from their name or organizational history that mark them as faith-based/influenced (Lynch 2011, p. 221). Religious and faith-based organizations exist in larger and smaller forms and with greater or lesser influence on a global stage. Much of the debate has revolved around definitions for international religious and faith-based organizations. In many ways, the descriptor of ‘faith-based organization’ largely refers to international organizations from Western European and North American countries. The cultural hegemony of these ‘Western’ actors in the humanitarian system, from the most faith-based to the most secular, has been noted for years (Ghandour 2003; Davey 2012, 2013). My further specification here is that much of the discussion of faith-based organizations has largely been about those organizations originating in ‘Western’ countries, but with analysis of their activities in countries in the Global South (for example, Ferris 2005, 2011; Bornstein 2006; Barnett and Gross Stein 2012). While this is important research work, it is only in recent years that there has been a greater lens on the specific role of local faith communities in humanitarian response (Fiddian-Qasmiyeh and Ager 2013; Thomson 2014; Featherstone 2015; Wilkinson and Ager 2017, and others in the forty-eighth issue of the Forced Migration Review). This research not only places local faith communities as recipients of assistance or as co-opted sites of service delivery for international organizations, but it shifts the tone of the research to take local faith actors as legitimate humanitarian response actors, while necessarily acknowledging the challenges, as well as opportunities, that such actors can pose for humanitarian response. To understand these challenges and opportunities, we must first examine the range of religious and faith actors that might be considered part of a humanitarian response. While there are several typologies of faith-based actors, the following designations from El Nakib 339

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and Ager and Bartelink and van Meerkerk are here used as noteworthy examples for the debate on local faith actors as they distinguish between international faith-based organizations and the range of organizations representing faith-based and religious perspectives and national and local levels in humanitarian response. From El Nakib and Ager’s research with local faith communities in Irbid, Jordan, they identified six main groups of interest, all of whom were providing humanitarian response for Syrian refugees. Their designation was as follows: 1.

2.

3.

4.

5.

6.

International faith-based organizations were identified as major players in humanitarian response in Irbid. Islamic Relief Worldwide, for example, has acted as the lead humanitarian agency in a number of projects . . . National faith-influenced organizations are non-governmental organizations whose work or missions are influenced by religious beliefs. They are typically registered with the Ministry of Social Development or the Ministry of Culture. Their main offices are located in the capital Amman, with possible branches in other governorates. They may rely on local partners for implementation, especially outside of Amman . . . Local faith-influenced organizations were another group with considerable contributions to the humanitarian response. These are typically formal groups with strong ties to the community and are on the ground and at the forefront of service delivery. They may self-identify as faith-based or downplay their faith identity despite a conspicuous influence of religion on their activities . . . Human association organizations linked to the mosques (with offices on mosques’ premises), are also local faith-influenced organizations with a formal structure and an explicit faith identity . . . Faith networks are groups of formally or informally linked faith groups working under a shared structure. One type of local structure through which aid to Syrian refugees is channeled is the zakat committees. These are networks of committees undertaking the disbursement of zakat or alms money and falling under the Ministry of Religious Endowments and Islamic Affairs. Despite variation in the way individual zakat committees work, each comprises official staff members deployed by the Ministry in addition to community volunteers who collect zakat money from donors . . . Informal local faith and worship communities are informal and spontaneous social groups mobilizing in the context of crisis to provide relief services and deriving their motivation from a sense of religious obligation and duty. An example is an informal network of women who share a set of religious values and beliefs which motivate them to carry out charitable activities . . . Local faith figures are influential leaders of their faith communities, or more generally respected figures in the community perceived as a source of moral authority. Examples are priests, worship leaders, imams, and sheikhs . . . (El Nakib and Ager 2015, pp. 8–9)

Bartelink and van Meerkerk bring a broader perspective, aiming to outline the whole range of religious actors that might be present in a context to argue that these actors are overlooked in partnership efforts from international actors. They find that there are seven categorizations:

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1.

2. 3.

4.

5.

6.

7.

Religious leaders can play a vital role in peacebuilding and create stability in situations of fragility and conflict. A most famous example is, of course, Emeritus Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who was a role model for peace and reconciliation in post-Apartheid South Africa . . . Local religious structures, such as churches and mosques, are sometimes the only remaining structures in situations of fragility . . . Religious representative organizations and networks govern the faithful and represent them through engagement with the state and other actors. They are often active in development and social services. Examples include the National Council of Churches, Bishops Conferences and National Councils of Muslims found in countries worldwide, as well as international networks such as the Organization of Islamic Cooperation. Faith-based charitable or development organizations mobilize the faithful in support of the poor and other social groups, and fund or manage programmes aimed at tackling poverty and social exclusion. Examples of these organizations are World Vision and Islamic Relief. Religious inspired social-political organizations include political parties and broad-based social movements such as the Sarvodaya Shramadana Movement (a self-governance movement with Buddhist roots in Sri Lanka), cultural organizations and secret societies. Missionary organizations have been involved in development work for a long time and are historically closely related to many development initiatives and agencies. Contemporary missionary organizations, such as SIM (Serving in Mission), are still influential today. Faith-based radical, illegal or terrorist organizations, such as Hamas or Hezbollah, are often seen solely as terrorist organizations, but can also be active in providing charity and in development. (van Meerkerk and Bartelink 2015)

Again, we also come across differences in terminology, with El Nakib and Ager preferring ‘faith-influenced’ and van Meerkerk and Bartelink switching between ‘faith’ and ‘religious’ designations, demonstrating that the continuum of religious and faith-based actors continues at the local level, as well as when it comes to definitions of international actors. The use of ‘faith-influenced’ is one way in which El Nakib and Ager differentiate between international and then national and local actors. ‘Faith-based organizations’ is very much associated with international actors for them, whereas at the national and local level they aim to bring out the gradations of faith and religious impact on actors by referring to ‘faith-influence.’ Both include religious leaders in various forms, with El Nakib and Ager focusing on local influencers and van Meerkerk and Bartelink looking towards leaders further up religious hierarchies, such as influential Archbishops. The commonality between the definitions is that they are referring to individuals rather than groups. The divergence is that the broader definition from El Nakib and Ager includes faith influencers to demonstrate that it is not only high up members of a religious structure but local priests, imams, and others who can play a role. Furthermore, we should add a gendered specification to include the fact that nuns and female lay leaders in religious environments, such as leaders of women’s groups connected to religious structures, can also be recognized as faith influencers.2 Indeed, these women must be included as religious leaders can otherwise be predominantly male. 341

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The next sets of definitions become even hazier, with several points hovering around the level of religious infrastructure and religious or worship communities at a local level. For van Meerkerk and Bartelink this includes the structures of churches and mosques, whereas for El Nakib and Ager, this focuses more on the groups of people or communities that might be connected to churches and mosques. Of course, one does not exist without the other, so the point of convergence here is the capital that exists at this most local of levels connected to human (volunteers, informal committees, etc.) and infrastructural or material (buildings, vehicles, financial reserves, etc.) resources that can be mobilized in a humanitarian response. The next level is larger, coordinated networks such as church councils or zakat committees. They are more formalized into an organizational or network structure, but still have a strongly religious identity and are highly connected to religious hierarchies and structures. As pointed out in both examples, they can have a range of people involved, from local volunteers, to national government employees, and international civil servants and policy makers. They often serve as a bridge between the more local and the most global activities, such as the connection of national church councils to the World Council of Churches. In this way, they demonstrate one of the ways in which religious structures are already ‘localized.’ They operate in ways that aim to support local organizations while also building structures that allow for worldwide cooperation and communication. Not without considerable challenges in local to global efforts and their own distinct issues in each case, these networks nevertheless have a longer history, in many cases, of efforts to link international and local actors than recent localization efforts. The next sector of interest is the faith-based or faith-influenced organizations. Their distinctive features from others is that they are not necessarily formally part of a religious institution and are designated as NGOs or civil society organizations with registrations for these types of organizations as per their national laws. El Nakib and Ager differentiate between local, national, and international organizations within this type. They note that local organizations can still be part of religious institutions, such as associations with offices in mosques or, in another example, Diocesan Social Action Centers (DSACs) located within church grounds in the Philippines. National faith-influenced organizations are the next level removed, with offices in the capital and fewer links to local communities. Then, van Meerkerk and Bartelink and El Nakib and Ager agree that international faith-influenced organizations include ones such as Islamic Relief Worldwide. Bartelink and van Meerkerk then add a notable list of other types of faith actors, such as missionary organizations and more politically influenced organizations including those based on social movements or even those classed as terrorist organizations. Missionary organizations can equally bridge local to global networks, with missionaries often traveling from higher income to lower income countries. Their funding may come from these richer nations, but their long-term presence in locations can also mean that they cross over into what might be more accurately described as local religious leaders or local religious communities. Their long-term presence in these places then means that they are established and locally known people and organizations who can act as everything from first responders to recovery and development actors if and when disaster or conflict strikes (Wilkinson 2015). They would not, however, formally be classed as humanitarian actors as their overt evangelical orientation means that they may be seen to lack the impartiality and neutrality required as part of the humanitarian principles. Even if they provide assistance to all based on need alone (impartiality), their mission to convert brings them in direct conflict with humanitarian principles to ensure that assistance is free and without ties. 342

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As for religious and political organizations, they will certainly not be seen as humanitarian as they lack the neutrality required by the principles. Nevertheless, Bartelink and van Meerkerk point out that they will still be involved in providing assistance following disaster and may be viewed as part of the humanitarian effort by disaster-affected people even if the international humanitarian community would not count them as such. On these grounds, we can see already that the full range of ‘faith’ and ‘religious’ actors involved in providing for those affected by disaster will not be acceptable to the international humanitarian community for partnership within the localization agenda. However, there are also those organizations that may have a distinctive religious or faith-influenced identity that may still be acceptable to non-faith-based humanitarian actors for partnership. As is already the case, there are many ongoing partnerships in existence between all these types of actors. However, barriers still exist, sometimes in part due to biases surrounding local faith actors that they will be partial, lacking neutrality, and giving conditional aid, as has been outlined in these last few examples. If localization is to succeed, these barriers must be overcome. The next section will examine some of these fault lines within the localization agenda and the way that they have and will impact local faith actors.

Localization, religion, power, and the future of the humanitarian system This section investigates how the growing ‘localization’ policy agenda can potentially change religious power dynamics within the humanitarian system. Localization has spurred a major recent policy debate in the field of humanitarian action, emanating from the ‘Grand Bargain’ commitments made at the World Humanitarian Summit in 2016, which aim to achieve a goal of 25% of humanitarian funding for local and national actors by 2020 (World Humanitarian Summit 2016, p. 5). Among other things, the Grand Bargain encourages humanitarian actors to ‘Understand better and work to remove or reduce barriers that prevent organizations and donors from partnering with local and national responders’ (World Humanitarian Summit 2016, p. 5) and increase the participation of local communities in humanitarian decision making (World Humanitarian Summit 2016, p. 10). Implementation of the Grand Bargain is organized around ten workstreams (Inter-Agency Standing Committee 2018). Localization is now a buzzword in the humanitarian community indicating, aside from the specific commitments of the Grand Bargain, a need to shift from reliance on international organizational response to national and local organizations in disaster-affected countries. Almost two years after the World Humanitarian Summits, conversations in the workstreams have been contentious at times (Edwards 2017) and research has demonstrated few changes in ways of working (Humanitarian Advisory Group and NIRAPAD 2017), with the contention that some of the international organizations are struggling to let go of their power (Loy 2017). In discussions of localization, several different types of local actor have been categorized, including local and national NGOs and CSOs, local and national governments, local and national private corporations, and national Red Cross and Red Crescent Societies (Redvers 2017). Local and national faith-based and religious actors would be placed within the local and national NGO and CSO categorization. The categorizations of local and national faith-based and religious actors as localized humanitarian actors are not that neat, however. The role of local religious actors has spurred some contestation in the debate. First, there is the question of whether national organizations affiliated to global faith-based organizations merit categorization as local actors. World Vision India proved particularly noteworthy in this regard. A fear is that international 343

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organizations will register locally in countries to leverage local funding and encroaching on the fundraising space for local organizations originating from those countries. World Vision, however, has had national affiliates for many years. Red Cross and Red Crescent societies have been recognized as national organizations for the localization agenda as they exist as national organizations, brought together internationally in the International Federation of the Red Cross and Red Crescent (IFRC). Just as many religious structures have networks with national affiliates and international coordination organizations, the national Red Crosses and Red Crescents represent a secular institutional structure that has, in many ways, always been localized. World Vision makes the case that their national affiliates should be recognized as national actors for localization in the same way as the Red Cross and Red Crescent. In an interview, Julian Srodecki, Technical Director of Humanitarian Grants at World Vision, argued that World Vision India had been in the country for a longer time than World Vision has had offices in the UK. He said ‘What’s local and what’s not varies by context’ (Redvers 2017). These large international faith-based organizations have complex structures with local, national, and international levels of organization. While not an issue exclusive to faith-based organizations, these categorizations of local religious and faith-based actors demonstrated that there are many of these that are representatives of globalized religious structures, but also existing at a very local level through religious buildings, communities, and related social associations. Viewing localization through the lens of local faith actors shows that the differentiation between local and international will not necessarily be clear cut and there needs to be provision in localization definitions for those partners which, for example, are local members of the Caritas Internationalis network or ACT Alliance. World Vision is a more centralized structure than these others so there is no claim that all faith-affiliated structures should be treated in the same way. Nevertheless, the number of examples of networks with local and international affiliates is particularly high among the faith-based organizations. This can be seen in the endorsements of the Charter for Change, a platform through which national and international organizations are calling for change towards localization.3 This demonstrates how the localization agenda still operates with the ‘functional secularism’ of the humanitarian system (Ager and Ager 2011), in which many international FBOs are localized already because they have these natural links through religious structures to local congregations. Shakman Hurd has argued that there are ‘two faces of faith’ in international relations, one face that represents good religion and is ‘to be restored to international relations’, and the other face that represents bad religion and ‘is to be reformed or disciplined through new partnerships for the public good’ (Shakman Hurd 2015, p. 24). This duality is also played out within the international humanitarian system, in which there is a continual measuring of faith-based actors to sort them into one category or the other. Recent examples of this duality include bank de-risking efforts that have impacted all humanitarian actors (as transfers to ‘risky’ countries have been denied), but have particularly affected Muslim organizations, whose names and areas of operation have particularly marked them out for denials from banks. Recent research has indicated that 37% of British NGOs that make up the Muslim Charities Forum have experienced difficulties (El Taraboulsi-McCarthy and Cimatti 2018, p. 4). From the same research, examples included Islamic Relief Worldwide, which had donations sent to them by supporters blocked in 2012, and the Ummah Welfare Trust, which had its bank account closed by HSBC in 2014. Other research on local faith communities in refugee response has pointed to a prioritization of Christian actors over other faith actors for partnership because of a greater familiarity on the part of Western 344

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NGOs with Christian structures and hierarchies (Wilkinson and Ager 2017, pp. 42–43). The overarching picture this shows is one in which Muslim people are at the center of many of the largest humanitarian crises of our present day, but Muslim organizations, and especially local faith-influenced organizations that have Muslim affiliations, are marginalized in the international system. Finally, Ager and Ager identify the instrumentality of much humanitarian engagement with local faith actors currently. They note that, ‘The focus is on the physical and social resources of faith communities . . . This emphasis is evident in the vocabulary that is now frequently adopted to justify humanitarian engagement with religion: religious communities have important “resources,” “tools,” or “outreach capacities”’ (Ager and Ager 2015, pp. 64–65). They note that such partnerships ‘undermine the legitimacy and authority of the reasoning and reflection of people of faith in humanitarian contexts’ and make for ‘highly conditional’ engagements, in which the power is very clearly held by the external, international actor and not the local faith actor. This also links to the critique of ‘NGO-ization,’ as put forward by author Arundhati Roy (2014), naming the process by which resistance and social movements are co-opted in organizations that can depoliticize their message and serve a neoliberal agenda of forwarding social services through NGOs rather than public institutions. As local faith actors struggle to fit in with the international humanitarian system, they appear to become ‘NGO-ized’ to the point of losing their own faith identity. In one example from Lebanon, an organization that acts as an intermediary between international and local actors has found it extremely challenging to fit local faith actors into international donor requirements while also, as their director put it, ‘let[ting] the church be the church’ (Kraft 2015, p. 401). This is a significant conundrum for localization. On the one hand, the aim is to shift power and financing to these local actors, but on the other, the requirements needed for this could lead to the more negative aspects of NGO-ization. One of the main elements of localization is to streamline and reduce the burden of financial reporting systems, which will be a great help. However, it is still a fine balance between allowing ‘the church to be the church’ while also bringing it into line with many of the much needed and well-established standards of the humanitarian system that are in place. Accepting that there are weaknesses and strengths on both sides, more actors have been talking about processes of ‘two-way literacy’ (Wilkinson 2017, pp. 53–55) in which training could be provided both for international humanitarian actors to better familiarize them with the religious landscape of a given context and the possibilities for partnership with local faith actors, and for local faith actors to acquaint them with the humanitarian system, its principles, and standards. Efforts are only beginning in this regard and results remain to be seen. Nevertheless, it bodes well at least for the timely recognition of weaknesses within the humanitarian system and efforts to correct previous imbalances.

Conclusion This chapter has investigated the intersections of religious and faith-based organizations, the international humanitarian system, and localization efforts in humanitarianism. The context of a broken humanitarian system has made this intersection of recent importance because there is a need to recognize and support a larger diversity of actors who are present for humanitarian response. If the humanitarian system is to move forward and face the challenges of our century, local actors, and within that local faith actors, will need to be part of the broader and diversified picture of what counts as humanitarianism. 345

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There are several barriers on the way to this vision, however. A breakdown of the types of actors that can be called religious and faith-based in humanitarian response demonstrates both the wealth of diversity and the unwieldiness of engaging with such contextually specific and wide-ranging types of actors. It also demonstrates that the international humanitarian system has a long way to go until it truly accepts some of these actors. Linking this into the debate on localization, we saw that policies such as de-risking by banks, a lack of familiarity with religions other than Christianity, and the intricacies of someone of the religious networks to which these local faith actors belong, has further complicated the picture and made equitable engagement between international humanitarian actors and local faith actors an even more distant goal. Against these barriers and others, the localization agenda has already begun to falter. Yet it may not take a global policy agenda for other types of localization to exist and seep through into the humanitarian system. The existence of networks such as the ACT Alliance, only founded in 2010 after all, has brought local faith actors into international fora. The effects of the World Humanitarian Summit may not be cemented in a final decision from the Grand Bargain workstreams, but cultural shifts have occurred in the way that local actors are prioritized in certain funding efforts, such as local faith actors through the Myanmar Humanitarian Fund (UN OCHA 2017). There is still a need for further research. By continuing the interrogation of the role of local faith actors in the international humanitarian system, researchers can shine a light on the inequalities perpetuated in the humanitarian juggernaut. Most importantly, however, they can consistently bring examples of good practice and ways to overcome barriers to the fore. By demonstrating tried and tested ways of working, and particularly those that are scalable, research can show international humanitarian actors that there is an evidence base for improving engagement with local faith actors.

Notes 1 www.lrf2017.org. 2 A further definitional list from UNICEF is of note. They define ‘religious communities’ as follows local worship communities (e.g., churches, mosques, synagogues, temples, etc.), denominational leadership (e.g., bishops, clerics, ayatollahs, lamas, etc.), scholars, theologians and religious educators, mission workers, youth faith or inter-faith groups, women of faith networks, faith-based or faith-inspired organizations, denominational, ecumenical and intra-religious institutions, umbrella organizations and networks, inter-faith institutions. In this breakdown, they notably include youth and women’s groups as members of religious communities that are of interest for UNICEF partnerships (UNICEF 2012, p. 7). 3 For a full list of national organizations that have endorsed the Charter for Change, an up-to-date list can be found at https://charter4change.org/endorsements/ [Accessed on 15 April 2018].

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Bornstein, E., 2006. Rituals without Final Acts : Prayer and Success in World Vision Zimbabwe’s Humanitarian Work. In: M. E. Engelke and M. Tomlinson, eds. The Limits of Meaning: Case Studies in the Anthropology of Christianity. New York: Berghahn Books, 85–103. Davey, E., 2012. New Players through Old Lenses: Why History Matters in Engaging with Southern Actors. London: HPG Policy Brief 48, Overseas Development Institute. Davey, E., 2013. A History of the Humanitarian System: Western Origins and Foundations. Humanitarian Policy Group (HPG) Working Paper. London: Overseas Development Institute. Available from: www. odi.org.uk/publications/7535-global-history-humanitarian-action [Accessed on 04 May 2018]. Davies, C., 2010. UK Medic May Have Been Killed for Working with Christian Group. Available from: www.guard ian.co.uk/world/2010/aug/08/uk-medic-afghan-murdered-christian-group [Accessed on 04 May 2018]. Edwards, S., 2017. Dispute over ‘Grand Bargain’ Localization Commitments Boils Over. Devex. Available from: www.devex.com/news/sponsored/dispute-over-grand-bargain-localization-commitmentsboils-over-90603 [Accessed on 04 May 2018]. El Nakib, S. and Ager, A., 2015. Local Faith Community and Related Civil Society Engagement in Humanitarian Response with Syrian Refugees in Irbid, Jordan: Report to the Henry Luce Foundation. New York: Columbia University, Mailman School of Public Health. Available from: http://jliflc. com/wp-content/uploads/2015/06/El-Nakib-Ager-Local-faith-communities-and-humanitarianresponse-in-Irbid.pdf. El Taraboulsi-McCarthy, S. and Cimatti, C., 2018. Counter-Terrorism, De-Risking and the Humanitarian Response in Yemen: A Call for Action. London: Overseas Development Institute. Available from: www.odi. org/publications/11020-counter-terrorism-de-risking-and-humanitarian-response-yemen-call-action. Featherstone, A., 2015. Keeping the Faith: The Role of Faith Leaders in the Ebola Response. London, Birmingham and Teddington: Christian Aid, CAFOD, Tearfund and Islamic Relief Worldwide. Available from: http://jliflc.com/resources/keeping-the-faith-the-role-of-faith-leaders-in-the-ebolaresponse-full-report/. Ferris, E., 2005. Faith-Based and Secular Humanitarian Organizations. International Review of the Red Cross, 87 (858), 311–325. Ferris, E., 2011. Faith and Humanitarianism: It’s Complicated. Journal of Refugee Studies, 24 (3), 606–625. Fiddian-Qasmiyeh, E. and Ager, A., 2013. Local Faith Communities and the Promotion of Resilience in Humanitarian Situations: A Scoping Study. Oxford: Joint Learning Initiative on Faith and Local Communities and RSC Working Paper. Ghandour, A.-R., 2003. Humanitarianism, Islam and the West: Contest or Cooperation? Humanitarian Exchange Magazine, Issue 25, Humanitarian Practice Network. Humanitarian Advisory Group, and NIRAPAD, 2017. When the Rubber Hits the Road: Local Leadership in the First 100 Days of the Rohingya Crisis Response. Melbourne: Humanitarian Advisory Group. Available from: https://humanitarianadvisorygroup.org/wp-content/uploads/2017/12/When-theRubber-Hits-the-Road-Localisation-Final-Electronic.pdf. Inter-Agency Standing Committee, 2018. Grand Bargain (Hosted by the IASC). Inter-Agency Standing Committee. Available from: https://interagencystandingcommittee.org/grand-bargain-hosted-iasc [Accessed on 14 April 2018]. Kelman, I., 2012. Disaster Diplomacy: How Disasters Affect Peace and Conflict. Oxford: Routledge. Klein, N., 2007. The Shock Doctrine: The Rise of Disaster Capitalism. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. Kraft, K., 2015. Faith and Impartiality in Humanitarian Response: Lessons from Lebanese Evangelical Churches Providing Food Aid. International Review of the Red Cross, 97 (897/898), 395–421. Lattimer, C. and Swithern, S., 2017. Global Humanitarian Assistance Report 2017. Bristol: Development Initiatives. Loy, I., 2017. Aid Reform in the Pacific Held up by Power, Purse Strings, and Trust. IRIN. Available from: www.irinnews.org/fr/node/259951. [Accessed on 14 November 2017]. Lunn, J., 2009. The Role of Religion, Spirituality and Faith in Development: A Critical Theory Approach. Third World Quarterly, 30 (5), 937–951. Lynch, C., 2011. Religious Humanitarianism and the Global Politics of Secularism. In: C. Calhoun, M. Juergensmeyer, and J. Van Antwerpen, eds. Rethinking Secularism. Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 204–224. Marshall, K., 2014. Faith, Religion, and International Development. In: The Oxford Handbook of Christianity and Economics. doi:10.1093/oxfordhb/9780199729715.013.020.

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Petersen, M. J., 2010. International Religious NGOs at the United Nations: A Study of a Group of Religious Organizations. The Journal of Humanitarian Assistance. Available from: https://sites.tufts.edu/ jha/archives/847 [Accessed on 04 May 2018]. Pope Francis. Apostolic Exhortation, 2018. Gaudete et Exultate: Apostolic Exhortation on the Call to Holiness in Today’s World. Available from: http://w2.vatican.va/content/francesco/en/apost_exhortations/docu ments/papa-francesco_esortazione-ap_20180319_gaudete-et-exsultate.html [Accessed on 04 May 2018]. Quinn, B., 2010. US Missionaries Charged with Child Kidnapping in Haiti. The Guardian. Available from: www.theguardian.com/world/2010/feb/04/missionaries-charged-child-kidnapping-haiti [Accessed on 04 May 2018]. Redvers, L., 2017. Local Aid Agencies: Still Waiting for a Bigger Share of the Funding Cake. IRIN. Available from: www.irinnews.org/analysis/2017/03/27/local-aid-agencies-still-waiting-bigger-share-fundingcake [Accessed on 04 May 2018]. Rohde, D., 2005. Mix of Quake Aid and Preaching Stirs Concern. The New York Times. Available from: www.nytimes.com/2005/01/22/world/worldspecial4/mix-of-quake-aid-and-preaching-stirsconcern.html [Accessed on 04 May 2018]. Roy, A., 2014. The NGO-ization of resistance [online]. Netherlands: Massalijn. Available from: http://mas salijn.nl/new/the-ngo-ization-of-resistance/ [Accessed on 04 May 2018]. Shakman Hurd, E., 2015. Beyond Religious Freedom: The New Global Politics of Religion. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Spiegel, P. B., 2017. The Humanitarian System Is Not Just Broke, but Broken: Recommendations for Future Humanitarian Action. The Lancet, doi:10.1016/S0140-6736(17)31278-3. Thaut, L. C., 2009. The Role of Faith in Christian Faith-Based Humanitarian Agencies: Constructing the Taxonomy. Voluntas, 20 (4), 319–350. Thomson, J., 2014. Local Faith Actors and Protection in Complex and Insecure Environments. Forced Migration Review, 48 (November), 5–6. UN OCHA, 2017. Supporting Local Humanitarian Action in Myanmar. Agenda for Humanity. Available from: www.agendaforhumanity.org/news-details/5630 [Accessed on 04 May 2018]. UNICEF, 2012. Partnering with Religious Communities for Children. New York: UNICEF. Available from: www.unicef.org/eapro/Partnering_with_Religious_Communities_for_Children.pdf. UNSG, 2016. One Humanity: Shared Responsibility | Report of the UN Secretary-General for the World Humanitarian Summit. New York: United Nations. Available from: www.alnap.org/resource/21845. van Meerkerk, M. and Bartelink, B., 2015. Religious Actors in Development: Time to Fix Our Blind Spot. The Broker – Connecting Worlds of Knowledge. Available from: www.thebrokeronline.eu/Blogs/ Human-Security-blog/Religious-actors-in-development-Time-to-fix-our-blind-spot [Accessed on 28 January 2018]. Vatican Radio, 2016. Pope Sends Message to World Humanitarian Summit. Vatican Radio. Available from: http://en.radiovaticana.va/news/2016/05/23/pope_sends_message_to_world_humanitarian_summit/ 1231864 [Accessed on 04 May 2018]. Walker, P., Glasser, J., and Kambli, S., 2012. Climate Change as a Driver of Humanitarian Crises and Response. Somerville, MA: Feinstein International Center, Tufts University. Available from: http://fic. tufts.edu/assets/18089.TU_.Climate.pdf. Weiss, T., 2013. Humanitarian Business. Cambridge: Polity. Wilkinson, O., 2015. Faith and Resilience after Disaster: The Case of Typhoon Haiyan. Dublin: Misean Cara. Available from: www.miseancara.ie/faith-resilience-disaster/. Wilkinson, O., 2017. Localizing Response to Humanitarian Need: The Role of Religious and Faith-Based Organizations. Key Examples of Methods and Mechanisms for Engagement & Recommendations for Action. Conference Summary. Colombo: Joint Learning Initiative on Faith and Local Communities. Available from: https://lrf2017.org/reports/. Wilkinson, O. and Ager, J., 2017. Scoping Study on Local Faith Communities in Urban Displacement: Evidence on Localisation and Urbanisation. Washington, DC: Joint Learning Initiative on Faith and Local Communities. World Humanitarian Summit, 2016. The Grand Bargain : A Shared Commitment to Better Serve People in Need. Istanbul, Turkey: World Humanitarian Summit. Available from: http://reliefweb.int/sites/relief web.int/files/resources/Grand_Bargain_final_22_May_FINAL-2.pdf [Accessed on 04 May 2018].

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29 Religion, national identity and foreign policy The case of Eastern Christians and the French political imaginary Alexis Artaud de La Ferrière

Introduction The international system is often described as a secular space, a state of affairs usually attributed to the historical separation of religion and politics in Europe following the Peace of Westphalia in 1648. Accordingly, studies focusing on the topic of religion in International Relations (IR) often begin with a lament about the marginal status that religion has long held in the concerns of political scientists (Kettell 2012). However, over the past 20 years there has been renewed interest in religious phenomena across the social sciences. As part of this trend, many IR scholars have come to reconsider the relevance of religion within their own discipline. Since the turn of the millennium, scholars have sought to critically assess why religion was overlooked by mainstream IR theory (Fox 2001), to analyze the relationship between secular frameworks and political authority (Hurd 2004), and to develop methodologies for integrating religion into the study of IR as an explanatory variable (Sandal and James 2011; Sheikh 2012). Others have sought to recover the religiously rooted conceptual frameworks and political theologies which underpin key concepts of IR theory, such as anarchy, legitimacy, interests, and just war (Philpott 2000). Much of this work builds on the insights of critical religion scholars such as Casanova (1994) and Asad (2003) who employ genealogical approaches to argue that the modern distinction between religion and the secular is a contingent construct rooted in a European Protestant outlook. In the same vein, case study approaches have highlighted the role of transnational religious institutions and networks in influencing the conduct of international affairs (Haynes 2001). Numerous other studies have focused on the foreign policy orientations of states perceived to have maintained, despite the global advance of secularization, strong religious national identities, such as Russia (Payne 2010), Turkey (Jung 2012), Iran (Van Den Bos 2018), and Morocco (Wainscott 2018), as well as the influence of the Evangelical domestic public in the United States (Guth 2012; Chaudoin et al. 2014). Other studies have focused

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on the role of states in sponsoring diasporic politics by using religious identification as a means of maintaining ties with emigrant communities abroad (Rajagopal 2000; Kinnvall and Svensson 2010). Today, the issue of religion has become sufficiently mainstream within political science, and enough prominent scholars have incorporated religion within their lens of analysis, that the relevant critique concerning the role of religion in political studies does not concern its marginality but its relevance. It is no longer sufficient to identify and describe traces of religiosity within a socio-political field on the basis that these had been too long hidden or ignored. Research programs in this domain need to engage in ‘theoretically ambitious hypothesis generation [and] embrace puzzle-driven research’ (Bellin 2008, p. 319). Further to this aim, two interrelated questions come to the fore. What is the specificity (if any) of religion as an independent, dependent, or intermediate variable? And what can the study of religion and politics tell us about the genealogical origins and the conceptual validity which undergird our modern distinction between religion and the secular? These two questions must be situated within a long-standing debate that goes back to the origins of the sociological study of religion. Historically, the sociology of religion developed as a field of inquiry interested in better defining religion and in explaining the relationship between religion and society (modern society in particular). Marx, Weber, Durkheim, and Simmel were all animated by the task of understanding whether religion was distinct from other spheres of society, what constituted the relationship between religion and social change, and whether modernity would give rise to social forces which would eventually supplant religion. Corresponding to this conceptual debate, sociologists of religion have often been at odds with one another over the epistemological saliency of religion. As Malogne-Fer argues in a recent text (2018, p. 36), ‘the risk [in evoking the religious as an explanatory variable] is that the alleged specificity of the religious object ultimately means that an irreducible part of religion will always elude the scope of sociological analysis.’ This concern should not just be limited to causal explanatory schemes, but should be broadened to conceptual schemes in general. In other words, what are people actually talking about when they appeal to religion, and what do we as researchers mean when we claim to analyze religious phenomena or religious discourse? That these questions are difficult to answer is a reflection of the fact that the sociology of religion continues to revisit its founding interrogations. Indeed, it is a frustrating, yet fascinating, conceptual stumbling block for the sociology of religion that the very definition and boundaries of the field’s object of study, even within a given cultural domain, remain essentially contested. Rather than offering a broad survey of this topic in its multiple forms, this chapter focuses on a specific case study of relevance to contemporary geopolitics. The case studied here concerns the relationship between France and Christian minorities in the Middle East and how that relationship has influenced France’s foreign policy in that region. Indeed, since at least the mid-nineteenth century, a narrative has been developed and reproduced of the French nation as protector of Eastern Christians (Peaucelle 2017; Heyberger 2018; Personnaz 2018). According to this narrative, Eastern Christians are systematically viewed as victims of historical and continuing persecution because of their faith, and as requiring external protection because of their own states’ unwillingness or inability to provide adequate safeguards. Faced with this situation, France is presented as being charged with a historical role of external protection and promotion of the interests of Eastern Christians, by virtue of its former diplomatic relations with the Ottoman Empire and the principle of the succession

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of states. Hereon, I will refer to this narrative, along with the discursive tropes and policy statements which support it, as the persecution and protection narrative. France is not alone amongst external nations to take a position on this question. Under the presidency of Donald Trump, the United States has also issued statements of concern for Eastern Christians (Trump 2017), as has the British government through its then Foreign Secretary, Jeremy Hunt (2018). However, along with Russia, France stands out amongst external powers by virtue of the importance that this issue has acquired within the public consciousness and within state institutions. Yet, whereas the reasons motivating Russia in this domain are readily apparent, France’s position is more puzzling. In the case of Russia, the state’s support for Eastern Christians corresponds both to its internal political priorities and to its geopolitical strategy in the Middle East. Domestically, its support for Eastern Christians is inscribed within its broader religious strategy to revive Orthodoxy as a legitimizing locus of Russian national identity (Della Cava 1997; Payne 2010; Nalbandov 2016); prima facie, no comparable religious strategy exists in France. Externally, Russia’s support for Eastern Christians coheres with its strategic alliance with the Assad regime in Syria, which is largely backed by Syrian Christians (Pichon 2013; Valenta and Valenta 2016); France has maintained a firm opposition to Assad since 2011. Thus, France’s mobilization for Christians in the Middle East demands scrutiny because it runs counter to the dominant assumption that the conduct of foreign policy by modern states is being driven by material interests, and also because it runs counter to the dominant assumption that the French state is thoroughly secular. In the following study, my aim is to provide a theoretically informed hypothesis to explain the saliency and influence of the persecution and protection narrative within French politics. Although religion plays a role in my analysis through the latent influence of Catholics in French society, I argue that the role of religion here cannot be disassociated from an account centered on the nation’s political imaginary and its quest for ontological security. Indeed, it shall be argued that French foreign policy with regard to Eastern Christians is driven by a constellation of representations of Eastern Christians within the French public sphere informed by internal anxieties and desires regarding the identity and ethic of the French nation. The imagined idea of Eastern Christians has come to occupy a prominent position within contemporary French politics, functioning as an intermediary between the French nation and its internally competing images of itself. Through this particular case study, this chapter seeks to address a larger question regarding the relationship between identity, religion, and IR within the context of our globalized world. What role does national identity play in the formation of foreign policy? What role does religion play in the national identity of formally secular states?

The idea of Eastern Christian and the French national identity crisis In order to make sense of the persistence of the persecution and protection narrative in French politics, we need to consider the role of foreign policy as a discursive field of identity affirmation that is historically inscribed within a social context. As Doty analyzes, the practice of foreign policy is not just restricted to making a series of choices about state conduct in the external environment. It is also a performance of social reproduction: [Policy makers] are also performing according to a social script which is itself part of a larger social order. By virtue of this performance they are involved in a ritual 351

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reproduction (or repudiation) of that social order. Foreign policy thus becomes a practice that produces a social order as well as one through which individual and collective subjects themselves are produced and reproduced. (Doty 1993, p. 301) In this sense, Eastern Christians not only function as intermediaries in a game of influence or commercial exchange between France and the Middle East, they also function as intermediaries between France and its internally competing images of itself, revealing anxieties and emerging lines of demarcation within contemporary French politics. Thus, the way in which the issue of Eastern Christians is mobilized in French foreign policy discourse reproduces and advances socially embedded ideas about what Eastern Christians are, as well as advancing socially embedded ideas about what France is or what France should be. Such a tendency reflects the application of Anthony Giddens’s theory of ontological security to the state, as advocated by Kinnvall (2004, 2019) and Mitzen (2006). On this view, states not only seek physical security but also seek ontological security, described as a sense of internal order and stable continuity. Mitzen argues that ontological security is principally ‘formed and sustained through relationships. Actors therefore achieve ontological security especially by routinizing their relations with significant others. Then, since continued agency requires the cognitive certainty these routines provide, actors get attached to these social relationships’ (2006, p. 342). Indeed, Mitzen holds that states will often remain attached to such relationships even if they are not conducive, or even run counter, to their physical security. Similarly, whilst the environmental context has significantly shifted for both Eastern Christians and for France, French political actors sustain the relationship with Eastern Christians because that relationship is associated with a national group identity that is both stable (because it is fixed in history) and comforting for many people (because it is fixed in a historical moment of French imperial power). The ontological security function of France’s relationship with Eastern Christians is all the more salient in the contemporary moment because the renewed chaos in the Middle East coincides with and echoes core elements of an escalating crisis in France regarding its role in the international sphere and its national self-identity in the domestic sphere.

France’s role in the international sphere With regard to France’s role in the international sphere, the persistence of the persecution and protection narrative reproduces a sense of national tradition and diplomatic continuity, which memorializes a moment of French imperial power and privileged influence on the international stage. Such narrative responds to a diminishing public confidence in the ability of the state to project power and influence abroad: does France have the capacity to conduct itself independently as a great power in the Middle East, or at least to be a leader of a multilateral coalition to counter US hegemony (Menon 2003; Krotz 2015)? The reality on the ground suggests that France is not capable (or at least not willing) to assume a leadership position in the Middle East, its foreign policy there being dependent upon the United States. This is seen in the conduct of its military intervention in Syria and Iraq, Operation Chammal, which is largely inscribed within the wider operational strategy of the US-led Operation Inherent Resolve, and in France’s inability to counter US sanctions against Iran, despite the direct negative impact of such sanctions on its foreign industrial strategy. In this context, the persecution and protection narrative offers an opening to

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discursively project a self-identity of France’s role on the international stage which surpasses its actual capacity or willingness to act. Actors of the identitarian and sovereigntist right have been particularly keen to mobilize the persecution and protection narrative in order to advance their vision of a more robust and unilateral foreign policy justified on the grounds of diplomatic and imperial tradition. In 2011, Alexandre Cuignache (a figure active in several far-right movements) made this connection explicitly arguing that the current plight of Eastern Christians demands that France reassume its historical role as ‘a great independent power able to federate in its wake states of lesser strength, but just as anxious to guarantee their interests autonomously.’ Charles de Meyer, President of SOS Chrétiens d’Orient and former parliamentary assistant to the sovereigntist Jacques Bompard, echoed the same vision in 2017: ‘What do Eastern Christians signify? That France is the recipient of a higher vocation. We have a duty to help Eastern Christians, which is not simply humanitarian but also civilizational.’ As previously seen elsewhere, the relationship between France and Eastern Christians in such discourses is framed in retrospective terms of memorialization and social reproduction, rather than in prospective terms of innovation and disruption. In this context, the revival of the traditional protection and promotion narrative between France and Eastern Christians serves to inscribe contemporary French foreign policy within a historical lineage of imperial power and serves as a performative demonstration of France’s preeminent role on the international stage. The persecution and protection narrative is syntonic with a conservative political imaginary of the nation which draws on the Christian heritage of France, the continuation of diplomatic traditions that predate the Republic, the maintenance of French influence in regions of historic domination, and the projection of national prestige and power abroad. Therefore, it is not surprising to find that the idea of Eastern Christians appeals to the far right, and this is one means by which the far right has criticized successive governments for failing to engage policies abroad which correspond to what they see as France’s proper historical role. The reference to the imaginary here draws on Charles Taylor’s work on the conditions necessary for the practice of politics. For Taylor, cooperative social practices and a shared sense of legitimacy are made possible not merely through centralized forms of power but through a diffused social imaginary, which is the sum of ‘the ways that people imagine their social existence, how they fit together with others, how things go on between them and their fellows, the expectations that are normally met, and the deeper normative notions and images that underlie these expectations’ (2007, p. 23). The social imaginary thesis does not imply that individual subjects necessarily agree on the best course of action in a given scenario, or on what normative notions they most value, but it does hold that they share a common understanding of which actions and norms are within the scope of acceptability. In this sense, a social imaginary cannot be described as a doctrine or theory, but is a shared vision of common norms and interests. Following Taylor, the idea of Eastern Christians as framed within the persecution and protection narrative has come to constitute an important normative notion and image that underlies French self-identity and political practice. It does not constitute a prescriptive policy framework, but a shared sense of self and a shared ethic of political action. As such, the appeal of the persecution and protection narrative is not restricted to the far right in opposition; it also extends across to centrist government actors who employ it to deflect critiques and anxieties about France’s diminished influence and capacity abroad. Thus in 2019, Foreign Minister Jean-Yves Le Drian, a historical member of the Socialist party, stated: 353

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[t]he question of Eastern Christians and minorities is neither a diplomatic niche nor the remnants of a bygone past. Through the fate of these populations to whom history has linked us, it is a certain idea of the Middle East and the role of France in this part of the world which are in play. Le Drian’s statement provides an explicit case of how foreign policy discourse can constitute a space in which an idea of the other is constructed and which serves to consolidate a nation’s self-identity.1 As seen, the persecution and protection narrative constructs Eastern Christians as essentially vulnerable. Key to the idea of Eastern Christians within the French political imaginary is their position as religious minorities within Muslim-majority societies and under Muslim polities, a status sometimes referred to as ‘dhimmitude.’2 This idea of Eastern Christians is indissociable from a historically entrenched national identity claim pertaining to France’s role in the world; already in 1922, the French Foreign Ministry had employed this script: France is a great nation. It cannot be excluded from that Asia [the Middle East] which played such a great role in antiquity . . . France must be in Syria. How? As it always was by its influence, by its genius, by the irresistible radiance of its intellectuality, by its friendships, by its alliances, by its capital. (cited in Chaigne-Oudin 2010) Today, whether it be the Foreign Minister or a fringe member of the far right, the appeal to the persecution and protection narrative continues to comfort the idea of France as a great nation, regardless of its actual capacity and efficacy in the international sphere.

The fear of Islam The identity function of the persecution and protection narrative not only resonates with France’s role in the international sphere; it also reflects ongoing domestic anxieties about the constitutive elements of French national identity and, in particular, the relationship between the nation and Islam. Indeed, a key component of the ongoing crisis of national identity in France is reflected in the universalist Republican regime’s struggle to adapt to the phenomenon of ethnoreligious pluralism as a result of immigration. Since the 1980s, the growth and increasing visibility of Islam as a new religious and cultural identification within the national space has sparked waves of clashes and disputes over competing integration models for Muslims (Cesari 1994; Hervieu-Léger 2000). These disputes notably coalesced around the ‘headscarf affairs’ (in 1989, 2004, 2010), periodic clashes over the institutional organization of Islam in France, the launch of a government-sponsored grand debate on national identity under the Sarkozy government in 2009, and the 2018 Taché report commissioned by Emmanuel Macron on the integration of immigrants. In addition to being a locus of cultural-religious anxiety, Islam has more recently inspired anxieties regarding security following a succession of high-profile terrorist attacks on French soil which were inspired by Jihadi-Salafism. In many respects, these two issues (the one regarding the cultural integration of Muslims, the other regarding Islamist violence) have been conflated in the public consciousness, to the detriment of French Muslims and of France’s view of Islam in the external world. The popularization of the persecution and protection narrative in recent years cannot be dissociated from a negative identification of Islam as both as a cultural-demographic threat 354

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and as an ideological-military threat, anxieties which span the domestic and the international. For Connolly (2002, p. 64), ‘an identity is established in relation to a series of differences that have become socially recognized . . . Identity requires difference in order to be, and it converts difference into otherness in order to secure its own self-certainty.’ Campbell’s work (1992) draws on Connolly, analyzing foreign policy as a discursive economy in which a limited matrix of representations of otherness are available. Foreign policy action on this view is not defined by a fixed set of national interests or internally coherent identity statements. Rather, it constitutes a mobilization of one representation of otherness over another, which performatively constitutes the overarching sense of national identity (Campbell 1992). For both Connolly and Campbell, the identity function of otherness in international politics operates through a negative or pejorative representation of difference. On Connolly’s account (1991), the external other functions as a locus of evil against which an identity can define and sanctify itself. For Campbell (1994, p. 149), ‘identity can be understood as the outcome of exclusionary practices in which resistant elements to a secure identity in the “inside” are linked through a discourse of “danger,” with threats identified and located on the “outside.”’ Reflecting this analysis, Heyberger (2013, p. 9) argues that in many instances the solidarity expressed by Westerners for Eastern Christians is ‘proportional to the hatred they feel towards Islam and towards Muslims.’ Indeed, many public statements of support for Eastern Christians are concomitantly framed as condemnations or warnings against a politically militant form of Islam. In 2015, a petition published by the news weekly, Marianne, and signed by politicians from the right and the left, conveyed such a message: ‘Are Eastern Christians to disappear down to the very last one? It is no longer possible to ignore the programme of ethnic and cultural purification targeted against them, which takes the form of a generalised persecution on behalf of Islamists.’3 More often, the association of sympathy for Eastern Christians and condemnation of Islamism is a theme intoned by the political right. For Saint Just (2014), a prominent member of the Rassemblement National party (formerly Front National), the protection of Eastern Christians serves to justify a ‘new political strategy aimed at reducing Islamic extremism, which is progressing in many countries and on our territory.’ Karim Ouchikh, another prominent figure in the growing constellation of the identitarian right, associates the defense of Eastern Christians with a wider imperative to: Resist the Islamist barbarism that devastates whole regions with incredible violence, carrying everything in its path, churches, villages and human lives. Resist a totalitarian ideology that wants to abolish everything, including the cultural imprint of the past, by ransacking museums, libraries and mausoleums. Resist an enterprise of a genocidal nature that would eradicate local particularities and religious minorities, primarily Christian communities whose venerable presence between the Tigris and the Euphrates, in Kobane as in Mosul, merges with a biblical land which was nothing less than the sacred cradle of humanity. Resist to prevent Eastern Christians from leaving history permanently. (Ouchikh 2014) In 2019, Nicolas Dupont-Aignan (National Assembly member and President of the rightwing party La France Debout) published a similarly themed message on Twitter: ‘4300 new Christian martyrs in 2018, persecuted as never because of their faith. Islamist barbarism must be fought relentlessly around the world.’ Such statements are indicative of a growing form of 355

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ethno-religious nationalism within French conservative politics which largely coalesces around a negative identification of Islam. In that context, the figure of the Christian martyr persecuted by Islamic radicals abroad provides a conduit for a discursive displacement of domestic anxieties about Islam. The idea of Eastern Christians, persecuted by Islamic militancy in the Middle East, both justifies and amplifies anxieties concerning the growing visibility of Islam in France and its association with domestic terrorism.

The persistence of Catholicism However, the idea of Eastern Christians within the French political imaginary cannot be simply reduced to an externalized foil against the negative stereotype of Muslims. The revival of concern for Eastern Christians within the French political imaginary since the mid-2000s has occurred at a time when the saliency of Catholicism within the national identity has re-emerged. Indeed, even as Catholic religious practice continues to decline in France, the historically entrenched ambiguous identification between the French nation and Catholicism has found new breath. In this context, Eastern Christians function as an object of external identification in the French political imaginary. However, because of the secular nature of the French state, solidarity with Christians abroad, like appeals to Catholic identity domestically, cannot be made on explicitly confessional grounds but must be discursively secularized. Thus in 2011, President Nicolas Sarkozy delivered a speech following a series of terrorist attacks against Christians in Egypt and Iraq in which he stated: ‘If I may use the word martyr here, then I would say that the martyrs of Alexandria or Baghdad are not only Coptic, Syriac, or Maronite martyrs. They are collectively our martyrs. They are the martyrs of freedom of conscience’ (Sarkozy 2011a). As Alexander Wendt (1994, p. 386) argues, identification on the international stage ‘is a continuum from negative to positive – from conceiving the other as anathema to the self to conceiving it as an extension of the self.’ Positive identification on this account is rarely complete ‘because of corporate needs for differentiation,’ yet it is strong enough to act as ‘a basis for feelings of solidarity, community, and loyalty’ (Wendt 1994). Sarkozy’s statement is indicative of such a dynamic: by conceiving of Eastern Christians as an external extension of the French self (‘they are collectively our martyrs’), it both furthers a particular national identity statement (centered on the norm of freedom of conscience) and justifies a foreign policy of solidarity. Moreover, Sarkozy’s appeal to the theme of martyrology in this statement is indicative of a broader fascination within the French public sphere for Eastern Christians as victims of violence (Artaud de La Ferrière 2017). In certain cases, the appeal to martyrology serves to draw a parallel between atrocities committed in the Middle East and acts of discrimination against traditional cultural heritage in France. Thus, the far-right member of the National Assembly Jacques Bompard took to Twitter in 2019 to compare the persecution of Eastern Christians with the desecration of cemeteries in France: ‘There is the physical persecution suffered by martyrs, and I am thinking in particular of Eastern Christians. There is another, quieter and more pernicious [persecution], but equally real: #desecrations and desertions #christianophobia.’ Bompard represents a relatively marginal movement of resurging Catholic identity politics that explicitly calls for a reunification of confessional Catholicism and French national identity (Béraud and Portier 2015; Du Cleuziou 2019). In Sarkozy’s case, what is noteworthy is the appropriation of the Eastern Christian martyr within a secular national discourse, investing that 356

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figure with the secular Republican value of freedom of conscience. Martyrology, as a process of memorialization and sense-giving to violence, serves to consolidate a community around a project of identity construction, the martyr functioning as the embodied repository of values that the community intends to bring into being (Boumaza 2015). In Sarkozy’s speech, the secularized martyr stands in for the broader secularization of Eastern Christians within the French political imaginary, which is necessary in order to accommodate them within the strictures of French secular politics. On the basis of this secularization, it becomes possible for a Republican President to claim a national identification with Eastern Christians. Such a move is not restricted to the political right. On the radical left, Jean-Luc Mélenchon has also mobilized the idea of Eastern Christians to promote his secularist ideal of French national identity: I wish to express my solidarity with Eastern Christians. I do this in the tradition of the ‘Enlightenment.’ For this school of thought, freedom of religion is the historical mother of freedom of conscience, the only freedom destined to overcome all borders and limits and which is the root of all other freedoms. Eastern Christians are atrociously persecuted for the sole reason of their religious convictions. The French people who did not like the wars of religion in their own country, and who invented laïcité to put an end [to such wars], cannot remain unmoved when faced with any form of religious persecution. (Mélenchon 2015) An aphorism often attributed to Charles de Gaulle holds that ‘la République est laïque, la France est chrétienne.’ The modern secular Republic came into being in opposition to the former Catholic monarchical regime, and a core commitment of French Republicanism has been to emancipate the political sphere from a religious (specifically Catholic) normative framework (Portier 2005). Legally, such an emancipation has clearly been achieved:4 the separation of Church and State was codified into law in 1905, and article 1 of the 1946 Constitution (reaffirmed in 1958) defines the France state as a secular republic (république laïque). Yet, even as Catholicism lost its officially recognized status with regards to the state through the dissolution of the Concordat in 1905, and even as the population of practicing Catholics collapsed over the course of the twentieth century, secularism has not completely routed Catholicism from public life. Despite Weberian predictions that religion should cease to act as an efficacious force of social change in the context of modernity, Catholicism has maintained a capacity to influence French politics both domestically and internationally far beyond its effective constituency. Such an influence no longer occurs through formal interventions on behalf of the institutional Catholic Church (Willaime 1985). Rather, such influence results from Catholicism having persisted, and lately reemerged in force, as an identity reference (as opposed to a belief system or a ritual practice) and through a secularization of Catholic values and symbols. In the ongoing context of the French national identity crisis, the notion of laïcité has increasingly been inflected as a national identity claim in defense of a traditional culture and an idealized vision of the past in which a reference to (if not a belief in) Catholicism is retained (Baubérot 2015). Contradictory though this may seem, a new ideology of laïcité has emerged, often glossed as catho-laïcité (Willaime 1993), which is distinct from its anti-clerical lineage in that it is exceptionally accommodating of Catholicism because its main norm is an historically and territorially rooted idea of national identity. Moreover, just as the French imaginary of Eastern Christians cannot be dissociated from a negative identification of Muslims abroad, the secularized reclaiming of a national Catholic heritage is largely to the 357

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stigmatization of Islam domestically. As Pranchère (2011, p. 110) argues: ‘we see, here and there, the fantasy of a French identity mingling “Catholic” heritage with “secular” convictions – but a Catholic heritage emptied of its authentic substance. and secularism turned only against the Muslim religion.’ Sarkozy’s discursive secularization of Eastern Christians occurs within this broader context of re-inspiring a national identity by appealing to France’s domestic Catholic heritage and implicitly marginalizing its emerging Muslim constituency: Peoples are like [individuals]: if they hide their past, deny all or part of their identity, they run the risk of one day resurrecting what they repressed but in a worrying form. Christendom has left us a magnificent legacy of civilization and culture. As president of a secular Republic, I can say this because it’s the truth. (Sarkozy 2011b) The aim here is not to assess the validity of Sarkozy’s statement, but to observe that in the context of contemporary French politics such domestic identity claims reflect, justify, and are reinforced by the revival of the persecution and protection narrative which serves an ontological security function of comforting the emerging national identity of catho-laïcité.

Conclusion This chapter departed from the premise that religion plays an underappreciated role in the conduct of international politics, influencing national identities and orienting state foreign policies. Through the examination of the case study of the relationship between France and Eastern Christians, I have sought to demonstrate how religion can be mobilized as an explanatory variable by integrating considerations of religious identity into IR and social theory. Rooted in nineteenth-century romantic historiography and national imperialism (Heyberger 2018), the idea of Eastern Christians continues to inhabit the French political imaginary and to inform French foreign policy. In a context of national identity crisis, the persecution and protection narrative is invoked by actors across the political spectrum, in government and in opposition, to appease ontological security anxieties regarding France’s role in the international sphere and its national self-identity in the domestic sphere. A key question that has not been addressed in the course of this chapter is whether the narrative is felicitous in appeasing such anxieties. That is to say, does it actually provide a sense of ontological security, or is it simply an externalization of the nation’s current disorientation and persisting internal contradictions? The answer to that question will presumably vary between ideological constituencies within France: the idea of Eastern Christians and France’s privileged role on the international stage sits better with some political families than with others. France is (once again) situated at a crossroads between its civic tradition of openness and its identitarian tradition of closure. Genuine solidarity for persecuted minorities is a mark of this former tradition; but the persecution and protection narrative emerges from and comforts the latter.

Notes 1 Several authors have theorized this notion. For Ringmar (2007), foreign policy action is the projection or performance of a state’s national identity motivated by a quest for recognition both domestically and internationally. For Berenskoetter (2014), the horizons of foreign policy action are largely

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circumscribed by a retrospective biographical narrative of the nation. For Hopf (2002), national identities are multiple and compete with one another through a reiterative process of state-society dynamics. Foreign policy decision makers belong to the same contested topography of national identities as the domestic public; their decisions are therefore informed by their particular instantiated idea of national identity, but the outcomes of their decisions also reinforce their idea of national identity. 2 In the 1980s and 1990s Bat Ye’or coined and popularized the term ‘dhimmitude’ to analyze the condition of Christian and Jewish minorities living under Islamic rule, a condition characterized by ‘fiscal exploitation, humiliation, and inferiority in all domains’ (Ye’or 1983, 97). It is the case that since the definitive fall of the Byzantine Empire in the fifteenth century (as a result of aggression from Western Christian crusades and Eastern Muslim invasions), Christians in the Eastern Mediterranean region have lived outside the bounds of Christendom. This distinguishes them from other non-Western Christian communities such as the Russian Orthodox Church, which even if it has coexisted with Muslim populations has historically retained an ascendant position. Whilst a relation of subalternity and periodic insecurity did often characterize the historical experiences of religious minorities under Ottoman rule, Heyberger (2009) argues that the overarching concept of dhimmitude is inadequate in its universal and intemporal characterization which obfuscates from the complexity of situations in which such minorities lived over many centuries in territories stretching from the Balkans to the Maghrib. Heyberger also notes that this concept attributes too much explanatory force to the religious codification of the Koran (in particular IX, 29), to the neglect of political economy and demographic-based analyses (Heyberger 2009). 3 Importantly, such a statement is not borne out by empirical observation which suggests that although Christians were certainly subjugated under Daech, they were afforded the status of dhimmis for monotheists according to a rigorist interpretation of the chari’a, whereas Shia Muslims were afforded no formal recognition (as under Ottoman rule) and Yezidis were systematically persecuted and often enslaved (Luizard 2017). 4 Except in the numerous instances where it has not, the maintenance of the Concordatory regime in Alsace-Moselle, special religious regimes in Guiana and other overseas territories, state-salaried chaplains in the military, prisons, and hospitals, subsidies allocated for religious programming on public television and radio. In practice, the infamously strict laïcité à la française accommodates a plethora of exceptions and derogations to the separation of church and state.

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30 Religious echoes in secular dialogues Global glimpses of peacebuilding Xicoténcatl Martínez Ruiz

Introduction: the question of God in the globalizing age and the digital revolution This chapter analyzes the role of religion and spirituality in relation to nonviolence and peacebuilding in contemporary global society. Indeed, every revolution implies an intent in the breaking of tradition to date by challenging a way of being, producing, thinking, seeing, relating to one another, and in many cases even the question of God in human life. The very nature of a revolution is a critical evaluation of a society’s status quo. This is expressed as irruption and disruption. Irruption is the violent appearance of something that was previously not there; it is a sudden—though not necessarily constant—presence and it is therefore subject to ending in confusion. Disruption, on the other hand, is the alteration of empty stillness that annuls the future, creating spaces for and stimulating conditions for change and invalidating the possibility of diverse futures. Disruption is also an aperture and a possibility. However, it can also be ephemeral when there is no clarity on what is being questioned. Without critical reflection on the apparent novelty of an idea, disruption can become mere irruption. It is in this light that a critical reflection on the role of religion in contemporary social relations is called for (Woodhead 2011). For this reason, a revolution experienced without critical reflection is possibly a form of desensitization, a mere descriptive exercise and adoption of revolutionary ideas without a set of values to guide people towards global or cosmopolitan citizenship, as described by the German philosopher Kant (1992). The revolutions that we are experiencing today—whether religious, technological, digital, industrial or social—demand a critical analysis from each of us. Critical analysis of our beliefs within the current technological revolution, regarding religion and its effects in the global age, can be centered on different relationships. Let us consider the following question: How have ideas of God been transformed in the era of non-biological intelligence, such as superintelligence (Bostrom 2014), the homo digitalis, the burnout society (Han 2012), hyperhistory, the infosphere (Floridi 2014), and the fourth industrial revolution (Schwab 2016)? This inquiry cannot be considered in a vacuum isolated from its context because religious ideas and practices are also understood as a connection with its historical moment. In 362

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human nature lies teleological (Gr. telos or end) potential. It is the flourishing of human capacity that remains dormant, latent, waiting to express itself. These capacities become manifest in a context that activates them such as in the case of the contemplative experience of God, or religious beliefs amidst the noise in social media. If the place of religion reflects the kind of society that we are building, then what society are we building amidst the connectivity among physical devices and software, digitalization, and hyperhistory (Floridi 2015)? There is an assumption within contemporary societies that almost thoughtlessly and as if it were harmless, the life mediated through screens, personal devices, and all the different forms of information and communication technologies is part of the lives of a considerable part of humanity today. However, the use and growth of this technology does not apply equally to all the members of humanity, although its effects do. This assumption is a symptom, rather than an error, because it reflects an imbalance and an unconscious yes between the sacred in human life, the question of God, and the shaping of the apparent digital identity of each person, region, practice, or experience through mechanisms that quantify what seems to be our way of existing and thinking. The assumption also lies in the belief that the ubiquity of technological devices in every aspect of life, hypercommunication, and the existence of automated industry are the actual destiny of the human race. Is it the only future that we should expect? These beliefs should be questioned, not in opposition to technological development, but as a demand for a future that does not negate the best of human beings. An inescapable task underlies the indomitable idea of global societies and investment in the development of technological innovations: critically reflecting and using technology that changes the way religions interact in globalized and plural societies. The disruption of ICT has facilitated the democratization of access to information, education, and even the way religions interact between them. Interreligious studies and approaches to spirituality have a lot to investigate in thinking the place of ICT in the interfaith dialogue of young people around the globe. Even studies on spirituality should consider the technological, hyperconnected context of this time to understand the religious identity and spiritual life of young people (Vecoli 2018). However, the disruption also includes cases whose implications should be considered carefully such as an artificial intelligence that does the work of its own teacher or the place of artificial intelligence in solving problems (Silver et al. 2017). What implications can be derived from these examples? This question acquires even more importance if we consider these implications alongside the development of artificial intelligence and the category of high-level machine intelligence (HLMI), which refers to the very possibility that artificial intelligence may not only displace—through automation and the solution of more and more complex tasks—but even surpass human activity in technical, commercial, and service tasks (Grace et al. 2017).

Religious echoes in secular dialogues (REinS) Today there is a more complex and global framework to understand not just the place of religions in society but many areas of our experience and its impact for the future of humanity. This framework is interconnected with a long list of highly complex variables such as human relations with technology and the desire for peace given the violence in contemporary society. This framework emerges in a new paradigm of being religious in the 21st century along with the global risks created by human beings. One important problem in this framework that jeopardizes current societies is violence brought about by ethnic or religious conflicts. We are witnessing around the globe that violence has increased social, religious, and economic costs. At the core of new interactions between religions, ancient 363

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spiritual traditions, and social change lies hope for peacebuilding by reappropriating religious experiences for a better world. Violence and conflict have increased the risk for the future wellbeing of global societies. For instance, the increasing pattern in regions such as Latin America (Jaitman 2017) shows how violence can reshape the socio-political and religious landscapes through forced migration and associated psychological damages. While the costs and impacts of violence on the socio-economic spheres have not always been measured clearly, recent studies reveal the complexity of the global network of violence and how it impacts especially in Latin American Gross Domestic Product—3.55% of regional GDP is a significant impact for the region (Jaitman 2017). This chapter thus reflects on the following question: Can the religious and spiritual experiences enhance secular practices for peacebuilding in a global society? Thinking about the place of religion in the world, we observe how some religious practices, ideas, beliefs evolve in secular environments and mobilize human values and virtues in action. Such process results in a type of religious echo that pervades the social and cultural ways for solving challenges and problems in our time. What is a religious echo in a secular dialogue? An echo signifies dynamism which manifests in how people think and act to respond to social change. It implies a practical stance in relation to peace culture (specifically the inextricable link between nonviolence, humanism, education, and ethics as foundations for constructing global citizenry reducing social inequality and violence). When religious or spiritual practices evolve in secular conditions and making meaningful echoes in concrete cases, they initiate a dialogue between the religious and the secular. This dialogue enables flexible ways to support, adopt, and apply ideas, beliefs, and experiences from religious contexts to respond to social changes and problems. Dialogue potentially establishes a constructive agreement between religions (Cornille 2013; Leirvik 2014) and between religious practices at the heart of secular needs. This means that religious echoes in secular dialogues (REinS) do not mean the disappearance of religions but the re-signification of ways for experiencing the sacred. There are some cases in India, Latin America, and the United States that illustrate the relevance of nonviolence and construction of peace using the idea of REinS. These cases are the peace action Archive of the Earth authored by Bazzeato Deotto (2018) and Tosepan Titataniske Cooperative Union (Ramírez Cuevas 2014). Other cases for studying REinS are as follows: A film named Gandhi in México (UNAM 2013), which is a documentary on ahimsa, nonviolence, and projects in violent contexts on the basis of a Constructive Programme (Gandhi 2016) and the Lakota movement in Standing Rock, United States (Ruiz Guadalajara 2016). These cases contain a common dialogic character which allows religious practices to relate to secular experience. The second commonality is that they provide ways of doing peacebuilding. This part of the chapter proposes to give a rationale for studying REinS in the context of global societies, which are facing multiple conflicts and forms of violence. It is an attempt to describe and analyze what happens to religion in the global society. In order to answer this issue, I describe some patterns of REinS which have been observed with the empirical cases noted earlier: 1. 2. 3.

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The deep meaning of REinS is about the question of God in a globalizing society. The dynamics of interreligious dialogues in plural societies are underscored by REinS. REinS can be approached by analyzing data from participants of religious and ancient spiritual communities, and from peacebuilders, activists, and NGOs through the lens of interreligious hermeneutics.

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4. 5. 6. 7.

One observed pattern for REinS is the religious dialogue that evolves in secular contexts without interrupting religious values. REinS involve an interreligious dialogue that triggers answers and practices rooted in the religious identity and spiritual practices of each participant. REinS show interreligious and interfaith approaches which can help in analyzing the future of religions in global, plural, and hypercommunicated societies. REinS are an attempt to understand how current facts affecting society and technological developments are reshaping religious and spiritual experiences.

Following the aforementioned patterns, there is a specific concern on studying REinS. To approach religion in global society needs to consider the facts of technology reshaping human experience such as ICT, infosphere, artificial intelligence, and hypercommunication. They transform the ways in which people relate to each other. Let us see a brief outline of these facts keeping in mind the three cases of REinS, nonviolence, and their impact on societies.

Three cases of REinS: from violence in society to religious encounter Thinking of violence as a social cost on the economy implies rethinking different scenarios associated with violence. What is the cost of violence associated with migration, unemployment, social inequalities, and poverty? The social dimension is turning to religiosity, or diverse spiritual practices, underscoring the importance of the construction of a culture of peace and daily practices of nonviolence. This can be the way to understand how new interactions between religions, ancient spiritual traditions, and secularity create better conditions of life. Each observed case of REinS involves an interreligious dialogue that triggers answers and practices rooted in the experiences and identity of each participant. The first started with the ‘Archive of the Earth’ in Gujarat, India. After the Gujarat riots in 2002 (Mishra 2012), it fostered an interreligious understanding of peace within twelve religious communities of Ahmedabad and the Tribal Bhils. The communities were Brahmans, Kumaris, Buddhists, Catholics, Hare Krishna, Jains, Jewish, Parsi, Protestants, Sikh, and Vedantins. Such an event happened at the very heart of Gandhi’s activism on nonviolence and peace (Bazzeato Deotto 2018). A major significance of this case is an interreligious encounter that became of a way of addressing violence. Echoes from religious and spiritual traditions appeared as a creative interreligious encounter. Arts and artistic expressions were the key to sustaining such echoes. The second, the Standing Rock Movement in the United States, was a type of interreligious dialogue, an interchange of practices between ancient Lakota spiritual ideas and practices of ahimsa from South Asia. Such a movement against the Dakota Access pipeline (Skalicky and Davey 2016) shows us how Lakota and Gandhi’s ahimsa can be a response to avoid the destruction of sacred spaces of the Lakota people. However, Trump’s administration broke up and arrested these actions and the movement as a whole. The intermingled religious, spiritual, social, environmental, and political ideas were guided by a pattern from Lakota’s notion of the sacred along with an environmental awareness and at some point from Gandhian ahimsa, that both also evolved into a secular way to answer the violence brought about by the Dakota Access pipeline (Campbell 2017). The third example is an interreligious dialogue between ancient Náhuatl spiritual beliefs, Totonacus, and Gandhian ahimsa (sarva dharma prarthana) in the Northern Sierra of Puebla, Mexico. This Union Group of Nahuas and Totonacus integrated aspects of Catholic Saint 365

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San Isidro Labrador, protector of workers. Each year, when celebrating the day of San Isidro, a type of syncretism and religious parade that encompasses another expression from South Asia occurs: the design and creation of a mandala. The mandala of the Tosepan Group represents the nonviolent work against conflicts and violence over the year. In these three cases, we can advance, at least, a set of complementary underlying characteristics for explaining the proposal of REinS: 1. 2.

3.

Each of these cases is an attempt to respond to violence and conflict in global society. Each of these cases observes the appropriation of beliefs, practices, and experiences from different religions and spiritual traditions which were then used to respond to social problems like violence or socio-political and economic conflicts. Each appropriation is a kind of interreligious dialogue for finding a concrete way to create a religious echo in secular contexts.

The three cases of REinS offer a brief outline of challenges to world religions in global and plural society (Juergensmeyer 2009). Two brief thoughts emerge out of this scenario. On the one hand, religious practices are in dialogue and globally interconnected with the problems of the 21st century. On the other, how religious and spiritual practices originated in Indian tradition are meaningful for other religions in a global context of shared challenges of what the societies are facing today.

A fourfold framework for reapproaching REinS What else should be considered in analyzing the three cases of REinS presented in the last section? Global society has four dimensions which play a role in helping us appreciate REinS. The first is infosphere, which is how technology is changing how it is to be human in this century. In essence, we want to know how religions and spiritual traditions are affected by the onlife (Floridi 2015). This bubble of information reshapes human experience at different levels including the religious and the spiritual. In 1971, the term infosphere was used by R. Z. Shepard in Time Magazine. He described it as an encircling layer of smog. His conceptualization helped us to understand something that we inhabit but probably are not aware of and how it reshapes our social, human, and religious dimensions. Sheppard (1971) wrote: ‘In much the way that fish cannot conceptualize water or birds the air, man barely understands his infosphere, that encircling layer of electronic and typographical smog composed of clichés from journalism, entertainment and government.’ The data and the flow of information that shape our perception of reality are to be mainly considered in this ‘encircling layer’ or bubble. What is infosphere today and how should it be considered in the study of religions in global society? It is inherently linked to diverse global risks. This includes the relationship of consumption to the environment as well as the development of artificial intelligence that can manage the everyday increase in big data and information in contemporary societies (Beckstead 2014). Floridi (2014, 2015) offers another way of analyzing the infosphere. It is the biosphere of information that takes shape through technological tools. It is an ecosystem that has transformed our interactions in social, cultural, religious, economic, and political contexts. The limit between life online and offline (Floridi 2014, 2015) is becoming increasingly narrower. How do we exist in the infosphere? How do we feed its increasingly important presence in our social, religious, political, economic, and cultural lives? Many problems for many disciplines emerge and should be considered by current studies on religions in a global scenario. For instance, we must think about the development of voracious individuality, 366

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a promoted egocentrism that simultaneously calls for a digital ethics and global citizenship in 21st century. The ethical base, called infraethics by Floridi (2014) in The Fourth Revolution, identifies the abilities shared by human beings that are prior to the very action during which this ethical conscience is applied. It is thus important to reconsider religiosity and ethical consciousness in global society. The second dimension is what shapes or reshapes relations in societies. The numbers and future scenarios that will impact social interactions are the loss of jobs expected for the coming years (Mackinsey 2017). Jobs and unemployment as categories of analysis for the study of social problems and contemporary violence are useful. Unemployment, as a result of automation, should be a category of analysis of inequality. How then will artificial intelligence and automation matter for religion in global society? The main changes we are witnessing in this century are related to technology and its impact on the environment and economic life. For instance, automation magnifies inequality, with only the privileged getting richer. Diverse problems knit together the topic of global unemployment (ILO 2019; McKinsey Global Institute 2017, 2019) and express its multifactorial complexity at present when technological innovations, robotics, and automation are creating important changes in the workplace. The third dimension is artificial intelligence, which has implications on religious life in general (Kimura 2017) and on the idea of God or spirituality in particular (Ting Guo 2015). Some studies give us tools to understand a glimpse of the future of societies and the risks related to technology (Future of Humanity Institute 2018). Thinking of a future with high risks for humanity requires valuing and developing skills as a type of literacy. Why should this be considered? Thinking about the developments in artificial intelligence and superintelligence (Bostrom 2014) makes us wonder if there is any room for the idea of God, religiosity or ethics, and morality. One answer is from Indian thought in which religions and the arts can perhaps trigger creativity, critical thinking, contemplation, awareness of the environment, and conscious silence without mediation of technology. The fourth dimension approaches REinS as a way to study religion and society in the future. We recognize that there are challenges to the tenability of religious life in the future. Radical Life Extension, for example, implies human-controlled longevity (Kostick 2019). Technological innovation is therefore not neutral when it comes to its impact on social and religious life (Rivers 2012). But what do I mean by the future? The future I am referring to is that which is born, as a possibility, in the present. There is no future, but only a present. Yet there is no present without the possibility of the future. As a possibility, the future means construction in this present. The future of religions and spirituality is what we are constructing at this moment, for instance the development of super non-human intelligence as Nick Bostrom has pointed out in his ground-breaking study Superintelligence: Paths, Dangers, Strategies (2014). From these developments in artificial intelligence, what is the place of God or religious and spiritual ideas? Another concern in using future as the fourth dimension is to recognize how technological innovation has intervened in our human relations, which warn us of the urgency to establish an ethics appropriate to our era (Floridi 2013). Through these subjects, ethical concepts of social justice and equity emerge from deep human and social roots. We cannot forget the changes to the environment and the imminent irreversible effects we can observe today.

REinS and peacebuilding in global society What is the relation between the three cases of REinS, the fourfold framework, and peacebuilding in a global society? We can identify some common patterns between the three cases as well as intersections with the fourfold framework that offer glimpses of 367

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peacebuilding. The first is an observed commonality found in interreligious and spiritual exercises about ideas and practices in these cases of REinS. We can identify a creative dialogue between South Asian traditions, which support ahimsa and nonviolence. These relations evolve through a process of interreligious dialogues based on art and experiences of ahimsa. In the case of the ‘Archive of Earth,’ this process is led by peacebuilders who are involved in their own religious traditions or spiritual practices. The second pattern observed is a 21st-century reinterpretation of practices of ahimsa or nonviolence in the social dimension. Many examples can be studied directly in Gandhi’s social and political program (Desai and Vahed 2016). The third pattern observed is how ahimsa is taken as a living practice, not as a Sanskrit concept. In other words, the ahimsa’s social impact is a creative, dynamic, and living experience that attempts harmony between human beings. Ahimsa and its background are rooted in ancient religious and philosophical traditions of India. Jainism is a clear example of this as well as Buddhism and Hinduism. The case of M. K. Gandhi and his reading of Indian religious and philosophical traditions is a bridge that connects time and antipodes, traditions of thinking, and lifestyles. It represents the persistence of Gandhian ahimsa in our time. It must lead to the discovery of the potential of the infinite inner knowledge. What we observe with the three cases of REinS involves a double movement. As a starting point there are conditions from multiple social dimensions that trigger a response. These social dimensions are rooted in religious identity. The dialogues then create conditions for responding in a secular way to a specific problem. ‘Archive of the Earth’ (Gujarat, India), Standing Rock Movement (United States), and the activities in Sierra Norte of Puebla (Mexico) were mostly triggered by conditions of violence. In these cases, the group of practices were based on Indian traditions such as the two practices I have identified as echoes of religious traditions: bhavana (or creative contemplation) and ahimsa (or nonviolence). Both practices are intermingled and related, in some cases, to meditative practices, contemplative, creative, as it is explained in the idea of ‘educational poetics’ (Martínez Ruiz 2019), and the case of ahimsa as being related to artistry (Bazzeato Deotto 2018). In the case of Sierra Norte de Puebla, the people developed a better understanding of ahimsa as they applied nonviolent practices to their daily lives. For instance, one of the major achievements has been the intervention in Mexican regions where people live with ancient Náhuatl and Totonacu traditions vis-à-vis their Catholic practices. There is an important match between different pre-Hispanic practices and spiritual beliefs and experiences from Gandhian ahimsa to protect the earth and environment (Ramírez Cuevas 2014). How this balance is represented in REinS and how such balance allows the recognition of human interreligious potential promote the continuity of life. Both ideas and their corresponding experiences are founded in experiences of the sacred and, in other cases, in the field of ethics. These cases show how intermingled religious and spiritual practices and eagerness for social equity and justice can promote secular interactions. They provide avenues to be more aware of environmental and ethical concerns. Indeed, Gandhi saw the difficulties of arguing for such an internal truth that ignores the force of violence from the already existing nonviolent strength in the human being. His vision and action integrated a common yearning for a better society. At this point, the echo and the relevance of Gandhi’s ahimsa in our times leave us with a contemporary challenge. How do we confront social inequality through practices rooted in spiritual or religious traditions? And how do we encourage practices for peacebuilding? 368

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In the context of violence, a common desire in global society is peace. Beyer (1998) noted at the end of 20th century that the global religious system is about justice, freedom, gender equality, and truth. Such desire runs through the cases of REinS and makes them worthy of the sky that shelters all people engaged in peacebuilding. Ahimsa or nonviolence also implies the constant renewal of andreia, the Greek word for courage. Courage and constant renewal is a twofold rhythm: a desire to go forward and the return to borders. How does such courage nourish religious interactions and spiritual practices in global society? Technology, artificial intelligence, the infosphere, hypercommunication, and globalization are drafting an interconnected world along with a recent pushback to nationalism in our global society. Is it a symptom of our times? Probably such symptom can offer us an explanation as to the place of religion, religiosity, spirituality, and ancient traditions in reshaping today’s human experiences about the sacred. A common yearning in the three cases of REinS is how courage can be the impulse behind the willingness to practice nonviolence and to fight peacefully for peace. Where do yearning and courage for peacebuilding come from? Is it a deep religious experience or a social activism? This is hard to say. In Gandhian terms the satyagrahi—who makes truth its force—is practicing ascetics of which strength, inner equanimity, and courage are the outcome of such practices. All of these allow satyagrahis to fight by nonviolent means for peace, practicing and training themselves in the methods of nonviolence. So, what does Gandhian ahimsa represent in the context of REinS? 1. 2. 3.

A potent force that must begin with manas, which in Sanskrit means the mind. Nonviolence is not merely a physical action. Mind and inner strength are the core sources for peacebuilders (Gandhi 2008). Mind and spiritual practices are clearly central for ahimsa. ‘He who has not overcome all fear cannot practice ahimsa to perfection. The votary of ahimsa has only one fear, that is of God’ (Gandhi 2008, p. 111).

Nonviolence is made of silence: REinS and the noise in the infosphere In The Fourth Revolution: How the Infosphere is Reshaping Human Reality, Floridi introduces some questions about current concerns. He asks: What are the risks implicit in transforming the world into a progressively ICT-friendly environment? Are our technologies going to enable and empower us or will they constrain our physical and conceptual spaces, and quietly force us to adjust to them because that is the best, or sometimes the only way to make things work? . (Floridi 2014, p. vii) The idea of infosphere as a biosphere, a bubble made by data, information, devices, ICT, connectivity, hypercommunication, but not limited to online interactions, is a category that helps us understand the effects of these technologies in human experience and social interactions, as both are at the basis for understanding how ideas and practices in religions are affected by technological developments. To study what is happening to religion in global society, we need to consider the power of technologies in reshaping, constraining, empowering, or forcing us to adjust our experiences and the concepts in our lives. Of course, such study could be highly complex. 369

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I offer one example of the conceptual basis of these relations that could contribute to understand why ICT is related to current proposals for peacebuilding as well as a way to illustrate another approach to REinS from the outlook of ICT impacts in social relations: ‘Can ICTs help us to solve our most pressing social and environmental problems, or are they going to exacerbate them?’ (Floridi 2014, p. vii). Practices of nonviolence and peace are made of silence, inner strength, and truth. But on the contrary, we are building not just a beneficial infosphere but a noisy and violent biosphere of data and information. Probably the cases of REinS are grounded in general in silence. What is the role of silence as a religious or spiritual echo in secular cases for peacebuilding? According to Radhakrishnan (1994), within the self lies truth, the state of freedom, a state full of consciousness and silence, stillness, and therein—as in many religions—lies the undivided nature that gives life to this universe. If the self is a pure being and, therefore, is not disturbed by noise, it is confirmed in the non-dualistic tradition of India that therein lies the truth. That is close to other traditions because the vital search for truth and liberty stimulates the capacity to maintain desire, strength, resistance, and impeccable nobility through nonviolence, ahimsa. It is this impeccable nobility, one of the fragrance of truth presence, that underlies the participative will of those who practice ahimsa (Martínez Ruiz 2018). The experience of ahimsa reveals that nonviolence consists of silence, devoid of the noise of digital hypercommunication. So, peacebuilding, as observed in the three cases of REinS, reveals the interconnected unity between human beings. The state of unity is also characteristic of the strength that underlies the nonviolence and yearning of peace. Even a glimpse of peace through ahimsa practices reveals to us—amidst the sophisticated slavery and violence of these times—the signs of freedom. Signs that suddenly bring to light an experience that is becoming sharper, clearer, unquestionable, full: the memory of truth that already lives within us. What we see in the three cases of REinS are glimpses of truth and freedom. The experience of working for nonviolence in environments of violence requires a method that continuously guides us. Greek philosophical thought calls this method odos. Indian tradition refers to this idea using several terms, such as the Sanskrit marga (path) (Monier-Williams 1999). The roads or paths towards truth and freedom are many, just like the methods used to construct nonviolent societies. Moving along these paths requires a method infused with the force of truth relevant to contemporary societies. This underscores the importance of the method that creatively guides the lives of those who assume the role of builders of nonviolence. What is then one of the methods for peacebuilding underlying REinS? A method that rests upon the force of truth, satyagraha, which is the mental, social, ascetics force that manifests practical ahimsa. The method is framed by discipline, as the ascetics. Satyagraha and ahimsa require an impeccable, demanding, perfected discipline. At the same time, this discipline leads us to a glimpse of freedom. Ahimsa is a set of practices for our time; satyagraha is a method for the construction of peace and both appear in the 21st-century version of REinS. Ahimsa is expressed not as a concept but in an artistic way stimulated by the rhythms and pauses of art. Rhythms capture the beauty of a life offered up to nonviolence. Satyagraha becomes a method for life and ahimsa a way of life for peacebuilding in the middle of noise, consumerism, and violence of sophisticated societies. Through practical focus, satyagraha, and ahimsa, this scope breaks with the condition of something to be stored away. Like an object, satyagraha becomes a method for life and ahimsa a way of life amidst noise. Dictated by the rhythms of silence (full experience devoid of the infosphere’s noisy and aesthetic pleasure), its words, images, and evocations capture the sounds of the earth, 370

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stillness of peace, and the exemplary actions of a human being like Gandhi. This fragrance fills the path and the method for peacebuilding so that others may recreate the force of truth —an aroma so powerful that it can construct a nonviolent, plural, and global society. That is why ahimsa is made by silence and truth. Paradoxically, what we are doing today is a race to increase the noise in the infosphere. The practices of peacebuilding are religious echoes.

Concluding remarks: religious echoes and the youth Working to reduce inequality and recognizing the state of plenitude that already exists within us can help to work on nonviolence, and peacebuilding is my first concluding remark. The proposal that I offer for consideration here is the persistence of ahimsa, from a religious background to be interpreted in secular contexts. That is to say that REinS are related to a simple question: What is the message of Gandhian ahimsa for the youth of today? How can we achieve a culture of peace that a young person longs for? How should we consider it from the perspective and necessities of contemporary youth? Ahimsa in the case of ‘Archive of the earth’ (in India), or the alliance between Tosepan Cooperative Union (in México) and OraWorldMandala, are examples that demonstrate the desire for nonviolence (Bazzeato Deotto 2018). In both cases we saw the victory of ahimsa, an emphasis on mental equanimity, detachment, nonviolence, truth, creativity, imagination, and the arts as expression of what has been learned. To this end, the yearning for peace was considered the point of departure in the secular process. Meditative practices began by acknowledging something that already exists in the human being. Should not such an experience perhaps be a right for the young people of our times? Right now, it is worthwhile to question which kind of citizenship and religiosity we expect young people to construct and which we are promoting with our current social models or ideas on global, plural, and interconnected society. Such questioning in REinS cases should be studied in the light of realities such as the infosphere, artificial intelligence, unemployment, and the future. Youth and digital technologies constitute a web of contradictions, but they do not necessarily cancel each other out. They are involved in an exchange power capable of transforming religious life in a complex web of technological risks. And yet religious echoes reveal that a different form of human existence is completely possible in global society. Children and youth can work for peacebuilding and freedom. Our time requires new paths to generate specialized and refined knowledge that critically evaluates the imposition on youth of lifestyles guided by standards of consumption. What I mean is that we need to nourish human development for modern youth through paths that are not entirely guided by economic rationality or by noisy hypercommunication. Alarming social inequalities make us reconsider the price of unfair societies that lack creative and imaginative liberty and critical thinking. The practices of ahimsa by Gandhi constitute the most relevant projects of peacebuilding in the 20th century, whose persistence carries over into our century (Gandhi 2016). The current duty, as it is described in REinS cases, is not to see those practices of ahimsa as archaeological remains, but to rethink our way of directing the future of contemporary global society. The enormous duty we have before us in our plural, global, and multireligious societies is similar to that which Gandhi assumed in his historical context. We are in the midst of an uncontainable fragmentation of thought, and the dismantling skills and critical capacities for an êthos. Gandhi, upon his return to India from South Africa, assumed the huge challenge of transcending differences through satyagraha, rooted in Indian thought. This leads to an ancient, and simultaneously contemporary, search that is the basis of REinS: the search for 371

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truth and knowledge (Gandhi 1921). This means learning and recreating the lives of sages of ancient religious and spiritual traditions. Truth and knowledge appear to young people, perhaps, as glimpses that would allow them to reach higher goals. One of these, which can no longer be postponed, is to create a society that strives for nonviolence and peace. It is a society that upholds human dignity, equality, and the integration of spirituality in everyday life. In such scenarios REinS can be nourished as a method for peacebuilding in global societies for the coming decades. Religious echoes are great bridges that today help us avoid the freefall towards estrangement and dehumanization in our societies.

References Bazzeato Deotto, S., 2018. OraWorldMandala. A Practice for Ahimsa through the ArtScience of Mandala. Ahmedabad, India: Gujarat Vidyapith, Instituto Politécnico Nacional, El Colegio de San Luis, Raghu Rai Foundation for Art and Photography, OraWorldMandala, La Gandhiana Ediciones. Beckstead, N., Bostrom, N., Bowerman, N., Cotton-Barratt, O., MacAskill, W., hÉigeartaigh, S., and Ord, T., 2014. Policy Brief: Unprecedent Technological Risks. Available from: www.fhi.ox.ac.uk/wp-con tent/uploads/UnprecedentedTechnological-Risks.pdf Beyer, P., 1998. The Religious System of Global Society: A Sociological Look at Contemporary Religion and Religions. Numen, 45 (1), 1–29. Bostrom, N., 2014. Superintelligence: Paths, Dangers, Strategies. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Brundage, M., Avin, S., Clark, J., Toner, H., Eckerskey, P., Garfinkel, B., Dafoe, A., Scharre, P., Zeitzoff, T., Filar, B., Anderson, H., Roff, H., Allen. G., Steinhardt, J., Flynn, C., hÉigeartaigh, S., Beard, S., Belfield, H., Farquhar, S., Lyle, C., Crootof, R., Evans, O., Page, M., Bryson, J., Yampolskiy, R., and Amodei, D., 2018. The Malicious Use of Artificial Intelligence: Forecasting, Prevention, and Mitigation. Future of Humanity Institute, Oxford University. Available from: https:// img1.wsimg.com/blobby/go/3d82daa4-97fe-4096-9c6b-376b92c619de/downloads/ 1c6q2kc4v_50335.pdf Campbell, P. B., 2017. The Past and the Curious. Dakota Access pipeline: “Those are our Eiffel Towers, our pyramids”: Why Standing Rock is about much more than oil [online]. The Guardian, Available from: www.theguardian.com/science/2017/may/15/those-are-our-eiffel-towqers-our-pyramidswhy-standing-rock-is-about-much-more-than-oil Cornille, C., ed., 2013. Conditions for Inter-Religious Dialogue. In: The Wiley-Blackwell Companion to Inter-Religious Dialogue. Sussex, UK: Wiley. Desai, A. and Vahed, G., 2016. The south African Gandhi: Stretcher-bearer of empire. Stanford: Stanford University Press. Floridi, L., 2013. The Ethics of Information. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Floridi, L., 2014. The Fourth Revolution. How the Infosphere is Reshaping Human Reality. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Floridi, L., ed., 2015. The Onlife Manifesto. Being Human in a Hyperconnected Era. Berlin: Springer. Gandhi in México. Una mirada a la Noviolencia., 2013. Video. Directed by Sonia Bazzeato Deotto. México: TVUNAM. www.youtube.com/watch?v=iufkbxpFIPA&t=2796s Gandhi, M. K., 1921. 1st of June. Young India. In: S. Battacharya ed., 1997. The Mahatma and the Poet. Letters and Debates between Gandhi and Tagore 1915–1941. New Delhi: National Book Trust, pp. 6970. Gandhi, M. K., 2008. All Men are Brothers. Ahmedabad: Navjivan Trust. Gandhi, M. K., 2016. Programa Constructivo. Su significado y lugar. Biblioteca Gandhi, México: El Colegio de San Luis, Gujarat Vidyapith, OraWorldMandala, La Gandhiana, Instituto Politécnico Nacional y Red Columnaria. Available from: www.academia.edu/31684639/Programa_Constructivo. _Su_significado_y_lugar Grace, K., Salvatier, J., Dafoe, A., Zhang, B., and Evans, O., 2017. When will AI Exceed Human Performance? Evidence from AI Experts. New York: Cornell University Library. Guo, T., 2015. Spirituality’ as reconceptualization of the self: Alan Turing and his pioneering ideas on artificial intelligence. Culture and Religion, 16 (3), 269–290. Han, B. C., 2012. La sociedad del cansancio. Barcelona: Herder. International Labour Organizatoin, 2019. World employment social outlook: Trends in 2019. Geneva: International Labour Office.

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Jaitman, L., ed., 2017. Los costos del crimen y de la violencia: Nueva evidencia y hallazgos en América Latina y el Caribe. New York: BID. Juergensmeyer, M., ed., 2009. The Oxford Handbook of Global Religions. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kant, E., 1992. Filosofía de la historia. Mesxico City: FCE. Kimura, T., 2017. Robotics and AI in the Sociology of Religion: A Human in Imago Roboticae. Social Compass, 64 (1), 6–22. Kostick, K., Fowler, L., and Scott, C., 2019. Engineering Eden: Does Earthly Pursuit of Eternal Life Threaten the Future of Religion? Theology and Science, 17 (2), 209–222. Leirvik, O., 2014. Pilosophies of Interreligious Dialogue. Practice in Search of Theory. Approaching Religion, 1 (May 2011). MacKinsey & Company., 2017. Jobs Lost, Jobs Gained: Workforce Transitions in a Time of Automation. McKinsey Global Institute. Available from: www.mckinsey.com/~/media/McKinsey/Global% 20Themes/Future%20of%20Organizations/What%20the%20future%20of%20work%20will%20mean% 20for%20jobs%20skills%20and%20wages/MGI-Jobs-Lost-Jobs-Gained-Report-December-6-2017.ashx Martínez Ruiz, X., 2017. The Gift of the Present. Mindfulness for the Future of México. In: M. Powietrzynska and K. Tobin eds., Weaving Complementary Knowledge Systems and Mindfulness to Educate a Literate Citizenry for Sustainable and Healthy Lives. Dordrecht: Springer. Martínez Ruiz, X., 2018. The alignment argument: At the crossroads between mindfulness and metacognition. Learning: Research and Practice, 4 (1), 29–38. Martínez Ruiz, X., 2019. Time for Educational Poetics. Why Does the Future Need Educational Poetics? Leiden: Brill | Sense. Available from: https://brill.com/view/title/54747 McKinsey Global Institute, 2017. Jobs lost, jobs gained: What the future of work will mean for jobs, skills, and wages [online]. Available from: https://www.mckinsey.com/featured-insights/future-of-work/jobs-lostjobs-gained-what-the-future-of-work-will-mean-for-jobs-skills-and-wages Accessed on 11 May 2018. McKinsey Global Institute, 2019. Ten highlights from our 2019 research [online]. Available from https:// www.mckinsey.com/featured-insights/innovation-and-growth/ten-highlights-from-our-2019research#Accessed on 20 December 2019 Mishra, P., 2012. The Gujarat Massacre: New India’s blood rite [online]. The Guardian, www.theguar dian.com/commentisfree/2012/mar/14/new-india-gujarat-massacre Monier-Williams, M., 1999. A Sanskrit English Dictionary Etymologically and Philologically Arranged with Special Reference to Cognate Indo-European Languages. Delhi: Motilal Banarsidass Publishers. Mourshed, M., Farrell, D., and Barton, D., 2013. Education to Employment: Designing A System that Works. McKinsey & Company, McKinsey Center for Government. Available from: http://mckinseyonsoci ety.com/downloads/reports/Education/Education-to-Employment_FINAL.pdf Radhakrishnan, S., 1994. The Principal Upanishads. New Delhi: Harper Collins. Ramírez Cuevas, J., 2014. Sierra Norte por la Vida. Video, Mexico: Cooperativa Monopié y Tosepan Titataniske. Available from: www.youtube.com/watch?v=_U9tj_RMW8I Rivers, T. J., 2012. The Future of Religion and the Religion of the Future. Maryland: University Press of America. Ruiz Guadalajara, J. C., 2016. Verdad y no violencia: De Standing Rock a Cuetzalan. La Jornada, 16 December, Opinión. Available from: www.jornada.unam.mx/2016/12/16/opinion/018a1pol Schwab, K., 2016. The Fourth Industrial Revolution. Ginebra, Suiza: World Economic Forum. Recuperado de https://luminariaz.files.wordpress.com/2017/11/the-fourthindustrial-revolution-2016-21.pdf Sheppard, R. Z., 1971. Books: Rock Candy, Time. Available from: http://content.time.com/time/maga zine/article/0,9171,905004,00.html Silver, D., Schrittwieser, J., Simonyan, K., Antonoglou, I., Huang, A., Guez, A., Hubert, T., Baker, L., Lai, M., Bolton, A., Chen, Y., Lillicrap, T., Hui, F., Sifre, L., van den Driessche, G., Graepel, T., and Hassabis, D., 2017. Mastering the game of Go without human knowledge. Nature, 550, 354–359. Skalicky, S. and Davey, M. 2016. Tension Between Police and Standing Rock Protesters Reaches Boiling Point, The New York Times, October 28, Available from: www.nytimes.com/2016/10/29/us/ dakota-access-pipeline-protest.html Vecoli, F., 2018. Spiritualité. L’élaboration d’un concept. Théologiques, 26 (2), 43–58. Available from: www.erudit.org/fr/revues/theologi/2018-v26-n2-theologi04920/1065194ar/ Woodhead, L., 2011. Five concepts of religion. International Review of Sociology, 21 (1), 121–143.

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31 City of gods and goods Exploring religious pluralism in the neoliberal city Gina Lende (with Bankole Tokunbo)

Introduction Religions are booming in the fast-growing megacity of Lagos. This dynamism has a multitude of sources and must be understood within the religious, political, socio-economic interactions, and developments in Nigeria, in Africa more widely, and globally. In a religiously pluralistic country such as Nigeria, religions are shaped and transformed by each other by borrowing, adapting, and rejecting practices and ideas. Given increased religious hostility in Nigeria, and intense political crisis, religious pluralism is often studied in relation to politics, within the frames of ‘conflict’ or ‘tolerance.’ Yet, while religious tension is an important and escalating, aspect of the Nigerian reality, this limited view obscures the multiple ways of engagement. The study of effective religious pluralism needs alternative analytical frames (Nolte and Ogen 2017; Soares 2016), and this chapter is a contribution in this respect. The patterns of borrowing, adapting, and influencing between the three major religions are strong and complex in Nigeria. Not coincidentally, the new reform movements that have been at work within Islam and Christianity—Pentecostalism and Salafi-inspired movements—since the late 1980s share many important characteristics. These movements are critical of local adaptations of their own religion, and both are transnational in orientation and institution (Larkin and Meyer 2006). Meanwhile, the stunning growth of Pentecostalism is often attributed to its close resemblance to the spiritual worldview and practice found in indigenous religion. As for traditional religions, Olupuna’s remarks about the Yoruba orìsà tradition are indicative: [a]lthough indigenous òrìsà traditions have vigorously infiltrated Islam and Christianity, the òrìsà traditions have co-opted Islamic and Christian frameworks and interpretive models to make sense of their own plausible structures. Although unacknowledged, these religious worldviews and belief systems have benefited from each other. (Olupuna 2011, p. 12) Among the new emergences in the twenty-first century, new Muslim prayer groups such as NASFAT have been labeled ‘Pentecostal Islam’ due to the many similarities between both

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religious movements, although observers have also located NASFAT within broader currents shaping global Islam (Obadare 2016). In sum, influences go in many directions. While Islam and Christianity in Nigeria have been transnational since their beginning in Nigeria, there is currently a revival of a traditional religious process underway, most prominent abroad, and in the Americas particularly (Adogame 2010; Olupuna and Rey 2008; Peel 2016). Paradoxically, while the Yoruba indigenous religion is known for its openness to other religious and cultural traditions, its dissemination and growth outside of Nigeria has intensified a search for authenticity and pure forms of indigenous devotion (Peel 2016, p. 227). The transatlantic slave trade first brought Yoruba religious cultures to countries such as Haiti, Brazil, Cuba, and the United States. However, the current revival and search for authenticity, as described by Peel, has led devotees traveling from the ‘New World’ to Nigeria to learn from Nigerian religious authorities, while Nigerian Yoruba specialists have traveled to offer their services and knowledge to revitalized communities abroad. This renewed interest abroad also influences the quest for religious knowledge in Nigeria. As for the new reform movements within Islam and Christianity, they have been particularly vocal in their fear of ‘pollution’ or ‘corruption’ of the ‘pure faith,’ but given this new search for authenticity within the Yoruba religion, Peel argues that ‘a war against syncretism appears to be the ordre du jour across the religious field’ (Peel 2016, p. 227), in spite of the transactions that are effectively occurring. Paradoxically, perhaps, while claims to exclusive worldviews and universalism might be thriving, in practice, in Lagos today, there are multiple convergences and compromises between the different traditions. This chapter draws attention to one often overlooked factor in the study of religions in Nigeria. We focus on the economic, neoliberal character of the cities, characterized by minimal government regulation, widespread privatization, and mismanagement. It argues that this context is important in shaping religious transformation today and proves a stimulating frame for the analysis of religious pluralism. The Lagosian government is largely distant from most people’s daily life. For many, basic welfare such as water sanitation or electricity must be purchased on the private market (Oyegoke, Adeyemi and Sojobi 2012). Despite advances in areas such as waste collection and personal income taxation, the large-scale urbanization rate coupled with the welfare program tear down typical neoliberal policies mismanagement, and corruption has left the government crippled. In Lagos, the state’s capacity to provide jobs or maintain social services remains low in a city beset with extreme income inequality and poverty (Onuoha 2013). Due to insufficient tax administration, and a large informal work force, many Lagosians are more likely to pay religious tithes, zakat—religious offerings—than personal income tax. The role of alternative networks becomes particularly salient in a megacity where many have left old kinships and families for possible better opportunities in a cosmopolitan urban setting. Much of the scholarly gaze on religion continues to have the nation-state as its frame, while, as argued for by the editors of this volume, the market is becoming more and more important for how we structure our lives (Gauthier 2020; Martikainen and Gauthier 2013). The process of marketization, as they phrase it, is a two-way process involving consumerism as the dominant social and cultural ethos of today on the one side, and the effects of neoliberalism and its loose set of free-market ideologies and policies on the other (Gauthier 2018, p. 389). Following these authors, this chapter considers that understanding this new political and economic reality is key to grasping the religious transformations of today. Gauthier sums up these transformations with the image of religion moving out of the former ‘churched-religion’ model, of religion ‘moving out of its box,’ as expressive, 375

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experience-based, charismatic, personalized, and identity-oriented brands of religion seek to cater for the need for self-realization, identity, status, community, socialization, health, and wealth (Gauthier 2018, p. 403).

Contextualizing Lagos, religion, and the economy Nigeria, including the megacity of Lagos, has undergone dramatic political, economic, demographic, and religious changes in the last decades. Democracy was reinstalled in 1999 after a long period of at times very brutal military regimes. In the new democratic Nigeria, already fragile state institutions were further eroded. Neoliberal policies opened up the media and the economy to new actors and closed opportunities for others. The withdrawal of the state has been accompanied by a proliferation of religious movements (Meagher 2009; Onuoha 2013). This added to a religious landscape modeled by the 1970s and 1980s reform movements within Islam and Christianity. Both of these trends have coalesced to challenge established (Muslim and mainline Christian) religious authorities and have carved a space largely outside, or alongside, the state. According to the Nigerian constitution, the state shall not adopt any religion. Yet in practice, the state, the law, the government, and its policies are filled with religion, particularly Islam and Christianity (Laguda 2013). The last decades have seen an increased politicization of religion, as well as a ‘religionizisation of politics’ (Adogame 2010). Religious rhetoric, institutions, and leaders are often part of national politics. Increased insecurity, including religious conflict, verbal and physical, has accentuated the role of religion in the public sphere. In Lagos, it feels like religion is everywhere. It is the Pentecostals that dominate the public sphere, as their flyers, posters, music, and churches are omnipresent. Non-Pentecostals must, as aptly put by Obadare, ‘act within a culture whose soundtrack is increasingly Christian Charismatic’ (Obadare 2016, p. 77). While Pentecostals might be the loudest and most visible religious movement, they are far from alone. Myriad Christian dominations, from independent African churches to Jehovah’s Witnesses, as well as Muslim movements and African traditional religions, co-exist visibly in the city. Lagosians are known for their entrepreneurial spirit, not just in business and culture but also in the religious domain. It is probably no coincidence that this is the city were ‘Chrislam’ has emerged, an as yet small new religious movement that sees Christianity and Islam as inclusive rather than exclusive religions (Janson 2016).

Studying religious pluralism in the city Urban centres around the globe can be identified as places of religious innovation and growth (Becci, Burchardt and Casanova 2013). Religion is not something distinct from the city and the context; it evolves as part of the urban social and political economy. The multiple links between neoliberal capitalism, governance, and Pentecostalism have been frequently discussed in the literature (Freeman 2012; Meyer 2007, 2010), yet similar trends can be identified in other religious traditions. Rather than diminishing the role of religion, the effects of economic and cultural globalization, combined with the political effects of neoliberal policies, have coincided with a renewed religious visibility and new relations between religion, the state, and society (Gauthier 2018, p. 390). Similarly, ‘religion’ itself has seen profound transformations within this new social environment. While it is fruitful to cast these transformations against this backdrop, it is misleading to cast religion in market terms 376

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and talk for example of a free religious market (Gauthier 2020; Gauthier and Martikainen 2013). The religious landscape is by no means ‘free’ of regulation in this sense, but rather shaped by not only state-originated regulations but also the normativities inherent in the neoliberal megacity and the specifics of the Lagosian and Nigerian cultures. Religious institutions, old and new, are important economic actors in Lagos. They are employers, land and property owners, they own businesses and are major actors in the private welfare sector, education in particular. In this domain, the Muslim and Christian traditions far dominate indigenous religions. Indigenous religions, however, are emerging as important economic actors which, as in the Eyo Festival studies in this chapter, generate revenues—financial and cultural—and act as a much needed cultural symbol for the city all year round (Adogame 2010). In Lagos, religion as a whole is a fundamental resource and an important social, economic, and political actor. The aim of this chapter is to address a lacuna within research on religious pluralism in Nigeria by examining three major different religious traditions within the same analytical frame. Compared to research on Pentecostalism, that on other religious traditions and mainline Christian denominations is lagging behind (Soares 2016). The research on religion in Lagos and neighboring Yorubaland is dominated by research on Christianity, and in more recent years on Pentecostalism. There has been important work on the Yoruba religion (Olupuna and Rey 2008) and on the compatibility between mainline Christianity and indigenous religions, but less on Islam in the southern regions of Nigeria. Few studies explore cases of all three major religions, notwithstanding some important exceptions (Adogame 2010; Peel 2016). The present study is less concerned with differences and similarities between religions as it is with connections and resemblances. It connects emerging religious trends to the wider political, economic, and social context of contemporary Lagos understood as a neoliberal city, characterized by a weak state and feeble state regulation in religious affairs. The chapter examines three sites of religious revival in Lagos: 1) the Pentecostal Redemption Camp; 2) the Muslim NASFAT prayer camp; and 3) the indigenous Eyo Festival. The three sites are important in their own right, but they represent larger trends within Christianity, Islam, and indigenous religions in Nigeria that this chapter wishes to bring to the fore and inform the wider objectives of this volume as concerns religion in global society.

Religious revival and remaking in Lagos Urbanization is happening on a large scale in many African countries, but no other city has attracted as many people as Lagos. Numbers are notoriously difficult to assess, but the megacity probably hosts 20 million inhabitants, and it is growing every day. It is the country’s economic hub, as well as a multi-cultural and multi-religious melting pot. While situated in the predominantly Yoruba southwest geographical region, Lagos attracts people from all over Nigeria, as well as from abroad. When the British annexed Lagos in 1861, the city (and the larger Yoruba region) already had a multi-religious environment dominated by traditional religions as well as Islam (Peel 2016, pp. 219–220, 130). With the colonizers came the missionaries, and with them a Christian infrastructure of education, churches, and welfare institutions. Just as with Islam, it took time before Lagosians converted, and it was not until the 1920s or 1930s that large segments of the population converted to Christianity. By 1950, the two world religions combined claimed about 90% of the Yoruba region in Nigeria, almost equally divided among them. 377

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Yet, despite the hostility and pressure coming from Islam and Christianity, traditional Yoruba religions continued to be practiced and celebrated. For long, traditional religions had a prominent position, often regarded as a broker between the main religions due to their ethos of religious tolerance. This position was challenged in the late 1970s, partly because of the rise of Pentecostalism and different variations of Salafi Islam that actively and aggressively attacked indigenous religious symbols and practices (Peel 2016, pp. 220–222). For them, there could be no compromise with traditional religions, and to be a good Christian or a good Muslim meant rejecting traditional practices and beliefs. There are occurrences of religious hostility in Lagos, such as the contestation for public space between Muslim and Christians in the university arenas, or quarrels over ‘noise pollution’ during religious celebrations (Lende 2015, pp. 133–135). However, compared to other areas of Nigeria, particularly the Middle Belt and the North, there is limited religious tension in the city. As such, Lagos is more similar to the Yoruba town Ede, southwest of Lagos, where religious difference is appreciated as a value in itself by its inhabitants confirming ‘the town’s cosmopolitanism, attractiveness and complexity, conferring status both on the community in itself as a whole and on its individual members’ (Nolte and Ogen 2017, p. 6). Diversity in Lagos can be said to be a source of pride. People from different religions visit each other on public holidays and may socialize peacefully within families, among friends, in the neighborhoods, in the workplace, and through intermarriages. It is noteworthy that two of the most prominent political actors in Lagos since the installment of democracy, the two former governors of Lagos State, Bola Ahmed Tinubu (1999–2007) and Babatunde Raji Fashola (2007–2015), were both Muslim men married to Christian women, Oluremi Tinubu and Abimbola Fashola. While the heads of the dominant Muslim and Christian movements are antagonistic towards traditional religions, it is not uncommon for Lagosians to have multiple identities and make use of resources from different religions. Living in a multi-religious setting like Lagos, the lived experience of religious pluralism affects how religion is practiced. Importantly, these religions thrive in the same physical location, yet with different privileges and restrictions. What follows sketches some of the characteristics of the current religious remaking and revival as experienced in Lagos today.

Christianity: The Redemption Camp The Pentecostal appropriation of the city involves both the public space and the public conversation, i.e., the broader public sphere (Adeboye 2006). Olufunke Adeboye has explored how Lagosian Pentecostals in the 1990s turned formerly secular spaces such as cinemas and shopping malls into religious spaces. This form of public appropriation on the part of Pentecostals has since reached a new level with the establishment of prayer camps and religious cities on the outskirts of Lagos (Ukah 2014). Prayer camps have been built along the busy Lagos-Ibadan highway for the last thirty years. The pioneer and the largest of them is the Redemption Camp, which hosts the headquarters of the Redeemed Christian Church of God (RCCG), one of the major Pentecostal churches in Nigeria and the world. The Redemption Camp boasts to host half a million people during their monthly Friday Holy Ghost meetings, attracting large crowds of people, cars, motorbikes, and buses for long evenings and nights of prayers, miracles, preaching, and singing. The camp is the largest privately owned property in Nigeria and is much more than a site of religious ritual and preaching (Ukah 2016). It has emerged as somewhat of an alternative to the city itself; surrounded by walls, it has houses and apartments for sale, schools and universities. It has established cooperation with several 378

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commercial companies who are allowed to sell their goods at the camp, be it for daily use or special occasions. Redemption Camp is therefore a church, a city, a market, a franchise as well as a political body. It commonly acts as a VIP stage for politicians (Obadare 2006; Onuoha 2013, p. 212). RCCG and the wider Pentecostal movement are known for their spiritual and material focus, as exemplified by its ‘health and wealth’ prosperity gospel. While it started as a pious revival movement with anti-materialist and apolitical orientations, the Pentecostal movement has evolved into an ultra-successful promoter of entrepreneurship in economic and spiritual matters, and its reach today extends well beyond the walls of the ‘church’ per se. The commercial dimensions of Pentecostalism have been widely accounted for in the literature, as has been its quest for public dominance (Adeboye 2012; Ukah 2008). With increasing participants (more than adherents, as belonging is increasingly elective rather than exclusive and explicit), growing institutions, and heightened presence in the public sphere, the RCCG, like other Pentecostal churches, has sought political influence (Marshall 2009). Given the nationwide growth of Pentecostalism and RCCG’s central position within this movement, no aspiring politician can do without a visit to Redemption Camp (Obadare 2006). It is politicians that need the support of the Pentecostal churches rather than the other way around, and namely their financial support, their networks as well as the moral legitimacy that they provide. As newcomers to the religious scene, Pentecostals take the context of dwindling state power seriously. They therefore locate power in and focus their attention on the economic, educational, and media spheres particularly, as a way to gather political influence and rival the state (Lende 2015). The close alliance between the Churches and the state is beneficial for the Pentecostals, as it can lead to political and economic privileges such as representation, tax exemptions, and building permits.

Islam: NASFAT Prayer camps Not far from Redemption Camp, along the busy Lagos-Ibadan Expressway where several of the major Pentecostal Churches have built large arena-style buildings, a Muslim movement, the Nasrul-Lahi-L-Fatih society of Nigeria (NASFAT) has purchased a major plot with ambitions to build an Islamic version of Redemption Camp. NASFAT was first established in Lagos among the Yoruba ethnic group in 1995 before it spread to the rest of Nigeria, and boasts a growing international appeal (Adetona 2012). Since the start of the twenty-first century, NASFAT has become a popular movement among urban Nigerians, known for its focus on social, economic, and spiritual development (Adeniyi 2013; Adetona 2012; Obadare 2016; Ogungbile 2012; Peel 2016; Soares 2009). NASFAT became well known to Lagosians in 2001, when thousands of its members took to the highway following its weekly Asalatu prayers, creating huge traffic problems and amid extensive media coverage. Lagosians are used to traffic congestion due to religious services, but this was the first time a nonPentecostal group created chaos on the Lagos-Ibadan highway. According to NASFAT sources, it was a planned performance which aimed at increasing the public visibility of Islam in an urban context where many Muslims feel the public sphere has become too ‘Christianized’ (Obadare 2016). While NASFAT has its origins in Lagos, the group has spread to other urban centers across Nigeria. NASFAT represents a new direction in Nigerian Islam, and its emergence is often understood in response to the Pentecostal surge (Obadare 2016). However, one could also understand the movement as a Muslim response to the social, economic, and political realities of neoliberal urban life. NASFAT similarly target the urban middle and upper 379

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classes, aiming to inspire its followers to live a successful life, both materially as well as spiritually. NASFAT has established primary schools as well as a university and is engaged in a score of economic enterprises, such as halal business companies, Tafsan (i.e., shariafriendly) Tours and Travels, and Tafsan (non-alcoholic) beverages (Adetona 2012; Obadare 2016). Tafsan Tours and Travels is a growing business in an expanding pilgrimage sector. According to their publicity, their objective is to ‘arrange Haji and Umrah travels and rites in such manners as to confer comfort and spiritual fulfilment on our pilgrims, devoid of the stress and hindrances usually associated with such operations’ (www.tafsantoursandtravels. com/). While Islamic finance and the halal market in Nigeria are not as developed as in other Muslim regions (Abdullahi 2017), NASFAT has emerged as one of the protagonists in this growing economic market. NASFAT may therefore be a vivid example of the African acculturation of what scholars have called the new ‘Market Islam’ (Gauthier 2018). NASFAT places a strong focus on prayer and on the individual’s capacity to change his or her life for the better, spiritually as well as materially, as does Pentecostalism. NASFAT also represents a democratization—or pluralization—of religious authority, as services and functions are not necessarily led by theologically trained religious virtuosi. Rather, there is a corps of ‘Missionaries,’ young and educated individuals, who, while not being necessary well versed in Arabic and the Quran, are present to guide individuals. As Adetona argues, NASFAT aims to empower the individuals to take charge: ‘once a devotee can recite or perform the prescribed recipes and litanies, he becomes his own therapist’ (Adetona 2012, p. 105). The ceremonies are eventful, emotional, participatory, and experiential. A strong emphasis is put on prayer, which forms the core of popular all-night events. Prayers tend to be longer and more fervent than in the usual Muslim ceremony. There is an emphasis on a cosmic battle against the forces of ‘evil’ and the occult. NASFAT ceremonies also integrate personal testimonies and prayer requests from individuals, again on the Pentecostal mode (Obadare 2016, pp. 85–86). Attendees at NASFAT events can also be members of other Muslim religious societies, as belonging is elective and inclusive. It defines itself as a prayer movement, not as a distinct movement requiring exclusive membership (Ogungbile 2012). NASFAT has had a proactive attitude with respect to the political sphere. Several of its members are prominent politicians and business leaders, and members work actively to influence politics (Obadare 2016, p. 84). NASFAT encourages its attendees to participate in politics, which also includes a call for women to get involved (The Guardian 2018). NASFAT has over the years engaged in communal projects together with non-Muslim partners, such as an initiative together with UNICEF from 2019 to eradicate child abuse in Nigeria, and worked on women’s rights with a North American NGO (Cartercenter.org. 2018). In the Nigerian Muslim setting, NASFAT has a Yoruba, reformist, modern, charismatic, yet pious outlook with a strong focus on individual morality and ethics.

African traditional religions: the Eyo Festival As with Islam and Christianity, African traditional religions in Nigeria have undergone changes in face of the new political, economic, and religious context of globalization (Adogame 2010; Hackett 1998; Olupuna and Rey 2008). African traditional or indigenous religions are a category encompassing a wide variety of local ethnic-based religion. In spite of these differences, there is as Adogame argues, common ideas, rituals, and world views in the various local religions that constitutes a ‘distinctively indigenous pattern of religious thought and action’ (Adogame 2010, p. 480). Despite a decline in central practices and belief systems, the last decades have also witnessed signs of increased visibility and a new 380

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appreciation of certain traditional symbols and practices. One example is the many festivals held throughout the country, often as commemoration of local deities. The festivals are supported financially by private businesses and local communities, as well as by the municipality. They have also become internationalized, namely through the globalization of indigenous religion, migration, and tourism (Adogame 2010, p. 496). Isale-Eko, or Lagos Island, is part of the main commercial area of the city. This is where the biggest banks and financial institutions are situated, and it has major markets and residential areas. It hosts the palace of the traditional ruler, the king, known as the Oba of Lagos State. The best known festival in Isale-Eko is the Adamu-Orisa play, popularly known as the Eyo Festival. It is the Oba of Lagos that announces the festival. It is called for on special occasions, such as if a new king is to be coronated or the ‘Lagos @ 50’ celebrations which took place in 2017. During the Eyo Festival, Isale-Eko is closed to traffic to allow for the white-clad masquerades to fill the streets. The festival can be understood as both a festival and a ritual. The many rituals—sacrifices, propitiations, and consultations—form part of the more explicit religious elements, and are performed by a small group. The public masquerade, meanwhile, which is largely believed to more cultural then religious, attracts big crowds (Fosudo and Babatode 2017). By attracting local and national tourists, the Eyo Festival becomes important not just as a celebration of the history of Lagos but also as a notable source of income for the local business community (Emmanuel 2014). Political elites participate in the festival and the municipality itself takes part in the festivities. The Eyo Festival, particularity images of the white-clad masquerades, are prominently used in various advertisements for Lagos. Throughout Nigeria, politicians are keen to boost festivals, which are understood as being both effective resources for nation-building and purveyors of income through tourism (Chidozie and Ayibainewoufini 2014; Emmanuel 2014). It is significant that the ‘religious’ component of the festival is downplayed in favor of a cultural connotation. In this sense, indigenous religions function as an overarching civil religion which facilitates the cohabitation between Islam and Christianity (Olupuna 2011). In Nigeria, as in most African countries, traditional religions are not officially recognized as a religion and thus lack the rights and privileges that come with recognition (Hackett 2011). Focusing on the cultural and historical dimensions rather than on the explicit religious dimensions is an effective way to gain legitimacy and visibility within the public sphere and the culture at large. The Eyo Festival in Lagos may therefore be seen as a cultural festival that honors the city, its inhabitants, and its history rather than a religious event. The process to delegitimize and de-sacralize African traditional religions has long historical roots. By rebranding the Eyo Festival as cultural and downplaying the religious dimensions of the ancestor worship that is at the heart of the festival’s traditional make-up, traditional Yoruba religion becomes safe and compatible with Islam and Christianity in the opinions of the vast majority (Peel 2016, p. 222). Thus when Lagosian Christians and Muslim visit and participate in the Eyo Festival they can claim to do it as part of their culture rather than seeing it as participating in a religious gathering. As Peel writes: ‘In recent years a highly reified concept of culture has been used to present the annual festivals of major patronal deities as cultural festivals, celebrations for the community and its history rather than as religion’ (Peel 2016, p. 222). Similarly, writing about the Yakurr festivals in the southeastern Cross River State, Williams argues that the festivals have been transformed since many of the participants ‘no longer hold sacred the meanings, nor the socio-religious values, attached to them’ (Williams 2012, p. 149). Yet, its symbols and practices will always be potentially religious, available for those who use them. 381

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Characteristics of revival in the neoliberal city All three sites explored here are vibrant examples of public religion in Lagos today. While the convergences between Islam and Christianity, exemplified with Redemption Camp and NASFAT, are easier to detect, there are certain tendencies across all three that are worth noting.

Engagement with economics and the market All three sites have a close connection to local businesses. Redemption Camp and the Eyo Festival are also commercial sites in their own right, and NASFAT is certainly attempting to follow this model. All are enmeshed in the local business milieu. NASFAT and RCCG similarly aim to develop their adherents spiritually as well as materially. They target the business community and organize courses in economic entrepreneurship. Both have established several private businesses as part of their activities as religious movements, such as bookshops, universities, and halal trade. While NASFAT criticizes excessive personal wealth (Obadare 2016), at least for the time being, the fact that all three have an explicit financial component in their activities might indicate that engagement with consumerism and the market is necessary to strive as a religion today.

Remaking religious practice NASFAT and RCCG are both examples of how charismatic religion is thriving today. As observed in Latin America (Chesnut 2003), and on a more general level (Gauthier 2018, p. 403) the charismatic forms of religion enjoy phenomenal success globally. All three sites use large-scale ‘spectacles’—holy night’s revivals; all night prayers and festivals—as core to their practice. At the same time they, in particular NASFAT and RCCG, encourage small, tighter communities. Religions that emphasize individual practice, healing, and a focus on spiritual and material growth are gaining ground in the face of dwindling mainline denominations. While not so present at the Eyo Festival, there are other practices within traditional religions that are experiencing renewal as they cater to similar needs for success and health. Traditional healing techniques and modes of connection with the world of spirits in order to infer on worldly matters are as prevalent in traditional religions as they are in Pentecostalism. NASFAT similarly encourages its adherents to engage in prayer and to seek modern health facilities through the NASFAT services (Soares 2009, p. 193).

Cooperation with the state The crisis of political legitimacy in the neoliberal and corrupt Nigerian state has led to more religion in the public sphere, not less. Taking a global view, authors have argued that the processes of democratization and globalization, as well as the dissemination of modern communication technologies, have increased the role of public religion (Toft, Philpott and Shah 2011). Adding to this perspective, one can also mention the legitimacy crisis which has affected political institutions, parties, and politicians alike. These entities seek moral legitimacy outside the political domain. For Nigerian politicians, aligning themselves with religious leaders may add to their public image and enlarge their network. Most prominent among these constellations are the connections between Pentecostal leaders and politicians, which some have called the ‘Lagos-Ibadan theocratic class’ (Obadare 2006). NASFAT’s 382

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political connections are not as elaborate, but they have a proactive stance towards politics and politicians that mirrors their Pentecostal counterparts. The Eyo Festival, for its part, also attracts politicians as well as public funding in a bid to boost the economy in the area as well as to strive for cultural pride and a shared identity in a multi-ethnic and multi-religious setting like Lagos.

Building alternatives to the state RCCG and NASFAT both expand religious practice by moving well beyond the mosque and the church. They do this by establishing universities, providing a host of welfare and other services, creating businesses and giving their adherents the ‘full package’: a focus on spiritual, social, and material means, buttressed by personalized attention, heightened experiences, and a feeling of belonging. While both movements nurture close relationships with political elites, neither of them is particularly critical of the state. This also feeds earlier discussions on the weakened state: when power no longer sits dominantly within the state and the political realm, there are fewer reasons to express criticism in that direction. By building institutions that stand at the crossroads of many different social spheres and fostering mass movements, these religious groups are successful in infusing the public sphere with their values and changing society from below, rather than from above, through state means.

Conclusion The religious landscape in Lagos operates with restrictions, influences, and privileges in the context of a loosely regulated and globally enmeshed megacity. If one considers the salient novelties acting to reshape the religious landscape, it becomes obvious that there are other dynamics at work than the level of state policies which have been at the centre of much social scientific work on religion. To understand religion in a global city like Lagos, it is fundamental to put it back in a wider context that pays attention to a series of factors, whether economic, cultural, social, or political. This chapter has attempted to capture some of the dominant trends which partake in the profound religious transformations of the last decades and which attest to the unexpected revival and penetration of religion in the public sphere. Comparing the three major religious traditions has been the focus of this chapter through the examples of the RCCG, NASFAT, and the Eyo Festival, and insisting on what they have in common should not be understood as passing over their particularities and idiosyncrasies. Given the dominant position of Islam and Christianity in Nigeria, the space and opportunities for indigenous religions are limited. The Pentecostal movement already has big economic muscles and is not likely to diminish its influence in the short run. As for NASFAT, it exemplifies a more mainstream tendency that aligns with Pentecostalism at the same that it has to fight for its legitimacy in the face of more fundamentalist and even violent Islamic movements which increasingly make the headlines. Given the revival of legitimacy and interest for traditional African religion internationally, in diasporas but also in transnational New Age and neo-pagan networks, there might be a potential for further resurgence of traditional religions domestically. As we have seen, traditional Yoruba rituals and symbols act as powerful and much needed markers and vectors of national and regional identities. Here also, the reshaping of the world through economic globalization and the massification of digital means of communication can provide a fertile ground for unexpected revivals and new syncretisms. Many factors will shape the future of religion (and religions) in 383

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Nigeria, yet how the Nigerian state navigates in a world set to dance in step with market forces and the lures of consumerism will be one crucial factor to keep in mind.

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National tensions

32 Islam, politics, and legitimacy The role of Saudi Arabia in the rise of Salafism and Jihadism Mohamed-Ali Adraoui

Introduction If several centuries of historical changes have made Islam a worldwide religion that is present, albeit in varied ways, on all continents, one of the novelties of the 20th century is undeniably the emergence and re-emergence of fundamentalist conceptions within Islam that have benefited from the action of certain states in order to reach a prime place within many contemporary Muslim societies. Whether it is a question of communities claiming orthodoxy (without concretely becoming overt political projects), or of organized parties (with the clear ambition of rising to power), or local and transnational projects (with an insurrectional and revolutionary plan inspired by a violent and military understanding of Jihad), it must be acknowledged that ‘Salafism’ owes its rise to the key role played by Saudi Arabia for over a century. Having built its political legitimacy on the claimed defense of the Salaf Salih heritage (Meijer 2009), this state has had since its origin a specific place within the international arena, claiming not only to defend monarchical power but also, and perhaps especially, to speak out for and support Islam and Muslims wherever necessary. The promotion of Westphalian and Pan-Islamic interests has thus been confounded in the Saudi state’s domestic and international actions for many decades, the emphasis on the Pan-Islamic narrative and mission being the means of preserving and legitimizing the Westphalian interests as part of a fundamental dialectic between religious identity and political legitimacy. The aim of this chapter is to shed light on the motivations and challenges related to the construction of a form of ‘Islamic manifest destiny’ that characterizes the way Saudi Arabia sees and presents itself to the world since the first decades of the 20th century. More specifically, by drawing on substantial economic resources and the symbolic capital of ‘authentic’ Islam, meaning Salafism, according to the discourse of princes and clerics established at the head of the state, this country has mobilized the religion in order to bolster both its inner stability and its international position. By instituting Salafism as the only version of Islam to be considered authentic, while claiming the exclusive power to define it, Saudi religious authorities have also made Salafist preaching a major dimension which structures the international action of the kingdom.

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Studying the proclaimed homology between ‘true’ Islam and the Saudi identity has led me to study, first of all, the religious foundations on which the Saudi state is based, whose birth and history are unquestionably motivated by the ambition to defend an ‘authentic’ Islam. Secondly, I will analyze how social and political configurations (whether domestic or international) have not only generated re-compositions within the contemporary Salafist matrix, but especially ideological, political, and geo-strategic divisions which explain a large part of the crises and conflicts of the past several years in which reference to Islam is used at once to overthrow, challenge, or reinforce established regimes (Cavatorta and Merone 2017). Saudi Arabia, by establishing the preaching-state in the 20th century, whose mission goes beyond simply serving national interests, has thus directly or indirectly contributed to fashioning political and religious dynamics in Muslim territory and beyond, as this country is also both the subject and the object of continuities and divisions which have defined Salafist movements for several decades.

The role of Salafism in Saudi identity and politics In the Muslim religion, Muhammad revealed a belief system to the world, delivered a message, and, by doing so, sealed the Prophecy (which had begun with the first man and messenger, Adam). If authenticity is represented in the man (in his person, character, and behavior which form the Sunna1), it did not dissolve after the disappearance of Muhammad, since his contemporaries as well as successive generations2 remain steeped in his paragon. While a number of ways of apprehending and understanding Islam have emerged since its beginnings, only one is supposed to remain faithful to his call. Claiming in both the proper and figurative sense of the word an ethics of rectitude, Salafists, meaning those who seek to follow in the footsteps of the Salaf Salih, see themselves as remaining scrupulously on the path that leads from the present to the origins. Among other possible ways, its existence and morality are founded on a specific and exclusive Minhaj (‘path’), that of the Ancient Sages (or Pious Predecessors). Each word in Arabic comes from a root (contributing to the meaning of the term) onto which is added a schema (which determines the grammatical nature of the word used). Salaf thus comes from the root s-l-f, which echoes back to anteriority and precedence. Unlike kh-l-f, which refers to succession and consecutiveness,3 this root has the main function of illustrating a search for the origin, the only true condition of authenticity in that time which passes is supposed to have brought deviationism in opposition to the straight path that Salafists intend to revive. Salih comes from the root s-l-h, which refers to value and virtue. Giving rise, for instance, to the first name Salah,4 it describes piousness in the religious sphere. Thus, referring to the first Muslims as the paradigmatic models of faith and practice, Salafists have erected the early times of Islam as the Golden Age whose characteristics must be reproduced. Representing in a substantial way a paradigm (which the followers present as scientific since it is based on a rigorous academic approach), preaching (since it is a call to return to the ‘the right path’), and a state of authenticity (in that it provides an exclusive moral, religious, and social content), Salafism is thus the form of Islam that is supposed to contain the highest level of authenticity. Thus it sees itself as a movement of revival and restoration. Over the centuries, and notably through the intervention of clerics who wanted to call their co-religionists to order, puritan reforms focusing on the need to return to the teachings of the Salafs have emerged. One of the most famous was initiated in the Arabic peninsula in the 18th century. If today the term ‘Wahhabism’ is often lumped together with that of Salafism,5 it is essentially because in the Arabic peninsula at the time, Muhammad Ibn Abdul-Wahab (1703–1792) was seeking, in a context that he thought had become 390

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religiously heterodox, to re-establish the rights of a dogma (al-Aqida) that he considered had been trampled upon (Al-Rasheed 2010; Commins 2006). He thus rejected and fought the practices that had become usual at the time. One example is the worship at tombs because neither intercession (asking another to pray to God for oneself) nor veneration of another besides Him6 is supposed to be part of the Ancients’ faith and can in certain cases lead to anathema. However, his main success is undoubtedly to have turned his puritan preaching in a more political direction by forming an alliance throughout his life with Muhammad Ibn Saud, a tribal leader from Najd who wanted to spread his power by giving him a religious anointing from the cleric hoping to give more strength to his fundamentalist reform. This alliance, which took the form of a pact dating from 1744 in the name of which Ibn Saud supported the preaching of what would become the religious reference of the young state, lies at the origin of the first Saudi kingdom. This served as a model for other alliances based on a complicit transaction (Mouline 2014) between tribal leaders and clerics. These transactions reveal not only the difference of roles and authorities but also the collusion between scholars and rulers who decide to collaborate on a project combining puritan reform and territorial conquest. Although defeated by its neighbors in the end, this first Saudi state came back to life on several occasions, particularly between the two worlds wars with the new conquest of Hijaz after 1926 and the unification of the kingdom in 1932. This took place at the instigation of a descendant of the Saud (Abdul-Aziz Ibn Saud, 1876–1953), once again supported by the descendants of Muhammad Ibn Abdul-Wahab. This turn of events formed the Al-Shaykh family which still represents today the religious backbone of the Saudi state, which has exported Salafism on a global scale in the 20th century.

The Saudization of Salafism in the 20th century In the 20th century, Saudi Arabia built itself as a state with a specific destiny, echoing the need to bring greatness back to the Muslim religion after centuries of decline, which is explained in Salafism in terms of a distancing from ‘orthodox’ Islam. Establishing a missionary state for co-religionists who need support and ‘the right word,’ Saudi Arabia uses discourse and action defined by the belief that the country (starting with its political and religious elites) and Islam are enmeshed in their values and interests. Saudi Arabia established its legitimacy for nearly a century in the service of ‘authentic’ Islam. It has maintained its preaching and missionary role. Over the past several decades, this role has taken the form of funding for the foundation of religious sites across the world, the organization of an educational and university system based on the promotion of Salafist norms, an institutional network with a transnational dimension in view of bringing together all Muslim states, and even support for ideological movements and armed groups also claiming to be Salafists engaged in domestic or international struggles in defense of Muslims. In effect, Saudi Arabia has tried to mold the global Islamic field in its image, thus risking alliances to its religious legitimacy.

The emergence of a globalized Salafist field under Saudi authority: the consensual decades (1950–1990) This nationalization of Salafism (connected with the Saudi preaching-state) is first based on a doctrinal clarification articulated by the clerics. As an intransigent conception of Islam, whose aim is the revival of a dogma, a religion, and social relations which would have been supposedly observed in the early times of Islam, the Salafism affirmed by the Saudi state is organized around the need to swear allegiance (al-Wala) to regimes claiming Islam, no 391

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matter how imperfect, or run the risk of triggering sedition (al-Fitna) without which no orthodoxy can exist. The discipline of the state alone can, in this perspective, guarantee the stability and security that are seen as the sine qua non conditions of acceptable religious practice. Disavowal (al-Bara) of a religiously imperfect regime can only be done if the clerics decide, which means that they are in theory the true holders of authority in that they grant kings, presidents, or governments Islamic legitimacy, or take it away. In the tradition of this dual authority, theoretically subject to the primacy of clerics (al-‘Ulama), if a political power is considered to seriously refute their religious duties (e.g., bad international alliances, tolerance of laws deemed incompatible with Islam, or moral debauchery), and if the ‘good advice’ (al-Nasiha) of clerics does not bear fruit, permission can be granted to revolt against this ‘corrupt’ regime. By means of a vehement and dissenting understanding of Jihad (an effort to become compliant with the principles of Islam), certain believers can claim to return to ‘original’ Islam through an undertaking that is not only politicized but also revolutionary in that the violent insurrection becomes legitimate against the religiously inept authority7 (that some go as far as excommunicating (al-Takfir)). In the Saudi case, the definition of true politics (namely that which is in line with divine law (al-Shari’a) and the interest of Muslims, whether Saudi or not) is done by official institutions that organize what is possible to see as a form of state Salafism, by virtue of which a body of clerics was established and then were co-opted, guide the Saudi government policy and state system (most often formed by members of the al-Saud monarchy). On the one hand, Council of Senior Scholars (founded in 1971), directed by the Grand Mufti Abdul-Aziz al-Shaykh (a descendant of Muhammad Ibn Abdul-Wahab), the main religious body that is dedicated to the Islamic approval of political decisions as well as providing religious council, above all to the king, embodies the secular arm of power. On the other hand, the permanent delegation for Islamic research and the issuing of fatwas is also directed by the Grand Mufti and dedicated to giving religious consultations. These consultations are not only for such questions as religious practice, private legal affairs (e.g., marriage, divorce, and inheritance) or the kingdom’s foreign policy, but also research and education via the management of institutions attached to the Delegation. These various bodies are characterized by their solidarity with the monarchy, particularly when the latter is attacked by other states or other Islamic movements that consider that the politics led by Saudi Arabia contradict these fundamental values. Two famous examples illustrate the solidarity linking the royal family and the body of official ulamas at the summit of the oil monarchy. First is the campaign against the Muslim Brotherhood in the wake of the 1991 Gulf War, which resulted in the kingdom asking for US protection against Iraq. The Islamist branch targeted the Saudi policy of cooperating with the West to the detriment of their ‘natural’ duty of distrust towards countries that are ‘enemies of Islam.’ A fatwa issued by the Grand Mufti at the time thus clearly took a stance against the Muslim Brotherhood, which he criticized for their inclination for sedition and the weakening of established regimes, particularly the Saudi regime, his opinion being that social order must absolutely be preserved and thus subject to religious criticism, the state having done what it had to do. Then, still following the crisis triggered by the invasion of Kuwait by Saddam Hussein’s Baath regime, there is a hostility, still alive and well today, directed towards the Saudi regime on the part of official religious institutions with Jihadist influences. Their opposition has taken the form of an anathema directed on the royal family for its ‘hypocrisy,’ symbolized by its acts of ‘betrayal’ such as the alliance with the United States and the presence of its troops on two holy sites (Bilad al-Haramayn). A number of fatwas, issued in particular by the Grand Mufti at the time, Abdul-Aziz Ibn Baz (1910–1999), one of whose unique traits is the (exceptional) fact that he is not a member of the al-Shaykh family, clearly aiming to disqualify these movements claiming a violent vision of Jihad, countered the discourse 392

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of the al-Qaida organization. Moreover, this campaign still continues today in that the Islamic State Organization is still condemned in the same way, with Jihadist branches being accused of pointless bloodshed and spreading anarchy worldwide.

Saudi Arabia as a central link in a transnational institutional network devoted to its interests The globalization of Salafism in the second half of the 20th century and the growing political and religious supremacy gained by the kingdom are all grounded in the economic centrality resulting from having the world’s main oil reserves, lending an impressive financial force to the service of the Saudi missionary plan. This is the case of the Organization of the Islamic Conference (OIC) (which became the Cooperation in 2011), founded in 1969 and located in Jeddah, as an inter-governmental entity with the aim of defending the holy sites of Islam, establishing economic and diplomatic cooperation between Muslim countries, and coming to the aid of co-religionists. Starting with Palestine, the OIC (today bringing together 57 states) was created particularly after a fundamentalist Australian Christian set the al-Aqsa Mosque on fire in Jerusalem. If the political context that presides over Saudi Arabia seeking transnational Muslim unity has a lot to do with the desire to counter Arab and third-world nationalism, heralded by the Egyptian president Nasser (Kerr 1972), the OIC counts among its aims the defense of the Islamic vision of ethical, legal, and international political challenges (e.g., human rights). A few years earlier, in 1962, another entity, a non-governmental organization the World Islamic League, was born with the aim of spreading pan-Islamic theses (already in opposition with the Nasserian pan-Arabism) and to promote the Muslim religion in all its dimensions (e.g., construction of religious sites, funding of humanitarian projects, working to unite the Muslim people, and building schools and religious institutes). Located in Mecca, under the aegis of a general secretary (often Saudi), the League is nonetheless not restricted to majority Muslim countries, as illustrated by its participation in the construction of religious sites in societies that are Muslim, Western, African, or Asian. Beyond the strategy of institutional networking at the global level, the university system also represents an important vector for exporting the Salafist imaginary to the rest of the world. Since the 1960s, Islamic universities of the Mecca, Medina, and even Riyadh have thus trained several generations of students who are aware of the orthodoxy favored in Saudi Arabia. While these institutions cannot be reduced to their proselytizing function, they nevertheless have largely contributed to training thousands of students funded by the Saudi state. The return of these students to their countries of origin has helped consolidate the dynamic of globalized Salafism during the 20th century. The same observation can be made about migratory waves to the Gulf that connect several generations of workers coming to these growing countries since the 1970s (in the wake of the explosion of oil prices), living in the proximity of Saudi state Salafism.

The fragmentation and explosion of global Salafism A number of historical events pushed Saudi Arabia to revise the ideological content which nonetheless has defined its doctrinal offer for decades, during which the kingdom had a near monopoly of Salafism. Even though it is a missionary state, Saudi Arabia had to switch to a form of Salafism that can be characterized as ‘defensive,’ due to evolutions and changes that have marked the Muslim policy of the Saudi kingdom after 1945. If, from a domestic point of view, the doctrine has been expressed since the birth of the third Saudi kingdom by 393

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a strong conservatism in terms of morals and legislation, the Saudi international policy has demonstrated real dynamism, especially if we keep in mind the historic alliance of 1945. The main oil-producing country and the US superpower, soon to be victorious over Nazi Germany, represented by King Abdul-Aziz Ibn Saud and President Roosevelt, signed on February 14, 1945 on the Quincy warship is an alliance that is today the basis of the Saudi monarchy’s foreign policy. Taking advantage of the religious legitimacy granted by the body of the ulama, whose principles emphasize the abomination of disputing a political order claiming Islam, as well as the US protection granted against a supply of oil in the best possible conditions, the country was able to promote an effective policy. Religious proselytism, creating a true Saudi soft power, supportive of the incumbent power and conservative at the domestic level, dynamic and serving the image of the country at the international level, and supported by economic force bolstered by the rise in the price of oil during the 1970s, is at the heart of the political-religious contract that ensured the country a privileged position on the world stage. This double movement of economic and religious development enables the puritan religiosity identified with the form of Islam practiced in Saudi society to gain true prestige across the Muslim world. The two-pronged Saudi regime moreover never hesitated to wield the most ‘authentic’ religious rhetoric in order to disqualify its political and ideological adversaries within8 and outside9 the state. Its preaching role served each time to bolster the credibility of Saudi positions. This ‘blessed period’ coincided with a religious view that can be seen as both dynamic and extensive. While the Islamic principles defended were Salafist, the leaders attached to the religious authority were not included in the logic of blame that has characterized the official clerics since the Gulf War of 1991 in particular. The Saudi strategy is more similar in this era to a quest to expand the country’s audience. As such, these elements of similarity and of political-religious synergy has prevailed, as illustrated by Fayçal’s decision to reach out to the Muslim Brotherhood (Lia 1999), persecuted by the Nasserian power starting in 1954, or the funding of movements drawing on Salafist rhetoric in order to use violence to defend certain ‘Muslim causes.’10 The Saudi state doctrine is satisfied by the emulation that is observed as part of a true ‘compromise’ Salafism accepting, despite strictly religious disputes, the political intersections between the Saudi power and other movements of re-Islamization, provided that the Saud leadership is not disputed. Placing, in a way, the Saudi national political interest before a strict observance of dogmatic prescriptions, these years are among the greatest trans-Islamic legitimacy of the Saudi Kingdom within the religious field.11

The emergence of Jihadism-Salafism and the crisis of Saudi religious and political legitimacy This ‘syncretic moment’ (Adraoui 2019) within Sunni Islam, oriented towards the consolidation of an Islamic field under Saudi leadership, results, due to political changes putting it at risk, in a return to an ultra-legitimist discourse (Piscatori 1991). This is why the religious authority increasingly integrated, more than in the past, the constraints weighing on Saudi power due to the splitting of the Salafist field under the influence of bin Laden in particular. In this respect, an event marks a decisive turn in the official Saudi position materialized by a severe split within the Salafist field between ‘revolutionaries’ and ‘legitimists.’ This basic tension starting with the crisis of the Gulf represents another illustration of the organic link between political power and religious authority by the head of the Saudi state. The even larger solidarity between the two pillars of the state produced a radical switch in discourse compared notably to the ‘fake Salafists,’ which committed the 394

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‘abomination’ of turning against the directors seen as the legitimate governors of the country. The ‘Islamic consensus’12 (Piscatori 1991) that was the source of the centrality granted to Saudi Arabia found itself undermined by the action of de-legitimation undertaken by the ‘revolutionary’ Salafists (Salafists-Jihadists), who were moreover also presenting themselves as the defenders of ‘authentic’ Islam. Seen by protesting Salafists as blind to the need to fight, if need be through armed conflict, for Muslim people throughout the world, the ‘clerics of the Palace’ (al-‘Ulama al-Balat) have since been vilified for abandoning what represents for Jihadists the heart of the preaching, namely the Islamization of power and legislation.13 The same clerics, on the other hand, came to the aid of Saudi power by virtue of their anti-anarchist understanding of the dogma. The presence of foreign troops, particularly Americans, in the country housing the sacred sites of Islam constitutes the reason for which the ‘winners of Afghanistan’ (i.e., the first generation of Salafist-Jihadists) went after the monarchy, updating in their perspective the duplicity and hypocrisy of the latter (Gerges 2011). The defense of Islam needing from then on to return to this ‘avant-garde,’ having better understood the widespread hate against Islam than the establishment clerics, it is now a matter of disqualifying the Saudi two-thronged power. It is thus in this logic of mutual discredit, reaching a level of anathema particularly on the Jihadist side, which spoke of ‘apostate regimes’ (Hegghammer 2010), that the fragmentation must be understood which had become central in the Saudi political and religious landscape as well as in a number of Muslim countries. If one of the main consequences of this crisis of legitimacy is the stronger rigor with which the legitimist and anti-revolutionary canons were spread to the whole Islamic field (Bradley 2005), it is clear that these two facets of contemporary Salafism were split. In the midst of important uprisings and at times deep political transitions in the Arab world since 2011, Salafists have maintained indisputable faithfulness to Saudi power, which went as far as approving the reinforcement of the US alliance, and even with Israel, on the basis of a shared fear of the Iranian expansion and the growing influence of Jihadist movements within some Arab countries. This involved creating a new state with the ambition of re-establishing the original Caliphate in Syria and Iraq under the impulsion of the Islamic State (Gerges 2017). The latter targeted more than ever the Saudi kingdom, which it accused of betraying the role of missionary and defender of coreligionists.

Since the Arab revolutions The above-mentioned phenomena are verified by the revolts in the Arab world which started in the winter of 2010 and which led notably to the fall of Presidents Ben Ali in Tunisia and Moubarak in Egypt before generating several conflicts elsewhere and authoritarian revivals. Once again serving as vehicles of conservatism, legitimacy, and ‘dismantling’ in the name of religion in a situation of dispute, the official Saudi clerics united with the other side of the Saudi two-thronged power, removing any Islamic aspect from the ‘Arab Spring.’ This is evident in the order given during the events that affected Saudi Arabia in March 2011, which resulted not only in a return to the religious order but especially a defense of the regime as an organic supporter of Islam:14 The Council of Senior Scholars beseeches Allah to grant all Muslims aid, stability and the unification of governors and the governed around the Truth. The Council praises Allah for having granted the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia the favor of reuniting his word 395

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and uniting his ranks around the Book of Allah and the Tradition of the Prophet in the shadow of a wise governance, legitimized by a legal allegiance, that Allah grants him strength and longevity and that Allah completes for us this good deed and makes it last. ( ... ) Allah grants the people of this country to come together, with their governors, around the guidance of the Book and Tradition, without making them diverge or to spread their word according to other branches coming from elsewhere, or parties with antagonist principles ( ... ) The Kingdom has succeeded in conserving this Islam identity. Thus, despite the progress and development that the Kingdom has experienced, and the recourse to legal terrestrial ways, it does not permit nor will it ever permit – by the Force of Allah and His Power – branches with ideas coming from the West or East to undermine this identity or disperse the Group. This excerpt cannot be understood without putting it in perspective with Jihadist-Salafist texts for whom this country is today an enemy of Islam. One text is interesting from this point of view for illustrating the ‘ambiguous’ or ‘dual’ dimension that was the Salafist norm in the 20th century and which explains why this religious field exploded after the 1990s. It is an article from a Takfiri site (follower of excommunication) which cites ‘the sins’ committed by leaders of this country: The impiousness of Saudi Arabia takes on several forms, such as the seat at the UN General Assembly, the organization of municipal elections, the authorization of interests in international transactions: the amendment of martial law concerning military flight which is subject to months in prison, member state of UNESCO (acceptance of the charter, etc.), the bearing of the cross of King Fahd; the alliance with American infidels, their fight against Muwahidin [reference to Jihadists] The alliance with the infidels: the abandonment of Jihad and the alliance with infidels against the Taliban and the Iraqis, the presence of U.S. bases in Arabia, their fighter planes bomb Muslims, as well as giving gifts and food to soldiers, without mentioning the oil that they sell to these infidels.15 This excerpt supports the essential idea that Saudi Arabia is at the heart of tensions that have marked the Salafist field after the wars in Afghanistan and Iraq at the turn of the 1990s. Split in two, each side orientated towards Saudi, whether congratulating or blaming it for defending or betraying the true version of Salafism. The Salafist matrix continues today to provide the ideological shield thanks to which the Saudi state has neutralized the effects of the policy of defending Islam. The collision of these two worlds (legitimist-Salafist and Jihadist-Salafist) since the Gulf crisis continues. Thus, it is clear that a crucial difference distinguishes the political and religious fields characterizing contemporary Muslim societies. This situation must be contrasted to that which prevailed in the 1960s, namely that by stopping the sponsoring of Islamic movements to supporting counter-movements in the 396

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name of a veritable state Salafism, Saudi Arabia was at once one of the chief actors legitimizing militant, radical Islam and one of its most serious opponents since the early 1990s (Al-Rasheed 2007; Lacroix 2011). The dual character of Saudi Arabia, pushing it to be a Westphalian state creating alliances and counter-alliances according to its interests, as well as a preaching actor having led for decades an identity reaffirmation seeking to reintroduce the symbolic aspect of Islam in world political struggles, thus seems to have become an additional target for Jihadist movements by choosing to remain faithful to that which is seen as the US imperium. By brandishing its state Salafism to de-legitimize Jihadist activism, the Saudi monarchy has thus largely contributed to the fragmentation of Islamic radicalism in the contemporary era (Aarts and Roelants 2015), thereby illustrating that some of these prior instigators could, in the very name of fundamentalism, join the opposition using religion as language of protest.

Notes 1 The path of Mohammad, source of truth and exemplariness after the Koran which features the word of God uncreated in Sunni Islam. Shia Islam adopts another understanding which is centered on the belief that the Truth is transmitted first within the family of Mohammed, and specifically among his descendants, making up the Imams that will transmit this privileged relationship with the Truth from one generation to another. 2 In Salafist reasoning, there is reference to a speech of Muhammad addressing the relative value of different eras of history, which sheds light on the exemplary piousness of the first three generations of Muslims: ‘The best people are my contemporaries, and then those who will follow them, then those who will follow them’. (Collection of authentic prophetic words, imam Boukhari, hadith number 6248). 3 The term Caliph refers to the title used by Mohammed’s successors. The Caliph is the successor of the Messenger of God. 4 The sultan and the conqueror of Jerusalem (al-Quds), Salah-dine al-Ayyoubi (Saladin, 1138–1193), winner of the Battle of Hattin in 1187, is an example of this. 5 Often under the effect of opponents of Saudi Arabia to whom they wish to remove any roots in the early times of Islam to the benefit of a name that is supposed to ‘sectarize’ the country by conflating the Islam practiced there with the work of a single man deprived of the prestigious genealogy linked to identification with the Ancients. 6 The cleric condemning, for instance, the veneration of Arabs that was popular during his time under the pretext that certain companions or even the Prophet himself drew on them. It is thus told that Abdul-Wahab tore down one of the most worshiped trees with his own hands and requested the destruction of the tomb of a famous companion and brother of the second Caliph of Islam, Zayd Ibn al-Khattab, his contemporaries considering it an object of worship.rohibition des manifestations”» sing instead on topics they consider marginal, as illustrated here by the reference to womenmajo. 7 Jihad is not only here a call to reason and morality but also a fight led with the sword (Jihad bilSayf) to re-establish the rights of the dogma. 8 This is the case during the overtaking of the Mecca, which was finally aborted but attempted by a commando led by Juhayman Al-‘Uthaybi. On November 20, 1979 they tried to overthrow the monarchy accused of already being ‘falsely’ interested in authentic Islam, as shown by the problematic mores of certain princes in private, the US alliance on the international level, and the sociocultural modernization that the country was undergoing. 9 For instance, the Nasserian competition asserting Arabness in which the Saudi kingdom insisted on religious belonging as the cement joining the people of the Muslim world. After 1979, another competitor emerged, Khomeinist Iran, which would try to represent this religion by disqualifying Saudi Arabia, the ‘slave’ of the ‘American Satan’ and thus ‘traitor to Islam.’ It is moreover the revolutionary Shia and Iranian pressure which explains in large part Saudi Arabia’s investment in the Afghan conflict after 1979, with the Mufti of the kingdom, Shaykh Ibn Baz, decreeing the country ‘land of armed Jihad’ for all believers. The Saudi state, beyond the religious dimension thus added to the conflict, took back a part of the Iranian rise obtained in the name of a revolution, one of the slogans of which was Death to America! On another level, to signify the religious predominance of the Saudi monarch, in 1986, the latter added the ‘Guardian of the Holy Places’ of Islam (Khadim al-Haramayn al-Sharifayn)

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10

11

12

13

14 15

to his sovereign title, with Iran sending each year ‘pilgrim-activists’ responsible for undermining the symbolic authority of the monarchy in the most sacred sites of Islam. We know, for instance, that even before the beginning of the war in Afghanistan, the Saudi state helped the Pakistani military regime in its historical rivalry with India, thereby enabling the very birth of the Taliban movement. These ‘students of religion,’ adopting an ultra-puritan view whose doctrine is drawn from the Wahhabist rigorism and the preaching of Deobandi groups, themselves fundamentalist as they sought the revival of the Muslim faith in a ‘purified’ way, played the role we know about in the 1990s in their support of Al-Qaida. King Fayçal chose, for instance, after the 1960s to facilitate access to religious teaching for Egyptian Muslim Brotherhood activists which, later on, in doctrinal terms, resulted in the emergence (or re-emergence) of an ultra-rigorist, potentially revolutionary political-religious view. This view involved the Saudi regime, which had been considered up until then as the main supporter of Islamic movements worldwide. Al-Qaeda and Bin Laden and bin Laden are certainly the most well-known examples of this hybridization of ‘Salafist-Wahhabist’ convictions. This expression designates the political and religious configuration, which had ensured a central place in Saudi Arabia for several decades up until the crisis opened by the invasion of Kuwait by Saddam Hussein’s armies on August 2, 1990. The Islamist consensus refers to the Saudi hegemony, which is accepted as beneficial by a majority of Muslims within the global Islamic field. It is for this reason the revolutionaries pejoratively call the legitimist clerics, ‘clerics of the menses’ (‘Ulama al-Haïd), to imply that the object of their teaching neglects the essential, namely Islamic morality regarding the exercise political power, focusing instead on topics they consider marginal, as illustrated here by the reference to women. www.as-salafs.com/2011/03/21/le-comite-des-grands-savants-exhorte-au-maintien-de-lunion-etsouligne-la-prohibition-des-manifestations/ [Accessed 4 November 2018]. http://tawhid-wa-al-jihad.over-blog.com/article-25372538.html [Accessed 14 December 2018].

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33 Religion and nationalism in post-Soviet space Between state, society and nation Denis Brylov and Tetiana Kalenychenko

Introduction With the collapse of the Soviet Union, the role of religion in post-Soviet societies increased significantly (Khristoradnov 1990, pp. 2–3). Simultaneously the breakdown of this international empire saw the rise of nationalist sentiments. Often these two processes accompanied and reinforced each other. A convergence between nationalism and religion in recent times is not unique to post-Soviet countries. Such phenomena as ‘Hindutva’ in India, Buddhist nationalism in Myanmar, the strengthening of Sunni nationalism in the Middle East show that these processes are developing all over the world. This chapter examines the recent growth of religious nationalism in Ukraine and Russia. The Orthodox Church is dominant in both countries, with an informal status as the state religion. There are also are neopagan groups, whose role has grown in conditions of increasing migration flows and the Russian-Ukrainian confrontation. The third important religious category is Islam, and Muslims are influential minorities in both countries. Despite having a strong historical and symbolic connection, Ukraine and Russia have significant differences. This chapter focuses on two of them: a) different state constitutions and policies; and b) different relations to the imperial past. In religious politics Ukraine follows a pluralistic model, more similar to the US experience. Russia adheres to an authoritarian policy, with patronage of ‘traditional’ religions (with a special role for Orthodoxy) and a wary attitude towards ‘non-traditional’ religions. The same strong differences can be seen about the imperial past. In Ukraine, anti-imperial sentiment prevails in public discourse, while in Russia nostalgia for the Russian empire is prevalent. We will show that at the level of state policy the relationship between nationalism and religion is built in a similar way in both countries. In Russia the Orthodox Church acts as a state church; in Ukraine the authorities emphasize the idea of the national Ukrainian Church. In both cases the state adopts a so-called ‘instrumental pious nationalism’ (Rieffer 2003).

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Nationalism and religion There are various approaches to defining the connection between religion and nationalism. Brubaker (2012, pp. 2–20), in his analysis of the types of connection between religion and nationalism, has identified four main theoretical approaches: religion and nationalism seen as an analogous phenomena, religions seen as an explanation of nationalism, religion seen as a part of nationalism, and religion seen as a form of nationalism (Brubaker 2012). Smith (1981, p. 64) understands religion as a primary source that gives birth to nationalism. Hence, nationalism has a special language that uses cultural and religious factors for forming and enhancing the nation. This definition seems to be quite bold since one cannot omit the influence and impact of economic, social and political factors that can reinforce processes of nationalistic formation or attitudes of the groups prone to such ideas (Casanova 2015). Rieffer (2003, p. 224) suggests differentiating the possible relationships of religion and nationalism through the following categories: secular or non-religious nationalism (no religious influence); instrumental pious nationalism (uses religion as a reinforcement source); and religious nationalism (primarily based on religious identity and ideas). In this chapter we pay special attention to the second category (i.e. instrumental pious nationalism, which best fits the situation in the post-Soviet space). In instrumental pious nationalism, religion is not a central category but more a supportive element for community unification; it becomes a useful resource to influence society and build electoral support for national leaders. Moreover, religion can serve as a legitimation resource for new state institutions or state authority and prestige in critical times. The main channels of such support are language, sacralization of ancient and modern history and justification of policies (Agadjanian 2001, pp. 351–365). A special appeal by political or national leaders to religion is to be seen during crises when economic, military and social institutions are losing their capacities—then religious and national ideas come in handy. Instrumental nationalism differs from religious nationalism due to the lower level of religious involvement in nation-building processes. At the instrumental nationalism level, religious institutions are not so embedded into political system; it is rather the political system itself that uses the prevailing religion to unite and develop the national movement. With great opportunities come great risks, namely politicization of theology and theologization of politics, where there are no more pure religious ideas and institutions, only rather religious-political entities (Beyer 1994, p. 30).

Russia: religion and nationalism in the service of the empire In relation to Russia, it is necessary to refine the instrumental pious nationalism model with the concept of ‘imperial nationalism.’ Pain distinguishes several characteristic features of Russian ‘imperial’ nationalism: essentialism, imperial guardian character, and the principle of ethnic Russian domination. This form of nationalism developed in Russia in the 1900s. Later, after being banned during the Soviet era, it was resurrected in the 1990s in postSoviet Russia. After its rebirth, imperial nationalism was an opposition political force, contradicting ideas of modernization, liberalism, federalism and tolerance. Since the early 2000s, however, imperial nationalism has been tightly connected with the governing powers, being ipso facto the ideology of the current Russian regime (Pain 2015, p. 57). Taking into account the ‘imperial’ character of Russian nationalism makes it possible to describe more precisely the relations between state and religion.

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The most important case of religious pious nationalism in Russia is undoubtedly the ‘Russian World’ (Russkiy Mir) conception, developed within the Russian Orthodox Church (ROC). This was born within intellectual circles in the Russian Federation, influenced by Schedrovitskyy and Ostrovskyy in the 1990s. Later on this conception was taken into the Kremlin and the ROC (Bilokobylskyi et al. 2015, p. 84). It started to take roots, as in Putin’s 2006 speech at a meeting with intelligentsia: ‘The Russian World yearns and manages to unite all those who hold dear the Russian word and Russian culture, wherever they are, in Russia or beyond. Say it more often—Russian World’ (Literator 2006). A merely ethnic nationalism, concentrated on the interest of only one ethnic group, is not intrinsic for the ROC. It is about an empire as a whole: a strong multinational state, ruled from a sole center, and an appropriate church to stand beside it. Thus, ROC aims to be not just a national church but a church of an empire, and simultaneously the sole medium of genuine Orthodox values, the one and only Orthodox empire in the world, now Byzantine is no more (Desnitskyy 2015, p. 4). In November 2014, the 18th World Russian People’s Council headed by Patriarch Kirill adopted the ‘Declaration of Russian Identity’ (Patriarchia.ru, 2014). There one can find the following definition of the Russian identity: ‘a Russian is anyone considering oneself as Russian; having no other ethnic preference; speaking and thinking in Russian; acknowledging Orthodox Christianity as the basis of the national moral culture; feeling solidarity with the destiny of Russian people.’ The Declaration emphasizes that Russian identity can be inherent to people with other nationalities, e.g. Tatars, Jews, Poles, etc. The implication is that ecclesiastical structures and their allied civic organizations (like the World Russian People’s Council) play the key role in defining ‘Russianness.’ Verkhovskyy (2012, p. 155) suggests that the ROC-proposed nationalism also dwells on global anti-liberal mobilization (global not only in design, but in practice of international activities of the church, striving to build unions with other forces, that could be defined as traditionalistic) and opposition to the modernization processes. However, one should not overestimate the real influence of the clergy upon political decision-making. As Verkhovskyy notes, Patriarch Kirill and the ROC have much lower ‘apparat power’ than real top-level actors in Russia. Furthermore, all the changes implemented, including the church’s invasion into schools and the army, are foremost the results of public policies that accommodate long-time desires of the ROC, whereas a lot of the latter’s additional demands were not satisfied (Verkhovskyy 2013, p. 20). This situation underlines the instrumental nature of connections between state, nationalism and official Orthodoxy. Support of these ideas and their ‘canonicity’ has also become widespread also in Protestant circles. The Union of Evangelical and Baptist churches in Russia commented on the Ukrainian situation with the following: ‘You shall not stick to the rebels’. Islam is also deeply intertwined with nationalism in the Russian context. Here an interesting phenomenon is to be observed: instrumental pious nationalism implemented at several levels, federal and regional. At the federal level in the early 2000s an attempt was made to instrumentalize Islam around the ‘Russian World’ idea and to create a ‘Russian Islam’ conception. Both cases have the same prime mover, Schedrovitskyy. As Gradirovskyy (2003), the co-author of ‘Russian Islam,’ wrote, ‘why . . . can Russian-speaking Umma not be considered to be part of the Russian World . . . The Russian World has its Islamic part. And this part will inevitably grow in size and power.’ He considers Russian language to be important: ‘Russian Islam is Islam, soaked in Russianness, due to which it becomes complementary to the Russian roots, 401

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languagewise-embedded into the Russian-speaking space. It is a powerful sociocultural resource of Russia, a truly heterogeneous state’ (Gradirovskyy 2002). This idea was vehemently opposed by the ROC and members of the Tatarian (Muslim) religious elite. The ROC cannot allow Russification of Islam and inclusion of Islam into the Russian World, since it would undermine its monopoly. And the Tatarstan religious elite and local ethnocracy supporting it strive to preserve the instrumental potential of Islam for the sake of ethnic Tatar rather than Russian nationalism. The political, religious and intellectual elites of the Tatar ethnic group have cultivated the religious differences of the Tatars, mainly symbolically and discursively. They seek to develop the Islamic component of Tatar ethnic culture in contrast to the general Russian culture. The elite’s discourse of ‘Tatar Islam’ also creates reasons for claiming special rights for the territory and provides unique symbols for external representation. Thus, the Tatars seek, first, to become the main agents in mutual relations between Russia and the Muslim world. Second, they try to win the leading positions in the state-Muslim relations of Russia (Yusupova 2016, p. 51). Thus Tatarstan religious elites cannot accept an alternative project of imperial nationalism. As Tatarstan mufti Gusman Iskhakov (2003) says: As a mufti I cannot be happy to see Russians converting to Islam. I am against conversion from one religion to another: let Kryashens and Russians be Orthodox and Tatars be Muslim. And the Russian Orthodox Church will preach to those peoples who traditionally belong to Orthodoxy, whereas we will deliver our sermons to those who traditionally profess Islam. It should be noted that nowadays Tatarstan elites continue trying to use Islam in connection with ethnic nationalism. First of all it is about the preservation of the Tatar language. In late 2017, due to the pressure from the federal center, the Tatar language was excluded from the mandatory school curriculum. After that it was the local muftiate, completely controlled by the Tatarstan political elite, that became an active defender of the Tatar language and national identity. In his speech at the Plenum of Religious Board of Tatarstan Muslims (Dukhovnoe upravlenie musul’man Respubliki Tatarstan—DUM RT), mufti Kamil Samigullin stated that the new task of the religious board is to preserve the national identity of the Tatar people and the Tatar language as official in Tatarstan, and revive the Tatar cultural heritage and school of formation of national intelligentsia (DUM RT 2018). Consequently, the ‘Russian Islam’ project was marginalized, turning into a sort of club for ex-Russian nationalists. They founded the ‘National Organization of Russian Muslims’ (NORM): ‘NORM . . . works towards the situation, when Russians will succeed in Islam as a nation . . . as an integral ethnic group having its lawful interests and preserving the Godgranted uniqueness’ (Bekkin 2012, pp. 164–165). It is the desire to stand apart from other Russian Volga Muslims (Khanafi) and Northern Caucasus (Shafi’i) that explains the NORM’s choice in favor of the Maliki school of jurisprudence (madhhab). However, NORM’s anti-government stand has led to the emigration of its key figures—Vadim Sidorov (Kharoun ar-Rusi), Maksim Baidak (Salman Sever) and others, leading to the de facto collapse of the organization. Later Damir Mukhetdinov, deputy mufti of the Moscowbased muftiate DUMRF, was trying to adopt and use the ideas of ‘Russian Islam,’ while maintaining the dominant position of the Tatar Muslim elite (Kemper 2019). The instrumentalization of ethnic nationalism and religion in modern Russia also covers contemporary Russian Neopaganism, often called rodnoveriye, from rodnaya vera (i.e. ‘native faith’). As Shnirelman argues, one can distinguish between right wing (national democratic) and 402

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left wing (national socialist) among the Russian Neopagans. The former stands for capitalism and private property, and the latter aims for communism, although they do not justify its historical excesses (Shnirelman 2013, p. 65). Here national democrats do not need religion so much but a persuasive, mobilizing myth about glorious ancestors, and religion is determined by social-ethnic identity. Unlike national democrats, national socialists considered Orthodoxy to be the core of their ideology, seeing it as a ‘sacral fulfillment of our ethnic potential.’ Nevertheless, their understanding of Orthodoxy differs from the traditional one, namely they develop a religion of the chosen ones, ‘anchorites and heroes.’ One can agree with Likhachov (2003), who notes about Neopagans that a precise confessional choice is secondary in comparison to the nationalistic desire to purge one’s culture from foreign layers. In 2007, after the anti-extremist laws were tightened, a lot of Neopagan groups dissolved or softened their rhetoric. Patriotic mood among Neopagans as well as the popularity of hand combat (especially its Pagan version, gorits fighting) and readiness for violence, led to Russian Neopagan groups taking an active part in the conflict in the Eastern Ukraine (supporting the self-proclaimed republics) and Syria. For instance, a Russian Neopagan under the nickname Cheslav Osmomysl, combatant and ‘DNR’ militant, states: [i]t was only the Sloviansk period of war [early stages of an armed conflict, when pro-Russian militants occupied Sloviansk in Donetsk oblast] when I understood that there are more native faith adepts among volunteers [combatants]. I got acquainted with one of them, a member of DRG (reconnaissance and sabotage group). There were three more of them in that DRG. I have seen people from various divisions with our symbols. In my military unit there surely are two more Pagans. (Donets and Zaitsev 2015) The so called Wagner Group is active in Syria. It is a Russian paramilitary organization that was previously fighting in the Eastern Ukraine. Members of this organization say that one of its leaders, D. Utkin (call sign Wagner), is a rodnover, native faith believer, whereas there are another native faith believers in the Wagner Group: Wagner is a tough guy, not some sissy. He visited our positions near Palmyra, took his clothes off, he has a tattoo of German Swastika here on the arm (on the shoulder). He wears a headpiece with horns. He is a native faith guy . . . To lead a military unit . . . You’d better be a native faith adept. (Khazov-Kassia 2018) Meanwhile a prominent Russian nationalist Anton Raievski has a different opinion, suggesting that the participation of nationalists (including Neopagans) was a project organized by Ukrainian and Russian secret services: [t]his war was fired up by secret services and politicians of both states . . . it was just a bait for Russian right-wing patriots—to lure them into their units, into the Eastern Ukraine, just to mince them in this fratricidal war. It was merely a honeypot created by secret services. (Volchek 2016) Thus we can observe how several versions of Rieffer’s ‘instrumental pious nationalism’ cohabit in Russia, when nationalism has both ethnic and imperial characteristics. Competition between various projects is also to be seen, for instance, in the clash between 403

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the ‘Russian Islam’ project (based upon imperial nationalism) and ‘Tatar Islam’ (based upon ethnic nationalism).

Ukraine: a case of church-political symphony? Ukraine differs from Russia due to broader religious pluralism, with several powerful religious organizations that claim to be nationwide. For a long time, the model of stateconfessional relations in Ukraine has had an essential difference from the situation in Russia, as well as in the majority of European countries. One can use the term ‘denominationalism’ to describe a system based on equality between confessions and sects. Thus, all religions retain equal rights guaranteed by the state, and they compete with each other. Ukraine may be the sole state in Europe that can develop such a model following the US example and preserve religious pluralistic balance without politicizing certain churches or confessions (Casanova 2013). Since the acute phase of social-political conflict began at the end of 2013 (‘Maidan’) with the annexation of Crimea and the armed conflict in Eastern Ukraine (Anti-Terrorist Operation— ATO), there has been a certain change of religious influence within homogenous confessions: new support has come to those churches or religious communities that have shown distinct pro-Ukrainian positions. Conflict between the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Kyiv Patriarchate (UOC KP) and the Ukrainian Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate (UOC MP) is a dramatic example. The former tends to highlight the connection to the nation; the latter attempts to hold the balance between all the parties in the conflict. The ecclesial systems of the UOC MP and the UOC KP today seem to present alternative societal visions (Kulyk 2016, pp. 588–608). Their conflict entered its new phase after the UOC KP strengthened its positions during the Maidan events and growth of social trust towards the church and Patriarch Filaret (Denysenko) personally. The conflict has been developing not only as opposing ideas but has also grown into a jurisdictional standoff. There have been several cases of intra-Orthodox parish ‘migration’ whereby certain parishes switched from the UOC MP jurisdiction in favor of the UOC KP. There were also some cases of vice-versa switch. Although the total number of such switches is 49 as of January 2018 (unofficially it is 100+ parishes), less than 2% of total parish numbers, they are striking examples of the tense conflict, sometimes leading to physical clashes. The parish switch was catalyzed by a UOC MP priest who refused to pray for Ukrainian soldiers or properly bury dead Ukrainian warriors from ATO, to pray for ‘Heavenly Hundred’ heroes (people dead during Maidan events). He supported Yanukovych’s regime and Russia’s actions, praised Patriarch Kirill and his stance towards the Ukrainian conflict and refused to hold ceremonies in Ukrainian (Moroz 2016, pp. 8–9). He has used the ‘Russian World’ conception to call for the defense of Orthodox believers beyond Russia and appeal to Ukrainian preachers. The conflict in Eastern Ukraine is not the ultimate source of these intra-Orthodox clashes; they are a part of a larger picture in which value systems of the UOC MP and UOC KP fight for domination in society (Danilevich 2015). During the winter of 2018–2019, the situation changed dramatically after the creation of the Orthodox Church of Ukraine (OCU): first, after December 15th at the Union of Orthodox churches of Ukraine (with participation by several archbishops from the UOC MP) and second, on January 6th when Patriarch Bartholomew presented a document on autocephaly for Kyiv. Although OCU is an autocephalous church, it is not recognized by the global Orthodoxy, only by several Patriarches. From the beginning of 2019, more than 300 parishes switched to the OCU from the UOC MP, but those tendencies need to be analyzed 404

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across a period of time. Bartholomew’s decision created new lines of division within ROC and patriarch Cyril that are much wider than the Ukrainian case. There were several decisions made by the Ukrainian parliament about the renaming of the UOC MP as the Russian Orthodox Church in Ukraine (Cenzor.net 2018) and the new law involving parishes (Burega 2019). The Pew Research Center published its new data on the religious landscape in Central and Eastern Europe, Ukraine included, in May 2017. It shows that 51% of Ukrainians believe that being Orthodox means also being a true national representative of your country (Pew Research Center 2017, p. 13). Ukrainians define their religious identity through national, cultural and family traditions (46%), peculiar properties of faith (12%), both aforementioned (12%) and other (7%) factors. Being Catholic or Orthodox due to the primarily national-cultural factor accounted for 12%. Another strong position is religious exclusivism. Generally, it tends to decline, but 33% of respondents believe that only their faith provides the way to heaven. Orthodox-dominated countries show higher national pride (i.e. people are more likely to state that their culture is better than others). More religious people are prone to be proud about their nationality; 48% of Ukrainians who are very proud of their nationality say that religion is important. Despite the liberal nature of state-church relations in independent Ukraine, since the events of Maidan the governing institutions have started to consider religion as an important factor of homeland security and use it more actively for their own benefit. This can be observed in government officials’ appeals to ‘moral values’ during hot stages of conflict (WWI also resulted in the sacralization of the nation as a search for the legitimization of the crisis and the deaths of victims). There are now constant public prayers for peace for MPs, the President and the largest Ukrainian denominations (always headed by Patriarch Filaret, the UOC KP head), and the public commendation of religious organizations for their help with certain issues. Politicians thank the churches for their ‘contribution to the unification of the country’ and their help in solving certain issues, such as the release of prisoners from uncontrolled territories in December 2017 (Prezydent Ukrainy 2015). Increased state attention to the religious sphere is also to be seen in new documents, laws and draft laws. These include, for instance, the establishment of the Council for pastoral care (Council at the Ministry of Defense of Ukraine to coordinate the service of military chaplains, while there is no official law) (Ministry of Defense of Ukraine 2014); legislative groundwork for prison and healthcare chaplaincy services; state recognition of diplomas of religious educational institutions thanks to the decision of the special Commission at the Ministry of Education (Ministry of Education and Science of Ukraine 2018); and an additional official holiday for celebrating Christmas in the Western Christian rite. In early 2018, President P. Poroshenko actively intervened in the religious sphere, initiating the process of obtaining autocephaly for the Ukrainian Church through an appeal to Bartholomew, Ecumenical Patriarch of Constantinople (RISU 2018). His initiative was supported by the Parliament. Since 2014 Ukrainian state institutions have been promoting the idea of a ‘patriotic hour’ in schools as well as introducing Christian ethics as part of an open curriculum (Ministerstvo molodi ta sportu 2016). There is no state curriculum yet for it, and secular and religious organizations understand it differently. Such organizations as PLAST (an all-Ukrainian scout organization) and ‘Azov’ (a volunteer military unit) have been active promoters of nationalpatriotic ideas and are known to have connections with certain religious groups. The foundation of PLAST was inspired by the Ukrainian diaspora in Canada and the United States. Its activities are ‘based on Christian morals,’ prayers, commandments and participation in church services (mainly UGCC and UOC KP). 405

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In 2015 the children’s camp ‘Azovets’ (i.e. ‘little members of Azov’) was organized by the ‘Azov’ movement for kids aged 7 to 18 (Bura 2017). The daily schedule starts with a ‘Ukrainian nationalist prayer’ (AZOV media 2014), and the educational plan includes not only technical and first-aid courses and general lectures, but also weapons handling. ‘Azov’ members do not state their religious adherence, nevertheless, there is known to be serious Neopagan influence. There have been public displays in which the god Perun, a warrior in the Slavic mythological pantheon, has been glorified and weapons sanctified (LIGA news 2017). As long as religious freedom remains, such civic, political and religious organizations are able to transmit their ideas to the younger generation. Nationalism is also actively used by some Muslim organizations in Ukraine. The Spiritual Administration of the Muslims of Ukraine, known as ‘Umma’ (Dukhovne upravlinnia musul′ man Ukraïny ‘Umma’—DUMU-Umma), created in 2008 and led by Sheikh Said Ismagilov, is most prominent. Ismagilov’s nationalistic speeches were especially prominent during Kyiv’s Maidan events, the annexation of Crimea and ATO in Eastern Ukraine. Ismagilov’s nationalism is instrumental in character, intended to strengthen his authority within a society where a vividly declared patriotic, or even nationalist, stance allows him to defend himself from accusations of collaborating with the ‘enemy.’ Moreover, such tactics also support the attempt to found a niche within the Ukrainian Muslim community, where there are several large Muslim unions and ideological antagonism between DUMU-Umma and the other most influential among Ukrainian Muslims organization, the Religious Administration of the Muslims of Ukraine (Dukhovne upravlinnia musul′man Ukrainy—DUMU), headed by sheikh Akhmed Tamim (Brylov 2018). Being a prominent media figure of the modernist-nationalist segment of Ukrainian Muslims, Said Ismagilov attracts other Muslim organizations with nationalist overtones such as the ‘Slavic Islamic League’ (SILa—the acronym is a wordplay, ‘SILa’ translates into English as ‘power’ or ‘force’), which appeals to a base of Russian and Ukrainian nationalists who are converts to Islam. This organization supports the ideas of preservation of the ethnic identity of Slavic Muslims in Islam as well as the further promotion of Islam among their compatriots. According to the statements of SILa, Said Ismagilov became one of those figures who ‘attained the reputation of being proponents of Ukraine, faithful citizens and friends of Ukraine’ (Brylov 2016, pp. 276–277). Unlike ethic-national or general cultural identity, religious identity can be defined as a combination of culture, values, traditions, coded within rites and rituals, connected to the belief in the supernatural (Bureyko 2016, p. 55). One can define oneself as an Orthodox primarily through ethnic or cultural identity, sometimes without having special religious beliefs or nominal religious adherence, which is to be seen lately in opinion polls in Ukraine and Russia (Ipatova 2008, pp. 7–67). As the social structure is deforming, confessional affiliation shaping sociocultural differences is becoming more important. The religious system can support a model of the world seen through ‘friend-or-foe’ division. Critical events highlight the very existence of this model: protests and armed conflicts shape where one looks for a ‘friend.’ Thus, religious affiliation situates one in relation to an ethnic-confessional community.

Conclusions The use of nationalism in religious rhetoric is remarkably attractive for political and religious leaders in the post-Soviet countries of Ukraine and Russia. What is happening in both countries can be best understood as ‘instrumental pious nationalism,’ even though there is much more religious pluralism in Ukraine. In Russia, the state and the largest church, the 406

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ROC, use the ‘Russian World’ conception to support imperial nationalism. This defines affiliation through Russian identity; ethnic nationalism is mainly marginalized, though also used by the state. In Ukraine, ethnic nationalism dominates and is actively instrumentalized by Orthodox denominations (mainly the UOC KP), some Muslim organizations (mainly the DUMU-Umma), and Neopagan ones, especially those connected to volunteer brigades like Azov. The use of ethnic-national rhetoric by religious leaders, as well as the politicization of religion, has contributed to the deepening of cleavages and conflicts, both within the religious sphere and in other social institutions. An attempt made by the state to instrumentalize religion and nationalism, chiefly by creating a state church, can shatter the balance that enables various religious groups to coexist. Other religious leaders also instrumentalize religion—there are facts of religious rhetoric being used to cover anti-state activities, for instance in the conflict in Ukraine. All of this embeds religion into the national idea. In the Russian case it divides society by differentiating conflicting groups; in Ukraine the power balance shifts to certain privileged religious organizations.

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Danilevich, N., 2015. Khristos nas ob’yedinyayet, a politika raz’yedinyayet. [Jesus Christ unites us and politics divide]. AiF v Ukraine, October 21. www.aif.ua/society/social/nikolay_danilevich_hristos_na s_obedinyaet_a_politika_razedinyaet [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Desnitskyy, I., 2015. Russkaya pravoslavnaya tserkov’ i natsionalizm. [Russian Orthodox Church and nationalism]. Counterpoint, 2. www.counter-point.org/wp-content/uploads/2015/12/desnitsky_coun terpoint2.pdf [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Donets, S. and Zaitsev, V., 2015. Boyeviki-rodnovery na Donbasse: neoyazychniki veryat v sobstvennykh bogov i risuyut na rukakh svastiku. [Paramilitaries rodnovery on Donbas: neopagans believe in their own gods and draw swastika on their hands]. Segodnya, March 20. www.segodnya.ua/ regions/donetsk/boeviki-rodnovery-na-donbasse-neoyazychniki-veryat-v-sobstvennyh-bogovi-risuyut-na-rukah-svastiku-600955.html [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. DUM RT, 2018. Na Plenume DUM RT podveli itogi deyatel’nosti za 2017 god. [During the meeting of DUM RT summarized their activities in 2017]. DUM RT, February 20. http://dumrt.ru/ru/news/ news_19686.html [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Gradirovskyy, S., 2002. Vyzovy so storony novykh identichnostey: status russkogo v sovremennoy Rossii obeskurazhivayushche nichtozhen. [Concerns from new identities: the status of Russian in modern Russia is discouragingly]. Russkii Arkhipelag. www.archipelag.ru/ru_mir/religio/novie-identichnosti/ islam/evocation/ [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Gradirovskyy, S., 2003. Kul’turnoye pogranich’ye: russkiy islam. [Cultural borders: the Russian Islam]. Gosudarstvo i antropotok, July 2003. http://antropotok.archipelag.ru/text/a258.htm [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Ipatova, L., 2008. Sovremennyye osobennosti osvoyeniya pravoslavnoy traditsii [The Modern Features of Mastering Orthodox Tradition]. Moscow: ROSSPEN. Iskhakov, G., 2003. Menya, kak muftiya, ne raduyet, chto russkiye prinimayut islam. [I, as a mufti, am not so happy that Russians convert to Islam]. Credo.ru, April 30. www.portal-credo.ru/site/print.php? act=authority&id=111 [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Kemper, M., 2019. Religious political technology: Damir Mukhetdinov’s “Russian Islam”. Religion, State & Society, doi:10.1080/09637494.2019.1571331. Khazov-Kassia, S., 2018. Proyekt ‘Myasorubka’. Rasskazyvayut tri komandira ‘CHVK Vagnera’. [The project ‘Mincer’. The story by three commanders of ‘CHVK Vagnera’]. Radio Svoboda, March 7. www.svoboda.org/a/29084090.html [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Khristoradnov, I., 1990. Vozvrata k prezhnim podkhodam ne budet. [There is no return to previous methods.]. Nauka i Religiia, 1, 2–3. Kulyk, V., 2016. National identity in Ukraine: impact of Euromaidan and the war. Europe-Asia Studies, 68 (4), 588–608. LIGA news, 2017. Natsionalisticheskiy polk ‘Azov’ vozdvig dlya sebya idol yazycheskogo boga Peruna na baze pod Mariupolem. [The nationalist regiment ‘Azov’ constructed the pagan idol of god Perun on the basement near Mariupol]. LIGA news, July 3. https://liganews.net/news/1013_1499091759 [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Likhachov, V., 2003. Politicheskiy antisemitizm v sovremennoy Rossii. [The political anti-semitism in modern Russia]. SOVA, August 6. www.sova-center.ru/racism-xenophobia/publications/antisemit ism/political-antisemitism/2003/08/d756/ [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Literator, 2006. My russkiy mir postroim. [We will build Russian World]. Literaturnaya gazeta, 49. http:// old.lgz.ru/archives/html_arch/lg492006/Polosy/1_1.htm [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Ministerstvo molodi ta sportu, 2016. Hromadsʹkistʹ stvoryla Asotsiatsiyu dlya rozvytku natsionalʹnopatriotychnoho vykhovannya ditey ta molodi. [Civic society created association for national-patriotic development for children and youth]. Ministerstvo molodi ta sportu, January 25. http://dsmsu.gov.ua/ index/ua/material/21665 [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Ministry of Defense of Ukraine, 2014. Polozhennya pro Radu uspravakh dushpastyrsʹkoyi opiky pry Ministerstvi oborony Ukrayiny. [Prescription on Council of chaplaincy connected to Ministry of defense of Ukraine]. Ministry of Defense of Ukraine, July 8. www.mil.gov.ua/diyalnist/zvyazki-z-gro madskistyu/rada-u-spravah-dushpastirskoi-opiki-pri-ministerstvi-oboroni-ukraini/rada-u-spravahdushpastirskoi-opiki/2014/07/08/polozhennya-pro-radu-uspravah-dushpastirskoi-opiki-pri-minis terstvi-oboroni-ukraini/ [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Ministry of Education and Science of Ukraine, 2018. Pro Vnesennya Zmin do Nakazu Ministerstva Osvity i Nauky Ukrayiny vid 15.07.2016 № 839 “Pro Utvorennya Komisiyi z Derzhavnoho Vyznannya Dokumentiv pro Vyshchu Dukhovnu Osvitu.” [About changes in order by Ministry of

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education and science of Ukraine from 15.07.2016 № 839 “About creation of Commission of governmental recognition of the documents on high spiritual education”]. Ministry of Education and Science of Ukraine, April 16. https://mon.gov.ua/ua/npa/pro-vnesennya-zmin-do-nakazu-minis terstva-osviti-i-nauki-ukrayini-vid-15072016-839-pro-utvorennya-komisiyi-z-derzhavnogo-viznan nya-dokumentiv-pro-vishu-duhovnu-osvitu [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Moroz, V., 2016. Druhyy front: Mizhpravoslavnyy konflikt v Ukrayini. [The second frontline: inter-Orthodox conflict in Ukraine]. Patriarkhat, 1, 8–9. Pain, E., 2015. Imperskii nacionalizm (Vozniknovenie, evolyuciya i politicheskie perspektivy v Rossii) [Imperial nationalism: emergence, evolution and political prospects in Russia.]. Social Sciences and Contemporary World, 2, 54–71. Patriarchia.ru., 2014. Deklaratsiya russkoy identichnosti. [The declaration of Russian identity]. Russkaia pravoslavnaia tserkov, November 12. http:/www.patriarchia.ru/db/text/508347.html [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Pew Research Center, 2017. Religious belief and national belonging in Central and Eastern Europe. Pew Research Center, May 10. www.pewforum.org/2017/05/10/religious-belief-and-national-belongingin-central-and-eastern-europe/ [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Prezydent Ukrainy, 2015. Prezydent: Dyakuyu Tserkvi za yiyi Rolʹ u Yednanni Krayiny. [President: I am grateful to church for its role in the unity of our country]. Prezydent Ukrainy, July 29. www. president.gov.ua/news/prezident-dyakuyu-cerkvi-za-yiyi-rol-u-yednanni-krayini-35737 [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Rieffer, B., 2003. Religion and nationalism. Understanding the consequences of a complex relationship. Ethnicities, 3 (2), 215–242. doi:10.1177/1468796803003002003. RISU, 2018. ‘Synod Vselensʹkoho Patriarkhatu Vyrishyv Rozpochaty Protsedury, Neobkhidni Dlya Nadannya Avtokefaliyi’, – Poroshenko. [‘The Synod of Constantinople Patriarchy decided to start the procedure needed for giving autocephaly’, – Poroshenko]. RISU, April 23. https://risu.org.ua/ua/ index/all_news/orthodox/constantinople_patriarchy/70903/ [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Shnirelman, V., 2013. Russian neo-paganism: from ethnic religion to racial violence. In: S. Simpson and K. Aitamurto, eds. Modern Pagan and Native Faith Movements in Central and Eastern Europe. Durham: Acumen, 62–76. Smith, A., 1981. The Ethnic Revival in the Modern World. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Verkhovskyy, A., 2012. Nacionalizm rukovodstva Russkoi pravoslavnoi cerkvi v pervom desyatiletii XXI v. [Nationalism among the Russian Orthodox Church’s leadership in the first decade of the 21st Century]. In: A. Malashenko and S. Filatov, eds. The Russian Orthodox Church under the New Patriarch. Moscow: Russian Political Encyclopedia, 141–169. Verkhovskyy, A., 2013. Russkaia Pravoslavnaia tserkov’ kak tserkov’ bolshinstva. [Russian Orthodox Church as church of majority]. Pro et contra, 5, 17–30. Volchek, D., 2016. Eto byla zamanukha. [That was zamanukha]. Radio Svoboda, March 4. www.svoboda. org/a/27587219.html [Accessed on 30 April 2018]. Yusupova, G., 2016. The Islamic representation of Tatarstan as an answer to the equalization of the Russian regions. Nationalities Papers, 44 (1), 38–54. doi:10.1080/00905992.2015.1061983.

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34 Religion, nationalism and transnationalism in the South Caucasus Ansgar Jödicke

Introduction Both nationalism and transnationalism are well-explored phenomena in the study of religion and related disciplines. Nationalism refers to the construction and imagination of a political community (Gellner 1983; Anderson 1991). Transnationalism and transnationalization involve the weakening salience of the nation and appear in a world of existing but possibly fading nation states; they can be a result or an aspect of globalization (Appadurai 1996; Robinson 1998). How do nationalism and transnationalism relate to each other? Some scholars believe that the prominence of nations and nationalism will decrease through globalization in the 21st century. In this view, transnationalism is a much more important and powerful factor than nationalism. However, a new wave of nationalism in many parts of the world has pushed back the idea of a future political order beyond nation states, and national borders remain important in the 21st century. Today, most scholars admit to the coexistence of nationalism and transnationalization in the modern world and analyse the ways in which they are linked. National borders and transborder relations make up two contrasting sides of globalization. Worldwide exchange and border-crossing authorities generate the ‘glocal’ in economy, politics and culture as a modern form of the ‘local.’ Governmental policy can be nationalist while the same nation’s biggest companies are transnational and neoliberal. This also holds true for religions. Some religious groups strongly support nationalism; others have transnational structures themselves. Nevertheless, we face a couple of problems when talking about the concurrence of nationalism and transnationalism in the same religious group. Can religious groups contribute to nationalism and maintain strong transnational institutions and relations at the same time? Can religious groups be transnational movements and, simultaneously, adopt national peculiarities or be ‘nationalist’? While this combination is quite common, in reality (Roudometof 2014; Michel et al. 2017) it may remain hidden in scholarship on the topic because scholars need to define limited fields of research like ‘nationalism’ or ‘transnationalism.’ This chapter provides case studies from the South Caucasus where both observations—a religion’s contribution to nationalism and its transnational connections—are highly relevant.

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In the South Caucasus, three small states emerged after the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991: Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia. At this time, the territorial or demographic units were anything but clear and homogenous. Rooted in a nationalist upswing in the last years of the Soviet Union, nationalism dominated the public discourse of state-building. Migration after the wars in Nagorno-Karabakh, Abkhazia and South Ossetia homogenized rather than pluralized the territories—in contrast to migration caused by globalization. Nevertheless, geopolitical and transnational economic issues enormously influenced the development of the three states’ political institutions, their polity and political culture. Energy politics and security politics supported different coalitions between the three states and their powerful neighbours. Thus, state-building occurred in a global environment and nationalism had ambiguous effects. It supported the states’ emerging sovereignty and was a cause for territorial conflicts resulting in breakaway regions and disputed borders. Nationalism and transnationalism are dynamic and intermingling realities in the South Caucasus. How did religions develop in this area in the process of state-building? This chapter will focus on the way in which religious groups in the South Caucasus manoeuvre between nationalism and transnationalism. The religious landscape in this region is fragmented. Today, we find clear religious majorities supported by secular governments and religious minorities mostly under legal protection. The dominant religious traditions contributed to both nationalism and the state-building processes, while religious minorities stimulated the public discourse about pluralization and democratization. Most religious groups, dominant or minor, maintain transnational connections to people outside their countries. However, the nationalism of religious groups is more obvious in all three countries, and much more has been written about nationalism in the South Caucasus than about transnationalism.

Theoretical, historical and geopolitical context Some theories on nationalism and religion have stimulated complex questions around the definition of ‘religion.’ I will, for the sake of a clear and fruitful approach, stick to a conventional definition of religion. This approach corresponds to political actors’ use of the term ‘religion.’ They refer to the Georgian Orthodox Church (GOC) as a ‘religious actor,’ for example, and Azerbaijani state authorities target specific Shia groups with ‘laws on religion.’ The analysis will be limited to the institutional side of religion, which is neither identical to nor disconnected from popular religion. Overall, ‘religion/religious’ is a social construct and remains ambiguous, as the case of Yezidis in Armenia will demonstrate. From this perspective, nationalism is a secular phenomenon sometimes adopted by religious groups (Brubaker 2012, p. 15). A general development in the study of nations and nationalism is the assumption that the ‘nation’ is a political and normative construct (Smith 2003). Mostly, these constructed nations are characterized by a common language, culture and, sometimes, religion. Thus, the powerful nationalist narratives create political communities rather than describing them. Homogeneity is the result of a prescription rather than a description. In fact, the states’ populations are fragmented, and transnational solidarity is a common reality. Thus, researchers often claim that transnationalism is challenging the sovereignty and power of nation states (Robinson 1998). The study of migration and diaspora has demonstrated pluralization effects (Giordano 2010), and studies in international relations have illustrated the power of transnational actors (Haynes 2009). While governments defend borders as clear markers of their territory, sovereignty and power, these borders do not exclude exchange in many fields like economy, ideas, culture, persons and goods. Although nation states define their sovereignty by controlling all kinds of exchange, in some cases the 411

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transborder flows escape the control of state authorities. Both ‘territorial states and non-state actors now operate in a world in which state boundaries have become culturally and economically permeable to decisions and flows emanating from networks of power not captured by singularly territorial representations of space’ (Agnew 1994, p. 72). Accordingly, some of the most relevant topics in the study of religion and politics, such as church-state relations, minority politics and nationalism, are in danger of reproducing what has been criticized as an idealization of national authorities, referred to in geography as the ‘territorial trap’ (Agnew 1994), or in social sciences as ‘methodological nationalism’ (Wimmer and Glick Schiller 2002). In his introduction to religion and politics, for example, the political scientist Jonathan Fox provided a comprehensive overview of theories on religion and politics (2013, 2018). However, the transnational character of religion is not part of the analysis. The perspective is of the nation state. This fits his ‘religion and the state’ project in which he assembles and compares national data from all over the world. In contrast, some studies on transnationalism neglect the national dimension (e.g. Juergensmeyer 2006). Although some think of the nation as being primordial, and nations like Israel pre-existed modern nations, the majority of scholars speak about nations—or at least nation states—as a modern phenomenon. In the 19th century, the area under consideration here was part of the Russian Empire but was also touched by the Ottoman and Persian empires. The nationalist movements in the South Caucasus had much in common with those of Western Europe. They marked the transition from an empire to a republic and led to independent states in the South Caucasus between 1918 and 1921, after the Russian revolutions. The state-building process, however, was still incomplete when Bolshevik troops forced these republics to join the Soviet Union in 1921/22. Nevertheless, these states remained in the cultural memory and were frequently a point of reference during the state-building processes that followed the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991. South Caucasian nationalism in the 1990s was different. Some scholars use the terms ‘ethnic’ or ‘ethno-religious’ nationalism to emphasize the contrast with ‘civic’ nationalism. However, these terms do not fit the situation in the South Caucasus (Jones 2006; Metreveli 2016). Although nationalist ideas affect religious groups strongly in this region, this is not the kind of ‘religious nationalism’ described by Juergensmeyer (1994) or Friedland (2016). The political experience in the South Caucasus was the process of state-building. In the years after 1991, people were facing collapse, disorder and instability. An independent nation was their vision to escape these experiences. While nationalism in the late Soviet period was suspected to be (and finally was) accompanied by the request for independence (Johnston 1993), nationalism in the independent states of the 1990s stood for political order and the territorial integrity of sovereign states. This ‘hybrid nationalism’ (Metreveli 2016) of emerging states included civic, ethnic and religious elements and changed its form and character several times (Sabanadze 2010).

Case studies from the South Caucasus The establishment of both national borders and the state as a political community was the historical frame in which religious groups established their own political agenda between 1991 and today. Today, each of the three independent countries—Armenia, Azerbaijan and Georgia—has a religious majority. In all three countries, nationalist discourses refer to this fact and bring religious minorities under pressure. Nevertheless, the ties of the majority to people outside the country has been one reason why the relationship between religion and nationalism has developed along different paths in each of the three countries. 412

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Georgia In Georgia, the dominant religious body is the GOC. Under Soviet rule, the GOC faced persecution and shrank to a weak institution. Most important for its instauration was Ilia II, elected Patriarch in 1977. In this time, the Soviet authorities cautiously cooperated with the GOC in order to control religious activities in the Georgian Soviet Socialist Republic. Nevertheless, the GOC remained a place for oppositional subcultures (Johnston 1993). The rising nationalism in the 1980s was a major factor in the late Soviet Union. Ilia II succeeded in fusing the then secular nationalist movement with the Church (Jawad and Reisner 2013). In particular, the canonization of Ilia Chavchavadze in 1987 marked a turning point in the development of the Church. Chavchavadze had been one of the main proponents of a sovereign Georgian state and the nationalism of the late 19th century. However, the religious aspect of his nationalist ideas was ambiguous. On the one hand, he formulated the famous triplet ‘fatherland, language, faith’ as a formula for Georgian identity (Fuchslocher 2010)—encompassing religion as one aspect of Georgian nationalism. On the other, he included Muslim Adjara—which only tenuously belonged to Georgia—into his concept of nationalism and, thereby, developed a civic programme of religious tolerance (Reisner 2000). Compared with Georgian nationalism in the late 19th century, which emerged from the decline of the Russian monarchy, Georgian nationalism in the 1980s revolved around the issue of national independence. In parallel to the strong ethnic nationalism of independent Georgia’s first president, Zviad Gamsachurdia, the GOC developed a moderate ethnonationalist ideology (Chelidze 2014). Nevertheless, this ideology came under criticism among Georgian intellectuals during the Saakashvili government from 2003 to 2012. With ‘their declared aspirations towards the European model of a civic nation endorsing diversity and universal citizenship’ (Agadjanian 2015, p. 25), they criticized the Church’s ethnoreligious nationalism. In the perspective of modernization, the GOC represented conservatism, anti-modernism and anti-democratic values (Zedania 2011). Furthermore, the Church’s anti-Western nationalism sometimes coincided with tendencies of the Russian Orthodox Church and was ‘a resource used by various forces that wish to restore relations between’ Russia and Georgia (Serrano 2014, p. 87). The historically based—but ambivalent—relationship with Russia is a key to understanding the GOC’s nationalism and its contribution to state-building. The GOC belongs to the Orthodox commonwealth, of which the Russian Orthodox Church has claimed leadership since the fall of Constantinople in 1453. In the aftermath of Russia’s conquest of Georgia in 1811, the GOC lost its institutional independence and became incorporated into the Russian Orthodox Church. In 1917, after the collapse of Tsarist Russia, clerics in Georgia immediately re-established the Church’s autocephaly even before the political bodies were able to declare an independent state. The Russian Orthodox Church only accepted this renewed autonomy in 1943 when World War II demanded maximum support for the Soviet Union’s forces. This institutional history of defeat, self-assertion and rapprochement remains in the GOC’s cultural memory. The assertion of independence from its bigger brother to the north, together with ongoing dependencies, persists in both the religious and the political field. From 1991 onwards, the Church supported both transnational ties with Russia and the Georgian claim for a sovereign nation. The GOC maintained a relationship with the Russian Orthodox Church even in a time when Georgia was solidifying its stance as a Western-oriented country with strong ambitions towards economic modernization. Thus, the GOC represented social conservativism and continuity. The Church’s own new

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autonomy only partly overlapped with the dawn of the new Georgian state, realized in the form of drastic socio-political change towards a modern economy (Gavashelishvili 2012). This led to the polarization of the Georgian political elite (Serrano 2014). Obviously, religiously framed nationalism was problematic for many religious minorities (Aydıngün 2013). They face typical problems such as structural discrimination and unresolved claims for the restoration of property. However, minorities found strong supporters among liberal Georgian citizens who advocated for a pluralistic society. In addition to smaller minorities, two Muslim minorities inhabit the regions of Adjara and Kvemo Kartli. Adjara is close to the Turkish border and is inhabited by a Sunni majority. Georgian nationalism fostered a climate where many Adjarians felt pushed to conversion to Orthodox Christianity (Popovaite 2014). Kvemo Kartli is close to the Azerbaijani border and is inhabited predominantly by Shia Muslims; they maintain cultural relations with the inhabitants of Azerbaijan and are a target of the state’s incentive programmes, for example regarding access to higher education. In regard to both regions, the religiously related countries, Turkey in Adjara and Iran in Kvemo Kartli, invoke their relation to these religious minorities in their diplomatic negotiations with Georgia. In addition, Iran has started to offer stipends and programmes of financial support for studying in Iran. Nevertheless, the religiously motivated Shiite influence has remained weak compared with the economic attractiveness of Turkey (Gabedava and Turmanidze 2018).

Armenia The state-building process in Armenia, its nationalism and the inclusion of religion in the emerging social order has happened against a different historical and geopolitical background. The dominant Armenian Apostolic Church is a non-Chalcedonian church, having separated from the Orthodox Church’s communion in the 6th century, like other Oriental Orthodox churches. Its theological distance from the Russian Orthodox Church and the shifting political domination helped the Church to survive during the Russian empire (Jones 1989, p. 173). However, after the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Church has persisted with only with very few resources. Complementary to the Georgian situation, the politics of independent Armenia depend strongly on Russia in the energy and security sectors. Furthermore, remittances from labour migrants account for a considerable part of Armenia’s economy. This Russian influence has prevented Armenia from seriously adopting a Western economy. Consequently, the Church has re-established its structures and properties in the shadow of an economy of patronage. The widespread narrative of the Armenian Apostolic Church’s inseparable connection with Armenian-ness has supported the religious aspect of Armenian nationalism and resulted in political privileges (Siekierski 2014). Nevertheless, the political development in Armenia depends heavily on the powerful and well-organized Armenian diaspora all over the world. These transnational diaspora groups supported different political options for the Armenian homeland, in particular during Soviet times (Panossian 1998). This transnationalism through the diaspora corresponds to transnationalism in the Church’s structure. The Holy See of Etchmiadzin, situated close to today’s Armenian capital, is latently at odds with the second important Holy See of Cilicia, situated in Antalya/Lebanon (Hovhannisyan 2014). Beyond the ethno-religious narrative of Armenian-ness, a substantial political discourse about pluralism and Western values accompanied the Armenian process of state-building. Compared with Georgia, the pro-Western (and anti-Soviet) discourse was weaker in Armenia. 414

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Nevertheless, Armenia fostered religious pluralism and enacted laws to that effect. The implicit contradictions inherent in the religious aspects of Armenian-ness did not rise to the level of social polarization, as was the case in Georgia. One example of a religious minority is Armenian Yezidism. Yezidis have inhabited some regions of the contemporary Armenian territory since the 12th century, but mainly arrived as refugees from the Ottoman Empire in the 19th and early 20th centuries (Japharova 2007). In the terminology of Armenian religious policy, they are classified as a ‘traditional religion,’ which equips them with more rights and some social recognition. Nevertheless, the description of Armenian Yezidis as a distinct religious group is problematic. Ethnically speaking, most Yezidis are Kurds with strong relations to Kurds in Anatolia and Iraq. It was during the process of nation-building that Armenian Yezidis were split into rival groups over the question of how to create a sense of ethnic belonging to ‘Kurds’ (Dalalyan 2011). Those groups who prefer the religious designation ‘Yezidi’ over their ethnic designation ‘Kurd’ seem to be the more assertive group. They accept cooperation with the Armenian state, limit their transnational relations and include themselves in the national Armenian minority policy, ensuring much better living conditions compared to Yezidis in Anatolia, Syria and Iraq (Evoyan and Manukyan 2018).

Azerbaijan In Azerbaijan, religion was weak in the 1990s. The discourse on state-building remained secular and reactivated the historic memory of early 20th-century secular nationalism, to which a generation of liberal Muslim intelligentsia contributed a great deal (Świętochowski 1985). Similar to the early 20th century, for the majority of political elites, Islam was a cultural identity marker rather than a specific theological system. The long-time president Heydar Aliyev, who was the first to establish a new and stable political order, belonged to the former Soviet political elite. National discourses in the 1990s arose around the question of territorial integrity because of the Nagorno-Karabakh war (Motika 2009; Yemelianova 2014). Consequently, support for the government’s policy in the Karabakh issue was one of the most important ways that religious groups could prove their patriotism. Defining Azerbaijan’s dominant religious group is more difficult than in Georgia and Armenia since neither Shia nor Sunni Islam developed overarching institutions. The new Azerbaijani state inherited from the Soviet Union a religious institution that was expected to represent all Muslims: the Spiritual Administration of the Caucasus Muslims (today, after several name changes: Caucasus Muslim Board [CMB]). The CMB suffered from ambivalent support from grassroots religious groups in the region. As a quasi-governmental institution, it was dependent on the state. Nevertheless, the charismatic leader Sheikh ul-Islam Allahshukur Pashazade made the CMB an important and powerful institution. He succeeded in balancing national and transnational religious challenges. First, with regard to the territorial question, he supported the national quest for territorial integrity and thus proved his national loyalty. The CMB’s nationalism in this respect was supportive but not a driving force. Pashazade acted as a diplomat and arranged bilateral talks about the Karabakh issue (although without a significant outcome). Second, Pashazade maintained good relations with Iran. The transnational religious connection was the basis for Iran’s engagement in the new country of Azerbaijan, but it was also the reason for Azerbaijani secular nationalism against Iran. From the perspective of Azerbaijan, Iran did not support Azerbaijan sufficiently in the Nagorno-Karabakh war. Overall, the CMB, under the leadership of Pashazade, balanced transnational diplomatic and religious ties with nationalist elements of loyalty to the government. 415

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This particular situation has been the backdrop for both the nationalist and transnational aspects of religious minorities in the region. State-building in the early 1990s introduced a liberal law on religion that allowed religious groups to establish basic structures. The most pertinent development of religious minorities happened in Islamic groups through support from foreign countries. Firstly, Gülenists and Diyanet-sponsored groups linked to Turkey were active in Azerbaijan. In accordance with Azerbaijan’s good bilateral relations with Turkey, the state did not impede these groups until Erdoğan forced Azerbaijan to close down Gülenist institutions in 2016 (Balci 2017). In addition to Turkish groups, Salafist and Shia groups received funding from Salafi networks and Iran. All these groups created a new kind of religiosity (Jödicke 2017). In contrast to both the diffuse, syncretistic and, sometimes, peculiar folk religiosity on the one hand, and the official religious bureaucracy on the other, these groups fostered a distinct religiosity more strongly related to the idea of ‘great traditions’ (Redfield 1955). During the state-building of the early 1990s, these religious groups developed their structures. They contributed to state-building by providing an alternative to the de facto established but still weak republic. Some Shia groups supported—with a historical and demographic argument on their side—a political order close to (or in accordance with) the Iranian political system. During the chaotic time in the early years of the republic, the government needed humanitarian aid, for which these groups were able to mobilize abroad. For example, Iran provided significant humanitarian aid for internally displaced persons from the Nagorno-Karabakh region. The situation of these religious minorities changed in the 21st century. The more the political system developed and stabilized, the more these groups eventually became marginalized. Their political marginalization went hand in hand with their growing oppositional role. During the 2000s, one of the most discussed controversies over religion was between the state institutions that increasingly tried to control these religious groups, on the one side, and a Shia leader, Haji Ilgar Ibrahimoglu, who claimed religious freedom and advocated for human rights (Bedford 2008), on the other. This unusual positioning was typical for Islamic minority groups that oscillated between national political contributions and a transnational orientation. Many of these groups faced discrimination, and it can be difficult to precisely determine their position between loyalty to the state, opposition, revolutionary thought and terrorism (as it is called by the state officials). For the last ten years, the state’s power has grown, and its methods of control have become fully functional. The state has succeeded in integrating some major groups into the state-controlled religious bodies supervised by the CMB (Jödicke 2017). Recent developments show an even stronger state-controlled administration of religion that cuts off all financial and many ideological transnational connections. Due to the authoritarian political developments and highly controlled society, these minorities can only survive when balancing their transnational connections with national identifications.

Conclusion Since independence in 1991, the region of the South Caucasus has experienced fundamental structural change. The power vacuum that followed the collapse of the Soviet Union created the opportunity for state-building and nation-building processes. Thus, nationalism was a dominant theme in political discourses. Consequently, the policies of both governments and the dominant religious bodies included nationalist aspects. Nations, national governments and national politics are not losing relevance in this region. They are powerful units of political action and cultural imagination. These 416

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nations’ cultural policies include religion, and religious groups are aware of their powerful standing in politics. Nevertheless, the young nation states have developed their sovereignty against the backdrop of global dependencies. They are still under pressure from several factors: the global economy (especially the energy sector), security issues and conditions formulated by such players as the European Union, the United States, Russia, Turkey and Iran, that all seek influence in the region. Religious groups have intervened as transnational players in bilateral relations (Jödicke 2018) or developed ‘diaspora policies’ (King 1998) for their advantage. Thus, nationalism in this region is dependent on the societies’ and the religions’ transnational relations and global interconnections. Overall, this chapter has demonstrated how religious groups both adjusted to and influenced the changing social order in various ways. Most of the religious groups in the South Caucasus adopted nationalism or at least some kind of patriotism. Simultaneously, they maintained transnational relations. There is no ‘natural’ or ‘structural’ connection between religious groups and nationalism. The dominant religious groups’ links with nationalism contributed to the emerging states. In contrast, the smaller groups were mostly concerned with survival. For both dominant religions and minorities, transnational relations were important resources. Religion in the 21st century faces both national and transnational forces. In most cases, these forces are entangled rather than separate. It is the constellation of power, both national and transnational, that constrains the development, strength and social position of religious groups.

Key texts Agadjanian, A., 2015. Ethnicity, nation and religion. Current debates and the South Caucasus. In: A. Agadjanian, A. Jödicke, and E. van der Zweerde, eds. Religion, nation and democracy in the South Caucasus. Abingdon: Routledge, 22–37. Jödicke, A., 2018. Religion and soft power in the South Caucasus. An introduction. In: A. Jödicke, ed. Religion and soft power in the South Caucasus. Abingdon: Routledge, 1–18. Michel, P., Possamai, A., and Turner, B.S., eds., 2017. Religions, nations, and transnationalism in multiple modernities. New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Yemelianova, G.M., 2014. Islam, nationalism and state in the Muslim Caucasus. Caucasus Survey, 1 (2), 3–23.

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35 The sacred and the secular-economic A cross-country comparison of the regulation of the economic activities of religious organizations David M. Malitz

Introduction Secularization as a constituting characteristic of modernity has been a common theme in the works of the founding fathers of the discipline of sociology, who analyzed the social transformation of Western Europe in the nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. In the present, classical secularization theory, assuming a homogeneous trajectory towards a universal modernity of a Western European pattern, has long been abandoned. But the assumption of a functional differentiation in modernity—between politics, the economy, and religion—remains an accepted core of the secularization thesis (e.g. Gorski 2000, pp. 140, 142; Casanova 2006, p. 12). It is also generally accepted that this process of differentiation against the background of diverse cultural foundations and sociohistorical developments resulted in a multitude of secularisms rather than in a universal differentiation between the secular and the sacred. Naturally, both in-depth country studies as well as cross-country comparisons have largely concentrated on the relationship between state and religion. What the various formations of state-religion relations in modernity have in common is that the differentiation between the religious and the secular sphere did not result in their equality. Rather, in modernity, the religious sphere is subordinated to the secular state. Nationally legitimized legislatures decide where exactly the wall separating church and state runs, and secular courts interpret the details of such instructions (Agrama 2010, p. 503). Much less attention has been given to the differentiation between the religious and the economic sphere in modernity, however. But religious institutions have always been economic enterprises. To build and maintain sacred sites and train and employ doctrinal or ritual specialists, religious organizations around the globe often own and manage substantial estates, receive donations or collect fees for religious services from the faithful or outright taxes them; all while being independent of the taxing power of worldly authorities. In fact, temples in ancient Mesopotamia are among the very oldest entities of which accounting records are known (Hudson 2000, p. 2).

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In the present, religious organizations with enormous economic influence remain. In Germany, for example, the Catholic and Lutheran Churches with their non-profit and forprofit enterprises are regarded as the second-largest employer after the state itself (Braun 2017). Religious organizations collect enormous sums from their members through donations and the collection of fees, while being usually tax-exempt. In the United States, missionary organizations collected donations amounting to over US$1 billion in 2017 alone. The Salvation Army, as the largest religiously motivated charity in the United States, collected in the same year close to US$2 billion (Barrett 2017). These observations raise several questions regarding the nature of the separation of the religious and the economic sphere. Due to the realization of the existence of a multitude of secularisms around the world, these questions appear to be best approached comparatively. Such comparative investigations are necessarily limited in scope, especially so, when endeavored in the form of a book chapter. This chapter will compare the involvement of religious organizations in the economic sphere in France, Germany, Japan, Thailand, Turkey, and the United States. While these countries vary significantly in their religious backgrounds, their economic development and the historical development of state-religion relations, they all have two things in common, which promise their comparison to be permissible. First, all of the countries are secular states. Their legislatures are nationally and not religiously legitimized, and with the exception of Thailand all legislatures are fully elected. Furthermore, none of the three branches of state powers is subordinated to religious institutions. Second, all of the countries included in this comparison are free-market economies, an obvious requirement for a meaningful comparison of the economic activities of religious organizations,

Context, state of the art, concepts, and methods The involvement of religious organizations in the secular economic sphere and the differences in state-religion relations even among stable liberal democracies are readily observable (see Monsma and Soper 2009). But what differences are discernible between different secularisms in regard to the differentiation between the economic and religious spheres? While there does not appear to exist a cross-country comparison to date, there does exist a large body of literature, consisting of both comparative and in-depth country studies, which can be adopted for such a comparison. Monsma and Soper (2009) have included in their comparison of state-religion relations of five Western democracies the issues of statesupport for religious schools and non-profit organizations (pp. 222–231), while Göçmen (2013) has investigated the role of faith-based non-profit organizations in the welfare system of four Western European countries in addition to a more detailed study of such organizations in Turkey (Göçmen 2014). The accounting rules and practices of religious institutions have been the focus of selected accounting researchers with country-specific or religion-specific focus (e.g. Wolf 2014). Additionally there are publications dealing with accounting and taxation questions from a practitioner’s perspective, often published by accounting firms (e.g. Tanaka 2015). Finally, the actual law codes and treaties stipulating the rules regarding the economic activities of religious organizations must be consulted. This chapter will address the following questions regarding the regulation of economic activities of religious organizations by secular authorities as a starting point for such comparisons:

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1.

2. 3. 4.

For religious organizations to enter the secular-economic sphere, a judicial personality is necessary. What kind of judicial personality can they adopt in the countries under investigation here and what kind of economic activities are they permitted to engage in? If incorporated religious organizations engage in economic activities, how are they taxed? Must religious organizations keep accounts and are they supervised or audited by secular authorities? Are donations to religious organizations encouraged by allowing their deduction from taxable income by individuals and businesses?

Substantive discussion This section will provide an overview of the countries under discussion in alphabetical order. I will afterwards attempt to draw some broad conclusions.

France France is, together with Turkey, the only country discussed here which is explicitly defined as secular. According to Article 1 of the constitution of the French Republic, secularism (laicism) is a constitutive principle of the republic. The interpretation of this principle is provided by the 1905 Law on the Separation of the Churches and the State. The two articles forming the first part of the law establishes the interconnected principles of state neutrality and the freedom of religion. French secularism is therefore according to Kuru (2009) an ‘assertive’ one (p. 11). The state does not only not recognize, fund or otherwise support religious organizations (Art. 2), but also bans from the public any religious symbols (Art. 28) and prohibits the use of religious facilities for political purposes (Art. 26). This exclusion of the religious from the public is enforced by the state. Drawing on the examples of France and Turkey, Kuru (2009) argues that assertive secularism is the historical outcome of the victory of republican elites over religiously legitimized ancien régimes supported by a clerical establishment (Kuru 2009, p. 14). The strict exclusion of religion from the public sphere was considered necessary for the stability of the new regime. In France, the law of 1905 concluded a protracted process of secularization of the French state against the background of social polarization between Catholic-royalists and secular-republicans over the last decades of the nineteenth century. The loss of authority of the Catholic Church through the Dreyfus affair and its support of the Vichy regime entrenched Republican laicism over the course of the twentieth century (Kuru 2009, pp. 153–4). According to the law of 1905, religious organizations can incorporate as ‘worship associations’ (associations pour l’exercice des cultes, associations cultuelles). They are thus a particular form of the general association under the 1901 Law on Associations (Art. 5). They are recognized as non-profit associations, but their activities are ‘exclusively’ restricted to the ‘exercise of worship’ (Art. 19). Economic activities, including non-profit and charitable services, have to be performed by legally distinct and secular entities, for which the same regulations apply as for other businesses or non-profit organizations. The 1905 Law on the Separation of the Churches and the State stipulates that worship associations must prepare annual accounts. They are supervised, as are all associations, by the Ministry of Finance and the Inspectorate General of Finances (Art. 21). Accounting rules for associations have been

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issued by the competent authority. A revision from late 2018 took effect in January 2020 (Autorité des normes comptables 2018). While the law bars the French state from supporting worship associations directly, the French tax code (Code Général des Impôts) encourages both individuals and corporations to donate to them. In both cases donations can be deducted from taxable income with certain limitations (Art. 200–1e and Art. 238 bis).

Germany Similar to France, the contemporary structure of German secularism can be traced to the early twentieth century. State-religion relations take, however, a markedly different shape east of the Rhine. German secularism can be considered the outcome of a compromise made at the time of the foundation of the Weimar Republic in 1919 after the end of World War I. In the German empire founded in 1871, the main churches, the Catholic Church and the Lutheran state-churches, were recognized as public corporations (Körperschaften öffentlichen Rechts) and closely intertwined with the state. Princely heads of state of the member states of the empire were also the heads of the Lutheran churches. For the enactment of the new and republican constitution in 1919, the Social-Democrat Party as the largest faction had to rely on the support of the Catholic Center Party. The result was a compromise regarding the role of religion in the new republic (Deutsch 1963, p. 462). The constitution of the Weimar Republic rejected the establishment of a state-church and enshrined the freedom of religion. At the same time, however, the churches maintained their public role and elevated status as public corporations and were explicitly allowed to perform services in public institutions (Art. 135–41). To guarantee the neutrality of the state in the face of the acceptance of a public role of the main churches, all religious communities were now granted the right to acquire this status. This compromise was maintained after World War II and incorporated into the Basic Law of the Federal Republic of Germany, which explicitly refers to the Weimar Constitution (Art. 140 in conjunction with Art. 137 of the Weimar Constitution). The status of religious bodies as public corporations produces two important legal consequences. First, religious public corporations are entitled to manage their internal affairs within the frame of laws applicable to all. In contrast to France, there is no requirement to keep accounts imposed on the religious corporations by the secular state, neither are its internal financial dealings supervised by state organs (Wolf 2014, pp. 27–30). Second, according to the German Corporate Income Tax Act, only the income derived from business activities is subject to corporate income tax (Art. 1(1) 6). German religious public corporations are entitled to have the tax authorities collect a church tax from their members on their behalf. Due to their recognition as pursuing charitable objectives under the German Fiscal Code (Art. 52–4) and to guarantee the neutrality of the states, the Income Tax Act allows individuals to deduct church tax paid from their taxable income making it comparable to a donation from a tax perspective. Additional donations can similarly be deducted up to a certain degree (Art. 10(1) 4 in conjunction with Art. 10B (1) 1, 2). The Corporate Income Tax Act grants the same right to corporations (Art. 9(1) 2). Representatives of religious corporations are not legally barred from giving explicit recommendations before elections, but usually chose not to do so. This has changed recently due to the rise of a far-right party, the Alternative für Deutschland. Before the general election of 2017, Catholic bishops have given a recommendation by stating that the party’s policies 423

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were incompatible with Christian values (Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 9 March 2017). After the election a high-ranking official of the Lutheran Church recommended Protestant members of the Social-Democrat Party to vote in favor of continuing the grand coalition with the conservative Christian Democratic Union (Kamann 2018).

Japan When Japan was integrated into the world economy though a series of unequal treaties in the mid-19th century, Christianity together with some Buddhist sects had been outlawed for over 200 years. The ruling elite of the Meiji Restoration, who oversaw the country’s rapid modernization, shared with their feudal predecessors a mistrust of missionary activities and the need to control the hearts and minds of the population for their nation-building project to be successful. At the same time, they were made aware that only granting the freedom of religion would allow for a renegotiation of the unequal treaties signed with the colonial powers and the country’s recognition as an equal member of the international community. The compromise, on which the Empire of Japan was founded, created a dual structure of the relationship between state and religion. The Constitution of the Great Empire of Japan granted the full freedom of faith. At the same time, however, the ritual participation in the cult of the emperor and the imperial ancestors at schools and state-shrines was defined as a non-religious duty for all subjects (Shimazono 2010). At present, relations between the Japanese state and religious communities are governed by the Constitution of Japan (1947) and the Religious Corporations Act (1951). These two documents were enacted during the US occupation of Japan and reflect the authorities’ desire to disestablish the ideological foundations of the pre-war emperor system or State Shinto. Therefore, an influence of the First Amendment to the United States Constitution is apparent in Art. 20 of the Constitution of Japan, which similarly bars the state from engaging in religious activities directly, supporting religious organizations or offering religious education. But this article also prohibits religious organizations from exercising political authority of any kind. There has been consistent criticism of the lack of financial oversight over religious corporations since the end of the US occupation of Japan. Criticism intensified when new tax revenue was sought and intensified audits revealed in the 1980s that religious corporations were not always truthful about their accounts (Covell 2005, p. 153). But only after the terror attack by the Aum Shinrikyo cult in 1995 was there sufficient political support for a revision of the Religious Corporations Act in 1997, which strengthened state oversight and disclosure requirements (Mullins 1997). The Religious Corporations Act allows for the incorporation of religious organizations as a religious corporation (shūkyō hōjin). Such religious corporations are recognized as nonprofit organizations and are therefore exempt from taxation of their income derived from donations and payments for religious services. They may engage directly in business activities to support themselves, but such income is subject to taxation according to the Religious Corporations Act (Art. (6(2)) and Corporation Tax Act (Art. 4). Japanese tax law provides a list of activities, which will necessarily be considered as taxable business activities (Tanaka et al. 2014, pp. 190–3). Donations to religious corporations by both individuals and corporations are not tax-deductible, as the tax-exempt status of a non-profit organization does not translate automatically into this benefit for donors. Religious corporations have to prepare detailed financial statements and make them available upon request to officials of the Ministry of Culture as well as interested members of the public. The Committee on Non-Profit Organizations of the Japanese Institute of Certified 424

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Public Accountants issued in 2001 detailed guidelines for the preparation of these accounts (Nihon Kōnin Kaikeishi Kyōkai, Hieiri Hōjin no Iinkai 2001).

Thailand Like Japan, Thailand—then known as Siam—was integrated into the global economy in the mid-nineteenth century through the treaty system of informal colonialism. For the Southeast Asian kingdom’s monarchs, reforming, centralizing and bringing under state-control Theravada Buddhism became an integral part of their project to build a modern nation-state governed as an absolute monarchy. While the absolute monarchy fell to a military coup in 1932, Buddhism remains closely intertwined with official national identity and legitimacy of political leaders (Ishii 1986). Nevertheless, Thailand can be regarded as a secular state. The current constitution enacted in 2017 following a military coup in 2014 recognizes the Thai people as sovereign and acknowledges their religious diversity. The document enshrines the freedom of religion (Art. 27, 31). While the King must be Buddhist, he is also the ‘upholder of all religions’ (Art. 7). A social role of religion is accepted and the duty of the state to ‘support and protect’ all religions is laid down in Art. 67 of the constitution. The Buddhist monkshood or sangha is governed by the Sangha Supreme Council headed by the Supreme Patriarch based on the Sangha Act of 1962. Since a change to the law in 2017, the King appoints the Supreme Patriarch directly. The sangha is hierarchically organized and manages its affairs internally. In the past, courts have rejected the authority to judge the internal affairs of the monkhood when petitioned (Larsson 2016, p. 20). While monks according to the monastic code of conduct are not to own property, the Thai Civil and Commercial Code does not bar them from doing so or from entering into business transactions (Larsson 2016, p. 22). Art. 32 of the Sangha Act makes explicit that temples or monasteries as well as the sangha as a whole can own property (Art. 40). The property of individual temples is managed by the abbot, who can appoint a lay treasurer (Art. 37(1), 45). There is no legal constraint on the ownership of other forms of property under Thai law, but the Thai public has generally regarded this as inappropriate. According to a regulation issued in January 2020, temples need to submit documentation regarding the construction of buildings as well as renting out land or buildings to third parties and have their plans approved by the Sangha Supreme Council of Thailand (Thai Rath 2020). Constituting 5% of the total population, Muslims form the largest religious minority in the Kingdom of Thailand. Under the Administration of Islamic Organizations Act of 1997, the religious committee is organized similar to the Buddhist monkhood. Its highest organ is the Central Islamic Council of Thailand (Sec. 17, 18). It is headed by the Sheikhul Islam, who is appointed by the King after he has been approved by Provincial Committees (Sec. 6). Mosques are recognized by the Thai state as juridical persons just as temples are (Art. 13). The management of the assets falls to the mosques’ Islamic Committee (Art. 35). In a voluntary survey of 480 temples in 2012, 28% of the respondents indicated that their temples did not keep any accounts at all. In a further 46.5% of the cases the abbots did the accounting themselves (Chantha 2012, p. 78). In the wake of a major corruption scandal implicating high-ranking lay officials as well as abbots, in 2017 a compulsory accounting form was introduced, which temples have to send to the office of the Supreme Patriarch as well as their provincial offices. New laws proposing legal changes to make temples more transparent and accountable, to regulate temples’ properties and to allow for audits have been introduced, but have been blocked by the strong resistance of monks (Dubus 2017, p. 52) 425

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Donations given by the faithful to temples and mosques allow for tax deductions (Sec. 47(7)b and 65 Ter (3)). In contrast to the permissive rules regarding economic activities, rules regarding political activities are strict. Thailand bars monks, but also female ascetics, from political activities by prohibiting them from voting and from being elected to public office (Larsson 2016, p. 18). Monks do, however, participate in state rituals, comment on social and political issues and individual monks have, in the context of the highly polarized politics of twenty-first century Thailand, made clear their political preferences (McCargo 2012, pp. 631–5).

Turkey Similar to both Japan and Thailand, Turkey was not formally colonized in the late nineteenth or early twentieth century. In contrast to them, however, Turkey experienced a revolution which overthrew its monarchy, the Ottoman caliphate, and replaced it with a secular republic. This power struggle has shaped state-religion relations until the present. During the Turkish war of independence after the end of World War I, when parts of Turkey were occupied by Greece and the Allied powers, the sultan sided with the foreign powers against the nationalists under Kemal Ataturk. The Islamic authorities declared him an infidel, drawing a clear battle line between the sultan’s government and the Islamic authorities, on the one hand, and nationalists now identifying as secular and republicans, on the other (Karpat 2004, p. 214). After their victory, the nationalists abolished the Ottoman Caliphate in 1924 and enshrined the principle of secularism in Article 2 of the Constitution of Turkey. The document’s preamble defines Turkish secularism as the non-involvement of religious sentiments in the affairs of the state and politics. In stark contrast to the French Republic, also constitutionally defined as secular, this definition does not bar the state’s involvement in the sphere of religion. As was the case in Japan and Thailand, religion was seen as crucial for the state- and nationbuilding projects by Turkish nationalists. Together with the caliphate, the office of the Grand Mufti (Shaykh al-Islam) was abolished. It was replaced by the Directorate of Religious Affairs (Diyanet İş leri Baş kanllgl) as a state-controlled institution under the office of the prime minister. The Diyanet provides religious education, trains and employs the country’s imams and provides them with weekly sermons. The Diyanet only does so for Sunni Islam (confessed by the majority of the country’s population). Due to its nature as a state organ, questions of incorporation, the regulation of business activities, book-keeping and taxation do not arise. In the Lausanne Peace Treaty of 1923, which resulted in the international recognition of the newly founded Republic of Turkey, the Turkish state agreed to full equal treatment of the non-Muslim minorities as well as the freedom of religion (Art. 38–44). According to the treaty these stipulations are to be considered ‘fundamental laws’ of the republic (Art. 37). Until the present, however, under Turkish law there does not exist a mechanism for them or for Muslim minorities to incorporate and acquire a legal personality (European Commission for Democracy Through Law 2010, p. 10). Accordingly, the questions regarding the treatment of donations, business income as well as requirements to keep accounts are non-existent. Religious communities are therefore restricted to operating secular foundations for charitable purposes. Such foundations must keep accounts and are supervised by the Directorate of Foundations, a state organ under the Turkish Prime Minister. The Treaty of Lausanne also requires the state’s protection of religious foundations, now commonly referred to as ‘fused foundations,’ that existed at the time of the signing (Art. 42). 426

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Subsequently, however, their operations as well as the foundation of new religious foundations were largely hindered by the state. These actions were justified by the principle of secularism. Only in 2008 was the state’s stance towards non-profit organizations in general relaxed with the enactment of a new Foundations Act, which was supplemented by the Regulations for Foundations Regulation. The so-called ‘fused foundations’ of religious minorities remain under the management of the Directorate of Foundations under the law, however (Art. 6), which remains an entity reporting directly to the Office of the Prime Minister (Art. 35). Donations to the ‘fused foundations’ are deductible for both personal and corporate income taxes (Art. 77). Private foundations, which must not be religious, but can be religiously motivated, can acquire a private legal status under the law (Art. 4). They can establish incorporated business, as long as the revenue is used for the foundation’s purpose (Art. 26). Such business activities of foundations are subject to corporate income tax just as for-profit businesses are (OECD 2013, p. 45). Foundations need to keep detailed books and are subject to audits by the Directorate of Foundations (Art. 31–4).

United States of America The secularism of the United States is codified in the First Amendment to the United States Constitution. It bars Congress from establishing a religion or infringing on the free exercise of a religion. The Amendment has been interpreted by the courts as banning the state from giving aid to any religious activity at all. This ‘disestablishment’ has been described as the outcome of a ‘strange coalition’ between liberal rationalists and a multitude of religious sects in the late eighteenth century, and is based on the combination of the prevention of the state supporting religious groups with the protection of the freedom of religion (Monsma and Soper 2009, pp. 18–9). For religious communities in the United States, the Internal Revenue Code is the most significant piece of legislation. They can incorporate tax-exempt charitable organizations under Art. 501(c) 3 of the code, as can other groups with charitable but non-religious purposes. Both corporate and individual donors can deduct such donations from taxable income up to prescribed limits (Art. 170). Qualifying religious organizations are not barred from engaging in business activities as long as they are not a substantial part of the organization’s activities. Income tax must be paid on such unrelated business income, however (Art. 511–4). To avoid losing the taxexempt status due to the size of the business activities, non-profit organizations can own forprofit subsidiaries, so called ‘feeder organizations.’ To them, however, the same tax rules apply as to all other businesses (Art. 502). Religious organizations under Sec. 501(c) 3 of the Internal Revenue Code are required to keep accounts. But there are no general applicable rules regarding their nature (Internal Revenue Service 2015, pp. 25–9). With Art. 7611 of the Internal Revenue Code, Congress has introduced additional burdens regarding the audits of religious organizations, privileging them over other non-profit organizations. Only based on written evidence and approved by the secretary of the treasury or a high-ranking delegate, can the audit of a tax-exempt religious organization be launched. It is well known that in the United States religious organizations are vocal commentators on social and political issues. Religious figures both vote and have been elected. However, as tax-exempt organizations under Art. 501(c) 3 of the Internal Revenue Code, religious

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organizations are barred from explicitly giving voting recommendations or similar partisan advice (Internal Revenue Service 2015, pp. 7–8).

Conclusion: what is next for research? Unsurprisingly, the summaries of the country cases above confirm the established view in the literature about the varieties of secularism. In the secular states discussed, there is a continuum between the strict differentiation of state and politics in France, Japan and the United States via a recognized social role in Germany and Thailand to state control in Turkey. The form of incorporation that religious organizations acquire varies accordingly, ranging from private nonprofit corporations and associations in France, Japan and the United States, via the public corporations of Germany to the bodies directly controlled by the state in Turkey. While not being referred to public corporations explicitly, the status of Thai religious organizations fits this description and is therefore most comparable to the German case. When it comes to the differentiation between the religious and the economic spheres, however, it is the similarities that dominate. In all countries income derived from donations and fees for religious services are tax-exempt. And with the notable exception of Japan, donating to religious organizations is encouraged by the states by allowing for tax deduction. Religion’s positive social role is thus implicitly recognized. In all countries, religious organizations may engage in for-profit and non-religious non-profit activities. There are differences regarding the question, if they may do so directly or must use a distinct entity. With the only exception of Thailand, however, tax codes ascertain that the entrance of religious organizations into the field of business does not distort competition. The exception of Thailand appears to be a theoretical one only, though, as temples in the Southeast Asian country do not appear to be active in for-profit or non-profit activities beyond the renting out of temple lands. There are, however, considerable differences regarding the requirement to keep accounts. The legal requirement to keep accounts and the codification of the authority of secular bodies to audit them, demonstrate first of all the subordination of the religious organizations under secular law and the modern state. The lack of such authority in Germany and Thailand is the outcome of historical developments which have strengthened the negotiation position of religious organizations vis-à-vis the state. Such in-depth historical comparisons of the development of the economic aspects of religious organizations appear to be one field where further research promises to be fecund. This first comparison has been necessarily limited to the most basic aspects of the state regulation of the economic activities of religious organizations in six countries. On the one hand, further research is required to broaden the scope of comparison, possibly also including countries that do not qualify as secular. On the other hand, a more detailed investigation of specific issues, for example based on the analysis of court decisions on similar issues, offers itself as promising, too.

Law Code, Acts and Treaties France Autorité des normes comptables, Réglement N° 2018–06 du 5 décembre 2018. Relatif aux comptes annuels des personnes morales de droit privé à but non lucratif Règlement homologué par arrêté du 26 décembre 2018 publiéau Journal Officiel du 30 décembre 2018. 428

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Code général des impôts [Tax Code], online available at: www.legifrance.gouv.fr/affichCode. do?cidTexte=LEGITEXT000006069577&dateTexte=29990101 (last accessed 10 May 2018). Constitution du 4 octobre 1958 [Constitution of the French Republic], online available at: www.legifrance.gouv.fr/affichTexte.do?cidTexte=LEGITEXT000006071194 (last accessed 10 May 2018). Loi du 1er juillet 1901 relative au contrat d’association [Associations Law of 1901], online available at: www.legifrance.gouv.fr/affichTexte.do?cidTexte=LEGITEXT000006069570 (last accessed 10 May 2018). Loi du 9 décembre 1905 concernant la séparation des Églises et de l’État [Law on the Separation of the Churches and State of 1905], online available at: www.legifrance.gouv.fr/affichTexte.do? cidTexte=JORFTEXT000000508749 (last accessed 10 May 2018).

Germany Abgabenordnung [The Fiscal Code of Germany], online available at: www.gesetze-im-inter net.de/ao_1977/(last accessed 10 May 2018). Einkommenssteuergesetz [Income Tax Act], online available at: www.gesetze-im-internet.de/ estg/BJNR010050934.html (last accessed 10 May 2018). Grundgesetz [Basic Law], online available at: www.bundestag.de/gg (last accessed 10 May 2018). Körperschaftssteuergesetz [Corporate Income Tax Act], online available at: www.gesetze-iminternet.de/kstg_1977/(last accessed 10 May 2018). Weimarer Reichsverfassung [Weimar Constitution], online available at: www.dhm.de/lemo/ kapitel/weimarer-republik/innenpolitik/verfassung/(last accessed 10 May 2018).

Japan Hōjin-zei Hō [Corporation Tax Act], online available at: http://elaws.e-gov.go.jp/ search/elawsSearch/elaws_search/lsg0500/detail?lawId=340AC0000000034&opener Code=1 (last accessed 10 May 2018). Nihon-koku Kempō [Constitution of Japan], online available at: http://elaws.e-gov.go.jp/ search/elawsSearch/elaws_search/lsg0500/detail?lawId=321CONSTITUTION&opener Code=1 (last accessed 10 May 2018). Shūkyō Hōjin Hō [Religious Corporations Tax Act], online available at: http://elaws.e-gov.go. jp/search/elawsSearch/elaws_search/lsg0500/detail?lawId=326AC0000000126&openerCode=1 (last accessed 10 May 2018). Shotoku-zei Hō [Income Tax Act], online available at: http://elaws.e-gov.go.jp/search/elawsSearch/ elaws_search/lsg0500/detail?lawId=340AC0000000033&openerCode=1 (last accessed 10 May 2018).

Thailand Administration of Islamic Organisations Act 1997, online available at: (www.krisdika.go.th/ wps/wcm/connect/14bcb10040db1814aa1aeb0dd2c2aa0f/ADMINISTRATION+OF +ISLAMIC+ORGANISATIONS+ACT%2C+B.E.+2540+%281997%29.pdf?MOD=AJ PERES&CACHEID=14bcb10040db1814aa1aeb0dd2c2aa0f) (last accessed 10 May 2018). Constitution of the Kingdom of Thailand 2016, online Available at: www.krisdika.go.th/wps/ wcm/connect/d230f08040ee034ca306af7292cbe309/CONSTITUTION+OF+THE+KING DOM+OF+THAILAND+%28B.E.+2560+%282017%29%29.pdf?MOD=AJPERES&CA CHEID=d230f08040ee034ca306af7292cbe309 (last accessed 10 May 2018). 429

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Sangha Acts: Mahamakut Educational Council, 1989. Acts on the Administration of the Buddhist Order or Sangha of Thailand. Bangkok: Mahamakut Buddhist University.

Turkey Foundations Law No. 5737, online available at: www.vgm.gov.tr/en/Sayfalar/SayfaDetay.aspx? SayfaId=2 (last accessed 10 May 2018). The Regulations for Foundations, 27 September 2008, online available at: www.vgm.gov.tr/ en/Sayfalar/SayfaDetay.aspx?SayfaId=2 (last accessed 10 May 2018). Lausanne Peace Treaty of 1923, online available at: www.mfa.gov.tr/lausanne-peace-treaty.en.mfa (last accessed 10 May 2018).

United States of America U.S. Code: Title 26—Internal Revenue Code. Online available at: www.law.cornell.edu/ uscode/text/26 (last accessed 10 May 2018).

References Agrama, H. A., 2010. Secularism, Sovereignty, Indeterminancy: Is Egypt a Secular or Religious State? Comparative Studies in Society and History, 52 (3), 495–523. Barrett, W. P., 2017. The Largest US Charities for 2017 [online]. Forbes. Available from: www.forbes. com/sites/williampbarrett/2017/12/13/the-largest-u-s-charities-for-2017/#6fa7075758e1 [Accessed 10 May 2018]. Braun, M., 2017. Die Kirche als UnternehmenWirtschaftsbetriebe mit religiösem Etikett [online]. Deutschlandfunk. Available from: www.deutschlandfunk.de/die-kirche-als-unternehmen-wirtschaftsbe triebe-mit.769.de.html?dram:article_id=387033 [Accessed 10 May 2018]. Casanova, J., 2006. Secularization Revisited: A Reply to Talal Asad. In: D. Scott and C. Hirschkind, eds.. Powers of the Secular Modern: Tala Asad and His Interlocutors. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 12–30. Chantha, N., 2012. Rai-ngan chabap sombun kan borihan kanngoen khongwat nai Prathet Thai. Bangkok: National Institute of Development Administration. Covell, S. G., 2005. Japanese Temple Buddhism: Worldliness in a Religion of Renunciation. Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press. Deutsch, J. G., 1963. Some Problems of Church and State in the Weimar Constitution. Yale Law Review, 72 (3), 457–474. Dubus, A., 2017. Buddhism and Politics in Thailand. Bangkok: Research Institute on Contemporary Southeast Asia. European Commission for Democracy Through Law (Venice Commission), 2010. On the Legal Status of Religious Communities in Turkey and the Right of the Orthodox Patriarchate of Istanbul to Use the Adjective ‘Ecumenical’. CDL-AD(2010)005. Strasbourg: Council of Europe par 43. Frankfurter Allgemeine Zeitung, 2017. Gemeinsame Erklärung: Bischöfe: AfD nicht mit christlichem Glauben vereinbar [online]. Available from: www.faz.net/aktuell/politik/inland/katholische-bis choefe-distanzieren-sich-von-der-afd-14917396.html [Accessed 10 May 2018]. Göçmen, I., 2013. The Role of Faith-Based Organizations in Social Welfare Systems: A Comparison of France, Germany, Sweden, and the United Kingdom. Nonprofit and Voluntary Sector Quarterly, 42 (3), 495–551. Göçmen, I., 2014. Religion, Politics and Social Assistance in Turkey: The Rise of Religiously Motivated Associations. Journal of European Social Policy, 24 (1), 92–103. Gorski, P., 2000. Historicizing the Secularization Debate: Church, State, and Society in Late Medieval and Early Modern Europe, ca. 1300 to 1700. American Sociological Review, 65 (1), 138–167. Hudson, M., 2000. Introduction: The Role of Accounting in Civilization’s Economic Takeoff. In: M. Hudson and C. Wunsch, eds.. Creating Economic Order: Record-Keeping, Standardization, and the Development of Accounting in the Ancient Near East. Bethesda: CDL, 1–22.

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Ishii, Y., 1986. Sangha, state, and society: Thai Buddhism in history. Hawaii: University of Hawaii Press. Internal Revenue Service, 2015. Tax Guide for Churches and Religious Organizations. Publication 1828 (Rev. 8–2015), Catalog Number 21096G. Washington, DC: Internal Revenue Service. Kamann, M., 2018. EKD-Chef bekommt nach GroKo-Appell Kritik von links [online]. Welt. Available from: https://amp.welt.de/amp/politik/deutschland/article173487086/Heinrich-Bedford-StrohmEKD-Chef-bekommt-Kritik-von-links.html?__twitter_impression=true [Accessed 10 May 2018]. Karpat, K. H., 2004. Studies on Turkish Politics and Society: Selected Articles and Essays. Boston, MA: Brill. Kuru, A. T., 2009. Secularism and State Policies toward Religion The United States, France, and Turkey. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Larsson, T., 2016. Keeping Monks in Their Place? Asian Journal of Law and Society, 3 (1), 17–28. McCargo, D., 2012. The Changing Politics of Thailand’s Buddhist Order. Critical Asian Studies, 44 (4), 627–642. Monsma, S. V. and Soper, J. C., 2009. The Challenge of Pluralism: Church and State in Five Democracies. Lanham: Rowman & Littlefield. Mullins, M. R., 1997. The Political and Legal Response to Aum-Related Violence in Japan: A Review Article. Japan Christian Review, 63 (1), 37–46. Nihon Kōnin Kaikeishi Kyōkai, Hieiri Hōjin no Iinkai, 2001. Shūkyō hōjin no kaikei no shishin. Hieiri Hōjin no Iinkai Kenkyū Hōkoku, 6, 1–16. OECD, 2013. Global Forum on Transparency and Exchange of Information for Tax Purposes Peer Reviews: Turkey. Paris: OECD Publishing. Shimazono, S., 2010. Kokka shintō to Nihonjin. Tokyo: Iwanami Shoten. Tanaka, G., 2015. Corporate social disclosure and practices in Japanese corporations: The case of Meiko electronics. In: C. Noronha, ed. Corporate social disclosure: Critical perspectives in China and Japan. UK: Palgrave Macmillan, 310–343. Thai Rath, 2020. Mahathera Samakhom chat rabiap chao tuek—thidin wat tong kho anuyat. 10 January. Wolf, D., 2014. Doppik und Rechnungslegung der Evangelischen Kirche in Deutschland: Eine kritische Analyse unter besonderer Berücksichtigung der Immobilienbewertung. Baden-Baden: Nomos.

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36 Religious identities in times of crisis An analysis of Europe Didem Doganyilmaz Duman

Introduction Throughout history, religion has played a significant role in social relations. Religion makes a significant contribution to defining a group’s identity and it affects intergroup relations (Seul 1999). At certain points, these relations have paved the way for controversies as a result of negative sentiments towards ‘others,’ and Islamophobia can be pointed out as the most recent example. In terms of religious identity, Christianity has been the dominant one in Europe. Historically, inter-sectarian conflicts, Crusades against the Muslim World, expulsion of Jews from Spain in the 15th century, and the Holocaust in Germany under Nazi rule demonstrate this dominance. Currently, fewer people define themselves as Christians and it is strongly debated that religion is losing its dominance over society (Nelsen and Guth 2015). It is stated in a report of the Pew Research Center (Masci 2015) that people who identified themselves as Christians constituted 74.5% of the entire European population in 2010, while the proportion of unaffiliated people was recorded at 18.8%. The same report presents projections for 2050. The Christian population is expected to go down to 65.2%. This decrease is projected to occur as a result of demographic changes of two groups. As far as the Christian population is concerned, religious shifting and negative population growth play significant roles. For instance, the proportion of unaffiliated people is expected to increase to 23.3%. Muslims, which were 6% in 2010, are projected to reach 8.4% of the population in 2050 due to natural causes such as a high fertility rate. But when migration is taken into account, Muslims will make up around 10% of the overall population of Europe by 2050. It is important to highlight that these projections were reported before the massive refugee influx which started in mid-2014. Religious identity provides a sense of belonging for those who start to live in a different country under unfamiliar conditions and cultural codes (Hirschman 2004, p. 1228); hence it would not be wrong to claim that newcomer Muslims in Europe are more likely to identify themselves with their religion. Even though it presents a cause for unification, it also creates a barrier which challenges the integration of these newcomers in the host society (Foner and Alba 2008, pp. 368–369). Consequently, different characteristics between newcomer

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Muslims and Christian-populated host societies become clearer and cause tension, since an invisible boundary has been drawn between them. At the same time, this tension has been reinforced by various other factors, such as media reporting and security-oriented policies. They foster negative impressions about the differences, which then leads to the marginalization of Muslims. At this point, it is important to highlight that the marginalization of religious identity does not mean that a person with no religious affiliation would tend to shift to any religious affiliation. Instead, marginalization simply reinforces existing religious divisions. Within this context, this chapter aims to provide a theoretical analysis to discuss the process regarding the marginalization of religious identities in Europe by giving special attention to anti-Islamic sentiments reflected in the debates concerning Islamophobia.

Characterization of the crisis: recent inter-religious interactions in Europe A crisis can be defined as an event or a series of events that brings about uneasiness with significant consequences for individuals and the groups to which they belong. Crisis shores up collective identities which are then critical in engendering differences between groups. For an individual, identity answers the question ‘who am I?’ But collectively, it brings together people who have similar answers and carve out space in society. In this light, identity defines differences (Schneeberger 2009, p. 85). According to the Social Identity Theory, individuals may describe themselves with respect to membership in a particular social grouping (Mlicki and Ellemers 1996, p. 98). Doing so highlights shared characteristics that define the collective (Turner et al. 1987, pp. 50–51); hence the ‘other’ may either be another individual or another group. Once the level of definition shifts from individuality to group consciousness, relations with the ‘other’ evolve in the same direction as well; and consequently, intergroup relations gain importance. Social identities are formed with respect to intergroup differences. The group that individuals bind to is called the in-group; non-members belong to the out-group. For each in-group, there is at least one out-group with which it competes. Since individuals tend to increase their self-esteem and positive self-image (Turner 1982), they elevate the perceived status of the in-group over the out-group (Hogg and Abrams 1993). During this process, internalized stereotypes and norms are employed (Hogg, Terry and White 1995) and can even be exaggerated (Demirtaş 2003). According to Hogg (1993), the reasons why individuals tend to identify themselves with certain categories or groups include feelings of discrimination and threats by an out-group. In order to challenge these feelings, they strengthen their bonds to any social category by emphasizing intra-group similarities. As a result, boundaries between groups become fortified (Al Raffie 2013). These differences affect political order. They certainly challenge the fundamental approach of politics—the collective good—by consolidating social identities and group boundaries. This is how identity politics is conducted: it favors a group of people based on the shared characteristics of a determined identity over any other (Sheikhzadegan and Nollert 2017). Social categories, which form social identities, are large-scale sources (Deaux and Martin 2003) and religion, including having no religious affiliation, is one of them. They have an undeniable influence on shaping identities by engendering differences by drawing invisible boundaries as a ‘social-marker’ between ‘us’ and ‘them’ (Nelsen and Guth 2015). For the purpose of this research, the effects of religion on forming groups based on

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differences and the feeling of belonging that it provides to individuals and societies will be analyzed. The place of religion in modern times has been debated as to whether it is neglected or not. On the one hand, Göle (2013), for instance, states that it is not recognized as legitimate within the doxa of modernity. Similarly, Ganiel, Winkel and Monnot (2014) argue that it has been a victim of the secularizing power of modernity and the hegemony of the nationstate, and religion itself was in crisis after the second half of the 20th century. On the other hand, there have been social movements that have led people to assert their religious identity, like the Zionist movement, the Chechen movement (Sheikhzadegan and Nollert 2017). Religion can also be instrumental for national healing with the intention of overcoming violence in a deeply polarized and traumatized society, as in the case of Zimbabwe after its independence (Tarusarira 2014). Moreover, certain crises for a nation can reawaken the importance of religious identities. For instance, during the Independence War of Turkey, people united around their religious identity, which was the decisive component between them and hostile forces (Doganyilmaz 2014). Furthermore, the secularization thesis itself acknowledges that crisis can increase the popularity of religion (Bruce 1997). Religious identity can be accepted as a tool to unify individuals and societies. However, it is effective only for in-group dynamics. In terms of intergroup relations, it becomes a barrier that fosters intergroup conflict. Inter-religious interaction, alongside negatively driven consciousness, can bring about problems concerning differences. Islamophobia can be pointed out as a recent example of such a problem. In terms of the religious belonging among European societies, Christianity is the predominant religion. The cultural roots of Europe were dominated by Christian characteristics (Nelsen and Guth 2015). In the contemporary period, European societies’ collective self-image was based on secular characteristics (Sheikhzadegan and Nollert 2017, p. 646) since they managed to constitute a secular public sphere. Regarding relations with other religious identities, it would not be wrong to claim that Judaism was a rival; however, as stated by Göle (2015, p. 238), Jews and Christians ended up with a moral agreement and they contributed Judeo-Christian characteristics to the Greco-Roman roots of European culture. Relations with Muslims, on the other hand, have been complicated throughout history. Even though the existence of Islam in Europe dates back to the 14th century, as a result of Ottoman settlement policy in the Balkans (Doganyilmaz Duman 2016), discussions concerning inter-religious interaction started only after the second half of the 20th century when immigration became a major issue. Within the framework of this research, it is important to focus on this period. During the first decades, first-generation immigrants formed their isolated communities and were not fully integrated into the local sociopolitical structure. However, since their descendants have become part of the public sphere, their visibility has increased accordingly. The real interaction between immigrant Muslims and local Christians began once they shared common space. The presence of Muslims had long been a fact and dates further back; however, as soon as new generations of immigrants started to be involved in the local culture, Muslims in Europe became a concern (Göle 2010) for locals. People living far from their own societies under different cultural codes are more prone to protect their religious identity in order to maintain their unity and sense of belonging. In terms of intergroup interactions, this leads to a bilateral marginalization of religious identities. Once a group tends to bind a certain form of social identity, it raises consciousness not only for in-group members but also for its out-group members. Within this context, it would not be wrong to claim that both of the aforementioned reasons, which possess the power to 434

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evoke social identity, are present. Muslims feel that they are being discriminated against, while Christians perceive that they are under threat. Brubaker (2016) highlights the result of the interaction as follows; ‘If “they” are Muslim, then in some sense “we” must be Christian (or Judeo-Christian).’ And he refers to this sense of religious leaning as ‘reactive Christianity.’ Hence, both of the groups raise consciousness regarding their social identity and contribute to the fortifying of the boundary between them. In terms of discrimination, Roy (2004) states that Muslims are aware of the incompatibility of the public image of their religion with the European mainstream view that religion is a private affair. In addition, socioeconomic factors may be a reason for Muslims to feel discriminated against, as Al Raffie (2013) argues that low social standing relative to the host country may generate a sense of non-belonging. Regarding threat, a recent research, which was conducted by the European Council on Foreign Relations (2019), reveals significant information about European sentiments. The research asked about ‘the single biggest threat in Europe today’ and the results are as follows: Islamic radicals and migration form the first two answers that Europeans have concerns about. It is important to highlight that these two concerns are related to different experiences of feeling threatened. Perceived Threat Theory suggests two forms, which are symbolic and realistic (Stephan et al. 2002). Symbolic threat comes in the form of cultural values. The presence of Muslims is perceived as a threat to European values and culture. Realistic threat focuses on the physical and material well-being alongside political and economic power. As Kaya (2015) suggests, Muslim immigrants and their descendants have been considered as a financial burden by European societies. Their presence is usually linked to illegality, crime, fundamentalism, and conflict. Hence, the presence of Muslims is perceived as a threat due to the burden on economic resources. They are also seen as vectors of terrorist attacks with Islamist purposes (Ciftci 2012). Hence, both forms of perceived threats are present within the interaction of Muslims and Christians in Europe. The massive flows of Muslim refugees from conflict zones into Europe and their increased public visibility have given rise to the impression that Europeans are under threat. At the same time, the Islamic State (IS), an Islamist terrorist group, has carried out various brutal attacks which have left hundreds of deaths in Europe.

Consequences of inter-religious interaction: boundary making and Islamophobia All social groups refer to an ‘other’ as already mentioned, and there are two types in determining it: the remote otherness, which refers to a distant group for in-group members to be afraid of, and otherness of proximity, which concerns groups that become threats since they are too close to in-group members (Akgönül 2018). As a result of recent interactions, Muslims in Europe have become subjects of otherness of proximity, which has intensified negative feelings. Negative feelings towards Muslims may be referred to as ‘anti-Islamic sentiments.’ However, the term Islamophobia will be used in this analysis since it provides a robust definition and relevant discussions in the literature abound. Islamophobia refers to the negative attitudes or feelings towards Islam and Muslims (Bleich 2011). A report by the Runnymede Trust entitled ‘Islamophobia: A Challenge for Us All’ defines Islamophobia as ‘unfair’ (1997, pp. 1–4) dread or hatred of Islam. The attacks of September 11, 2001 (9/11) in New York had a significant effect on the pervasive use of the term, and it is certain that 9/11 and further terrorist attacks with Islamist purposes have undeniable influences on the

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consolidation of negative public opinion towards Muslims (Wuthnow 2005; Allen 2007). Additionally, the recent influx of refugees has become another reason for the rise of Islamophobia, a classic case of symbolic threat. However, it is important to highlight that Islamophobia is not a new phenomenon (Modood and Ahmad 2007; Poynting and Mason 2007). Use of the term dates back to the early 20th century according to López (2011). Since then it has been redefined and there is still no consensus on its definition. Some scholars state that it applies to a range wider than fear of Muslims (from xenophobia to antiterrorism) (Cesari 2006), while some scholars highlight its closeness to racism (Esposito 2011). Modood and Ahmad (2007) refer to a form of racism focusing on both cultural and ethnic differences, as well as Kaya (2015), who defines the term as cultural racism. Similarly, Schiffer and Wagner (2011) use the term to highlight discrimination against a religious community. Winkler (2014) points out the same issue with the term neo-racism by focusing on cultural differences. Geisser (2013), on the other hand, rejects its closeness to racism, and defines Islamophobia as a phobia of religion. And regardless of these arguments, Zimmerman (2008) defines Islamophobia as an unreasonable fear of Islam and Muslims. Today’s world order is based on plurality, which is framed to provide harmony between differences. Islamophobia has thus been criticized strongly for being antagonistic to today’s world order. Allen (2007) for instance, discusses that Islamophobia would cause the erosion of the multicultural model. Esposito and Kalin (2015) have asked too whether Islamophobia is a challenge to pluralism. And yet, there are studies that focus on Islam’s incompatibility with Western values (Bleich 2011). Scholarship on Islamophobia has grown over time. In addition to defining it, further studies have been conducted in order to classify Islamophobic leanings. Dekker and van der Noll (2009), for instance, highlight the attitudinal and behavioral dimensions of Islamophobia. The behavioral dimension concerns discriminatory practice and violence towards Muslims, while the attitudinal dimension refers to the unfavorable opinions about them. Akgönül (2018) presents a similar classification; he limits Islamophobia with opinionbased leanings, and he defines discrimination and even physical attacks as Muslimophobia. In accordance with all these discussions, Islamophobia will be taken here as referring to different forms of anti-Islamic and anti-Muslim sentiments including behavioral, attitudinal Islamophobia, Muslimophobia, and even discourses and practices that cultivate offensive thoughts against Muslims. The nature of identity politics paves the way for the conflict between ‘us’ and ‘them,’ and it has the power to foster antagonism alongside chauvinism (Derviş 2015) and populism. As cited by Akgönül (2018, p. 9), Carl Schmitt states the necessity of an enemy to create and cultivate danger. He also adds that this enemy should be close enough to provoke hatred and fear in society (in other words, in-group members) to possess political domination. Since political discourses have the power to attract attention on one certain topic and to affect public opinion (Esposito and Kalin 2015), newcomer Muslims have become the ‘other’ as the source of tension employed by rising populist movements in Europe. The Flemish Block (Vlaams Blok) in Belgium, the Freedom Party in Austria (FPÖ —Freiheitliche Partei Österreichs), the British National Party, the Danish People’s Party (Dansk Folkeparti), the New Force (Forza Nuova) in Italy, Jobbik the Movement for a Better Hungary (Jobbik Magyarországért Mozgalom), the True Finns (Perussuomalaiset), the National Front (Front National) in France, and the Party for Freedom (PVV—Partij voor de Vrijheid) in the Netherlands are some political parties that apply anti-Islamic discourses to their political agendas (Doganyilmaz Duman 2018). Economic insecurity, which certain parts of European 436

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societies have faced, also has an important role in the polarization between ‘us’ and ‘them’ in terms of the use of public services (Inglehart and Norris 2016). As mentioned earlier, the public image of Muslims in Europe has already been perceived as negative, and massive flows of refugees have engendered that image. Perception has an undeniable effect on forming public opinion and political discourses encouraging a negative public image of Muslims serve the purpose of the perceived threat. At this point, it is important to highlight that the volume of anti-Islamic discourses over all the political agenda does not share the same ratio for each political party; however, results of recent elections provide concrete proof of the support they gained as a result of employing anti-Islamic discourses. Furthermore, state policies have considerable effects on shaping public opinion about a certain issue. They have reinforced the perceived threat coming from Muslim societies. Certain security policies, for example, have been applied in order to obstruct Muslims’ entry into Europe. Consequently, these controls have encouraged the negative image of Muslims and linked them to security concerns. The Schengen Area, for instance, has become one of the most debated topics on the EU agenda. How to protect it became a prominent concern during the 2011 refugee crisis after the arrival of Tunisians on the Italian coast, who intended to travel to France. Consequently, France intensified patrols on its national borders within the Schengen Area (Pascouau 2012). After another massive influx of refugees in 2014, Germany launched control spots along its borders with Austria in September 2015 (Harding 2015). Similarly, Sweden started to restrict entry into its border with Denmark, and Denmark launched controls over its border with Germany in January 2016 (Önnerfors 2016). Further discussions were carried out and with the support of Austria, Germany, and Sweden, the removal of Greece from the Schengen Area Member States was discussed as Greece geographically provides the first point of entry into the Schengen Area (Holehouse and Smith 2016). Alongside the refugee crisis, Islamist terrorist attacks have also raised questions about the Schengen Area. France, for instance, started to control its borders and isolated itself from the Schengen Area for a month in 2015 for security concerns (Holehouse 2015). In addition to the aforementioned restrictions, Denmark, Norway, and Germany have adopted strict rules concerning asylum application requirements, which were strongly criticized (The Local 2016). The German government applied another restriction concerning the Dublin Agreement, which states that refugees should register in the first EU country they enter, by suspending it for Syrians who entered the EU borders from Greece (Deutsche Welle 2015). Moreover, a strongly criticized agreement was signed between Turkey and the EU about maintaining refugees in Turkey, outside the EU borders, in return for 3 billion euros on March 19, 2016 (European Commission 2016). For the refugees who have already entered the Schengen Area, cultural orientation programs were launched with the intentions of maintaining social order and facilitating their integration into the native cultural values of Belgium (Özkan 2016), Norway, and Denmark (Higgins 2015). At this point, it is important to highlight that these programs were related to cultural differences; however, as stated earlier, religion and culture have a significant connection. These attempts were strongly debated, since they dismissed the cultural integrity of newcomers (Higgins 2015). The othering process of a group requires various influences and the media industry plays a crucial role in this regard. Akgönül (2018) explains how this happens. Firstly, traditional media and social media emphasize the religious identity of the criminal by highlighting Islam. Secondly, the singular and plural identities are combined, with the effect that an entire group is perceived as bad and eventually criminalized. Third, the whole group is 437

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categorized in the singular form: Muslim is bad. Indeed, a report by Runnymede Trust (Commission on British Muslims and Islamophobia 2004) states that news in the UK is strongly prejudiced and unfair towards Islam and Muslims. They cultivate and deepen the ‘Muslim is bad’ perception. In another report (Esposito 2013), Media Tenor, a major media monitor, analyzed almost 975,000 news stories in the EU and the United States (BBC, ABC, and CBS) to make a comparison between 2001 and 2011. In 2001, news focusing on extremist militants was calculated as 2%, while news covering Muslims on a regular basis was limited to 0.1%. In 2011, news covering militants changed dramatically from 2% to 25%, while news covering Muslims on a regular basis demonstrated stability with 0.1%. Since media is a significant tool that has the power to shape public opinion, media coverage about extremist militants empower false stereotypes, which connect Islam with extremism and terrorism. It can be discussed whether these policy changes can directly be linked to Islamophobia. However, it is important to highlight the perception they encourage regarding the newcomers: they are unwanted, culturally subordinated and causing concerns. The Social Identity Theory already claims that in-group members tend to exaggerate out-group negativity in order to fortify the boundary between them; hence, all aforementioned security concerns, media coverages, and discourses articulate and reinforce the characteristics to stereotype the otherness of proximity. Kaya (2017) argues that overall they contribute to securitizing and stigmatizing Islam. Also, parasocial interactions have considerable power to encourage prejudices about Muslims, as stated in the European Islamophobia Report (2017). Post-truth politics, which consists of populist discourses among right-wing political parties (Wodak 2015), has similar effects regarding intergroup relations. In some European countries, it has led to dangerous protests, as in the Netherlands (The Guardian 2015) and Germany (Launspach 2016). These protests can be considered examples of behavioral Islamophobia and they clearly demonstrate how polarization brings about social issues within a society.

Religious identity as a boundary In terms of religious leaning and attitudinal Islamophobia, various polls have been carried out to record the general disposition of European societies regarding their own religious identity and that of the ‘other.’ Relevant statistical datasets are consulted in this section. The secularization process has significant effects on individuals’ religious identities, and studies demonstrate that it is less spread among Eastern European societies. The religious leaning of Eastern Europeans is more solid and mostly identified with nationalist attitudes and Islamophobia is more consolidated (Pickel and Öztürk 2018). Regarding Western European societies, even though the majority of peoples identify themselves as Christians, and they think that Islam is incompatible with Western values, they are more prone to accept Muslims in their close circles as reported by the Pew Research Center (2018b). In another report (Pew Research Center 2018a), the religious leanings of Western European societies have been analyzed, which reveals that there is a positive correlation between Christian affiliation and anti-Islamic (or anti-immigrant) sentiments. The stronger people bind to their religious identity, the more they criticize the presence of Islam and assert the incompatibility of Islamic values with theirs. In terms of religious hostility in general, a report (Pew Research Center 2017) reveals that it increased between 2007 and 2015. The most noticeable increase in government harassment and use of force against religious groups occurred during 2014 and 2015. This period coincided with the arrival of refugees and the terrorist attacks in Europe. Data 438

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support this point. The report by the European Parliament (2017) provides statistical data collected by the European Social Survey system. Indeed, Muslims, according to this report, are among the most unwanted immigrants in Europe. Approximately a quarter of the entire respondents think that no Muslim should be allowed in Europe while approximately 30% think that ‘some’ may be allowed. Another analysis conducted by Friedrich-Ebert-Stiftung, a Germany-based foundation, provides the most recent data regarding anti-immigrant inclinations of European societies (Demirkan 2018). In Hungary, almost one in two people (48%) are against having any interpersonal relations with a person from a different country and culture. It is followed by Estonia (29%), the Czech Republic (28%), Lithuania (27%), Great Britain (26%), Ireland (21%), Portugal (21%), Slovenia (19%), France (18%), and Austria (18%). Five different issues are highlighted as reasons for this unwillingness: fear of losing jobs, decrease in welfare level, cultural threat, religious threat, and criminal threat. While the first two reasons are examples of realistic threat, the last three are symbolic threats. People who think that newcomers are a threat to their religion constitute 58% in the Czech Republic, followed by France, the UK, and Austria with 55% each. The proportions in other countries are as follows: Belgium (53%), Lithuania (51%), the Netherlands (51%), Ireland (50%), Norway (50%), and Estonia (50%). In relation to cultural values, 51% of respondents in Hungary think that newcomers are a threat. Following Hungary are the UK (50%), Austria (50%), Lithuania (48%), Slovenia (47%), France (46%), and Ireland (46%). In terms of security, the statistics are overwhelming, since the proportion starts with 78% in Austria and the list ends with 57% in Estonia. In other words, more than one in two people in each country think that newcomers cause an increase in criminality. This demonstrates how perception plays a significant role in intergroup relations. Here lies an important insight. The proportion of Muslim populations, the volume of anti-Islamic discourses by political parties, and the public visibility of Muslims may vary from one country to another, but attitudinal Islamophobia is pervasive across all of them.

Conclusion European societies have become inescapably secular. This means that religious affairs have been reduced to the private sphere. Christianity’s contemporary contributions have been mainly in terms of cultural codes. And yet it remains a significant marker of social identity more so now because of the rise of Islam on the continent, even though it is not a new phenomenon historically speaking. Muslim immigrants, who headed to Central and Western Europe in the second half of the 20th century, gave rise to contentious relations between two identities, Islam and mainstream Christianity. Over time, new generations of immigrants started to assert their presence in the public sphere and to enjoy the same rights and services as their Christian peers. This interaction has taken discussions to a different level. Several developments have exacerbated the situation. The influx of refugees, Islamist motivated terrorist attacks, security-oriented policies, media coverage, and right-wing populist discourses have defined Muslims as the glaring ‘other’ in European societies. Threats are both symbolic and realistic for targeting cultural values and the physical well-being of European societies. In this context, religious difference has become the social marker demarcating the boundary between groups. Boundary making enhances solidarity among the members of the in-group and those of the out-group. The result is that while Muslims in Europe form an out-group for host Christian societies, Muslims define their own in-group by positioning themselves relative to 439

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the dominant religion. This double-sided construction plays a significant role in the boundary-making process, since two different reasons are present to evoke social identity. While Christians perceive a sense of being threatened, Muslims perceive a sense of being discriminated against. Hence, the boundary between these two groups is fortified by two parties. The visibility of Islamic identity, sharing the same public sphere with descendants of first immigrants, and the sense of being threatened, have provoked Islamophobic leanings. The wide array of responses including fear, dislike, and hatred has paved the way for the spread of Islamophobia among European societies. The otherness of proximity as a result of the presence of younger generations and recent refugees has made significant contributions to the tension. However, the interaction is not necessarily physical. Anti-Islamic political discourses associating Islamic presence with terror and cultural attacks on European identity and values, among other reactions such as security policies and parasocial interactions as a result of media coverage, has engendered negative attitudes towards Muslims, including discrimination. This double-fortified boundary encourages attitudinal and in certain cases behavioral Islamophobia among European societies. An important caveat is called for here. In terms of negative perceptions regarding Muslims, Eastern European societies possess deeper concerns and demonstrate accelerated Islamophobic leanings than Western European countries, where secular characteristics are more pervasive. A similar tendency is observed in terms of religious conservatism among Western and Eastern European countries, where the religious dimension of identity is identified with nationalist leaning. At this point, it is important to highlight that individuals with more conservative religious leanings are more prone to react negatively when they feel threatened. They tend to assert the common characteristics of their ingroup even more. Religion, in this case, is a useful social marker to position themselves coherently against the ‘other.’ This of course does not lead to the heightened religiosity among unaffiliated individuals. Instead, already existing religious sentiments have been reactivated. During times of crisis, religion has been used to unify society. However, in terms of inter-religious interaction between different societies, it becomes the core reason that brings about a boundary-making process. For the case of Europe, consciousness of the difference has gained ascendancy with recent interactions and within this process, Islamophobia has become a significant determiner in defining intergroup relations. The crisis has brought about the marginalization of religious identities for different sectors of society. Future studies are needed to determine the long-term impacts of the processes affecting both social structure (to analyze whether perceived threats would come true) and political ones (to observe whether anti-Islamic populist discourses would endure).

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37 Poetry in Iran’s contemporary theo-political culture Maryam Ala Amjadi

Persian poetry and Islam have maintained a close relationship through the vicissitudes of Iranian history. According to conventions of classical Persian poetry, verses are centered in the middle of the page, perhaps a visual reminder of the central role of poetry as a genre in Iranian literature and culture. For example, verses by the 14th-century canonical poet Hafez, which are widely read by ordinary Iranians today, reveal the continuing confluence of religion and poetry in Iranian culture. After the Quran, Hafez’s Diwan remains the most revered book in Iran, invariably cited on festive as well as mourning occasions. The poet’s penname ‘Hafez’ (‘memorizer’) references his prodigious ability to memorize different readings (riwayahs) of the Quran, many verses of which are ingeniously woven into his poetry. Infused with allusions to Perso-Islamic history and proverbs, his poetry caters to religious and non-religious Iranians alike. The recurrent references to ‘Love,’ ‘Beloved,’ and ‘Wine’ in Hafez’s verse differ in meaning depending on the interpreter’s worldview: one may not see beyond the literal and jurisprudentially impermissible (haram) wine, whereas others can interpret it as the metaphorical ‘wine of knowledge’ (mey-ye ma’rifat). Hafez’s poetry pushes his readers to delve deeper into the spirit of faith (tariqah) where, according to him, dry pedantic piety (zohd), linear logic (‘aqeli), complacency borne by inexperience (khami), and the absence of ‘Love’ are sins. As Hafez’s pre-eminent status suggests, the study of poetry should be made more integral to our understanding of Islamic culture, past and present, a point this chapters illustrates in relation to Iran. The role of poetry as a significant medium of Shiite religion and a contender to sacred authority can be traced back to the Safavid period (1501–1736), when Shiism was officially established in Iran. The Safavids, who succeeded to power by claiming their legitimacy as the rightful descendants of the Prophet Mohammad and the first Shiite Imam ‘Ali, relied significantly on the clergy for the public promotion of their rule (Toghyani 2006, p. 60). The Safavids’ theo-political advancement depended on the official reframing of Iran’s past in the light of the newly established Shiite worldview. As a result, the era is characterized by increased clerical intervention. Numerous jurisprudential treatises were composed in order to officially delineate the tenets of the newly established faith. At the same time, poetry that portrayed the Prophet and the Imams was proactively encouraged and generously rewarded

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(Ahmadpour and Zarouni 2014, p. 19). As a consequence, poetry gained significant theopolitical currency and Shiite jurisprudential terms infiltrated its verses. Significant Shiite rituals such as public expressions of allegiance to the Shiite Imams (tawalla), public denunciation of the enemies of Shiism (tabarra), and dramatic commemoration of the martyrdom of the Shiite Imams (ta’ziyeh) were performed in poetry, significant residual aspects of which have survived to this day. Here, I will introduce the role of poetry in Iran’s contemporary theo-political culture by exploring two prominent poetry presentations that were performed at two defining points in recent Iranian history: the first presidential telephone conversation between the leaders of Iran and the United States in over three decades that took place in 2013, and the national debate surrounding the UNESCO ‘Agenda 2030’ for Sustainable Development in 2017. By reading these poetic interventions, which were performed in the context of official religious ceremonies, and attending to their viral reception, I will illuminate the way poetry remains enmeshed in contemporary Iranian religious practices and political proceedings.

Context In Iranian culture, it is not uncommon to open one’s statements, whether in speech or writing, with a few verses of poetry, albeit only after the mention of God’s name and laudation of the Prophet. Even an official bureaucratic letter request in Iran today may occasionally begin or end with a few lines of poetry that are carefully selected to contextualize the letter’s contents. The supremacy of poetry as a genre is also reflected in annual Shiites rites of longing and belonging, which I will introduce in this chapter. The first poetry performance in the context of Shiite rites that I will analyze in this chapter was jointly composed by four poets in the Persian language: Meysam Motiee, Mohammad Mehdi Sayyar, Milad Erfanpour, and Ali Mohammad Moaddab. Motiee performed the poem individually at Tehran’s Imam Khomeini Grand Prayer Grounds (Mosalla) before the congregational prayer celebrating the conclusion of the month of Ramadan on June 24, 2017. During the performance, which was broadcasted on state television, Motiee delivered the poem about Iran’s internal and international politics in a sing-song tone before an assembly of high-ranking officials and the general public. The performance was widely publicized on Iranian social media channels and news media. The second poetic performance was authored by Mohammad Ali Karimi and delivered by two performers, Mostafa Mohsenzadeh and Souroush Rahmani, during the mourning month of Muharram in November 2014. In addition to its fresh interpretation of Shiite mourning rituals, the performance is predominantly notable for the corresponding choreographic movements between the two performers and the community of mourners. A short video recording of the event, which took place at the annual gathering of Shiite mourners at Hazireh Mosque in the city of Yazd, was widely publicized over a year later on social media channels for its different and creative deliverance of Shiite mourning rites. Iranian Shiites annually commemorate two main historic events: the martyrdom of the Prophet’s successor Imam ‘Ali in the fasting month of Ramadan (AD 661) and the martyrdom of the third Shiite Imam Hoseyn in the Battle of Karbala during the Islamic month of Muharram (AD 680). Singing songs of lament (nowheh-khwani), mourning performance by dramatic narration of martyrdom to invoke emotions in the audience

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(rowzeh-khwani), unanimous chanting and beating of chests in bereavement (sineh-zani), and self-flagellation with chains (zanjir-zani) are some of the characteristic rituals surrounding these anniversaries that rose to prominence during the Safavid era. Most of these mourning rituals are accompanied with poetry. The plight of Imam Hoseyn and the martyrdom of his seventy-two loyal followers who battled against Yazid’s army of 30,000 soldiers is envisaged as the war between Good and Evil. Though the Imam’s head is severed by the enemy, the Shiite principles that he and his martyrdom embodied continue to thrive. He, and by extension the Shiite community, are the victors who stand by their convictions—for Justice and Truth—against all odds. Given this highly charged moral and political message, it is no wonder that spaces specifically designed for rituals commemorating the Imam (hoseynieh) were also the site of significant political meetings before the Islamic Revolution of 1979. The most important was Hoseynieh Ershad where one of the main ideologues of the Revolution, ‘Ali Shari’ati, delivered his famous speeches against the soon-to-be-deposed Shah of Iran. In fact, in one of his extensive lectures at the Hoseynieh during Ramadan 1971, later published as a booklet entitled ‘Alavi Shiism and Safavid Shiism, ‘Ali Shari’ati himself delineated the significance of Perso-Shiite mourning rituals as a revolutionary strategy to safeguard Shiite history (2013, p. 202). As poetry is an essential component of all these rituals, the implication is that poetry has a foundational role in shaping and commemoration of PersoIslamic history.

Two poetic performances The political and religious role of poetry continues into the present in Iranian culture. In the analysis of the two poetic performances that follows, I show how the martyrdom of Imam ‘Ali and the saga of Karbala are utilized as concurrently peace-promulgating and justiceseeking as well as ethically binding and defiance-inducing accounts. We are not [a people] trainable by the West We do not burn in the temptations of the West The palace-dweller will be slapped down by the slum-dweller And land speculators will eventually fall to the ground. What is ‘Agenda 2030’, when we educate the world with our heart? Indeed, this is the Islamic Republic of Iran If the West issues a prescription, it’s [nothing but] illness It’s a sleeping pill and the remedy is our awakening We are forever trained by [our] Leader’s [wali’s] love We learn lessons through the honor in the eyebrows of ‘Ali. (Film-e Kamel 2017) The long critical poem from which I quote above, composed in 66 rhyming couplets, was performed by Meysam Motiee, a university lecturer and professionally prodigious maddah, an official performer at Shiite mourning ceremonies. The poem was read out emphatically, occasionally in a swaggering and confrontational tone, before the Eid al-Fitr congregational prayer led by Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khamenei that celebrated the end of Ramadan on June 24, 2017. Conventionally, the public platform is open to university students who address the audience before the official sermon (khutbah) and prayer (Az Mazmun-e Ash’ar 2017). Although the poem was performed before President Rouhani’s arrival at the ceremony, 446

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many considered it to be a direct critique of his government’s ongoing negotiations with the West about lifting the sanctions that were imposed as a result of Iran’s nuclear activities. Protest over implementation of the UNESCO Agenda 2030 was also in the air. Official resistance against the Agenda was encapsulated in the views of the member of Iran’s Supreme Council of the Cultural Revolution, Hassan Rahimpour Azghadi, who criticized it as incongruent with Islamic education (Tebq-e Sanad-e 2030 2017). Azghadi’s remarks were interpreted as a swipe at Rouhani’s endeavors to negotiate with the West, and a criticism of unsolicited foreign intervention in Iran’s domestic and international affairs. At the outset of the poem, Motiee opened in a liturgical sing-song tone with a devotional acknowledgement of the new crescent moon that signifies the end of Ramadan and the commencement of Eid celebrations. He recapitulated the spiritual advantages of fasting, accentuating how in testing his own tolerance for thirst he had reminisced about the water deprivation of Imam Hoseyn and his family in Karbala. Motiee gradually eased into a social criticism of poverty, acknowledging the holy labor of workers. The callused hands of manual laborers, he sang meditatively, are not inferior to the wrinkled foreheads of thinkers, a metonymic point of reference to the overestimated importance of intellectual labor over manual work. As sacred as a laborer’s sweat may be, none wish for the sweat out of embarrassment at financial difficulties. In these few verses, Motiee unequivocally addressed two of the main concerns of Iranian citizens in the past decades: soaring inflation and Iran’s struggling economy under the debilitating impact of severe economic sanctions. Addressing ‘those sitting in the [prayer] front lines,’ which is generally reserved for authorities and those close to the centers of power, he cautioned against loss of vision that comes with political pride. The power conferred by the people, he said, is a ‘trust’ (amanat)—a Quranic concept indicating immense responsibility. Inviting a ‘you’—commonly supposed to be President Rouhani —to follow the path of Imam ‘Ali, the embodiment of justice, integrity, and equanimity for Shiites, Motiee advised against deviating from the Imam’s teachings. In fact, he intimates, there is no other example to follow but that of the first Shiite leader ‘Ali and his true descendants, past and present. Why then, asks the poet, is the Iranian Shiite community to be trained according to Western ideals? Justice will prevail and divine order will be restored to the world. The oppressed are the final victors and the slumdwellers will avenge their rightful dignity one day, when the twelfth Shiite Imam alMahdi, hidden until his apocalyptic emergence, will redeem the world. If world transformation is to be anticipated, the poet suggests, it will flow from centuries-long pursuit of justice embedded in the lives and martyrdom of Shiite figures whose wisdom and teachings are guarded down the generations by jurists who lead the community in the absence of the twelfth Imam. A month before this performance, in response to the UNESCO Agenda, Iran’s Supreme Leader had disparaged the audacity of intrusive world powers attempting to program ‘nations with different history, culture and civilization.’ He emphasized that the Islamic Republic of Iran is essentially governed by Islam and the Quran (Keshvar Taslim Nemishavad 2017). Motiee’s Eid poetry performance reinforced the Supreme Leader’s message, referring to him as one whose ‘love’ and ‘teachings’ nurture religious and national pride. The moral sensibility of Imam ‘Ali, which compelled him to frown at and act against injustice, is the true source of education for the Shiite community. Through a wordplay on first names, the poem denounces not only those who do not honor ‘Ali, the first Imam, but also, by extension, the present leader Ayatollah ‘Ali Khamenei, both the embodiment of Shiite teachings. 447

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One of the major areas of controversy concerning Agenda 2030 was its prescription of sexual education for primary level students ‘who have not matured sexually,’ as argued by Azghadi, ‘in the name of hygiene’ (Tebq-e Sanad-e 2030 2017). Some protested against the Agenda’s idea of a legal marriage age, with Azghadi counter proposing that ‘boys or girls should marry at any age that is in their best interest’ while also noting that biological age does not determine social maturity. He challenged the Western idea of a freedom that legally endorses sexual rights for minorities, but continues to oppose the right to wear hijab, as with the Burqa Ban in France (Weaver 2018). Evaluating the Agenda as a form of ‘cultural-educational capitulation,’ Azghadi questioned its ‘secular’ approach that would jeopardize Iran’s position through accountability to the West (Tebq-e Sanad-e 2030 2017). Citing the Agenda as an anti-Shari’ah force, he argued that the West’s propagation of ‘violence-free peace’ would outlaw religious practices, including the annual commemorative mourning rituals for Imam Hoseyn as ‘a form of violence’ (Ibid.). Azghadi’s appraisal of the Agenda was an indirect reprimand of Rouhani, who had promised during his second presidential campaign in 2017 to work towards lifting economic sanctions against Iran and to abide with Agenda 2030 ‘within Iran’s legal and cultural framework’ (Rouhani: Dowlat-e Davazdahom 2017). This apparent moderation of his reformist approach temporarily quelled pressure from principlists who criticized Rouhani’s alleged acceptance of the Agenda without the formal approval of Iran’s Parliament and the Supreme Council of the Cultural Revolution. The principlists (osulgarayan), literally meaning principle-oriented, and the reformists are the two main camps in the post-Revolution political spectrum of Iran. The principlists by definition adhere to original principles of the Islamic Revolution in governance (Pesaran 2011, p. 164) and are generally known by their continuous resistance against coercive Western policies. These political contestations were creatively reflected in Motiee’s Eid poetry performance: Yet another sanction bill was introduced to the [US] senate The spirit of BARJAM [JCPOA] was annihilated like its body It was wrong to pointlessly rejoice over BARJAM It was wrong, it was wrong to rely on Uncle Sam’s promise [. . .] It’s a battlefield, take firm and confident steps Speak of peace, [but] pick up your weapon too! [. . .] Don’t sit back in sadness, the night [sham] of calamity shall pass Our path is paved through the journey of Karbala. (Film-e Kamel 2017) The Farsi acronym ‘BARJAM’ is an in-house term for the 2015 Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action (JCPOA) landmark agreement between Iran and the UN Security Council’s five permanent members plus one group of countries (P5+1), commonly known as the Nuclear Deal. This political term may echo farjam, a quasi-poetic word that can be translated as ‘conclusion’ or ‘destined ending.’ A verse by Hafez offers an existential interpretation of the word: I did not fall by my own will from the mosque into the tavern Such has been my destiny [farjam] since the dawn of eternity. (Khatib Rahbar 1998, p. 150)

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It is by divine benevolence that Hafez has found his destined path in an intoxicating oblivion that annihilates the ego and saves him from a form of piety that culminates only in self-righteousness. The term ‘BARJAM’ may have been formulated to signal a similarly auspicious end to the ominous challenges in Iran-West relations, a conclusion to the country’s decades-long economic challenges as a consequence of sanctions. The two rhyming words often appear as creative questioning headlines in the news: Farjam-e BARJAM (Conclusion to the Nuclear Deal). BARJAM potentially marked a new chapter of challenge and hope in Iran-West relations. Motiee’s poetry performance highlighted the sentiment of many principlists who distrusted the JCPOA’s promise of sanctions’ relief and particularly mistrusted direct relations with the United States—both initiatives fostered by Rouhani’s enthusiasm for international negotiations. The poetic admonition was directed not only at new US sanctions against Iran initiated less than two weeks before the Eid al-Fitr ceremony (Schor 2017) but also referenced Rouhani’s earlier attempts at reinstating direct Iran-US relations. On September 27, 2013, over three months after Rouhani was first voted into office, he and the US President Barack Obama had conversed in a historic phone call, breaking over three decades of silence between Iran and US leaders (Besante 2013). This phone call opened a new epoch in Iran-US relations, packed with hopeful prospects of direct, high level negotiations that might bring relief from the ever-impending threat of war and over three decades of ‘back-breaking’ sanctions (Khaterat-e Talkh 2017). Rouhani’s first successful conversation with the United States was both welcomed and condemned by Iranians. While his allies and supporters chanted ‘Thank you Rouhani’ and ‘Yes to Rouhani. No to War’ (Hassan Rouhani: Baraye Didar 2013), his opponents saw the initiative as ‘strange and futile’ and a symbol of declining resistance against the US (Eqdam-e ‘Ajib 2013). Principlist politician and cleric, Hamid Rasaee, reproved Rouahni for accepting a phone call from a ‘creature with satanic qualities’ (Cheh Kasani 2013). The exchange, he continued, could only mean trading ‘round pearls for candy’ in nuclear negotiations and would not have occurred had Rouhani been heedful of Ayatollah Khamenei’s advice (Bala Gereftan-e Ekhtelaf 2013). By contrast, Isfahan’s Friday prayers leader, Mohammad Taqi Rahbar, applauded Rouhani for attempting to defuse international tensions and the possibility of sanctions’ relief with ‘political smiles.’ ‘Death to America,’ he said, need not remain a permanent slogan as it is not God’s decree (Ibid.). Iranian analyst, Jamshid Barzegar, referred to the historical conversation as the beginning of the ‘purgatorial’ (barzakhi) era in Iran-US relationships (Dowreh-ye Barzakhi 2013). ‘Barzakh’ is the Quranic term for the liminal realm between the corporeal (donya) and spiritual world after death (akhirah), between hell and heaven, where the soul lingers after the demise of the body until the Day of Resurrection (Qiyamah). Barzegar referred to the past three decades of incommunicado as the ‘hell’ and the possibility of a normal political relationship as the promised ‘heaven.’ It is with reference to these earlier events that Motiee invokes the discontent prompted by the West’s unfulfilled political and economic promises to Iran, a predicament that he believes could have been averted by heeding to the forewarnings of ‘our spiritual guide’ (pir-e ma), presumably Iran’s Supreme Leader. Wishing away the terror instigated by the ‘weapon of sanctions’ and the ‘complacency of submission,’ he cautions his intended audience that the country’s best interests lie at ‘home’ and not in the hands of strangers. To speak merely of peace, the poet says, does not protect Iran against aggressive international measures. 449

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Applauding the courage of the martyrs and warriors of the army of Islam who guarantee regional security, Motiee addressed regional apostates (takfiri), presumably ISIS terrorists, who were defeated by the roars of Zulfiqar, Imam ‘Ali’s legendary two-edged sword, possibly embodied by the courage of Iran’s Supreme Leader Ayatollah Khamenei. ‘Our peace’ and ‘the dawn of victory,’ Motiee sang, demands a bloodied liver, a classical symbol of masculine courage in the face of hardships. There will be another Karbala before a new world order of justice and peace is restored by the last Shiite Imam al-Mahdi who will emerge from occultation. In this battle, however, Zuljanah, Imam Hoseyn’s miraculous horse, is not breathless and the flag of Islam will not fall from the hands of Hoseyn’s loyal martyred brother ‘Abbas, the standard-bearer (‘alamdar), whose hands were severed on the tenth day of Muharram (‘Ashura). Al-Quds (Jerusalem), as promised by the scriptures, will be liberated by the twelfth Imam, and the origins of the Qiblah, the direction towards which Muslim pray, will witness an apocalyptic liberation. The poem concludes with a promise that can be read two ways: there will be an end to the night (sham) of calamity; or there will be an end to the misfortunes of the sacred Levant region (Bilad al-Sham). Either way, ‘our journey’ is paved, the poet concludes, through Karbala. Following the widespread reception of the performance, in an official statement, one of the four authors of the poem, Mohammad Mehdi Sayyar, refuted allegations that the poem was ‘an insult to President Rouhani.’ It was, he said, a well-intentioned reminder to ‘those in the front lines’ of power and a heartfelt reflection of the people’s criticism of the current state of ‘employment, wage labor, justice, resistance to corruption and land speculation’ (Beyti ke 2017). If the verses were infused with any form of hostility, he reiterated, it was aimed at foreign enemies ‘the US, Israel and ISIS.’ Sayyar also claimed that ‘a senior high-ranking official involved in nuclear negotiations has praised the poem as “excellent,”’ and a senior military commander commented that the poem ‘had a longer range than ballistic missiles’ (Mohammad Mehdi Sayyar 2017). A few months later, the Supreme Leader publicly declared his support for Motiee’s performance by refuting the alleged attempts at defamation and referring to himself as one of those in the ‘front lines,’ thereby open to criticism (Nazar-e Rahbar 2017). Ayatollah Khamenei, himself a poet, believes in art as a tool for expression of revolutionary ideas and the power of poetry ‘as one of the most exalted’ art forms (Hovsepian-Bearce 2016, p. 136). He holds annual poetry meetings with selected groups of poets, particularly during the month of Ramadan (Sha’eran Cheguneh 2014). The second poetry performance that I will briefly discuss provides a contrast. It does not directly respond to a particular political event, but addresses more general contemporary socio-political anxieties through an unconventional form and content. Composed by Mohammad Ali Karimi, the ceremonial song was performed by two ‘singers of songs of lament’ (nowheh-khwans) Mostafa Mohsenzadeh and Souroush Rahmani at Hey’at-e ‘Azadaran-e Kucheh Biyuk, a gathering of dedicated mourners who meet annually during the month of Muharram in Yazd city. A few minutes into the performance, three features distinguishing it from most contemporary mourning performances were immediately discernible: the presence of two performers in a duet (a comparatively uncommon and fairly new composition in ‘Ashura ceremonies), the relatively fast-paced and nonmonotonic rhythm, and the synchronized choreographic beating of the chests by the choir of mourners who stand in circles responding to the flow and pauses of the singers. The rhythmic beatings of the chests are amplified through consistent and well-orchestrated movements, occasionally alternating between one-handed and two-hand beatings by the mourners. Music instructor and 450

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researcher Ali Shirazi believes the performance’s widespread appeal was mainly due to its unusual employment of traditional Iranian music modes (dastgah) for the purpose of mourning, an instance of fusion between Islamic pursuits and Iranian culture, which diminished in post-1979 ceremonies (Baznashr-e Nowheh 2016). One of the other salient features of this performance is an emphatic refrain consisting of four rhyming couplets and a single verse which is sung by the circle of mourners through synchronized gesticulations. When the two nowheh-khwans on the stage pause in meditation, the audience of mourners standing below the platform fold their arms over their chests and immediately respond in a unified sing-song chant: Allah! Allah! We cry from oppression of [our] Time Allah! Allah! We cry from the forces of evil [Ahrimanan] Humanity wanders in misdirection Faith stagnates because of evil and conspiracy Alas, [these] days of loneliness! O Lord, where is that messianic breath? O Heart, sigh a prayer May the soul of immortality arrive Where is the redeemer of the world? Where is the redeemer of the world? (Allah Allah 2014) Invoking Allah, the mourners then raise their heads and both hands towards the sky with open palms, a symbolic gesture of their prayer and humility before the divine. After acknowledging despair as a consequence of encounters with ‘oppression’ and ‘evildoers’ of the present age, the mourners place their folded arms over their chests and chant on meditatively about the decline of faith as a consequence of, presumably, conspiracies fostered by misguided politics that could only culminate in the ‘slaughter of humanity’ and ‘transmutation of faith’ (Ibid.). Standing in reverence, the mourners sing out the ultimate expectation of their faith in the form of a repeated rhetorical question by the end of the refrain. The use of the term ‘evil forces’ (ahrimanan) appears to be deliberate. Ahriman is a Zoroastrian term of reference for ‘Evil,’ the destructive spirit, and counter to Ahura Mazda, the constructive spirit. The darkness associated with Ahriman, the ‘destroyer of the faith and the country of Iran’ (Yastrebova 2012, p. 93) is dispelled by the galloping arrival of ‘the dawn of hope’ (Baznashr-e Nowheh 2016). The image of Ahriman, which emerges in the eleventh-century Shahnameh (The Book of Kings), Iran’s long national epic poem, is contextualized here to represent the evil forces in the Battle of Karbala and symbolizes political conspiracies against today’s Iran, an instance of Iran’s pre-Islamic past reframed in the context of its present Perso-Islamic history. The poem, however, concludes with the bright promise of transformation: O grief-stricken heart, I have good news, the sorrows of the world will end This winter will go away, there will be other news [. . .] Rise O Loyal Ones, Rise O Liberated Spirit ‘One must wash one’s eyes, one must see another way’ How long will hatred and war last, this ever-present hell?

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‘One must go under the rain,’ one must wash away the resentments This purgatorial loneliness has to end. (Baznashr-e Nowheh 2016) Rather than relaying conventional images and statements associated with Imam Hoseyn’s martyrdom in mourning ceremonies, the poem poses a range of questions and challenges the absurdity of war and hatred, which is described as ‘a placeless hell.’ Invoking Imam Hoseyn and his sister Zaynab who carried on the message of resistance after her brother’s martyrdom, the poet craves a ‘new cry’ and the splintering of the ‘palace of the oppressor.’ Borrowing words from modern Iranian poet Sohrab Sepehri’s poem ‘The Sound of Water’s Footsteps,’ the performance calls for rain to extinguish the hellish fire of animosity and war through its purgative qualities (Sepehri 2010, p. 184). The ‘purgatorial loneliness,’ perhaps evocative of Barzegar’s remarks on Iran-US political purgatory, and the denunciation of war could be read as a desperate desire to end Iran’s international isolation, a politics-free longing of the Iranian people to connect and create, as the poet indicates, ‘a universe of love’ (Baznashr-e Nowheh 2016). A few years after the performance, one of the two singers, Soroush Rahmani, said in an interview that a maddah’s performance should reflect the concerns of the age (Maddahan Bayad 2017). Read in this light, one may read the poem’s anxious questions such as ‘where is the redeemer of the world?’ and ‘when will human suffering end?’ (Allah Allah 2014), as a creative attempt to reframe urgent questions through highlighting a transcendental rather than literal reading of the Imam’s martyrdom. Unconventionally, no enemy names are mentioned and instead the names of the heroes and the ethos of Karbala, justice and liberation, are made central. Contrary to the conventional interpretations which regard world chaos and relentless violence as the apocalyptic upheavals that necessitate the emergence of a world redeemer, the poem ends with a call for transformative hope, proposing a ‘new spring’ and the arrival of a ‘knight’ on the day humanity connects through a universal sense of love.

Conclusion Looking at these two performances, it is clear that the Shiite forever-present-past is perpetually reframed and reenvisaged by the visions of the future that it carries. The supremacy of Karbala as an underlying theme in all quests for justice and liberation is summed up in the celebrated Shiite adage attributed to the sixth Shiite Imam al-Sadeq: ‘Every month is Muharram, every day is ‘Ashura, every land is Karbala’ (Shari’ati 2017, pp. 49–50). Karbala, as Shari’ati reiterates, is the undying battle against oppression, and poetry, as instantiated in this chapter, is the unrivaled medium to keep it alive. Poetic ambiguities and allusions transcend the perils of a literal approach and foster new imaginative spaces to accommodate urgent and emergent socio-political questions. Persian poetry is a cultural microcosm of the interplay of worldly and spiritual pursuits entrenched in the Perso-Shiite worldview, accommodating the erudite and the abstract as well as the mundane and vernacular of world news and international politics. The supremacy of poetry as a genre in Iranian literature and its wide historical appeal to the Iranian state and public continues to endorse poetry as a politicized culture-making and culture-sustaining tool. It has been believed for years in Iran that a few verses by the thirteenth-century Iranian poet Sa’di are inscribed on the UN headquarters main entrance:

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Human beings are the members of one body They are created from one spirit, one essence When one member is in pain Other members restless remain If untroubled by Others’ affliction remain you can You do not deserve the title ‘Human.’ (Sa’di 2006, p. 31) The origins of this continued urban legend are unclear. Nevertheless, the universal love, radical empathy, and connectedness the poem promotes remain a source of cultural pride for Iranians. In 2005, after several failed attempts to locate the legendary inscription, Iranian diplomat Javad Zarif presented to the UN a carpet by Mohammad Seirafian at the center of which Sa’di’s poem is woven in gold calligraphic letters, adorning a wall at the UN headquarters to this day. The United Nations, Zarif commented, is perhaps founded on the same humanitarian principles that Sa’di’s poetry reflects (Jaye Vaqe’i 2013), a proclamation that indicates how misconstrued our readings of Iran’s current religious and political culture would be if we do not incorporate poetry as a significant theo-cultural force in (re) configurations of Iranian society. Research on instances where verse and the sacred intersect in discourses of people and the state can further our understanding of religion, culture, and politics in Iran.

Further reading Beeman, W. O., 2011. Iranian Performance Traditions. Costa Mesa: Mazda Publications. Dabashi, H., 2012. The World of Persian Literary Humanism. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Nasr, S. H., 2008. The Garden of Truth: The Vision and Promise of Sufism, Islam’s Mystical Tradition. New York: HarperOne. Semati, M., ed., 2008. Media, Culture and Society in Iran: Living with Globalization and the Islamic State. New York: Routledge. Seyed-Gohrab, A. A., ed., 2012. Metaphor and Imagery in Persian Poetry. Leiden: Brill.

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A8%D8%A7%DB%8C%D8%AF-%D8%A8%D9%87-%D8%A2%D9%85%D9%88%D8%B2%D8% B4-%D9%88-%D9%BE%D8%B1%D9%88%D8%B1%D8%B4- [Accessed 28 April 2018]. Toghyani, E., 2006. Tafakor-e Shi’eh va She’r dar Dowreh-ye Safavi. Isfahan: Entesharat-e Daneshgah. Weaver, M., 31 May 2018. Burqa Bans, Headscarves and Veils: A Timeline of Legislation in the West [online]. The Guardian. Available from:www.theguardian.com/world/2017/mar/14/headscarves-and-muslimveil-ban-debate-timeline [Accessed 16 March 2019]. Yastrebova, O., 2012. The Influence of the Shahnama in the Extended Version of Arday Virafnama by Zartusht Bahram. In: C. Melville, ed., Shahnama Studies, The Reception of Firdausi’s Shahnama. Leiden: Brill, 79–100.

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Reflections on ‘religion’

38 Questioning the boundaries of ‘religious’ and ‘non-religious’ actions and meanings Carlo Genova

Introduction Across different contexts and different religions, people attribute to their ‘religious’ behaviour—that is, actions usually labelled as ‘religious’—meanings that extend beyond ‘authorized’ matters of belief or personal faith. They also incorporate non-religious elements. This chapter will explore the implications for understanding religions in global societies. Four phenomena will be considered—personal prayer, collective rituals, pilgrimage and religious tourism. Examples will be drawn from different religious traditions on the basis of the availability of recent empirical research. But it must be recognized that no standard definitions of the four concepts exist among researchers. And many of the individuals involved in these practices use different labels to approach them, often with different meanings.

Beyond religious meanings Since the 1960s there has been a growing consensus that religiosity should be studied with respect to its different dimensions (Fukuyama 1961; Lenski 1961; Glock and Stark 1965; Faulkner and de Jong 1966; Allport and Ross 1967). In the subsequent decades extensive debate arose about the definition of these dimensions, their measurement and their correlations (Holdcroft 2006). Nevertheless, overall, three main dimensions have been widely accepted: believing, behaving and belonging. In the 1960s, and especially in the Western Christian context, scholars began to highlight the emergence in the religious field of new, more individualized forms of believing and behaviour, and at the same time a progressive weakening of collective identifications and belonging. However, in the analysis of both traditional and innovative religious rituals and practices, scholars continued to consider religious believing—more or less connected to structured religious doctrines— as the main, or even the sole, interpretative element of religion. Using concepts such as ‘civil religion’ (Bellah 1967), ‘invisible religion’ (Luckmann 1967), ‘common religion’ (Towler 1974), ‘folk religion’ (Yoder 1974), ‘implicit religion’ (Bailey 1983) and ‘diffused religion’ (Cipriani 1984), studies have tried to analyse non-religious behaviour through the

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lens of ‘religion,’ but few have looked at religious behaviour through a wider nonreligious lens. In much survey-based research only a narrow range of practices and beliefs are taken into account. The meanings which individuals attribute to specific ‘religious’ activities are essentially identified with this small set of beliefs and doctrinal prescriptions. Other possible meanings attributed by the individuals to these activities are ignored. In qualitative research the situation is a little different: the data collected are much more useful not only to detect emergent and less widespread ‘religious’ activities but also to explore more freely and thoroughly the meanings that people attribute to different practices. During the past forty years a huge amount of literature has been published on the contemporary features and tendencies of religion and religiosity, paying special attention to global processes and emergent features. By renouncing a generalized diachronic perspective and focusing on the present, here it is suggested that instead of looking mainly for quantitative datasets allowing statistical comparative analysis, it is possible to highlight recurrent features identified in different case studies and contexts.

Prayers Following the most consolidated and general definitions, prayer should be understood as a religious form of communication, and more precisely as a communicative act between human beings and divine or spiritual entities (Rothgery 2004; Gill 2005; Oberlies 2006; Cole 2010). The medium of this communication can be represented by a silent mental recitation, or an auditory emission using the voice, or corporal gestures and movements, with or without producing sound. Prayer can be developed individually or collectively; it may or may not follow collectively shared habits or even normatively prescribed models; and these models can be transmitted orally or through written prescriptions (Zaleski and Zaleski 2005; Levine 2008). Prayer can thus be performed individually, in a group, or collectively in a ritual event (Krause 2011). Even the most individualized forms of prayer are influenced by the context of habits, beliefs and institutions into which the individual has been socialized. But even individuals socialized in the same context can have different personal experiences and interpretations of prayer (McInnes Miller and Chavier 2013). Prayer as a communicative act can have three different modalities of cognitive connection: inward, with the self; outward, with other human beings; and upward, with the divine (Ladd and Spilka 2002, 2006). Study of a prayer act must then consider a wide set of dimensions: the actors involved, their words and their bodily actions, the addresses, the places and times of its performance, the habits and the rules followed, as well as the aims and the meanings that individuals attribute to this action (Bänziger, Janssen, and Scheepers 2008). The literature highlights a wide range of possible, not only communicative, meanings: ritual, ceremonial, as the accomplishment of a doctrinaire prescription; requestive, to obtain results for oneself; intercessional, to obtain results for others; conversational, as a form of intimacy with the divine; meditational, as a form of intimacy with the self; relational, to develop connections with other human beings; and also thanksgiving, praise and adoration (Poloma and Pendleton 1989; Poloma and Gallup 1991; Argyle 2000; Spilka 2005; Ladd and Spilka 2006). Several of these meanings can coexist in a concrete act of prayer. Recent research on prayer in different contexts shows that the set of functions which people attribute to prayer and the array of its possible meanings, are highly varied (Poloma 2009; Elisha 2013; Giordan and Woodhead 2013, 2015; Haeri 2013; Spilka and Ladd 2013; 460

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Black et al. 2015; Hatch et al. 2016; Hussein 2018). Many meanings are detached from the conventionally ‘religious’ dimension: prayer is used to obtain psychological and physical wellbeing; as an element of collective identification, recognition and distinction; as a medium to assert territorial identities; as an individual coping device; as an instrument of public legitimation; and as a form of public protest. Different meanings of prayer—which are often both religious and non-religious and which can coexist in personal and collective practice—can then be expressed by the individuals concerned, by prayer groups, by the religious organizations and institutions to which individuals refer, and by ‘sacred’ texts. And a sort of growing complexity and stratification of meanings can be observed on moving from the last to the first.

Collective rituals If the concept of ‘ritual’ has a long history in the social sciences (Bell 1992, 1997; Collins 2004), the situation is different for the concept of ‘religious ritual,’ which still lacks a substantially shared definition. In religious studies, a ritual should be understood as an ordered system of symbolic activities performed individually or, more frequently, collectively, which expresses a tradition while connecting it to the future. A ritual can be verbal or nonverbal, and usually combines recitation of specific words and expressions and the performance of specific gestures and actions. Some scholars maintain that the words of the ritual—as well as body movements, the performance in space, the use of objects—‘usually contain rich textual significance’ and refer ‘to thoughts and ideas understood completely only by others who share in the performance.’ They thus describe ritual as ‘a conscious activity, planned and orchestrated to communicate a desired message to gain a desired response’ (Frobish 2004, p. 361). Also outside religious studies, not only is a ritual often considered as a ‘rule-governed behaviour’ which ‘follows a pattern established . . . by tradition,’ but it is also often stated that for these reasons it would ‘distance participants from their spontaneous selves and their private motives’ (Terrin 2010, p. 3942). A ritual that lacks these elements, ‘performed only because it is tradition,’ is thus described as ‘ritual at its worst’ (Frobish 2004, p. 361). A different approach defines a ritual as a set of ‘conscious and voluntary, repetitious and stylized symbolic bodily actions that are centred on cosmic structures and/or sacred presences’ (Zuesse 2005, p. 7834), or more generally a scripted set of actions whose effectiveness depends on their being ‘properly formed and performed’ (Faubion 2006, p. 525). The formal and the symbolic thus emerge as the key aspects (Flanagan 1998, pp. 423–427; Terrin 2010, pp. 3941–3944), but—as underlined—also the ‘consciousness’ dimension is often maintained. For some years, however, various scholars have challenged this premise (Boudenwijnse 2006, pp. 1635–1640). Therefore, it is not surprising that numerous studies on religious rituals mainly (if not exclusively) focus on their rules and doctrinal elements, whereas very few pay attention to the personal meanings and experiences of the individuals involved. The most recent of these few studies offer some insights (Turcotte 2001; Spickard 2005; Chan 2008; Jacobsen 2009; Soomekh 2009; Frantz 2010; van Beek 2010; Frazier 2012; Casson 2013; Talukdar 2014; Dulin 2015). Firstly, in a ritual the acts in themselves, that is the gestures that constitute the ritual, have usually been emptied of their ‘normal’ everyday meanings. At the same time, however, the ritual has no intrinsic message for its participants or viewers, because its meaning does not stem directly from the acts. The participants are then the effective producers of the meaning. More precisely, the distinctiveness of the acts

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signals that a ritual is occurring, but since the acts that constitute it have lost their normal meaning, the emergent ‘semantic void’ is an invitation to signification. If on the one hand the ritual gives clues for interpretation, on the other, the individuals involved in the ritual are free to elaborate their personal interpretations, the ‘new’ meanings of the acts, on the basis of personal cognitions, emotions and memories. Research shows that different participants have different levels of knowledge and acceptance of the official, doctrinal interpretation of the ritual; participants with little doctrinal knowledge can give meanings to the ritual markedly different from those of the most ‘expert’ participants; and that consequently, they can be involved in the ritual for very different reasons. The processes of collective identification and recognition connected with the rituals are thus not necessarily rooted in religious commitment. They may also be grounded in other wider social and cultural features often connected with the different meanings attributed to the concrete practices, places and objects involved in the ritual. Several case studies show that individual participation in ritual can be connected with— among other things—doctrinal, spiritual, affective, therapeutic, cultural and political motives. Some participants are more interested in the personal effects of the ritual; others are more concerned with its effects on the collective; some aim at confirmation of social models; others at social change. Some are indifferent to and unaware of the doctrinal meaning of the ritual, others are essentially performing a specific traditional script. Some are attending mainly because of a sense of religious duty, while some attribute only a social or cultural meaning to the ritual. Finally, some participate simply because they appreciate the characteristics of the ceremony in itself. Different meanings can be interconnected and reciprocally supportive, but they can also be in conflict. Resistance to and acceptance of the authorized and prescribed meanings may be combined.

Pilgrimages Pilgrimage is usually defined as a journey to a sacred place or person (Turner 2005; Hassauer 2006; Melton 2008; Leeming 2010). In several previous definitions it was also specified that pilgrimage is connected with a sacred goal and with religious or spiritual motivations, but more recently scholars tend to disregard this aspect (Barber 1993; Vukoni’c 1996; Coleman 2001). What is instead often underscored is that both the destination and the route are important, although with different emphasis on one or the other depending on the case. But who defines the place or the person as sacred? Different individuals can attribute different meanings to the journey, including route and destination. Every individual can attribute several meanings to this journey. Collins-Kreiner and Gatrell (2006) and Collins-Kreiner (2010a, 2010b) distinguish three main approaches to pilgrimage: existential (an exceptional experience occurring once in a lifetime); recreational (repeatable experience more connected with entertainment and rest); and experiential (experience distinct from everyday life). This perspective can be developed by paying attention to the actual personal motivations of participation. It is possible to identify four main categories of meanings attributed to pilgrimage by the participants themselves (Norman and Cusack 2014; Albera and Eade 2015, 2016). Global case studies echo these meanings (Shuo, Ryan, and Liu 2009; Chang, Wang and Shen 2012; Schnell and Pali 2013; Buzinde and Kalavar 2014; Scriven 2014; Lois-Gonzalez and Santos 2015). The first concerns the cultivation of personal inwardness. It is an encounter with path, places and other individuals. In a spiritual sense, the pilgrimage is a step to personal discovery. The second category involves an interest in the history and the cultural meanings of the place and the 462

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events and personalities connected with the pilgrimage. For some participants this means the opportunity of having a direct experience of places and rituals previously encountered only through books, movies and websites. The third category of meanings see the pilgrimage as a moment of suspension of everyday life, a ‘festive’ situation that involves estrangement or even escape from the repetitiveness and ‘banality’ of routine and the experience of ‘other’ places, times and beings. The fourth category finally refers to the relational dimension of the pilgrimage as an activity that, even if mainly developed in a brief lapse of time, facilitates the emergence of thick interactions and significant social relations among participants. This is due to the shared character of the journey, which involves relevant places, stories and intimacy during meals and moments of rest. Again, different motivations can co-exist.

Religious tourism The fourth and last practice is religious tourism. This concept presents at least two problems of definition because it is still a relatively recent category. The first occurrences date back to the early 1990s and it is still only partially recognized in the scientific literature, being significantly absent as an entry in most of the dictionaries and encyclopaedias devoted to religious studies or social sciences. As a consequence, the concept is still fuzzy in its meaning, and its semantic boundaries with other similar concepts, like pilgrimage, are still blurred (several books and an entire book series devoted to both phenomena have been published in recent years (see Swatos 2006; Norman and Cusack 2014; Raj and Griffin 2015; El-Gohary, Edwards, and Eid 2017). The distinction between religious tourism and pilgrimage is normally presented in two ways. The first is in terms of the different activities undertaken by participants and their different modes of presence and participation. The second is in terms of motivations and the meanings of their involvement. Several scholars point in particular to a predominance of religious motivations among pilgrims and of cultural and leisure motivations among tourists, even though they travel to the same places and events (Collins-Kreiner and Gatrell 2006; Collins-Kreiner 2010a; Norman 2011). This distinction, however, is challenged by other scholars who highlight the presence of hybrid motivational sets among participants (Turner and Turner 1978; Cohen 1979; Rinschede 1992; Smith 1992; Timothy and Olsen 2006; Loveland 2008; della Dora 2012; Schnell and Pali 2013; Buzinde and Kalavar 2014). Recent research in different contexts sheds new light (Chand 2010; Vidal-Casellas, Aulet Serrallonga, and Crous-Costa 2013; Wong, Rayn, and McIntosh 2013; Rodrigues and McIntosh 2014; Wang, Chen, and Huang 2015). By focusing on the personal motivations and meanings of the participants, a wide complex of sensibilities emerge. Overall, five main types can be identified: religious, considering the journey as a form of worship; spiritual, considering the personal meaning it can have for the inner path of the individual; relational, focusing on the encounter and the interaction with the travel companions, with the individuals met in the visited place and with those who eventually manage and animate it; historical and artistic, considering the relevance and the interest of the place, its architectures and works from this point of view; and naturalistic, both when the natural elements are the distinctive trait of the place as a ‘religious’ destination and when they simply represent a particularly remarkable place.

Conclusion So far we have seen that the meanings ascribed by participants are heterogeneous, and only some of them—and not necessarily most of them—have direct religious 463

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connotations. Moreover, recognizing the ‘religious’ meanings of involvement, we find that only some of them are directly connected with a specific religious doctrine. A large number can be defined as ‘spiritual,’ involving a more individualized relation to the transcendent. As a consequence, both in individual and collective interpretative frames a problem seems to emerge: how can the different meanings attributed to each practice co-exist? One answer is that individuals are able to hold together different meanings of a practice in a complex frame by way of two different strategies (Goffman 1974). The first is that when different components are more compatible, a combinatory approach is adopted in which each component is understood as complementary with the others. When the components are less compatible, a more differentiated approach is adopted in which each element is understood as more autonomous and essentially connected with the satisfaction of a different need. In this case different aspects or different moments of the practice tend to be cognitively separated and then carried on with different personal functions. In both cases the core point is that the possibility of coexistence and interaction among the different elements, their compatibility, cannot be evaluated with respect only to objective, external criteria, but must be considered through the analysis of the wider individual interpretative frames. These processes appear even more complicated when considering collective frames. The chapter has not explicitly focused on this issue, but here not only is personal composition of meanings necessary but also alignment of interpersonal frames (Snow, Rochford, Worden, and Benford 1986). From this point of view, several ‘voices’ interact more explicitly: the ‘sacred texts,’ the religious institution, and the formal and informal religious groups. Individuals can develop and express different frames. Only when individuals share sufficiently matching personal frames can an effective alignment occur (further reflections about the meanings of religious practices and the processes of collective alignment of meanings are proposed in Genova 2012, 2014, 2015). All these processes seem to be rooted in two features which the literature describes as distinctive of contemporary religiosity: de-institutionalization and personalization (Berger, Davie, and Fokas 2008; Beck 2010; Day 2011; Turner 2011; Gorski, Kim, Torpey, and VanAntwerpen 2012; MacKian 2012; Gauthier and Martikainen 2013; Giordan and Pace 2014). Only in a situation of relative weakness of vertical transmission and organization of religiosity, and of relative strength of the possibilities of personalization, can this sort of complexity in fact emerge. The point is interesting but is based on the analysis of Western, and mainly Christian, contexts, whereas, as this chapter has shown, a wider range of geographical, social, cultural and religious contexts could be explored. A great deal of research on religion is only beginning to recognize the complexity of individual and collective processes when it comes to different religious practices and meaning-making. This is especially the case as they go beyond doctrinal prescriptions. As a consequence, it is still very difficult to evaluate if these features of religiosity are present across the globe and whether they can contribute to a more global explanation of the processes of complex signification of religious practices explored in this chapter. Further research is needed to explore the presence and importance of these features in a more systematically transnational comparative perspective, and to consider their development over time, in order to decide whether we are witnessing a global change in the forms of involvement in ‘religious’ forms of participation, or something that is by no means unique to the modern context. In any case, studying so-called non-religious as well as religious significations helps avoid importing implicitly (only) doctrinal approaches. 464

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Terrin, A.N., 2010. Rite/ritual. In G. Ritzer, ed. The Blackwell encyclopedia of sociology. Oxford: Blackwell, 3941–3944. Timothy, D.J. and Olsen, D.H., 2006. Tourism, religion and spiritual journeys. London: Routledge. Towler, R., 1974. Homo religiosus. Sociological problems in the study of religion. London: Constable. Turcotte, P.-A., 2001. Catholic ritual practices, culture and society in greater Montreal. Social Compass, 48 (4), 505–523. Turner, B.S., 2011. Religion and modern society. Citizenship, secularisation and the state. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Turner, E., 2005. Pilgrimage. In L. Jones, ed. Encyclopedia of religion. Farmington Hills: Thomson-Gale, 7145–7148. Turner, V. and Turner, E., 1978. Image and pilgrimage in Christian culture. New York: Columbia University Press. van Beek, W.A.E., 2010. Meaning and authority in Mormon ritual. International Journal of Mormon Studies, 3, 17–40. Vidal-Casellas, D., Aulet Serrallonga, S., and Crous-Costa, N., 2013. Structuration and branding of a religious tourism product. Catalonia sacra. Pasos. Revista de turismo y patrimonio cultural, 11, 135–145. Vukoni’c, B., 1996. Tourism and religion. London: Elsevier. Wang, W., Chen, J.S., and Huang, K., 2015. Religious tourist motivation in Buddhist mountain. The case from China. Asia Pacific Journal of Tourism, 21 (1), 57–72. Wong, C.U.I., Rayn, C., and McIntosh, A.J., 2013. The monasteries of Putuoshan, China. Sites of secular or religious tourism? Journal of Travel & Tourism Marketing, 30 (6), 577–594. Yoder, D., 1974. Toward a definition of folk religion. Western Folklore, 1, 2–15. Zaleski, P. and Zaleski, C., 2005. Prayer. A history. Boston: Houghton Mifflin. Zuesse, E.M., 2005. Ritual. In L. Jones, ed. Encyclopedia of religion. Farmington Hills: Thomson-Gale, 7833–7848.

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39 Religion in the Anthropocene Nonhuman agencies, (re)enchantment and the emergence of a new sensibility Oriol Poveda

The turn to nonhuman agencies Arguably one of the most fruitful theoretical developments in the last quarter of a century within the humanities and the social sciences has been the work on nonhuman agencies developed by scholars in science and technology studies (Haraway 1991, 2003; Latour 1991, 2005), sociology of scientific knowledge (Pickering 1995) and, more recently, new materialism (Barad 2007) and object-oriented ontology (Morton 2013). Although coming from a variety of disciplinary traditions, a common element in this theoretical shift has been a problematization of the boundaries of the human as well as the nature/culture binary. By becoming attentive to a more-than-human world (Abram 1996) scholars have started to rethink key concepts in social theory, above all in relation to agency. This new preoccupation with the nonhuman has flourished in different disciplines, inspiring a call for a new wave of ‘turns’ such as the posthumanist turn (Pickering 1995), the nonhuman turn (Grusin 2015) or the ontological turn (Holbraad and Pedersen 2017). To understand the import of this theoretical shift it is necessary to briefly elaborate on its key concepts. Nonhuman stands here for a broad category that includes not only other animals beside the human (Haraway 2008) but also everyday objects (Latour 2005), complex processes such as global warming (Morton 2013), biomes (Kohn 2013) as large as the biosphere (Latour 2015), or even matter itself (Barad 2007; Bennett 2010). The diversity of contours under which scholars have delineated the nonhuman corresponds also to a variety of understandings of agency. Here a few examples should suffice. Haraway (2008), for instance, challenges the notion that humans are essentially different from other species (i.e., human exceptionalism) and details the ways in which agency emerges in relations between humans, animals and technologies that are mutual without being symmetrical (pp. 262–263). In the case of Bruno Latour and other actor-network scholars, their understanding of agency is detached from humanist notions of reflexivity and intentionality. An actor is thus described as ‘any thing that does modify a state of affairs by making a difference’ (Latour 2015, p. 71).1 From that perspective, agency is not a capacity that someone or something has, but rather an event that results from the interactions between humans and nonhumans

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distributed in a particular network. Following that definition, we could say, for instance, that a pilot can fly because she has access to a plane, which is running on fossil fuel formed from dinosaurs and plants dead millions of years ago, and so on and so forth. Such understanding of agency could also be described as a theory of interconnectedness in which actor-network theory provides both the methodology as well as the theoretical underpinnings for tracing those connections. Drawing mostly from Latour’s actor-network theory and Lucretius’ exposition of the clinamen or the ‘swerve’ of atoms responsible for introducing indeterminacy into an otherwise deterministic system, Jane Bennett (2010) introduces a ‘vital materiality’ (p. vii) in which matter is not reduced to inert stuff, but instead reveals itself as vibrant and infused by an open-ended creativity. Finally, Timothy Morton (2013) takes global warming as one example of what he calls hyperobjects, i.e., objects so massively distributed in time and space that challenge the human ability to grasp and act upon them. As a result of the inhuman scales in which they operate, hyperobjects have a tendency to intervene in the world through a logic of their own, not reducible to human calculations. For Morton (2013), hyperobjects are not only major actors in the theater of history, but also they cut down to size modernist notions of human mastery. Confronted with the reality of hyperobjects, human beings according to Morton (2013) become reduced to the category of hyposubjects.

Charles Taylor’s ‘construals of agency’ As the previous section has illustrated, theoretical scholars working within a more-thanhuman framework have radically reworked classical notions of agency. Following Charles Taylor (2007) I would argue that changes in our sense and conceptualization of agency have deep consequences for how we look at and relate to the world. In A Secular Age, Taylor (2007) describes what he refers to as ‘construals of agency’ (p. 566) as the value-loaded stories about agency that operate at the level of taken-for-granted assumptions. In a secular context, characterized by Taylor (2007) as that human existence which is contained in an immanent frame closed to transcendence, such construals of agency draw on important notions, such as (1) the distinction between religion as a childish illusion and unbelief as the mature and sober view that courageous moderns should embrace; (2) the favouring of one’s own disengaged reason over authority; and (3) the enormously world-transforming powers that are unleashed by that combination of cool-headedness and self-reliance (Taylor 2007, pp. 556–566). The question, then, is what construals of agency are emerging as a growing number of scholars and disciplines are reckoning with the nonhuman. Taylor’s (2007) work again may provide a clue about where the new construals of agency might be heading. For Taylor (2007), one of the characteristics of the secular age is the emergence of the ‘buffered self,’ that is, the self that exists at a distance from the world, ‘disengag[ed] from everything outside the mind’ (p. 38). The ‘buffered self’ is presented by Taylor in opposition to the ‘porous self’ of a bygone, pre-secular age in which the self was ‘vulnerable to a world of spirits and powers’ (2007, p. 27). Taking those definitions into account, it seems clear that the work in nonhuman agencies strongly resonates with Taylor’s (2007) notion of porousness. The construals of agency that emerge from such work disrupt the cogency of a secular outlook, as described by Taylor (2007), and usher us into a time in which the self is once more sensitized to a world of nonhuman powers (as it still is the case in much of the non-Western world). From the brief review in the previous section, though, it should be clear that this new sensibility generally remains firmly anchored in the immanent frame and cannot, therefore, 470

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be assimilated to Taylor’s (2007) personal preference for monotheism. Taylor’s account, however, echoes the transition from an enchanted to a disenchanted world as described by Max Weber (1917–1919). The notion of enchantment, to which I will return later, is in this case much more promising than Taylor’s (2007) narrow definition of religion. I will suggest that the construals of agency facilitated by the work on more-than-human worlds exceed the straitjacket of the religious/secular outlook as characterized by Taylor (2007), thus paving the way for a contemporary reappraisal of enchantment that is important for the study of religion in global societies.

Religion and the nonhuman Among the scholars working in the field of nonhuman agencies, references to religion have been rare, though Latour (2002, 2012, 2015) is an exception. Similarly, religious studies scholars have largely been absent from this debate around questions of nonhuman agency, even though a preoccupation with nonhuman agency—in the form of spirits, gods or other supernatural beings—is important to them and remains an ancient and recurrent feature of religion. Bennett (2001, 2010), a political scientist, has been among the few scholars to put religious language at the center of her exploration of the nonhuman. In particular, Bennett (2001) develops the notion of ‘enchanted materialism’ (p. 80) as a disposition to create attachments with the world by appreciating its strangeness and liveliness in a variety of sites including the animal kingdom, technology, commodity capitalism and Kafkaesque bureaucracies. In her later work, Bennett (2010) emphasizes a second kind of enchantment focused on ‘the agency of the things that produce (helpful, harmful) effects in human and other bodies.’ Bennett (2001) makes clear that the enchantment she describes is not a return to the ‘cosmology of the Christian Middle Ages’ (p. 9) and its world of spirits as neither fits the contemporary understanding of the secular. In her exploration of enchantment, Bennett (2001, 2010) gropes for a new language and sensitivity that breaks away from the binary religious/secular while at the same time is indebted to it. Such ambivalence is probably best expressed in what Bennett (2010, p. 122) herself describes as ‘a kind of Nicene Creed for would-be vital materialists’: I believe in one matter-energy, the maker of things seen and unseen. I believe that his pluriverse is traversed by heterogeneities that are continually doing things. I believe it is wrong to deny vitality to nonhuman bodies, forces, and forms, and that a careful course of anthropomorphization can help reveal that vitality, even though it resists full translation and exceeds my comprehensive grasp. I believe that encounters with lively matter can chasten my fantasies of human mastery, highlight the common materiality of all that is, expose a wider distribution of agency, and reshape the self and its interests. (Bennett 2010, p. 122) We find another example of a similar emerging sensibility in the work of Morton (2013). In the discussion of the ‘Age of Asymmetry’ (2013, pp. 159–201)—that is, the age in which humans, now reduced to hyposubjects, must reckon with hyperobjects—Morton (2013, p. 161) refers to Hegel’s (1835) three stages in art history (Symbolic, Classical and Romantic). According to Morton’s rendition, in the Symbolic stage human understanding (the Spirit in Hegel’s terminology) ‘is dwarfed by materials’ (p. 161) which are endowed with their own agency. In the Symbolic stage ‘stones speak’ and ‘nonhumans seem to possess godlike powers’ (Morton 2013, p. 161). A few pages later, Morton (2013, p. 172) correlates 471

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his description of the Symbolic stage with animism and he concludes that our own time, the ‘Age of Asymmetry,’ resembles the Symbolic stage with an important caveat: Humans can’t unknow what they know. We know about quarks and sine waves and Beethoven and the Anthropocene. So the Age of Asymmetry is not a return to animism as such, but rather animism sous rature (under erasure). (Morton 2013, p. 172) Given Morton’s (2013) highly erudite but also cryptic style, it is not completely clear to me what is implied by the reference to quarks, sine waves, Beethoven and the Anthropocene beyond a gesture to a wealth of knowledge in sciences, music and the biosphere which makes it impossible to return to some kind of naïve animism. That being said, Morton (2013) concedes that from within the semantic field of religious language a form of animism under erasure is what better defines the Age of Asymmetry. Although originally developed by Martin Heidegger, the concept of ‘under erasure’ (sous rature in French) was popularized in scholarly circles by the works of Jacques Derrida (1967) to indicate a term that is both inaccurate and, yet, for lack of a better word, necessary. In this sense, Morton’s (2013) strategy is not different from Bennett’s (2001, 2010) who also affirms and undermines enchantment in one and the same move. Finally, among the examples of religion under erasure in the works of prominent scholars in the field of nonhuman agencies, Latour’s contribution deserves a special mention. Latour’s (2015) most recent and direct engagement with religion, Facing Gaia, came out from his 2013 Gifford Lectures. Latour’s interest in religion, though, is not new (see Latour 2002, 2012). In Facing Gaia, Latour (2015) tackles directly the question of religion, particularly in the context of the ‘religion versus science’ debates, and advocates for the need to redistribute the properties both of science and religion in light of what he calls the ‘new climate regime’ (p. 3). The idea of religion that Latour (2015, p. 155) addresses, though, is a very specific strand that he identifies, following Jan Assmann (2003), with monotheism. The title in Latour’s 2015 book, Facing Gaia, is a direct reference to the famous Gaia hypothesis developed by James Lovelock. As Lovelock explains (2006, pp. 28–29), he started to think about his hypothesis in the 1960s and it was his friend and Nobel Prize laureate William Golding who in 1969 suggested Gaia as its name. ‘The Gaia Hypothesis’ according to Lovelock and biologist Lynn Margulis ‘views the biosphere as an active, adaptive control system able to maintain the Earth in homeostasis’ (Lovelock 2006, p. 29). Facing Gaia is not only an account of Lovelock’s Gaia hypothesis through the lens of actor-network theory but also a strenuous effort on Latour’s (2015) part to expunge any religious associations from Lovelock’s hypothesis. This prevents Latour from exploring the complex entanglements of scientific and religious language. Latour’s position, though, is not surprising given how, since the early 1970s, the Gaia hypothesis resonated within the new age and the counterculture as some sort of scientific validation for ancient animist beliefs, while it was being reviled by the mainstream scientific community for similar reasons (Ruse 2013). Latour writes that: The paradox of the figure that we are attempting to confront is that the name of a proteiform, monstrous, shameless, primitive goddess has been given to what is probably the least religious entity produced by Western science. If the adjective ‘secular’ signifies ‘implying no external cause and no spiritual foundation,’ and thus ‘belonging wholly to this world,’ then Lovelock’s intuition may be called wholly secular. (Latour 2015, p. 87) 472

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It is remarkable that Lovelock has stuck with the name of Gaia, given how, by his own account (Gaia—An Interview with James Lovelock 2014; see from 1:42 onwards), scientists afraid of the controversy have preferred to use the more secular-sounding term of ‘Earth systems.’ According to Latour (2015, p. 98), Gaia acts as a superorganism but is not really one; Gaia is able to regulate itself at the same time that it lacks anything resembling a ‘governor.’2 Latour’s (2015) Gaia is indeed a paradox, even a mystery, in which a collective of uncoordinated, disparate elements are not only able to produce consistent effects but also to sustain those effects over time by generating resilience and adapting to changes.3 No wonder then that Lovelock (2006, p. 20) calls Gaia a ‘metaphor’ or, echoing the paradoxical language of religion under erasure, he refers to Gaia’s ‘unconscious goal’ (Lovelock 2006, p. 19) of sustaining the necessary conditions for life. Latour describes Gaia as a ‘muddle’ (2015, p. 100). What makes these examples interesting is that sophisticated scholars working at the forefront of the research on nonhuman agencies had no other way of naming their objects of study than by deploying a religious language under erasure. In the next section, I will explore a possible explanation for such state of affairs.

Cross pressures and (re)enchantment I have made the argument that a turn to the nonhuman and nonhuman agencies makes the buffered self of modernity that Taylor describes no longer viable. With its demise, the secular outlook would also enter into crisis. A possible response to such a crisis is to flip the switch and revert to religion as the default existential framework. Such a response would entrench the binary secular/religious, upon which the scientific study of religion was founded in the 19th century and which has continued to be operative to this day. The phenomenon of religion under erasure, in spite of being to a large extent a product of the tension within that binary, points towards a different possibility. The grappling for language indicates a deeper shift in outlook and the emergence of a new set of ideas, which are still in search of form. Taylor (2007) once more provides an important insight into the background factors that might be behind the expressions of religion under erasure. Taylor (2007, p. 595) perceptively describes the contemporary phenomenon of ‘cross pressures’ understood as the reluctance to return to religious modes of thought at the same time that secular narratives feel increasingly inadequate to grasp the complexity and richness of the present moment. The examples discussed above of religion under erasure, then, could be read as an attempt to express the emergence of a new sensibility that is indebted to aspects of the secular and the religious at the same time that it feels unease in rigidly inhabiting any of those positions. This new sensibility, in effect, is a hybrid. It is not a coincidence if such thought structure (neither A nor B but containing elements both from A and B) reminds readers familiar with nonhuman research of one of its main theoretical pillars, namely, the criticism of the nature/culture divide. Already in the seminal book We Have Never Been Modern, Latour (1991, p. 13) pointed out that modernity arose from a double process of separation and purification between nature and culture, on the one hand, and the religious and the secular, on the other. In the case of the latter, that work of purification was achieved by relegating God to a transcendent sphere (what Latour (1991, pp. 32–35) called the ‘crossedout God’) thus freeing human and natural law from divine interference. Modernity’s two processes of separation were deeply intertwined, but subsequent scholars in nonhuman research have focused their criticism on the nature/culture divide while remaining oblivious, or at least silent, on the secular/religious chasm. As Latour’s (1991) work already 473

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adumbrates, though, the blurring of the nature/culture divide also has corroding consequences for the consistency of the secular/religious chasm. Through work on nonhuman agencies, those consequences are finally becoming fully apparent. An emerging outlook in which the self becomes ‘porous and vulnerable’ (Taylor 2007, p. 27) to a world of nonhuman powers strongly resonates with the notion of enchantment. If we take Weber’s work (1917–1919) as our point of departure, the meaning of enchantment must actually be inferred from its opposite. In one of his famous lectures, Weber (1917–1919, p. 35) defined disenchantment as ‘the knowledge or belief that if we only wanted to we could learn at any time that there are, in principle, no mysterious unpredictable forces in play, but that all things—in principle—can be controlled through calculation.’ Through reversal, we can infer that enchantment occurs when those ‘mysterious unpredictable forces’ can no longer be dismissed, thus revealing the precariousness of the project for human mastery. An important question, then, is if this kind of enchantment is a return to the past or something else. From the examples I have reviewed above, it is clear—and explicitly so in the case of Bennett (2001, 2010)—that those scholars of the nonhuman do not envision as possible and/or desirable a return to the past. For a contemporary appraisal of enchantment that would align itself with recent work in nonhuman agencies, it would be more appropriate to speak of (re)enchantment. In this account, the prefix ‘re’ should not be understood as a return or a repetition of what once was, but rather as a rearticulation. By rearticulation I understand the idea that the world has never been fully disenchanted but rather enchantment has been undergoing a process of deep changes and transformations not unlike what Bronislaw Szerszynski (2005, p. 40) calls the ‘reordering [of] the sacred.’ The heart of the matter, then, will be to assess which elements stay constant, fade away or change in the rearticulation of enchantment for the 21st century. At the very least, (re) enchantment implies a heightened awareness of the world, to which the human subject has again become porous, and in a planet facing rapid environmental degradation such awareness requires coming to terms with the ecological emergency.

The ecological emergency In pre-modern times, notions of enchantment were associated with the natural world (Bennett 2001, p. 63). It is significant that the work on nonhuman agencies and the (re) enchanted outlook that work evokes, have taken place at a time of massive ecological degradation (see McNeill and Engelke 2016) and a concomitant growth in awareness concerning environmental issues. Of equal importance is that the global impact of technology and mass production have created an unprecedented proliferation of humanmade things—from large infrastructures, to industrial goods to waste. We live in a world crowded by stuff. Under such circumstances, the rearticulation of enchantment is not the recreation of an ancient nature religion, but rather a coming to grips with a messier reality in an irreversibly changed planet in which sequoias and giant squids coexist with trash islands and shopping malls. Similarly, instead of evoking nostalgic, upbeat attitudes towards the goodness of ‘Mother Earth,’ (re)enchantment is attuned to the fact that giving up on the modern illusion of living controlled, sanitized lives, is both sobering and terrifying in a time of global warming and widespread ecological degradation. In this context, the meaning of ecological emergency is twofold. On the one hand, it should be understood in the regular sense of crisis, the realization that we are living through a time of rapid ecological degradation. On the other, the term ecological emergency also gestures to the 474

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emergence of a new ecology of things (Mickey 2016) characterized by the irruption of the nonhuman onto the theater of history. Bringing this insight to the extreme, Morton writes (2013, p. 201) ‘nonhuman beings are responsible for the next moment of human history and thinking.’ As Morton (2007) points out, a crucial part of coming to terms with this new ecology is to get rid of the concept of nature as that which is separate and, by dint of its otherness and distance, as an object for aesthetic contemplation. Ecology, by contrast, suggests a world of human and nonhuman interconnectedness and entanglement. The concept of the Anthropocene is where the two notions of ecological emergency, both as crisis and as ‘that which emerges,’ converge. It also provides the bridge between the theoretical reflections over nonhuman agency and the previous ecological reflections. The Anthropocene is the proposed name for a new geological epoch currently under evaluation by the International Commission on Stratigraphy, the official body in charge of establishing the geologic time scale. This new epoch, which would follow over 10,000 years of climatic bonanza known as the Holocene, is characterized by the geologic scope of the impact of human activities on the planet and their detrimental effects. Global warming would be the best known of such effects, but there are others such as the increasing acidification of the oceans or the rapid extinction of wildlife species. The term Anthropocene has been criticized by some for its problematic figuration of a universalized anthropos that obscures the disparities in the impacts of different human groups, while at the same relativizing the key role of capitalism in the current ecological crisis. In response, critics have offered alternative terms such as Chthulucene, Plantationocene or Capitalocene (Haraway 2015). While geologists still discuss the merits of the new epoch, an increasing number of scholars in the humanities and social sciences (Palsson et al. 2013) have already adopted the term and have started to rethink their work in light of the new paradigm. The body of work on nonhuman agency offers a promising theoretical framework to study the Anthropocene. This is so because the Anthropocene, at times translated as the ‘Age of Humans,’ remains a deeply ironic term. What stands at its core are not claims about human mastery, but rather the unintended effects of human activities with potentially catastrophic consequences (e.g., global warming) caused largely by the failure to recognize the myriad ways in which humans and nonhumans are entangled in complex networks. It is no surprise that the Anthropocene figures prominently in some of the works reviewed here (Latour 2015; Morton 2013). With the Anthropocene, the ontological category of the nonhuman, which was supposed to provide the inert backdrop to human action, has suddenly become one of the major actors. As Latour (2015, pp. 255–256) illustrates, by way of referencing a student simulation, climate negotiations should not only include actors such as France, India, or the Indigenous Peoples but also Forests, Oceans, and the Atmosphere. The Anthropocene has allowed us to discover something that was always true, but that until recently we could afford to ignore. The agency to geologically transform the planet is not in human hands alone but distributed among countless other beings and systems, each operating at their own scales and in their own circumstances. As Morton (2013, p. 201) puts it, hyperobjects have ‘contacted us’ in the Anthropocene not because they were not here before but because their effects on our lives have become too frequent and obvious to overlook.

Conclusion As with the massive hurricanes conjured by global warming, in the course of this chapter I have laid out the elements for a perfect storm. On the one hand, the dissatisfaction with secular and religious narratives (Taylor’s ‘cross pressures’) has created a vacuum for a new sensibility. On 475

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the other, the ecological emergency in its twofold meaning—both as a crisis and as emergence —has made it impossible to ignore any longer the intricate ways in which the human and nonhuman are intertwined and agency distributed. The rearticulation of enchantment, or (re) enchantment for short, is indebted to both processes and, although often under erasure, it finds one of its best expressions in the work of nonhuman agencies. In its ongoing work of critique, future research in nonhuman agencies will hopefully not stop its enquiry at the challenge of the nature/culture divide but will pay greater attention to how any reckoning with modernity’s premises must also include a rethinking of the secular/religious chasm.

Notes 1 Emphasis in all quotes in this chapter appear in the original. 2 In this description, Latour (2015) gestures to the emergent qualities of Gaia. In complex systems, the interactions with different entities may generate emergent phenomena, that is, phenomena that cannot be reduced to their parts (Page 2010). Emergence is a regular feature in the natural world, from the fractal patterns in snowflakes to the organization of ant colonies. The difficult question to answer is rather how an emergent phenomenon, which is not guided by any sense of purpose, can become resilient and adapt to changes and disruptions over time. 3 See previous note.

References Abram, D., 1996. The Spell of the Sensuous: Perception and Language in a More-Than-Human World. New York, NY: Vintage. Assmann, J., 2003. The Price of Monotheism. Translated from French by R. Savage, 2009. Stanford, CA: Stanford University Press. Barad, K., 2007. Meeting the Universe Halfway: Quantum Physics and the Entanglement of Matter and Meaning. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Bennett, J., 2001. The Enchantment of Modern Life: Attachments, Crossings, and Ethics. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Bennett, J., 2010. Vibrant Matter: A Political Ecology of Things. Durham, NC: Duke University Press. Derrida, J., 1967. Of Grammatology. Translated by G.C. Spivak, 1997. Baltimore, MD: The John Hopkins University Press. Gaia – An Interview with James Lovelock, 2014. Video. Available from: www.youtube.com/watch? v=GIFRg2skuDI [Accessed 26 February 2019]. Grusin, R., ed., 2015. The Nonhuman Turn. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Haraway, D., 1991. Simians, Cyborgs, and Women: The Reinvention of Nature. London: Free Association Books. Haraway, D., 2003. The Companion Species Manifesto: Dogs, People and Significant Otherness. Chicago, IL: Prickly Paradigm. Haraway, D., 2008. When Species Meet. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Haraway, D., 2015. Anthropocene, Capitalocene, Plantationocene, Chthulucene: Making Kin. Environmental Humanities, 6, 159–165. Hegel, G.W.F., 1835. Aesthetics: Lectures on Fine Art. Vol. 1 & 2. Translated by T.M. Knox, 1998. Oxford: Clarendon Press. Holbraad, M. and Pedersen, M., 2017. The Ontological Turn: An Anthropological Exposition. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Kohn, E., 2013. How Forests Think: Toward an Anthropology beyond the Human. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Latour, B., 1991. We Have Never Been Modern. Translated from French by C. Porter, 1993. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Latour, B., 2002. Rejoicing: Or the Torments of Religious Speech. Translated from French by J. Rose, 2013. Cambridge: Polity Press.

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Latour, B., 2005. Reassembling the Social: An Introduction to Actor-Network-Theory. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Latour, B., 2012. An Inquiry into Modes of Existence: An Anthropology of the Moderns. Translated from French by C. Porter, 2013. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Latour, B., 2015. Facing Gaia: Eight Lectures on the New Climatic Regime. Translated from French by C. Porter, 2017. Cambridge: Polity Press. Lovelock, J., 2006. The Revenge of Gaia. Why the Earth Is Fighting Back and How We Can Still Save Humanity. London: Allen Lane. McNeill, J. and Engelke, P., 2016. The Great Acceleration: An Environmental History of the Anthropocene since 1945. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Mickey, S., 2016. Coexistentialism and the Unbearable Intimacy of Ecological Emergency. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books. Morton, T., 2007. Ecology Without Nature: Rethinking Environmental Aesthetics. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Morton, T., 2013. Hyperobjects: Philosophy and Ecology after the End of the World. Minneapolis, MN: University of Minnesota Press. Page, S., 2010. Diversity and Complexity. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Palsson, G., et al., 2013. Reconceptualizing the ‘Anthropos’ in the Anthropocene: Integrating the Social Sciences and Humanities in Global Environmental Change Research. Environmental Science & Policy, 28, 3–13. Pickering, A., 1995. The Mangle of Practice: Time, Agency, and Science. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Ruse, M., 2013. The Gaia Hypothesis: Science on a Pagan Planet. Chicago, IL: University of Chicago Press. Szerszynski, B., 2005. Nature, Technology, and the Sacred. Malden, MA: Blackwell. Taylor, C., 2007. A Secular Age. Cambridge, MA: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press. Weber, M., 1917–1919. Science and Vocation. In J. Dreijmanis (Ed.) Weber’s Complete Writings on Academic and Political Vocations. Translated by G. Wells, 2008. New York, NY: Algora, 25–52.

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40 Science and religion in a global context Michael Fuller

Introduction: science and religion in the West It hardly needs stating that there are many people in the West who believe the relationship between science and religion to be one of longstanding mutual antagonism. Not only that: the fact that polls regularly confirm that formal religious—mainly Christian—observance is in decline. This, together with regular reporting of scientific advances in the multifarious spheres of its activity, can support an assumption that science is supplanting religion as a world-view in the West. This view is regularly stoked by polemical writers on both sides of this alleged divide, to the extent that, as one historian has put it, ‘The secular public, if it thinks about such issues at all, knows that organised religion has always opposed scientific progress . . . The religious public knows that science has taken the leading role in corroding faith’ (Numbers 2009, p. 6). However, in academic circles it has been recognized for decades that this viewpoint is seriously defective. Researchers in the field of study which has become known as ‘scienceand-religion’ have pointed out, inter alia, that there are many sciences involving a multiplicity of practices (both compared to one another, and even within individual sciences), and also many religions involving a multiplicity of beliefs (both compared to one another, and even within individual religious traditions); so the pitting of ‘science’ against ‘religion’ clearly requires a highly selective approach to these two areas of human activity (which branch of which science? which branch of which religion?). Stemming from the work of Ian Barbour (1966, 1998), science-and-religion scholars have noted the multiplicity of ways in which science and religion can interrelate. Barbour famously noted four, which he labelled conflict, independence, dialogue and integration (Barbour 1998, p. 77ff.), and this schema has been much expanded and commented upon (cf. Drees 1998, p. 43ff.; Stenmark 2010). Amongst the achievements of science-and-religion scholarship, we may note the following. First, conflict is by no means necessary as a means of understanding science and religion. Many commentators have urged they should be considered to be ‘independent,’ in Barbour’s term: that they constitute ‘non-overlapping magisterial,’ in a phrase coined by the naturalist Stephen Jay Gould (Gould 2001). Others have noted that Barbour’s ‘dialogue’ model offers a way in which the explorations of scientists and theologians can valuably inform the ideas of each

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other (see, e.g., Polkinghorne 1995; McGrath 2016), although it has been observed that traffic in this dialogue has, to date, been significantly skewed in one direction with Christian theologians making the most effort (Southgate and Poole 2011, p. 29). Second, it has been realized that the view which sees science and religion as in conflict requires a very selective reading of history. Two important points have been made by historians in this area. To begin with, accounts of the historical relationships between science and religion, which depict the latter as persistently obstructing the progress of the former and ultimately being vanquished by it, simply fail to do justice to the richness of that relationship. John Hedley Brooke has observed that: The real lesson turns out to be the complexity . . . Conflicts allegedly between science and religion may turn out to be between rival scientific interests, or conversely between rival theological factions. Issues of political power, social prestige, and intellectual authority have repeatedly been at stake. And the histories written by protagonists have reflected their own preoccupations. (Brooke 1991, p. 5) Indeed, it has been suggested that a ‘complexity thesis’ should now replace the ‘conflict thesis,’ the latter having had its day (Numbers 2010). In addition to this, historians have also drawn attention to the etymologies of the words ‘science’ and ‘religion,’ noting that the particular nuances and resonances which they bear today are largely modern constructs, influenced by the ideas of the 18th-century Enlightenment. Peter Harrison has maintained that it is these constructs which are freighted with the idea that ‘science’ and ‘religion’ are necessarily opposed to one another. In the Middle Ages, religio signified an inner virtue, and the behaviour that followed from it: piety, we might now say, leading to justice and fairness in one’s dealings with others. Later, this understanding was transformed into the idea that a ‘religion’ is ‘a generic something typically constituted by sets of beliefs and practices’ (Harrison 2015, p. 16). Similarly, the original understanding of a scientia as an ordered body of knowledge, which might relate to any subject across what we would now think of as the sciences, arts and humanities, changed so that ‘the aggregation of a range of activities under the concept “science” took place, attended by the explicit exclusion of others—notably religion and metaphysics’ (ibid., p. 187). In short, the conflict (as it is perceived by some in the West) between science and religion is a consequence of the ways in which people are trained to view them through post-Enlightenment spectacles, rather than being something which is historically inherent in the nature of either. A third achievement of science-and-religion scholarship has been to note that ‘science’ and ‘religion’ have most frequently been used to refer to ‘physical science’ and ‘Western Christian theology,’ respectively. In the same way that new understandings of the relationships between science and religion, and new insights into their range and subtlety, come about when considering the relationships between other sciences—say, psychology (see Watts 2017) or artificial intelligence (see Herzfeld 2000)—and religions, so different insights come about when we explore the interactions of non-Western Christianity, and of faith traditions other than Christianity, with the sciences. Such an exploration is relatively undeveloped compared to the study of the interactions of the sciences with Western Christianity, but it is already being carried out with respect to Orthodox Christianity, Judaism, Islam, and the religions of India, East Asia, and Africa. It should not surprise us that

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in each of these contexts, as in the West, it quickly becomes apparent that a key factor in understanding the relationships between science and religion is their complexity.

Science and religion in various Christian contexts It is fair to say that, in the Christian context, the idea that science and religion are inimical to one another has taken far more of a hold within cultures informed by Western Protestant Christianity than elsewhere. The reasons for this may be through a reluctance to engage in discussions of the matter elsewhere, or they may be practical—the platform for engagement simply isn’t there in non-Western contexts—or they may be for more ideological or theological reasons. For example, it has been maintained that in Catholic Southern Europe, which has been mindful of the damage caused to the Church by popular accounts of the ‘Galileo case’ (on this case, and on the rehabilitation of Galileo by the Roman Catholic Church, see Sharratt 1994, p. 209ff.; Finocchario 2009), ‘the default position in Catholic theology . . . has been to ignore the challenges that science could pose and to assume that theology can grow independently from any input from laboratories and research institutions’ (Oviedo and Garre 2015, pp. 175–176). In Barbour’s terms, an ‘independence’ approach has been maintained, to the extent that recent atheistic writings tend to be ‘easily dismissed as some type of local Anglo-American question, without any relevance for cultures with deep Catholic roots’ (Oviedo and Garre 2015, p. 177). Other voices from within the Catholic tradition, in countries that were formerly part of the Soviet bloc, have spoken (in the wake of the collapse of the staunchly atheist communist authorities there) on the one hand of a lively engagement between science and religion (for example in Poland: see Obolevitch 2015a), and on the other of a lack of institutional platforms for such an engagement (for example in Croatia: see Renić 2015). Distinctive voices from within the Roman Catholic Church are also contributing to a ‘relatively new but growing enterprise’ of science-andreligion studies in Latin America (Silva 2015, p. 499). The overall differences between Eastern and Western Christian traditions are complex and have deep roots. An exploration of those roots has led to the suggestion that ‘in Western Europe an Aristotelian philosophy was absorbed by Christian thought, replacing the largely Platonist theology of the Christian East and leading to the differing attitudes to science that we see today’ (Nesteruk 2003, p. 40). This has led to the suggestion that the idea of science and religion being in conflict is essentially a Western one, having its roots in the scholastic theology of the 13th century (see Mitrikeski 2015). Confirmation of this would appear to be offered by the fact that the ‘Galileo case’ was not seen as significant by the Russian and Greek Orthodox Churches (Obolevitch 2015b). Nesteruk suggests that in contrast to the West, where science and theology both appeal to reason, Eastern theology is more experiential (involving both personal and collective experiences of God, for example in worship), and that for a true dialogue between science and theology to occur, science should be seen to be similarly about a kind of existential (religious) engagement. He comments: ‘Any tension between theology and science then disappears, for they both flourish from the same human experience of existence-communion’ (Nesteruk 2003, p. 7). It is also significant that Eastern Christian theology lays great emphasis on tradition, and so is rather more bound up with the thinking of the early Church Fathers than is the case in the West. Whilst this might be considered to offer limited potential for engagement with contemporary scientific ideas, since those ideas have been formed within a worldview so radically different from that of the patristic period, it has been suggested that Eastern thinking offers a theological resource which may be of value to the dialogue of science and 480

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Christianity—even that there is a ‘continuing relevance of Eastern patristic perspectives, which . . . provide answers to many of the questions’ raised by science-and-religion scholars in the West (Knight 2007, p. xii). This may not be as far-fetched as it appears: a number of Western theologians have drawn on patristic ideas when commenting on contemporary issues in science and religion (see, e.g., Peacocke 1993, p. 338ff.; Hart 2009).

Science and religion in Judaism The historical and geographical variation noted in the relationship of Christianity to the sciences may be discerned also in Jewish understandings of the relationship between science and faith. This is hardly surprising since, for much of its history, Judaism has been practised within ‘host’ cultures, and has inevitably been influenced by the history and practices of those cultures (Samuelson 2015). Where the sciences are concerned, it has been noted that: There has been no single, enduring Jewish attitude toward nature and its study . . . Jews have been at times apathetic about what they sometimes called ‘natural wisdom,’ at times opposed to its study, and at times its vanguard. This is no surprise. When looked at over the span of millennia, Judaism has very few constants. (Efron 2011, p. 20) The fact that many notable scientists over the last few centuries have hailed from Jewish backgrounds has been much commented upon. It has been suggested that this might be, at least in part, a combination of an upbringing which encourages a questioning of authority, combined with the fact that the practice of science has offered a welcome to people from socially marginalized communities (Cantor 2011). It has been noted that an issue such as evolution, which has caused some Christians (and some Muslims) to see a conflict between science and their faith, has been far less problematic for Jews, and this has been put down to ‘a robust dialectical tradition of nonliteral interpretations of Torah’ (Cantor 2011, p. 53) (though for an example of an early Jewish opponent of evolutionary theory, see Langton 2015). However, it has also been maintained that there is currently a deficit in interaction of Jewish philosophy and the sciences (with the exception of medicine, in which context Jewish commentators have been as interested as those of other religious communities in developments in bioethics). To counteract this, Samuelson has urged that Jews should ‘establish programs of study on the interaction in every way—historically, conceptually and ethically—between the modern sciences as well as modernist and traditionalist forms of Jewish identity’ (Samuelson 2009, p. 237).

Science and religion in Islam Similar complexity is found in the relationship between science and Islam. It has often been pointed out that science, in the modern sense, flourished in the Islamic world rather earlier than in Western Europe, with Islamic scholars of the ‘golden age’ making particular contributions to the study of astronomy, mathematics, and medicine (see Dallal 2011, p. 125ff.). However, the antagonism being advanced towards religion in the West in the late 19th century was directed not just at Christianity but also at Islam. In what has been described as a ‘watershed event for the position of science in Islam,’ the French scholar Ernest Renan declared in 1883 that ‘Muslim societies had their previous successes in the 481

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fields of science and philosophy not because of Islamic religion but despite Islam.’ Renan claimed that ‘as European science spread, Islam would perish’ (İhsanoğlu 2011, p. 163). This might perhaps be seen as an example of the Western ‘conflict thesis’ being rolled out to encompass religions more generally. However, it has had the unfortunate effect of facilitating an assumption that modern science is necessarily a Western practice, which as such is unIslamic. In more recent times, there have been a variety of responses within Islam to this assumption. On the one hand, there have been calls for the instantiation of an ‘Islamic science.’ It has been suggested that this would counter Western presuppositions by (for example) rejecting scientism as essential to the practice of science, and studying traditional Islamic sources (including those relating to the ‘golden age’ of Islamic science), in order thereby to formulate an Islamic worldview which is true to that tradition whilst also being consonant with modern discoveries in the natural world (see Nasr 2015). More contentious is the response within Islam to contemporary scientific ideas, which sees them as prefigured in the Qur’an, thereby confirming the divine origin of that text. This approach, known as i‘jaz, is also sometimes extended to the hadith (the sayings of the Prophet). It is a very popular approach, with antecedents dating back some 150 years, which neatly harmonizes science and Islam by seeing the former as, effectively, foretold by the sacred text of the latter. However, this approach has been labelled ‘pseudoscientific,’ and it has been maintained that: [o]n the one hand, the producers of such a line of interpretation (usually lacking formal theological training) express a genuine and, from a confessional viewpoint, laudable desire to harmonize religion and science. On the other hand, their efforts present major methodological flaws as well as blatant mistakes and have accordingly been criticised. (Bigliardi 2017, p. 147) There are also understandings within Islam which have parallels with those Western religious movements which see science as threatening to faith. Thus, although it has been maintained that ‘there is no unified Islamic position on evolution. This is all the more to be expected in the absence of a clear position expressed by the Qur’an’ (Hahmeed 2010, p. 139), there is an anti-evolution movement within Islam paralleling that within ‘creationist’ forms of Western Protestant Christianity. A form of Islamic creationism has been widely popularized by an organization run by Harun Yahya, and influential scholars such as Seyyed Hossein Nasr and Muzaffar Iqbal have espoused anti-evolutionary positions (ibid., pp. 139–141). Moreover, opinion polls in a number of Islamic countries indicate that ‘the vast majority of adult Muslims do not accept the theory of biological evolution’ (ibid., p. 144). Interestingly, it would appear that Western anti-evolutionary thought has been feeding its Islamic counterparts (Guessoum 2011, p. 316). In addition to these varied perspectives, some Muslim scholars have approached the interaction of science and religion as scientific practitioners, in the Western sense. Basil Altaie, a physicist, has drawn on the scholastic Kalam tradition within Islam to explore issues which have been discussed by Western science-and-religion scholars, such as the concept of a law of nature and the possibility (or otherwise) of divine action in the world (Altaie 2010, 2016). Another physicist, Nidhal Guessoum, has developed a systematic approach to scienceand-religion analogous to that of Barbour and his successors in the West, exploring the same kinds of topics (the history of science and of Islam, epistemology, cosmology) and

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advocating a similarly irenic position—whilst noting the current tensions within Islam over issues such as evolution (Guessoum 2011, 2015).

Science and religion beyond the monotheistic traditions Religious traditions in India, East Asia, and Africa developed their own approaches to the study of the natural world. Some have been imported into the modern West, for example Chinese medicine. In general, there does not appear to be any history of these sciences systematically clashing with religion. For the purposes of this survey, we will set to one side these historical relations between non-Western approaches to studying the natural world and religious traditions and focus on the modern interactions of those traditions with Western science (but see e.g., Menon 2015, p. 12ff.; Jaeshik 2016, pp. 206–212; Kuang-Tai 2016, pp. 90–94). Compared to the amount of literature generated by the interaction of science and religion within the Christian and, increasingly, Islamic traditions, there has been relatively little relating to modern science and the religions of India, East Asia, and Africa. This is undoubtedly in large part due to those religions framing the world and the place occupied within it by humankind rather differently from the monotheistic cultures. Moreover, just as we have noted that there are a multiplicity of responses to challenges posed by science within the individual religious traditions discussed thus far, we might expect any responses to Western science from these non-monotheistic religious traditions to be similarly (or, indeed, more) multifaceted, depending not only on the antecedents of those traditions but also on their regional and local manifestations—as well as on the nuances brought into those responses through Western science impacting on such traditions through colonial or missionary activity (or both). The philosophical context in which the encounter of science and such religions takes place is frequently very different from that of the West. Looking at the Chinese context, Shin Jaeshik summarizes this well: When we explore the religion-science issue from an East Asian approach, three aspects need to be mentioned. First of all, the East Asian nondualistic way of thinking is different from that of the West, and thus we perceive the religion-science issue differently. Second, East Asians have a different historical experience of religion and science. The Chinese terms [for ‘religion’ and ‘science’] are new to East Asians because they were coined and introduced during the second half of the nineteenth century in the process of translating Western literature. Third, for East Asians ‘actual practice’ is more important than ‘theoretical knowledge.’ We might say that we believe that truth is realized not through orthodoxy but through orthopraxis. This tendency suggests that the issue of religion and science transcends the intellectual dimension, embracing practical and communal dimensions. (Jaeshik 2016, pp. 205–206) (There is perhaps here a resonance with the Eastern Orthodox Christian approach described above by Nesteruk.) Similarly, Hsu Kuang-Tai notes that ‘In contrast to Western science, which developed within the naturalistic [reductionistic] thinking of Western civilization, Chinese science developed by the associative or correlative thinking of Chinese civilization’ (Kuang-Tai 2016, p. 90). Kuang-Tai also draws attention to the crucial importance of the notion of qi in all aspects of Chinese culture. The term defies translation into English: 483

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Kuang-Tai writes, ‘According to qi, everything, including heaven, the earth, the myriad of things, human beings, and so on is composed of qi, which moves everywhere in the cosmos’ (Kuang-Tai 2016, p. 92). Interestingly, this all-embracing concept means that there is a close relationship between concepts which are seen as sharply distinct in the West, such as politics, ethics, and the study of nature. The Korean scholar Jaeho Jang has explored this further, suggesting that the concept of qi may have resonances with the Western idea of information, as expounded in the evolutionary theology of John Haught. He notes that ‘in East Asian thought science and religion are not divided clearly, and are not on terms of conflict’ (Jang 2017, p. 305). Some have gone further and suggested that there are clear resonances between contemporary scientific ideas and traditional Eastern ways of thinking. Whilst the enthusiasm expressed by Fritjof Capra in ‘The Tao of Physics’ (‘the two foundations of 20th century physics—quantum theory and relativity theory—both force us to see the world very much in the way a Hindu, Buddhist or Taoist sees it’ (Capra 1999, p. 18)) has been much critiqued (see, e.g., Brooke and Cantor 1998, p. 75ff.), it is certainly the case that within a tradition like Buddhism there is (at least in some quarters) an openness to scientific ideas and a willingness to incorporate them into the tradition (see Barua 2017, p. 128ff). However, there have also been warnings that the perceived compatibility of science and Buddhism comes at a cost to the latter (see Lopez 2008, p. xiii). Writing from a Japanese context, Seung Chul Kim notes the problems associated with translating Western understandings of concepts like ‘God’ and ‘religion’ into that context. He suggests that the relationship between science and religion may usefully be seen ‘not in the form “science-God-religion,” as it has been overwhelmingly framed up until now, but under the title of “science-ś ūnyatā -religion,” and “science-kokoro-religion”’ (Kim 2015, p 170), where śūnyatā and kokoro are concepts (signifying emptiness/indifference and mind/ heart/spirit/will, respectively) which might act as bridges between science and religion, as these terms are understood in the West. In the Indian religious traditions, again, the notion that science and religion should be seen as in any sense opposite to one another is by no means immediately apparent. It has been suggested that three factors lie behind this: a radically pluralistic attitude, a history of rigorous interchange between those of different religious and philosophical traditions, and a view which sees both science and religion as expressions of a ‘lower’ form of knowledge, to be contrasted with a ‘higher’ form which ‘entails a direct, nondiscursive mode of knowing’ (Balslev 2015, p. 882). In a valuable survey of the literature regarding the encounter of science and Hinduism, Dorman draws attention to: [t]he sheer impossibility of fitting Hinduism into the religion side of science and religion without taking significant nuances into consideration, notably that what the West would break up into science, philosophy and religion all blend together under many versions of Hinduism. (Dorman 2011, p. 614, italics in original) He notes, too, the predominance of the Vedanta tradition in thinking about science and religion in the Indian context, noting however that it is the intellectual tradition of the high caste, which should not be considered representative of the Indian population nor of Hinduism in general (though its popularity expanded in the modern period with various forms of neo-Vedantic thought, such as that of Vivekananda).

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Exploration of the interactions of science with indigenous African religions is in its infancy, but we may note here the studies of Feierman and Janzen (2011) regarding the integration of medicine and religion in traditional contexts and the separation of the two with the introduction of Western (and Islamic) ideas during the colonial period, and of Conradie and du Toit (2015), concerning the interaction of Western science and indigenous knowledge systems in South Africa during and after apartheid. Such studies add still greater richness to the emerging picture of the complex global interactions of the sciences with religious traditions.

Conclusion The perception that science and religion are of necessity in conflict with one another is strongest in Western and monotheistic cultures, and is based on particular constructions of ‘science’ and ‘religion’ which came to prominence in the 19th century. The particular philosophical underpinning of science which is required to sustain this view—a rigorously materialist metaphysic, which has been labelled ‘naturalism’ or ‘scientism’—has been much commented upon (see Plantinga 2011), and it has frequently been pointed out that such a metaphysic is by no means a necessary requirement for the practice of Western science. It would appear that the extent to which science and religion are more widely perceived as inimical outside the West depends on whether or not Western scientistic presuppositions are imported into non-Western contexts. In general, the Western, modernist construction which sees ‘science’ and ‘religion’ as inevitably and irretrievably locked in conflict cannot be sustained when considering religion in global societies. David Livingstone has suggested that, when looking at particular instances of science-religion interaction, it is helpful to bear in mind four imperatives: ‘pluralize, localize, hybridize, politicize’ (Livingstone 2011, p. 282). In other words, the interrelation of ‘science’ and ‘religion’ is more helpfully thought of in terms of ‘sciences’ and ‘religions’: it is highly contingent on geographical setting: it is bound up with changing perceptions of both science and religion; and it is freighted with political concerns relating to both the time and the place of the interaction. It would appear that the idea of a conflict between science and religion can only be sustained by those taking particular, confrontational views of how these ideas are understood, within the Western tradition; and even within that Western tradition, many see no need for the conflict. Future science-and-religion research, particularly regarding non-Western religious traditions, will doubtless lead to further refinement and correction of the views outlined here, enabling an increasingly more nuanced understanding of the relationships of those traditions with the sciences. Additionally, it is to be hoped that an increasing awareness of the richness of the possible interactions between the sciences and religious traditions will lead to more and more exploration of how each might fruitfully inform the thinking and the practices of the other, reversing the antagonistic, isolationist stances of some contemporary Western commentators.

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Balslev, A. N., 2015. “Science-Religion Samvada” and the Indian Cultural Heritage. Zygon, 50 (4), 877–892. Barbour, I. G., 1966. Issues in Science and Religion. London: SCM Press. Barbour, I. G., 1998. Religion and Science: Historical and Contemporary Issues. London: SCM Press. Barua, A., 2017. Investigating the “Science” in “Eastern Religions”: A Methodological Inquiry. Zygon, 52 (1), 124–145. Bigliardi, S., 2017. The “Scientific Miracle of the Qur’an,” Pseudoscience, and Conspiracism. Zygon, 52 (1), 146–171. Brooke, J. H., 1991. Science and Religion: Some Historical Perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Brooke, J. H. and Cantor, G., 1998. Reconstructing Nature: The Engagement of Science and Religion. Edinburgh: T&T Clark. Cantor, G., 2011. Modern Judaism. In J. H. Brooke and R. L. Numbers, eds. Science and Religion around the World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 44–66. Capra, F., 1999. The Tao of Physics: An Exploration of the Parallels between Modern Physics and Eastern Mysticism (4thed.). Boston: Shambhala Publications. Conradie, E. M. and du Toit, C. W., 2015. Knowledge, Values and Beliefs in the South African Context since 1948: An Overview. Zygon, 50 (2), 455–479. Dallal, A. S., 2011. Early Islam. In J. H. Brooke and R. L. Numbers, eds. Science and Religion around the World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 120–147. Dorman, E. R., 2011. Hinduism and Science: The State of the South Asian Science and Religion Discourse. Zygon, 46 (3), 593–619. Drees, W. B., 1998. Religion, Science and Naturalism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Efron, N., 2011. Early Judaism. In J. H. Brooke and R. L. Numbers, eds. Science and Religion around the World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 20–43. Feierman, S. and Janzen, J. M., 2011. African Religions. In J. H. Brooke and R. L. Numbers, eds. Science and Religion around the World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 229–251. Finocchario, M. A., 2009. That Galileo Was Imprisoned and Tortured for Advocating Copernicanism. In R. Numbers, ed. Galileo Goes to Jail, and Other Myths about Science and Religion. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 68–78. Gould, S. J., 2001. Rocks of Ages: Science and Religion in the Fullness of Life. London: Jonathan Cape. Guessoum, N., 2011. Islam’s Quantum Question. London: I. B. Tauris. Guessoum, N., 2015. Islam and Science: The Next Phase of Debates. Zygon, 50 (4), 854–876. Hahmeed, S., 2010. Evolution and Creationism in the Islamic World. In T. Dixon, G. Cantor, and S. Pumfrey, eds. Science and Religion: New Historical Perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 133–152. Harrison, P., 2015. The Territories of Science and Religion. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Hart, D. B., 2009. Atheist Delusions: The Christian Revolution and Its Fashionable Enemies. New Haven: Yale University Press. Herzfeld, N., 2000. In Our Image: Artificial Intelligence and the Human Spirit. Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress. İhsanoğlu, E., 2011. Modern Islam. In J. H. Brooke and R. L. Numbers, eds. Science and Religion around the World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 148–174. Jaeshik, S., 2016. Mapping One World: Religion and Science from an East Asian Perspective. Zygon, 51 (1), 204–224. Jang, J., 2017. Are Humans Special? Examining John Haught’s Idea of “Information” and the Daoist Idea of Qi in the Zhuangzi. In M. Fuller, D. Evers, A. Runehov, and K.-W. Saether, eds. Issues in Science and Theology: Are We Special? Cham: Springer, 297–306. Kim, S. C., 2015. Sūnyatā and Kokoro: Science-Religion Dialogue in the Japanese Context. Zygon, 50 (1), 155–171. Knight, C. C., 2007. The God of Nature: Incarnation and Contemporary Science. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Kuang-Tai, H., 2016. Science and Confucianism in Retrospect and Prospect. Zygon, 51 (1), 86–99. Langton, D. R., 2015. Isaac Mayer Wise, Cosmic Evolution, and the Problem of Evil. In L. Hickman, ed. Chance or Providence? Religious Perspectives on Divine Action. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 79–94. Livingstone, D. N., 2011. Which Science? Whose Religion? In J. H. Brooke and R. L. Numbers, eds. Science and Religion around the World. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 278–296.

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Lopez, D. S., 2008. Buddhism and Science: A Guide for the Perplexed. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. McGrath, A., 2016. Enriching Our Vision of Reality: Theology and the Natural Sciences in Dialogue. London: SPCK. Menon, S., 2015. Hinduism and Science. In P. Clayton, ed. The Oxford Handbook of Religion and Science. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 7–23. Mitrikeski, P. T., 2015. The Dialogue between Science and Faith from the Orthodox Theological Perspective. In G. Boffi and M. Sunjic, eds. Science and Christian Faith in Post-Cold War Europe. Vatican: Lateran University Press, 53–63. Nasr, S. H., 2015. Islam and Science. In P. Clayton, ed. The Oxford Handbook of Religion and Science. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 71–85. Nesteruk, A., 2003. Light from the East: Theology, Science and the Eastern Orthodox Tradition. Minneapolis: Augsburg Fortress. Numbers, R. L., ed., 2009. Galileo Goes to Jail, and Other Myths about Science and Religion. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Numbers, R. L., 2010. Simplifying Complexity: Patterns in the History of Science and Religion. In T. Dixon, G. Cantor, and S. Pumfrey, eds. Science and Religion: New Historical Perspectives. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 263–282. Obolevitch, T., 2015a. The Relationship between Science and Religion in Polish Society and the Academic Milieu (1989-2014). In G. Boffi and M. Sunjic, eds. Science and Christian Faith in Post-Cold War Europe. Vatican: Lateran University Press, 73–95. Obolevitch, T., 2015b. Galileo in the Russian Orthodox Context: History, Philosophy, Theology and Science. Zygon, 50 (4), 788–808. Oviedo, L. and Garre, A., 2015. The Interaction between Religion and Science in Catholic Southern Europe (Italy, Spain, Portugal). Zygon, 50 (1), 172–193. Peacocke, A., 1993. Theology for a Scientific Age (expanded ed.). London: SCM Press. Plantinga, A., 2011. Where the Conflict Really Lies: Science, Religion and Naturalism. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Polkinghorne, J., 1995. Serious Talk: Science and Religion in Dialogue. London: SCM Press. Renić , D., 2015. Attitudes Towards Science-Religion Relations in the Catholic Church in Croatia. In G. Boffi and M. Sunjic, eds. Science and Christian Faith in Post-Cold War Europe. Vatican: Lateran University Press, 37–51. Samuelson, N. M., 2009. Jewish Faith and Modern Science: On the Death and Rebirth of Jewish Philosophy. Lanham: Rowman and Littlefield. Samuelson, N. M., 2015. Judaism and Science. In P. Clayton, ed. The Oxford Handbook of Religion and Science. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 41–56. Sharratt, M., 1994. Galileo: Decisive Innovator. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Silva, I., 2015. Science and Religion in Latin America: Developments and Prospects. Zygon, 50 (2), 480–502. Southgate, C. and Poole, M., 2011. Introduction. In C. Southgate, ed. God Humanity and the Cosmos (3rd ed.). London: T&T Clark, 3–43. Stenmark, M., 2010. Ways of Relating Science and Religion. In P. Harrison, ed. The Cambridge Companion to Science and Religion. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 278–295. Watts, F., 2017. Psychology, Religion and Spirituality: Concepts and Applications. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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41 Religion through the lens of ‘marketization’ and ‘lifestyle’ François Gauthier

The origin and success of the market metaphor How can one best define ‘marketization’ for use in the study of religion? This chapter begins by critically examining existing perspectives on marketization before suggesting a fruitful approach for understanding the transformations of religion in global societies. For over two centuries, religion and economics have been understood as opposites, with economic behaviours portrayed as ideal-typically rational, while religion was cast as representing the irrational. In this view, market-type exchanges, along with the bureaucratic operations of the modern state apparatus, have been cast as favouring functional types of relations in which individuals are interchangeable. In this type of sociality, social bond is neither created nor maintained, and it differs from traditional, friendship and familial sociality. This distinction is captured by Tönnies’ (1940) opposition between Gesellschaft (society) and Gemeinschaft (community), which has been refracted in many other categorizations since. This classical casting of religion and (market) economy as opposites has produced a large body of valuable scientific literature, and still does. Yet this stark and—for centuries—self-evident opposition was progressively eroded over the course of the last half of the 20th century. We can point to Peter Berger’s The Sacred Canopy (as well as Thomas Luckmann’s Invisible Religion, both published in 1967) as the inaugural moment of such a shift. ‘As a result’ of pluralization, and therefore the end of religious monopolies in favour of voluntary adhesions, Berger wrote, ‘the religious tradition has to be marketed. It must be “sold” to a clientele that is no longer constrained to “buy”’ (1980 [1967], p. 138, emphasis added). Writing in the congregational context of the United States rather than the denominational one of Western Europe, Berger continued by stating that the: [p]luralistic situation is, above all, a market situation. In it, the religious institutions become marketing agencies, and the religious tradition become consumer commodities. And at any rate a good deal of religious activity in this situation comes to be dominated by the logic of market economics. (p. 138, emphasis added)

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For Berger (as with Weber), market economics are the summum of rationalization and appear to be therefore constitutively secularizing, in the sense that they erode the former social function of religion—providing an unquestionable ‘sacred canopy’ for pre-modern societies— and contribute to religion’s privatization. While Berger’s version of secularization has been widely repudiated, including by himself, and while the terms in which he understood privatization have been contested, he did highlight the ways in which religion has become reconfigured according to the moral and therapeutic ‘needs’ of modern individuals. Similarly, while he overstated the disappearance of ‘supernatural’ elements in religion, he did foresee how religion would become increasingly voluntary and guided by the logics of ‘choice.’ Symptomatically, Berger (1980 [1967]) defined neither ‘marketing,’ nor ‘selling’ nor ‘buying.’ He appears to have used these terms in both a literal and metaphorical sense, such as when he notes how ‘consumer demand’ impacts products supplied in the ‘religious market.’ For Berger as for most sociologists, religion in pre-modern societies was not thinkable in economic terms. Secularization, as a constitutive feature of modernization, was meanwhile the result of various rationalization processes, including the development of capitalism. Religion became marketable once its social functions had been sufficiently eroded, and thus thinking of religion in economic terms appears as the outcome of a historical process. Three decades later, another US sociologist of religion, Wade Clark Roof, made a similar argument when he defined the religious landscape of contemporary societies as a so-defined ‘spiritual marketplace’: ‘An open, competitive religious economy makes possible an expanded spiritual marketplace which, like any marketplace, must be understood in terms both of “demand” and “supply”’ (1999, p. 78, emphasis added). Roof’s formulation is starker than Berger’s, and for him marketization means that the formerly watertight divide between religion and economics has been blurred in favour of the market, and that religion has become a product in its own right. It may be a peculiar product, but in the end, one can apply a neoclassical calculus to the outcome of the encounter of individual religious ‘needs’ and suppliers’ ‘offers.’ The most radical offspring of Berger’s prophetic chapter is therefore, and paradoxically, the Rational Choice approach to religion (RCAR). It is a paradox since Rational Choice authors have energetically contested secularization theory and have sonorously beaten the drum of its death, self-appointing themselves as a ‘new paradigm.’ Yet they simply developed Berger and Roof’s market argument to its full extent. That religion is a ‘product’ here is anything but metaphorical and the aim of such a theory is even to extend to modelling and predictions, as in pure sciences. Incidentally, Rational Choice does not do away with the distinction between Gesellschaft and Gemeinschaft per se. By positing that nonfunctional—i.e. non-economic and non-bureaucratic—phenomena can be analysed with the standard theory of neoclassical political economy, it rather stipulates that the distinctiveness of Gemeinschaft sociality is negligible in the end and that individuals behave in love, friendships and religion much like they do in a supermarket and any other market-type exchange. This means that as self-interested, pre-social and rational agents, they seek to maximize their utility, pleasure or profit, as the homo economicus in liberal political economy’s neoclassical model. Authors like Berger and Roof write that religion could or should be analysed in market terms, yet do not resort to the arcana of utilitarian calculus themselves. Neither do they provide any substantial theoretical discussion on market-related concepts, and how this may apply to a non-economic ‘good’ such as religion. The same is true of almost all authors who resort to market terminology. As Taira argues, such works do ‘not contain any theorization of the concept of the market, nor any type of deeper substantial theoretical discussion of other closely related concepts such as “economy”, “product”, or “consumer.”’ As 489

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a consequence, their ‘engagement with economics and market theory really amounts to little more than a selective and rather shallow employment of its language and terminology’ (2008, p. 242). Yet the implicit assumption does seem to be that social scientists could benefit from turning to liberal political economy as a heuristic avenue for understanding religion. This situation begs us to take a closer look.

Neoliberalism and the rational choice approach to religion The concern of political economy (i.e. economic theory) in the late 19th and early 20th century was to solidify the claim that market economics were the only type of economics and that the market operated according to the laws of supply and demand. Pareto (1848–1923), as other economists, sought to detail the ways in which markets ‘cleared’ (i.e. naturally produced equilibrium), making an increasing use of mathematics. Yet for Pareto, human beings behaved as homo economicus ‘in economic actions’ only, and behaved as homo ethicus or homo religiosus in moral or religious affairs (Pareto 1909, p. 18). Homo economicus was therefore an abstraction that made political economy’s interrogations possible. This state of affairs consecrated a division of intellectual labour within social sciences which lasted about two centuries (from the times of Adam Smith to the turn of the 1980s), and according to which political economy was essentially and exclusively concerned with economic affairs. It is this division of labour that was overthrown following the neoliberal revolution in political economy. Neoliberalism as a doctrine, which went from marginalized to dominant over the course of the 1970s, promoted the extension of the domain of application of the neoclassical model to the whole of society, especially in the Chicago school. According to economist and historian Robert Nelson: ‘Chicago economists developed their analysis on the basis of the assumption that the full-fledged pursuit of individual advantage—necessarily including opportunistic calculations—was motivating virtually every social actor in virtually every area of society’ (Nelson 2014, p. 232). Among these, Gary Becker was the one who most systematically developed the idea that all human actions could (and should) be analysed using the neoclassical model, based on the idea of market exchange as a ‘relationship between ends and scarce means which have alternative uses’ (Becker 1976, p. 1). Backed by mathematic formulae and graphs deduced from the principles of this standard model, Becker developed his analyses on a score of non-economic phenomena such as discrimination (tossing aside such motives as hatred and bigotry), marriage (cast as a beneficial long-term contract in terms of utility), sex (a commodity like others made available by commitment or marriage), criminality (criminals are homo economicus like everyone, except their ‘benefits and costs differ’ (Becker 1968, p. 41)), and euthanasia (the most rational and cost-effective choice if future utility previsions are negative). In his 1981 Treatise on the Family, which Becker found to be his most important work and won him the Sveriges Riksbank Prize in Economic Sciences in Memory of Alfred Nobel in 1992 (Gauthier 2020, pp. 92–3), familial, marital and friendship-type relationships are presented as being founded on ‘individual incentives’ rather than altruism, love, duty or obligation. For Becker, mutual devotion within a marriage therefore appeared to be ‘just a disguised way of achieving a higher rate of return on individual investment’ (Nelson 2014, p. 177; see Becker 1981, 1992; Gauthier 2020, pp. 91–117). Similarly, Becker’s notion of ‘human capital,’ which has been widely adopted across social sciences and expanded to include ‘cultural,’ ‘religious’ and ‘spiritual’ variants, aimed to translate individual talents, heritage, social determinations, acquired knowledge and social relations into quantitative and computable economic notions. For Becker, not only is the individual a being of (insatiable) needs, as 490

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neoclassical political economic theory has it, he is also an investor, an entrepreneur who can (must!) convert these different non-economic capitals into economic capital, under the form of revenue and profit. It is important to note that Becker and Chicago neoliberals did not think that the application of the neoclassical formal model of rationality to social phenomena was an inventive and interesting addition to sociology and the social sciences. They thought it was the best way to understand social realities and that their model should be adopted by social sciences as a whole and replace existing concepts, in the same way that neoclassical theory reigns supreme in mainstream economics worldwide. While Rational Choice proceeded to evacuate non-individual notions such as society and culture, it took less than a decade for scholars to complete the hostile takeover of social sciences by introducing Rational Choice theory in the study of religion. Rodney Stark and William Bainbridge published their first piece in 1980, yet the RCAR only really took off in the late 1980s and early 1990s, when it became mainstream in US sociology of religion and disseminated worldwide, including in regions such as China (e.g. Stark and Bainbridge 1980, 1987; Finke and Stark 1988; Iannaccone 1990, 1992, 1995; Finke and Iannaccone 1993; Warner 1993; Yang 2006). The ‘economics of religion’ view on marketization is simply the application of the neoclassical framework to religion and relies heavily if not solely on Becker’s work. It therefore rests on the small set of assumptions of liberal political economy’s standard model, summed up by Iannaccone as follows: ‘maximizing utility, market equilibrium, and stable preferences, used relentlessly and unflinchingly’ (Iannaccone 1995, p. 77, quoting Becker 1976, p. 5). The main proposition of RCAR is that the more a ‘religious market’ is freed from state regulation, the more pluralism there is, as ‘religious consumers’ are faced with more variety and choice to meet needs. As in economic affairs, the translation of liberal economics to religion sees the state as an efficiency waster and an unwelcome regulator. State regulation leads to monopolies (of one particular religion or non-religion), while deregulation leads to religious vitality. By opening the religious market to competition, deregulation is believed to ‘improve the quality’ of the religious offer, i.e. adaptation of the supply to the demand. Since religious producers must compete for market shares according to the mechanisms of the market, they become more in tune with consumer needs and ‘give the customer what he wants.’ The model’s emphasis on the positive effects of deregulation is presented as an explanation for the religious vitality one finds in the United States in comparison with Europe, as well as for the ongoing religious revival in China. Following in the steps of Becker’s takeover of sociology’s traditional domain—social interactions—RCAR scholars marched in triumphantly and announced a self-proclaimed ‘paradigm shift’ that was to (finally!) move the sociology of religion from ideology (secularization) to science (Warner 1993; Stark 1999). Proceeding ‘deductively’ from a set of ‘axioms’ (Stark and Bainbridge 1980, p. 114), RCAR authors ‘immodestly’ (Iannaccone 1992, p. 123) proposed a universal theory of religion that was supposed to solve the issue once and for all. In the words of Iannaccone: ‘Economic theory, or more precisely rational choice theory, offers a new paradigm in the sociology of religion, one that may eventually replace or encompass many of the generalizations and approaches now competing for researchers’ attention’ (ibid.). The aim of RCAR is therefore not to add a heuristic avenue for understanding religion but to replace sociological theory altogether by a ‘conceptually clean and empirically fruitful’ (ibid.) economic approach that promises to explain (like natural sciences) social realities as the former cannot. Reactions to RCAR’s hostile takeover have been rather weak. Many have been seduced by the simplicity of the model and its ‘cleanliness,’ as well as by its apparent self-evidence 491

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(are people not self-interested?), and have attempted to develop its ‘heuristic value’ along different lines, with less or more critical distance, and with less rather than more convincing results (e.g. Ellison 1995; Stolz 2008; Blasi 2009; Simonnot 2014; Patrikios and De Francesco 2018). Notable critiques include Beckford, for whom RCAR’s methodological individualism is problematic since it evacuates the importance of social norms and structures. RCAR’s ‘narrow and exclusively instrumental conception of rationality’ (Beckford 2003, p. 169) is problematic, as religion is obviously more a case of Wertrationalität (value-oriented rationality) than Zweckrationalität (instrumental rationality). Turner and Casanova argue meanwhile that the ‘assumption that a society with a state church gives that church a monopoly position is questionable and the assumption that monopoly is an imposition on a society is dubious’ (Turner 2011, p. 119; see also Casanova 2006, p. 9), as the examples of Poland, Russia and Serbia (among others) show. Turner further argues that the ‘idea that competitive religious markets, like secular economic markets, automatically enhance choice of services, quality of products and efficiency of services is questionable’ (Turner 2011, p. 119). One of the most original critiques comes from Spickard, who devised a computer program using the Rational Choice precepts in order to test the ‘aggregate outcomes of individual choices in a religious marketplace’ (Spickard 2007, quoted from abstract), showing the predictions to be false. In another contribution, Spickard examines three ‘key theoretical assumptions’ of RCAR and rejects two as being false, ‘and the third to be so vague as to be useless’ (Spickard 1998, quoted from abstract). Considering these limitations, it is surprising to read that sociologists of religion have still welcomed RCAR in their discipline. Beckford for instance considers that the ‘potential benefit from analysing religious movements in terms of rational choice is high’ (Beckford 2003, p. 168), while Robertson writes that ‘the economic approach to religion cannot be entirely rejected’ (Robertson 1992, p. 147). Even Spickard refuses to discard RCAR, arguing that his findings undercut ‘neither the utility of the market-model itself nor of a rational-choice model of human behavior (as opposed to action)’ (Spickard 1998, quoted from abstract). What is missing in these otherwise well-founded critiques is knowledge of the history and constitution of political economy and the neoclassical model, as well as of its numerous critiques, be they from social scientists or economists themselves. Faced with RCAR’s triumphalism, sociologists of religion have not instinctively been renewed with the antiutilitarian and anti-economistic foundations of their discipline, as exemplified for instance by Weber and Durkheim’s overtly critical stance towards political economy. Over a century ago, Durkheim, Simiand, Halbwachs and Mauss developed a complete critical framework which put into question the very validity of political economy as concerns economic exchanges and on subjects such as money, value and contracts (see Steiner 2005). Since then, a landmass of social scientists and heterodox economists have compiled arguments and data to show the essentially tautological and ideological nature of the standard model’s assumptions, for instance the reductionism of homo economicus, the dodgy-ness of the supposedly natural ‘human tendency to barter,’ the idea that markets are the best mechanism for just redistribution of wealth and that markets inherently tend towards equilibrium. Anthropologists such as Sahlins (1974), Douglas (1979) and Graeber (2011), among many others, have falsified many if not all of the assumptions of the standard model which RCAR mobilizes without discussion. Such a situation has led contemporary economists like Jorion (2008, 2012), Nelson (2014), Keen (2011) and Hudson (2017, 2018) to dismiss the neoclassical model still massively dominant today in economics faculties worldwide as being essentially based on either ‘religious fervor,’ ‘blind faith,’ or ‘indoctrination.’ 492

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There are therefore many resources, within and without social sciences, to radically question and challenge the validity of political economy’s Rational Choice model as concerns economic phenomena. A quick glance at the history of marketing also shows how the Rational Choice model was already starting to be abandoned in the 1950s in the United States in favour of psychological, sociological, anthropological and even religious studies approaches (Arvidsson 2005; Gauthier, Martikainen, and Woodhead 2013a, 2013b; Gauthier 2020). Consumer research in the meantime has similarly abandoned the Rational Choice model in favour of empirically grounded methods. The recent UK-based ‘Cultures of Consumption’ research program has found that consumption was ‘not about meeting needs,’ as stipulated by political economy, but the creation of meaning and identities, and that ‘attempts to apply an economic model of the rational, individual consumer are fraught with problems’ (Trentmann 2007, quoted from abstract). The above discussion provides another entry into the evaluation of the pretentions of RCAR. If neoclassical theory is invalid for thinking simple economic behaviours include the consumption of everyday goods, how could it have the slightest relevance for thinking about religion? The roots of RCAR in Gary Becker’s work show how RCAR participates in the translation of society in its entirety and all aspects of human action in the neoclassical mould. RCAR therefore participates in the ideological project of neoliberalism to subsume every social sphere to the rule of the market. In other words, far from enabling an understanding of marketization, RCAR itself operates a neoliberal brand of marketization: it relays the ‘unwavering belief in the power, efficiency, and rationality of the free, non-regulated market’ (Moberg and Martikainen 2018, p. 420) and of the positive effects of the transfer of social regulation from the state to the market. In the light of this, the social scientific study of religion should react to the ‘immodest’ takeover of RCAR with a fair degree of doubt at the very least, if not outright rejection.

Religion vs market Apart from RCAR, two sets of concurrent theories have attempted to understand the rapports between economics and religion in contemporary societies. Both proceed from the idea of strongly differentiated social spheres (here economics and religion), yet provide opposite interpretations of the recent impact of marketization on religion. The first perspective denounces the instrumentalization of the market by religious actors, and is relatively widespread in research concerned with the exponential development of halal and ‘sharia-friendly’ products worldwide. While this point of view is seldom expressed as bluntly, it sees the ‘halal explosion’ as the result of a manipulation of the possibilities offered by globalized markets by fundamentalists aiming to disseminate their fanatic and ideological project (e.g. Kepel 2012). The purity of the market (and of ‘the secular’ in general), in other words, is co-opted and soiled by religion. The second perspective worries about the reverse trend, meaning the dangers of ‘commodification’ for religion. This is the case of works that warn of the impact of consumer culture on Christianity and other religious traditions (e.g. Budde and Brimlow 2002; Stevenson 2007). Others deal with various forms of alternative spiritualities, healing and self-help techniques, as well as other holistic practices. Most are overtly critical, such as Carrette and King’s (2005) symptomatic Selling Spirituality, which denounces the ‘capitalist takeover’ and sullying of religion and spirituality. The authors lament the dissemination of holistic spiritualities that claim to ‘soothe away the angst of modern living’ and ‘the shallowness of materialism’ (a ‘fallacy’) but which instead legitimate ‘corporate interests.’ In 493

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this narrative, religion and spirituality are ‘hijacked’ and turned into an ‘alienating addiction’ (2005, quoted from back cover; see also Lau 2000; Ezzy 2001; York 2001). Carrette and King’s lament is nothing new, as it simply re-actualizes the old Marxian idea of religion as the opium of the people and an ideological superstructure serving the domination of the capitalist class, with the twist that somewhere under the surface lies not class warfare, but rather an authentic and unsullied spirituality with a potential for resistance. Here it is the purity of ‘true’ religion that is threatened by the sullying potential of evil market forces. As Taira (2008) remarks, this ‘religion vs market’ literature once again lacks any sort of serious theorizing about capitalism and concepts like the market, commodification, etc. Both perspectives are symmetrical and specular, and view economics and religion as exclusive social spheres, yet diverge in their interpretation. They therefore fail as heuristic frameworks for understanding marketization, and convey the idea that the marketization of religion can only signify the external pressure of one social sphere on the other.

Recovering the idea of marketization for the study of religion Across the social sciences, a consensus exists as to how market economics has risen to dominance and has significantly reconfigured the general landscape of our societies as well as the relations and dynamics between the various social spheres. While it is easy to appreciate how welfare provision, health and education, for instance, have shifted from being embedded in the nation-state to an embedment within a market rationale, the social scientific study of religion has been slow in acknowledging the effects of this transformation. In order to move forward, the first step is to retrieve the concept of ‘the market’ from political economy in order to historicize its emergence within the Western modern project. The ‘Market’ emerged in early modern thought as a principle for social regulation (Dumont 1977; Rosanvallon 1979; Slater and Tonkiss 2001; Polanyi 2001 [1944]) before it was developed into the idea of an abstract arena in which conflicting interests, in the form of offer and demand, are automatically harmonized through the supposedly automatic (or natural) mechanisms of ‘price.’ Incidentally, ‘the Market’ as an idea and ideal precedes ‘the market’ both historically and logically (Appleby 2010). It has played ‘a central role in organizing the West’s conceptual and normative universe’ (Slater and Tonkiss 2001, p. 9; see Carrier 1997; Gauthier 2020), yet it is only recently that we can say that we live in fullfledged ‘market societies.’ From this angle, the concept of marketization refers to a broader and more encompassing set of processes than simply ‘commodification,’ ‘commoditization,’ or ‘commercialization’; that is how: [a] market logic has come to provide a means of thinking about social institutions and individuals more generally, such that notions of competition, enterprise, utility and choice can be applied to various aspects of people’s working lives, access to public services and even private pursuits—as well as religion. (Slater and Tonkiss 2001, p. 1) This set of ideational and ideological processes is also crystallized, produced and reproduced in various institutionalizations, representations and practices (e.g. policies) which ingrain it deeply within social and societal life. As Moberg and Martikainen stress, in ‘this understanding, marketization is therefore not adequately understood as a phenomenon that affects social spheres or sub-systems in isolation from one another’ (2018, p. 430), in a process of co-construction or mutual shaping. It does not start from the idea of neatly 494

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differentiated ‘social spheres’ (religion and economics) as much as the ways in which the Market so defined allows us to understand the specificity of the contemporary social environment in which religion operates. This approach explains why RCAR and market metaphors have become rampant, but also why religious actors themselves, e.g. institutions and organizations, increasingly think about and present themselves as enterprises ‘competing for market shares’ and as providers of ‘religious services’ designed to meet ‘consumer needs’ (see e.g. Schlamelcher 2013; Moberg 2017; Gauthier 2019). The concept of marketization can be further developed by distinguishing between two sets of processes: consumerization, or the shaping into consumerism-friendly or consumerismcontesting forms; and neoliberalization, as an effect of the implementation of free-market policies. Neoliberalization involves market formatting, although in ways different from consumerism: it presents and shapes social realities (e.g. education, health, welfare, labour, subjectivities, etc.) in utilitarian terms and according to normative standards of valuation (cost-effectiveness, quantity, ‘human resources,’ ‘human capital,’ etc.). It commodifies noncommodities and privileges economic efficiency in societal institutions, including religious ones. It encourages all organizations, big or small, to perceive themselves on an entrepreneurial model, and to perceive their actions as that of actors within market segments, with an obligation to brand and marketize themselves and their missions in order to ‘survive in a competitive environment’ and ‘grow.’ In this respect, it is better to define neoliberalism in a broad manner, as a loose ideological ensemble of doctrines and policies oriented towards the transfer of regulation from the state to the market. Through IMF ‘restructuration’ programs, World Trade Organization regulations as well as EU, MERCOSUR and ASEAN regional economic integration processes, virtually all countries in the world have been subjected to neoliberal reforms from the 1980s onwards, profoundly affecting the rapports between state and society, eroding the container function of the nation, enmeshing human societies within a global network and expanding the reach of the market to formerly protected areas of social life, for example through privatization. In this sense, it is possible to observe a process of neoliberalization up close in all countries in the world (Harvey 2005; Saad-Filho and Johnston 2005; Bohle and Greskovits 2012; Ban 2016). Consumerization, meanwhile, emerges out of the spread and massification of consumption as a desirable ethos and the transformation of world cultures into consumer cultures. In The World of Goods (1979), Douglas and Isherwood argued that the function of modern consumption is to make cultural precepts concrete—identifying, materializing and stabilizing them, and thus giving them substance, authority and inevitably. Consumption carries meaning and is a way to produce and express identities, statuses and communities. As Slater captures it, consumption has become ‘the dominant mode of cultural reproduction developed in the west over the course of modernity’ (1997, p. 8). Consumerism first massified in the West in the post-war decades of the 1950s and 1960s, carrying what Taylor calls the ‘ethic of authenticity and expressivity,’ according to which ‘each of us has his or her own way of realizing one’s own humanity, and that it is important to find and live out one’s own’ (2002, p. 83) and express it in order to be recognized. The consumer revolution similarly contributed to usher national societies towards becoming ‘identity societies’ (Beauchemin 2004) against a global backdrop. In non-Western societies and the Global South, research reports a surprising level of penetration of consumerism in some of the most remote places on the planet, namely through the extraordinary outreach of electronic media, and the consequent transformation of traditional ways of life, social structures and socialization patterns (see Gauthier 2018, 2020). 495

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A major effect of consumerization is to reconfigure religion into lifestyles and thereby cater to the need for identity construction, belonging and life ethics. In other words, to provide signposts on how to live and pragmatic/practical solutions for overcoming or conquering obstacles. Grand political projects and social issues tend to cede the way to more direct and ethical ones. As David Lehmann (2009) remarks, the construction of a lifestyle, of a way of life in which religion is part, happens first with respect to the acceptation of religious doctrine. ‘Lifestyling’ reshapes religion to serve the reform of personal life, whether it is on the born-again or the quest and self-realization model. As consumerism is about ‘being on the move’ (Bauman 2007), quest religion is about continuous learning and the feeling of being on the right path (the path to oneself, or to God, or to a conflation of both). In this sense, nothing is worse than walking in circles, or being static, i.e. not progressing (Lemieux 2002). The belief in progress on a collective or universal scale has been replaced by the belief in the possibility (and imperative) of individual progress. In this respect, consumerization aligns with neoliberal values such as adaptability, personal responsibility, seeing obstacles as opportunities to better oneself, selfreliance, mobility and so on. Lifestylization signifies public expression and visibility, and therefore the erosion of the private/public divide. The case of the return of the Muslim veil is paradigmatic, whether in its fashionable or integral version. Nothing expresses the value of choice more visibly than fashion, and this trend is not limited to Islam. Pentecostalism and conservative Christians, among other religious movements, similarly insist on the importance of clothing as a way to express values, success, and to try to provoke self-fulfilling prophecies (by dressing more richly or more piously than one is for instance). Lifestyles are encompassing. They are holistic constructs that combine different dimensions, including aesthetics, politics and religion, within a visible affirmation of identity. They are constitutively expressive, and therefore the lifestylization of religion goes hand in hand with alleged deprivatization (Casanova 1994) at the level of individual religiosities. The lifestylization of religion aids the de-dedifferentiation of religion, and is largely inassimilable within the secularization paradigm. The blurring of boundaries between ‘the secular’ and religion as well as between the private and public, which lifestylization and marketization carry, explains why successful religious movements have integrated social services (day-care, counselling, etc.), accessibility, music, entertainment and even shopping within their provisions. Coming out of its box, religion becomes mixed with all these other dimensions as social actors seek to integrate religion in their daily lives. The lifestylization of religion also accompanies the shift from a religiosity inscribed in the world of indefinitely repeated observances and sustained through habit and social conformity to one centred around intense and extraordinary moments where social actors can discover and express themselves in (sometimes effervescent) ritual frames that ensure feelings of community and togetherness while providing recognition. Global-Market era mobility requires secure community niches and affinity groups, actual or virtual, founded on the communalization of practices, beliefs, values and references, and which provide the social confirmation indispensable to the constitution of individual meaning systems (Hervieu-Léger 2001; Gauthier 2012). This similarly implies the ‘spectacle-ization’ of religion (Possamai 2018), and the return, all over the world, of religious festivals and other mass events. The localized and routinized congregation, which became globalized in the prior nation-state era (see Gauthier 2018, 2020), cedes to the return of traditional, neo-traditional and novel forms such as mass gatherings and intimate settings which cater to the need for experiences, selfexpression and self-exploration (Gauthier 2014). 496

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Conclusion Implicit and explicit approaches to marketization in the study of religion have tended to be metaphorical and radically undertheorized (Stolz and Usunier 2014 is a notable exception), and mostly depend in their analysis on Rational Choice theorists, who have applied Becker’s version of the neoclassical model consistently. However, knowledge about political economy, its history and its critiques suffices to shed doubt on the validity of this model in economic affairs, let alone in matters of religion. A more anthropological and sociological approach to marketization opens new avenues for thinking how religion too is being reshaped and formatted in the wake of the rise to dominance of market economics over social life across the world. The perspective sketched in this chapter suggests that we understand marketization as a set of processes that are correlative to the transformation of global societies into fullfledged market societies and consumer cultures. Distinguishing between processes related to consumerization or neoliberalization can be mobilized in the analysis of religious phenomena. A question that remains open is how these processes are enculturated, resisted, modified and reconducted in a variety of patterns across the globe, especially in the less researched Global South and its particular modes of sociality. Another important topic, especially in the Global South, is the extent to which religion is a key in the enculturation and appropriation of both consumerism and free market ideologies (see e.g. Njoto-Faillard 2012; Gauthier 2020). As the reader may have noticed, many contributions in this volume do indeed suggest that understanding religious transformations across global societies can greatly benefit from a workable conception of marketization.

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499

Index

Africa 485 Anglican Communion 144 Armenia 414–5 asceticism 79, 89, 199–210 Australia 268–75 authenticity 32, 34, 61, 81, 92, 98, 204, 212–20, 375, 390, 495 Ahmadiyya Muslim Community 247–55 Anthropocene 474 Asia 187–95 Asian American 155–63 Azerbaijan 415–6 Berger, P. 293–4, 308, 311, 464, 488–90 Beyer, P. 3–4, 176, 269, 308, 369, 400 boundaries: between nation states 13; between religious and non-religious 13, 459–64; religious identity as 438–9 branding 42–9 Brazil 31–9 brotherhood 108–12 Buddhism 188; and meditation 188–93; and transnationalism 268–75 Canada: indigenous religions 130–37 Catholic Church 131, 422–3, 480; in Ecuador 329–33; in France 356–7; and gender 174–82; global 174–82; Globalization of 234–42; traditionalist 226–33 Catholicism 3-4, 131, 137, 174–7, 178–9, 181, 215–6, 228, 231–2, 235, 294, 327, 329–33, 356–7 bharismatic authority 204 China 189–95, 279 Chinese: Christianity 277–88 Christianity: in Europe 434; global 175–76; and science 480–1; and the internet 121–22; a nd the Chinese diaspora 277–88; in Nigeria 378–9 Church of England: and same-sex marriage 143–45, 47–49

500

co-existence approach 9 Colombia 226–32 Confucianism 156 consumer culture 7, 23, 28, 42, 49, 83, 111–2, 493 consumerism 7–8, 12, 14, 20, 32–4, 80, 90, 98–9, 106–8, 111–15, 298–9, 382, 495–7 consumerization 7, 495 consumption 72; see also prosperity ethic Cornelio, J. 8–11, 49, 65–74 cyberspace 129, 134; see also digital communication; Internet Dā ʿiya Nur 106–7 Da’wa 96–7, 101–2, 106 death 133 de-differentiation 147 Deities see Gods Denmark 143, 149–50 de-privatization 10 de-traditionalization 10 Diaspora studies 277–88, 292–300 digital communication: and rituals of death 134; and social justice 121 diversity 10, 13, 31, 43, 52, 86–7, 95–6, 120, 129–30, 135, 220, 258, 269–72, 274, 277, 288, 295, 298, 307, 315, 318, 326, 328–9, 345–6, 378, 413, 425, 469 Eastern Christian 349–58 Ecclesiology 146–47 Ecuador 327–33 ecological emergency 474–5 education: and gender politics 166–72 Europe 315–23, 432–40 Evangelical Lutheran Church of Denmark 146, 149–51 Evangelicalism 117–18; in Brazil 34; and Chinese Christianity 280–8; in Ecuador 329–33; in the United States 118; and social justice 117–25; and Millennials 120–25; and Asian Americans see Asian Americans

Index

Facebook 121, 133–36 faith 22–4, 42–3, 66, 70–1, 79, 82–4, 121, 229, 287, 294, 306, 315–7, 330, 337–41, 343–46, 405, 413, 424, 444, 451, 459, 478, 481–2 faith-based organizations 7, 10, 236, 315–20, 336–42 foreign policy 336, 349–58, 392, 394 framework 2 France 292–300, 349–58, 422–3 Gauthier, F. 4, 6–7, 12, 19, 21–2, 32–5, 42, 80, 89, 90, 98–9, 103, 111–2, 122, 218–20, 237, 375–77, 380, 382, 464, 488–97 gender conversion 177–79 gender politics 166–72 Germany 423–4 Georgia 292–300, 413–4 Georgian Orthodox Church 292–300, 413–4 global/local dynamics 1–15, 19–22, 31, 38–9, 46–9, 53, 56, 61, 65–6, 69, 71–4, 77–92, 98, 99, 101, 106–7, 112–5, 117, 120–1, 123–5, 136, 151, 174–82, 187–8, 193–4, 203, 209, 215, 217–8, 221–3, 231, 234–6, 238, 240–2, 247–8, 250–5, 258–9, 262, 265, 268–70, 272–3, 275, 277–8, 280, 282, 285–8, 305, 310, 318, 320, 327, 336–7, 339, 342–3, 346, 349, 362–7, 369, 371–2, 377, 382–3, 391, 393, 401, 411, 417, 425, 459–60, 462, 464, 469–71, 474–5, 478, 485, 488, 495–7 global society 1, 9, 111, 155, 175–8, 180–1, 252, 259, 336, 362, 364–7, 369, 371, 377 global-market regime 6 Global South 66, 68, 71–3, 151, 235–6, 337, 339, 495, 497 globalization 120, 199–210, 234–42 glocal 4, 410 glocalization 259, 264–5 God 14, 24, 35–8, 43, 65–71, 77, 84, 89, 109, 114, 117–9, 121–2, 124–5, 132, 159–60, 170–1, 200, 227–8, 232, 238–9, 248, 282, 284, 286, 292, 298, 300, 306, 329–32, 362–4, 367, 369, 391, 397, 445, 449, 451, 473, 480, 484, 496 gods 14, 205, 374, 471 governance 3, 6–7, 20, 25, 32, 34, 101, 111, 113, 152, 307, 376, 448 Gülen Movement 166–72, 251, 261, 262–3, 265 Haenni, P. 81–2, 106–7, 112 Hillsong: and marketization 23; in Indonesia see Jakarta Praise Community Church Hinduism 200–3 Hizmet see Gülen Movement homogenization thesis 6 Hong Kong 189–95

humanitarianism 336–46 Huntington, S. 5 Hunter, J. 35 identity 12, 278 Iglesia ni Cristo 9 illiberal 74, 83, 87 India: and Hinduism 199–210; religion and science in 484 indigenous religions: in Canada 129–37; in Nigeria 381 Indonesia: megachurches in 43–4; Islamic media in 95–103; Turkish Süleymanlı in 258–66 industrialization 1, 10, 96, 194 Instituto Buen Pastor 226–33 interdenominational syncretism 326–33 interreligious dialogue 305–11 international humanitarian system 336–7, 343–6 international politics 305–11 international relations 349–58 internet 1, 2, 5, 11–3, 117, 121–2, 125, 133–7, 204–5, 237 Iran 444–53 Iranian Revolution 9, 109 Islam: Ahmadi see Ahmadiyya Muslim Community; in Central Asia 82; commodification of 98; in France 354–6; gender ideology 108; and prosperity theology 77–91; see also market Islam; public sphere in 97–8; in Nigeria 379–80; Salafist; see also Salafism; and science 481; Shiite 444–53 Islamism 8, 98, 100, 102, 106–10, 112, 355 Islamophobia 435–7 Jakarta Praise Community Church 45; and Hillsong 45–9 Japan 424–5; religion and science in 484 Jesus: as leadership model 35–7 Jihadism 394–7 Judaism 481 Kazakhstan 77–92 Kyrgyzstan 77–92 Lakewood Church 23 Latin America 213, 215, 218, 220–1, 223, 232, 235–6, 241, 329, 333, 364, 382 LGBTQ 155–63 leadership: see also neoliberalism legitimacy 2, 46–9, 55–6, 61, 131, 213, 219–20, 222–3, 234, 273, 345, 349, 353, 379, 382–3, 389, 391–7, 425, 444 lifestyle 8, 12, 19–20, 22, 24, 70–2, 81, 86, 88–90, 103, 299–300, 488, 496 lived religion 12, 268–75 localization 336–7, 342–6

501

Index

market Islam 77–91, 81–2, 84–7, 107, 111–15 market society 20; ideational and discursive impact of 20–21; and prosperity ethic 72; rituals in 52–61 marketization 488–97; process of 21; and megachurches 44 Martikainen, T. 6–7, 21–2, 24–5, 42, 73, 98–9, 375, 377, 464, 493–4 masculinity 174–82 Mayan 212–23 megachurch 23, 38, 42–9, 287 media: and Islam 95–103, 253; and megachurches 42–9; and the Roman Catholic Church 237 meditation 188–95 mediacosmology 133 McDonaldization 5 migration 12, 187–95, 268–9, 292–300, 316–17 Millennials 119–25 mobile religion 269 moral panic 101 multiple modernities 5 Muslim Eurasia 77–92 nation-state 1–6, 9, 13, 91, 95, 179, 242, 280, 283, 285–6, 375, 494 national identity 349–58 nationalism 400–6, 410–7 Neocatechumenal Way (NCW) 174–82 neoliberalism 490–3; in Brazil 34; and leadership 35–9; and marketization 20–1; and prosperity ethic 72–3; and Islam 111–15; in Nigeria 382–3 New Age 212–23 New Islamism of the Middle 109–10 new public management (NPM) 24–7 Nigeria 374–84 non-denominationalism: and marketization 22–24 non-government organizations (NGOs) 252 non-religious 13, 19, 332, 400, 424, 427, 459–61, 464 nonhuman agencies 469–75, 476 nonviolence 369–71 New Thought Movement 67–8 New Zealand 119–22 Orthodox Church 399–407 Osteen, J. 23, 71 Palestinian West Bank 105–15 Pakistan 248, 251, 254 peacebuilding 10, 341, 362–72 Pentecostalism 53, 65–8, 118, 287, 377–83 pilgrimage 13, 187–95, 203, 207, 216, 221, 260, 380, 459, 462–3 pluralism 77, 83, 103, 147, 233, 294–5, 298, 300, 317, 354, 374–9 pluralization 10, 311, 327, 380, 411, 488

502

politics 3, 34, 68, 80, 92, 96–9, 102, 106, 111, 113, 115, 120, 126, 168, 226, 228, 230, 232–3, 234, 236, 255, 265, 270–1, 285, 349–53, 355–8, 374–6, 380, 383, 389–97, 399–400, 410–2, 414, 416–7, 426, 433, 436, 438 prayer 460 Protestantism: Chinese 277–82, 285, 287; and marketization 21–30 poetry 444–53 Pope Francis 230, 237, 239–40, 318, 338 post-Westphalian 4, 6, 9–10 posthuman 13 Philippines 9, 11, 65–74, 236, 342 privatization of religion 297–9 prosperity ethic 65–74 prosperity Gospel: images of Jesus 37; roots of 67–8 public morality 11, 95–103, 168 rational choice approach 489–93 reenchantment 473–4 refugee crisis 315–22 religion: in the Anthropocene 469–76; authority in 11; academic study of 1; everyday religion 12; in global societies 8; and globalization 4; and nationalism 400–6; and the nonhuman 471–2; and science see Science; tactical religion 12; versus market 493–4 religious diversity 13, 31, 129, 269, 295, 328, 425 religious freedom 4, 7, 194, 228, 233, 236, 238, 309–10, 333, 406, 416 religious identity 432–40 religious nationalism 282–3 religious pluralism 374–84 religious tourism 463 religiosity 459 renunciation 77, 79, 87, 89, 91, 179, 201, 208 Ritzer, G. 5 rituals: collective 461–2; in market society 53–8; and the digital space 129–37 Robertson, R. 4 Russia 399–407 Salafism 389–97 same-sex marriage 143–52 Saudi Arabia 389–97 self-help: literature 32; sacralization of 69–70 science 478–85 secular dialogue 362–72 secularization 10, 234, 241, 349, 357–8, 420–8, 438, 489, 491, 496 social justice 11, 71, 74, 82, 117–25, 367 Soka Gakkai 8 South Caucasus 410–7 Southeast Asia: megachurches in 42; and Buddhism 188–95; Chinese Christianity in 281–88

Index

spirit 216, 471, 484 spirituality 2, 4, 8, 11, 52, 55, 61, 67, 69, 73, 106, 12, 130, 132, 176, 199, 205–6, 213, 215–9, 240, 270, 293–4, 320, 338, 362–3, 367, 369, 372, 493–4 state 3, 6–7, 11, 24–7, 81–2, 85–7, 92, 96–9, 109, 111–2, 114, 120, 147, 166–8, 203, 228, 230, 233, 235–6, 238, 265, 269, 278, 280, 283, 341, 351–2, 356–7, 376–7, 379, 382–4, 392–4, 399–407, 411–6, 420–8, 491–6 subjectivity 105 Süleymanlı movement 261–66 superdiversity 5 Syncretism 219–20, 326–33, 366, 375 Sweden 52–61

Ummah 8, 253, 344 Ummi 100–1 United Islamic Cultural Centre of Indonesia see Indonesia: Turkish Süleymanlı United Kingdom 144, 147–49 United Nations 305, 309–11, 336–7 United Religions Initiative 309 United States 23, 25, 27, 32–4, 38, 49, 131, 136, 155–63, 187, 316–7, 364–5, 368, 421, 427–8, 445, 449, 488, 491, 493 urban 326–33

Tablighi Jama’at movement 78–81, 82–3, 87–91 Taylor, C. 470–1 Taiwan 188–95 Thailand 425–6 The Course 120–4 themes 10 Transnationalism: and diaspora 249–53; and indigenous religions 212–23; and religious movements 258–66; and religious networks 187–95; and Salafism 393; in the South Caucasus 410–7 Turkey 167–72, 426–7; and the Süleymanlı movement 261–66 Tzu Chi 8

West 78, 80–3, 86, 91–2, 117–9, 123, 125, 176, 188–9, 190, 194–5, 199–202, 205–6, 208–9, 220–2, 478–80 Westphalian 3, 6–7, 9–12, 239, 389, 397 Women 39, 47, 86, 90, 105–16, 169–72, 175–76, 178–80, 192, 201–2, 207–9, 231–2, 236, 238, 251, 253, 341, 380 Woodhead, L. 6–8, 12, 19, 21, 26, 42, 98, 144–5, 147, 149, 152, 175, 362, 460, 493 World Conference of Religion and Peace 308–9 World Parliament of Religions 307–8

Ukraine 399–407 Ukrainian Church see Ukraine

Vatican 122, 174–6, 178, 180–1, 226, 235–7, 240, 242, 306 Vatican II 176–7, 181, 226–33, 236–40

Yoruba 374–81, 383 Young adults 268–75 Youth 8, 10, 13, 82–3, 86, 90, 103, 117, 119, 124, 159, 270–2, 296, 300, 309, 329, 371

503