The Liquidation of the Church (Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies) [1 ed.] 9781472477866, 9781315592527, 1472477863

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The Liquidation of the Church

Is religion dying out in Western societies? Is personal spirituality taking its place? Both stories are inadequate. Institutional religion is not simply coming to an end in Western societies. Rather, its assets and properties are redistributed: large parts of the church have gone into liquidation. Religion is crossing the boundaries of the parish and appears in other social contexts. In the fields of leisure, health care, and contemporary culture, religion has an unexpected currency. The metaphor of liquidation provides an alternative to approaches that merely perceive the decline of religion or a spiritual revolution. Religion is becoming liquid. By examining a number of case studies in the Netherlands and beyond, including World Youth Day, television, spiritual centers, chaplaincy, mental healthcare, museums, and theatre, this book develops a fresh way to look at religion in late modernity and produces new questions for theological and sociological debate. It is both an exercise in sociology and an exercise in practical theology conceived as the engaged study of religious praxis. As such, the aim is not only to get a better understanding of what is going on, but also to critique one-sided views and to provide alternative perspectives for those who are active in the religious field or its surroundings. Kees de Groot is Lecturer in Practical Theology and Religious Studies at Tilburg University and Coordinator of the Master’s program Christianity and Society. He has studied sociology at the University of Amsterdam, wrote a doctoral dissertation on religion and mental health care at Leiden University (1995), and studied theology at Tilburg University. He has contributed to various volumes in and on sociology of religion, and has published on Zygmunt Bauman, Catholicism, theatre, and comics in the International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church, Social Compass, and Implicit Religion.

Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies

The Routledge New Critical Thinking in Religion, Theology and Biblical Studies series brings high quality research monograph publishing back into focus for authors, international libraries, and student, academic and research readers. This open-ended monograph series presents cutting-edge research from both established and new authors in the field. With specialist focus yet clear contextual presentation of contemporary research, books in the series take research into important new directions and open the field to new critical debate within the discipline, in areas of related study, and in key areas for contemporary society. For a full list of titles in this series, please visit www.routledge.com/ religion/series/RCRITREL Divine Power and Evil A Reply to Process Theodicy Kenneth K. Pak Leaving Christian Fundamentalism and the Reconstruction of Identity Josie McSkimming Feminist Eschatology Embodied Futures Emily Pennington The Soul of Theological Anthropology A Cartesian Exploration Joshua R. Farris The Church, Authority and Foucault Imagining the Church as an Open Space of Freedom Steven G. Ogden Israel, the Church, and Millenarianism A Way Beyond Replacement Theology Steven D. Aguzzi The Liquidation of the Church Kees de Groot

The Liquidation of the Church Kees de Groot

First published 2018 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2018 Kees de Groot The right of Kees de Groot to be identified as author of this work has been asserted by him 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 for this book has been requested ISBN: 978-1-4724-7786-6 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-315-59252-7 (ebk) Typeset in Sabon by Apex CoVantage, LLC

Contents

Preface

vii

PART 1

Religion in liquid modernity Introduction: what’s going on? 1 An organizational perspective

1 3 15

PART 2

Parish and beyond: ecclesial maneuvers in fluidity

27

2 A solid church enters liquid modernity

29

3 The modern parish dealing with choice

47

4 Movements and events: ambivalence towards liquid modernity

65

PART 3

Losing control: ecclesial initiatives within the secular sphere

77

5 God in the living: celebrating Mass through the television screen

79

6 The Christian tradition on the spiritual market

95

7 Spiritual care: the devastating success of chaplaincy

115

PART 4

The world takes over: the use of religion in the secular sphere

129

8 The religious co-production of mental health care

131

9 Private matters: the presentation of religion in a museum

147

10 Playing with religion in contemporary theatre

161

vi

Contents

PART 5

Conclusion

179

11 The liquidation of the church

181

Index

187

Preface

liquidation (ˌlɪkwɪˈdeɪʃən). Definitions Noun the process of terminating the affairs of a business firm, etc., by realizing its assets to discharge its liabilities the state of a business firm, etc., having its affairs so terminated (esp. in the phrase to go into liquidation) destruction; elimination Verb To liquidate a company is to close it down and sell all its assets, usually because it is in debt. A unanimous vote was taken to liquidate the company.1 Is religion dying out in Western societies? Is personal spirituality taking its place? Both stories are inadequate. Institutional religion is not simply coming to an end in Western societies. Rather, its assets and properties are redistributed: large parts of the Catholic Church have gone into liquidation. Religion is crossing the boundaries of the parish and appears in other social contexts. In the fields of leisure, health care, and contemporary culture, religion has an unexpected currency. The metaphor of liquidation provides an alternative to approaches that merely perceive the decline of religion or a spiritual revolution. Religion is becoming liquid. This book develops a fresh way of looking at religion in late modernity and produces new questions for theological and sociological debate. It is both an exercise in sociology and an exercise in practical theology conceived as the engaged study of religious praxis. As such, the aim is not only to get a better understanding of what is going on, but also to critique one-sided views and to provide alternative perspectives for those who are active in the religious field or its surroundings. Religious capital that is enclosed in ‘non-current’ or ‘fixed’ assets is turned into ‘current’ or ‘liquid’ assets. Usually, this doesn’t promote the sustainability of the enterprise. In a wider perspective, however, it involves the proliferation of Properties, Plant, and Equipment (PP&E) as other companies will buy what is sold. This is what is commonly understood by the term

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‘liquidate’ in accounting. What is solid melts into liquid. A cognate process in the world of physics is called ‘liquefy’; in cookery ‘liquidizing’ transforms food into seemingly new substances. The reader is invited to think of all of these worlds. The title is intended to reflect the main development that the book is describing: how the Church is moving from the ‘solid’ phase of a modern institution to the liquid phase of late modern de-institutionalized forms. This is also a reference to Zygmunt Bauman’s concept of liquid modernity, which has been a major source of inspiration. Most case studies are taken from the Dutch context, providing a telling example of liquid modernity and of religion in transition. Several chapters focus on what happens to be the largest church in the Netherlands, the Roman Catholic Church. As such, this book is not only meant as a contribution to the sociology of culture and religion but also to the understanding of Western Catholicism. This book engages in debates on the Church from a sociological perspective. It is not a plea for an alternative church, but an account of contemporary forms of communal religious life. I have studied these, often in cooperation with various colleagues, using documents, surveys, ethnographic fieldwork, and the work of others. Several persons have made sharp comments on individual chapters, such as Ruud Abma, Ryan van Eijk, Stefan Gärtner, Staf Hellemans, Sjaak Körver, and Rien van Uden. Others at the Tilburg School of Catholic Theology, Heythrop College (Spring 2014) and the MF Norwegian School of Theology (Spring 2015) as well as numerous participants at conferences in sociology, practical theology, and religious studies will remain anonymous here. I would like to acknowledge the contributions of five persons in particular. Judith Maassen supported me in sketching the outline. Graham Howes, a co-member of the Network for the Study of Implicit Religion, introduced me to the editors at Ashgate. The company was taken over by Taylor and Francis, which implied some sort of discontinuity, but I’m glad the continuity prevailed. Our brilliant student Bernice Brijan did the first round of editing. Michelle Rochard meticulously corrected the English language. One person read, commented on, and reread the whole manuscript with great care and an open mind for both the message I was trying to convey and the reader’s ability to perceive it. His endeavors far exceeded what can be expected from a reviewer. I thank Bob Dixon for his comments that were, indeed, both critical and encouraging. The book was written in 2014–2017, but is based on research, often carried out with others, that has been presented earlier in bits and pieces. I thank colleagues, students, editors, and reviewers who contributed to better knowledge and clearer texts. Sections of Chapter 1 were published in previous versions (de Groot 2008, 2006b, 2007, 2012a). Chapter 2 is an expanded version of a previous text (de Groot 2012c). Chapter 3 uses material published earlier (de Groot 2006a). The survey among Dutch parishes was carried out in cooperation with the Center of Applied Research for

Preface

ix

Religion and Society (Kaski) and was funded by the Radboud University Nijmegen. Factor analysis was carried out by Joris Kregting. Chapter 4 contains paragraphs from previous texts (de Groot 2008, 2012a). Chapter 5 is based on a paper presented at the 29th Conference of the International Society for the Sociology of Religion in Leipzig (2007). A short version has been previously published (de Groot 2009a). I thank Peter Denneman, Joke Litjens, and Liesbeth Eugelink (Mediapastoraat), the volunteers of the Catholic Broadcasting Organization, and researcher Ido Ypma (Catholic Broadcasting Organization) for both their advice and their share in the realization of the survey. The other members of the research team, Toke Elshof, Jacques Maas (Katholieke Theologische Universiteit te Utrecht), and Hein Blommestijn (Titus Brandsma Instituut), conducted qualitative research and contributed items to the questionnaire. The research was funded by the Dutch Conference of Religious (Commission Projects in the Netherlands). Chapter 6 is a revised version of a chapter I wrote with Jos Pieper (de Groot and Pieper 2015). Other members of the research team were: Anke Bisschops, Willem Putman, and Suzette van IJssel. Grants for this research project were provided by the Tilburg School of Catholic Theology, the Dutch Conference of Religious (Commission Projects in the Netherlands), Stichting Nicolette Bruining Fonds, and the Order of Friars Minor (Franciscan) in the Netherlands. Chapter 7 follows a short research note presented at the 30th Conference of the International Society for the Sociology of Religion in Santiago de Compostela (2009), which was previously published (de Groot 2010). Parts of Chapter 9 have been published earlier (van der Ploeg and de Groot 2006; de Groot 2009b, 2013). I thank René Lamers for sharing the interview data. Chapter 10 is an expanded version of a previous text (de Groot 2012b) and is based on research funded by the Dominican Study Centre for Theology and Society (Project: “Looking for a new ‘we’ in the Netherlands”). Tilburg School of Catholic Theology funded the preparation of the manuscript. Kees de Groot Easter 2017

Note 1 Collins Dictionary Online, s.v. “Liquidate”. www.collinsdictionary.com/dictionary/ english/liquidate [accessed 14–4–2017].

References de Groot, Kees. 2006a. “At Your Service: A Congregational Study in Dutch Catholicism.” International Journal of Practical Theology no. 10 (2):217–237. doi: 10.1515/IJPT.2006.016. Berlin: De Gruyter. ———. 2006b. “The Church in Liquid Modernity: A Sociological and Theological Exploration of a Liquid Church.” International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church no. 6 (1):91–103. doi: 10.1080/14742250500484469.

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———. 2007. “Rethinking Church in Liquid Modernity.” In Religion inside and outside traditional institutions, edited by Heinz Streib, 175–192. Leiden/Boston: Brill. ———. 2008. “Three Types of Liquid Religion.” Implicit Religion no. 11 (3):277– 296. doi: 10.1558/imre.v11i3.277. © Equinox Publishing Ltd 2011. ———. 2009a. “Celebrating Mass through the Television Screen.” In Sacred places in modern Western culture, edited by Arie L. Molendijk, Paul Post and Justin Kroese, 271–281. Leuven: Peeters. ———. 2009b. “For Love of Faith: Patterns of Religious Engagement in a New Town.” In Conversion in the age of pluralism, edited by Giuseppe Giordan, 91–114. Leiden: Brill. ———. 2010. “The Institutional Dynamics of Spiritual Care.” Revista de estudos da Religião – Rever no. 10 (1):21–28. Available from www.pucsp.br/rever/ rv1_2010/t_groot.pdf. ———. 2012a. “How the Roman Catholic Church Maneuvers through liquid modernity.” In Towards a new Catholic Church in advanced modernity, edited by Staf Hellemans and Jozef Wissink, 195–216. Münster: Lit. ———. 2012b. “Playing with Religion in Contemporary Theatre.” Implicit Religion no. 15 (4):457–475. doi: 10.1558/imre.v15i4.457. © Equinox Publishing Ltd 2011. ———. 2012c. “Two Alienation Scenarios: Explaining the Distance between Catholics and Roman Catholic Church in the Netherlands.” In Religious identity and national heritage, edited by Francis-Vincent Anthony and Hans-Georg Zieberts, 195–210. Leiden/Boston: Brill. ———. 2013. “Religion in Liquid Modernity: Collective Manifestations of Religion in Secularizing Dutch Society.” In Religion beyond its private role in modern society, edited by Willem Hofstee and Arie van der Kooij, 271–282. Leiden/Boston: Brill. de Groot, Kees, and Jos Pieper. 2015. “Seekers and Christian Spiritual Centers in the Netherlands.” In A Catholic minority church in a world of seekers, edited by Staf Hellemans and Peter Jonkers, 97–127. Washington, DC: The Council for Research in Values and Philosophy. van der Ploeg, Jouetta, and Kees de Groot. 2006. “Towards a City Museum as a Centre of Civic Dialogue.” In City museums as centres for civic dialogue? Proceedings of the Fourth Conference of the International Association of City Museums, Amsterdam, 3–5 November 2005, edited by Renée Kistemaker. Amsterdam: Amsterdam Historical Museum. Available from www.knaw.nl/shared/resources/ actueel/publicaties/pdf/city-museums-as-centres-of-civic-dialogue.

Part 1

Religion in liquid modernity

Introduction What’s going on?

Charles Chaplin captured solid modernity magnificently in the movie Modern Times (1936): getting together at the same time and place in order to act according to standard procedures. It’s all about knowing your position in the system – to the point that you become part of it. A fitting image of liquid modernity is provided by a cover of a Dutch magazine (De Groene Amsterdammer, September 22, 2012). The headline refers to contemporary demands to be flexible (Sennett 1998). The ‘Flexible Woman’ is challenged to adapt herself to various circumstances and to be at several places at the same time – all the while being passionate about it, too. Loyal surrender versus fervent quest. The conformity of the former stance with a religious attitude has been noted far more often than the latter’s. One story about religion in the age of liquid modernity is that religion is oppositional. When everything, even the foundations of one’s existence, tends to become a matter of choice, when solid institutions are being replaced by fluctuating networks, and when experience is everything and dogma taboo, there is no place for something like religion unless it is a safe haven closed off from the other domains of society. Religious communities, then, are a place for withdrawal from or, at least potentially, an attack against a society without solid foundations. This is basically what Zygmunt Bauman is saying about religion’s role in postmodernity, or “liquid modernity”, as he successfully renamed the contemporary stage of modernization. Echoing Gilles Kepel, Bauman perceives fundamentalist movements as the genuine representations of religion. Besides these typical by-products of modernity, religion is anachronistic or, perhaps, reduced to harmless, socially irrelevant aesthetics: Evensong on Sunday afternoon for the elite, Christmas Eve for the common person. We live in a secular age. This characterization of secularity resonates in a dominant strand within ecclesial thinking as well. ‘The world around us has forgotten God’. ‘People have become individualists’. ‘We live in a wholly secularized world’. Even the Belgian Cardinal Godfried Danneels (2012), arguing against a church that withdraws from the public domain, expressed this view in the Annual Lecture on Christianity and Society at my university. His suggestion was to put more emphasis on evangelization, as is Pope Francis’ mission, accompanied

4

Religion in liquid modernity

Figure 0.1 Charlie Chaplin in Modern Times Source: (Chaplin 1936)

by a lower degree of cultural pessimism. More often, the focus is on guarding the boundaries between an orthodox church and a hostile world. This attitude may also be expressed in a plea for evangelization – only this time, evangelization primarily serves internal purposes: to strengthen the Church’s identity, to mark the difference with the outside world, and to separate the true believers from those who are reluctant to testify. In the last decade, a different story has entered the sociological community. In this account, religion is not just disappearing, but getting replaced by something more individualistic, network-based, and experiential: the “spiritual turn”, as Paul Heelas and Linda Woodhead framed it. Their book in 2005 was even entitled, The spiritual revolution: why religion is giving way to spirituality (Heelas and Woodhead 2005). This revolution thesis may be considered as an extrapolation of an interesting case study of the holistic milieu in a British town called Kendall. This milieu was marginal, it didn’t appear to be growing particularly fast, and there were no signs of any severe competition with the churches. However, the authors were onto something, since the revolution-thesis has influenced the sociological agenda. A parallel version of the revolution thesis appears in a normative, critical, discourse as well: contemporary spirituality is egoistic, shallow, and narcissistic.

Introduction: what’s going on?

5

Figure 0.2 Cover of De Groene Amsterdammer, September 22, 2012

It lacks Christianity’s fundamental focus on others, on community, and on transcendence. This critique may be too easy. An analysis of Dutch survey data (Berghuijs, Bakker, and Pieper 2013) indicates that the social issues connected with an interest in contemporary spirituality (ecology, animal rights, health, wellbeing) differ from those connected with Christianity (education,

6

Religion in liquid modernity

poverty reduction, economic development). Thus, the social dimension is not lacking. The theological critique that contemporary spirituality worships the Self rather than the Other is perhaps more fundamental. Yet, this critique implies an empirical claim and, for now, we don’t know whether this is true. It would be interesting to find out whether particular religious believers are more open to external critical voices than particular spiritual-minded people. Or will religious believers be prone to have firmer convictions compared to people with an interest in spirituality? The latter might be more open to the transcendent Other than the former. It would require a thorough and subtle empirical comparison between specific spiritual-minded and religious-minded individuals to sustain the empirical presuppositions in such theological evaluations. Thus far, generalizations and comparisons of theological ideals with present-day non-Christian practices have been more common. Rather than turning the new holistic- and anti-institutional-minded into a distinct category of believers, I would regard them as spokespersons of a broader social trend. The longing for deep personal experiences expressing itself in a language borrowed from various traditions, including Westernized Buddhism, esotericism, and humanistic psychology, is a widespread cultural phenomenon in the West. It appears in the economic, medical, and other domains in society as well. What is called ‘spirituality’ is not an individualistic phenomenon at all. It is one of the fluid ways in which religion is present in today’s society; the fact that its fans like to stress that they’re all individuals – as the anonymous crowd puts it in Monty Python’s Life of Brian (Jones 1979) – and tend to denounce the label religion doesn‘t change that. The social trend of today is the cultivation of the individualist illusion. The essays in this volume suggest that religion as a social phenomenon has become part of liquid modernity. Therefore, it takes a different shape and is to be found not just in, but also outside, the religious field. This is neither the whole nor the final story: next to these processes of de-institutionalization, processes of institutionalization take place. New churches evolve around the experience of the Holy Spirit; schools are formed to train practitioners in healing energy fields. The focus in this book, however, is on the Roman Catholic Church dealing with a culture in which people tend to behave as clients and experience-seekers, on how this Church and other organized religions operate in the public domain of the media, on the spiritual market and in the field of care, and on the secular use of religion. In sociology, ‘church’ is shorthand for a religious collectivity, Christian or otherwise. In theology, definitions of church are plenty (‘legion’ in the words of the obsessed man from the Gospel of Marc [5,9]), varying from the exclusive identification with one particular collectivity, considered as representing Christ on earth, to a fuzzy pneumatological concept of church that may fit any encounter where the Spirit is at work. I do not have an obsession with definitions, but I concede that I disagree with both extreme positions. From those points of view, researching how the Church bursts its banks would not be an option. When there’s no salvation outside the ‘real existing’ Roman Catholic Church, such a process cannot occur and doing

Introduction: what’s going on?

7

research would be futile when what qualifies as ‘church’ is entirely in the eye of the beholder. I study how various conceptions of church are operative in and outside the religious field. Is the Church a ‘members only’ society or open for guests? What happens when the Church enters the secular domain? And under which conditions can actors in the secular domain ‘do religion’ without becoming church? These issues deal with sociological preferences implied in ecclesial practices, and with secular practices continuing or taking up elements of religious traditions.

Church in liquid modernity My aim is not to suggest that churches should adapt to liquid modernity. This is what the Anglican theologian Pete Ward pleads for with his ‘liquid church’. Ward (Ward 2002, 2005, 2008) celebrates the commodification of the Gospel, networking and smart answering to spiritual desire. His ecclesiological reflections come down to a clear message: the Church has to be more attractive in order to rescue those in the world to provide them with salvation. My aim is more descriptive and analytical. How does the Roman Catholic Church deal with liquid modernity? What happens when this Church becomes fluid itself? Where does religion appear in liquid modern culture outside the Church? I start by noticing that the Roman Catholic Church itself can be characterized as a hybrid organization (Chapter 1). It is not just a membership organization; it also provides services to the public and sends messages to those who do not belong to it in order to influence the world as a whole like a campaigning organization for human rights or the protection of the earth. What happens when this Church finds itself in liquid modernity, or gets lost in liquidity, or finds itself gone to pieces? The theoretical introduction is therefore followed by three parts, each consisting of, again, three chapters based on surveys and fieldwork. The first part is about the religious field: the parish, new movements, and big events. The second is about ecclesial initiatives in the secular sphere: the Eucharist on television, chaplaincy in hospitals, prison, and the army, and Christian spiritual centers. The third part is on the secular transformation and the secular usage of religion: pastoral care developing into mental health care, a museum delving into religious matters, and liturgy on stage. The first part deals with the world within the religious field, the second with what happens on the boundaries between the religious and other domains, and the third is about religion in social domains other than the religious. I start with the parish, where ecclesial control is strong; I end with secular theatre, where ecclesial control is absent.

Ecclesial maneuvers in fluidity Most of the material in this volume is taken from the Netherlands, with a special interest in Catholicism. Although the Roman Catholic Church is the largest denomination in the country, Catholicism leads a marginal life in

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contemporary Dutch society. This contrasts with the strong international position Dutch Catholicism used to have, at least until the 1960s. What has caused the weak identity of Dutch Catholics? Is theological liberalism within the Church largely responsible for this and therefore for its diminishing market share in the long run? In Chapter 2, I suggest that this scenario exaggerates the role of church leaders. In a religious heterogeneous country such as the Netherlands (secular, Protestant, Catholic, spiritual, and Muslim), the Catholic Church can’t be much more than a marginal phenomenon unless it becomes associated with a larger social issue, such as the fight against Islamic extremism or capitalism. Both liberal and conservative church leaders have probably stimulated the alienation between church and Catholics by falling out of touch with popular religiosity, thereby losing part of the symbolic capital they had. On one hand, there is the liberal disregard for devotional practices, fraternities, and the veneration of Our Lady. On the other, there is the conservative rejection of the familiar faith: people tend to expect in the church a continuation of what is customary but are confronted with ecclesial regulations that are perceived as strange. Both ecclesial strategies display a common trait: an affinity with the formally organized Church which corresponds with a systematized theology. The official Church has been, and still is, very much at home in solid modernity. This Church has become strange for many Catholics. In 2015, half of those baptized as Catholics did not identify themselves as such in a survey. They regard the Church as a useful institution at most. These Catholics in particular, regard themselves as persons to whom the Church delivers services, even sacramental services, rather than as members – if they perceive a relationship at all. In 2003, I initiated a survey among Roman Catholic parish councils to find out whether these councils are going along with this trend and express the attitude of a service organization (‘Anyone is welcome to celebrate their relation here’) or rather the attitude of a membership organization (‘You are welcome to enter the marriage course of our parish’) (Chapter 3). It turned out, however, that parish councils are not inclined to make choices in this respect. What struck me when analyzing the outcomes is the overall agreement with statements expressing the accessibility of the parish and the disagreement with statements that contained references to God, Christ, or the Bible whatsoever. I interpreted the general pattern as an indication that these parishes find themselves in the transition from a mass mobilizing membership association (fitting with solid modernity) to a service organization, without being equipped to articulate what services they actually provide. Most bishops that have been appointed since 1980, however, have stimulated them to take on another strategy: to urge people to make a firm choice for the Roman Catholic Church by committing to local parish life. A complication of this model is that the Dutch parish of today is a cluster of historic parishes, merged into one, supervised by one parish priest. This strategy would therefore represent a clerical version of the sect scenario, not unlike Bauman’s fundamentalism.

Introduction: what’s going on?

9

With events such as World Youth Day and so-called New Movements such as Focolare, the Roman Catholic Church does enter the sphere of liquid modernity (Chapter 4). Here, it is no longer ‘one sizes fits all’, standard procedures, and a formal approach to faith. “Will you be P.O.P.E. (Part of the Pilgrimage Experience)?” as the slogan of World Youth Day in Rio de Janeiro (2013) put it. Networks such as Focolare and the Catholic Charismatic Renewal are active in this event and in smaller events, presenting a simultaneous commitment to the teaching and hierarchy of the Church and to personal experience. Even more clearly than Evangelicalism, which has served as a role model in this respect, the Roman Catholic Church displays an ambivalent attitude towards liquid modernity. I illustrate this with Pope Benedict’s sermon on World Youth Day in Cologne (2005) in which he commented on ‘do-it-yourself’ religion and the spontaneity of new communities. While performing at a media event, he criticized the very culture of fluidity he was taking part in. The New Movements have a similar double face: next to or rather than the campaigning movements these pretend to be, these are structured membership organizations for the religious virtuosi. As such, these are bound to influence the direction of a church that maneuvers its way in liquid modernity by alternately withdrawing in quiet areas and paddling against the current. At the same time, these events, movements, and other communities, less cherished by Rome, are part of liquid modernity too, as is expressed by their consumerism, network structure, and appreciation of religious experience.

Losing control When a church starts broadcasting services on television (Chapter 5), it enters even more an environment outside its control. Originally, broadcasting meant sharing a local church service with a wider audience of believers unable to go to a local church service themselves – an extra service. As televangelism has shown, this broadcasting can evolve into a phenomenon of its own with a church service designed for television, presented in the format of a show, and received by an audience that forms a virtual community. In the Netherlands, the Roman Catholic Church has broadcast specially designed church services, recorded in a chapel with the facilities of a TVstudio, with the purpose of creating an electronic parish, for thirty years. Just before this experiment was terminated, the two ‘media pastors’ (one priest, one female pastoral worker) asked a research team to design a survey among the regular viewers. Most of them considered watching an activity sui generis. They prepared themselves, for example, by lighting a candle, prayed, and sang along; in other words, they domesticated the broadcast. For some, this was their individual moment with God; for others, this was their participation in a community with fellow viewers, the churchgoers on screen, and the pastors with whom some even corresponded. To my surprise, I found that these virtual parishioners were also frequent and active

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Religion in liquid modernity

churchgoers themselves. The results showed that the services on the screen were an alternative to physical Mass attendance only for a minority. Apparently, we should not expect the liquid church to provide an alternative to the solid church. Both types can co-exist. The virtual community gathered around the screen is an example of a fluid Christian church; the next case study (Chapter 6) shows how the distinction with the new spirituality introduced at the beginning becomes blurred. Religious orders, congregations, parishes, and Protestant conference centers that have offered meetings, workshops, and courses on spirituality for years, are recently targeting contemporary spiritual seekers. On their programs, the Gospel of Mark stands next to Mindfulness; Chakras accompany the preparation for Christmas. Visitors of these centers explore their inner self in these centers as much as they deepen their faith. Most of them, however, are committed to a parish or congregation and report particularly positive effects on their religious and spiritual life; others are not committed, or feel that their community offers too little, and rather report effects on their personal life. Since the largest cohort for whom the centers are attractive is dying out, we foresee two scenarios. One is to attract a non-Christian audience. Another is to specialize in Christian spirituality. In both scenarios these centers have to operate in a setting where religious teachings are no longer exclusively embedded in religious institutions, but made available to a wider audience. Even an orthodox Catholic center can’t escape the “heretical imperative” (Berger 1980) to represent a particular strand within the tradition. All centers are forced to operate as spin-offs from the institutional church. A similar development from an ecclesial initiative to a practice that is no longer controlled by the official Church becomes apparent in the chaplaincy provided in care institutions such as hospitals, in the army, and in penitentiary institutions (Chapter 7). Since the 1970s, priests, pastoral workers, ministers, rabbis, and humanistic counsellors have taken up the care of souls for patients, soldiers, and inmates, salaried by the institutions for which they work. Through ecumenical cooperation, establishing a common professional organization, and as a result of specialized training trajectories, a separate profession has emerged. These chaplains often work outside their own denomination. What started as an ecclesial service to the world of care, military, and justice has evolved into a new, precarious profession, sometimes only loosely connected with organized religion. Rather than an instance of secularization, I regard this persistence of care of souls as a successful dissemination of the ecclesial tradition in the secular domain.

The world takes over I take this path further in the part where I discuss the presence of religion outside the religious field. The profoundly secular Dutch system for public mental health care, for example, is partly rooted in ecclesial practices (Chapter 8). Roman Catholic and, to a lesser extent, Protestant centers for family

Introduction: what’s going on?

11

affairs and problems of living were among the constituting organizations, next to bureaus for specialized child care and institutes for out-patient psychiatry and psychotherapy. The Christian centers were originally established in order to make pastoral care, often regarding sexual issues, more accessible and professional. The expansion and reform of the care of souls produced a vast field where mental hygiene could be promoted. During the early 1960s, this movement started to institutionalize in a system for out-patient mental health care, while the link with church renewal faded. The churches had co-produced a system that tended to operate autonomously, free from ecclesial ties. The process of the church losing control over religion as we knew it is one side of the coin. The other side is that religion becomes available as a cultural resource. Chapter 9 shows that a museum staff paid attention to religion in such a way that it entered the religious sphere. During turbulent times (autumn 2004), a remarkable exhibition took place in the local museum of Zoetermeer, a multicultural suburb of The Hague: king-size photos of various believers and non-believers (e.g. Coptic, Muslim, and Atheist) with their favorite objects were displayed accompanied by a quote from an interview they had given. This exhibition was part of a cluster of events, including meetings within the museum about religious traditions and existential themes. Again, a seemingly secular initiative appeared to have its roots in the religious field, too. A local minister was chairing the meetings; he supported the museum’s initiative in order to put his wish for interfaith dialogue into practice. The museum, perceived as religiously neutral, provided the context for faith talks. This project gained profile in the tense political climate after the religiously inspired assassination of filmmaker Theo van Gogh (November 2, 2014). Careful management of the boundaries between religion, culture, and politics was required.

Outlook Institutional religion is not simply coming to an end in Western societies. Rather, its assets and properties are redistributed: large parts of the Church have gone into liquidation. Like companies that have gone bankrupt and are forced to sell their buildings and machines on the market, churches lose ownership over more or less essential components. Using various case studies, I have tried to cover the entire process from a solid church to the use of religion outside the religious field. The first part describes how organized Roman Catholicism gears to a service-minded and event-oriented environment, despite a historically strong affinity with solid modernity. In this manner, religion is crossing the boundaries of the parish and appears in other social contexts. While church buildings are closed down, small communities, movements, and events emerge. I take these developments as signs of ecclesial maneuvers in liquid modernity. The second part provides examples of liquidation processes in actu. Church authorities are losing control over initiatives such as hospital

12

Religion in liquid modernity

chaplaincy and centers for retreat and spiritual development. Initiatives that start off as wanderings in a secular environment are transferred to this environment: secular authorities take over, and sometimes, as in broadcasting, religious authorities succeed in regaining authority. The third part throws light on the period after liquidation. It shows how religious legacies are presented and recreated in secular environments. Museums, theatres, and other secular institutions use religion as a cultural resource. The world has taken over. The metaphor of liquidation provides an alternative to approaches that merely perceive the decline of religion or a spiritual revolution. In liquid modernity, the social phenomenon called religion is still present, including elements of Christian religion. This is not to relativize secularization or to reassure proponents of the persistence of religion and Christianity; the power of institutional churches over religion, over church, and even over liturgy has severely declined. Religion in liquid modernity is substantially different. Although it is sometimes difficult to disentangle the two, it seems to me that the ecclesiology that dominates the Roman Catholic Church is often in defense of solid modernity rather than of Christian tradition. Where bishops uphold membership, the institute, and the denomination, they display an affinity with solid modernity. Where bishops promote choice, networking, events, and the experience of faith, they display an affinity with liquid modernity. As practical theology is a modern theological discipline, it has tended to focus on the solid modern church as well, until quite recently. In 2002, when I started working in this discipline after a career in sociology of religion, I was hired to study and teach Parish Development. Now I study Catholic social thought, spiritual care, and religion in popular culture. All this is not to suggest that the Church is inevitably moving out from the parish to end up in a museum or on stage; nor do I suggest that this is the way to go. However, I do want to urge sociologists, theologians, and scholars of religion to recognize the varieties of religion as a social phenomenon in the contemporary world. A close attachment to a previous social formation of the Church may hinder our ability to perceive this. Once we accept liquid modernity as a given, we can see which opportunities it offers and criticize its downsides. Often, churches radiate the message that they seek their own maintenance rather than to fulfill their mission – even when they talk about mission. They want you in. Despite radical choices that the Christian faith implies, and Jesus’ warning not to caste pearls before swine, my inkling is that it is closer to the Church’s mission to promote that the world is taking elements from that tradition, rather than that the Church seeks to safeguard its own existence. Theological concepts such as ‘dispossession’ (Beaudoin 2008) may serve to appreciate this process, although one should be aware that those notions might serve merely to legitimate what is already going on. Whether one deplores the institutional breakdown of the Church or expects

Introduction: what’s going on?

13

some good from it, the first thing is to perceive it. In the words of Marvin Gaye, expressing his concern on people dying from police brutality and the war in Vietnam: “We’ve got to find a way to bring some understanding here today” (Cleveland, Benson, and Gaye 1971). Therefore, my question is, indeed: “What’s going on?”

References Beaudoin, Tom. 2008. Witness to dispossession: The vocation of a postmodern theologian. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Berger, Peter L. 1980. The heretical imperative: Contemporary possibilities of religious affirmation. New York: Anchor Pres/Doubleday. Berghuijs, Joantine, Cok Bakker, and Jos Pieper. 2013. “New Spirituality and Social Engagement.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion no. 52 (4):775–792. Chaplin, Charles. 1936. Modern Times. United Artists. [Amsterdam]: A-Film, 2013. DVD. Cleveland, Al, Renaldo Benson, and Marvin Gaye. 1971. What’s going on. Tamla. USM 533, 557–9, 2011, CD. Danneels, Godfried. 2012. At the Crossroads of Faith and Culture: Challenges Facing the Catholic Church Today. Tilburg: Tilburg University. Heelas, Paul, and Linda Woodhead. 2005. The spiritual revolution: Why religion is giving way to spirituality. Malden: Blackwell. Jones, Terry. 1979. Monty Python's Life of Brian. Cinema International Corp. Hilversum: Sony Pictures Home Entertainment, 2008. DVD. Sennett, Richard. 1998. The corrosion of character: The personal consequences of work in the new capitalism. New York/London: W.W. Norton. Ward, Pete. 2002. Liquid Church. Peabody, MA/Cumbria: Hendrickson and Paternoster. ———. 2005. Selling worship. Carlisle: Paternoster. ———. 2008. Participation and mediation: A practical theology for the liquid church. London: SCM Press.

1

An organizational perspective

In liquid modernity, solid institutions, such as class and the family, have eroded. Instead, the access to networks of communication becomes an important factor for social participation. Such is Zygmunt Bauman’s view on the structure of contemporary Western societies, characterized by others as postmodern or late modern. Religion is included in the series of institutions that are supposed to have fallen apart because of the changing social fabric. Thus, in a (crude) sense, the secularization thesis persists in the work of a key author in social theory – although the same author has pointed out how modernity produces its own ontological insecurity, which may foster a typical, self-oriented religiosity. In Bauman’s view, religion – as far as it is collectively organized – is bound to play the role of a countermovement. In my view, this approach fails to perceive the collective dimension of religion, including in liquid modernity, such as becomes apparent in religious events, small communities, global religious networks, and virtual communities, as well as religious meetings and collective activities outside the religious sphere, such as in the cultural, political, and medical spheres. In this chapter, I will criticize Bauman’s theory of liquid modernity and his discussion of the role of religion. I will also contrast my approach with Pete Ward’s concept of liquid church. Then, I will present an alternative view that will guide my case studies of religion in liquid modernity, and introduce my organizational perspective on the solid church.

Bauman on religion and community The first question is about religion. Is there such a thing as religion in liquid modernity? According to Bauman (1997, 197), liquid modernity, or postmodernity as he used to put it, does not generate a demand for religion but for identity experts. Following Leszek Kołakowski, Bauman identifies religion with the awareness of human insufficiency. Adopting a qualification taken from Ulrich Beck, he states that people living in a ‘risk society’ do not appreciate the religious message of vulnerability, but are longing for the reassurance that they are able to deal with the uncertainties and need a short introduction in the way they can do this. They need experts.

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Religion in liquid modernity

Whereas religion, according to Bauman, may be characterized as the communication of peak experiences to the people by religious virtuosi, in liquid modernity, all are ‘sensation-gatherers’. Since these experiences are difficult to communicate, this behavior generates new uncertainties and therefore a new demand for experts. I disagree with the opinion of Bauman, following Maslow, that religion is ‘based’ in the peak experiences of some – firstly because it leaves out the communal dimension of religion; secondly, sociology and anthropology of religion have shown that religion occupies a place – sometimes important, often unimportant – in everyday life (Ammerman 2007; McGuire 2008). Religion has to do with work and education, with making love and getting sick, with giving birth and dying. Besides that, as religious experts have entered and even helped to create the field of identity expertise, the opposition between religion and liquid modernity is not as strong as Bauman suggests. He fails to “appreciate the continuous importance of religion throughout history, including the modern period” (Beckford 1996). Instead of elaborating my own definition of religion, I will focus on the social sphere that is generally considered as religious, both by those within it and those outside of it, and will proceed to investigate how the boundaries of this field are being discussed, how boundaries are historically changing, and how other fields interact with the religious field. The second question is about community. Bauman is equally negative about the possibilities for community: it’s either absent or fake. His usage of the expression ‘genuine community’ reveals that his concept is not devoid of essentialism and normativity. Again, I will not present an alternative definition of community. Instead, I will speak of community, or communal qualities, as a way of referring to contact between people associated with a sense of belonging. In this general way of speaking, I will tentatively include the possibility of temporary communal ties. Since Bauman himself does not provide a systematic account of religious community in liquid modernity, we have to reconstruct his position, combining these two analyses. It seems, then, that in liquid modernity only two options are left for religious communities such as churches. Firstly, a community of equals may be invented and imagined in religious rituals, beliefs, and ethical behavior. This tends to be a surrogate community, since it implies a withdrawal from the larger community where the real action is. This ‘ghettoization’ corresponds with the only “specifically postmodern form of religion” Bauman discerns: fundamentalism. In accordance with the dominant point of view in sociology of religion, Bauman considers this phenomenon as fully contemporary, both embracing and resisting modern developments. Bauman focuses on a particular inconsistency: the choice for fundamentalism liberates individuals from the agony of choice. The submission to God and the group promises to relieve the individual from the uncertainty of choice making. Hence, this category is of a paradoxical nature: it fits postmodernity precisely because it doesn’t.

An organizational perspective

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The second theoretical option for a religious community would probably be the aesthetic, ‘instant’ community. With this term, Bauman (2001) refers to momentary, in his view merely superficial, experiences of community. One dresses up for the party, takes part in its rituals, and experiences a connectedness with the people in the crowd. Gathering to participate in a spectacular event may provide a sense of being part of something that transcends the individual. For a moment, the togetherness of individuals may provide a sense of community without ethical commitments and long-term commitment. Religious festivals may provide good examples of this. The idea of ‘aesthetization’ corresponds with Bauman’s view on sects and churches, which have become irrelevant for ‘serious matters’. They may be reduced to leisure commodities. If not, Bauman (1997) suggests, they must have appropriated “other functions than catering for the preoccupation with the mysteries of existence and death”. Apparently, it is hard to imagine that ‘real’ religion might be important in postmodern societies. In short, Bauman does not leave room for religion in liquid modernity, except for fundamentalism. Bauman’s commitment to a community that is characterized by solidarity, however, suggests that there is the possibility of community within the context of individualization. This option is implicit in Bauman’s (2001, 149–150) own vision of how people can live together in less misery or no misery at all: “If there is to be a community in the world of the individuals, it can only be (and needs to be) a community woven together from sharing and mutual care; a community of concern and responsibility for the equal right to be human and the equal ability to act on that right.” However, the community of individuals is a critical category rather than an empirical reality. Examples are scarce, or absent as in the case of religious communities. On the one hand, this concept refers to a utopian ideal; on the other, it provides a criterion for evaluating the present day situation. It is a concept that belongs to the semantic field of hope. In fact, all of these three options have a strong evaluative character. I suggest a more formal view on liquid religious communities to precede this evaluation.

Ward on the commodification of the gospel The British theologian Pete Ward (2002) called for a liquid church and identified examples of it. Contemporary church life, he argues, is molded in a way that rewards institutional participation, uniform behavior, and dedication to the club. Ward imagines what the Church would be like if it conceived of itself as part of contemporary culture, where people see themselves as individuals rather than members of a community, as buyers rather than producers. Thus, he provides a sociological and theological exploration of the idea that the Church should reflect important features of late modernity, as it has done in the past with early modernity.

18

Religion in liquid modernity

The term ‘liquid church’ refers to Zygmunt Bauman’s concept of ‘liquid modernity’. The drift of his analysis and that of other sociological authors, such as Anthony Giddens (1991) (‘disembedding’) and Manuell Castells (2000) (‘network society’), permeates this work of practical theology. Usually, sociologists and theologians alike accentuate the contrast between late modernity and the Church. Pierre Bourdieu (1985), for example, sketches the dissolution of institutionalized and organized religiosity in larger fields where symbolic capital replaces religious capital. Generally, church-oriented theologians tend to agree with the view that postmodernity constitutes unfavorable conditions for the Church, although their evaluation is quite different. Martina Blasberg-Kuhnke and Ulrich Kuhnke (1997), for example, argue that churches put their identity at risk when they go along with ‘experience society’. Rather than promoting a consumer religion, the churches should build religious communities characterized by an attractive communicative climate. It seems that churches are bound to suffer from or protest against late modernity. Ward, however, makes a theological plea in favor of a liquid church. He argues that a truly Christian church is possible right in the center of this dynamic context. Ward bases his argument on current reappraisal of the (orthodox) notion of perichoresis (divine movement) within the Trinity (Volf 1998), and on the contemporary downplaying of the congregational focus in Paul’s concept of church (Ziesler 1990). It is not attending the Sunday morning service that makes a church a church, but individuals who are in Christ and participate in the ‘liquid dance of God’. Thus, church is understood as the communal participation in the Trinitarian life of God and the body of Christ. This theological understanding is preferred over an institutional understanding of the Church as a membership organization; the encounter with other Christians is favored over the belonging to an organization. Instead of mourning for the decline of the Church as an institution, Ward proposes a more or less de-institutionalized expression of Christian faith, and invites the reader to discover and promote the mysterious ways of being church that exist within contemporary culture. These include small groups of Christians who support each other, read the Bible, and praise God; events such as the British Greenbelt Festival, where church happens in music, meetings, and worship; Alpha courses; activities in youth ministry; and the presence of the Gospel in the old and new media. Ward’s most provocative advice is to develop products. Following Laurence Moore, Ward calls this ‘commodification’. While ‘modularization’ (Blair 1988) refers to the tendency to break down systemic unities into separate parts that can be re-combined, even using parts that originate from another system, commodification explicitly refers to the selling of religious products using modern marketing techniques. The Marxist nightmare is that capitalism turns people, relations, and feelings into commodities. Ward considers this process essential for late modern evangelism. Later, Ward (2008) modified his position, leaving some room for a critical evaluation of

An organizational perspective

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the culture industry. The basic tendency of his work, however, is to appreciate how culture is used as a space for the encounter with God. Even the commercial hype of products with the text ‘What would Jesus do?’ should not be considered as manipulation of young customers. They mediate meaning; youngsters use these in their own way. Practical theologians, therefore, have to “examine the link between representation, processes of production, and the ways that products shape the lived experience of communities and individuals” (Ward 2008, 147). Contrary to a major concern of both congregational studies in the United States (Stewart 2002) and the movement for the open church in (European) practical theology (Zerfass 1991), Ward does not offer a program to vitalize or strengthen one’s religious congregation. Ward simply describes existing forms of being church in and outside the congregation, for example, in a small parents and tots group or a large arts and worship event. In this approach, these informal, ephemeral, or commercial church-like phenomena have ecclesial relevance, regardless of their connections with particular congregations or denominations. However, solid church is, in fact, interlinked with liquid church. For one thing, participants in the Christian religious network, buyers of religious products, and visitors of events are often socialized in congregations. Revivalism presupposes an existing, institutionalized religion. Moreover, innovative initiatives may become standard procedure. Part of what is at stake here are the issues that Thomas O’Dea (and Aviad 1983), from a functionalist perspective, termed “the dilemmas of institutionalization”. Institutionalization, de-institutionalization, and reinstitutionalization are inherent in the dynamics of the religious field. Nevertheless, I share Ward’s intuition that religion abandoning the institution is not only a cyclical phenomenon, but also a structural trait of the current phase in the modernization process. Yet, my agenda is different. I do not share his call to re-construct the notion of church in the context of liquid modernity; I seek to understand what it means for the Church to be part of liquid modernity. The consequences of modernity are not only harsh for the way the Church is shaped, but also for the shaping of the Church itself. Liquid modernity may lead to a liquidation of the Church. Ward’s approach replaces Bauman’s social critique with a positive appreciation of liquid modernity, including consumerism, in order to resuscitate a theological contemporary perspective on the Church. In doing so, Ward seeks to make an end to the identification of the church as a theological category with a particular (modern) historical phenomenon. In my view, Ward is particularly concerned with contemporary Christian culture, claiming that it is a setting in which one may detect fluid ways of being church. I regard contemporary Christian culture as one type of the fluid ways of being church, beside others, varying in their position with respect to the religious field. Therefore, I return to the original concept of liquid modernity in order to envisage the various ways religion may be present.

20

Religion in liquid modernity

Religion in solid and liquid modernity Much against the style of Bauman’s essays, I will schematize his sketches of solid and liquid modernity in the following table. In reality, of course, these types can be recognized in different contexts at the same time and combinations of solid and liquid modern features can be found. I will characterize these types in a few statements. In industrial – or solid – modernity, social positions are defined by the production process. It defines whether you’re a boss, a worker, or a house wife. You’re either an owner, a laborer, or excluded from this structure. The modern organization thrives: the factory, the union, the party – specialized social formations which bring together the masses in a hierarchically structured social formation. Identity is, to a large extent, an ascribed identity. When you’re a worker, you’re a member of the working class and this, together with your family history, defines your identity. Modern life is governed and disciplined, as Charles Chaplin has visualized it in his Modern Times (1936). In this movie, inspired by and commenting on industrial enterprises such as the Ford factories, the worker becomes one with the assembly line he is working on. Solid modernity stands in contrast with liquid modernity. In postindustrial – or liquid – modernity, consumer life styles have a more decisive impact on identity. Life style is more important than class. The modern have nots are now low budget consumers with a one-sided pattern of spending, buying on credit. People are not only members of a few organizations, but participate in various networks, facilitated by the enormous growth in means of transport and communication. A network is a configuration of social units and their relations. There is more than one center; social units act in relative autonomy (Hochschild 2003). Life-long participation becomes an exception; sometimes the involvement concerns only a specific interest. A plural identity is always under development and reflection. Since identity is no longer self-assumed, it may become a serious problem for late modern individuals. Life in liquid modernity requires flexibility and the ability to make choices in swift differing circumstances. In an image: it’s more like paddling in a canoe than following operating instructions for a machine. These characteristics correspond with the transformation of religion during the process of modernization. Solid religion accentuates the distinction between clergy and lay people based on their (lack of) control over religious capital, turning the latter into active members. This tendency was already present in the pre-modern era, during the confessionalization of Europe. Since the industrial revolution, church organization has expanded (Hellemans 2001). In the early seventeenth century, distanced church involvement was common. Since the nineteenth century, we have grown accustomed to the Church as the institution that brings the believers together every week, at one place, to perform the same actions under supervision. Religion primarily refers to the denomination (Dutch: gezindte) to which one belongs. In the

An organizational perspective

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Table 1.1 Religion in liquid modernity Modernity Type

Dimension Social Determinant Social Formation Identity

Solid

Liquid

Society

Religion

Society

Religion

Production

Membership

Consumption

Choice

Hierarchical Mass Organization Ascribed/ Achieved

Institution

Network

Connected Communities

Denomination

Reflexive

Spirituality

modern era, members are not only expected to participate in collective rituals, but also to participate in the church organization as volunteers. In our times, religion appears as liquid.1 Those who prefer to do so may choose from a vast array of options in religion, spirituality, and rituals. They are interconnected with others through a web of networks. Religion is experienced and distributed through books, music, movies, TV, informal groups, events, internet-communities, and fairs. ‘Believing’, or spirituality, has become a matter of individual preference and taste, which tend to correspond, nevertheless, with social milieus. Moreover, people tend to follow or anticipate fashion trends and may even choose to opt out and surrender to the one belief that ends the agony of choice (Bauman 1997). Against the background of these general tendencies, three phases in various churches’ reactions to liquid modernity can be distinguished. The first phase is the institutional church reacting to this context of choice and experience, maneuvering its way by developing new responses. Here, the institutional church transforms, but remains intact. A second phase is entered when churches are actually selling activities to neighboring social fields, that is, when ecclesial activities – such as chaplaincy or offering retreats – transform into activities primarily performed by another institution or on the market, for example, in a hospital or on the spiritual market. These activities take place in a setting that is not controlled by religious organizations, although these activities still depend on them in a more or less obvious way. The third phase follows the liquidation: phenomena in the secular sphere, where separate elements derived from the religious sphere are taken up in a new context. Examples include mental health care, an exhibition linked to a multicultural interfaith project, and particular theatre plays. These case studies show what the liquidation process have led to in the past. According to Bauman, religious community is incompatible with liquid modernity. Liquid modernity only produces events, superficial look-a-likes

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Religion in liquid modernity

of religious ceremonies. The one exception is fundamentalism, reflecting a ‘false consciousness’ concerning the state of the individual, namely, that one can escape the constraint of individual autonomy. My account suggests that, despite and within the process of secularization, religion is still present in liquid modernity. The concept of liquid modernity does have great value as a sensitizing concept for highlighting important aspects of contemporary culture, but the writings of Bauman himself surely underestimate the position of religion. The interplay of solid and liquid religion, or institutional and non-institutional forms of religion, deserves our attention. The varieties of community building should be acknowledged. We should note the presence of religious activities, themes, and rituals in other social spheres. Liquid modernity presents us new currents, some of which have their origin in old beds. Some rivers have burst their banks; new beds will be formed.

The Church as an hybrid organization The focus in this book is on the largest church in the Netherlands, the Roman Catholic Church. The Catholic world takes part in the late-modern preference for personal choice, the importance of networks and the accent on the religious experience. At the same time, the Church is attached to a solidmodern outfit, despite all its verbal resistance to modernity and modernism. It is in the context of solid modernity becoming liquid that the Roman Catholic Church operates. Next to, but not unrelated to, dogmatic understandings, it is useful to acknowledge the Church as a human enterprise, vices and virtues included. The Church may be considered an organization with an explicit purpose (to spread the Word and to provide the sacraments through its ministry), structures of authority (the hierarchy), and a relation to the environment (its mission) (van der Ven 1996; Demerath III et al. 1998). To a certain extent, this is an organization that unites the masses in a hierarchical system. Yet, both actual practice and theological reasoning show that this is only part of the story. The ‘board’ is not in control of everything the Church does. It has been noted that the Church is rather like a multinational concern, consisting of dioceses, led by bishops who have the authority to manage affairs in their own domain, within canonical boundaries (Fleck and Dyma 2002). This concern has a dual structure: there is a secular clergy next to a religious clergy. Religious orders have their own hierarchical structure within the Universal Church. Moreover, the faithful are active within the Church, supporting the clergy or organizing ecclesial activities in a relatively autonomous way. Others are connected at a distance, depending on their life phase and their personal interests. With its dual structure, and the complex interaction of formal and informal, more or less stable social units, the Church as a whole may also be considered a hybrid organization, showing both traits of a linear organization and of a network organization (Gusfield 1981).

An organizational perspective

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In order to put this notion of a ‘hybrid organization’ in a workable analytical category, I use the typology Charles Handy (1992) constructed for voluntary or non-profit organizations. Organization science makes a distinction between mutual support groups, service delivery agencies, and campaigning bodies. Support groups unite people with a common problem or enthusiasm, such as alcoholics or fans of certain music. Providing services to those in need is the core business of organizations such as those that help out drivers on the road having trouble with their cars. Campaigning organizations are created to fight for a cause or to act as a pressure group in a particular interest, whether for the protection of the environment or against abortion. Handy explains that these three types each have their own primary target groups, which imply specific styles of management and sets of assumptions. Most organizations, however, end up as a sort of amalgam of all three categories. Churches are one of these (Davidson and Koch 1998). The Church has three target groups: those who get together in the Church because of their common engagement (the members of the organization, such as engaged parishioners), those who ask for the services that the Church provides (the clients of the organization, such as incidental visitors), and those who should be reached with the message of the organization (the world). The characteristics of these three types can be recognized in the different faces of the Church: the faith community, the service church, and the missionary organization. As a mutual support group, the Church may appear as a community with frequent informal contacts, characterized by feelings of belonging, and a distinction between those who do belong and who do not (yet/anymore). Management is not popular; interaction is, which tends to be a cause for numerous and long meetings. Officials are supposed to support the community. In a service delivery organization it is important to have a transparent organization. Whoever comes to church to pray, to celebrate, to learn, to help, or be helped needs to know whom to address and when. Professionals and volunteers require certain qualifications for the work they do. The mission in the world is central in the Church as a campaigning organization. This mission is the motivating answer to the dissatisfaction with the world as it is. Campaigning organizations are led rather than managed. Membership cards are not considered important; what counts is faith and

Table 1.2 Types of voluntary organizations Target group

Category

Members Clients World

Mutual support Service delivery Campaigning

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Religion in liquid modernity

commitment. In this case, the Church-as-an-organization acts as an organization within the larger social movement that is inspired by Jesus Christ and his Gospel. Many tensions within the Church can be explained by this organizational variety. The accomplishments and desires of the existing community may conflict with the ministry to provide services to those who contact the Church incidentally, for example, for a ceremony, and both tasks may clash with the mission to spread the gospel. In the following chapters, I will investigate how these faces of the Church interrelate. How has the Roman Catholic Church in the Netherlands changed its shape? In what ways is this Church present in liquid modernity? And how is liquid modernity evaluated in new initiatives?

Note 1 Teemu Taira has written about ‘liquid religion’ from a different point of view in the Finnish language (Mäkelä and Petsche 2013).

References Ammerman, Nancy Tatom. 2007. Everyday religion observing modern religious lives. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bauman, Zygmunt. 1997. Postmodernity and its discontents. Cambridge: Polity Press. ———. 2001. Community: Seeking safety in an insecure world. Cambridge: Polity Press. Beckford, James A. 1996. “Postmodernity, High Modernity and New Modernity: Three Concepts in Search of Religion.” In Zygmunt Bauman, edited by Peter Beilharz, 282–297. London: Sage. Original edition, 1996. Blair, John G. 1988. Modular America: Cross-cultural perspectives on the emergence of an American way. New York: Greenwood. Blasberg-Kuhnke, Martina, and Ulrich Kuhnke. 1997. “Szene oder Netwerk? Bedingungen und Aufgaben der Pfarrei in der Erlebnisgesellschaft.” In Pfarrei in der Postmoderne? Gemeindebildung in nachchristlicher Zeit, edited by Alois Schifferle, 83–92. Freiburg, Basel, Wien: Herder. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1985. “Le champ religieux dans le champ de manipulation symbolique.” In Les nouveaux clercs. Prêtres, pasteurs et spécialistes des relations humaines et de la santé, edited by Centre de sociologie du protestantisme (Strasbourg), 255–261. Genève: Labor et fides. Castells, Manuel. 2000. The rise of the network society. Oxford: Blackwell. Chaplin, Charles. 1936. Modern Times. United Artists. [Amsterdam]: A-Film, 2013. DVD. Davidson, James D., and Jerome R. Koch. 1998. “Beyond Mutual and Public Benefits: The Inward and Outward Orientations of Non-Profit Organizations.” In Sacred companies: Organizational aspects of religion and religious aspects of organizations, edited by N.J. Demerath III, Peter Dobkin Hall, Terry Schmitt and Rhys H. Williams, 293–306. New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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Demerath III, Nicholas Jay, Peter Dobkin Hall, Terry Schmitt, and Rhys H. Williams. 1998. Sacred companies: Organizational aspects of religion and religious aspects of organizations. New York: Oxford University Press. Fleck, Michael, and Oliver Dyma. 2002. “Bischöfe als mittleres Magament des Weltkonzerns Kirche.” In Ist Kirche planbar? Organisationsentwicklung und Theologie in Interaktion, edited by Bernd Jochen Hilberath and Bernhard Nitsche, 165–176. Mainz: Grünewald. Giddens, Anthony. 1991. Modernity and self-identity: Self and society in the late modern age. Cambridge: Polity Press. Gusfield, Joseph R. 1981. “Social Movements and Social Change: Perspective of Linearity and Fluidity.” In Research in social movements, conflicts and change: An annual compilation of research, edited by Louis Kriesberg, 317–339. Greenwich, Conn: Jai Press. Handy, Charles. 1992. “Types of Voluntary Organisations.” In Issues in voluntary and non-profit management, edited by Julian Batsleer, Chris Cornforth and Rob Patton, 13–17. Workingham: Addison-Wesley Publishing Company/Open University. Hellemans, Staf. 2001. “From ‘Catholicism against Modernity’ to the Problematic ‘Modernity of Catholicism’.” Ethical Perspectives no. 8 (2):117–127. Hochschild, Michael 2003. “Networking.” Diakonia no. 34 (1/2):5–20. Mäkelä, Essi, and Johanna J.M. Petsche. 2013. “Serious Parody: Discordianism as Liquid Religion.” Culture and Religion: An Interdisciplinary Journal no. 14 (4):411–423. doi: 10.1080/14755610.2013.84126. McGuire, Meredith B. 2008. Lived religion faith and practice in everyday life. Oxford: Oxford University Press. O’Dea, Thomas F., and Janet O’Dea Aviad. 1983. The sociology of religion. Englewood Cliffs: Prentice-Hall. Stewart, John W. 2002. “The Emergence of Congregational Studies in Oldline American Protestantism.” International Journal of Practical Theology no. 6 (2):253–287. van der Ven, Johannes A. 1996. Ecclesiology in context. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Volf, Miroslav. 1998. After our likeness: The church as the image of the trinity, Sacra doctrina. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Ward, Pete. 2002. Liquid Church. Peabody, MA/Cumbria: Hendrickson and Paternoster. ———. 2008. Participation and mediation: A practical theology for the liquid church. London: SCM Press. Zerfass, Rolf. 1991. “Christliche Gemeinde - Heimat für alle? ” In Kirche als Heimat, edited by Günter Koch and Josef Pretscher, 29–58. Würzburg: Echter Verlag. Ziesler, John. 1990. Pauline Christianity. Oxford/New York: Oxford University Press.

Part 2

Parish and beyond Ecclesial maneuvers in fluidity

2

A solid church enters liquid modernity

In the university park of Geneva, the city of John Calvin, the Act of Abjuration (Plakkaat van Verlatinghe 1581) is carved into the Wall of Reformation. The inscription is in memory of William of Orange, a leading figure in the resistance against the way Catholic Spain exerted its regime. As it is apparent to all that a prince is constituted by God to be ruler of a people, to defend them from oppression and violence as the shepherd his sheep; and whereas God did not create the people slaves to their prince, to obey his commands, whether right or wrong, but rather the prince for the sake of the subjects (without which he could be no prince), to govern them according to equity, to love and support them as a father his children or a shepherd his flock, and even at the hazard of life to defend and preserve them. The subjects are not made for the prince, but the prince for the subjects. Under this motto, the Northern Netherlands, inspired by such reformers as Calvin, seceded from the Roman Catholic Spanish Empire of Philip II. William of Orange was not crowned as the new king, nor was anyone else after he was murdered three years later by a militant Catholic who had remained loyal to the Spanish king. At the Peace of Westphalia (1648), the Republic of the Seven United Netherlands was recognized as an independent state. Despite ideals of religious pluralism, the Reformed Church became the ‘ruling church’; other Protestants, Catholics, and Jews were only tolerated in the private sphere. The Roman Catholic Church survived as a tolerated remnant of the state church it used to be, bereaved of its bishops and reduced to missionary territory.

The modern construction of the Roman-Catholic Church in the Netherlands The French Revolution, the following revolution in the Netherlands and the installation of Louis Napoleon as the first King of Holland enhanced the freedom of religion. Some of the older church buildings were restored as Catholic churches and public servants were no longer required to be members of the Reformed Church. The defeat of King Napoleon’s more

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famous brother at the Battle of Waterloo brought an end to the French rule. The subsequent entrance of King William I (1815) caused a relapse in the increase of religious freedom, yet after the separation of the Catholic South in 1830, the birth of Belgium, and other losses, the power of the king and of the Reformed Church lessened. The Kingdom of the Netherlands, which included the Muslim colony of the Dutch East Indies, the religiously heterogeneous colony of Surinam, and the largely Roman-Catholic Dutch Antilles, transformed into a constitutional monarchy (1848). Its constitution proclaimed religious tolerance, which provided an impetus to the emancipation of the large Catholic minority. In 1853, Pope Pius XI installed five bishops, promoting the former missionary area to a church province. Shortly before, several groups of orthodox Reformed Christians had seceded from the Reformed Church (The Secession). Half a century later, a second schism among Protestants took place (The Neo-Calvinist Doleantie), as well as the beginning of a process of unchurching. Both developments undermined the dominance of the Dutch Reformed Church. Soon, the Catholic Church became the largest church, due also to the high birth rate among Catholics. Within the World Church, Dutch Catholics excelled in loyalty to the Pope, church attendance, establishing lay organizations, and supplying missionaries, both women and men. Directly after the German invasion in 1940, the Dutch government went into exile. Under the occupation (1940–1945), 75 percent of the Jewish population was deported and killed. Among them were 245 Catholic Jews, such as the German philosopher and Carmelite nun Edith Stein. They were taken away after a telegram by the Archbishop of Utrecht and other church leaders to the Reich Commissioner, in which they protested against the persecution of Jewish families (August 2, 1942). Meanwhile, leading figures from Catholic, Protestant, liberal and social-democratic milieus, who were taken hostage on Dutch soil, were planning a joint restoration of the Dutch nation. After the war, however, existing divisions in religion and politics continued, while American subsidies stimulated economic growth. In addition, the Dutch state had almost been reduced to a small European country, since the independence of Indonesia (1945). The post-war reconstruction of the Netherlands entailed an effort in state-building along denominational lines. Catholic organizations were initiated in all societal domains. Two new dioceses were formed: in the urban area surrounding Rotterdam and in the North East (Groningen), where Catholics were a minority. Dutch Catholicism flourished. New perspectives on the sources of faith, the relation between the Church and the modern world, and the personal experience of faith were welcomed. Influenced by trends in French and German theology, the Dominican theologian Edward Schillebeeckx suggested reconstructing Christian faith using insights from Biblical studies, history, and social science. As a theological advisor of the Dutch bishops he participated in the Second Vatican Council (1963–1965) which consolidated some of the new

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theological insights in the importance of the laity, the mission of the Church for the world and the relation with other religions. In the Dutch Church Province, the Council was generally considered as a starting point for further renewal. The next year, a ‘New Catechism’ (1966) was published which expressed the new conception of Catholic faith. It became an international bestseller in numerous editions. At the end of this year, the preparations for a Pastoral Council of the Dutch Church Province took off, in which laypeople and the clergy discussed a wide variety of matters concerning faith, ethics, and church policy. After the Council ended in 1970, Dutch bishops introduced the figure of the lay ecclesial minister, the ‘pastoral worker’, allowing lay theologians – male and female – to operate as pastors, except for the administration of sacraments that require a priest or a deacon. During the same period, the growth of the Catholic population came to a halt (Sengers 2004). In the 1960s, the number of Catholics decreased; Catholics took less part in the sacraments; priests and seminary students withdrew. Renewal and decline went hand in hand. Since the 1970s, the Dutch national identity has been more and more dominated by secularity, more specifically, secularized Christianity. In 2016, nearly 70 percent of the Dutch population does not expressly belong to a religion; a quarter confirms the affiliation with a Christian religion; 5 percent identify as Muslims; Jews, Buddhists, and Hindus are few. Roman Catholics still make up the largest denomination; the members of the (Calvinist, NeoCalvinist, and Lutheran) Protestant Church in the Netherlands make up the second; this is followed by a range of smaller churches. The present religious landscape, however, is no longer determined by the membership of certain denominations, but is characterized by fluctuating combinations of choices for particular beliefs, rituals, and experiences. Some show some affinity with Humanism, others with Buddhism; three in ten regard themselves as (somewhat) ‘spiritual’ whatever this may mean to them: the importance of ‘God’, ‘not-God’, ‘life’, or ‘something’ (Bernts and Berghuijs 2016). There is diversity even within the diverse movements. If the Dutch religious landscape were subjected to archaeological soil research, one would start with a layer of secular and religious hyper-diversity, which covers a layer of Reformed Christianity, which, in turn, covers a layer of Roman Catholicism. When the archaeologist explored several territories, she or he would find that each of these strata is the top layer in some parts of the country. Catholicism is still present in the densely populated North West and is dominating the remaining South (Schmeets 2014). For many people, however, the Roman Catholic Church mainly becomes visible through the media: globally (a pope’s visit, action, or statement), nationally (a bishop’s ordination, performance, or resignation), regionally (preferably concerning a scandal or a conflict), and locally (for example, the juridical struggle over the noise of church bells in my hometown of Tilburg). Usually, the Roman Catholic Church appears in the media as deviating from the norm because of its views on sexuality, the ordination of women, abortion, and euthanasia,

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and because of its practices and malpractices in the present and past. In 2010–2013, the focus has been on sexual assaults upon boys and girls by representatives of the Church and the culture of silence surrounding it. As a general rule, the Church is portrayed as out of time, to say the least.

A familiar stranger While the Roman Catholic Church in the Netherlands has become a strange phenomenon, Catholics themselves have, in fact, become ‘normal’. They make up the largest religious category in the country, but are surprisingly invisible. What, after all, does it mean to be a Catholic in this country today? At the end of the twentieth century, this would be someone who was baptized, went to church for Christmas, weddings, and funerals, but who was not all that different from non-believers in matters of belief, ethics, and behavior (Dekker, de Hart, and Peters 1997, 45–87). At the beginning of the twenty-first century, the majority of all baptized Catholics (2015, nearly 4 million) are not very willing to call themselves Catholic (Bernts, de Jong, and Yar 2006, 92). It is only when they are confronted with the answer options to questions about religion – such as those the Dutch Central Bureau of Statistics puts to them – that they will identify themselves as Catholics (see Chapter 3). The Catholic population no longer presents a religious identity with clear boundaries. It seems there is a gap between the many Catholics who do not, or only occasionally, attend a church service and those who are leading the Church. However, this gap between mass Catholicism and the Roman Catholic Church has not always been the case (Hellemans 2009). Halfway into the nineteenth century, when a long period of discrimination had come to an end, a Catholic revival induced a collective Catholic identity. Until the 1960s, a vibrant, emancipating, and well-organized Catholic religious minority was partly responsible for defining the face of Dutch culture. Catholic schools, hospitals, welfare organizations, and other communal services were established. Catholics were successfully mobilized by their elite, forming one of the pillars of a religiously heterogeneous society. During the processes of Dutch nation building, however, and the appropriation of the faith-based organizations by the State, the role of these organizations and services in the identity politics of religious minorities faded (Chapters 7 and 8). Participating in Dutch culture became more important than participating in the Catholic subculture. With respect to the recent past, collective Dutch Catholic identity has been characterized as ‘broken’: the official Roman Catholic Church has become alienated from those who were baptized Catholics or, depending on the frame of reference, Catholics have become alienated from the Church (Bernts and Peters 1999; Janssen and Zuidberg 2008). This interpretation is based on facts that are generally known: a decline in identification with the Church, a decline in participation, and a decline in support for the Church’s

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teachings (de Hart 2014). These figures indicate an important change in the everyday life of Catholics. The plausibility structure that legitimizes the distance between people and their leaders has become fragmented (Simons and Winkeler 1987). The pastor is no longer a familiar figure, except to the believers who participate in the social activities of the parish. There are fewer opportunities for contact because people no longer visit the clergy on a regular basis, for example, for confession. The clergy, in turn, less often show themselves in the world of the believers, that is, at Catholic youth association meetings, in schools, hospitals, and at social activities taking place outside the parish. Believer and pastor do not meet as often as they used to, and the gap created by this lack of contact has not been filled by the lay ecclesial minister. This has resulted in a physical and spiritual distance. Generally, the growing distance between Catholics and the Roman Catholic Church has prompted the question: how did things ever get to this stage? Recently, several authors have suggested paying attention to the supply side of this parting of ways, focusing on the role of church leaders. In their view the decline cannot be explained simply by developments in society as a whole. My question is: which patterns can be distinguished among these explanations? First, I will treat these explanations as narratives about the recent history of Dutch Catholicism. Therefore, I will use the term scenarios. These are expressed by both scholars and actors in the field of church policy. Secondly, I will discuss the plausibility of these scenarios. In the last section I will suggest an alternative.

Scenario 1: conservatism and restoration The first scenario claims that the leaders of the Catholic Church at long last opened the windows to various achievements of the modern age – or at least set them ajar – (aggiornamento) and that, together with the people, they started to move towards a promising future (Coleman 1978). However, when the windows threatened to open too far, the rapprochement to the secular world was called to a halt by order of the superiors (Nissen 2008). The Church failed to live up to expectations and ended up shutting itself off again from what was going on in the secular world. The fortress was rebuilt and closed up. One was either ‘in’ or ‘out’, and many decided to stay ‘out’. This was the beginning of the exodus of believers from the Church. This scenario has become the standard narrative that is voiced by critical watchers of the Catholic Church, including secular authors (Knippenberg 1992, 172–174). An early exponent of this scenario is the Franciscan priest and sociologist, Walter Goddijn (1983), who was the secretary to Cardinal Bernardus Alfrink and the Dutch Pastoral Council (1968–1970) (Dols 2014). Long before the disintegration of the network of Catholic organizations in the Netherlands, he had already predicted that the Catholic house of cards would collapse once the emancipation of Roman Catholics was completed (Goddijn 1957). However, in addition to this macro-sociological

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vision, he also paid considerable attention to the importance of the role of church leaders. In 1988, he gave his farewell lecture as a professor in sociology of religion under the title, “Variations in church leadership” (Goddijn 1989, 89–114). In it, he recommended that the Catholic Church in Western culture exercise restraint in its leadership if it wanted its mission to succeed. In practice, however, he observed a bureaucratic centralism in which conformism was rewarded. Just as in trade and industry, ‘professional conservatives’ “go out of their way to adapt themselves to the bureaucratic organization. They make sure that they are in contact with the top decision makers and play up to them. They have few principles and try to advance their career in this way.” In the current system, priests and bishops are ‘married’ to the institution of the Church. Believers, on the other hand, use the Church as long as it meets their needs. This may create a huge gap between the more liberal churchgoers on the one hand, and the church leaders who support an orthodoxy enforced by the organizational culture on the other. In this perspective, another option, for example the option of habitual believers resisting change did not receive much attention. At the time, Goddijn’s vision of the future was far from naive. Because he had participated in the renewal movement in the Catholic Church and watched it closely, he had personally experienced the failure of the democratization movement and was well aware of the strong position of the centralist administrative policy which was founded in an ecclesiology constructed in the nineteenth century (Raedts 2014). He quoted Joseph Ratzinger, who later became Pope Benedict XVI, who already in 1975 objected to the renewal movement after the Second Vatican Council (1963–1965), which, in his opinion, was taken to extremes, naming the Netherlands and Latin America as the frontrunners of this movement. Thus, expectations could not have been very high for a church that wanted to keep its flock together in the face of secularism and restoration. Five years later, his colleague, sociologist L. (Bert) Laeyendecker (1993), estimated that the gap between believers and church leaders had become so great that little official authority could remain. Against the background of two thousand years of church history, he outlined the erosion of charisma of office in the Roman Catholic Church during modernity and postmodernity. According to Laeyendecker, in the second half of the twentieth century the authority of priests and bishops was undermined by cultural changes (autonomy of the individual, positive recognition of plurality), structural changes (emergence of the modern media, institutional differentiation, emancipation of academic theology), and changes in the religious organization itself. Laeyendecker shows how the Second Vatican Council’s initiative to bridge the gap between the Church and the modern world invoked a counter-reaction. The encyclical letter Humanae Vitae (1968) which, against all expectations, contained a continued and more stringent prohibition of artificial birth control, has become a symbol of this new trend. While progressive Catholic spokespeople had helped to create an atmosphere where

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Catholics were encouraged to explore one’s consciousness and to learn how to love, the Pope insisted on the observance of natural law as interpreted by the Magisterium (Chapter 8). Developments in the Netherlands were heading another direction, as was witnessed by the Dutch Pastoral Council (1968–1970). Its suggestions, however, such as the abolition of mandatory celibacy, were denied by Pope Paul VI. The succeeding appointment of two conservative bishops who had not been nominated by the diocese underlined this policy. A Special Synod of Bishops (1980) marked a new era of a more stringent church policy. The unintended effect of this policy was a loosening of the bonds between believers and the Church. As a result, many left the Church and the few believers who remained developed a more independent attitude (Laeyendecker 1993, 123). This became apparent during the visit of John Paul II (1985) who was welcomed with empty streets and demonstrations. Only a tiny minority of strict believers welcomed the restoration of the directives that they had been provided with during the past century in which they had been involved in the Catholic route to modernization (Derks 2014). Indeed, as the history of Dutch Catholicism shows, brewing resistance against the Church’s sexual ethics, closed mentality, and clericalism was already widespread in the 1950s (van Dam, Kennedy, and Wielenga 2014). Giving in to the widespread dissatisfaction and responding to the equally widespread enthusiasm for a new Catholicism seemed inevitable, especially from the Dutch elite’s usual point of view that “one has to keep up with the times” (Kennedy 1995). The revolution of the 1960s was a continuation of a development on a longer term. But is it true that the advance of this critically engaged Catholicism was arrested with brute force? The problem with this view is that it is not easy to prove that the continuation of the progressive church policy could have prevented the erosion process. Communities and parishes that went their own progressive way, more or less separate from the official Church, and the unofficial Lay Movement that advocated ‘an alternative portrait of the Church’, both failed to transfer Catholic faith to the next generations. This fact does not count in favor of this theory. The uncomfortable relationship with popular Catholicism, Mariolatry, and other not-so-progressive practices, as well as the low investment in the religious education of children, should be taken into account when explaining the failed mission of progressive Catholicism. The assumption that the progressive trend promised to turn out a success, has not been made plausible.

Scenario 2: derailment and adaptation Sociologists Theo Schepens (2007) and Erik Sengers (2004) have argued that progressive Catholicism’s lack of success is hardly a surprise, considering sociological patterns in church growth and decline. ‘Open churches’, they claim, referring to the theory of religious markets, are unsuccessful

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in preserving an ongoing, organized religious tradition (Stark and Finke 2000). Stricter churches generally do better in retaining their believers. This perspective results in a different picture of the events in the past few decades. Interestingly, this picture seems to conform with the perspective most church leaders are taking. The central thesis of Rodney Stark’s theory of religious markets is that religious pluralism increases religious commitment; when people are offered a choice, suppliers will have to work harder. In the long term, these suppliers will be effective if they make exacting demands upon their dearly beloved brethren. In this way, they only attract those who are really motivated and are willing to undertake a long-term commitment to the religious community. Free riders, that is to say, those only profiting from the services the church offers, are discouraged. In apparent accordance with this theory, the now dominant diocesan church leaders tend to regard the renewal movement of the 1960s as a derailment in which essential elements of the Catholic tradition, in particular those related to the office and sacraments, were thrown overboard. The Roman Catholic theologian Henk Schoot (2008) voiced this sobering perspective clearly in a theological debate. In hindsight, he finds himself baffled by the extent to which Dutch theologians saw themselves in the vanguard of the World Church. He asks the leading question: Was it not rather the radical ideas of renewal and the World Church leaders’ logical reaction to these that were instrumental in promoting the alienation from the Church? This alternative diagnosis refers to an observation made by the sociologist, and lay ecclesial minster, Theo Schepens (2007). He observes that the data of the Third Wave of the European Values Study (1999) (Halman 2001) presents Dutch Catholics with a particularly low commitment to church and faith within the European context. Their scores on trust in the Church (46 percent), belief in God (34 percent), and weekly participation (20 percent) were structurally among the lower scores. A computed average ranking position puts the Netherlands in the lowest position among Catholics in Europe, a position shared with the Catholics in the Czech Republic (20/21). In reaction, he develops the hypothesis that this ‘strange’ phenomenon is due to the liberal attitude of the pastors in the past. It is interesting that this scenario explicitly refers to empirical data. The first question is: how extraordinary is this low score of Dutch Catholics in the European context? The author himself argues that religious participation is the relevant explaining variable behind ‘trust in church’ and ‘belief in God’. This allows us to avoid the semantically ambivalent and historically fluctuant questions on trust and belief, and focus on reported behavior. The table below presents the ranking of Dutch Catholics only for this question. I am not convinced that this table proves the negative effects of liberal church politics. An important factor to consider when explaining national variations in church commitment in a European perspective is the fact that the Netherlands is a religiously heterogeneous country, unlike, for instance,

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Table 2.1 Dutch Catholics in a European perspective

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10/11 12 13/14/15 16 17/18 19 20 21

Catholics in

Participation (reported; weekly)

Malta Northern Ireland Ireland Poland Slovenia Italy Portugal Croatia Spain Luxembourg/Great Britain Belgium Germany/Austria/Slovenia Lithuania Netherlands/Czech Republic Hungary Latvia France

83 74 65 62 57 48 40 35 30 29 26 25 21 20 18 15 12

Source: EVS 1999. Table based on Schepens (2007).

Ireland, Poland, and Spain. Given this heterogeneity, Dutch Catholics perform more or less as one would expect within Europe. The countries in which Catholics show a higher score than average (= 36) are homogeneous Catholic countries, with the exception of Northern Ireland. These days, Dutch Catholics are in the lower echelons of the scores; Catholic church attendance in Germany and the UK is a little higher, and in France it is even lower. The position of the Dutch Catholics is really not all that ‘special’. The next step would be to test the suggested hypothesis in a comparative study: are Catholics in otherwise comparable countries or dioceses more religious and more committed when the message preached by pastors is more traditional? This research question, which requires a careful distinction between the dependent and the independent variable, has not been answered yet. In contrast with religious economy theory in general, however, the overall findings of the European Values Study show that individuals in religiously homogeneous countries score higher on church and faith than individuals in religiously heterogeneous countries (Draulans and Halman 2005; Halman, Luijkx, and Zundert 2005; Halman, Sieben, and Zundert 2012). An explanation for this coherence may lie in the fact that religious diversity goes hand in hand with a tradition of religious tolerance. This promotes a low

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rather than a high commitment to a church (Halman and Draulans 2006, 285). It seems that the challenging potential of religious diversity (Introvigne and Stark 2005) is outweighed by the strong effect of religion as national heritage. Religious homogenity doesn’t necessarily lead to religious inertia. There are also indications that the opposite might be true: long live habitual beliefs – they keep the flock faithful. Without empirical data, we can only speculate about the ‘supply side’ factor in the Dutch developments. If the Church had not changed so much, or if it had been able to maintain a deviant position, would that have stopped or reduced the decline in commitment (Sengers 2003, 193)? This is obviously a question of the ‘What if . . . ?’ type – these cannot be answered on the basis of facts, but they are intriguing. Sengers argues, on theoretical grounds, that under these circumstances the Church “would have become smaller, but that commitment would have been higher”. Those who were dissatisfied with the strict teaching and ethics would have been encouraged to leave the Church, while committed members would have remained. The Catholic Church would probably have been smaller, but with a higher participation. Indeed, commitment would have improved, but would have come from an (even) smaller number of Catholics. According to this scenario, the new type of bishops (since the 1970s), the new generation of priests, and the upholding of the traditional views on office, sexuality, and teaching authority, are signs that the Dutch church province is now back in line with the World Church. This scenario prefers the concept of adaptation (to what is customary) to the concept of restoration. Whatever the strategy is called, the outcome is uncertain. From Stark’s point of view, the Church is, in this scenario, following the ‘church-to-sect’ course. This could be an advantageous strategy from the Church’s perspective because of the benefits of sectarianism: a high level of commitment to the values and practices of the religious organization, although extreme tensions should be avoided. In practice, according to rational choice theorist Laurence Iannacone (1994, 1204), the Roman Catholic Church after Vatican II has combined ‘the worst of both worlds’: a loss of distinctiveness in liturgy, theology, and lifestyle, while retaining unpopular demands such as celibacy and the prohibition of contraceptives. The sectarian strategy also drives people away from the Church, especially those who are not seeking religious certainty but are rather trying to make a clear distinction between things within and beyond human control (Knibbe 2007; Knibbe 2008). In opposition with an ideological use of rational choice theory, it is interesting to note that even within this economic approach benefits can be drawn from a position that will allow for different degrees of rigor and commitment (Stark and Finke 2000, 215). For the period 1970–1995, analysis of church statistics gathered in the World Christian Encyclopedia (2001) shows that – as far as nominal membership is concerned – the Roman Catholic Church in the Netherlands has been successful in providing

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services to different categories of believers, from liberal to strict. Whereas the mostly liberal, mainline Protestant churches have lost members, partly to new stricter sects and churches, the one Roman Catholic Church has succeeded in providing services to liberal, moderate, conservative, and strict believers. Therefore, the Roman Catholic Church has not been diminished as much as the average Protestant denomination. Apparently, churches such as the Roman Catholic Church, which thus serve multiple market segments, perform not badly from an international perspective compared to a variety of separate Protestant denominations (Auping 2003). The argument for a church-to-sect movement is not as compelling as it seems. The hermeneutical message of the second scenario, derailment and adaptation, is conservative. Because of his view on recent church history, Schepens (2007, 343) rejects the idea that the message of the Church should be modernized. Still drawing on considerations derived from rational choice theory (Finke 2004), he claims that the key question is: “how to deliver a traditional message, the Gospel, in a modern way?” It seems to me that this is a valid question for theology, but the way it is expressed only just begins to explain what this means. For what is the traditional message? One possible way of putting this traditional message into words is: “The Church testifies that God loves the world, which in turn invites us to love God and each other.” Of course, there are numerous others, each reflecting another result of the process of interpretation. Part of the traditional message is the notion that the message is ‘for our ears’, which may be interpreted as: destined for our late modern world as well, and for the people who live in it. The verbal content of the message is not fixed. The continuity of the tradition lies in the impact of this message in different times and places, not in its verbatim repetition (Schillebeeckx 2014). The content of the message has to be discovered time and again. If key Catholic doctrine is jettisoned by either ‘liberal’ or ‘orthodox’ Catholics, this goes against the principles of intelligent renewal as found in organizational science. In this respect, Roger Finke is right. If, however, renewal aims at a continuation of the tradition, as was the case in the nouvelle théologie of the 1950s and in the change in course as advocated by Pope Francis who is shifting the focus to worldly issues from an evangelical perspective, there is no rupture intended. An ideological use of rational choice theory suggests that it would be clear what a rupture is and what it is not. In fact, a point of view which labels itself as orthodox, for example the Society of Saint Pius X, may be considered as reactionary by others, whereas positions first denounced as too modern, such as those advocated by Henri de Lubac in the 1940s and 1950s and by Thomas Aquinas in the thirteenth century, may be considered as orthodox, in later years. Whether the renewal will count as ‘rupture’ is the result of a discussion about what ultimately should or should not be defined as “continuation of the tradition” (Simons and Winkeler 1987, 331–332). This discussion takes place in a context where other factors – political, economic, and cultural – play

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their role as well. By pretending that it is clear what belongs to traditional religious doctrine (for example, ‘belief in a personal God’) and what does not, or belongs to a lesser extent (‘Jesus as an example and companion’), the theological debate about which message is traditional and which is not will be closed too soon.

Evaluation: strangely familiar Even though these scenarios differ greatly in their appreciation of the developments over the past decades, they are remarkably unanimous as to what actually happened. All authors making use of these two scenarios take the solid modern appearance of the Roman Catholic Church for granted and wonder why it eroded. The story starts after the Second World War (cf. van den Bos 2014). In the 1950s and 1960s, Dutch Catholicism went through a period of renewal, and the Netherlands quickly changed from a ‘follower’ country to a ‘leader’ country. Prior to this period of transition, Roman Catholicism was thriving; afterwards, the decline set in. Both explanations put the Church’s own contribution to the process at the center of attention. The logic is the same in both cases, although the answers to the question of blame are slightly different. Did believers become alienated from the Church because the local pastors were reined in by their superiors? Or had they already become alienated from the Church under the influence of these pastors? Both scenarios – ‘progression stopped in its tracks’ versus ‘off the track and back in line’ – focus on the Church as a hierarchical mass mobilizing organization. Devotional practices, monasticism, pilgrimage, societies, fraternities and guilds, youth clubs, and religious events are neglected. The explanation is based on the ‘pastor-believer’ model and the pastor is blamed. The clergy – holy men, appointed to perform sacrifices – are indeed perfect candidates for the role of the scapegoat. However, attention to the role of the religious producers must be put into a wider perspective. There is no guilty party, no “Trahison des clercs” (Julien Benda). The purpose of my explanation is not to commit patricide, but to gain insight into the transformation of a Roman Catholic Church province in a national context, in the context of a World Church, and in the context of the process of modernization. The question remains as to how far it was possible at all to move in another direction, both in the renewal years and during the restoration stage (Dobbelaere 2003). Oral history (Kerklaan 1994; van Rooden 2004; Palm 2012) presents an ambivalent picture of the way Catholics perceived the changes brought about by the Second Vatican Council and the Dutch Pastoral Council. Yes, the doors to the world were opened, but instead of hailing the liberators, the liberated first and foremost realized they had been detainees. Lives that had been attuned to a firm faith and strict morals were suddenly exposed as following rules now considered superfluous. Catholics tended to take advantage of the newly-gained spiritual freedom by turning their back on

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the Church, rather than enjoying the softer regime. It is true that renewal might result in the loss of the flock, but it is also true that this renewal may come too late. Indeed, sociologists conclude the changes were too little, too late (de Hart and Dekker 2015, 92). Moreover, features of Catholicism that had been appreciated, such as the rich lived and material religion, were downplayed, whereas contested features, such as a hierarchy exercised by celibate men who intervene in sexuality and family planning, were continued. Yet, the adaption probably could not have rescued the hierarchical mass organization anyway. International comparative studies indicate that the circumstances in the Netherlands are not very conducive to a strong interest in the Church: religious heterogeneity, a feminine culture (Hofstede 2001), a relatively strong welfare state (Halman, Petterson, and Verweij 1999), and a high level of socioeconomic security (Norris and Inglehart 2004). All these are factors that go hand in hand with a low commitment to the Church. Merely spreading the Gospel across broad sections of the population will not result in a high commitment to the Church and faith. Unless the Catholic Church associates itself with a social issue which is widely supported, no substantial increase in its growth is to be expected. This fundamental sociological intuition conforms both with the secularization paradigm as an account of what has happened in particular, mostly Western European, countries (Bruce 2002, 60–74), and with the view that religion continues to play an important role in the public domain throughout the world (Casanova 2003). Meanwhile, the tense relationship between church leaders and people constitutes an interesting starting point for the actions of the Roman Catholic Church in liquid modernity. People have choices, but at the same time they are looking for a sense of security that will screen them off from the multitude of choices. The profiling carried out by the current generation of church leaders (sharp edges included) helps to improve the Church’s visibility within this context. At the same time, it is necessary for a major church to keep in touch with the wider community, to clearly express what the Church is about, and to be receptive to people’s wishes in such a way that this is felt as an invitation to participate. Extensive research into growth factors in religious communities in the United States shows that orthodoxy is not the main driving force, at least not in the US. Key growth elements are the contribution of volunteers, the availability of child and youth activities, and openness towards new members (Woolever and Bruce 2004, 114). In a European context, where churches are considered as institutions rather than congregations, openness would probably include the accessibility to the service delivery, which the next chapter will demonstrate. Many people see the Church as a useful institution, particularly because it provides rituals for marriage, birth, and death. There might be opportunities for the Church when profiling and accessibility go hand in hand. This approach does not herald a return to mass Catholicism, but provides opportunities to accommodate large groups of people

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and results in active participation on the part of a minority, perhaps during specific periods of their lives. Field work in the South of Limburg, the most Catholic province of the Netherlands, suggests that people tend to expect from the Roman Catholic Church a continuation of the familiar, although they have become very much unlike their ancestors themselves (Knibbe 2007). They are confronted with a church that doesn’t comply with their desires, such as ample room for personal memories and private initiatives at a funeral mass. They feel they are hindered by strange elements that appear to be present within the sphere of the familiar: ecclesial regulations that contrast with a culture that they have grown accustomed to. The familiar is desired, but what was expected to be familiar appears strange to them. What is longed for is a religiosity that fits within the domain of the familiar, but this longing clashes with an ambivalent attitude towards religious authorities, especially when they express their wish to interfere with their private lives. As the local parish where anthropologist Kim Knibbe conducted her fieldwork coincided with the local community, the strangeness of the parish priests stood out. A certain distance between church leaders and churchgoers will always be there. In the current context, in which several suppliers of meaning and ritual manifest themselves on the religious market, this distance may appear as follows: priests and other pastoral professionals operate as religious virtuosi, supported and surrounded by groups of persons with strong religious interest. These virtuoso leaders, these strange representatives of a familiar tradition from the past, are occasionally called upon by people who are further removed from the Church.

Outlook In the Netherlands, the advanced erosion of the plausibility structure of the Catholic clerical church model has created a gap between a large part of the churchgoers and the church leaders. According to some, it is the central church leadership that is partly responsible for this. The promising progressive development was called to a halt, and many left the Church in frustration, either physically or spiritually. For others, in contrast, the liberal excesses of local pastors caused a decline in their commitment to the Church and subsequently in their faith. According to these interpreters, the change which had been labelled as liberation should rather be regarded as an alienation from the World Church. Both scenarios have something to recommend, but the relative importance of these factors should not be exaggerated. Within the context of the Netherlands in the 1960s it is difficult to imagine a scenario in which church leaders would not have moved along with the changes in society as a whole. And given the low importance of the Dutch church province within the Roman Catholic Church world-wide, it is not surprising either that its small

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influence has not led to a radical revision of the Church’s teachings, ethics, and organizational structure. We are left with a church that has difficulties remaining standing as an established institute, but which, compared to smaller churches, other religions, and less well-defined suppliers of meaning and ritual, stands out as a strange, familiar phenomenon. The strangeness of this church is what makes it recognizable, while at the same time it retains a strong relationship with Dutch history and Christianity as a global religion. In hindsight, the story of how the institutional church declined fails to take into account how this church became institutionalized in the first place. It also neglects the fact that the flexible way that currently prevails in the attitude towards the Church is a cultural trait which transcends the particular case of this institution. The two scenarios demonstrate the transformation of religion in liquid modernity. One path is to welcome the freedom to choose and to reflect. The other path is to develop an alternative to the dominant culture of choice. Both routes have their merits.

References Auping, John A. 2003. The Dynamics of Growth in Christian Churches. Presented at the Annual meeting of the society for the scientific study of religion. Norfolk, VA. Barrett, David B., George T. Jurian, and Todd M. Johnson. 2001. World Christian Encyclopedia: A comparative survey of churches and religion in the modern world. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Bernts, Ton, and Joantine Berghuijs. 2016. God in Nederland 1966–2015. Utrecht: Ten Have. Bernts, Ton, Gert de Jong, and Hasan Yar. 2006. “Een religieuze atlas van Nederland.” In Geloven in het publieke domein. Verkenningen van een dubbele transformatie, edited by Wim B.H.J. van de Donk, A. Petra Jonkers, Gerrit J. Kronjee and Rob J.J.M. Plum, 89–139. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Bernts, Ton, and Jan Peters. 1999. Dichtbij en veraf. Het katholieke kader, de katholieken en hun kerk op de drempel van de 21e eeuw. Hilversum: KRO Vereniging. Bruce, Steve. 2002. God is dead, secularization in the West. Oxford: Blackwell Publishers. Casanova, José. 2003. “Beyond European and American Exceptionalism.” In Predicting religion: Christian, secular and alternative futures, edited by Linda Woodhead, Paul Heelas and Grace Davie, 17–29. Aldershot: Ashgate. Coleman, John A. 1978. The evolution of Dutch Catholicism 1958–1974. Berkeley/ Los Angeles/London: University of California Press. de Hart, Joep. 2014. Geloven binnen en buiten verband. Godsdienstige ontwikkelingen in Nederland. Den Haag: Sociaal en Cultureel Planbureau. de Hart, Joep, and Paul Dekker. 2015. “Floating Believers: Dutck Seekers and the Church.” In A Catholic minority church in a world of seekers, edited by Staf Hellemans and Peter Jonkers, 71–96. Washington, DC: The Council for Research in Values and Philosophy. Dekker, Gerard, Joep de Hart, and Jan Peters. 1997. God in Nederland 1966–1996. Amsterdam: Anthos-RKK/KRO.

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Derks, Marjet. 2014. “Een andere tijdgeest. Conservatieven, ‘normaal-katholieken’ en het dominante beeld van vernieuwing in post-conciliair Nederland (1962– 1985).” In Achter de zuilen. Op zoek naar religie in naoorlogs Nederland, edited by Peter van Dam, James Kennedy and Friso Wielenga, 201–229. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Dobbelaere, Karel. 2003. “Trends in de katholieke godsdienstigheid eind 20ste eeuw: België vergeleken met West- en Centraal-Europese landen.” Tijdschrift voor sociologie no. 24 (1):9–36. Dols, Chris. 2014. Fact factory: Sociological expertise and episcopal decision making in the Netherlands, 1946–1972. Nijmegen: Radboud University. Draulans, Veerle, and Loek Halman. 2005. “Mapping Contemporary Europe’s Moral and Religious Pluralist Landscape: An Analysis Based on the Most Recent European Value Study Data.” Journal of Contemporary Religion no. 20 (2):179–193. Finke, Roger. 2004. “Innovative Returns to the Tradition: Using Core Teachings as the Foundation for Innovative Accomodation.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion no. 31 (1):19–34. Goddijn, Walter. 1957. Katholieke minderheid en protestantse dominant. Sociologische nawerking van de historische relatie tussen katholieken en protestanten in Nederland en in het bijzonder in de provincie Friesland. Assen: Van Gorcum. ———. 1983. Rode oktober. Honderd dagen Alfrink. Een bijdrage tot de empirische ecclesiogie (1968–1970). Ambo: Baarn. ———. 1989. Kerk en kudde: tussentijdse balans van een geloofsgemeenschap. Baarn: Arbor. Halman, Loek. 2001. The European values study: A third wave: Source book of the 1999/2000 European values study surveys. Tilburg: WORC/Tilburg University Press. Halman, Loek, and Veerle Draulans. 2006. “How Secular Is Europe?” British Journal of Sociology no. 57 (2):263–288. Halman, Loek, Ruud Luijkx, and Marga van Zundert. 2005. Atlas of European Values. Leiden: Brill. Halman, Loek, Thorleif Petterson, and Johan Verweij. 1999. “The Religious Factor in Contemporary Society: The Differential Impact of Religion on the Private and Public Sphere in Comparative Perspective.” In New directions in quantitative comparative sociology, edited by Wil Arts and Loek Halman, 141–160. Leiden: Brill. Halman, Loek, Inge Sieben, and Marga van Zundert. 2012. Atlas of European Values: Trends and traditions at the turn of the century. Leiden: Brill. Hellemans, Staf. 2009. “A Critical Transition. From Ultramontane Mass Catholicism to Choice Catholicism.” In The Catholic Church and modernity in Europe, edited by Pancratius Cornelis Beentjes, 32–54. Münster: LIT. Hofstede, Geert. 2001. Culture’s consequences: Comparing values, behaviors, institutions, and organizations across nations. 2nd ed. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage. Iannacone, Laurence. 1994. “Why Strict Churches Are Strong.” American Journal of Sociology no. 99:1180–1211. Introvigne, Massimo, and Rodney Stark. 2005. “Religious Competition and Revival in Italy: Exploring European Exceptionalism.” Interdisciplinary Journal of Research on Religion no. 1 (5). www.religjournal.com/articles/article_view.php?id=5 Janssen, Marie-José, and Gerard Zuidberg. 2008. Pastores gaan voorbij: witboek over kracht en pijn van vrijwilligers in de katholieke kerk. Kampen: Ten Have.

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Kennedy, James. 1995. Building new Babylon: Cultural change in the Netherlands during the 1960s. PhD, University of Iowa. Kerklaan, Marga. 1994. Van huis uit: drie generaties katholieken over de invloed van de secularisatie op hun beleving van seksualiteit, gezin en geloof. Baarn: Ambo. Knibbe, Kim. 2008. “The Role of Religious Certainty and Uncertainty in Moral Orientation in a Catholic Province in the Netherlands.” Social Compass no. 55 (1):20–30. Knibbe, Kim Esther. 2007. Faith in the familiar: Continuity and change in religious practices and moral orientations in the south of Limburg, the Netherlands. PhD, Amsterdam: Vrije Universiteit. Knippenberg, Hans. 1992. De religieuze kaart van Nederland. Omvang en geografische spreiding van de godsdienstige gezindten vanaf de Reformatie tot heden. Assen/Maastricht: Van Gorcum. Laeyendecker, Leonardus 1993. Om de beheersing van het charisma: heil en macht in de R.K. Kerk, Verhandelingen der Koninklijke Nederlandse Akademie van Wetenschappen. Amsterdam: North-Holland. Nissen, Peter. 2008. “Restauratie in de rooms-katholieke kerk. Kerk zijn met de ramen open of de ramen dicht?” Theologisch Debat no. 5 (1):4–15. Norris, Pippa, and Ronald Inglehart. 2004. Sacred and secular: Religion and politics worldwide. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Palm, Jos. 2012. Moederkerk. De ondergang van rooms Nederland. Amsterdam/ Antwerpen: Contact. Paul VI. 1968. Humanum Vitae [cited 8 May 2017]. Available from http://w2.vatican. va/content/paul-vi/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_p-vi_enc_25071968_humanaevitae.html. Plakkaat van Verlatinghe. 1581. Available from www.let.rug.nl/usa/documents/ before-1600/plakkaat-van-verlatinghe-1581-july-26.php. Raedts, Peter. 2014. De uitvinding van de rooms-katholieke kerk. Amsterdam: Wereldbibliotheek. Schepens, Theo. 2007. “De Nederlandse katholiek in Europees perspectief.” Internationaal katholiek tijdschrift Communio no. 32:222–242. Schillebeeckx, Edward. 2014. Church: The human story of God, the collected works of Edward Schillebeeckx. London: Bloomsbury. Schmeets, Hans. 2014. De religieuze kaart van Nederland, 2010–2013. Den Haag: Centraal Bureau voor de Statistiek. Schoot, Henk. 2008. “De katholieke kerk in restauratie?” Theologisch Debat no. 5 (1):16–26. Sengers, Erik. 2003. “Al zijn wij katholiek, wij zijn Nederlanders.” Opkomst en verval van de katholieke kerk in Nederland sinds 1795 vanuit rational-choice perspectief. Delft: Eburon. ———. 2004. “‘Although We Are Catholics, We Are Dutch’: The Transition of the Dutch Catholics from Sect to Church as an Explanation for Its Growth and Decline.” Journal for Scientific Study of Religion no. 43 (1):129–139. Simons, Ed, and Lodewijk Winkeler. 1987. Het Verraad der Clercken. Intellectuelen en hun rol in de ontwikkelingen van het Nederlandse katholicisme na 1945. Baarn: Arbor. Stark, Rodney, and Roger Finke. 2000. Acts of faith, explaining the human side of religion. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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van Dam, Peter, James Kennedy, and Friso Wielenga. 2014. Achter de zuilen: op zoek naar religie in naoorlogs Nederland. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. van den Bos, Maarten. 2014. “Het sein om te vertrekken? Nederlandse katholieken in debat over verleden, heden en toekomst (1945–1965).” In Achter de zuilen. Op zoek naar religie in naoorlogs Nederland, edited by Peter van Dam, James Kennedy and Friso Wielenga, 79–100. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. van Rooden, Peter. 2004. “‘Oral History’ en het vreemde sterven van het Nederlandse Christendom.” Bijdragen en Mededelingen betreffende de Geschiedenis der Nederlanden no. 119:524–551. Woolever, Cynthia A., and Deborah A. Bruce. 2004. Beyond the ordinary: Ten strengths of U.S. congregations. Louisville-London: Westminster John Knox Press.

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Contemporary mainline churches find themselves in a difficult situation, which can only be called ‘challenging’ when the observer is gifted with a considerable dose of optimism. Apparently, it is not easy to transform a church organization that was successful during the last phase of solid modernity into a structure that exists within liquid modernity. Moreover, the opinions about the required strategies diverge as the previous chapter has shown. This chapter sketches the transformation of the Roman Catholic Church at a local level, since the turn of the millennium. How do Catholic parishes respond to a setting in which individuals tend to make limited choices from what is offered?

A persistence of religion in secularizing Dutch Society? Despite rumors about the end of secularization, Roman Catholic parishes in the Netherlands have not taken advantage of a global religious persistence. With the exception of a few transnational parishes, participation and membership have been declining throughout the country. Other mainline Christian churches are not doing much better (te Grotenhuis and Scheepers 2001; de Hart 2014). The church merger of the Dutch Reformed Church, the Reformed Churches in the Netherland, and the Evangelical-Lutheran Church in the Kingdom of the Netherlands, which resulted in the Protestant Church in the Netherlands (2004), has also been a downsizing operation. The future of the Roman Catholic Church in the Netherlands, however, appears to be especially bleak. Amongst the younger generation (17–30 years old), the proportion of Catholics has decreased from more than 50 percent in 1986 to less than 30 percent in 2011. In 2015, it appeared that only 20 percent of generation Y (1986–2001) reported themselves as church members with an equal share for the Roman Catholic Church and orthodox-reformed and Evangelical churches taken together (Bernts, Dekker, and de Hart 2007, 16; Bernts and Berghuijs 2016, 23). The number of Catholics is set to fall dramatically as their average age increases. By the year 2030, the former majority church will be a minority church comprising only 18 percent of the population (Schmeets and van der Bie 2009).

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From a congregational perspective, this church simply fails to recruit the younger generations. An important factor in this respect is the attitude towards the Roman Catholic Church as an institution. The findings of various polls suggest that the overall image of the Roman Catholic Church is negative. According to the European Values Study, the Dutch level of trust in churches is among the lowest in Europe (Halman 2001). In the Netherlands, the churches are considered institutions that are the least trustworthy, compared to science, media, and political parties (Bernts and Berghuijs 2016). This may be due, too, to the detailed reports of 2011 on sexual abuse of children under the authority of the Church, and the cover-up that went with it (Deetman et al. 2011). The popularity of the Roman Catholic Church, being the preeminent religious institution, is extremely low. Even among church-going young Catholics, less than a quarter has a high trust in churches (de Hart 2014). Nevertheless, the religious climate in the Netherlands has changed during the last decades. Judging by the attention given to religious themes both by the media and by science, since the end of the 1990s, religion is even back in style. The suggestion, however, that the trend of disaffiliation was countered, appeared false (Broers et al. 2000). Rather, the increased public interest in religion indicates that the position of religion in society has weakened, as Vellenga (2016) has shown for the discussion on ritual slaughter. A short period of neglect for the topic of religion, however, has clearly ended. Religion has become more visible as a social phenomenon (Hjelm 2015). The renewed attention for religion is also reflected in scholarly interest in the topic of religion. After a few decades of marginal interest in the scientific study of religion, the Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research reserved a budget of 5.4 million Euro for the interdisciplinary study of new and continued participation in religion (2002–2011) (de Vries 2008). This program was followed in 2013 by a program on religion and cohesion in contemporary society (4 million Euro). The study of religion currently receives a considerable amount of attention (de Groot and Sengers 2015). These various indicators suggest some changes in religious life, both globally and in the Netherlands. First, from a global perspective, the importance of religion in the public domain is increasing (Casanova 1994). In various countries, politics are penetrated by religious discourse and religious organizations, and there has been a growth in organized religion such as Islam and Catholicism in various modernizing societies in Africa and Asia. With migration, this is more or less reflected in Western societies. Minority religions and transnational congregations are, therefore, growing in the Netherlands as well (Jansen and Stoffels 2008). The parish for Portuguese speaking migrants Par quia Nossa Senhora da Paz has become the most vital parish in Rotterdam. The increase in migrant parishes has, however, been called to a halt by the National Bishops’ Conference in favor of the integration of Catholic immigrants into the regular parishes. For several reasons, including

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the fact that these parishes are dwindling, this process appears to be problematic (Castillo Guerra, Wijsen, and Steggerda 2006). Secondly, practices and symbols derived from or associated with religious traditions have become part of national culture. Collective rituals, such as commemorations of World War II and of recent disasters, are primarily secular although references to God do play a minor role (Bernts and Berghuijs 2016). Recently, pleas are heard to cherish the so-called ‘Jewish-Christian’ tradition of the Netherlands. Politicians such as the Dutch MP Geert Wilders, with an agenda against immigration, Islam, and the European Union, use the label ‘Christian’ to defend national culture against corruption, taking the celebration of St. Nicolas’ Eve and Christmas as markers of Dutch identity. Next to these tendencies towards a civil religion, there is religion in popular culture. Religious themes in films, television commercials, computer games, and music reveal that inspiration is drawn from a sizeable reservoir of religious narratives, symbols, and rituals. In short, popular imagination is shaped by the tremendous cultural inheritance left by religious traditions. The Catholic tradition, with its visual and ritual elements, is also appreciated in this respect, judging by the usage of crucifixes, angels, and church buildings in movies, tattoos, and video games (Greeley 2000). Thirdly, people’s individual religious interest is transforming. At the turn of the century, it seemed like individuals, even in the highly secularized society, continued to imagine a life before and beyond this one, believe in miracles, and pray, even if they were of a younger generation (Becker and de Wit 2000, 90–91; Kregting and Sanders 2003; Prins 2006, 76–77). This does not imply Christian orthodoxy: Christian images of heaven coexist with Westernized Buddhist notions of previous lives, miracles may have been interpreted as paranormal events, and researchers took prayer, meditation, and self-reflection as one cluster of practices. Recent investigations demonstrate that not religious persistence, but religious abstinence is a dominant trend: during 2006–2015, the belief in an afterlife and in miracles and the act of praying have become less popular. People still participate in rites de passage, but Christian marriages and funerals are giving way to ceremonies that are not directly linked with local religious communities and historic traditions. While people are claiming they are making their own choices, they are following trends communicated through mass media, social media, and commercial agencies for ritual services. Increasingly, beliefs and rituals are dis-embedded, that is: lifted from their traditional religious context and taken as elements for cultural constructs, rather following personal needs and trends in society, than religious guidelines (Arfman 2014). Finally, distinct minorities are involved in so-called committed communities. Some of these, such as various orthodox-Reformed churches, continue to flourish due to a combination of strictness and a high fertility rate. Others, such as Evangelical and Pentecostal churches, welcome switchers from various, usually Protestant, backgrounds. The Roman Catholic Church also pays considerable attention to its Small Christian Communities in which

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committed Catholics share and seek to deepen their faith. Charismatic and neo-Catholic groups, however do not have great appeal amongst the nonChristian Dutch population (Chapter 4). In this context, where religious participation is increasingly a matter of choice, Dutch parishes are struggling to find their way. What strategic options do they have at their disposal and what choices do they actually make?

The dismantling of a mass organization During the second part of the nineteenth and the first part of the twentieth century, frequent church participation had become a self-evident routine among Dutch Catholics. Being part of the Catholic subculture implied participating in the local parish. Within this subculture, the Catholic Church held a religious monopoly. The restoration of the Roman Catholic Church in the Netherlands since the second half of the nineteenth century, mentioned in the previous chapter, had been successful to the extent that being Catholic came to refer to the membership in an organization that mobilized a considerable part of the population. Since the second half of the twentieth century, the power of the established religious regimes declined, while individual religious – not necessarily Christian – beliefs, experiences, and practices persisted on a modest scale (van de Donk et al. 2006; de Hart 2014; Bernts and Berghuijs 2016). Crossnational surveys, such as the European Values Study and the International Social Survey Program, indicate that the Dutch profile is largely secular, mixed with diverse, active, religious minorities. Church adherence is low. Those who do consider themselves members, however, tend to participate rather frequently, resulting in a national level of participation just below the European average (Halman, Sieben, and Zundert 2012, 64). Generally, however, Christian beliefs are not very popular and neither are nonChristian beliefs, such as reincarnation. The dominant category does not believe in God or any kind of spirit at all. The number of non-practicing members of religious communities is growing. Among Roman Catholics, the traditionally high figures of church attendance began decreasing much earlier and faster than the actual decline in church membership (Becker 2003; Massaar-Remmerswaal and Bernts 2004). Still today, the number of churchgoers is decreasing more rapidly than the number of church members. In other words, first the pews are becoming empty, then the membership registers. As a result, a large portion of the Dutch population has a distant relationship with the church to which they formally belong. In the long run, this is a shrinking category; nominal membership is not normative, such as used to be the case in countries with a tradition of a state church, such as the United Kingdom and Norway. For over a decade, observers have drawn attention to the prevalence of distant membership as corresponding with a ‘service-church’ rather than a ‘membership-church’. Serving a variety of believers has been called

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‘characteristic’ for a European trend in the modernization of religion, as opposed to the American tendency for churches to operate as voluntary associations. According to the British sociologist of religion Grace Davie (2002), countries such as the United Kingdom and Sweden exemplify a European tendency to regard the Church as a useful institution. Britons typically believe in God but do not attend church. They are ‘believing without belonging’. This phrase has become popular to refer to something broader: the faith of the unchurched. Subsequent analyses of the data of the European Values Study show, however, that this phenomenon is not common in Europe, where belonging and believing usually coincide (Halman and Draulans 2004). David Voas and Alasdair Crockett (2005) demonstrated that even in Britain religious belief eroded at the same rate as affiliation and attendance. Although, in her later work, Davie (2015) has a keen eye for processes of decline she insists on the continuing relevance of organized religion, mainly the Church of England, for the wider society. Much of what minorities are doing in church, such as private and public rituals, she claims, is done ‘on behalf of others’. She calls this ‘vicarious religion’. I will not argue with that, but I would dispute that this the most helpful way of characterizing religion in Europe. At least in the Netherlands, this would be an underestimation of the radical disintegration of organized religion and of the loss of control of formerly important agents in the religious field. The Netherlands is characterized by both a higher level of unchurching and religious volunteering than is usual in Europe (van Tienen, Scheepers Reitsma, and Schilderman 20011). This is a strong argument against the characterization of the Dutch churches as public utilities, first, because a large, growing part of the public does not use this utility, and second, because those who do are active members. The number of members is not just diminishing; during the process their attitude towards the churches is changing, and so is the attitude of those who remain, or become, members. So, how should we regard the Roman Catholic Church in the Netherlands? The parish: district and community In Chapter 1, I introduced an organizational perspective on the Roman Catholic Church. The dogmatic constitution Lumen Gentium (Vatican II 1964), proclaimed during the Second Vatican Council, distinguishes the Roman Catholic Church as an organization from the Christian Church worldwide, on the verge of identifying the two. In one of the introductory paragraphs, the document holds: “This Church [i.e., ‘The one Church in Christ’] constituted and organized in the world as a society, subsists in the Catholic Church, which is governed by the successor of Peter and by the Bishops in communion with him, although many elements of sanctification and of truth are found outside of its visible structure” (Ch. 1.8). The expression substitit in has led to various interpretations, such as one that principally regards the Roman Catholic Church as one church among others.

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The interpretation that the Catholic Church is the Church of Christ, though not wholly exclusively, is favored in an authoritative document of the Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith (2007). The understanding adopted by the central authorities of the Catholic Church is of the Church as a particular, visible, structured and governed organization. This organizational perspective can be elaborated as follows. On one hand, the Roman Catholic Church may be considered a concern; it consists of dioceses, led by bishops who have the authority to manage affairs in their own domain, within canonical boundaries. A diocese usually consists of parishes. In the Netherlands, parishes are under the collegiate administration of a parish priest and a parish council. The parish priest may cooperate with one or more professional lay ministers (‘pastoral workers’). They are supposed to see pastoral policy as their common concern; incidentally, this collective responsibility is officially confirmed in the appointment of a pastoral team, directed by a moderator (canon 517 [Codex Iuris Canonici 1983]). The parish council consists of parishioners appointed by the bishop and is chaired by the parish priest. Before 1988, when the regulations for parish administration were revised according to the Codex of 1983, a layperson could be the president; since then, lay persons can only act as vice-presidents. This council is responsible for the management of the parish and also advises on pastoral matters. A separate body may exist to perform the latter task: the ‘parish assembly’ or the ‘pastoral group’. Often, these lay bodies have an important say in the policy of the parish, if only because, nowadays, one man is usually the parish priest of several parishes. Much pastoral work is carried out and coordinated by volunteers, in a way comparable with how the Reformed churches are run. In this way, an earlier tendency to regard the church organization as primarily consisting of clerics is counteracted. Although the parish may also be formally considered the work area of a bishop’s division manager, it makes sense, on the other hand, to regard the parish as a relatively autonomous organization within a larger concern. This local organization is at least partially led by laypersons. The hybridity of the church organization is also present at the parish level. The parish has characteristics both of a mutual support organization and of a service delivery organization, in particular. The characteristics of the missionary organization, mentioned in Chapter 1, are less obvious at this level, since the Church has specific structures for missionary purposes: religious orders and movements. The distinction between the two faces, service and mutual support, is not so clear, as a closer look at the Roman Catholic Church from an organizational perspective will show. The ambivalence of membership In relation to any formal organization, four basic categories of persons can be distinguished: the managers of the organization, the ‘ordinary’ members, the public-in-contact, and the public-at-large, or the society in which the

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organization operates (Blau and Scott 1963). The management of the parish is controlled by the parish priest and the parish council. But who are the members? There is an important difference between nominal membership, defined by baptism, and membership according to sociological standards, defined by self-identification. Fortunately, there is data to support this distinction and to quantify and identify the different types of members. All those who are baptized as Catholics are formally part of this church. This formal belonging is reflected in the results of Statistics Netherlands asking random samples of Dutch citizens about their religious affiliation. When asked in a single phrase to which denomination they belong, including the option ‘none’, virtually all these baptized Catholics identify themselves as such: the percentage of those who opt for the answer ‘Roman Catholic’ virtually equals the percentage of baptized Catholics. Not all, however, consider themselves church members. This is reflected in the considerably lower figures of Catholics noted in other surveys, such as those of the Social and Cultural Planning Office of the Netherlands. These figures can be explained by a different method of questioning. First, their respondents were asked, “Do you consider yourself to belong to a church?” Then they were asked: “Which church?” To put it in technical terms: these surveys use a two-stepquestion indicator for church membership, instead of the one-step-question used by Statistics Netherlands. This use of different methods is sometimes a source of confusion, but it is also a source of insight into an interesting category of the population. In 1998, the same random Dutch sample was asked both the one-step-question and the two-step-question. The result was striking. Only 72 percent of the Dutch Catholics, who first (one-step-question) affirmed they belonged to the Catholic Church expressed later (two-step-question) that they considered themselves to belong to a church, more specifically, the Roman Catholic Church (Becker 2003, 14). The findings of secondary analyses indicated that these differences are caused by a fairly distinct category of respondents who believe in God or a higher power, but keep the Church and its moral authority at a distance (Becker 2003, 22–23; Eisinga and Felling 1990). Thus, 27 percent of self-identified Catholics were willing to confess their religion, while also expressing their feeling that they do not belong to this church, or any other church. Seventeen years later, this proportion has doubled. In 2015, half of those baptized as Catholics did not consider themselves Catholics. The preceding evidence supports the thesis that a considerable proportion of Dutch Catholics probably do not regard themselves as members of the Roman Catholic Church, but as part of the public to which it delivers services. A quarter of all the so-called ‘inconsistent respondents’, for example, attended church more than once a year. The others claimed that they never attended services (Becker 2003, 16). However, the Catholics among them were at least baptized in this church. They may occasionally attend weddings and funerals and their relatives may ask the Church to provide a funeral service when their time has come.

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People appear to have varying relationships with the parish. A majority of the parishioners by ascription prefer to participate to a limited, or very limited, degree, whether throughout their whole lives or only during a certain phase. Sometimes they need the church to pray, to commemorate, to celebrate, or to include them as part of a larger community. Many do not see themselves as members of a congregation, but as the potential clients of a service provider, as the supporters of an institution that provides services that are regarded as important by society at large, or as complete outsiders. Only a decreasing minority is involved more intensely. A mixed type Thus, a classical typology of organizations that gives considerable weight to the distinction between members and clients is of use in this chapter. Applying the cui bono (who is the prime beneficiary?) criterion, Peter Blau and Richard Scott (1963, 42–45) distinguished four types of organization. In a business concern, such as a firm or a private army, the power or the revenues at the top of the organization is primary. In a mutual benefit organization, such as an interest group or a society of friends, the interests of the members are central. This type parallels the mutual support group that can be distinguished within the domain of voluntary organizations. In a service organization, such as hospitals and schools, the public-in-contact is dominant. This type corresponds with the service delivery agencies mentioned in the preceding chapter. In a commonweal organization, such as public institutions, the public-at-large dominates as the prime beneficiary. All four types exist in the religious field. A shrine that is exploited by a priest is an example of a business concern. The same accounts for the parish as it was intended in the fourth century. In southern Europe, priests earned their income by the administration of the sacraments; a parish was the region he was entitled to take care of to the exclusion of others (Eijsink 1995, 23). A society of believers – Blau and Scott already mentioned ‘religious sects’ – exemplifies a mutual benefit association. Churches that provide services and ceremonies for a large audience are service organizations: the focus is on the person in need or the individual’s longing. State churches are religious commonweal organizations; all pay to sustain a public utility. What type of organization is the post-Vatican II Dutch Roman Catholic parish? Central to its own understanding is that the parish regards itself as a representative of the Catholic Church, where the adjective refers to the Greek katholikos, meaning ‘throughout the whole’. Catholicity is one of the ecclesial notes (notae ecclesiae) commonly regarded as summarized in the expression of the unam, sanctam, catholicam et apostolicam ecclesiam: “the one, holy, catholic and apostolic church” from the Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed (Langthrop and Wengert 2004, 17–36). Catholicity expresses the extent to which the Church holds salvation available to the whole of God’s people. According to canon law, the parish is designed to preach the gospel

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to the faithful and to administer the sacraments, especially confession and the Eucharist. The parish is the area that is supervised by a member of the clergy, not unlike the division of labor in a business concern. This aspect has never been absent and is probably reviving, but has been downplayed in the second part of the twentieth century. Following Lumen Gentium (1964, 9–27), the parish is also considered instrumental for the faithful in fulfilling their mission in the world. In this way, a key notion of the Vatican Council is translated to the parish level: the faithful are not only receivers of sacraments, but also part of the people of God. It is intended that the parish gathers the faithful, in particular in the celebration of the Eucharist, and empowers them to do their Christian duties in the world (Meijers 1998). That is the theory; now for the practice. Within the Catholic subculture of solid modern Dutch society, the Roman Catholic Church held a position that resembled the position of a state church. The Church acted as a monopolist. However, within Dutch society as a whole the Roman Catholic Church acted somewhat as a sect (Sengers 2004). A militant attitude was expressed and fostered by massive church attendance. When this system imploded, parishes moved slightly into the direction of congregations. The question is whether liquid modernity, where religion is an option, implies a new phase for the Dutch Catholic parish. The contemporary Dutch parish is a mixed type: part mutual benefit, part service. Catholic theology, indeed, provides room for both. This is illustrated by the divergent ways in which it uses the keyword communio. According to Cardinal Walter Kasper, the post-Vatican II Roman Catholic Church values “the community of the faithful” (communio fidelium) as well as “the participation of individuals in the life of the triune God” mediated by the word and the sacraments, especially the Eucharist (communio sanctorum) (van Eijk 2000, 158–175). In the former sense of communio, the community consists of members belonging to the association; the prime beneficiary is the church community. In the latter, community is experienced by persons taking part in a collective ritual that visualizes, enacts, and fosters a common faith. In this case, the Roman Catholic Church may function as an institution providing a service to those who want to live as Christians: the Church has something to offer, like beauty and comfort, salvation and healing. Believers are not required to invest in their church as loyal members; instead, more than anything, they are required to open their hearts and minds to God’s grace and to care for their neighbors and the world at large. The Church, as a service organization, enables believers to do just that. Thus, the beneficiary is the public-in-contact, which enjoys the services that are provided. Each organization type has its structural strengths and weaknesses. To the extent that a parish operates as a mutual benefit association, its members, such as volunteers and regular participants, dominate the organization. The main aim is to serve the interests of the members. Mutual support is encouraged; client behavior is discouraged. The organization’s intention is that those who are interested (the served public) become participating members.

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A typical strength of the parish that positions itself as a faith community is that it provides the parishioners with the experience of being part of a Christian community of committed believers who support each other. Its typical weakness is its closure towards non-believers and the exclusion of apostates. In the Roman Catholic Church, it is held that heretics excommunicate themselves. This conforms to the image of a religious group that seeks to safeguard its identity. Of course, in this case it is an association that is not egalitarian, but under the authority of the clergy. To the extent that a parish operates as a division of a service organization, the public-in-contact, or more specifically, the interests of the served public, dominate the organization. Client behavior is expected. The parish views itself as offering religious services comparable to a mental health institute offering psychological services. As in other so-called ‘people processing organizations’, clients are only part of the organization during the service delivery. A typical weakness is the asymmetrical relationship between church attendants and pastors, since the former depend on the latter and lack the means to exert collective and enduring influence. Nevertheless, care for the faithful is central in a parish that functions as a service organization, unlike in a church that operates as a business concern. The parish that positions itself as a service organization may assure the accessibility of the Christian tradition, even to those who are not willing to become members of a specific society. This can be considered a strength.

Service delivery to all In a context where there is continuing public interest in rituals and spirituality, and a continuing negative attitude towards the institutional Roman Catholic Church, parishes are faced with a challenge. At the turn of the century, the policy of some dioceses has been to promote a ‘service minded’ parish. In 2001, the ministry department of the Archdiocese of Utrecht presented three ‘visionary varieties’ of church that were supposed to compose a missioncentered parish that is fit for the future: the ‘home congregation’ for those with an encompassing commitment, the ‘network of activities’ for those with a selective and temporary commitment, and the ‘Sense shop’. The Sense shop (Zinwinkel) was meant as an open space for all that offers attention, rituals, information, and devotional objects from a Roman Catholic background (DPD Aartsbisdom Utrecht 2001). In the diocese of Breda, a parish profile for religious seekers was designed in the city of Oosterhout. A deacon received the task to lead a new parish as a center of diverse religious and cultural activities, designed to meet the interest of an audience that does not feel itself at home in the Roman Catholic Church, but value reflection on life. The center would not only present the Roman Catholic tradition, but other traditions as well. It would be a place for liturgical experiments, but the Bible would have a central place in all programs (Bremer 2008). Other bishops condemned ‘religious shopping’ and insisted on loyal, enduring commitment to the Church.

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In order to investigate the positioning of Roman Catholic parishes in this respect, I initiated a survey at that time in which parish councils and assemblies from the seven Dutch dioceses were asked about the strategic choices they make in positioning their parishes. The questions were derived from a questionnaire I had developed to provoke discussion about the identity of the parish, while I was working as an advisor for the diocese of Rotterdam (de Groot 2002). The survey was conducted in spring 2003 in cooperation with Kaski/Radboud Universiteit Nijmegen. The questionnaire contained seventy-four statements and was mailed to a representative sample of parishes in all seven Dutch dioceses. In the accompanying letter, we requested that a few members of the parish council or assembly collectively fill in the questionnaire about the positioning of the parish. After receiving one follow-up letter, 103 parishes responded (47.9 percent), which is satisfactory for a postal survey (de Groot, Kregting, and Borgman 2005). The results did not allow us to conclude that parish councils recognized the strategy of the service church versus the strategy of the membership organization. Neither was the distinction confirmed between a focus on those with a high and those with a low religious interest. The patterns in the way the questions were answered cut across those distinctions. An exploratory factor analysis suggested, however, that these parishes do differ with respect to two issues. The first issue is the extent to which a parish is perceived as an accessible community for religious affairs, where one can come and go as one likes, according to one’s personal needs. Any statement that referred to a welcoming attitude was valued in a similar way. We ranked parishes on a scale we called perceived accessibility, varying from ‘applies strongly’ to ‘does not apply (or hardly)’. The five strongest items composing this scale characterized a particular idea of a parish: “Our parish offers something to hold on to, comfort, and a momentary sense of solidarity”; “Our parish wishes to respond to the interest in spirituality”; “We try to support new forms of religious life”; “Our outreach program supports all kinds of people”; and “What we offer connects to the questions ordinary people have about the meaning of their lives, especially when they’re experiencing important life events.” Parish councils differ in their perceptions of the accessibility of their parishes. Does the parish offer spirituality, support, and programs for initiation rites? Does it operate in a style that responds to the interests of the people? Does it meet the needs of all kinds of people, including incidental visitors, who believe there is ‘something beyond’? Three quarters of the parish councils affirmed that their parish is accessible to anyone with religious needs. One quarter did not. The second issue is the extent to which a parish is seen as a community that strongly stresses its distinctive Christian features, a community that expects parishioners to have a real religious interest and to be prepared to participate. Such a parish would express strong ideas about its mission. Commitment to the Christian tradition is central. We ranked parishes on a scale we called Christian profile. This scale contained various explicitly

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Christian religious items we included in the questionnaire, whether the item favored the patient attention for an unspecified religious desire, or rather reflected an active evangelistic attitude. Specific Roman-Catholic items on the sacraments, the clergy, Maria, and the saints were not included in the questionnaire. The wording included references to the Catholic notion of the natural longing for God, the belief that an orientation towards God is already present in human beings. God is present in creation, and so God is more or less hidden in authentic human experiences. The task of the Church then is to cultivate and direct this longing in the right direction, namely, in the direction of a church that continues the life and work of Jesus Christ. Central to its mission, therefore, is the building of a faith community. Items in this scale were: “When you listen well, you’ll find that people have a longing for God”; “Nowadays, more than ever, a deep religious faith is required”; and “Jesus Christ should be central in every parish activity.” Favorite mottos were: “Unless one is born anew, one cannot see the kingdom of God” and “Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.” Parish councils differ in their appreciation of such a Christian identity. Does the parish endorse these references to God, Christ, and the Bible? One-third identified with this Christian profile; two-thirds did not. Following Chapter 2, parishes should combine the best of both worlds. Parishes are challenged, on the one hand, to address the explicit and implicit religious needs of the general public, including secularized Catholics, at the risk of losing their specifically Christian identity. On the other hand, parishes are called on to stress their distinctive features at the risk of losing contact with all those who are baptized in this church and who do not identify completely with the Christian faith and the Roman Catholic Church. The former strategy may end in a church that vanishes, the latter in a church that is only considered relevant by a deviant segment of society. By correlating the two scales, we identified four ways of dealing with this dilemma. In the bottom left of this empirical classification, we find parishes that perceive themselves as accessible, while they do not identify with a Christian profile.

Table 3.1 Correlation between ‘Perceived accessibility’ and ‘Christian profile’, percentages (N = 90) Christian profile:

Perceived accessibility: Low (‘does not/hardly apply’/‘to some extent’) High (applies (strongly)) Total (N)

Total (N)

Low

High

Parochial (23)

Exclusive (2)

25 (23)

Open (47) 70 (63)

Inviting (28) 30 (27)

75 (67) 100 (90)

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I labelled these ‘open parishes’. The bottom right cell consists of parishes combining ‘accessibility’ with ‘Christian profile’, termed ‘inviting parishes’. The upper right cell, consisting of ‘exclusive parishes’ favoring ‘Christian profile’ and rejecting ‘accessibility’, is almost empty. In the upper left, we find parishes that combine a low score on both scales. I termed them ‘parochial parishes’. Starting with the open parish, I interpret the four types as follows, also drawing on my past experience as a consultant in parish development. The open parish is supposed to be accessible and does not have a strong Christian profile. This accounts for almost half of Dutch parishes. This type could fit in well with modern consumerism. Any person looking for rituals, spirituality, or simply a sense of belonging is welcome. The aim of the parish is to tune in with the common vague notion that there is ‘something out there’. Sensitivity to what is offensive in individualized, pluralized, and secularized Dutch society is high. The door is open. All persons are allowed to decide for themselves to what extent they will participate in or identify with the Roman Catholic Church. The open parish gives priority to the accessibility of the parish. Such parishes may attract people with lively celebrations, an active social network, and a keen sense of contemporary religious consciousness. In villages and parts of towns where the Catholic parish is still strongly connected with the local community, this may be a successful way of operating. The strength of such parishes lies in the commitment of the volunteering parishioners. Their main concern is recruiting volunteers from the new generation for new activities. The inviting parish combines high accessibility with a strong Christian profile. More than a quarter of Dutch parishes seek to combine the best of both worlds. Any person, whether highly motivated or not, who is searching for ‘something more’ is welcome, but the parish organization itself is characterized by a clearly identifiable Christian identity. The Catholic notion of a natural longing for God is clearly present. The parish is there to cultivate this longing and shape it into a truly Christian faith. This is, in the end, where it is at. Such a parish does not consider it a problem that people behave as clients; they are invited to become confessing and practicing Christians. The inviting parish aims to remain open without forsaking its identity. It has a strong theological motivation to be accessible. This position is defended by authors who believe there is a future for a church that cares for its spiritual traditions and offers elements of these traditions to the faithful and non-believers, those of other faiths, ex-believers, and believers-to-be (Hellemans, Putman, and Wissink 2003). Theological and management skills are required to put this into practice. If these are present, this strategy may work successfully. A third approach is the combination of a strong Christian profile with low accessibility. This exclusive parish has a discernible identity; it presupposes strong commitment and discourages a ‘shopping’ mentality. This parish is less inclined to respond to a general wish for spirituality and rituals, offering

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a clear Christian message instead. Such a parish is not an institute for the delivery of spiritual services. One is only welcome if one is willing to become a committed Christian. The parish is a pathway to God. However, this approach, very much resembling the tenor of episcopal messages since 2008, was virtually absent in our sample. Only two parishes consistently favored the items of the Christian profile and rejected the items of ‘perceived accessibility.’ Most parishes that perceived themselves as having a strong Christian identity also thought of themselves as welcoming all kinds of seekers and shoppers. The parochial parish combines low accessibility with a weak Christian profile. This accounts for almost a quarter of Dutch parishes. The respondents representing these parishes could neither identify with items praising the accessibility of the parish, nor with items expressing a Christian profile. It is difficult to interpret this category. However, when none of these items referring to the attitude towards the outside world resonates with the self-perception of the parish, the parish may simply be experienced as a Gemeinschaft (community) such as described by Ferdinand Tönnies. A community is simply there (zuhanden) (Bauman 2001, 7–20). As soon as one starts to think about its identity, it stops being a community. Being part of such a community speaks for itself. This parish does not have an identity profile or a mission statement. This parish simply is. These parishes may also have another identity. To be safe, I chose a pleonasm as the defining label, although the connotation of the adjective refers to inward looking. According to the Collins Cobuild English Language Dictionary, “People who are parochial think only about their own local affairs and interests.”1

Conclusion In 2003, the vast majority of Dutch parish councils expressed a supportive attitude towards seekers and incidental visitors. These parishes were willing to respond to the desires of those who do not consider themselves devout Catholics, but nevertheless require spiritual, religious, and ceremonial services from the institution. Their intention is to refrain from putting too many obligations on those who turn to the parish for a particular service, and they perceive themselves accordingly. Thus, this attitude reflects the ideal to be an accessible service delivery organization, which, in fact, departs from a membership organization under the guidance of the clergy. These parishes attune to the common belief that ‘there is something beyond’. The aversion against a fundamentalist profile appears to prevail to the extent that most of these parishes even reject notions such as ‘People long for God’ and ‘Jesus Christ should be central.’ The way these parishes are positioning themselves results in a situation that I would term precarious for two reasons. First, against the general background of an unchurching European population, the model of an open church, without a clear profile, is not very convincing. This model still presupposes the ideal type of the church (Kirche) Max Weber (1984 [1920]) distinguished: it acts as though it controls access

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to the eternal goods of salvation, which are presented to each individual. Normally, one does not join this church voluntarily as one joins a club or society – one is born into it. The non-religiously qualified and the ungodly alike are subjected to its discipline, as opposed to the sect, which is characterized as a community of people qualified by their own, personal, charisma (Weber 1976 [1922], 692–693). Contemporary churches, however, do not have the power to socialize a religious habitus that the state church has. When religious regimes have crumbled away, individual religious affiliation can no longer be an obligation, but only an option. In this situation, churches can – in the Weberian sense – only be sects. The Catholic Church of the first decade of the twenty-first century, however, rather resembles a remnant-church than a sect. It consists of seekers of the elderly, lowereducated generation (de Hart and Dekker 2015). They are the ones who stayed in church, while modernization proceeded outside of it. This is a disadvantageous starting point for an institution that offers services. Secondly, parishes are merging into larger regions due to reducing numbers of priests, resulting in the closing down of churches and declining services. This downsizing operation is accompanied by an enhanced focus on the sacraments, especially the Eucharist (de Groot 2010; Hellemans 2015). Experiments welcoming seekers did not take off (Archdiocese of Utrecht) or were reduced to a special program within a parish and ultimately terminated, as happened in 2016 in the Diocese of Breda. The dominant policy stresses the distinction between members and non-members. The future for a strategy opening up to the world seems bleak, although in local situations this may remain a viable option. Under the present societal and ecclesial conditions, the territorial parish, which once turned successfully into a solid modern organization, appears ill-equipped to flourish under the conditions of liquid modernity. The organization styles and modes of thinking that are inherited from solid modernity now prove to be hindrances to organizational change. An example of this is the assumption that believers should be active participants in the parish to which they belong. This presupposition is reflected in the critical attitude towards the perception of the Church as a service institution for marriages and funerals. Beneath all the ecclesiological arguments for this judgment, there is a modern basic assumption that members should invest in the organization they belong to, preferably at the local level. This modern attitude differs not only from a contemporary approach, but also from an earlier, pre-modern attitude. After all, the parish started its life as a church polity concept signifying the district of a priest, so that it was clear who was responsible for the administration of the sacraments, and who was entitled to receive the corresponding rewards. This very example makes clear that it does not make sense to plead for a return to the tradition conceived as the way it was. Neither, however, does the awareness of the changing of the times lead to the command to go along with the changes. The question for church policy is how to deal with the societal changes, which can be experienced and observed as much as inside

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as outside the walls of the church. This is a question concerning strategy, which requires knowledge of the Church and its context, and an interpretation both of the mission of the Church and of God’s presence, or absence, in the world. A practical-theological approach should integrate an empirical, a hermeneutic, and a strategic perspective (Heitink 1999). It should acknowledge the opportunities and restraints of contemporary culture, understand the theological issues at stake, and suggest directions for adequate actions. The spirit of modern consumerism has evidently entered the perspective of the parish councils, but a policy of transforming parishes into something like network-organizations for Christian spirituality, rituals, and moral support is clearly underdeveloped. It seems the Roman Catholic Church in the Netherlands is stuck somewhere between a policy that continues the strategy of the hierarchical mass organization on an ever shrinking scale and a public that turns its back on a church it doesn’t trust.

Note 1 Collins Cobuild English Language Dictionary (1987), s.v. “Parochial.”

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Peter Jonkers, 192–160. Washington, DC: The Council for Research in Values and Philosophy. Hellemans, Staf, Willem Putman, and Jozef Wissink. 2003. Een kerk met toekomst? De katholieke kerk in Nederland 1960–2020, Utrechtse studies. Zoetermeer: Meinema. Hjelm, Titus. 2015. Is God back? Reconsidering the new visibility of religion. London: Bloomsbury Academic. Jansen, Mechteld, and Hijme Stoffels. 2008. A moving God: Immigrant churches in the Netherlands. Vol. 8, International practical theology. Münster [etc.]: LIT. Kregting, Joris, and José Sanders. 2003. ‘Waar moeten ze het zoeken?’ Vindplaatsen van religie en zingeving bij jongvolwassenen. Nijmegen: Kaski. Langthrop, Gordon W., and Timothy J. Wengert. 2004. Christian assembly: Marks of the church in a pluralistic age. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Massaar-Remmerswaal, Jolanda, and Ton Bernts. 2004. Kerncijfers 2003 uit de Kerkelijke Statistiek van het Rooms-Katholiek Kerkgenootschap in Nederland. Nijmegen: Kaski. Meijers, A.P.H. 1998. De parochie van de toekomst. Leuven: Peeters. Prins, Maerten. 2006. The fragmentization of youth. PhD, Nijmegen: Radboud University. van Tienen, Marike, Peer Scheepers, Jan Reitsma, and Hans Schilderman. 2011. “The Role of Religiosity for Formal and Informal Volunteering in the Netherlands.” VOLUNTAS: International Journal of Voluntary and Nonprofit organizations no. 22 (3):365–389. doi: 10.1007/s11266-010-9160-6. Schmeets, Hans, and Ronald van der Bie. 2009. Religie aan het begin van de 21ste eeuw. Den Haag: Centraal Bureau voor de Statistiek. Sengers, Erik. 2004. “‘Although We Are Catholics, We Are Dutch’: The Transition of the Dutch Catholics from Sect to Church as an Explanation for Its Growth and Decline.” Journal for Scientific Study of Religion no. 43 (1):129–139. te Grotenhuis, Manfred, and Peer Scheepers. 2001. “Churches in Dutch: Causes of Religious Disaffiliation in the Netherland.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion no. 40 (4):591–606. van de Donk, Wim B.H.J., A.Petra Jonkers, Gerrit J. Kronjee, and RobJ.J.M. Plum. 2006. Geloven in het publieke domein: Verkenningen van een dubbele transformatie, Verkenningen. Den Haag/Amsterdam: WRR/Amsterdam University Press. van Eijk, Ton. 2000. Teken van aanwezigheid: een katholieke ecclesiologie in oecumenisch perspectief. Zoetermeer: Meinema. Vatican II. 1964. Lumen Gentium: Dogmatic constitution on the Church [cited 8 May 2017]. Available from www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/ documents/vat-ii_const_19641121_lumen-gentium_en.html. Vellenga, Sipco. 2016. “Ritual Slaughter and Religious Freedom in a Secular Context: A Critical Discourse Analysis of a Fierce Debate in the Dutch Lower House.” Journal of Religion in Europe no. 8 (2):210–234. Voas, David, and Alasdair Crockett. 2005. “Religion in Britain: Neither Believing Nor Belonging.” Sociology no. 39 (1):11–28. Weber, Max. 1976 [1922]. Wirtschaft und Gesellschaft. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr [Paul Siebeck]. ———. 1984 [1920]. “Die protestantischen Sekten und der Geist des Kapitalismus.” In Die protestantische Ethik. Eine Aufsatzsammlung, edited by Johannes Winckelmann, 279–317. Gütersloh: Gütersloher Verlagshaus Mohn.

4

Movements and events Ambivalence towards liquid modernity

The perceived distance between the institutional Roman Catholic Church and contemporary Dutch Catholics does not imply that this church successfully excluded liquid modernity from its quarters. Like in other established churches, the mechanisms of the market, the imperative of choosing, and the search for experience are present within the borders of the Roman Catholic Church itself, as becomes apparent in World Youth Day and in the so-called New Movements. These features may strike an observer as somewhat Evangelical. This observer has a point.

The fluidity of Evangelicalism If there is a model of liquid modern Christianity, it has been coined by the Evangelical movement. Despite the resistance against modern science and modern theology, against an ethics based on individual autonomy, and against a culture marked by hedonism, this movement itself bears the characteristics of the surrounding culture it criticizes. One such characteristic is the flexibility of the movement’s organization. This becomes clear in a phenomenon called ‘youth churches’. Evangelicalstyle youth churches constitute a striking example of religious community in so-called contemporary Christian culture (Roeland 2009). At the start of the second millennium, several groups of young Protestants organized trendy religious meetings in several parts of Western Europe. Here, the language of pop concerts and dance events, including light shows, video, masters of ceremony, and DJs or live bands, was combined with explicit references to the experience of Christian faith. In the Netherlands, a vast website facilitated youngsters to start their own ‘youth church’. Instructions could be downloaded from the site, and were to be combined with personal creativity and the use of existing networks. Despite the name, however, the intention was not to form a separate church, but to present an alternative to existing church services, which were considered boring. Such initiatives are usually short-lived. A decade after the promising start, most youth churches have stopped. The website is no longer accessible. Other formats, such as Hillsong (Klaver 2015), have taken over and often the reluctance to perform

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as congregations is gone. Evangelical, non-denominational, mega churches integrate event-like church services in their programs. The principal characteristics of religion in liquid modernity can be identified in the Evangelical movement. The social formation of Evangelicalism is one of these. Both Evangelical organizations operating next to or within existing churches and freshly planted churches consist of committed communities of believers by choice. These communities are connected in networks, rather than embedded in one hierarchical mass organization. Participants in various small groups, which may or may not belong to a larger organization, meet in larger events. These events are organized by a company, a foundation, or a co-operation between Evangelical organizations. The more theological implications of liquid modernity are also clearly present. An orthodox position in matters of faith is combined with a crucial role for personal experience. Beliefs are supposed to refer to personal faith. Exactly because the experiential dimension may thus dominate the ideological dimension, critics question the Evangelical orthodoxy: how orthodox is it to express that you have Jesus in your heart? This rather reflects a neoGnostic claim about the godly spark within, rather than an orthodox Christian expression of belief in a transcendent triune God (Bloom 1992). Is it not true that Evangelical-style Christianity just wraps up a traditional Christian message in a modern outfit by profiting from the opportunities modern media are providing? Evangelical-style Christianity has an elective affinity with liquid modernity: it shares its focus on experience, on networks, and on choice. Some options are rejected, however, while others are praised: ‘Choose life!’ ‘What would Jesus do?’

World Youth Day: the Catholic Church goes Evangelical Since the late twentieth century, some branches of Catholicism have followed Evangelical-style Protestantism or, to put it more accurately, they have partly embraced liquid modernity in much the same manner as Evangelicalism has. In these branches, often export products of Catholic countries, one can perceive the same blend of traditional faith with contemporary Christian music, the use of modern media, the focus on personal experience, the public witnessing of faith, and similar marketing techniques. Yet, their veneration for Our Lady – who also represents the Church in person – the adoration of the Holy Sacrament, and the ample attribution of charisma to members of the clergy distinguishes them from Protestant Evangelicals. These distinctive marks show that adherence to the Roman Catholic Church, which is – besides all other sociological and theological realities – also an organization, is an integral part of Catholic faith. Twentieth-century so-called New Catholic Movements not only try to influence mainstream Catholicism organized in the Church, they celebrate the Church. Therefore, contemporary experience-based Catholicism differs from Evangelicalism. It shares style but, organized in voluntary networks

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and connected by means of modern modes of communication, is not entirely opposed to solid modernity. A clear illustration of the ambivalent attitude of Roman Catholicism towards liquid modernity is constituted by World Youth Day. World Youth Day is one of the mega-events that Pope John Paul II initiated in his endeavor to launch a new evangelism versus a culture that is in deterioration (Norman and Johnson 2011). Since 1986, every two or three years a few hundred thousand (Cologne) or even millions (Manila) of people have accepted the invitation to participate in a large-scale religious event in a city within the Roman Catholic sphere of influence. The programme is intended for youngsters and young adults in particular (16–35 years old), but all ages are welcome and indeed present. In Church-friendly imagery, World Youth Day is portrayed as a celebration of faith and a testimony of hope both to the world and to the more pessimistic divisions of the Church itself: a multitude of youngsters meet in peace and profess their faith. In a more debunking style, the same happening is pictured as an excuse for youngsters from a Catholic background to go abroad, party, and make international friends, all subsidized by the Church. Both representations are caricatures, which, as caricatures do, exaggerate real characteristics. The concept of an event provides a portrait that transcends their one-sidedness. The word ‘event’, used as a technical term, designates a particular public gathering that bears resemblances, both with collective rituals (such as a commemoration), and with spectacles (such as the Olympic Games). With events, the distinction between participants and spectators tends to become blurred. Usually, there is a crowd involved, which is why events often take place in the open air. Events are considered as phenomena that are typical for experienceoriented society (Schulze 1992). In their report on World Youth Day in Cologne (2005), Christian Sharnberg and Hans-Georg Ziebertz (Forschungskonsortium WJT 2007) sum up six criteria for an event. I take these as elements of a sensitizing concept that enables us to distinguish at least one side of what is happening at World Youth Day. 1

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An event creates a definition of reality that is shared by its participants. The slogan of World Youth Day in Rio de Janeiro clearly claimed to establish a specific perception of social reality in this city during the event (July 23–28, 2013): “Will you be P.O.P.E. (Part Of the Pilgrimage Experience)?” (Walsh 2013). An event offers a post-traditional type of community. Participants commit themselves for a short time to a scene with a certain life style: “Experienced, passionate, faithful,” as a promo advertised (Walsh 2013). An event is accompanied by signs and symbols expressing a sense of belonging: the WYD logo, the WYD cross, the WYD icon, in addition to the regular artefacts from Catholic material culture.

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Parish and beyond The participants of an event embody the event for the outside world: knowing that the world is watching is important for the participation itself and contrasts with more private forms of pilgrimage. The unique character of an event contributes to the participants’ experience of being unique. World Youth Day takes place infrequently enough to be special, and differs sufficiently from both other events and regular religious gatherings to evoke the idea that they are unique. Since the meeting has a special quality, the participants must be special. Whereas participants are motivated by the desire to experience something, organizers have their own goals, for example, to sell or to convince. The official perspective of the Church and the perspectives of the participants only partly overlap.

Looking at these Roman Catholic mass gatherings through the lens of an event, a cluster of related details are brought into focus. World Youth Day belong to the family of events, such as music festivals or the celebration of the World Cup. Yet, the public aspect is peculiar. Participation is carefully prepared in parishes and youth clubs. Visitors are not just participating temporarily in a singular event, but they are also members of the multinational Roman Catholic Church, attending its biannual youth conference. The Church, however, pays a price for molding this as an event: the experience of the event is more appreciated than orthodoxy, the event is regarded as more important than the Church, and the Church gets involved in a setting it mistrusts. Events generate their own dynamic, as research among Dutch participants of World Youth Day in Cologne and the national Youth Day in the Netherlands shows. Being there with kindred spirits and experiencing something special is important (Kregting 2005; Kregting and Harperink 2005). In this context, representatives of the official Church tend to operate as stars in a media event. A sociological interpretation of World Youth Day in Sydney (2008), partly drawing on the work of Andrew Singleton, Ruth Webber, and Michael Mason, concludes that this is an orchestrated ‘pilgrimage event’. There are similarities with traditional pilgrimage: people travel large distances to gather for catechesis, Eucharist, and penance or reconciliation. Yet, a geographical center is lacking and salvific motives were absent, that is, until the introduction of receiving indulgences in the Jubilee Year 2000. (This refers to the ‘remission of the temporal punishment’, a theological concept that had become obsolete since Vatican II, but was revived by John Paul II.) Instead of a stable pilgrimage site, there is a moving person, the Pope. Defining World Youth Day as an opportunity to meet him also resonates with contemporary celebrity cult. Instead of a tradition of going to a certain historic place, there is the branding of a tourist trip to a large city. The event has a mixed status: it is a travelling youth festival, blended with liturgical celebrations, elements of a rite of passage (youngsters going abroad and being assimilated into the religious community), celebrity cult

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and tourist event. It seems like the Church has found a way to answer a certain sense of spiritual dissatisfaction in late modern society “as though the Church understands the processes by which the shift from communal understandings of the self towards individual understandings occurs” (Norman and Johnson 2011). Interviews and a survey among German participants in Cologne indicate that World Youth Day produces the experience of being part of a worldwide Christian community, an experience that stands in contrast with the everyday experience of being an exception within a secular world. Besides providing the opportunity to have religious experiences with peers, this international youth meeting has effects in life after World Youth Day. Klaartje Tas, a Master Student at Tilburg School of Theology, carried out fieldwork, interviews, and a survey among Dutch and Flemish participants under the direction of Bert Roebben (Tas and Roebben 2005). Her findings and a larger survey among Dutch participants in Cologne confirm that youngsters make friends and keep in contact with people they have met, often using e-mail and social media (Kregting and Harperink 2005). German participants at the WYD in Toronto (2002) indicated that not only did they feel motivated to cooperate with the WYD in Cologne, but they also felt encouraged to testify their faith. Detailed analysis of data gathered among English-speaking attenders to the WYD in Sydney also finds these positive effects on religious life after the event, especially when attenders already had a high level of religious practice before the WYD and when they had indeed experienced community solidarity and expressed they had religious experiences (Singleton 2011). To a certain extent, the event may be characterized as a post-traditional type of community: a short-term meeting of strangers among whom one may have the experience to ‘be oneself’, but there are effects on the long term as well. In Bauman’s terms, in some respects, World Youth Day constitutes a ‘cloakroom community’: one puts on the WYD T-shirt, a multicolored bracelet, and the official pilgrim backpack or beach bag and joins the crowd. Yet, this is only half the story. In Rio de Janeiro (2013), the T-shirts could be customized with the name of the owner’s parish, the bracelets testified ‘I’m a believer’, and the beach bag showed the text ‘I want to be holier’. There happened to be an intended link with local communities (parishes) and the imagined global religious community (the Church). The event presupposes and affects a more sustainable community. Between the two types of community, a tension is present, which can be understood as the tension between the organizing Roman Catholic Church and the fluidity of the event. The convictions of the Dutch participants only partly correspond with the intentions of the organizers (Kregting 2005). Youngsters rightly perceive that the Church wishes to express the importance of community and of Jesus, and they largely agree with this. They do not, however, perceive ‘loyalty to the Church’ as an important motive for organizing the WYD and they agree less with this objective.

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Figure 4.1 Pope Benedict XVI waves as he arrives at the Marienfeld, a former openpit coal mine, in Kerpen, near Cologne, 20 August 2005 Photograph: Pier Paolo CITO/AFP/Getty Images

This tension between prescribed order and actual practice became particularly apparent in the concluding celebration of the Eucharist in Cologne. Although in Roman Catholic teaching the Eucharist is considered the “fount and apex of the whole Christian life” (Vatican II 1964), participants were apparently more impressed by the preceding vigil. Probably because of this vigil, the visible participation of the wearied youngsters in the Eucharistic celebration was rather limited. Only a few of them sang and prayed along with the celebrants on the podium, far away from the ‘madding crowd’ (Tas and Roebben 2005). In this setting, Benedict XVI (2005) (formerly Joseph Ratzinger, professor in systematic theology), rendered a well-wrought sermon on the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist. After pointing to the contrast with a world that seems to think it can do without Him, he made two critical remarks on religious youth culture. In the first remark he criticized religious seekers for turning religion into a commodity: And so, together with forgetfulness of God there is a kind of new explosion of religion. I have no wish to discredit all the manifestations of this phenomenon. There may be sincere joy in the discovery. But to tell the truth, religion often becomes almost a consumer product. People choose

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what they like, and some are even able to make a profit from it. But religion sought on a ‘do-it-yourself’ basis cannot ultimately help us. It may be comfortable, but at times of crisis we are left to ourselves. The resemblance between Benedict’s position and Bauman’s disparaging view on cloakroom communities is striking, just as the opposition with Ward’s positive evaluation of the commodification of the gospel is (Bauman 2001; Ward 2005). Both Benedict and Bauman argue for the value of genuine communities against the seduction of consumer culture. Benedict’s second remark expressed his critical appreciation of the emerging movements and communities: The spontaneity of new communities is important, but it is also important to preserve communion with the Pope and with the Bishops. It is they who guarantee that we are not seeking private paths, but instead are living as God’s great family, founded by the Lord through the Twelve Apostles. In light of the close connections between individual bishops – including John Paul II, Benedict’s predecessor as Bishop of Rome – and these New Movements, this is a remarkable plea. My take would be that this is a warning against sectarianism within the Church. It is not the status of the clergy that is at stake, but the attitude towards the diocesan structure of the Church. Being close to individual members of the clergy isn’t enough; the movements should remain embedded within the institution as a whole. At other places, Ratzinger used the same argument in favor of New Movements against ‘congregationalism’ in parishes. Both ways can degenerate into private paths, leading away from the diocesan mainroad. In this sense, Benedict’s plea might be understood as a comment from the perspective of a church that is at home in firm hierarchical mass organizations and distrusts networking that cuts through existing organizational structures, although elsewhere, Ratzinger has praised the ‘spiritual force’ of these movements as an element in the dialectical relation between charisma and institution (Ratzinger 1998; Volf 1998). It is interesting that the leader of the Roman Catholic Church, while performing at the center of a religious youth event, criticizes this very culture of fluidity. Benedict has indeed pointed out, against the official branding strategy of World Youth Day, that the Pope himself is not the star (Norman and Johnson 2011). Solid church and liquid church seem to be entangled in a complex relationship at World Youth Day. The institutional Church and the various New Movements it cooperates with facilitate an event that generates its own dynamics of merchandizing, providing spectacle, and satisfying needs. Youngsters use the event for their own purposes, especially to meet other young people and to experience a feeling of solidarity and spirituality. Being isolated from their daily routine, participants may feel at home with

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strangers. This dynamic of strangeness and familiarity is reinforced by the circumstance that young people from all over the world are together at one place. The interest and approach of the institutional Church at the same time contributed to and tended to conflict with the dynamics of the event. Apparently, the Church seeks to play a role in contemporary youth culture, and succeeds, to different degrees, in doing so, depending on the appreciation of this involvement by the participating audience. Church-based religion seems to be of continuing importance in liquid modernity. World Youth Day represents both late modern event culture and its religious counterpart with its emphasis on hierarchy and life transient, respectively. In one respect, World Youth Day could, in Bauman’s categories, count as an example of fluidity. This event illustrates the dominance of consumerism. Furthermore, this event proclaims that it is a personal choice to give expression to a Catholic identity. Religious experts continue their pastoral power tactics in a new context. Young people are taught how to live as Christians. At the same time, however, this event resonates with Bauman’s account of fundamentalism. Youngsters are taught to submit to the will of God, which is expressed by the clerical hierarchy, because of their individual insufficiency. Thus, this event has consequences for everyday life. Can both these qualifications apply to the same phenomenon? Or should we acknowledge that the discussion on how to deal with flexibility and consumer culture is an internal discussion within the religious sphere as well? Whereas Bauman only leaves room for religion in the form of fundamentalism, as a counterposition to liquid modernity, this example demonstrates how religion can be present right in the middle of liquid modernity.

New Movements: missionary structures for the inner circle Events such as these and the New Movements behind these show a face of the Church that is both orthodox and late modern. This other face of the Church expresses an evangelizing attitude. Campaigning seems to be the goal of the so-called New Movements in the Church. A small (0.2 percent) but significant part of Dutch Catholics (no more than 10,000) is involved in specific communities and organizations (de Groot 2006). These groups are often active in the preparation of and participation in events, such World Youth Day and its national counterpart. Some are linked with one or more religious orders (Youth and Mission, Movement for Mercy). Others (half of them) are the Dutch branches of the so-called New Movements. These include international organizations often recognized by the Pontifical Council for the Laity, such as the Catholic Charismatic Renewal, the Emmanuel Community, Communion and Liberation, and the Work of Mary or, as it is usually called, the Focolare Movement. Focolare can be considered an ecclesiola in ecclesia (Vervest 2005). It has its own religious discourse (‘Jesus in our midst’, ‘Jesus the Forsaken’,

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‘self-emptying love’). Like the Modern Devotion of Thomas à Kempis, the movement distinguishes different degrees of involvement. The focolarini form the core of the movement: men and women living in separate communes or in families. Volunteers commit themselves to the movement with a vow and contribute financially. Externals are those interested in becoming members; they are sympathizers and incidental or regular visitors of meetings where people contemplate the words of founder Chiara Lubich (the monthly Word of Life). Thus, small communities are at the heart of a differentiated network organization. The charter of Focolare contains a quotation from the Gospel of St. John: “That all may be one” (Joh. 17, 21). Letting go of the ego and the devotion to Christ, following the example of Mary, are central in the spirituality of Focolare. Conservative Catholicism goes together with the attention for the personal faith of the individual and abundant use of modern media. This combination corresponds with Evangelical styles of operating. Whereas Evangelicals, however, make a point of expressing their selves and choosing their own style of faith, neo-Catholics combine personal faith with loyalty to the doctrine of the Church in the context of networks of the like-minded. When submission to God is preached in a demanding and authoritative group, group culture may become extremely coercive. Neo-Catholics, therefore, comply with the image of submitting oneself to a religious frame that provides security in times of uncertainty. The worldview prevailing in Focolare contains an analysis and a critique of late modern society. In the distanced participation in wider society, supported by the plausibility structure that is provided by its global network, movements such as these are as liquid modern as they are Christian. The submission to what is considered the will of God, which is taught by the Church, may be considered as an answer to the pressures of late modernity (de Groot 2009). Gilles Kepel, therefore, calls religious movements like these “true children of our time,” unwanted as they may be (Kepel 1994; Bauman 1997). An analysis of the significance and impact of these movements shows the following pattern. Numerous small groups (sometimes also called Small Christian Communities – a much broader term) are active within the Roman Catholic Church. Often these mutual support groups belong to an international organization that is part of a broader movement, for example, the charismatic movement. The New Movements are characterized by an attitude of evangelism and a reticulate organization (Gerlach and Hine 1968). Networking takes place predominantly among Catholics. And, although this does not result in an influx of new Catholics, this effect may be considered as quite an accomplishment already, considering the failing socialization of Catholic youth in general. One may expect affinity with these organizations among large proportions of the new generation of priests and seminarians. The formation of groups focusing on personal piety may be understood as a phenomenon of liquid modernity, since the propagation of submission

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may be interpreted as a reaction to a culture that celebrates experience. The strong international orientation and the use of modern media suggest that these organizations are, in certain aspects, at home in contemporary culture. Although these organizations have limited followings, they will probably transform the appearance of the Roman Catholic Church to a great extent. The service the Church delivers will undergo the influence of the movements’ spirituality, diverse as this may be. In this way, a minority will change the general image of the Church. The Church will become less popular Catholic, and more Catholic with a distinct profile. It remains to be seen whether this transformation will be appealing or appalling to those addressing the Church as a service delivery organization. The institutional Church facilitates and supports these movements, and appreciates their inspiration which it sometimes seeks to moderate. At the same time, the institutional Church is strongly influenced by their spirituality. From a campaigning perspective, these movements – or rather, these evangelistic networks of mutual support groups – are appreciated for carrying a missionary zeal. In this campaigning, however, a negative image of the world may prevail, in contrast with the Catholic belief in the presence of God outside the movement and outside the Church. Delivering services to those outside the original scope of the movements might lead to a more nuanced view on the spiritual status of modern people, Catholic or not, who hold the Church at a distance, or who are held at a distance.

Conclusion Whereas parishes show limited capacity in engaging with the context of liquid modernity, other branches of the Roman Catholic Church seem to accept this context as a given. In religious happenings such as Youth Days on a global, regional, and national scale, consumer culture is not radically rejected but used to advertise Catholic faith. The Pope, bishops, and other clergy are mobilized to represent a global network of connected faith communities. Christian identity is presented as a result of an individual choice that should be expressed to the outside world. All characteristics that were distinguished in Chapter 1 (Table 1.1) are present. In the New Movements, the Church also interacts intensely with the surrounding culture. On one hand, they mirror the focus on personal choice, the dynamics of international youth culture with its use of (social) media, and a reflective attitude towards one’s identity. On the other, they react on this culture defensively, in line with the Evangelical intent that can also be observed in World Youth Day: submission instead of choice, loyalty to the institutional Church instead of free participation in networks, and ‘forgetting the self’ instead of the reflexive project of the self. The ties of these events and movements with the institutional church remain abundant. Participants are recruited from parishes and tend to be active here, too. Clearly, the Church also facilitates networks by offering

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church buildings, infrastructures, recognition, and contacts. It moderates the spirituality of movements through participating clergy and episcopal supervision. It connects movements, communities, and parishes by organizing (inter)national meetings and promoting contacts between parishes and movements, sometimes to the extent that a particular community dominates the profile of a parish church. For example, the Emmanuel Community leads the Church of the Nativity of the Holy Mary in Nijmegen (Maria Geboortekerk 2017). In the end, the attitude towards consumerism, networking, and a reflexive identity is ambivalent. Both through the institutional channels mentioned above and through the fluid ways of communication and meetings, the Church succeeds in gaining, or keeping, control over the faithful, since the Church actively shapes experiences and envisages existential choices. By stressing the importance of submission, ultimately, to God, the perceived one-sidedness of a self-oriented spirituality is corrected. Both in content and form, the Roman-Catholic Church not only accepts the contemporary world, but also reacts to it.

References Bauman, Zygmunt. 1997. Postmodernity and its discontents. Cambridge: Polity Press. ———. 2013 [2001]. Community: Seeking safety in an insecure world. Cambridge: Polity Press. Benedict XVI. 2005. Homilily [Given at Cologne, August 21, 2005] [cited 8 May 2017]. Available from www.vatican.va/holy_father/benedict_xvi/homilies/2005/ documents/hf_ben-xvi_hom_20050821_20th-world-youth-day_en.html. Bloom, Harold. 1992. The American religion: The emergence of the post-Christian nation. New York: Simon & Schuster. de Groot, Kees. 2006. “Orthodoxie en beleving. Bewegingen in de Rooms-Katholieke Kerk in Nederland.” Religie & Samenleving no. 1 (3):151–173. ———. 2009. “Christelijke jongeren: ongewenste kinderen van de laatmoderniteit.” Theologisch Debat no. 6 (2):6–17. Forschungskonsortium WJT. 2007. Megaparty Glaubensfest. Weltjugendtag: Erlebnis – Medien – Organisation, Erlebniswelten. Wiesbaden: VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften. Gerlach, Luther P., and Virginia H. Hine. 1968. “Five Factors Crucial to the Growth and Spread of a Modern Religious Movement.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion no. 7:23–40. Kepel, Gilles. 1994. The Revenge of God. The resurgence of Islam, Christianity, and Judaism in the modern World. University Park, PA: Penn State University Press. Klaver, Miranda. 2015. “Media Technology Creating ‘Sermonic Events’.: The Hillsong Megachurch Network.” CrossCurrents no. 65 (4):422–433. Kregting, Joris. 2005. Achtergrond en motieven WJD-gangers 2005. Nijmegen: Kaski. Kregting, Joris, and Sander Harperink. 2005. Doorwerking WJD en bezoek Katholieke Jongeren Dag. Nijmegen: Kaski.

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Maria Geboortekerk. 2017. Maria Geboortekerk te Nijmegen. Onderdeel van de parochie Heilige Stefanus [cited 13 April 2017]. Available from http:// mariageboorte.nl/. Norman, Alex, and Mark Johnson. 2011. “World Youth Day: The Creation of a Modern Pilgrimage Event for Evangelical Intent.” Journal of Contemporary Religion no. 26 (3):371–385. doi: 10.1080/13537903.2011.616034. Ratzinger, Joseph. 1998. The theological locus of ecclesial movements. Proceedings of the World Congress of the Ecclesial Movements Rome, 27–29 May 1998. Crossroads Inititiative. Available from www.crossroadsinitiative.com/media/articles/ theological-locus-of-ecclesial-movements-joseph-cardinal-ratzinger/. Roeland, Johan Hendrikus. 2009. Selfation: Dutch evangelical youth between subjectivization and subjection. Amsterdam: Pallas Publications/Amsterdam University Press. Schulze, Gerhard. 1992. Die Erlebnisgesellschaft. Kultursoziologie der Gegenwart. Frankfurt/New York: Campus. Singleton, Andrew. 2011. “The Impact of World Youth Day on Religious Practice.” Journal of Beliefs & Values no. 32 (1):57–68. doi: 10.1080/13617672.2011.549310. Tas, Klaartje, and Bert Roebben. 2005. Archive: Geloven in Wereldjongerendagen. Tilburg: Theologische Faculteit Tilburg. Vatican II. 1964. Lumen Gentium: Dogmatic constitution on the Church [cited 8 May 2017]. Available from www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ii_vatican_council/ documents/vat-ii_const_19641121_lumen-gentium_en.html. Vervest, Corrie. 2005. Bewegingen in de Kerk – Kerk in beweging? Een onderzoek naar de activiteiten van de Focolarebeweging in het bisdom ‘s Hertogenbosch en de bijdrage daarvan aan het kerkelijk leven in het bisdom. Tilburg: Theologische Faculteit Tilburg. Volf, Miroslav. 1998. After our likeness: The church as the image of the trinity, Sacra doctrina. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans. Walsh, Brendan. 2013. Epic video: Official WYD Rio 2013. [cited 27 February 2014]. Available from www.worldyouthday.com. Ward, Pete. 2005. Selling worship. Carlisle: Paternoster.

Part 3

Losing control Ecclesial initiatives within the secular sphere

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God in the living Celebrating Mass through the television screen

The world of liquid modernity provides various opportunities to Christian churches to expand their influence. In several instances, however, their efforts resulted in the fading of boundaries between churches and the world. Both the widening of the scope of ecclesial activities and the loss of ecclesial control might be interpreted as stages in a process of liquidation: in the end, other parties are taking over parts of a religious tradition. The following three chapters give an account of such processes in the media, on the market for spirituality, in institutions for care, in the army, and in prison. All are examples of more or less successful ecclesial initiatives in the context of liquid modernity that resulted in a loss of control. The responses by ecclesial authorities oscillated between strategies to consolidate what belongs to the Roman Catholic Church and strategies that promote liquidation. The first case study concerns what is considered a core business of the Roman Catholic Church: the Eucharist. Typical for the variety under scrutiny here is that it is broadcast on television. What is the strategy behind this? How did these programs evolve within a media context and how are they received by viewers? How did ecclesial agents respond? Broadcasting religious services may be the start of a liquid church. Has this attempt been successful in this respect? Broadcasts of church services form a remarkable category amongst the programs shown on television. Watching a church service on TV is not automatically included in what we perceive as watching television, but is rather a separate activity that seems to have more in common with attending a church service in person than with watching television in general. This chapter will focus on those who watch the celebration of Mass provided on Dutch television by the Roman Catholic Church and the way in which they experience and evaluate this. The viewers, spread across the whole of the Netherlands, in whose living rooms these celebrations appear, are therefore the main subjects. Special attention is paid to the question as to whether watching the celebration of Mass on television is experienced in the same way as actually attending Mass. Do they make a point of watching? Is it significant for their faith? Is there a kind of congregation of television viewers, an ‘electronic parish’? Moreover, does this replace the physical parish?

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Liturgy, television, and being church The medium of television is looked upon with some suspicion in both Protestant and intellectual circles. Orthodox Pietists regard the TV set as the ‘devil’s box’, which proponents of high culture agree with to some extent, taking into consideration the purportedly enticing and unedifying character of many television programs. This is contradictory to the enthusiasm with which Pope Pius XII, who had a considerably optimistic view on the way in which the Church could make use of this new medium (Schurr 1957, 260–269; Lorey 1970, 10), greeted television. In his speeches and later, more moderated, in the encyclical letter Miranda Prorsus (1957), he commended the advantages of film, radio, and television: Very often We Ourselves have made use of the modern remarkable inventions by which We can unite the worldwide flock with its Supreme Pastor so that Our voice, passing in sure and safe flight over the expanse of sea and land and even over the troubled emotions of souls, may reach men’s minds with a healing influence, in accordance with the demands of the task of the supreme apostolate, confided to Us and today extended almost without limit. Television is, insofar as we can judge by the latter, at the very least, a gift from heaven. However, there was also reason for concern. The German theologian Karl Rahner (1959, 187–200) was strongly against producing a celebration of Mass via the television, in particular to outsiders, who would consider it a most bizarre performance. It would be impossible for television cameras to convey the mystery of faith. Soon, this idea was opposed based on a broader view on the possibilities of cameras, directing, and editing (Dronkers 1961). The pastoral instruction about modern means of communication, Communio et Progressio (1971), continues both lines of thought. Television provides the opportunity to reach numerous people at the same time with the same message, although traditional ecclesiastical attention for preaching and personal contact is preferable. In the encyclical letter Redemptoris Missio (1990), Pope John Paul II also praised the media, in particular as the contemporary market place or, referring to the actions of the apostle Paul in Athens, as Areopagus, in which the Church can proclaim its Gospel. Television is considered as being a wonderful medium that can be put to use for the benefit of evangelization in particular. Yet, according to ecclesial instructions, such as from the Internationale Arbeitsgemeinschaft der Liturgischen Kommissionen im Deutschen Sprachgebiet (2002, 15–16), a technically mediated celebration of the Mass can never replace physical participation. Participation in the Eucharist via the television is only valid when one is unable to attend an actual celebration due to circumstances beyond one’s control. The ecclesial ambivalence is paralleled in scholarly literature. Mediating religion is an important theme in the discussion of religious services

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on television (Martín Barbero 1993; Mitchell and Marriage 2003). This approach emphasizes the communication process rather than the content. Different media and audiences reshape identity, traditions, and means of expression. What happens with religious communication when modern media are used? Televangelists such as Pat Robertson, Oral Roberts, and Robert Schuller have embraced the television with even more enthusiasm than Pius XII. Critical analysis of their programmes has pointed out that their use of the medium tends to manipulation, since, contrary to face-toface communication, they control both the medium and the message (Tomaselli and Shepperson 1997). In the case of televangelism, the discussion focuses on the dominance of the dynamics of television over Christian liturgy. As to broadcasting practices of conventional religion, some critics state the opposite: the possibilities of the media are not taken seriously (Böhm 2005). They suggest that it is an insult to the medium not to make more use of the opportunities offered than merely registering church services. A parable, for example, the one about the good Samaritan, should not be told by a ‘talking head’ but filmed as exciting television and at the same time affective liturgy. Instead of showing liturgy that is experienced elsewhere, ‘tele-visual’ liturgy should be produced (Hahn 1982, 83–87; Koole 1986). Others admit that it is possible for celebrations on the radio and television to be real, ‘authentic’ celebrations and that this is often the case: the listener or viewer is able to take part in the celebration of the Eucharist through the screen and the loudspeaker in thought, even though he or she is not physically present. They urge, however, that the liturgy, not the medium, receives most of the attention. Aiming at effect is altogether wrong. Liturgy on the radio and television should, when mediated, remain itself especially (Gilles 2000; Böhm 2005; Speelman 2001, 2004). In this way, next to mediating, a second theme evolves. The question arises: what are the implications of broadcasting for the original service? At the very least, there will be cameras in the church. When the focus is on the medium, the original service will change even more, and it is also possible to produce a special church service entirely for the purpose of broadcasting. Theatrical elements may enter the ceremony or, on the other hand, the pastor may directly perform for the television audience, without the presence of physical attendants. The Dutch case has made an interesting development in this respect. The celebrations broadcast by the Roman Catholic Church in the Netherlands were originally (1974) recorded in a particular parish, soon with the purpose of creating an electronic parish, called Media Ministry (Mediapastoraat), since 2000. Because of this, the pastors could be reached by phone, letters, and e-mail. Radio programmes, a website, DVDs, books, and workshops were also part of the services offered. Later, the chapel of a former monastery (Cenakel) was utilized for the services: a sort of television studio with a special atmosphere. Here, in the visible presence of a small congregation, the liturgy was celebrated in such a way that it could be optimally presented in the living rooms of those who were watching.

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Thus, the ‘fairly unique’ setting of a ‘television parish’ was created, different from the usual broadcasts of regular church services in local parishes (Speelman 2004, 21). At the time of this research project, the broadcasts of these special ‘television style’ church services alternated broadcasts from local parishes in Flanders (Dutch speaking Belgium). Theological researcher Willem Marie Speelman, however, advised removing the generation and maintenance of a television parish or media congregation from the list of objectives. The encounter with the Divine is most important, the communio in which each person is invited to take part. In terms of space, therefore, the physical space of the original service should prevail. The advice to give up ambitions of creating and maintaining a virtual community was not taken over by the Media Ministry. The reception of the services, however, is beyond the control of those responsible for the broadcasting (Hoover 1988; Clark 2007). A third theme might be discerned: the audience context. Viewers, in general, are active agents and integrate broadcastings in their own lives (Quandt and von Pape 2010). Watching television in itself might have ritual and existential qualities (Hahn 1988; Koole 1993, 44–49; Post 2002; Thomas 1998). For example, when people collectively isolate themselves from their everyday activities in order to watch the opening ceremony of the Olympic Games, one can, to use the words of the anthropologist Victor Turner (1982, 20–60), speak of a ‘liminal’ ritual in which people pass a boundary and are united in a new, temporary unity: a communitas. On the other hand, the TV ritual can be a part of leisure activities, have a less collective character, and be more dependent on individual choice. Koole (1993, 45) mentions the shows of television evangelists as an example of this ‘liminoid’ genre. Bobby Alexander (1997) paid attention to ritual participation among viewers of televangelism. Little research, however, has been done on the ritual practices of viewers of conventional broadcastings. Such an approach would focus on the local spaces were the broadcastings are viewed. Thus, broadcasting the Eucharist on TV involves three types of space: firstly, the physical space of the original church service; secondly, the virtual space of the filmed and edited church service; and thirdly, the local spaces in which the broadcasting is domesticated. The first and the second are under the control of the Bishop (in the Netherlands, the one in whose diocese the service is recorded). The third is beyond the control of official religion. This study on the reception of the broadcastings follows an earlier study by Martin Gertler (1999). Research on letters from the viewers of German Eucharist celebrations broadcast by the German station ZDF points out that participation in these celebrations via the television results in the experience of being church, most obviously linked with the frequency with which the celebrations were watched. The more often they watched, the stronger this experience could be deduced from the viewers’ letters received. This approach links up with our interest in forms of being church in late modernity other than weekly gatherings in a sacred building. The regular

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form of being church is identified by the British theologian Pete Ward (2002) as one that has evolved from modern times: the local, defined congregation that is organized in the way of a club and that gathers on a Sunday morning to do the same things together according to fixed, uniform patterns. In addition to this ‘solid church’, he observed fluid forms of being church, such as in prayer groups or music festivals. Being church via the television, celebrating at a distance: is that possible as well? On the one hand, this particular category of programmes has an old-fashioned image (Bieger 2003); on the other hand, celebrations on the radio, television, and internet could represent a late modern phenomenon: the fluid, virtual congregation in which communio is established. What happens when the Church enters the domain of mass media? Does the broadcasting support the solid modern system of local parishes since it provides an alternative for those who cannot attend, or do celebrations on television replace church attendance in the local parishes?

Researching Dutch religious television According to Peter Horsfield (1984), the content of religious television is influenced by the national broadcasting system. The Netherlands neither has a public system that is controlled by the state, such as the British Broadcasting Corporation, nor a commercial system such as in the United States (Bardoel 2003; Bardoel and d’Haenens 2004). The Dutch plural system was erected under the coordination of the state, favoring broadcasting organizations based on a particular worldview: socialist, Protestant, and Catholic. These associations were supposed to represent specific communities and individual members, that is: subscribers to the particular radio and TV guide they were allowed to publish. The first, originally commercial, initiative in national broadcasting was reshaped into a specific ‘religiously neutral’ association. Originally, programmes were meant to serve the specific communities who were imagined as the supporters of the broadcasting organizations. In practice, however, viewers tend to watch programs regardless of the sender and therefore all programs have to be accessible, or even attractive, to outsiders as well. Service to members has to be combined with serving the general public. At the end of the 1980s, commercial broadcasting organizations could not be banned any longer, resulting in a dual system of public and commercial television. This system gives two impulses to the content of religious television. Commercial networks broadcast services with theatrical elements such as the Hour of Power, recorded in the hyper-modern Crystal Cathedral (Garden Grove CA) in order to attract an audience for accompanying commercials. Public networks tend to tailor religious television to the expectations and conventions of one segment of the religiously plural public. For a long time, specific religious television had its own position within this system that was already organized along confessional lines. Next to the large broadcasting associations with individual members and a small

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national public broadcasting organization, several tiny organizations were active, until 2016. Particular religious, humanistic, and secularist organizations had been given a special right to broadcast specific programs on public radio and television. In January 2006, at the time we started our research in Media Ministry, conservative liberal politicians contested this right (NRC 2006). The Catholic broadcastings were under attack from another side as well. The episcopate of the Roman Catholic Church exercises this special right, using the facilities of the Catholic Broadcasting Organization (KRO), one of the regular players in the Dutch public media. When this study started, a strict policy towards the liturgical practices of the latter was emerging. In the past years, Media Ministry had played an active, though prudent role in liturgical renewal, seeking to uncover the spiritual dimensions of liturgy, rather than following standard procedures. At the turn of the millennium, the Roman Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments (2004) and the Dutch episcopate formulated a strict policy in celebrating the Eucharist. This resulted in the reversal of a number of innovations and in the exclusion of the female pastoral worker from the liturgy, which caused some controversy among the viewers. Viewing figures (January-June 2006) show that Eucharist celebrations broadcast from the Cenakel (Sunday 10.00–10.50 hours) attract 95,000 viewers on average. In the Netherlands, with its 16.3 million inhabitants in 2006, this is an extremely low figure for a television show. Compared to physical Mass attendance, however, this figure implies that during one weekend 29 percent of all Mass attendance is virtual (or 23 percent when other services are included) (Massaar-Remmerswaal and Bernts 2007). Regular panel research reveals age, sex, rating, viewing behavior, denomination, and church attendance of the audience. I was invited to join a research team in order to gather more detailed data (Blommestijn et al. 2006). We sent a questionnaire to five categories of people: 1) those who were subscribed to the special Sunday missals that are provided as a service to the viewers at home; 2) those who once requested the text of a sermon; 3) those who had made a prayer request or responded to a celebration; 4) viewers who were invited during the broadcast itself; and 5) the questionnaire was sent to 100 addresses of people who had at any time approached the service line of the Catholic Broadcasting Organization with a question concerning faith. Those who had never made any form of contact could not be reached. Compared with the data of the Audience Survey (Stichting Kijk Onderzoek 2006), younger and non-Catholic viewers were underrepresented, as well as those who only watched part(s) of the broadcast. The questionnaire was based on lengthy interviews with fourteen individuals and two groups of residents in homes for the elderly (one for members of a religious order, one for laypeople). The questionnaire was sent to 1,000 addressees with a response of 73 percent. Therefore, our conclusions are not based on a representative sample of all viewers, but they do reflect an accurate picture of registered viewers.

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The information gathered has been analyzed based on two series of questions: descriptive questions in order to identify these viewers and the way they experience the celebrations and exploratory questions as to the differences in the extent to which being church is experienced. On the one hand, there may be (older) people for whom this viewing ritual functions as an alternative for a parish; on the other hand, there could be (also younger) viewers for whom watching a broadcast might rather fall into the category of religious leisure activities. With reference to the distinction made by Victor Turner, we make a hypothetical distinction between two ideal types. For viewers of the first type, watching a broadcast is not a part of their normal activities. It is something they do with dedication and it connects them to a greater whole. The viewers of the second type watch the broadcasts more occasionally, depending on their mood and preference and purely with the individual experience in mind.

A portrayal of the viewers The majority of our respondents is elderly. Their average age is 67 (in comparison with 61 for the whole group of viewers) and they are predominantly women (71 percent, both viewers and respondents). It is improbable that (old) age alone can explain this tendency. It is likely that the period in which they were born and brought up (the heyday of religiosity and church attendance in the Netherlands) also determines their viewing behavior at a later age, the so-called cohort effect. Most of the respondents see almost every broadcast. The celebration of the Eucharist is never on in the background. They watch with undivided attention, usually from beginning to end. Most respondents prepare themselves for the broadcast in one way or another, by making a point of sitting down for it, with or without a missal. A quarter of the respondents light a candle in preparation. Only a small percentage receives Communion during the broadcast, although there is probably a much greater demand for this. “Unfortunately!” one person adds, “Perhaps the spiritual Communion”. One respondent talks about having found his or her own solution to the lack of sacramentality. “I always put a piece of bread ready and hold the bowl with the bread in it during the consecration. So during Communion at least I take part ‘symbolically’. It does not bother me whether or not this is legitimate in the eyes of the official Church. It is to me and after all, that is what counts.” Half the respondents pray or sing along. In the case of the latter, some mention that this is not easy when the repertoire keeps changing. The results show that watching the celebrations is embedded in a ritual for at least half of the respondents. The programs are greatly appreciated. The average score, both the one given by the respondents as well as the one given by viewers in general, is eight (on a scale of one to ten). The celebrations broadcast from Belgium score approximately the same. It is noted that the celebrations in the Cenakel

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are so well organized and that they convey peace and beauty. The celebrations in Belgium are appreciated for their warmth, joyfulness, simplicity, and familiarity. A minority is of the opinion that the Dutch celebrations are ‘too distant’ or ‘too civilized’. Respondents often (47–76 percent) endorse items about the significance of the celebrations for the way in which they experience their faith. The celebrations are likely to be important for their personal faith especially: ‘My moment with God’. Fellowship with others is regarded as less important. One respondent adds: “On TV I do not need to see whether someone is singing along or folding their hands in prayer.” Another: “The pastor is the most important.” One-third expresses the desire to see the faithful on the screen. Respondents differ in their desire to belong to a virtual community, but feel involved in any case, the effect of which was explored further by presenting them with seven statements on their personal experience. The comforting effect of television (Koole 1993) is underlined: ‘I find peace’ (61 percent). The television functions least of all as a ‘mourning box’. The celebrations make half the respondents happy and the majority denies ever becoming depressed as a result of them. The celebrations have a less activating effect. Most of the respondents reflect on them afterwards and occasionally talk to others about them. Following this, the respondents were also invited to express freely what affects them most during a celebration on television. Notably, the sermon is granted the highest score. When asked what they were affected by, 289 people (a third of all respondents) spontaneously mentioned the sermon, reflection, or homily. The consecration and Communion are mentioned least, but perhaps a few had the table prayer in mind when they mentioned ‘prayers’. In the original material the following were mentioned in decreasing frequency: hymns (‘familiar hymns’), prayers (‘the beautiful, often moving prayers said with much deference by the pastors’), fellowship with the faithful (‘it gives us strength’), the pastors (‘the genuineness of the pastors’), content (‘the connection made between spirituality and personal life’), atmosphere and emotions (‘love and sorrow’), the whole (‘I experience this as a real hour with God’), prayer intentions from the people themselves as well as from others, the arrangement of the celebrations (‘sincere and without unnecessary frills’), and the opening text (‘the peace that the female pastoral worker emanates whilst reading this’). The remaining comments include reactions from people who interpreted the question ‘What affects you?’ as a question about what annoys them: ‘thumb in the chalice’ or ‘that people refrain from participating’. But these also include two comments on the peace greeting. From two people who watch together: “Our personal interest. We make a point of sitting down for it, do not speak to one another, give one another the peace kiss.” From someone who watches alone: “I hold my right hand and say to myself, X, the peace of Christ be with you. It rouses my emotions. I cannot explain why.” The celebrations are of great importance to religious life. The broadcasts

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provide a sense of peace, happiness, and comfort. Many are touched by the sermon especially.

Differences in the experience of being church Differences in the experience of fellowship Watching the celebration has a ritual significance for the majority of the respondents. Most do not just turn the television on in order to watch a small part of the celebration simply because they feel like it at the time. Those who do this are, as was expected, a little younger. The age group of 65 and above always shows the most intense viewing habits: they watch most frequently, completely, and more often with undivided attention. Whilst there is a great similarity in the spiritual significance the celebrations have for the viewers, there is a difference in the extent to which the viewing ritual also has a collective dimension. For some, this is an individual occasion (‘an hour alone with God’), for others it signifies participation in a collective ritual that takes place in the Cenakel (‘that woman who is always there’), as well as in the rest of the country (‘the thought that at the same time, thousands of people are taking part in this way’). The small group of ‘flexible viewers’ feels somewhat less connected with the others who take part in this ritual elsewhere. Respondents under the age of 65 are over-represented in this case. Respondents above the age of 65 feel most connected with the faithful who are shown on the screen and with other viewers.1 It appears that there is a difference between a large group of ‘elderly faithful followers’ and a smaller group of ‘flexible viewers’. Flexible viewers watch less frequently and less intensely. They experience watching the broadcast less as participation in a collective ritual. Comparison with the local parish We expected that the broadcasts would function as an alternative for the parish for the category of devoted viewers identified above. This was asked in two ways: first, whether people go to church in addition to following the broadcasts, and, second, how they experience the comparison between a televised celebration and a celebration in church. It appears that almost half of the respondents also go to church either every week or once a fortnight. A fifth hardly ever goes, which includes those who aren’t able. The group of 65 and above is most clearly divided: most go weekly, followed by those who hardly ever go, which is the next largest category. Therefore, the celebrations on television do not function predominantly as an alternative. Most of the respondents watch either before or after they themselves have been to church. There are also those who alternate, including people who play an active part in the celebrations, for example, as lector. Some say that the celebrations act as a source of inspiration for their own work.

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Apparently, celebrations on television have their own qualities in comparison with those in church. Based on the interviews, we designed a variable ‘Comparison between the virtual and the physical congregation’. Respondents were asked ‘In what respect does your experience of celebrations on television differ from celebrations in a church?’ and allowed to opt for one or more items. These items can be ranked in the following order:

Table 5.1 Ranking order statements comparing celebrations

1. 2. 3. 4. 5.

6.

Statement

%

‘When I am in a church, I have more direct contact with the congregation’ ‘I don’t have to go out for a celebration on the television’ ‘For me it is easier to follow a service on television that in a church’ ‘The television allows me to see better what is going on at the altar’ ‘When I am in a church, I feel more involved than watching a service at the television’ ‘For me a service in church is the only real church service, really’

42.1 40.0 32.5 31.2 30.9

19.9

In church, one has more contact with people, they admit. However, one does not have to go out for a celebration on TV, and it is easier to follow a celebration on television than one in church. Research into the way in which these statements correlate with church attendance indicates a clear pattern for items 1 and 5 in the ranking order, favoring the physical congregation. Item 6, which reflects official church teaching, is the least popular answer but still chosen by more than a quarter of the weekly church attendants. Item 2, the most factual statement, is least likely to be chosen by weekly Mass attenders. Items 3 and 4, favoring the virtual congregation, again show a clear pattern. This correlation points to a second distinction, unrelated to the earlier distinction in viewers’ loyalty. The way in which a celebration on television is experienced depends on church attendance. The more often someone goes to a physical church, the more likely he or she tends to have a favorable opinion of celebrations that take place there. The less one goes to a physical church, the more favorable his or her opinion of the celebrations on TV is likely to be. These viewers praise the high quality of the celebrations and enjoy being able to follow the celebrations well on television. Thus, there is optimism on all sides. It is – in contrast with Roman Catholic teaching – not

Percentage of categories in church attendance choosing

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70 60

never

50

sometimes

40

once a month

30

2-3 times a month

20

every week

10 0

Statement

Graph 5.1 The distribution of categories in church attendance for statements comparing celebrations on TV with celebrations in the parish church

the case that the television celebration is experienced as scant consolation. From a psychological point of view, this attitude is not unwise: why envy things that are not at your disposal?

Conclusion The survey indicated that Media Ministry is a successful, yet controversial ecclesial initiative in mediating what is often considered the core business of the Roman Catholic Church. Watching the Mass on TV is experienced to a great extent as participating in being church. Watching has a ritual character, at least for regular viewers, and is important for their religious life. We could make a distinction between those who experience the participation in a collective viewing ritual and those who experience their viewing behavior as an individual ritual. The first category feels connected to others who take part in the ritual, to the faithful in the physical church as well as other viewers at home. This category includes very faithful, elderly viewers who watch with great interest. The viewing behavior of the second category has a ritual aspect as well. Although they regard these broadcasts as important for their religious life, they regard these as individual rather than as collective occasions. They sometimes miss a broadcast or pay less attention when watching and there are relatively few respondents under the age of 65 amongst them. Therefore, the theoretical distinction between ‘liminal’ and ‘liminoid’ appears to be significant, whereby, conforming to our hypothesis,

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the category for whom the broadcasts have a liminoid character includes more young people – although this is a relative concept in this case. However, contrary to our hypothesis, celebrations on TV are not an alternative to ‘real’ celebrations. This only applies to a minority. For many, the celebrations on television are an addition to the celebration that takes place in church. They experience more fellowship when together with other believers in church, but have other reasons to be attached to the (high quality) celebrations on television. These ‘heavy users’ do not watch the celebrations on television instead of attending a church service, but in addition to doing so. This result indicates that, at least in this case, liquid church should not be considered as an alternative for solid church, but as a supplement to it. First, participation in this ‘virtual church’ supposes a religious, in particular Catholic, background, with the corresponding introduction into a ritual environment. Secondly, age and church attendance of the viewers suggest that these celebrations are little or no competition for the celebrations that take place in church. Considering late modern culture, it is remarkable that it is amongst the elderly in particular that this virtual church is blooming. The liquid church is not merely something that belongs to the new generation; the older generation is also involved in the forms of being church outside the ‘normal’ parish. However, considered from the Church’s point of view, it is notable that the ‘virtual parish’ does not succeed where the normal parishes also fail, namely, in reaching the younger generations. From the perspective of cultural studies, broadcasting church services produces interesting dynamics between real space and virtual space. Church services are mediated to the public domain of the media, services that are in turn domesticated in private rituals. Therefore, the phenomenon can be studied from various perspectives. The physical space of the original church service may transform because it is broadcast: it may become a mixture of a meditation room and a television studio (as in this case) or a theatre (as with the Hour of Power). The televised service enters the realm of the media, including the internet, and can thus create virtual communities. At home, people incorporate the broadcasts in their local space, using ‘official religion’ for their private ritual, comparable with the constructions of home altars. ‘Old time religion’ using modern media not only confronts opportunities and threats to the producers of religious programs, but also to the consumers. They adapt the religious supply to their own needs, thus reproducing the familiar tension between institutional religion and de-institutionalizing tendencies. This happens in an age in which representatives of the Church can enter the living room even when the doors are shut. Here, they are awaited by a gathering of viewers which may transform into a community light through participating in the Holy Communion in a non-physical, spiritual way (Speelman 2004). Both the Roman Catholic Bishops, who are responsible for the content, and the Catholic Broadcasting Association (KRO), who produces and broadcasts the programs, received the survey results with mixed feelings.

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On one hand, both parties welcomed the positive evaluation of Media Ministry by registered viewers. On the other hand, the bishops were less impressed by the tendency to form a virtual parish, certainly when this virtual parish showed a different face of the Catholic Mass to the world than they considered appropriate. When the research results of the survey were presented, Cardinal Simonis, Archbishop of Utrecht, expressed his reservations against broadcasting the Eucharist and reduced its function to a service for the sick and elderly (van Baars 2006). KRO, at its turn, decided to focus on its own core business – broadcasting – and give up providing ministry to viewers. At the same time, KRO started to cherish religious broadcasts as identity markers amidst a repertoire of programs without an overtly Catholic profile. The interests of both bishops and broadcasting association converged in the dismantling of Media Ministry and the continuation of transmitting the Eucharist on television. Starting in 2007, the Sunday Mass in a local parish church was broadcast, followed by broadcasts of registered celebrations of regular church services in the various Dutch dioceses. In 2010, Media Ministry ended, marking the consolidation of ecclesial control over the presence of the Eucharist in the media. A tendency towards loosening the connection of religious television with diocesan church policy and developing media ministry as a specific expression of being church was stopped.

Note 1 Interpretation checked for positive bias.

References Alexander, Bobby C. 1997. “Televangelism: Redressive Ritual within a Larger Social Drama.” In Rethinking media, religion, and culture, edited by Stewart M. Hoover and Knut Lundby, 194–208. Thousand Oaks, CA: Sage Publications. Bardoel, Jo. 2003. “Back to the Public? Assessing Public Broadcasting in the Netherlands.” Javnost: The Public no. 10 (3):81–95. doi: 10.1080/13183222.2003.11008836. Bardoel, Jo, and Leen d’Haenens. 2004. “Media Meet the Citizen.” European Journal of Communication no. 19 (2):165–194. doi: 10.1177/0267323104042909. Bieger, Eckhard. 2003. Das Öffentlichkeitsdilemma der katholischen Kirche. Mainz: Matthias Grünewald Verlag. Blommestijn, Hein, Toke Elshof, Kees de Groot, Ellen Hijmans, and Jacques Maas. 2006. God in je huiskamer. Kampen: Kok/RKK-KRO Mediapastoraat. Böhm, Thomas H. 2005. Religion durch Medien – Kirche in den Medien und die “Medienreligion” Eine problemorienteierte Analyse und Leitlinien einer theologischen Hermeneutik. Vol. 76, Praktische Theologie heute. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer. Clark, Lynn Schofield. 2007. Religion, media, and the marketplace. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press. Congregation for Divine Worship and the Discipline of the Sacraments, 2004. Redemptionis Sacramentum: On certain matters to be observed or to be avoided regarding the Most Holy Eucharist. Available from www.vatican.va/roman_curia/ congregations/ccdds/documents/rc_con_ccdds_doc_20040423_redemptionissacramentum_en.html.

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Dronkers, Anton. 1961. De religieuze film: Een terreinverkenning. ‘s Gravenhage: Boekencentrum. Gertler, Martin K.J. 1999. “Unterwegs zu einer Fernsehgemeinde – Erfahrung von Kirche durch Gottesdienstübertragungen; Onderweg naar een televisiegemeenschap – Kerkervaring door TV-uitzendingen van de eucharistie.” Jaarboek voor liturgieonderzoek no. 15:267–270. Gilles, Beate. 2000. Durch das Auge der Kamera: eine liturgie-theologische Untersuchung zur Übertragung von Gottesdiensten im Fernsehen, Ästhetik – Theologie – Liturgik. Münster [etc.]: Lit. Hahn, Johan Gerrit. 1982. Liturgie op televisie of televisieliturgie: grenzen en mogelijkheden van een programmasoort. Amsterdam: Katholieke Theologische Hogeschool. ———. 1988. Het zout in de pap: levensbeschouwing en televisie: bouwstenen voor een analytisch-interpretatieve methode ten behoeve van het onderzoek naar de levensbeschouwelijke implicaties van televisieprogramma’s. Hilversum: Gooi & Sticht. Hoover, Stewart M. 1988. Mass media religion: The social sources of the Electronic Church. Newbury Park: Sage Publications. Horsfield, Peter G. 1984. Religious television: The American experience. New York/ London: Longman. Internationale Arbeitsgemeinschaft der Liturgischen Kommissionen im Deutschen Sprachgebiet. 2002. Gottesdienst-Übertragungen in Hörfunk und Fernsehen. Leitlinien und Empfehlungen. Bonn: Sekretariat der Deutschen Bischofskonferenz iZm Liturgischen Instituten Deutschlands, Österreichs und der Schweiz. John Paul II. 1990. Redemptoris Missio: On the permanent validity of the Church’s missionary mandate [cited 8 May 2017]. Available from www.vatican. va/holy_father/john_paul_ii/encyclicals/documents/hf_jp- ii_enc_07121990_ redemptoris-missio_en.html. Koole, Willem Jacobus. 1993. De troost van televisie: ervaringen van kijkers en makers. Kampen: Kok. Koole, Wim. 1986. Ons dagelijks beeld: over geloof en televisie. Baarn: Ten Have. Lorey, Elmar Maria. 1970. Mechanismen religiöser Information: Kirche im Prozesz der Massenkommunikation. Vol. 2, Praxis der Kirche. München: Kaiser/Grünvewald. Martín Barbero, Jesús. 1993. Communication, culture and hegemony: From the media to mediations, communication and human values. London: Sage publications. Massaar-Remmerswaal, Jolanda, and Ton Bernts. 2007. Kerncijfers 2006. Nijmegen: Kaski. Mitchell, Jolyon, and Sophia Marriage. 2003. Mediating religion: Conversations in media, religion and culture. London: T & T Clark. NRC. 2006. “VVD: Geen geld voor religieuze TV.” NRC Handelsblad, 5 January 2006, 3. Pius XII. 1957. Miranda Prorsus. Available from http://w2.vatican.va/content/piusxii/en/encyclicals/documents/hf_p-xii_enc_08091957_miranda-prorsus.html. Pontifical Social Communication Commission. 1971. Communio et progressio [cited 8 May 2017]. Available from www.vatican.va/roman_curia/pontifical_councils/ pccs/documents/rc_pc_pccs_doc_23051971_communio_en.html. Post, Paul. 2002. “De kus door het glas. Moderne media als ritueel-liturgisch milieu.” In De functie van de kerk in de hedendaagse maatschappij. Opstellen voor Ernest Henau, edited by Carl Sterkens and Johannes A. van der Ven, 263–285. Averbode: Altiora.

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Quandt, Thorsten, and Thilo von Pape. 2010. “Living in the Mediatope: A Multimethod Study on the Evolution of Media Technologies in the Domestic Environment.” Information Society no. 26 (5):330–345. Rahner, Karl. 1959. Sendung und Gnade: Beiträge zur Pastoraltheologie. Innsbruck: Tyrolia-Verlag. Original edition, in bundel Apparatur und Glaube. Überlegungen zur Fernübertragung der heiligen Messe, Würzburg, OJ: Werkverband-Verlag. Schurr, Viktor. 1957. Seelsorge in einer neuen Welt: eine Pastoral der Umwelt und des Laientums. Salzburg: Müller. Speelman, Willem Marie. 2001. “Televisie en liturgie.” In Ritueel bestek: antropologische kernwoorden van de liturgie, edited by Marcel Barnard and Paul Post, 123–130. Zoetermeer: Meinema. ———. 2004. Liturgie in beeld. Over de identiteit van de rooms-katholieke liturgie in de elektronische media. Vol. 3, Netherlands Studies in Ritual and Liturgy. Groningen/Tilburg: Instituut voor Liturgiewetenschap/Liturgisch Instituut. Stichting Kijk Onderzoek. 2006. Jaarrapport 2006 [cited 12 July 2017]. Available from https://kijkonderzoek.nl/images/SKO_Jaarrapport/Jaarrapport_SKO_2006. pdf. Thomas, Günter. 1998. Medien – Ritual – Religion. Zur religiösen Funktion der Fernsehens, Suhrkamp Taschenbuch Wissenschaft. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Tomaselli, Keyan G., and Arnold Shepperson. 1997. “Resistance Through Mediated Orality.” In Rethinking media, religion, and culture, edited by Stewart M. Hoover and Knut Lundby, 209–226. Thoasand Oaks: Sage Publications. Turner, Victor. 1982. From ritual to theatre: The human seriousness of play. Performance Studies Series. New York: Performing Arts Journal Publications. van Baars, Laura. 2006. “Kaarsjes branden voor de tv; kerkdiensten op televisie geliefd bij 65-plussers.” NRC Handelsblad, 23 November 2017: 21. Ward, Pete. 2002. Liquid Church. Peabody, MA/Cumbria: Hendrickson and Paternoster.

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The Christian tradition on the spiritual market

La Verna, a Franciscan center for spiritual development based in Amsterdam, advertises with the following mission statement: “La Verna is a project of the Franciscans in the Netherlands. La Verna welcomes everyone, regardless of denomination or religion. This is a spot where you can discover your spirituality and develop it further. The center is named after a mountain in Toscana, where Francis of Assisi liked to retreat for meditation.” Although the origin of the center is Christian, its presentation is geared to contemporary spirituality. It downplays its ecclesial affiliation and uses the rhetoric of personal growth. Buddhist mandalas welcome its website visitors; courses in Enneagram and Life Coaching are on offer, next to a workshop on “Chakra Meditation and St. Francis’ Canticle of the Sun.”1 La Verna exemplifies those centers with a Christian background that are trying to appeal to those with an interest in spirituality. This branding strategy is perfectly understandable from a marketing perspective, regardless of the theological motives behind it. For decades now, participation in parish life and identification with the Christian faith have been declining in Western society. At the same time, other religious practices and philosophies of life have appeared on the scene. Spiritual centers have been established, offering workshops, events, and courses focusing on Eastern religious traditions, psychology, and the body. Present-day spiritual authors, trends, and movements exert a notable attraction. People both outside and inside the Church have responded to this appeal. To some extent, this new movement even originates in religious orders, unorthodox Christian movements, and the readership of mystics. How do Christian spiritual centers, especially Roman Catholic ones, handle the phenomenon of ‘new spirituality’ on the one hand, and the Christian tradition on the other? In pursuing an answer to this question, our Tilburg research team carried out a research project on spiritual centers with a Christian background. We included only centers that explicitly express this double affiliation. We did not study New Age or Buddhist centers, nor did we take into account those specific centers, either Roman Catholic or Protestant, that focus on those who are already committed to, or prepared to commit to, the Christian tradition.

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It is important to realize (see Chapter 2) that the national context of the Netherlands is one of a dominating indifference to participation in any religious organization, and mistrust of any religious system whatsoever (de Hart 2014). People are, at times, and some more than others, interested in reading about religion, spirituality, and philosophy. They have experiences of guidance, grace, and abandonment. They ritualize life events. They have moral principles. This is all part of their lives. But the idea that one should be part of a religious community is only present among a shrinking minority of the population. In the Netherlands, the involvement with the Catholic Church, or with any church, was particularly high in the second half of the nineteenth century and the first half of the twentieth century. Since the 1950s and 1960s, the interest in any church-based religion has dwindled. During the period 1966–2015, the support for the belief that ‘there is a God who is concerned with each person individually’ decreased significantly; it is now a belief held by only 14 percent of the population. Faith in ‘some higher power’ first gained support, but then decreased as well to 28 percent. Doubt about and denial of the existence of God or a higher power became more widespread (34 percent). Agnostics (34 percent) and atheists (24 percent) together now make up the majority (Bernts and Berghuijs 2016). It is no longer the norm to have a religion. The Christian faith co-exists with the abstinence of faith, with uncertainty, and with other types of faith.

Spirituality and Christian religion: theoretical perspectives A cultural phenomenon, not a confession Since the turn of the millennium, various authors have contrasted the decline of the mainline churches with the activity of religious entrepreneurs and the public interest in religious and ethical themes. The parallel trends of decline, on the one hand, and a continuing interest in religion and spirituality, on the other, have been characterized as paradoxical (Sengers 2005, 15). Yet, only when religion is supposed to be church-based would this coincidence appear as a contradiction in the first place. If religion is seen as a cultural phenomenon, there is no reason for surprise that the phenomenon endures after the decay of the main Christian churches (ter Borg and van Henten 2010). With or without churches, people tend to have faith and question their faith, especially in the face of sudden changes such as death. Screenwriters and game designers use religious and Biblical themes – even without ecclesial directions. In every society, people develop rituals in order to reach salvation or to protect themselves from evil. A person may devote her life to her family, her career, sports, or the preservation of the environment – with or without referring to the concept of God (van den Brink 2012, 114). Religion does not coincide with the identification with religious organizations and is certainly not restricted to those religious organizations that have been dominant in the past.

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The nineteenth and the twentieth centuries have been the heyday of the concept of religious confession or denomination. Religion was not primarily a matter of believing or of practicing, but of belonging. One was a Protestant, Catholic, or Jew, whether orthodox, heterodox, or non-believing, whether practicing or not. Nowadays, religion is more individualized. Choice prevails in matters of faith. Still, both scholars and journalists tend to use the former frame of reference in order to localize present-day spirituality. As a result, a new quasi-denomination has been constructed, consisting of people who are called “Unaffiliated Spirituals”. In the Netherlands, a research company for marketing and management (Motivaction) introduced this label for those who do not identify themselves as belonging to a larger religion, but who do affirm that they have a (somewhat) spiritual, or religious attitude. Respondents in this category (26 percent of the Dutch population according to their estimation) showed a higher score on items about spirituality and transcendence than the average respondent. The report of this study gained an unusual amount of media attention. What probably helped was its inclusion in an exploratory report from the Dutch Scientific Council for Government Policy (Kronjee and Lampert 2006, 184; 199–201). The label ‘spiritual’ might not have hurt its popularity either; the more accurate label ‘(somewhat) religious/spiritual: others (i.e., nonChristian, non-Muslim)’ would have received less attention. This kind of labelling creates a seemingly clear-cut religious landscape of (religious) dwellers, (spiritual) seekers, and non-believers (Popp-Baier 2010). Yet, more sophisticated research shows that the population cannot be defined along these lines. First of all, not all church members are believers. In 2015, 37 percent of the self-identifying Dutch Catholics do not believe or do not know whether they believe in God or some higher power (Bernts and Roman Catholic Church 12% 12%

Protestant Church in the Netherlands 9% 9%

Other Christian churches 5%

41% 5%

Islam 5%

5%

Other non-Christian religions 2%

10%

17%

‘Believing’ (unaffiliated) 17% 2%

‘Spiritual’ (unaffiliated) 10% Not ‘believing’/‘spiritual’ (unaffiliated) 41%

Graph 6.1 Distribution religious affiliation and self-designation Source: (Bernts and Berghuijs 2016)

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Berghuijs 2016). Secondly, so-called seekers can be refined further in those who call themselves ‘religious’, usually by upbringing, and those who call themselves ‘spiritual’, also without a religious background. The former tend to believe in something beyond, the latter express they don’t know. Thirdly, there are those who are not affiliated to a religion and do not call themselves ‘religious’ or ‘spiritual’. Yet, it is more interesting to investigate the actual worldview of these ‘nones’. For example, 46 percent of them confirm ‘you should trust your inner voice’. Concepts such as faith, belief, religion, and spiritual are ambivalent. One-third of the Dutch population can be identified as belonging to Christianity (the Roman-Catholic Church, the Protestant Church in the Netherlands, and other churches), Islam, or other religions. This means that two-thirds cannot be labelled with these categories. Using the selfdesignation as ‘believing’ or ‘spiritual’ some of them can be labelled in another way, but it is far from clear what this means. Describing oneself as spiritual (31 percent in total) may mean different things: those who do, refer to ‘God’, ‘life’, and ‘man’. Those among them who are not affiliated to a religious group (only 10 percent of the population in a representative survey (Bernts and Berghuijs 2016) refer to ‘something beyond’ rather than to God. For most of those who describe themselves as ‘(somewhat) spiritual’ spirituality has a limited meaning, whereas faith is considered more important by those who call themselves ‘believing’. It is, however, the category of the ‘unaffiliated spiritual’ which has drawn public attention. Does this category represent a real-life section of the population? That depends. They do show more affinity with quest religiosity (‘religion is more about questions than answers’), and syncretism (‘different sources of wisdom and practices may be combined’). They are slightly more inclined to believe in astrology and mediums. And they clearly practice yoga and meditation a lot more. Yet, the majority of the unaffiliated does not believe in and do all those things. Some sayings, such as those expressing a spirituality of the self (‘listen to your inner voice’), are so widely shared that these cannot be regarded as specific for any category. Most of all, people tend to identify less with the label ‘spiritual’ and with items that were considered characteristic for the new spirituality than nine years earlier. Trying to capture contemporary spirituality by identifying a distinct category of believers is like putting life time labels of musical preference to fans of teen pop artists. It is using a membership model for a cultural phenomenon subject to trends and transgressing the boundaries between disciplines. Neither practices and beliefs considered as ‘traditional’ nor practices and beliefs regarded as ‘alternative’ are restricted to specific categories of people. The attention for what used to be called New Age, but presently goes under the heading of New Spirituality, is widespread in contemporary culture. The majority of the population sympathizes with self-spirituality, quest religiosity, and syncretism. Those who occasionally read magazines on spiritual, alternative, or paranormal issues may be regarded as the avant-garde of this

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movement. Among this category (8 percent of the Dutch population [Bernts, Dekker, and de Hart 2007]) are non-believers, ex-church members, and church members. It is misleading to confine a widespread cultural phenomenon to a specific – purportedly ‘non-religious’ or ‘unaffiliated’ – portion of the population. Apparently, ‘alternative’, ‘holistic’, or ‘esoteric’ world views are not restricted to the postmodern denomination of the ‘spiritual (non-affiliated)’. Christians and atheists, alike, take an interest in spirituality. In addition, the label ‘spiritual’ contrasts with the desire to escape fixed categories, whereas the addition of ‘non-affiliated’ may be premature with respect to the uncovering of other types of involvement than the affiliation with a group. I am not so much interested in a postulated religious species as in the attention for religious and spiritual experience that transcends institutional and ideological boundaries. It seems there is some longing for religious experience both inside and outside the churches which is expressed in a discourse of spirituality and quest. New and old spirituality The term ‘spirituality’ originates in at least two discourses. In one case it is often referred to as ‘new’ or ‘alternative’. Although it is difficult to detect one common denominator, it seems that the quest for the inner self is often present in this discourse: an idea that was typical of the 1960s counterculture which has gone mainstream (Houtman 2008). The phenomenon called new spirituality can be seen as the outcome of two trends in the religious landscape: pluralization and de-institutionalization (cf. Aupers and Houtman 2008). By pluralization I mean the increase in diversity of religions and world views; by de-institutionalization I mean the weakening of people’s commitment to fairly stable, binding, and authoritative religious institutes through which individual biographies are integrated into a system of religious convictions, values, and rules. These two processes – which have much in common yet can be distinguished from each other – are stimulating the current interest in spirituality. On the one hand, there is a transformation with respect to content: in the Netherlands, this is from Reformed and Catholic dominance towards greater diversity. On the other hand, one can discern a structural transformation from religion as collective identity (denomination) to personal interest. The interest in spirituality partly reflects diversity – in other words, the diminished dominance of the Christian religion – and partly reflects fluidity – in other words, a less binding and encompassing commitment to any institutional frameworks (de Groot 2012). However, the concept of spirituality was, of course, already known in the Christian tradition. Since the seventeenth century, spirituality has been used, following the French usage, in the religious context to denote the relationship between humans and God, especially its intimate, subjective aspects (Giordan 2007). Since then, various devotional traditions have appeared

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such as Carmelite, Benedictine, Franciscan, or Ignatian spirituality. This was originally a pejorative term for elitist religious exercises but came to refer to a more general interest in spirituality (Possamai 2007, 36). The importance of dogma and orthodoxy is currently called into question: people are open to what they may learn from other traditions, and in both the ‘old’ and the ‘new’ spirituality we find attention for the mystical unity of the universe, the abolition of the separation between object and subject, and a sort of ‘holistic’ view of life (Bernts, Dekker, and de Hart 2007, 120; de Hart 2011; Burgess 2008). It is no surprise that the modern interest in spirituality makes use of traditions both inside and at the margins of the Christian tradition. Traditional spiritual authors such as Meister Eckhart and traditional monasteries now appear within the wider, post-Christian spiritual milieu (Versteeg 2006). Thus, the question is: how different is the new phenomenon of spirituality actually from spiritual traditions inside or at the margins of Christianity? There is both continuity and discontinuity. For visitors to Christian spiritual centers, the concept ‘spiritual’ may refer to the ‘old’ as much as to the ‘new’ spirituality. Quite possibly, the distinction is not even made. Issue 1: spirituality instead of religion? One issue in spirituality research is the question of whether religion is giving way to spirituality, the revolution thesis as put forward by Paul Heelas and Linda Woodhead (2005). They expect religion – interpreted as an institution issuing rules about how to live from an assumed other world – to steadily lose ground to spirituality, which focuses, instead, on the subjective experience of one’s own life. ‘Life-as-religion’ is here contrasted with ‘subjectivelife spirituality’. Many journalists and theologians have consented to this theory, even though it is little more than a hypothetical extrapolation of the results of a local British case study. In this approach, (new) spirituality is contrasted with (traditional Christian) religion (Barker 2008). Yet, it is not all evident that the new, or alternative, spirituality is replacing Christian religion. On one hand, a combined analysis of several surveys in the Netherlands does show a decrease in Christian faith and a growing acquaintance in 1994–2006 with yoga, homeopathy, paranormal psychology, and astrology among the Dutch population (Becker and de Hart 2006; de Hart 2011). On the other hand, ‘believing’ in these phenomena has not increased – perhaps, ‘believing’ is asked too much for the supposedly undogmatic sphere of life affirming spirituality. More recently, in 2006–2015, the (full) consent with items on the inner voice, quest, and spiritual powers has even decreased (Bernts and Berghuijs 2016, 149–155). Ten years after its proclamation, the ‘spiritual revolution’ still has not happened. The British researchers Steve Bruce and David Voas tried to test the revolution hypothesis via large-scale research on the individual level, and have

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rejected it in favor of the secularization thesis (Voas and Bruce 2007). Their findings show that the crumbling of religious regimes continues; the socalled ‘new spirituality’ is a marginal phenomenon, not particularly relevant to society at large; and it is doubtful whether the many phenomena grouped under this label (a Christian Taizé group on the one hand, a yoga course on the other) are correctly placed. A variation on the revolution thesis is the hypothesis that the interest in new spirituality is not a separate phenomenon – “as standing on its two feet and broken from the moorings of religious tradition” (Houtman and Aupers 2007, 305) – but depends on the religiosity traditionally present (Flere and Kirbiš 2009; Pollack and Müller 2012). The results of a small-scale Dutch study seem to support this compensation hypothesis: interest in ‘alternative religion’ is said to be especially strong among former church members (Bernts and van der Hoeven 1998). If this were the case, alternative religion would exist on the basis of church religion, and therefore the interest in alternative religion would diminish along with the process of secularization. Yet, findings of more recent surveys contradict the hypothesis that an individual’s interest in spirituality compensates the loss of previous religious ties. Courses in spirituality are as popular among church members as they are among non-church members. The highest popularity is among both churchgoers and non-church members believing in a non-empirical reality (Bernts, Dekker, and de Hart 2007, 151; 171). For the compensation hypothesis to hold, the whole range of holistic spirituality would have to be more popular among ex-Protestants and ex-Catholics than among other non-church members or the population as whole. This is not the case (de Hart 2011; Bernts and Berghuijs 2016). The compensation hypothesis does not have an impressive record (Cf. Becker and de Hart 2006, 106–107). Our research was not intended to test these hypotheses, but they informed our questions and the results did in fact shed some light on this issue. Issue 2: how different are religion and spirituality? In previous research, new spirituality, as opposed to traditional Christian spirituality, has often been characterized by a lack of structure (Versteeg 2007), an orientation towards an internal rather than an external authority (Heelas and Woodhead 2005), and a low level of organization (Possamai 2000). Characteristics such as self-determination and autonomy versus heteronomy (Taylor 2009; Kronjee and Lampert 2006), and individualism versus a focus on community and communality (Meester 2008) also repeatedly come up. Heelas and Woodhead contrast normative, collectivizing religion with subjective, individualistic spirituality. Yet, several authors have cast doubt as to whether the dichotomy is this clear-cut. How individualistic is the new spirituality? Woodhead notes a striking absence of doctrinal authority in the spiritual milieu. She perceives a great freedom of belief, which she links to less male dominance (Woodhead 2007;

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Heelas 2009). In the Dutch study on non-affiliated spirituality mentioned above, we also find the suggestion of ‘non-obligation’ (Kronjee and Lampert 2006). I think this issue, which is about the way power is exercised, may benefit from the perspectives of authors such Michel Foucault (1983) and Pierre Bourdieu (1985). The relative absence of directive power does not imply the absence of ‘soft’ power tactics. Matthew Wood (2009), indeed, did fieldwork among the New Age milieu in Nottinghamshire and saw alternative power mechanisms at work. He reported a notably low degree of ‘formativeness’ that is: initiation into a regulated way of behaving and believing, but also stated that it would be wrong to simply copy the participants’ statement that in the spiritual milieu ‘everything is so individualistic’. Rather, the situation is that several sources of authority compete with each other on a more or less fraternal level, which results in people being socialized into holistic spirituality as such. In other words, in this milieu power is exercised differently: not by imposing a detailed doctrine, but by positing and propagating the self. And how collectivistic is that ‘old-time religion’? In fact, religious believers are not as ‘collectivist’ as the ideal type – and moreover judged by a specific orthodox norm – would have it. Qualitative research among Dutch Roman Catholics who make little or no use of the services of the parish (a growing segment) clearly shows the loss or lack of a conservative-traditional church image, combined with an experimental quest for a modern-traditional attitude (Bernts 2003, 192). Since the 1980s, 25 percent of all church members have no longer subscribed to traditional Christian statements (Dekker 2009). Religious believers, too, are engaged in bricolage; or, rather, even people who feel connected to a specific tradition are attracted to certain aspects of other traditions, and sometimes the origins of ideas and rituals are unclear or irrelevant to them. Alternative spirituality may not be as subjective and individualistic as some authors have characterized it and Christian religion may not be as ‘objective’ and collectivist as it has been taken to be. It is necessary to look at degrees of subjectivization. Principally, this attitude may prevail both among those who relate to Christianity and those who relate to alternative spirituality. With this open question we started our interest in Christian spiritual centers.

The centers The Tilburg research team analyzed the websites of forty Catholic, ten (Liberal) Protestant, and seven mixed Christian centers and/or interviewed those responsible for the program. The majority of the centers were related to monasteries (thirty to traditional monasteries and three to recently founded monasteries). The results on these centers have been published elsewhere in detail (de Groot, Pieper, and Putman 2014). Although rooted in the Roman Catholic Church or in a Protestant church, fifteen centers now operate

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independently. Six centers were independent branches of local parishes and three centers were related to parishes providing town chaplaincy. The amount of visitors varies from forty visitors a year to about 4,000 visitors a year. The main objective – the research team discerned is ‘stimulating spiritual growth of the visitor’. The centers support the visitors’ quest for meaning, in particular by facilitating the exchange of opinions and experiences. A good example of this objective is the mission statement of the Thomas-House in Zwolle, named after Thomas the Apostle, Thomas Aquinas, and the local canon regular and mystic Thomas à Kempis, author of The Imitation of Christ. At the Thomas House, the door is open for anyone who dares to share his dreams with others; who wishes to explore with others his questions on faith and worldviews against the background of developments in society; and who seeks for forms of spirituality. Coming from the Christian tradition, the Thomas House opens its windows and doors for stories and inspiration from other traditions. . . . Your story next to the Bible story, next to the story of. . . . Being addressed in mind, heart, and soul.2 Another initiative, also named Thomas, is a project on Faith and Culture of the Parish of St. Catherine in Oosterhout and provides another telling example. Here, Thomas refers deliberately to the doubting Thomas. Our programs reach out to those who seek contemplation or deepening of insight in their lives. For anyone interested in activities at the crossroads of faith and spirituality and culture, arts, and music. Everyone is invited to join in. The program is flavored by the Christian tradition, but is not affiliated to a particular denomination or a religious ideology. It is not important whether you belong to a church. Our hope is that we offer a good program for all who are seeking sense in their lives from whatever perspective.3 The principal aim of all centers is the spiritual development of the individual, not from the perspective of solving personal problems, but from the perspective of personal growth. Although the centers may be critical towards ‘spiritual consumerism’, they do relate to a ‘new spiritual’ characteristic of the visitors: their appreciation of personal quest and experience. In classical terms, the method of these centers may be characterized as mystagogical (Witte 2001, 181–182). Rather than pressing visitors with this tradition, the teachers wish to open up this tradition to them. The tradition is used to foster the personal and spiritual growth of the visitors: people are guided on their way to the mystery of God. This approach, probably at work in a course on Lectio Divina, would transcend a binary opposition between an objective religious tradition and

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a subjective spiritual experience. Still, however, one can discern both ends of the spectrum in the goals and the programs of these centers. Courses on globalization and economics, Islam and Sufism, and Christmas in the light of Francis of Assisi will first of all introduce the participants to a way of thinking that has already been developed. Workshops such as in Family Constellation, a popular method in systemic therapy developed by the former priest Bert Hellinger, and Christian meditation will stimulate participants to look inside themselves for bodily experiences and childhood memories. No introduction to a particular teaching, though, will ignore the subjective experience of those who take an interest in it, and workshops in exploring one’s self in relation to others and the Other would definitely involve the acquaintance with a particular worldview. The centers are not only operating in a plural context, their own programs express a plural attitude. All fifty-seven centers offer programs referring to the Christian tradition, such as ‘Jesus of Nazareth: a Window on Jesus’, but almost half of these also offer programs in alternative psychology that might well be seen in brochures of non-Christian centers, such as on dream symbolism, Neurolinguistic Programming (NLP), and near-death experiences. A course in ‘psychosynthesis’, an approach to psychology initiated by Roberto Assagioli, which aims to integrate the importance of spirituality would surely fit in the brochures of both types. Also, half of the centers offer programs on other religious traditions, such as Islam and Sufism, Hinduism, Zen Buddhism, Taoism, and nature religions. Fourteen centers offer programs such as Chinese kinematics, Indian medicine, Etruscan wisdom, Tarot, Gurdjieff, Ouspensky, or Gnostics. Those themes are equally popular as programs on Plato, Spinoza, Derrida, and Foucault. A course on ‘Jesus and the Gnosis’ may explicitly link mainstream Christian tradition with thought traditions that regain popularity in the contemporary world. Programs for caregivers and sufferers of sexual abuse, on aggression control, careers, and bereavement are not explicitly linked to a particular tradition at all. These Christian spiritual centers are not exclusively Christian. The liberal Protestant centers, in particular, tend to pay attention to other religious and esoteric traditions, philosophy, and (alternative) psychology. Catholic centers offer programs on angels and on mystics that also draw attention from the perspective of contemporary spirituality. With their open Christian orientation these centers are part of the milieu of contemporary spirituality.

Visitors This contemporary orientation is mainly attractive for seniors. A survey (2011) among visitors of thirty-nine of the centers described above (N = 2,000, response: 40 percent) showed that, on average, their age was 61. Women made up 76 percent of the visitors; 75 percent had received higher education. Rather than signifying a counter trend in the secularization process, these centers continue a tradition of contemplation and spiritual study

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for a shrinking category of the population. As in spiritual centers in general, women dominate the scene. The vast majority of visitors (85 percent) were raised as Christians. Church attendance among them is very high: 53 percent are regular churchgoers, versus a Dutch average of 16 percent. In the present, 58 percent feel committed to a parish or congregation, 40 percent do not. For most participants visiting the center is part of their religious praxis. As such, these centers are not representative for the new spirituality. Yet, there are those among them who are specifically interested in alternative spirituality and have visited those centers as well. Half of those interested in alternative spiritualities have never been involved in a local congregation at all, which doesn’t sustain the substitution thesis. It is hard to tell whether we are witnessing how religion is making way for spirituality, even within the quarters of Christianity, or if the distinction simply doesn’t apply. Visitors believe in God or a higher power and in a deeper reality within themselves. One quarter of them often pray, fast, or read the Bible and one-quarter practice breathing exercises, yoga, mindfulness, or meditation. (They are not involved, however, in paranormal activities.) Close to each other as religion and spirituality may be, the terms refer to different semantic fields among the visitors of these centers. When asked whether they would attribute a religious attitude and a spiritual attitude to themselves, differences appear. Most visitors (48 percent) call themselves both ‘religious and ‘spiritual’; 24 percent call themselves ‘spiritual’, but not ‘religious’; 16 percent do not call themselves ‘spiritual’ or ‘religious’; 12 percent call themselves ‘religious’, but not ‘spiritual’ (see Table 6.1). This somewhat mysterious selflabelling proved to be meaningful when linked to data about their religious or spiritual life. Each category turns out to have its own profile. Those who agree to ‘religious’ but not to ‘spiritual’ are rooted in the Christian tradition, are strongly committed to a parish, and have a strong desire to deepen their faith. Their favorite magazine is Volzin, a ‘magazine for religion and society’.4 This is a progressive magazine about achieving a meaningful life, with origins in the Reformed and Catholic (Dominicans) traditions. Those who agree to both ‘religious’ and ‘spiritual’ strongly identify with their church and religion, and also incorporated elements of the new

Table 6.1 Distribution ‘spiritual’ and ‘religious’ (between brackets: national figures)

‘Spiritual’ Not ‘spiritual’ Total

‘Religious’

Not ‘religious’

Total

48 (25) 12 (16) 60 (41)

24 (19) 16 (40) 40 (59)

72 (44) 28 (56) 100%

Source for national figures: Berghuijs, Pieper, and Bakker 2013.

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spirituality into their views. This category is the most religiously and spiritually committed, and it is this category for which religion or spirituality are most salient, judging from the respondents’ excellence in transcendent experiences, religious activities, effects of participating in the programs offered, and the significance of religion/spirituality for daily life. Their favorite journal is Tijdschrift voor Geestelijk Leven, a Flemish-Dutch populartheological journal on spirituality, mainly from a Christian perspective.5 Those who exclusively agree to the label ‘spiritual’ are relatively young, and this category includes even more women than average. They are farthest removed from the Christian tradition, have affinity with other traditions such as Buddhism, new spirituality, and humanism, and express that it is good to draw on various traditions. Commitment to a parish or congregation is the lowest among them; commitment to spiritual life is high. Their main focus is self-actualization. Their favorite magazines are mindstyle magazines like Happinez, a glossy magazine for a ‘positive, wise and loving life’, and Psychologie Magazine, which contains articles and tests on popular psychology.6 Those participants who neither call themselves ‘religious’ nor ‘spiritual’ are less outspoken. They have very little belief in a transcendent reality, few transcendent experiences, and are not particularly active in the area of religion/spirituality. It seems that our respondents associate the term ‘religious’ with faith and commitment to a religion, especially Christianity, while the term ‘spiritual’ is apparently connected to both the experiential dimension of religion, and with a focus on the self. Spirituality can refer to both the Christian and other traditions. Although the largest category in the country as a whole consists of those who neither call themselves ‘spiritual’ nor ‘religious’, more people call themselves ‘spiritual’ and ‘religious’ than just ‘spiritual’. Cross-country comparisons suggest that these semantic fields vary by country (Hughes 2013). In the southern countries of Europe, spirituality is seen as more compatible with religiosity; in the northern countries, it is seen as more exclusive. Stefania Palmisano (2013) supports the idea of proximity between new spirituality and Christianity in the Catholic south of Europe. Her research shows that the emerging new spirituality in Italy may be incorporated into Catholicism. Italians call themselves religious and spiritual. This close relation is apparent especially in popular religiosity and the charismatic movement. These indications resonate with our findings. Visitors to Catholic centers are more prone to call themselves ‘spiritual’ than visitors to Protestant centers. Since we asked why respondents took part in the activities and how they would describe the effects, we can also distinguish between ways of perceiving the participation. We presented thirty-two items on motives, ranging from ‘to become inspired’ (66 percent) to ‘because I encounter problems in my life that I can’t solve’ (12 percent). We also included thirty-two items on effects in the questionnaire, forming three components: on self-actualization,

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deepening faith, and commitment to others. Visitors to Catholic centers are more interested in motives and effects related to the personal life than visitors to Protestant centers. They also practice yoga and breathing exercises more often. New and old spirituality relate.

Conclusion and discussion Are Christian spiritual centers selling their souls to the new spirituality? The Christian tradition prevails in the programs offered, but the centers pay attention to other religions, esoteric traditions, psychology, and philosophy as well. The dominant concept of spirituality is something that refers to that aspect of the religious tradition that transcends confessional borders. Apparently, knowledge of and experience in other traditions is supposed to foster spiritual and personal growth. Spirituality is not regarded in opposition to religion. Against the background of the three hypotheses outlined earlier in this chapter, we can’t conclude that spirituality is taking the place of religion. Rather, slightly in tension with the drift of Bruce’s argument, we do see that spirituality is considered socially relevant by these visitors themselves. Spirituality resonates with religious faith – although the respondents distance themselves from the church of their childhood – and it relates to the exploration of the self. Our finding that the participants largely belong to the Christian population only seemingly supports the compensation hypothesis. More detailed analysis of our data shows that interest in the new spirituality does not depend on earlier religious socialization. Most of the ‘exclusively spiritual’ participants have never been involved in a religious community. Neither do our findings sustain the revolution hypothesis: age and background of the participants do not really point to a great spiritual revival versus religious decline. It is possible that signs of such a revival can be seen elsewhere, but in this milieu religion and spirituality go together. Positive effects for the self, for personal consciousness, and for the healing of body, spirit, and mind were mentioned alongside an enhanced acceptance of life and an intensified relation with God, their church, and other people. Effects in terms of subjective life spirituality and the reflexive project of the self were intermingled with more traditional consequences of contemplation, such as going into retreat, formulated in terms of ‘life-as-religion’. The distinctions are fluid. Those who welcome the activity at the center as an addition to what their parish or congregation has to offer stress the deepening of their faith. Those who are not committed to a community of faith, or feel that it offers them too little, excel in effects on the self. All in all, it seems that the Christian spiritual tradition finds its way in the contemporary spiritual milieu quite comfortably. Our results indicate that the visitors to these centers take up, or possibly integrate, in their worldview elements that are often considered typical of the new spirituality. The high scores on ‘satisfaction’ show that on this

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aspect the centers do manage to hit the target. Our findings suggest a process of gradual shifts in which old and new elements are incorporated into a contemporary approach. There is an overlap between individual religiosity related to the products and teachings of Christian churches and beliefs, forms of practice and experiences which are related to the products of alternative spiritual suppliers (Stolz et al. 2016). Further research could identify this process and the direction in which it is going. This religious evolution, as this process might be called, raises several theological questions which should be addressed, and are addressed, elsewhere (de Groot, Pieper, and Putman 2013; Hellemans and Jonkers 2015). One set of questions clusters around the tension between the subjective and the objective pole of religion: the relation between personal faith and doctrinal authority, between authority localized in the self and authority localized in a church. Another set of questions clusters around the relation of Christianity with other traditions: how open is Christianity to other traditions, such as Buddhism, humanism, and alternative psychology, and how should we evaluate theologically the use of elements from the Christian tradition outside churches? Historically, the Christian tradition has contributed to the formation of the self. On one hand, visiting spiritual centers is in line with the Christian tradition of going into retreat in a place of contemplation. As before, men and women are invited to get away from it all, once in a while, to seek the silence and to do some soul searching. On the other hand, the Christian tradition has opposed the Greek tradition of souci de soi, modifying and replacing ways of dealing with the body (Foucault 1984). Contemporary care for the self reintroduces more explicit ways of taking the corporal dimension into account and draws on various non-Christian traditions that have been imported in the West during the twentieth century. These present other approaches to the self. The spiritual centers described above are inclined to listen to the voices of these traditions, perhaps following the Pauline advice to ‘discern the spirits’. Within the Roman Catholic and Protestant spheres, these centers move in creative ways and allow some free space to deal with the process of individualization. Thus, these centers continue ways of operating that have been, and still are, common in religious orders and congregations. Abbeys, convents, and monasteries have often been places for the personal exploration of spirituality. In this light, the characterization of religion as subordinating life to normative directives appears as a caricature. These centers continue the monastic tradition of individual responsibility, personal experience, and exploring the Christian tradition in all its varieties. Openness to the contemporary life-world does not imply that the Christian heritage is thrown overboard. Yet, these centers do welcome visitors who have done this or are contemplating doing this. Other Roman Catholic and orthodox Protestant centers draw a closer connection between Christian values, norms, and beliefs, on the one hand, and the expression of personal

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experience, on the other. Dutch bishops have recommended this approach to Roman Catholic parishes (Slijkerman and van Iersel 2011). Both types of spiritual centers, I would say, are faced with the same task to keep the quest for meaning open: to do justice to the individual person of the visitor and to treat religious and other traditions with respect. This is the fundamental approach pastoral practice may learn from these centers. These results challenge two competing theological views on churches and secularization. According to one view, the Western world is ‘totally secularized’, marked by a ‘total rejection of God’ leading to an obsession with money, power, and pleasure (Danneels 2012). When there’s only ‘spiritual emptiness’ and a culture of ‘selfishness’ outside the Church, any attempt to learn from contemporary spirituality doesn’t make sense (de Jong 2011). In contrast with this idea stands the enterprise of studying the mismatch between the Church and seekers: people are in fact searching for spirituality, but are doing so outside the ecclesial premises. Or, as perceived from the supply side: the waters are full of fish, but others are catching them: “in Christ we have the way, the truth, and the life, the genuine gospel, and yet we still can’t get people to take the bait” (Ward 2002). This view, discussed in Chapter 1, takes the possibility seriously that the Church may be able to respond to these spiritual needs and attract significant portions of the population (again). I severely doubt the viability of this option. Neither the religious trends in European societies as a whole, nor the outcomes of this study among participants in courses on spirituality, suggest that is likely that Christian churches will regain their share of the religious market. Both from a theological and a sociological perspective, two more specific scenarios for these centers present themselves: a spiritual scenario and a confessional scenario. The first scenario fits with a willing attitude from the part of the Church towards alternative spirituality and with the expectation that this cultural phenomenon will persist. The high and increasing appreciation for what these centers and other abbeys, convents, and monasteries have to offer may sustain this outlook. The viability of these centers is, however, precarious. This will depend on the extent to which these centers succeed in surviving a period in which religious communities (the supply side) are threatened with extinction, and in which the number of church members (the demand side) continues to drop. In this situation, potentials for growth are probably in addressing those outside the Church. The center of the Dominicans in Huissen, for example, radiates a positive attitude towards alternative spirituality and presents itself with the keywords ‘contemplation’, ‘inspiration’, and ‘motion’.7 The second scenario expects an ongoing process of secularization. Christian spiritual centers might, paradoxically, benefit from this trend, since a minority position could foster the remaining believers to invest in their faith (Achterberg et al. 2009). Secularity, in this sense, might produce religion: a critical attitude towards modern culture can promote the wish to deepen one’s faith. Theological positions with a more pessimistic outlook

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on today’s world will support this perspective. This attitude can be found in centers which have a more specific Roman Catholic or Evangelical profile. The Jesuits in Amsterdam closed down their ecumenical spiritual center in order to invest in strengthening their Jesuit and Roman Catholic profile.8 Within the context of radical pluralism, this position would be an alternative niche strategy for a minority church promoting an intensification of the personal faith of those who belong to the Church but long for more, either as a welcome addition to, or a required compensation for, what the local congregation has to offer. In this case, the expectations for these centers will not be higher. Both scenarios will result in the institutional church losing control over a branch of the care of souls for virtuosos. The Christian care for the inner life is continued in a wider setting; the spiritual traditions of the West compete and interact with traditions of the East, with secular approaches and mixtures that are typical for contemporary Western society.

Notes 1 La Verna. Franciscaans centrum voor spirituele ontwikkeling. Available from www.laverna.nl [accessed 5 November 2012 and 29 April 2014]. My translation. 2 Dominicanenklooster Zwolle. Available from www.kloosterzwolle.nl/thomashuis [accessed 11 September–2014] (these webpages have been discontinued). My translation. 3 Thomas Geloof & Cultuur. Available from www.thomasoosterhout.nl [accessed 11 September 2014] (site no longer maintained). My translation. 4 Volzin. Magazine voor religie en samenleving. Available from www.volzin.nu [accessed 15 January 2016]. 5 Tijdschrift voor Geestelijk Leven. Available from www.tgl.be [accessed 15 January 2016]. 6 Happinez, Available from www.happinez.com; Psychologie Magazine. Available from www.psychologiemagazine.nl/ [accessed 15 January 2016]. 7 Dominicanenklooster Huissen. Available from www.kloosterhuissen.nl [accessed 10 June 2015]. 8 Krijtberacademie. Available from www.krijtbergacademie.nl [accessed 10 June 2015] (discontinued and integrated in www.krijtberg.nl by 12 July 2017).

References Achterberg, Peter, Dick Houtman, Stef Aupers, Willem de Koster, Peter Mascini, and Jeroen van der Waal. 2009. “A Christian Cancellation of the Secularist Truce? Waning Christian Religiosity and Waxing Religious Deprivatization in the West.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion no. 48 (4):687–701. Aupers, Stef, and Dick Houtman. 2008. “New Age: Post-christelijke religie in het geseculariseerde Westen.” In Handboek religie in Nederland, edited by Meerten ter Borg, Erik Borgman, Marjo Buitelaar, Yme Kuiper and Rob Plum, 282–300. Zoetermeer: Meinema. Barker, Eileen. 2008. “The Church without and the God Within: Religiosity and/or Spirituality?” In The centrality of religion in social life: Essays in honour of James A. Beckford, edited by Eileen Barker, 187–202. Farnham/Burlington: Ashgate.

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Becker, Jos, and Joep de Hart. 2006. Godsdienstige veranderingen in Nederland. Verschuivingen in de binding met de kerken en de christelijke traditie. Den Haag: Sociaal en Cultureel Planbureau. Berghuijs, Joantine, Jos Pieper, and Cok Bakker. 2013. “Being ‘Spiritual’ and being ‘Religious’ in Europe: Diverging Ways of Life?” Journal of Contemporary Religion no. 28 (1):15–32. Bernts, Ton. 2003. “‘De priester is geen druïde’. De Nederlandse Katholieke Kerk in de posttraditionele samenleving.” Sociologische Gids no. 50 (2):182–202. Bernts, Ton, and Joantine Berghuijs. 2016. God in Nederland 1966–2015. Utrecht: Ten Have. Bernts, Ton, Gerard Dekker, and Joep de Hart. 2007. God in Nederland 1996–2006. Kampen: Ten Have/RKK. Bernts, Ton, and H. van der Hoeven. 1998. “Tussen Rooms en Redfield – De belangstelling voor traditionele en alternatieve religie.” Sociale wetenschappen no. 41 (2):57–69. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1985. “Le champ religieux dans le champ de manipulation symbolique.” In Les nouveaux clercs. Prêtres, pasteurs et spécialistes des relations humaines et de la santé, edited by Centre de sociologie du protestantisme (Strasbourg), 255–261. Genève: Labor et fides. Burgess, John. 2008. “Detecting the Presence of God: Spirituality in a Birmingham Church.” In God at ground level: Reappraising church decline in the UK through the experience of grasss roots communities and situations, edited by Peter Cruchley-Jones, 63–78. Frankfurt am Main [etc.]: Peter Lang. Danneels, Godfried. 2012. At the Crossroads of Faith and Culture: Challenges Facing the Catholic Church Today. Tilburg: Tilburg University. de Groot, Kees. 2012. “How the Roman Catholic Church Maneuvers through liquid modernity.” In Towards a new Catholic Church in advanced modernity, edited by Staf Hellemans and Jozef Wissink, 195–216. Münster: Lit. de Groot, Kees, Jos Pieper, and Willem Putman. 2013. Zelf zorgen voor je ziel. De actualiteit van christelijke spirituele centra, Utrechtse Studies. Almere: Parthenon. ———. 2014. “New Spirituality in Old Monasteries?” In Sociology and monasticism: Between innovation and tradition, edited by Isabelle Jonvaux, Enzo Pace and Stefania Palmisano, 107–130. Leiden/Boston: Brill. de Hart, Joep. 2011. Zwevende gelovigen. Oude religie en nieuwe spiritualiteit. Amsterdam: Bert Bakker. ———. 2014. Geloven binnen en buiten verband. Godsdienstige ontwikkelingen in Nederland. Den Haag: Sociaal en Cultureel Planbureau. de Jong, Everard. 2011. “Inleiding.” In Kleine geloofsgroepen. Wegen naar een vitale parochie, edited by Kees Slijkerman and Fred van Iersel, 8–10. Heeswijk: Abij van Berne. Dekker, Gerard. 2009. “Belonging without Believing.” Religie & Samenleving no. 4 (1):5–15. Flere, Sergej, and Andrej Kirbiš. 2009. “New Age, Religiosity, and Traditionalism: A Cross-Cultural Comparison.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion no. 48 (1):161–169. Foucault, Michel. 1983. “Why Study Power: The Question of the Subject.” In Michel Foucault:. Beyond structuralism and hermeneutics, edited by Hubert L. Dreyfus and Paul Rabinow, 208–216. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ———. 1984. Le souci de soi, Histoire de la sexualité. Paris: Gallimard.

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Giordan, Giuseppe. 2007. “Spirituality: From a Religious Concept to a Sociological Theory.” In A sociology of spirituality, edited by Kieran Flanagan and Peter C. Jupp, 161–180. Aldershot: Ashgate. Heelas, Paul. 2009. “Spiritualities of Life.” In The Oxford handbook of the sociology of religion, edited by Peter B. Clarke, 758–782. Oxford: Oxford Universtiy Press. Heelas, Paul, and Linda Woodhead. 2005. The spiritual revolution: Why religion is giving way to spirituality. Malden [etc.]: Blackwell. Hellemans, Staf, and Peter Jonkers. 2015. A Catholic Minority Church in a World of Seekers. Christian philosophical studies, edited by George F. McLean. Washington, DC: The Council for Research in Values and Philosophy. Houtman, Dick. 2008. “God in Nederland 1996–2006. Enkele godsdienstsociologische routines ter discussie.” Religie & Samenleving no. 3 (1):36–47. Houtman, Dick, and Stef Aupers. 2007. “The Spiritual Turn and the Decline of Tradition: The Spread of Post-Christian Spirituality in 14 Western Countries, 1981–2000.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion no. 46 (3):305–320. Hughes, Philip. 2013. “Spirituality and Religious Tolerance.” Implicit Religion no. 16 (1):65–91. Kronjee, Gerrit J., and Martijn Lampert. 2006. “Leefstijlen en zingeving.” In Geloven in het publieke domein. Verkenningen van een dubbele transformatie, edited by Wim B.H.J. van de Donk, A. Petra Jonkers, Gerrit J. Kronjee and Rob J.J.M. Plum, 171–208. Den Haag/Amsterdam: WRR/Amsterdam University Press. Meester, Maarten. 2008. Nieuwe spiritualiteit. Kampen: Kok Ten Have. Palmisano, Stefania. 2013. “Challenging Catholicism: The Significance of Spirituality in Italy.” Journal for the Study of Spirituality no. 3 (1):18–23. Pollack, Detlef, and Olaf Müller. 2012. The social significance of religion in the enlarged Europe: Secularization, individualization and pluralization. Farnham: Ashgate. Popp-Baier, Ulrike. 2010. “From Religion to Spirituality-Megatrend in Contemporary Society or Methodological Artefact? A Contribution to the Secularization Debate from Psychology of Religion.” Journal of Religion in Europe no. 3 (1):34–67. Possamai, Adam. 2000. “A Profile of New Agers: Social and Spiritual Aspects.” Journal of Sociology no. 36 (3):364–377. ———. 2007. Religion and popular culture: A hyper-real testament, Gods, humans and religions. Brussel: Peter Lang. Original edition, 2005. Reprint, 2007. Sengers, Erik. 2005. The Dutch and their gods: Secularization and transformation of religion in the Netherlands since 1950. Hilversum: Verloren. Slijkerman, Kees, and Fred van Iersel. 2011. Kleine geloofsgroepen: Wegen naar een vitale parochie. Heeswijk: Abij van Berne. Stolz, Jörg, Judith Könemann, Mallory Schneuwly Purdy, Thomas Englberger, and Michael Krüggeler. 2016. (Un)believing in modern society. Farnham/Burlington: Ashgate. Taylor, Charles. 2009. Een seculiere tijd: geloof en ongeloof in de wereld van nu. Rotterdam: Lemniscaat. ter Borg, Meerten B., and Jan Willem van Henten. 2010. Powers: Religion as a social and spiritual force. New York: Fordham University Press. van den Brink, Gijsbert J.M. 2012. “Nederland in vergelijkend perspectief.” In De Lage Landen en het hogere. De betekenis van geestelijke beginselen in het moderne bestaan, edited by Gijsbert J.M. van den Brink, 89–119. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press.

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Versteeg, Peter G.A. 2006. “Marginal Christian Spirituality: An Example from a Dutch Meditation Group.” Journal of Contemporary Religion no. 21 (1):83–97. ———. 2007. “Spirituality on the Margin of the Church: Christian Spiritual Centres in the Netherlands.” In A sociology of spirituality, edited by Kieran Flanagan and Peter C. Jupp, 101–114. Burlington: Ashgate. Voas, David, and Steve Bruce. 2007. “The Spiritual Revolution: Another False Dawn for the Sacred.” In A sociology of spirituality, edited by Kieran Flanagan and Peter C. Jupp, 23–42. Aldershot: Ashgate. Ward, Pete. 2002. Liquid Church. Peabody, MA/Cumbria: Hendrickson and Paternoster. Witte, Henk. 2001. “Pastoraat en de vraag om spiritualiteit.” In Redden pastores het? Religieus leiderschap aan het begin van de eenentwintigste eeuw, edited by Klaus Sonnberger, Hessel Zondag and A.H.M. (Fred) van Iersel, 187–186. Budel: Damon. Wood, Matthew. 2009. “The Nonformative Elements of Religious Life: Questioning the ‘Sociology of Spirituality’ Paradigm.” Social Compass no. 56 (2):237–248. Woodhead, Linda. 2007. “Why So Many Women in Holistic Spirituality?” In A sociology of spirituality, edited by Kieran Flanagan and Peter C. Jupp, 115–125. Aldershot: Ashgate.

7

Spiritual care The devastating success of chaplaincy

In solid modernity, the care of souls for those staying in hospital was organized separately, so that those parishioners who were remote from their parish priest were still within reach of the church. In liquid modernity, the hospital chaplain – who now may receive different labels – encounters patients, volunteers, and staff from all kinds of denominations and religions, or with alternative and secular worldviews. In contemporary Dutch society, this chaplain may or may not operate from a background in organized religion. He or she is a salaried member of the hospital staff and is regarded as a specialist in spiritual counseling. Since most chaplains are still trained in theological faculties and seminaries and have received a formal mission from their church, this situation entails a tension between the perspective of the organizing solid church and the impact of the setting. Patients are brought together because of their physical disabilities, regardless of their religious orientation. The chaplain acts as their conversation partner with a special interest in problems of living and dying, rather than as a visiting minister or priest. After all, since most patients are not acquainted with people of the cloth, who would expect a religious specialist at his or her bedside? Particularly in the ritual domain, it becomes clear that religious identities are blurring. The hospital setting provides an impetus to all kinds of contested ritual experiments (Post et al. 2003). Dutch hospitals often have ecumenical services, including Holy Communion. The Roman Catholic sacrament of the Anointing of the Sick is often stripped from its specific denominational and clerical characteristics and is administered as ‘a blessing of the sick’ by chaplains who are not ordained priests. The distinctive identities of priests, ministers, and humanistic counselors are melting into one another. The German sociologist of religion Herman Steinkamp (1997) regards the fluid community of patients, volunteers, staff, and other participants of a church service in a hospital as an expression of church (Gemeinde) beyond the parish. The interaction between pastor and parishioner is no longer embedded in a particular community, but has been translated to the expert system of spiritual care, which enables a professional to deal with the ontological security of an individual (Giddens 1991). Although I appreciate

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the application of the concept of ‘disembedding’ to the religious sphere, I refrain from using the term ‘church’ in this multi- and non-religious context. Instead, I give an account of the way an ecclesial initiative found its way in the secular sphere.

What happened to the care of souls? Not only in modern hospitals, but also in psychiatric hospitals, homes for the elderly, army bases, and prisons, we find men and women called chaplains or, more recently, spiritual counselors, who present themselves as offering some kind of spiritual care (see Fitchett and Nolan 2015). I regard this as care of souls (Seelsorge), an ideal type which Max Weber (1989, 90) based primarily on the Christian tradition. According to Weber, the care of souls is particularly practiced by religious specialists operating within a firm which is legitimized by a systemized worldview. They deal with the individual suffering of their clients in a particular way: they let them talk about themselves, in particular their inner life, and search for alleviating behavior. Their interventions are supposed to have an effect on the daily life of those who take part in this individual rite. Not only the practice, but even the name of the contemporary ‘spiritual caregivers’ (geestelijk verzorgers) – as they are called in the Netherlands – corresponds to this care of souls. Yet, contemporary practitioners of spiritual care are not always religious specialists, but may be philosophers or scholars with a degree in religious studies. They may lack a commitment with a religious institution. They may refrain from identifying with a particular religion or worldview. It has become likely that these practitioners present themselves as professionals in existential issues, rather than as representatives of a religion. This stands in contrast with the figure of the pastor of whatever denomination or religion. My question is: how should we interpret the historical relation between contemporary spiritual care and the chaplaincy that is and has been practiced by people of the cloth: priests, members of religious congregations, ministers, and rabbis? One way of perceiving this relation takes its departure in organized religion (see Schilderman 2013). In this view, spiritual care is basically still chaplaincy. From a critical point of view, it is seen as a remnant from the times that religion had a comfortable position in solid modernity; the vague identity of the contemporary chaplain signals its demise. The same perception can also be held by advocates of chaplaincy: only an explicitly religious chaplaincy, whether Christian, Jewish, or Muslim, has a future, albeit as the chaplaincy of and for a minority. Both varieties have the historical interpretation in common that contemporary spiritual care is continuous with yesterday’s chaplaincy (van Iersel and van Gastel 2007). The Christian variety may have waned; as a whole, chaplaincy is becoming more diverse. If secularization persists, the need for spiritual care will decline. Another perception of the historical relation focusses on the birth of a new profession that is more informed by psychology (Zock 2008), philosophy,

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and sociology (ter Borg 2000). Usually, the argument is made with respect to spiritual care in a hospital setting or in another institution for medical care. Here, the old models in which the priest administers sacraments or the minister preaches salvation don’t work anymore. The context of hyper-diversity, that is, the situation in which not even the believers can be presumed to adhere to one established faith, requires an expertise and competence in dealing with existential issues. This setting requires counselors who can operate as specialists, working next to and in cooperation with medical specialists, if there is space left at all for such a separate profession within the cluster of psychological and social work. Thus, I discern two views regarding the care of souls in late modernity. One Zeitdiagnose is guided by a narrative of breakdown, resulting in a view of spiritual care as a relic or heritage; another is guided by a narrative of spiritual renaissance, resulting in a view of spiritual care as a recent achievement. The first view can be formulated in the following proposition: spiritual care is actually a religious task, which has survived the breakdown of the Church. The second view provides a conflicting proposition: spiritual care is a secular profession, resulting from a process of transformation, in particular the adaptation of psychological ways of thinking, replacing traditional religious approaches. Below, I will evaluate the merits of both views.

Making the case for chaplaincy In the Netherlands, the term ‘spiritual care’ has become prevalent since the 1970s, reflecting a tendency to deal with religious diversity in a particular way. A professional structure was in the making that would integrate the practices of both Catholic and Protestant pastors, rabbis, and Humanistic counselors. Since this structure is dominated by a few denominations and religions, the model may be called an oligopoly (Yang 2010). It is both different from the monopolies of the Anglican state-church in England and Wales and the Roman Catholic Church in France with its formal tradition of laicité (Beckford, Joly, and Khosrokhavar 2005). It is also different from the religious market in a country with competing religions, such as in the United States. It is certainly not like countries with a similar degree of secularization, like the Czech Republic, which have had a tradition of expelling religion from the public domain. Oligopoly dynamics reflect a longer tradition of multi-faith management which has been developed in a Christian context, and reflects Christian ideas about the role of religion in the public domain. In the preceding chapters it has been noted that the Netherlands can be considered a secular and religiously heterogeneous country, with a tradition of public policy that favors organized religion. Distinct religious minorities co-exist with diffuse categories of people who are religiously indifferent or who do not consider themselves part of a community with a particular worldview. Nearly half of the population identify as ‘spiritual persons’. Some of them take part in the milieus where paranormal activities,

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Westernized Buddhism, and alternative psychology are popular. The boundaries between these categories are not clear-cut; a Catholic individual may well be interested in new spirituality. This hyper-diversity does not appear in a vacuum, but in a context defined by a particular social and religious history (Chapter 2). The Netherlands was founded as a nation with a privileged Reformed Church that was dominating Protestant dissenters, Jews, and a large proportion of inhabitants who had remained Catholic. The nineteenth century witnessed the growth and establishment of orthodox Protestant and Catholic religious regimes, including the formation of institutions for care and the regulation of the presence of the clergy in the army and prisons. A religiously plural political system and civil society was constructed, known as pillarization (Lijphart 1968). The modern system of institutions for care is the result of a long-term process of collective initiatives, mainly from a religious background. In the times of Charlemagne, priests established ‘houses of God’, where doctors were mere consultants. Since the eleventh century, monasteries founded hospitals and guilds formed guesthouses. The seventeenth and eighteenth centuries were marked by a rise in permanent residences for the mentally ill or others with deviant behavior. In the nineteenth century, Protestant Deaconesses introduced Protestant hospitals (Goudswaard 2006). Through faith-based societies arranging the assurance of care for those in need, collective arrangements were formed. In the hospitals, the power balance shifted from the religious specialists to the medical profession, while the caring profession became accessible for the non-religious (de Swaan 1988). Catholic, Protestant, and a few public hospitals co-existed, all dominated by a medical regime. In these settings, the role of chaplains and ministers was reduced to performing religious services, administering the sacraments, reading the Bible, and praying with patients. Their pastoral ministry was a modest reminder of the former religious dominance in a sector that had been partly initiated by religious orders and congregations, but which had now come under the influence of medical experts. With the Dutch Reformed Church being the dominant religious regime, men in the army and the navy were subject to the moral guidance of the Dutch Reformed Church. When possible, they were required to visit a local church service. Dutch Reformed ministers, who were considered as ‘servants of the Kingdom’, were expected to facilitate this (Bos 2010). When a Roman Catholic place of worship was available, Catholic soldiers were required to visit this church or chapel. In addition to this equal opportunity, they received a special treatment: they gained access to specialized army chaplains. Already in 1818, shortly after the United Kingdom of the Netherlands was founded in the northwestern part of what used to be the empire of Napoleon, designated Roman Catholic priests received an ex gratia payment to perform religious services for the military. Spiritual care in the army, therefore, started as a facility for a religious minority. The Dutch Reformed Church contested this special arrangement. Finally, in 1914, four

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Catholic and eight Protestant army chaplains were appointed (Goossens 1974). Historically, this Royal Decree expressed a peculiar politics of equal opportunities for Protestants and Catholics: one in which the dominant church followed an arrangement which was designed for a subordinate religious regime. It is in this particular way that a system of state-financed, multi-denominational spiritual care was developed. This development shows that in the army spiritual care for individuals in need started as an obligation for specific categories of the population. The state regime was closely tied to the Protestant religious regime, but allowed the Catholic Church to exert its influence on its adherents. A similar principle was at work in the prisons. Since the introduction of the penitentiary system, prisoners in the northern part of the Netherlands were obliged to attend the Protestant church services; prisoners in the South were obliged to attend Mass. In 1824, the first prison chaplains were appointed by the King, receiving a state allowance. Their primary mission remained moral guidance, evangelization, and conversion, even when in 1932, the Protestant and Jewish judiciary chaplains became civil servants. Apparently, the division between church and state did not block outreaching religious activities performed in civil service. During the Second World War and its aftermath, the need for spiritual care grew and stimulated local pastors form various congregations to come into action. This encouraged the ministry of Justice to appoint a head of Protestant chaplaincy and a head of Roman Catholic chaplaincy which served the integration of a specialized type of spiritual care within the penitentiary system (Abma et al. 1990). Organized religions could claim access to the institutions in order to take care of their members in issues where the state was not allowed to interfere: the care of souls. In 1954, the organization of those without a religious affiliation, the Humanist Association, started a laborious process of entering this precarious cooperation. A special civil servant was appointed to coordinate Humanistic spiritual care, which was initially the work of volunteers, until in the late 1980s, Humanistic Studies were introduced at the level of higher education. After Protestants, Catholics, and Jews, now Humanists entered the organized spiritual care in total institutions. Both in the army and in prisons, the historical religious diversity contributed to the formation of a rudimentary system that would provide for spiritual care to a religiously diverse population (van Iersel 1991). Traditionally, the care of souls for those in hospital, prison, or in the army had been regarded by the Church as part of its core business, namely, as serving its members. In the modern era, pastors (priests, pastoral workers, ministers, rabbis) specialized themselves in becoming chaplains for a specific domain, taking into account that pastoral care is different in each domain. This process followed diverse paths in the three domains. Hospital chaplaincy resulted from a secularization, or more specifically, a medicalization of the field of care as such. Whereas the rector used to direct the institution, he now was supposed to spiritually guide the patients. Army chaplaincy was

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gradually allowed within the military system as a distinct profession, representing a church, starting with the largest religious minority. Prisons had been more familiar with the presence of clergymen, but prison chaplaincy as a distinct profession, paid for by the state, practiced by representatives of the major religions and denominations, and integrated in the judicial system, was a modern invention. All three trajectories were marked by an organization of chaplaincy along denominational and religious lines.

Transforming chaplaincy Initially, the growing part of the population without religious affiliation, often labelled according to their political sympathies (‘reds’ and ‘liberals’), were not involved in this development. At the end of the 1960s, their share in the Dutch population amounted to 20 percent (Dekker and Stoffels 2001, 142). Religious participation among members of the Dutch Reformed Church had been declining longer, but at that time the Roman Catholic Church started to lose members. Boundaries between religious groups were transgressed and religion lost its value as the dominant identity marker. At the same time, new religions and religious movements entered the national scene. The Dutch system of organized religious subcultures started to collapse. At the end of the twentieth century, most of the formerly faith-based organizations (labor unions, societies for leisure and amusement, hospitals, and home care) had become secular. In a few social sectors, however, the faith-based principle of segregated cooperation was maintained and even expanded. This happened in education, where Evangelical, anthroposophical, and Islamic schools were introduced, and in the media, where Evangelicals, Humanists, and Buddhists claimed their own broadcasting organizations. Chaplaincy followed two trajectories in this respect. In the hospitals, tendencies of ‘de-pillarization’ prevailed. Since 1970, in some university clinics, ‘spiritual care’ (geestelijke verzorging) was invented as an umbrella term for what chaplains from all denominations do. In Dutch, this neologism does not refer to the concept of ‘spirituality’ (see Chapter 6), but to care (zorg) for the category of spirit and mind (geest) and to the common, inclusive, word for the clergy (geestelijken). The term ‘care of souls’ soon went out of fashion. The new term proved successful both in opening up the care of souls in institutional settings to representatives from a wide range of religious and secular worldviews and in uniting them as practitioners of the same profession. It did not, however, gain currency among the general public and remained somewhat artificial (ter Borg 2000). The new term implied a new approach as well. Following American examples, Dutch psychologists and theologians started an interdenominational psychological and pastoral training (Clinical Pastoral Education) for pastors working in institutional settings (see Cadge 2012, 24–90). Ecumenical departments for spiritual care were established, firstly in hospitals, and later in other institutions for care as well: homes for the elderly, psychiatric

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hospitals, and centers for people with intellectual disabilities. They united in a professional association (Association for Spiritual Counselors in Health Care Institutions) with distinct Catholic and Protestant sections. These pastors started to operate on an inter-confessional basis, and were salaried by collective insurances through the institutions themselves. In 1977, nonaffiliated spiritual counselors entered the field, soon renamed as Humanists. A few years later, counselors who had not been delegated by a religious or humanistic institution, but with a spiritual affinity started to manifest. They also made attempts to organize themselves in a separate section within the professional association, at first without success; but in 2014 this section was founded, too, followed by a Hindu section. Meanwhile, a section for Jewish (1990) and Islamic (1993) spiritual care had been added. This association has formulated a professional standard (1995), recognizes diplomas (van der Ven 1998), and has set up a system of registration.1 In one word: it promotes the ‘professionalization’ of spiritual care. Thus, spiritual care has been constructed as the common practice of chaplains and other spiritual counselors from various churches and other organized religions or worldviews (Swift 2014). The first professional standard used to define spiritual care as “the professional and ministerial counselling and guidance in existential issues, based on faith or a worldview, and professional consultancy in ethical, religious or philosophical aspects of care and policy” (VGVZ 2002). This complex formula brought together two ways of working. It combined working as an expert (‘professional’) with working as an office holder or incumbent, such as a clergyman (‘ministerial’). It stipulated that spiritual care is for people of different faiths, including secular. It involved both counselling and consultancy. Following the decrease of church membership and the increase of religious diversity and non-affiliation among both clients and professionals, the standard was revised in 2015. In the current version, spiritual care is defined as the “professional counselling, guidance and consultancy in existential issues”. Being a chaplain no longer implies the representation of a particular faith. A special council for those persons who have not been delegated by a denomination authorizes candidates to practice spiritual care based on the particular worldview of the practitioner (Vereniging van Geestelijk VerZorgers 2015).2 Chaplains may or may not serve organized religion. The legal basis of spiritual care in the context of health care already provided some room for spiritual care outside organized religion. After a lengthy debate, the individual right to gain access to the care of souls, or its equivalent, remained the basis: people should be able to receive the usual pastoral care, even though it is difficult for priests and ministers to reach them (Hirsch Ballin 1988). Since 1996, the Law on Spiritual Care orders health care institutions to arrange that suitable spiritual care is available for patients and inhabitants of any religion or worldview during any stay longer than twenty-four hours. This law is based on Article 6 of the Dutch Constitution which guarantees the freedom of religion: the state does not

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interfere with religion, nor does it hinder the exercise of religion. In practice, the confessional identity of chaplains is downplayed and often considered irrelevant by the public (Smeets 2006). Chaplains, at least the majority of Christian chaplains, tend to perceive themselves as spiritual counselors, irrespective of a religious affiliation. Usually, they operate at particular locations and wards according to a schedule (‘territorial’), rather than taking care for the members of their particular denomination (‘sectoral’). Both the orientation of the chaplains themselves towards a church, which is often perceived as restrictive rather than supporting, and the operational procedures in the institutions tend to reduce the identification with a particular religion. At the same time, this new profession leans heavily on organized and lived religion outside the health care institution. Historically, spiritual care is the continuation of the usual support for members of a particular denomination. Financially, churches and equivalent institutions are sponsored to erect and maintain the education of ministers at an academic level. Lived religion is implied in the legal basis of the requirement to facilitate spiritual care when people are under a regime that is regulated by state governance: in the army, a prison, or, indirectly, when they are in a hospital or institution. They should be allowed to express and exercise their religion as they would in regular life. Grounded in the European Convention on Human Rights (Article 9), this has been, and still is, the juridical foundation of spiritual care in the army and in prisons (van Eijk 2013, 19–74). The state facilitates religions to exercise pastoral care and its equivalents using Delegating Authorities, which enable the Ministries of Defense and Justice to communicate with ‘a religion’. These Authorities cooperate in a Bureau for Spiritual Care, which has been further expanded with representatives from the Islamic community (Ajouaou and Bernts 2015), the Hindu community, and representatives of Buddhism, next to the Catholic, Protestant, Jewish, and Humanistic sections. In this context, the path of pillarization has been pursued into present times. In practice however, chaplains from the major denominations work for militaries and, respectively, the prisoners of other faiths as well (Spruit, Bernts, and Woldringh 2003). There are no strict boundaries here either.

Care and state In a context of secularization and increasing religious diversity, recent developments display different trends in the context of care versus the context of state institutions. Since the 1980s, health care institutions have started to employ unaffiliated spiritual counselors as well, dismissing them of the required ‘official’ delegation. Apparently, the link between chaplaincy and the Church has become weak. Yet, some spiritual counselors still hold on to the distinct position within the institution (‘sanctuary’), which used to be legitimated by their status as a visiting representative from a religion. A theory of practice that has been devised on the basis of city ministry, called ‘theory of presence’, has served to legitimize this attitude (Baart 2001;

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Sullivan 2014). According to this theory, an essential skill of the helping professions is the ability to accompany the other in a mindful way. The ‘ministry of presence’ has gained popularity outside the pastoral profession as well, for instance among nurses. This is the first approach I discern. Other spiritual counselors seek to fortify their position in the systemic context of care by taking part in multidisciplinary consultations and adopting effective procedures of intervention. Their approach departs from the model of the expert. The Association for Spiritual Counselors in Health Care Institutions, for example, sought to participate in the new Health Insurance System, namely, as a profession that helps outpatients cope with their handicap or illness. A third approach is the confessional approach, focusing on the ministerial position of the priest (or its equivalent) as a representative of his religion (Kronemeijer and Iersel 2010). Specific services such as administering sacraments or providing moral guidance then make up the core business of spiritual care. The bishop responsible for chaplaincy attempted to regulate the Roman Catholic chaplaincy according to this principle. After protest, he withdrew the document with that purpose (Gärtner, Groot, and Körver 2012). Thus far, none of these approaches has become the dominant approach; sometimes, elements of different approaches are combined. Potential clients and the neighboring professionals seem to lack a clear concept of the specific contribution of spiritual care. Within the field of healthcare, it has not yet succeeded in obtaining a firm position. In the army and the prisons, the system of Delegating Authorities has been expanded. The Departments for Spiritual Care, residing under the Ministries of Defense and Justice, now have seven sections. Within these sections, pleas for both a confessional and professional orientation are heard. This reflects the habitus shaped by the field itself: spiritual counselors are representatives of a religious community, which is supposed to discipline them enough to be acceptable for a position in the military or judiciary system. The system turns a variety of ritual, ethical, and liturgical specialists into ‘pastors’, taking care of individuals mainly by talking with them. At the operational level, spiritual counselors, at least in prisons, tend to rely on a ministry of presence. Less frequently, they report that they try to widen the prisoners’ worldview (the dialogical model) or that they share their own religious motivations (the kerygmatic model) (Flierman 2012). The structural organization of spiritual care in the army and prisons continues to follow the pattern of pillarization, expanded to suit present-day religious diversification. Its practice can be framed as a generalized and secularized version of the Christian care of souls.

Accountability and security The case of spiritual care in the Netherlands shows the following pattern. A new profession starts to establish itself, only partly linked with organized religion. It claims an expertise in existential issues, and modestly succeeds

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in being recognized as such. It is to some extent successful in the context of care and in the context of the army and the prisons. The juridical basis in the context of care is organized religion. Yet, its representatives also claim that spiritual care contributes to the core business of the institution, such as promoting health and well-being, next to, but different from, social work and psychological help. Thus, in conformity with the characterization of spiritual care as remnant or heritage, it is linked with organized religion; in conformity, however, with the characterization of spiritual care as a new psychological profession, the strategy can be observed to establish spiritual care as a distinct profession, seeking a plausible basis of legitimacy. This new profession has its own professional characteristics, embedded in theological and humanistic studies. It also uses psychological categories, such as coping, in the struggle for public recognition. The organizational basis in the context of state institutions is strongly in organized religion, as the proponents of the ‘remnant’ or ‘heritage’ thesis would have it. In this way, the government can indirectly exclude unaffiliated or ‘sectarian’ spiritual counselors, whereas the established chaplains do not have to prove their effectiveness. Here, ‘spiritual care’ is the common denominator for the various types of religious and secular guidance, counseling and support that soldiers and prisoners receive from counselors who are affiliated with organized Catholicism, Protestantism, Judaism, Humanism, Islam, Hinduism, or Buddhism. My interpretation of this professional history runs as follows. Remnants of solid-religious modernity are used in the context of the religious diversity that is typical for liquid modernity. The context of the Netherlands shows two different paths. The context of state institutions shows a formal continuation and expansion of the confessional paradigm while operating in a plural religious and secular context. The keyword here is security (Todd 2013). Policy makers seek to warrant the professional status of the spiritual counsellor by establishing a firm link with organized religions. Their view of society is dominated by the perception of religious diversity. Believers should have access to representatives of their faith. In the context of care, a different trend is visible. Here, spiritual counselors seek to legitimize the role of their profession in the system of collective insurance, and unaffiliated counselors claim their right to practice. The keyword here is accountability (Schilderman 2011). Policy makers in chaplaincy seek to warrant the status of the profession by integrating its work in the process of care. Their view of society is dominated by the perception of secularization. Spiritual care is supposed to provide benefits for the patient, the client, or the inhabitant. This condition is an impetus to develop standard procedures and evidence-based spiritual care since secularization and the trend to treat patients and clients outside homes, hospitals, and institutions threatens the juridical legitimization based on the freedom of religion. Increased secularization and pluralization has been answered by two strategies, which can be formally distinguished as follows: 1) the extension of the

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confessional model, resonant with the Dutch version of oligopoly dynamics: organized religious pluralism; 2) the definition of a common ground for all professionals in spiritual care, within the context of public accountability: generalized pluralism. The first strategy dominates in the context of state institutions, but is not absent in health care institutions. Islamic counselors, for example, tend to operate exclusively for Islamic patients, alongside the Christian and Humanistic counselors who take care of all other patients. The second strategy dominates in health care institutions, although spiritual counselors in the prisons and the army reach people of other faiths as well, and try to prove their usefulness with scientific reports, too. The distinction between the two spheres seems to lose some of its significance. In 2013, the Professional Association for Spiritual Counselors (in Health Care Institutions) dropped the latter specification and opened its ranks for counselors operating in areas such as the army, prisons, and the private sector. Subsequently, the theologian Hans Schilderman (2015), professor in Religion and Care at Radboud University, made a plea for recognizing spiritual care in any sector as a ‘liberal profession’. Its practitioners should develop their own ‘esprit de corps’, irrespective of their confessional background.

Conclusion Does spiritual care result from the breakdown of traditional chaplaincy or from the entry of new disciplines in the care of souls? The Dutch case shows that ecclesial initiatives were a driving force behind the formation of a new profession. In the 1970s, religious diversity was the impetus to the rise of secular-religious specialists. While their professional-academic orientation and institutional setting was secular, their expertise was in the religious domain, namely, the provision of meaning in matters of life and death. This case suggests a new proposition. In liquid modernity, the historical Christian care of souls tends to transform into spiritual care as a new profession, close to, but distinct from, the psychological profession. Elements taken from the pastoral profession are used to create a new profession. Pastoral practices and institutional structures, which were designed to comply with the aspirations of Christian churches to retain or gain contact with and influence over fellow believers, provided a template which was used by other religions and even secular movements to create new practices and offices within the care of souls. Thus, spiritual care results from an active usage of a Christian legacy: an ecclesial initiative has been imitated in the secular sphere. In the competition between representatives from religions and secular worldviews churches have often opposed the taking over of their initiative. The increasing power of the state and secular institutions has not always been welcomed either. Yet, contemporary spiritual care cannot be imagined without the historical and contemporary contribution of churches. In fact, churches promulgated a model of care of souls outside their sphere of influence, whether they intended to or not.

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From the perspective of politics, this new profession is legitimized by the general need for pastoral care in society. In the specific context of prisons and the army, its institutional dynamics are ruled by a logic of security; in the context of care, by a logic of accountability. International comparisons might reveal different trends for other countries, depending on their religious profile, the relation between church and state, and the power relations between existing and rising professions (Swift, Cobb, and Todd 2015).

Notes 1 Stichting Kwaliteitsregister Geestelijk Verzorgers, Available from www.skgvregister.nl [accessed 31 May 2016]. 2 Stichting RING-GV. Available from www.ring-gv.nl [accessed 31 May 2016].

References Abma, J.F., E.J.M. Blom, G. Loman, A.J. Dautzenberg, and M.B. Blom. 1990. “Geestelijke verzorging in penitentiaire inrichtingen: een orientatie op een karakteristiek werkveld.” Justitiële Verkenningen no. 16 (6):102–124. Ajouaou, Mohamed, and Ton Bernts. 2015. “Imams and Inmates: Is Islamic Prison Chaplaincy in the Netherlands a Case of Religious Adaptation or of Contextualization?” International Journal of Politics, Culture, and Society no. 28 (1):51–65. doi: 10.1007/s10767-014-9182-y. Baart, Andries. 2001. Een theorie van de presentie. Utrecht: Lemma. Beckford, James A., Danièle Joly, and Farhad Khosrokhavar. 2005. Muslims in prison: Challenge and change in Britain and France, migration, minorities and citizenship. Hampshire/New York: Palgrave MacMillan. Bos, David. 2010. Servants of the kingdom professionalization among ministers of the nineteenth-century Netherlands reformed Church. Leiden/Boston: Brill. Cadge, Wendy. 2012. Paging God: Religion in the halls of medicine. Chiacago/ London: University of Chicago Press. Dekker, Gerard, and Hijme C. Stoffels. 2001. Godsdienst en samenleving: een introductie in de godsdienstsociologie. Kampen: Kok. de Swaan, Abram. 1988. In care of the state: Health care, education and welfare in Europe and the USA in the modern era. Cambridge: Polity Press. Fitchett, George, and Steve Nolan. 2015. Spiritual care in practice: Case studies in healthcare chaplaincy. London: Jessica Kingsley Publishers. Flierman, Fons. 2012. Geestelijke verzorging in het werkveld van justitie: een empirisch-theologische studie. Delft: Eburon. Gärtner, Stefan, Kees de Groot, and Sjaak Körver. 2012. “Zielzorg in het publieke domein. Over de legitimering van geestelijke verzorging.” Tijdschrift voor Theologie no. 52 (1):53–72. Giddens, Anthony. 1991. Modernity and self-identity: Self and society in the late modern age. Cambridge: Polity Press. Goossens, Leonardus A.M. 1974. Geestelijke verzorging Koninklijke landmacht. Voorburg/Den Haag: Uitgeve Hoofdlegeraalmoezenier Hoofdlegerpredikant.

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Goudswaard, Niek. 2006. “Geestelijke verzorging in het verleden.” In Nieuw Handboek Geestelijke Verzorging. Geheel herziene editie, edited by Jaap Doolaard, 23–59. Kampen: Kok. Hirsch Ballin, Ernst M.H. 1988. Overheid, godsdienst en levensovertuiging: eindrapport van de Commissie van advies inzake de criteria voor steunverlening aan kerkgenootschappen en andere genootschappen op geestelijke grondslag (ingesteld bij ministerieel besluit van 17 februari 1986, Stcrt. 1986, nr. 51). ‘s-Gravenhage: Ministerie van Binnenlandse Zaken, Stafafdeling Constitutionele Zaken en Wetgeving. Kronemeijer, Matthijs, and A.H.M. (Fred) van Iersel. 2010. “Herkenbaar en betrouwbaar pastoraat. Interim rapport aan de Nederandse bisschoppenconferentie voor de totstandkoming van een vademecum voor het categoriaal pastoraat in de zorgsector.” [cited 1 January 2012]. Available from www.rkkerk.nl. (Removed from site.) Lijphart, Arend. 1968. The politics of accommodation: Pluralism and democracy in the Netherlands. Berkeley [etc.]: University of California Press. Post, Paul, Ronald L. Grimes, Albertina Nugteren, Per Petterson, and Hessel J. Zondag. 2003. Disaster ritual: Explorations of an emerging ritual repertoire, Liturgia Condenda. Leuven [etc.]: Peeters. Schilderman, Hans. 2013. “Geestelijke verzorging als casus van de ontkerkelijking.” Religie & Samenleving no. 8 (1):205–225. ———. 2015. “Van ambt naar vrij beroep. De geestelijke verzorging als voorziening in het publieke domein.” Tijdschrift voor Religie, Recht en Beleid no. 6 (2):5–23. doi: 10,5553/TvRRB/187977842015006002002. Schilderman, J.B.A.M. (Hans). 2011. “Religious Capital and Public Accountablity.” In The public significance of religion, edited by Hans-Georg Ziebertz and Leslie Francis, 41–63. Leiden: Brill. Smeets, Wim. 2006. Spiritual care in a hospital setting: An empirical-theological exploration. Nijmegen: Proefschrift Radboud Universiteit. Spruit, Leo, Ton Bernts, and Clara Woldringh. 2003. Geestelijke verzorging in justitiële inrichtingen, Rapport Kaski 502. Nijmegen: ITS/Kaski. Steinkamp, Herman. 1997. Gemeinden jenseits der Pfarrei. Edited by Hans-Georg Ziebertz. Weinheim: Deutscher Studien Verlag. Sullivan, Winnifred Fallers. 2014. A ministry of presence: Chaplaincy, spiritual care, and the law. Chicago: Chicago University Press. Swift, Christopher. 2014. Hospital Chaplaincy in the Twenty-first Century: The Crisis of Spiritual Care on the NHS, Explorations in Practical, Pastoral and Empirical Theology. 2nd ed. Farnham: Ashgate. Swift, Christopher, Mark Cobb, and Andrew Todd. 2015. A handbook of chaplaincy studies: Understanding spiritual care in public places, Ashgate contemporary ecclesiology. Farnham: Ashgate. ter Borg, Meerten B. 2000. Waarom geestelijke verzorging? Zingeving en geestelijke verzorging in de moderne maatschappij. Nijmegen: KSGV. Todd, Andrew. 2013. Military chaplaincy in contention: Chaplains, churches and the morality of conflict: Explorations in practical, pastoral and empirical theology. Farnham: Ashgate. van der Ven, Johannes A. 1998. Education for reflective ministry. Louvain/Grand Rapids, MI: Peeters Press/Eerdmans. van Eijk, Ryan. 2013. Menselijke waardigheid tijdens detentie. Oisterwijk: Wolf Legal Publishers.

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van Iersel, A.H.M. (Fred). 1991. “De voorgeschiedenis van het justitiepastoraat: ‘ik was in de gevangenis’: in den beginne, de zestiende eeuw, de republiek der Nederlanden, de negentiende eeuw, na de afscheiding, 1880–1940.” In Het justitiepastoraat in Nederland: uitgave ter gelegenheid van veertig jaar Hoofdaalmoezenier en Hoofdpredikant bij de Inrichtingen van Justitie in Nederland 1949–1989, [Report 9073929016], 1–18. van Iersel, A.H.M. (Fred), and L. van Gastel. 2007. Vier besturingsmodellen voor de geestelijke verzorging in de zorg. Budel: Damon. VGVZ. 2002. Beroepsprofiel. Amsterdam: Vereniging van Geestelijk Verzorgers in Zorginstellingen. Vereniging van Geestelijk VerZorgers. 2015. Beroepsstandaard Geestelijk Verzorger. Available from www.vgvz.nl/userfiles/files/Algemene_teksten_website/ beroepsstandaard_definitief.pdf. Weber, Max. 1989. Max Weber Gesamtausgabe I/19. Tübingen: J.C.B. Mohr. Yang, Fenggang. 2010. “Oligopoly Dynamics: Consequences of Religious Regulation.” Social Compass no. 57 (2):194–205. Zock, Hetty. 2008. “The Split Professional Identity of the Chaplain as a Spiritual Caregiver in Contemporary Dutch Health Care.” Journal of Pastoral Care & Counseling no. 62 (1/2):137–139.

Part 4

The world takes over The use of religion in the secular sphere

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The religious co-production of mental health care

If your conscience bothers you and you can’t talk about it with your partner or your family, to whom do you turn for support and advice? In 1966, 35 percent of the Dutch population said they would consult a minister or a priest. In 1996, only 9 percent (2015: 6 percent [Bernts and Berghuijs 2016]) said they would; and this percentage was even lower among the young or highly educated (Bernts, Dekker, and de Hart 2007, 31). During the thirty years in between, social work and out-patient mental health care arose as providers of support or therapy for people in times of trouble. In 1983, 9 percent of the adults who had suffered from the loss of family or friends, divorce or income, reported they had contacted a regional institute for out-patient mental health care (Riagg) (SCP 1986). From the 1970s until the end of the century, these institutes formed a national network for non-residential mental health care. Clients with lower levels of education more often turned to social workers, apparently with the same issues: onequarter with general problems of living, including concerning the meaning of life, and one-third with marital problems or other difficulties with relationships (Friele and Verhaak 1991). While pastoral care provided in parishes is no longer on the radar for many, psychological help has become available to a wider clientele. Have the psychotherapists replaced the priests (de Groot 1998)? This is what a series of authors have claimed, such as the American sociologist Philip Rieff (1987) and the ‘anti-psychiatrist’ Thomas Szasz (1978). The British sociologist Paul Halmos (1970) sketched the continuity between the Christian pastors and their successors, the ‘counsellors’. Under this label he subsumed psychiatrists, psychologists, and social case workers operating with a psychoanalytic paradigm. In fact, Halmos argued, we still believe we are able to love one another more effectively provided we receive some spiritual guidance now and again. The French sociologist Robert Castel signaled that the new ‘experts of the soul’ represent a society in which people tend to perceive as psychological issues what used to be regarded as matters of salvation (Castel, Castel, and Lovell 1982). It seems safe to say that a new profession has arisen in what Weber called ‘the care of souls’. However, this does not answer the question of how this development is related to

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developments in the religious field. Is it adequate to characterize this relation as the replacement of one category by the other? Have the psychological experts driven out the religious experts? Pierre Bourdieu (1985) has commented on framing psychological and other experts as ‘neo-clerical’ (Vincent 1985). Using this analogy has heuristic value, but should not lead us to presume there is a universal category of ‘care of souls’ where one profession simply replaces the other. Instead, we should investigate the transformation of the religious field, including its relations with other fields such as the medical field. This is what I have tried to do in the previous chapter on chaplaincy and will continue to do in the present chapter, focusing on the secular field of mental health care, The technical term ‘field’ used here refers to the abstract notion of a network of relations between positions in a power structure (Bourdieu 1996). These positions are related to the field’s capital. In the case of mental health care, this would be the expertise of promoting mental health. Established psychiatrists derive their professional authority from their access to this source of power. Newcomers, such as psychologists, may dispute this exclusive position and claim a similar expertise. Both parties agree, however, on the importance of what is at stake. This field-theory takes the sociological stand that these positions imply orientations and behavioral schemes (called ‘habitus’) which predispose actors to perform particular practices. All this allows social spheres to be distinguished without taking over particular, disputed, emic distinctions, such as ‘psychological’ versus ‘social’, ‘psychiatric’ or ‘religious’. The struggle over these definitions belongs to what makes this field ‘this field’. When it comes to the relation with the religious field, it seems that Bourdieu already has a pretty clear idea what has happened with this relation. There are no sharp boundaries anymore, he claims, between the religious field and other fields. One used to recognize a priest immediately, if only because of his cloth. Nowadays, he remarked in 1985, there is no way to notice the difference between the old clergy (already with a wide internal variety), representatives of cults, psychoanalysts, psychologists, doctors, sexologists, teachers of body work or martial arts, counselors, or social workers. All are part of one new field where these parties struggle to control the symbolic manipulation of ways of life and worldviews. The religious has dissolved within this larger field with all its competing definitions of what is a healthy body and a sound soul. I took Bourdieu’s characterization as one potential relation between the religious field and other fields and studied how professionals themselves have constructed these relations. Research into the historical relation between the field of mental health care and the religious field can only be done in a specific local context. There are probably various ways of establishing a therapeutic profession. In the United States, the clergy sought to profile itself as a helping profession for problems of living, yet failed, and withdrew in the face of the rising psychotherapeutic profession (Abbott 1988, 280–314). In the Netherlands, the rise of mental health care is marked by both the

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dominant role of Christian churches in the first half of the twentieth century, and the relatively radical processes of de-churching in the second half. It is in this particular historic context that a discipline such as clinical psychology had its ‘unique’ national start, as an historian of science put it (Dehue 1995). The notions of replacement and dissolution presuppose that psychotherapy is historically foreign to pastoral care, while, at least in the Dutch context, the practices are in fact historically interrelated (Berger and Janssen 1980; Abma 1982; van der Grinten 1987; ter Meulen 1988; Pols 1988; van Berkel 1990; Oosterhuis 1996). Bourdieu’s presupposition that the two disciplines are involved in a competition reflects a particular stance with respect to their interrelation. The perspective of religious liquidation, instead, draws attention to the active role of organized religion in establishing the new field of mental health care. Often, this part is left out of contemporary versions of the history of mental health care or recast as antagonistic (cf. Hutschemaekers, Hosman, and van Lieshout 1997). I will trace the neglected religious factor, mainly based on a content analysis of Maandblad (voor de) Geestelijke Volksgezondheid [Mental Hygiene Monthly], from 1946 to 1993 (de Groot 1995). This journal was initiated by the National Federation for Mental Hygiene and developed into MGv, the professional journal for mental health and addiction care, published by the Trimbos Institute, until its demise in 2014.

A common interest in mental hygiene (1900–1954) The early followers of Sigmund Freud in the Netherlands were more interested in esotericism – spiritualism, occultism, and theosophy – than in mainstream religion (Bulhof 1983). Theologians too, however, welcomed psychoanalytic theory and discussed its relevance for culture, ethics, education, and religion (Brinkgreve 1984). They had to stand up to firm rejections by various ecclesial authorities, such as Pope Pius X in his encyclical letter on the doctrines of ‘the modernists’ (1907). The subsequent oath (1910), required for every member of the clergy, contained an explicit condemnation of the notion that religion could be reduced to the interplay of the subconscious and the superego. Protestants criticized the psychoanalytic movement for its ‘gnosticism’ (van der Spek 1921, 504), but showed interest in its insights as well – as did a wider circle of Catholic intellectuals. The care of souls was one area where the new insights could be helpful. After World War I, this new discovery of the inner life was followed by the impetus to promote mental hygiene, commonly translated in Dutch as geestelijke volksgezondheid, which refers literally to a public psychological, or, less often, spiritual health. This vague but powerful notion was derived from an American movement, inspired by the biographical work of the exmental health patient Clifford W. Beers: A Mind that found itself, published in 1907. Originally, the movement aimed at the reform of residential psychiatry, but soon it broadened its scope to the wider society. In 1930, the

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Netherlands’ Association for Mental Hygiene (Nederlandse Vereniging voor Geestelijke Volksgezondheid) was formed as a learning society comprising psychiatrists, pedagogues, educators, criminologists, and sociologists. In the same year, the Roman Catholic Charitable Association for Mental Hygiene (Rooms-Katholieke Charitatieve Vereniging voor Geestelijke Volksgezondheid) was established as an umbrella organization for Roman Catholic bureaus in specialized education, child care, social work, and psychiatric institutions (van der Grinten 1987). Both associations, soon followed by a Dutch-Reformed and a neo-Calvinist (gereformeerde) association, promoted mental hygiene in issues such as marriage, sexuality, parenting, education, and career guidance. Psychiatrists, theologians, nurses, and social workers who were involved in these societies expressed their concerns about certain conducts of life and called for a responsible conformation to patterns that were considered healthy. A related practical initiative was taken by the Roman Catholic medical society (R.K. Artsenvereniging), which established marriage counseling centers. In these centers, a priest, assisted by a doctor for ‘technical issues’, supported courting, engaged, and married couples in their struggles with the tensions between sexual practice and ecclesial ethics. Although the official original intention of this extra-parochial type of care of souls was to preserve the loyalty to ecclesial norms, this did not exclude similarities with the ideals of the ‘mental hygienists’. Both the conservative society of doctors and the progressive association for mental hygiene, for example, sought to stimulate sexual self-constraint. After World War II, both Catholic and Protestant churches established several Family Counseling Centers, often staffed with a psychiatrist and a social worker. A psychological approach became popular at these centers, in particular at the Protestant centers. The Catholic marriage counseling centers developed towards the same direction, since the government presented the option of funding with the provision that these centers have psychologists on their teams. A prudent policy was required for hiring these psychologists. Pope Pius XII (1953), speaking at a Catholic conference on psychotherapy and clinical psychology, warned against what he called ‘personalism’, that is: letting psychology determine real-life norms (Trimbos 1953). This development in the direction of psychological help was also disputed by psychiatrists. The medical examiner, Arie Querido, working in the field of psychiatry, was concerned about the potential unprofessional approach to mental disorders. Querido and his colleagues were fighting their own battle to reform psychiatry by taking the social dimension into account and to supplement and replace residential care with out-patient treatment. Mental hygiene, according to them, was not a distinct discipline, but a model for reform (Querido 1950). Other psychiatrists praised the cooperation between religious care of souls and psychotherapy as two distinct, but related, disciplines (Du Boeuff and Kuiper 1950). When a person is suffering from depression and expresses a strong sense of guilt, he should be treated

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with psychotherapy before the Gospel can be proclaimed to him (Dercksen 1951). Mental hygiene should not exclude the distinct role of religion. In this stage, priests, doctors, psychiatrists, and social workers worked together, mainly within a Christian, often Catholic, context in order to promote mental hygiene. In order to distribute state funding for preventing mental illness, the neutral and faith-based associations joined forces in a National Federation for Mental Hygiene in 1933 and this Federation started to publish a professional journal, the Mental Hygiene Monthly. The Federation’s secretary, the jurist and social case worker Eugenia C. Lekkerkerker, became the journal’s editor. Its logo, the ‘handled cross’, expressed the double dedication to Christian faith and medicine quite explicitly: it was explained both as the Coptic cross and the Egyptian Ankh. Catholic intellectuals, in particular, sought to establish an integral mental health care, subsidized by the government through the politics of pillarization. To this end, a Catholic National Bureau for Mental Health Care was established. In official documents, both the terms ‘care of souls’ and ‘psychotherapy’ were avoided, but in individual publications such as by the convert Frederik J.J. Buijtendijk (1974; Abma 2015), it became clear that their aim was to establish a ‘secular care of souls’, that is: a care of souls in the secular domain (Weijers 1991). This attempt, inspired by the phenomenological approach in psychiatry (‘the Utrecht School’), was disputed by psychiatrists whose mission was to promote psychiatric support outside the institutions without confessional involvement. The expansion of care of souls under the heading of mental hygiene was not uncontested.

Establishing mental health care (1955–1969) The formation of a distinct system for mental health care in the 1970s was the outcome of two struggles in the preceding period. Within the religious field, a moral-theological approach, promoted not only by religious authorities but also by the Catholic medical society, gave way to a psychological approach, promoted by the Catholic society for mental hygiene. This process was part of a larger project of church renewal, which involved the shift from neo-scholasticism, focused on the application of rules, to personalism, focused on the development towards a responsible human being. In this view, expressed by the Catholic psychiatrist Kees Trimbos (1955), who referred to authors such as Romano Guardini, mental health care was rooted in Christian caritas. This reform movement was severely opposed by the conservative minority associated with the Catholic medical society, who appealed to Roman authorities. As a result, an official warning (Monitum) was issued in 1956 against the use of psychology and psychoanalysis, specifically directed against a female psychiatrist who had candidates for priesthood in therapy. This could only refer to the Catholic psychiatrist Anna A.A. Terruwe, conservative in a theological respect, yet vulnerable as a woman who published on neuroses, drawing both from the work of Thomas

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Aquinas and Sigmund Freud. In 1965, she was rehabilitated. The Pastoral Constitution, Gaudium et Spes (Vatican II 1965), incorporated much of the personalist approach, but by then the Catholic mental hygienists had already left the Catholic network. Within the field of psychiatry, a revised medical model promoted by psychiatrists working in public health, such as Arie Querido, gave way to a social model, promoted by the new helping professions who were active in counseling bureaus and pedagogical clinics. A dominant psychiatric influence would, according to Kees Trimbos, lead to medicalizing the human condition. A multi-disciplinary approach would better fit the needs of people who contended with problems of living. The progressive confessional approach, articulated by Trimbos, had a strong base in local practice and was supported by the government’s finance system, which sought to professionalize the confessional and neutral institutes alike. In this context, the transformation of Catholicism and the formation of out-patient mental health care went hand in hand. As a representative of the Catholic bureau for mental health care, Trimbos (1961) became well-known for his inspirational speeches, facilitated by the Catholic Broadcasting Organization, on modern Catholic faith and sexuality, including topics such as homosexuality and birth control. He also designed a concept of a public system for out-patient mental health care based on the local cooperation between Catholic or Protestant counseling bureaus, pedagogical clinics, and psychiatric centers for prevention and aftercare. Both the campaign for mental hygiene and the clustering of the bureaus providing psycho-hygienic services were successful, but from the perspective of church membership the efforts failed. At the end of the 1960s, Trimbos himself had left the Church. The troublesome renewal of the Church and the parallel success of the renewal movement in the field of the helping professions facilitated the continuation of the existing concerns for personal development, human dignity, sexual freedom and emancipation within the context of mental health, rather than within a religious context. The ecclesial affiliation of the confessional bureaus weakened as their position in the emerging field of mental health care became stronger. The extensive, dense, and strikingly homogenous network of Catholic intellectuals concerned with psychological hygiene and mental health lost its embedment in Catholicism (Simons and Winkeler 1987). Trimbos (1965) started to regard mental health care as a secular alternative for the religious care of souls. At the end of the 1960s, the plans for an integrated, general, rather than pillarized, system of mental health care were elaborated. Rather than secular psychotherapists taking over the religious care of souls, the Dutch development presents an expansion of the religious care of souls to the secular domain, where it merged with psychiatric initiatives, thus contributing to an emerging field of mental health care. The confessional preference for a distinct mental health care prevailed over psychiatry’s preference to maintain

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its monopoly. Out-patient psychiatry and psychoanalytic psychotherapy were included in this system, but at the time that the plans were ready, the confessional orientation of the bureaus had already waned.

Embracing psychotherapy (1970–1982) The field of mental health care was more open to what happened in new religious movements, advocating the teachings of Maharishi Mahesh Yogi or Baghwan Shree Rajneesh. Jan Foudraine (1972), a Dutch psychiatrist who was active in the anti-psychiatric movement, became a devotee and changed his name to Swami Deva Amrito. There was praise in the MGv for the therapeutic usefulness of meditation, yoga, and tai chi and for unconventional approaches to psychology, such as psychosynthesis, which included the study of the soul. These approaches, which flourished in the alternative milieu, were vehemently discussed. The antagonism which ruled the previous period came to the fore as well in a slightly modified appearance. Therapists of the counselling centers, no longer expressing their confessional identity, turned against professors and psychotherapists from the established psychoanalytic institutes for psychotherapy in the larger cities who had recently opened the profession for academics outside the medical profession. One of these therapists was the political scientist Abram de Swaan, who integrated his psychoanalytic training in a sociology of mental health care (de Swaan 1988; Brinkgreve, Onland, and de Swaan 1979). These institutes had managed to monopolize the state subsidy for psychotherapeutic treatment, which gave rise to loud protests from psychotherapists working at the counselling centers, whose clientele stretched out beyond the urban elite. The discourse of this discussion was partly religious. After the ample situation for the urban institutes had come to an end, Jos H. Dijkhuis, professor in clinical psychology and psychotherapy and affiliated with the Utrecht institute for multidisciplinary psychotherapy, published an article in which he criticized the lack of financial support for these institutes and explained the corresponding attitude as ‘resistance’. The world, according to Dijkhuis, is unwilling to accept that ‘psychological well-being’ is the fundamental value, which is determined by insight in the functioning of an individual. The psychotherapeutic method and worldview provide an integrated answer to existential questions. All kinds of humanist, religious, and spiritual movements – whether inspired by Billy Graham or Baghwan, the Human Potential Movement or Transcendent Meditation – celebrate some kind of self-actualization. Socialism, liberalism, and Christianity all focus on social interaction. “As psychotherapists we perceive that the individual interpretations of interactions – which are of course framed by society – determine psychological wellbeing” (Dijkhuis 1980). Psychologist Henk van Buul responded critically to the way ‘psychopope’ Dijkhuis treated his discussion partners as his patients: “Whoever is

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unwilling to receive the message of salvation, is acting out of resistance” (van Buul 1980). Times were turbulent. Inspired by Michel Foucault and Ivan Illich, “the market for well-being and happiness” (Achterhuis 1980) was under siege. Psychiatry and psychotherapy had been criticized before. The anti-psychiatry movement with authors such as David Cooper and Thomas Szasz denounced the psychiatric labelling of deviant behavior, arguing that this serves the power of institutional psychiatry and organized psychotherapeutic schools rather than the well-being of clients. These critical voices, continuing earlier oppositions to psychiatric dominance, were welcomed in the MGv. Increasingly, however, psychologists and social workers were subjected to suspicion and ridicule as well. While Szasz (1978, 28) attacked the ‘fake-religion’ of psychotherapy in order to save ‘true religion’ and the ‘true care of souls’, the Dutch critics showed no affinity with this apologetic program and turned to terms such as ‘priests’ and ‘ideology’ without presupposing a legitimate, ‘real’ religion. Where the American author Szasz attacked psychiatry as bad science and fake religion, the Dutch authors presumed that the qualification as religion was scathing in itself. Now that the religious basis of the confessional organizations had disappeared out of sight, the religious approach in mental health care was soon forgotten, too. Even when therapists confessed that their models left them empty-handed when it came to existential issues of suffering and death – the very reason why then Catholic psychiatrist Trimbos had argued that mental health care should not be left to psychiatrists alone – they did not recur to the heritage of the religious care of souls. In no less than a decade, Christian religion had disappeared from the dominant frame of reference. Neither did therapists take religion into account within the therapy itself, nor did they refer to a priest when religious issues were involved. Religion was definitely a phenomenon of the past. Yet, some psychotherapists turned to Eastern mysticism and spiritual techniques, which bothered others. It was suggested by therapist and sociologist Abram de Swaan that given all radical anti-professionalism, professional jealousy, and financial cutbacks, it was a good time for self-reflection. Psychotherapists should have reacted more strongly against newcomers jumping on the prestigious bandwagon of psychotherapy. “Prominent psychotherapists have hesitated too long to close the discipline for marathons and primal scream; bio-energetics and free-floating eastern philosophy” (de Swaan 1980, 736). Exactly in this post-confessional area, when psychotherapists made pleas to distinguish the gurus from the professionals, a remarkable culture clash took place, which revealed that the Dutch psychotherapeutic scene had witnessed a secular revolution. The renowned American psychiatrist Allen E. Bergin, speaking at the twenty-fifth anniversary of the Netherland’s Association of Psychotherapy, delivered a lecture in which he asked for the re-evaluation of the importance of religion (cf. Bergin 1980). His suggestion to deal constructively with

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the ‘guilt-response’ was ill-received in this secularist milieu. It was almost impossible to discuss the role of values in psychotherapy and to deconstruct the unassailable notion of individual autonomy. J.H. Thiel, a professor in psychotherapy, responded that therapists do not judge in matters of good and evil, and therefore condemned Christian ethics: “The Bible may be a nice book,” he concluded not without wit, “but it contains some prescriptions that should not be recommended for the sake of mental health” (Aarsen 1980). Bergin’s position was ridiculed as ‘missionary’; he had spoiled the ‘birthday party’. A clear division was established. The common attitude in this period was that priests, church, and religion were outdated phenomena, representing, at most, a primitive stage in the history of mental health care. Religious specialists were former competitors who had lost their terrain to secular therapists.

Dealing with spirituality and religion (1983–1993) In 1982, the regional institutes for out-patient mental health care were formally included within the system of collective health insurances. The former movement for mental hygiene had been successful in gaining a position with the wider field of care. Psychiatry and clinical psychology had each designed their own trajectories of training and registration. Both had agreed on a common understanding of psychotherapy. Mental health care had become the business of specific professionals. This process involved the exclusion of alternative practices by so-called ‘gurus’ which transgressed the boundaries between professional care and spiritual growth. Therapies associated with spirituality, such as primal scream and bioenergetics, were no longer regarded as beneficial for the professional status of mental health care. The MGv published a record number of articles to point out an individual case of abuse in a so-called marathon session in bio-energetics, five years after the fact. “In hindsight, it seemed like a kind of group (a cult) of devotees and idols, taking bio-energetics as a faith” (Friedman 1983). This finally resulted in the closure of the bioenergetic center, which had been called for three years earlier. Subsequently, the discussion about psychotherapy and spirituality silenced in the journal and was continued elsewhere. Within this de-pillarized, professionalized, and presumably neutral context, religion was no longer considered an issue. Yet, challenged by an attack on the monopoly of the neutral institutes, religion returned to the agenda. Psychiatrists from an orthodox reformed background established a new institute for mental health care, promoting good relations between minister and therapist. Its request for equal government support was well-received by the Cabinet in which the Christian Democratic Party had a dominant position. The ‘neutral’ establishment in mental health care, however, rejected this initiative as a resurgence of confessional self-interest. The editorial of the MGv commented: “With respect to neurotic believers or religious

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neurotics: I wonder what people would pay more money for – helping them find their religion, or releasing them from this burden? In any case, the former option has been fashionable for centuries and has been paid for dearly now – tons more than for the latter” (Heerma van Voss 1989). The Christian plea for a closer cooperation between pastoral care and mental health care was renounced, yet some therapists reluctantly admitted that they needed to enhance the expertise on religious clients (Bauduin 1991). Earlier complaints by orthodox reformed Christian clients, Muslim clients, and others now led to the recognition that the standard, so-called neutral, approach in out-patient mental health care might have been deficient. The prospect of enhancing expertise on religions was a comfortable way out; the strict separation between religious care of souls and mental health care could be continued. The role of religious specialists was further ignored. Incidental pleas for the role of chaplains in mental health care (spiritual care) met with distrust. Therapists generally did not regard religion as an important issue and claimed that they took religious aspects of mental problems into account themselves (Van Uden and Pieper 2003). In the next decades, the institutes for out-patient mental health care clustered with psychiatric hospitals and other institutes into larger organizations for mental health care. The focus shifted from psychotherapy to the combination of psychopharmaceutic drugs and short-term cognitive behavioral therapies. Residential care was reduced to a minimum, favoring out-patient treatment instead. Exploration of the inner life was left to independent psychotherapists and the holistic milieu, which had evolved since the 1960s. In their effort to counter the growing appeal to mental health care, the national government and insurance companies decided to reduce insured care to the treatment of mental disorders. Therapeutic sessions on marital problems and grief are no longer paid for, thus excluding dealing with problems of living as problems within the established system of mental health care. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, the national system for a secular care of souls envisaged by Kees Trimbos has transformed into a division within the wider system of care. In this stage, the social, multi-disciplinary, and, in particular, religious approach is subordinate to medical and psychological models. Mental health care and care of souls, strictly speaking, have been put in two detached categories.

Conclusion The Dutch variety of the American Mental Hygiene Movement, the driving force behind the establishment of a system for out-patient mental health care, was partly faith-based, with a leading role for the large Catholic minority. In the Catholic subculture, the care for mental health was originally practiced as part of pastoral care. The institutionalization of the movement and the de-churching of the founding faith-based organizations led to the rise of secular mental health care next to religious care of souls. The successful

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therapists tended to regard themselves as successors to the former Christian pastors in secularized Dutch society. The arrival of new religious minorities and the entrance of orthodox Protestants in the field of mental health care contested this secularist perspective. Representatives from the religious field suggested a more cooperative attitude: both psychotherapists and religious specialists may have their own role in matters of personal distress. Dominant parties within the field of mental health care, however, remained aloof and instead strengthened the position of mental health care within the care system, which tended to be dominated by a medical model. Contemporary mental health care signifies a next stage in the fluidization of ecclesial initiatives. What once started as extra-parochial pastoral care transformed into psychological help and merged into the system of mental health care. This is not only partly rooted in the religious field, but also continues a concern with problems of living, regardless of whether those problems need to be labelled as symptoms of an underlying mental disorder. The psychological perspective was originally introduced as an innovation in both care of souls and psychiatric help, but evolved into the dominant perspective of a distinct mental health care which developed further into the direction of the psychiatric field. Managing the boundaries with the religious field used to be an issue in the stage of establishing a mental health care next to religious care of souls. When psychotherapists were exploring Eastern movements, the distinction between spirituality and psychotherapy again appeared on the agenda. In a later stage, when religious clients conflicted with the therapists’ secularist approach, the accessibility of mental health care for non-secular clients and the deficient expertise on religion and values became an issue. Yet, the cooperation with religious care of souls was generally renounced. The religious background of mental health care did resonate in the way adversaries of the psychotherapeutic establishment were called, namely ‘gurus’ and ‘prophets’, whereas representatives of the established organizations were called ‘priests’ or even ‘pope’. Like Pierre Bourdieu, therapists themselves perceive the antagonism between the established and the newcomers and refer to parallel processes in the religious field. These analyses and the religious discourse they entail play an important part in the definition of the field. Looking back at the formation of mental health care one might conclude that from the 1930s until the 1960s, the Dutch churches have made considerable efforts to bring in the Trojan Horse of psychology (van Lieshout 1985). From a slightly different, progressive Catholic, point of view, others have portrayed the Catholic movement for mental hygiene as a liberation movement (Westhoff 1996). Indeed, leading intellectuals such as Kees Trimbos used the structures of Catholic subculture to promote the gospel of mental hygiene. Even before the Second Vatican Council (1962–1965) – with its turn towards the world – had ended, the Catholic proponents of mental hygiene had already given up their ambition to transform the religious field and instead focused on the establishment of a non-confessional mental

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health care with their Protestant and ‘neutral’ partners. The churches lost control over a field they had helped to create. Yet, the genesis of mental health care should not be written from the secularist perspective that is now dominant within the field. The early Protestant and Catholic advocates of psychoanalysis, mental hygiene, psychology, and psychotherapy wished for an accessible system of care where people in distress could benefit from psychological insights in order to take up their responsibilities for their own lives. Their program partly succeeded, despite opposition from within the religious field. What they did not accomplish is that this type of care would be rooted in a religious worldview, so that adaptation to the dominant way of life would not rule the therapy. It is now up to the individual client and the sensitivity of the therapist to attribute a constructive role to the values and orientations of the client. The expansion of care of souls in the secular domain was followed by ‘dispossession’ (Beaudoin 2008): the churches lost ownership. Now, this secular care of souls has transformed into something which is practiced within the field of psychology and psychiatry. Although its religious origins are largely ignored, the activities still bear witness to the old ideals to alleviate individual suffering by inviting clients to talk about what is troubling them. Care of souls in a strict sense continues to be practiced by independent psychotherapists, trainers, coaches, and all kinds of holistic healers – and pastors.

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Hutschemaekers, Giel, Clemans Hosman, and Peter van Lieshout. 1997. Geestelijke volksgezondheid: geschiedenis van het denken en stand van zaken. Houten: Bohn Stafleu Van Loghum. Oosterhuis, Harry. 1996. “Christian Social Policy and Homosexuality in The Netherlands, 1900–1970.” Journal of Homosexuality no. 32 (1):95–112. doi: http:// dx.doi.org/10.1300/J082v32n01_07. Pius X. 1907. Pascendi Dominici Gregis: Encyclical of Pope Pius X on the doctrines of the modernists. Available from http://w2.vatican.va/content/pius-x/en/ encyclicals/documents/hf_p-x_enc_19070908_pascendi-dominici-gregis.html. ———. 1910. The oath against modernism [cited 8 May 2017]. Available from www. papalencyclicals.net/Pius10/p10moath.htm. Pius XII. 1953. On psychotherapy and religion [Address to the fifth international congress on psychotherapy and clinical psychology given on April 13, 1953]. Available from www.ewtn.com/library/PAPALDOC/P12PSYRE.HTM. Pols, Hans. 1988. “Genezen van de moraal. Over katholieken en de geestelijke gezondheidszorg in Nederland 1930–1950.” Kennis en Methode no. 12 (1):4–22. Querido, A. 1950. “Naschrift.” Maandblad voor de Geestelijke Volksgezondheid no. 5:270–271. Rieff, Philip. 1987. The triumph of the therapeutic: Uses of faith after Freud. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Original edition, 1966. SCP. 1986. Sociaal en Cultureel Rapport 1986. Rijskwijk/Den Haag: Sociaal en Cultureel Planbureayu/VUGA. Simons, Ed, and Lodewijk Winkeler. 1987. Het Verraad der Clercken. Intellectuelen en hun rol in de ontwikkelingen van het Nederlandse katholicisme na 1945. Baarn: Arbor. Szasz, Thomas S. 1978. The myth of psychotherapy: Mental healing as religion, rhetoric, and repression. Garden City, NY: Anchor Press/Doubleday. ter Meulen, R.H.J. 1988. Ziel en zaligheid: de receptie van de psychologie en van de psychoanalyse onder de katholieken in Nederland 1900–1965. Nijmegen/Baarn: Katholiek Studiecentrum/Ambo. Trimbos, C.J.B.J. (Kees). 1953. “De pauselijke rede over moderne psychotherapie.” Maandblad voor de Geestelijke Volksgezondheid no. 8:137–142. ———. 1955. “Vijf en twintig jaar Katholieke Centrale Vereniging voor Geestelijke Volksgezondheid.” Maandblad voor de Geestelijke Volksgezondheid no. 10:117–125. ———. 1961. Gehuwd & ongehuwd. Hilversum: Paul Brand. ———. 1965. “Neurotiserende factoren om het gezin.” Maandblad voor de Geestelijke Volksgezondheid:147–174. van Berkel, Dymphie. 1990. Moederschap tussen zielzorg en psychohygiëne: katholieke deskundigen over voortplanting en opvoeding 1945–1970. Assen: Van Gorcum. van Buul, Henk. 1980. “Weerstanden tegen Dijkhuis.” Maandblad Geestelijke Volksgezondheid no. 35 (3):230. van der Grinten, Tom. 1987. De vorming van de ambulante geestelijke gezondheidszorg: een historisch beleidsonderzoek. Baarn: Ambo. van der Spek, Joh. 1921. “Karakter en gevaren van de psychoananalyse.” Stemmen voor waarheid en vrede no. 58:481–505. van Lieshout, Peter. 1985. “Veertig jaar geestelijke volksgezondheid. Een analyse van het Maandblad Geestelijke Volksgezondheid.” MGv no. 40 (12):1245–1274.

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Van Uden, Marinus, and Jos Pieper. 2003. “Clinical Psychology of Religion: A Training Model.” Archive for the Psychology of Religion no. 25 (1):155–164. Vatican II. 1965. Gaudium et Spes. Pastoral constitution on the Church in the modern world [cited 12 July 2017]. Available from www.vatican.va/archive/hist_councils/ ii_vatican_council/documents/vat-ii_const_19651207_gaudium-et-spes_en.html. Vincent, Gilbert. 1985. Les nouveaux clercs. Prêtres, pasteurs et spécialistes des relations humaines et de la santé, Historie et societé. Genève: Labor et fides. Weijers, Ido. 1991. “Wetenschap in context. Terugblikken op de Utrechtse school.” Kennis en Methode no. 15 (4):331–353. Westhoff, Hanneke. 1996. Geestelijke bevrijders: Nederlandse katholieken en hun beweging voor geestelijke volksgezondheid in de twintigste eeuw. Nijmegen: Valkhof Pers.

9

Private matters The presentation of religion in a museum

In liquid modernity, religion is used as a cultural resource: symbols, practices, and beliefs are lifted from their religious context and embedded anew in another. This may be any context, such as health care, culture, economics, education, or politics. The field may have historical connections with religion, such as mental health care, or not, such as the present case in the field of leisure. The use of religion across the boundaries of the religious field evokes the question of boundaries of the fields involved. How are they managed? What is considered a transgression and what is not? How can a field remain secular while it delves deeply into religious matters? These are the questions that arose after a museum director, accompanied by a Protestant minister, paid me a visit and asked me to write the introduction for the forthcoming exposition catalogue entitled, “Zoetermeer between Heaven and Earth: Soul and conscience of a modern new town.”

The political climate ‘What do our city dwellers believe?’ This is the intriguing question the staff at the Zoetermeer City Museum asked themselves in the spring of 2004. It is intriguing not only because it is only recently that modern times have become a topic in museums, but also because Dutch public institutions used to leave matters of religion to others (Kennedy 1995). This has been the case since the collapse of the system of institutionally organized religious diversity known as ‘pillarization’. During the 1970s, Dutch public culture transformed quite rapidly from overtly religious to overtly secular. Slowly, the neglect of religion came to an end, and since the end of the second millennium, religion has made a comeback in the public domain. This was symbolized by the Dutch 1997 Book Week, which held the ambiguous title ‘My God’. Journalists, artists, and writers who had largely ignored religion as a contemporary, relevant issue no longer assumed the end of religion. Since then, journalists have recurrently announced the end of the age of ‘God is dead’ and a ‘return of religion’ (Oomen 2003). Religion is no longer exclusively regarded as the terrain of religious institutions and movements, but is increasingly being recognized by secular public institutions, for example, as

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an aspect of urban cohabitation. Still, uneasiness with the subject, usually framed as something of the past, remains. The national political climate in the years before 2004 was marked by the rapidly evolving political career of sociologist and debater Pim Fortuyn, who spoke to feelings of discontent in Dutch culture and a desire for change. Addressing a variety of issues, he articulated the ambivalent wish of late modern individuals for a communal life on the one hand, and individual freedom on the other. He transgressed the codes of political correctness, in particular on the issue of Islam in Dutch society, by using expressions such as ‘backward culture’. This ‘dandy in politics’ dominated the political discussion, accelerated by the international turmoil after two hijacked airplanes had crashed into the Twin Towers of the World Trade Center in 2001 (Pels 2003). The Islamist motives of the hijack team seemed to confirm Fortuyn’s earlier warnings against the ‘Islamization’ of Western culture. Opponents struggled to equal the media attention he managed to receive. An opposing viewpoint that did receive some attention addressed the role of organized religions in a more favorable manner. The mayor of Amsterdam, Job Cohen (2009), suggested – first at a New Year’s reception in 2002, and then more extensively in two subsequent lectures – that religion be regarded as an instrument of cohesion in the supposedly secular Dutch society. Surprising many supporters of Huntington’s thesis of the ‘clash of civilization’, he suggested involving religious, in particular Islamic, communities in his mission to “keep the citizens of Amsterdam together”. At that time, Fortuyn was campaigning successfully for the national elections. The shock that followed his assassination on May 6, 2002 was only slightly tempered when it appeared that the offender was not a militant Muslim, but a militant ecological activist. The political murder generated a general sense of insecurity. Job Cohen’s pragmatic approach had to stand up against the growing conviction that Islam was an obstacle to integration for Muslim immigrants from Turkey and Morocco. The Dutch tradition of religious tolerance seemed to melt away. Job Cohen’s view, however, did appeal to the staff of the city museum of Zoetermeer, a ‘New Town’.

The town “New Towns are cities or towns that are designed from scratch and built in a short period of time. They are designed by professionals according to a Master Plan on a site where there was no city before. This distinguishes a New Town from a ‘normal’ city that gradually grows and evolves over time” (International New Town Institute 2015). By definition, all inhabitants are new in a New Town. The specific town under consideration here is located in the Netherlands, a country with a strong tradition of a planned shaping of the physical environment. The New Town, Zoetermeer, is a medium-sized city close to the size of The Hague. It has grown tremendously over the past four decades.

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While the residents of Zoetermeer may boast a history that goes back to the eleventh century, the city as we know it today was created over an extremely short period of time after the village of Zoetermeer was officially designated a so-called New Town (groeikern) in 1961. Then a village of 9,000 inhabitants, by 2004 Zoetermeer had a population of 115,000. Though not a New Town in a strict sense, it shares most of the characteristics of one. New towns are inhabited by people from a wide variety of backgrounds. They share an environment that breathes ‘newly created by human hands’ wherever one goes. Zoetermeer is a ‘here and now’ in which people live together, each with his/her own ‘elsewhere’, including other countries, each with his/her own history, including a religious biography. In 2004, 14 percent of the inhabitants had one or more parents who were born outside the Netherlands (Gemeente Zoetermeer 2004). In the 1990s, Zoetermeer became synonymous for ‘nothing is happening here.’ This is illustrated by the fact that the Dutch Generation X writers (among whom Ronald Giphart was one) took the city’s name as the title for their literary magazine. The city had a reputation for being staggeringly boring. “An exhibition of postmodern architecture without a city life.” “A city without roots.” “A city without a face.” However, as urbanization increased, urban issues such as vandalism and troublesome and idle youth also increased. Concerned about the social cohesion in their urbanizing suburb, the municipality of Zoetermeer subsidized a research project of the University of Amsterdam to investigate the supposedly problematic situation. According to the researchers, there were no severe societal problems. Yet, they advised investment in projects to strengthen ties between inhabitants (‘Bouwen aan bindingen’ [Strengthening ties]). In a scholarly article, Amsterdam urban sociologists focused on the construction of the situation as problematic and referred to this phenomenon as the tragedy of suburban residents (van Ginkel, Deben, and Lupi 2002, 275). After all, the exact reasons why these people fled the big city were to avoid crime, street noise, pollution, vandalism – in short, the experience of insecurity. Tensions between ethnic groups and between adults and youth spoil the suburban dream, they concluded. Incidentally, youth have to do little more than make some noise and gather in groups on the street to be considered problematic. Suburbanized people, they claimed, are simply more sensitive to situations that interfere with their idea of peace and quiet. What stood out in this report was not only the absence of a sense of urgency, but also the absence of interest in the role of religion. Religion was not mentioned as a source of disruption or as a potential for cohesion. This was remarkable – and noticed as such by the Christian Democrats in the city council – against the background of the growing tension in multicultural Dutch society. After a period in which multiculturalism had dominated public discourse, a more critical discourse about (descendants of) immigrants, especially from Turkey, Morocco, and the African continent, as a whole took hold (Vellenga 2008). Global Islamist terrorism, such as the religiously

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motivated attacks on the Twin Towers (9/11/2001), started to influence the interpretation and evaluation of the project of multiculturalism. It enforced the tendency to perceive immigrants as Muslims, and to evaluate the presence of Islam in the Netherlands as negative.

The project The initial idea of director Jouetta van der Ploeg was that the religious diversity of Zoetermeer would appeal to the curiosity of the public. What if we were to provide an opportunity to glance into one another’s homes, or to have a look at an aspect of life considered as private as one’s faith? From the beginning, René Lamers, a journalist from the local newspaper (Haagsche Courant), was involved. Both he and the director of the museum soon linked this project with their concern about the social cohesion in the town they were working in. Inspired by Job Cohen, they were strongly motivated not only to pay attention to the religious orientations of the inhabitants, but also to encourage people from various cultures and religions to meet and to get to know each other (Lamers 2005). The third partner in this project was Jaap van der Linden, a minister from the local Dutch Reformed Church. He perceived the opportunity to make use of the secular space of the museum to organize the inter-religious meetings that had been his wish for such a long time (van der Ploeg 2007, 2004). Together they planned a half-year program based on a portrait gallery of inhabitants from various religious backgrounds, photographed with an object that symbolizes their devotion and accompanied by a quote that expresses their personal faith. The photographs and selections of the interviews were to be published in the catalogue (van der Ploeg and van Dijk 2004) with a scholarly introduction (de Groot 2004) and a report of a local survey on the relation between religiosity, Christian orthodoxy, and esotericism (Berghuijs 2004). After the opening event, a series of activities were to follow: ‘World Cycle Tours in your own Home Town’ visiting various places of worship on the way, ‘Foreign Food’ (having a meal in an ethnic environment), weekly lectures and inter-religious meetings, and two projects for religious education (primary and secondary school). Collecting believers The aim of the project was to have the religious diversity (including nonbelievers) of Zoetermeer represented in the sample. The aim was not, therefore, to provide a representative image of the population as a whole. An accurate representation would have required a good-sized, random selection from the Zoetermeer population register, with all people thus retrieved being required to cooperate. In this journalistic rather than scientific procedure, the focus was on one’s individual faith, and qualitative diversity was the leading principle. Part of the selection procedure, furthermore, was the

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question of whether people would be prepared to appear with their name and their photo in the City Museum. An article in the Haagsche Courant (February 28, 2004) launching the project was accompanied by three interviews: one with a Muslim, a Hindu, and a ‘spiritual’ individual. Only seven people – practicing believers or people with very outspoken views – responded to the appeal printed in the article. Apparently, an appeal in a general medium was not enough to recruit other respondents, including somewhat less high profile believers. Letters went out to religious groups, welfare organizations, and immigrant organizations inviting them to give publicity to the project amongst their members. Fourteen people responded, mainly from the Bahá’í community (who had just acquired a piece of land in Zoetermeer to build their temple for North West Europe), and from the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Almost all respondents who were approached via their religious communities played a leading role or were well known within their communities. However, the majority of the respondents were invited personally: they were relatives of friends of the interviewer, people he met in Zoetermeer, even a woman who served his meal in a Greek restaurant. He did not manage to get in contact with people from the Buddhist Asian communities or from the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Three Jewish respondents decided to rescind their cooperation because they disliked the idea of exposing their stories and pictures to anti-Jewish sentiments. One non-denominational Evangelical respondent later withdrew from the project. Overall, the aim to have believers from the different religions as well as those who combine several traditions, and non-believers was largely successful. A selective sample However, compared with the population in general, this collection of fiftythree respondents shared some unique characteristics. There were equal numbers of male and female participants, as in the Zoetermeer population, but, with an average age of 48, the residents who were interviewed were generally older. They were also more exotic. Almost half of them had an immigrant background compared to only 14 percent of the overall Zoetermeer population. While the interviewer spoke to people from all districts in Zoetermeer, there was a relatively large (ten) number of residents from an area built in the 1990s, with low houses and ‘stacked’ homes (Rokkeveen-Oost). This area comprises rented properties and homeowners and accommodates many foreign nationals who have moved upwards socioeconomically speaking. Since random meetings were also used to invite people to talk about their beliefs, the study was not restricted to merely ‘overtly religious’ believers, deliberate disbelievers, or religious seekers. However, it is fair to assume that the religious interest among these people was relatively strong. People who took time to respond or to be interviewed were, to some extent at

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least, involved with the subject. Moreover, during the interview or during the period preceding it, people were stimulated to reflect on what they actually believed. Perhaps, people felt invited to share more of their ideas than they would normally do with others, which, in turn, also made them think themselves. A third of all interviewees were Christians. They included Catholics, mainline Protestants, Orthodox believers, and members from Pentecostal churches. Another third belonged to one of the other mainstream religions: Islam, Hinduism, Buddhism, and Judaism. The Muslims came from Suriname, Morocco, Turkey, Iraq, and the Netherlands and distinguished themselves in different directions. The Hindus were all Hindustan Surinamers. The Buddhist respondents were Dutch Christians who became attracted to the religion at a later age. One Jewish woman came from the Netherlands, the other from New York. One-quarter were followers from other religions, movements, or spiritual leaders, including Bahá’ís, Mormons, Freemasons, and Neo-Sannyasins (disciples of Osho, formerly known as Bhagwan Shree Rajneesh). Three people had a broad, more or less esoteric interest, while two others wanted nothing to do with religion. Method and analysis The interviews by René Lamers were set up to take twenty minutes, but in practice, this soon became thirty minutes. The first interviews took just under an hour. Afterwards, a photographer, Frits Falkenhagen, would visit the interviewees to take their picture with an object that symbolized their religion or worldview. The interviews were recorded integrally and typed up. I analyzed the transcripts, experimenting with various codes, until the codes ‘fitted’ the data. Later, René Lamers selected the text fragments that were displayed in the museum and in the accompanying catalogue. These quotes presented religion as a personal matter. This construction was the deliberate intention from the outset of the project. Respondents were approached as individuals-with-a-faith rather than as representativesof-a-faith. In their accounts, they presented their religious biographies, sometimes next to information about their religion. Most of them were keen to show that they believed in their own, personal way. One respondent said that she did not accurately observe the clothing regulations, the other that she disagreed with the teachings of her highest spiritual leader. Important for them was that they felt happy with a particular belief, finding peace and comfort as well as direction in their lives. Reasons for disaffiliation were the preaching of fear of God or gods, aversion against the religious institute, or grief concerning a plea that went unheard. Their religious development appeared embedded in a personal life world and life cycle, and their religious careers were influenced by parents, grandparents, friends, and loved ones. Accepted notions were questioned under the influence of school projects,

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love relations, marriages, or national or international moves. In some cases, old beliefs were abandoned, in others the ties with the religious traditions were reinforced, and sometimes an attraction to another tradition invited them to follow a wonderful new path. What interviewees held in common was that they spoke from a situation in which it was no longer obvious that they were part of a particular religion. Where so many religions come together, every belief is special. In particular, this multi-faith project, as well as the New Town context, stimulated both believers and disbelievers to realize that they either believe or not and this was something personal that would go public. For some, this personal characteristic could involve a habit of seeking, for others their religion was self-evident, “like my mother tongue” (van der Ploeg and van Dijk 2004, 42). All, however, talked about their religious affiliation as a personal relationship, which could involve a choice but also a predisposition, being appealed to by a particular religion, or getting involved often through the relation with their future spouse. Some had a history of several religious liaisons; others said they were not into any religion whatsoever. More than half of all interviewees held the religion in which they were brought up. While there was more to their story, it did form the basis for their religious identity. A Dutch-Reformed woman told how she was raised by parents who were active in urban ministry. She has received several signs that God exists. Now, she prays to ‘the big boss’ in her own private ‘little church’ upstairs in her house (van der Ploeg and van Dijk 2004, 70). Even common Orthodox, Sunni, Catholic, or Protestant symbols appear as personal symbols because they are presented by individuals isolated from their community in the context of their own homes. A cross, as one respondent explained, appeals to people not to avenge evil, a bead on a chain averts disaster (nazar), a statue of the Virgin Mary offers comfort, an image of ‘Jesus’ (that is, an actor representing Jesus) hangs amidst family photos “as the portrait of a loved one” (van der Ploeg and van Dijk 2004, 90). Thus, religion radiates intimacy. Another category consisted of residents who came into contact with a particular religion at one time and stuck by it. Six people talked about being brought up with little or no religious input, while two others had never been able to do much with what they had been offered in church. Their narratives can be characterized as conversion stories: of sudden change, of everything falling into place, or of individual choice: “I did not get baptized head over heels. I started an easy-going investigation. You have to be touched. Another person cannot push you into it” (van der Ploeg and van Dijk 2004, 94). In the editing process, sentences relating to the ideological and collective dimensions were deleted, enhancing the focus on the subjective elements of the stories. An example of such a sentence is the introduction and conclusion of the previous fragment: “I went to meetings, received teaching, studied the Scriptures. [ . . . ] I wanted to be part of that.” Through selecting and editing, the presentation of religion as a subjective matter was further reinforced.

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After a while, some people discovered that their love for a particular faith had worn and decided that another worldview suited them better. Ten believers were once involved with a religion, usually the one they were brought up with, but in time this commitment faded and they found new spiritual shelter elsewhere. Occasionally, this new choice was abandoned for yet another new one. A 61-year-old man found Zen Buddhism via Bhagwan. He was ‘blank’ until the age of six, but then, after World War II, his family converted to Catholicism and gave him a rigorous Catholic education. He switched to orthodox-Calvinist Protestantism in order to marry a Dutch Reformed girl. The marriage ended in a divorce and after that, he could really explore alternatives. “Already during my marriage, I was looking around. At first, I began to read books by Osho, by Baghwan” (van der Ploeg and van Dijk 2004, 34). In this case as well, editing resulted in downplaying the collective dimension. Here, the element of conflict was left out of the quote: “I couldn’t do that when I was in that Protestant marriage.” The presentations focus on the harmony that the respondents experience. In their newly found faith, they found happiness, enjoyment of life, and an insight into their lives. Refraining from making any definitive choices was also a possibility for some. Three respondents did not conform to a single tradition but valued one element in one tradition and something else in another. All elements, however, are popular in the same holistic milieu: ‘spiritual growth’, Reiki, the Tarot, singing bowls, and crystals. One 40-year-old woman devoured books about spirituality: “My grandparents were still Catholic and DutchReformed, but their children were no longer into that. Myself, I believe in a certain power, in love. To me, the word ‘God’ is [too] heavy. [ . . . ] This esoteric inclination has always been simmering” (van der Ploeg and van Dijk 2004, 78). There is a thin line between the so-called seekers and some of the believers in one particular tradition, especially the more inclusive ones. Finally, there were those who abstained from any kind of religion. While many were critical of the Church as an institution, or of the authority of the Pope or the Imam, only two talked about distancing themselves entirely from religious traditions and what they have to offer. One man stated: “I am agnostic, a not-knower. I believe in things that men can understand or that they have made. It’s all from our hands and our minds, not from elsewhere. People often say, ‘But Frans, there must be something out there!’ No, there is nothing out there” (van der Ploeg and van Dijk 2004, 58). These two men went through life without having contact with one or more religious traditions. The analogy with the partner relationship expresses that religious engagement is a phenomenon of the private sphere that has received a position in the public one. Every person experiences his or her belief in his or her own manner. In the privacy of one’s own home and community, it offers peace, strength, support, and comfort. This exposition stimulated the dialogue between believers by conveying the message that all individuals cherish their own ‘love of faith’.

Figure 9.1 Ivy Sadhoe Photograph: Frits Falkenhagen

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The process The opening of the exposition (September 9, 2004) took place within a tense national context. Fear of Islamist terrorism and street crime of DutchMoroccan youth were prominent in the media. The Dutch-Somali Member of Parliament, Ayaan Hirsi Ali, was still hiding because of death threats, but had just appeared on television with the film Submission (August 29, 2004), a cinematographic statement against the oppression of women in the name of Islam. Visitors, among whom almost all the interviewees were present, were talking about recent media reports of anti-Semitic incidents involving Muslim youth. These reports were presented by the Center for Information and Documentation on Israel (cf. Vellenga 2015). The speaker at the opening was the prominent rabbi Awraham Soeterdorp, an advocate of interreligious dialogue. His enthusiasm about the project, and his message that no religion could claim to know the exclusive road to God, fell in fertile soil. The museum was crowded with enthusiastic visitors. Pictures and quotes from the interviewees were suspended from trees representing the world religions. Their personal objects were displayed and sacred sounds filled the room. Visitors were invited to write their comments on a wall reminiscent of the Wailing Wall in Jerusalem. The event presented the friendly face of religion. The project entailed more than a local event. The exposition received a fair amount of national media attention (the major newspapers, the Netherlands national news agency, magazines, radio). The Zoetermeer project sustained the assumption that religion is fashionable again, and provided a fascinating glimpse of plural religious Dutch society from the inside. More than 3,000 people visited the small museum; and every week, fifty people took part in the inter-religious meeting on Wednesday evenings, most of them elderly and of Dutch origin. The first six sessions had the character of popular education about the world religions and holism; the second series focused on the discussion about issues such as sickness, education, and personal relationships. These meetings invited the sharing of religious convictions and experiences as well. They were monitored by a selection of nine interviewees, most of them with sympathies for various religions; there were three Bahá’is among them. The implicit rule of these meetings was to regard religious viewpoints as a personal matter that cannot be judged. When a Jewish speaker was interrogated fiercely, some members of the monitoring group were confounded. This behavior was considered impertinent. The presupposition was that the treatment of religion as a private matter would open up ways to interact as individuals, rather than as representatives of a particular religion. However, the political dimension of religion presented itself quite vehemently. On November 2, 2004, two months after the opening of the exposition, a second assassination shocked the nation. Filmmaker Theo van Gogh, who had assisted in the making of Submission, was assassinated by a young militant Islamist. Attached with a knife to

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his body was a public letter addressed to ‘the non-believing fundamentalist’ Ayaan Hirsi Ali. The author, calling himself Saifu Deen alMuwahhied (‘Sword of Religion’ ‘Confessor of Unity’), challenged her to wish for her death. He accused her of collaborating with the ‘Jews’ who purportedly dominate Dutch politics. Among these, the mayor of Amsterdam was mentioned as an “adherent to an ideology which allows Jews to lie to non-Jews” (de Graaf 2015). Clearly, the definition of religion and of Islam in particular was at stake. The next day, an inter-religious meeting on education was scheduled to occur in the Zoetermeer City Museum. Before the program started, interviewee Mohamed Chhayra, a member of the monitoring group, delivered a statement in the name of the local Moroccan society Atlas expressing that they, as Dutch Muslims, were horrified and condemned the murder and were afraid of being held responsible as Muslims. “One should not refer to the Quran to legitimate such attacks. Islam stands for peace.” Fragments of his speech were printed in the local section of the Haagsche Courant (“Aanslagen horen niet bij islam” 2004a), next to a report of the meeting (“Moord op Van Gogh beheerst discussie over opvoeding” 2004b). The irritating suspicion that the murder attack was religiously motivated and legitimized hampered the discussion. Was it possible to maintain the implicit conviction that religions are fundamentally peaceful? In that case, militant Islamism should be denied its claim of being religious. The question remained without answer. It was concluded that one could not blame a religion for the wrongdoing of an individual. In the days that followed, a public outrage did break out, partially directed against Islam as such. There were violent incidents as well: one group of youngsters burned down an Islamic school in the south of the Netherlands, another group set fire to a mosque.1 In this atmosphere, the first youth meeting of the project took place. For security reasons, a police car drove up and down the road in front of the museum. Nevertheless, the thirty youth discussed the recent murder open-heartedly and planned a next meeting. Then, they formed a group calling themselves the Illuminati, after the secret society that figures in Dan Brown’s Angels and Demons. In addition to this initiative, Reverend Jaap van der Linden and the monitoring group formed a project group to continue the inter-religious dialogue in the City Museum. The endeavors to counter the stigmatization of religion in general and Islam in particular continued. At the closing event the next month (December 15, 2004), an intercultural party took place in the City Hall where the mayor of Zoetermeer praised the project. Van der Linden and the monitoring group presented their followup project entitled, “Believing in Zoetermeer with one’s head, one’s heart and one’s hands,” which had received funding by the local municipality. At that moment, the municipality’s own project, “Strengthening ties,” had just been launched (December 11, 2004), and involved a plan to promote social cohesion without involving religious communities. The main activity of

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‘Believing in Zoetermeer’, initiated by Mohamed Chhayra, was the preparation and undertaking of a ‘peace mission’ to Morocco in fall 2006 in order “to learn from the Moroccan tradition of religious tolerance”. The project took place; however, the participants discovered that in Morocco Christian and Jewish communities were, in fact, evaporating, and that the national government suppressed various Muslim minorities. The usual political issues (for example, how to deal with misbehaving Moroccan-Dutch boys, or how to endorse the integration of immigrant Moroccan women in Dutch society) took over the program. The special focus of the project did not work. The next year, Revd. Van der Linden left to another congregation elsewhere, after having received the municipal award for building bridges within the local community. At the end of 2007, his part in inter-religious community building within a secular environment was over. The project produced a counter-narrative to the portrayal of religion as backward and dangerous. While doing so, religious convictions disputing the value of tolerance were displayed less prominently. Fieldwork by anthropologist Martijn de Koning (de Koning 2015; de Koning and Kostense 2014) revealed that during the same period (2006–2008), militant activists such as Abu Mohammed met with friends and acquaintances in a mosque in Zoetermeer. All sympathized with a Jihadist interpretation of Islam. In late December 2013, Abu Mohammed departed to Syria and operated as a ‘witnessing’ and ‘fighting’ journalist until his probable death in February 2015. His story, or that of his fellow believers, was not recorded in the museum project.

Evaluation The museum director considered the project a success. With the whole project, the museum reached new target groups and contributed, so the staff firmly believed, to better social relations within the Zoetermeer community. Some groups, including a Muslim women’s work-group, started to use the museum as their community center. This project led the staff to commit itself to organizing a project involving various groups of residents at least once every year (van der Ploeg and de Groot 2006, 95). The project helped the staff to articulate its societal mission. In the context of religion becoming liquid, this case presents a cluster of strategies. A plurality of believers was brought together within the neutral setting of a museum; it was precisely this diversity that stimulated the definition of religion as a personal matter. Thus, people of different faiths were encouraged to get to know each other, including their religious orientations. This appeared to be a fragile construction. The definition of the situation was threatened by a tendency to transform this neutrality into an ideology of syncretism and also by defining particular believers as representatives of a (religious) community. A third threat was the incorporation by other fields, such as the political. In other words, the fluid experience of religious

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community was threatened by re-embedding in a new structure and by existing structures that tend to close off or incorporate this liquid phenomenon. An experimental grass roots impulse to a ‘community of individuals’ (Bauman) such as this one appears vulnerable. The external use of religion may be driven by forces within the religious field, by forces outside of it, or by both. Sometimes it is difficult to tell who is using whom, especially when several parties are involved. Is this a missionary project in a secular space, or is religion used as an instrument for other political or commercial purposes? What some believers, articulated by sympathizing theologians, might applaud as disseminating the Gospel, others might denounce as casting pearls before swine when it is done by actors considered as ‘us’, or a downright act of blasphemy when it is performed by ‘them’. This potential tension will be explored in the next chapter.

Note 1 “Moord op Theo van Gogh,” Wikipedia [cited 8 May 2017]. Available from https://nl.wikipedia.org/wiki/Moord_op_Theo_van_Gogh.

References Berghuijs, Joantine. 2004. “Alternatief geloven. Een onderzoek naar de belangstelling voor esoterie binnen en buiten de kerk.” In Zoeter-Meer tussen Hemel en Aarde, edited by Jouetta Van der Ploeg and Marjonne Van Dijk, 139–144. Zoetermeer: Meinema. Cohen, Marius Job 2009. Binden: met een inleidend interview door Bas Heijne. Amsterdam: Bakker. de Graaf, Beatrice. 2015. The Nexus between Salafism and Jihadism in the Netherlands. In Terrorists on trial, edited by Beatrice de Graaf and Alex P. Schmid, 1–13. Leiden: Leiden University Press. Available from http://media.leidenuniv.nl/legacy/ salafism-and-jihadism-in-the-netherlands.pdf. de Groot, Kees. 2004. “De liefde voor het geloof. Patronen van religieuze betrokkenheid/For love of faith. Patterns of religious engagement in Zoetermeer.” In ZoeterMeer tussen Hemel en Aarde, edited by Jouetta van der Ploeg and Marjonne van Dijk, 10–29. Zoetermeer: Meinema/Stadsmuseum Zoetermeer. de Koning, Martijn. 2015. “‘Jongeren met toekomstplannen’. Het verhaal van Abu Muhammed over standvastigheid, rechtvaardigheid en jihad.” Religie & Samenleving no. 10 (2):135–155. de Koning, Martijn, and Jeroen Kostense. 2014. Oh Oh Aleppo – Hoe Abu Muhammed een Syriëganger werd. De Groene Amsterdammer, 17 September 2014. Available from www.groene.nl/artikel/oh-oh-aleppo. Gemeente Zoetermeer. 2004. Bevolking. Available from www.zoetermeer.nl. Haagsche Courant. 2004a. “Aanslagen horen niet bij islam.” Haagsche Courant, 4 November 2004. Haagsche Courant. 2004b. “Moord op Van Gogh beheerst discussie over opvoeding.” Haagsche Courant, 4 November 2004. International New Town Institute. What is a new town? 2015. Available from www. newtowninstitute.org.

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Kennedy, James. 1995. Building new Babylon: Cultural change in the Netherlands during the 1960s. PhD, University of Iowa. Lamers, René. 2005. Email to the author, 11 May 2005. Oomen, Mar. 2003. “Verliefd op God. Religieuze verlangens blijken hardnekkig.” Vrij Nederland, 19 April 2003, 50–54. Pels, Dick. 2003. De geest van Pim: het gedachtegoed van een politieke dandy. Amsterdam: Anthos. van der Ploeg, Jouetta. 2004. Speech given at Slotmanifestatie. 15 December 2004, Zoetermeer. ———. 2007. Is religie museaal geworden? In Afscheid Jaap van der Linden. Zoetermeer. van der Ploeg, Jouetta, and Kees de Groot. 2006. Towards a City Museum as a Centre of Civic Dialogue. In City museums as centres for civic dialogue? Proceedings of the Fourth Conference of the International Association of City Museums, Amsterdam, 3–5 November 2005, edited by Renée Kistemaker. Amsterdam: Amsterdam Historical Museum. van der Ploeg, Jouetta van der, and Marjonne van Dijk. 2004. Zoeter-Meer tussen Hemel en Aarde: ziel en geweten van een moderne groeistad. Zoetermeer: Meinema/Stadsmuseum Zoetermeer. van Ginkel, Rob, Léon Deben, and Ineke Lupi. 2002. “Suburbane dromen. Idealen en praktijken van het leven van in Zoetermeer.” Sociologie no. 49 (3):275–291. Vellenga, Sipco J. 2008. “Huntington in Holland: The Public Debate on Muslim Immigrants in the Netherlands.” Nordic Journal of Religion and Society no. 21 (1):21–41. Vellenga, Sipco. 2015. “Joden en moslims onder vuur. Over antisemitisme en islamofobie in hedendaags Nederland.” Religie & Samenleving no. 10 (2):114–134.

10 Playing with religion in contemporary theatre

As we are getting further removed from the religious field, a caveat is needed. I do not intend to make the claim that supposedly secular domains are ‘in fact’ religious. I have a more specific mission: to highlight parallels, connections, and shifting distinctions between the religious and the secular, and to show how religious practices appear – decontextualized – in other fields. Soul care might pop up in health care, religious education in the museum, and liturgy in theatre, the subject of the present chapter. Studying these phenomena implies crossing the divisions between disciplines. Doing this, I believe, contributes to our insight into religion itself, in the dynamics of fields other than the religious, and in the sheer contingency of our scholarly and societal concepts of what counts as religion. Our studies demonstrate how artificial (and perhaps inadequate) the tacit ideas about the division of social spheres are. Getting together and experiencing a sense of the sacred is generally considered a religious activity. In liquid modernity, it is also a way in which theatre is characterized. As we saw in the field of mental health care, the claim is made that one replaces the other. Actors and directors often suggest that theatre is the new church. I take this suggestion seriously as an exhortation to investigate the relation between theatre and religion. Under what conditions is this statement true? What does this tell us about religion in liquid modernity and what does it teach us about the study of religion in liquid times? In this final chapter, I reflect on performances in the field of art, using the equipment of liturgical studies. I feel invited do so, since the references to religion within the field itself are abundant. I do not wish to make the claim that theatre is basically religious; rather, I am interested in the specific ways in which theatre plays with religion. Therefore, I focus on productions that explicitly deal with religion.

Theatre as liturgy “The aim of any show is to unite an audience. This is the very basis of the theatrical experience, its deep meaning: the desire to become one with others, and for a second to hear what it’s like to belong to a single human

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body” (Peter Brook in G. Breton, Theaters, New York: Architectural Press, 1989) (quoted in van Maanen 2009, 193). The British director Peter Brook, co-founder of the International Centre for Theatre Research, points to a transcendent yet fundamental dimension of theatre: the desire for unity. His view is not uncommon among professionals in the field. References to church, religion, and magic are not exceptional in interviews, reviews, and theatre programs. The Belgian choreographer Alain Platel, from the company les ballets C de la B, for example, has elaborated on this relation quite extensively (De Vuyst 2008). In post-secular artistic milieus, theatre is often depicted as a contemporary alternative to church. Indeed, the cliché is the church has become obsolete yet the quest for meaning persists; the theatre deals with this. The sociological value of these characterizations is limited. Firstly, it overstates the decline in church attendance and exaggerates the level of theatre attendance. Even in the Netherlands, the yearly number of church visits exceeds the number of theatre visits by far.1 Moreover, the higher educated theatre audience only has a slight overlap with the lower educated churchgoing segment of society. Secondly, it overstates the link between the traditional church and the late modern quest for meaning. Traditionally, churches performed many social functions, such as social integration, social support, and reproduction of the status quo. The individual search for meaning may very well never have been their main focus of attention. Thirdly, theatre is far from unique in offering ways to deal with the quest for meaning. Yet, these claims are interesting as accounts of what theatre is supposed to be doing. The perception of theatre as religious is the first reason for my exploration. Despite its obvious limitations, Brook’s thesis – that the ‘deep meaning’ of theatre is participation in something like a mystical body – is worth considering. The Dutch sociologist of the arts, Hans van Maanen, contests this thesis, arguing that what is important in modern theatre is individual interpretation. Furthermore, Van Maanen distinguishes ‘shared individual experiences’ from ‘collective experiences’. Brook accentuates the role of collective experiences in his metaphysical characterization of theatre; Van Maanen ignores it. Instead, one needs to differentiate the extent to which the experience of transcendence is important. The anthropological concept of communitas is useful in this respect: it is the direct, immediate, and total confrontation of human identities, resulting in the ‘experience’ of humanity as one homogeneous, unstructured, and free community.2 Victor Turner has suggested that postmodern theatre, wherein the observation of a presentation makes way for a playful participation in an event, could be a place for ritual (Turner 1982, 86). Surprisingly, however, the transcendent dimension is left aside in Van Maanen’s discussion. Apparently, there is a distance between the sociology of the arts and the study of religion and ritual that is greater than the distance between the corresponding fields of interest within cultural anthropology.

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The second reason for my interest has to do with the actual use of religious discourse in the theatre itself. It is not unusual for theatre to use religious symbols, rituals, and language, whether they are of Greek, Germanic, or Christian origin. This usage can have different meanings: it can be a superficial reference (Catherine 2010), it can be a form of satire or irony, or it can be an exploration of the power of religious language, myth, or ritual. According to the sociologist Stef Aupers (2015), following Colin Campbell (1987), an ironical attitude can serve as a pretense for a secret and serious enjoyment of a myth. In a ‘mythopoeic culture’, myths can function as a source of meaning, precisely because one does not have to believe in their truth claims. As the British anthropologist, theologian, and professional actor Roger Grainger (2014) put it: “Both theatre and ritual depend upon aesthetic distance to provide their unique quality of personal encounter.” Thus, liturgy on stage can function as what Durkheim calls a culte: the creation of a space where those present are bound together as a collective subject open to communication with the sacred (Durkheim 1999 [1912]).3 These two reasons not only lead to an exploration and discussion of the ways in which theatre interacts with religion, but also bring me to the central empirical question that I aim to address here: In what ways is distinction from liturgy pushed to its limits, crossed, blurred, or transcended in contemporary Dutch theatre?

Perspective and method Whereas at present, theatre might appear as liturgy, in the past, liturgy supposedly became theatre. The claim that theatre has developed out of liturgy is the historical supplement to the former cliché (Guardini 1959, 101; Smith 2009). One can point to the political-religious character of ancient Greek drama, and to the staging of saints and mysteries in the Middle Ages, both in and outside a liturgical context. But, in fact, modern theatre has many forerunners, such as storytelling, minstrels, opera, and, indeed, mystery or miracle plays. Theatre, as we know it, is a relatively recent product of bourgeois culture, whereas Christianity has a long tradition of distrusting theatre. In an authoritative work, De spectaculis, the early Christian author Tertullian (ca. 160–220) condemned public shows, including plays in the theatre, as idolatry. Yet this condemnation shows that Tertullian perceived the (by then implicit) religious character of the heathen public shows very well. He also witnessed the theatrical element of the Christian faith, for, according to Tertullian (1842), there is no greater show near at hand than the Coming of the Lord. Due to the political influence of Christianity, large parts of Western Europe were exempt from theatre from the fourth century onwards, with the exception of mime players travelling among the folk (McCall 2007, 9). We know, however, that dramatic elements, such as gospel narratives, developed within the Christian liturgy from the tenth century onwards. In 1210, priests

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were forbidden to participate in the plays, which stimulated their distinctive development outside the Church. For a long time, however, the sacred and the profane were mixed. Theatrical means were used to communicate religious messages; biblical material appeared in profane theatre (Margetts 2009). The Reformation led to protests against both profane and biblical drama; by way of contrast, in the sixteenth century the Jesuits encouraged drama. The sometimes friendly, sometimes inimical, relation between theatre and liturgy indicates at least the proximity of the two fields. Reducing drama to liturgy, or liturgy to drama, would not be helpful to understand these relations, although “both liturgy and drama can be seen as subcategories of a larger human activity that has come to be called performance or enactment” (McCall 2007, 5). In contemporary Western society, liturgy and theatre belong to two different fields or societal systems. Liturgy is part of the religious field, which, according to Pierre Bourdieu (1971), is constituted by the struggle over legitimate responses to existential questions. According to Niklas Luhmann (2000), its defining binary code is the opposition between immanent and transcendent responses. Theatre belongs to the field of art, constituted by the struggle over the authentic production of art (Bourdieu 1996). Its binary code can be described as the fitting/non-fitting of imaginative forms.4 Once these fields are distinguished, it is possible to investigate their interactions. One option is to investigate the use of drama and theatre in the religious field, including liturgy (Belderbos 2010). Another is to investigate moves toward liturgy in the field of the arts, which is what I am currently interested in. In order to identify these two sets of moves, it helps to listen to what experts in the field say about the difference between the two. Liturgy (from the Greek leitourgia) refers originally to work (ergon) of and for the people (leitos). The related plural orgia most closely corresponds to our notion of ritual. It usually refers to the rites in the Dionysian cult, but it also can refer to the ritual service of the gods in general (Kreinath, Snoek, and Stausberg 2006). Christian scholars adopted the term leitourgia to refer to their own rites and ritual tradition (Bell 1997, 218). The theologian Bernhard Lang puts Christian liturgy into the general perspective of ‘rituality’ in his study Sacred games (Lang 1997). Earlier, the historian Johan Huizinga (1940) considered the cult as an activity of the homo ludens. Both drama and cult are characterized by “the dialectic of reality and imagination” (Barnard and Postma 2007). Both are forms of play, yet different forms of play, according to the theologian Gerard Lukken (2005). The concept ‘play’, characterized by the attitude ‘as if’, is far from homogeneous. Contest-games, such as Monopoly, take place in the reality of the here-and-now, which is dealt with differently for the duration of the game. In imaginary play (for example, children playing father and mother), the players step into another, illusory world that they do not know by experience. Liturgy starts in reality and, in this way, resembles contest-games. It opens up reality to the mystery that is hidden within reality (Speelman

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2002). Liturgy also resembles imaginary play since the latter has a rituallike character and, to a certain degree, initiates the players into the world of mystery. Theatre, at least when the ‘fourth wall’ remains intact, is close to imaginary play, yet adds the idea of an audience. Building on the distinction Aristotle made in his Poetics, liturgy is generally regarded as a collective ritual intended to invoke or celebrate the presence of God (anamnesis), whereas theatre involves the dramatic presentation by actors of a reality outside the ambiance of the theatre (imitatio).5 Reducing to two dimensions the differences to which these (normative) definitions point allows for different scores (replacing ‘God’ with a Durkheimian notion of ‘the sacred’).6 In fact, these two dimensions can be narrowed down to one (double) question: To what extent does the show enhance the experience of community, both horizontally (among the visitors and with the players) and vertically (with a transcendent reality or the sacred)?7 Both dimensions are necessary: a high degree of participation is considered characteristic of an event (as opposed to a ceremony), but this event can be either secular (Nas and Roymans 1998) or religious (Roeland 2009). A high degree of transparency indicates that something religious is going on, but that does not necessarily imply liturgy. People in a church watching someone pray are not involved in a liturgical activity (Lukken 2005, 320–331). It is also necessary that they themselves participate. Thus, the innermost essence of liturgy, according to Romano Guardini, is playing before God. In this way people are (not create) a work of art (Guardini 1959, 102). From Guardini’s ‘essence of liturgy’ to Speelman’s ‘towards a differentiation’, essentialism is common in liturgical studies. This approach has a strategic function, mainly directed at opponents within the religious field. In an actual Mass, one can witness priests with solemn gestures, dramatic rhetoric, and exuberant outfits who entice the believers to watch and listen to them, instead of inviting them to pray with them. Denying such performances, the label ‘liturgy’ is the most powerful way of criticizing them (Lukken 2010). This understanding of liturgy reflects the theological position of the Liturgical Movement. At the same time that the founding fathers of sociology developed their ideas on society, “the generation of a sense of community was considered a central social function of liturgical enactments.” Originally, this sense of community was intrinsically linked with the Table 10.1 An operational distinction between liturgy and theatre Liturgy

Theatre

Participation

Collective actor

Transparency

Here-and-now passes to the sacred sphere

Division between players and audience Presentation of another reality

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awe of the transcendent and the sacredness of mystery. However, as Kieran Flanagan explains, it “became synonymous with suburban middle-class values of meeting and joining” in the late twentieth century (Flanagan 1991, 325–326). In the view of the Liturgical Movement, the believers need to be involved in liturgy as a collective act of which God is ultimately the subject. In contrast, other views on liturgy link God’s presence with the mere presence of an ordained priest and expect less from the collective participation of the believers. I use the criteria mentioned above in another way so as to not underpin the distinctiveness of liturgy from theatre, but to distinguish liturgical elements in theatre. These abstract dimensions are complemented with more descriptive criteria. The scholar of religion, Bernhard Lang, distinguishes six ‘elementary forms’ or ‘sacred games’ in Christian worship: praise, prayer, sermon (including reading), sacrifice, sacrament (especially the presence of Christ in the Holy Supper), and spiritual ecstasy (Lang 1997). I use an adaptation of these categories by the Dutch scholars of liturgy and ritual, Marcel Barnard and Paul Post, namely, prayer, ecstasy, blessing, memorial, sermon, and sacrifice. They also describe dimensions of space and time, as well as the people involved. Their actions may vary from moving, seeing, speaking and hearing, making music and listening, and being silent. These actions can be called ‘forms of play’ (Barnard and Post 2001). I analyzed several cases using these tools. I attended selected shows where I expected to see moves towards the religious field. I was (actively) present, as in participant observation, and took notes. I also conducted interviews, read scripts, and explored corresponding internet sites. I received comments from the directors of the shows and used these to correct facts. I did not, however, research the reception of the shows by the audience. My interpretations include the subjective element of how I experienced the shows myself. For this chapter, I chose four non-commercial professional theatre productions, leaving out amateur productions as well as professional productions in related disciplines, for example, concerts, artistic performances, and dance. All these shows were performed in the Netherlands. Nowadays, the national cultural climate of the Netherlands could be characterized as post-secular in the sense that organized Christian religion is regarded as something of the past, whereas religion and spirituality as such are considered interesting phenomena.

Yes! To live and love At a festival in Rotterdam (De Parade, summer 2006), I witnessed a short performance by Dette Glashouwer, which later evolved into a show that toured in the United States (2010/2011).8 The subtitle of the original show was, ‘A show with Bach, Barbie, Joh. De Heer9 and the longing for unity’. A recap of my experience runs as follows. When we enter the tent, our hostess, who is wearing a knitted dress with fake breasts against her bottom, plays

Figure 10.1 Dette Glashouwer in Yes! To live and love Photograph: Stephan van Hesteren

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Bach at one of the two harmoniums present. She invites us to sing the hymn ‘Showers of blessing’ with her, while explaining the lust that is expressed in its lyrics.10 Showers of blessing, Showers of blessing we need: Mercy-drops round us are falling, But for the showers we plead.

(Daniel W. Whittle 1883) Some join in, others giggle. She shares her memories of family meetings where songs like this were sung, calling our attention to the sublimation of sexuality. In the state of ecstasy thus aroused, she sings the hilarious song Barbie Girl (from the group Aqua). Later, she invites the audience to participate in a séance, in which the Dutch Methodist songbook is taken as a book of answers. The gathering closes with the ‘Buddhist’ song Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah, as a tribute to the Dutch beat poet Simon Vinkenoog. (The alternative text No, no, no, no is allowed, too). Although this was definitely theatre, I was not watching a play. I was invited, instead, to play along by a character, present in the here-and-now. The music promoted the participation of the audience in an atmosphere of remembrance and play with elementary liturgical forms such as ecstasy and prayer for blessing. This did not make it liturgy per se. Rather, I took part in an experiment to see what happened when we, presumably non-believers, sung these religious songs. Strictly speaking, the interactive show only referred to liturgy, but the authenticity of the actress and the playfulness of the whole meeting could have also given the visitor a liturgical experience. This was the case with me. For others, other elements might have prevailed, for example, the bizarre religious criticism, melancholia, or mere fun. Both the reactions during and after the show and on the actress’s website suggest such a variety.

Camp Jesus I attended the production of Camp Jesus by the young Flemish/Dutch company Wunderbaum,11 at Theatre Festival Boulevard in Summer 2008. The production took place in a large hall, and was loosely inspired by the movie ‘Jesus Camp’. The stage contained pews (at the left), a wooden cross (in the back), and a band (at the right). The show started with a live performance of a scene from an Ingmar Bergman movie, The Seventh Seal, namely, the dialogue with Death. Then, a fragment of Schubert’s Dies Irae was played. An actor welcomed the audience and presented the band. All five actors sat down in the pews and started to pray, their faces projected onto big screens. They reveal their longings, desires, complaints, and confessions. These motivations determined the development of the characters during the

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show. The show built up to a passion play: the performance of the Way of the Cross in tableaux vivants, accompanied by contemporary prayers that were read in a formal manner. The atmosphere was solemn. This changed at the scene of the crucifixion: an actress, dressed only in briefs and a loincloth was tied to the cross, and said the words, ‘My God, my God, why have You forsaken me?’ What I see looks slightly familiar.12 Then, another actress leaves the scene and drinks a beer at the back of the stage. She protests against this simulation. The actress who played Jesus responds that it is her way of trying to experience the reality of suffering. A row starts. We hear, again, a fragment of Dies Irae. End of show. Applause. The show evokes the image of a Christian youth camp, with many of its particular rituals or ‘ritual-like’ aspects (Taves 2007). Within this frame there are references to confession, prayer, ecstasy, and memorial, namely, the Way of the Cross. Despite the elementary forms that were used, the code of a theatrical performance was not violated during the scenes. The play as a whole did not become liturgical, although the music could have had a liturgical effect. The play explored what faith and rituals could mean for a contemporary, un-churched generation dealing with desires, guilt, ecstasy, frustration, suffering, and death of loved ones. It showed the ambivalent character of religion: on the one hand, religion is fascinating, both as a personal source of inspiration and as a cultural resource; on the other hand, it is destructive as a limitation on sexual freedom and as a source of conflict. Interestingly, the research for the show included advice from a sociologist of religion. The play with religion was characterized by both hesitation and ambivalence. The movement towards participation and transparency was made, but the actors refrained from entering the liturgical performance in depth. Instead, they focused on the boundaries of theatre, and brought a metadiscourse into the show. By not entering the discourse of liturgy and by discussing blasphemy (rather than simply blaspheming), the show dealt with religion and taboos, without itself entering the religious field or breaking taboos.

Midnight Mass I attended the City Theatre of Amsterdam on December 24, 2009 at 22.00. Urban Myth, the young multidisciplinary domestic company of the theatre directed by Jörgen Tjon A. Fong, presented a show in the context of Expanding Theatre (‘up-to-date socially and politically engaged programs’).13 Those in attendance received beforehand a simple program entitled ‘Liturgy Alternative Midnight Mass’. The program stated, “Christmas has [become] deChristianized and [has] turned into a boundless drinking- and eating-bout without content. [ . . . ] It’s time for contemplation and new values. [ . . . ] We will give you food for thought using the traditional Catholic rituals” (Jörgen used to be an altar boy).

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A local black gospel choir (one of two choirs participating in the show) was singing as we entered the house. The show started when an actress descended from the ceiling singing Ave Maria. Another actress started recollecting the songs she used to sing in church when she was young. The audience was about to join her when an actor interrupted the communitysinging with the announcement of the Penitential Rite. He, in turn, was also interrupted by another actress who read Ezekiel’s complaint against the rich from the Old Testament. The Second Reading was disturbing: a story was told, based on an actual news item, about a convicted paedophile for whom there is no place in his hometown. His position, alone in his car and “wrapped in swaddling clothes” (cf. Luke 2,7), is compared to baby Jesus. The suggestion was made that, maybe, someone should have a coffee with people who are like that. Then, slowly, the actors started to express their embarrassment with the concept of the Holy Mass. They revealed that they thought it would be inappropriate to share bread. Instead, they decided to celebrate Communion by sharing two piles of coins (2 euro), allegedly collected from their own pockets. This chaotic ritual actually took place. After a remembrance of the deceased (including a eulogy for Michael Jackson), another disturbing moment was prepared: the Offertory. We were invited to donate money for a genuinely existing project in Suriname (Dutch Guiana) supporting children with HIV. The proceeds (1,400 euros) were immediately briefed to a reporter through a live Skype-connection with the capital of Suriname. The reporter reacted flabbergasted (‘Jesus, that’s a lot of money, but . . . ’), and expressed her mixed feelings: this act of charity will become another excuse for the local rich people to neglect the poverty in their country. The audience was left in an agony of doubt when a stand-up comedian delivered the Sermon, which, according to the program, should be followed by the Benediction. However, the actoron-duty said he was empty-handed. Therefore the meeting was closed with the rendition of an exuberant song (Sing, fight, cry, pray, laugh, work, and admire), written by Ramses Shaffy, a Dutch singer-songwriter, who passed away that year. This was announced in the program as community-singing, but this did not happen. The audience left as the choirs re-entered the stage. The show extensively used the format of the Mass, which enabled the actors to both invoke and repress the participation of the audience. Nearly all forms of play were used. This was clearly not a theatre play, but rather a parody of an entertainment show. The shocking elements disturbed moral conventions and contributed to a transcendence of the dominant symbolic universe (ter Borg 1991, 40–42). Within the context of entertainment, the ambivalence towards old-time religion was expressed, without affirming secular wisdom.

The Last Lunch In August 2010, at the Theatre Festival Boulevard located at the plaza of St. John’s Cathedral in Den Bosch (in the southern Netherlands), I viewed a production called ‘The Last Lunch’. The title, of course, is strongly

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reminiscent of the Last Supper. The production was prepared and performed by students in their final year of the Academy for Cabaret, assisted by a professional female comedian.14 The initiator was Patrick Nederkoorn, who also studied political science and religion. During the show, the actors used their own names. The show took place in a small mobile wooden construction with walls of glass called, ‘The Greenhouse’, which served as a restaurant during the festival. Outside the venue, the audience was welcomed and invited to perform a liminal ritual: the scrubbing of the hands with water and salt. Inside, the theme of the gathering was introduced: ‘Know what you eat.’ We were invited to greet our neighbors. We had to tell the staff whether we ate vegetarian, organic, or ‘anything’. Those in the last category had to indicate how they will compensate for their large ecological footprint – their sacrifice. The meal started with a cleansing ritual: tequila, water, salt, and lemon are taken in a prescribed order. Visual presentations, dialogues with the audience, monologues, dialogues, scenes, and praise songs followed between the courses. At certain moments the actors prayed in poetic language, in a natural tone of voice. The first prayer addressed the food, thanking It for what it brings. The second prayer, before dessert, addressed Our Mother: “Our Mother who art in the earth./ [ . . . ] Watch over me./And let us live. Amen.” The first line, of course, is a play on the first line of the Lord’s Prayer, but the text as a whole appeared to me as though it could be meant as an authentic prayer, and that is how I experienced it myself. The visitors were requested to feed the grand dessert (pies, fruit, etc.) to each other with long spoons. This activity was interrupted by a collective performance in which the actors supposedly evaluated their performance, and discussed their views on ecological responsibility in a hilarious way: ‘Is it OK to eat meat from factory farming?’ ‘But is there anything entirely OK, then?’ Different attitudes were expressed: hedonistic, cynical, engaged, and spiritual. One actress ended the show with a poetic text about a sparrow that ascended from the roof of St. John’s Cathedral and proclaimed to the heavens that the message has been received. The visitors chatted, some of them exchanged cards. All received a booklet with ecological suggestions from each of the individual actors. Rather than specifically referring to Christian liturgy, this show created theatre on the basis of the ritual act of having a meal together (a feast). Added to this was an ethical dimension, in the tradition of morally engaged comedy. The show had a strict protocol. Various forms of play and sacred games were used. It is remarkable that these elements had a liturgical function. The prayers were not ‘presented’, but functioned as real prayers. This was induced by the setting (the prayers had an organic place in the act of having a meal; there was no sharp division between audience and players), and by the authentic performance of the actors. Yet, the code of a show seemed to prevail. It was possible to simply enjoy the music, the poetry, and the performances – and to have a meal while doing so. It was also possible

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to participate more intensely by discussing and praying along (in silence), and by entering into communication with your neighbors, the players, and the One to whom the prayers were directed. The experience of community was enhanced, both in a horizontal and in a vertical manner. This was done by staging a feast, with accents on the ritual elements in which the visitors actually took part.

Conclusion Contemporary theatre sometimes uses religious language, symbols, and poses. What do these references mean? During my participant observation of contemporary theatre, I collected the following insights about 1) theatre, 2) religion, and 3) the study of liquid religion. 1) Tools designed for the study of liturgy produce interesting results when applied to the study of theatre. It appears possible to make distinctions about the extent to which theatre has liturgical qualities. The first factor that enhances the liturgical quality is the extent to which the players and audience are separated. In contemporary theatre, the gap is often bridged, for example, in locating theatre in parks, historic buildings, factories, restaurants, and even church buildings. Since the performative turn in the 1960s (Peter Brook (1996), Jerzy Grotowski, Living Theatre), chances for participation have grown in mainstream theatre (Margetts 2009). The second factor is the ‘borrowing’ of religious language, rituals, etc. However, there are differences between doing and showing ritual. The first case (Yes! To live and love) celebrates the desire for unity (socially and sexually) through the enactment of religious rituals with the participation of the audience. The second case (Camp Jesus) presents actors who investigate the role of religion. The third case (Midnight Mass) deals with moral issues through the ambivalent use of an established liturgical format. The fourth case (The Last Lunch) invites the guests to join in the performance of a collective ritual, grounded in the act of a common meal. Although the references to established religion play a minor role, here, the liturgical quality is strong, since it starts with a collective act that is suitable for ritualization (Bell 1992, 90).15 2) The results are instructive about the appearance of religion in liquid modernity. Referring to the definition of liturgy, I suggested at the outset, several characteristics of the community and the sacred have come to the fore. Characteristic for the community that is experienced is, firstly, that it is momentous: it is ‘only for a second’, as Peter Brook puts it. Secondly, there is an indirect link with the life world – it is not the living community itself that performs the act (contrary, for example, to community theatre). The life world is present because the shows refer to social issues which are recognized by the audience. Thirdly, there is infrequent contact between performers and players. The distinction between actors and audience usually persists, even if the music sometimes results in joint activity. Fourthly, the

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shows attract a select (theatre) audience, although festivals tend to appeal to a wider audience (van den Broek, Huysmans, and de Haan 2000). Characteristics of the communication about and with the sacred are, firstly, the diversity of the religions and spiritualities referred to (Roman Catholic, Pentecostal, Reformed, and Ecological.) Often, they are mixed. Secondly, there is striking creativity. Directors and actors feel free to explore both the religions and the religious, sometimes leading to moralizing tendencies beyond irony. Thirdly, there is variety in showing, discussing, reflecting, and commenting on conceptions of the sacred, but also incidental communication with the sacred. However, since contemporary theatre is obliged to surprise, the room for ritual (which is by definition repeatable) remains limited (Grimes 2006).16 3) It appears that the perspective of liturgical studies is useful for studying phenomena outside the religious field, or on the boundaries of the religious and the cultural field. In the cultural field of theatre, the codes of the field are mostly left intact. However, this does not prevent actors from exploring religious resources. In this manner, the potential liturgical quality of theatre is made explicit. It is a play with religion. Thus, the fields of religion, art, and science are connected in even more ways than expected. The individual connections are the most visible ones. Personal religious backgrounds are reflected in the shows, theatre (Belderbos 2010) and festivals (Kommers 2011) are discussed by students of religion, and scholars of religion advise artists (Wunderbaum) or are themselves performers (Nederkoorn). On a more fundamental level, actors in the three fields are dealing with similar questions, each in his or her own discourse. The same subject is investigated both in the study of religion and in theatre: the relevance of religion in a world where the continuation of religious traditions is changing rapidly. Theatre has the ability to draw quite close to the subject of its fascination; science usually stays more aloof. The anthropological approach of taking the stance of a participant for a while incites the investigator to include his or her own experience (Droogers 2006). This is what I have tried to do.

Notes 1 In 2014, 2.3 million visits to theatre performances were estimated in the Netherlands (StatLine 2015). In the same year, the Roman Catholic parishes alone had about 10.3 million visits on the weekends (Kregting and Massaar-Remmerswaal 2015). 2 However, I agree with Matthew Wood (2007, 68–69) that this contrast needs differentiation. Catherine Bell (1992, 172–173) distinguishes individual trajectories of ritualization. 3 The description of this use of the term is mine; Durkheim does not provide a definition. Obviously, the term ‘cult’ has received a different meaning in the more recent sociology of religion. 4 I follow Rudi Laermans’s reading of Niklas Luhmann (cited in: van Maanen 2009, 119).

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5 Gerard Lukken (2005) calls attention to rituality versus a more text-oriented study of liturgy. Willem Marie Speelman (2002) stresses the particular sacramental character of liturgy. Richard McCall (2007) argues along the same lines and presents an elaborated formal distinction between liturgy and drama within the category of performance. The former Jesuit, now actor, Hannes Pircher (2010, 191–225) presents a learned, dramatized, tongue-in-cheek fictitious dialogue between abbot Hilarius and Pompermeyer, including a section about the issue of demarcation. 6 Massimo Rosati (2009, 46) also distinguishes performances with respect to their position on a continuum based on Durkheim. His one-dimensional spectrum ranges from liturgical ritualism to mystical expressions of the self. 7 This approach corresponds with the distinction made in Greimasian semiotics between the sacred, i.e., the liturgical stage of the myth, which integrates the believers into a collectivity, versus the aesthetic stage of the spectacle, which merely announces messages to the recipients (Lukken 2005, 320–331). 8 Religion is a recurring theme in the theatre productions of her original group Suver Nuver. Other examples include: Extase and J.C. Superman. www. detteglashouwer.com. The actress Dette Glashouwer is related to Rev. Willem J.J. Glashouwer, a pioneer in Dutch Evangelical Broadcasting and president of Christians for Israel International. 9 Johannes de Heer (1866–1961) was a publisher and translator of Methodist and Pietist songs. 10 An entire meeting, October 29, 2011, was devoted to the singing of these songs explicitly for non-believers. www.trouw.nl/tr/nl/5009/Archief/archief/article/ detail/3003401/2011/10/31/Johannes-de-Heer.dhtml. 11 Acteursgroep Wunderbaum. Website: www.wunderbaum.nl [accessed 15 August 2012]. Trailer of the tour version: Wunderbaum speelt Kamp Jezus (trailer). Available from www.youtube.com/watch?v=SwO7zOvveY0 [accessed 12 July 2017]. 12 In the Netherlands, the protests against similar scenes on the playbill of the show I.N.R.I. (2003–2005) by De Bloeiende Maagden (‘The Flourishing Virgins’) and in Madonna’s Confessions on a Dance Floor (2006) were few. 13 In 2010 and 2011, a Midnight Mass was performed as well www.urbanmyth.nl [accessed 15–8–2012]. 14 In 2008/2009, Minou Bosua had performed in a theatrical Mass as one of De Bloeiende Maagden (de Groot 2010). In 2005/2006 Minou Bosua and Ingrid Wender produced videoclips for the Netherlands Interdenominational Broadcasting Company. In 2010, Minou Bosua and Patrick Nederkoorn conducted experimental services in the Amsterdam Dominican Church. www.patricknederkoorn. nl [accessed 24 August 2012]. 15 The theologian Francesco Taborda distinguishes four elements in the concept of ‘feast’, which he considered as ‘sacramental’: the feast contrasts with everyday life, it has an anamnetic character (memorial, myth), the acts have a ritual character, and it expresses a group culture (cf. Post 2001, 68–69). 16 The numerous repetitions of the Dionysian performances conducted by Hermann Nitsch (for example, Tilburg, 20 September 2009) enhance their rituality (Belderbos 2010, 249).

References Aupers, Stef. 2015. “Spiritual Play: Encountering the Sacred in World of Warcraft.” In Playful identities: The ludification of digital media cultures, edited by Valerie Frissen, Sybille Lammes, Michiel de Lange, Jos de Mul and Joost Raessens, 75–92. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press.

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Barnard, Marcel, and Eward Postma. 2007. “Het ludieke en het rituele. Johan Huizinga’s ‘Homo Ludens’ herlezen.” Theologisch Debat no. 4 (2):4–14. Barnard, Marcel, and Paul Post. 2001. Ritueel bestek: Antropologische kernwoorden van de liturgie. Zoetermeer: Meinema. Belderbos, Stefan. 2010. Van kunstwerk tot religieus ritueel. Een onderzoek naar integratie van performancekunst in de liturgie. Leiden: Dissertatie Universiteit Leiden. Bell, Catherine. 1992. Ritual theory, ritual practice. New York/Oxford: Oxford University Press. ———. 1997. Ritual: Perspectives and dimensions. New York [etc.]: Oxford University Press. Bourdieu, Pierre. 1971. “Genèse et structure du champ religieux.” Revue française de Sociologie no. 12 (3):295–334. ———. 1996. The rules of art: Genesis and structure of the literary field. Cambridge: Polity Press. Breton, Gaelle. 1989. Theaters, Thematic Architecture. New York: Princeton Architectural Press. Brook, Peter. 1996. The empty space. New York: Simon & Schuster. Original edition, 1968. Campbell, Colin. 1987. The romantic ethic and the spirit of modern consumerism. Oxford [etc.]: Blackwell. Catherine, Lucas. 2010. “Kunst in het geloof en geloof in de kunst.” Boekman no. 22 (85):19. de Groot, Kees. 2010. “Theater als wij-water: gemeenschap en liturgie bij de Bloeiende Maagden.” In Als ik W!J word. Nieuwe vormen van verbondenheid, edited by Jonneke Bekkenkamp and Joris Verheijen, 63–80. Almere: Parthenon. De Vuyst, Hildegard. 2008. pitié. [Gent]: les ballets C de la B. Droogers, André. 2006. “The Third Bank of the River: Play, Methodological Ludism, and the Definition of Religion.” In Playful religion, edited by Anton van Harskamp, Grace Davie, Johan Roel and Peter Versteeg, 75–96. Delft: Eburon. Durkheim, Émile. 1999 [1912]. Les formes élémentaires de la vie religieuse. Paris: Librairie Générale Française. Flanagan, Kieran. 1991. Sociology and liturgy. Re-presentation of the Holy. New York: St. Martin’s Press. Grainger, Robert. 2014. Ritual and theatre. London: Austin Macauley Pub Ltd. Grimes, Ronald L. 2006. Rite out of place: Ritual, media, and the arts. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Guardini, Romano. 1959. Vom Geist der Liturgie. Freiburg: Herder. Original edition, 1914. Huizinga, Johan. 1940. Homo ludens: proeve eener bepaling van het spel-element der cultuur. Haarlem: Tjeenk Willink. Original edition, 1938. Kommers, Heleen. 2011. “Hidden in Music: Religious Experience and Pop Festivals.” Journal of Religion and Popular Culture no. 23 (1):14–26. Kregting, Joris, and Jolanda Massaar-Remmerswaal. 2015. Kerncijfers RoomsKatholieke Kerk 2014. Nijmegen: Kaski. Kreinath, Jens, Jan Snoek, and Michael Stausberg. 2006. Theorizing rituals: Issues, topics, approaches, concepts, Numen book series: Studies in the history of religions. Leiden [etc.]: Brill. Lang, Bernhard. 1997. Sacred games: A history of Christian worship. New Haven/ London: Yale University Press.

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Luhmann, Niklas. 2000. Die Religion der Gesellschaft. Frankfurt am Main: Suhrkamp. Lukken, Gerard. 2005. Rituals in abundance: Critical reflections on the place, form and identity of Christian ritual in our culture, Liturgia condenda. Leuven/Dudley, MA: Peeters. ———. 2010. Met de rug naar het volk. Liturgie in het spanningsveld van restauratie en vernieuwing, Meander. Heeswijk: Uitgeverij Abdij van Berne. Margetts, John. 2009. Review of “Transformation des Religiösen: Performativität und Textualität im geistlichen Spiel ” by Ingrid Karsten and Erika Fischer-Lichte. The Modern Language Review no. 104 (1):223–225. McCall, Richard D. 2007. Do this: Liturgy as performance. Notre Dame, IN: Notre Dame University Press. Nas, Peter J.M., and Anja Roymans. 1998. “Reminiscences of the Relief of Leiden: A Total Ritual Event.” International Journal of Urban and Regional Research no. 22 (4):550–564. Pircher, Hannes Benedetto. 2010. Das Theater als Ritus: De arte liturgica. Wien: Edition Splitter. Post, Paul. 2001. “Introduction and Application: Feast as a Key Concept in a Liturgical Studies Research Design.” In Christian feast and festival: The dynamics of Western liturgy and culture, edited by Paul Post, G. Rouwhorst, L. van Tongeren and A. Scheer, 47–78. Leuven: Peeters. Roeland, Johan Hendrikus. 2009. Selfation: Dutch evangelical youth between subjectivization and subjection. Amsterdam: Pallas Publications/Amsterdam University Press. Rosati, Massimo. 2009. Ritual and the sacred: A neo-Durkheimian analysis of politics, religion and the self. Farnham: Ashgate. Smith, Max. 2009. “De Bijbel in het theater. Een moeizame relatie.” In De Bijbel cultureel. De Bijbel in de kunsten van de twintigste eeuw, edited by Marcel Barnard and Gerda van de Haar, xxviii-xxx. Zoetermeer: Meinema. Speelman, Willem Marie. 2002. “Liturgy and Theatre: Towards a Differentiation.” Questions Liturgiques/Studies in Liturgy no. 83:196–216. StatLine. 2015. Professional performing arts; capacity, performances, attendance, region. Statistics Netherlands [cited 5 July 2016]. Available from http://statline.cbs.nl/Statweb/publication/?VW=T&DM=SLEN&PA=70077eng&D1=018&D2=0&D3=0,6-15&HD=160705-2348&LA=EN&HDR=G2&STB=G1,T. Taves, Ann. 2007. “The camp meeting and the paradoxes of evangelical protestant ritual” In Teaching ritual, edited by Catherine Bell, 119–131. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ter Borg, Meerten B. 1991. Een uitgewaaierde eeuwigheid. Het menselijk tekort in de moderne cultuur. Baarn: Ten Have. Tertullian. 1842. “Of Public Shows.” In Apologetic and practical treatises, edited by Charles Dodgson. Oxford: John Henry Parker Available from www.tertullian.org/ lfc/LFC10-13_de_spectaculis.htm. Turner, Victor. 1982. From ritual to theatre: The human seriousness of play, performance studies series. New York: Performing Arts Journal Publications. van den Broek, Andries, Frank Huysmans, and Jos de Haan. 2000. Het bereik van de kunsten. Een onderzoek naar veranderingen in de belangstelling voor beeldende en podiumkunsten sinds de jaren zeventig. Den Haag: Sociaal en Cultureel Planbureau.

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van Maanen, Hans. 2009. How to study art worlds. On the societal function of aesthetic values. Amsterdam: Amsterdam University Press. Whittle, W. Daniel. 1883. There Shall Be Showers of Blessing. Timeless Truths Free Online Library [cited 12 July 2017]. Available from http://library.timelesstruths. org/music/There_Shall_Be_Showers_of_Blessing/. Wood, Matthew. 2007. Possession, Power and the New Age: Ambigiuties of authority in neoliberal societies. Edited by Douglas Davies and Richard Fenn. Theology and Religion in Interdisciplinary Perspective Series. Aldershot: Ashgate.

Part 5

Conclusion

11 The liquidation of the church

Contemporary writings on religion often depart from a modern point of view in which religion is organized in churches and similar collectivities. Churches are losing members; therefore, religion is disappearing. However, this is similar to claiming the end of politics now that membership of political parties is declining, or the end of love, considering the increased diversity in relationships. The analysis of religion in late modernity needs to take into account that society has changed. Blaming ‘the bosses’, the ‘liberal’ clergy, for selling out the churches – the conservative view – or for driving out the masses by fixing high prices for low quality – the liberal view – hardly helps our understanding. Praising them – from a militant atheist point of view – does not help either, for that matter. Religion as it is organized in churches has become less dominant. This development needs to be explained and, at the same time, researchers have to realize that the modern concept of religion itself derives from exactly this social construction. Religion is changing and that challenges our concept of religion. Should we continue using a nineteenth-century concept for present day developments?

Three stages of transformation I have not chosen to abandon the conventional concept of religion; instead, I have aimed to show how religion has transformed, starting with the churches, the Roman Catholic Church in particular. Contrary to a common view, I have argued that this church as we know it is modern, rather than traditional. The way in which parishes describe their position towards outsiders indicates that they perceive an appeal to comply with customer behavior, but in the ecclesial reality, the Church as a membership organization prevails. Through media events and international network organizations, the Roman Catholic Church as a global institute takes part in experienceoriented consumer culture. Yet, its maneuvers are ambivalent. On one hand, the Church plunges into liquid modernity; on the other, it moves away from it, seeking refuge not only in a traditional message, but also in solid-modern modes of organization and religious behavior. The fashionable idea that

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one can and should make choices, also with respect to one’s worldview, not only conflicts with the religious notion of surrender, which Peter Berger (1967, 73) described as the basis posture vis-à-vis the other reality in Biblical religions, but also conflicts with the marriage of this religious notion to the modern notion of finding oneself part of a hierarchical mass organization. Once you’re in, you’re in. And then you have to know your place in the organization, follow procedures, and address the right officials. Catholic theology has been systemized in accounts that can be reproduced and which can be used as a checklist for orthodoxy. The room for mysticism, venerating saints, and practicing rituals has been restricted. Despite the fierce Roman Catholic opposition to modernism, this church has embraced modernity both in manner and matter. Yet, churches cannot always retain the fluidity of religion. Even official initiatives tend to escape control. Viewers of religious services on television, for example, take a piece of liturgy into their homes and incorporate it in their private space. Sometimes, what prevails is a policy that underlines the confessional identity of these initiatives; sometimes, what prevails is a policy that invites those outside the usual range of the Church to use the Christian tradition at their own discretion. This is what Roman Catholic and Protestant churches have done by advertising their programs on the spirituality market. In this social space of transition, visitors tend to regard themselves as religious and spiritual. The distinction between their identity in terms of their commitment to the Christian faith and in terms of the experience of the self is remarkably fluid. The ambivalent terminology of the spiritual returns in the socio-genesis of the profession devoted to spiritual care. Here, too, a confessional strategy competes with a strategy that downplays fixed religious identities. In different contexts, this struggle has resulted in different outcomes. In institutions ruled by the state, the positions of distinctive religions have remained strong, given that the oligopoly of Protestantism and Roman Catholicism has extended to include a range of religions and secular worldviews. In care institutions, religious identities are downplayed in favor of a professional identity which may lack the characteristic representation of a specific religion. From the perspective of organized Christianity, the case of spiritual care testifies to a loss of control over denominational chaplaincy. From a cultural perspective, however, the development of spiritual care outside the Christian religion, shows how a template for a particular practice has been taken over, adapted, and re-used by practitioners of other religions, or even without a professional affiliation to an organized worldview at all. In this view, the de-Christianization of chaplaincy has produced something new. The world has taken over. This is the general impression that the last three cases leave us with. The secular supremacy, however, has particular ways of dealing with religion. I have identified contemporary mental health care as an advanced stage of a similar process as the one described above. This social service not only results from offering and extending psychiatric care outside

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the institution, but also from offering and extending pastoral care outside a church. During this process, the practices transformed, the practitioners changed, and the population of clients shifted. Psychological and medical discourse entered the field, theologians left, and the population changed from predominantly Christian, to secular and spiritual, to multi-religious. Regardless of its background in religion, and the continuing closeness to the religious field, mental health care appeared as a field where religion has a bad name. Here, secularization implied a tendency to exclude religion. The more or less ‘post-secular’ sphere of art and leisure presents a different attitude. In museums, theatres, cinemas, and festivals, religious themes and traditions are increasingly popular. A detailed description of a local exhibition in a city museum, its preparation, and its course showed that religions may enter the secular scene as long as no one religion is presented or perceived as dominant. Defining religion as a private matter helped to deal with a subject that appeared as highly controversial elsewhere in the public domain. Religion was included in the domain of leisure, guided by internal interests in organizing a successful exhibition and promoting civic dialogue. After religion’s exclusion from mental health care and its inclusion in the sphere of leisure, the case of theatre provided an example of yet another attitude towards religion. Several theatre shows approached the form and content of a liturgical meeting in such a way that the distinction was sometimes blurred. Yet, the shows remained theatrical. In these cases, the reservoir of religious symbols, images, postures, stories, and songs was used in such a way that the shows absorbed religion while remaining shows. They witnessed the free use of religion after religions have lost control. These attitudes seem to vary according to the extent that religious regimes are perceived as competitive.

Liquidation My take on these processes in the Church, the media, and health care on the spiritual market, in leisure, and art differs from the more usual perspectives. Depending on the author’s position, the storyline usually starts with the reign of religion, describes its demise, and ends with its fall. Or, the story starts with the dominance of religion, describes the rise of the secular – or the spiritual – and ends with its victory over religion. Both plots are similar: the religious regime fades away, another is established. One is a narrative of loss, the other of liberation. The story I have told is also about shifts in balances of power, but I have interpreted the developments as transformations rather than as violent takeovers. New practices were developed using older traditions. Ecclesial actors have contributed to changes which have resulted in a loss of ecclesial control. Forms of capital which had been accumulated within the religious field – for example, concepts of liturgy and pastoral care – are deployed in other fields. What was already there took on a new shape.

Figure 11.1 Christ for sale Photograph: Mariëtte van der Heijde

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Unlike a popular notion of secularization as a predetermined process, I have identified actors and factors that have contributed to the course of the action (Paul 2013). The debates within mental health care, for example, could have ended in another way. Different fields showed different patterns, and within the same field, periods and parties could be distinguished. Whereas in mental health care some hostility against religion was expressed, in the field of art, religious traditions were embraced. Yet, even within mental health care, religious, and spiritual, traditions appeared to have played leading roles in the 1950s and 1970s, respectively. The religious and the secular are more interrelated than one would expect from the perspective of a society in which religion has a position on the margin. Unlike the narrative of the spiritual revolution as a liberation from religious power, I have described, on one hand, the focus on the individual in the ecclesial milieu, and, on the other, the social context of interest in the spiritual and the religious on the borders of, and outside, the Church. Religion has not become an individual preference. There is more than its private role in late-modern society (Hofstee and van der Kooij 2013). Religion is present in the public domain and is involved in the dynamics of the sectors in which it is present, such as the media, health care, leisure, and art. Religion has not ceased being an institutional phenomenon, regardless of the de-institutionalization of the religious field. Both the continuities and the discontinuities between the religious and the secular should be viewed. On one hand, the religious field has co-produced new, secular institutions; on the other hand, the vast influence of religious discourse and religious organizations has evaporated. At least partly, the religious field has, indeed, dissolved. This historical-sociological approach has drawn attention to at least four processes: 1) the formation of the religious field itself; 2) the contribution of the religious field to the secular domain; 3) the decay of the religious field; and 4) the use of elements, originating in the religious sphere, in other spheres. Thus, this perspective has moved beyond the paradox of increased interest in religion versus the demise of religion. Processes of disembedding and re-embedding occur in succession and interaction. The metaphor of liquidation indicates both what is lost in the religious sphere and what is gained in the secular.

Outlook The overall result is a more realistic picture of Western Christianity. Its structures are partly disappearing and its position in the world is changing. In the Netherlands, on average every week, church buildings are closed down (Taskforce Toekomst Kerkgebouwen 2016). The obvious answer of the Church to its liquidation may be to fight it. After all, processes of liquidation may very well result in the end of the Church as we know it. However, some theologians have advocated the end of the ecclesial organization

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as part of a radical plea for a turn towards the world. Often, the German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer (2010, 561) is quoted who wrote from his Berlin prison in 1944: The church is church only when it is there for others. As a first step it must give away all its property to those in need. The clergy must live solely on the freewill offerings of the congregations and perhaps be engaged in some secular vocation [Beruf ]. The church must participate in the worldly tasks of life in the community – not dominating but helping and serving. It must tell people in every calling [Beruf ] what a life with Christ is, what it means ‘to be there for others.’ The Catholic theologian Tom Beaudoin suggests, in imitation of both Bonhoeffer and Michel Foucault, that theologians should also give up the pretension that they dispose of a solidly founded theology. In my terms, Beaudoin argues they should abandon their trade as shopkeepers of the Christian truth and start sharing insights in how the Church and theology have accumulated their capital, that is, the power to define what is Christian. He suggests to lay bare the secular roots of what is usually considered as ‘really Christian’ in a “particular commitment to liquidate Christianity from its presumed essences”(Beaudoin 2008, 153). In the end, this strategy may serve the continuation of the Church as well: a self-disinterested, radical mission-shaped Church could be successful in unforeseen ways. It could enrich the self-understanding and the image of the Church as serving the world and thus enhance the dynamics of being church in liquid modernity. Miraculous restarts have happened before both in the history of business firms and in the history of organized religion. The future is open. Whether one applauds or deplores the demise of the Christian church in Western Europe, it is important to witness what is going on: the dying out of majority churches and their transformed presence in other institutional spheres.

References Beaudoin, Tom. 2008. Witness to dispossession: The vocation of a postmodern theologian. Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books. Berger, Peter L. 1967. The sacred canopy. New York: Doubleday. Bonhoeffer, Dietrich. 2010. “Outline for a Book.” In Letters and papers from prison, edited by John W. De Gruchy, 499–504. Minneapolis: Fortress Press. Hofstee, Wim, and Arie van der Kooij. 2013. Religion beyond its private role in modern society, international studies in religion and society. Leiden: Brill. Paul, Herman. 2013. Ziektegeschiedenissen. De discursieve macht van secularisatieverhalen (Inaugurele rede). Groningen: Rijksuniversiteit Groningen. Taskforce Toekomst Kerkgebouwen. 2016. Omvang afstoting kerkgebouwen is schrikbarend [cited 5 July 2016]. Available from www.toekomstkerkgebouwen. nl/NL/content/3-1-31/cijfers.htm.

Index

Act of Abjuration 29 aesthetic community 17 agnosticism 96 Alexander, Bobby 82 Alfrink, Bernardus Cardinal 33 Ali, Ayaan Hirsi 156–157 ambivalence of membership 52–54 American Mental Hygiene Movement 140 Aquinas, Thomas 39, 135–136 Aristotle 165 Association for Spiritual Counselors in Health Care Institutions 123 Association of Psychotherapy 138 atheism 11, 96 Atlas 157 Aupers, Stef 163 Baha’i community 151 Barnard, Marcel 166 Bauman, Zygmunt 3, 15, 71; on liquid modernity 18–19, 21–22; on religion and community 15–17 Beck, Ulrich 15 Beers, Clifford W. 133 Belgium 30 “believing without belonging” 51 Benedict XVI, Pope 34, 70–71 Bergin, Allen E. 138–139 Bergman, Ingmar 168 bioenergetics 139 Blasberg-Kuhnke, Martina 18 Blau, Peter 54 Bonhoeffer, Dietrich 186 Bourdieu, Pierre 18, 102, 132–133, 141, 164 bricolage 102 British Greenbelt Festival 18 broadcasting, religious 9–10, 79, 89–91; advantages of 80–82; audience

reception of 82–83, 90–91; differences in experiences of being church with 87–89; portrayal of viewers of 85–87; researching Dutch 83–85 Brook, Peter 162, 172 Bruce, Steve 100–101 Buddhism 31, 49, 95, 104, 124; Westernized 118; Zoetermeer museum and 152, 154 Buijtendijk, Frederik J. J. 135 Calvin, John 29 Campbell, Colin 163 “Camp Jesus” 168–169 Castel, Robert 131 Castells, Manuell 18 Catholic Broadcasting Organization 84, 90–91, 136 Catholicism see Roman Catholic Church Catholic National Bureau for Mental Health Care 135 chaplaincy 115–116, 125–126; accountability and security 123–125; care and state 122–123; making the case for 117–120; transforming 120–122; what happened to the care of souls and 116–117; see also mental health care Chhayra, Mohamed 157–158 Christian profile 57–59 church, the see Roman Catholic Church Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints 151–152 Codex of 1983 52 Cohen, Job 148 collective rituals 49 collectivism 102 Collins Cobuild English Language Dictionary 60

188

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committed communities, minority 49–50 commonweal organizations 54 Communio et Progressio 80, 82–83 community and religion 15–17 Congregation for the Doctrine of the Faith 52 conservatism and restoration 33–35 consumerism, spiritual 103 contemporary Christian culture 65–66 Cooper, David 138 Crockett, Alasdair 51 Crystal Cathedral 83 Danneels, Godfried Cardinal 3 Davie, Grace 51 De spectaculis 163 Dies Irae 168 dispossession 12 distant membership 50–51 Durkheim, Emile 163 Dutch Antilles 30 Dutch Catholicism 7–9 Dutch East Indies 30 Dutch Pastoral Council 33, 35, 40 Dutch Reformed Church 29–30, 150, 154; declining participation 120; dominance of 29, 118; merger with other churches 47 European Values Study 35, 48 Evangelicalism: fluidity of 65–66; Zoetermeer museum and 151 evangelization 4, 80 exclusive parish 59–60 false consciousness 22 Family Constellation 104 Finke, Roger 39 Flanagan, Kieran 166 fluidity of Evangelicalism 65–66 Focolare 9, 72–73 Fong, Jörgen Tjon A. 169 Fortuyn, Pim 148 Foucault, Michel 102, 138, 186 Francis, Pope 3 Francis of Assisi 95, 104 Freemasons 152 French Revolution 29 Freud, Sigmund 133, 136 fundamentalism 16–17, 22, 60 Gaudium et Spes 136 Gaye, Marvin 13

geestelijke volksgezondheid 133–134 Gemeinschaft 60 generalized pluralism 125 Gertler, Martin 82 Gidden, Anthony 18 Giphart, Ronald 149 Glashouwer, Dette 166–168 Goddijn, Walter 33–34 Grainger, Roger 163 Grotowski, Jerzy 172 Guardini, Romano 165 Haagsche Courant 150–151, 157 Halmos, Paul 131 Handy, Charles 23 Happinez 106 Heelas, Paul 4, 100–101 Hellinger, Bert 104 Hillsong 65–66 Hinduism 31, 104, 124; Zoetermeer museum and 151–152 Horsfield, Peter 83 Hour of Power 83 Huizinga, Johan 164 Humanae Vitae 34 Humanism 31, 119, 122, 124–125 hybrid organization, church as 22–24 Iannacone, Laurence 38 Illich, Ivan 138 Imitation of Christ, The 103 inconsistent respondents 53 individuals, community of 17 Indonesia 30 International Centre for Theatre Research 162 Internationale Arbeitsgemeinschaft der Liturgischen Kommissionen im Deutschen Sprachgebiet 80 inviting parish 59 Islam 30–31, 98, 104, 148; spiritual care and 116, 121, 124–125; terrorism and 148–150; Zoetermeer museum and 151–153, 156–158 Islamization 148 Jehovah’s Witnesses 151 John Paul II, Pope 67–68, 80 Judaism 29–31, 116, 119, 121–122, 124; Zoetermeer museum and 151–152, 156–158 Kasper, Walter 55 Kempis, Thomas à 73, 103

Index Kepel, Gilles 3, 73 Kołakowski, Leszek 15 Koning, Martijn de 158 Koole, Willem Jacobus 82 Kuhnke, Ulrich 18 Laeyendecker, L. (Bert) 34 laicité 117 Lamers, René 150, 152 Lang, Bernhard 166 “Last Lunch, The” 170–172 La Verna 95 Lectio Divina 103–104 Life of Brian 6 Linden, Jaap van der 150, 157–158 liquid church 10, 20–22, 90; outlook for 11–13; three stages of transformation in 181–183; Ward on 17–19 liquid modernity: Bauman on 18–19; church in 7; ecclesial maneuvers in fluidity and 7–9; in Evangelicalism 65–66; as postmodernity 3; religion in 10–13, 15–17, 20–22; Roman Catholic Church in sphere of 9; secularity in 3; spirituality in 4–6 Liturgical Movement 165–166 “Liturgy Alternative Midnight Mass” 169–170 Louis Napoleon, King 29–30 Lubich, Chiara 73 Luhmann, Niklas 164 Lukken, Gerard 164 Lumen Gentium 51, 55 Maanen, Hans van 162 marriage counseling 134 Mason, Michael 68 Media Ministry 81, 84, 89–91 mediating religion 80–81 membership, ambivalence of 52–54 membership-church 50–51 mental health care 140–142, 182–183; common interest in mental hygiene, 1900–1954, and 133–135; embracing psychotherapy, 1970–1982 137–139; establishment, 1955–1969 135–137; provided by the church 131–133; religious roots of public 10–11; see also chaplaincy Mental Hygiene Monthly 135 Mind that found itself, A 133 ministry of presence 123 Miranda Prorsus 80

189

modularization 18 Mohammed, Abu 158 Monty Python 6 Moore, Laurence 18 Muslims see Islam mutual benefit organizations 54–56 National Federation for Mental Hygiene 133, 135 Nederkoorn, Patrick 171 Neo-Sannyasins 152 neo-scholasticism 135 Netherlands, the: church outlook in 12, 42–43; collective rituals in 49; contemporary religion and society in 7–9, 31–32; liquid modernity in 3–6; modern construction of the Roman Catholic Church in 29–40; religious television in 83–85; rise of secularity in 3, 47–50; Roman Catholics in contemporary 32–40 Netherlands’ Association for Mental Hygiene 134 Netherlands Organization for Scientific Research 48 New Age spirituality 95, 98, 102 New Catechism 31 New Movements 9, 72–74 New Spirituality 98–100 Nicene-Constantinopolitan Creed 54 O’Dea, Thomas 19 old spirituality 99–100 open parish 59 organizational typologies 54–56 organized religious pluralism 125 Palmisano, Stefania 106 parish structure 51–52, 60–62; compared with religious broadcasting experience 87–89; exclusive 59–60; inviting parish 59; open parish 59; parochial parish 60 parochial parish 60 Pastoral Constitution 136 Peace of Westphalia 29 perceived accessibility 57 perichoresis 18 Philip II, King 29 pillarization 147 Pius X, Pope 133 Pius XI, Pope 30 Pius XII, Pope 80, 134 Platel, Alain 162

190

Index

Ploeg, Jouetta van der 150 pluralism 125 political climate 147–148 Post, Paul 166 postmodernity 3 Professional Association for Spiritual Counselors 125 Protestantism 29–31, 39, 47, 49; family counseling centers 134; fluidity of Evangelicalism and 65–66; spiritual care and 116–122, 124–125; spiritual centers 95; Zoetermeer museum and 151–152; see also Dutch Reformed Church Psychologie Magazine 106 psychotherapy see mental health care public mental health care, religious roots of 10–11 Querido, Arie 134, 136 Rahner, Karl 80 Ratzinger, Joseph 34 reincarnation 50 religion: Bauman on community and 15–17; as countermovement 15; decreased importance in the public domain 48–49; difference between spirituality and 101–102; individual interest in 49; liquid and solid church and 10–13; liquidation of 183–185; mediating 80–81; mental health care and 139–140; in minority committed communities 49–50; outlook for 11–13, 42–43, 185–186; persistence in secularizing Dutch society 47–50; public mental health care and 10–11; rise of secularity and 3; in solid and liquid modernity 15–17; spirituality and 4–6, 96–102; spirituality instead of 100–101; in theatre 161–173; Ward on commodification of the gospel and 17–19; see also Roman Catholic Church; spirituality revolution thesis 100–101 Rieff, Philip 131 rituals, collective 49 Roberts, Pat 81 Robertson, Pat 81 Roebben, Bert 69 Roman Catholic Charitable Association for Mental Hygiene 134 Roman Catholic Church 3, 6–7; ambivalence of membership in

52–54; conservatism and restoration 33–35; in contemporary Dutch society 7–9, 32–40; derailment and adaptation 35–40; dismantling of mass organization of 50–56; erosion of the solid modern appearance of 40–42; facilitating networks 74–75; family counseling centers 134; as hybrid organization 22–24; modern construction in the Netherlands 29–40; New Movements 9, 72–74; organizational typologies and 54–56; outlook for 12, 42–43; parish structure 51–52, 58–62; service delivery to all 56–60; in sphere of liquidity 9; spiritual centers 95; World Youth Day 9, 66–72 Schepens, Theo 35, 39 Schilderman, Hans 125 Schoot, Henk 35 Schuller, Robert 81 Scott, Richard 54 Second Vatican Council 30–31, 34, 38, 40, 68, 141 secularity, rise of 3, 47–50, 183 Sengers, Erik 35 sensation-gatherers 16 September 11, 2001, terrorist attacks 148, 150 service-church 50–51 service organizations 54–56; service delivery to all 56–60 Shaffy, Ramses 170 Sharnberg, Christian 67 Singleton, Andrew 68 Small Christian Communities 73 Society of Saint Pius X 39 solid church 10–13, 20–22; erosion in the Netherlands 40–42 solid modernity 20 Speelman, Willem Marie 82, 165 spiritual care see chaplaincy spiritual centers, Christian 95, 102–104, 107–110; objectives of 103; programs 104; visitors to 104–107 spiritual consumerism 103 spirituality 4–6; difference between religion and 101–102; instead of religion 100–101; mental health care and 139–140; new and old 99–100; theoretical perspectives on Christian religion and 96–102; unaffiliated spirituals and 97–99, 102; see also religion

Index Spiritual revolution: why religion is giving way to spirituality 4 Stark, Rodney 35, 38 Stein, Edith 30 Steinkamp, Herman 115 Submission 156 Sufism 104 Surinam 30, 152, 170 Szasz, Thomas 131, 138 Taoism 104 Tas, Klaartje 69 terrorism 148–150 Terruwe, Anna A. A. 135 Tertullian 163 theatre 161, 172–173; “Camp Jesus” 168–169; “Last Lunch, The” 170–172; as liturgy 161–163; “Liturgy Alternative Midnight Mass” 169–170; perspective and method in political-religious character of 163–166; “Yes! To live and love” 166–168 Thomas House 103 Thiel, J. H. 139 Tijdschrift voor Geestelijk Leven 106 Tönnies, Ferdinand 60 Trimbos, Kees 136, 138, 140–141 Turner, Victor 82, 85, 162 unaffiliated spirituals 97–99, 102 Urban Myth 169

191

van Gogh, Theo 156–157 “Variations in church leadership” 34 Vellenga, Sipco 48 Vinkenoog, Simon 168 Voas, David 51, 100–101 Wall of Reformation 29 Ward, Pete 17–19, 83 Webber, Ruth 68 Weber, Max 60–61, 116, 131 Whittle, Daniel W. 168 William I, King 30 William of Orange 29 Wood, Matthew 102 Woodhead, Linda 4, 100–101 World Christian Encyclopedia 38 World Youth Day 9, 66–72 Wunderbaum 168 “Yes! To live and love” 166–168 youth church: in contemporary Christian culture 65; World Youth Day and 9, 66–72 Zeitdiagnose 117 Ziebertz, Hans-Georg 67 Zoetermeer museum 11; evaluation 158–159; exposition opening and closing 156–158; physical environment 148–150; political climate 147–148; project 150–154