Conversion in the Age of Pluralism (Religion and the Social Order)

Conversion in the Age of Pluralism

Religion and the Social Order An Official Publication of the Association for the Sociology of Religion

General Editor

William H. Swatos, Jr.

VOLUME 17

Conversion in the Age of Pluralism Edited by

Guiseppe Giordan

LEIDEN • BOSTON 2009

This book is printed on acid-free paper. Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Conversion in the age of pluralism / edited by Guiseppe Giordan. p. cm. – (Religion and the social order ; 17) ISBN 978-90-04-17803-8 (hardback : alk. paper) 1. Conversion. 2. Religious pluralism. I. Giordan, Giuseppe. II. Title. III. Series. BL639.C659 2009 248.2'4–dc22 2009020449

ISSN 1061-5210 ISBN 978 90 04 17803 8 Copyright 2009 by Koninklijke Brill NV, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill NV incorporates the imprints Brill, Hotei Publishing, IDC Publishers, Martinus Nijhoff Publishers and VSP. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill NV provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, MA 01923, USA. Fees are subject to change. printed in the netherlands

CONTENTS

Preface: The Sociology of Conversion. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii Roberto Cipriani Introduction: The Varieties of Conversion Experience . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Giuseppe Giordan

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. The Meaning of Conversion: Redirection of Foundational Trust 11 Anthony J. Blasi . Conversion: Heroes and their Sociological Redemption . . . . . . . . . 33 Kieran Flanagan . Elements for a Semiotics of “Conversion” . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 73 Patrick Michel . For Love of Faith: Patterns of Religious Engagement in a New Town . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 91 Kees de Groot . Pilgrimage and Conversion . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115 William H. Swatos, Jr. . Becoming a New Ager: A Conversion, An Affiliation, A Fashion?. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 131 Régis Dericquebourg . Enchantment, Identity, Community, and Conversion: Catholics, Afro-Brazilians and Protestants in Brazil . . . . . . . . . . . . . 163 Roberto Motta . Convert, Revert, Pervert . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189 Enzo Pace

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contents

. Conversion as a New Lifestyle: An Exploratory Study of Soka Gakkai in Italy . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 213 Luigi Berzano and Eliana Martoglio . Conversion as Opposition. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 243 Giuseppe Giordan . Making the Convert: Conversions in the LDS Community Today . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 263 Sophie-Hélène Trigeaud . A Cognitive Psychology Perspective on Religious Conversion as Told in the Gospels . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 287 Stefano Federici, Pierluigi Caddeo, and Francesco Valerio Tommasi . Conversion and Mission: Missionary Insertion and the Social Conditions of Christianization . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 307 Paul-André Turcotte Contributors . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 329

PREFACE: THE SOCIOLOGY OF CONVERSION

Roberto Cipriani Conversion does not have a long history of study as a sociological subject, even though it has a long historical tradition (e.g., Gonzáles de Santilla /; Sanz ). This may be a consequence of the one-religion specialization of many sociologists and anthropologists of religion, and indeed, the suggestion offered by Max Weber for a sociology of all universal religions has largely remained unheeded in practice, even if it is honored in invocations of his Sociology of Religion as an historic masterwork in the field. In particular, such phenomena as changing one’s belief from one religion to another, or from a position of non-believer to a religious one and vice versa, was hardly investigated as a topic by sociologists of religion until the s, although psychologists of such varied perspectives as Sigmund Freud and William James had attended to the question at the individual level in the early years of the th century (cf. Freud  []; James ). Thinking about the s, when sociology had established itself firmly in post-War America, it is not surprising that much of the sociological research, theorizing, and debate on the topic of conversion should center on the West Coast, not least the Berkeley campus of University of California. The Berkeley department was particularly fertilized at this time by the arrival of two sociologists of religion: Charles Y. Glock, a young faculty member at Columbia University, and Robert N. Bellah, a new Ph.D. fresh from the tutelage of Talcott Parsons at Harvard. What would become, in many ways, “the conversion project” (though never so titled) arose ironically, not out of any sudden sociological interest in religion itself, but out of reaction to the work of a psychologist who also had an adjunct appointment at Berkeley: Margaret Singer. She had developed a “mind control” or “brainwashing” model for understanding how and why people were being recruited to new religious movements (although it was also, in its extreme forms, invoked to explain even conversions within established traditions—as, for example, when an Episcopalian became a Baptist, or vice versa). The bases for Singer’s theory were such mid-twentieth-century historical events as Stalinist purge trials and the “confessions” of U.S. soldier/prisoners during the Korean War.

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As a practicing clinical psychologist, Singer became a paid consultant in legal trials wherein the parents of young people who, whether or not they were of the age of consent, were theorized to be “brainwashed” when they joined one or another new religious movement on the burgeoning “hippie” scene of cultural protest (particularly in light of U.S. involvement in Viet Nam). Through the courts, these parents sought either to gain specific custodial rights to children who would in other circumstances have been considered adults or to bring suit against one or another “new religion” (aka, at the time, “cult”) on behalf of either themselves or their children for “brainwashing” exploitation. The birth of conversion research in the sociology of religion today can be found without question in two articles published by a new Berkeley Master’s degree recipient and new Berkeley Ph.D. in : Rodney Stark’s “Psychopathology and Religious Commitment,” in the Review of Religious Research, and John Lofland and Stark’s “Becoming a WorldSaver” in the American Sociological Review, followed in  by Lofland’s Doomsday Cult. As a result of these publications, floodgates of conversion research burst, and the topic was no longer the narrow province of scholars or religious devotees, but also the courts and the media. It is impossible to summarize this literature in a few pages. A few examples must suffice to be added to these pioneers: James T. (Jim) Richardson, a graduate student of Berkeley doctorate Armand Mauss at Washington State University, produced a stream of materials, not least his edited volume Conversion Careers (Richardson ) and his later chapter, “Studies of Conversion” in the collected essays (Hammond ) entitled The Sacred in a Secular Age.1 (At one point as a part of his attempt to sharpen his scholarship, Richardson actually stepped out of his sociologist position to take a degree in law as well.)2 With David Bromley, another significant contributor to this research, he would also co-edit, The Brainwashing/Deprogramming Controversy (Bromley and Richardson ). In addition to these scholars should also

1 The publication in the Hammond volume is of particular significance because the book as a whole was published under the sponsorship of the Society for the Scientific Study of Religion (SSSR), hence carried its implied imprimatur. 2 Mauss was himself a product of the sociology program at Berkeley at the same time as the earlier studies by Stark and Lofland were being produced. Mauss’s heritage in the tradition of the LDS Church, whose sociological analysis has been the primary field of his own expertise, particularly prepared him to appreciate the significance of the approach advanced in the early work of Stark and Lofland.

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be mentioned Dick Anthony, who mainly focused on the coercive aspects implied in brainwashing explanations and their consequences in regard to U.S. Constitutional rights of religious freedom; William Sims Bainbridge, who wrote for a period with Stark as well as independently; the British sociologist James Beckford’s () article “Accounting for Conversion” in the British Journal of Sociology; and Thomas Robbins, whose edited volume Cults, Converts, and Charisma () has become a widely read sourcebook for examining the nature of conversion in post-modernity. Along with the aforementioned scholars who have done research on conversion, Robbins is to be considered one of the principal scholars of non-traditional religious behavior regarding American pluralism (Anthony and Robbins ), quasi-religious movements (Greil and Robbins ), and apocalyptic movements with secular, feminist and environmental tendencies (Robbins and Palmer ). Robbins champions the idea that the novelty of non-traditional religious movements cannot be denied, neither can it be stigmatized as a mere question of mental illness, but should be considered in its past historical roots— hence the importance of considering a variety of scenarios in conversion processes. A fortuitous coincidence in Anglo-American scholarship also occurred in the same period when, as a relatively young scholar, British sociologist of religion Bryan Wilson spent a year at Berkeley as well— when, for example, Stark was also there. Although Wilson’s initial work (, ) focused more on sect development and an attempt to specify a typology of sectarian movements—of which the conversionist was but one—his later work on new religious movements increasingly emphasized conversionist themes. Particularly to be noted in this context is his study of British Soka Gakkai co-authored with the Belgian sociologist Karel Dobbelaere (; but see also , , , ). Wilson’s work most diverged from developments in American sociology of religion by his strong defense of the “secularization” thesis, which increasingly came to be rejected by American sociologists of religion, particularly under the leadership of Rodney Stark and what has eventuated as the “rational choice” approach to religious action. A counterpoint to Wilson in the U.K. was David Martin at the London School of Economics. Three years younger than Wilson, the two men nevertheless each began his teaching career in . Unlike Wilson, however, Martin also took priestly orders in the Anglican Communion and became a strong critic of the secularization paradigm, particularly in his volume A General Theory of Secularization (Martin ). He would later

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summarize his position as one that considered “one-directional theories of secularization” to be characterized by “covert philosophical assumptions, selective epiphenomenalism, conceptual incoherence, and indifference to historical complexity,” such that “whether in its hard version as the death of religion or in its soft form as marginalization, secularization should be treated as contingent in particular on the situation in Europe since the Enlightenment.” Movements in the Middle East, South and even North America, he argued prophetically, “show how things can be otherwise” (Martin : ). One of the ways that Martin’s work most particularly bore continuing fruit was in the work of another British sociologist Eileen Barker, who both studied and subsequently taught at the LSE. Her first book, The Making of a Moonie: Brainwashing or Choice? (Barker ), based on her dissertation research, perhaps did more than any single work to discredit the “brainwashing” thesis and end the debate that had raged for twenty years. Her later book New Religious Movements (Barker ) is a serious and well-documented study, enriched by firsthand materials, in which the characteristics of the single groups are described in an impartial and scientifically rigorous manner. Barker writes that many scholars have invested quite a bit of time in the recent past in studying the new religious movements in the field, living at times in very uncomfortable conditions and finding themselves involved in a myriad of strange activities, even though, as scholars, there are limits to their participant observation (such as proselytism or taking part to orgiastic practices). Members of the new religious movements have been interviewed in depth. With the exception of Jim Jones’s People’s Temple and the Charles Manson family, Barker has been able to talk to members of almost all the movements cited in her book. Moreover, she has been listening to former members and to hundreds of parents and friends of members, supporters, enemies, and whoever could shed some light on the various ways in which a movement operates and on its impact on the external world. As a researcher, together with her group INFORM, Barker has constructed and analyzed questionnaires, laboriously tried to master the huge amount of existing material and has studied “control groups,” in order to evaluate the material collected on the movement by confronting it with the data of the other “populations.” After having clarified possible misunderstandings of the term “new religious movements,” Barker defines them as groups that can provide “ultimate” answers to fundamental questions—such as the meaning of life or the role of human beings in nature. Barker’s book contributes

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in a fluent and understandable style to disproving prejudices and provides useful information for a better knowledge of the various groups and movements. Her data furnish information on the different conversions: issues of the persuasion techniques being used, totalitarian authoritarianism, and tensions between new members and their families. The book is the result of years of fieldwork, which is the only research method that allows an in-depth and competent understanding of the problems together with the possibility of finding an adequate solution—in fact, in the second part of the text, the Barker takes up the question of “forced de-conditioning” as opposed to the “intermediate” solution, discussed together with the convert. Working through INFORM, Barker has not only produced scholarly studies and conferences but has also worked with parents, friends, and work associates to enable them to understand the phenomenon of NRM conversion and both accept genuine conversions for what they are, while also setting limits to the degrees of behavior that are legitimate and illegitimate within the bounds of civil society.3 In addition to these British scholars, interest in conversion phenomena have also been particularly on the agendas of two other Europeans: Massimo Introvigne, formally trained in the law, but especially interested in cases involving NRMs, is the founder-director of CESNUR, the Center for Studies on New Religions, headquartered in Torino (Turin), Italy, with an American center in Santa Barbara, California, in conjunction with J. Gordon Melton. CESNUR has sponsored annual conferences from  to the present, including several at the LSE. Although not strictly speaking a “scholar of conversion,” Introvigne has nevertheless amassed a large library of materials on NRMs through which conversion dynamics have been studied, and this remains an important resource to the study of conversion, especially in the disputed contexts of “coerced” conversions. Also worthy of note is the volume, Le pèlerin et le converti: La religion en mouvement, published by the French sociologist of religion, Danièle Hervieu-Léger (), sometime rédacteur en chef and now directrice de la publication of the journal Archives de Sciences Sociales des Religions, and president also of the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales in Paris. This work particularly employs the French concept of bricolage to understand the ways in which postmodern religiosity composes itself

3 Stark. Richardson, Bromley, and Barker (in that temporal order) have each served as President of the Association for the Sociology of Religion.

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and the differences between it and the Catholic model upon which the historic religious confessions in France (i.e., Protestant, Jewish, and more recently Muslim) have been configured in relation to each other and to the French state. Individualistic bricolage on the part of devotees is difficult to comprehend within a quasi-political model in which corporate, rather than personal, devotion has been the primary mode of religious action and articulation among the historic confessions. What has been said above is just an introduction to the wide complex of conversion phenomena and aims at preparing the reader for the variety of observations and issues raised and addressed in this book. Furthermore, a number of individual behaviors, which are often neglected by current macro-sociological analyses, are here observed with fine accuracy and dedication, thus completing the original relevance and successful approach of this work. References Anthony, Dick and Thomas Robbins (eds.). . In Gods We Trust: New Patterns of Religious Pluralism in America. New Brunswick, NJ: Transaction. Barker, Eileen V. . The Making of a Moonie: Brainwashing or Choice? Oxford: Blackwell. ——— . New Religious Movements: A Practical Introduction. London: Her Majesty’s Stationery Office. Beckford, James A. . “Accounting for Conversion.” British Journal of Sociology : –. Bromley, David G. and James T. Richardson (eds.). . The Brainwashing/ Deprogramming Controversy: Sociological, Psychological, Legal and Historical Perspectives. Lewiston, NY: Mellen. Freud, Sigmund.  []. “A Religious Experience.” Pp. – in The Standard Edition of the Complete Psychological Works of Sigmund Freud , edited by John Strachey. London: Hogarth. Gonzáles de Santalla, Tirso. /. Manuductio ad conversionem mahumetanorum. Dillingen. Greil, Arthur L. and Tom Robbins (eds.). . Between the Sacred and the Secular: Research and Theory on Quasi-Religion Movements. Greenwich, CT: JAI. Hammond, Phillip, E. . The Sacred in a Secular Age: Toward Revision in the Scientific Study of Religion. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press. Hervieu-Léger, Danièle. . Le pèlerin et le converti. La religion en mouvement. Paris: Flammarion. James, William. . The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature. New York: Longmans. Martin, David. . A General Theory of Secularization. Oxford: Blackwell.

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——— . “The Secularization Issue: Prospect and Retrospect.” British Journal of Sociology : –. Richardson, James T. . Conversion Careers. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. Robbins, Thomas. . Cults, Converts, and Charisma: The Sociology of New Religious Movements. Beverly Hills, CA: Sage. ——— and Susan Palmer (eds.). . Millennium, Messiahs, and Mayhem. New York: Routledge. Sanz, Manuel. . Breve trattato nel quale con ragioni dimostrative si convertono manifestamente i Turchi. Catania: Bisagni. Wilson, Bryan R. . “An Analysis of Sect Development.” American Sociological Review : –. ——— . Sects and Society. Berkeley: University of California Press. ——— . Magic and Millennium. London: Heinemann. ——— . The Noble Savages: The Primitive Origins of Charisma and Its Contemporary Survival. Berkeley: University of California Press. ——— . The Social Impact of New Religious Movements. New York: Rose of Sharon Press. ——— . The Social Dimensions of Sectarianism: Sects and New Religious Movements in Contemporary Society. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ——— and Karel Dobbelaere. . A Time to Chant: The Soka Gakkai Buddhists in Britain. Oxford: Clarendon.

INTRODUCTION: THE VARIETIES OF CONVERSION EXPERIENCE

Giuseppe Giordan Although the theme of conversion is not one that has a long history in sociology, it constitutes a privileged observation point to study society, especially the complex framework linking together the individual and the socio-cultural contexts in which he is included. Change in the personal biographic route and social and cultural change are very closely interwoven when we speak of conversion: values, speech, norms, behaviors, beliefs, lifestyles, relations, interests—everything becomes open to potential debate when the individual decides to “convert.” The experience of believing often originates in or is accompanied by the experience of conversion, which is expressed in terms of radical change, a transformation that is almost always described in terms of a “before” and an “after,” to the point of leading to a kind of “re-birth” and to the construction of a new identity. It’s a process of re-socialization that can be described, at least in some aspects, in terms of social mobility, and since each type of social mobility carries in itself a dynamic of uprooting and a new rooting, conversion can jeopardize an existing equilibrium in order to work out a totally new one. This fracture, this caesura with one’s past, cannot make us forget that, beside the issues of break are issues of continuity, hence one’s identity actually does not dissolve but is redefined, is modified, both on the individual and on the social side: the old and the new then find a form of co-existence capable of giving meaning to everyday life. It is a new light that illuminates a previously existing reality in a different way. The title of the present volume puts in evidence the perspective from which the theme of conversion is developed—that is to say, connecting it to the dynamics of pluralism, which seems to be the most peculiar cultural characteristic of the contemporary epoch: what does it mean to speak of “conversion” in a time in which it seems that one only “true” truth does not exist any more, but in which many different truths live together, all of them with their own plausible judgment criteria, with their boundaries circumscribing universes of meaning that are quite different from one another? Is it still possible to speak of conversion in

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a world such as the Western world in which truth seems to have lost its character of absoluteness and has become relative—not only because of intellectual currents but equally because of quite different migrant flows from past centuries? Who is today capable of assessing, in the religious ambit, the credibility of a value that has universal relevance? At the same time, however, just this relativization of truth has carried within itself the need to confirm the necessity of strong identities, even religiously speaking, and in this perspective conversion may assume an important role in defining such identities. If on one side pluralism may lead to more or less stressed forms of relativism, on the other side its outcome may be the necessity of detecting new religious identifications. Religious conversion is to be located on this ground, the contemporary religious field, which sometimes presents contradictory elements: on one side secularization with its effects, and on the other side what has been defined as the “return of God.” Two simple examples, drawn out of the Italian context, may help us understand how such contradictory features are verifiable in everyday life. The first example comes from research carried out among young people in their last year of the upper secondary schools in the Valley of Aosta, the smallest Italian “region,” placed at the foot of Mont Blanc. Almost , interviewees were asked to say whether they agreed with the statement “every religion is true and leads to God”: about two out of three subjects stated that they agreed with this statement, without any relevant differences between boys and girls, or between people belonging to different economic categories or attending different types of schools. This attitude is also shared by one young person out of two among those who attend Sunday Mass regularly. The radicalness of this datum is heightened when it is inserted in the Italian context where Catholicism has a quasi-monopolistic position. In the questionnaire there was also another question that affects our theme directly: “Do you believe it is right for a Church to try to convert believers of other religions?” Four interviewees out of five answered “no,” and the remaining ones were divided into those who answered “yes” ( ) and those who didn’t answer at all. Through further interview research on this aspect, the students confirmed how “each one can choose the religion he wants, and consequently can even change his religion, but it isn’t very correct to speak of a religion that is more true than others.” In this perspective the meaning of conversion appears to be fading away, being more connected with a question of “taste” than a “dramatic” choice between Good and

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Evil, True and False. If all religions are more or less equivalent, as these youth seem to believe, what’s the meaning of converting from one to the other? A second example leads us to consider the other side of the coin. On March ,  Magdi Allam, an Egyptian Muslim journalist who has lived in Italy for many years, renounced his original religion and converted to Catholicism. The event went around the world because Allam, deputy editor of the Corriere della Sera, one of the most popular Italian dailies, was baptized in St. Peter’s basilica in Rome by Pope Benedict XVI during the solemn Easter eve liturgy. On the following day, Easter Day, the neo-converted journalist wrote a long letter in the newspaper of which he is the deputy editor, explaining the reasons why he has decided to leave the Muslim religion to convert to Catholicism. Among the various considerations, after stating precisely that since that day his new name was to be Magdi “Christian” Allam, there is a statement that couldn’t but provoke burning controversies, both within Catholicism and within the Muslim world: I have wondered how it was possible that one who has fought bravely and with great conviction for a “moderate Islam,” as I did, undertaking the responsibility of exposing himself personally to extremist denunciations and Islamic terrorism, has then ended being sentenced to death in the name of Islam and on the basis of Koranic legitimation. I have hence had to take cognizance of the fact that, beyond the contingent situation recording the advantage of the world-wide phenomenon of extremism and of Islamic terrorism, the root of evil resides in an Islam that is physiologically violent and historically conflictual.1

Owing to the reactions that greeted this last statement, the Vatican itself, through the Jesuit Federico Lombardi, Director of Vatican Radio and of the Press Room of the Holy See, had to specify that, if on one side Allam has the right to express his opinions freely, on the other side they are his personal opinions and cannot be attributed to the Pope. The lively and at times harsh discussion following Allam’s letter has offered an occasion to pass in review all the implications that “conversion” portends today, from its public relevance to the freedom of religion, from the right to give evidence on behalf of one’s own beliefs to proselytism, from the possibility of communicating among the different religions to their irreducible differences and reciprocal closure.

1

Corriere della Sera, March , , p. .

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But the most interesting point is the one that concerns the meaning of conversion in the context of the contemporary world: a fact that, although personal and private, cannot but have social and public implications, and this is true for every type of conversion, as that from one religion to the other, from non-religion to religion and vice-versa (including that particular form of conversion that consists in re-discovering one’s own religion in an active and responsible way). The different social contexts have much to say on this subject. If in the more and more secularized and pluralist Western world, as we have already seen, the choice of being religious is the result of a strictly individual choice, in other sociocultural contexts such an option appears to be a way of totally identifying oneself with the environment. Even the concept of conversion, in other words, must be interpreted in different ways according to the geopolitical dimension considered. Between the attitude of the students of the Valley of Aosta and that of Magdi Christian Allam we find the various potential meanings supporting the choice of conversion today. As paradoxical as it may seem, it is a fact that just as growing cultural and social pluralism has brought to the limelight the phenomenon of conversion, it is meant by the subjects as a chance to re-search questions of meaning. This dynamic, inserted into the process of de-institutionalization of the traditional religions, opens up a considerable space to religious mobility where the individual takes in charge “on his own” the faith which he decides to join. When religious belief gets out of the “taken for granted” and out of habitualized sociocultural practices to become the outcome of reflection and creative research, the individual activates a biographic route whose outcome can be true metanoia, a radical change concerning the way of seeing, interpreting and judging the world around him. It’s a complex movement that gathers not only the faculty of reason, but also, and most of all, the affective, emotional and aesthetic faculties: these are rather heterogeneous components that all the same are referable to the freedom of choice of the subject. But the individual issue, when we speak of conversion, is only one variable: historically the institutional aspect has played an equally important (if not even more important) role. The Christian and the Muslim religions have much to say on this subject. Cutting a long story short, and considering the tradition of Christianity, the message “convert and believe in the Gospel” has inspired the missionary work of the Church since the first centuries. Throughout history such missionary work has developed in manifold ways and not without gross contradictions with

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the Evangelical message, passing from the crusades to mass conversions up to the diffusion of Christianity following (and supporting) the discoveries/conquests of the modern era from America to the Eastern countries. Catholicism, on this specific point, has often run the risk of overlapping the missionary effort of Christianization with the colonizing action of the European powers, homologizing “conversion” and baptism with obedience to the Christian conquerors. From a theological and biblical perspective the mission (and the conversion) have thus shifted to a juridical perspective, legitimating control of “mission lands” as an expansion of the colonial authorities. With the de-colonization process this evangelization model, especially in the last decades, has re-defined its own role in terms of dialogue and witness, but has also been put in a critical position. Notwithstanding some fundamentalist and evangelical churches, as well as even some new religious movements, who are continuously claiming their right to proselytism, the historically established churches have by now put aside an ideal of mission as defined in the aggressive terms of conquest. Freedom of religion, or the possibility to change one’s religion (conversion), and even the freedom of not having any religion, are by this time formally received as principles in the context of the Western world. The situation is different in certain Muslim environments: to Islam apostasy is considered not only a sin, but also a crime that, in principle, anticipates the death sentence. Even if a death sentence is actually rarely inflicted, the consequences at the level of civil rights and of living together socially are serious: conversion, in such frame, must then come to terms with the social control practiced both in the limited sociality of one’s own group of origin and in the more expanded sociality of the society to which one belongs. Finally, it is not to be forgotten that many movements of Eastern matrix, but also networks of New Age style in the West, have rather different characteristics compared to the historical Western religions as far as their social structure is concerned: some of them do not impose either specific belonging nor particular forms of conversion. The individual implication, in the latter case, is that of “double faithfulness,” or of multiple belonging, where no “radical demands” are urged, but simply a sectional agreement that does not present important choices of conversion. What has been said thus far is but an outline of the manifold shades of that particular religious experience that we usually have labeled “conversion”: a primary event with both individual and social implications, that is successively interpreted and re-formulated all across the course

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of one’s life. The chapters in the present volume are examples of how variously this experience can be lived. In the opening chapter, Anthony Blasi clarifies his definition of conversion, redirection and functional acceptance in broad, straightforward and generally received interpretations of these terms. He then proceeds to focus on a theoretical understanding of conversion and trust. He explores the kinds of religious phenomena that arise within the ten largest social realities suggested by Gurvitch as well as the push/pull factor that constitutes the conversion experience, and concludes by considering collective conversion in the Vineyard Christian Fellowship and the individual conversion of John Henry Newman from the Church of England to Roman Catholicism. In Chapter Two, Kieran Flanagan paints a portrait of the convert with broad strokes. He asserts that it is religion, not ideology, that marks the great division of culture. He see conversion as multidisciplinary, including psychology, philosophy and cultural studies. The most obvious academic reference point for understanding the convert lies in religion and theology along with a consideration of both soft forms of conversion and hard forms of conversion, as well as holistic spirituality. He distinguishes between holistic and ecclesial spirituality, as well as hard and soft forms of conversion, and draws from a large array of religious beliefs to explore the implications of conversion on the individual once the process of conversion is complete. He ends his chapter with an account of his personal conversion. In the following chapter, Patrick Michel sees conversion as an indicator of the recomposition of identity and loyalty. Although it is often given strongly religious overtones, Michel argues that it is rather a sign of the complex interplay of reciprocal interactions and usages that govern the relation between religion and politics, religion and ideology, religion and economy. Conversion is a part of the mixture of forces that indicates a movement of passage. It is a process in which religion is certainly a part, but only one part, of many factors leading to a change from one identity to another. Kees de Groot turns next to empirical research to address the question: Are there patterns of religious development in liquid modernity? He uses a study based on observation and interviews of a New Town, conducted between September  and June , to determine the beliefs of city dwellers. Although religion is far from self-evident among city dwellers, it seems present in many and varied forms closely based on personal relationships. Although considered private, religious beliefs are

introduction

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deeply woven into the social fabric. With little social solidarity to anchor beliefs, however, they take many and varied forms. In Chapter Five, Bill Swatos, who has been developing a corpus of work on pilgrimage over the past decade, looks at the relationship between pilgrimage and conversion. He begins by contrasting the present-day concept of pilgrimage with that of the past, and notes that pilgrimage takes the form of both revivals and historic journeys as well as new innovations of gathering places that lack direct connection to explicit religious tradition. The rise of tourism has broadened the concept of pilgrimage, for it is not always an either/or situation but can certainly be both/and. The term pilgrim has extended contemporary tourism and pilgrimage to form part of one broad type of travel. Pilgrimage implies both motion and change that can be both external and internal, and it is the internal change that has the possibility of bringing conversion with it. In a way that has fascinating similarities to and differences from the geographic kinds of pilgrimages of which Swatos writes, Régis Dericquebourg discusses a relatively recent modification to the religious field in the past forty years as “seekers” find answers to questions of the meaning of life outside the established spiritual paths. They experiment with several spiritual practices as well as non-spiritual practices which they find helpful. This assortment of expressions is located under the umbrella of the New Age. Dericquebourg asks the question “Is entering the New Age a conversion experience?” He presents an overview of the New Age, refers to Anthony Blasi’s understanding of conversion from a sociological viewpoint, and through a guided life-story format and semi-structured interviews concludes that the New Age is a spiritual “place” where one adheres successively or simultaneously to ideas or practices put forward in a market that is in constant evolution. Roberto Motta, by contrast, understands conversion as a move from the “iron cage” of rationalization and disenchantment to an enchanted theology which by being participatory provides a sense of identity. He uses movements in Brazil from Catholicism and mainline Protestantism to Pentecostalism and Afro-Brazilian cults to demonstrate this point. Although he specifies that his writing will deal with conversion as it appears in Brazil in the abandonment of allegiance to the Roman Catholic church in favor of, first, historical Protestantism, but more recently and powerfully Afro-Brazilian cults and Pentecostalism, he asserts the cultural hypotheses of the paper that religious conversion implies everywhere, the refusal of the “iron cage” of rationalization, secularism and disenchantment as they have came to prevail in the Western world.

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Converts are basically attracted to those religions that have kept an “enchanted” outlook—that is, to those religions that appeal to something beyond empirical reference to the “wholly other,” indeed to an encounter with the very “Holy” itself. In Chapter Eight, Pace posits conversion as a battle taking place along the boundaries of systems of religious belief. It is also an indicator of a conflict going on inside and outside given systems of belief. It is a battle with winners and losers as well as casualties. It is a weakening of established systems. He allows for differences in degrees of conversion and provides a helpful chart to illustrate ideal types of conversion. Conversion affects not just an individual, but an entire belief system—indeed, at least two systems of belief: the one the person moves from and the one the person moves to. One integrates them into its system, while the other is trying to get them back. Pace examines two movements of return, neoHinduism and Habad (an ultra orthodox Hebrew movement), to demonstrate the conflict existing between a system of belief and a socio-religious reference environment. Luigi Berzano and Eliana Martoglio present further new insights as they attempt to understand conversion as a new lifestyle. The process does not necessarily remove or destroy the walls of a former position but allows an exchange of elements to flow freely into the individual religious identity. They present a brief overview of four classical types of conversion and then expand on conversion as a new lifestyle. This insight is supported with a preliminary overview of the characteristics and personal accounts of converts to Sokka Gakkai in Turin in . They particularly raise the question of whether research on religious conversion has been “overdetermined” by presumptions of the level of devotion/commitment of “converts” in their prior traditions—that is, because people say, for example, that they were “Catholic” before they started practicing Soka Gakkai, it is then presumed that these people were ardent in their practice of the Catholic faith and highly committed to Catholic beliefs, which is not necessarily the case. The novelty of Soka Gakkai is that it is, relatively, a practice “without beliefs”—or to turn it around, a belief in a practice. In my own contribution, I analyze a small-scale case of “mass conversion” that took place in an Italian village toward the end of the s as a result of a controversy with a Catholic bishop. By means of in-depth interviews, the different linguistic codes are studied as they are used to describe conversion from Catholicism to Orthodoxy: from the language of political struggle to that of ecclesiastical reform, from the language of

introduction

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anarchical and anti-authoritarian culture to the more recent language of spirituality. In Chapter Eleven, Sophie-Hélène Trigeaud draws upon seven years of graduate degree research to depict conversion in the Latter-day Saints (Mormon) community today. Through field work, questionnaires, and personal interviews she is able to shed light on the conversion process and experience of the -year-old LDS Church. She demonstrates that conversion is both the action of the LDS community who make the convert and the convert who becomes committed to the community. LDS is neither an historical nor a traditional Church (with some possible exceptions in Illinois, Missouri, and Utah), yet this relatively new religious movement has been able to maintain its growth through conversions. Since the s, the number of converts baptized in the LDS Church has on average tripled the number of children born into it. In this chapter, Trigeaud focuses on the phenomenon of the conversion to Mormonism and investigates LDS practices and representations, adequate causes, purposes and effects of the process—including “conversion from the inside,” through which some proportion of succeeding-generation Mormon youth re-embrace their original faith tradition. In the penultimate chapter, Stefano Federici, Pierluigi Caddeo, and Francesco Valerio Tommasi view religious conversion from a perspective of cognitive and social psychology, describing those mechanisms and mental processes operating at the basis of as socially and culturally complex a system of action as constitutes religious conversion. They use gospel pericopes and sayings as models for assessing the conversion process. The textual references they have chosen have pragmatic relevance from a historico-cultural point of view. Finally, Paul-André Turcotte looks at the role of the missionary as a source of conversion. He is able to capture some of the great challenges of always being a “foreigner” and of being able to juggle the existing cultural and religious diversity found in a new land with the objectivity of Catholic culture and heritage. He is able to do this by a chronology of the French Viatorian religious order as their missionaries moved from France to Canada. Catholic missionaries were able to create a Francophone institutional space. The autonomy of French Canada is greatly associated with the missionaries. The missionary hence brings more than a set of religious beliefs. The missionary refashions the culture in the manner of the primary culture of the institution. These perspectives on the multiplex valences associated with the concept of “conversion” suggest that a sociology of conversion can be of con-

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tinuing value not only within the narrow confines of specific religious traditions but also, and with more sociological salience, in relation to national and international issues of culture, politics, and economy.

chapter one THE MEANING OF CONVERSION: REDIRECTION OF FOUNDATIONAL TRUST

Anthony J. Blasi The term conversion is often used to refer to a change from one religious tradition or denomination within a tradition or world religion, to another tradition or denomination. Surveys usually focus on changes in religious preference, while ethnographic studies tend to focus on the process of becoming members. The distinction between preference and membership is an important one (Hoge, Johnson and Luidens ). Tamney () identified changes in religious membership for purposes of research; he acknowledged that such was less than ideal as a definition of conversion but was the most practical approach (see also Wallace ). Setting aside cases of changes in merely nominal affiliation, which may turn up in survey data but would not be a genuine conversion (though capable of precipitating such), a conversion in this sense involves engaging a different context of commitment, meaning, or both. Conversion is also used to refer to a discovery, personal renewal, or transformation, termed “development” by Tamney (: –); this usually occurs within one tradition or denomination but can also occur on the occasion of converting in the first sense given above. Rambo (: xii) speaks of “genuine” conversion as a total transformation of the person by the power of God. With Rambo, one would tend to think of conversion as a religious phenomenon, but there can also be secular conversions. An anthropologist may “go native,” or someone may leave one political sect and find meaning in life in another one. For purposes of the present discussion, I would like to subsume all the meanings of conversion, except for changes of merely nominal affiliation, under the formula, “redirection of foundational trust.” Redirection is to be understood in a straightforward way. Before the conversion the trust is placed in one entity, and afterwards it is placed in another one. If foundational trust is taken for granted and neglected altogether, coming to cultivate and direct a genuine foundational trust can be seen as a conversion. By foundational I simply mean that the trust

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is pervasive and enduring, not dependent on the presence of an equal. Thus one may place great trust in a spouse or friend, but a spouse or a friend is a mortal equal; one “loses” a spouse or friend who dies, whereas the kind of trust that is foundational is experienced as permanent and remains, unless one undergoes a conversion. To place foundational trust in another mortal would be to engage in a form of idolatry; it would have something false about it. Worthy spouses or true friends would not want to be objects of a foundational trust—that is, would not want the relationships to have the quality of megalomania on their part. Rather, there would be an equality that would characterize non-foundational trust. Foundational trust would not necessarily be experienced as greater than spousal or friendship trust, but it would be experienced differently. All trust is a confidence and conviction that its object “does well” or is “for the best,” even absent immediate evidence that such is the case. One trusts a craftsperson to do quality work, even when one is not looking at the work being done. One trusts an intellectual tradition to have the capacity for clarifying an issue or solving a problem, even before one has undertaken the clarification or pursued the problem. One might focus a sociological theory of conversion on the redirecting process. Thus Lofland and Stark () developed a sequential model of conversion to a religious cognitive minority tradition, and Bankston, Forsyth and Floyd () constructed a general model of the process of radical conversion.1 So many personal and contextual factors affect the redirecting activity that any such theory is likely to be a model “for the middle range.” Cases of actual conversion may not fit the model; so it is unlikely that any model could apply beyond a cluster of similar instances (Greil and Rudy ). The more closely a model fits one case, the fewer would be the cases for which it would be useful. For example, Downton () elaborates the Lofland/Stark model and finds that it closely fits the conversion career of the Divine Light Mission “premies” he studied, but one would certainly not take “spiritual enlightenment through drugs” as a universal substage among conversion processes. Indeed, Lofland and Stark had conversion to a deviant perspective in mind, whereas many conversions are from minority to majority religions, and these represent an experience quite different from converting to a deviant perspective (Rambo : –). Moreover, there is a methodological problem in

1 By radical conversion, they mean a non-institutional, maintained (as opposed to transitory), and sudden change that is extensive rather than partial.

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studying conversion by itself in order to develop a model; one needs to study also non-conversion in order to have a control group (as did Smilde ).2 Otherwise one may mistake features of something other than conversion as features of conversion itself (see Staples and Mauss , who found that features commonly attributed to conversion in the research literature are features of commitment instead). Gooren () develops a minimal model, identifying a number of factors that can enter into a conversion career, but he does not identify what activates the different factors. One might also focus a theory on what I have called the “foundational” nature of the kind of trust that is redirected in conversion. While focusing on the redirecting process may be too enmeshed in the particularities of contingent conditions to engender a very general theory, analyzing the essence of “foundationness” is likely to be too philosophical to provide the kind of understanding that is expected from sociological theory. It would certainly be a useful exercise in the humanistic disciplines of religious studies and philosophy, just as developing middle range models is a useful exercise; however, I have something else in mind in the present discussion. Here I focus a theoretical understanding of conversion on trust. As already noted, trust is a disposition premised at least in part on what is not in evidence. That is to say, trust is not an entirely empirical stance, in the usual sense of “empirical.” It stands in contrast to the typical mentality of scientists toward the objects they study. Outside the scientific mentality, where trust typically occurs, one thinks in terms of natural facts having usefulness in everyday life: Natural facts refer to the world as experienced in our everyday thinking. It is the world of concrete things and events occurring in the medium within which we carry on the business of living. There, in spite of Copernicus, the sun rises from the sea and sets behind the mountain; it is now red and now white, and the earth is the immovable floor upon which we walk. Physical objects change their size in relation to their distance. Space is articulated as above and below, before and behind, right and left; time as past, present, and future. We take it for granted that things will remain what they are, even if we do not look at them, and that, if we leave the room, we will upon our return find the objects within it substantially unchanged. (Schutz : )

2 In general, studies of populations of converts have been beset by the problem of not having a control group on hand for comparative purposes.

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People assume such a stance in their everyday world because it is practical to do so; it works. Scientists, in contrast, tend to make a fetish of avoiding the kind of error that would assert something to be true when it is false. People in the natural attitude go about their everyday activities with a balanced awareness of two kinds of error—that which would assert something to be true when it is false and that which would assert something to be false when it is true. That their stance works is itself a fact that, in the manner of William James’s pragmatism or radical empiricism (:  ff.), cannot be denied. Thus the natural attitude has a truth within its own coordinates of reality; that taken-for-granted truth coincides in part, but only in part, with the attitude of the natural sciences. Foundational trust is analogous to the taken-for-granted quality of the natural attitude, but it is also analogous to the assumptions that go untested in the scientific attitude. Science too does not proceed with total doubt, in the manner of Descartes, but rather systematically applies its skepticism to a circumscribed arena of experience while leaving all that is outside this circle unquestioned. The sociocultural world, of course, including its scientific sector, is a constituted one. The physicist’s mass is a mental construct based on the experience of resistance to touch. To attribute the experience of resistance to an external object is as much a contrivance as attributing the experience of blue, a phenomenon residing within the central nervous system of the individual human, to the sky. Similarly the political phenomenon of power, the aesthetic appreciation of elegance, and the everyday acceptance of convention are contrivances. They are made “real” in thinking, or as W.I. Thomas was fond of saying, things defined as real are real in their consequences. We need, however, to distinguish among the different ways these defining of realities into existence occur. Political power, elegance, mass, and blue obtain in experience as belonging to different orders, and these orders align up with one another—for example, in an elegant Fourth of July concert played by a band seated on a secure massive platform and under red, white, and blue bunting. The present suggestion is that alignments and re-alignments of this kind provide an aperture to redirections of foundational trust—i.e., to conversions. Such alignments may or may not be “causes” in a philosophical sense, but they can designate accounts or reasons for conversions, depending whether one is looking from outside the process and making a scientific account or from within it and giving testimony. The sociological theorist who provided us with an intellectual approach to multi-layered social phenomena such as the alignments and

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realignments of social constructs that underlie conversion was Georges Gurvitch. He thought of social reality as comprised of multiple layers that ranged from that which is directly observable to that which can at best be hypothesized, from material culture to the internal spontaneity of people to act or not act, think or not, consider or not consider something, etc. The number of layers that sort themselves out between the most and least visible poles varies from one social reality to another, but Gurvitch () listed a number of layers that can serve the sociologist as sensitizing concepts. An adequate sociological analysis, in his point of view, required a consideration of the “total social phenomenon” in all its relevant layers, the relationships and dynamics among these layers, and the potential for a change at one level to engender other, often unexpected, changes at other levels. At this juncture the reader should be able to see my plan of attack: Trust, including foundational trust, is a social reality that crosses well beyond material culture into non-empirical, or at least less empirical, realms (in the usual sense of empirical, not in the sense of William James’s radical empiricism), and it is thus likely to be taken up into the dialectical processes that occur in the alignment and realignment of social constructs at different levels.3 Merrill Singer () advocated a similar approach, though he limited the identified levels to “micro” and “macro.”

Levels in Depth in Religious Phenomena We can begin with the material culture of religion, its most empirical aspect. Different religions may have a greater or lesser number of material artifacts. A Calvinist church building or a Cistercian chapel may have fewer artifacts in the sense of paintings, statues, decorous furniture, and the like, and a Daoist temple or Latin American cathedral may have more. But it goes beyond art and architecture: In Nashville, Tennessee, a Catholic Hispanic ministry that had purchased and moved into a larger former Southern Baptist church found that the pews lacked kneelers; part of the Latino worship involved public bodily gestures that the Baptist had not. A spot needed to be constructed for the painting of the Guadalupe Madonna, as well as platforms to accommodate the banks of flowers that the Latino families brought to set before it. The clergy had to borrow 3 Dialectics, for Gurvitch (), involved not only polarity, as with the Hegelian tradition, but also such “operative processes” as reciprocity, complementarity, mutual implication, and even ambiguity.

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objects from the sponsoring English-language Catholic parish for reserving the Eucharistic species, honoring the Lectionary with incense, blessing the people with holy water, etc. The inaugural mass—presided over in halting Spanish by a bishop with crosier, mitre, and festive vestments— followed a massive mile-long march from the English-language church to the new Spanish-language one, to the rhythm of drums and haunting sound of a conch shell horn, Amerindian joyous whoops, and with befeathered dancers and a somewhat anomalous honor guard of Knights of Columbus accompanying the canopy with the Guadalupe painting to be installed in its new location. The whole throng patiently crowded into the cavernous building, filling it completely. The service was exuberant, with the crowd singing, responding to the liturgical texts, and cheering the homily of the South American priest who served as their pastor. Of course, the absence of such things is as much a social construct as the presence of them. The Baptist church was not a cheap structure that simply lacked accoutrements; it had a state-of-the art video monitor system, projection booth, sound system, carpeted floors, sophisticated lighting system, and elaborate façade with two high spires—all with a sense of Anglo simplicity. It would be erroneous to dismiss all this as merely superficial. The iconoclastic controversy in early Christianity and the resistance of Muslims to the depiction of persons and animals reveal how serious such matters can be. Pitirim Sorokin (–) was clearly onto something when he interpreted the history of civilizations in terms of the degree of materiality or non-materiality of their cultures—whether or not one accepts his cyclical view of that history. The Calvinist and Cistercian reforms clearly represented a sense that materiality was not something to be too much indulged by the desire to pray in one’s native language and to hear prayer in that language, and to pray with one’s accustomed body language as well as with others who use that language, is not to be taken lightly. The American Catholic Church obviously loses Latino immigrants to other churches when it fails to be present to them with their accustomed material culture, just as the Latin American Catholic Church loses people to the Evangelical and Pentecostal churches when it is present only in a material culture to verbally-oriented upwardly mobile people. Religious organizations do not consist solely of material objects, but they are visible in the social world through signage, meetings, a division of labor, budgets, schedules, and plans. Organizations clearly have a life of their own, with their internal norms and practices as well as their involve-

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ments in the outside social world. Just as there can be a greater or lesser amount of religious material culture, there can be more or less religious organization, both in the sense of the degree of structure and in the overall size of the entity. A greater degree of organization can make it difficult for a member to remain within the organization if marginalized by organizational politics, unpalatable official doctrines, or norms that are unreasonably confining. Conflicts within a church can lead to schisms or, alternatively, to departures of members who then convert to some other religious organization. For example, Ammerman (: ) describes the options available to those who did not prevail in a conflict within the Southern Baptist Convention as accommodation, becoming a loyal opposition, or leaving. A religion that is heavily invested in an organizational apparatus can better undertake such collective ventures as missions, schools, and social services, but will have difficulty maintaining its basic functions if the resources required by the organizational apparatus are lacking. The more organizationally-oriented a religious tradition is, the more likely it will be that specialized life-style sub-organizations will develop within it; hence there could be monasteries and orders. Even a transitory life-style can take an organizational form, as with the adolescent Buddhist monastic apprenticeship and the two Mormon missionary years.4 The simple size of an organization can also create tensions that engender conversions. As Simmel pointed out, the thoroughness of control over members, or “strictness,” becomes less possible as size increases (: –). A lower degree of organization may leave the faithful quite dependent on the entrepreneurial charisma of a clergyperson. The latitude in doctrine that may arise absent such charisma may be quite disconcerting. The maintenance of any meaning may necessitate an even greater doctrinal rigidity than occurs with strongly organizational religion. Those marginalized by the charisma of an entrepreneurial clergyperson, those seeking structure and tradition where doctrines are too individualized and diffuse, as well as those seeking intellectual freedom where doctrines are too collective and rigid for fear of individualism and diffuseness—in short, those seeking more organization will be ripe for conversion. Social models cue in kinds of shared activity (Gurvitch : – ). Worship, sacred feasts, orthodoxy, blessings, dietary restrictions, forgiveness, and donations are all social models. Religious phenomena

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can highlight one or another such model. Someone entering a church service and expecting collective prayer conducted by unassuming leaders who do not press themselves forward would be sorely disappointed by performances of charismatic preachers who make much of their own verbalizations of prayers and greatly individualize their own take on a religious tradition. Someone who wants to share in national religious moods, for example on major religious holidays, will be frustrated by a sect that makes a point of being out-of-step with national observances. Someone whose personal issues are not addressed by received formulae will be alienated from tradition. Someone seeking a blessing will be put off by moralizing. Someone oriented toward interiority will find dietary restrictions pointless. Social models thus have the potential to attract, hold, or repel people. Often collective conduct manifesting some regularity is simply familiar and can be employed in a religious setting. The existence of a nobility was familiar in the secular medieval European world and hence became common in the religious realm, producing an imperial papacy with a cabinet of cardinals. American democracy has lent the congregational pattern to many American religions. Religiously-sponsored charities in the modern world tend to be set up on a corporate model. Culture lag may make religions organized in a medieval fashion problematic in the modern world, just as social services organized in a corporate manner may be too unfamiliar to be accessed by traditional populations. All such disjunctures can occasion conversions. Patterns of social roles are certainly involved in collective actions that are more or less structured, but roles are often invented, transferred from one setting to another, and adapted with a certain amount of spontaneity (see Gurvitch : –). A religious professional may want to adapt a role beyond what is allowed within an organizational apparatus; theologians, for example, may want to explore doctrines while a hierarchy may want them simply to engage in apologetics. Or a group of lay persons may want to be more active than a clericalist framework would permit. A new, or newly revived, role such as that of the Catholic deacon or the unordained and often female pastor may be in the process of being negotiated (Wallace , ; Gilfeather ). When the role of the Catholic female religious took the form of highly professional teachers, medical staff, and administrators, its subordination to the male clerisy became less tenable; women’s conversions (in the sense of renewal, but also in the sense of joining religions with no such subordination) could be thought of as leading to other roles with less subservience. The role

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of the theologically educated minister may occasion conflict with a relatively uninformed congregation, leading not only to wide scale abandonment of the ministry but conversions to alternative denominations or no denomination at all (cf. Ballis :  ff. for an Adventist case). Sometimes a failure to perform a religious role or to perform a role in a religiously prescribed manner may lead to a conversion to a religion that is less prescriptive concerning the role in question (Tamney : ). Events that disrupt the pattern of social roles and the networks in which they are embedded can prepare the way for conversions. Migration and unemployment often do that and have been associated with conversion (e.g., Flora , Singer ). Similarly, events that involve patterns of social roles that are new to the individual and involve new networks can do the same; one thinks, for example, of such life-cycle phenomena as becoming a young adult, marrying, and retiring. These may well be responsible for age-related variations in religious involvement in general (Blasi ), one kind of which is conversion to a different religion. The numerous studies of conversion following a religiously mixed marriage come to mind; such conversions may be more than mere changes in nominal affiliation precisely because of the changes in role pattern entailed in family formation. A very important level of social reality and of religion takes the form of collective attitudes. Attitudes, of course, are not merely mental states but rather mental aspects of on-going activity. George Herbert Mead (: ) saw attitudes as the beginning or earlier phases of actions. Collective, or shared, attitudes arise in occasions where individuals orient their respective actions toward one another, against one another, or in concert with one another. Once formed, attitudes may not stay limited to the circumscribed activities that gave rise to them. A self-starting and independent professional in the workplace may not remain a passive member of a parish or congregation, and a compliant employee who takes instructions from others in the workplace may be only a passive member of a parish or congregation. But then on the other hand a passive member in the religious entity may find an outlet for expression in the workplace or vice-versa. Religion and morality often intertwine, not only because religious doctrines may have moral content but also because the cognitive openness to the divine and to value-intuitions may have an elective affinity with one another (Blasi ). When different sectors of a religious entity are differently activated by moral issues, one or more sectors may reconsider their standing within the religious entity. It is also possible that

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someone can undergo a conversion from one sector of a broad religion to another sector, as did Alfonso Carlos Comín from Spanish national Catholicism to a leftist Catholicism (Carmona ). Moral controversies over the civil rights of racial minorities in the United States clearly affected churches, as has peace activism more than once in the past halfcentury. Issues of economic justice will have a similar effect on religions in a class society. The spark of moral insight as well as the impetus to maintain convention may well portend conflicts that in turn portend conversions from one religion or denomination and to another—or to none at all. Religions often serve as social symbols. A religion may be a second embodiment of a nation, especially if a government fails to be fully legitimate or the nationality is present in a setting that is foreign to it, such as with an immigrant enclave (so important in contemporary cities: see the studies in Warner and Wittner , Ebaugh and Chafetz ) or a subordinated nation. Mol () wrote of religion and identity in this perspective. Obviously, a social process such as assimilation may spark conversion or apostasy. Or a particular religious site may become an expression of an economic class within a society that does not have a clear political expression because of the domination of ethnic identity rather than class issues over politics (see the case of the working class in French Canada in Geoffroy and Vaillancourt : –). Similarly, a site may become symbolic of an ethnic group and lose salience only upon a rather thorough assimilation (see Orsi ). In these cases, the site is important as a symbol quite apart from the people for whom it is symbolic being physically present at it on a regular basis (the latter an aspect of material culture). Or again, a religion can symbolize a social movement for liberation from an oppressive government and thereby draw adherents it would not otherwise have. Once the movement has run its course interest in the religion may wane; this may well apply to the Polish situation described by Casanova (:  ff.). More commonly, religion can reveal a shared sentiment of guilt or regret for actions, penance, even while embodying at the same time a sense of local solidarity; nevertheless, the same symbolic phenomenon can be understood in quite different ways from quite different social perspectives. Alberto López Pulido () recounts the diverse narratives of the Penitentes of New Mexico from various external, noncomprehending, and hostile perspectives and contrasts these to an internal perspective. In a related way, individual positive life-events can increase the salience of a religion, while negative life-events decrease it

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(Albrecht and Cornwall ); in such cases the symbolism in question is that of the relationship of the individual to the environing social context. When such relationships change, conversion or apostasy can readily occur. Moments of creative collective conduct, termed “collective behavior” in some older sociological texts, are important factors in society. We should speak of conduct rather than behavior because plan and deliberation are often involved in revolutions, social movements, and mass demonstrations. Behavior suggests mindless or automatic activity, something like a panic or stampede, whereas in the present discussion it is minded activity that is under consideration.5 Social movements are obviously relevant to religion as complexes of activities in which people engage on religious grounds (for example, see Campbell and Pettigrew , Blasi : – , on integration and churches in southern U.S.A. communities; Quinley , on the involvement of Protestant clergy in the farm workers’ movement; Smith, , on the sanctuary movement during the American involvement in Central America; Pagnucco and McCarthy , on a nonviolent direct action agency; Johnson , on workers quitting defense industry jobs; Holsworth , on anti-nuclear weapons activism; and Tygart , on clergy in anti-war activism). However, social movements also set public agendas; they define what is and is not important in a society at a given time. They are relevant to religion when the latter is not involved in them as much as when it is, for some people give up on religion when it fails to engage the issues of the day. Religion clearly participates in a dialectic with the collective ideas and values prevalent in a given time and place. This is a layer of social reality to which the church/denomination/sect typology in the sociology of religion is relevant, particularly with reference to whether and how much of the social world is valued.6 Churches would be identical with or coincide with their host societies, culturally if not organizationally.

5 Blumer () used the expression collective behavior to refer to mindless and minded behavior both, and in defense of his usage it can be noted that much collective activity involves elements of both. 6 There are, of course, other types. Troeltsch () added mysticism to church and sect. Mysticism is not considered here because it is less in a dialectic with collective ideas and values than are the other two. Becker () and Colin Campbell () include mysticism and private religiosity in general in the category cult. There are further scholarly uses of the term cult, but where they pertain to ideas and values they blend into the concept of sect.

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Denominations would fit comfortably in their host societies; they are not in tension with their surrounding cultures. Sects would be in tension with their host societies and environing cultures. Each of these types can occasion ambivalence in the individual. Someone who has a misgiving about some aspect of a society would be ambivalent about a church or about denominations in and of that society. A sect member who engages the social world in a friendly manner could experience similar ambivalence. Greil (:  ff.) notes that changes in cognitive style, which would be an aspect of collective ideas and values, often correlate with changes in reference others (or reference groups, as they are often termed in the textbooks). Thus an intellectually oriented individual may seek out reference others who share the cognitive style that the individual has begun to use. Alternatively, an individual may select certain persons or categories of people as reference others in the process of participating in or planning to participate in an organization, and assume the cognitive style of those others in the process. A parallel phenomenon occurs when a previously little-educated population becomes a more highlyeducated one (see Tong , on Chinese Singaporeans abandoning folk religion for Christianity or no religion). What is often interesting about collective ideas in conversion is the lack of their relevance; most conversions involve a switch to a denomination within the same tradition or world religion, usually to one somewhat similar to that which was left (Babchuck and Whitt ). The tendency is to understand various mental states and acts—representations, memory, suffering, satisfaction, preferences, effort, and the like—as individual experiences, but they can be borne by an individual, a subsocietal group of individuals, or the whole society of individuals. In the latter two instances we can refer to collective mental states and psychic acts (Gurvitch : ). Religiously, there can be shared sentiments during a holy day, commemoration, or ceremony, for example, or shared ethical dissatisfaction or satisfaction over some public event. This would encompass the civil religious phenomena described eloquently by Bellah (). The sentiment may or may not be embodied in the same symbols, and the fact that it may not be provides the rationale for thinking of collective mental states and psychic acts apart from their symbolization. It is natural to think in terms of collective mental states and psychic acts working against conversion from a majority religious stance and to a deviant one; consequently seemingly deviant ones may go out of their way to be civic and patriotic.

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Redirections of Trust and Layers of Social Reality It might be useful to speak of push factors and pull factors that constitute the conversion context. Theoretically, push and pull factors can emerge at any one layer of social reality and have consequences in that same layer or in any other layer. Thus organizational politics may marginalize a person, with the result that the person seeks a less structured or at least differently structured religious organization within the same religious tradition, but the person may seek instead a collective attitude—for example, contemplative reverence for the sacred—and find it in a religious book club held under the auspices of a different religious entity. Alternatively, the individual may seek an opportunity to engage in social service and participate in a different religious organization’s program of charities, but as a volunteer with a minimum of organizational involvement. In such cases the push factor would be at the organizational level, but the pull factors that give character to the conversion that takes place could be at the organizational level, at the level of collective attitudes, or at the level of collective conduct that shares some regularity. Theoretically, one could construct a ten-by-ten matrix of push and pull factors and have a resultant inventory of a hundred kinds of conversion. We need not pursue that exercise here. We can consider a relatively new religious entity, most of whose members, simply because the entity is new, must be converts. The Vineyard Christian Fellowship in the Evangelical tradition is an example. A study conducted in  shows that about a third of the members had been reared in conservative Protestant churches, one third in liberal Protestant churches, and one third in the Roman Catholic Church. However, immediately prior to joining Vineyard only fifteen percent had belonged to liberal Protestant denominations and only six percent to the Catholic Church; the majority had joined or had been reared in traditional conservative Christian churches or independent non-denominational Christian churches. The Vineyard members rated the members of their previous churches as less committed and having less missionary zeal than their Vineyard fellow members, but no less strict or disciplined (Perrin and Mauss ). Culturally, Vineyard churches attract college-educated young adults and have a contemporary popular-culture style of worship; thus they accommodate rather than maintain tension with the environing culture (Shibley ). A British study notes that once a pastor had introduced the Vineyard style in a Church of England parish, thereby precipitating the departure of the music minister and choir, the

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ministry grew by constructing “a worldview which brings together a mixture of this-worldly and other-worldly components.” Moreover, the theology was “extraordinarily well designed to confront the challenges of modernity in simultaneously counteracting and embracing rationalizing and pluralist forces” (Hunt : ). On purely statistical grounds, a second or later generation in a church will be less enthusiastic than a first generation that was enthusiastic enough to convert, and those who joined Vineyard ministries from more established religious organizations want enthusiastic expressiveness and found their former fellow-members’ lack of enthusiasm and zeal a push factor. The cultural tension with the wider society, “sectness” as it were, was also a problem. The popular market culture employed by the Vineyard is clearly a pull factor. The conversions that populated the Vineyard involve “social models” insofar as the worship services resembled rock concerts. The mixing of worldly and other-worldly involves patterns of consuming popular peer culture even while adhering to the values of the parental generation, a pattern of activity established with some regularity by students in secondary school and university years. The popular music serves as a social symbol of a generation, an age cohort that is of importance to the members. The simultaneous seeking of peer acceptance and peer identity and of legitimacy in terms of Christian tradition are collective mental states or psychic acts. One could recommend entering into an ethnographic study of this group with these kinds of sensitizing concepts in mind.7 If the example of the Vineyard converts suggests a change of organizations that serves to maintain certain aspects of the socially situated pre-conversion trust patterns, that of John Henry Newman (–) reveals a restless intellect that is forced to break up and recompose its social situation. Newman was a solid student in England in an era in which scholarship focused on religion and classics, and Oxford University was a federation of Anglican citadels. He began studies at an early age at Trinity College and became a fellow at Oriel College. From –  he served as Vice Principal of St. Alban’s Hall, pastor of St. Clement’s parish (founding a school and building a new church), as a Tutor, and as a disciplinarian Dean who tamed a rowdy set of hard-drinking undergraduates. But in  he had a disagreement with the Oriel College Provost,

7 For a parallel case of a growing church dependent on converts, see Tamney’s account of “Spirited Church” (: –).

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Edward Hawkins, over whether tutors should watch over the religious life of their pupils. From  Hawkins, who held they should not, ceased assigning him pupils. Newman resigned his tutorship in , when his last pupil graduated. In  he had also been appointed Vicar of St. Mary the Virgin parish, which served as Oxford’s church, and it was from that post that he became an influential personage in the Oxford setting. What is interesting about Newman is that from a satisfying ministry in a citadel of the Church of England he began to migrate intellectually out of the Church, ever so gradually, and into Roman Catholicism. In  Newman set about reading the ancient Church Fathers in chronological order (Newman : ). He was particularly impressed by the Alexandrian writers, whose arguments for doctrinal orthodoxy influenced his evaluation of the state of affairs of his own ecclesiastical context. He was not left satisfied; he wrote that his “mind had not found its ultimate rest, and in some sense or other I was on a journey” (: – ). He began writing about the ancient Church councils in . By  the Church of England served a minority of the British populace, and its lower clergy were not deeply trained in theology. The government began reorganizing it, consolidating some parishes and eliminating others. The Church was also divided between the High Church party, which was oriented to the doctrines and sacraments received from antiquity, and the Evangelical or Protestant party, which was oriented to scripture alone. “With the Establishment thus divided and threatened” by the liberalism of the government, Newman wrote, “I compared that fresh vigorous power of which I was reading in the first centuries” (: ). His convictions were decidedly High Church, but he was more wary of the rationalism of the liberals than of the emotionalism and biblicism of the Evangelicals. Thoroughly socialized into the anti-Roman stance of the times, he conceived of no tenable position apart from the Church of England; yet at the same time, the (non-Roman) Catholic position forced him to think of what transcended Anglican boundaries. “ . . . I ever kept before me that there was something greater than the Established Church, and that was the Church Catholic and Apostolic, set up from the beginning, of which she was but the local presence and organ. She was nothing, unless she was this” (: ). Newman began writing tracts anonymously arguing for the Anglo Catholic, “Via Media,” position of dogma, sacraments, and opposition to Rome, and he was joined by others; he served for a time as editor of a series of position papers, Tracts for the Times. However, he began to sense that Anglo Catholicism was more a construct than a social

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reality. “Protestantism and Papacy are real religions . . . but the Via Media, viewed as an integral system, has scarcely had an existence except on paper” (: ). By  he began to reconsider his stance; he began to draw comparisons between the Reformation and Anglican separations from the Roman Church and the ancient schisms that he was studying. “Alas! it was my portion for whole years to remain without any satisfactory basis for my religious profession, in a state of moral sickness, neither able to acquiesce in Anglicanism, nor able to go to Rome” (: ). It would be tempting to predict that Newman’s intellectual conclusions would lead him to convert to Roman Catholicism. Such was simply not the case. He was well networked in the Anglican context of Oxford, had thrown his energies into the Tractarian cause within Anglicanism, and had not yet called into question his received anti-Romanism, in both its emotional and cognitive aspects. An episode in , however, would strain his network and transform his social context, leaving him to work out his problems with Roman Catholicism on his own. He turned to the Articles of Faith of the Church of England, a symbol of his religious commitments, and wrote a tract giving them a Catholic rather than Protestant reading. There was nothing particularly Roman Catholic about his Tract , but it certainly employed a Church Catholic and Apostolic hermeneutic (: ). It caused a storm of criticism from the Evangelical party, and his bishop agreed not to demand that he withdraw it so long as he ceased from authoring or editing any further tracts. The public uproar continued, however, and other Church authorities began to condemn him. The result was that Newman was not only alienated from his larger social context, but also lost his place in the Tractarian movement to which he had devoted his energies. “I saw indeed clearly that my place in the Movement was lost; public confidence was at an end; my occupation was gone” (: ). He left a curate in charge of St. Mary’s and retired to a small chapel in Littlemore. But even in Littlemore the critics and the press would not leave him in peace. Some undergraduates from Oxford went to Littlemore to stay with him and work through their own issues with the Church of England, and that led to rumors that he was founding a Roman Catholic monastery. Meanwhile, the Church of England not only proved to be hostile to Newman’s brand of Anglo Catholicism, but it also entertained cooperation with un-Catholic factions. Specifically, in a government-inspired counter to Russian and French influence in the Middle East, the Church established a bishopric in Jerusalem that Prussian Lutherans and east-

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ern churches outside the Orthodox Communion joined. From Newman’s viewpoint, Protestants and heretics were welcome in a Church where Catholics were not (: –). This was the last straw; he resigned from St. Mary’s parish in  and conducted no further official activities for the Church of England. His friends were shocked and dismayed as he gradually distanced himself from the Church (: –). “If there ever was a case, in which an individual teacher has been put aside and virtually put away by a community, mine is one. No decency has been observed in the attacks upon me from authority . . . ” (: ). “I would not hold office in a Church which would not allow my sense of the Articles” (: ). In  he also asked to have his name removed from the books of Trinity College and Oxford University. In the same year of , two years after resigning from any function in the Church of England, he formally converted to Roman Catholicism. He had emotionally and cognitively overcome his earlier hostility to the Roman Church, in part by maintaining that his early teachers and even famous Anglican divines had inadvertently duped him (: ). In  Cardinal Wiseman invited him to be ordained a Catholic priest, and he was so in Rome that year. He spent the following years in Birmingham, in an Oratorian establishment. It should be noted that he had no network in Roman Catholicism comparable to the one he once had in the Church of England. Within Catholicism he was held suspect by other former Anglican tractarians who had converted: Archbishop Henry Edward Manning, William George Ward, and George Talbot (a secretary to Pope Pius IX). But in  the pope sent him an assurance that he, the pope, had confidence in his orthodoxy, and he was soon invited to be a theological expert at the First Vatican Council. In  Pope Leo XIII made Newman a cardinal. John Henry Newman followed an itinerary within the social layer of collective ideas and values, but his intellectual movement from an Anglo Catholic to a Roman Catholic position did not make him a convert. There was also the straining of his social network, the exit from his role at Oxford, his becoming an embarrassment within the movement to which he had devoted his energies, the public rejection of his take on the Articles of the Church—respectively at the organizational level, that of the pattern of social roles, that of creative collective conduct, and that of social symbols. These as well as his intellectual journey moved him to convert.

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anthony j. blasi Conclusion

We began with the simple idea that conversion, especially in the religious sense, is a redirection of foundational trust. We suggested that a focus on the redirecting, “process models” as they are usually termed, allows for theorizing in the middle range but not for a general theoretical framework. Focusing on the adjective foundational would lead one into philosophical rather than social theoretical concerns. Trust, however, is a human personal and social phenomenon in itself—though, when foundational, may be oriented to the transcendent. For purposes of general theorizing, we suggested that the general nature of social situatedness, as approached by Georges Gurvitch, could be a useful approach. We then explored the kinds of religious phenomena that arise within the ten layers or realms of social reality that Gurvitch suggests, often finding the potential for engendering conversion within them. However, the aligning of events across layers seemed to be the most intriguing approach to conversion. We examined two cases of conversion—one of them looking at a group situation and one of them the conversion of an individual. In the case of the group study, that of the Vineyard congregations, the use of social layers in the manner of Gurvitch for purposes of interpretation enabled us to see the pattern of late adolescent management of peer material culture and family values being preserved in the kind of church to which the converts turn. The individuals who converted were no longer adolescents managing the juxtaposition of peer material culture and family values but parents creating space for their own children to do so. In the case of the individual, we saw the trajectory of change of church membership on the part of John Henry Newman proceeding in parallel to but not in lock-step with his intellectual itinerary. The change in church membership was related to the breakdown of his relationship to the Anglican Church as an organization, of his place in the role patterns of Oxford, and his suddenly tenuous place in the social movement to which he had devoted his energies. In this instance, Newman was not swept up into a social network offering affective bonds, as often reported in the conversions to new religions of the s, but had to seek out a new network.

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Gilfeather, Katherine. . “The Changing Role of Women in the Catholic Church in Chile.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion : –. Gooren, Henri. . “Reassessing Conventional Approaches to Conversion: Toward a New Synthesis.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion : – . Greil, Arthur L. . “Previous Dispositions and Conversion to Perspectives of Social and Religious Movements.” Sociological Analysis : –. ——— and David Rudy. . “What Have We Learned from Process Models of Conversion? An Examination of Ten Case Studies.” Sociological Focus : –. Gurvitch, Georges. . “Sociologie en profondeur.” Pp. – in Traité de sociologie, edited by Georges Gurvitch. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. ———. . Dialectique et sociologie. Paris: Flammarion. Hoge, Dean R., Benton Johnson, and Donald A. Luidens. . “Types of Denominational Switching among Protestant Young Adults.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion : –. Holsworth, Robert. . Let Your Life Speak: A Study of Politics, Religion, and Antinuclear Weapons Activism. Madison: University of Wisconsin Press. Hunt, Stephen. . “ ‘Doing the Stuff ’: The Vineyard Connection.” Pp. – in Charismatic Christianity. Sociological Perspectives, edited by Stephen Hunt, Malcolm Hamilton and Tony Walter. New York: St. Martin’s Press. James, William.  []. Pragmatism, edited by Bruce Kuklick. Indianapolis: Hackett. Johnson, Mary. . “Defense Workers: A Challenge to Family and Faith.” Pp. – in Work, Family, and Religion in Contemporary Society, edited by Nancy T. Ammerman and Wade Clark Roof. New York: Routledge. Lofland, John and Rodney Stark. . “Becoming a World-saver: A Theory of Conversion to a Deviant Perspective.” American Sociological Review : – . López Pulido, Alberto. . The Sacred World of the Penitentes. Washington, DC: Smithsonian Institution Press. Mead, George Herbert. . Mind, Self, and Society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Mol, Hans. . Identity and the Sacred: A Sketch for a New Social-Scientific Theory of Religion. Oxford: Blackwell. Newman, John Henry.  []. Apologia pro Vita Sua. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Orsi, Robert Anthony. . The Madonna of th Street: Faith and Community in Italian Harlem, –. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Pagnucco, Ronald and John D. McCarthy. . “Advocating Nonviolent Direct Action in Latin America: The Antecedents and Emergence of SERPAJ.” Pp. – in Religion and Politics in Comparative Perspective: Revival of Religious Fundamentalism in East and West, edited by Bronislaw Misztal and Anson Shupe, Jr. Westport, CT: Praeger. Perrin, Robin D. and Armand L. Mauss. . “Saints and Seekers: Sources of Recruitment to the Vineyard Christian Fellowship.” Review of Religious Research : –.

the meaning of conversion

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Quinley, Harold E. . The Prophetic Clergy. Social Activism among Protestant Ministers. New York: Wiley. Rambo, Lewis. . Understanding Religious Conversion. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Schutz, Alfred.  []. “Max Scheler’s Philosophy.” Pp. – in Collected Papers III: Studies in Phenomenological Philosophy, edited by Ilse Schutz. The Hague: Nijhoff. Shibley, Mark A. . “The Californication of American Evangelicalism: Deviance and Cultural Accommodation in a Midwest Vineyard Congregation.” Pp. – in Sex, Lies, and Sanctity: Religion and Deviance in Contemporary North America, edited by Mary Jo Neitz and Marion S. Goldman. Greenwich, CT: JAI Press. Simmel, Georg. . Soziologie. Untersuchungen über die Formen der Vergesellschaftung. Leipzig: Duncker & Humblot. Singer, Merrill. . “The Social Context of Conversion to a Black Religious Sect.” Review of Religious Research : –. Smilde, David. . “A Qualitative Comparative Analysis of Conversion to Venezuelan Evangelism: How Networks Matter.” American Journal of Sociology : –. Smith, Christian. . Resisting Reagan: The U.S. Central America Peace Movement. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Sorokin, Pitirim A. –. Social and Cultural Dynamics ( vols.). New York: American Book Company (vols. –) and Bedminster Press (vol. ). Staples, Clifford L. and Armand L. Mauss. . “Conversion or Commitment? A Reassessment of the Snow and Machalek Approach to the Study of Conversion.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion : –. Tamney, Joseph B. . An Exploratory Study of Religious Conversion. Unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Cornell University. ———. . The Resilience of Conservative Religion: The Case of Popular, Conservative Protestant Congregations. New York: Cambridge University Press. Tong, Chee Kiong. . “Changing Lives, Switching Faiths: Religious Conversion and Participation in Singapore.” Pp. – in Religions sans Frontières?: Present and Future Trends of Migration, Culture, and Communication, edited by Roberto Cipriani. Rome: Istituto Poligrafico e Zecca dello Stato. Troeltsch, Ernst. . The Social Teaching of the Christian Churches. London: Allen & Unwin. Tygart, Clarence E. . “Social Movement Participation: Clergy and the AntiVietnam War Movement.” Sociological Analysis : –. Wallace, Ruth A. . “A Model of Change of Religious Affiliation.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion : –. ———. . They Call Her Pastor: A New Role for Catholic Women. Albany: State University of New York Press. ———. . They Call Him Pastor: Married Men in Charge of Catholic Parishes. Mahwah, NJ: Paulist Press. Warner, R. Stephen and Judith G. Wittner (eds.). . Gatherings in Diaspora: Religious Communities and the New Immigration. Philadelphia: Temple University Press.

chapter two CONVERSION: HEROES AND THEIR SOCIOLOGICAL REDEMPTION

Kieran Flanagan A curious facet of Weber’s ideal type has been the expansion of its use from conceptual categorizations into the construction of personages equally abstract but set as the imaginary friends of sociology, ones it chooses to designate. These personages of the sociological imagination give witness to the capacity of the discipline to personify the needs and cultural practices of the age in ways no rivals can realize. Wrested from the flux of life and mounted as in tableaux, these personages are the trophies of sociology, the prizes of its gift to encapsulate the cultural moment. Thus, the flâneur is lodged to signify the idle gazer whose exercise is so characteristic of modernity; Max Weber’s Calvinist stands as the manqué capitalist, the unwilling beneficiary of worldly efforts to resolve his salvation anxiety; the curious figures of Erving Goffman’s world all stand out enigmatically, an array including the stigmatized, lunatics, impression managers and gamblers; and then there is Simmel’s stranger, the image and likeness of the sociologist, the one who passes with impunity across territories, hearing confessions but giving no absolution. Gazing more closely, one figure is missing: the convert. Zygmunt Bauman’s diagnosis of the culture of postmodernity might account for this absence. He has further nominations better fitted to the times. His exemplary figures for the pantheon are the strollers and the players, the tourists and the vagabonds, the last two being nominated as the heroes and victims of postmodernity. These four types sing often discordantly in a postmodern chorus (: –; : –). They denote the transience of life in postmodernity, where the indefinite, the contingent and the ambiguous endlessly expand into limitless uncertainty whose nihilism justifies escape as the motif of the age. Stoicism reflects the demands of these times of fracture and doubt when it is necessary to accept that the “well constructed identity turns from asset into liability” and that the “the hub of postmodern life strategy is not identity building, but the avoidance of being fixed” (: ).

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kieran flanagan

Presumptuously, the convert overturns these diagnoses. He sings with joy from the one hymn sheet, of belief found, rooted and fixed firm with an identity constructed on the basis of a character transformed and recast anew. The convert does not wish to escape; he has found what he seeks. He heals fractures and is blissful in his certainties. But his presence unsettles the godless. If he does bear sociological recognition it is as somebody who has taken an ill-conceived turn, one perhaps half-witted who foolishly acquiesces to what modernity buried and what postmodernity has cemented over: God. To most sociologists, the convert seems a holy version of Harold Garfinkel’s cultural dope, the creature of Talcott Parsons’s theory of action and structure. Perhaps he has lost his senses, hit by a spanner a capricious God has thrown into contemporary works. The convert’s testimony receives a frigid response from the many in sociology who desire to conserve the discipline as a God-free-zone, a territory neither to be visited nor to be redeemed. But behind this discipline’s dismissal notices lies a fear that the convert has resuscitated dead theological baggage, and even worse, he now carries it across the field of culture with an unseemly conviction. For him, the baggage is not a burden but a resource that affirms the convert’s transformation and seemingly gives him a mysterious capacity to journey on paths sociology thought had been well churned up in modernity. But now that field of culture seems ploughed up with unfamiliar furrows whose pattern suggests that God is not quite dead. Since / a sense of the world has changed. It is religion not ideology that marks the great divisions of culture and it is the boundaries between Christianity and Islam that occasion distress and anxiety. Those who move between these boundaries do so in ways difficult to discern for sociologists who see the world with secular eyes. The convert is the one who comes to unsettle their vision of the world. Why has he come? What does he seek and what place does he have in the pantheon of sociology? In an ideal world, the convert should not be an ideal type, but times change and sociologists would be the first condemn those who fantasize about what ought not to be. The convert has arrived. What is his place in sociology? Is he a hero or a villain? In whatever case, the convert springs from modernity with distinctive properties of ambiguity ripe for sociological arbitration.

Quo Vadis? The Sociologist and the Convert In one sense, the convert is invisible in the discipline, with no appearance in the index of the main sociology of religion texts in the United

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  Kingdom, but in another sense he is one well scrutinized in the U.S.A. where religious conversion seems pervasive in a culture characterized by endless transformations and spiritual forms of seeking. Not surprisingly in this latter context, Scot McKnight observed that “the study of modern conversions is an industry today, and it takes lots of reading to get a handle on its complexities” (:). There are no neat ways to classify the convert and his conversion. In surveying converts to Catholicism, from Péguy to Hopkins, Charles Taylor indicates that all the “itineraries” come from different embeddings (: ), the pathways, the experiences and the settings all exhibiting a peculiar diversity. As Lewis Rambo well concludes, few processes are so riddled with paradox, contradiction and elusiveness (: ). Not only are conversions highly individualized they are also difficult to calibrate in terms of their consequences and significance. Crossings from atheism to Catholicism or from Hinduism and Islam can be as portentous in their effects as those between Sunni and Shia forms of Islam or from Anglicanism to Catholicism. These turnings and the transformations they effect are laden with potential cultural and religious significance. No convert turns alone. He does so with implication, hence the scrutiny the act of conversion can occasion. For an act that seems to embody good faith, conversion carries oddly a dark side of bad faith, one uncovered when an inquest is held on the convert’s transformation. Did he assent to convert or was he pressured to do so? Where persuasion is forceful, those converting can be charged with proselytizing. Likewise, those who abandon a faith can be labeled as “apostates” by those they have abandoned for whom such conversions can be marked as treasonable. Likewise, what about those who convert back to their original faith, who found uncertainty and emptiness tyrannical in these cultural times? Reflecting on the contributors to a collection of essays on women returning to Catholicism, Steichen observed that “an unexpectedly large percentage were made religious refugees by their parents’ loss of certitude.” Rather than categorizing them as converts, those who came home to Catholicism could be designated as “reverts” (: , ). Have these returned in good faith? Who is to certify the authenticity of their conversion? If the study of conversion is multi-disciplinary covering psychology, philosophy in terms of phenomenology, and cultural studies (Malony and Southard : –), is there a place for sociology in the account? The most obvious academic reference points for understanding the convert lie in religion and theology. They might claim ownership of the

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kieran flanagan

category. But with William James, conversion became a topic of proper concern to psychology. His interest in conversion formed part of an ambition to find a spiritual essence common to all religions, something experiential felt within and devoid of theological accountability. The contribution of James in placing conversion on the table of the social sciences cannot be discounted. But his route into spirituality of which conversion is a part begs questions. His awakening to “the authentic core of religion” emerged from what Robert Fuller characterizes as a “nitrous oxide-induced altered state of consciousness” that made him sensitive to the supernatural (: ). Perhaps as a consequence, the image of the convert in James is of a passive recipient of a transformative experience felt deeply but requiring no reference to the domain of the social to authenticate the conversion. For James, it is subjectively felt, interior in the transformations it effects and in that way seemingly placed outside sociological remits for understanding. Since James, understandings of religious experience have evolved in two directions that have implications for understanding the link between conversion and spirituality. The first direction relates to the advent of holistic forms of spirituality. These can be considered as outgrowths of New Age religions. Operating in competition with organized religions, holistic forms of spirituality reflect the expressive individualism of a culture of postmodernity. They signify transformative powers felt within that promise to remove barriers to self-actualization and these often lie in the social. Holistic spirituality operates in a marketplace seeking to attract consumers rather than converts. Each user seeks to find his or her own god within. The attraction of holistic spirituality is that a license is given to the self to shop around without obligation or constraint. Thus, journeying in holistic spirituality takes on a life of its own, where conversion is a continual process of seeking but with no necessary ambitions to find a terminus, an arrival point where the designation “convert” is to be declared. In these forms of spirituality, passports are not required for entries and exits in religious territories whose boundaries are crossed with disregard for the social implications their trespass might occasion. Its travelers are exempt from such demands to declare their affiliations and to choose their citizenships. Their conversions are tentative, temporary and transient. It is easy to treat these soft forms of conversion as exemplary and ideal in ways that discount the other dimension of spirituality, where its form of expression operates through organized religions. These demand hard forms of conversion that seem pre-modern and out of kilter with present

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  cultural sensibilities. Yet, it is in these hard forms that the convert takes on heroic properties as redemption is sought in a world increasingly constituted by reference to sociological argot. Resistance, transgressions and crossings characterize these hard forms of conversions where turnings are not to be taken lightly and where the identities so secured reflect strivings and strategies worthy of sociological interrogation. Organized religions, such as Catholicism offer means of channeling forms of spirituality in ways where their authenticity can be given credible and authoritative designations. Its theology certifies what is worthy of emulation by reference to tradition and to codifications of belief. Thus, spiritual manifestations that bear on conversion can be contextualized and placed in an inheritance of discernment of such visits from the Holy Spirit. What is worthy of emulation can be stipulated in ways that relate to sociology, notably in the case of Weber’s notion of office charisma. These two strands of spirituality operate in competition (Flanagan and Jupp ) but with implications for how sociology is to understand conversion. Unlike the case of holistic spirituality, ecclesial forms of spirituality make definite demands on the convert. He is required to move across boundaries, from unbelief to belief, from affiliations treated as insecure to those designated as secure and from forms of spirituality treated as untrustworthy to those deemed trustworthy. For that reason, the hard forms of conversion require a factual property, so that the turning made by the convert is permanent not temporary, is definite and not indefinite, and the transformation secured requires reference to the social to state in public that a change in affiliations has occurred. The convert finds in the authority of the belief system resources that enable him to believe in his own conversion and to trust that he will become what is promised by his turning into the occupation of a new identity where the older form has been cast off. These hard and soft forms of conversion present matters of choice to the sociologist. Is the soft version preferable for its agnostic properties that seem to reflect the professional obligations of the sociologist not to occupy a definite religious stance? After all, the soft version reflects the times sociologists are called to refract, but the mirroring has limitations. The individualism of the soft version presupposes weak structures and few entailments to use the social as a means of manifestation of belief and of certifications of its acceptance by converts. On the other hand, the hard version seems to carry a price of giving some unwarranted credibility to forms of theology inimical to sociological speculation. But then it does

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kieran flanagan

bear on structures, on authority and boundaries in ways that provide a definiteness that seems well fitted to sociological needs and aspirations. In these two forms of conversion, the soft and the hard, can be found the contrasting diagnoses of Émile Durkheim and Max Weber. The soft version with its accentuation of individualism overly detaches the quest for the sacred from rituals geared to structure and refract its properties. More fundamentally, in this form, the incentive of the convert to invest in the social is minimized in ways that legitimate the egoism Durkheim sought to contain. On the other hand, the hard version seems well fitted to Weber’s notion of questing for a truth of affairs in a world that has to be reutilized and rendered to account. Unlike Durkheim, Weber’s sociology is built on contrasts between different forms of theology and religion where choice is presented, but in ways that point to no end game save the integrity of the sociologist and his calling within. But there is one point that emerges from Weber that is disturbing. His recognition of empathy as a critical means of understanding begs questions as to how the sociologist is to understand the convert, the one who makes hard theological choices Weber refuses to make. In reference to what theoretical orientation is the convert’s transformation to be understood? The implication presented by the two forms of conversion is that some sort of choice for each draws out a sociological weakness. In seeking to understand the convert’s resolution of an elective affinity might the sociologist be faced with the prospect of having to consider his own conversion? This point emerges in Thomas Kuhn’s approach to paradigms. Kuhn sought to account for changes in scientific consensus regarding the natural world, its explanation and the consensual models used to characterize its properties. His concern was with the transformational properties of paradigms in terms of switches from old forms to new versions better able to cope with puzzles that emerge from incommensurability of differing scientific accounts. In these transformations was a property of conversion, one less based on explanation than assent. Thus he argued that “the transfer of allegiance from paradigm to paradigm is a conversion experience that cannot be forced” (: , cf. ). Kuhn noted the communal and aesthetic facets of paradigm switches but, perhaps more inconveniently for some, suggested that transformations can reflect a decision made on faith (: ). The perplexities surrounding incommensurability found expression in sociology in three forms. The first form emerged in anthropology over translations between rational and non-rational forms of thought. This opened out issues of contextualization and relativism but also the recog-

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  nition of hermeneutics as a means of expanding understandings of forms of culture. These were to be deciphered rather than to be explained. The second form found expression in Lyotard’s notion of postmodernism that underlined the performative dimensions of scientific endeavor (). Contingency entered the realm of sociological discourse notably in Bauman’s treatment of postmodernity. But it is the third outcome, reflexivity, that has the most potent implications for sociology’s understandings of conversion. Reflexivity suggests that conversion is not just a metaphor but a property of awareness arising from self-transformation on a field of inquiry, sometimes where puzzles emerge whose encapsulation seem beyond sociological capacities. But these puzzles are not due to lapses in methodology alone. They can also relate to ultimate meanings of life, entities which sociology with humanistic ambitions has no desire to foreclose. Given this endemic risk of bafflement by the plethora of oddities thrown up on the field of inquiry, a query might emerge as to what the sociologist ought to be puzzled by. Or to put it another way, what does he wish to be puzzled by? These matters of puzzlement become all the more complicated when the focal point of concern deals with religion. Does the sociologist share the religious puzzles of those he seeks to understand? Should he? The difficulty with religious puzzles is that they overspill into theology in ways few sociologists wish to pursue. But the question of these puzzles becomes all the more pressing when the subject matter of concern is conversion. A question is begged as to whether the sociologist wishes to follow the convert’s path of resolution, or in some way to stand outside it. The convert can be considered as one who seeks what Longhurst (: ) denotes as “elective belonging,” a term owing much to Bourdieu, Goffman and Weber. The transformation of his identity indicates what he wishes to become. All the time choices are being made that can be deemed exercises in elective belonging. This term relates to transitions in life that generate a performative identity secured in the face of external forces that are fluid in effect and where there is no closure. In the case of the convert, something new has emerged, hence recourse to the imagination to understand what has happened. This is not to suggest that the conversion is a fiction, but rather understandings of the process might find assistance in a formulation of Cooley “that the imaginations which people have of one another are the solid facts of society, and that to observe and interpret these must be a chief aim of sociology” (: ). Given this formulation, how is the sociological imagination to be employed to understand the social facts of conversion?

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kieran flanagan The Convert: Strange Perplexities

There is something dramatic about a conversion. Something new has sprung from the old. As William James indicates, a “sense of clean and beautiful newness within and without is one of the commonest entries in conversion literature” (: ). In the Early Church, by his baptism, the convert was re-born in a ritual where he was given a white garment. It marked in symbolic form a private assent to be converted and the confirmation of that desire in public. The convert permitted his identity to be re-constituted so that he was to be seen a new light, one that set a contrast of darkness with his life before his transformation. In the rite all is radically re-constituted. The ritual, therefore, has what Hine regards as a property of bridge-burning. The convert indicates to those assembled that his conversion precludes any return to his former identity. By means of the ritual, the convert provides confirmation to those he has joined that they too can believe in his transformation. The ritual also enables him to see in their responses a pledge he makes to himself that matters are now settled and that he is not going to relapse back to his former self (Rambo : –). This radical re-casting of the convert in ritual form acts as a powerful transfusion to those he has joined. New blood has been given in the ritual where a sense of revitalization is secured, one that renews the energy of those gathered to seek converts. In this way, the convert is both an object and a subject. For those present at his conversion, he is an object symbolizing hope, but he is also a subject, the one who feels he is changed utterly and has become somebody else, a stranger to himself, but a released prisoner called to act on his discharge papers. As the recipient of a conversion, the convert feels the imperative to act on it. As Richardson has indicated, this active dimension requires reference to agency, to choice of outlets for self-realization involving what he terms a “conversion career” (: ). It is here that a sociological dimension enters understandings of conversion. The convert has to live with the implications of his conversion (James : ). He has left one terrain of belief to cross to another, but in so traveling he is for a time on the outside of both and is a stranger to each. His aspirations are for a permanence of affiliation in a belief system he wishes to make his own, where he no longer has the label “convert” but is one with those with whom he seeks a rooted affiliation. To use Rambo’s apt phrase, the convert has to find a means of encapsulation in the belief system he now occupies. Rituals, rhetoric and roles are

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  required to secure these ends of assimilation and incorporation (: –). His ambition is to conform—that is why he has turned. But what of the cultural and political context that shapes his aspirations for encapsulation? These can bear contrasting readings of conformity or resistance as Viswanathan indicates (: –). She suggests that the approach of James to conversion exemplified the realization of American values of democracy that affirmed individualism and self-authentication as the values of the good citizen. To convert was to conform to a civic ideal, one that expressed a right and a duty to cross frontiers and to seek and to find transformations in new territories, in the plains and deserts in the West where new life was to be found. The settlers, seekers and converts had in common an urge to fulfill the American dream and to realize it in their lives. But a different reading of conversion emerges when relationships with the culture, the state and its legal apparatus are felt to be estranging. Each setting yields different properties of heroism. One is exemplary in enacting values of seeking without fear of transgression, but the other is heroic by nature of the resistance to alien boundaries set up by the state and its legal apparatus. Thus, depending on the context, the convert has the power to stabilize or to de-stabilize. This latter capacity suggests a kinship between the convert and Weber’s charismatic leader. With the exception of the Protestant ethic essays, Weber otherwise only once refers to conversion, and that is at the end of an essay on “The Attitude of the Other World Religions to the Social and Economic Order.” The closing paragraph of the essay refers to “the fateful conversion” of Paul and to the emergence of two new attitudes: the expectation of the Second Coming and the recognition of charismatic gifts. This section of the essay was marked for expansion by Weber (: ). Yet in two well-known concerns of Weber, conversion is an issue, at least potentially. The first is, of course, the Protestant ethic, where conversion arises as the process whereby the Calvinist channels his salvation into the world in a manner that recognizes the social to the degree to which it is domesticated for the purposes of calculation, stewardship and self-accountability. This form of conversion relates to metanoia, the securing of a character marked by spiritual endeavor, a term of critical importance in the foundation of Christianity (Houtepen : –). To that degree, the convert stands before the world and seeks to fulfill his destiny by reference to the entailments the social world presents to him for resolution. The second concern of Weber represents the other dimension of religious authority: the charismatic, the one whose grace has a factual if not

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fateful property. Far from affirming routines, the charismatic comes to disrupt them. His gift of grace is not something to be found, but is a fact of his existence. His spiritual credentials, mysteriously conferred, enable him to stand against the social and in the ensuing eruptions demand that others re-cast their identities. Nothing in the social is to stand in the way of his fulfillment of this demand. In this way the charismatic mirrors the property of the convert as heroic and bears on Taylor’s treatment of conversion as involving breaking out of a frame of immanence through some epiphany (: –). It is this breaking out that unsettles sociological responses to the convert, for his irruptions stand inconveniently to the best dreams of the discipline. This convert seems to nullify the values of pluralism which much of sociology stands to affirm—inclusiveness, tolerance and dialogue. Where all is multiple, in culture and faith, then differences need not be confronted, and the benefit of this postponement is the solidarity and harmony which sociology believes cannot but follow. An outcome of the pursuit of religious pluralism, however, is a paralysis in regard to differences in faith, revelation and authority. These are denoted as divisive (Flanagan ). For the convert, postponement of the need to arbitrate on these theological differences is intolerable and the indifference that ensues is indefensible. He wants the truth now and will turn accordingly when he finds it. For him, religious pluralism is the handmaiden of the secularity he despises. It paralyses his desire to turn. But pluralism has one distinct value to sociology: it enables conversion to be treated as a matter of opinion. This permits sociology to domesticate, but at the same time to dispatch, the matter of conversion to the margins of the discipline. Up to very recently, sociological interest in conversion centered on recruitment to cults and sects, euphemistically termed new religious movements (Richardson : –). These sociological interests reflected public anxieties over questions of whether these converts were brainwashed or in some way exploited. Study of these movements dominated the sociology of religion in the s and s. Small in scale, charismatic in leadership, bizarre in their beliefs, these movements presented to sociologists specimens for study. Limiting interest in conversion to these movements permitted sociology to detach religion from theology. A purer form of sociology was deemed to emerge free from imperializing questions of faith difficult to contain. Their study enabled sociology to indulge in the polite fiction that nobody converted to mainstream religions, such as Catholicism, and that the vast literatures surrounding exemplary converts to it could be sidelined. Often these are

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  tales of legend, such as St. Augustine’s Confessions, or the accounts of Claudel, Newman, Pascal, and Péguy, to name a few. These are difficult tales to incorporate into sociological understandings. Conversions are disruptive most especially when they occur in areas that border on sociological concerns. They unsettle sociological fantasies of keeping the world safe from the intrusions of theological matters. Modernity is often treated as the cornerstone upon which sociology is founded, but as a discipline it seldom acknowledges the conversion to Catholicism of Baudelaire and Huysmans, the main formulators of modernity (Flanagan b). Other movements go in the “wrong” direction, a case in point being the conversion of Paul Williams, an important Buddhist scholar, to Catholicism (Williams ; Flanagan a). Those who had abandoned Catholicism for Buddhism felt betrayed by this turning. Similar perplexities arose over the deathbed conversion of the prominent English sociologist Gillian Rose from Judaism to Christianity (Shanks ). What unsettles in these cases is the unexpectedness of these conversions. They present a fact of turning that cannot be wished away by friends and enemies alike and which is all more inconvenient for just happening. With the irresistible growth of secularization, sociology might feel justified by its neglect of the convert to mainstream Christianity. Given the continual fall in church attendance statistics in the United Kingdom particularly over the past four decades and the long decline in the number of converts being received as in the case of Catholicism, it is not surprising that sociologists should treat testimonies regarding religion in terms of exit roles from belief (Ebaugh ; Wacquant ). Such is sociology’s characterization of human nature, that as a discipline it prefers to hear tales from those who descend into vice, for they live in the cauldron of real life, tested, fallen, but knowing of the limits of humanity. The virtuous, on the other hand, seem unreal in their lives, unsullied, boring and devoid of sociological interest (Flanagan ). The world of vice had romantic allures of deviance and of the underworld ripe for sociological redemption, but such is the fickleness of deviance that it is now the virtuous who live beyond the pale. They are the new deviants in a world where sin is abolished and where those who formerly lived in underworlds now bask in the light of civil and legal recognition. Now it is the virtuous and the converts who live unrecognized beyond the boundaries of social convention. When they emerge from their twilight zones, zealous in their heroic virtue, the converts come as strangers to those who knew them well in their fallen ways.

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In the famous essay of Georg Simmel, the stranger was the Jewish trader, one whose wandering status gave him a capacity for objectification because of his travels across boundaries. Being without the need to root commitment, the stranger receives all manner of confidences. He does not judge, has no local interests to negotiate, and is not compromised by any confidences. His transience enables him to see across boundaries what those who live within them cannot (Simmel : – ). So, given that the stranger makes no conversion and derives his enigmatic status from not making commitments, why make a parallel with the convert? Both have a property of transience, of moving across boundaries with a mysterious ability. In that regard they share Simmel’s notion of “the potential wanderer.” Each begs questions as to whether they will move on or settle. Each stands enigmatically to those to whom they have come, each sharing a common position that “is determined, essentially, by the fact that he has not belonged to it from the beginning, that he imports into it, which do not and cannot stem from the group itself ” (: ). It is for this reason the convert unsettles. The basis of his definition of the situation can generate perplexities difficult to resolve for those he left and those whom he wishes to join. The definition of the situation refers to the processes of examination and deliberation surrounding events and circumstances that need to be defined. These bear on the personality of the actor for they mark his whole life-policy. Definitions need to reconciled between those society invokes and those to which the actor aspires. The discrepancies between both suggest a disjunction between fact and aspiration (Thomas : –). The convert has changed his definition of the situation but with what implications?

Conversion: Unsettling the Settled The category of the convert is peculiar to Christianity. It is one that has always unsettled. Without converts Christianity has no means of growing. Seeking converts follows an imperative to evangelize. This duty sends missionaries to alien lands to convert and plant the faith. Martyrs spill their blood in the hope of rendering the soil ripe for more conversions. As the Roman Empire found, the Christian urge to convert permitted no civil resistance. Of all the conversions, the one of enduring significance is that of Paul.

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  On the road to Damascus to arrest there men and women to bring back to Jerusalem, he is blinded by a light from heaven and falls to earth. He is taken on that same road on to Damascus where he encounters two ironies: the house to which he is to go is owned by a man called Judas, and it is on a street called Straight. Paul’s conversion and the profound impact this had on the expansion and shaping of Christianity has been the subject of scholarship on such a scale as to cause one to wonder what sociology might find in the event. Alan Segal provides an opening. As a Jewish scholar, Segal offers a novel reading of the conversion of Paul. He brings into focus an important facet of the convert: his capacity to throw a common light on what he has left and what he has entered. From the controversies surrounding Paul’s conversion, understandings of the beliefs, the cults and sects of Judaism, their dietary laws and religious prohibitions can be uncovered. These elements enable an understanding to emerge of the dilemmas Paul faced over who was the exemplary convert. Was he Jewish, one to whom a Covenant was given by God expressed in the need for circumcision and the observance of dietary laws? Or was he the Gentile, to whom New Covenant was given? Each could invoke God’s Revelation but in ways that seemed incommensurable. Segal draws out the dilemmas of Paul well. Was the exemplary convert the Jew who lived the laws of the Torah and felt bound to these, but who was baptized in Christ? Or were the exemplars those who lived lives of “gentile impurity” on whom the Torah had no claim as they lived a “new life of faith”? In response, Paul sought the seemingly impossible. He wished “to express how his gentile Christian society could maintain its concept of community and its commitment without what we would call the ceremonial laws” (: ). This deeply felt theological imperative to found a community founded on one faith and one baptism led to the famous reflection of Paul on his difficulties in Romans , which, as Segal suggests is “the stuff of tragedy” (: –). The legacy of Paul lingers over the status of the Jewish People and their Covenant. If it is still part of the Revelation of God are the Jews exempt from the need to be converted by Christians? The delicacy of this question gives rise to a concern with the politics of conversion. But Segal points to something of more immediate relevance. In A Secular Age, Taylor seeks to place conversion in the context of modernity and by implication to point its appraisal in a sociological direction. Segal offers a crucial means of moving the issue of conversion

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from its customary psychological location into a sociological realm (: ). The dilemmas Paul faced, of reconciling diet, ritual and tradition with a vision of community are those that sociology can well understand. But Segal brings out another point of enormous sociological significance when he suggests that “forces of dissonance are always unleashed in a conversion because the convert sees a great distinction between a previous life and a present one” (: ). Far from being an unreflective conformist, the convert can have dissenting capacities, for he seems to have the capacity to view with “almost subversive clarity” homogeneous cultural, secular and religious arrangements best treated as invisible and not to be made manifest (Viswanathan : ). It is this property of the convert that so unsettles, for he seems in receipt of a strange gift, a mysterious capacity to transform his identity in ways that can revolutionize the perception of the society he inhabits. There is an implication that the incentive to conversion has been undermined in the context of postmodernity where the tourist has become the dominant motif. But this would be to ignore the two notable conversions at the beginning of Christianity: Paul and the Ethiopian eunuch in the chariot in Acts. Both were travelers (Gaventa : – ), and this notion of transition fits well with Viswanathan’s treatment of conversion “as a crossing over, a migration or travel from one country, culture, religion and identity to another” (: ). Conversions always unsettle, but what is now peculiar is the amplification of the process into a category of understanding in ways that are distinctively modern. As Houtepen indicates, the term conversion in its typical use became dominant only from the th century onward (: ). With the Reformation comes awareness of a religious marketplace where differing forms and expectations of conversion emerge between Catholics and Protestants, which Houtepen explores. Modernity facilitated the exercise of choice, and Protestantism with its stress on individualism gave theological sanction to these freedoms, which became enshrined in constitutional arrangements and the conventions of civil society. Rather than contracting the prospect of conversion, modernity expanded its possibility and indeed its politicization. Conversion has always been a delicate matter of state, cases in point being the Emperor Constantine and Henry IV of France. In the past, the significance of religion was well recognized, hence concordances between Church and state. But now matters are different, for the state takes to itself the powers to sacralise the civil order and to install its own version of a virtual religion in secular culture. When religious con-

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  versions occur inexplicably and with all manner of political unsettlements in prospect, then suspicions and anxieties are generated in forms peculiar to modernity. Those in civil society outside religious affiliations find themselves wrong-footed and fearful that secularized arrangements might become unsettled. A case in point emerged in the controversies surrounding the conversion of Tony Blair, the former British Prime Minister, from Anglicanism to Catholicism in . Termed a “closet Catholic,” Blair felt unable to convert, for constitutional and political reasons while still in office. Received privately in Westminster Cathedral, London, the conversion occasioned a muted, if not weary, response in the mass media. The conversion seemed a matter of opinion where any cultural, political or constitutional implications were neutralized. But consider the explosive impact had Blair instead, on the day of his conversion, with the Cardinal Archbishop at his side, given a press conference at which he protested at the civil disqualification increasingly felt by Catholics in the United Kingdom, most famously in their disbarment in the Act of Succession but also in aspects of civil life in areas ranging from abortion, adoption and the registration of civil partnerships where sexual politics controlled the ultimate court of appeal. Blair’s conversion was instead unsettling for drawing attention to the marginality of Catholicism in English society, the fragility of the state church, and the degree to which religion is increasingly treated as divisive and a threat to social cohesion. It also generated discomfort in liberal Catholic circles who sought to downplay the term “conversion” in the interests of sustaining an ecumenical dialogue. Earlier, Cardinal Hume ordered the Converts’ Aid Society to change its name to a more neutral appellation to preserve this dialogue. This effort to downplay the notion of conversion was sabotaged by the influx of clergy from the Church of England as a result of its decision to ordain women (Howard : – ). An impression has emerged that prayers for the conversion of England were politically incorrect, theologically undesirable, and unfashionable (Nichols : ). Somehow, conversion has a potential to carry dangerous implications. Fears over unfair competition for converts, or as Evangelicals designate it, “sheep stealing,” have generated a need for etiquette in regard to conversions within Christianity (Houtepen : –). During his rallies in England in the s and s, Billy Graham went to enormous lengths to mitigate the threat his evangelical activities posed to the established churches by funneling converts back to their denominations of origin. This self-denying attitude to conversion has increased of late in the

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United Kingdom in response to worries over multi-faith relationships. Thus, a multi-faith center opened recently beside the Anglican Cathedral at Guildford in England provided the largest allocation of space for worship to Muslims. In the press statement marking this new venture, it was stated sternly that conversion was a forbidden activity. It is a peculiar irony that modernity and secularization, which conspire to treat conversion in terms of extinction, have inadvertently amplified the significance of the process. As Segal observes in relation to converts to new religions, they “come disproportionately from the more acculturated and secular classes of society. It is almost as if the secularization brings with it a desire to find religious meaning” (: ). At best the relationship between modernity, secularization and conversion is ambiguous. In one sense the convert is no longer a threat to a secularized, civil order—the decline in church attendance affirming the assignment of religious belief to the margins of society—but this very process amplifies the exceptional nature of those who do convert and the strange unsettlements they generate in ways that are peculiar to modernity. Why do modernity and secularization amplify the significance of what they effect to despise: the convert?

Modernity, Secularization, and the Shaping of the Convert As religion is uncoupled from its theological moorings with the onset of modernity and secularization, a realization dawns that it has become coupled to service other ends of power, legitimacy and domination. Against this background, conversion can be treated as a means of securing compliance, but also of re-casting indigenous cultures in the image and likeness of the forms held by the colonizers. Numerous examples of this emerge, for instance in the Spanish conquests in South America. This harnessing of conversion to strategies of colonial domination yields ambiguous properties peculiar to modernity. It supplies its own versions of bad faith. In Ireland during the Famine, –, Evangelical Protestants who supplied food to starving Catholics were regarded as opportunists. Catholics who converted were labeled as “soupers.” Those who converted did so for the “wrong” reasons. Because modernity amplifies comparison and recognition, the plight of the starving comes into inescapable focus. They take on a profile of being worthy of compassion, and those who give aid might supply bodily sustenance but also might feel called to deliver food for the soul, hence

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  the concern with conversion. Those who buckle before this compassion and convert might confirm the notion that converts act from positions of weakness and that they have no “good” reasons for their conversion. But the powers of modernity yield strange ambiguities. Conversion might well be an instrument of oppression, but it can also be a resource for emancipation. It can be invoked by converts who change identities to liberate the oppressed. Thus, far from being an act of weakness, conversion can also be a gesture of strength, an exercise in heroic virtue, one occasioned by the particular properties of modernity. In the case of India, the advent of modernity and secularization generated a peculiar paradox. Instead of leading to religious indifference, these processes operated to accentuate a sense of difference between all the major religions in India. In this context, the convert emerged as an inconvenient category of considerable cultural, religious and legal significance. Almost reluctantly, the legal apparatus of the state was drawn into judgment on the civil rights of converts from Hinduism to Christianity in relation to marriage settlements and inheritance. Complications emerged for the state in reconciling indigenous legal frameworks and customs formulated by reference to Hinduism with principles derived from English law, based on notions of right arbitrated by appeal to reason but also to Christian principles. To secure civil order, the response of the state to matters presented for its judgment was to conceive conversion less in terms of religious belief and more as a category of identification whose disruptive outcomes the colonizing state sought to control (Viswanathan : xii). It is against this background that Viswanathan’s main thesis emerges “that conversion is a subversion of secular power” (: ). She treats the conversions of Newman and Ambedkar “as critiques of the failure of secular ideologies to extend full political rights” (: ). The convert appeals to a higher authority for his right to cross religious and cultural boundaries in order to reconstitute their basis in the light of the failure of the state to fulfill its promise to do so. Appeals to the supreme claims of reason in matters of law are always thwarted by reference to a higher court, one whose judgments are formed by reference to religion. When the state fails, then religion becomes the resource of the oppressed. It is used to galvanize the marginal and to give to them a vision of ultimate redress beyond that which the civil apparatus can invoke. The American civil rights movement illustrates this point. Religion generates a power to mobilize but also to enshrine what is of sacred value in a culture. When this sense of the sacred is ruptured as in

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the case of colonization, then nationalism emerges as a response. It is a particular outgrowth of modernity. It facilities choice most especially for the colonized to disengage from the colonizers and in this way religion can become an instrument domesticated to that end. But this subversion can generate confusion between theological claims and the legitimizing functions of religion harnessed to securing political, cultural and nationalist ends. The fusion of religion with culture generates its own insecurities not least when conversion is deemed to destabilize a precariously felt sense of national identity. Thus, at present in Russia it is believed that the expansion of Catholicism and the converts it secures will damage the soul of a nation whose guardian is the Orthodox Church. Attitudes to conversion in other parts of Eastern Europe are also influenced by these complicated interminglings of religious, cultural and political nationalism (Vrcan ). Far from diminishing the significance of conversion, modernization seems to unleash unexpected powers to amplify its importance but in ways that perplex and disturb. For some in Indian society, the convert signifies an alien category at odds with the traditions of Jainism, Sikhism and Hinduism. As Sikand (: ) indicates, conversion to Hinduism was traditionally “a gradual, largely unorganized process.” As a response to the growth of missionary movements of Islam and Christianity, Hinduism found that its traditional laissez-faire attitudes to changes in religious affiliation were no longer tenable. In response, a process of conversion had to be invented whose form mirrored Christian understandings of the term. Practices had to be standardized, and Hinduism had to re-invent itself as a religion re-structured in the likeness of its competitors if it was to survive. Boundaries had to be marked, for each religion needed to know who turned and how they were to be identified for the purposes of return. The forces modernity unleashed—of better communication, print, organization and, most important, the right of choice to detach from the binding ties of religion—all accentuated the significance of the convert and the unsettlements conversion generated in Indian society. Perhaps this indicates why, for some, there is in conversion a “phantasm” haunting national identity and “an endless nightmare of bad faith, a wound to the spirit of civilization and the soul of the nation.” Yet, on the other hand, conversion offers a means of escape from what can be deemed “a singular Hindu order” (Dube and Dube : ). Ambedkar’s conversion to Buddhism marked a mass movement out of Hinduism by those in the lower caste. Buddhism was the religion that gave expression to the social

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  equality he sought for his people. In this way, the category of the convert facilitated their liberation from economic, occupational and cultural servitude (Tartakov : –). Controversies surrounding conversions in India still surface even after Independence. According a BBC News report () an amendment to the law relating to conversions was proposed by the Gujarat Government (in the hands of the Hindu party—the BJP) to protect low caste Hindus. Buddhism and Jainism were re-classified as branches of the Hindu religion, so that conversions between these were treated as “inter-denomination conversion,” thus leaving converts to Christianity and Islam open to fines and imprisonment. The tolerance Christianity gives to Islam in the West, expressed in laws against religious discrimination, is not often reciprocated. Converts from Islam to Christianity in Saudi Arabia and Malaysia and other countries are not legally recognized by the state. A report from Christian Solidarity Worldwide, entitled No Place to Call Home claimed that even in the United Kingdom “apostates” from Islam face “gross and wide-ranging” human rights abuses (Church Times ). Modernity seems to have a peculiar power to enhance awareness of the dangers surrounding conversion. Because it can be subject to politicization, expectations of response and redress increase, not decrease, in ways particular to modernity. This awareness of the dangers surrounding conversion can become all too apparent when attention is directed to religions that claim a monopoly on Divine revelation as in the cases of Judaism, Islam and Christianity. As religions of the Book, conversion represents a change in regard to which form of Revelation is to be recognized. Thus, conversions are not simply matters of changes in identity, but of switches that go to the heart of theological dispute as to how God reveals Himself and to whom, with obviously binding consequences. This generates acute worries of over who should be converted and how those targeted will respond. Thus, much publicity surrounded a motion tabled for the General Synod of the Church of England in July  that Muslims should be targeted for conversion. The motion was eventually withdrawn. Similar difficulties have arisen over the Good Friday prayers of intercession in the revived Extraordinary Rite (Tridentine mass) where Benedict XVI encountered considerable hostility from Jews who felt threatened by the notion that they should receive the light of faith to convert. The controversies surrounding these prayers can traced back to the dilemmas Paul faced in seeking to bind Jews into a Christian life. The

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prayers go to the heart of the truth claims of Christianity that it has a New Covenant expressed in a New Testament. The legacy of the Holocaust hangs heavily in this area, adding a further complexity to the category of the convert in ways peculiar to modernity. In turn, it generates paradoxes that are peculiar to the status of conversion, where those who do not convert might claim a heroic status. The examples one has in mind are Henri Bergson and Simone Weil who, although wishing to convert, refused to do so in solidarity with their fellow Jews who were suffering and dying in concentration camps in Germany and elsewhere. Another complexity emerges surrounding the issue of conversion. Even though they did not convert, by being baptized, they could be deemed in Catholic theology to succeed by default. In their refusal they could be regarded as having received a baptism of desire. But accepting this form of baptism might be to endorse the thorny notion that outside the Church there is no salvation (D’Costa ). Baptism of desire would seem to resolve the salvation anxieties of potential converts and the worries of those already converted. In this context, sociology’s handling of conversion enters a theological minefield, one that is laid out in response to perceptions of modernity and the need to adjust ecclesial teaching accordingly. Since Vatican II, if not before, this belief that outside the Church there is no salvation has been discounted, if not treated as heretical. But here one encounters a fault-line running between sociology and theology. Intolerant of the indefinite, as in the case of the application of rational choice theory to religion, sociology inclines to a far more hard-line approach than theologians to the matter of the goods requisite for salvation. Because sociology inclines towards monopolistic views of organized religion, it requires sanctions to underpin the exercise of power and how these relate to the afterlife. Thus, perhaps, unsurprisingly Weber asserted that “extra ecclesiam nulla salus is the motto of all churches” (cited in Verter : ). This stipulation of Weber flows into Bourdieu. It will not be forgotten that Weber’s great work The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism was hinged around the issue of salvation anxiety. It might seem that liberal equivocations over the efficacy of goods for salvation convert a crucial plank of sociological characterizations of culture into a beam riddled with theological dry rot and unsafe to affirm. In response, is sociology to formulate its own theology of the afterlife, but with no authority to do so? A hard-line-position on salvation would greatly simplify sociological characterizations of conversion. Having uncovered the significance of the category of the convert and the definiteness of its basis in Indian responses to modernity, it might

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  seem odd to find that in modern Catholicism the process has become slightly indefinite but also more complicated for sociological interventions. In his admirable effort to make consistent statistics on Catholicism in England and Wales, Anthony Spencer draws attention to the complexities surrounding the term “convert” which includes baptisms for those over seven and also receptions of adults (: –). Allowing for a number of qualifications on the data, his exercise in religious demography in England and Wales shows a fall in the number of converts from about , in  to , in  (: ). Spencer well illustrates the complexities surrounding the category of the convert, notably over who is to be counted as one. These complexities further emerge in regard to the form of instruction now used for potential converts in Catholicism. The Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults (RCIA) was specifically formulated to meet the circumstances of conversion in the setting of modernity. Yamane and MacMillen indicate “its normative candidate for initiation . . . is an unbaptized, uncatechized adult” (: ). But in their study, only one third of adults initiated are unbaptized, the remainder being either reverts or members of other churches. Ecumenical sensitivities might generate queries as to whether those already baptized are to be treated as converts. This points to a further complication in recent Catholic understandings of conversion. In Catechism of the Catholic Church, while baptism is treated as “the first and fundamental conversion,” it is penance that is designated as the sacrament of conversion (: –). Thus in the subject index of the Catechism the term conversion is cross-referenced to contrition. This shifting of the term to ongoing conversion marks a distance from older understandings of baptism as solely supplying the necessary goods to achieve salvation. This sense of distancing from baptism as the entry ticket to heaven finds expression also in the debate in contemporary Catholicism surrounding the abolition of limbo, the place where unbaptized infants went. If limbo is abolished, a well understood right and duty of lay Catholics to baptize in emergency is undermined with concomitant effects on the wider issue of conversion. Rendering some goods for salvation unnecessary can mean that some potential converts feel it not so imperative to be baptized. The change in emphasis might be a response to the fall in the use of confession. To counteract this decline in use, it might seem that the nature of conversion has been changed in a crucial way, one that involves

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a shifting of barriers to the heavenly from rites of initiation to the site of metanoia. A second strand of conversion is added to the first, baptism, but one that shifts the basis of sociological understandings of the process. In some senses the move works in favor of sociological characterizations of conversion that treat it as an on-going process involving a career of turning, one that requires the stewardship of the goods requisite for salvation in ways that would find approval from Weber. Adding this strand of culpability renders conversion an accomplishment in both personal and collective dimensions. The convert needs to treat the definition of the situation conversion entails as an on-going project. This change in emphasis would affirm the point of Straus that one should understand the phenomenon of conversion in terms of how it “comes to be experienced as actuality” (: ). But there is a difficulty as touched on above: the new emphasis might undermine the need to be converted in a perverse way: If baptism is treated by default as the primary resource of conversion and if emphasis shifts to metanoia, a difficulty might emerge that those not baptized might be the beneficiary of a culpable ignorance regarding the need to exercise stewardship over their lives lest they be condemned. Treating baptism as the primary form of conversion, but sidelining it by making it no longer the exemplary sacrament, might give comfort to those involved in multi-faith dialogue. If the need to reflect these values of modernity is expressed in terms of the expansion of the afterlife (hence the effort to sideline limbo), then it is peculiar that the already converted run risks over their heavenly prospects that do not apply to the unconverted. Nevertheless the convert is still left with difficulties that elicit sociological responses. Possibly execrated by those he has abandoned, the convert has to convince not only himself but also those with whom he seeks affiliation that his conversion is rooted, credible and lasting. Encapsulation is the process of actualizing this new identity. As with the stranger, the convert has to cross a boundary with tact. The cost of his conversion might be high so, to yield transformative returns from his investment, the convert can be zealous and exacting in his new religious practice in exemplary ways that stand at odds with those whose commitment, worn by habit, is unreflective and perhaps wearisome. In an odd way, the convert comes to convert the already converted. This paradox emerges from his need to prove to others that he has indeed been converted. He needs to find means to display the authenticity of his conversion. To actualize his conversion in the setting of modernity, the convert will draw from its resources to accomplish this end.

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  The Convert’s Hexis: Hexing the Inquisitors Virtually by definition, any sociological appropriation of the convert to the entailments of an ideal type leads to distortions. These are the price of re-setting the convert in a wider conceptual nexus on the alien shores of sociology and away from the wider theological understandings of the duties a well-rooted conversion should pursue. That which sociology emphasizes risks converting the convert into a guilt-ridden, paranoid entity attending to matters of little theological consequence. Sensibilities are highlighted, such as those relating to embodiment that might generate puzzlement. But any sociology has to pursue what it discerns in the passing moments of culture, and embodiment is a case in point. As a term, it has come into prominence mainly for the number of facets of culture it signifies, ranging from body language, deportment, shape and weight to alterations in cosmetic surgery. Embodiment refers to the accountability the self places on the body and the language of gestures uttered to secure the definition of a situation. The notion of bodily display bears a property of artifice that has a bearing on how the convert secures the credibility of his turning in the eyes of others. Little study has been undertaken on “the impact of the conversion on the individual once the process of conversion is complete” (Carrothers : ). This underlines again the degree to which the theological shift of emphasis in regard to conversion toward metanoia has ramifications for sociology which are little understood. Sometimes the transformation is so radical that some sort of narrative is required to account for changes in circumstances. Popp-Baier has explored this area in the case of a young woman who suffered from bulimia but who had a conversion experience in a Charismatic Evangelical Church. The self-narrative of this convert illustrates a switch from the language of clinical encounters to the new and enabling rhetoric of Christianity that seemed better fitted to account for her transformation into a new identity, as a believer, but one cured. By means of prayer and not therapeutic analysis, she had found her deliverance from bulimia. Popp-Baier suggests that “every new performance of her conversion narrative” allowed the convert to enhance her self-transformation and to expand the resources for her healing (: –; see also Zinnbauer and Pargament : ). The re-telling of the testimony can have a validating property as Beckford found in his study of Jehovah Witnesses’s conversions. In this context, “conversion is not represented as something which happened to them: it is framed as something that they achieved” (Beckford : ).

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This property of accomplishment relates to the notion of performative identity mentioned above. It also generates an interesting sociological insight. Accepting that conversion is a gift of grace, converts still have to find a way of converting themselves. Kilbourne and Richardson illuminate this point well when, using a term favored by Goffman, they refer to the “passing” that converts seek to realize in their new roles (: ). This relates to processes of re-socialization and the ambitions these frame to be as they appear—as converted. The last thing the authentic convert would wish is that “passing” should be considered merely as a form of impression management. “Passing” enables the convert to present a façade of belief and affiliation that might be at odds with his private sentiments. In “passing,” the potential convert might hope that others will see in him possibilities of conversion that he is unable to discern. He hopes that in acting as a convert he might become one. Conversion might well be a gift of grace, but it is also a process caught up in properties of contagion from the social milieu the convert inhabits. By soaking up sensibilities of sanctity, the convert hopes to realize what he desires in “passing.” This bears on a point of Pascal which Michael Raposa has noted (: ). Pascal asserted that habit, not reason, “plays the most decisive role in religious conversion.” Pascal urged unbelievers “to behave ‘just as if they did believe, taking holy water, having masses said and so on.’ ” In a line replete with sociological significance, Pascal asserted “anyone who grows accustomed to faith believes it.” This comment of Pascal finds an echo in Simmel’s approach to prayer. Both have in common the notion of faith, where those who seek either to be converted or to pray must believe that their actions and words might realize what they hope these will signify. Thus, Simmel writes: “to be able to pray, one must dismiss both doubt that God exists and doubt that God is in a position to answer prayers” (: ). In this way, understandings of conversion shift to issues of deployment of resources, and these strategies find expression in Bradford Verter’s notion of spiritual capital. His notion expands Bourdieu’s concepts of capital (cultural, symbolic and religious). As a term, spiritual capital links back to Weber, but also to an unexpected preference of Bourdieu for medieval forms of Catholicism. His interest was in the power its forms embodied but not in relation to the images of salvation medieval theology sanctioned. In these the after-life seemed more vivid, closer and more harshly drawn than in the pallid images theologians sketch for the comfort of the occupants of modernity (Flanagan b). In those

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  former times, fear of damnation was a sound motive to convert. Sin was felt deeply and the stewardship of the soul was exercised in a scrupulous manner that now would border on the theologically eccentric. But if in the light of modernity, theologians have drawn the sting from death in terms of its fate in the afterlife and have taken the fear away, unexpectedly sociologists have stepped into the breach to press the claims for the stewardship of the soul, obligations that find expression in Verter’s notion of spiritual capital. In his use, spiritual capital has three forms: embodied, objectified, and institutional. It is the first one that is of significance here. Verter argues that the embodied state refers to “the knowledge, abilities, tastes and credentials an individual has amassed in the field of religion.” Almost as a larder, this state stocks the goods for salvation which the convert feels called on to raid, whatever the entailments. These entailments find expression in the notion of habitus (disposition), “the socially structured mode of apprehending and acting in the world.” The convert aspires to inhabit this embodied form of spiritual capital, to naturalize it in terms of his habitus and to render it his own. This process bears similarities to Ricoeur’s notion of appropriation in regard to hermeneutics. If zealous, the convert seeks to consume the resources of spiritual capital in the most efficacious and competent manner possible. But embodied forms of spiritual capital need a relational dimension, and this is to be found in the objectified version. It refers to objects, artifacts and texts of and for belief (Verter : ). The convert’s desire is to fuse both forms efficaciously. To actualize his conversion he has to implicate himself in the use of both. This strategy bears on Verter’s point that “assessing the labor value of investment in spiritual capital may help to understand the trajectory of conversion careers” (: ). This trajectory involves reference to the strategies set to realize the performative identity of being a convert, but also the embodiment that needs to be taken into account to secure such “passing.” A little used concept of Bourdieu, hexis illuminates these processes. Bourdieu links hexis to Goffman’s notion of decorum and refers to forms of regulation of the body, its manner of appearing that signifies the realization of a belief but also its embodiment in a mode recognizable to others. The term is linked to habitus, where disposition strives to regulate the body in a durable form of manifestation cast to display the knowing that constitutes an identity, sexual in Bourdieu’s use, religious in this context. Hexis refers to the aspiration “to evoke the whole system of which it is part” (Bourdieu : –). The term signifies a knowing

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of a social geography, one that involves a positioning of the body in ways that connect habit with habitus (Crossley : ). Bourdieu’s notion of hexis emerges in his sociology of sport, but also in his interest in space and life-style. The term relates to the deepest of sensibilities, those that lie recessed at the “most unconscious level, i.e. the body schema, which is the depository of a whole world view and a whole philosophy of the person and the body” (Bourdieu : ). Thus, when hexis is linked to spiritual capital and the convert’s deployment of it, a sense of place in regard to the religious field can be realized where gestures are made, such as the sign of the cross. In so gesturing, the convert signifies to himself and to others that he belongs there as a Catholic and, more important, that he knows his place in the ritual order. In the management of his hexis, in all charity, the convert seeks to hex his despisers. Few accounts exist that manage to fuse hexis with conversion. For this reason, Jacob Belzen’s study of a conservative Dutch Calvinist tradition, known as the Bevindelijken, is especially valuable. He uses the term hexis as a means of understanding how the sect’s members validate their conversion. Their sombre manner of deportment denotes a sensibility of experience that validates the authenticity of their conversion. Thus, as Belzen asserts, “conversion is viewed as a process, not so much as a onceand-for all, or repeated act. It is the work of God in his chosen” (: ). It is by reference to hexis, in the manner of appearing, that the elect come to know they are converted and they can demonstrate this state to others who seek confirmation of their transformation. The convert naturalizes his conversion in an unreflective manner so that it becomes part of the unconsciousness of his habitus. Belzen summarizes the position well: “because the believer embodies the bevindelijke spirituality, he can live it, recognize it and be recognized by it, not because he knows it” (: ). In short, he has become what he appears to be. But the task of making the conversion definite through hexis carries a price for the Bevindelijken who fear that it might convey a property of presumption in their conversion. As in recent Catholic theology that affirms the ongoing property of conversion in relation to metanoia and contrition, the Bevindelijken seek to affirm their spiritual struggles to be converted and to be worthy to manifest its basis. In securing this end, the convert follows a route with familiar sociological resonances. As Weber’s Calvinist alleviated his salvation anxiety by means of his good and productive works in this world, so too does the Bevindelijke achieve similar ends but by means of fusing habitus with his hexis. Each has in common a burden of guilt and the fear of presumption. In

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  striving to employ hexis to Divine ends, both the zealous Catholic and the guilt-ridden Bevindelijken reveal heroic properties in their conversion as they struggle against presumption and skepticism in a cultural climate unfavorable to their efforts to render conversion an ongoing project and where redemption is to be sought but not assumed to be found in one solitary act of turning. In his study Belzen reveals an unexpected point. He writes “I have tried to get as close to bevindelijken conversion as seemed possible without, however, ever becoming ‘one of them,’ without any inside experience of their religiosity of my own” (: ). The study of their conversion generated a risk that he, the sociologist, would go native, that he would convert. What if the study of religious conversions generated habits of affiliation in the sociologist in ways Pascal noted above? One outcome would be the corruption of the sociological gaze and a breach of Bourdieu’s injunction to keep a distance in the study of religion. But what is presented as a professional stance masks a secular inhibition, one that sociology imposes on itself in the study of religion, not to convert most especially when the focal point of the research is conversion. Yet, secularization generates a paradox, one that Bruce Kapferer claims anthropology is the first to encounter: the limits “to the rationality and reasoning of the demythologized and secular realities integral to its very invention.” In facing this paradox, “anthropology is secularism’s doubt” (: –). Matters have taken a more pressing turn with the admission of reflexivity into the domain of sociological deliberations. Distance no longer suffices, for proximity to those under study is now a disciplinary entailment, one that is both moral and methodological. The need to represent the tribe presupposes an empathy with their sensibilities. If this is so, is it to be argued that reflexivity exercised in the religious domain requires that spiritual sensibilities be lobotomized lest the sociologist loses his analytical marbles and capitulates to the unthinkable: his own conversion?

Conversion and Religious Reflexivity: A Sociological Quandary The revolutionary implications of reflexivity in admitting all manner of voices into sociological discourse are still being grasped. Feminists were quick to see the advantage; those with religious voices were slower. Recognition of reflexivity has changed the basis of sociological discourse. The voices of the subjects are to be given full expression in a dialogue in

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which the sociologist also speaks. Reflexivity enjoins sociology to remove the barriers that hinder the utterances of its subject matter being heard. But what if these are religious utterances? David Hufford grasped the implications of this shift in expectation in regard to listening to testimonies from the religious. He noticed the way skepticism about religion had a privileged status where fixed disbelief is treated as normative and as the crucial value in sociological encounters with religion. As he rightly recognized, this is an unacknowledged default position, a set of assumptions sociology is reluctant to appraise critically. Unease over this enshrinement of skepticism emerges in fieldwork, where anthropologists studying religious practices find themselves invited to convert to validate their interest in the belief systems under study (: ). Hufford regards these efforts as unsettling, for they force sociologists to think about the unthinkable: their own religious beliefs. Sometimes in the refractions theological images come back to haunt the sociological imagination which can encounter its own epiphanies (Flanagan a). If reflexivity relates to the embodiment of the sociologist in the field, it also bears on the biographical properties of the self of the researcher and what he brings to the study. His whole self is involved in the study, not some fictitious part known as the “objective sociologist” who is a singular refracting instrument with neither personality nor sentiment. As Hufford rightly indicates, “reflexivity should also free us from the stultifying fiction that our every belief and action can and should derive from our scholarly training, or else be suspect” (: ). It is what resonates back to the sociologist from the convert’s testimony that has profound implications seldom studied. These emerge in the notion of religious reflexivity, a term Christian Højbjerg uses in his introduction to a special issue of Social Anthropology. If reflexivity is about self-awareness, then its coupling with religion can amplify openings to religious belief in ways few have explored. Religious reflexivity is concerned with “how religious ideas and actions become the object of reflection among the people holding religious beliefs and participating in religious activities” (: ). Specifically, it deals with “the internally reflexive character of ritual action” (: ). Rather than following the customary direction of sociology by treating disbelief as an act of analytical faith, in this new form “reflexivity may also be defined as fulfilling a belief-generating role” (: ). Such a re-casting of reflexivity marks advances in anthropology that are inconceivable in sociology as it is presently constituted in its handling of religion. This paradigm shift reflects a break from deference to

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  the secularism so pervasive in anthropology and so emphatically asserted in sociology. Charles Stewart articulates well the fear surrounding such prohibitions when he asserts: “our identity as social scientists claiming some authority to speak knowledgeably to society would, apparently, be fatally undermined if we allowed religious commitments and feelings to influence our work” (: ). But matters have changed as Ruy Llera Blanes suggests: “ ‘personal belief ’, as contemporary authors have progressively shown in recent years, can be restaged from a peripheral to a central position within anthropological and ethnographic projects concerning religious phenomena” (: ). His essay explores the difficulty of undertaking fieldwork on gypsy Pentecostals as a non-believer where those in the church under study wondered why he had not converted. If reflexivity demands that the sociologist reflect back on his biographical relationship to the topic, then the matter of religious choice cannot but emerge. It might be that the sociologist has no religious affiliation to fall back on or refuses to consider the matter. But in other cases, this reaching back into religious memory has its uses, as Paul Clough realized in his study of death among Muslims in Northern Nigeria. He found it necessary to reach back to his abandoned Catholicism to supply him with insights to understand their mourning rituals. In making these comparisons, he accomplished a conversion of sorts, a realization that “the enduring reality captured by an ethnographer necessarily results from a strange collision—between his own mental categories and those of the people he studied” (: ). For him, reflexivity expanded religious sensibilities and in a way made him a more effective ethnographer, but one not afraid to write theological conclusions to his fieldwork. In his fieldwork on Christianity in Tuvalu (Polynesia), Michael Goldsmith faced similar difficulties when he excavated his biography to find “the remains of a religious upbringing” when he had believed. Like others before, he encountered discomfort from his anthropological colleagues when this Christian past was mentioned, for they worried that in some unprofessional way he had reverted. While recognizing that he had gained much from the study of ritual, Goldsmith raises a worry mentioned earlier: the “risk” of conversion. In his case, he was happy to conclude that “on matters of doctrine, however, fieldwork on Christianity left me with my anthropological ‘faith’ intact” (: ). Judging from the virtual absence of testimonies of conversion by sociologists, it would seem the “risks” they face of disciplinary corruption might be more imagined than real. Yet, some are not immune to seeking a conversion or

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finding themselves tipped into one by the nature of their disciplinary biography. David Preston’s study of meditative ritual practice presents an unusual case of a sociologist involved in a form of meditation on a personal basis who comes to develop a sociological framework, one that emerges from his status as an insider (: ). His study dealt with what is later recognized as a form of holistic spirituality, one that is interior and experiential. But it is to anthropology, not sociology, that one looks for accounts of transformations in the field that can be designated as forms of conversion. Magic, shamans, and dealings with spiritual forces can have a profoundly unsettling effect on anthropologists in the field. They encounter unfamiliar phenomena that can be disturbing. Until recently, such aspects of fieldwork were disregarded in deference to the claims of anthropology to be an objective discipline. But, as reflexivity percolates into anthropology, expectations of disclosure have become more acceptable. These reveal extraordinary experiences that can have a disorientating effect on anthropologists in the field. Goulet and Miller refer to these irruptions as “the ecstatic side of fieldwork.” They give rise to the “potential to step outside one’s taken-for-granted body of knowledge (academic and worldly) and truly enter the realm of the Other’s life-world.” This condition of ecstasis enables the anthropologist “to embark on an ethnographic journey that takes us into uncharted territories.” The notion refers to a lack of control in fieldwork and an incapacity “to follow wellarticulated research agendas.” Indeed, they suggest that ecstasis might be considered “as a pre-condition of ethnographic knowledge.” (: ). These disorientations can emerge in some expected locations, such as in the case of spiritualists or sorcerers where dealings with extraordinary experiences are the occupational hazards of anthropologists in particular fields of enquiry. They generate risks of “joining in” in such a way that “radical participation” opens new and unfamiliar sensibilities difficult to communicate (: ). Basically there is a risk that in letting go conversion might occur. This relates to a curious worry, one that emerges in Fabian’s preface to a collection of essays, Extraordinary Anthropology, dedicated to Victor and Edith Turner, two notable English anthropologists who contributed greatly to the development of the discipline, not least in placing pilgrimage and notions of liminality and communitas on the map. Fabian’s worry was not that the Turners’ had gone native and had converted to shamanism or that they had become believers in native forms of magic. His anxiety was that they had become Catholics. For him, these were conversions

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  that risked going too far to the point of forgetting the Enlightenment, which he treats “as part of a movement of emancipation from religion” (Fabian : xi). There is a Weberian cast to his worry that such conversions breached the integrity of the discipline. In other words, any conversion no matter how bizarre is acceptable as long as it is not to Catholicism! Here one encounters a willful amnesia. The English character of social anthropology, valued by so many, doubtlessly was greatly influenced by Durkheim, but much more significantly, it was shaped more by Catholicism than many now would like to admit. Mary Douglas, Victor and Edith Turner and, perhaps most notably Edward Evans-Pritchard were Catholics. Except for Douglas, they were all converts. But did these conversions render them heroes for the power they exhibited to cross disciplinary boundaries between theology and anthropology, or did their crossing generate unsettlements best not signified by those who act as guardians of the latter’s sacred identity? The account of the Turners’ conversion to Catholicism is likely to upset these guardians: It was unexpected. It was in the “wrong” direction. It should not have happened, most especially to two important anthropologists. Earlier in their career, the Turners had converted to Marxism, so turning was not an unfamiliar exercise. As an outcome of their first exercises in fieldwork that dealt with the Ndembu rituals, they returned to Manchester—not in an ecstatic state but in a state of dissatisfaction. They wanted to know about religious rituals for comparative purposes, and the fact that they were in Manchester did not hold them back. After shopping around various churches in Manchester, they found a Catholic church that seemed to fit their disciplinary needs. There amidst all the symbols, the gestures and the atmosphere of a Mass said in Latin, where the ritual occupied a “strange liminal world,” Edith whispered “Vic! It’s like Africa.” Thus, it was in a Catholic church in Manchester that they felt a call to convert. They acted on it. As Edith Turner noted “we went to see the priest to take instruction. This wasn’t research any more, this was serious” (: –). After instruction for six months, the whole family was received into the Catholic Church. Their conversion, which emerged from what they considered purely an exercise in fieldwork, had a parallel with the experience of Paul Claudel, the famous French dramatist. He too went to a service, Vespers on Christmas Day at Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris, solely to gather material for a book he was writing. He had to return to building on that day as he had attended a High Mass there earlier “without any great pleasure.” In the midst of Vespers he experienced a profound experience,

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an irruption of sensibility that caused him to see the rite in a completely new light. His conversion was a famous event in French literary history (Ryan : –). It might seem that occupation of a God-free zone renders the sociologist immune to the prospects of conversion. Yet all are not immune, for as Rambo indicates, if the convert’s testimony is to be heard, then it seems right that the sociologist’s own tale be told if he too experienced this odd undisciplinary turning. In making this point, Rambo seems to anticipate many of the entailments of reflexivity, but set in relation to conversion. This turning too requires a self-knowing from the sociologist to handle its testimonies in ways that do not distort their basis. In a section of his essay, “the phenomenologist as person,” Rambo argues that the student of conversion must recognize his own assumptions, if for no other reason than to guard “as much as humanly possible against one’s own demands for theological ‘correctness’ ” (: ). In the section that follows, aptly entitled “braving the waters of selfdisclosure,” Rambo reveals his own conversion career (: –). At this point, in the interests of religious reflexivity and the testimonies it entails, I now need to get wet and disclose the peculiar circumstances of my own turning.

The Author’s Unheroic Epilogue on Conversion So far recessed in memory was this conversion experience that I could not remember the date it occurred. The date was needed to place this account in the context of my biography. The present abbot, Dom Aidan Bellenger of Downside Abbey, Somerset, near Bristol very kindly found the date in the guest book. It was on the morning of May ,  at . a.m. Given the amnesia surrounding the date, why is the time so precisely given? The time is engraved in my memory, because the first response to the conversion experience was to wonder if it was connected to the extensive breakfast at Downside eaten earlier. Huysmans might have characterized his own conversion as a digestive experience; mine was not. Most conversions yield testimonies, either in a social setting or to others. Baring occasional reference, I said little about mine. Reticence, cowardice, and perhaps a wish not to appear in some superior contact with God seemed the most obvious reasons for not following a predictable sociological path of disclosure. Perhaps this was the unheroic aspect of my conversion exper-

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  ience. Yet, this reticence had one advantage: no other sociologist could hex what was in my mind, for in there the transformation occurred. The conversion was radical: it was a capricious switching of the self, rather like what occurs in an old fashioned wall clock, where one figure comes out a door, vanishes, and emerges as something different. This particular conversion experience might well have been about two selves, one old that vanished and one new that came suddenly, all in instance. Kolakowski describes the process well when he suggests that “conversion is a radical intellectual or spiritual turning point leading to comprehensive understanding of the world, free of uncertainty, resolving all theoretical and practical questions, and eliminating all doubts” (: ). Despite impeccably sociological supervisors and already working in a department of sociology, I have always had a property of being in exile in the discipline and in occupation of another. Part of the reticence surrounding the conversion might have been due to doing a D.Phil. thesis, decidedly historical, but sociological in cast. Its title (passed in ) was: “The Rise and Fall of the Celtic Ineligible: Competitive Examinations for the Irish and Indian Civil Services in Relation to the Educational and Occupation Structure of Ireland: –.” Only two external examiners were possible: one mad and the other dead. One did not wish to add to the eccentricity surrounding the thesis and present a career limiting disclosure of a religious conversion. This was in pre-reflexive times in the s when disciplinary proprieties had to be observed that ruled out such startling testimonies. Anyhow, in no sense could the conversion experience be a projection that emerged during research. From Dublin, with a middle class background, I studied at University College, Dublin then went on to the University of Minnesota for an M.A. in historical sociology, conferred in . In that time, I was impeccably lapsed from Catholicism. The pseudo-radicalism of the chaplaincy in response to the Vietnam War fuelled the exit role. Somehow Catholicism as practiced there seemed cast in clothing donned by self-proclaimers, broadcasting their angsts for all with ears to hear. It all seemed egoistic, shallow, opportunistic and deeply hypocritical. It was all like deplorable sociology but devoid of disciplinary accountability. One’s calling as a sociologist was even more deeply affirmed; religion had no place in it. Coming to Bristol, antipathy to religion softened notably in response to the Gothic but also to choral evensong, where a choir of men and boys seemed to transform time in ways that undermined resistance to the aesthetic side of theology. Certainly, I was not a Catholic at the time— the category would have been refused. Yet, some sliding was occurring.

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It had little to do with the gloom of being lost in a D. Phil. thesis or being insecure in a temporary lectureship at the University of Bristol (later made permanent). These seemed the stresses of young academic life and in a lane certainly not pointing in a religious direction for resolution. Going to Downside in  was part of a general sense of unsettlement and drift. The flat was drab and dreary; the food at Downside was supposed to be excellent; all in all it was time for quick exit from the academic coal-face. But there all things changed unexpectedly. Frankly, insofar as a sociologist might have a conversion experience, this one was ill-fitted. It is easier to say what it was not. It did not occur in the field of study or in a ritual where some effervescence blew the mind into ecstasis (hence my envy of Claudel); there was no visual or external stimulant; there was no petition for conversion. It just happened— completely and inexplicably in the mind. So baffling was the experience that on immediate return to Bristol I raided a colleague’s office for a copy of William James’ The Varieties of Religious Experience. Rapidly leafing through two chapters on conversion, what had happened to me came into focus. He articulated what I was clueless to express: I had had a conversion experience. Insofar as conversion involves crossing boundaries, my transition was one of moving slowly from history into another sociological exile, this time in theology. The conversion experience made the emergent disjunctions tolerable. One could play with impunity in the dangerous waters of postmodernity without sociological injury. Somehow, I could cope with antinomies, ambiguities and signs of contradiction with impunity, for the transformed self was given a shell-like cover resistant to the acids of postmodernity. The house of the self was secure. Orthodoxy of belief seemed natural; it was the unorthodox, the liberal theologians, who seemed “unnatural.” One knew what to believe: it was in black and white, perhaps reflecting the conversion experience itself. Walking slowly up to the North transept in Downside Abbey, an impeccably Gothic building, I went past the little angel lodged on the pillar in the aisle just before the entrance to the high altar on the left and on to the Lady Chapel that lay behind the reredos. Even on a sunlit morning, this area is dark. On the left at the foot of the steps up to the Lady Chapel was a solitary prie-dieu. In front was a row of lit candles and above a statue of the Blessed Virgin. I knelt, not bothering to look up. Shutting my eyes, nothing happened. Then suddenly a cloud of black filled the mind, angry, vicious and depressive, and it went down the body like a cold poison. If a monk had come by, so evil was the feeling that he would have been punched. Before the mind could settle

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  its senses to this descent, a sense of being lifted up came in an instance. Light joy, an enormous peace and envelopment filled the mind, almost like the infusion of James’s gas, but with no pump. I stood up deeply startled. There were odd properties to the conversion. It was a complete turning, but with no image, internal or external. Only in retrospection and in an effort to find a narrative for what happened, did an image emerge later of a house destroyed by lightning, where all the floors collapsed, with blackened smoldering beams lying against the wall, the roof blown off and a lot of sunlight had come in. It seemed that a dwelling place had been destroyed, and in the light I was released to go out and to find images to paint in the colors of sociology. The “conversion career” that followed involved the nurture of reflexive religiosity directed to the expansion of this sociological imagination set to turn in holy new directions. In a liberal department of sociology at Bristol, one was left to one’s own devices, and so hidden one scribbled away and tapped out texts, certainly not a hero, but suffering the unlikely fate of seeking redemption through sociological means of understanding. Maybe, after all, the convert does not belong in the waxwork pantheon of sociology, set dead for emulation. There is a life to lead and a redemption to be found, not of one realized by escape into the fictions of the sociological imagination, but in the exciting irruptions conversion facilitates. These too have their own tales, and some of these can be heroic, though not this one.

References Bauman, Zygmunt. . Life in Fragments: Essays in Postmodern Morality. Oxford: Blackwell. ———. . Postmodernity and its Discontents. Cambridge: Polity. BBC News.  (Sept. ). Beckford, James A. . “Accounting for Conversion.” British Journal of Sociology : –. Belzen, Jacob A. . “Religion as Embodiment: Cultural-Psychological Concepts and Methods in the Study of Conversion among ‘Bevindelijken.’ ” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion : –. Blanes, Ruy Llera. . “The Atheist Anthropologist: Believers and Non-believers in Anthropological Fieldwork.” Social Anthropology : –. Bourdieu, Pierre. . Outline of a Theory of Practice, trans. Richard Nice. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. ———. . Distinction: A Social Critique of the Judgment of Taste, trans. Richard Nice. London: Routledge.

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Carrothers, Robert M. . “Social Typing of Religious Changers: The Impact of Motivation on the Stories of Alternators and Converts.” Sociological Spectrum : –. Catechism of the Catholic Church. . London: Geoffrey Chapman. Church Times.  (May ). Clough, Paul. . “ ‘Knowledge in Passing:’ Reflexive Anthropology and Religious Awareness.” Anthropological Quarterly : –. Cooley, Charles Horton. . Human Nature and the Social Order. New York: Schocken. Crossley, Nick. . Reflexive Embodiment in Contemporary Society. Maidenhead: Open University Press. D’Costa, Gavin. . “ ‘Extra Ecclesiam Nulla Salus’ Revisited.” Pp. –, in Religious Pluralism & Unbelief: Studies Critical and Comparative, edited by Ian Hamnett. London: Routledge. Dube, Saurabb and Ishita Banerjee Dube. . “Spectres of Conversion: Transformations of Caste and Sect in India.” Pp. – in Religious Conversion in India: Modes, Motivations, and Meanings, edited by Rowena Robinson and Sathianathan Clarke. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Ebaugh, Helen Rose Fuchs. . Becoming an Ex: The Process of Role Exit. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Fabian, Johannes. . Preface. Pp. ix–xv in Extraordinary Anthropology: Transformations in the Field, edited by Jean-Guy A. Goulet and Bruce Granville Miller. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Flanagan, Kieran. . “Theological Pluralism: A Sociological Critique.” Pp. –, in Religious Pluralism & Unbelief: Studies Critical and Comparative, edited by Ian Hamnett. London: Routledge. ———. . “Vice and Virtue or Vice Versa: A Sociology of Being Good.” Pp. –, in Virtue Ethics and Sociology: Issues of Modernity and Religion, edited by Kieran Flanagan and Peter C. Jupp. Basingstoke: Palgrave. ———. a. “Interview with Paul Williams.” Saint Austin Review : –. ———. b. “Decadence and Conversion: Tales of Unexpected Journeys.” Saint Austin Review : –, –. ———. a. Sociology in Theology: Reflexivity and Belief. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan. ———. b. “Visual Spirituality: An Eye for Religion.” Pp. –, in A Sociology of Spirituality, edited by Kieran Flanagan and Peter C. Jupp, Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Flanagan, Kieran and Peter C. Jupp, eds. . A Sociology of Spirituality. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Fuller, Robert C. . Spiritual But Not Religious: Understanding Unchurched America. New York: Oxford University Press. Gaventa, Beverly Roberts. . “Conversion in the Bible.” Pp. –, in Handbook of Religious Conversion, edited by H. Newton Malony and Samuel Southard, Birmingham, AL: Religious Education Press. Goldsmith, Michael. . “Understanding or Believing? On Researching Christianity in Tuvalu.” Journal of Pacific Studies : –. Goulet, Jean-Guy A. and Bruce Granville Miller. . “Introduction: Embodied

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  Knowledge: Steps toward a Radical Anthropology of Cross-cultural Encounters.” Pp. –, in Extraordinary Anthropology: Transformations in the Field, edited by Jean-Guy A. Goulet and Bruce Granville Miller, Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press. Højbjerg, Christian Kordt. . “Religious Reflexivity: Essays on Attitudes on Religious Ideas and Practice.” Social Anthropology : –. Houtepen, Anton. . “Conversion and the Religious Market: A Theological Perspective.” Exchange : –. Howard, Anthony. . Basil Hume: The Monk Cardinal. London: Headline. Hufford, David J. . “The Scholarly Voice and the Personal Voice: Reflexivity in Belief Studies.” Western Folklore : –. James, William. . The Varieties of Religious Experience. London: Longmans, Green. Kapferer, Bruce. . “Anthropology: The Paradox of the Secular.” Social Anthropology : –. Kilbourne, Brock and James T. Richardson. . “Paradigm Conflict, Types of Conversion, and Conversion Theories.” Sociological Analysis : –. Kolakowski, Leszek. . Modernity on Endless Trial. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Kuhn, Thomas S. . The Structure of Scientific Revolutions. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Longhurst, Bruce. . Cultural Change and Ordinary Life. Maidenhead: Open University Press. Lyotard, Jean-François. . The Postmodern Condition: A Report on Knowledge. Manchester: Manchester University Press. Malony, H. Newton and Samuel Southard, eds. Handbook of Religious Conversion. Birmingham, AL: Religious Education Press. McKnight, Scot. . Turning to Jesus: The Sociology of Conversion in the Gospels. Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press. Nichols, Aidan. . The Realm: An Unfashionable Essay on the Conversion of England. Oxford: Family Publications. Popp-Baier, Ulrike, . “Narrating Embodied Aims. Self-transformation in Conversion Narratives—A Psychological Analysis.” Forum: Qualitative Social Research (). http://www.qualitative-research.net/fqs/fqs-eng.htm. Preston. David L. . “Meditative Ritual Practices and Spiritual ConversionCommitment: Theoretical Implications based on the Case of Zen.” Sociological Analysis : –. Rambo, Lewis R. . Understanding Religious Conversion. New Haven: Yale University Press. Rambo, Lewis R. with Lawrence A. Reh. . “The Phenomenology of Conversion.” Pp. – in Handbook of Religious Conversion, edited by H. Newton Malony and Samuel Southard. Birmingham, AL: Religious Education Press. Raposa, Michael L. . Boredom and the Religious Imagination. Charlottesville: University Press of Virginia. Richardson, James. . “The Active vs. Passive Convert: Paradigm Conflict in Conversion/Recruitment Research.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion : –.

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———. . “Conversion.” Pp. – in Encyclopedia of Religion and Society, edited by William H. Swatos. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira. Ryan, Mary. . Introduction to Paul Claudel. Cork: Cork University Press. Segal, Alan F. . Paul the Convert: The Apostolate and Apostasy of Saul the Pharisee. New Haven: Yale University Press. Shanks, Andrew. . Against Innocence: Gillian Rose’s Reception and Gift of Faith. London: SCM. Sikand, Yoginder. . “Arya Shuddi and Muslim Tabligh: Muslim Reactions to Ayra Samaj Proselytization (–).” Pp. – in Religious Conversion in India: Modes, Motivations, and Meanings, edited by Rowena Robinson and Sathianathan Clarke. New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Simmel, Georg. . The Sociology of Georg Simmel. New York: Free Press. ———. . Essays on Religion. New Haven: Yale University Press. Spencer, Anthony E.C.W. . Digest of Statistics of the Catholic Community of England & Wales, –, vol. . Taunton: Russell-Spencer. Steichen, Dorothy, . “Introduction.” Pp. – in Prodigal Daughters: Catholic Women Come Home to the Church, edited by Dorothy Steichen. San Francisco: Ignatius Press. Stewart, Charles. . “Secularism as an Impediment to Anthropological Research.” Social Anthropology : –. Straus, Roger A. . “Religious Conversion as a Personal and Collective Accomplishment.” Sociological Analysis : –. Tartakov, Gary. . “B.R. Ambedkar and the Navayana Diksha.” Pp. – in Religious Conversion in India: Modes, Motivations, and Meanings, edited by Rowena Robinson and Sathianathan Clarke, New Delhi: Oxford University Press. Taylor, Charles. . A Secular Age. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Thomas, William I. . “The Definition of the Situation.” Pp. – in Symbolic Interaction: A Reader in Social Psychology, edited by Jerome G. Manis and Bernard N. Meltzer. Boston: Allyn and Bacon. Turner, Edith. . Heart of Lightness: The Life Story of an Anthropologist. New York: Berghahn. Verter, Bradford. . “Spiritual Capital: Theorizing Religion with Bourdieu against Bourdieu.” Sociological Theory : –. Viswanathan, Gauri. . Outside the Fold: Conversion, Modernity, and Belief. Princeton: Princeton University Press. Vrcan, Srdjan. . “Proselytism, Religion, and Ethnification of Politics: A Sociological Analysis.” Religion in Eastern Europe : –. Wacquant, Loïc J.D. . “Exiting Roles or Exiting Role Theory? Critical Notes on Ebaugh’s Becoming an Ex.” Acta Sociology : –. Weber, Max. . The Sociology of Religion. London: Methuen. ———. . The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. Los Angeles: Roxbury. Williams, Paul. . The Unexpected Way: On Converting from Buddhism to Catholicism. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark. Yamane, David and Sarah MacMillen, with Kelly Culver. . Real Stories of Christian Initiation: Lesson for and from the RCIA. Collegeville, MN: Liturgical Press.

conversion: heroes and their sociological redemption  Zinnbauer, Brian J. and Kenneth I. Pargament. . “Spiritual Conversion: A Study of Religious Change among College Students.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion : –.

chapter three ELEMENTS FOR A SEMIOTICS OF “CONVERSION”

Patrick Michel Faith is the key. It moves mountains and all sorts of fields, particularly those that allow property speculation. Eduardo Mendoza (: )

Although we cannot exactly assess his awareness of the twists and turns that led him there, which cannot be without a somewhat puzzling character to anyone who takes an interest in his writings, Samuel Huntington, after raising the specter of a “clash of civilizations,” asks Who Are We? In this book, he turns his attention to the process of “integration” of Latin American immigrants—particularly Mexicans—into North American society, and he endeavors to apprehend identity in its relation to integration. Acknowledging the difficulty of assessing the changes in this field, he decided to retain “conversion” as the privileged indicator to measure the degree of integration: “The available evidence is limited, and in some regards, contradictory. Unquestionably, a most significant manifestation of assimilation for Hispanic immigrants is conversion to evangelical Protestantism. This development parallels and is related to the dramatic increase in evangelical Protestants in many Latin American countries”. Returning to the lack of precise data on the number of converts, he quotes Ron Unz who claims that “a quarter or more of Hispanics have shifted their traditional Catholic faith to Protestant evangelical churches, a religious transformation of unprecedented speed, and one obviously connected partly to their absorption into American society” (Huntington : ). The role given here to conversion as an indicator of the recompositions of identity and loyalties might also well be a recognition of the functions they have in the logics of recomposition that run through the contemporary world. Consequently, it results in thrice emphasizing the importance (renewed, from the perspective of the secularization thesis) of the religious, in the fact that it constitutes a resource, hence, thirdly, it is more of a resource than other possibilities (or instead of other possibilities).

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Similarly a French television program recently broadcast a news report showing its interest in the phenomenon of conversion and, consequently, in the role of religion in the current social developments. A young woman, “of French origin” as some would say, who lives in one of these “tough neighborhoods” (to continue with the same phraseology) in the periphery of Paris, explained in front of the cameras why she had converted to Islam. The emphasis was naturally put on the strictly religious nature of this choice. But briefly: what she insisted upon was her weariness, before her conversion, of being constantly bothered whenever she moved around in the “housing estate” where she lived. Since she had become a Muslim, adopting all the external attributes of her new identity, i.e., the scarf, no one had ventured to be disrespectful toward her anymore. She emphasized being very satisfied with this.

Experiencing Contemporary Conversion Beyond the genuine or supposed role played by religion in adapting to a milieu and in verifying this adaptation, a role to which we will return later, “conversion” can assuredly appear as the modality of experiencing the religious which is the most adapted to its contemporary features: individualization, pluralization of the religious supply, and the possibility for the “believing subject” to maximize the advantages sought in conversion because of the highly competitive nature of the religious market. Such an approach partakes of an analysis centered on the religious supply, as it is worked out and offered, eventually adapted, in order to take into account the specificities of the ground where it happens to be projected. It relies on the postulate that religion can be endowed with a relevance that would exclusively belong to it, whereas what seems to be questioned is not so much “religion” as the simultaneous and sometimes contradictory uses of which it is the object. Therefore it does not rely so much on conformity to a proposed model (whose interpretation would be the object of a monopoly, more or less disputed) as on the capacity of some actors to mobilize symbolic resources indicated as available (that is to say, as made mobile in order to appropriate them) and to display them at the service of competing strategies aiming at inhabiting and orienting the contemporary movement. As a result, we may prefer another type of reading to this one, no longer determined by the supply but by the use of the religious, and being part of a political sociology of the use of symbolic goods. In this perspective,

elements for a semiotics of “conversion”

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the issue is no longer to think of conversion as a modality that is particularly adapted to the religious recompositions induced by pluralism and movement. The issue would be to know of what “conversion” is the sign in the complex interplay of reciprocal interactions and uses that govern today the relations between religion and politics, religion and ideology, religion and economy. Echoing the difficulty in putting forward a definition that would be likely to create a consensus on “religion” (see Michel ), there is no agreement on “a theoretical definition of the concept or of the methodology applied to the study of ‘conversion’ ” (Mossière : ).1 Moreover, regarding conversion, the difficulty is increased, since this “conversion” (which we do not know how to define) is expressed in a religious register, and therefore religion (which we do not know how to define either) would be supposed, if not to exhaust its meaning, at least to recapitulate it. This very difficulty undoubtedly explains why the dominant hypothesis in social sciences nowadays relies on the idea that any conversion would be “the result of a singular experience, whatever the religious or social order in which it is inscribed” (Mossière : ). We will come back to this irreducible singularity of conversion later. For the time being, we should content ourselves with observing that “to turn away in order to turn towards,” in the words of Christian Decobert ( [quoted in Mossière : ]), partakes of an approach centered on the individual, in line with a tendency, which can be observed everywhere, toward a radical individuation of the construction of a relation to the self and to meaning, but which can only fuel a sure propensity to psychologize the phenomenon. From that perspective, the widespread resort to a methodology that favors “life’s stories” is very revealing. Knowing that this method has immediate limitations insofar as the narrative of conversion is “more a biographic reconstruction than a corpus of objective facts, the sociologist must thus apprehend these narratives for what they are: a narrative development during which the orator is trying to develop his personality in his new identity” (Tank Storper  [quoted in Mossière : ]), which means that more is learned about the convert as a person than about conversion itself.

1 This is the conclusion to which Géraldine Mossière came after a study of works on conversion. Mossière notes in passing that “it is not uncommon to see the authors of these works being personally involved in their object of study, either being themselves converted (Jules-Rosette, Rambo), or belonging to a religion of which they study the newcomers (Köse, Setta)” (: ).

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patrick michel

Thus, after a study of religious conversion based on the case of Roger Garaudy, Brigitte Fleury (: ) noticed that this type of study did not provide “for the time being, a definite profile of data that can be verified to improve the understanding of this phenomenon. We may partly remedy these constraints by analyzing other conversions than religious ones, such as changing one’s political allegiances or scientific paradigms.” In the same way, which amounts to taking note of the epistemological limitations of the heuristic tools that have been developed so far in the study of conversion, other authors such as Greil and Rudy advised “not to restrict the field of conversion to the religious field, but to extend it to situations of radical changes in someone’s identity” (; cf.  [Mossière : ]). Moreover, these authors and others (Meintel ), come to contest even the scientific relevance of the concept of conversion.

The Pilgrim, the Convert, and the System Nonetheless, for many authors, “conversion” has a descriptive capacity that makes it an indispensable tool to account for contemporary religious life. Danièle Hervieu-Léger () writes, for example: As far as it involves at the same time a comprehensive reorganization of the life of the person concerned according to new standards and his/her incorporation in a community, religious conversion is a remarkably efficient modality of construction of self in a world where the fluidity of plural identities is dominant, where the mechanisms of meaning are fluctuating and where no core principle organizes the individual and social experience any more.

I have noted previously () how Hervieu-Léger’s two figures of the “pilgrim” and the “convert,” though supposedly allowing us to describe the contemporary landscape of believing, in fact result in perpetuating an approach to this landscape through strictly religious categories, precisely disqualified by its evolution. Hervieu-Léger, by isolating these models of the “pilgrim” and the “convert” in order to describe the contemporary religious situation, places herself in the perspective of setting up instruments of analysis that come from the movement and are likely to contribute to work it out. The models are even appealing, insofar as they straightaway refer to a dynamic, to a movement: the path of the pilgrim, the radical transformation induced by conversion. Yet, does not, in fact, the sole association of these two models go against the enterprise under whose sign it is placed? Each is certainly

elements for a semiotics of “conversion”

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indisputable. There is no doubt that contemporary believing is felt, in its very fluidity, as a quest and search for a path—as a result the figure of the pilgrim tends to account for this perfectly.2 The fact that this path can be marked by a conversion (or, what seems more accurate, by successive “conversions,” experienced as stages, therefore by definition operating and non-definitive) is the obvious consequence of this. Finally, it is obvious that it is in the interest of the religious institutions to seize this dynamic in order to feed on it. But here the problem is one of a great difference in scale: The figure of the pilgrim, in the sense that it evokes modalities of the confrontation with meaning, concerns more or less all the contemporaries. He is a giant figure. The figure of the convert, which in the final analysis refers to an institutional logic that contemporary believing precisely seems to be giving up, is a tiny figure. Associating the dwarf to the giant corresponds to an approach that, starting with an exact description of reality, can lead only to its inaccurate representation. We start with the religious to arrive at the religious, as if we were in a closed circuit. Moreover, this leads to the institutionally religious, as the convert adheres to a more or less stable “form,” in which the quest would wear out and come to an end, as if the institution remained the privileged space to sanction a path of meaning. Thus, it is as if from the moment a conversion was at stake, an institutional mechanism would ultimately be targeted, as this system could have the function of framing conversion, by providing in advance a content of belief to which the convert can adhere, by controlling afterward the conformity to belief—and of the practice that stems from it—to that content. Moreover, in this perspective of analysis, even though it is admittedly true that “the dialectics of the standardization of goods put on the market and the ultra-personalization of the forms of their presentation to the believers is one of the majors characteristics of the new spiritual movements that are spreading within and outside the great Churches” (Hervieu-Léger : ), we can observe that once more (and always) the analysis starts with the producer—the transmitter of the believing— and not with the receiver-consumer of this believing. It returns to a “minimum creed,” a “theological minimalism,” and a “religiosity reduced to

2 Even though this figure takes place in a context that is already strongly connoted. A pilgrimage sets itself a goal straightaway: Rome, Compostela, Mecca, and so on. Therefore the pilgrim has a relation to space in which space is immediately organized, mapped, “finalized.” I would thus prefer to the models of the “pilgrim” and the “convert” the figures of the “wanderer” and the “member,” which are more neutral (cf. Bertrand ).

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effects” that “pulls the relation to transcendence down to affective and personalized proximity to the divine being” (Hervieu-Léger :  [italic added]). Three observations must be made at this stage: The first of these is purely common sense: If conversion is a passage from one state to another, then it fundamentally concerns, to restrict ourselves to the situation in Europe, an a-religious posture: one converts to non-religion. I confine myself to the European stage so as not to enter the debate opened by the thesis developed by Peter Berger, Grace Davie and Effie Fokas () of European exceptionalism—“secularized Europe” being opposed to the rest of the world, and of course first to the United States, whose society is known for being simultaneously modern and religious. I would simply note that until a few years ago, the exception was American and not European, the shift noted being the result of evolutions that partake more of ideology than of fact (and moreover show the power and durability of resorting to stereotypes in social sciences). The European stage is thus characterized by the regular progression of the number of people “without a religion.” In the European Values Survey, .  of the French answered “no” to the question “Do you believe in God?” and .  claimed that they belonged to no religious determination. “It is a fact”—the German theologian Eugen Drewermann (: ) noted—“that in Western Europe three quarters of the population remain outside the different forms of religion, as they are displayed and institutionalize themselves.” This acknowledgment is easily ascertained empirically. If we follow the European Values Survey, religion is only “little” or “not at all important” for .  of the people polled in the Czech republic, .  in Estonia, .  in Denmark, .  in Germany, .  in Latvia,   in Sweden, .  in France, .  in Slovenia, .  in Great Britain, .  in the Netherlands, . in Hungary, .  in Finland, .  in Spain, .  in Luxemburg, and .  in Belgium. But who does sociology talk about, when it specializes in the study of religion? Is it the individual who defines himself as having no religion (  of the – year-olds in France,   in Great-Britain,   in the Netherlands) part of this? (cf. Bréchon : –) These people “without religion” have obviously their own “beliefs,” outside the existing traditions, that they may use, by combining them—and without necessarily worrying about being in a “believing tradition” or by refusing the idea of doing it, in the very name of the believing in which they recognize

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themselves. And without searching either for a “community niche,” since their search for meaning can also be placed under the sign of a complete irreducibility of the individual, or by choosing for oneself a community niche which is likely to be given up anytime, according to one’s needs and desires. Thus it seems indeed that what was yesterday a marginal behavior now tends to become a major social fact, as far we reallocate the fact of being “without a religion” not necessarily to an activist refusal of God, which still concerns only a few of our contemporaries, but to a more or less profound indifference. This is does not mean that the question of the existence or the non-existence of God has been resolved. But it has lost its organizing capacity. The radical individualization characterizing the contemporary modes of the believing amounts, as far as religion is concerned, to the obliteration of the centrality it claimed it embodied. Such an evolution, on the background of a massive distancing toward any institution of belief, leads to the loss of meaning for the distinction between believer and non-believer from the moment that there is no longer, or only in theory, at least de facto, any “content” of belief likely to be a reference. In this context, the very concept of conversion is highly problematic in a believing landscape that is entirely shaped by the full legitimation of the individualized construction of the relation to meaning. This is not only because the sociology of conversion would be, by force of circumstances, a sociology of the minority—the only identifiable one— and would be characterized by the coincidence, or at least a relative one, between a displayed individual believer and an established content of belief. It is also because, and this is my second point, this sociology of conversion takes place within a tension that cannot be removed between the approach of its object as an irreducibly singular phenomenon and the fact that conversion makes sense only in the passage to the social. Indeed, conversion is and can only be personal. Besides, its attestation stems from its individual display: the testimony of the person for whom conversion represents a decisive break and opens, if not to another world, at least to a new being-in-the-world. There is no conversion without a community or institutional witness. Indeed, because conversion is supposed to partake of a purely individual logic, it can be constituted into an indicator. But as soon as it is accepted as such, its meaning no longer comes under the register of the individual but of the social. Finally, conversion could not have the same meaning in a fragmented field, organized into spaces of identification where, partly via the

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religious, the belonging were given as territorialized on a field in which supplies of believing, all of which are considered to be legitimate, circulate. This amounts to saying that “conversion” cannot be separated from a global religious landscape whose transformations it confirms. “Mass” conversions, resulting from heavy constraint—for instance, the at least formal adoption of the religion of the conqueror belong to the past (even if some “massive” conversions can today still stem from a more subtle form of constraint).

Political Sociology and Religious Resources Now that these remarks have been made, I will set out to present, without any claim to an exhaustive list, some elements of a political sociology of the use of the religious resources and of the meanings of this use. In this perspective, conversion can be apprehended as an indicator and modality of the management of a new relation by societies enmeshed in pluralism, the set up of this relation being experienced as a destabilizing and multiform crisis of traditional points of reference (or references presented as such). Michel de Certeau (: ) has noted that Religion provides a global symbolization of their uneasiness to scattered men, who are all the more separated from each other as their common references are broken and they react to the pressure of a foreign culture without order, without common courses of action, and without any means to compensate for the anomie and disintegration. Whether it is egalitarian, eschatological or revolutionary, a new use of religion concerns the whole of human experience. Religious language opens on to a disarray (which has often remained nocturnal)—an exit, like a day enlightening the nature of the experience problem: it is the whole.

Consequently, any new visibility of the religious on a given stage (and we can consider that today this visibility takes place on a stage whose dimensions coincide with the world’s) constitutes as such an indicator of the intensity of the movement affecting this stage. Governed by subjectivity, the contemporary world of believing is entirely one of fluid circulation and is immediately restive to any structuring reference to any stability, except if one locates this stability as being purely operative. The objective of contemporary believing is not to lead to a “religious identity” (thought as “stable”), but to feel itself as belief-inmotion.

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In fact, the concept of “religion” and the concepts associated with it, such as “secularity,” or even those that can be drawn from theses on “desecularization,” become, in a situation of the complete social legitimacy of the construction of a relation to meaning, more and more obscure concepts, and therefore largely unusable, at least as long as we persist in recognizing a relevance that would be specific to them. As a result, “religion” is only the indicator of larger recompositions, in which it moreover takes part as an instrument of management. Thus it makes sense only as an intermediary object, an analyzer, which, once it is contextualized, can turn out to be quite invaluable. What is at stake here is the revelation, due to the dissolving work of the global, of the loss of relevance of the criteria “traditionally” used to justify the stable nature of identity patterns. But it is not an absolute loss: the criteria are somewhat recycled, given a new meaning because of the very circulation to which the loss of relative relevance gives rise. In other words, this oscillation doubly constitutes a strong indicator of the identity deregulation and the space where the work of redefinition takes place. The oscillation thus becomes the major characteristic of a landscape where identities are felt to be simultaneously waiting for organizing centralities, in a situation of ceaseless circulation between the different supplies of articulated centrality and of the inevitable relativization of the content of these supplies. This, of course, does not imply that joining— converting—such and such supply cannot take place at a given time and for a given time. Individuals acquire, in the words of Marc Augé (: ), “cosmologies portable”—individualized cosmologies that can be made to fit a person’s situation as circumstances require. Of what, in this landscape, is “conversion” the sign? First, conversion shows the unbridled pluralization of the religious supply. This is obvious, but it has nonetheless to be emphasized. For, so that one “can turn away in order to turn toward,” there needs to be an opportunity. But this pluralization of the religious supply must here be understood as one of the facets of a larger process in the evolution of societies, where the fiction of homogeneity tends to substitute itself for the obviousness of pluralism. This can be verified in all the registers, whether the issue is the acceleration of the passage to so-called multi-racial or multi-ethnic societies; claims aiming at taking into account and respecting the rights of more and more visible minorities, whatever the displayed criterion of difference (sexual, skin color, origin, denomination, specific memory); the outbreak in the number of family “models” that can be observed; or more simply the capacity felt by an individual to establish

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himself as the ultimate authority to interpret any discourse, wherever it comes from, thus challenging any pretence made by any institution of the believing to stand on what Bourdieu called a “monopoly of interpretation,” therefore sending back at the same time “the worried discipline of the admitted enunciation” to the purely pointless soliloquy (Certeau :). The massive arrival of migrants has largely contributed to the speededup diversification of the religious supply. All the European states are confronted by a pluralism perceived as new, insofar as cultural and religious worlds that used to live in an apparent separation (and in its apparent stability) can no longer believe in it, nor make people believe in it. The emphasis on the fictional nature of this separation, of this “insularity,” operates out of the weakening of symbolic geographies. Hence occurs the difficulty, logically expressed in an identitary mode, to find one’s place in a world which is probably more than ever felt as if set in motion. For instance, when in numerous “global villages” of the industrial regions of “old Europe,” the mosque or the Sikh or Hindu temple have started to emerge next to the parochial church, these new edifices of cult may have challenged the “familiar” nature of a space in which most people had become used to living and being represented collectively, before a background of the oscillation of the other social bearings of the “being together” (cf. Pace ). The generalized oscillation of all the markers that had been “classically” considered relevant in the constitution of an identity pattern can see different treatments being opposed to it, aiming widely at alleviating its effects, at feeling comfortable in it or, on the other side, at denouncing it. “Conversion” is part of this pharmacopoeia, as a means to face the present, by putting it into a narrative that tends to reverbalize the world, and consequently to ensure a level of control whereas this relation to the world used to be perceived as fragmented and endured as domination. It thus means that “conversion” hallmarks the existence of a crisis. It is a rupture and a passage, a display of a new availability and a repositioning according to this claimed availability. Conversion involves a process in which the religious does not intervene before but after—i.e., the adoption presented as sudden emergence of a paradigm in which the religious plays only the role of an inscription register—since it provides the language necessary to the articulation of a new corpus, to the construction of a revised autobiography, and to its validation in regard to its conformity with the codes governing the current narrative. Aiming at a new organization of the relation to time, space and authority, in order to find a

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solution to the uneasiness generated by the loss of stability of these metareferences due to the acceleration of the contemporary movement, “conversion” has certain similarities with the construction of myth as defined in the mode of Levi-Strauss: a vigorous protest against the absence of meaning. In this respect conversion might very well be weighing on the social and political order.

Conversion in the Global Arena The distinctive feature shared by the two religions that are rising the fastest at the international level—neo-Pentecostalism and Islam—is that they both have a specific relationship with the process of globalization, which is reorganizing the world stage. Both authorize the articulation of a renewed relation to the world in its transformations. Renovated Pentecostalism does not try very hard to hide its close links with a specifically North American conservative conception of society and the world. In this conception, of which it is one of the major vehicles, the frontiers between politics, religion, economy and ideology tend to fade or even disappear. The collapse of communism has most certainly deprived this movement of the enemy that endowed it with a certain meaning, but insofar as it is interpreted as a sign of a godsend, this very collapse draws the horizon of a planet painted with the American colors—a project that is given form by a “prosperity theology” at the service of the “mission” that America would have to carry through. According to this vision, the relation to Islam is essential, since radical Islam appears just as well to be the other religion and the religion of the Other, which would back up the existence of a “clash of civilizations” in which, like the East-West axis before, the United States would embody Good. This parallel with radical Islam is also likely to make sense in the register of contemporary identities and of the generalized oscillation they would experience because of the recompositions induced by the globalization of the economy and culture. As this radical Islam would be a pure product of the confrontation with Western modernity that is simultaneously desired and rejected, a privileged space where fantasies and frustrations are articulated, the progress of conservative Evangelicalism would constitute, as such, an interpretative grid to approach the modalities of management of the reconstruction of identitary mechanisms allowing it to come to grips with the movement. And, in the final analysis—

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coming to a full circle—the increase in power of opposite fundamentalisms would prove that religion is coming back with a vengeance on the interior, transnational and international scenes. Neo-Pentecostalism is the place where an individual is produced as compatible with the logics at work in globalization and at the same time the privileged space to verify the conformity of this neo-individual with the rules governing the working of the globalized world stage. Furthermore, by emphasizing again the theological constitution of economic success into an indisputable sign of “election,” and thus of the preference given by God to the neo-individual, neo-Pentecostalism comes to sacralize the market itself—i.e., to adorn the mechanism of the capitalist market economy with the divine seal. At the same time, the globalization of Islam partakes of the possibility of building Islam as a privileged space to challenge a world order dominated by the United States and more widely by the West. Turning Islam into “the religion of the underprivileged” amounts to constituting it as an operating register of enunciation and denunciation of an order presented as unfair, and into an effective instrument to dispute the hegemony of the West. But this Islam can simultaneously “open itself to all the key themes of the world market” and become the vehicle of “the emergence of demands for individual autonomy” and of a “new integration in the world that is somewhat inspired by American televangelists” (Donnard )—as evidenced by the famous televised sermons of Amr Khaled. The market Islam described by Patrick Haenni is admittedly not the religious expression of the underprivileged, and its desire for modernity “makes it tilt toward a conservative America” (Haenni : ). Both religions are thus mobilized, sometimes in a contradictory manner, in the service of an essential redefinition of reference points in a situation of the upheaval of those, presented as stable, of a world on the way to exhaustion, where it still seemed credible to convey the assertion of a belonging through territorialization. For the still vivid reference to cujus regio, ejus religio is substituted the transnational religious, adapted to the organizing modalities of a contemporary world structured by the circulation governing it. In this landscape, the erosion of the positions of Catholicism would result from the inability of the institution to adapt itself to the multiform movement that shapes societies and to get univocally involved in a radical transformation of the structure of these very societies. This contrasts with neo-Pentecostalism and Islam, which are supposedly able to follow the movement and to direct it in order to put individuals, bewildered by its extent, in phase with the new forms of the contemporary.

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But this reading through discontinuity once again does not do justice to a complexity that is greater than one might think by looking at only one chronology. For example, the failure in Latin America of “Liberation Theology,” hostile to mainstream liberalism, led to a “Prosperity Theology” in phase with North American neo-Conservatism. The true continuity lies indeed in the tenacious effort made by societies to create the modalities allowing people to live as comfortably as possible in the world that is taking shape. The social movement toward which Liberation Theology tended also constituted a privileged space of invention and experience for the individual. Conversion to neo-Pentecostalism, which opens the horizon to Prosperity, also aims, still on the basis of Latin American experience, to allow the emergence of the individual, by extricating him from the constraints of the community, which have supposedly stifled him. But this means that he is even more subjected to a real formatting, which implies the gathering of all the available information on the convert, who is called to subject himself to the institution and is totally taken charge of, as far as both his schedule (Bible reading, prayer, singing, sermons, group activities) and the reorganization of his social relationships are concerned.3 How can someone be excluded when the submission to God required by Prosperity Theology does not eventually constitute a stage in a process in which this submission would potentially become an instrument in the hands of an individual who is likely to invent his autonomy thanks to it? In fact, when one considers the world-wide rise of neo-Pentecostalism (, conversions a day throughout the world),4 as when one speaks of globalized Islam, does one talk first of religion or of the way globalization can been seen through the particular prism of the religious, that is to say, and more precisely, through the way it is being mobilized? Regarding the French example, the conversions of original Christians play a marginal role in an evolution that leads Islam to be the second religion of the country as far as the number of believers is concerned. The only “statistically significant phenomenon” concerns, as Claude Dargent 3 His budget is also checked. This formatting of the individual, which is the result of practices rather than of indoctrination, seems to be different according to the age of the convert. Each age group is made autonomous, the model being handed down by the Church, knowing that observance occurs inside the family. 4 “From  million Evangelicals in  (out of  million Christians) they are now  million out of  billion Christians; it is estimated that , conversions happen everyday. There are already , evangelical denominations consisting of  million Churches, led by  million ministers working full time” (Zeghidour ).

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(: ) notes, young Blacks (West Indians, French-speaking Africans) or “Whites” of Christian origin, living in housing estates with an important immigrant population. And if they choose to adhere to Islam, experienced as a “religion of the suburbs,” it is because “these new converts share with the original Muslims the same sentiment of exclusion, justified by the lack of security in their professional and social situation.” Dargent adds that this process, “incidentally limited, is in part compensated by the conversion to Christianity of original Muslims.”5 Conversion seems to be calling into question a society someone belongs to but that denies the person the possibility of being a full member. The answer to the opposition to difference is to display the choice of a difference thought to be absolute. But Islam is not as such the space of an indictment of the West or of society; it is not even the place where an alternative identity can be built, allowing one to reassert one’s dignity, and thus likely to heal the wound inflicted by being looked down on by the dominant. Islam becomes so through the construction of a social imaginaire of conversion, where the individual conversion becomes and is characterized as a social reality (and, potentially, as a social asset). Conversion allows the individual to reintegrate a movement from which he was excluded, to relocate in a totality, and to constitute himself as the very origin of change (as this change is being oriented). However, the fact that the medium of this display is religion does not imply that the religious is centrally at stake. The Polish workers in the great  strikes on the Baltic coast used religious songs and symbols in their struggle against communist power. Was the use of these songs and symbols equivalent to their supporting the specific contents of Catholicism or did they constitute an operationalization of what implacably the communist power could not ideologically integrate, for fear of putting its very essence at stake? In other words, although the Poles displayed their Catholicism, it was not necessarily because they were Catholics, but because the authorities were not and could not become so. Let us adapt this: if young people from the suburbs in France (or Germany, Great Britain, the Netherlands) “(re)convert” to Islam, it is not necessarily because they feel and want to be Muslim, but because

5 Regarding these conversions of Muslims to Christianity, Dargent refers to Farhad Khosrokhavar (: ), who “mentions the case of young women seduced by the relative freedom that exists in Christianity, in particular in its Protestant version, and of young men who also converted—for instance former drug-addicts who converted after undergoing treatment for drug addiction in a Christian facility.”

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France (or Germany, Great Britain, the Netherlands) are not Muslim and are not supposed to become Muslim. Although conversion is a process of (re)identification, it is also and eventually based, between metaphor and euphemism, on verifying the capacity of the religious to make this (re)identification possible. Although conversion constitutes the space where one can construct a reference exteriority that has to be invoked in order to be used to take a stand on the movement (and therefore the emergence of the individual in line with this), no essentialism appears to be involved here—that is, there is no need to call for contents of belief. What is centrally at stake is the operationality of this exteriority. In a situation of oscillation, the identitary claim prevails, de facto, over any adherence to content or to a definition of identity through the content. This content—which is always presented as stable, but is in fact always the result of a process aiming at inventing it, since this alleged stability is an integral part of the process of invention, of which it simultaneously is a major condition—is always simply the medium of the information. As such, it is of course likely to be reinterpreted, in order to submit it to the constraints that a modification in the context would put on the initial assertion. In that sense, as Nathalie Clayer (: ) notes in the case of Albania, “ ‘conversions’ are like many sociopolitical assertions. Thus, for instance, ‘conversions’ to Christianity are often a way of expressing one’s adhesion to the Western world. The reassertion of a Muslim identity is often a request to re-assess a sociopolitical status rather than a religious assertion as such.” In conclusion, this is another way of saying that thinking “conversion” is solely a religious assertion partakes of the same logic as the one we can imagine inspired Robert M. Pirsig when he gave the title Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance to a book in which he only allusively treated the issue of Zen and even more incidentally referred to motorcycle maintenance. But after all, although it is very hard to find a black cat in a dark room (especially when there is no cat), the most difficult thing is still to understand how someone can, in such a situation, suddenly exclaim: “That’s it, I have found it!”

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patrick michel References

Augé, Marc. . Pour une anthropologie des mondes contemporains. Paris: Flammarion. Berger, Peter, Grace Davie and Effie Fokas. . Religious America, Secular Europe?: A Theme and Variations. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Bréchon, Pierre. . “L’Évolution du religieux,” Futuribles : –. Bertrand, Romain. . “Pèlerinages politiques,” Politix : –. Certeau, Michel de. L’Absent de l’Histoire. Paris: Repères-Mame, Paris, . ———. . “L’Institution du croire.” Recherches de Science Religieuse : –. Clayer, Nathalie. . “Religion et nation dans les Balkans post-communistes: Le cas de l’Albanie.” Pp. – in Religion(s) et identité(s) en Europe: L’Epreuve du pluriel, edited by Antonela Capelle-Pogacean, Patrick Michel and Enzo Pace. Paris: Presses de Sciences Po. Dargent, Claude. . “Les Musulmans déclarés en France: Affirmation religieuse, subordination sociale et progressisme politique.” Les Cahiers du CEVIPOF . Decobert, Christian. . “Conversion, Tradition, Institution.” Archives de Sciences Sociales des Religion : –. Donnard, Giselle. . “Recension de Patrick Haenni.” http://multitudes .samizdat.net/Recension-de-Patrick-Haenni-L ( September). Drewermann, Eugen. . “L’Europe Chrétienne et l’illusion de Maastricht.” Cahiers d’Europe : –. Fleury, Brigitte. . Étude de la conversion religieuse d’un point de vue communicationnel: Le cas de Roger Garaudy. Master’s thesis. Department of Communications, University of Quebec at Montreal. Greil, Arthur.L. and David R. Rudy. . “Conversion to the Worldview of Alcoholics Anonymous: A Refinement of Conversion Theory.” Qualitative Sociology : –. ———. . “What Have We Learned from Process Models of Conversion? An Examination of Ten Case Studies.” Sociological Focus : –. Haenni, Patrick. . L’Islam de marché: L’Autre révolution conservatrice. Paris: Seuil. Hervieu-Léger Danièle. . Le pèlerin et le converti: La religion en mouvement. Paris: Flammarion. ———. . “Quelques paradoxes de la modernité religieuse.” Futuribles : –. ———. . “La conversion ou choisir son identité religieuse.” www.cnrs.fr/ presse/thema/.htm. Huntington, Samuel. . The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order. New York: Simon & Schuster. ———. . Who Are We? The Challenges to America’s National Identity. New York, Simon & Schuster. Khosrokhavar, Farhad. . L’Islam des jeunes. Paris: Flammarion. Meintel, Deidre. . “When There is No Conversion.” Anthropologica : – .

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Mendoza, Eduardo. . Mauricio: Ou les élections sentimentales. Paris: Seuil. Michel, Patrick. . “Religion, nation et pluralisme: Une réflexion fin de siècle.” Critique Internationale : –. ———. . “La ‘Religion’: Objet sociologique pertinent?” Revue du Mauss : –. Mossière, Géraldine. . La conversion religieuse: Approches épistémologiques et polyséime d’un concept. Research Group on Urban Diversity, Center for the Ethnic Studies, University of Montreal. https://depot.erudit.org/retrieve// Conversion_WP_mossiere.pd. Pace, Enzo. . “Nation et religion en Italie.” Pp. – in Religion(s) et identité(s) en Europe: L’Épreuve du pluriel, edited by Antonela Capelle-Pogacean, Patrick Michel and Enzo Pace. Paris: Presses de Sciences Po. Slimane, Zeghidour. . “Les évangéliques: La secte qui veut conquérir le monde.” Nouvel Observateur  ( Feb.). http://hebdo.nouvelobs.com/ hebdo/parution/p/articles/a.html. Tank Storper, Sébastien. . “Le giyyur come ‘mise en corps’, ou comment faire un juif.” Cahiers du CEIFR : –.

chapter four FOR LOVE OF FAITH: PATTERNS OF RELIGIOUS ENGAGEMENT IN A NEW TOWN

Kees de Groot Conversion is about change. Whether one defines it as a “redirection of foundational trust,” as Anthony Blasi does in this volume, or as a “comprehensive personal change of worldview and identity,” as Henri Gooren () puts it, the term “conversion” refers to a process of transformation. Often, this process is thought of as a sudden instance, but research into individual cases in the modern era has given impetus to the concept of conversion career. This approach not only refers to conversion as “a level of individual religious activity” within a larger process, but also implies the possibility of several conversions within the life cycle (Gooren : ). It even makes it possible to conceive of parallel trajectories of involvement within different religious groups.

Conversion in Liquid Modernity This concept of conversion is particularly interesting when it comes to societies in which the construction of identity is a continuous project (Giddens ). Does this condition imply that people may experience several conversions, or would it rather foster the ever-searching attitude of the late-modern pilgrim (Hervieu-Léger )? In the latter case, conversion does not actually take place. Rather, the role of the visitor, the traveler, the seeker is cherished as a permanent state. (Yet, from the perspective of Gooren this state may be regarded as the “level of preaffiliation.”) Transforming one’s religious identity several times and plural religious involvements are phenomena that are congruent with “liquid modernity,” a stage in the process of modernization in which crossing boundaries, flexibility, and ambivalence are endemic (Bauman ). The present-day discussion on the topic “conversion” raises the question as to which patterns of religious involvement can be discerned in liquid modernity.

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Besides being associated with a highly reflexive project of identity construction, liquid modernity also refers to a consumer economy (as opposed to a production economy) and to high levels of geographical and social mobility. A liquid-modern perspective on religion would, therefore, not have organized religion as its starting point, but would rather focus on individuals in their more or less mobile context (De Groot , ). Elsewhere, I explored participation in events and serviceorganizations (De Groot ). In this contribution, the focus will be on individuals in a dynamic spatial context, the inhabitants of a New Town. New Towns “are those human settlements that were founded at a certain moment in history by an explicit act of will, according to a preceding plan and aiming to survive as a self-sustaining local community and independent local government” (www.newtowninstitute.org [accessed -]). By definition, all inhabitants are new. Thus, my aim is to discern patterns of religious involvement among the inhabitants of a New Town.

A New Town in the Netherlands 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 Hague that has grown tremendously over the past four decades. 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 . Then a village of , inhabitants, by  Zoetermeer had a population of ,. 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 or her own “elsewhere,” including other countries, each with his or her own history, including a religious biography.1 In the s Zoetermeer became synonymous for “nothing is

1 In , when the data were collected,   of the inhabitants were of foreign origin (www.zoetermeer.nl).

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happening here.” This is illustrated by the fact that the Dutch Generation X writers (including, for example, Ronald Giphart) took the city’s name as the title for their literary magazine. Even now, the city has 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 increases, urban issues such as vandalism and idling, troublesome youngsters also increase. 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 (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 : ). After all, crime, street noise, pollution, vandalism—in short: the experience of insecurity—are the exact reasons why these people fled the big city. Tensions between ethnic groups and between adults and youngsters spoil the suburban dream, they concluded. Incidentally, youngsters 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. Not only the absence of a sense of urgency, but also the absence of interest in the role of religion stood out in this report. It was mentioned neither as a source of disruption, nor 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 ). Global Islamist terrorism, such as the religiously motivated attacks on New York’s Twin Towers (//), 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 (cf. Bauman ).

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kees de groot Suburban Theory

Amsterdam urban sociologists in this context basically followed Mary Pat Baumgartner’s () image of the American suburb where people morally withdraw from each other’s actions.2 Atomistic individualism is the term the British theologian Timothy Gorringe (: ) used to refer to the “sin” of the suburb whereby residents fail to identify with other residents. Part of this image is the development of small, introverted communities. Commitment to religion then becomes looking for connection by gathering into groups of people with the same ideas. The question, however, is whether this stereotypic image of the gentle and good American suburb is correct and whether or not it applies here, too. Life in the suburb is very easily identified with white, middle-class “suburban bliss,” as shown in a Dutch thesis by David Hamers (). In films, novels and scholarly articles alike, this has become a cliché. Hamers points to another prevailing image as well. Everybody is a newcomer in suburban residential areas and new towns. In this respect the inhabitants are considered as exponents of late-modern society in which both social and geographical origin have little predictive value regarding the life that is to follow. Mobility has never been greater. In the new cities, an exciting mix of widely varying cultures and subcultures is emerging. Does this make these suburbs a breeding ground for creativity? Some people believe so, backing their opinion up with the names of musicians and artists who came from some suburb or other. Others counter this by saying that it required a move to the big city before these suburban talents could develop. Perhaps a New Town inspires a creative handle on tradition. Zoetermeer could be a laboratory for a society in which each individual composes his or her own unique mix of religious elements. The Dutch theologian Frits de Lange () identified the inhabitant of new suburban projects with Richard Sennet’s () “flexible man,” living in Anthony Giddens’s () network of abstract systems. This interpretation of late modernity corresponds with Bellah’s () famous Habits of the Heart that was published in . A female character named Sheila Larson said that she put together her own religious menu, which she called Sheilaism. Since then, she has become a model for the believer of late-modern times. 2 This is the purport of Baumgartner’s Moral Order of the Suburb. Her account is still regarded as being characteristic of today’s suburbia (cf. Savage, Warde and Ward : ).

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A third possibility that allows for religion in a suburban setting is the active engagement with a particular community, a new sociological development according to Grace Davie (: –). She finds “articulated belief ” characteristic of suburbs. Religious groups are subject to trends to operate on the market. Believers must be recruited from miles around. These individuals often have a clear preference and make deliberate choices as to which church, mosque or temple they wish to attend. Their communities are characterized by a multitude of activities and working groups that apply a clearer distinction between members and non-members than is used elsewhere in society. Suburban theory in general seems to suffer from the identification of the suburb with middle-class residents. Bearing this in mind, these three approaches suggest three different hypotheses as to what a New Town like Zoetermeer could be expected to do with its residents’ faith. The first approach would predict the continuation of existing social and religious ties, and therefore a relative absence of conversions. Suburbanites would simply not show much interest in groups outside their own subculture. The second approach would predict a minor role for religious traditions and a prevalence of religious shopping among the respondents. The third approach focuses more on the institutional level, but on the individual level it would expect people to have made deliberate choices in their religious preference. These suggestions were not tested in a large-scale survey, but have served as initial guidelines for the interpretation of a selected sample of  interviews with Zoetermeer residents.

Soul and Conscience of a New Town The data upon which I will draw were collected during a project (September –January ) that was initiated by the staff of the Zoetermeer City Museum. This direct context has influenced the selection of the respondents. In order to understand the nature of this influence, it is necessary to explore the wider cultural and political climate in which this project took place (Van der Ploeg and De Groot ). “What do our city dwellers believe?” is the intriguing question staff at the Zoetermeer City Museum asked themselves—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 ). This has been the case since the collapse of the system of institutionally organized religious diversity known as “pillarization.”

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During the s, Dutch public culture transformed quite rapidly from overtly religious to overtly secular. In the last years of the second millennium, however, the religious climate once again changed. Religion has made a comeback in the public domain, symbolized by the Dutch  Book Week under the ambiguous title “My God.”3 Journalists, artists, and writers who had largely ignored religion as a contemporary, relevant issue no longer assume the end of religion. 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 an aspect of urban cohabitation. The political climate at this time was dominated by the rapidly evolving political career of sociologist and debater Pim Fortuyn, who articulated an aversion against the role of Islam in Dutch society, and more generally the ambivalent wish of late modern individuals for a communal life and individual freedom (Pels ). In an intriguing version of a populist politician, this “dandy in politics” dominated the discussion. An opposing viewpoint that also received attention, however, addressed the role of organized religion in a more favorable manner. At the New Year’s reception in , the mayor of Amsterdam, Job Cohen, addressed this re-introduction of religion in supposedly secular Dutch society.4 Surprising many supporters of Huntington’s “clash of civilizations” thesis, he suggested involving religious, in particular Islamic, communities in his mission to “keep the citizens of Amsterdam together.” Meanwhile, it appeared that Fortuyn’s attempt to become the prime minister of this country would be successful. The shock that followed his assassination on May ,  was only slightly tempered when it appeared that the offender was not a militant Muslim, but a militant ecological activist. His death generated a general sense of danger. The Dutch tradition of religious tolerance seemed to melt away. The pragmatic approach of Job Cohen had to stand up against the growing conviction that Islamic religion was an obstacle to integration of immigrants from Turkey and Morocco. Job Cohen’s view, however, did appeal to the staff of the museum. The initial idea of director Jouetta van der Ploeg was that the religious diversity of Zoetermeer would appeal to the curiosity

3 Journalists recurrently announce the end of the “God is dead” age, e.g., “God Lives” was the title of a news feature about the “return of religion” (Vrij Nederland,  April ). 4 Job Cohen elaborated his viewpoint in the Cleveringa Lecture ( November ) and the Willem van Oranje Lecture ( June ).

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of the public. What if we were to provide the opportunity to glance into one another’s homes, to have a look at an aspect of life considered as private as one’s faith? From the beginning, a journalist of the local newspaper (Haagsche Courant), René Lamers, was involved. Both he and the director of the museum soon linked this project with their concern about the social cohesion in the town in which they were working. Inspired by Job Cohen, they were strongly motivated not only to pay attention to the religious orientations of the inhabitants of this New Town, but also to encourage people from various cultures and religions to meet and to get to know each other.5 Soon, a third party joined them, 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 interreligious meetings that had been his wish for a long time. Together they planned a half-year program centered around 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 a catalogue, with a scholarly introduction and a report of a local survey on the relation between religiosity, Christian orthodoxy and holistic spirituality (Van der Ploeg and Van Dijk ). 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).6 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 procedure the focus was on

5 Presentation of the museum director Jouetta van der Ploeg at the closing event ( December ); journalist René Lamers in an email to the author ( May ). 6 The continuation of the project is described in De Groot .

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one’s individual faith, and qualitative diversity was the leading principle. Part of the selection procedure, furthermore, was the question whether people would be prepared to appear with their name and their photo in the City Museum. A  February  article in the Haagsche Courant launching the project was accompanied by three interviews: with a Muslim, a Hindu, and a “spiritual” individual. 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 highly profiled believers. Letters went out to religious groups, welfare organizations, and foreign national organizations inviting them to give publicity to the project among their followers. 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 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 lady who served his meal in a Greek restaurant. He did not manage to get in contact with people from the Buddhist Asian communities and from the Jehovah’s Witnesses. Three Jewish respondents decided to call off their cooperation, because they disliked the idea of exposing their story and their picture to anti-Jewish sentiments. One non-denominational evangelical later withdrew from the project. The aim to have representatives from the different religions as well as bricoloeurs and non-believers was largely successful. A Selective Sample Compared with the population in general, this group shared some unique characteristics. The age of the Zoetermeer residents who were interviewed ranged from eighteen to seventy-seven. Their average age was forty-eight. The sample is not representative, therefore, of the young municipality of Zoetermeer. There were equal numbers of male and female participants, and almost as many Zoetermeer respondents of foreign, Indonesian or Surinam, origin (), as Zoetermeer respondents of Dutch origin (). The share of Zoetermeer residents of foreign origin in this exhibition is therefore three times as high as the overall Zoetermeer population ( percent).

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Figure .. Religious Affiliation

While the interviewees included people from all districts in Zoetermeer, there was a relatively large () number of residents from an area built in the s, with low houses and “stacked” homes (RokkeveenOost). This area has both rented properties and homeowners, and accommodates many foreign nationals who moved away from areas that are dominated by blocks of flats (Palenstein). The traditional faiths and their sub-groups were well represented. The majority of people referred to one of these when they were asked about their belief. 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-Sannyassins (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. Since random meetings were also used to invite people to talk about their beliefs, the study was not

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restricted to merely “overly 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 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. People perhaps felt invited to share more of their ideas than they would normally do with others, which in turn also made them think themselves. Method and Analysis The interviews 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 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 transcriptions, experimenting with various codes, until the codes “fit” the data.7 (The text fragments that were displayed in the museum and the accompanying catalog were selected later). The first remarkable characteristic of the interviewees was their considerable religious diversity. Secondly, all respondents presented a unique religious biography. While quite often “traditional” believers, the respondents did not act as representatives for their particular belief. Most observed some distance regarding the “religious institution.” They 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 these people was that they felt happy with a particular belief, finding peace and comfort as well as direction in their lives. Reasons for disaffiliation (“apostasy”) were the preaching of fear of God or gods, aversion toward the religious institution, 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

7 I went through the material several times. In the first round, I used only a few standard pre-assigned variables. During the second round I developed new ones, focusing on the individual’s attitude toward the supply of religion and alternative worldviews. In a third round this was corrected on the basis of a central metaphor: the relation toward a tradition. Each relational type received its own specific items. These items together constituted the codebook for the following rounds.

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influenced by parents, grandparents, friends, and loved ones. Accepted notions were questioned under the influence of school projects, 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. The interviews presented a particular image of religion in suburbia, differing in various degrees from the concepts I discussed at the outset. Do these people lock themselves up in their own club of believers? No— only a minority is part of a religious group that sets itself somewhat aside from the rest. Yet, the whole project may be regarded as an offence against religious closure, and in fact, the journalist encountered severe difficulties in approaching some religious groups. Do we find confirmation for the hypothesis that people in suburbia are into so-called religious shopping? In the Town Hall Lecture, Joep de Hart, who is a researcher from the Social and Cultural Planning Office of the Netherlands and a Zoetermeer resident, interpreted the stories of the respondents as a confirmation of his thesis that late modernity tends to promote a pragmatic, experience-based, “disembedded” style of spirituality.8 Knowing the deliberate search for “exotic” believers, one has to modify this conclusion, but several respondents did stress the fact that they were not representative of their religion and included beliefs from other religions. Did we find “articulated belief ”? Certainly not all interviewees were active and fully committed believers, but 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. The Zoetermeer context stimulates both believers and disbelievers to realize that they either believe or not. The relationship with one or more beliefs becomes a personal matter. All three concepts contributed to my own understanding of their faith stories. During the analysis, the model of choosing for or against a religion or religious elements appeared to provide a less than perfect fit. The term choice fails to illustrate adequately the experience that faith is also the result of an appeal made on people by the tradition in which they grow up, certain elements of a religious culture, or a certain community of believers. People not only choose actively, they are also

8

Haagsche Courant,  September ; cf. De Hart ().

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predisposed to respond to appeals to get involved.9 Faith is not just a personal choice, but a personal relationship, comparable to a relationship with a partner. While the image of the religious supermarket adequately expresses the relative importance of personal choice, it fails to stress the serious intent with which these choices are made, or the experience that it is a particular tradition that presents itself, either as part of one’s upbringing, or, somewhat less often, following a meeting, reading a book, or visiting a religious meeting. People are attracted to a particular belief, a particular ritual, a particular image. Respondents rarely describe finding a new belief as if it they had picked it from rows and rows of shelves stacked with religious goods. While there was great diversity, this was not so much the result of various deliberate choices, but mostly the respondents’ widely ranging backgrounds.

A Relational Typology These findings have inspired me to construct an alternative typology, based not on an economic metaphor, but on a relational metaphor.10 The attitude people have toward religious traditions is best compared with their activities on the marriage market. What applies to love also applies to religiousness. We are all involved, but we all shape it differently. Monogamy, or marriage to a single partner, is common in many cultures. Traditionally, these are arranged marriages. A variation is romantic marriage, whereby a love relationship precedes the marriage. This involves a so-called free partner choice. The partner is not arranged in advance, but is newly discovered. A neologism would describe it as “neogamy.” Some meet their future partner and will stay with this partner for the rest of their lives; others may spend a certain period of their lives with one partner, and then with another. This pattern is now referred to as “serial monogamy.” Others do not commit to a single partner, but have several 9 Both the approaches of Gooren () and Blasi (in this volume) are meant to find a balance on the active-passive dimension. My critique is directed against the popular idea of “religious shopping” (Zock ), which has to be distinguished from a markettheory, such as Stark and Finke’s rational choice approach. Their interest in contextual (migration) and institutional factors (recruitment strategies) rather downplays the role of the active individual. 10 The construction of a formal typology based on qualitative analysis has been inspired by Hijmans ().

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or continue to date (polygamy). Finally, there are people who turn down any form of relationship—out of choice or because they see no alternative. They are single. When this diversity is applied to the religious sphere the following pattern is shown: Many people are religious because that is how they were brought up, although they may later also make a conscious choice to follow this belief. While this belief may fade, it will remain part of one’s identity (the monodox). People may also come into contact with a belief by choice and then stick to this belief for the rest of their lives (the neodox). After a while they may discover that their love for this belief has worn and that another belief suits them better, perhaps inspired by a meeting, a geographic move, or a different social circle (the serial monodox). Others refrain from making a more or less definitive choice, but continue to choose and combine. They continue to select from the abundant religious supply (the polydox). Finally, there are people that do not follow any religious traditions, but seek their own more or less individual path (the singles). All of these religious relationship patterns emerged during the interviews. Before I present these, three remarks should be made. First, this sociological approach distinguishes structural differences in the way individuals position themselves toward religious traditions, alternative traditions, or secular worldviews (all called doxa). It does not distinguish between religious contents, as conventional typologies in religious studies do. Secondly, the typology is exclusively developed to interpret these data. Usage in other contexts might prompt the addition of other categories that now remain empty and therefore unmentioned. The following systematic account of the types will make this clear. The typology involves three basic categories: a relation with no, one or several traditions (single, mono, poly). Only the second category (mono) has been refined, based on the criterion “choice” (no/yes). The latter option has been refined again, using the question “one change or several?” Other data might make it necessary to differentiate between individuals who are polydox through their upbringing and those who have chosen to be so themselves, or between disaffiliated singles and singles due to their upbringing. In this sample, the monodox prevailed, which made it more urgent to refine this particular category. A third comment: this categorization of individuals reflects a biographical account of one’s religious career at a particular moment in time. Over the years, individuals may receive different categorizations.

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kees de groot Figure .. Typology of Religious Engagement

The Monodox More than half of all interviewees were religious due to their upbringing. While there was more to their stories, upbringing did form the basis for their religious identity. A woman, fifty-four years old, tells how she was reared 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: “The incense, the flowers, the music serve to comfort me. There’s also a bracelet. It was on the table when I asked God to give the people a sign” (Stijntje Bregman). She made a commitment later in life, while others remained fairly inactive, and one or two had snatched bits from other religions as well. All had been reared by their parents in a particular religious tradition. The distinction between the culture from which they came and the religion that went with it was often difficult to make. A forty-one year old woman states: “was reared in Greece as an Orthodox Christian. I went to church with my mother, though not every Sunday. When I am in Greece, I go to church. That’s something that is a part of me, like my native tongue” (Anna Vokorokou). Others came from multi-religious societies, such as Surinam or Indonesia, or were brought up in more or less oppressed minority religious communities (including the Coptic Christian minority in Egypt or a Bahá"í family in Iran). Religion also represented ties to family and population for these respondents.

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Figure .. Patterns of Religious Engagement

Those who used to live in a religiously homogeneous environment are now settled among people from other faiths. This accounts for Catholics from the southern provinces of the Netherlands and for Muslims from rural areas in Turkey, who moved or migrated to Zoetermeer. The Bahá"í, on the other hand, finally found kindred believers here. While the religious dedication of some migrants in the Netherlands grew stronger, others, like Anna Vokorokou, attend church only in their country of origin. Characteristic of New Town Zoetermeer is that people who move here find no coherent religious culture. Things were different in . One of the first Moroccan Muslims to arrive, Mohammed Chhayra, seventy-five years old, who now calls himself “one of the old Zoetermeer residents,” encountered a Christian Zoetermeer, neatly divided into Catholic and Protestant residents. On Sundays he would go to Catholic church. Nowadays, there is no dominant culture; there are only religious minorities. There is little to show that they form a public and multi-religious society in which people sit down to enjoy each other’s celebratory dinners, for example. A report of a failed attempt to continue the exchange, as was common practice in Surinam for example, suggests that Zoetermeer’s residents do not really mingle. Rather, believers live alongside each other in a secular environment. Although most respondents did not talk about believers of other religions or about non-believers, there was little to suggest that they dig themselves in within their own communities to protect themselves from others. Often the relationship with fellow-believers remained in the background. It’s about good behavior, observing religiously motivated dietary regulations, and miraculous help in the event of illnesses. One believer

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said that his pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostella inspired him to do something for refugees. The religious symbols and rituals are equally personal and diverse: a cross appeals to people not to revenge evil, a bead on a chain averts disaster (nazar), a statue of the Virgin Mary offers comfort, an image of (an actor representing) Jesus hangs amidst family photos “as the portrait of a loved one” (Mary Winailan). Religion seemed to be a personal matter. The Neodox The “new believers” at the exposition happened to be Zoetermeer residents of Dutch origin who at one time came into contact with a particular religion or denomination, wanted to become part of it, and stuck by it. Six people told 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. The presence of mosques, temples, and a Pentecostal community in and around Zoetermeer contributed to their change. A wide range of events in their lives preceded their conversion: a personal crisis, meeting a life partner, a long search for the meaning of life, or a sudden and extraordinary experience. The transition itself was equally different. Still, three familiar patterns of conversion stories can be recognized in these unique and highly personal histories (McGuire : –; cf. Burke ). The first pattern is the story of sudden change. Such is the story of a thirty-eight year old man whose parents got involved in a Pentecostal congregation: My mother was about to go there alone and I can remember I was in my bed and suddenly I received this inspiration: “Go with her.” Which was kind of bizarre, because I didn’t fancy the idea at all. I wasn’t happy about my mother going there alone. I went with her. I entered the place and had an experience with God. I realized: God is here. I felt the presence of God’s spirit so strongly that it sent shivers down my spine. Electricity went through me; it was like having a warm blanket put over me (Lodi Kuijvenhoven).

Life prior to the introduction to a new world perspective changes completely, while the future takes on an entirely new dimension. The second pattern stresses continuity. It was like meeting with an old acquaintance. A forty-five year old woman makes it quite clear how her experience of conversion should be understood:

patterns of religious engagement in a new town

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Some four years ago, the penny dropped: I was a witch. I had been working with herbs, gemstones and energies, such as in Reiki. I didn’t know that Wicca existed. Then, I read about this book in a newspaper and I knew it. I could gather it all under one denominator and that was Wicca! It was a great sensation; a kind of confirmation (Eveliene de Bakker).

People of this type felt instantly “at home” in the new religious tradition they encountered. Another respondent decided to become involved with a new faith following a period of introduction: “I did not get baptized head over heels. I started an easy-going investigation. I went to meetings, received teaching, studied the Scriptures. You have to be touched. Another person cannot push you into it. I wanted to be part of that” (Patty Brouwer). Her story followed the pattern of individual choice. She finally made her choice after weighing up all the pros and cons. The new faith has an impact on many aspects of a neodox’s life. Besides spiritual growth, it involves material aspects such as finding a house and a job. With regard to others, some believers see it as their role to contribute to their environment’s happiness, while others see it as a witness of God’s love. Others found the relationship with nature very important. For some, dedication to this one religion implied distancing themselves from other religions and movements, under the heading “Only this road leads to eternal life” (Lodi Kijvenhove) or the desire that everybody follow this road: “If we were all Buddhist, there would be no more war” (Marian Koek). For others their own (Bahá"í) community represents a synthesis of the good found in the various religions (Peggy Hoek). A third road is the road of respect for another person’s convictions and whose relationship with his or her belief is probably the same as theirs (Tycho Huijts). The Serial Monodox Serial believers were once involved with a religion, usually the one with which they were brought up, but in time this commitment faded and they found new spiritual shelter elsewhere. Occasionally, this was once again abandoned for another. Eight out of ten serial believers were of Dutch origin. They found salvation in movements and small communities that appealed to them. One sixty-year-old woman tells about her switch to Buddhism: I was reared as a Catholic. I practiced it really strong—until I went to Paris. I remember it well: I was twenty-five years old and I went to a Mass in the

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kees de groot Sacre Coeur and they were “dusting.” I mean: they were celebrating Mass as if they were dusting. I thought: this can’t be. That was one of the last times I said: I believe in Jesus. I had always been interested in the East. [ . . . ] It took a while before I became a Buddhist. I am not the kind of person who thinks: I don’t like this. I’ll go for something else (Ewalda Buiting).

A sixty-one year old man found Zen Buddhism via Bhagwan. He had been a Catholic since the age of six. Before that he was “blank.” He switched to orthodox-Calvinist Protestantism in order to marry a Dutch Reformed girl. The marriage ended in a divorce: “Already during my marriage, I was looking around. At first, I began to read books by Osho, by Baghwan. I couldn’t do that when I was in that Protestant marriage” (Ruud Bruggeman). A sixty-three year old woman of Jewish origin tells how she ended up in the Bahá"í Community: When I was ten years old, my parents were baptized into the Mennonite congregation, but they did not become practicing members. When I was sixteen, I started searching. I went along with my friends to various churches. Some time later, I met my, now, ex-husband and I stopped “doing” religion. In about , I came into contact with the Bahá"í Community (Anneke de Lugt).

Compared with the neodox believers, the move of these respondents was fairly undramatic. In their own perception they often did not so much transfer to another religion, as come to the conclusion that the old religion was no longer theirs. They wanted a religion that suited them. In order to remain loyal to themselves, they felt it right to say goodbye and make a fresh start. This change was sometimes inspired by school, migration, marriage, divorce, or a deeply-felt death. Some interviewees met other people, sometimes in Zoetermeer, who introduced them to the new belief. In their newly found belief they found happiness, enjoyment of life, and an insight into their lives. The Polydox This type does not conform to a single tradition, excluding all others, but values one element in one tradition, something else in another tradition, and even more aspects in a third. This so-called bricoleur was expected to be found frequently in Zoetermeer, but this appeared not to be so. There were only three “Sheilaists,” strictly speaking, among the respondents. They were freely liaising with all sorts of cultures and traditions. One woman, forty years old, devoured books about spirituality:

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My grandparents were still Catholic nd Dutch Reformed, 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. Some seven years ago, it came to a head. I came home from work and thought: “What am I doing here?” At a certain moment, I knew I had to buy a book. In the store, a title, Spiritual Growth, caught my eye. I bought that one (Anita Bavelaar).

Another woman, fifty-four years old, runs a shop with her daughter in New Age items and ‘goddess’ clothing (called “The Goddess Within”). She is a Reiki-master, lays out Tarot cards for people, and is also involved in Wiccan celebrations of nature: This started to emerge when my ex had left, when I was about thirty-eight or forty years old. After that, I started searching. I really came in contact with everything: Egyptian teachings, Reiki, the Tarot, singing bowls, crystals. You experience spiritual growth. You want to know everything about the universe, the hereafter, the world of spirits (Trudie Liebe).

Although these religious combinations look very individualistic, they contain familiar elements from the holistic milieu. “It may seem individualistic, but it’s like bird’s nests: it reflects the entire environment,” psychologist of religion Jacques Janssen once said about people’s religious gleaning behavior (: ). Those who are more or less familiar with the holistic milieu will immediately recognize some of the elements used. However, the exposition did not display people who, to give an extreme example, combined singing psalms in whole notes with the ritual invocation of the moon and revering Elvis as the King. While only a few interviewees took what they wanted from what traditions have on offer, there were several believers who were averse to dogmatism, who were actively interested in other religions, but who, in the end, regarded a certain tradition as their own point of departure. These include Christians who believed in reincarnation or that God is a woman. One traditional believer, the Muslim woman Ivy Sadhoe, went very far in her inter-religious ecumenicity: she posed with Buddha statues, statues of Ganesh and Krishna, claiming to possess statues of Jesus and Mary as well. She expressed her fervent wish that one day all of these religions would merge, as she was doing already. So, there is a thin line between the polydox and some of the believers in one particular tradition, especially the more inclusive ones.

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The Singles While many were critical of the church as an institution and of the authority of the Pope or the imam, only a few talked about distancing themselves entirely from religious traditions and what they have to offer. One man, thirty-seven years old, regarded religious belief as a weakness: I am an atheist and very much against faith, because I observe that a lot of people are being indoctrinated by leaders. Believing is a sign of weakness; when times are rough, people seek refuge in the church. My parents were already non-practicing, and I went to church only at Christmas or on holidays. I reach out for support from friends, acquaintances and relatives. Communication is important to me—television, music, the Internet— because it provides answers to your questions. I talk to myself as well. [ . . . ] If you try to make conscious what’s unconscious, you can feel things happening that you want to prevent (Reinier Groeneveld).

Strong traces of atheism and psychoanalysis can be detected in his story. Yet, the leading motive is a refusal to be a follower of any tradition. While he labeled himself as an atheist, another used the term agnostic. It turns out that he is nonetheless quite firm in expressing his disbelief, primarily because he thinks believing is meaningless. This man, forty-five years old, says: I was reared in a thoroughly Catholic society in M. in Limburg. [ . . .] It was a lot of mumbo-jumbo. Faith isn’t part of my life whatsoever, nowadays. I don’t believe in a hereafter or a god. 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 (Frans Muijzers).

Both of these men said one had to “enjoy life and not let anyone tell you different.” These two men went through life without having contact with one or more religious traditions. They remained or had become single.

Conclusion: No Longer a Matter of Course Belief thrives when it is a matter of course, when nothing needs explaining or discussing, where one simply attends a house of prayer as always, makes the usual sacrifices, carries out the old rituals, and observes the rules of life as best one can (Groot and Maas ). It’s an image that is even evoked by some of these interviews. Yet, religion is far from self-

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evident in this context of pluralism. In a New Town, people from various religious backgrounds are drawn together. Here, individuals have lost their anchorage in a religious culture, either through migration or through the immigration of others. Even people who have lived in this area all their lives and who have retained the faith of their fathers are becoming individual cases. They are all in the same boat: they are confronted with people of different beliefs. These circumstances inspire questions. Apparently there are more roads that people may take to life’s happiness and salvation. How about this belief of mine? What does it make me? This reflection is not a theoretical affair but takes place within an urban context and within a biographical context. Religious traditions transform into candidates for enduring or temporary relationships. The analogy with personal relationships that is deployed here is appropriate for two particular reasons. First, the respondents talk about their (absence of) being religiously involved much in the same way as they would about a personal involvement. Their own vocabulary is connected with the typology that is presented here. Second, changes in the religious biography are often connected with falling in love, marriage and divorce. A new partner or the loss of a partner often gives an impetus to explore, join, or convert to a particular religion—or to withdraw from it. The monodox stick to their own tradition. The neodox enter into new, enduring relationships. The serial monodox swap religious community once or twice. The polydox continue to choose, and the singles stay far from any kind of religious tradition. Each belief is irrevocably a belief to which they have committed themselves personally, even if it implies following a clearly described religious pattern, continuing habits taught as a child, or answering a call heard elsewhere. As to their contents, the beliefs vary as much as candidates on a marriage market do. The diversity is abundant. 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. Usually, there is little discussion about one’s faith in the public sphere. Yet, religion is vital to the urban social fabric. This exposition stimulated the dialogue between believers by conveying the message that all individuals cherish their own “love of faith.”11 11 I would like to express my gratitude to René Lamers for providing the transcribed interviews that are presented in this article, and to Jaap van der Linden and Jouetta van

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kees de groot References

Bauman, Gerd. . The Multicultural Riddle: Rethinking National, Ethnic and Religious Identities. New York: Routledge. Bauman, Zygmunt. . Liquid Modernity. Cambridge: Polity Press. Baumgartner, Mary Pat. . Moral Order of the Suburb. New York: Oxford University Press. Bellah, Robert N., Richard Madsen, William M. Sullivan, Ann Swidler, and Steven M. Tipton. . Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitment in American Life. Berkeley: University of California Press. Burke, Kenneth. . A Rhetoric of Motives. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: PrenticeHall. Davie, Grace. . Religion in Britain since : Believing without Belonging. Oxford: Blackwell. Giddens, Anthony. . Modernity and Self-Identity: Self and Society in the Late Modern Age. Cambridge: Polity Press. Ginkel, Rob van, Léon Deben and Ineke Lupi. . “Suburbane dromen: Idealen en praktijken van het leven in Zoetermeer.” Amsterdams Sociologisch Tijdschrift : –. Gooren, Henri. . “Reassessing Conventional Approaches to Conversion: Towards a New Synthesis.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion : – . Gorringe, T.J. . A Theology of the Built Environment: Justice, Empowerment, Redemption. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Groot, Ger and Frans Maas. . Geloven en Geluk: Over het krediet van een religieuze cultuur. Radboudstichting: Vught. Groot, Kees de. . “For Love of Faith: Patterns of Religious Engagement in Zoetermeer.” Pp. – in Zoeter-Meer tussen Hemel en Aarde: Ziel en geweten van een moderne groeistad, edited by Jouetta van der Ploeg and M. van Dijk. Zoetermeer: Meinema/Stadsmuseum Zoetermeer. ———. . “The Church in Liquid Modernity: A Sociological and Theological Exploration of a Liquid Church.” International Journal for the Study of the Christian Church : –. ———. . “Rethinking Church in Liquid Modernity.” Pp. – in Religion Inside and Outside Traditional Institutions, edited by Heinz Streib. Leiden: Brill. ———. . “Three Types of Liquid Religion.” Implicit Religion : –. Hamers, David. . Tijd voor Suburbia. De Amerikaanse buitenwijk in wetenschap en literatuur. Amsterdam: Van Gennep. Hart, Joep de. . “Spirituele nomaden: Individualisering en religie in het huidige Nederland.” Pp. – in Langs de kramen van het geluk. Heil zoeken der Ploeg for inviting me to participate in their project. This article is an extended version of the text that I wrote for the introduction to the catalogue of the exposition ZoeterMeer between Heaven and Earth: Soul and Conscience of a Modern New Town [ September  –  January ] (De Groot ).

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in deze tijd, edited by André Lascaris, Barbara Leijnse and Leo Oosterveen. Zoetermeer: DSTS/Meinema. Hervieu-Léger, Danièle. . La religion en mouvement: Le pélerin et le converti. Paris: Flammarion. Hijmans, Ellen. . Je moet er het beste van maken: Een empirisch onderzoek naar hedendaagse zingevingssystemen. Nijmegen: ITS. Janssen, Jacques. . “De jeugd, de toekomst en de religie. Een analyse op basis van recent onderzoek.” Jeugd en samenleving : –. Kennedy, James. . Bouwen aan nieuw Babylon. Amsterdam: Boom. Lange, Frits de. . “De flexibele mens.” Lecture presented at: Vinex Ecclesiologie: De postmoderne gemeente op zoek naar een vinex-ecclesiologie.  September . Kampen: ThUK-PAO. McGuire, Meredith B. . Religion: The Social Context, th ed. Belmont CA: Wadsworth. Pels, Dick. . De geest van Pim: Het gedachtegoed van een politieke dandy. Amsterdam: Anthos. Ploeg, Jouetta van der and Kees de Groot. . “Towards a City Museum as a Centre of Civic Dialogue.” Pp. – in City Museums as Centres of Civic Dialogue? Proceedings of the Fourth Conference of the International Association of City Museum. Amsterdam: Edita/Amsterdam Historical Museum. Savage, Mike, Alan Warde and Kevin Ward, eds. . Urban Sociology, Capitalism and Modernity. London: Palgrave Macmillan. Sennett, Richard. . The Corrosion of Character: The Personal Consequences of Work in the New Capitalism. New York: Norton. Vellenga, Sipco J. . “Huntington in Holland: The Public Debate on Muslim Immigrants in the Netherlands.” Nordic Journal of Religion and Society : –. Zock, Hetty. . “Paradigms in Psychological Conversion Research: Between Social Science and Literary Research.” Pp. – in Paradigms, Poetics and Politics of Conversion, edited by Jan N. Bremmer, Wout J. van Bekkum and Arie L. Molendijk. Leuven: Peeters.

chapter five PILGRIMAGE AND CONVERSION

William H. Swatos, Jr. Continuing from the last quarter of the twentieth century into the present, experiences that participants consider as “pilgrimage” have undergone enormous growth. Pilgrimages take the form both of revivals of historic religious journeys and new innovations of gathering places that lack direct connection to explicit religious traditions (see Swatos ). Both forms, in turn, have also acquired a touristic component, as people choose to go “see” pilgrimage venues, without necessarily themselves taking on the expressed identity of “pilgrim.” They remain in their own eyes “tourists” (sometimes expressed as “just a tourist”) who primarily watch the pilgrims on the one hand and view the site on the other. At the same time, the definition of “pilgrim” as a term-in-use seems to have extended to going on a tour of sites, especially those of religious significance, in the company of a church group or religious sodality— without reference to any set of specific requirements or performances required to fulfill the mandate of an identifiable religious body (like the Roman Catholic Church) for performing a “true” pilgrimage. While these differences may cause conflicts at specific sites and/or during specific times, as John Eade () has pointed out, it is equally true that the Turners’ dictum “a tourist is half a pilgrim, if a pilgrim is half a tourist” (: ) more accurately captures the give-and-take of activity at most sites most of the time. It is difficult to imagine that pilgrimage in this period could or would have come about without the tourism industry, yet at the same time, it is hard to fathom how the tourism industry could have “sold” sites to customers if there were not some interest in the religious or the spiritual as a category of both being and acting. Contemporary tourism and pilgrimage form part of one broad type of travel “package,” built on the broader foundations of both leisure time and quests for meaning, purpose, and well-being. It is in this context that it can make some sense to talk about pilgrimage and conversion, and this represents a new twist to historic pilgrimage phenomena, at least in the West.

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william h. swatos, jr. The Religion of Sites

With Max Weber we may categorize religions foundationally as displaying one or another of two basic types: the congregation of believers or the specialized center of religious devotion. Historically, Western religions have tended toward the former, while Eastern religions have tended toward the latter. It is important to recognize that these are only tendencies, especially in the Western case, inasmuch as all three of the major Western religious traditions have incorporated pilgrimage centers into their practice at least at some times and in some places. Calvinist Protestantism and its outgrowths represent the strongest historical effort of a faith tradition to detach itself entirely from the meaningfulness of sites of religious practice. The purposes of pilgrimage and pilgrimage routes, however, have also altered dramatically. At least in the Christian tradition, pilgrimage was frequently associated with penance in earlier times, especially where travel involved a significant investment of time and money as well as significant danger along the way.1 One might almost say that successful completion of a pilgrimage in medieval times served a credit-worthiness function similar to that which reception into a Protestant sect would have served in the seventeenth century and thereafter—or such as that characterized being “a veteran” in the United States at least up until the Viet Nam debacle. Removing the individual from his home locale for a period allowed tempers to cool, while the successful accomplishment of a pilgrimage gave the returnee a new standing in his community. The Crusades were in effect a mixture of pilgrimage and battle. Rather than American soldiers fighting battles to “make the world safe for democracy,” the Crusaders could convince themselves that they were making the world safe for piety. Eternal life was sure and certain to the Crusader. The language of pilgrimage similarly carries over into evangelical Protestant circles today, where people are exhorted to move from “talking the talk” to “walking the walk.” Early pilgrimage was neither the European “grand tour” of the nineteenth century nor the vacation-time experience of our own day. Chau1 This has not entirely been displaced. Frey (: ) reports that “Since , in conjunction with the Belgian Ministry of Justice, a nonprofit group called Oikoten . . . has used the Camino de Santiago as a path of rehabilitation of young social reprobates. In an attempt to reintegrate these young people into society, Oikoten . . . sends one or two young people with one or more monitors on a four-month version of the pilgrimage for reflection and repentance.”

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cer, on the other hand, reminds us that even in what some medievalists might think of as the best of times, there were plenty of mixed motivations to go around among pilgrims—and this was certainly true of the Crusades as well.2 Nevertheless, one might anticipate that in earlier times there were some commonalities that could be counted on—not least, that pilgrims to Christian holy sites would be Christians, pilgrims to Muslim holy sites would be Muslims, and so on. That is, at least at the level of “conventional religion,” pilgrims to a religious site would be people who shared the religious profession both of those who operated the site and of other pilgrims they might meet both on the way and upon arrival. There was, in a sense, a religious lingua franca to a given site that was shared among all the participants—mixed motivations notwithstanding. I remember quite clearly that a great deal of the class time in my high school English class that included Canterbury Tales involved explaining details of Catholic faith and practice to a class that was majority nonCatholic. I think that was my first introduction to Catholicism—and the teacher was a good Methodist! Conflicts in Islam, by contrast, swirled over who was holy and who was not, whereas the Protestant disdain for the power of saints laid that particular locus of conflict to rest—but didn’t prevent the destruction of significant sites in the process.3 What made holy sites so reprehensible to Protestants, however, was not who was interred in any one of them nor what specific miracles associated with them were or were not “genuine,” but rather the generalized belief that earth and heaven were forever separated. Thus no physical remains of anyone had any power whatsoever (or, in limited cases, might be argued to have negative power [viz., Satan’s power]). Going to the tomb of this or that saint was just as idolatrous as praying before this or that statue. Indeed, the extent to which Catholic shrine devotion had become involved with images of saints, simply extended the Protestant objection all the more, inasmuch as such practice was taken as an explicit violation of the Second Commandment. The rise of nationalism only 2 While there were females who went on pilgrimages in the early Christian centuries, as time passed geographic pilgrimage was more and more restricted to men—in turn giving rise to one of the earliest forms of “virtual pilgrimage”: Stations of the Cross (see Adler ; Kaelber ). 3 A current acknowledgment and attempt at reparation for the desecration of important Marian images connected to English shrines, not least Our Lady of Walsingham, by Lord Privy Seal Sir Thomas Cromwell in , is the proposal by the Art and Reconciliation Trust to fund and place a memorial sculpture by Paul Day in Chelsea Embankment Gardens. The sculpture will center on the Virgin and Child image, but also embody in its design depictions of the culturally destructive effects of iconoclasm.

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william h. swatos, jr.

further hardened the effects of the Reformation, as travel to pilgrimage sites became far less easily facilitated than was the case as long as Catholicism represented “the universal Church,” at least as far as Europe was concerned. European colonial divisions of and influences in the Muslim world had somewhat similar effects, though local devotion remained much stronger, whereas it was largely extirpated in bastions of European Protestantism—or turned into folk superstition of the hearth rather than sites related to publicly acknowledged religious authority.

Enter the Tour Exactly when “tourism” began can probably be debated into eternity. In some respects this is a function of the locus of which we are speaking. As Luigi Tomasi (: ) has pointed out, the tourism of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries emphasized a secular “search for truth,” which could take place on several levels—artistic or archeological creations, cultural achievements, comparative civilizations, or such physical phenomena as mountains, rivers, deserts, or glaciers. These kinds of activities were largely restricted to the wealthy or to scholars. The development of the railroad in the nineteenth century began a process of change that has continued to the present day through the airplane. Trains allowed far more people to go far greater distances in far less time. Hence the “tourist” was born, and travel became a form of recreation as greater time was afforded the simultaneously emerging modern middle class that more and more lived its workaday existence in cities from which it tried to escape for periods of leisure. The railroad did far more for human social relations than contribute only to leisure travel. On the one hand, business and commerce was extended from local or regional to national and international in scope. Savvy entrepreneurs could not only take their products to distant locales to sell but could also set up branches of their businesses on a far more extensive basis. At another level, however, travel enhancements could also contribute to religious experience itself. Suzanne Kaufman () particularly emphasizes the coincidence of railroad travel and the development of the Roman Catholic shrine at Lourdes, which simultaneously contributed to not only a new pilgrimage-and-healing culture in France but also to a debate about science, especially in regard to both medicine in general and psychiatry in particular, at a time when medical science was itself relatively unstable in its own identity. For example, while the

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visions of Bernadette Soubirous began in , the Flexner Report that largely standardized medical “science” in the United States was not issued until . The second half of the nineteenth century left the questions of body/mind and faith/science open to considerable debate. Huge crowds flocked to Lourdes, and the shrine precincts early on created a “medical bureau” to verify the circumstances of persons who experienced cures. The Lourdes experience for some, then, was not merely a pilgrimage experience but a conversion experience, either through personal cure or through accounts from observing persons who had been cured and/or through testimonies circulated not only in religious books or pamphlets but through newspaper wars and public debates conducted by those on both sides of the issue. In this respect, Lourdes might well be argued to be the first “modern” pilgrimage site, inasmuch as it combined religious and touristic elements through the railroad which made access possible in a relatively rapid, relatively convenient way simultaneously for the religiously devoted, for those seeking to be cured of ailments, as well as for the curious and doubting. Thus the return of pilgrimage in its contemporary form is inextricably tied to the material conditions of modern life—greater and more flexibly allocated leisure time along with the modern transportation modes that underlie “tourist” culture. Nevertheless, it would be a great mistake to reduce pilgrimage simply to a category of “tourism,” and indeed it is the case that at most pilgrimage sites, as Eade rightly observes, there is some level of disjuncture between the expectations/needs of tourists and the expectations/needs of pilgrims (as well, sometimes, as within these two categories) which can be relatively clearly distinguished, especially by those who tend the sites. I have suggested, however, that there are a few characteristics that particularly distinguish the “pure tourist” type that can allow us to set him or her aside: The person is most interested in having his or her own picture taken at the site. The person seldom knows anything about either the history or present character of the site—that is, why the visit is actually occurring. The person may, in fact, not visit the site itself at all, but souvenir shops and restaurants around the site. At a religious site, the person will not participate in any of the religious rituals of the site nor observe any religious protocols. Obviously, when people in this mode literally stumble into the middle of a religious rite, one can reasonably expect some level of conflict, though this need not necessarily lead to hostility.4 4 I remember, for example, being at Sacre Coeur in Paris for First Friday (i.e., Sacred Heart) Benediction one afternoon when a terrific rainstorm broke out, and hundreds of

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william h. swatos, jr. The Many Valences of Religion, Spirituality, Pilgrimage, and Conversion

If we leave aside the tourist as just described, we still face problems in assessing the relationship among the experience constellations detailed above. A number of these are dealt with in one way or another in Danièle Hervieu-Léger’s pathbreaking Le Pèlerin et le converti: le religion en movement (), wherein she points out that if one asks a person: “Are you religious?” the likelihood of a positive answer is likely to be less than it was a generation or two ago. But as we have found again and again in various surveys that allow people to express themselves with more than a yes-or-no answer, people offer some expression to the effect that they are “more spiritual than religious” or “a spiritual person.” It is hard, at the same time, to nail down what this means, and this is especially so for the American sociological tradition that has often identified religion with denominationalism, hence has presumed that if a person is “religious,” she or he will then be able to check off a denominational label that will enable us to do a quick categorization among the major “families” and thereby “know” something about the person’s character or disposition— whereas in fact persons now less and less identify with organizational families and more and more choose to identify with groupings of persons whose religious-expressive “style” fits them. Hence it is one thing to identify with an organization and quite another to identify with a spirituality, and this has become all the more so in what we might call the “post-ecumenical age”—in the sense that since denominational affiliation has little specific meaning, trying to effect a merger of denominations seems void of significance except in respect to organizational cost saving. People “take communion” where they “feel good,” rather than in terms of organizational affiliation. This even undermines traditional uses of “spirituality”—as, for example, Ignatian spirituality, Franciscan spirituality, Dominican spirituality, Wesleyan spirituality, Orthodox spirituality, and so on. That is to say, when most persons refer to themselves as “spiritual rather than religious,” they really are not connecting with “spirituality” as religious traditions generally have conceived it in the domain usually referred to as ascetical theology. Ironically, in this respect, it may well be people who have identified with a spirituality outside their own culture (e.g., Zen spirituality) who are tourists came inside, making it impossible for the Benediction procession, which tends to be relatively crowded with worshippers anyway, to move through the basilica.

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closer to adopting a position that might be recognized as having consistency with the traditional usage of “spirituality” than those who use the phrase within what they perceive is a common cultural framework between themselves and others. The spirituality-religion/spiritual-religious distinctions are in many respects carried over into issues that pertain both to pilgrimage and tourism and to pilgrimage and conversion. That is, while there certainly are persons who will freely categorize themselves as “just a tourist”—who can then be fairly excluded by their own self-definition from the category “pilgrim”—those who say they are “pilgrims” or “making a pilgrimage” are not as easily handled. This particularly becomes the case in multiplex situations—for example, when Pope Benedict XVI visited Lourdes. What brought people there? Lourdes? The Pope? The Pope “doing” Lourdes?5 And where do we draw the line on pilgrimage in such a case? If they received a pilgrim’s badge and the necessary stamps to complete it, did that make them a pilgrim?6 Certainly, it suggests that they were willing to invest more time in the site than simply catching a glimpse of the Pope or attending one of the liturgies at which he officiated. Some of the big-screen, multimedia aspects of the events more closely resembled those associated with Lee Gilmore’s depiction of the Burning Man festival 5

The Pope’s visit aside, it is significant that Eade’s “conflict” theory of pilgrimage is based on his fieldwork in Lourdes—in the sense that Lourdes’s explicit significances are at least two-fold: on the one hand is the significance of the site to the Roman Catholic dogma of the Immaculate Conception of the Blessed Virgin Mary, which especially draws ultramontanist Catholics, inasmuch as this belief and that of papal infallibility were both promulgated at the same Council (in the th century); on the other hand are those who come to the spring which was revealed to Bernadette and is understood (“documented”) to have healing powers, hence underlies the medical bureau and hospital that is a continuous part of Lourdes life. While these twain certainly do meet, it is not necessarily the case that they all do so for the same purposes or with the same presuppositions. To these must be added, of course, both townspeople trying to carry on ordinary livelihoods and “pure” tourists who are mainly present to see the Pyrenees or kayak on the river. 6 The badges we received, for example, were written in neither French nor English, but Portuguese. When we joined a group saying the prayers required at one of the four sites at which one or another of the stamps was to be obtained, they were said in either Polish or Italian. Two things that we found especially interesting were that Italians came to Lourdes in considerable numbers for the papal visit and that the first requirement on the list of requirements that all had to be completed to obtain a plenary indulgence in connection with the pilgrimage was to go to confession. Inasmuch as going to confession is among the activities that has declined most dramatically among Catholics in the last quarter century, not only requiring the pilgrim to go to confession to obtain the indulgence, but putting this requirement first on the list suggests a specifically conservative piety underlying the promised favor.

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william h. swatos, jr.

() than what might only a decade or two ago have been anticipated by a papal pilgrimage to a holy site, and there was an almost Disneyesque character to the Pope standing in the Popemobile waving from one side to the other. Yes, it really was the Pope, not a mannequin, but the “containerization” of the person within the object was also and in the same measure a dehumanization of the Pope that had a mechanical, rather than extraterrestrial, quality. Mais oui, the Pope did wave, and we waved back.

Conversion as Process If conversion is seen as a process rather than an all-or-nothing experience in an instant of time, then there is much to connect conversion and pilgrimage. The pilgrim can become a convert and the convert a pilgrim. Models of instantaneous conversions often point to the experience of Paul of Tarsus, recounted most fully in the New Testament book of the Acts of the Apostles. Yet, if we look at the Acts account we see immediately that Paul was on the Damascus road. It is indeed the case that he is said to have been on the road in order to persecute Jews who had turned Christian, but be that as it may, he was engaged in a mission of seeking out. The long-term result of this experience was, furthermore, a career largely spent traveling to recount his vision and what sense he made of it. It is certainly true that missionary zeal is not the same as going to a holy site, yet it could be argued that his persistent progress to “complete a vow” and go “up to [the Temple at] Jerusalem,” had pilgrim qualities. It is helpful in this respect to examine Hervieu-Léger’s distinction between the religious practitioner (that is, the person who “practices” a religion, as in a “practicing Catholic”) and the pilgrim. She creates a series of binary oppositions (:  [my translation]): The Practitioner

The Pilgrim

Devotion is

Devotion is

Obligatory Institutionally Normed Fixed Communal/Congregational Localized Ordinary/standardized

Voluntary Autonomous Malleable Individualistic Mobile Extraordinary/exceptional

While dualistic distinctions such as these can certainly be overstated, it is nevertheless the case that if we examine these we can see the ways in

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which two different kinds of religiosities occur hence why in the United States, for example, exceptionally large, nondenominational “seeker” churches make “converts”—viz., their converts are pilgrims! That is, the megachurch has much more in common stylistically with the pilgrim model than it does with the historic religiosity of the practitioner type. Rather than “get lost” among the crowd of the megachurch or the mass of thousands or millions on pilgrimage, the pilgrim “finds himself or herself ” in the processes that occur in the dynamics of expressive worship. The pilgrim-convert constructs a self that resides in the kernel of the religious dynamic which the individual experiences among other selves as communitas. This is not, however, community at all in the historic sense of an ongoing interactive set of individuals sharing a common space—e.g., as in monastics “living in community.” Communitas rather transcends limits of time and space, albeit imperfectly. Because it is an experience that transcends the mundane, it is transitory and always at one and the same time both in the process of becoming and yet fleeting. Different in form, yet consistent in results, is the labyrinth as both a devotional tool and a pilgrimage destination, as described by Lori Beaman (). The labyrinth involves a walking-out or walking-through that enables the person to re-think or think-out a situation. The walking is a known pilgrim style but occurs within a confined, potentially meditative space that allows the participant again to engage in the findingself process that is characteristic of the elements of the pilgrim style as Hervieu-Léger enumerates them. The unique characteristic of this form is that it adds the dimension of motion to meditation. There can, however, also be a double pilgrimage experience—that is, both an inner, labyrinthine journey and actual travel—as when someone goes to Chartres in order to walk the labyrinth of that cathedral. Walking a labyrinth in a medieval cathedral may bring experiences and emotions that other settings could not generate. These practitioner and pilgrim types, though clearly different, need not, however, be oppositional. Parish groups, for example, can go on pilgrimages or rallies and still return to a parish religiosity that at least has affinities with the practitioner style. Just as it is possible to play touch football with the same group of guys each weekend but also make an annual trip to see a Bears game, so a person can be both a loyal local parishioner and go to Lourdes. Pilgrimage experiences can provide rites of intensification that enhance the local experience, hence should not be seen in a contest for possession of the self.

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william h. swatos, jr. From Pilgrim to Congregation and Back Again

For an American, it’s a fascinating irony to reflect on the process by which a group that called themselves “Pilgrims” should end up as founders of what was once called the Congregational Church (now the United Church of Christ [UCC])—a denomination that has lost a particularly high percentage of its membership over the past thirty years. The background idea of the congregation as the Pilgrims conceived it was one of relative equality among “converted” persons. Not just opposition to lordly bishops but a lifestyle of clearly recognized righteous living characterized the congregational brother or sister. What happened to classic congregationalism? How could the idea of pilgrimage have been so thoroughly undermined in both faith and practice? Some commentators, looking particularly at the s and s, will likely point to specific instances of support for left-liberal political causes. Some leaders of the UCC in those days genuinely thought they were storming the gates of heaven, while what they achieved institutionally was something far closer to the Heaven’s Gate commune— that is, institutional suicide. They simply failed to read both the American temperament and the dynamics of religious growth accurately. In particular, the involvement of institutional religion in secular political causes was at the opposite pole from not only the “new religious movements” that emerged during the period but the evangelical-charismatic revival in both the Roman Catholic and Protestant camps. In the abyss of postmodernity, the idea of spiritual pilgrimage, the miraculous, direct encounter with the divine, life-changing religious experience provided fertile ground for the seeds of conversion experience to begin to flower in semi-deinstitutionalized contexts that affirm a reality beyond instrumental rationality—even for those whose daily life-world is caught up in the networks of instrumental rationality, but more so for those whose life-worlds operate under the radar of instrumentality and yet seek some form of encounter that both underwrites and overarches the banality of everyday existence. Contemporary pilgrimage sites provide enchanted gardens. Conversion experiences occur when instrumentality is overtaken by enchantment. Pilgrimages are not the only settings for enchantment to break through instrumentality, but in many cases they are particularly wellstructured in this direction and provide a comprehensive and longstanding narrative through which the breakthrough can be articulated— an historic foundation of miracle. The ambience of place, persons, sights,

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sounds, and smells—not least the ex votos of generations past that concretize the reality of the miraculous—create an ambience through which conversion may be heightened. Some of these in turn become devotees, hence reinforcing the “truth” of the experience for others, and in so doing enable the potential for a new pilgrimage/devotional cycle to begin.

Conversion as Motion Conversion is to turn or turn around. This root meaning implies something physical, though more often than not the word has been taken to mean an interior turning. A convert is a person who “turns his life around” or has “really turned himself around.” These implicit notions of motion, though not characteristic of the standard understandings of the conversion process, which interiorize the dynamic, can be helpful in connecting contemporary religious experience and the pilgrim quest—viz., “religion in motion.” That is, there are a number of ways in which both the traditional world religions and other quasi-religious styles have historically connected intentional bodily action to religious experience.7 I am thinking here of genuflection, prostration, bowings, yoga, signs of the cross, hands lifted with the index finger pointed up, and so on. Converts learn these actions either through explicit training or by observation, and there is an oft-generalized observation that there is “no one as religious as a convert.” In this respect, a case can reasonably be made that a convert is on a “faith pilgrimage” in a sense in which someone born into a faith tradition may never realize. Every convert is in some sense a seeker, and the interior pilgrimage of the convert is almost certainly connected to external movement. “Changing churches” involves motion, not just ideas. The convert does not “become a Catholic” without going to a Catholic church, for example, and that church represents an “other” in the way that it does not for someone reared in the tradition. Even those who have some form of life changing or “born again” experience that leads them to return to active participation within their own tradition will speak of starting to go to church again or start looking for a church. This is not, of course, 7 By introducing intention, I am trying to bracket such religion-and-body issues as menstruation sanctions, infant circumcision, etc., in which the participant has little if any control. This would also pertain to those experiences in which a participant is placed into a trance state or takes hallucinogens.

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william h. swatos, jr.

pilgrimage in the classic sense. Nevertheless, the idea of making a bodily effort to seek out a site for religious experience is not without significance within the context of the sociology of pilgrimage and pilgrimage religiosity. Similarly, those who are successful will say they have found a church. Going, looking, finding are seeker-type activities, and in that sense the seeker church, broadly speaking, has an unmistakable cultural connection to the same spirit that enlivens the current increase in pilgrimage religiosity. Both are, relatively speaking, infused with a potential for spiritual bricolage that engages the participant in constructing his or her own religious experiences and convictions in the company of others. Rather than learning received dogma, the pilgrim and the seeker-convert collect and interpret experiences in a particular life-context, sometimes articulated in the instrumentalist phrase “it works for me.” In the midst of the late-s “God is dead” controversy, an article appeared in the New York Times Sunday magazine entitled “It’s not God that’s dead, it’s Daddy,” the point of which was that the father-figure had dramatically changed against its historical norm across the first half of the twentieth century. Without adopting the Freudian foundations that partially underlay that article, we can nevertheless see that there has been a sea change in lifestyles that has affected both work and family life. The settled community, distinct gender roles, procreative sex as normative and so on that characterized the religious life of men, women, and communities in the early years of sociology of religion are no longer characteristic of the lives and lifestyles of the rising generations within postmodern societies. What the “God is dead” movement failed to grasp, however, was that a constituent part of the life-worlds of human beings seems to be what is currently most commonly known as being “spiritual” or as “spirituality.” Some historic religious have more easily accommodated this change than others, but in any case the spirituality is itself far more multidimensional, because it has more space to accommodate the idiosyncratic, than have been the historic congregational forms, though some of these have been more capable of adjusting to the shift from structured religion to semi-structured spirituality than others. The Roman Catholic and Orthodox churches, for example, which have had stronger folk/pilgrimage traditions have been more capable of readjusting their styles in some contexts to postmodern pilgrimage experiences than have been some of the more staid historic Protestant churches. In Protestant circles, by contrast, seeker churches have usually developed out of more innovative spiritual dynamics rooted in a combination of strategies from

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early twentieth-century mass evangelism and neo-Pentecostalism— teamed with such cultural resources a big-screen TV and surround sound. Many seeker churches certainly do seek to build a membership infrastructure through house groups or prayer cells, but these are quite different in character from the quasi-political structure of church “boards” in the historic denominations. Whereas the “boards” have had a quasi-political administrative character, the house groups and prayer cells create a fluid environment for personal religious expression removed from the constraints of organizational decision making. The comparable size of the seeker church frees its people from the level of mundane maintenance tasks while opening a foreground for experiences that are at once immanent and transcendent—the former in the sense that they are able to be immediately apprehended in the worship experience, the latter in that by the sheer size of the crowd and dynamics of presentation they move beyond the local and mundane. Contemporary pilgrimage experiences to a considerable extent mirror these dynamics. They raise the pilgrim from the pedestrian concerns of congregational or local church maintenance to an encounter not only with the holy other but also with the holy miraculous. Pilgrimages and pilgrimage sites are not only “set apart and other,” but they also evince a religious experience that has the power to alter the worlds of individuals. The healing of the sick, the mending of the broken, the overwhelming presence of ex votos that testify across time and space to the power of the spirit of the place stand as a testimony to the Beyond—yet one that may be individually appropriated and integrated without doctrinal formularies or the politics of religious organizational life. Change happens. Religious “authority” is deconstructed in the moment of the experience and reconstructed in the apprehension of inexplicable power. As one of my colleagues in our research during the  papal visit to Lourdes (in the context of the th anniversary of the apparitions): “I am still very impressed by the testimonies of the people whom I interviewed there! It is going to be difficult to work on it sociologically, but religiously, there is rich material. Who could have no faith after that!”8

8 The Lourdes research is part of a larger project on contemporary Marian sites, principally the Chapel of the Miraculous Medal in Paris, and in Lourdes. The project has been supported by the Association for the Sociology of Religion through its Joseph H. Fichter Research Grants program. Sophie-Hélène Trigeaud and André Sleiman have collaborated with me in this work.

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william h. swatos, jr.

Yet it is not necessarily in the categories of traditional religion that all “spiritual” dynamics in pilgrimage become expressed. Santiago de Compostela, in particular, is especially likely to energize accounts of transformation that move beyond the characteristically religious, particularly because the “official” pilgrimage involves walking several hundred miles to reach the shrine (which is not to prohibit pilgrim “tours” from reaching the church by bus). Frey (: , –) writes of the ways in which the Pilgrim’s Office has worked both to liberalize the granting of the Compostela—a certificate that authenticates an individual as having made a true pilgrimage—yet continues to control it. On the one hand, beginning in the s the requirement that the applicant state a “religious” motive was enlarged to encompass a “spiritual” motive, yet also as late as  a Japanese pilgrim wrote to the Spanish national daily El País to complain about being denied a certificate because he failed in the eyes of the Pilgrim Office to have made a spiritually adequate pilgrimage in spite of having completed all the steps.9 More recently, Eduardo Chemin has studied English persons on the Camino. He finds a series of differences and argues for moving away from “the view that sees pilgrims as static objects of study, to one that sees them as embodiments of the subjectivization of religion as well as communicators,” that is, “[s]elf-reflective individuals seeking ‘authentic’ experiences.” These, “in turn, reflect a conscious or unconscious unconscious evaluation of the circumstances surrounding [post?]modern living” (: ). Specifically, he finds three “basic pilgrimage subsystems or fields”: . The spiritual or de-traditionalized pilgrimage field . . . a structure of discourses that predominantly attracts members of the new middle classes who display characteristics such as having a romantic world-view involving culture, adventure and challenge that could be traced back to broader anxieties in relation to the subject’s position in the world. In this field, selfspiritualism is preferred as an alternative to traditional religion. . The religious or traditional pilgrimage field [which] inspires those who attach importance to the shrine of the deity. Those motivated by this narrative are committed to a particular ideology or theology, which in the case of the Camino is Christian . . . .

9 During our research at the Chapel of the Miraculous Medal we similarly encountered Japanese persons who explicitly denied being Christian yet also were buying Miraculous Medals to take home to many friends.

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. The touristic pilgrimage field or ‘religious tourism’ [which] brings subjects who aim at visiting sites but who do not usually engage in the full process of pilgrimage (i.e., walking extensively, being self-sufficient). Subjects engaging in this practice usually travel by modes of transport [bus tourism] between sites of interest and use private accommodation. (: –)

Although Chemin notes that Santiago may well be “seen as an exceptional case,” he also uses it wisely to argue: that pilgrimages should be viewed as complex and isolated phenomena that change in character according to prevailing habitae and their relationship to the many fields that underlie each individual pilgrimage center. Sociocultural, economic, religious and spiritual fields form the structural skeleton of most pilgrimages, however, their intensity and scales are diverse and particular to each one of them. Pilgrims on the other hand are attracted to certain types of pilgrimages as a result of the engrained affinities or the different habitae that are pertinent . . . to the different social classes that constitute cultural spheres. (: )

When we examine pilgrimage and conversion, therefore, we cannot do so outside of particular sociocultural contexts, hence it may well be that there are actually several “pilgrimages” going on within a particular pilgrimage center, just as the megachurch allows for multiple spiritualities to find expression in the dynamics of a large, relatively anonymous collectivity where emotional effervescence is neither necessarily uniform nor motivated by singularity of motive—i.e., multiple “conversions” as well. The character of the postmodern is such that multiple layers of multiple meanings can be taken on and let go as personalistic criteria may require, but this is not to say at the same time that variables such as social class, status, and power do not enter into these engagements of the spirit.

References Adler, Judith. . “The Holy Man as Traveler and Travel Attraction: Early Christian Asceticism and the Moral Problematic of Modernity.” Pp. – in From Medieval Pilgrimage to Religious Tourism: The Social and Cultural Economics of Piety, edited by William H. Swatos, Jr., and Luigi Tomasi. Westport, CT: Praeger. Beaman, Lori G. . “Labyrinth as Heterotopia: The Pilgrim’s Creation of Space.” Pp. – in On the Road to Being There: Studies in Pilgrimage and Tourism in Late Modernity, edited by William H. Swatos, Jr. Leiden: Brill. Chemin, Eduardo. . The Pilgrim’s Discourse in the Milky Way: A Study on the Religiosity of British Pilgrims on the Road to Santiago de Compostela. B.Sc. (hons) thesis. Thames Valley University, London.

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Eade, John. . “Pilgrimage and Tourism at Lourdes, France.” Annals of Tourism Research : –. Frey, Nancy Louise. . Pilgrim Stories. Berkeley: University of California Press. Gilmore, Lee. . “Desert Pilgrimage: Liminality, Transformation and the Other at the Burning Man Festival.” Pp. – in On the Road to Being There: Studies in Pilgrimage and Tourism in Late Modernity, edited by William H. Swatos, Jr. Leiden: Brill. Hervieu-Léger, Danièle. . Le Pèlerin et le Converti: La Religion en Mouvement. Paris: Flammarion. Kaelber, Lutz. . “Place and Pilgrimage: Real and Imagined.” Pp. – in On the Road to Being There: Studies in Pilgrimage and Tourism in Late Modernity, edited by William H. Swatos, Jr. Leiden: Brill. Kaufman, Judith. . Consuming Visions: Mass Culture and the Lourdes Shrine. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Swatos, William H., Jr., ed. . On the Road to Being There: Studies in Pilgrimage and Tourism in Late Modernity. Leiden: Brill. Tomasi, Luigi. . “Homo Viator: From Pilgrimage to Religious Tourism via the Journey.” Pp. – in From Medieval Pilgrimage to Religious Tourism: The Social and Cultural Economics of Piety, edited by William H. Swatos, Jr., and Luigi Tomasi. Westport, CT: Praeger. Turner, Victor and Edith B. Turner. . Image and Pilgrimage in Christian Culture. Oxford: Blackwell.

chapter six BECOMING A NEW AGER: A CONVERSION, AN AFFILIATION, A FASHION?

Régis Dericquebourg Belonging to a religion looked like a relatively simple question in the Western world until the s. A believer belonged to a church by birth. He or she was socialized in it as a part of growing up—i.e., he or she adopted its lifestyle and values. Believers sometimes left their religion to join a sect or a denomination in the Protestant realm, but they were relatively small in number, even though those minor religious groups were by no means negligible. Within Catholicism, some of the members strengthened their faith and went further on the way to salvation through a deep inner spiritual experience. Others revived their faith after having gone away from it; they are “converts from the inside” (Hervieu-Léger : ). For a Catholic, similarly, the experience of priestly vocation or that of the choice of monastic life may also be interpreted as a conversion from the inside. In the first case, the ordinary believer becomes the holder of a “charisma of function”; in the second case, she or he enters the circle of religious virtuosos. In both cases, the person’s lifestyle thoroughly changes by reaching the role of priest and/or the role of monk/nun. On the Protestant side, the nineteenth century religious “awakenings” brought hundreds of thousands of American Protestants to return to their faith (cf. Bruns ). The religious field has been differentially modified within the last forty years of the twentieth century. On the market of salvation goods, more intense proselytism by minor religious groups, as well as their real successes in some cases, multiplied conversions. Similarly, the presence of many immigrants in the Western world gave Islam visibility. Christians converted to Islam and vice versa. We also witnessed a greater proselytism of Buddhist and Hindu missions (belonging to a different type of Buddhism or Hinduism from the popular forms of the Asian immigrants). Soka Gakkai and different branches of the Ramakrishna mission, for instance, made disciples. The phenomenon is in itself not new. There were always conversions to “exotic” cults—Hinduism, Sufism,

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Buddhism—but they were more rare, and only a few intellectuals were concerned. This is no longer the case now, because, from the s to the s forward, these religions have been attracting people from the middle classes and drawing correspondingly more disciples. Thus, socioreligious mobility in a space where alternative propositions of meaning are extensive has renewed the interest of researchers in the phenomenon/a of conversion. Among the public, the word caused uneasiness. We witnessed a shift in meaning because, under the influence of the anti-cultists and the media, conversion was considered the result of mental manipulation or brainwashing due to a weakness of the individual and to the action of unscrupulous “gurus” (Anthony and Introvigne ). Religious mutation does not concern only the religious denominations we just evoked. From the decade – on, the whole religious landscape was altered. Many Westerners do not find or do not seek the answers to final questions upon the meaning of life in a church or even in a sect or a denomination. Moreover, they refuse to belong to organized religious movements. They examine multiple propositions in the religious field. They learn different doctrines. They experiment with several spiritual practices. They sometimes devote themselves to nonspiritual practices and consider them as useful elements for their quest for salvation here and now or post mortem. All this is simultaneously or successively accomplished in a system of thought and practice popularly dubbed the New Age. Some researchers call this spirituality a “free-choice religion” and the itinerary of its disciples “gleaning.” Even though these expressions may seem caricatured, it is nonetheless true that it is an atypical religiosity where one cannot a priori discriminate a religious conversion such as generally described by sociologists and psychologists—i.e., as a rupture in life. How can we define entering the New Age? Is it a new conversion, when New Agers go from one group to another? Is there such a thing as a global conversion to the New Age? Is the latter a form of spirituality without conversion? Is it a path without any culminating experience? In this chapter, we will examine those questions through the life stories of three followers.

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The New Age: A Gathering, A Social Movement In order to discuss the ways of joining the New Age, we must briefly consider what it is. This is not easy because, among the sociologists who constructed it as a social reality, it is a nebula made of study groups, movements, training courses, training seminars, bookshops, music concerts, festivals, relations to masters, with the whole thing in constant evolution. In his book devoted to the New Age, Massimo Introvigne (: – ) tries to define the trend: “it is rather a climate, an environment, an atmosphere, a body of realities that have a family likeness among them, but which also present ‘differences and contradictions’.” For this reason, the New Age can be more easily be described through different angles than propositionally defined. From the philosophical point of view, it rests on the idea that a radical change in all the domains of existence (including scientific paradigms) is happening or is going to take place. From the sociological point of view, it is a network of networks (a “metanetwork”) in which a group pf people, who are not formally affiliated “Members of the New Age,” participate. In that respect, it is not a structured movement, even though it includes movements or organized groups that sometimes existed even before its appearance. From a doctrinal point of view, it does not comprise any unique thought system. Everyone can create his or her own image of the world. The rational system underlying this one has no importance: New Agers have teachings validated through personal experiment and experience. Martin Geoffroy, contrary to Introvigne, argues that the New Age is a full-fledged social movement, structured as a varied “gathering space” where disciples can go from one group to another relatively easily. The individual is only one side of the New Age movement, which cannot be studied as a union of individualisms “even though the cult of the individual occupies much space in it.” Geoffroy enumerates three tendencies in the New Age: the socio-cultural trend, the esoteric-occultist trend, and the bio-psychological one. As a social movement, the New Age broadens spaces of autonomy within civil society and can involve social protest. Its disciples want to change the social system progressively, basing themselves on “harmony and inner serenity” (Geoffroy : –)—i.e., on a conversionist pattern. According to that use, following Bryan Wilson’s pattern of sect types (), the world improves as people become better. The rallying of New Age disciples to the “Cultural Creatives” (Ray and Anderson ), in particular the “Alter Creatives” (Cultural Creatives with a path in spirituality), illustrates this. Protest sometimes comes to

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take an anti-authority stand politically: New Agers are seen generally supporting environmentalists (in the name of the pursuit of a healthy life and respect for our planet)—and in France, they protested against the French Medical Association in the name of the liberty to practice alternative medicine—as well as to support green candidates in political contests. From a recent survey of a sample of advertising messages on the Website of a French New Age advertiser, I was able to identify five kinds of proposals for experiences and training: psychotherapy and selfdevelopment, gnosis, wellness, alternative medicine, and spirituality (Dericquebourg ). Statistically, after eliminating doubles, the first category contains the greatest number of advertising messages, which shows that the network of the New Age is a social space in which people look for a remedy to their psychological and social ill-being. In addition, Gnosis is at the root of a certain number of spiritualities and psychotherapies, as well as some alternative medical practices. Inside spiritualities, Gnosis statistically comes first. New Agers do not “tinker about” with major religious traditions but are situated in “other” thought systems, Gnosis in particular. Adam Possamai (: ) calls this new genre of spirituality “perennism,” which he defines as “a spirituality which interprets the world as Monistic and whose actors are attempting to develop their Human Potential Ethic by seeking Spiritual Knowledge, mainly that of the Self.” Doing so, he emphasizes the esoteric side of the underlying philosophy of the New Age. This does not mean, as Introvigne (: –) rightly states, that the New Age can be reduced to Gnosis. Geoffroy () points out that this movement becomes institutionalized by appropriating scientific language, entering the market of training and creating firms. He asserts that a minimal institutionalization is necessary in order to last. Is the New Age coming to a change, or does the appearance of the new institutionalized forms mean the movement has already disintegrated? (see Rivière ). The question of the conversion—or not—to the New Age is even more intricate because it refers to a gathering of movements that the followers successively or simultaneously join. What are they “converted” to? Is it to a global system that would be the social trend of New Age? Are they “converted” anew each time they follow a group activity or choose a new spiritual master? Can we talk about a “conversion” when people come to practicing a New Age popular method of self-improvement, and will practice another in the future? In this case, is the disciple merely following fashion, or does he or she let himself or herself be guided

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by underlying rationality? The answer also depends on a sociological definition of conversion.

Conversion from a Sociological Viewpoint To give a brief survey of what conversion is sociologically, I will refer first to the sociological angle offered by Anthony Blasi in this book. His reflection gives tools to answer the question of conversion within New Age. Anxious to put in order the profusion of definitions for conversion, Blasi suggests that we () subsume all definitions of conversion, except for changes of merely nominal affiliation—for instance, the change from one evangelical group to another—by the expression “redirection of foundational trust,” and at the same time () consider that religion is a total social phenomenon, with diverse interacting empirical levels that rule social behavior. After all, conversion partly or totally modifies behaviors by “reorienting” them. One or the other of those behaviors could in its turn be questioned. This then entails a defection and a conversion to another group that will better suit the believer. Of course, Blasi does not enter the error of behaviorism, which explains the whole of psychic life by acquired behaviors not requiring consciousness, nor does he dismiss the fact that faith is linked with a non-empirical phenomenon. He simply studies, on an empirical basis, how conversion reconstructs individual and collective behaviors. Accordingly, religion, seen as a constructed social reality, comprises: () material elements (religious buildings, decorum); () an organization and an organized life; () social models (participation in religious celebrations, diet, interdictions, etc.); () collective behaviors such as respecting a temporal hierarchy or the primacy of egalitarian horizontal social relations; () roles, role conflicts, and aspirations to playing a part (like the will to be admitted among the elders in the assembly, to be a deacon or a minister for women); () attitudes and values; () social symbols, for instance, identity for a minority; () times when the members invent collective behaviors, sometimes being the concern of socioreligious protest—e.g., the denunciation of a war or the protest against strengthening nuclear weapons in a nation, or more intimately, the condemnation of medical practices thought incompatible with their beliefs; () collective values and ideology; () a collective intellectual and emotional life which is made manifest during commemorations, ceremonies or holy days.

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My research on Jehovah’s Witnesses () illustrates Blasi’s remarks. I observed that persons who are converted to Jehovah’s Witnesses redirect their conduct: . As far as religious symbols are concerned, they take down any crucifix that is hanging in their homes, because they adopt the idea that Christ was not crucified on a cross, but to a post. They do not introduce a symbolic post in their homes and do not wear any, however, because in the views of the Jehovah’s Witnesses, worshipping an instrument of torture is absurd. . They learn to know a huge organization, ruled from the Brooklyn headquarters, which passes its orders and its writings through vertical levels onto the local congregation. They respect this spiritual and material hierarchy. They agree to the fact that the interpretation of the Scriptures (the “Truth”) should be done by the central college, which looks like the curia-order heading Tibetan monasticism. . After having been converted, they neither consume blood any longer (blood sausage or animals that were not bled), smoke, or consume too much alcohol. Theoretically, they try not to resort to blood transfusion. . They respect the administrative hierarchy and agree to the management of the local congregation by “elders.” . They participate in functions that make the local congregation live, by playing different parts (person in charge of the publications, in charge of the study of the book, etc.) and accept the principle of preaching from house to house. . They become pacifist and refuse military service, do not take part in military commemorations or in official patriotic celebrations. Until , they did not go to the polls to show that they did not believe in human beings trying to solve social problems. All in all, they express socio-religious protest throughout the important acts of their lives. On the other hand, they do pay income taxes to “render unto Cesar the things which are Cesar’s.” . Jehovah’s Witnesses are recruited within all immigrant and underprivileged populations. When persons belong to at least one of these categories, they are more likely to be converted to Jehovah’s Witnesses than are top executives. . When the end of the world is forecast as imminent, they will take part in the eschatological waiting with fellow believers. As a rule, the Jehovah’s Witness is still waiting for the end of this world and

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the Second Coming, but they will do it with a greater thrill if the announcement made by the leaders of the movement concerns a precise date. If the anticipated event does not occur, they will participate in the collective rationalization of the failure. . With conversion, Witnesses will separate from the State and from the world of work, to make greater room for Jehovah in their lives, something they did not do before. . The elders will advise the neophyte not to be too much engrossed in worldly affairs, to choose “moral” leisure, not to gamble and to break off relationships with people that could lead them far from Jehovist morals. They no longer model their lives on the national calendar or the Christian calendar. Witnesses do not celebrate Christmas any longer, because Witnesses think its date is not relevant. They commemorate Christ’s death on the fixed date of the th of the month of Nizan, not on the Easter cycle like other Christians. They do not take part any more in national commemorations in other countries because they are not Christian. Thus, a breach will take place in the cultural festival calendar of Jehovah’s Witnesses in whatever society of which they are a part. The sociological construction of conversion, in terms of modification of social behaviors on the basis of “redirection of foundational trust,” proposed by Blasi, is totally relevant for Jehovah’s Witnesses, which is typical of the convert organization. This is similarly illustrated by Max Weber’s famous account of a Baptist convert in North Carolina, whom Weber mentions in The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (: –).1 The man wanted to open a banking business and his conversion to (and acceptance by) the Baptist church could show everyone that he could be expected to be reliable in life and in business, because of the conscious directing and leading that lay behind “the entire organization of the believer’s life” (Lebensführung [: lxxix, ]) that the conversion to Baptist standards should produce. According to Weber, life behavior refers to a structured body of behaviors and practices. In the 1 The original the Protestant Ethic essays appeared in German in /, but were later supplemented by a  revision that included a  extension of the original, with special reference to the United States. It is in the  material that the North Carolina baptism first appears. The classic English-language translations are those of the original essays by Talcott Parsons in , plus the additional materials, first published in English by C. Wright Mills and Hans Gerth in . Those translations are here supplemented by the third Roxbury edition, at the hands of Stephen Kalberg.

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narrow sense of the term, it refers to a system of actions in a determined social field: an “economical life behavior,” for instance. In a broader sense, it refers to a practical relation to the world in general: for instance, the “modern life behavior” as defined by Weber as embodying “a practicalrational manner” (Weber : ). We can say that a religion is a “life order” (Lebensordnung) made out of life behaviors, and that a change of religion modifies them. We can also see a link between Weber’s discussion and Berger and Luckmann’s thesis on conversion (: –). This one, called alternation is a thorough transformation (compared with lesser modifications) of the subjective reality. Yet, for the authors, “to have a conversion experience is nothing much. The real thing is to be able to keep on taking it seriously: to retain a sense of its plausibility. This is where the religious community comes in. It provides the indispensable plausibility structure for the new reality.” For the authors, “it is only within the religious community, the ecclesia, that the conversion can be effectively maintained as plausible.” The structured social reality Blasi describes is a consequence of the conversion, but it is also a structure of plausibility given coverage by “other signifiers” following the same ways of salvation. Thanks to it, the individual maintains his or her belief and membership in the community he or she choses. “Therapeutic procedures” can be put in place in order to prevent his “backsliding” to his old world. One can also refer to Max Weber’s chapter on the ways of salvation “from the outside” and their influence on life (Weber : –). I have concentrated on Blasi’s contribution because of its heuristic value. It clearly shows that, in order to analyze the paths of the New Agers, one must study the behavior modifications to know whether, at a certain time, a conversion took place or a mere participation in training events, seminars, and meetings. Going to an institution like school certainly alters life behavior, by fostering a sense of civic responsibility for instance. It is not, however, “redirecting” behaviors, but in learning new ones, that the teacher will evaluate in terms of success. The same is true within the churches that socialize youth. In religions, imposed or advised life behaviors and their modifications are considered an element of salvation. If there is such thing as a conversion to the New Age, we will notice among the new disciples a redirection of their faith and social practices. They are then wished for and accepted as elements of salvation. If not, there isn’t more than a passage through the experiences or training. We are back to the choice: pilgrim or convert?

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Methodology To study conversion as a possible way to enter the New Age, I employed the guided life story format, under the form of semi-structured interviews. Several sociologists support the use of the biographic method. For Thierry Mathé, the life story is a method in social sciences that moves away from totally objective methods, which were invented to conform to hard science methods but which do not answer the questions of “why” and “how.” Following Franco Ferraroti (: ), Thierry Mathé underscores how collecting life stories “helps grasp the subjective meaning of ‘religiously oriented action’ in a group of individuals with their stories and their life cycles” (: ), because it sheds light on long-lasting processes. Through the analysis of the discourses and the singularities of what each one has lived, permanent features can be discriminated, that will enable us to capture a specificity in thoughts, in attitudes and in expectations. Mathé (: ) also recalls that, for Daniel Bertaux (), the “scandal” caused by the biographical method is to “attribute to subjectivity a value in knowledge.” The method implies acknowledging the other as a total and singular experience. It is neither a recognition of reality, an information medium, nor an illustration of reality. The life story is a construction that allows the one who tells it to disclose a “biographic ideology” and to take it in its synthetic unity. Then, how can we avoid describing the social actor’s life in his own words? No doubt by making it a heuristic fact. In the end, it’s turned over to the researcher’s distanced analysis. The individual gives meaning to his or her past experiences in relation to his or her present one. We noted it in the stories of converts to Jehovah’s Witnesses that what they experienced before is reconsidered in relation to the present Truth that, according to the believer, must guide life. The story is in fact told as prerecorded. Reconstructed a posteriori, the past, chronologically intertwined, makes sense after the experiences end. For us, only a past story can describe joining the New Age. It appears that the closing of their path allowed those New Agers to grasp the meaning of their progression. The social actor is not necessarily entirely ignorant of the meaning of his experience. It cannot be said that, on the one hand, an actor is telling his story and is systematically mistaken when he draws hypotheses concerning the meaning of his life experience, but on the other, sociologists deliver the only analysis of a life story, stamped by the “Spirit of Truth.” A social actor can also distance himself from his biography and objectify it.

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Within religious movements, a believer telling the story of his path before his fellow-believers sometimes follows a ritual. In his study about Buddhism, Mathé considers the function of those repeatedly told conversion stories. We find them elsewhere, in movements like Alcoholics Anonymous for instance. In this case, the stories of a past life under the influence of alcohol and of a present, abstinent one reinforce the healing processes of the narrator and his fellows. The New Ager is accustomed to life stories. He has produced such ritualized discourses within the groups he saw, relating the steps in his quest and emphasizing the benefits he drew or the hardships with which he was confronted. Yet, facing the sociologist who interviews him, he can also produce another narration because he no longer stands within the same register. The way the sociologist talks or his questions can bring the interviewee into a frame of speech other than the one that is expected by a group of experience companions or the leader of a self-improvement or spiritual development session. The encounter between sociologist and narrator brings us to the junction of two interpretations. An article by Fabrice Desplan (), stemming from his thesis () illustrates what can be done to work upon that junction in order to avoid emisme, the bias by which the interviewer makes as his own the interpretation the social actor gives of his own behavior. Desplan analyzed the content of  interviews, twice repeated, to come to the conclusion that, first, there is rather plain evidence that conversion brings a disruption, with a “before” and an “after”; second, establishing a typology of converts inspired by Le Pélerin et le Converti (Hervieu Léger, ). By putting converts into categories based on similarities and differences in the stories, the author objectifies life courses and builds spaces of meaning.

The Project and the Data I studied oral biographies in order to understand whether frequently attending New Age circles brought the disciple to break off with his life behavior, keeping in mind the perspective in which Blasi stands. As in clinical analysis, a few cases are enough because we wish to spot a sociocognitive approach, not to draw a typology of the different ways to the New Age. We chose people we consider to represent the typical French New Ager, belonging to the middle-class, who were religiously socialized. They reached the end of their path after different experiences, and they are able to assess a situation that is in itself material for us to interpret.

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We looked for people who had for a long time frequently seen groups that we may classify among the New Age cadre, and who took an active part in them. Being active means they were regular in attendance and took responsibility as organizers or teachers of doctrines and techniques they had been taught and with which they had experimented. Three were accepted. Two of them think their course has come to an end. Another one elaborated his own synthesis. He is teaching and sees only the circle he founded. He has become a spiritual master. He also devotes himself to the fight for religious freedom, because the groups he belonged to, as well as his own circle, were under the accusation of being “sects,” with the result of disastrous social consequences, on the personal, professional and family levels. In the interviews, each person was asked to relate his or her path within the New Age (an expression they accepted). We then asked questions about the “illumination” experience itself, questions about the changes frequenting those groups had produced in their self-perception and in their lives. Moreover, we asked them whether they perceived an underlying quest in themselves, what their relationship was to the mainstream religious denominations, whether each group they belonged to had brought them anything, and whether these possible contributions added up—i.e., whether they had reached a philosophy of life at the end of these experiences. We asked them whether they had the feeling that, at a certain time, they had been “converted.” Interviews were recorded and transliterated. They are provided as a basis for analysis, after removing all verbal tics, slips, pauses, etc.

J.P. Age . Professor in Mathematics. (Recorded at home and transliterated July ) I remember that when I was eighteen, I felt confined because I came from a modest background. I had no life experience. We didn’t have a telephone at home. I was very shy, and I joined a tennis club at that age. It was my first social experience. I did all the possible jobs: secretary, tournament organizer, chairman in my club for eight years. I then taught tennis for ten years. It all began when I was twenty. I am sixty now, and have been playing tennis for forty years. Then, as I began teaching mathematics in high school, I saw people who went to the university parish. The woman who introduced me was called Martine, she taught history and geography. I joined the group, we met once a month with a priest,

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Father R., who is still alive. We met once a month and debated about a subject which was chosen beforehand, society facts for instance. There I met a priest who taught mathematics in a denominational high school and who was friends with a neighbor of mine who studied mathematics. We did a lot of talk. At a certain period, he was a surrogate father because I had grown up fatherless. This priest was full of questioning. He wondered why he had become a priest. Then we began to build a group of self-improvement and therapy with a priest who was a psychiatrist. In fact, when I studied math at the university, I was interested in the subconscious. I wanted to know what deep forces were. I wondered if my choices were guided by rationality or by the unconscious. I knew there was a world to discover. It was a passion for me. I wondered why I had this passion. My mother worked as a cleaning lady, my great-aunt had no culture at all. I don’t know what brought me to that rage for discovery, but it was deep-rooted. Therefore, I registered for that therapy group that taught to discover oneself—a discovery of one’s unconscious through the body. It thrilled me. I attended it for about two years, with a session about every two months. In that group, I met a girl who practiced yoga. She invited me to yoga training during the month of August. Ultimately, I went to it and I discovered yoga with Jacques H. During that fifteendays training, I experienced an extraordinary feeling of relaxation, and it brought me a lot. Then I took weekly yoga courses for two years. Then, as I experienced anguish while deeply relaxing, I stopped for one year, to get back to it afterwards. After that, I didn’t stop it, except when my children were born, for two or three years. I have been practicing yoga for about thirty years. Jacques H. was chairman of the CISL. He was heavily into therapies and groups, and looked for clients in yoga groups. I was a bachelor then, and this took the weekends, with a passion for selfdiscovery and entering deep into meditation. He got me into something else, another life out of the movement, out of social life. I felt as if I had done something enormous that brought me maybe near the state of death. I am very interested in that question: what does happen after death, and I feel I tame . . . (a silence). I followed courses in self-development based upon bio-energy with hyperventilation and catharsis. So when I discovered that, that was such an extraordinary thing in terms of beatitude. I remember times when I stopped at red lights in a state of utter happiness so I went to that kind of group for three more years. Then I went to Tantra groups, or rather neo-Tantra because we reach

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neo-Tantric meditation that is far from the Indian Tantra. I followed courses like that in Paris, in Liege, but meanwhile I didn’t go to the yoga school because it took too many weekends. But afterwards, I came back to yoga lessons, three hours long on Tuesday evenings, with one and a half hour postures, followed by breath control and meditation. I followed it all till the Yoga school closed. The teacher was becoming a swindler and tried to enroll us in all that. I attended those courses with my wife. Inside those groups, I got to know some people quite well, that I kept in touch with. After that, I stopped going to the therapy groups. There I met Françoise and when our children were born, I stopped everything: choir singing, yoga lessons . . . I was teaching in high school and working at the Education Offices. I was very busy. I kept only tennis. I waited for my children to become a bit older and then I looked for a club of Yoga. I tried some of them that didn’t suit me, then, one day I found one that was nearby. The teacher didn’t fit into my canons for the teaching of Yoga, but, during six-seven years, she brought me what I looked for. After having been teaching Yoga for twenty-eight years, she decided to retire and proposed me to take over. Therefore, I am now a teacher at the Yoga club of L. There are forty-five students and three teachers. I began to play golf five or six years ago. Why? I just didn’t know. From years on, I had been wishing to play golf. When I was twenty, tennis was in fashion, when I practiced Yoga, Yoga was in fashion, like getting in tune with nature, and when the fashion went to playing golf, I began to play golf. So, I like to keep in fashion, I follow the latest trend. It’s a child’s happiness for me to learn new gestures, to progress in the sport, to mix with people. At the tennis club’s, I began getting the group set out, arranging tournaments, so I built up a strong social environment. I am now going in for a few golf events. R.D.: To sum up your path, did frequenting these groups transform you in depth? Or was it beside you? J.P.: Seeing those groups built me socially speaking. I was starting from a great lack of self-confidence, then, a sort of social identity was built. People trust me. I feel like I am working for the benefit of the club or something else. This has given me a social weight. R.D: You practiced Yoga. What, with your spiritual life? J.P.: The spiritual side of these processes? For me, Yoga is the mind, but I can see that all that is together: the body and the spirit. Yoga is a door

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towards the spirit, the body is a door towards the spirit. It is also true with tennis or golf. R.D.: Do you think you followed a spiritual path? J.P.: Yes. At a certain point, I felt I was more of a Buddhist than a Christian. Tantra gives a perfect example. The body brings transcendence. What interests me in tennis or in golf is the learning process. I am a spiritual student, always discovering, going ever deeper in self-knowledge, in order to develop my potential, I wouldn’t say in a pathological but in a childish way. It’s the “know thyself,” too. This spiritual path is all the same very near the religious quest because I have a blind and simple faith that is family heirloom. I went to mass Sunday mornings until twentyfive, and the belief in a God helped me much. Then with yoga, my quest became more spiritual. I looked for transcendence, what is divine in me. Buddhism brings a godless answer. I find a divine part in myself like a grain of the universe without the presence of an outer God and it’s a bit hard for me to make all that live together. I made up my own religious truth. I feel near the Christian God, but at the same time, I wonder. For me, all religions have good sides. What is immanent? What can survive in what I am at present? I haven’t found out, except that in deep meditation, things happen that I can’t explain. It’s an emptiness that isn’t a void. It’s comforting though, to come back from meditation to living my everyday life. R.D.: Does everything each group brings you accumulate and do you theorize your experience? J.P.: The experiences accumulated. Maturity is a series of experiences that accumulate, I am therefore more able to answer to new experiences. The richer and more varied the experiences are, the more comfortable I feel in my everyday life. R.D.: Did it change your lifestyle? J.P.: No, I didn’t bring myself into question. My vision of the couple didn’t change. Not even the side of consumption. R.D.: What about detachment? J.P.: It is actually advocated by Buddhism, and from this perspective, I haven’t changed. Eventually, at twenty, I owned a “deux-chevaux” [an economical car by Citroën]. If I had not owned one, I would have managed otherwise. If I had had a bigger car, I would have been pleased,

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but I am from a modest background. I don’t want to spend more. I make do with what I have. I didn’t change. I can spend more because I have more money, but my behavior is the same basically. R.D.: Did you, at a certain point, have an illumination? J.P.: I’ve been looking for it for a long time; I experienced some “numinous moments,” as Graf Dürckheim says. It fell on my head, regardless of what I could do. R.D.: Did you develop a philosophy of life that you could write down someday? J.P.: A bit, it’s rather an outcome. Life is rather feeling well socially speaking, yet to feel socially well, you have to eliminate some inner contradictions, and find them first. It’s useful to feel at ease with others, but I think parental patterns are crushing in this respect. R.D.: To hear you, I feel as if your quest was more a social than a religious one. J.P.: Maybe. I had the feeling, during many years, that my spiritual quest was essential, that it was my whole life. Now at sixty, I don’t feel so sure, maybe because it came to an end. It all was many discoveries, well-being, relaxation. It seemed to me to be the fuel for my whole life, yet now, if I have the prospect of meditating half an hour a day, it’s to teach yoga better, it’s not a primary quest. Maybe it all changed between fifty and fifty-five, maybe because I had children and much to do. My aim is now to equip my children to deal with the difficulties of life. R.D.: Did you teach meditation to your children? J.P.: Yes, I sometimes practiced relaxation on them. My daughter attended Yoga lessons. If one of them can’t go to sleep, I help him or her to relax. Maybe they don’t want it? I taught them to play tennis. I let them alone when I saw it didn’t really please them. R.D.: Did that path change the way you envision the world? J.P.: Yes. At fifteen, God and fate managed it all, and afterwards I got the impression that I held the reins in my hands and I felt more selfresponsible, and in that way, self-knowledge was giving me a more acute sense of concrete reality. Afterwards, the Buddhist view of the world gave me a more cosmic vision by telling that I was a grain of the universe. I thought things were important inside my small environment, which in

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fact weren’t. In fact, I managed to distance myself from all that. In fact, when I see a contradiction, the very fact of unearthing it, of getting to know it, changes my actions. R.D.: Is it a distance towards conflicts? J.P.: Yes. R.D.: Did your path bring you nearer to religion? J.P.: No, it drove me away from it.

Commentary We should avoid giving a psychological interpretation of J.P’s path, because we did not choose that kind of approach. We are interested in an itinerary that we link with its context. J.P’s progress is motivated by a triple quest: a quest for social links, a quest for learning, and spiritual quest. They are all intertwined to build an itinerary inside which he puts on the same level tennis, golf, yoga, Tantra, personal development and therapy groups, meditating. Some activities were left out, others accumulated and belong to his life. As far as life is concerned, J.P. does not talk about noticeable changes, as regards consumption, family life, or on the professional plane. One cannot find the usual behavior manifestations of a conversion. In short, J.P. belonged to a modest Catholic family, he passed an academic degree, became a professor, founded a standard family and is now retired. He still teaches yoga and practices golf. On a spiritual level, he starts from an intense Catholic faith (he states a “blind and simple faith”), he regularly went to Mass till he was twentyfive. At that age and in the years –, many French students were no longer regular churchgoers (Delestre ). It is even within the precincts of the university parish, under the impulse of a priest he saw, that he goes to a therapy group directed by a priest who is also a psychiatrist. At that time, psychotherapies were in fashion, and many Catholics wished to examine their faith closely to the light of the unconscious and the body. Several priests who were also psychologists led sessions of “Faith and Psychology” or “Faith at the Risk of Psychoanalysis.” It was a fashion, as were tennis and golf when he took to practicing those sports. Tantric Buddhism also came into fashion. He asserts that he kept in fashion or rather followed the trend of the day. Yet we cannot draw the

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conclusion that he voluntarily kept in fashion. His choices greatly depend on his relations who draw him toward what they practice and thus give him access to certain answers to his quest for well-being and improvement. There were other trendy movements during his life course (interpersonal astrology, symbolism of Hebrew letters, vibratory singing) that he did not get to know or did not wish to practice. One can be doubtful about his interpretation of fashion. J.P. relates an experience of the numinous that translated into a feeling of well-being, but it is not an illumination that will fix him in a special spiritual way. He does not become a Buddhist. He takes to psychotherapy and self-development; nevertheless he does not begin a long-run personal psychotherapy and self-development process like the patients of analysts or psychiatrists. He gains a satisfying well-being. One cannot say that there is a conversion that includes a disruption between a time before and a time after, nor even a progressive conversion or an initiation that gives a “new man.” He has found sociability in an environment. Through his practicing sports and through his spiritual practices, he aimed at a self-improvement that satisfied his will to learn: the same that drove him to achieve an academic degree in mathematics, then to acquiring wellbeing. However, even though we do not find a conversion, there is no void. J.P. lived an inner life that brought him, in fine, to develop a specific wisdom for life. This is expressed through his distancing himself from events and through the conviction that one must improve oneself by solving one’s conflicts every time one is confronted with hardships. In short, he won a sense for introspection and self-reflection in the conduct of life. To us, though he says he withdrew from religions, the Catholicism of his youth was not replaced by another strong commitment, it is implicit.

Jacques V. . The taming of an intense Catholic experience through practices of the New Age. Comes into contact with the New Age at fifty. He is the author of two books about spirituality. (Recorded in a home for retired people and transliterated, July ) My path is a relatively simple one. I was born in a family of staunch Catholics. I am the fifth among twelve brothers and sisters. In , at , I was advised by my family circle to go to the university. I achieved a Science degree in mathematics, physics and chemistry, and as I had a religious vocation, I entered the seminary. I was a teacher and then,

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as I was kind of stubborn in my path, I took up residence among the monks at the Grande Chartreuse monastery, where I stayed two years because the old body wouldn’t take it. I came back down on dry land where I served for twenty years as a teacher and organizer, and at the same time, thanks to a brother who was near the world of the disabled, I got near all the associations, such as the Association des Paralysés de France [Association of the French Disabled], or the association against myopathy. I forgot to say I have always been a fan of tennis, from the age of twenty-five till my seventy-fifth birthday. It helped me. At fifty, I made an encounter through a radio show. I listened one night, on France Culture, to a broadcast by Karlfried Graf Dürckheim, an outstanding man who writes magnificent books like Hara and who utters that prestigious sentence: “every situation can become the occasion of meeting the numinous, the divine, God’s presence.”2 Not only did he say that, but he also gave the method for making the encounter: the first place is the wilderness, the beautiful, all what lies within nature, getting in tune with nature; the second place, is art and creation; the third place is eroticism in the deep sense of the word, that is the social link through all the people I can meet in my life; and the fourth one is high liturgy, the singing of the monks. In the same way, I met the Eastern world through the practice of yoga. At fifty, following my encounter with Dürckheim, I followed sessions, weekends of reflection, one in particular which comes from the United States and is called Creativism. It makes you understand that what you believed beforehand will lead to the experience that follows. When I say: “today, the weather is fine, today, the sun shines, I go out in the sun to experience it; if, I say, on the opposite: it rains, it’s the same for me because I will be able to read a while. It’s my belief, maybe influenced by my environment, which brings me to consider all things in my life as pieces of positive experience and teaches me to eliminate the negative beliefs too, that prevent us from living.” It’s a major thing that I lived during a week. I got accredited to teach that course, which I did with several people. After I was fifty, I took yoga lessons with an accredited teacher. I can myself teach yoga. This teaching helped me come back to a kind of serenity in my life by total conscious breath.

2 Hara is the vital center of the human, the seat of one’s spiritual energy in Japanese and Chinese energetic representation of the body. Hara is located in the belly. Some practices centered on the hara could increase well-being.

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R.D.: Did you go to other sessions and other training? J.V.: At the same time, together with a group of about fifteen people, we went to weekly weekends of learning to meet prayer, with monks, and with what we call Zen. It’s about becoming conscious, through a simple posture and through conscious breath, and to experience an inner encounter. R.D.: Were you transformed in depth by those trainings? J.V: They allowed me to pass on all I had received during the two years I spent in the monastery of the Grande Chartreuse. Communicating with the disabled and the paralyzed taught me to bring a rather mental knowledge into body-soul-mind experience through breath, through a yoga experience, to inscribe in one’s body everything one has understood with his brains. It’s what yoga passed on to me, as well as an outstanding man: Gérard Blitz, the man who introduced yoga and the Hindu reality in France. R.D.: What about “Reliance,” the group you participated in? J.V.: During ten years, I attended a group founded by Annie F. and Richard X., in a spirit like what I just told you. R.D.: Do you consider that you lived a conversion, since you turned fifty, or that you rather joined groups? J.V.: I can’t say I joined groups. I participated in a quest with people from those groups and, progressively, to a discovery which was my own. The others with whom I exchanged ideas made a discovery that can be similar or different, but those groups were a way of getting deeper into my first encounter which took place when I was twenty and left for the Carthusians. My deep conversion dates back to when I was eighteen, when I left and did my theological training, eventually in the Grande Chartreuse monastery, but as in a love relationship, there is, say, love at first sight, and then, as years go by, it grows deeper, and it comes back under different forms, and it leads to conversions, deepening. When I say that, at fifty, the encounter with Graf Dürckheim was a starting point, I mean that this man can become for other people an element of conversion, like growing out of today’s materialism and consumerism to discovering the inner mystery of things, what I would call to be converted. R.D.: Did it change the way you perceived other people?

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J.V.: I think that, by and by, I concretely realized what I knew in my head, and I was still in my head. A thought by the mystic Ruysbroek comes to my mind: if you were in prayer and very deep orison, if somebody told you your brother was sick, leave your orison and go have a bowl of broth warmed; thus, you leave God for God. The God of orison may be illusory. The God of love never is. If you ask how I work with Graf Dürckheim to build my own perception of the other, I can say that all this demanding personal work taught me to be awakened to the other, at the best, to pass on what he is: his human touch, and that it will be communicated by what you may call friendship or a kind of love. R.D.: Did you experience an illumination? J.V.: I will answer by referring to the two years I spent as a Carthusian. Every night, we sang the Hours. It was a great period of deep inner light, and after two years, on a st of August, the whole office was devoted to the Holy Virgin Mary. I spent two hours, not in the air, but in a kind of state of euphoria; it wasn’t an ecstasy in the out-of-the-ordinary sense of the word, but total euphoria, at the end of which I sensed my body didn’t follow. I left the following week. The old body wasn’t able to live this Carthusian life for a long time and stay in full balance, and I can say this total inner experience keeps me on my feet. I gained through it a kind of serenity in the painful events I underwent. It is a light that holds me but is within human relationships. R.D.: So, you had this illumination in a Catholic surrounding? J.V.: Definitely. This light, received in the heart of the Catholic faith and inside the inner, spiritual path of the monk I was for two years, through singing and concrete life. So there! R.D.: You joined the Carthusians when on a quest? J.V.: That’s it, and in fact, I entered the monastery at twenty-five, thinking that my calling was to live in the Church’s vision of the spiritual union. I can say, nevertheless, that at fifty, that is twenty years later, I was converted a second time, from that encounter with Graf Dürckheim on. R.D.: Did each group you met successively bring you new material? J.V.: What I received took place between thirty and fifty, when I met disabled persons. I was lucky enough to meet during these twenty years men and women who, in the heart of disastrous physical, psychological, moral conditions, disclosed to me the inner mystery of things and

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people—which the Gospel calls “the mystery of poverty, smallness,” and God reveals himself through this. They lived life’s essentials and revealed it to me. I will tell you this in a very concrete way: a twenty-eight year old woman, suffering from myopathy, told me this: “when I pray, I am conscious that God talks to me. He tells me: I am the one who loves you, your mother, your brothers, your sisters.” She revealed to me, through her condition, through her speech, that she was truly a personification of God, of Jesus Christ his son who, through her, met me and that I met. This is the fundamental mystery of the Gospel that I was lucky enough to live during a twenty-some years, and then, after that the encounter with Graf Dürckheim, but there was the mystery of the Gospel. It is to the smallest that God reveals himself. R.D.: How do you stand, here and now, toward mainstream religions? J.V.: I have immense respect for the great religions, because every human being has his own path, according to the place where he lives, his story, his encounters, Islam, Buddhism, Hinduism, Christianity. By meeting the Eastern world, yoga, the spirit of Buddhism that I came to know, by thinking over and through people that followed that path, let’s say I learned to see that every human is religious, even though he doesn’t know it. Not necessarily in the sense of performing liturgical acts alone or in the company of other people, but by his simple breathing, his deep being is already drawn to a mystery that is overwhelming. So, if that person is a Buddhist, he (or she) will go toward a spiritual awakening, overcoming desires to meet mystery. If that person was born in North Africa, he or she will have the thrice holy God of Islam. If he or she is a Christian, he or she will meet the Catholic Church or different Protestant denominations. Anywhere, there will be transcendence. R.D.: Then, it didn’t draw you nearer to religion, it put you a bit apart from religions? J.V.: I remain a Catholic, and I live in the spirit of the Catholic faith. I live in permanent contact with the life of the Catholic Church in my neighborhood, and with liturgical prayer on Sundays, together with the few who stay believers in that with deep conviction. It is the mystery of the sacraments in the Catholic Church, with all its richness (or even the corruption comprised in it, if you do not understand its meaning). R.D.: Did it bring you a philosophy for life? J.V.: Yes, and a kind of wisdom too. In that wisdom enters at the same

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time the experience I just expressed in my convictions, in my personal story, a little legacy from my mother, who gave me a sort of serenity. My philosophy consists in welcoming what comes—for instance, you, today in this interview. My philosophy stands in welcoming the coming event. There is this beautiful saying by Péguy, which fairly well transcribes my philosophy of events: “God is I who come, I who cajole you, I who castigate you. Do not fear, every instant, everyday, it is always I.” This does not mean that everything that happens to me, that falls on my head like a blow is something God sends to me. My philosophy is considering that whatever comes teaches me life and makes me meet the mystery of things. R.D.: Was your life changed by what you gained within the New Age? J.V.: I can surely say that my life was changed by several elements: my personal faith, the two years among the Carthusians, twenty years among the disabled, an encounter with a woman during six or seven years, the encounter with my present wife. R.D.: Did that course in the New Age alter your existence? J.V.: In my curriculum vitae, it made me give all up, then I came down again. I started again, and for twenty years I have been taking it up again, then, for that woman I left everything including my family who didn’t know where I was living for seven years. I left everything to enter the Carthusians, I left everything for a woman, then I was a bachelor again. Then I left it all to live with my present wife. I think that there is a moment when, because of . . . because of a human encounter which I believe I see God’s calling in, because of . . . I bugger off. Besides, that’s what the Gospel says: “you’ll have to leave everything because of me” Jesus Christ says “and you’ll be refunded a thousandfold.”

Commentary Jacques V. is a Catholic who discovers the New Age at fifty and who in the end stays attached to Catholicism. Within the church, he is outstanding. He does not just have a regular practice of his religion. He wants to become priest. He follows training for priesthood. Then, aiming to more than the charisma of function, he adopts the way of the mystic and joins the order of the Carthusians, where he meets with a mystical experience that scares him so much that he flees from monastic life. Of course, he was a Catholic, so he did not need to join that Church after being converted.

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Yet, though he talks about a conversion at the age of eighteen, we find a strengthening of religious membership around the age of twenty-one. One cannot talk of a conversion in the sense of a breach with one’s religion. One can envisage it from the perspective of a turning point under the form of a calling. This one is like a conversion ad intra, because it leads J.V. to change his life thoroughly, first by becoming a seminarian, then by becoming a monk. When he gets out of the monastery, he expresses his faith in the world, by serving in disabled persons associations, exercising charity—the “charisma of kindness” (Dericquebourg ). This, for him, is another encounter with God, this time through afflicted people. At the age of fifty, J.V. hears Graf Dürckheim talk on the radio. He talks about it in terms of “encounter” and “second conversion.” He finds in that author, whom some people classify as esoteric, a way of living his faith in the world. He reads Dürckheim’s books, and from then on, he will follow trainings that one would classify inside the New Age: yoga, Creativism, prayer, Zen. He meets “Reliance,” a group that proposes different spiritual approaches, trainings of self-development as well as lectures.3 He becomes a teacher in yoga. However, we cannot say that meeting the thinking of Graf Dürckheim means being converted because neither from an ideological nor from a practice perspective does he leave Catholicism. Mezzo voce, he experiences a deeper meeting with the divine, through the encounter of disabled persons. With yoga or Zen, he “tames” a mystical experience he underwent in the monastery. Actually, the experiences of serenity he undergoes sharply contrast with the disruption of the illumination he lived at the Grande Chartreuse. He completes an interpersonal experience among disabled persons, then among the non-paralyzed. The final wisdom he reaches is an ideology of welcoming the other (charity) and the events of life that is in fact a Christian one. J.V. never left a Catholicism. This can be seen as a fundamental trend in him. His belonging to the Church of Rome was strengthened by the experience of a religious vocation, which we consider to be a conversion ad intra. He continues to be a churchgoer. Meeting the thinking of Graf Dürckheim brought sense, yet it did not replace his Catholicism. In the same way, yoga and different propositions of meaning from the New Age neither erased the Catholicism nor brought any new social behaviors. J.V cannot be considered as being converted to the New Age. 3 Reliance is an association in Northern France that was a meeting point for people interested in the doctrines and practices of the New Age.

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régis dericquebourg Thierry B. . (Recorded at home and transliterated July, ). The Gnostic path fueled by the New Age

At the age of fourteen, I began to wonder about my existence. I was from a standard Catholic family. I attended the Catholic Church and, in the s, I completely transgressed the ideas of the Catholic Church. Strangely, it began by wondering about extraterrestrial life. I made two years’ research, during which I grew interested in UFOs. It was the passion of my teens. I must say that I wasn’t interested at all in the usual occupations of the youth of my age. It’s obvious that I was interested in spiritual questions, in existential questions, by the after-life. So I read a lot about extraterrestrials, but it happens that this field opened on physics, astronomy, then on Eastern movements and culture. It made me look on the side of primitive cultures to see how they talked of UFOs. It opened the world for me and made me leave Catholic culture. Afterwards, I met a friend in high school who introduced me to yoga, and in the following days, I discovered theosophy by Mrs. Blavatsky and Alice Bailey, in the company of that friend who is still my friend today. Alice Bailey’s school of thought is a bit more Western-like, easier for us to follow. It had the advantage of answering my questions. My spiritual path drove me to register to the “Arcanes” school at . I followed the required twelve years’ correspondence degree course. One studies Bailey and takes part in meetings. One is followed by a secretary and becomes a secretary after – years, answering to new members. In fact, I followed Arcanes during eighteen years.4 Afterwards, I joined another trend, Free Masonry (Egyptian rite), without letting down theosophy, which stays a major work that I am far from having exhausted. My spiritual path drove me to set on foot different associations that still exist, where I taught what I had learned. I opened my first association in , in order to deliver the teachings of the Arcanes School. I am specialized in consciousness, that is to say consciousness raising, thus leading to the defense of the freedom of conscience. That’s why I joined an association for the defense of the freedom of belief. Consciousness is a keyword on my spiritual path. I discovered everything is summed up in the word consciousness, and we can work and serve by

4 School of Arcanes was created by Alice Bayley (). The school prepares correspondence-course lessons upon esotericism for home study and organizes meetings and teaching sessions in its centers.

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leading those who surround us, everything that’s alive—provided there are thing that aren’t alive—to an ever higher level. It’s the aim of my life. I stand up against those who want to stop that consciousness from rising. Therefore, it’s the teaching of theosophy, too. This spiritual path is risky too, because you are sure to be wrongly considered and seen through a certain angle by the materialistic society, because you question many things. In fact, it’s the path of gnosis, of course. When people ask how I stand, I say I stand for gnosis. It’s what I claim. R.D.: Has your search come to an end? T.B.: I’ve just started upon the path. I could put it to a test. My luck was that, back in , my association for teaching theosophy was taken for a target, in the parliamentary inquiry on sects. As my aim was consciousness and freedom of conscience, I began to fight for the freedom of conscience, and it was a great chance, because the defense of freedom of conscience allowed me to go toward other fields of consciousness, other ways of understanding people, and to see that mine was relevant too. Today, I am thus interested in theosophy and what is around. I am positively sure it’s a major piece in spiritual teaching. Such a major piece that all the major trends of thinking in gnosis, back in the nineteenth–twentieth century refer to it. So today, I am far from being through. I even wish to go farther. I wrote three books. The third one talks of consciousness and consciousness-raising. I want to learn it, to spread it even more than before. I am but young in this teaching. R.D.: Were you transformed in depth in those groups you attended? T.B.: It did transform me in depth. I was thoroughly transformed. No, thoroughly is not the word, depth is. Outwardly, I just stay what I am. I work in the teaching business. I live a standard material life. It didn’t transform my material life, but it’s obvious that my quest isn’t downto-earth. It’s a spiritual one. The theosophical teaching didn’t bring me away from rationality. I am a much more rational being than before. On the inner level, I see life differently. The quest for material things isn’t a priority. It’s there only for food and drink. But on the inside, I have a totally different vision of life. R.D.: Did that course change your relations to other people? T.B.: To speak of my relations to the others, I can use the word transient. I know that, when I address a human being, whoever he is, I know that he is constantly evolving, that everything is therefore transient; so, what I

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see is a stage of life. I know that all these being will evolve. I approach a human being in a more global way, rather than seeing him, or her, in his own self. It has allowed me to stand back a great deal. I also use the knowledge that makes free by a sense of humor, because things don’t last. R.D.: Was your life transformed by the knowledge gained in spirituality and by the experiences? T.B.: On the intellectual level, yes, it’s true. On the social level, it’s true too, because one doesn’t make friends with everyone. I gather that if I hadn’t lived that spiritual quest, I wouldn’t be the same. I take delight in life. I have total hope. I am quite confident that everything is constantly evolving. I don’t live the same way as if I hadn’t have that spiritual quest. Life wouldn’t be so joyous on the inside, because joy is there. I am certain that life is endless. People frequently ask me how I can manage to keep that joy in spite of all the onslaught. My life would be totally different without that spirituality. R.D.: Where do you stand as far as mainstream denominations are concerned? T.B.: The mainstream denominations are unsuccessful religious quests. One day, someone perceives a part of the Whole and says it’s the truth. His truth becomes Truth. I observe them as one of the means to lead further to spiritual life. So, it’s a passage. R.D.: Are you still a Catholic? T.B.: I am interested in a religion in a purely cultural way, not in a spiritual one. I know that I won’t find any answers to my questions in whichever religion. My aim is not to have any dogma—and to serve other people. R.D.: What about self-development? T.B.: My spiritual quest wasn’t only bookish. I started an association whose goal was to deliver a teaching and to give psychological training. We did interpersonal psychology. As such, we studied Jung, Maslow. I came onto different trends in psychotherapy to put them in parallel. I practice Socrates’ maieutic with this experience in psychology. I use the tools of awakening, of knowledge and consciousness-raising—with the idea that knowledge makes you free. I practice therapy by listening. R.D.: What about body psychotherapy?

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T.B.: As far my body is concerned, I practiced yoga, martial arts, during fifteen years, but that’s no therapy. I practiced meditation and T’ai chi. My body isn’t forgotten. It’s for that reason that I don’t need any body therapy. R.D.: Did experiences accumulate? T.B.: I don’t know. I met people who left a thought system for another. My course put me in contact with so many trends of thinking that I could test the truth of theosophy. I haven’t found anything better. Experiences make me grow richer. They are extra experiences. They can’t replace theosophy. They don’t change anything. They enrich my primeval experience. R.D.: Did you experience illumination? T.B.: I underwent experiences of illumination, but they never “laid me out.” What I experienced were expansion of consciousness, of perception, out of body experiences, that you can’t explain to someone who did not experience them. What I call illuminative experiences is a rather strong sense of awareness that gave me a very deep feeling of well-being. R.D.: Do you think you were converted? T.B.: In fact, I didn’t think about it. When I stumbled upon the writings of theosophy, in , at sixteen, I said to myself: there, I got it. Besides, the first experience I had was at seventeen, when I finished reading the first book by Bailey I ever read, and I read Djwal Khool. I fell on my knees. I think it was a spiritual conversion. I sensed that I had found again— and not found—my way. I had gone—seventeen years had gone by—and I was consciously finding my way back. That’s what we call our ashram [“Consciously Finding My Way Back”]. R.D.: Do you think you took up with a former life again? T.B.: It’s obvious for me, and it was confirmed throughout the years. Thirty-one years later, it’s still my conviction. It’s always there that I find a relative certainty, because nothing is sure.

Commentary The course of T.B. was marked by a conversion to theosophy. At the age of sixteen, he discovers this Gnostic trend with the conviction that it corresponds to what he was looking for, and he links that discovery with a quest he began in a former life. He thus inscribes theosophy in

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an imaginary genealogy that expresses the evidence of his encounter with that spirituality. His first reading of Alice Bailey and Djwal Khool produced a strong emotion in him: he said he fell on his knees—what you rather do when you are converted to Catholicism. Is it because of his religious socialization inside Catholicism that he behaved that way? From then on, he starts to study theosophy with the school Arcanes. It is a lasting commitment: eighteen years. That love at first sight brings him to persevere in the quest for “knowledge,” the typical esoteric and Gnostic way. Catholicism is abandoned. We can find here a reorientation of faith. He still studies theosophy and confesses that he is not through with it. Like many Gnostics, he joins a spiritualist Masonic obedience, probably in order to get acquainted with symbolism, though he does not say so. His encounter with Gnosis brings him to start associations that will spread Gnosis and to share his quest for truth. It modifies his attitude toward material goods: through a conversation outside of the interview, I know that he did not take any academic degree or attend any high school that would have allowed him to reach a higher position than the one he has now. The way to Gnostic knowledge was undoubtedly enough for him. His associations were later listed as dangerous sects in the parliamentary inquiry led by Vivien, a representative in the French Parliament, with all the disastrous consequences that this exposure could bring in his professional and family life. This led him to launch a fight for the freedom of conscience that he is still busy with today. His encounter with theosophy was made manifest through a behavior noticeable on a social level. It comes in addition to acknowledging an in-depth cognitive mutation as well as a new vision of the world. He experienced illumination (out of body experience, consciousness raising inside this frame, though we can find these kinds of modified states of consciousness among people who do not follow any spiritual path) that he imputes to moments in his spiritual quest. We are in the presence of a conversion experience. During his Gnostic quest, he journeys with the New Age. He goes through self-development, different trainings in psychotherapy, in meditation, yoga lessons across fifteen years, T’ai chi and other martial arts that he, like J.P, our first interviewee, puts on the same level as more spiritual training. He sees that training as a supplement, an enrichment of his theosophical education. (“I haven’t found anything better.”) We cannot say that J.P is gleaning from one group to another in a disorderly way. He follows a Gnostic path and explores other paths of the New Age, in order to make this richer. He thus considers psychotherapy or self-improvement training a way to have his mind see more clearly,

becoming a new ager

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in order to reach a higher level in consciousness. Those are the same processes as in Scientology, in which hearings and the purification of the body in a sauna will cleanse the mind and body from engrams and toxins in order to allow consciousness to reach higher levels of knowledge. If need be, it could be said that T.B was converted to the New Age, if we consider, like Massimo Introvigne (), that Alice Bailey belonged to the New Age. However, his commitment to Gnosis and theosophy is distinct from adopting the Gnostic trend of the New Age. It did not take place within the New Age. It is lasting. He reoriented his life and relegated his former religion to the level of a partial approach to “Truth.” He is at one and the same time a convert to theosophy and a pilgrim of the New Age. He was converted to Gnosis when he was young, but afterward he was never converted to any of the New Age groups he saw. T.B found in the latter some elements he finds useful for the Gnostic path he chose in his youth and sees as final.

What Can we Draw from These Life Courses? In neither of the three cases we presented do we find any conversion to the New Age or to one of its entities, under the form of a “redirection of foundational trust.” When these people begin to participate in them frequently, the conversion has already taken place. T.B chose the Gnostic path after an “overwhelming” encounter with theosophy. J.V undergoes a conversion inside Catholicism. J.P distances himself from Catholicism after he searched for self-improvement, but there is no faith, no commitment, no symbolic behavior drawn from any of the spiritual groups he once frequented—which are themselves located on the same level as sports practices that improve physical skill and concentration— to replace what he himself calls his “blind and simple faith.” For these people, the New Age’s sphere of influence is a gathering of propositions of meaning and experiences through which they bring into motion the resources they find useful to follow their path to salvation. They adhere to them rather than are converted to them. Referring to Berger and Luckmann’s thesis on the conservation of subjective reality, we can give those paths an interpretation from the perspective of plausibility structures. All three of the interviewees insisted upon the social links they had formed along these paths. The activities that take place in that space (lectures, training, exhibitions, specialized bookstores, courses) and the people they meet are the “significant others” that give a

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plausibility structure to the attraction for activities offered to the public. They contribute to validating a quest for truth and meaning that mixes the body and the psyche with spirituality. The New Age offers this all, yet one cannot be converted to it because it is a mere nebula. It cannot invite conversion to itself. It can look like an alternative to institutions that are in charge of dispensing salvation goods, but does not allow an alternation. A course in the New Age goes through participating in groups that are only aggregates of people who, at a certain time, follow the same goal. They are not structured communities. Significant others give the quest for meaning and salvation its plausibility structure, whereas belonging to multiple groups is exactly the contrary of being rooted in a community. Yoga courses or Zen meditation do not aim at drawing people to Hinduism or Buddhism on a long-term basis. To attend a one-week Tantra training course with a teacher one will never meet again cannot bring one to be converted to Buddhism. A conversion will take place within a structured Buddhist community (Mathé, ). Shamanic trainings during the holidays in the South of France are not going to bring any long-term commitment to Shamanism, which would, in any case, have no meaning outside its ethnological context (Rivière, : –). Druidic trainings have little chance to gain followers to Celtic religion. Vibratory singing sessions are experiences that can be used in other spiritual paths. Most of the time, people who are in charge of training events or courses offer a fragmented knowledge of a spiritual way, plus techniques. One can adhere temporarily or permanently to these teachings yet, no structure—including meeting round the teachings of a spiritual master—can “make the convert”—i.e., bring, from the empirical perspective, a modification of a person’s life behavior and give the person the plausibility structures that will keep the person in his or her new universe of meaning. Indeed, a New Ager who would be comfortably “rooted” in a movement would not be a disciple of the New Age any longer, since the New Age implies mobility. That person would instead become a believer identified with a specific religious movement.

Conclusion The cases of the three New Agers reported here show that the New Age did not bring a biographic disruption in spite of the emotions and intellectual questioning these practices produced in them. It is rather a

becoming a new ager

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social space in which they brought into motion resources they thought useful to upbuild themselves, as well as reach salvation goods in a path they had chosen. This path was never replaced by a commitment bringing a change in social behaviors. Mobilizing resources could be furthered in Gnostic networks, through the encounter with “other signifiers”—the “Reliance” association, as well as so called “interesting” people, or people who “became good friends.” Those became structures of plausibility validating their quest. We could compare this phenomenon with what takes place in Protestantism, the interdenominational trend, in which any believer can taste for a while the specificities of every Protestant movement—Evangelicalism for instance—where the person experiences the intense emotional and spiritual healing prayer—while remaining a registered member of his denomination of standard Protestantism. The New Age perhaps is a place where one adheres successively or simultaneously to ideas or practices put forward on a market in constant evolution—in which some trends seem to be a craze, which gives the impression that people join to keep riding the wave of fashion.

References Acquaviva, Sabino and Enzo Pace. . Sociologie des religions. Paris: Cerf. Anthony, Dick and Massimo Introvigne. Le lavage de cerveau: mythe ou réalité? Paris: L’Harmattan. Berger Peter and Thomas Luckmann. . The Social Construction of Reality. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Bertaux, Daniel. . Les récits de vie: Perspectives ethnosociologiques, Paris: Nathan. Bruns, Roger A. . Preacher, Billy Sunday and Big-Time Evangelism. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Champion, François and Danièle Hervieu-Léger . De l’émotion en religion. Paris: Le Centurion. Delestre, Antoine. . Les religions des étudiants, Paris: L’Harmattan. Dericquebourg, Régis. . Les Témoins de Jéhovah. Unpublished doctoral thesis. University of Paris , Sorbonne. ———. . “Max Weber et les charismes spécifiques.” Archives de Sciences Sociales des religions : –. ———. . “Playing With a Tradition or Belonging to Another Tradition?” Paper presented at the  CESNUR/INFORM Conference, Twenty Years and More: Research into Minority Religions, New Religious Movements, and “The New Spirituality.” London School of Economics. www.cesnur.org// london_deriquebourg.htm. Desplan, Fabrice.  Structuration de l’action collective adventiste: Approche

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d’un groupe religieux minoritaire dans le Nord de la France. Unpublished doctoral thesis. Lille: Université Charles De Gaulle-Lille . ———.  “Parcours de convertis.à l’Eglise adventiste” pp. – in Ces protestants qu’on dit adventistes, edited by Fabrice Desplan and Régis Dericquebourg. Paris: L’Harmattan. Ferraroti, Franco. . Histoire et histoires de vie. Paris: Klincksieck. Geoffroy, Martin. . “Le processus d’institutionnalisation du Nouvel age.” Religiologiques : –. Hervieu-Léger, Danièle. Le pèlerin et le converti: La religion en mouvement. Paris: Flammarion. Introvigne, Massimo. . Le Nouvel âge des origines à nos jours. Paris: Dervy. Mathé, Thierry. . Le Bouddhisme des français: Le bouddhisme tibétain et la Soka Gakkaï en France: Contribution à une sociologie de la conversion. Paris: L’Harmattan. Possamai, Adam. . “Not the New Age: Perennism and Spiritual Knowledge” Australian Religion Studies Review: –. Ray, Paul H. and Sherry Anderson. . L’émergence des créatifs culturels. Paris: Editions Yves Michel. Rivière, Claude. . Socio-anthropologie des religions. Paris: Armand Colin. Weber, Max. . Economy and Society. Berkeley: University of California Press. ———. . The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. Los Angeles: Roxbury. Wilson, Bryan. . Religious Sects: A Sociological Study. London: Weidenfield and Nicholson.

chapter seven ENCHANTMENT, IDENTITY, COMMUNITY, AND CONVERSION: CATHOLICS, AFRO-BRAZILIANS AND PROTESTANTS IN BRAZIL

Roberto Motta For both theoretical and practical purposes, I accept Anthony Blasi’s definition of conversion as “redirection of foundational trust.” I further assume that religions, by their very nature, are agencies or “entities” that provide “foundational trust.” But if so, why do people move from a given religion to another religion, or from no religion to a religion, or from a religion to no religion at all? The answer is that conversion means less foundational trust as such than, as pointed out by Blasi, a redirection, implying transition, transfer, passage. It is a before-and after-process, and if change is not taken into account, there is no meaning in the study of the subject. In spite of these remarks, I will not deal in this chapter with the phenomenon of conversion from a purely religious standpoint. This chapter is intended to belong to the fields of the sociology and anthropology of religion. Indeed, one of its basic hypotheses throughout is the existence of causal relationships between conversion to a given religion and the social, economic, political, and cultural circumstances of the life of devotees. This methodological principle is akin to that adopted by Max Weber in his chapter on “The Sociology of Religion” in Economy and Society (: –). I am also not going to deal with the characteristics of conversion from a general socio-anthropological perspective, but rather with conversion as it occurs in Brazil, where it basically consists in the abandonment of allegiance to the Roman Catholic Church in favor of one of the three following religious tendencies: () historical Protestantism, () Afro-Brazilian cults, () Pentecostalism.

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roberto motta The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Progress

The birth of Brazil as an independent country in  was in itself the result of a kind of conversion.1 The ideological frame of mind behind the creation of the new country was a result of the Liberalism associated with the basic tendencies of the eighteenth-century Enlightenment. In strict terms, Brazil was born as a secular or lay country. It is true that the  constitution maintained Roman Catholicism as the official religion, while granting other cults, especially British and, later, NorthAmerican Protestantism, full freedom of exercise and, at least in practice, of proselytizing. Brazil did not repudiate Catholicism when the country became independent, but since then, beginning with the political and cultural elites and little by little percolating into the whole population, a religious reference has not been conceived as part of the country’s national or political identity, although the preeminence of Catholicism— which continued to be the official religion until being disestablished by the first constitution of the Republic, promulgated in —continued to be acknowledged, even by non-Catholics, as a matter of historical and social fact. But the secularized outlook that tended to prevail in Brazil after Independence, indeed since the late colonial times under the influence of French and Anglo-Saxon Enlightenment liberalism, entailed a kind of disaffection for the Church. Catholicism came to be only marginally required for the elites to “think” the country, the society and their role within them.2 Since the existence of an independent political entity called Brazil, what we might call Brazilianhood has been conceived as secular in character (but not as militantly antireligious), and thus compatible with other forms of religion beside Catholicism.3 The first of those alternative reli1 Brazilian historiography holds that Brazil’s independence from Portugal was “proclaimed” on September ,  by Pedro, then a resident of Brazil, who was the son and heir of João VI, King of Portugal. The Prince became Brazil’s first Emperor as Pedro I, but this did not prevent him from also becoming King of Portugal for a brief period in . According to many historians, Brazil’s independence was only consummated in , when Pedro I was pressured to abdicate Brazil’s crown in favor of his son, Pedro II, who reigned until the Republic was proclaimed in , having always enjoyed the reputation of an enlightened, benevolent, and not particularly Catholic, monarch. 2 Or, at that, to “think the world.” A full-fledged, if mainly implicit, Weltanschauung was involved in the process (cf. Paim ). 3 As Peter Berger (: ) puts it, “the religious tradition, which previously could be authoritatively imposed, now has to be marketed. It must be “sold” to a clientele that is no longer constrained to buy. The pluralistic situation is, above all, a market situation.

catholics, afro-brazilians and protestants in brazil  gions was Protestantism, whose spread in the country began by .4 As conceived by some leading sectors of the national and indeed of international society, a glorious future awaited Brazil if its people converted to Protestantism.5 From the very start, the missionaries, of mainly North American (but also British) extraction, added to their religious kerygma a proclamation of a more historical and sociological kind. To join a church issuing from the Reformation would be equivalent to choosing the path of social, cultural and economic modernization. For one of the central problems of the Brazilian elites since practically the time of independence had been the country’s at least relative backwardness, all the more so if compared to North America. To this very day this has been the pressing, though often only implicit, query of Brazilian thinkers and social scientists: “Why are we not the United States?”6 Protestantism was viewed by many of its adepts, and also by many who held no religious allegiance to it, as the foundational religion of the United States and hence as the source of its progress. One of early Baptist missionaries in Brazil, the Rev. Zachary Taylor (: –) is the author of this magnificent, if somewhat crude, early formulation of the Protestant ethic and the spirit of capitalism thesis: “Are you a Protestant?” is the question raised by the Catholics. “Yes” is the reply by the Protestant, who then tells the civilization, progress and advancement of Protestant nations—England, Germany, Switzerland, Holland, Norway, Sweden, Denmark, France in part, the United States. Whereas Italy, Spain, Portugal, Mexico, Central and South America, all dominated by priests, are rated as third class nations. I showed that quite all the machinery, hardware, cloth, medicine, etc, are made in Protestant countries. The priests ride in Protestant railroads, steam boats, send tele[. . .] At any rate a good deal of religious activity in this situation comes to be dominated by the logic of market economics.” 4 For a standard history of Protestantism in Brazil, cf. Léonard . He is also the author of a standard history of Protestantism in French (), with a special section devoted to Brazil. 5 The theme of the glorious, indeed the “heavenly” future (celeste porvir), in these or other terms, was a frequent one among missionaries and early converts. Celeste Porvir is also the title of a standard reference book concerning the history of early Protestant missions in Brazil (Mendonça ). 6 With the adoption of cultural relativism by a part of the intellectual elites, Brazil, the negative form of this question, tended to become somewhat unfashionable—its positive reverse being considered as more politically correct. Thus it is asked, in the terms of a distinguished Brazilian anthropologist, “what makes Brazil to be Brazil?” (Matta ). However formulated, this question looms very large in Brazilian social thought or in the thought about Brazil, whether written by Brazilians or foreigners. (Cf. Motta  for a short essay on the centrality of this question in Brazilian social science.)

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roberto motta grams over Protestant wires, read their papers over Protestant spectacles, and they walk over in Protestant shoes to see the nuns sewing on Protestant machines.7

Early Protestantism in Brazil—that is, the kind of Protestantism associated with some of the “historical” churches of the English-speaking world (Baptists, Methodists, and Presbyterians), which began doing missionary work and gaining converts around —appealed to the progressivist elites of the country.8 Using a vocabulary not as fashionable in the middle of the th century as it is nowadays, we can say that early Brazilian Protestantism appealed to “those who hunger and thirst” after rationality, wanting to fill the country with it. Rationality implies in this case a form of thought that would discard the iconophilism associated with traditional Roman Catholic worship to the benefit of a kind of thought associated with the logos, the abstract Word entailing free access to the Bible by an autonomous individual who rejects the mediation of a priesthood.9 Early Protestantism appealed thus to the social and cultural elites of the country.10

7

The dating of Taylor’s memoirs is approximate. The memoirs are located in the library of the Univesrity of California at Los Angeles. Cf. Mendonça  for a more detailed study of the social thought of other missionaries and early converts in Brazil. 8 The equation between Protestantism and progress is found, in nearly ideal-typical way, in the political activity and in the writings of the Brazilian “Apostle of Progress,” Aureliano Tavares Bastos (–). He wanted Brazil to gain “a new soul.” In order to undergo such a complete change, the country should learn from others the recipe for progress which he, very much like Max Weber, recognized in the liberal spirit of the Protestant Reformation, that led a small colony in New England to give rise to the “mighty, rich, large, enlightened, free, intelligent, generous, courageous republic of the United States of America.” For the United States had not suffered from “the stupid fanaticism of the th century priests, having instead been settled by Quakers and members of other independent sects.” According to Bastos, thanks to the Reformation the United States had been impregnated with “morality, industriousness, intelligence, perseverance, consciousness of human dignity and the sense of personal freedom, which are the message of the Gospel and stand out as the basic features of the races of the North of the Globe” (Vieira : ). 9 This is especially the case with such Catholicism as was practiced by the average lay person in the colonial and newly independent countries of Latin America. The mere possession of a Bible (all the more so if translated into the vernacular) was considered an offense belonging to the jurisdiction of the Inquisition. 10 Those elites had their followings, their clientele, who often accompanied them in their new faith. To this day the Presbyterian and Baptist churches (mainly, it is true, in the more traditional region of the Nordeste) bear the stamp of prominent patriarchal or quasi-patriarchal families, whose dependents joined them in their new religion (cf. Perruci ).

catholics, afro-brazilians and protestants in brazil  By the turn of the th century Roman Catholicism had adopted some of the attitudes and practices associated with Protestantism or, put another way, with modernity. It did not yet change its dogmas, but they were increasingly presented in a clearer and more systematic, logical way, in a move away from the embedment of belief in images and ceremonies, although the teaching of the catechism in verbal terms was never entirely absent from Brazilian Catholicism.11 In point of fact, Catholicism, in Brazil and elsewhere, has always consisted in a confederation of religious styles, though with the prevalence of some of them in different historical periods. Beside the worship of saints through vows, pilgrimages, feasts and the like, plus that minimum of sacramental practice required by the commandments of the Church, there gradually emerged in the country more ethical forms of Catholicism, largely due to Italian and French influence within Roman Catholicism as a whole.12 This was associated with an increased participation of lay people in the Eucharist, both through frequent communion and through an increased awareness of the theological meaning of the Mass.13 It was the Church’s explicit strategy, by the turn of the th century, to concentrate on maintaining or regaining its hold on the country’s political and cultural elite. This was done through both the development of more “rational” forms of devotion, and through the establishment of a network of mainly secondary schools for both boys and girls all over the country under the direction of religious congregations often of foreign origin—also often in keen competition with the Protestant missions— as well as schools (colégios or ginásios in Brazilian parlance) directed by secular priests and even by lay persons of acknowledged piety. The

11 Victor Turner (: ) remarks that “iconophilic religions often develop complex and elaborate systems of ritual; symbols tend to be visual and exegesis is bound up with the ritual round. Iconoclastic religions are associated with reform and seek to purify the ‘underlying meaning’ by erasing the signantia, the iconic symbols, which appear to them to be ‘idols’ interposing themselves between individual believers and the truths enunciated by religious founders.” 12 One might also say that these were more “logophilic” or even more “logical” forms of Catholicism, giving the word the meaning it has in Paul’s letter to the Romans (: ), in which Christians are advised to engage in “logikèn latreían,” translated as “obsequium rationale” in the Latin Vulgate and as “reasonable service” in the King James version. 13 The first published translations of the missal into Brazilian Portuguese date from approximately , largely as a consequence of similar trends in France and Germany. The translation of the missal, for a long time forbidden or discouraged by the Holy See, was logically just a short step away from the translation of the actual Mass into the vernacular, which occurred after Vatican II.

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progress of the historical Protestant churches was checked, and around  they had stopped growing in relative numbers.

Enchantment and Participation Both the Roman Catholic and historical Protestant churches had made— to use a phrase that became fashionable only later in church circles—a “preferential option” for the elite, not so much under the assumption that elite people’s souls were elite souls, but rather expecting that by gaining or maintaining their religious hold on the upper classes they would gain or keep the whole country. Such strategy appeared as all the more advisable as priests and missionaries were few in number. The pace of secularization was certainly slower among the lower classes. But the members of these classes possess neither the culture, the outlook, or the educational requirements that would qualify them as adequate candidates for either the Catholic priesthood or the ministry of the historic Protestant churches—i.e., for full-fledged participation as members of the Church at all levels. Hence the importation of foreign priests (mainly but not only members of so-called regular clergy) from the late decades of the th century down to Vatican II and beyond. The native Brazilian clergy were recruited in regions of old settlement (like the interior of the Northeast) from a thin layer of “poor whites,” if educated enough to meet the requirements for an intensive study of Latin, which was indispensable until the s in the education of priests.14 Catholic priests were also recruited—indeed still are to the present day—from the German, Italian, and Polish communities who settled in the Southernmost states of Brazil and soon were among the main carriers of Roman Catholicism in Brazil—increasingly so, indeed, as among oldstock Brazilians secularization and conversion to other religions grew and did not stop growing in the second half of the th century. This is the central problem in the sociological interpretation of Brazilian Catholicism: who are the people who carry it—Max Weber’s Träger? The old aristocracy of planters, Crown and Republic officers, and their descendents forsook it. They thought they had found better things either in a certain latitudinarianism or even in outright conversion to Protestantism. But 14 Textbooks in both philosophy and theology were written in Latin, although lectures by the s were, as a general rule, delivered in the vernacular. Serbin () provides a comprehensive history of Brazil’s clergy and seminaries.

catholics, afro-brazilians and protestants in brazil  the old subordinated classes, the descendents of African slaves and subjugated Indians, déclassé whites, poor laborers, owners of small tracts of land and their like, in both rural and urban Brazil, people of many shades of racial and cultural mixture, did not feel responsible for the Church either—all the more so as their sons were not admitted into seminaries for no other reason than they did not meet the basic cultural requirements. They were considered as strangers until able to meet these requirements, that is, until becoming able to undergo the kind of cultural conversion that would render them full participants in Catholicism with the ritual and cultural characteristics that had become canonical by the turn of the th century. The conversionary failure of the Catholic Church in Brazil is primarily and essentially due to this gap and the wondrous success, from the late th century to the present, of Pentecostals and, in their own way, of Afro-Brazilians, in whose institutions no similar gap exists. They belong, as it has been said, to “religions of participation” (cf. Ribeiro ). This may be understood in many ways and from several points of view that tend rather to complement than exclude one another. On the plane of ritual, it may refer to ordinary trance or trance-like states—that is, to the immediate cognitive and emotional seizure of the “holy” or of what is conceived as such. On the same plane it may also mean that ritual is enacted by devotees and not simply watched or attended by them.15 They are the actors, and it is the expression of their identity. It may also mean that ritual, in down-to-earth fashion, meets the daily life problems of devotees and tries to solve them. The search for healing is, for instance, a frequent ingredient of rituals of participation. From the examples that were just given it may also be concluded that, on the plane of organization, there is no gap between the laity and the clergy—or at least it means that access of the layperson to clerical office is not barred by reasons of cultural distance, social status, race, and the like. A given religion functions as the source of foundational trust to the extent that it works as both the source and the expression of a basic 15 This entails a first magnitude problem to Catholicism with its fundamental distinction between priests and laymen. Several solutions have been proposed in the course of history to the problems caused by this gap. The Council of Trent reiterated the distinction, with all the consequences it entails, in clear-cut opposition to the principles of the Reformation. Theological trends of the th century (cf. Congar ) culminating in Vatican II, have tended to attenuate (or to euphemize) the distinction by appealing to the notion of the basic priesthood of believers, which would not as such exclude a “ministerial” priesthood.

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identity. This identity can be approached from three main angles: It is a sociological phenomenon. The devotee is, or becomes, the member of a group, which he recognizes as his own and which recognizes him as a believer among other believers. There is a psychological level. The devotee gains a new personality or reaches a new understanding of his personality with its peculiarities in its Sitz-im-Leben, that is, in its concrete circumstances of a social, political, economic and cultural character. And thus identity merges into—if these neologisms may be used here—a kind of egodicy, which is at the same time a sociodicy, culminating in a theodicy that explains evil and promises to replace it with good, in this life (preferably), as well as in a world to come. At this point there are two caveats that should be sounded. First, there is no royal road that would allow us to discover which religion will express the identity of a given group at a given time. This is a purely contingent, historical issue. Second, and even more important, religion is not just any expression of identity, but a sacred, enchanted expression of identity. Not even Weber, when dealing with ideal-typical Calvinism, in which he saw the “logical conclusion [of] that great historical process in the development of religions, the elimination of magic from the world [ . . . ] repudiat[ing] all magical means to salvation as superstition and sin” (: ), understood Calvinism as a disenchanted religion, that is, as a non-religion, at the level “of the ultimate values governing the action and the consistently planned orientation of its detailed course to these values” (: ). Indeed Calvinism, as understood by Weber, fits in the “valuerational” (wertrational) type of social action, “determined by a conscious belief in the value for its own sake of some ethical, aesthetic, religious, or other form of behavior, independently of its prospects of success” (: –). One may thus conceive of a religion having supposedly reached full disenchantment at the level of ritual and “sacrament.” On the other hand, this religion would stop being religion and consequently stop gaining converts if and when it shed its enchanted reference on the plane of ultimate values. In the case of Calvinism and Calvinist-derived churches this is represented by reference to a revelation attested by the Bible and accepted in an act of faith—that is, in Blasi’s terminology, by an act of “foundational trust.” Conversion cannot but be directioning or redirectioning foundational trust toward an enchanted or supernatural source of trust. Hence it is fully legitimate, indeed logically required, to conclude that disenchantment—at least at the level of ultimate values— leads to the decay of religion, and conversely, enchantment, if not directly

catholics, afro-brazilians and protestants in brazil  leading to conversion, is a necessary condition for conversion to take place. This is the assumption that is demonstrated by the case of Brazil. My hypothesis relating the conversion failure of Catholicism to its deficit in participation as described above, especially vis-à-vis the subordinated strata of Brazilian society, should now be completed by an additional assumption: people, at the present Brazilian historical juncture, will join only those religions that keep, reinforce and revitalize, the enchantment they offer to their potential converts.

The Brazilian Revolution Everything changed in Brazil during the second half of the th century, and this change continues into the present. A basic feature of this process was the demographic explosion, associated with the intensive flow of migrants from the countryside to the cities, indeed to the largest and most important ones, such as São Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, Salvador de Bahia, and Recife. These migrations have coincided with an equally accelerated process of economic modernization. These trends have resulted not only in the rise of an urban working class, but also of a lumpen class, in the sense of an amorphous group of dispossessed and uprooted individuals, set off by their inferior status from the economic and social class with which they used to be identified, without having, at the same time, succeeded in establishing new roots of a stable and formal character. Between the working class and the lumpen class (which may as well, at least for our purposes, be called the “informal sector”), there is no clearcut border. In Brazil, like in other emergent countries, transit is rapid and easy between the two categories. Whatever their precise economic and social status, the migrants have willy-nilly lost contact with their former supporting structures, their links with their former communities, the formal or informal associations, the brotherhoods, shrines and feasts of their original setting.16 They have been lost in transition, that is, they have fallen into a state of anomie which, among other things, entails perplexity and loss of identity and of that foundational trust which, in the last resort, is the foundation of psychological and sociological being. As Ronald Glen Frase (: – ) writes: 16 Roger Bastide, drawing intentionally from Ribeiro (), dealt extensively with these structures in his Les Religions Africaines au Brésil ().

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roberto motta The real victims of this gigantic social dislocation were the rural migrants stripped of the social institutions of extended family, patron-client and face-to-face relationships which had provided them with a degree of security and a framework of meaning in their traditional habitat. . . . The rural migrants striving to survive in an urban milieu they did not understand found themselves in a state social scientists describe as anomie. . . . This inchoate urban population, bereft of traditional institutions which were left behind when they made their journey into the city, were susceptible to new ideologies which could make meaning of their existence and offer hope for the future. . . . It appears useful to understand Pentecostalism and various forms of Spiritism [that is, Afro-Brazilian Candomblé and similar cults] as compensating mechanisms whereby the lower classes seek effective participation in society.17

A mighty struggle has taken place in Brazil. There has been a main loser, the Roman Catholic Church; a secondary gainer (which also has been a secondary loser), historical Protestantism; and two primary gainers, Afro-Brazilian Candomblé and Pentecostalism. Historical Protestantism has discussed earlier in this chapter. These other two religious tendencies will now be briefly examined from the standpoint of participation, identity, and enchantment that have been recognized as basic in the process of redirection of foundational trust.

Candomblé Candomblé is the continuation of traditional, icononophilic Catholicism with the addition of a few specific ingredients of its own.18 It arose in port cities of late colonial Brazil, where Africans, originally imported as slaves, could establish their own associations—largely, at first, in the guise of brotherhoods, supported and recognized by the Catholic Church. The saints of Catholicism were fused, in an elaborate code of correspondences, with deities of African origin, especially so with the orixás of Yoruba derivation.19 A basic belief of Candomblé (partly inherited from 17 Frase builds on older foundations, laid by both foreign and Brazilian authors, especially among them Camargo (; ), Durkheim (), Moura (), Willems (), and Wilson (). 18 The word Candomblé is used here to designate the whole of the Afro-Bazilian religions (Xangô, Mina, Batuque, Umbanda) and others, which, in spite of regional, ritual and theological variations, share the basic beliefs of the dyadic contract with the saints and of access to them through trance of possession. (cf. Motta .) 19 It appears, however, that the original carriers of Candomblé were free Africans and their desdendents, petty traders, petty craftsmen, and the like, representing a kind

catholics, afro-brazilians and protestants in brazil  popular Catholicism) concerns the ability of individuals to make pacts with the deities for their mutual benefit.20 The supernaturals, mainly known as orixás or santos in Afro-Brazilian parlance, are worshipped through sacrifice, dance and trance, and we are here very far from the religions of “abstract man” such as they resulted, in the West, from the Reformation, the development of capitalism, and other manifestations of the tendency toward rationalization.21 In exchange, the saints give their devotees help and protection, mainly in crises associated with health, employment, love, and the like. This religion has not adopted a system of abstract, impersonal ethics, but is rather oriented toward the felt needs, the concrete and practical circumstances of the lives of devotees. The basic characteristic of late th century Candomblé up to the present has been its divestiture from its original ethnic affiliation. Membership in it is now being offered to an anonymous body of consumers independent of the racial and ethnic sources from which they emerged. This can also be considered the de-ethnization of ethnicity (Motta ). The spread of Candomblé is not especially directed toward the AfricanBrazilian sector of the population. It is offered instead to a public who, to a great extent, are people of European descent living in the large cities in the Southeast. Without severing its ties to the major priestly dynasties who often claim descent from the royalty of Nigeria and Benin, Candomblé has turned itself into a kind of universalistic religion appealing, without any discrimination of color or ethnic origins, to all Brazilians— indeed to all people. This may be considered as entailing a process of identitophagy: On the one hand, Africanness advances in Brazilian society to the degree to which it separates itself from Blackness, while at the same time the accelerated growth of the Afro-Brazilian cults, and the recogniof early lumpen in port cities such as Bahia, Recife, and Rio de Janeiro. Candomblé and similar cults have by no means been rural manifestations but have taken place in urban contexts. Candomblé starts to loom large on the Brazilian scene by the turn of the th century. While, unlike Protestantism, it did not claim a rank comparable to that of the Catholic Church, its emergence nevertheless points to the gap in identity (or identification) between Catholicism and Brazilianhood that began to be felt by the same time. 20 Concerning the notion of a bilateral (or “dyadic”) contract between saints and men, which the Afro-Brazilians largely inherited from popular Catholicism (cf. Foster , which remains to this day as a classic study on this topic). Regarding Catholicism in Brazil, cf. Azevedo , or in the context of the concept of a religious marketplace, cf. Greenfield . 21 This expression derives form Marx (:): “For a society based upon the production of commodities . . . the cultus of abstract man, more especially in its bourgeois developments, Protestantism, Deism, etc, is the most fitting form of religion.”

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tion of Africanness as a source of personal identification and of communal life, is associated with no project for social and political change and proposes no program to alter the standards or styles of living of the Black in any concrete way. Candomblé is fully and intensively a religion of participation. The holy is the object of an immediate seizure through trance, sacrifice and feast, which at the same time entail the intuition of an identity that leaves behind differences whether rooted in the outside world or in the cult group itself.22 Similarly, there is in Candomblé no sociologically significant separation or gap between clergy and laity. If priests and priestesses as sacrificers and diviners require according to generalized belief a special consecration, access to that priesthood—in contrast to Catholicism and the historical Protestant churches—does not require years of study in seminaries or universities. This entails a kind of institutional flexibility that has greatly helped the celerity with which the cult followed the migrants who moved to the periphery of cities like Rio de Janeiro, São Paulo, Recife, and others.23 Many of the conversion advantages of participation are shared by both Candomblé and Pentecostalism. Yet, the former, refusing in actual practice the notions of fall, sin and repression, would seem to agree with some of the values of modernity and liberation.24 This is closely linked with the Afro-Brazilian solution for the relief of guilt feeling, which is the festive solution. This is the opposite of the repressive, normative or, if we prefer, ethical solution of other religions, which transfer sacrifice to the sphere of control over the behavior of the faithful. Candomblé, so to speak, squares the circle. It encourages the relief of guilt by the offering of sacrifice, and at the same time it permits the gratification of the tendencies of the devotee’s libido. Sexual activity, and this in its whole 22 Pierre Verger (: ) sees the trance of Candomblé as “something more than a conditioned reflex.” Indeed, it is according to him, a “manifestation resurrected from the deepest recesses of the unconscious.” 23 In Recife the history of Candomblé (locally known as Xangô) is characterized by a steady process of expansion from the old historical center, where the oldest shrines were found, to more and more distant peripheries. 24 This was strongly emphasised, no doubt with a certain amount of poetic license, among others, by George Lapassade and Marco-Aurélio Luz (: xix), who studied the Candomblé of Rio de Janeiro. According to them, in the rites of that religion “Blacks symbolically speak about all liberations: from slavery, to be sure, but they also speak about the liberation of Blacks as Blacks; and they also mean the liberation of Eros, of mad love. . . . We see there Dionysus, the Greek god of the slaves and of the women, fighting against Apollo, the god of the Masters.”

catholics, afro-brazilians and protestants in brazil  gamut, is simply viewed as indifferent (adiaphorous, as Weber would probably be prone to say) to the deities, save when it derives from their specific tastes and preferences. These characteristics also probably help to explain the attraction Candomblé exerts over potential adherents of many ethnic backgrounds, within and without Brazil. On the other hand, filhos-de-santo—an expression, with the literal meaning of “children of the saint” or “children of sainthood” commonly used in Brazil to designate devotees of Candomblé—lack a consistent theodicy. They do not possess a general explanation of the world, of evil, suffering, or retribution. They are oriented to the present without any commitments to political or eschatological projects. The followers of the Afro-Brazilian religions do not care to change the world. They do not even care, as a matter of fact, to change their own persons. Participants in these religions do not care to have a Lebensführung, a methodically rationalized manner of life, such as these expressions are understood in Max Weber’s historical sociology. And they do not care, either, about a life that would begin with death. They can perfectly admit that these things may exist, but they are not concerned with them. The core of Candomblé is the bare contract that binds the man and saints and men with one another in the exchange of goods and services through sacrifice, trance, dance, and feast. This festive and enchanted character is its main strength, but also its main weakness.

Pentecostalism Man shall not live by liberation alone, but by every logically consistent theological system, such as that which is represented in contemporary Brazil by the Pentecostal churches, the fastest growing religious movement in Brazil and in the rest of Latin America. To the masses marginalized by anarchic economic and demographic change, Pentecostalism offers the pride that originates from the experience of the Holy Spirit and from the certitudo salutis, accompanied by an ethical project that gives method, order and sense to daily life. In marked contrast with both Candomblé and with popular Catholicism (Vulgarkatholicismus in Weberian parlance), the specific core of Pentecostalism consists of a kind of emotional sectarianism that leads to the adoption of ascetic rules of personal behavior. This applies primarily to the sphere of all spontaneous forms of enjoyment, not only with regard to sexual activity (allowed only in marriage), but also to include

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alcohol and tobacco, which are strongly proscribed. Such prohibitions gain, in point of fact, a status confessionis, not unlike the interdiction of pork in Judaism. That is, they are perceived by members and outsiders as characteristics that set apart the devotees from the rest of population.25 Thereby they enhance the propensity to save.26 This leads, at the same time, to a gain in the conscienziosità which is also a hallmark, as Brazilian popular perception has it, of the behavior of crentes or evangélicos. Pentecostalism provides some form of rationalization for the everyday life of believers. It also gives them a deeply ingrained sense of community. There are ministers and there are laymen, but there is no important gap between the two categories—in contrast not only to Catholicism, but to the historical Protestant churches as well. Pentecostalism, by providing full participation in the community, furnishes members above all with a sense of identity that leads them to feel responsible for the church as a whole. Brazilian Pentecostalism, since its beginning—once again in stark contrast with Catholics and historical Protestants—has tended to be independent and to rely on its own strength and strategies, being unencumbered by institutions introduced, let alone controlled, by missionaries or influenced by significant flows of financial aid from abroad (cf. Frase : ). The characteristics associated with participation and identification, a style of worship making use of even the barest of installations, the training of ministers reduced to the learning by rote of a simple message, a basic kerygma, as it is said in the vocabulary of New Testament studies, have rendered Pentecostalism “the right religion for the right people”. The churches of this tendency have greatly spread among the migrants who settled in the periphery of the large cities, giving them a new community, a new identity, and a new pride. This hypothesis had been formulated a long time ago by many scholars, among them Camargo (, ), Willems () and Frase (). It has been confirmed beyond all reasonable doubt by empirical studies that stress the correlation between migration and conversion to a Pentecostal church, while emphasizing at the same time that the “available evidence shows that the periphery of the

25 A popular Brazilian song draws a neat contrast between o crente e o cachaceiro, “the believer and the drunkard.” 26 This, however, need not and does not entail a special association of Pentecostals with economic entrepreneurship. They certainly have at least some elements of the Protestant ethic, although they are not necessarily the “carriers,” in Weberian terms, of “the spirit of Capitalism.”

catholics, afro-brazilians and protestants in brazil  large urban centers can be considered as the areas of the keenest religious competition” (Jacob et al. : ).27 The growth of Pentecostalism in Brazil (and elsewhere in Latin America) has occasioned the growth of a vast literature, which would deserve a full study in its own right, implying a kind of Sociology of Sociology. As an almost absolute rule, scholars have tended to take sides for reasons of a general philosophy of history, being either strongly in favor or strongly against the new churches. Among the former, largely influenced by The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism thesis can be listed Willems (), Martin (), Freston (), Mariz (), and many others. Among the latter, Lalive d’Épinay particularly stands out (; cf. Bastian ; Corten ). Although his empirical references are Chilean and Argentinean, he has influenced to a significant extent all subsequent research in Brazil and in the rest of Latin America. Lalive at least implicitly follows the Marxist thesis of religion as alienation, and as he uses it, the expression “haven to the masses” (all the more so in the Spanish refugio de las masas) is strongly reminiscent of Marx’s “the opium of the people.” Francisco Cartaxo Rolim (, ), who has played a leading role in Brazilian research, has been even more explicitly, indeed dogmatically, influenced by Marxism.

The Utopia of Liberation Other reasons, beside a dogmatic bias of Marxist origin, explain the frequent aversion of Brazilian social scientists toward Pentecostalism. In point of fact, scholars in Brazil and elsewhere often tend to think of themselves, in a Comtean way, as the clergy of the religion de l’humanité— being entrusted by the laws of history with presiding over the transition from the theological to the positive stage. Afro-Brazilian religions, in spite of their conspicuous sacrificial character, seem to agree with one view modernity by both their rejection of the notions of sin and guilt and 27 This belongs to the Durkheimian, rather than Weberian, core of the sociology of religion and can also be found in Thomas O’Dea (:): “Social change, and especially social disorganization, result in a loss of cultural consensus and group solidarity, and set men upon a “quest for community”, that is, looking for new values to which they might adhere and new groups to which they might belong. This implies that conversion—the acceptance of a new religion—is itself closely related to needs and aspirations which are highly affected by the social circumstances of the people involved, although social conditions are not a simple and unique causal element in such cases.”

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by being, or by having been when they first originated in Brazil, religions of the oppressed. They were thus adopted by many social scientists in Brazil not so much in strictly religious terms—that is, in spite of some outward tokens of participation social scientists have not been en masse converted to them—but by the establishment of a kind of theoretical protectorate over them. Therefore, thanks to the writings of sociologists and anthropologists, Candomblé was invested with highly rationalized theological reinterpretations. Congresses and conferences, attended by both researchers and devotees, have functioned as “ecumenical councils” in which faith is defined and proclaimed (cf. Motta , ). A holy and scholarly alliance was therefore established in Brazil between the Afro-Brazilian religions and the sociologists and anthropologists who claim to define and represent the values of modernity—or perhaps, rather, the metaphysics of modernity. Indeed, mainline social scientists have not hesitated to take sides in the religious medley. This is the case of Rolim, as it is of Mariano (whose  essay is a standard reference in its field), and of many others. More recently a collection of essays bearing on the topic, authored by some of the luminaries of the social science of religion in Brazil,28 is presented in the following way: “This book is a collective effort to analyze, from various points of view, the impact caused by the growth of the Pentecostal churches, with their speeches and practices of aggression and religious intolerance toward the Afro-Brazilians and their violations of civil rights by discrimination due to sexual preference” (Gonçalves da Silva : ). By contrast, Pentecostals, who have shunned the control of foreign missionaries, are by no means willing to adjust their beliefs and practices to the model of modernity defined by the faculties of sociology and anthropology. They do not “speak of all liberations” (Lapassade and Luz : xix), but rather of many kinds of repression—or at least of a strict regulation of the spontaneity of the body, with its affections and passions, viewing as its “most urgent task the destruction of spontaneous, impulsive enjoyment” (Weber :). The postmodern age is not only in search of spontaneity, but also of regulation and rationality. The conversionary appeal emanating from the Dionysian spontaneity of the unconscious is not necessarily stronger 28 Vagner Gonçalves da Silva is the editor of the volume and one of its contributors, besides Ari Pedro Oro, Alejandro Frigerio, Ricardo Mariano, Emerson Giumbelli, and others.

catholics, afro-brazilians and protestants in brazil  than that which originates from the need of regulation, indeed of repression, associated with the superego, all the more so if regulation and repression are associated with a consistent and enchanted theology.29 According to Rolim (: –): [T]he recent magical and religious manifestations of Pentecostalism are a sign among others of support for the capitalist system. What is in question there is not the divine, even if it is called the power of God or the power of the Spirit. What is in question is the profane power, the bourgeois ideology. The reenchantment of the world, if we are allowed to call it so, is nothing else but the absence of a critical consciousness open to the contradictions of capitalist society. . . . [I]t must be said to those who are afraid of experiments outside of the magical, religious, ahistorical ground, that such experiments would encompass a view of society and a religious consciousness open to the situation of the poor and thus able to give them the means to recover their religious potential and to translate into the concrete their thirst after liberation as subjects of their history.

This is exactly the program of the Liberation Theology whose conversionary advantages and disadvantages we may now consider, before we draw the final conclusions of this chapter. It has been said that in Brazil the Catholic Church, by the adoption of the Theology of Liberation, chose the poor, but the poor chose the ever growing churches and sects of Pentecostal derivation. This is a paradox that haunts the sociology of religion in Brazil and elsewhere. I am here suggesting that the solution to this paradox is found in the guiding thesis of Max Weber in his Religious Rejections of the World and Their Directions (the Zwischenbetrachtung []). The conversion success of a given religious movement—hence its social, political and economic consequences—is essentially linked to its theodicy, indeed to its enchanted theodicy. This is equivalent to saying that the inner-worldly success of a religious tendency depends on the persistence of a properly religious “rejection of the world.” In other words, the passage of religion to liberation politics—implying, as Rolim wishes, a disenchanted “critical consciousness open to the contradictions of capitalist society”—if understood as the exit from religion as allegedly motivated by religion itself, involves a contradiction, as it implies the elimination of the basic religious, enchanted motivation. As a program for action outwardly based on a religious motivation, a 29 Consistent, that is, as theology, and not as social science or as science of any kind. (Though consistent, the theology of Pentecostalism, like the theological training of its ministers, is far simpler than those of the historical Protestant churches and of Catholicism.)

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disenchanted Liberation Theology was, in the long run, doomed to fail because it disregarded an indispensable requirement for its success, the religious rejection of the world in order to bring about a new world.30 Max Weber (:  [emphasis added]) says this in the following way: [T]he concentration of human behavior on activities leading to salvation may require participation within the world (or more precisely: within the institutions of the world but in opposition to them) on the basis of the religious individual’s piety and his qualifications as the elect instrument of God. This is “inner-worldly asceticism” (innerweltliche Askese). In this case the world is presented to the religious virtuoso as his responsibility. He may have the obligation to transform the world in accordance with his ascetic ideals . . .

This is precisely what is absent from Liberation Theology: a properly religious rejection of the world and of society. Therefore, that theology is torn by an insurmountable contradiction. It has fully endorsed the oxymoron that consists in the claim that there is a religion which, qua religion, leads to an exit from, hence the end of, religion. It is, on the other hand, quite clear that there may be no full-fledged religious disenchantment as long as religion remains the value that motivates, as their final cause the “ethical, aesthetic, religious, or other form of behavior, independently of its prospects of success” (Weber : ).31 Gutierrez (: –)—followed by Rolim and many others—claims that “with the Theology of Liberation we have reached a political interpretation of the Gospel, a new way to make theology. It is theology as a critical reflection on historical praxis. Thus it is a liberating theology, the theology of the liberating transformation of the history of mankind.” Supernatural, enchanted, other-worldly salvation is thus replaced by inner-worldly, 30 Yet, nothing prevents it from possessing, or having possessed, a certain effectiveness during a limited period, either because it represented a kind of “interim ethics,” meant to assure a smooth transition from religion into a basically secularized politics or because it resulted from a tactical alliance with a given aim, say, an electoral victory—and this very likely done in full awareness by at least some of its proponents. This is made possible precisely because of its syncretic character, its religious and political components being simply juxtaposed in a kind of cognitive penumbra. Liberation Theology also represents the quest for a new source of legitimation—valid at least for the interim, a reasonable interval before complete secularization, during which the vested interests resulting from previous commitments can be decently safeguarded—for the very existence of the Church, which will now devote itself to performing high quality services of a political and “historical” kind. 31 This need not mean, however, that an exit from religion, or from a given religion, cannot be caused by the inconsistency of a given religious system or even that religious systems are per se inconsistent.

catholics, afro-brazilians and protestants in brazil  historically immanent, political liberation. No other Heilsgut is promised by the new theology beside political liberation resulting from the end of oppression and brought about by class struggle. This may be viewed as a détournement de religion, allowed by the cognitive penumbra of ideological syncretism, leaping from a strictly religious dimension to an essentially secular or secularized, disenchanted ideology. An extensive literature, of both theoretical and descriptive character, is today available, concerning Liberation Theology in Brazil, the rest of Latin America, and even the world at large, whose listing, classification, review and evaluation could constitute the subject of many papers and books. This is not the aim of this section. Besides pointing to some basic internal contradictions of a theological and logical kind in the basic theoretical tenets of the movement, I want to give but a few examples of how things have occurred in practice. To my knowledge no descriptive study is as vivid and poignant a portrayal of how things really happened as Jadir de Morais Pessoa’s, A Igreja da Denúncia e o Silêncio do Fiel (The Church of Denunciation and the Silence of the Faithful). Pessoa wants to study, as he says, “the exchange of traditional religious rites and services for popular actions of liberation, especially of rural workers” (: ). His scene is the diocese of Goiás, in central Brazil, where, he adds, beginning with the diocesan assembly of , the terms Igreja do Evangelho [Gospel Church] and Caminhada [literally “path,” but certainly suggestive of Peru’s sendero luminoso, “shining path”] were to define the new social and religious identity of all Catholic individuals who adhered prophetically to the process of change that was taking place in the diocese. These changes comprised above all the rupture with traditional religious habits centering around the “consumption” of sacraments and the courageous denunciation of the situations of injustice, especially of the exploitation of the rural workers by the landowners. (: )

As simple and as attractive as this is, things take a decided turn to the more complex, when we read that “the uses were dogmatically changed. Whoever attributed to religion the task of explaining or giving a meaning to personal or family situations that have no sense at all (illness, death, failures, disasters) had now to restrict it exclusively to the decodification of social relations and politics of oppression” (: ). A nearly totalitarian order was imposed on the diocese: The whole network of religious services [ . . . ] was declared to be unnecessary and even harmful, since it was oriented toward the consumption of sacraments rather than to evangelization. Movements such as Cursillo,

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roberto motta Charismatic Renewal, lay associations like the Apostolate of Prayer, the Catholic League, the Marian Congregation, and the Third Order should make room for the only acceptable form of practicing religion and belonging to the Church. But the policy of uniformity was not successful. . . . The sociological urgency of this situation derives from the failure to recognize that religion and politics are two different religious dimensions. . . . My empirical data point to the sheer and naked superposition of the two spheres. The religious sphere was deprived of its language and identity, which were transferred to the speech and objects that were hitherto specific to the political sphere. The end result of this process was the politicization of the religious and the sacralization of the political. (: , )

This rapid religious change, or rather, this quick exit from religion supposedly caused by theological motivations, led to some tragic, at times tragicomic, consequences, of which Pessoa gives some examples, of which this is one: “Several persons of the same family were killed in a car crash at Nova Glória. As they were practicing Catholics, the priest was called to celebrate their funeral mass. He not only refused to go, but in addition, ridiculed the demand of the bereaved.” Pessoa then adds, with a somewhat naïve eloquence—augmented by references to Peter Berger, Victor Turner and Claude Lévi-Strauss—that “death, after all, is a basic anthropological reality, which is ritualized in every society” (: ). Likewise, while conceding that “the violence of the landowners against the workers was extremely serious, being the source of the problems that really mattered and toward which all lights were directed,” he also observes that “problems of a personal kind, like marital difficulties, alcoholism, clashes between neighbors, emotional and sexual problems among the young, child rearing issues, and so on did not get the same attention, since, from a political standpoint, they had little to do with people’s development of consciousness” (: ). There is thus an erosion of religiousness that does not spare even the most militant. Pessoa tersely reports that a priest, who was “one of the leaders of the [liberationally militant] pastoral work [of the diocese] moved to São Paulo, where he took a Master’s degree in Social Anthropology and later became a pai-de-santo [Candomblé priest] in Curitiba, where he died.” There is also the less portentous case of the sister whose activity was very important in the beginning of the Caminhada. She quit religious life and married the former president of the syndicate, who was also one of the main lay agents of the Gospel Church. They are still the leaders of the congregation of the small valley where they now live. They cultivate a small garden and seldom visit other places (: ).

catholics, afro-brazilians and protestants in brazil  Whether or not he formulates it so, the main conclusion that can be drawn from Pessoa’s ethnography, concerns the self-defeating character of Liberation Theology which, as its leaders would have it, should mean the passage from religion into politics as motivated by religion itself.

The Decline of Catholicism In spite of the many papers that have been devoted to Liberation Theology in Brazil, there has not yet been a sociological, historical, or even theological full-fledged evaluation of Liberation Theology in Brazil. It is not clear what, in terms of costs and benefits, it has represented to the Catholic Church. One of the indicators of those costs and benefits could be presumed to consist in the demographic evolution of Brazilian Catholicism. According to Brazilian census data, which has included religious affiliation in virtually every decennial compilation, there were ,, Catholics in  and ,, in . There were, in absolute numbers, ,, more Catholics in the latter year than in the former.32 Yet, respective to the total population of the country, the percentage of Catholics fell from   in  to   in . In Rio de Janeiro which, in spite of its having lost the rank of capital to Brasília, is still a trend-setting city for the whole country, Catholics were no more than   in . Meanwhile, the combined membership of the Pentecostal churches and sects leaped from ,, in  (when, for the first time the census treated them as a separate category) to ,, in —that is, from .  to .  of the whole population.33 Pentecostals have been growing to the tune of one million new adherents each year. A single church, Igreja Universal do Reino de Deus, experienced indeed astonishing growth, passing from mere , members in  to over ,, in —and it keeps increasing. Pentecostals have obviously been filling a religious void. On the other hand, it can be safely stated that the Liberation Theology has not been

32 Brazil underwent very rapid demographic growth in the second half of the th century. Thus, from around ,, in , the total population had incrased to around ,, in . 33 Protestants in general (that is, Pentecostals and affiliates of so-called “historical churches”) were .  of the whole population in .

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filling a void. And it does not seem qualified to do so due to its lack of a consistent theodicy, oriented not only to the coming of a new Heaven, indeed of a new Earth, but also to the personal, subjective, ordinary needs of people, taking into account disease, aging, addictions, love, rivalries, employment, financial difficulties, and all the many dismal failures of everyday life. “Catholic radicalism,” to use the vocabulary of Emanuel de Kadt’s () pioneering study, could hardly fail to reflect structural changes in Brazilian society. It does indeed reflect, to mention but one aspect of the change, the demographic explosion that took place both in urban and rural areas of Brazil, originating the huge masses of migrants, the “marginal population” (cf. Pereira ) that became a prime object of the interest of radical theologians and who joined so massively the shrines of Candomblé and the temples of the Pentecostals. At the same time the clergy have tried to assure themselves, should the end of religion be at hand, a decent interim by cooperating with the social and political forces which, during the second half of the th century, could be seen, at least in Latin America, as the “possessors of History.” In the time of Gutierrez’s writing of his classic book, there were reasons for his like to hope that the Cuban model of revolution would sooner or later dominate the whole continent. The fall of the Berlin Wall and the end of real socialism in Eastern Europe among other factors entailed the indefinite postponement of that dream.

Final Remarks This is a provincial paper whose conclusions are not meant to apply to other countries than Brazil nor to world areas other than Latin America. It might be argued that Brazil, due the peculiarities of its ethnic, cultural, and social history, follows a course that could not possibly be the same as that of the mainline Western countries. This was the thesis of one of the earliest scientific observers of the Brazilian scenery, who in the early years of the th century, wrote about the “illusion of catechesis” to which missionaries and other clergy would fall prey to in Brazil or concerning Brazil: “Here . . . as in other places where missions—whether Catholic, Protestant or Muslim—to convert the people can be found . . . the opposite has occurred: Catholicism has been adapted to rudimentary animism, which gives a material, physical and objective representation to all mysteries and abstractions associated with monotheism” (Rodrigues : ). Thus the massive adhesion to terreiro and temple—that is, to

catholics, afro-brazilians and protestants in brazil  Afro-Brazilian cult groups and Pentecostal congregations—reflects the ethnic history of the country. We must indeed be careful in generalizing the Brazilian example to other lands. Yet, the central hypothesis of this chapter is that religious conversion implies everywhere the refusal of the “iron cage” of rationalization, secularism and disenchantment such as they came to prevail in the Western world. Converts are basically attracted to those religions which have kept an “enchanted” outlook, that is, to those religions that appeal to something beyond empirical reference, to a “wholly other,” indeed to the very “Holy” (cf. Otto ). This appeal to something beyond an empirical referent appears to me to be very much the same thing as Blasi’s “foundational trust,” which in turn implies a basic act of faith.34 Brazil has some undeniable ethnic and historical peculiarities. Yet, what happens here is, in its way, part and parcel of a much wider tendency that has parellels in the culturally and politically dominant countries of the Western world and probably in other areas. We should note that while the Roman Catholic Church kept its basic enchanted outlook, which in its specific case entailed a staunch opposition to some aspects of modernity—including its distrust, at least before the more moderate stand adopted by Pius XII, for the scientific and rationalized (hence disenchanted) study of the of the Bible and tradition, which led to the socalled “crisis of Modernism”—it attracted important numbers of converts in France (especially intellectuals in the first half of the th century [cf. Gugelot ]) and in English-speaking countries, until the very eve of the Second Vatican Council. This event was a watershed, as it meant, among other things, a kind of cognitive capitulation to disenchanted modernity, leading to an immediate fall in the number of converts and, indeed, of adherents. Liberation Theology has been an effort to give a new meaning to the disenchanted Church. But such disenchantment has been, at least in Brazil, a major factor of the very high rate of conversions to enchanted and fundamentalist Pentecostal churches and sects, and it also helps to explain the expansion of the Afro-Brazilian cults. The case of Liberation Theology allows us to draw a further conclusion: There is not, there cannot be, religion without an enchanted core. And this enchantment 34 The core of enchantment, as it understood in this chapter, consists therefore in the act of faith, which may be associated, according to the case, with elaborate systems of mythology and of magical practice. But even without mythological systems and/or the magic practices, religion remains enchanted by the appeal to the supernatural referent.

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is exactly that which leads religion to be considered, in Marxist terms, as “the opium” and “the illusory happiness of the people,” rendering vain or at least very difficult all attempts to change religion into a critical reflection bearing on a purely immanent historical or political praxis. Likewise, it can also be concluded that, barring some felicitous play on words that attributes different meanings to what is only apparently the same term, a religion that qua religion leads to the exit from religion can hardly exist.

References Azevedo, Thales de. . O Catolicismo no Brasil: Um Campo para a Pesquisa Social. Salvador (Brazil): Edufba. Bastian, Jean-Pierre.  Le Protestantisme en Amérique Latine. Geneva: Labor et Fides. Bastide, Roger. . Les Religions Africaines au Brésil: Contribution à une Sociologie des Interpénétrations de Civilisation. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Berger, Peter. . The Sacred Canopy: Elements of a Sociological Theory of Religion. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. Camargo, Cândido Procópio Ferreira de.  Kardecismo e Umbanda: Uma Interpretação Sociológica, São Paulo: Pioneira. ———. . Católicos, Protestantes, Espíritas. Petrópolis: Vozes. Congar, Yves. . Jalons pour une Théologie du Laïcat. Paris: Cerf. Corten, André.  Le Pentecôtisme au Brésil: Émotion du Pauvre et Romantisme Théologique. Paris: Karthala. Durkheim, Emile. . The Elementary Forms of Religious Life. New York: Free Press. Foster, George. . Tzintzunzan: Mexican Peasants in a Changing World. Boston: Little Brown. Frase, Ronald Glen. . A Sociological Analysis of the Development of Brazilian Protestantism: A Study in Social Change. Ph.D. dissertation, Princeton Theological Seminary. Freston, Paul.  “Protestantism in Latin America: Characteristics and Controversies.” Social Compass : –. Gonçalves da Silva, Vagner, ed. . Intolerância religiosa: Impactos do Neopentecostalismo no Campo Religioso Afro-brasileiro. São Paulo: Edusp. Greenfield, Sidney M. . “Population Growth, Industrialization and the Proliferation of Syncretized Religions in Brazil.” Pp. – in Reinventing Religions: Syncretism and Transformation in Africa and the Americas, edited by Sidney M. Greenfield and André Droogers. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Gugelot, Frédéric. . La Conversion des Intellectuels au Catholicisme em France: –. Paris: CNRS.

catholics, afro-brazilians and protestants in brazil  Gutierrez, Gustavo. . Teologia da Libertação. Petrópolis: Vozes. Jacob, Cesar Romero, Dora Rodrigues Hees, Phlippe Waniez, and Violette Brustlein. . Atlas da Filiação Religiosa e Indicadores Sociais no Brasil. São Paulo: Loyola. Kadt, Emanuel de. . Catholic Radicals in Brazil. London: Oxford University Press. Lalive d’Épinay, Christian. . Haven to the Masses: A Study of the Pentecostal Movement in Chile. London: Lutterworth Press. Lapassade, George and Marco-Aurélio Luz. . O Segredo da Macumba. Rio de Janeiro: Paz e Terra. Léonard, Émile G. . O Protestantismo Brasileiro. São Paulo: Aste. ———.. Histoire Générale du Protestantisme,  vols., Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Mariano, Ricardo. . Neopentecostais: Sociologia do Novo Pentecostalismo no Brasil. São Paulo: Loyola. Mariz, Cecília Loreto. . Coping with Poverty: Pentecostals and Christian Base Communities in Brazil. Philadelphia: Temple University Press. Martin, David. . Tongues of Fire: The Explosion of Protestantism in Latin America. Oxford: Blackwell. Marx, Karl. . “Excerpt from Toward the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right,” Pp. – in Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels, Basic Writings on Politics and Philosophy, edited by Lewis S. Feuer. Garden City, NY: Doubleday. ———.  Capital: A Critique of Political Economy. New York: International Publishers. Matta, Roberto da.  O Que Faz o Brasil. Rio de Janeiro: Rocco. Mendonça, Antônio Gouvêa.  O Celeste Porvir: A Inserção do Protestantismo no Brasil. São Paulo: Aste. Motta, Roberto. . “La Sociologie au Brésil.” Cahiers Internationaux de Sociologie : –. ———.a “A Eclesificação dos Cultos Afro-Brasileiros.” Comunicações do ISER (): –. ———. b “Indian-Afro-European Syncretic Cults in Brazil: Their Economic and Social Roots.” Cahiers du Brésil Contemporain : –. ———.  “La Modernità del Feticismo: Scienziati Sociali, Riunioni, Incontri e la Formazione della Chiesa Afro-Brasiliana.” Pp. – in Identità e Mutamento nel Religioso Latinoamericano: Teorie e Ricerche, edited by Roberto Cipriani, Paula Eleta, and Arnaldo Nesti. Milan: FrancoAngeli. ———. . “The Curchifying of Candomblé: Priests, Anthropologists, and the Canonization of African Religious Memory in Brazil.” Pp. – in New Trends and Developments in African Religions, edited by Peter B. Clarke. Westport, CT: Greenwood Press. ———. . “Ethnicity, Purity, the Market and Syncretism in Afro-Brazilian Cults.” Pp. – Reinventing Religions: Syncretism and Transformation in Africa and the Americas, edited by Sidney M. Greenfield and André Droogers. Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield. Moura, Abdalaziz de.  “O Pentecostalismo como Fenômeno Religioso Popular no Brasil.” Revista Eclesiástica Brasileira : –.

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O’Dea, Thomas F. . The Sociology of Religion. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice Hall. Otto, Rudolf. . The Idea of the Holy. London: Oxford University Press. Paim, Antonio (ed.).  Pombal e a Cultura Brasileira. Rio de Janeiro: Tempo Brasileiro. Perrruci, Glaucília. . Relações de Parentesco e Filiação Religiosa: Uma Visão Antropológica. Recife: Imprensa Universitária. Pessoa, Jadir de Morais. . A Igreja da Denúncia e o Silêncio do Fiel. Campinas: Alínea. Ribeiro, René. . “As Estruturas de Apoio e as Reações do Negro ao Cristianismo na América Portuguesa.” Boletim do Instituto Joaquim Nabuco : – . ———. . Antropologia da Religião e Outros Estudos. Recife: Massangana. Rodrigues, Raimundo Nina. . O Animismo Fetichista dos Negros Bahianos. Rio de Janeiro: Civilização Brasileira. Rolim, Francisco Cartaxo. . Pentecostais no Brasil: Uma Interpretação SócioReligiosa. Rio de Janeiro: Vozes. ———.  “Pentecôtismes et Visions du Monde.” Social Compass : –. Serbin, Kenneth P. . Needs of the Heart: A Social and Cultural History of Brazil’s Clergy and Seminaries. Notre Dame, IN: University of Notre Dame Press. Taylor, Zachary. . The Rise and Progress of Baptist Mission in Brazil, typescript. Turner, Victor.  “Symbolic Studies.” Annual Review of Anthropology ; – . Verger, Pierre. . Notes sur le Culte des Orisa et Vodun à Bahia, la Baie de tous les Saints au Brésil et à l’ancienne Cote des Esclaves en Afrique. Dakar: Mémoires de l’Institut Français d’Afrique Noire. Vieira, David Gueiros.  O Protestantismo, a Maçonaria e a Questão Religiosa no Brasil. Brasília: Editora Universidade de Brasília. Weber, Max. . “Zwischenbetrachtung: Theorie der Stufen und Richtungen religiöser Weltablehnung.” Pp. – in Gesammelte Aufsätze zur Religionssoziologie . Tübingen: Mohr-Siebeck. ———. . Economy and Society. Berkeley: University of California Press. ———. . The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism London: Routledge. Willems, Emílio. . Followers of New Faith. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press. Wilson, Bryan R. . Magic and Millennium. Berkeley: University of California Press.

chapter eight CONVERT, REVERT, PERVERT

Enzo Pace If a conversion is seen as a battle taking place along the boundaries of systems of religious belief, then it can be studied not only as a process involving individuals in their relationships with those who succeed in convincing them to “change sides” in terms of their faith, but also as an indicator of a conflict going on inside and outside a given system of belief. This conflict is about the endurance of the symbolic boundaries that a system is strongly interested not only in marking, but also and above all in defending in order, on the one hand, to state the superiority and authenticity of the truth that it claims to possess over that of other religions, and on the other to ensure that the symbols of the verum that it defends cannot circulate freely beyond its borders. These symbols are consequently no longer the distinctive elements of a bonding capital. They become signs of a willingness to cooperate with other religions or spiritual traditions, drawbridges let down between different symbolic capitals, and the foundation blocks of a bridging capital (Putnam ). In a way, a far more complex and differentiated socio-religious environment seems to develop along the boundaries laid down and protected by a system of belief, where individuals can perceive that there are other ways of believing that differ from the religions they were assigned at birth (Rambo ). If, on the other hand, we analyze conversion starting from a systems theory of religious belief (Luhmann , ), then the relevant issue from the sociological standpoint is not only to reconstruct the processes inducing a person to change faith (the subjective dimension) and trust (the social dimension, i.e. the social networks and conditions facilitating the change), but also to analyze the relationship between the system of belief and the environment, between what—for the sake of brevity—we might call an established religion (with its doctrines, its temples, its body of specialists, its devotions adopted by the various social classes, and its rituals) and what is, by definition, the surplus sense that individuals always tend to attribute to their actions when they think they are acting religiously. In fact, there is a discrepancy between the sense created

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by organized systems of belief and the sense spontaneously attributed by individuals on the strength of their specific (individual and social) biographical features, and this discrepancy is one of the areas worth exploring in a comparative sociological study of systems of religious belief (Pace ). In the relationship between system and environment, conversions to another religion can be interpreted as a given system of belief proving unable to dominate the surplus sense produced in the environment. People who change religion are basically individuals who no longer feel entirely at home with the set of beliefs and rites of their previously given or chosen religion. Various salvation goods (Stolz ) may circulate in a person’s social environment, relating to different systems of belief, so they cannot be represented as exclusive goods over which the systems are able to wield absolute control. As a result, the less the different systems of belief succeed in defending at least the boundaries delimiting their own salvation goods, which they can use to support their claim to be different and (in many cases) superior to the others, the less the individuals will see these boundaries of difference as impassable in the socio-religious setting. Moreover, if individuals tend to share certain socio-religious practices (funerals, weddings, births, festive practices during the main festivals on the various religious calendars), then the divergence—between the sense established by a system of belief on the one hand and the consent it is given in social practices on the other—will tend to increase, a fact that emerges from numerous case studies on societies historically characterized by religious pluralism (for instance, sub-Saharan Africa, Brazil, Japan and India). Conversion is therefore basically a battle that takes place along the symbolic boundaries between systems of belief that happen to coexist in the same social environment. If a person converts, it is as if one of the systems had lost the battle to keep the person convinced and convincingly within its own boundaries. In systems of belief that function on the basis of the law of quantitative growth (the more we are, the merrier—in that the numbers of our faithful are proof in itself that we are on the right and true path), a few conversions pose no great threat. They are not taken as seriously as real mass transfers of people to other religions or systems of belief. Take the case, for instance, of the large numbers of Brazilian, Mexican and Guatemalan people who switched from the Catholic religion to various Evangelical, Pentecostal or charismatic churches. In all these cases, it was more a case of a massive than of a mass conversion, since there was no longer a prince or king wielding his power to oblige his tribe or people to embrace a given

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

faith. This is a molecular movement that allows individuals to join a new church, leaving behind the one with which they were familiar, if for no other reason than because it was the church into which they were born (the Catholic church, that is). In many cases, there is not even any need for the persuasive effect of a television channel or TV preacher behind their decision to change their faith. For an individual, this decision can be experienced not so much as a breakaway from his previous beliefs, which identified him with a given salvation institution or socially-organized world of sense, but rather as a new spiritual voyage leading him beyond boundaries that he no longer considers impassable to explore a territory that seems new, but not too far removed from the universe of beliefs that he is formally abandoning. A conversion is therefore interpreted as a threat to a system of belief that sees it as weakening its ability to claim once and for all (as all religions do when they are convinced that they bear a universal message) that theirs are the real salvation goods for the whole of humanity. It is worth adding that a conversion process may involve not only passing from one religion to another, but also departing from a religion to become a non-believer in all its various cultural forms, from convinced atheism to agnosticism, from generic deism to spiritual research without churches or dogmas (Davie, Heelas and Woodhead ; Flanagan and Jupp, ; Giordan ; Heelas and Woodhead, ). In this sense, a conversion still subtracts power from a system of belief. It transfers information to the energies of the spiritual sphere and, in a sense, distributes it in the environment. This loss is all the greater the more the system has become historically structured into a complex organization functioning on the principle of obedience to an acknowledged authority. The more the authority is founded on the organizational axiom that Auctoritas facit veritatem (Schmitt ), the more severely it will suffer the loss—not so much of the large number of faithful, but rather of its control over its symbolic boundaries. In a sense, a person who has converted wields the power of the loss: he loses the faith, as it were, to acquire another. Applying the debt-credit concept that Nietzsche identifies in his On the Genealogy of Morality () as the original social relationship in the evolutionary process that leads a human being to go beyond the level of primitive instinct, it is as if a person who has converted has contracted a new moral commitment to his chosen new system of belief, while the system from which he departs is in his debt, being guilty of not having known how to keep him within its boundaries. It is hardly surprising (and common enough knowledge for there to be no need to

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stop here to discuss the issue thoroughly) that many religions have always treated those who embrace another faith as traitors, renegades, heretics, apostates, and so on. Apostasy, in particular, has been considered a punishable crime (and still is by some schools of Muslim law), even warranting the death penalty, since it is configured and still seen not only as offending God (a sin), but also as a gross deviation from the established social and political order (a crime). In other words, it is like a breach of contract, and the party at fault must face the consequences. A person who converts contracts a new debt, a new obligation to the system of belief that he has chosen more or less of his own free will. The degree to which his action is voluntary depends on the historical and social circumstances in which the conversion takes place and can be determined from the set of constraints on the conversion process itself. It is one thing to speak of compulsory conversions, quite another when an individual has had freedom of choice: between two opposite poles—no freedom on the one hand and total arbitrary freedom on the other. (There are also various intermediate situations to which we shall return later.) There is therefore a sort of irony for the systems of belief: the more they claim to be faithful custodians of an absolute truth and entrust the responsibility for defending it to an established authority, the supreme head of a religious organization, the more conversions are seen as a snub of this authority (rather than of the truth, which can continue to circulate freely, albeit in fragments, in the socio-religious environment), because conversions point to a weakness in the image the authority wants to portray of itself as the illuminated and ultimate holder of the truth. While on this issue, it is worth noting what happens in the now boundless world of Protestant branches and denominations, where new churches and new sects have continued to flourish ever since the Reformation, confirming the structural weakness of the organizing principle that has progressively taken shape behind Protestantism (Willaime ), unlike other Christian churches, and the Catholic church in particular. Since this organizing principle is founded on the idea that every human being illuminated by the faith, as laid down in the Bible, potentially has the church within him, conversion becomes more of a mental attitude than of individuals choosing to become associated with one church rather than another, abandoning the church of their birth to join a new sect, and so on. This is why it is important to make the point that not all conversions are equal. There is clearly a huge difference between the conversion of Paul of Tarsus and the compulsory conversions of Hebrews and Muslims after

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 in Spain, or the mass conversions imposed by the Sublime Porte in the Balkans, or more recently first by the German and then by the Belgian settlers in Burundi and parts of Ruanda. What is less obvious is that Paul steps over a line as Jesus of Nazareth had already done, a line marking the boundary between Hebrew tradition and the new religion taking shape around the figure of Jesus. But while Paul struggles at the border that now separates the two religions, in search of his identity as a new believer (a Christian), in the case of compulsory conversions there is a new, dominant religion that uses the converts (or potential converts) to reposition the impassable boundary that separates and distinguishes them from the defeated religions. This operation sometimes fails in the historically longer term because layers of the vanquished system of belief continue to survive and resist, returning to the surface as soon as the conqueror’s power declines, and coming back with all the original vigor of a belief that was thought to be extinct. Paraphrasing from Max Weber’s theory of action, we can thus sketch a conversion typology that will help clarify what happens in various socioreligious settings in the contemporary world with respect to conversion processes. The traits of the ideal-types are summarized in the following diagram: Figure .. Ideal-types of Conversion . Rational-instrumental:

. Rational-value-oriented:

Conversion is the result of a more or less refined calculation.

Conversion is the outcome of a convinced adhesion to a system of belief and its values.

I become converted because it suits my purposes, without allowing myself to become very involved on an emotional plane or in terms of my lifestyle.

I become converted because I think the new faith offers a better set of values than others.

. Traditional-conformist:

. Charismatic-subjective:

The conversion is due to the conversion policy that a dominant system of belief adopts in relation to those who originally did not adhere to it.

The conversion derives from an affective and emotional interaction between a spiritual leader and a disciple, who allows himself to be guided along the paths of the spirit.

I become converted to conform to the rules of social interplay that the religion of the majority helps to reinforce, since it is seen as a pillar of the established social order.

I become converted because I have found a life that leads to an interior illumination and the discovery of a truth that the religion of my birth (or lack of religion) was unable to make me understand.

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The four ideal-types can be viewed on an active/passive dimension as well. The first and the third, each in its own way, are passive forms of conversion, imposed by conversion policies (that may be coercive or founded on moral and social suasion) and chosen for the sake of convenience. This is probably the case, for instance, when men convert in order to marry a Muslim woman and make the marriage comply with the rules of Islamic religious law (shari#a), when they recite the formula to profess their faith (shahada) before an acknowledged representative of a mosque in the presence of two witnesses (Allievi ; Taylor ). The second and fourth types of conversion, on the other hand, imply an active mobilization on the part of an individual who, guided by a spiritual master or after a slow process of conviction maturing in his head and heart, embraces a different faith from the one given at birth, or rediscovers the meaning of his given faith, becoming a born again believer. In both cases, this is a believer in motion (Hervieu-Léger ), who does not feel indebted to the religious institutions of his birth and who moves with a relative degree of freedom in a deregulated market of salvation goods. The four types of conversion can also be interpreted as different levels of intensity in the individual’s choice, which is virtually nil in the third type, limited in the first, but high and very high, respectively, in the second and fourth. In addition to these comments on the typology of conversions, we need to consider a final conceptual classification. Conversion is a process that concerns not only or even mainly an individual’s conscience, but also the relationship between a system of belief (or systems, if there are several competing with one another in the same society) and the environment. In other words, if the conversion is a battle taking place along the boundaries of a system of belief, then every conversion will theoretically be considered by the system of belief being abandoned as a perversion on the part of the individual concerned, this term being used here with three distinct and complementary meanings: a. It is as if people leaving a given religion were altering, corrupting and violating the natural order established by a god or cosmic supreme principle reflected in and radiating from the system of belief they have left behind. b. The converted are consequently a negative sign inasmuch as concerns a religion’s capacity to present itself on the market of salvation goods as the authoritative interpreter of the true faith. c. It is therefore as if the converted had become contaminated, their

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authenticity and integrity damaged by their decision to embrace another faith (or to abandon any form of belief), as if they had fallen from a state of grace into a state of impurity. Conversion and perversion thus implicate an attempt at reversion, to reconquer these lost souls, confirming my idea of conversion as a handson combat along the symbolic boundaries between systems of belief. The battle certainly involves individuals in flesh and blood on the one hand, and what Foucault (, ) called governmentality (or the pastoral power of religions) on the other. Conversion can be seen as a subjective way of believing, but it is always configured in relation to an organized system of belief. In a way, it takes shape in an individual’s biography as a result of a self-engineering process, a rebuilding and redesigning of the sense that an individual attributes to his life and the world in which he lives, as Blasi has noted earlier in this volume. This is what emerges first when life stories are collected from people who talk about how they became converted and what it meant to them. They describe their new state of conscience in two ways: as a change and as an illumination; a change in the sense of another state of conscience, and an illumination in the classic sense this term has always had in religious science, as a discovery that the pieces (of the meaning of existence) all fit back in place and finally produce a picture that is clear and distinct in its contours. In this context, the light alludes to the fact that, from the cognitive standpoint, the truth finally appears at the end of a period of searching, dispelling the shadows of doubt. So, I see conversion as a process that is not linear—starting from one point and arriving at another—but more complex, that implies abandoning one religion in order to join another (often confirming this passage with a change of name), the latter reacting with the new believers’ accreditation while the former attempts to reconquer them, and the strategies the latter adopts to resist such a restoration. In the light of these considerations, I aim to focus on a portion of this process: the rituals of reconquest and purification developed and implemented to try to win back people who have abandoned the religion of their birth or original environment. Getting people to revert is not just a matter of welcoming back people who had moved away from the faith of their fathers (maybe celebrating the prodigal son’s return home with the sacrifice of a fatted calf); it is more an act of reconquest expressed in rituals of purification leading to the reversion of an individual who had previously been considered an impure degenerate (pervert), traitor and liar, according to a sequence of

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stigma that are usually applied by those remaining faithful to a system of belief to those abandoning it, often transforming their interior experience into a public affair. I shall particularly examine two reversion rituals to demonstrate that it is useful to study the conversion process as an indicator of the conflict existing between a system of belief and a socio-religious reference environment: rituals developed by neo-Hindu movements and those invented by the ultra-orthodox Hebrew movement called Habad. Examining these two cases does not entitle us to generalize, but merely helps us to formulate a working hypothesis that, in a comparative study of the rituals developed in other socio-religious settings, might falsify the claim that: conversion is not only a matter of individual choice, but the outcome of a conversion policy, a battle taking place at the boundaries between systems of religious belief, or between these and modern forms of believing without belonging; said policy is expressed as a form of communication implemented by groups of believers who specialize in obtaining reversions, inventing rituals and procedures (and thus communicating in a novel way) to reconquer those lost to the faith, convincing them— not only through reasoning, but also through emotional involvement in a liturgical or ritual activity—that by converting they have fallen from grace, and only by reverting can they return to a state of grace, thereby being restored to the state of purity as creatures in tune with the principle behind the natural order of things (Stromberg ).

Politics of Paradise in the Reversion Movements of the Hindu World The first case study that I propose to examine concerns the phenomenon of conversions in modern-day Indian society. For some years now, there has been both political and religious controversy over the increasing number of conversions from Hinduism to other religions—particularly to Islam, Christianity, and the Bahá"i faith. It is hard to say how many people change religion in a year because such information is often provided by the leaders of movements undertaking intensive conversion campaigns. It is relatively easy, instead, to document the controversies that have arisen in India since  between movements of different religious and political tendencies, the bone of contention being places of worship or conversions from one religion to another. The choice of this date is merely a convention and refers to a march organized by Shri

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Advani (born in Pakistan in ), the leader of the BJP (Bharatiya Janata Party, the center-right nationalist party that governed India from  to ), from the Hindu temple of Somnath in the state of Gujarat to the Babri Mosque, which dated back to the time of the moguls (built in ), in the city of Ayodhya, in the state of Uttar Pradesh. This was not the only place of Muslim prayer in the city of Ayodhya or in the surrounding state of "Uttar Pradesh, which has approximately  million Muslim residents amidst a total population of more than  million people, but its symbolic significance was particularly manipulable by neo-Hinduists. This march between the two cities took the form of a pilgrimage based on a very popular Hindu ritual called the rath yatra (yatra meaning pilgrimage, while rath means cart), a religious festival particularly famous in the state of Orissa, when millions of people embark on a spiritual walk in summer, accompanying large allegorical carts on which the principal Hindu divinities are enthroned. The march became one of the first political and religious actions launched by the new nationalist party. As leader of the BJP, Advani was to say: “If Muslims are entitled to an Islamic atmosphere in Mecca, and if Christians are entitled to a Christian atmosphere in the Vatican, why is it wrong for the Hindus to expect a Hindu atmosphere in Ayodhya?” (in Brass : ). The message was clear, and the important point to note is that the leader of the neo-Hinduist party, with the aid of the movements and groups for Hindu religious reawakening, invented a repertoire for triggering a collective action along two planes, one religious and the other political. The traditional rituals were reinvented and become a set of collective gestures expressing a political tension, a visible statement of Hindu identity that was seen as being threatened by Muslims, Jainists, Christians or the followers of Bahá"i, as the case may be. At the time of the first march in , for instance, there were numerous incidents with the police along the way, especially when the kar sevaks (militants who took part in the march or joined in along the way) claimed to each be carrying a brick that was to serve in the reconstruction of the Rama temple, after the mosque in Ayodhya had been destroyed. The police succeeded then in preventing an assault on the mosque, though some people lost their lives in the fight, and they immediately became the martyrs of Ayodhya. The organizers of the march had dotted the whole route with a number of rituals well known to the Hindu population, such as blowing shankhs (conch shells) in the streets, ghanta gharial (ringing prayer bells and beating on alloyed metal plates), raising saffron flags in the day-time and organizing mashals (processions bearing flaming torches) at night

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(Brass : ). This complex repertoire of rituals was designed to mobilize the people politically, making them step over the threshold that normally divides the day-to-day from the extraordinary, the profane from the sacred, tolerant cohabitation from violent opposition against other people, classified as enemies. Such actions can take on various masks in the contingent situation in India (Jeffrelot , a, b, ), but what we are interested in understanding is not so much why, but rather how all this happens, what forms of communication the religious liturgical code succeeds in promoting and producing. In fact, this is a liturgical action conducted outside the temple and progressively taking the shape of a political event and expressing a logic that differs from the strictly religious. It tends to become what we might define as a collective action to purify the land, that prompts the passage from the symbolic violence of the new liturgical action to the real violence of an attack on the people or places of worship of another religion. In this light, the case of Ayodhya is emblematic and possibly the bestknown of neo-Hindu events, but it was by no means an isolated event. It was a public event that can be seen as fitting into a chain of disputes, revolts, protest marches, and controversies about conversions that have repeatedly stained the most recent history of the Indian democracy, from at least  until the present day. According to Hindu tradition, the hill where the Babri Mosque was built was once occupied by a temple dedicated to Rama, King of Ayodhya and seventh incarnation of the god Vishnu, or rather the place where Rama (Ramachandra in full) was apparently born  years before our era. Nobody had claimed the site for the Hindus for centuries (Bacchetta , Elst , Bhatt , Smith ). The mosque’s destruction in  symbolically marks a divide in contemporary Indian society, the transformation of some of the movements of Hindu cultural and religious reawakening, which had sprung up as of the second half of the th century, into political-religious movements that identified themselves with the ideology of hindutva, a neologism that translates as the pure Hindu identity. This neologism was coined by Vinayak Damodar Savarkar () and has met with a fair degree of success among the radical political neo-Hinduist movements of our times. Finally, to complete the picture of the historical references, we need to mention that Hinduism has been through a period of religious reawakening that has had various sources (Pace and Guolo ), the most important of which (for its past and present influence on contemporary political and religious movements) is the reformation project developed by Dayananda

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Saraswati, who founded the Noble Society (Arya Samaj) in . This project was designed as a genuine hermeneutic effort to renew Hinduism and make it suitable for meeting the challenges of the modern world imposed by British colonial rule. There are interesting analogies here with the reawakening movement that developed around the same time in the American Protestant and the Sunnite Muslim environments—i.e. in very different parts of the world and in profoundly different settings, in the sense that Arya Samaj also proposed to redefine the fundamentals of the real Hindu faith. In order of importance, these are: Faith in a single, supreme God, the source of all knowledge, an intelligent and merciful, right and universal presence, the only entity worthy of being venerated. The Veda (or scriptures) are the only source of truth and understanding, the infallible, unchangeable, holy word to which all Arya must conform. All human actions must comply with the cosmic law of the Dharma, and must consequently be inspired by principles of love, justice and rectitude; All this is achieved by promoting the well-being of all and being committed to promoting understanding and defeating ignorance.

As we can see, Dayananda’s thinking tends to redraw the universe of Hindu beliefs in monotheistic terms, bringing the foundations of the faith down to a simplified system of belief that we can picture as follows: Figure .. The Arya Samaj System of Belief

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Arya Samaj thus stands at the crossroads between two powerful movements in Indian society at the end of the th century: on the one hand, there is the need to be free of the British colonial yoke; on the other, the hope of a cultural and spiritual redemption achieved by returning to the purified and revisited religious roots of Hinduism, from which to embark on a path of reawakening (Singh ). One of Dayananda’s closest collaborators within the Arya Samaj reinterpreted the ancient shuddhi ritual to adapt it to what we might define as a reversion policy. In fact, it literally means purification, but also reversion (or reverting after converting). Its origins can probably be traced back to the times when India was dominated by the Mogul empire, and many Hindus converted to Islam. With the decline of Muslim rule, the shuddhi was subsequently perfected to facilitate the return of these converts to their original religion, taking on a form that the Arya Samaj leaders and militants revived to restore these converts to Hinduism. The ceremony is straightforward: it involves washing your feet and drinking a little water from the holy river Ganges (Gangajal). Such a re-baptism in water symbolically cleanses the person who had been contaminated by another religion. In the language of the Arya Samaj, this means bringing “home” those who were lost, returning them to the fold. So, reversion presupposes not only a previous conversion, but also the idea that said conversion to another faith has tainted the individual with an infamous sin, making him a pervert, a traitor to the faith of his forbears. The context in which the revisited shuddhi ritual takes place today is characterized by recurrent socio-religious disputes, more acute in some areas and less so in others, but generally arising in all the states where Hindu extremists are particularly active in accusing people who have converted to Islam or Christianity of being responsible for the Hindu people’s loss of traditional values and identity, supporting the political rhetoric of movements like the Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh (RSS), a national voluntary organization founded in  by a physician originally from Nagpur, or the Vishva Hindu Parishad (VHP or World Hindu Council), a branch of the RSS created in . The shuddhi is part of a repertoire of collective activities that functionally rally political consent in favor of the BJP, the political party that has succeeded in becoming the essence of, and an image for the above-mentioned movements. The repertoire includes actions with variable degrees of violence, both symbolic and physical: from insistent efforts to persuade people who have converted to re-convert to their original religion, to assaults on places of worship (as in a case of the mosque in Ayodhya), to acts of

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vandalism against religious schools. In September , for instance, a group of Hindu extremists stoned the Catholic school annexed to the Loreto convent in Lucknow, capital of Uttar Pradesh, where they claimed that Hindu girls were being forcibly converted to Catholicism in violation of the laws of the state (one of the few states in India with a rule prohibiting all forms of conversion). In August  violent riots organized by the Vishva Hindu Parishad militants burned down a Catholic orphanage in the State of Orissa, after the murder of their leaders, Swami Saraswati. There is also a political battle to extend the law that forbids any slaughtering of cows (animals Hindus traditionally consider as sacred), which is currently permitted for non-Hindus, and finally an action to convert back the so-called tribal communities or Dalits (“outcastes”) who frequently, and hardly surprisingly, embrace another religion that preaches equality in the face of God and salvation as an individual opportunity (Islam, Christianity, Buddhism, Bahá"i). On this point it is important to note how the controversies over conversions draw strength not only from tension between different systems of religious belief, but also from recurrent political and social issues concerning the position of the Dalits (literally, the oppressed) and the aborigines (Adivasi in Sanskrit): the former account for around  million people, the latter another  million, and both continue to be relegated to the margins of the social scale, despite the abolition of the caste system and laws to promote affirmative action in favor of these outcasts and the many ethnic minorities dotted all over India, but mainly in the states of Orissa, Madhya Pradesh, and Rajasthan. Ever since the th century, when Catholic and Protestant missionaries began to arrive, and up to the present day, there have been massive conversions to Christianity and increasingly, these days, to Buddhism as well. In the city of Nagpur, in central India, for instance, a ceremony was held in September  to celebrate the conversion of approximately , people to Buddhism. This movement was begun by a brilliant lawyer, Bhrimao Ramji Ambedkar, who became a Buddhist in  and encouraged other people to follow him. Among all the people who did so, a by no means secondary argument in favor of their conversion to a religion different from Hinduism was the specific wish to leave the caste system behind because they felt socially discriminated or because, as members of an ethnic minority, their fundamental minimum rights were not adequately safeguarded. In all these cases, moreover, the fact that the people being converted were outside the caste system, and therefore maximally impure by definition according to the socio-religious stratification imposed by the Brah-

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min at the very origins of the varna—the caste, in Portuguese (Dumont, )—makes us see why the radical neo-Hindu movements have put the overcoming of the caste system on their political agenda and why the rites of reversion are accompanied by the promise of a better social status. It has to be said, however, that the caste system is so deeply rooted in the mentality and in the folds of society that it is even reproduced in the other, non-Hindu religions. The symbolism of the reversion rituals is much the same in the case of aborigines who converted to Christianity: they are invited to take back the name they abandoned when they were baptized, they are given new clothes, and they have a ritual purifying bath. Water is definitely a symbol that circulates readily, as it were, between different systems of belief because it carries the idea of pure/impure (Douglas ). It is also a much contended symbol, making this liquid element also become a symbol of the remarkable permeability of the boundaries separating different systems of belief demonstrated by the conversion-reversion processes seen increasingly often in contemporary Indian society. According to the Indian newspapers, one day a ceremony is held in a given place to celebrate hundreds of Hindus converting to Buddhism and next day, maybe hundreds of miles away, a like number of Dalits who had previously become Christians have reportedly returned to Hinduism, and so it goes. It is worth emphasizing that, on the margin of all these happenings, there is a public debate underway on the conversion phenomenon, which goes to show that the major exponents of the different systems of religious belief in Indian society are striving to understand and justify what is going on. There are frequent interviews with leaders and militants, as well as stories of conversion and reversion. Just a few excerpts are given in the table that follows, giving some idea of the public representation (in the sense of social dramaturgy used by Goffman []) of the conversionreversion processes, as if to weave the web of a great meta-story of Indian cultural and religious identity. In other words, the topic of conversion has become a matter of collective reflection on the destiny of democracy, of the pluralism and secularism of the state, and ultimately on Indian national identity (Sen , ; Taylor : –).

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Figure .. The Public Debate on Conversion-Reversion A Hindu woman who converted to Islam (Associated Press, //)

The environment in which I grew up was extremist Hindu where Muslims were severely hated. I embraced Islam after my marriage but I disliked worship of idols since my adolescence . . . . There is a ritual in our family that when a girl is married, she washes feet of her husband and drinks that water. But I refused to do so on the very first day due to which I was severely admonished . . . I started visiting a nearby Islamic centre. I heard their conversation and knew that Muslims did not worship idols. They were seeking blessings from some other person.

Dalits who reverted to Hinduism (Asia News, //)

A thousand Dalit Christians reverted to Hinduism today, the th anniversary of the birth of Bhimrao Ambedkar, the messiah of the Dalits, in the town of Tirunelveli (Tamil Nadu). Arjun Sampath, president of the Hindu Makkal Katchia (MMK), a local political party, announced that “We’ll purify all those who return to Hinduism by sprinkling Ganga theertha (Ganges water) and Sethu theertha (Sethu water) . . . The members who return to the Hindu fold will take an oath and sign affidavits. Later, we’ll get the conversion certificates from Arya Samaj to get their names changed in the Gazette.”

Hindus vs. Christians (Asia News, //)

The conversion controversy has kicked up a storm as unwelcome as the Orissa cyclone. On October , , the Southern Baptist Convention, the largest US Protestant group issued a prayer booklet for its , church members to “pray for Hindus lost in darkness” during the Hindu festival of Diwali. Its International Mission Board said in a press release that the  days of prayer would be “aimed at dispelling the darkness that holds more than  million Hindus in spiritual bondage.” In India, a BJP spokesman said: “First, India is more religious than any other country in the world. Morally, it is more Christian than any other Christian country. Secondly, is it not an insult to India to tell Hindus that they are all sinners and that only Jesus can save them?”

Hindus vs. Catholics (Indian Express, //)

Assam Satra Mahasabha, the apex body of Vaishnavite Satras (monasteries) in the state, has accused Christian missionaries of launching a massive conversion campaign in the river island of Majuli. The Catholic Church has denied that it has been carrying out conversions in Majuli or elsewhere in Assam. “We have established a school and healthcare services in Majuli. But there is no intention on our part to convert anyone under any circumstances,” an official of the church said.

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Conversion of tribal people (The Hindu, //)

Radhakrishnan, a Paniya tribal from the Devala area of Gudalur, while on a visit to Germany, told a group of German Church pastors: “When the missionaries in our area, take the children to their school, they change their names, convert them to Christianity, teach them to forget our gods and our people. They have no regard for our culture. Our children are alienated forever.”

Conversion to Buddhism (BBC News, //)

Tibet’s exiled spiritual leader, the Dalai Lama, has welcomed the proposed mass conversion of tens of thousands of lower-caste Hindus, known as Dalits. The Dalai Lama said the move would give them more equality in society. Speaking in Calcutta on his return from a trip to Taiwan, the Dalai Lama said converting to Buddhism should not cause resentment among other religions or castes, as Buddhism and Hinduism were, as he put it, like twins.

Conversion to Buddhism (BBC News, //)

Udit Raj, a Dalit leader, told the BBC that around , people converted to Christianity and Buddhism . . .. Joseph D’Souza, the president of the Dalit Freedom Network and a Christian convert, described the conversions as a “celebratory occasion” and “I think it’s important to understand that this is a cry for human dignity, it’s a cry for human worth.”

Reverting to Hinduism (Compass Direct, //)

Ramlal Kanol, who is blind, said four men came to his house on February , first offering him money to go with them, then threatening to imprison and fine him if he didn’t. I was forced to participate in the Hindu rituals, and I could not resist the force in the temple because of the massive crowd surrounding us,” he said. “The crowd was gathered together to make a show that all of them are converted Christians re-converting to Hinduism,” said pastor Bhadur Singh, who along with  members of his church was lured to the temple by a local politician.

Reverting to Hinduism (Global Council of Indian Christian Journal, //)

“We will intensify our programme to bring back people who had been lured into Christianity and Islam,” said a VHP leader. “The Fathers and missionaries lured us with amenities. But we were duped. We realized this and decided to come back to Hinduism,” said Pulin, Hakim Tudu and Babulal Murmu.

Hindu vs Pastor (All India Christian Council Journal, //)

A Pastor and members of a Pentecostal Church in Kattakkada in Kerala were attacked by Hindu radicals while they were attending the prayer service in the morning on  July .

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The table gives just a very brief idea of the conversion controversy that, for many years now, has not only made the news, but has also and above all become a social indicator of the religious and political conflicts taking place in more or less violent and aggressive forms in various Indian states. It is not easy to distinguish clearly between the different dimensions of these conflicts, where religion ends and politics or economics begins, and vice versa. There was certainly an increase in the number of such conflicts between  and , a decade in which Indian society underwent profound economic changes that altered the social stratification founded on the survival of the caste system. The most evident sign of these changes is the growth of the Dalit movement, which is striving to overcome the cultural and socio-economic obstacles that currently prevent .  of the Indian population from fully accessing the rights of citizenship. There is often a very close link between their expectations of social justice and economic reinstatement on the one hand, and a propensity to abandon the mainly-Hindu religion of their birth and opt for other religions on the other (Fernandes , Oddie ). This case study on conversions in the Indian subcontinent is an interesting test for analyzing the conversion phenomenon as a battle taking place along the symbolic boundaries between systems of belief in a society that has historically been pluralist from the religious standpoint. The battle follows a precise narrative scheme: conversion is seen by a system of belief as a perversion, so action to obtain a reversion becomes a communication and action strategy (a socio-religious action strategy) implemented by one system against another. The action is imagined as the reconquest of a lost soul and celebrated with rites of purification. To defend its boundaries, each system tends to describe its competitors as the expression of falsity, impurity, the reign of darkness, as opposed to its own, the one and only true and pure faith, the resplendent reign of light (i.e., truth). The conversion-reversion processes thus act like pilot lights, showing how difficult it is for the systems of belief to preside over their territories and their sacred boundaries, since it has become so easy for these boundaries to be overcome, as if they had become porous and communicative, despite attempts made by each opposing system to demonstrate that they, and only they, are bearers of the truth. By dint of shouting at each other that their converts are perverts or that they have renounced the light of the true faith, the representatives of the various Indian religious denominations seem to be admitting that their respective systems of belief are no longer able to control the production of sense, since an individual’s freedom to choose the religion

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that suits his spiritual needs and his expectations of social justice have evidently increased in their socio-religious setting. So the case of India is telling us that a process is underway that is eroding “the principle of religious revenue”: a system of belief that represents itself as the horizon of sense, and that was taken for granted as part of the daily life of an entire population, is being put to the test by these conversions, which give us a measure (in the case discussed here) of a liquid religiousness, to borrow a category dear to Bauman (), which precisely translates the idea of a permeability of the system’s symbolic boundaries.

Becoming Pure Again in the Habad Ultra-Orthodox Hebrew Movement The second case study concerns Habad. The name is an acronym derived from the first letters of the Hebrew words hochmah (wisdom), binah (understanding), and da"at (knowledge). The movement began in a small town in Belarus called Lubavitch, around the figure of the first rebbe, or charismatic leader, Schneur Zalman, from Liadi (–). The movement forms part of a larger network of Hasidic (hasidim, or ‘the pious’, in Hebrew) communities (or courts), composed of a number of families. Originally, these families traced their common descent from a charismatic leader who transmitted his extraordinary powers “through the blood.” The leader of a Hasidic court is considered a mediator between the “celestial court” and the “earthly” one. Thanks to his exceptional powers of sanctity, the leader is able to put the human community in communication with the world of the divine. At the same time, he has often been seen as a spiritual master and healer, the community’s political leader and the bearer of a special gift, the ability to perform miracles (mofsin) and to ward off misfortune. Because of this concentration of extraordinary powers, the Hasidic communities chose to call their leaders rebbe, rather than use the traditional term of rabbi (Abramovitch and Galvin , Mintz , Ravitzky ). The last Rebbe of the Habad movement was Menachem Mendel Schneerson. His views form part of the Jewish Messianic school of thought, which sees redemption as a public event that will occur in history and arise within the community of the pious who await the Messiah. The community, therefore, is a sort of living laboratory from which the face of the Messiah will emerge. The Messiah in question is Ben David, of

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whom Schneerson often spoke as an eschatological but, at the same time, real figure in whom all the new ideas of the Last Times will appear. This concept not only helps strengthen the authority of the charismatic leader, easily identifiable by his holiness and exemplary nature, with the Messiah to come; it also represents a strong cohesive factor for the group, exalting the special virtues of which he is the embodiment, the vanguard of the central event in the messianic belief. This explains the particularly important effects on organizational performances, both as regards the missionary zeal guiding the movement’s collective action and the authority structure of the relationship between master and followers. If one is convinced that the Messiah is “among us,” then the intense activity of proselytism, which is not traditionally widespread in Judaism, can be justified. Furthermore, if this conviction is continually enhanced by the process of beatification or sanctification “on earth” of the figure of the charismatic leader, conducted by the community and seconded by the leader, messianism becomes a symbolic resource with a strong organizational value (Brodowicz , Ehrlich , Feldman ). When Schneerson was appointed in  as the legitimate successor to Yosef Yitzhak Schneerson, the sixth Rebbe, he said in his inaugural speech that, “this generation will announce the Age of the Messiah, bringing to an end the teshuvah, the penitence which pre-announces the coming of the Messiah” (see the organization’s official Website www.chabad .org). The decision he made on the occasion of the Six-Day War in  to send spiritual assistants from the movement to the soldiers at the front was based on a precise eschatological conviction. By so doing, in the eyes of many ultra-orthodox Jews abroad, he rehabilitated the theological legitimacy of the State of Israel, which many movements had previously considered an unholy, artificial creation. The argument he used to persuade his followers was that, by winning the war, the holy borders of the Promised Land (Eretz Yisrael) would be fully restored and that such an event would confirm the imminent arrival of the Messiah. The wait for the Messiah was therefore linked to a series of practical, not imaginary events (Gutwirth , Greilsammer ). From then on, the Rebbe urged the movement to engage in an intensive campaign of re-Judaization in the Brooklyn neighborhoods. He launched what came to be known as mitzvah tanks, or “tanks of the commandments,” consisting of groups of proselytizing missionaries in minibuses working the streets of the metropolis. On his death in , the process of mourning among his followers proved long and complex for two main reasons: in the first place, many believed (and still believe) that he was

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the Messiah—hence the problem of explaining his disappearance from earth; second, there was the difficulty of finding a suitable successor (Pace ). The Habad communities are utopian in character; they believe in the practice of equality and fraternity, in contrast with a social and political structure that they perceive as impious and unjust. The ideological device—the firm belief in the imminent coming of the Messiah—does not make them withdraw from the world. On the contrary, it mobilizes human, material and organizational resources to transcend reality and prefigure those times, when the world will no longer be as alien as it seems today to the vanguard of the pure faith. This is how the followers of Habad see themselves, unlike their religious brethren who, in their view, have become secularized (Pace , Pace and Guolo ). In , Yosef Yitzhak Schneerson, then head of the Habad community, decided to create a small, self-sufficient village in Israel called Kfar Habad, which grew from , inhabitants in  to approximately , in . This prompted a considerable shift of opinion: the State of Israel and Zionism had previously been considered unholy, but after the  Yom Kippur War, Menachem said that Israel had the full (divine) right to annex the occupied territories, according to the principle of pikuach nefesh (Guolo ), which literally means “respect for life,” but in the present context, it is the rabbinical expression of the essential duty to save the life of a Jew when it is under threat, even if it means breaking Judaic law. The fact that the Habad movement came to believe that the seventh Rebbe was the Messiah kept tension in the community high. It also charged up the wait for imminent change in the social order, particularly in Israel, the last frontier of the manifestation of the Messiah and, at the same time, the wait for the building of the celestial Jerusalem. From  onward, the messianic tension within the movement became more pronounced and was expressed in ever more zealous forms. At the beginning of , Habad launched a campaign in major American newspapers to announce the coming of the Messiah. Meanwhile, they organized the mass distribution of leaflets and stickers bearing the slogan, “We want Messiah now, we don’t want to wait.” On June , , the New York Times carried a Lubavitch advertisement that ran, “The mass return of Jews to the land of Israel from the former Soviet Union and the defeat of Iraq after the first Gulf War are unequivocal signs of the coming of the Messiah.” In this climate, the followers of Habad consolidated their conviction that the seventh Rebbe was actually the long-awaited Messiah. Schneerson never

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really proclaimed himself as such, but he also did little to counter this belief. In April , a group of Lubavitch rabbis made an authoritative statement in which they identified the messianic traits of Rebbe Schneerson (Ravitzky : ), provoking criticism from within the movement itself from other, more cautious rabbis who had misgivings about identifying the figure of the Messiah with the head of the movement. Ten years after the Rebbe’s death, the messianic belief is still very much alive. Its missionary zeal provides ample proof of this: the movement has grown by   in ten years and can boast approximately , missionaries in  countries around the world. Habad Messianism thus represents a sort of symbolic capital that has accumulated thanks to the charismatic force of a leader who, in his lifetime, became a cultural resource for the organization that has helped make the Habad movement active and competitive in the contemporary Jewish religious market. It is against this backdrop of a reawakening of the observance of the precepts of the Torah and the refound Jewish identity that we can understand the conversion policy fine-tuned by the Habad movement. This is inspired by the conviction that the Messiah will arrive when the last Jew returns to complying with all the divine precepts. This means that militants of the movement consider Jews who have chosen to live their religion of birth in a more secular manner as a hindrance, an intolerable cause of delay in the Messiah’s return, the signs of which are now unequivocal, according to Lubavitch’s followers (signs such as the opportunity to re-establish the holy boundaries of the Promised Land in Israel after the victorious Six-Day War of ). Habad’s proselytism consequently focuses primarily on all those Jews who no longer practice their religion or who have a purely cultural relationship with the religion of their birth. A passerby might be asked, “Excuse me, are you Jewish?” If they answer yes, they are invited to climb into a camper van with a view to restoring them to the right path. Jews who have become assimilated and secularized are the main target in the battle conducted by these militants in their tanks. Such military language is not used by accident and is not ours, but typical of the missionary rhetoric of the Habad: their camper vans are spiritual combat vehicles that can be converted into a mini synagogue every time someone agrees to revert—wearing as a sign of purification the teffilin (the phylactery, which indicate the refound link with the divinity and with the community of the pure and the holy sons of Israel). Jews who have become assimilated with the world are consequently seen as people who have allowed themselves to be contaminated by the

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spirit of modernity. They have become impure. They no longer wear the clothes of their forebears. They do not pray according to the ritual rules, and they fail to follow the kashrut (strict diet), to respect the Sabbath, and so on. The mitzvah tank, according to Schneerson, was a standard van; its back door was rolled up, showing a cargo of one large wooden table, two wooden benches, and a dozen young men with beards and black hats. A poster taped to the sides of the moving van said “Teffilin on board” and “Mitzvot On The Spot For People On The Go.” They are modern means, or rather machines, where a cleansing ritual is celebrated for those who have lost the true faith. From this point of view, they are like traveling clinics, where zealous soul-doctors seek to convince all those who seem Jewish to them, or have admitted to being Jewish, to “return home,” to emerge from the perverse condition that failure to comply with the Holy Commandments evokes in their eyes. This time the battle is not conducted along boundaries separating different systems of belief, but within one and the same system that has experienced a process of wide diversification in the course of its historical evolution, and especially in modern times, along an axis with people who no longer believe, or whose way of life has become entirely secularized, at one end and those who wish to observe all the precepts to the letter at the other, with a variety of types of behavior and attitudes in between, depending on the variable scale of intensity of their belief, their sense of belonging, and their religious practices.

Conclusion What we set out to demonstrate is that conversion can be studied from a sociological standpoint, seeking not only to explain why a person decides to change status as a believer, switching from one religion to another or moving away from under its influence, but also to understand how this takes place by monitoring the relationship between system of belief and socio-religious environment. That is why we chose to observe the conversion and reversion rituals that have developed in two particular case studies, i.e., in the radical Hindu and Hebrew movements. This analysis has shown that conversion and reversion are two terms that point to a third—perversion—in a sort of semantic triangle that is effective in metaphorically showing that conversion is a sociological object that we can use to study the conflicts and tensions developing along the symbolic boundaries between different systems of belief. This is basically

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an empirically interesting way to measure the heuristic validity of systems theory applied to the field of religion. From the point of view of a system of religious belief, the conversion process is seen as a loss of sense to the surrounding environment in general, and to another system in particular. This loss is dominated by stigmatizing people who convert and by transforming the loss into a renewed symbolic investment to distinguish the system on offer as being capable of reconquering what was lost. In this sense, it is not a matter of single individuals, but rather of the total quantity of conversions that can be exhibited like trophies after a good hunting session, breaking down the perversity that had cast doubts over the staying power of the symbolic boundaries protecting a system of religious belief.

References Abramovitch, Ilana, and Seán Galvin (eds.). . Jews in Brooklyn. London: University Press of England. Allievi, Stefano. . I nuovi musulmani. Rome: Edizioni Lavoro. Bacchetta, Paola. . “Sacred Space in Conflict in India: the Babri Masjid Affair.” Growth and Change : –. Bauman, Zygmunt. . Vita liquida. Rome-Bari: Laterza. Bhatt, Chetan. . Hindu Nationalism. Oxford: Berg. Brass, Paul (ed.). , Riots and Pogroms. New York: New York University Press. ———. , The Production of Hindu-Muslim Violence in Contemporary India. Seattle: University of Washington Press. Brodowicz, Schlomoh. . L’âme d’Israël. Paris: Édition du Rocher. Davie, Grace, Paul Heelas, Linda Woodhead (eds.). . Predicting Religion. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Douglas, Mary. . Purity and Danger. London: Routledge. Dumont, Louis. . Homo Hierarchicus. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Ehrlich, Avrum M. . Leadership in the Habad Movement. Jerusalem: Jason Aronson. Elst, Koenraad. . The Saffron and the Swastika. New Delhi: Voice of India. Feldman, Jan. . Lubavitcher as Citizens. Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Fernandes Walter. . Caste and Conversion Movement in India. New Delhi: Indian Social Institute. Flanagan, Kieran, and Peter Jupp (eds.), A Sociology of Spirituality. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Foucault, Michel. . Dits et Ecrits, vol. . Paris: Gallimard. ———. . Naissance de la biopolitique. Paris: Gallimard. Giordan, Giuseppe. . “Spirituality: From a Religious Concept to a Sociological Theory.” Pp. – in A Sociology of Spirituality, edited by Kieran Flanagan and Peter Jupp. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate.

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Goffman, Erving. . The Presentation of Self in Everiday Life. Edinburgh: University of Edinburgh Press. Greilsammer, Ilan. . Israël: les hommes en noir. Paris: Presses Sciences Politique. Guolo, Renzo. . Terra e redenzione. Milan: Guerini. Gutwirth, Jacques. . La renaissance du hassidisme. Paris: Odile Jacob. Heelas, Paul, and Linda Woodhead. . The Spiritual Revolution. Oxford: Blackwell. Hervieu-Léger, Danièle. . Le pèlerin et le converti. Paris: Flammarion. Jaffrelot, Christophe. . The Hindu Nationalist Movement and Indian Politics. London: Hurst. ———. a, The Sangh Parivar: A Reader. Oxford: Oxford University Press. ——— (ed.). b. L’Inde contemporaine. Paris: Fayard. ———. . Hindu Nationalism: A Reader. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Luhmann, Niklas. . Sistemi sociali. Bologna: Il Mulino. ———. . Funzione della religione. Brescia: Morcelliana. Mintz, Jerome R. . Hasidic People in the New World. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Nietzsche, Friedrich. . La Genealogia della morale. Milan: Adelphi. Oddie, Geoffrey A. (ed.). . Religion in South Asia. London: Curzon. Pace, Enzo. . Perché le religioni scendono in guerra. Rome-Bari: Laterza. ———. . “Extreme Messianism: The Chabad Movement and the Impass of Charisma.” Horizontes Antropologicos : –. ———. . Raccontare Dio: La religione come comunicazione. Bologna: Il Mulino. ——— and Renzo Guolo. . I fondamentalismi. Rome-Bari: Laterza. Rambo Louis R. . Understanding Religious Conversion. New Haven, CT: Yale University Press. Ravitzky, Aviezer. . Messianism, Zionism and Jewish Religious Radicalism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. Savarkar, Vinayak D. . Hindutva, Who is a Hindu? Nagpur (http://hindusrise.com). Schmitt, Carl. . Römischer Katholizismus und politische Form. Munich: Theatiner. Sen, Amartya. . The Argumentative India. New Delhi: Penguin Books. ———. . Identity and Violence. New Delhi: Penguin Books. Singh, Kabindra P. . Arya Samaj Movement: a Study of Socio-Religious Consciousness in Western Uttar Pradesh. Lucknow: Tarum Prakasham. Smith, James D. . Hinduism and Modernity. London: Blackwell. Stromberg, Peter G., . Language and Self Transformation: A Study of the Christian Conversion. New York: Cambridge University Press. Taylor, D. . “Conversion: Inward, Outward and Awkward.” Pp. – in Religious Conversion, edited by Christopher Lamb and Darrol Bryant. New York: Cassell. Willaime, Jean-Paul. . La précarité protestante. Geneva: Labor et Fides.

chapter nine CONVERSION AS A NEW LIFESTYLE: AN EXPLORATORY STUDY OF SOKA GAKKAI IN ITALY

Luigi Berzano and Eliana Martoglio Sociological interest in the phenomenon of religious conversion remains quite high, above all in modern societies characterized by marked pluralism. The phenomenon refers, on the one hand, to conversions to new religious movements that have recently fragmented the religious landscape, on the other hand to the high religious mobility characteristic of these societies and the consequent identification of believers in one or another established religion with elements of new religions. Today, forms of conversion involving less radical and final choices are increasingly more frequent; due to the character of religious nomadism and circularity they can be defined as conversion as a new lifestyle. They do not any longer affect the religious identity of an individual—one’s primary ethnic belonging—but they reflect the identifications an individual may make with specific practices, beliefs or moral norms of another religion, different from the one with which one historically identifies. In this latter case, conversions regard the lifestyles of a person—the individual, while not renouncing an original religion, adopts a lifestyle typical of another religion, sometimes even repeating this pattern for more than one religion. The most frequent form of conversion—in particular regarding those religious movements that do not exclude multiple belonging—is indeed the adoption of a lifestyle typical of a religion to which one does not belong, different from one’s primary identity. This chapter does not, therefore, analyze conversions as they have been conceived in the historic period of the centrality of monotheistic religions—the Christian, Hebrew, or Muslim religions. In that historic phase, conversions involved the individual in radical choices and represented a turning point in the biography of a person. They regarded the individual identity and prescribed the renunciation and cancellation of the entire “cultural and symbolic capital” around which the person organized a previous religious biography. From this point of view, Buddhism is a particularly representative case.

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In the Italian context of the last twenty years, Buddhism has been one of the fastest growing religious traditions. In this religious environment, it appears that forms of religious identification not foreseeing the abandonment of one’s primary religious identity have been increasingly spreading. Therefore, “Catholics in Buddhism,” referring specifically to Soka Gakkai, will be considered here as an exemplary case of conversion as a new lifestyle. We will thus analyze, in actual cases, the practices through which this type of conversion and consequent identification develop, and the cognitive strategies utilized to place this identification inside a different religious identity.1 This first section examines the notion of a post-secular society—a society in which secularization has encouraged new religious and culturally significant phenomena to manifest themselves because of their connections with the secularized world and religions. The second section reintroduces the classic four-cell typology of conversion: vertical conversion, processual conversion, interactionist and horizontal conversion, coercive conversion. In the third section, an additional type of conversion is hypothesized: conversion as a new lifestyle. Finally, we report data collected through field work conducted in the city of Torino (Turin) in  by way of interviews and accounts of people converted to Soka Gakkai.2

Conversions in Post-Secular Society The current condition of the contemporary Areopagus, which with its pluralism and syncretism characterizes even religious systems, favors new interest and interpretative hypotheses concerning the phenomenon of religious conversions. This phenomenon differentiates itself more and more because of the reasons that produce it, the social forms it takes on, its duration, and the biographical involvement of converts. Today’s Areopagus is fostered by three major factors: the enfeeblement of religions ascribed at birth, the failing conviction that there is one true religion, and the current post-secular phase.

1 The text of the chapter as a whole is by Luigi Berzano, except for the detailed research report, which is by Eliana Martoglio. 2 As of July , Soka Gakkai in Torino had , members: , women and , men. In Italy there are , members. Comparable data for the North American context can be found in Coleman () and Geekie ().

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The enfeeblement of religions received at birth and of ascribed cultural and religious factors is transforming religions more and more into social systems that are open, horizontal, and have movable boundaries. For example, in Bosnia or Northern Ireland, where religion still represents belonging to an ethnic group, this means that religion has taken on characteristics and forms of national identity. In the past in Italy it would have been considered strange or maybe deviant for a Catholic to convert to Buddhism or Islam. Today, such a conversion no longer causes great surprise. Belonging to an ethnic group and having a certain cultural and historical background is even less necessarily identified with a traditional religion. Notwithstanding this, the declaration of being a Catholic as though by inertia still holds its ground in Italy today, even though the faithful are giving up specific beliefs and practices. It would appear that the individual comes up against major problems and difficulties when abandoning an ascribed religious identity-belonging as opposed to abandoning beliefs or religious practices. In addition, the principle of inertia of belonging is also confirmed by the fact that a social identity tends to disappear only when it is substituted by an other. In the present Italian context an individual who declares that she belongs to a religion other than Catholicism comes up against major cognitive dissonance compared to a person who incorporates in different ways beliefs and practices of other religions. Furthermore, it should be borne in mind that the inertia of religious belonging also depends on the specific nature of religious goods, which are made up of knowledge, experience and emotions, and can be considered a form of human capital. Since any religious change renders previous human capital largely null, an individual is very reluctant to change religious affiliation. The current context of great freedom of belief, experience and religious practices, in addition to ethical-moral convictions, could be a prelude even to a change in belonging. This fact is increasingly worrying historical churches, beginning with the Catholic Church, which is the major religion in Italy. In the case of immigrants in Italy, the prediction was only partly true that after a phase of indifference toward religion, they would have converted to their own ethnic religion of origin. Religious assimilation to one’s own ethnic religion did not prove to be inevitable. This emphasis, placed on the magnitude of the change rather than what is chosen, even in religious activity, is such that the profile of the contemporary homo religiosus is itself shown increasingly in the figure of the seeker, that is, one who builds a religious identity with successive elements and choices. In

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some cases it means practicing the religion to which one already belongs more actively; in other cases the final result of the search is a more or less exclusive following of a new religion. The second factor that contributes to the phenomenon of new conversions is the enfeeblement of the conviction that one’s own religion is the sole “true religion.” In a pluralistic society it is difficult to maintain the conviction that there is just one true religion and that all the others are wrong. The dogmatic principle of Catholic theology—extra ecclesiam nulla salus—is substituted by that of thousands of ways of salvation to be followed through individual choices. The globalization of science and technology has brought down the barriers of time and space that separated individuals and have produced the condition, which Peter Berger has defined as “urbanization of conscience” in our modern world: all individuals are bombarded by multiplicities of communications and information (see Berger, Berger and Kellner : ). In the future, the Internet will intensify this horizontal dimension of society and religions, thus creating a global and immediate culture that will enfeeble all traditional ties of faith and reciprocity. For religions the fall of their vertical and hierarchical structure will mean a fall—in the area of reflected thought—of a sole metaphysical thought in favor of processes of abstraction that will be led by the sciences and technologies. In Italy, an indicator of the growing enfeeblement of the Catholic faith as the sole point of reference for its followers is represented by what has been described as: strong identity and enfeebled identification by some research (Berzano, Genova and Pace ; Berzano and Zoccatelli ). Religious identity is the religious definition individuals give of themselves so that they can speak of we/us as opposed to I/me. About   of Italians still declare themselves to have a Catholic identity. To date, therefore, the Catholic identity has held fast as if by the “law of inertia,” almost as if the imprinting of primary socialization still has a significant effect. On the other hand, among Italian Catholics strong identification (upholding beliefs, practices and Catholic morals) occurs among less than  . Identification means the influence of an individual’s self-recognition in the developed collective Catholic entity on choices, actions, and interests. Strong identification for most Catholics means more and more a waiver of one’s own independence or “a luxury” to which one cannot aspire. The context of growing religious supply cannot but stimulate more attempts to experiment with successive and serial identifications; it is in such contexts that processes of socialization start up, leading to other religious universes. This datum, moreover, is partly

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encouraged by the fact that many groups and religious movements do not require an effective conversion, but often simply require a lifestyle that does not exclude multiple religious belonging. Therefore, today, religious contexts prevail, and the Italian one is no exception, in which religious identities do not always consequently correspond to religious identifications. Identity and identification do not reproduce each other ascriptively in the same way. The analysis of today’s conversions cannot underestimate these two aspects of differentiation between identity and identification. The former differentiation refers to the rise of religious pluralism and the multiplication of religious groups and associations available on the religious market; the latter concerns the differentiation of practices, interests, and styles of religious activity that the individual chooses among various religious organizations. On the basis of this double differentiation, it can be said that the opportunities to develop new forms of identity and identification have never been as many as they are in current societies. The current religious condition therefore allows the individual to alternate between developing identities and identifications in two directions: either by broadening affinities and differences based on personal motivations or, instead, by regressing toward elementary and fundamentalist identities and identifications. The third factor that triggers new sociological interest in the study of conversion is the current age, which defines itself as post-secular. Post-secular not in the sense that secularization processes are no longer present, but in the sense, instead, that—paraphrasing Weber—due to a linking of circumstances, they have led in the very field of disenchantment and secularization to the manifestation of significant cultural phenomena due to the connections between the secularized world and religions. The effects of secularization have not emptied religion of its religious experience, its history and its knowledge; they have simply transformed links with the diversity of the secular world. In historical religions the post-secular condition is that which is characterized by all the effects of secularization, but also by the new spiritual resources and links that living secularism generates. This is the current picture of religious interests and of spiritual moods together with their links with the post-secular age: a reassessment of experiences of the sacred, the rebirth of multiple forms of religion, a demand for spirituality and ethical needs addressed to religious experience but not always automatically derivable from rationality, new spiritual bents for religious knowledge, and an ever-increasing differentia-

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tion of spiritual forms. We are talking of religious interests and spiritual attitudes connected to the social and cultural conditions of our age, of the post-secular effects that are no longer those of the age when secularism commenced. Post-secular religion—i.e., embodying acting, intentionality, and the need to recompose identity—manifests itself in two main directions. () A fundamental anthropological condition, which Weber (: ) defined as the “feeling of unimaginable inner loneliness of the solitary individual” connected to the great historical-religious process of the disenchantment of the world—beginning with ancient Jewish prophecy that, together with Greek scientific thought, rejected all magical means in the search for salvation as being superstition and impiety. () A multiplicity of situations involving morals and ethics (genetic manipulation, sexuality, disease, environment, ethnic differences, etc.), social life (predominance of the individual and egoistic ego), politics (the separation between morals and politics), and the economy (autonomy of material, consumer interests). Significantly, it is actually in the post-secular condition that we see an increase in the forms of non-exclusive, non-definitive, and neverfinal conversions, almost as if individuals felt the constant need to reinvest symbolically in new forms of spirituality. In fact, secularism has de-institutionalized many parts of traditional religious systems and has increased freedom and individual choice. This phenomenon of religious nomadism, i.e., of circular and temporary conversions, recalls radical theories such as that of Marcel Gauchet concerning religious presence even after the disappearance of religions. According to this French political scientist, the world shows its alterity when the gods abandon it (: –). It is in such a context that a profound imaginativeness of what is real, which in the past was the anthropological support of religions, starts to work of its own accord, independently of the ancient beliefs that once directed it.

Conversion: Theories and Types In Western society religious conversions have been considered sudden and radical changes in the biography of an individual. They used to happen because of the perceived intervention of a force and of a presence from on high. The convert was asked to adhere wholly to the new religion and likewise renounce the former religion (i.e., through apostasy and disaffiliation). Thus, they were vertical, exclusive conversions that

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brought about a radical change in the biography of the convert. William James (: –) spoke of them as births into a new life, similar to the adolescent’s development. Along with renouncing the former religious affiliation, the convert had to be removed from previous systems of social relations and lifestyles. These conversions meant a radical turning point, often sudden and marked by forces, voices, and mysterious presences. Often, converts experienced prolonged and acute periods of tension and biographical failures in their affective, working, educational or cultural life before conversion. Following conversion, the convert could speak of one period “before” and of a distinct one “after.” “Before” was a non-authentic and insignificant phase, while “after” was the time of enlightenment and perfection of life. The ideal type of traditional conversion is that of Saint Paul, as described in the Acts of the Apostles (: –). While the apostle Saul was on the way to Damascus to persecute Christians a light from heaven suddenly shone about him then threw him from horseback, blinded him, and spoke. The voice told him to go to Damascus where, three days later, Paul was healed and baptized by a pious Christian. Hence from that day Saul became Paul, a tireless preacher of the gospel. In his conversion we see almost a Weberian ideal type: a sudden and individual event, a dramatic choice, total affective involvement, a definite turning point in the biography. In these terms, conversion has usually been considered an extraordinary and rare event. The rituals that go with the conversion are real rites of passage to a new life. The convert is easily identifiable because of the clear transformations of belief, value, coherence, attitude, and action. Today, the sociology of conversions is much richer in models and empirical data. In addition to the factors already described, recent sociological theories concerning interaction and rational choice have enriched such interpretative models. There are four types of conversion: vertical, processual, interactionist/horizontal, and forced. This chapter will add a fifth type: conversion as a lifestyle. Vertical Conversion According to Gerardus Van der Leeuw (: –), vertical conversion is a type of conversion in all religions, where there is a second ego that rises beside the first ego; everything is transformed and a new life commences. The fundamental experience is the same for all converts: new potential enters life and the convert feels completely different. Life has a

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new foundation and starts again. At the beginning of this type of conversion there is a sort of ecstasy or theophany that totally consumes the convert. Historically these conversions have accompanied great movements or “awakenings.” Converts recount this type of conversion as a narrative of a transformation from an initial to a final state, mediated by a turning point that represents the crucial event around which the whole story is built. The convert reinterprets past events and characters on the basis of the ideology of the new group and of its value system. In recounting the experience, the convert provides two interpretations: a negative one concerning the past and a positive one concerning the present. The past before conversion is described as something that had to be overcome. The convert finds the positive premises in the actual negative ones of the past, and this is where the conversion begins. By highlighting this discontinuity with the past, even the identity of the convert represents a rebirth that solves all problems. In converts’ accounts of their turning point there is always a move from a reference-language function to a constitutive one. In the former, the convert recalls meanings, values and beliefs (the doctrinal system) shared by the group to which conversion was made. However, in this phase there is a repertoire of semi-propositional elements that are not clearly defined.3 The constitutive function of language occurs when the subject acknowledges the new doctrinal system and takes possession of it. Insofar as the convert internalizes the newly shared beliefs and values, the group is enriched with the production of progressive narratives concerning the change. Processual Conversion Processual conversion is a gradual religious transformation both of the religious identity of an individual and of one’s everyday identification with the new religion. The gradualness of such a process is characterized in the subsequent phases through which the convert acquires the knowledge, motivation, attitudes, and practices needed to live with the new religious and relational world to which she or he aspires to belong. 3 According to Sperber (), an individual’s semi-propositional beliefs are characterized by an undetermined content and are not supported by empirical data. This does not mean they are irrational: they are assumed rationally if there are rational grounds to trust the source of the beliefs.

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Processual conversion is thus a temporal and sequential process in the biography of an individual, through which one moves from identification with one sociocultural religious system of beliefs, practices, and attitudes to a subsequent identification with a new sociocultural religious system. Despite the character of gradual spiritual transformation, the individual involved in it detects an identity change that is considered and described as having a “before” and “after” in one’s own biography, at times stressing the sudden character of such change more than what was actually experienced. Processual conversions follow some characteristic stages that may correspond to particular ideal-typical sequences. The phases are as follows: crisis (a phase of uncertainty in existential, social and cognitive references), research and trial (attempts to find a solution to the problems caused by the situation of crisis), meeting (contacting the religious group with which to become affiliated), stability (a period to acquire beliefs and become familiar with the members of the group), maturity (taking on official roles that will lead the neophyte to active involvement in favor of the group).4 The converts speak about their pathways to faith by building a narrative that is above all a story of “change.” These stories presuppose a change and transition in the subject’s biography from an initial state (before) to a final state, mediated by a turning point that represents the crucial event around which the whole narrative is built. The accounts of conversions fit into a progressive narrative genre because the change leads to a current state that the convert considers better than the starting point: the succession of events in time also represents an improvement in values. On the level of discourse, the accounts of conversion may be described as narratives where the protagonist, subsequently to the encounter with the new religious affiliation group, undergoes changes in attitude and world view. By changing the narrative viewpoint that tends to coincide with the group’s, the convert uses expressive vocabulary that is legitimized by that group (Pannofino ). Interactionist and Horizontal Conversion Much research has identified a basis of conversion processes in relations with friends and acquaintances. This is a type of conversion in which conversions occur through horizontal means and on the basis of rela4 Some authors (e.g., Dawson :–) refer to this biographical process as the transition from the condition of passive to active convert.

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tions and interactions with individuals and groups with whom one lives. Conversions occur from social events and social networks that are built on the basis of proximity and working and living together. In particular in post-secular societies where the two pillars of traditional religious identity (ascribed religion and the only true religion) have become feeble, religions, too, are constituted more and more as horizontal social systems. Lofland and Stark () propose a seven-stage model, Wilson and Dobbelaere () a four-stage one, and Mara Einstein () a “relationship marketing” one, all of which include features unique to the cases and interactionist features. Lofland and Stark’s model is based on interviews with a group of converted “Moonies,” one of the early communities of the growing movement of Reverend Moon’s Unification Church in the United States. This model is constituted by seven factors that slowly lead the individual to become, first a convert in words and then a total convert. These converts begin as followers who profess a faith and are accepted by members of the core group as sincere, but do not have an active role in the movement. Total converts show their involvement through words and actions. According to the Lofland/Stark conversion model, a person must () experience enduring and acutely-felt tensions, () within a religious problem-solving perspective, () which results in self-designation as a religious seeker, and the prospective convert must () encounter the movement or cult at a turning point in life, () wherein an affective bond is formed with one or more converts, () where extra-cult attachments are absent or neutralized, and () where the convert is exposed to intensive interaction to become an active and dependable adherent. Each of the seven steps is required, but only the sum of them leads to a true— that is, total—conversion. Wilson and Dobbelaere’s model, which includes four phases already described by Remy and Hiernaux (), is significant because it interprets the Soka Gakkai-like conversion process in Great Britain not as a search for religious meaning but as a solution to the problems of one’s daily life. Only after conversion does the convert with perseverance in the new religion move on from daily problems to search and conquer buddhity, that is, “inner light,” which is defined as a condition of profound and total happiness. The most important object of the cult, the gohonzon, is bestowed to the convert only in this phase. As for the factors that trigger conversion, Wilson and Dobbelaere (: ) report the importance of social networks and affective bonds:   came to know the movement thanks to social interaction. Of these, the majority ( ) were

conversion as a new lifestyle



through “pre-existing extra-movement ties”—that is, through friends ( ), partners or family members ( ), or acquaintances, work and student colleagues ( ). Mara Einstein’s model applies the relationship marketing diagram to religious conversion. In the last few decades, the conversion process has been applied to consumer products. Einstein does the opposite, applying consumer dynamics to those of religious conversions. So there are similarities with brand communities and new religious movements, the processes of brand fidelity (cult branding) with those which make one identify with a new religion, the “brandfests” with religious celebrations and rituals, the moral responsibility of consumers to the same brand (keep the faith) with the missionary spirit of a convert to a new religion. Einstein describes five steps in the conversion process: () informal preaffiliation, () formal affiliation, () conversion, () confession, and () active involvement with the group, spiritual awareness. Converts become aware of their own spiritual need only in the final phase of spiritual awareness. At this stage the new member can say “I am converted.” Strong identity and strong identification bond them definitively to the group. “Wholly absorbed in the beliefs, rituals and myths of the institution and regularly taking part in services and other activities, the new follower is so emotionally involved in his new religious convictions to want to communicate them to others, thus becoming a missionary or evangelist of that systems of beliefs” (Einstein : ). Forced Conversion According to the model of mental manipulation (“brainwashing”) conversion would occur in the case of individuals affected by serious psychological problems, or where groups would attract followers into confined communities and exert pressure, threats, or even physical abuse against them. The literature concerning coercive conversions goes beyond the purely phenomenological interest of this chapter, to deal with the reasons and mechanisms of conversion above all, and possible physical abuse to the subjects involved. An exemplary example of coercive conversion might be that of suicide terrorists. However Iannaccone and Introvigne () conducted research on the membership of new movements and religious groups involved in terrorist actions or suicides. On the basis of the data of this research, they concluded that it is not the wellknown brainwashing factor (nor even poverty or social exclusion) that explains forced conversions, but instead a set of personal relations. Con-

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version processes in such groups largely occur based on social interaction between the convert and members of the group. Proselytism itself is a process that involves reiterated social interactions, and converts fully and voluntarily take part in their own conversion. Conversion as a New Lifestyle Our research sets out from the hypothesis that in the post-secular age, due to the effect of the dimensions of nomadism, experimentation, and circularity, conversions are always more characterized by the social form we define as lifestyle. A lifestyle is a set of practices to which the individual attributes a unitary sense, which is a distinctive model shared within a collective group or subculture, without having its generative element either in a pre-existing cognitive-value framework or in a predetermined sociostructural condition. This definition goes beyond that given by sociological tradition, according to which lifestyles are always related to a standing (economic level, social position, status, reputation) or a cognitive value system such as religion. Our interest in this definition is to see whether an individual can build a horizontal lifestyle through interaction with other individuals and groups, hence may consider it as a life plan in which one can place one’s own individuality, interests, sensitivity. Let us examine the four factors of this definition: . Practice means regular social activities carried out by a person or group of persons in their daily lives; although these activities do not derive constantly from an explicitly reflective process, they depend on an individual choice, and in the eyes of the individual who is acting, they are charged with a particular meaning (Ansart : ). Practice may concern religion, work, culture, and politics. A lifestyle is a set of practices that pertains to various fields. Catholics who have contacts with members of Soka Gakkai may acquire “manners,” roles, symbols of Soka Gakkai that are akin to other of their own practices but without converting wholly to the new religion. . The individual attributes a unitary sense to a set of practices. The sense is not referred solely to the expressive content transmitted by each practice, but it refers to the interpretation that the same individual attributes to all the practices that make up the lifestyle. The fact of attributing a unitary sense to a lifestyle does not mean connecting it back to prior values or opinions outside it; rather, one

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relates to it not as an aggregate of distinct factors but as an organic cultural form. With such a unitary sense, the multiple practices considered as a whole can be read through the same interpretative model, within which each one may acquire the full meaning. For instance, a pacifist, ecologist, vegetarian Buddhist considers such a lifestyle unitary even though the practices that form it have different origins and unlike areas of application. . The unitary sense attributed by the individual to such practices taken together becomes a distinctive model shared by a group, subculture, or spirituality. Even though each individual develops a personal lifestyle and finds in it a unitary sense, we can speak of a “lifestyle” only where it is possible to find shared practices and a unitary meaning defined by a collective group.5 A spirituality could be considered a lifestyle that brings together individuals who share common practices, even though they come from different cognitive universes (religions). . A lifestyle does not have its generative factor either in a pre-existing cognitive-value framework (e.g., a religion) or in a predetermined sociostructural condition. Therefore, on the one hand, we cannot consider lifestyles as precipitates on the level of practices of a framework of values and knowledge, that is to say, a framework of notions concerning being and having to be. On the other hand, we cannot consider lifestyles as cultural expressions of an individual’s standing. Standing can most certainly influence the development of a lifestyle, above all in the form of a framework of possibilities and opportunities, but it cannot represent the generative factor. This therefore means that overall the sense of lifestyle, as with its base, cannot be sought outside of it, but emerges instead as essentially endogenous. How does a conversion form as a new lifestyle? Both a generative and a constitutive process must be considered. In the generative process the development of a conversion as a new lifestyle, on the one hand, is based on the personal sensitivity of an individual and on the attribution of personal meaning to a framework of spontaneously chosen practices; on the other, it develops in relation to cultural models that characterize

5 Thus Reimer (:) says that “the analysis of lifestyles therefore should show similarities and differences between groups of individuals rather than similarities and differences between individuals.”

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other lifestyles that are identified as significant (due to proximity or separation) and possibly a cultural model identified as mainstream. In the constitutive process, a conversion as a lifestyle takes shape on the one hand as a form of a condensation of a framework of personal sensitivity in a set of reciprocally connected practices and on the other hand as a form of communication of such a sensitivity through such practices. Therefore, a conversion as a lifestyle appears as a sociocultural configuration that is always at the same time “for oneself ” and “for others,” and thus simultaneously as connected to the individual as to the social context, and therefore characterized by both. The definition given and its application to the phenomenon of conversion derives from the recognition that in contemporary societies the relations between standing and lifestyle, and between religion and lifestyle, are loosening. A number of groups without a fixed status, in which the individual makes a personal lifestyle an immediate life plan in which to place one’s own individuality in appearance, partying, attire, and physical bearing, is growing—and this includes religious groups. Even as regards religious activities, the individual, rather than adopt a lifestyle that is totally dependent on the cognitive value system of a religion, builds it through tentative individual and experimental choices.

The Research Plan We chose to conduct a field study with the Soka Gakkai in Torino, given the particularly hybrid nature of this Buddhist movement. It is in fact secular and completely integrated with advanced modern society. It is missionary in using one sole text of Buddha’s teachings, the Lotus Sutra. It proposes a gradual conversion to its followers. It has a strong community spirit. The aim of the research was to establish: () whether the method of conversion is interactionist, horizontal, and/or the result of a process— i.e., how much interpersonal relations count and whether the conversion is sudden or the result of a process; () to what extent the converts sought a new spiritual experience to solve their daily problems rather than exclusive and irreversible adherence to a religion; () to what extent they wished to try practices, i.e., a new lifestyle, rather than follow an organized set of beliefs and moral obligations. Our considerations and the tables reported are based on  interviews and  life histories of the followers of the Soka Gakkai in Torino, interviewed in  and . There were  women and  men, aged 

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to .6 The  interviews were based on about  questions concerning the presence in the interviewee of the attitude of a seeker, how the person became acquainted with the practice, the conversion process, the reasons for joining Soka Gakkai and the reasons for staying, the religion with which the interviewee identified to ascertain possible dual belonging, the activities and the degree of inclusion in the organization; besides these, we examined various elements that distinguished followers in their activity, choices or other factors. Nine other converts related their life stories focusing on their experience of and in Soka Gakkai with little input on the part of the interviewer. The topics raised were again: how they came to know Soka Gakkai, the reasons for joining and the presence or absence of a crisis at the moment of conversion, whether the attitude of a seeker was present, the start of the practice and its inclusion in everyday life, participation in the group, the meaning attributed to the Gohonzon. The level of education of our sample is very high with respect to Turins population: the great majority have at least a high school diploma, almost one third have a university degree. This is similar to Wilson and Dobbelaere’s finding in the UK that Soka Gakkai converts tend to be more educated than the general population. In our sample many are clerks and workers or professionals and shopkeepers. The large number of retirees/housewives is to be attributed to the fact that many of the women interviewed are over .

Ways of Conversion “I would like to know how you came to know Soka Gakkai. When and how did you join? What was your course?” As Table  shows, almost all the interviewees replied that they had learned about Soka Gakkai mainly through friends, then relatives or acquaintances. Among acquaintances, there are, for instance, co-workers, neighbors, and a teacher. There is a difference as far as the person who does shakubuku, (introduces one to Soka Gakkai Buddhism): women were mostly introduced by friends, while for men, it was with the same frequency for a friend as a relative/partner. Neo-converts related during interviews how they got involved through a person they trusted. 6 The extracts quoted are from both the interviews and life histories, without discrimination between the two data sources. The nine life stories were collected by Nicola Pannofino ().

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luigi berzano and eliana martoglio A friend had joined the organization about two years before. She often spoke to me about Buddhism. Out of interest I asked if I could attend a meeting. It was in October , and I have never stopped attending since. (S) A good friend told me, someone who is very dear to me and still is. She spoke to me in a difficult moment of my life; I was going through a hard time on all counts and she spoke to me about Buddhism because she had learned about it from her sister, who is also a close friend of mine . . . . I have known her since I was . . . six years old, and so we grew up together. We were in elementary and middle school, and so I trusted her. (S)

At times more than one family member is involved, often a sister, brother, mother, daughter or partner convert because they see the change in their loved one; or either the neo-convert manages to convince someone to try the practice with insistence. My sister started to practice after one year, and she told me it was because she had seen the change in me and that made me happy. (S) My daughter introduced me to SG, she would say: “I’m going to the Buddhist meeting,” and I thought it was those chanting Hare Krishna whom I had seen once in Florence. I thought “My daughter has gone crazy!” And then I saw her at home chanting this mantra. Then she said: “Why don’t you come to the meeting?” and I went because I have always had great trust in my children and so I thought if she was asking me . . . I went a little—so to speak—taken by the hand, led, right? (S) My girlfriend [ . . .] when she saw I was practicing she came along as well. Now she practices every day. (S) My girlfriend told me about this practice. We have been engaged for over six years. She started telling me about the practice when we got engaged. At the start this thing sort of—I won’t say bothered me—but I said to myself: “It’s her business, these things have nothing to do with me.” In fact, the more she tried to talk me into it, the more it bothered me. I’d say: “Forget it!” (S)

Sometimes the conversion process is started together. Two sisters were introduced by a friend or a mother and daughter by the daughter’s teacher. My daughter was in high school. She was going through a rough time, we had moved house . . .. [I]t had upset her, to tell the truth she was quite depressed. And one day . . . her teacher spoke to her about Buddhism. She was still under age at the time, and so [the teacher] said that if she wanted to attend meetings she needed to speak with us parents and we had to authorize it. So she told me about this, and we decided to go and see the teacher at her home to talk about it, generally. She explained to us what this

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Buddhism was like, how it worked, the fundamental things. And then we decided to take part in the first meeting, which was at her house, with her father’s consent of course . . .. Following the first meeting I started to take an interest in it, too, and then we went some of the way together. We used to attend the fortnightly meetings, and at home we tried to pray together, helping each other, that is to say when one, say, didn’t [feel like it] then the other would encourage her a little [ . . . ] Anyway it was a novelty for us both. (S)

Only in one case out of thirty-five interviewees did the encounter with Soka Gakkai not occur through social networks but was triggered by happenstance: It was pretty strange because I went to a fortune-teller. I was curious because it was a very difficult time in my life, I couldn’t find answers to questions I had put to myself, and I met this person in a shop. I went to see her. This person read my cards. She told me some very general things, and then she said: “If you really want to change your life, recite this sentence” and she wrote it for me on a piece of paper, she actually wrote the pronunciation. (S)

We must notice the difference here with Wilson and Dobbelaere’s research conducted in the early s in Great Britain concerning the go-between of conversion. In that research,   of the people learned about Soka Gakkai through such things as the media, an exhibition, a concert, or letters, while another   by chance encounters (:). In our case almost everyone started practicing upon the advice of people well known to them; there is only one case of a chance meeting, and even it involved an interpersonal interaction. There are also significant differences concerning the person who does shakubuku (a friend, relative or acquaintance), if the years of practice are taken into account. In Table  it can be seen that neo-converts (from  months to five years of practice) learned about Soka Gakkai mainly through relatives or co-workers; for those who have between six and ten years practice, the go-between is with the same frequency a friend or a relative/partner; for those who have more than ten years of practice, the go-between was more often a friend. These data may shed some light on how the social network that leads to conversion changes in time.

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luigi berzano and eliana martoglio Table .. Who Attracted New Members?

Friend Relative/partner Acquaintance Casual acquaintance

W (n = )

M (n = )

Total (n = )

   

   (co-workers) 

   

The interviewees claimed that they attended a meeting or they started practicing spurred on by the person who had done shakubuku. The practice was initially sporadic but then became daily; in one case it was erratic for about ten years. Once the decision was taken to follow this course, only a few stopped reciting the daimoku because of work or “laziness” in practicing, but soon resumed. People practice, particularly at the start, after having set an objective. The whole set-up really got to me. After all, I had been a Waldensian. The Waldensian liturgy is very austere, isn’t it? The candles, the incense, these people with a sort of rosary beads, kneeling in front of a parchment made me think they were all mad. Because they also said: “If you recite Nammy¯oh¯o-renge-ky¯o you’ll be happy.” I said to myself: “Help, they’re all crazy.” But then . . . I would hear wonderful stories, and this intrigued me and made me approach SG. Then I started practicing because the fact that there were people who spoke of such profound and beautiful experiences— people who had really serious problems and managed to solve them and come to terms with them thanks to the practice—stirred my interest, after all we all have problems . . . So I started reciting and set myself a target as they had told me. . . . It worked, so here I am. (S)

When asked if they practiced some religion before conversion or had been brought up in a religion, two-thirds of the interviewees said they had been brought up Catholic or at least had been baptized (see Table .). Half the interviewees considered themselves practicing Catholics when they were introduced to Buddhism; the others had already given up their faith many years earlier. The rest of the interviewees of Christian heritage had a Waldensian background. Two were brought up Soka Gakkai because their parents were followers, while the remainder had not received any religious training. Therefore, not only are those who do not have a religion with which to identify attracted to the practice, but even those who declare they did have a specific identification.

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Table .. Interviewees’ Religious Backgrounds Religious background

W (n = )

M (n = )

Total (n = )

Practicing Catholic Catholic, then agnostic Practicing Waldensian or Waldensian background nd generation Soka Gakkai No religious background

  

  

  

 

 

 

A little less than one-third of the interviewees appear to have had a conflicted conversion—due to their belonging to either the Catholic or Waldensian churches, or because of family opposition, or due to problems related to their personality or life. Catholics speak of a sense of guilt (as they do in Wilson and Dobbelaere’s research). As far as other religious backgrounds are concerned, only the practicing Waldensian had trouble with conversion. The majority of the interviewees did not, since their belonging to Catholicism or Protestantism was very superficial or they had separated themselves previously. I always thought I was at fault, I was brought up with this Catholic sense of guilt . . . I had a terrible accident . . . and I immediately thought it was God punishing me because I wanted to try a different religion, and this was the punishment. (S) I was a Waldensian . . . I said my prayers regularly every night. At fifteen, sixteen, seventeen years of age I went to church to read. I was a believer, that is, I thought there was something that could help me. So in the early months, after my conversion to Buddhism, I was a little troubled. I would say: “Is it right? Isn’t it right?” But then the doubt disappeared quickly. (S)

Initially, some of the people were ashamed to speak of their practice to family, friends, or co-workers; although they did not meet any particularly hostile reactions. But the practice may trigger serious opposition on the part of family members. The first time I recited at home it was six in the morning, and to be sure my wife wouldn’t see me I went . . . into the former stable, which is now a storeroom, and that’s where I recited, I was almost ashamed. (S) I had lots of trouble, above all connected with my family, who were absolutely against it. I live with my mother and sister . . . . My mother took it really badly, very badly, as if I had betrayed her. With respect to our family, which had been practicing in the Christian tradition, she saw my conversion like a real betrayal. Slowly I got her to understand it was good for my life. I wasn’t harming anybody. It wasn’t going to cause



luigi berzano and eliana martoglio problems. She is slowly getting used to it. She’s still not happy when I say: “It’s Thursday, I’m going to the meeting . . ..” She’s not happy, but there’s no longer that distressing anger. It was real rage at the start. (S)

Our study hypothesized that joining Soka Gakkai was the result of a process rather than immediate conversion, which in fact proved to be the most frequent course. Usually our interviewees acquired practices that gradually became part of their daily lives. Theoretical study was undertaken only later through workshops or courses in Italy and abroad. However, occasionally there was strong identification concerning Buddhist philosophy or belief from the very start. My conversion started because I was finally getting the answers I hadn’t found previously. . . . [I]t was like . . . putting on some comfortable shoes that fit perfectly, that’s what Buddhism was like for me . . . I keep on saying it’s like you had a question in life to answer, you feel like you are in the wrong place, at a certain stage someone arrives who says. “This is the answer” and it’s just perfect, there’s no other answer. That’s what I feel. (S) The Buddhist principles seemed to belong to me, I felt them deep down, at last ideas and language which suit my way of life. That was the trigger. (S) This philosophy is . . . like a made-to-measure dress. In fact when I approached this Buddhism, I read a book entitled “Buddhist philosophy”, I thought that if I had had such clear ideas I could have written it myself, I mean it was exactly my way of interpreting life. (S)

Just over half of the interviewees appear to have had a period of seeking before they met up with Soka Gakkai Buddhism. For example, either they had shown interest in white magic and astrology or had undertaken spiritual or religious readings, or they had practiced yoga, reiki and martial arts (judo, kungfu), or Japan and the Far East appealed to them. Others had followed a psychological track. I have always believed . . . er . . . believed in the universe, the planets, the influence of the planets on man. So I looked into it a little, therefore white magic and cards, yes, card reading and stones . . . I didn’t just read my horoscope in magazines, I actually studied zodiac signs, planet matching, that sort of thing . . . I love Japan, manga already appealed to me . . . My boyfriend was studying Japanese, that is we were really getting into this thing on Japan . . . Initially I went because I was curious, because they took their shoes off and did these Japanese things. (S) I have always been a seeker, and I got into white magic; I did solstice and equinox rites . . . I did some research on Buddhism which I had learned about through reading Hermann Hesse, who is one of my favorite writers. (S)

conversion as a new lifestyle



I have always been attracted by these oriental things, philosophies of life, relaxation techniques. (S) I spent a week in a Theravada Buddhist monastery in Rieti and now I should go, because it appeals to me, to do martial arts in a Shaolin monastery in Vicenza one weekend. Before I started high school, I was into esoteric doctrines—magic and the like, reading tarot cards, esotericism and crystal gazing. (S) I must say I have always been attracted by oriental religions. As a child I did yoga on my own, I did judo for a number of years. I also did a bit of Kungfu . . . I dare say in some other life—we believe in previous lives—I probably lived in some eastern country because when I see oriental things they always appeal to me. (S)

Two thirds of the interviewees claim they became acquainted with SG Buddhism when they were going through a crisis: due to a serious illness, an accident, sentimental or financial problems, or even an existential crisis or depression. Others were introduced by a friend, relative or an acquaintance because they were curious. I was breaking up—actually I was in the middle of a very painful separation. I was really broken when it ended . . . I was hurting. It hurt to face life . . . A friend who had known me for years, who saw I was so low, one day said to me: “Anna, I don’t know what else to say, you are so depressed! Look, they have spoken very highly of a—these people who practice Buddhism and recite this,” and she wrote this phrase on a piece of paper, “Nammy¯oh¯o-renge-ky¯o.” Once I was asked to their home to recite. They feel well. I have seen people whom I knew before they practiced, and they have changed so much for the better they’re unrecognizable. “Try it.” I didn’t know what else to do. My husband had left; I had a teenage daughter who felt as betrayed as I did. On top of how I was feeling I had to look after her. It was like being in jail. I didn’t know how to get out. (S) Let’s say it was a very difficult time. At the time I practically never left the house. I was a teenager, full of fears, lots of family problems . . . My parents had separated. My father was drinking heavily, a difficult family scene. There was no money, so I couldn’t go to school . . . I was eighteen, and I was going through a bad time. I was afraid of the dark, it terrified me. The dark. It might have been winter: at six o’clock in the afternoon it was already dark. I was afraid of being on my own. It was a real phobia. That’s what pushed me. (S)

Except for one case, all the interviewees have practiced for three or more years and to the question, “What is your religion?” they all answered Soka Gakkai Buddhists, no one claimed a dual religious belonging. However, the accounts usually reveal a period of approaching which lasts months or even a few years. The only interviewee who after four months practice



luigi berzano and eliana martoglio

claimed he was a Buddhist, revealed he had been in Buddhist circles before he was introduced to Soka Gakkai: I had already tried other types of Buddhism, above all for personal study, and other religions. The ideology and the techniques appealed to me very much . . . and I decided to continue attending” the Soka Gakkai meetings. (S) Some of the survey questions were posed to gauge if there had been any changes in lifestyle after conversion: changes concerning general commodity consumption in the field of clothing, cultural activities, or entertainment or political opinions. The replies reveal few changes from the outside. Obviously, people read more because they are seeking more knowledge of Buddhist thought. One interviewee explained that she gained more self-esteem and so took more pride in herself and therefore started to dress better. Another went on to say that time management changed. Practically all the interviewees claimed that something happened to distinguish them from other people: be it values, a mental attitude, or special qualities. For instance, they claim they share “a great ideal for peace” or “we look happier,” or it is “the desire to be happy, to improve one’s life and the environment, courage, selflessness, compassion, generosity, the ability to listen.” They all say that a major change happened in their lives, above all from the psychological point of view. I don’t like wasting time anymore. I mean, before I wasted lots of time doing nothing . . . while now, I take time off to relax, but I realize that time is very important and it is important that I use it well. Practicing has taught me that each instant of life is valuable, and so if we waste time it is like denying the value of that instant. (S) I am much calmer and balanced now. Once I was more instinctive. I reacted impulsively, at times I was aggressive . . . whereas now [there is] this balance, this appreciating life, and appreciating the life of others, too, learning about the beauty in other people. (S) Psychologically I feel much better. I feel that things, problems, and difficulties don’t scare me anymore. I am confident that I can overcome them or at least face them. I feel there are people around me whom I can count on or whom I can call and they’re there. I feel protected to a certain extent by the group, and I feel I still have drive to do things . . . I don’t take things for granted and feel I’m done, I still feel I want to accomplish things. (S)

conversion as a new lifestyle



Toward a New Form of Conversion At the root of the three hypotheses on which this survey was grounded, we were interested in examining a new type of conversion that includes horizontal and processual transformation, together with greater attention to practices rather than values, which constitutes a new type of conversion: conversion as a lifestyle. As far as the hypothesis regarding horizontality and processual transformation, the data revealed that all the interviewees followed an interactionist and horizontal procedure. Practically all the interviewees were introduced to Soka Gakkai by friends, relatives, or acquaintances. There is just one case of a totally chance meeting (a fortune-teller). Therefore the message is transmitted by social networks; the message deserves credit because it comes from a well-known person who is trusted. Most of the conversion procedures can be described as a process. The interviewees were usually encouraged to attend a meeting by a person of their social circle, or they received simple instructions from them on how to recite the daimoku. They started practicing immediately or after some time. The initially erratic practice became daily thereafter. A pattern of conversion can be traced in clearly distinguishable stages: . Crisis or search: The reason to join is due to a difficult moment in life or because curiosity is aroused. In the latter case, the person was already into religious or spiritual-esoteric seeking. . Meeting and practicing the daimoku: Following a trusted person’s instructions one starts practicing or attends a meeting. There may be discontinuity in this phase; practicing may start and stop. Defection is highest at this stage. . Stabilization: Practice becomes a daily routine, and one mixes with the practicing group. Usually material benefits can be seen in one’s life. . Maturity: The practice has become binding; there is total religious identification. There are psychological and spiritual benefits. Expressive vocabulary that makes the group legitimate is seen in the interviews. Often converts join the hierarchy and may criticize the organization or the people in charge. The second hypothesis was aimed at understanding to what extent the neo-converts sought a new spiritual experience to solve their everyday problems, rather than wanting to belong exclusively and irreversibly to a religion. The interviews revealed that most people started practicing



luigi berzano and eliana martoglio

because they were in a state of crisis, almost as if it were the last resort. This means trying a practice that seems to offer therapeutic benefits, not identifying with a religion. Others, who were not affected by a crisis, seemed to be more or less consciously seeking a spiritual path, certainly not a religion with its rules and its clergy. As for the hypothesized conversion as a lifestyle, it can be said that, particularly in this type of Buddhism, the individual is often involved in practice and participation in a group well before assimilating the philosophical and value system. Reasons for conversion often rest on the individual’s personal sensitivity and the personal meaning that is attributed to the framework of practices. This can clearly been seen in the reasons the interviewees give when they say they consider themselves Soka Gakkai Buddhists. They claim they approached Buddhism because it is a philosophy that does not contemplate a superior being and relies significantly on individual responsibility. It helps to understand the mechanisms of life and supplies answers to great issues. It is not constituted by a set of rules. There is no organized structure with clergy. The community of followers helps and supports those in need, in the practice and in the harmonizing of objectives. To support this last hypothesis there are numerous instances in the interviews and life stories: I needed to find a spiritual dimension that suited me. (S) I can’t stand dogmas, even less so obligations . . . Buddhism is freedom . . . That’s what really appealed to me at the beginning. (S) I was fascinated by this religion above all because it did not impose any type of rules, there were no obligations of any sort. (S) There is no church, and the church as a body is quite castrating and restrictive. (S) Buddhism tells me that in the very moment I decide to be happy, I am already happy . . . It means that from that moment on I will make every effort and I will be . . . I will become happy . . . It tells me every day is New Year’s Day so I can decide to change my life every day. I can set new objectives . . . and I don’t have to look back and say: “I missed the boat” . . . . Understanding how our life works: why we repeat the same actions or why the same things always happen to us . . . It’s these things that intrigue me, and it still does because it is a never-ending study of life and of how to live better. (S) Among the Buddhists I immediately found a much better climate than that which was around me at the time. Above all normal people, very serene, at least when we met. The atmosphere was warm. This was a great encouragement. (S)

conversion as a new lifestyle



The Soka Gakkai is a great family, I mean if anyone is in need we help each other, we support each other. (S) Friendship is one of the fundamental things that ties me to Soka Gakkai: friendship and mutual support among followers, which is basic to life; it should be for everyone. (S)

Conclusions Conversion has been defined as a new lifestyle, the conversion of an individual who at first adopts certain practices of a new religion, rather than its cognitive value system. One adopts a new lifestyle (practices, symbols, preferences for people and places) that helps to solve everyday problems, and are usually generated by interaction with close individuals and friends, more than through the cognitive value system of the new religion. Friends recruit friends, relatives recruit relatives, and neighbors recruit neighbors. In statu nascendi conversion is not simply the cognitive adoption of a set of beliefs, but it is based on a system of social relations. The observation that conversions occur primarily through social networks and pre-existing interpersonal ties does not exclude the fact that even other non-rational factors may have an effect, such as aesthetic, affective, and the supra-rational. The latter, therefore, are not always present, above all in the nascent state of conversion. As far as our first hypothesis, it can be said that nearly all the interviewees’ conversions stemmed from interpersonal relations and the search for a community. From the first meeting when reciting the daimoku of the Lotus Sutra, the neo-convert feels part of a new community that represents the new growing frame of his or her biography. The community listens to his or her story and shoulders the individual’s problems. Sharing significant practices makes ties firmer and increases mutual esteem. Virtual ties become real, weak ones become stronger, and strong ties generate others. Finally, I took my best friend (at the time) up on his invitation. I went to the last meeting of the year. I started practicing immediately. (S) I was introduced to Soka Gakkai at the age of  by my parents who had been practicing for a few years. Up to  I attended the odd meeting but I didn’t feel any need to practice. However, at a certain point I came up against a real problem and I couldn’t find a solution, I turned to Buddhist prayer. (S) I was introduced to Buddhism because my current husband—who wasn’t at the time, he was just a person I liked—practiced . . . . This was really



luigi berzano and eliana martoglio important to him and so I said: let’s go and see where he goes, largely because there were people who phoned him . . . (S)

As far as our second hypothesis, it was revealed that the majority of the neo converts were looking for a new spiritual experience to solve the problems of daily life more than belonging exclusively and irreversibly to a religion. Joining Soka Gakkai is therefore a voluntary act. The organization does not pressure new arrivals to feel converted at once, but encourages them to take one step at a time. But between one reading of the daimoku of the Lotus Sutra and another, relations consolidate that involve the new followers in the system of beliefs and friendships with the members of Soka Gakkai. The organization’s objective is to spur the desire in the new arrivals to belong, knowing that authentic religious conversion is based on personal needs, even if external factors may foster it. Our data confirm Thierry Mathé (), who concludes his research on Tibetan Buddhism and Soka Gakkai in France by observing that conversions in these two movements represent a need for regeneration more than for re-conversion; they consist in breaking a lifestyle on the existential level (hence a new lifestyle) rather than on the level of the meaning of life, since the issue of truth is considered insignificant. These are conversions that respond more to the need to adjust to one’s own personal situation rather than to the system of beliefs of an institutionalized religion. I wanted answers concerning my mother’s illness . . . “Why couldn’t I have a normal life like any other -year-old?”—and so, Buddhism gave me the answers to all this. Catholicism had not. At the time I read the Mormon law, the Koran, the Holy Scriptures. I was looking everywhere. I didn’t think of Buddhism because it probably wasn’t the right time. (S) I was looking for answers, and I found one for each of my questions: What is the meaning of life? What is the meaning of death? Is life worth living? How do you live? What is my life worth? Why do bad things happen? . . . (S) It was a really bad period; I did nothing but cry about my situation . . . family . . . (S) I wanted to change my life; I was sick and tired of the life I was leading, because I had made lots of attempts, of all types, but there was no way out of this situation. (S)

As far as the third hypothesis, it can be said that nearly all the interviewees wanted to try new practices through conversion, that is a new lifestyle, more than adopting an organic set of beliefs and moral obligations. Conversion as a new lifestyle, which concerns the majority of our

conversion as a new lifestyle



interviewees, does not require individuals to adopt the value system of a new religion whole cloth, but just the parts that they choose. For these reasons it is a weak, experimental conversion and not definitive.7 The individual involved in a conversion as a new lifestyle does not give up the reasons that induced the conversion. One seeks the balm of a solution and of enlightenment, but one is not prepared to give up the freedom of questioning. One continues to fluctuate between joining and keeping a distance, between the cult of the problem and the choice of a solution. That is why the conversion is never fully resolved. Only at a later date and for some individuals will conversion reach definite religious outcomes and a condition of profound and complete happiness. Buddhism means responsibility. You are responsible for what happens in your life . . . It is your mission to be happy, to build your life, your identity, your ego . . . You decide everything you want, you put the causes and receive the effects in your life. (S) Buddhism teaches me wisdom; Buddhism doesn’t say: “This is right and that is wrong” . . . There aren’t those sorts of rules, to be honest there aren’t any rules, in general. (S)

Conversion as a new lifestyle therefore represents the typical form of religious being in post-secular society, because on the one hand it solves the paradigmatic uncertainty of historical religions insofar as it supplies all individuals with cultural and symbolic reference frames and encourages individuals’ active research of new systems of belief and forms of association. The onus falls on the individual who is free to behave and believe, faced with his or her own individual responsibility. Significantly one interviewee stated, “Religion is like a dress, it’s like a dress for me, that is, it must fit you well, it must make you feel good, and it must give you the answers which make you serene.” (S)

7 According to some authors, this type of conversion, which has been growing since , is homogeneous to the consumer culture, in which sharing the same brand knits social ties among the consumers themselves and links them as in a community. This is confirmed by brand communities, brandfests, and the power of cult branding in general, in which the three elements that constitute every community are to be found: shared awareness, rituals and traditions, and a sense of moral responsibility. Roof says (:), “The generation of baby boomers, which was greatly influenced by the consumer culture, has grown up considering religion like a commodity and trading it practically like any other product.”



luigi berzano and eliana martoglio References

Ansart, Pierre. . Dictionnaire de sociologie. Paris: Le Robert/Seuil. Austin, Roy. . “The Empirical Adequacy of Lofland’s Conversion Model.” Review of Religious Research : –. Belk, Russel W. . “Pimps for Paradise: Missionaries, Monetary Funds, and Marketers.” Marketing Intelligence & Planning : –. Berger, Peter, Brigitte Berger and Hansfried Kellner. . The Homeless Mind: Modernization and Consciousness. New York: Random House. Berzano, Luigi and Pierluigi Zoccatelli. . Identità e identificazione: Il pluralismo religioso nell’entroterra palermitano. Roma: Salvatore Sciascia. Berzano, Luigi and Carlo Genova. . Percorsi di sociologia dei lifestyles. Torino: Il Segnalibro. Coleman, James William. . “The Emergence of a New Buddhism: Continuity and Change.” Pp. – in North American Buddhists in Social Context, edited by Paul David Numrich. Leiden: Brill. Dawson, Lorne L. . I nuovi movimenti religiosi. Bologna: Il Mulino. Dobbelaere, Karel. . La Soka Gakkai. Torino: ElleDiCi. Einstein, Mara. . Brands of Faith: Marketing Religion in a Commercial Age. New York: Routledge. Gauchet, Marcel. . Le désenchantement du monde: Une histoire politique de la religion. Paris: Éditions Gallimard. Geekie, Constance Lynn. . “Soka Gakkai: Engaged Buddhism in North America.” Pp. – in North American Buddhists in Social Context, edited by Paul David Numrich. Leiden: Brill. Giordan, Giuseppe, ed. . Tra religione e spiritualità: Il rapporto con il sacro nell’epoca del pluralismo. Milano: FrancoAngeli. Gooren, Henri. a. “Towards a New Model of Religious Conversion Careers: The Impact of Social and Institutional Factors.” Pp. – in Paradigms, Poetics and Politics of Conversion, edited by Wout J. van Bekkum, Jan N. Bremmer and Arie L. Molendijk, Leuven: Peeters. ———. b. “Religious Market Theory and Conversion: Towards an Alternative Approach.” Exchange : –. Iannaccone, Laurence R. and Massimo Introvigne. . Il mercato dei martiri: L’industria del terrorismo suicida. Torino: Lindau. James, William. . Le varie forme dell’esperienza religiosa. Brescia: Morcelliana. Lofland, John F. . Doomsday Cult: A Study of Conversion, Proselytization and Maintenance of Faith. New York: Irvington. ——— and Rodney Stark. . “Becoming a World-Saver: A Theory of Conversion to a Deviant Perspective.” American Sociological Review : –. Long, Theodore E. and Jeffrey K. Hadden. . “Religious Conversion and Socialization.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion : –. Machalek, Richard and David A. Snow. . “Conversion to New Religious Movements.” Pp. – in The Handbook on Cults and Sects in America, Part B, edited by David G. Bromley and Jeffrey K. Hadden. Greenwich, CT: JAI Press.

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Mathé, Thierry. . Le Bouddhisme des Français: Contribution à une sociologie de la conversion. Paris: L’Harmattan. Numrich, Paul David, ed. . North American Buddhists in Social Context. Leiden: Brill. Pace, Enzo. . Raccontare Dio: La religione come comunicazione. Bologna: Il Mulino. Pannofino, Nicola. . Narrative biografiche e percorsi di trasformazione identitaria all’interno di due nuovi movimenti religiosi a Torino. Ph.D. dissertation, Faculty of Political Science, University of Torino. Reimer, Bo. . “Youth and Modern Lifestyles.” Pp. – in Joan Fornäs and Göran Bolin Youth Culture in Late Modernity. London: Sage. Remy, Jean and Hiernaux Jean-Pierre. . “Utopies et crise de l’ordre symbolique: Essai de conceptualisation et d’instrumentation pour des analyses comparatives.” Annual Review of the Social Sciences of Religion : –. Roof, Wade Clark. . A Generation of Seekers: The Spiritual Journey of the Baby Boom Generation. New York: HarperCollins. Sargeant, Kimon H. . Seeker Churches: Promoting Traditional Religion in a Non-traditional Way. New Brunswick, NJ: Rutgers University Press. Snow, David A. and Cynthia L. Philips. . “The Lofland-Stark Conversion Model: A Critical Assessment.” Social Problems : –. Sperber, Dan. . Explaining Culture: A Naturalistic Approach. Oxford: Blackwell. Van der Leeuw, Gerardus. . Fenomenologia della religione. Torino: Boringhieri. Weber, Max. . The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism. Los Angeles: Roxbury. Wilson, Bryan and Karel Dobbelaere. . A Time to Chant: The Soka Gakkai Buddhists in Britain. Oxford: Clarendon Press.

chapter ten CONVERSION AS OPPOSITION

Giuseppe Giordan While illustrating religion as “communication power” in one of his most recent books, Enzo Pace (: ) asserts that “in the world of religions nothing is created and nothing is destroyed, but all (or almost all) is preserved.” In other words, interpreting religion as interlaced languages related one to the other and interdependent, we may see how within the same religious tradition issues and symbols of the past re-emerge in the contemporary epoch and are recontextualized in frames of meaning that are rather different from the past yet capable of being meaningful to contemporary persons. Such interlacing of languages may be seen not only in the diachronic dynamics from the past to the present, but also in the more and more complex relations characterizing the “globalized religions” of the postmodern world. It is a situation that might be described as a slow yet constant process of hybridization and contamination between different religious traditions, where the borders between one and another are much less insurmountable than we are commonly used to believe. Pace writes (: ): [A]s far as religions are concerned, the law of accumulation counts: they can be represented as great belief systems made up of various layers, some of them deeper than others, some believed to be more authentic than others, according to a hierarchic scale that is defined each time by those who have the authority or by those who control the circulation of beliefs within the system.

From this perspective, it is difficult to speak of “pure” religions: all of them bring within themselves the traces and the encrustations of their evolution through the centuries, a route often marked by competition and wars. As paradoxical as it may seem, the more a religion is animated by the will to conquer and to expand, the more exposed it is to the “risk” of being contaminated from other symbolic universes. If on one side this process develops through the “long story” of the tracing historic epochs, under another perspective it can be detected even in the “short story”

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giuseppe giordan

of the existence of an individual—especially when the question of the borders between one religion and the other and the truth of the beliefs are evaluated in the context of conversion. The choice of converting expresses in some way the act of taking sides on the part of the subject or of the group as regards the complexity of beliefs, of the rites and the moral norms: this position of taking sides is the result of a comparison or a confrontation that, in the final analysis, means to express a judgment of truth. Such judgment touches the truth of beliefs, but also the plausibility of prescribed behaviors or of prohibitions, as well as the aesthetic sense and the mysterious dimension of liturgical rites. All these dimensions composing the religious field, when they are sifted by the converted person, are re-composed according to a criterion of coherence which, from the sociological point of view, might be often interpreted as a syncretistic process. In this sense syncretism is not simply the re-composition of a picture that tries to put together elements of different provenance, but the true construction of a “code of complexity” capable of putting the converted believer in touch with the social and cultural environment in which he lives.1 In this chapter we analyze a peculiar case of conversion, a conversion that in the s involved practically the whole village of Montaner, a center of about , inhabitants located about one hundred kilometers north of Venice. Montaner is still today a unique case in Italy where, in the village square, there are two churches fifty meters apart from each other: to the North there is a Catholic church and to the South an Orthodox one. If in many other national contexts this co-presence, even architecturally, is normal, forty years ago it was totally new in the Italian landscape, and in certain aspects it was quite unimaginable. Even stopping for a quick glance at the landscape, we notice the church towers that characterize the skyline in the towns as well as in the country in Italy (Sanga ); historically speaking, also some synagogues have been present, and recently even some mosques, but in the sixties what happened in Montaner was all new.

1 More than a superimposition of beliefs, syncretism is a working principle of religions themselves: “Religious syncretism is not a particular kind of religion, but the structural characteristic peculiar to the systems of religious belief: ‘syncretism’ is the word for what we conventionally label ‘complexity.’ Systems with a religious basis are complex by definition, hence to survive they must learn to differentiate from the environment; they must learn to reduce the complexity they find in the environment, partially transferring it inside themselves” (Pace : ).

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The reasons for the “mass conversion” from Catholicism to Orthodoxy that took place then are multifarious. First, it is placed in a particular context, the Italian context in which Catholicism is the majority religion administering the dynamics of the religious field in a “quasimonopolistic” way.2 How is it possible that in the heartland of the Catholic faith a whole group of people would decide to change their religion? But there’s more: why the choice in favor of Orthodoxy? And why a “mass conversion,” typical of the Middle Ages and certainly not of the end of the s? What is the role of the “new religion” in its function of founding the collective identity? And, most especially, what had stopped working in the “old religion,” the religion of their ancestors? Or, considering the matter from another perspective, what needs of the people were met by the choice of converting? Analyzing the different languages that people use to justify their conversion to Orthodoxy, we have found a complex interlacing of communication codes referring to some aspects of the social and cultural context of the s in Italy. As often happens when oral sources are gathered, “the expressive modes which at first seem to belong only to the linguistic code of a single person, on the contrary are part of a wider collective patrimony” (Ciciliot : ), almost as if it were a collective identity capable of providing the single individuals with the resources to tell about their own experience. Interviewing  people it has been possible to reconstruct the reasons of their conversion by bringing them back to some contexts in which the protest phenomena of those years were more intensely concentrated.3 In particular, we have focused first of all on the language of politics, particularly present in the juxtaposition between the right- and the left-wing parties; second, it is possible to identify the language typical of the ecclesiastical reform of the years immediately after the Second Vatican Council; finally, the interviewees have recurrently manifested expressions typical of the anarchical and antiauthoritarian cultural movements linked to the youth culture of . Among the evidences of the younger ones, that 2 In order to examine closely the role of the Catholic religion inside Italian society see Cipriani (), Diotallevi (, ), Garelli (, , ), Garelli, Guizzardi and Pace (), and Nesti (). 3 This research is based on  in-depth interviews of about one hour each, carried on during the months of June and July  in Montaner. Among the interviewees,  are witnesses of the facts as they happened at the moment of the conversion to Orthodoxy; therefore they are from age  upward. The remainder are youth or young adults born in the s.

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is to say among those we might define the “second generation” of the members of the Orthodox Church of Montaner, a rather different language is present, a way of expressing themselves that can be referred to the debate that in the sociology of religion has been labeled with the concept of “spirituality.” In all these cases it has been possible to see how both in the personal experience of the converted individual, as well as of the group sharing their choice of conversion, “nothing is created and nothing is destroyed” because the beliefs, traditions and ways of thinking of the past are adapted to the new situation.

Once Upon a Time There was “Father Jail” All the Montaner events occurred between December  and November .4 On December , , Monsignor Giuseppe Faè, the old parish priest who had guided the Montaner community for forty years died. The figure of Msgr. Faè was characterized by a strong personal charisma and an authoritative temper, determined and resolute, that contributed to creating his role not only as a spiritual, but also a social and cultural guide for this somewhat isolated and poor village in the Venetian mountains. Msgr. Faè not only did everything in his power to offer spiritual and moral assistance to the population, but also to provide for the material needs of his community from a nursery school, to an orphanage, to a small hall for public meetings (successively destined to become a theatre and a cinema). In addition to this, he also was very important guiding the anti-fascist forces of the area who were getting organized covertly against the German troops during the civil war that burst in Italy after September , , when Mussolini’s regime collapsed. In March , Msgr. Faè was arrested for his anti-fascist activity and, after the end of the war in , just for his having been put in jail, he started calling himself “Father Jail.” When he returned to Montaner, he engaged himself further in improving the living conditions of the population of this little village: he worked to obtain the telephone line, electric light, running water into

4 No volume yet exists fully reconstructing the facts of the Montaner event as developed from the beginning until today. Nevertheless there are some degree theses containing information of an historical and anthropological character (Ciciliot ). Some sociological thesises have also provided interpretive criteria: in particular Nardi (), Resenterra (), and Chies (). Berzano and Cassinasco () provide a sociological study of Orthodoxy in Italy.

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their houses, a daily bus service to the nearby center of Vittorio Veneto, the opening of a post office, and the construction of a new school building. During his parish activity he was supported by younger priests, and in the last three years of his life, being by that time old and ill, he was assisted one named Father Antonio Botteon. At the time of his death, the Monsignor was highly esteemed, even revered as a saint, by the population. The interviewees who have met him tell odd anecdotes about his often bizarre behavior and about his presumed miraculous powers. After Msgr. Faè’s death, a trial of strength started between the Bishop, who had already chosen a successor, and the population of Montaner, who saw in Fr. Botteon the right parish priest for the purpose of ensuring continuity with the work of the deceased Monsignor. According to the code of Canon Law, however, the appointment of a parish priests is not the congregation’s concern, but rather it is the exclusive competence of the Bishop. In Montaner a committee was formed who asked the Bishop for an audience in order to obtain Fr. Botteon’s appointment as their parish priest.5 The answer was negative, and this not only because the appointment of a parish priest is the Bishop’s concern and not the community’s, but also because Fr. Botteon was considered to be too young for such role. Just after the visit of the Montaner committee, the Bishop appointed another priest as the new parish priest, to take office in Montaner on January , . During the night between the th and st of January some men from Montaner built a wall in front of the doors of the church and of the rectory. Before the church a notice was posted in which “the people of Montaner” proclaimed Fr. Botteon as their parish priest, and justified this choice as the fruit of democratic consultation. The afternoon of the st the new parish priest appointed by the Bishop arrived in Montaner with his own things, but the population in the square prevented him from carrying out his move—although the police were also there to guarantee public order. In this way the “war” between the people of Montaner and the Bishop started, a war in which the protagonists were the women, since the men either emigrated or worked all day at considerable distance from the village. In the first days of February, another delegation went to visit the Bishop bringing a request 5 In those years the bishop of the Vittorio Veneto diocese was Monsignor Albino Luciani, who became Pope in  taking the name of John Paul I. (His pontificate lasted only  days, and he is now remebered by history as “the smiling Pope”.)

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signed by  families out of a total of  asking him to accept the appointment of Fr. Betteon as their parish priest, but the answer once again was negative.

The “Cats” and the “Mice” During the first protest actions, the village seemed to be more or less close-knit, but as the conflict escalated, many people drew back from the protest, and the group of those who believed it was unfair to object to authority became more and more numerous. So Montaner split into two factions, between whom a true conflict broke out, based on such deep hatred that it is still present today. The two factions took the names of “mice” and “cats”: the former were those who remained faithful to the bishop’s decision and the Catholic church, and were so-called in reference to the expression “sacristy mice” in order to describe people devoutly linked to the ecclesiastic institution; while the latter were those who successively became members of the Orthodox Church. All the people interviewed are keen to remember that this image had the function of intending to remind everyone that “cats, sooner or later, eat mice.” The case, as it is not difficult to imagine, ended up in some national newspapers, and the quarrel in this way became known outside the local context. In the first months of  representatives of other religious confessions arrived in Montaner, in particular Protestants and members of the Orthodox Church, even though the possibility of a conversion from Catholicism to another religious confession was not taken into serious consideration in the first months of the fight. Feeble attempts of reconciliation followed, but strong stands were taken the part of both the cats and the ecclesiastic institutionalists. The split turned so bitter that it could not be healed. In the following months the cats, who had gone to visit the bishop many times and even to visit the Pope in Rome without obtaining anything, organized some meetings to decide how to continue their protest, and during such meetings the possibility of shifting to another religious tradition “as a protest” was considered. Angela’s response, in connection with this subject, is particularly enlightening: “I must admit that we didn’t have very clear ideas. On the contrary, there was much confusion about what we wanted to do. Nevertheless it seemed to us that changing religion might be a good way to express our disagreement and our anger toward the Catholic hierarchy.”

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To the interviewer who observes that Orthodoxy actually isn’t another religion compared to Catholicism, but simply another Christian confession, Angela retorts that in the beginning they didn’t pay much attention to these subtleties and these details: what they wanted to do was to make those who had demonstrated indifference to the legitimate requests of the Montaner population pay the consequences. The theological, moral or ritual aspect of believing then was totally unrelated to the considerations of the inhabitants of Montaner who were “converting” to the Orthodox religion. No matter how things went, in the evening of December , , in the square just in front of the Catholic church, the first Mass of the Orthodox rite was celebrated. A few weeks before the protest committee had gone to the bishop for the last time presenting an either-or to him: either Fr. Botteon was appointed parish priest, as the great majority of the Montaner population had democratically decided, or all of them would “convert” to Orthodoxy. As a result of the negative outcome of the meeting, the facts followed the words: the vague and in many respects indefinite possibility of conversion thus became real (Ciciliot ). The Orthodox priest came from a community of the Russian rite located in the neighborhood of Turin and formally settled in Montaner beginning in June . The liturgies were celebrated first in a garage and then in a private house, but during the summer a church was built that was solemnly consecrated on September , . The building of this place of Orthodox worship fifty meters from the Catholic church finally marked the division between the Orthodox “converted ones” and those who remained faithful to Catholicism. But the dispute did not end there. The division between “cats” and “mice” were felt inside families themselves, with many parents remaining Catholic and children becoming Orthodox. On November , , All Souls’ Day, the Catholic and the Orthodox processions met in the village cemetery: a clash, even physical, between the two factions followed, and for this reason the police were called. The worst was over because the Catholic parish priest decided to leave the field and continue prayers in the church. Living together, between Catholics and members of the Orthodox church, has been always difficult since these beginnings. It was almost a condition of “living together armed,” with the police forces often garrisoning the village square. In the interviewees’ reports there are two terms that recur frequently, even if they are immediately corrected and more precisely defined, almost as if the interviewees wanted to hide from themselves before hid-

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ing from the interviewer that things in the beginning were exactly like this. Paola’s and Antonio’s answers are enlightening with regard to this subject. Paola, who at the time of these events was twenty years old, says: I remember those months as a period of great enthusiasm as regards the new experience that was going to start . . . Montaner had never appeared in the newspapers, but at that time everybody spoke of us. To tell the truth, however, it was a period of suffering, because in the village, and also among our own friends, there was an atmosphere of hatred . . . . Well, maybe to call it hatred is too much . . . Let’s say the interpersonal relations were not good. We didn’t greet each other any longer. We didn’t go shopping any longer to the shop where the keeper belonged to the other religion . . . . A bad atmosphere indeed, with suspicion, calumny, hatred . . . Yes, I told you that the word hatred was perhaps too much, but I do believe that, at certain moments, it was a matter of hatred. Just think that I didn’t speak any more to my uncle, who remained Catholic, not even during his long disease that led to his death.

When interviewed about the meaning that the choice of converting to Orthodoxy has had for him, Antonio, admits that: Speaking of “conversion” is probably exaggerated, meaning that to us to become Orthodox didn’t actually mean, at least in the beginning, to change our religion, but simply to be able to pray to the God to whom we had always prayed without having to obey the Catholic bishop any more . . . . Little by little we have realized that being Catholic or being members of the Orthodox Church is not exactly the same thing, but, you know, at the beginning everything was so confused: to us it was sufficient not to have to go to the Catholic church any more. The Orthodox liturgies were more or less the same as the Catholic ones, even if they were longer . . . however the Orthodox priest did not oblige us to stay in the church during the whole function. Even from the point of view of the things we are required to believe I don’t see great differences, or maybe I don’t see the differences because I have never really explored the Orthodox religion deeply . . . But, you see, when we speak of religion in general there is always some confusion about the things to believe and about the things that we are allowed to do and those we are not allowed to do.

Antonio speaks of confusion in a straight manner, admitting that, at least in the beginning, nobody really knew what it meant to become members of the Orthodox church. Other interviewees with a higher level of education use the term “confusion” with more “reserve,” almost being ashamed of describing their shifting to Orthodoxy in this way. It is a fact that the experience of those years is interpreted by the witnesses who lived it in terms of “hatred,” first against the Catholic bishop and then

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against those who did not convert to Orthodoxy, and of “confusion” for what is involved in the entrance into the new religious confession.6 From the interviews as a whole the impression is that what it meant to decide to become a member of the Orthodox Church wasn’t very clear. Perhaps Francesco, who at the time of the consecration of the Orthodox Church was nine years old, is right when he asserts, somewhat between irony and regret, that those “who became a member of the Orthodox Church converted ‘by chance’.” But the accounts we collected from the interviewees tell us not only what was actually the initial situation (“hatred” and “confusion”), but they also report reflections that have been stored forty years in the memory of this disunited little community, with respect to both their personal memory as well as the collective memory. It is not difficult to imagine that, with the passing of time, those people have wondered whether it was possible to change their religion “only” out of resentment toward the hierarchy of the religion in which they were born and brought up. In other words, even if things seem to have happened exactly in this way, when the subjects were interviewed about this event, the language they use becomes more complex, more intricate than the simple narration of a conflict. As noted above, and consistent with the observations of Pace with which this chapter opened, in the conversion accounts of the people from Montaner we find a contamination of languages where the borders between culture, politics, religion and common sense fade away until they become difficult to reconstruct. However, in the narration of the single subject who uses all these symbolic universes of meaning in order to rebuild his own experience, we may notice the predominance of either element, according to what one intends to justify or to legitimate by means of such narration.

6 The experience of the Montaner Orthodox Church had a rather troubled beginning even because of the unclear position of the first Orthodox priest who guided it. He was an Italian man, who, it seems, had initially been an Evangelical minister and who declared he successively converted to Orthodoxy. We know that he signed with the title “Italian Exarc of the Episcopal Catholic Apostolic Orthodox Church,” even if nobody has ever known to what Church he actually belonged. He was a kind of “wandering priest,” and when he arrived at Montaner he declared he was a member of the Russian Orthodox Church. For many years the liturgical functions of the new Church were more similar to the Catholic functions than to the Orthodox ones, and this too perhaps contributed to making the converted people feel that the change had been more formal than substantial.

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giuseppe giordan The Language of Political Struggle

Contrary to what facts seem to say, according to the evidence of some of the interviewees, the choice of becoming members of the Orthodox Church was not hurried or casual, but the fruit of an attentive evaluation: to the inhabitants of Montaner, the Orthodox religion recalled the idea of Russia straightaway and, together with Russia, the world of Communism. This meant a great deal to a village that during World War II had known the struggle against Fascists and Nazis and that had distinguished itself in this struggle, making almost an identity trait of it. If nothing else, it granted immediate sympathy to Orthodoxy. The Communism of the inhabitants of Montaner considered Russia in a mythical way, as if it were a land where the ideals of freedom and justice had been actually implemented in everyday life. It is a pre-political approach that identifies itself not with Marxism or with some economic theory, but with the will to overcome misery, to fight against power and poverty. Luciano, the oldest of the interviewees, born a little before the burst of World War II, provides a good synthesis of this attitude: The Orthodox religion has developed in a land of poverty and abuse, of violence and oppression, and just this faith has given to the Russian people the strength to redeem themselves from the powerful . . . . Orthodoxy is not a religion for the rich and the right-minded people, but for people who are acquainted with labor and suffering . . . for people who want to conquer their own dignity . . .. Jesus has chosen the poor and the last ones, the marginalized and the oppressed ones, and we are poor and last, oppressed and marginalized even from religion that often justifies the powerful and the oppressors.

As it is easily seen, the controversy against the “right-minded Catholics” is always present, but the most relevant aspect is the totally arbitrary reconstruction of the events of Orthodoxy in Russia, a reconstruction that little has to do with the actual historical events, but that is, however, capable of legitimating the choice of the conversion to Orthodoxy. Beyond this reference to Communism and to Russia, there is also another aspect, still of a political nature, that might seem to be pushing toward the “conversion”: the antagonism between the little village of Montaner and the bigger center of Sarmede on which it depended. Such antagonism and such will of autonomy was justified even for the different political choices: the Communist party obtained most of the votes in Montaner, while in Sarmede the majority party was Christian Democracy, which was seen by the Montaner population as a Fascist party.

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The wish to become a free and independent municipality compared to Sarmede would have found an element of further autonomy in the choice to convert to Orthodoxy. This is a motivation that, after all, has worked, and still works, in various areas of the world: using religion in an identity perspective as an element of cohesion within a group and, at the same time as an element of differentiation from the outside world. The rivalry of parochial type between the little municipality of Montaner and the main center of Sarmede has left traces even in the conversion accounts of the people we have interviewed: “Obviously,” Lucia states pointedly when pressed by the interviewer, we haven’t converted to Orthodoxy to distinguish ourselves from those of Sarmede, but we can say that our conversion has helped us to understand better what it meant to become aware of our own diversity and our own autonomy . . . I mean that we haven’t converted to differentiate from the Catholics and from those who had voted for the party of Christian Democracy . . . . Nevertheless the fact that the majority of the population of Montaner have become members of the Orthodox religion has helped us to feel more united and close-knit against the power that wanted to keep us marginalized.

In Montaner, then, they have not converted in order to be different, but being “religiously” different has helped the population to confirm and to claim their right, their political choice and their aspiration to autonomy with more strength. It is difficult to say how much importance such aspiration to autonomy has influenced the choice of “changing religion,” but all the same it is without doubt that such an element has played its role.7

The Language of Ecclesiastical Reform Besides the language of the political struggle, and specifically that of the confrontation between Communists (members of the Orthodox religion) and Christian Democrats (Catholics), the language of the Church’s reform emerges in the accounts of the interviewees, even if with minor frequency. The presence of such “specific terminology” is inserted in the 7 Such claim of autonomy appears to be well enmeshed in the history of Montaner. As a matter of fact, Fr. Faè had long debated with the Bishop of Vittorio Veneto the request of elevating the little parish church to the level of a “cathedral.” Still in line with the autonomist will of the inhabitants of Montaner as regards the municipality of Sarmede, there is also a will to change the name of the municipality into “Montaner of Italy.”

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historical situation in which the Catholic Church has lived in the years following Vatican Council II (–). The Council had aroused inside the Catholic communities many expectations of a profound reform of the Church, especially on the ecumenical side. Many Italian Bishops, however, turned out to be unprepared to face such efforts of “updating” and “renewal,” and they limited themselves to retouching some aspects of the traditional positions that, after all, had worked in the past. Thus, inside Italian Catholicism two opposite interpretative lines of the Council developed: the “traditionalists,” who were very critical about some aspects of novelty of the Council, and the “dissenting protagonists,” who considered the Council a starting point for the radical renewal of the Church (Ciciliot ). This general frame of great ecclesial change is reconstructed in the words of some of our interviewees in order to adapt it to the situation of Montaner, putting together the ideas that in those years animated the theological debates and the more limited exigencies of the local community of Montaner. It is an interesting effort to connect the “little history” of the village to the “great history” of the Church, as if they wished to legitimate their choice of converting on the basis of the unkept promises of renovation from the Catholic Church. Mario’s story clearly expresses such connection between the local situation and the theological debate of those years: The Council expressed themselves in favor of the “Church of the poor,” and the concept of “God’s people” was very important. These are perspectives that asked that everybody do their best to change the inequities of the society in which we lived . . .. The official Church didn’t actually seem to want to change. The Vatican was not inclined to sell their riches to give them to the poor, and even less inclined were they to lose their power of control over people or to acknowledge the dignity of “God’s people.” Through my conversion to Orthodoxy, I wanted to say “Enough!” to the power of the Catholic hierarchy, and I wanted to take sides with the poor and the marginalized ones.

The language of ecclesiastical reform and the language of social and political reform are interlaced to the point of superimposing the political and the religious themes. An experience that is mentioned by some of our interviewees is that of the “base communities”: they are experiences that were originally born in Latin America, later diffused in Europe, where informal groups of believers gathered to live a Christian faith radically inspired by the Gospel and by the Council’s guidelines. These groups of believers operated just inside or even outside the parish churches, hence

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they eluded the direct control of the ecclesiastical authorities, and they were most of all engaged in the need for social and ecclesiastical reforms. The legitimation for their work of protest and reform was guaranteed by a direct relation with the Bible: from personal and public reading of the Holy Scriptures the “basic communities” found the inspiration and strength to challenge the existing order and to try to change it by reconstructing a kind of primitive Christianity. The Montaner community took inspiration from this model, and still does, in some people’s opinion, even if we cannot understand very clearly, talking with the interviewees, why they chose the Orthodox tradition and not the Protestant tradition. When it was pointed out that the personal reading of the Bible is more consistent with Protestantism than with Orthodoxy, Serena answered to us that “the Bible has always existed, hence it is valid for the Catholics as well as for the members of the Orthodox Church and for the Protestants as well . . . . Only there are people who implement it better than others!”—an answer that clarifies the controversy with the Catholics, but that doesn’t explain, from the strictly religious point of view, the reason for conversion to Orthodoxy. Serena is also very keen to let us know that Montaner had fully received the ecumenical aspirations of the Council, according to which all the Christian churches would link together again after the centuries of division and reciprocal excommunication; however when it was pointed out to her that “to convert” from Catholicism to Orthodoxy is not exactly what the Council says about the theme of ecumenism, Serena, a little out of patience, said that “if all the Christian ‘religions’ are equal, I don’t understand the reason why people are so scandalized if one decides to shift from one to the other.” Obviously, an interview situation is not one to teach the difference between “confessions” and “religions.” Besides, the simplification of the Council made by Serena doesn’t take into account the fact that the Council’s ecumenism acknowledges equal dignity to all confessions, but doesn’t say that they are all equal. The language used by Serena and Mario, as well as before by Angela, doesn’t enter upon theological subjects, but seems to derive information freely from the Council’s vocabulary of ecclesiastical reform, sometimes even distorting its meaning, in order to justify some choices—including the “conversion” choice, which otherwise would be more delicate to justify. Between the lines of this language, as well as, after all, between the lines of the language of politics, it is not hard to detect reference to the “hatred” and “confusion” mentioned at the beginning of this chapter. These are elaborations deriving from rather different cultural universes

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interpreting what happened in a more complex and “acceptable” way, both for those who have lived such events and for the audience that today listen to them.

The Language of the Anarchical and Anti-authoritarian Culture When we carefully analyze the interviews of the  people who lived through the conversion to Orthodoxy at the end of the s, it clearly emerges that there is a common ground in which each one then plants his or her own more or less original interpretation: it is the culture of the Sixties, with its anarchical aspirations, its wish to assert one’s own subjectivity, sometimes even with revolutionary spurs. For the first time ever, people who never before had the chance of making their voice heard can take the floor. Certainly such an atmosphere is the background, not only historical but also symbolic and semantic, of the Montaner experience. It is not an exaggeration to think that the imagery of the contestations in those years, that came from the United States and from France and afterwards from the university towns in Italy, primed some emulation dynamics even in Montaner, where television was starting to spread into individual homes just toward the end of the decade. The focus of this whole event, culturally speaking, is to be found in the freedom of being able to self-determine, and to ascertain how it is possible to challenge even religious authority, “coming off well.” The experiences of self-management and autonomy previously underlined find, in the cultural climate of that period, the necessary oxygen to grow and to gain strength. Patrizio, a man already over his sixties, with long hair gathered up into a bun behind his back, explicitly outlines the coordinates of his “conversion” as the assertion of his freedom of choice concerning religious power, which according to him, was largely responsible for the marginalized and poor situation of Montaner: I believe that the choice of converting offered me the possibility to have my right acknowledged against the strong powers which wanted to deny it to me: We had democratically chosen our parish priest, and the Bishop said “No.” . . . Well then we might as well change our religion, trying to find one that would be more respectful of our freedom. To me it didn’t make much difference to what religion to convert, the important point being to put an end to Catholicism! . . . In our own small scale we too have succeeded in doing a little revolution, in having a clear conscience and affirming our freedom without any fear and reverence toward anyone.

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In some interviews anti-authoritarianism is confused with anticlericalism, to the point that one wondered whether those who wanted to convert to Orthodoxy were indeed looking for another religion. The Orthodox clergy, however, were seen in a different way from the Catholic clergy, since the priests were married, and this made them close to real people and more distant from the ecclesiastic authority.8 The Orthodox religion, from this point of view, appeared to be a more modern religion, since not only did it not demand priestly celibacy, but it acknowledged the role a woman could play helping her priest-husband with his functions. Little matters that this was possible only in the mental representation that the “converted people” of Montaner had made for themselves: it was nevertheless enough to recognize in Orthodoxy a religion that was sufficiently “keeping up pace with modern times.” With the passing of years, this situation of doctrinal “confusion” and of personal “hatred” left space for deep and extended secularization processes, to the point that a great part of the population distanced themselves from both Catholicism and Orthodoxy. The more or less harsh fight between the two factions de-legitimated the role of the priests as well as the beliefs of the believers—so much so that we might say that an anarchical and anti-authoritarian culture has prevailed over the Catholics as well as over the members of the Orthodox Church.

The Language of Spirituality There is a last group of interviewees who do not feel at ease with the languages about which we have just spoken: it is the youngest ones, those who have not “converted” to Orthodoxy, because they were born into families that had become Orthodox a few years before their birth. The seven young and young-adult people who have been interviewed represent the quasi-totality of the choir who presently accompany Mass with their chants on Sundays. The choir gathers practically all the young and young-adult people who consistantly participate in the Sunday Mass. The language they use to express their being members of the Orthodox Church is remarkably distant from that of their parents. It isn’t a matter of completely different languages: both actually understand the linguistic and expressive languages used by the others. However the youngest 8 Orthodox bishops are regarded? to be celebate. Thus in Orthodoxy, the juxtaposition is not between priest and people, but between bishop and priest-and-people.



giuseppe giordan

ones are well aware of the reasons that have led their community to become Orthodox, and they are rather critical in regard to those reasons. First, they do not hide from themselves the fact that in the beginning there was much “confusion,” or that the true reason for the conversion, according to what practically all the interviewees of this group have told us, was the wounded pride of this little community who would not resign themselves to having to obey a bishop who authoritatively denied what seemed to them to be a right. Accounts the effects of the “hatred” for the more adult ones have not completely disappeared, even if by now they are memories that weaken more and more with the passing of time. “When I was a child,” says Marco who was born at the beginning of the s, I remember that we, the members of the Orthodox Church, were a small closed group, we stayed on our own, and our parents did not let us go to play football with the Catholic kids. When we grew up, this division definitely weakened, even if none of us still today can claim to have real friends in the other group . . .. This situation, analyzed with today’s eyes, seems to me to be simply hilarious, a paradoxical situation that enlightens how religion may be dangerous and create conflicts, rather than make the world more human.

Having been invited to go deeper into this question about religion, Marco explains what Orthodoxy is to him: not a religion with dogmas, moral rules to follow, a hierarchy to obey, but a kind of spirituality inducing reciprocal love, brotherly help, inviting one to cultivate within oneself a sense of mystery leading to God. What Marco said tells us not so much what Orthodoxy is in itself, which is also dogmas, moral rules and hierarchy, but what he believes the Orthodox religion is. And this personal route has also led him to expose the possible violent implications that religions carry within themselves, implications that in Montaner have actually shown their negative effects in the past. Elisabetta’s evidence, partially following what stated by Marco, goes further into “Orthodox spirituality” as she means it: What I like most in the Orthodox religion is the silence during the Sunday liturgy: it is a kind of silence that makes me feel well with myself, that makes me discover God in my heart of hearts, that enlightens me as to the choices to make during the noisy everyday life . . . When I participate in the Catholic liturgy, maybe for some funeral or friends’ wedding, I feel uneasy because on those occasions it’s all running, never stopping, answering prayers automatically . . .. Catholicism seems to educate people to obey rules. Orthodoxy has helped me to become freer, to be more myself.

conversion as opposition



The issues highlighted by the last two interviewees are expressed with a vocabulary that remarkably differentiates their discourse compared to what we previously described. Not only do the words change; the grammar and the syntax also change. Although the comparison with Catholicism persists, it is no longer this that legitimates the choice of being and remaining members of the Orthodox Church. Now there are the “personal” reasons referring to a social and cultural context that has radically changed in comparison with the context at the end of the s’ era. If we wish to bring back to sociological categories what the youngest members of the Orthodox Church say about their religious experience, the connection with the debate about the relation between religion and spirituality is immediately evident.9 The core of the matter lies on the foundation of believing, moving from obedience to the ecclesiastic authority, external to the subject, to the liberty of choice of the subjective self: not only the relation between religious institution and personal experience is polarized, but the latter is superior to the former. We may speak of a “democratization of the sacred,” in which the subject is capable of deciding autonomously, and is legitimated to do so even socially, about the various aspects of his existence, including the “religious” aspect. More than the certainties offered by the traditional churches, nowadays the believer seems to be inclined to run the risks of research and exploration, where there are no more neat differences and borders and where identities are constructed more by inclusion than by exclusion (Wuthnow ). The language spirituality speaks of personal well-being, of self-fulfillment, of attention to the feelings and to the meaning of life: according to the words used by Elisabetta, “spirituality is something that helps you in the journey of life, and not a series of prohibitions that don’t allow you to appreciate it thoroughly.” While in the other three languages we have identified the hybridization phenomenon that takes place among social, political, religious factors and personal experience that fuse together to the point of becoming an identity matrix, this last language is one that brings attention back to the innerness of the subject. In this perspective conversion happens not so much from one religion to the other, but rather from a modality of believing given by tradition to a modality of believing more knowingly and autonomously chosen and experimented. 9 On “religion” and “spirituality,” cf. Roof (, ), Wuthnow (, ), Giordan (, ), Heelas and Woodhead (), and Flanagan and Jupp ().



giuseppe giordan Conclusion

The Montaner case represents a “mass conversion”—a rare phenomenon in the context of the contemporary western world. It is a peculiar conversion that is the fruit of a controversy engaged with a bishop that has had as its outcome the shifting of the population from Catholicism to Orthodoxy without knowing precisely what this might mean. Only with the passing of the years have the inhabitants of Montaner made that choice their own in a conscious way: an itinerary of appropriation that, as we have seen, has overlapped quite different languages and cultural universes, sometimes theoretically incompatible, but anyhow always apt to be recomposed with a certain meaning in the narrations of the people we have interviewed. There are many other aspects that ought to be studied: mixed marriages between members of the Orthodox Church and Catholics, the religious education of the children within the mixed couples, the phenomenon of re-conversion from Orthodoxy to Catholicism. However, these are aspects that are common to other conversions as well: the peculiarity of Montaner resides exactly in what has been told in this chapter. How can we understand what has happened in Montaner? That this little schism happened in an exclusively Catholic context doesn’t seem to be explicable literally in theological or religious terms, but rather through analyzing languages of a political and cultural kind, without forgetting the wounded pride of this fragile and, just for this reason, strongly defended village identity. To be sure, the ecclesiastical language and successively the religious language have overlapped to the political language, up to the “spiritual” perspective of the young members of the Orthodox Church. The Orthodox Church members of Montaner today are few, even if on Sundays the Orthodox church is full, since it gathers many immigrants coming from the Ukraine, Romania, Russia and other countries of Eastern Europe. Besides, in Montaner, the first Orthodox monastery for women in Italy has been present since , composed of three nuns. History has evidently run its course, and the initial “conversion by chance” has produced (as a side effect? as an unforeseen effect?) the consolidation of Orthodoxy in Northeast Italy.

conversion as opposition

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References Berzano, Luigi and Andrea Cassinasco. . Cristiani d’Oriente in Piemonte. Turin: L’Harmattan Italia. Chies, Patrizio. . La conversione come protesta. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Padua. Ciciliot, Valentina. . Il caso Montaner (–): Un conflitto “politico” tra chiesa cattolica e chiesa ortodossa. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Venice. Cipriani, Roberto. . La religione diffusa. Rome: Borla. Diotallevi, Luca. . Il rompicapo della secolarizzazione italiana: caso italiano, teorie americane e revisione del paradigma della secolarizzazione. Soveria Mannelli: Rubbettino. ———. . “Internal Competition in a National Religious Monopoly. The Catholic Effect and the Italian Case.” Sociology of Religion : –. Flanagan, Kieran and Peter C. Jupp, eds. . A Sociology of Spirituality. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Garelli, Franco. . La religione dello scenario. La persistenza della religione tra i lavoratori. Bologna: Il Mulino. ———. . Forza della religione e debolezza della fede. Bologna: Il Mulino. ———. . L’Italia cattolica nell’epoca del pluralismo. Bologna: Il Mulino. Garelli, Franco, Gustavo Guizzardi and Enzo Pace, eds. . Un singolare pluralismo: Indagine sul pluralismo morale e religioso degli italiani. Bologna: Il Mulino. Giordan, Giuseppe. . “Dalla religione alla spiritualità: una nuova legittimazione del sacro?” Quaderni di Sociologia : –. ———. . “Spirituality: From a Religious Concept to a Sociological Theory”. Pp. – in A Sociology of Spirituality, edited by Kieran Flanagan and Peter C. Jupp. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. Heelas, Paul and Linda Woodhead. . The Spiritual Revolution. Why Religion is Giving Way to Spirituality. Oxford: Blackwell. Nardi, Antonio. . Disgregazione del sistema politico religioso di una comunità locale nella pedemontana veneta. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Trent. Nesti, Arnaldo. . Il religioso implicito. Rome: Ianua. Pace, Enzo. . Raccontare Dio. La religione come comunicazione. Bologna: Il Mulino. Resenterra, Mario. . Marginalità sociale e marginalità religiosa: la comunità ortodossa di Montaner. Ph.D. dissertation, University of Padua. Roof, Wade C. . A Generation of Seekers: The Spiritual Journeys of the Baby Boom Generation. San Francisco: HarperCollins. ———. . Spiritual Marketplace: Baby Boomers and the Remaking of American Religion. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Sanga, Glauco. . “Campane e campanili.” Pp. – in I luoghi della memoria. Simboli e miti dell’Italia Unita, edited by Mario Isnenghi. Rome-Bari: Laterza. Wuthnow, Robert. . After Heaven: Spirituality in America since the s. Berkeley: University of California Press.

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giuseppe giordan

———. . Creative Spirituality: The Way of the Artist. Berkeley: University of California Press.

chapter eleven MAKING THE CONVERT: CONVERSIONS IN THE LDS COMMUNITY TODAY

Sophie-Hélène Trigeaud Although the significance of the growth of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS Church) may be debated among social scientists, the fact of its growth is without doubt. Each year since the s, the number of converts baptized in the LDS Church has, on average, tripled the number of children born into it. In  for instance, nearly   of the people who became Mormons were converts; their volume far surpassed that of the children born from LDS parents and then baptized. Hence, the annual increase of LDS members must be due more to the conversion of new members than to any Mormon “baby booming.” Table .. Ratio of LDS Children of Record vs. Converts Baptized, –1 Year

Increase in Children of Record

Converts Baptized

Ratio Converts/Children

           Average

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

. . . min . min . . . . max . . . .

1 The LDS Church annually publishes Statistical Reports for the General Conferences. The statistics concern the LDS records as of  December for the prior year. Cf., “Statistical Report” (. , , , , , , , , ); “Annual General Conferences,” Ensign. Salt Lake City: Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

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sophie-hélène trigeaud

In addition, there is a question of logic: in many places where the LDS Church is implanted now (in other words, nearly everywhere but Illinois, Missouri, and Utah), it is neither an historical nor a traditional church. Therefore, logic wants that most of its members are converts if they are not children or grandchildren of converts. If we set apart the question of the retention of converts in this church, these statistical and logical approaches let us understand that Mormonism has experienced dramatic growth due to this continual entrance of converts (cf. Stark : ). But this fact may not be reduced to an understanding of conversion to Mormonism as simple mechanism through which converts simply flow into the church. Indeed, it is a complex interaction system of processes, combining the community that makes the convert and the convert who becomes committed to the community. The case of a religious movement, now more than a century and a half old, maintaining its growth (or at least its continuity) through the conversion of people, constitutes an indisputable object for a sociological case study of religion in the contemporary world. This is the point of departure that I suggest in this chapter, to focus on the phenomenon of the conversion to Mormonism today, and to investigate LDS practices and representations for accurate causes, purposes, and effects of the process.

Background and Research Method The literature on Mormonism is simply huge. Two reviews of it (Stark , Mauss ) show as much. It is extensive in the social science field, appearing largely in the second half of the twentieth century, as a “Mormon subculture.” The issue of conversion in such a context has itself motivated many studies. Of course, different points of departure in these inquiries implicate a variety of research foci. For instance, among contemporary European scholars, Bernadette Rigal-Cellard () and Mette Ramstad () have asked why some people convert to Mormonism in specific local areas in France and Polynesia. Among American Mormon scholars, Armand L. Mauss has analyzed the issue from a more global sociological perspective. In his book The Angel and the Beehive (), he intended to demonstrate that two apparently contradictory patterns may coexist in Mormonism, and these patterns combine in a complex lineage system of “chosen” and “peculiar” people—both the permanence of the Utah Pioneers’ sons and the arrival of “Gentiles,” who were invited to convert.

conversions in the lds community today

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Surveying this literature provides one type of answer to the present question about the reasons for and effects of the conversion process in contemporary Mormonism. Nevertheless, a multidimensional approach to the phenomenon may introduce new insights in several ways: First, multidimensional means combining different methods: the statistical question, presented in the introduction, may suggest a very quantitative study; nevertheless, even though I have used statistics and quantitative sociological methods, my epistemological orientation is mainly qualitative because of a philosophical and anthropological educational background. Second, this combination means adopting a transnational viewpoint—focused on Mormonism as a whole in the Western contemporary world, without undervaluing deep ethnological surveys in particular places—as I did, for instance, in France and Utah. Third, it means not reducing the observation solely to an object, but turning our attention to a complex system such as conversion, and to all of its processes in interaction. Fourth, although I have chosen an exogenous approach inasmuch as I am not a Mormon, the endogenous point of view must not be radically rejected. Far outside the sociological field, many LDS publications are continually issued about conversion. These are of a very specific nature—being basically proselytism skills’ manuals—but they certainly constitute fine materials for ethnographic investigation. This chapter is an outcome of previous work: seven years of French masters and doctoral degree research (Trigeaud , , ) whose pursuit has been divided into several parts: . Field work consisting of direct observation in LDS activities: in LDS parochial and missionary fields, in the LDS educational system, and in LDS family life. This took place mainly in France (areas of Paris and nearby Paris, and the South-West of France), in Utah (in Salt Lake City and the area of Provo, especially with a survey at Brigham Young University [BYU, the principal university of the LDS Church]),2 and more informally in Copenhagen. . E-mail questionnaires including two that asked about the LDS member’s individual route of life, which have been similarly conducted, for comparison, in the francophone zone of Europe (Questionnaire JA-francophone: France, Belgium and Switzerland, with a sample of  respondents) and among BYU students in Utah (Questionnaire BYU : with a sample of  respondents); and a third, asking about 2

The survey received BYU IRB approval in .



sophie-hélène trigeaud the religious reading habits of BYU students (Questionnaire BYU : with a sample of  respondents). The intention of these questionnaires was to assay the results of the direct observation to verify whether or not they were representative. In-depth personal interviews—in general, regular talk with people in the field (or informal interviews) have been prioritized. But some more formal interviews, about special topics or with special interlocutors were conducted as well. The informal interviews were generally not structured with prepared questions, nor recorded, but were transcribed as clinical verbatim reports—except for rare opportunities, when taking notes was possible. The formal ones, by contrast, were both prepared and recorded (with MP recording). The purpose of these interviews was to have a more accurate idea of the endogenous discourse and to go deeper in the knowledge of the individual life-course of the convert; A survey of LDS resources among books, articles, newspapers, magazines and any other publications, conferences, Internet sites, movies, announcements in the media, and so on. This last but not least part of the survey is intended to consider any data in the general LDS context.

To define a methodology, however, not only means describing the different strategies pursued. It also signifies providing more information about the application of the methods to the object. Here indeed, the research may inquire about Mormonism as a whole. Nevertheless it definitely aims to permit the focus on centers of attention as parts of this whole—assuming their indivisibility with this context. This is the reason why these data on conversion to Mormonism are mostly extracted from more general survey work. With respect to the connection of the phenomenon to a more general context, this method revealed the necessity for dealing with two inseparable issues: the issue of the conversion as an LDS community’s action on the convert and the issue of the conversion as an action of the convert him(her)self. It is the equal interest in both these facets of our object that required an ethnographic observation of conversion as it occurs in the field, combined with an in-depth socioanthropological analysis of the context of the observed facts.

conversions in the lds community today



Conversion to Mormonism: A Case Study in France among Young Adults Today Although the goal of this project is a study at the level of the global system, it is necessary to begin with a specific case study of conversion to Mormonism today, one that can offer concrete grounding for our analysis. France indeed is a country where the LDS Church is neither a traditional nor an indigenous church. Although it is true that the first LDS missionary arrived in France in —which is to say only nineteen years after the establishment of the LDS Church by Joseph Smith at Fayette, New York—implanting the church in France was difficult. The Mormon mission had to be transferred or closed four times.3 Very few converts where baptized. There were less than  French Mormons in the s. As shown in the Table ., it was only after World War II, and especially in the s, that the LDS Church experienced significant growth in France.4 As of , there were , members in France distributed across  congregations. Table .. French LDS Members  to 5 Year

Number of French Members of the LDS Church

  –       

   , , , , , , ,

This historical background allows us assume that in France today, most of the French LSD members are converts, children, or grandchildren of converts; and that the area has been and still is a place of intense 3

Transfer: Jersey Island, –. Closure: –, –, –. About the history of the LDS Church in France, see Seguy ; Rigal-Cellard ; Euvrard ; www.newsroom.lds.org . 5 www.newsroom.lds.org/ldsnewsroom/eng/contact-us/france Oct. ; www.newsroom.lds.org ; Wilson ; “Histoire de l’Église en France,” www.eglisedejesuschrist.fr/main.php?p= Aug. . 4

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sophie-hélène trigeaud

LDS missionary activities: both of these conditions making it a relevant location for this research. While the total amount of French LDS members is not enormous, I decided nevertheless to select a sample of young adults to study their conversion for two reasons: first, because I noticed along my field work that most of the converts had been converted while they were young adults and, second, because francophone sociologists have not generally supposed that this age bracket was very active in religion (see, e.g., Lambert and Michelat ; Lambert ; Galland )—at least not until more recent research on the issue (Galland and Roudet ; Lambert ). Thus, from a French point of view this section expected to study the conversion to Mormonism among young adults in France today as a marginal phenomenon. Following the methodological protocol outlined above, this part of my research consisted of field work involving of three years of direct observation in LDS activities for Young Adults, primarily at the Institute of Religion in Paris. The Institute of Religion is a place for  to  year old LDS members (“Young Adults”), where they take classes in religion and have spiritual as well as social activities. In the year –, , students were enrolled in such programs worldwide, including , in the United States and , in France (Church Educational System: Annual Information Update ). In those years, the Institute of Paris claimed  students. These statistics give an idea of the young population among the active Mormons (whereas all the Young Adults are supposed to be affiliated with this structure).6 I mainly used verbatims in this context, writing notes afterward. Occasionally, I took precise notes during the classes, for information about specific topics or about “testimonies” of conversions shared between the Young Adults and their “instructors” (the name given in LDS educational system to those who teach). The second part of this study consisted of an e-mail questionnaire combining open and closed questions.7 The initial strategy for this survey was to locate volunteer subjects, but it was eventually published on the Website of the francophone LDS Young Adults members (thus, the 6 According to the French LDS directeur de la communication in a  letter, the “young adults” population comprised between . and .  of the total LDS French population in December . But this number represented people registered in the LDS record and was not an actual count of the activity or non-activity of these members. 7 Questionnaire JA-francophone: the complete data and analyses of this questionnaire are available in Trigeaud .

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questionnaire was no longer restricted solely to answers from those living in France, but open to francophones in other European settings, primarily Swiss and Belgian). The volunteers took the survey on-line and sent their answers to a special e-mail address I opened for this purpose. The questions solicited information about the socio-demographic characteristics of the volunteers and about their religious biography (to have the most complete context of their conversion) and included direct questions about their possible conversion.8 The questionnaire was not limited to converts but also included people born in the LDS Church, because one purpose was to compare different kinds of conversions—i.e., from the exterior as well as from the interior of the community. Among the  people in the sample,  declared themselves to be converts: four were converts from the interior, that is to say “even being born in the Church,” and fifteen were converts from the exterior.9 Another purpose was to compare between converts and those born in the Church the different possible patterns of the Mormon’s typical proof of faith and conversion—the “testimony.” The respondents did not need to be active Mormons, but could also be inactive or former members. (Even though the object of the study was conversion into the Mormon faith, I did not want to exclude the process from conversion to unconversion, from faithful to lapsed, for the possible insights it could provide.) Thus, the sample included four non-active and former Mormons. This sample of  respondents is small-scale in comparison to the sample of , respondents on the French part of the European Value Survey of  (Bréchon ). Nevertheless, the total amount of LDS French “Young Adults” being itself small in scale implies by principle of proportion a small-scale sample. Moreover, some seminal contemporary studies have also drawn their data on small samples of LDS subjects (e.g., Smith and Denton : –). Hence, even though this sample is not formally representative, it is significant at least in the sense that the young LDS members who attend the Institute’s classes or who are linked to this Website (which requires a password for entry) are, by definition, representative of the most actively practicing LDS Young Adults, inasmuch as the education provided by the Institute is a not only 8 For instance in the Questionnaire JA-francophone: “Were you born in the Church or converted?” “If converted, how long have you been converted, and what was your religious affiliation before?” “What was the reason for your baptism or conversion?” 9 The distinction between “exterior” and “interior” makes reference to outside and inside the LDS community. It is the fifteen exterior converts who are represented in Table ..

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part of LDS education, but is additional to the education and religious activities of the Sunday meetings. The third part consisted of in-depth personal interviews with a selected sample of fourteen Young Adult converts. They had to tell more about themselves and to explain their experiences with LDS Church— how they had their first LDS contact or met an LDS member for the first time, how they were converted, what their current activities in the LDS Church were, and details about their testimony. Ten of these interviews were recorded. I took notes during the other four. Additional informal interviews were conducted without recording with other converts, with their family and friends, with missionaries, bishops and instructors. The fourth part of the survey was the reading, as explained previously, of all the LDS resources I could find on conversion or proselytism among books, publications, movies, Internet, and so on. This survey was not primarily focused on the study of conversion but on a more general study of Mormonism, through the three issues of conversion, education, and community as three axes of a complex system of religious continuity. From this general survey, I have extracted materials concerning the conversion aspect, and I have added some less directly connected materials that permit deeper interpretation of the context of conversion. Considering these data as a whole, what can we say about conversion to Mormonism in France among Young Adults today? The first immediate results of the survey let us draw outlines of who the converts from the exterior are. These data as a whole are displayed in Table .. On average, they were a little more than  years old when they converted. In decreasing order, they were comprised primarily of atheists, non-practicing Catholics, and “believers without belonging.”10 A minority of them were practicing Catholics, “Protestants” and “Evangelicals” (i.e., subjects used one term or the other to describe themselves), Buddhists, or Jehovah’s Witnesses. With respect to their education, the answers showed that approximately one-fourth had completed a high school program or a professional training curriculum. A third had one to three years of college or comparable studies after high school. Onefourth had completed four years of university education, and about ten percent had complete more than five years at university. About their current activity in the LDS Church or, more precisely, their membership status, ninety percent were currently active members, one was inactive, and

10

On “believing without belonging,” see Davie : –.

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two were not members any more. Eighty-three percent were worshiping weekly in their parish meetings, and thirty-one percent had been missionaries. Table .. Profile of Converts from the Exterior Questionnaire In-depth JA-francophone: interviews:   converts converts

Total sample:  converts

Gender

M–F

 M –  F

 M –  F

Average age at baptism

.

.

.

Religious affiliation before their conversion (or when have been converted in case of several changes): A, Atheist; NPC, Non-practicing Catholic; BWB, Believing without belonging; PP, Practicing Protestant; E, Evangelical Church; PC, Practicing Catholic; B, Buddhist; JW, Jehovah’s Witness

A  NPC  BWB  PP  B not very practicing

A  NPC  BWB  PC E  JW

A  NPC  BWB  PC  PP & E  JW  B not very practicing

Education (in French system, “bac” [baccalauréat] being the passage from high school to college)

 bac level or professional training education  bac +  &   bac +   bac +   more than bac +

 bac  bac +   bac +   more than bac +

 bac or p.t.e.  bac +  &   bac +   bac +   more than bac +

LDS membership status: AM, Active Member; I, Inactive Member; NM No longer a member

 AM  NM

 AM  IM  NM

 MA  MI  NM

Weekly worship in parish meeting







Did a mission







In comparison with the data collected by Rigal-Cellard (), there are less people in this sample who converted from Catholicism (at least active or practicing Catholicism) than people who converted from atheism or from a believing-without-belonging background (the non-practicing Christians being themselves, as non-belonging, logically included in this category). Nevertheless, the situation of young people who declared that they converted while they were believing, but came from a family where

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they received neither religious culture nor religious tradition, is typical of what had been previously observed by Danièle Hervieu-Léger (: )11 and by the scholars in the  European Value Survey (Roudet : –). However, this result should not obscure another, more unexpected, one: among the converts in this sample, some, and especially some males, had been formerly highly involved in religious worship— such as cases of men who had been trained in Catholic seminary or who had wanted to become a Catholic priest when they were a child.12 Hence one can argue for the necessity of paying more precise attention to the specific religious background characteristics of converts as possible factors in the conversion process. The second type of results from this survey consist of information about the nature and the principle of the conversion of these young adults. In particular, it lets us understand how they were converted. On the one hand, from the convert’s side, we may assume that the way to enter into contact with the LDS Church, and eventually to accept baptism, differs according to the place. In this particular case, conversion to Mormonism in France is indubitably different from conversion to Mormonism in a typical Mormon locale like, for an extreme example, Utah, where Mormonism is present everywhere with a strong community culture. It is evident that in a French context, converts to Mormonism have very little chance of having been previously acquainted with anything of this specific religious culture before their conversion (and even of having, for a larger and larger part of them, been acquainted with any other religious culture either).13 In her book on the conversion phenomenon, Hervieu-Léger (: – et passim) makes a distinction between three Convert Figures: the first is one who changes his or her religion for another one; the second is one who was not religious before the conversion and joins a religion for the first time; the third is one who reconverts to his or her own 11 “Conversions of those who have no religion increase in societies where . . . religious and family transmission has largely become precarious” [my translation]. 12 One of the primarily reasons they explained about their change was the fact that Mormonism would let them be both a priest and married. Such kind of change, in Catholic as in other Christian contexts, appears moreover in different LDS sources. (cf. From Clergy to Convert, an LDS book which is a collection of conversion-to-Mormonism stories related by former clergymen and women of various denominations [Gibson ]). 13 I am currently engaged in research that compares the origins of young converts today with those who converted as young adults twenty or thirty years ago in order to explore these differences.

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religion, hence “returns to tradition.” Considering the previous religious affiliation declared by fourteen of the young adults in our questionnaire and interviews, we could be inclined to think that basically half of the  in this sample fall into the first category of converts—those who change their religion for another one. But, if we look at their answers more carefully, and in particular, if we take as a whole the young who were Atheist, believing without belonging, or not practicing, then we could reverse the interpretation and realize that nineteen of these youth, (two-thirds) actually belong to the second category—those who were not religious before. We may now consider a final issue that emerges from the survey as well. In addition to the fifteen converts who compose the sample of our questionnaire that would receive the appellation “converts from the exterior,” four young adults answered affirmatively to both of the questions “Were you born into the Church?” and “Were you converted?” These answers could a priori signify that some of the converts fall into the third category of those who returned to their own tradition. But deeper study of their cases shows the inaccuracy of such a hypothesis. After reading the life-courses developed through the other parts of the questionnaire, and after in-depth interviews, it clearly appears a posteriori that “convert while being born in the Church” does not mean a return after leaving, but a process to get, by themselves and in the continuity of their education, what was not given solely as a heritage.14 Hence they would be better called converts from the interior. As an example, this idea of a process of self-experience in addition to tradition and heritage,15 was present in the answer of a young adult who explained, in the francophone questionnaire, why he decided to convert—and how he gained his “testimony” to do that—while he had been baptized at eight-and-a-half years of age: [About baptism and conversion] At first, because it was a tradition, and I rejoiced a lot about that. The true conversion was because I wanted to know if I was wasting my time at Church or not, hence I did my own search.

14 For instance such items as: “What age were you baptized?” “Were you baptized as a convert (not previously participating in LDS Church activities)?” “Have you ever been involved in other religion practices previous to your participation in the LDS faith?” “Why have you chosen the LDS religion? Or what was your conversion experience?” “LDS membership status of your family?” “Are there members of your extended family who are also LDS members?” “When was the first member of your family baptized?” 15 Because of its diachronic dimension, tradition is different from “social capital” and “interpersonal attachment” as put forward by Stark (: –).



sophie-hélène trigeaud [About testimony] It was not a quick thing, but it came through time and experiences. I had nevertheless to search. My faith had to be tested. [Male, , active member]

If this situation was significantly present on the francophone side of our survey, it is important to observe, in comparison with the results of our Questionnaire BYU-, that it was the most representative on the American side, concerning the BYU-students of Utah who are living in a place where Mormonism became the main religious tradition: Yes, even being born a member still takes conversion. [Female, , active member, baptized at age ] Yes. I was converted in the sense that I came to know, love and want to participate actively in my religion because I wanted to, not because I was born into it. [Female, , active member, baptized at age ] Yes, I was born in the church but also converted in the sense that I have gained a personal testimony of the gospel. [Female, , active member, baptized at age ] Yes, everyone needs to find their own testimony whether they were born into the church or not. [Female, , active member, baptized at age ] No. Not in the sense that I’ve been taught the gospel all my life and was not found or taught by missionaries. I’m converted in the sense of having a testimony. [Female, , active member, baptized at age ] Yes, meaning the personal conversion everyone needs, but grew up in the church. [Male, , active member, baptized at age ] Yes. I was not a “convert” in that I joined the church later in my life, but there is a certain point when every member of the church must gain their own testimony that it is true. It is only in that way, that I have gained that testimony, that I consider myself a convert. [Female, , active member, baptized at age ]

Far from any Mormon specificity, this emphasis on the personal experience of religion, if it is here opposed to family heritage, could be solely interpreted as a common fact of the religious modernity, that many authors have already highlighted. For example, Roland Campiche stresses the importance of a “new religious revolution” in the way that in modernity, children were influenced by their parents’ example on the condition that they “experienced this themselves” (: ). In her book on The Pilgrim and the Convert as well, Hervieu-Léger pointed out this individual experience as the basis of conversion in the individualizing context of religious modernity: “In a society where religion has become a matter of privacy and optional choice, conversion enters, above

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all, on a individual choice dimension, in which the believing subject’s autonomy expresses itself ” (:  [my translation]). Contrary to this general context of modernity, however, the fact emerging from these surveys is that, in contemporary Mormonism, individual experience does not seem to be the antithesis of the influence of the tradition (as above: “because it was a tradition, and I rejoiced a lot about that”). So the question arises whether conversion from the interior is a matter of individual choice for the subject or of following tradition. Some responses to the questionnaire indicate that even if it is an “individual matter,” making the choice itself may be imposed as a necessity in the young person’s life course: as some young Mormons have explained it, “at one point or another . . . members . . . must decide” or “had to decide”: Yes. Not everyone who goes to church necessarily has to be converted to do so. But, regardless of family members who may or may not be members of the church, at one point or another, members of this church must decide if they really believe all this stuff or not. When you decide that you do, that becomes the springboard for your own conversion. [Female, , active member, baptized at age ] Hmm . . . I had to decide if I would stay or not in this Church. [Female, , active member, baptized at age ] My parents did not give me a choice. [Female, , member in “formal probation,”16 baptized at age ]

This pattern of “choice making” as a more or less automatic process indicates the non-contradictory way in which traditional heritage and individual conversion may converge in Mormonism. Their symbiotic arrangement appears statistically too, if we consider again the answers of the BYU students about the reason why they explained that they were baptized and converts:  percent of them mentioned both traditional heritage and individual experience. In addition, while  percent claimed a personal decision, a majority of  percent acknowledged that they wanted to ensure the continuity of a tradition to which they felt that they belonged.

16 A “temporary state of discipline” after a transgression of LDS standards (cf. Ballard : ).



sophie-hélène trigeaud Table .. Why Young Adults Choose Mormonism (BYU Questionnaire)

Why have you chosen the LDS religion? Or what was your conversion experience? (open question) Following the tradition. (e.g. “Because I was born in it.” “Because of my family, my parents, [etc.]”)

.  /

Accepting the tradition, but after a personal experience. (e.g. “I was born in it and at first it was not a choice, but I eventually decided, after that I prayed, read, study, [etc.]”)

.  /

Personal reasons or choice. (e.g. “Because I love this Church.” “I feel good here.” “Because I had a personal revelation [etc.]”)

.  /

No answer

.  /

Moreover, in answer to another question—“What feelings do you have on how your family/relatives have educated/given/influenced you in your spiritual and religious life?”—the young Mormons more directly acknowledged that they feel they are a part of a traditional lineage. On the francophone side of our survey, all the young adults who declared that they grew up in the LDS Church replied by a clear recognition of their family heritage. On the BYU-students side,  percent also confirmed explicitly such an influence.17 But these students were not only explicit about this perception. The terms that they used in their responses show how evident tribute to lineage and tradition heritage seemed to be to them. I really enjoy having relatives that are members of the Church. I feel that I have examples to look towards in my life that share my beliefs and younger cousins that I need to be an example for. I appreciate my parents’ consistent spiritual guidance. I feel that they have given me a strong foundation of good principles to live by through the church and innumerable blessings that have come by my membership in the LDS Church via my parents’ influence. [Female, , active member, baptized at age ] My family and relatives have all given an example of what I want or don’t want in my life. But living and encouraging me to live the standards of the church I have seen the blessings and happiness that come into their lives 17 Among the remaining responses, three persons left the question blank, while two expressed reservations but not denial.

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and that have come into mine as I have lived the gospel. They have helped to expand my knowledge about the Plan our Heavenly Father has for us. They haven’t forced me to do anything but have given me agency to choose for myself. By doing this I know that this is what I want in my life. [Female, , active member, baptized at age ] I have members of my family who crossed the Plains. I’m so thankful that they were willing to give up the comforts of life so that they could be with the church. I’m most thankful to my parents who have dedicated their lives to living the gospel and to teach all  children to be faithful. They never coerced us into the church, it was there and we all in our time developed our own testimonies; I very much feel the influence of my pioneer ancestors who made the decision to give their all to the gospel. [Female, , active member, baptized at age ]

These data reflect that the young adult LDS members who declared that they were “born in the church” generally claim having been both autonomous searchers and conscious heirs in their conversion from the interior process. Their perception is that they “had to chose” though this choice was in a tradition, because they belong to a lineage represented not only by their closest relatives (“my parents,” “my relatives”), but also by their ancestry (“my pioneer ancestors”), and even by their whole community (“the church”). Should we hence adopt Margaret Mead’s determinist stance toward the “child’s dependence upon tradition”? According to her, in the mechanism of the transmission, it is a quasi-physical law that no child can escape the tradition of the adults who are around him: “The forces of imitation are so much more potent than any adult technique for exploiting them; the child’s receptivity to its surroundings is so much more important than any methods of stimulation, that as long as every adult with whom he comes in contact is saturated with the tradition, he cannot escape a similar saturation” (: ). In such a mechanism, Mead primarily advanced not the psychologists’ idea of “identification,” which they suppose leads to the formation of personality, but a “process by which the growing individual is inducted into his cultural inheritance” (: , cf. ). The Mormon narratives that we just considered could allow us to agree with Mead. Nevertheless Mead’s stance may not be completely appropriate to the Mormon field: on the one hand, a significant amount of people “born into the Church” grow to become inactive or non-Mormon; on the other hand, some converts declare that they grew up in totally non-Mormon surroundings. It is difficult to know for sure how many people being “born” Mormon eventually quit the LDS Church, but we can obtain a few examples of

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this possibility through young adults, reared in Mormon families, who explained that they had siblings who quit the LDS Church or became inactive. In the BYU  Questionnaire, the respondents were asking about the LDS status of their close relatives and family, and among  “born into the Church” subjects,  (or  percent) acknowledged that they had more or less disaffiliated sibling(s).18 Nevertheless, Mead herself mentions such possible evolution in traditions “striving to maintain” themselves: Religious bodies with outlooks as profoundly different as Roman Catholicism and Christian Science claim large numbers of adherents always ready to induct their own and other people’s children into the special traditions of their particular group. The four children of common parents may take such divergent courses that at the age of fifty their premises may be mutually unintelligible and antagonistic. [ . . .] Within the general tradition there are numerous groups striving for precedence, striving to maintain or extend their proportionate allegiances in the next generation. (: –)

Hervieu-Léger’s sociological argument, however, helps to elucidate such a dualism, which is likely to combine imitation and individual choice (even tending to disaffiliation): Typically in the contemporary world, continuous transmission of the heritage remains the first requirement for a religious institution’s continuity, while tradition is growing to be a chosen option rather than a transmitted life-style for the individual. Transmitting in a continuous and regular way, the whole heritage [ . . . ] that is involved in the realization of its own aim is, for an institution, a first requirement that is the condition of its continuity in time . . . . “[I]n a modernity where social as well as religious identities are less and less given—that is to say, transmitted as is from one generation to another— the fact of religious believing does not correspond anymore,” according to the Protestant theologian Pierre Gisel (: ), to the fact that people “know that they are engendered.” It is much more linked to a choice that implies that people want to be engendered into a tradition (or expressly wish their children to be). (Hervieu-Léger : , , my translation)

18 Questions: “LDS membership status of your family? Mother [Non-member— Investigator—Non-active Member—Active Member—Other (clarify: . . .); year of {LDS} baptism?]. Father [N-m – I – N-a-m – A-m – O (clarify: . . . ); year of the baptism?]. Brothers [N-m – I – N-a-m – A-m – O (clarify: . . . ); year of the baptism?]. Sisters [N-m – I – Na-m – A-m – O (clarify: . . .); year of the baptism?].” “Are there members of your extended family who are also LDS members? [Yes—No (clarify: Who? Membership status? Year of baptism?)”.

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Hence Mormon society, rallying both contemporary individualism and traditional transmission—through lineage—of the heritage, would be in line with modernity. But while conversion is, for individuals belonging to the lineage system, the main place of this manner of individuation, tradition appears to be a substrate rather than an agent of LDS community growth. Consequently, the agents of this growth should be sought in other facets of the conversion than solely in the fact that LDS young adults may be primarily involved in an imitation of the tradition process. So it is also necessity to consider, on the other hand, the phenomenon of conversion to Mormonism on the LDS community side, which could a priori appear as a standardized process: indeed, the LDS Church has the same missionary program in its different areas all over the world. Wherever the place of the conversion, it is the same missionary lesson program, the same pre-baptism LDS bishop’s interview with the convert, the same rite of baptism by immersion, and in theory at least, the same integration into the local congregation with worship, involvement in activities, and social welcoming.19

Conversion in the LDS Community Today: Making the “Member” Analyzing the conversion to Mormonism process aims indeed at understanding the final goal of the community: making an individual a “member,” according to its values and cultural standards as well as its religious representations. Considering that LDS give people the name “member” once they are baptized into the LDS Church, we could think that baptism is the major agent of the transformation from who is considered as a nonmember (or an “investigator”) to a member.20 But this logical deduction would not take into account the importance, in such a passage, of the community’s efforts to “make” the member, through its intense proselytizing and social welcoming of the newcomers. From the “full time missionaries,” to the “ward missionaries,” to the ordinary “members,” it is 19 This program is standardized through institutional means and educational supports—for example, the Missionary Training Centers, such manuals as the Missionary Handbook () or Preach My Gospel: A Guide to Missionary Service (), and www.mission.net. The worldwide Mormon mission network has been the object of many studies (cf. Davies ; Durfee ; Introvigne ; Penley ; Ramstad ; Rigal-Cellard ; Stark ; Stark and Bainbridge ; Trigeaud ). 20 “Investigator” is the name given to an LDS catechumen.

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the whole LDS community that partakes in “mission”—hence the designation of the “Mormon network” as the primary agent of the passage (cf. Stark : –, –; Stark : –; Trigeaud , ). There were, for example, , LDS full-time missionaries in  ( Statistical Report). These are primarily young adults ( years old as a minimum for females,  to  years old for males) who spend from  months (females) to two years (males) of their life in mission. Such a mission implies a ritual that “sets apart” the missionaries and introduces them into a liminal life with strict religious standards and such fulltime activities as proselytizing, teaching, or humanitarian service. The primary responsibilities of the full-time missionaries who proselytize are to “find,” “contact,” and “teach” the “non-members” or “investigators” until they are baptized. All LDS young males are supposed to “go on a mission.” This is not presented by Mormons as an “obligation” but as a religious “duty.” Other LDS full-time missions concern couples who agree to leave their regular work or retirement lives and go on a mission, usually to assume some form of leadership responsibility (see Missionary Handbook ; Preach My Gospel ; Ramstad ; Trigeaud , ). The ward missionary has primary responsibility for continuing the work of the full-time missionaries in the local unit of the LDS Church after the baptism of new converts. Every LDS member may also be considered as involved in the “mission,” however, since every member is encouraged to find people to convert. For example, the Young Women Personal Progress (: ) manual for LDS young women advises, “Invite friends of other faiths to Church activities; Reach out to new converts and those who are less active.” Within the ward there are on-going activities of “visiting teachers” and “home teachers,” and all Mormon parents are supposed to prepare their children through informal means to go on a mission (cf. Christensen and Christensen ), while specific education is assumed by Missionary Training Centers. But focusing on this first obvious source for the reproduction of Mormon faith and life would also mask the effectiveness of two less visible agents. To discern them, it is necessary to take cognizance of the distinction, consistently drawn by Mormons, between “active members” and “non-active members”: to be included in the former category, a member has not only to be baptized, but also to commit to community life. Commitment typically arises during the conversion process (cf. Wimberley , ), and it especially takes on a special dimension through the application by the community members of an LDS missionary skill called

conversions in the lds community today



the “commitment pattern.”21 But commitment is not only the result of a unilateral action of the community on the convert: it also requires a more complex interaction between these two parts. It implies such actions from the converts in obeying such community standards as tithing and honoring the LDS code of the “Word of Wisdom” (including abstinence from alcohol, tobacco and caffeine), and being involved in the community’s activities.22 Among the numerous ways in which an “active member” may so participate, two specially involve a commitment that requires both the convert’s and the community’s action. The first of these is “testimony bearing”—where members ritually “bear testimony.” This occurs preeminently during the “testimony meeting” that occurs the first Sunday of each month in LDS wards, at the time of the “sacrament meeting.”23 According to Douglas Davies, this performance is the “essence of Mormonism,” and it constitutes a “major gesture in Mormon behavior” whose principle obeys a “law of Witnesses” (:–). Here Mormons give proof of their own conversions while building community cohesion grounded on a complex interaction between personal experience and collective memory through a rhetorical “self-corroborative chain” (Ravenshear : ; on this process, cf. Trigeaud ) The second of these intersecting modes of commitment is the organic integration of the member (in the Durkheimian sense), through the “request or assignment” for those in the community to “fulfill” a calling: The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints is organized to benefit all who participate, and all are expected to assist in its labors. [ . . .] The Church is administered according to the principles of individual involvement, service, and self-government. There is no paid ministry in local wards of stakes, and the work of the Church is carried out through volunteer service by the members, who are called by the priesthood leaders to contribute in various capacities. [ . . . ] One purpose of Church callings 21

This pattern typically appears in the Missionary Handbook (:–): “Proselyting. Proven methods. To proselyte effectively, use the commitment pattern as you focus on the following key actions: FINDING [ . . . ] TEACHING [ . . . ] BAPTIZING AND FELLOWSHIPPING [ . . . ] . . . Use commitment pattern principles to motivate and inspire members and leaders to fulfil their missionary responsibilities” (: –, –). Although these efforts have been well known by Mormons as the “commitment pattern,” recently the LDS Church has been likely to present the concept without the direct use of the term “pattern.” In its new missionary program indeed, LDS members are encouraged rather to “help people make and keep commitment” (Preach My Gospel : –). 22 About the significance of these practices in the LDS community, cf. Davies ; Heaton, Bahr and Jacobson ; Stark :; Trigeaud , . 23 On the “ritual function of testimony bearing,” see Mauss : .



sophie-hélène trigeaud is to benefit individual members by letting them do the work of the Church. [ . . . ] Through service, members learn their responsibility and their capacity, enlarge their understanding and increase their commitment to the gospel.24

Coming full circle, the convert is being made a piece of the community even as he is participating in the collective making of this community. Commitment in this sense is certainly not specific to Mormons. Robert Bellah and his colleagues (: ), for example, report a contemporary occurrence of such phenomena for instance, in a Presbyterian context: Nan Pfautz, raised in a strict Baptist church, is now an active member of a Presbyterian congregation near San Jose. Her church membership gives her a sense of community involvement, of engagement with issues at once social and moral. She speaks of her “commitment” to the church, so that being a member means willing to give time, money, and care to the community it embodies and to its wider purposes. [ . . . ] She says, “I believe I have a commitment to God which is beyond church. I felt my relationship with God was O.K. when I wasn’t with the church.”25

In reference to Bellah’s earlier work, we can also recognize here the influence of the “collective emphasis” peculiar to the “early New England political thought.”26 As for the manner in which the LDS convert has to become a “member” through both individual conversion and imitation of the tradition, he is also made a “member” through both individual and collective commitments. To elucidate, last but not least, the key of such a mechanism that tends to destine individualism toward collective action, we can look to Bellah’s analysis (: –, ) of the “dialectic of conversion and covenant” in Protestant and Republican American culture: There was, then, a strongly social, communal, or collective emphasis in early New England political thought. That collective emphasis, that understanding of man as fundamentally social, was derived from the classical conception of the polis as responsible for the education and the virtue of its citizens, from the Old Testament notion of the Covenant between God and a people held collectively responsible for its actions, and from the New 24 Cf. Monson : ; Pitcher :–. On the “commitment” hence implied, see Shepherd and Shepherd, : –. Again we see an influence from Protestantism (e.g., Weber, : –; cf. Davies : –). 25 On the Protestant background of the Mormons “demanding commitment from each believer,” see Davies : . On the economic dimension of this commitment in the LDS context, see Davies : , ; Bousquet ; Trigeaud . 26 On the influence of this thought on Mormon culture, see Trigeaud .

conversions in the lds community today



Testament notion of a community based on charity or love and expressed in brotherly affection and fellow membership in one common body. This collective emphasis did not mean a denigration of the individual because the Calvinist synthesis of the older traditions maintained a strong sense of the dignity and responsibility of the individual and especially stressed voluntaristic individual action. But Calvinist “individualism” only made sense within the collective context. [ . . . ] This dual emphasis on the individual and on society can be traced in the dialectic of conversion and covenant that was continuously worked over in the colonial Protestant Churches and came to provide a series of feelings, images, and concepts that would help shape the meaning of the new republic [ . . . ] Both the Constitution and the Civil War amendments are thoroughly secular documents, but they embody the moral commitment of a covenant people to order its life by the highest standards of which it is capable.

Far from a “peculiarity,” it eventually seems that when Mormonism makes a claim for the indivisibility of conversion, covenant, and commitment among its members—and so for the whole community—it shares common ground with a typical American heritage.27

References Bellah, Robert N. . The Broken Covenant: American Civil Religion in Time of Trial. Chicago: University of Chicago Press. ———, Richard Madsen, William M. Sullivan, Ann Swidler, and Steven M. Tipton. . Habits of the Heart: Individualism and Commitment in American Life. Berkeley: University of California Press. Bousquet, Georges H. . Les Mormons. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Bréchon, Pierre, ed. . Les Valeurs des Français. Paris: Colin. Campiche, Roland J. . “Entre l’Exemple et l’Expérience: de la Transmission par la Famille d’une Tradition à celle d’un ethos Religieux.” Pp. – in Figures des dieux: Rites et mouvements religieux, edited by Liliane Voyé. Bruxelles: De Boeck Université. 27 Cf., A study manual for LDS Institute of Religion students: “How Does ‘Binding’ Oneself by Covenants Help One Become Holy? There is tremendous value in making commitments to one another and to the Lord. By entering into covenants or making commitments with others, we bind ourself by our own integrity to act in a certain way. This arrangement becomes a fortification against the powers of opposition. In other words, covenants bring a sense of responsibility, which in turn becomes a power of reinforcement for positive action and a deterrent to slothfulness. Covenant making can help us break away from routines or habits of the past as we clearly identify a course to pursue and then establish a means of accountability by making the commitment known to others.” (Doctrine and Covenants-Student Manual-Religion  and  :–).

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Christensen, Joe and Barbara Christensen. . Making your Home a Missionary Training Center. Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company. Davie, Grace. . “Believing without Belonging: Is This the Future of Religion in Britain?” Social Compass : –. Davies, Douglas J. . The Mormon Culture of Salvation: Force, Grace and Glory. Aldershot, UK: Ashgate. ———. . An Introduction to Mormonism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Durfee, Richard E. . “Modernity and Conversion: Mormonism in th century Japan.” Unpublished M.A. thesis. Tempe: Arizona State University. Euvrard, Christian. . Louis Auguste Bertrand (–), Journalist and Pionnier Mormon: “La Vérité et la liberté, deux mots sublimes, telle est notre devise nationale.” Tournan-en-Brie: Privately printed. Galland, Olivier and Bernard Roudet, eds. . Les jeunes Européens et leurs valeurs: Europe occidentale, Europe centrale et orientale. Paris: La Découverte. Galland, Olivier. . Sociologie de la jeunesse. Paris: Colin. Gibson, Stephen W. . From Clergy to Convert: Fourteen Conversation Stories by Former Catholic and Protestant Leaders who Found the Restored Gospel. Salt Lake City: Bookcraft. Gisel, Pierre. . L’excès du croire: Expérience du monde et accès à soi. Paris: Desclée de Brouwer. Heaton Tim B., Stephen J. Bahr Stephen and Cardell K. Jacobson Cardell. . A Statistical Profile of Mormons: Health, Wealth and Social Life. Lewiston, N.Y.: Edwin Mellen Press. Hervieu-Léger, Danièle. . “Pour une Sociologie de la transmission Religieuse: Esquisse d’une Perspective théorique et méthodologique.” Pp. –  in Figures des dieux: Rites et mouvements religieux, edited by Liliane Voyé. Bruxelles: De Boeck Université. ———. . Le pèlerin et le converti: La religion en mouvement. Paris: Champs Flammarion. Introvigne, Massimo. Mormons. Maredsous, Belgium: Brépols, . Lambert, Yves. . “La Religion: un paysage en profonde évolution.” Pp. –  in Les valeurs des Français, edited by H. Riffault. Paris: P.U.F. ———. . “Un regain religieux chez les jeunes d’Europe de l’Ouest et de l’Est.” Pp. – in Les jeunes Européens et leurs valeurs: Europe occidentale, Europe centrale et orientale, edited by Olivier Galland and Bernard Roudet. Paris: La Découverte. ——— and Guy Michelat, eds. . Crépuscule des religions chez les jeunes? Jeunes et religions en France. Paris: L’Harmattan. Mauss, Armand L. . The Angel and the Beehive: The Mormon Struggle with Assimilation. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. ———. . “Mormonism.” Pp. – in Encyclopedia of Religion and Society, edited by William H. Swatos, Jr. Walnut Creek, Calif.: AltaMira Press. ———. . All Abraham’s Children: Changing Mormon Conception of Race and Lineage. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Mead, Margaret. . Growing up in New Guinea: A Study of Adolescence and Sex in Primitive Societies. Harmondsworth, UK: Penguin Books.

conversions in the lds community today

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Missionary Handbook. . Salt Lake City: Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Monson, Thomas S., Jr. . “The Sustaining of Church Officers.” Ensign (May): . Penley, Kaija H. . Leadership of Mormon Missionary Efforts in Finland and its Influence on Conversion Rates in the Finnish Mission, –. Ann Arbor, Mich.: University Microfilms. Pitcher, Brian L. . “Callings.” Pp. – in Encyclopedia of Mormonism, edited by Daniel H. Ludlow. New York: Macmillan. Preach My Gospel: A Guide to Missionary Service. . Salt Lake City: Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Ramstad, Mette. . Conversion in the Pacific: Eastern Polynesian Latterday Saints’ Conversion Accounts and their Development of a LDS Identity. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis, University of Bergen, Norway. Ravenshear A.F. . “Testimony and Authority.” Mind (New Series) (): – . Rigal-Cellard, Bernadette. . “Etre Français dans une Église d’Origine Américaine: les Mormons de France.” Pp. – Les Mutations Transatlantiques des Religions, edited by Christian Lerat and Bernadette Rigal-Cellard. Pessac: Presses Universitaires de Bordeaux. Roudet, Bernard. . “Les Sociétés Européennes au Miroir des Jeunes.” Pp. –  in Les Jeunes Européens et Leurs Valeurs: Europe Occidentale, Europe Centrale et Orientale, edited by Olivier Galland and Bernard Roudet. Paris: La Découverte. Seguy, Jean. . “Les Non-conformismes religieux d’occident.” Pp. – in Histoire des Religions, vol. . Paris: Gallimard. Shepherd, Gary and Gordon Shepherd. . A Kingdom Transformed: Themes in the Development of Mormonism. Salt Lake City: University of Utah Press. Smith, Christian with Melinda Lundquist Denton. . Soul Searching: The Religious and Spiritual Lives of American Teenagers. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Stark, Rodney. . Sociological Perspectives on the Mormon Subculture. Annual Review of Sociology : –. ———. . The Rise of Mormonism. New York: Columbia University Press. ———. . “Extracting Social Scientific Models from Mormon History.” Pp. – in The Mormon Association’s Tanner Lectures: The First Twenty Years, edited by Dean L. May and Reid L. Neilson. Urbana: University of Illinois Press. Stark, Rodney and William Sims Bainbridge. . The Future of Religion: Secularization, Revival, and Cult Formation. Berkeley: University of California Press. Statistical Reports. , , , , , , , , , . Annual General Conferences. Ensign. Salt Lake City: Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. Trigeaud, Sophie-Hélène. . “Mission” et “missionnaires” de l’É.S.D.J.: Prosélytisme, passage et éducation. Unpublished M.A. thesis. Bordeaux: Université Victor Segalen.

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———. . Éducation, Religion et Communauté: Projet de thèse d’ethno-anthropologie sur les pratiques et représentations des “Saints de Derniers Jours” ou Mormons. Unpublished M.A. thesis. Bordeaux: Université Victor Segalen. ———. . Conversion, Éducation, Communauté: Une étude socio-anthropologique, transnationale et contemporaine, des pratiques et représentations des “Saints des Derniers Jours” ou Mormons. Unpublished Ph.D. thesis. Paris: École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales. Weber, Max. . L’éthique protestante et l’esprit du capitalisme: Les Sectes protestantes et l’esprit du capitalisme. Paris: Plon. Wilson, Laurie J. . “The Saints in France.” Ensign (Jan.): . Wimberley, Ronald C. . “Conversion and Commitment.” Border States (): –. ———. . “Commitment.” Pp. – in Encyclopedia of Religion and Society, edited by William H. Swatos, Jr. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press. Young Women Personal Progress: Standing as a Witness of God. . Salt Lake City: Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

chapter twelve A COGNITIVE PSYCHOLOGY PERSPECTIVE ON RELIGIOUS CONVERSION AS TOLD IN THE GOSPELS

Stefano Federici, Pierluigi Caddeo, and Francesco Valerio Tommasi In this chapter we intend to approach religious conversion from the perspective of cognitive and social psychology, describing those mechanisms and mental processes at the basis of a socially and culturally complex behavior such as that of religious conversion. As a model of conversion we will mainly refer to some pericopes and sayings drawn from the Gospels. Such a choice, besides being suggested by the methodical necessity of limiting the investigative field to the controllable space of an essay, takes into account the fact that the term “conversion,” as it is understood in the ordinary language of English speakers and of European languages in general, derives its semantic characterization first of all from these sources. The chosen textual reference has, therefore, a paradigmatic relevance from a historical-cultural point of view.

Preliminary Considerations Our research into the mental structures causing human behavior begins from the (cognitivist) conviction that the output (the behavior) is richer than the input (the stimulus)—that is to say, than the circumstances that originated it. This conviction is based on the “thesis of the poverty of the stimulus” (Fodor ; Plotkin ): what the mind represents of the world is not a simple secular representation of reality but its reconstruction, containing more information than that in the material offered by the stimuli. This is certainly evident in perceptive, mnemonic and linguistic outputs. Deaf children in a school where signs and gestures are forbidden develop a systemic language governed by rules, as Senghas and Coppola (: ) report:

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s. federici, p. caddeo, and f.v. tommasi It has long been postulated that language is not purely learned, but arises from an interaction between environmental exposure and innate abilities. The innate component becomes more evident in rare situations in which the environment is markedly impoverished. The present study investigated the language production of a generation of deaf Nicaraguans who had not been exposed to a developed language. We examined the changing use of early linguistic structures (specifically, spatial modulations) in a sign language that has emerged since the Nicaraguan group first came together. In under two decades, sequential cohorts of learners systematized the grammar of this new sign language. We examined whether the systematicity being added to the language stems from children or adults; our results indicate that such changes originate in children aged  and younger. Thus, sequential cohorts of interacting young children collectively possess the capacity not only to learn, but also to create, language. (cf. Harris, ; Schaller, ; Pinker, )

The very phenomenon of enrichment of the stimulus, due to the mental elaboration of the lived experience, is what happens in the process of religious conversion: some historical facts become, for the believer, “disclosure” events, enriching a meaning that is not immediately referable to the facts themselves (Schillebeeckx, , ). The conversion route described in the Gospel, leading the believer to professing the Jesus of history as the Christ of faith, is described as a process characterized by the awarding of a new and further meaning to the observable facts: “Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him [ . . . ]. They asked each other, ‘Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?’ ” (Luke : –).1 The conversion route, meant as a product of the mental elaboration of information and facts, is therefore outlined as a process that—being read, for example, through the field theory of Kurt Lewin ()—assigns to the totality of the coexisting factors a higher value than the sum of the single elements. This approach of a holistic kind, typical of the Gestalt school, in which the structure of the psychological field acquires a new form and defines a new and manifest meaning (insight), in some way gives reason to a conversion process that is a manifestation and awareness of a new meaning of reality. In this respect, reference to a German legend reported by Koffka (: ) in Principles of Gestalt Psychology can be helpful:

1 All scriptural citations are from the Holy Bible: New International Version. London: International Bible Society, .

a cognitive psychology perspective

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On a winter evening amidst a driving snowstorm a man on horseback arrived at an inn, happy to have reached shelter after hours of riding over the wind-swept plain on which the blanket of snow had covered all paths and landmarks. The landlord who came to the door viewed the stranger with surprise and asked him whence he came. The man pointed in the direction straight away from the inn, whereupon the landlord, in a tone of awe and wonder, said: ‘Do you know that you have ridden across the Lake of Constance?’ At which the rider dropped stone dead at his feet.

In what environment, Koffka asks, did the behavior of the stranger take place? The question, Koffka insists, will have to say that there is a second meaning to the word “environment,” according to which “our horseman did not ride across the lake at all, but across an ordinary snow-swept plain. His behavior was a riding-over-a-plain, but not a riding-over-alake.” This legend suggests to us, first, that the mental representation of reality (the iced bare patch) does not always coincide with its physical characteristics (the Lake of Constance); second, that the awareness of one or the other world is not simply discovered in consequence of a direct and immediate experience of the environment, but is the result of sharing meanings in a social context that transmits them; finally, that the meaning we attribute to reality has a crucial importance for human existence: it either vivifies or kills, bears to the world or withdraws us from it. Therefore, that new and manifest meaning, that insight that releases the spring of the conversion process, does not emerge out of a solipsistic re-elaboration of mental processes, but is an additive factor that, as it is narrated in the German legend, is the result of a meeting, the product of a social interaction that determines its shared meaning. We find this additive principle again narrated even in one among the most famous evangelical pericopes, this time drawn from John’s Gospel that, in the image of a miraculous multiplication of loaves and fishes, offers to us the conversion route that the disciples first and the crowd after must cover in order to disclose to that sense capable of satisfying a people’s hunger: When Jesus looked up and saw a great crowd coming toward him, he said to Philip, “Where shall we buy bread for these people to eat?” He asked this only to test him, for he already had in mind what he was going to do. Philip answered him, “Eight months’ wages would not buy enough bread for each one to have a bite!” Another of his disciples, Andrew, Simon Peter’s brother, spoke up, “Here is a boy with five small barley loaves and two small fish, but how far will they go among so many?” Jesus said, “Have the people sit down.” There was plenty of grass in that place, and the men sat down, about five thousand of them. Jesus then took the loaves, gave

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s. federici, p. caddeo, and f.v. tommasi thanks, and distributed to those who were seated as much as they wanted. He did the same with the fish. When they had all had enough to eat, he said to his disciples, “Gather the pieces that are left over. Let nothing be wasted.” So they gathered them and filled twelve baskets with the pieces of the five barley loaves left over by those who had eaten. After the people saw the miraculous sign that Jesus did, they began to say, “Surely this is the Prophet who is to come into the world”. (: –)

To Philip there is only one way to answer Jesus’ provocative question about how to obtain that indispensable good for human subsistence (bread): using money. But in this world there is no remedy to poverty: no money, no food. Andrew’s intervention redefines the problem and allows us to get to a new interpretive modality through which it is possible to overturn the indigent condition of the crowd into a miraculous superabundance. Here the evangelical teaching through the sign of the multiplication of loaves and fishes is clear: a society based on the value of money will not satisfy hungry people, but a society founded on the sharing of goods will be able to transform the little owned by each of us, if shared, into superabundance for everyone. The loaves’ multiplication expresses in a narrative and symbolic style that principle according to which the whole is more than the sum of its parts: love, manifest through the solid sharing of one’s goods, transforms what to our eyes appears to be insufficient into superabundance for everyone, provided it is shared. The goal we set ourselves here is not that of demonstrating the existence of a mental module of God, capable of grasping the sense of the divine in the prosaic facts around us, but that of analyzing some of the mental functions underlying conversion—meant exactly according to the model inferred from the Gospel—if it is considered from a psychological perspective—functions that certainly do not exhaust the reasons for a conversion, but that form the conditions without which such model of conversion would not be “humanly” imaginable. We wish to search for some of those cognitive structures that have been at the basis of the cultural development that has produced that richness of religious symbols and signs through which such an idea of conversion is received and negotiated. Following such analysis, we may even make the hypothesis of a community of universally recognizable elements that form that “universal grammar” of the “religious man,” without which an experience such as that of the World Day of Prayer in Assisi in —where for the first time in history hundreds of representatives of the different religions of the world assembled in a prayer meeting sharing a deep religious

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experience, lived in the multiplicity and community of the different faiths—the words of Pope John Paul II when he addressed the Heads and Representatives of the Christian Churches and Ecclesial Communities and of the World Religions would be untranslatable and incomprehensible: “If there are many and important differences among us, there is also a common ground [ . . . ]. Yes, there is the dimension of prayer, which in the very real diversity of religions tries to express communication with a Power above all our human forces” (: ). “Belief in the supernatural and religion” belongs to that list of human universals that encompass those characteristics of culture, society, language, behavior and psyche pointed out by ethnographers in diverse societies that are a sign of the mental modules upon which are founded those complex and innate characteristics of the human mind: “Among the many examples are such disparate phenomena as tools, myths and legends, sex roles, social groups, aggression, gestures, grammar, phonemes, emotions, and psychological defense mechanisms. Broadly defined universals often contain more specific universals, as in the case of kinship statuses, which are universally included among social statuses” (Brown : ; cf. Brown ). Tooby and Cosmides (: ) observe similarly that while [t]here is certainly cultural and individual variability in the exact forms of adult mental organization that emerge through development, . . . these are all expressions of what might be called a single human metaculture. All humans tend to impose on the world a common encompassing conceptual organization, made possible by universal mechanisms operating on the recurrent features of human life. This is a central reality of human life and is necessary to explain how humans can communicate with each other, learn the culture they are born into, understand the meaning of others’ acts, imitate each other, adopt the cultural practices of others, and operate in a coordinated way with others in the social world they inhabit.

Just as the fact that it is possible to make use of any language to convey any message makes us believe that all languages are made of the same material (Chomsky ; Pinker , ), similarly the existence of religious universals, making a religious experience translatable and sharable, encourages us accept the existence of universal and innate mental mechanisms which, even in the variety of the social and cultural experiences, make certain specific religious behaviors universally intelligible and sharable. The comparison between the Gospels and the analysis of cognitive psychology conveys at least two great conversion models that we wish to

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outline here and that, according to the latest observations, we may believe have universal validity. The possible universality of these two models then makes them conceivable as compatible models. However, we cannot exclude their inconceivability, in an alternative sense, if some reciprocal traits are radicalized.

Causality A first interpretation model of the conversion process as narrated by the Gospels is that according to which there would be a mechanism that involves, as its first step, the acknowledgment of a supreme being at the origin of all that exists. Creator, motionless motor, first cause, demiurge—it has the function of justifying the beginning of every form of life, orienting its existence, and guaranteeing an ultramundane purpose. What surprises us in the study of human cognition is that this capability of picking a causality link is based on an innate system of a knowledgespecific domain leading each human being toward the knowledge of reality since infancy. Hume was certainly right in assuming that our belief in the existence of cause-effect relations was a product of psychological processes and a psychological compulsion to have such convictions— even if some evidences seem to make us reasonably believe that he was wrong in believing that such relations did not belong to the deep causal laws of nature (Plotkin ). Some psychologists of development have formulated an experimental procedure focusing on the length of a baby’s visual fixation when it is attracted by various images projected on a screen. Not being able to resort to verbal statements with new-born babies, these researchers have used a procedure that has exploited the curiosity and attention of the baby concerning some events, when the latter manifest infringements of physical laws: the more expected the images presented in a film, that is respectful of physical laws, the more manifest is the habituation effect pushing the baby to turn its eyes elsewhere, getting distracted; by contrast, the more unexpected are the presented images, infringing physical laws, the longer the baby keeps fixing on the unexpected event with curiosity. The age of the subjects was between three and six months, when children do not possess speech. They start stalking and grasping objects, but cannot walk, however they are able to infer information about the movement of objects. Alan Leslie (: ) observes, “These findings . . . inform us about a specialized learning mechanism adapted

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to create conceptual knowledge of the physical world, and to do so at an early period in development when general knowledge and general problem-solving abilities are quite minimal” (cf. Baillargeon ; Spelke ; Spelke and van de Walle ). Certainly one of the most fascinating experiments that has been carried out with infants, again with the method of the length of visual fixation, is one relating to the effect of the movement of an object caused by another object in motion. The babies tend to get distracted when they are shown that an object a in motion hitting another object b causes its movement; but they are attracted by the infringement of this law, that is to say when they are shown that object b starts moving even when object a stops just before hitting object b. However, when inanimate objects are substituted with human figures, the babies are no longer surprised seeing that object b starts moving even if the human figure has not hit the object, not considering this an infringement of the law. The babies, it may be concluded, since they only a few months old, know that the cause-effect relations that govern human beings are governed by different laws from the physical ones (Plotkin ; Gazzaniga ). Infants do not, however, develop an innate and specific knowledge of all the entities they perceive. They do not seem to have a systematic knowledge of shadows and plants and probably they do not distinguish in their reasoning the actions of human beings from those of other animals (Carey ; Premack ; Spelke ; Spelke, Phillips and Woodward ). The existence of these cognitive structures that appear innate to us may give us reasons for the question why the belief in a supreme being is found in all cultures.2 Each human being is well prepared in advance to believe in the possibility that an animated being may be the cause of the existence of all things: in this sense we are born as believers already—at the most we run the risk of dying as atheists. The conversion process, then, does not so much open the mind to the possibility of accepting a metaphysical causality as reinforce it. 2 The causal attribution process is functional to the necessity of understanding, explaining and predisposing one’s behavior in connection with the context in which one operates. Leaving out of consideration the type of identification process of the casuality of the events and of the human behaviors, whether they are based on specific causal schemes (Kelley ), turned to identifying the major causes or reasons for the events (Buss ) or mainly guided by data and theories (Alloy and Tabachnik ), it is chiefly a spontaneous process contributing to supplying reality with sense. Thus, finding causality becomes not only the first agent of the organization of events, but a codification system of reality that defines it and makes it accessible by virtue of its unique meaning— omnicomprehensive and participatory at the same time.

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Conversion at the most voices the human capability of picking causality, not only physical causality of real events, but also offering names, rituals, symbols and contents. We are not surprised then that Jesus of the Gospels indicated in children the models of true conversion: “I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven” (Matthew : –). In this saying we may catch two messages describing the vision that Jesus has of conversion: on one side, to become as children is a challenge to leave every claim of power and supremacy over others, but rather becoming the slaves of and dependent on others (Schüssler Fiorenza, ), while on the other side, the acknowledgment of the fact that the child has the competence to express an act of faith, because he is capable of understanding. The fact that the human being may grasp in full the content of the evangelical message not as the outcome of a conversion process involving the adhesion to a formal and structured whole of theological doctrines is a conviction that the Jesus of the Gospels manifests more than once, such as when he states: “I praise you, Father, Lord of heaven and earth, because you have hidden these things from the wise and learned, and revealed them to little children” (Luke : ). As Plotkin () has well explained, in the world of evolutionist biology cause-effect relations are both the source of the selective pressures, powerful and pervading, to which all living organisms must fit, and the end or the aim of the psychological sensitivity to those relations that have evolved in animals and that can move in the world and operate in it. And just this psychological sensitivity is at the basis of the mental representations that have then been passed on and duplicated in cultural entities—memos, that in turn have had their own evolutionary routes generating various cultural products which, however, share some common metacultural elements, that are universally recognisable: “Like fish unaware of the existence of water, interpretativists swim from culture interpreting through universal human metaculture. Metaculture informs their every thought, but they have not yet noticed its existence” (Tooby and Cosmides : ). Since the time that the human being has resorted to the belief in a supernatural being in order to overcome the anguish of death, to recover a link with his perished relatives and strengthen the clan’s bonds, the mind has already been oriented to supplying an answer to him, a vision of the world from which it is difficult to let God escape. Newberg, d’Aquili and Rause (: –) write:

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The neurobiological roots of spiritual transcendence show that Absolute Unitary Being is a plausible, even probable possibility. Of all the surprises our theory has to offer—that myths are driven by biological compulsion, that rituals are intuitively shaped to trigger unitary states, that mystics are, after all, not necessarily crazy, and that all religions are branches of the same spiritual tree—the fact that this ultimate unitary state can be rationally supported intrigues us the most. The realness of Absolute Unitary Being is not conclusive proof a higher God exists, but it makes a strong case that there is more to human existence than sheer material existence. Our minds are drawn by the intuition of this deeper reality, this utter sense of oneness, where suffering vanishes and all desires are at peace. As long as our brains are arranged the way they are, as long as our minds are capable of sensing this deeper reality, spirituality will continue to shape the human experience, and God, however we define that majestic, mysterious concept, will not go away.

It hence becomes a categorical shift to move from a view that would characterize as a “counter-intuitive thought” that would characterize belief in a “super-natural being” to the supernatural figure to which those powers of the animated being are ascribed, which each infant already knows very well, of being able to move in the distance, beyond contact, beyond sight.3 In Matthew’s narration of Jesus’ meeting at Capernaum with the Roman centurion (: –), the two interlocutors, different and hostile in culture, education and religion, agree over a common element, a religious universal, linked to social causality. And although they derive from very different religious experiences, the two protagonists of the story find themselves as witnesses of an authentic process of religious conversion: the generalization of social causality and the attribution of this law to a human figure with supernatural powers. Thus the centurion speaks to Jesus: “For I myself am a man under authority, with soldiers under me. I tell this one, ‘Go,’ and he goes; and that one, ‘Come,’ and he comes. I say to my servant, ‘Do this,’ and he does it.” What is more obvious and understandable than this phenomenon? Yet this arouses Jesus’s admiration to point him out as an example of great faith, as 3 Pyysiainen, Lindeman and Honkela (: , cf. Pyysianinen ) provide “evidence for the hypothesis that persons consider counterintuitive representations more likely to be religious than other kinds of beliefs. In three studies the subjects were asked to rate the probable religiousness of various kinds of imaginary beliefs. The results show that counterintuitive representations in general, and counterintuitive representations involving a conscious agent in particular, are considered much more likely to be religious. Counterintuitiveness thus seems to be an important element in a folk-understanding of religion.”

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a model to imitate in order to be saved. Jesus does not ask this man to follow him and embrace the new faith—as a matter of fact he dismisses him saying: “Go! It will be done just as you believed it would.”— because he has recognized in him that generative religious grammar typical of every authentic experience of faith, on which every religion leans and that all faiths share. Jesus and the centurion have spoken to each other and have understood each other because they have succeeded in communicating about those human universals that are at the basis of each authentic conversion, having become like children again. The acknowledgment of a causal (supernatural) power of Jesus provokes admiration, independently from the fact that this same power in the centurion’s faith will be attributed to a pantheon of animate figures.

The Theory of the Mind If our rational ability to grasp the cause-effect connection in animate and inanimate objects helps us to understand which mental process can guide the mental representation of an individual converting to the causative force of a supernatural being, religious conversion—at least in its description emerging from the Gospel stories to which we are referring—is much richer and articulate than a simple animist faith in supernatural forces. The conversion process indeed does not reduce itself to the acknowledgment of a causal agent of supernatural phenomena. In the evangelic viewpoint, it is basically a sequel expressing itself in the wish for living with Jesus and as he does, adopting his aims and cooperating with his mission. In the story by Mark (: –) of the recovery of a sick woman subject to bleeding, one example among various possible choices, many are those who “touch” Jesus, to get thaumaturgical benefits from him, but only one bleeding woman is able to get into deep communication with him and is cured. This communion is the result of a sympathetic exchange, in which the intentions of the believer and Jesus’ intentions are reciprocally shared. Jesus is not a passive agent of life force, but an interlocutor who becomes a trustworthy companion in the believer’s life path. Luke the evangelist summarizes all this at the end of his Gospel describing an archetype-like conversion route in the episode of the Emmaus disciples (Luke : – ). The disciples, at first blinded by their dejection, do not recognize Jesus who becomes their traveling companion. However, as soon as they

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feel comforted by the presence of that traveler, they recognize Christ in him and say: “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?” The (re)conversion of these disciples is characterized by re-established syntony: the words of that traveler are reliable, they speak to the heart, they have understood each other. These aspects of religious conversion, as they have emerged from the Gospel stories, have recourse to some competencies of humankind that characterize it as such and that are at the basis of the social competencies, of the verbal and nonverbal communicative skills through which we are able to understand the communicative intentions of others, to recognize their emotional states and their causes. This richness of human social competencies, which is part of that psychological equipment of the common sense we implement each time we enter into relations with other people in order to understand their intentions and foresee their behavior, is ascribed by cognitive psychologists to another specialized representation system, already present in children who are a little over one year old, and that finds its cognitive maturity around the age of four, independently of the received education and of the culture to which they belong. It’s the ability that allows us to represent the mental states of other people: the emotions other people feel, their wishes, opinions and intentions, their ways of reasoning, whether they simulate or cheat. This cognitive ability enables us to use such information to interpret what the others say, making their behavior meaningful and anticipating what they will do afterwards. In order to do so, first of all the child must have acquired a certain level of awareness of his own mental states as distinct from those of the others, and that can be originated inside the person from wishes, expectations, beliefs, or as the answer to external events. Various ways have been worked out to verify whether a child can read the mind. According to one of them the child is submitted to situations involving false beliefs, such as: if the child knows that the money is in the old Chinese vase, but he also knows that the thief thinks it is in the desk drawer, if the child is asked: “Where does the thief look for the money?” he should answer that the thief will look for it in the wrong place, that is to say in the drawer (Dennett ). A child of about age four is already capable of passing a test like this (Wimmer and Perner ). Equally important for the interpretation and anticipation of other people’s behavior is the ability to understand the moods, emotions, and wishes felt by the others. From infancy, the human being shows his nature of social being by expressing himself in an interest in the sensorial

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experiences provided by other human beings and in interacting and sharing meanings and intentions. A child can understand other people’s wishes even before their opinions, and already by the age of two, he possesses the clearly frustrating awareness that he may have wishes that do not correspond to those of his parents (Wellman ). Infants are capable of distinguishing facial expressions indicating happiness, sadness, anger and fear, and already by three years of age they can distinguish how situations can influence emotions. Finally, children by the end of their first year can understand make-believe, knowing very well how to distinguish it from reality: they can play feigning mummy or talking on the phone holding a banana, without confusing either their own or the others’ identities and roles, or the actual use of the objects (Howlin, Baron-Cohen and Hadwin ). How can a child be able to recognize other people’s frames of mind without seeing, listening or hearing them? This capacity of paying attention to the properties of the frames of mind is probably based on a specialized representations system, innate and species-specific (we do not have clear evidence that other animals possess similar abilities); an “intentionality detector,” as Baron-Cohen () calls it, that allows us to detect other people’s minds and understand that most human actions, including our own, derive from the way we represent the world of the mind (Dennett ; Plotkin ). The idea that we are born predisposed to the development of such competencies and that ontogenic development is determined by the phylogenetic characteristics of each human being, involves the fact that mental states are universally recognized, independently from cultural, linguistic and social differences. As a matter of fact this innate capacity of understanding the social environment urges the child toward understanding the others, which defines and codifies itself in social interaction through a bi-directional involvement in the communicative process between the child, capable of recognizing the feelings and intentions of the others, and the other people (Harris ; Dunn ).4 We may have different opinions about what provokes 4 Our ability to understand the basic aspects of society, of expressing love and attitudes and of being able to distinguish between different actors and social categories is apparent from childhood. For example, various studies have demonstrated that, starting from age five, children show specific attitudes and preferences toward particular ethnic groups (Barrett and Short ). The conception a child has of the social categories and the ethnic outgroup, initially based on perceptive aspects, would be subsequently redefined and mitigated when the awareness of the reciprocity of social relations increases (Aboud ). From these studies, then, “the evidence of the very high sensitivity of

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certain moods in each of us and about how we react to certain stimuli, but the frames of mind are the same, whether or not they are perfectly named in our language with specific words (Ekman and Davidson ; Lazarus ; Pinker ). According to Gospel stories, conversion unceasingly resorts to this social human ability. Religious conversion is not evangelically referable to an intellectual practice and is not measured by the intelligence quotient, but rather by the capacity of making God’s intentions our own: “Not everyone who says to me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ will enter the kingdom of heaven, but only he who does the will of my Father who is in heaven” (Matthew : ). Only mastering a theory of the mind enables us to conform to another one’s will as such, because it makes us aware of our intentions as distinct from the others’ intentions and, therefore, as potentially sharable. Again we understand why Jesus commends that these truths are hidden to sage and intelligent men and are revealed to the little ones instead; while the theological content of a religion may be an esoteric mystery comprehensible only by the elect, conversion as agreement and sharing intentions in favor of a supreme good is available to anyone who listens and implements Jesus’ words (Matthew : ). It is on this community of intentions and not on blood links that the relations of the new human community are based: “ ‘Who are my mother and my brothers?’ he asked. Then he looked at those seated in a circle around him and said, ‘Here are my mother and my brothers! Whoever does God’s will is my brother and sister and mother’ ” (Mark : –). The fact that in Gospel stories conversion implies a social competence has as a consequence that the believer’s faith is not measured on doctrinal and magisterial knowledge, but on the empathic ability of recognizing other people’s needs.5 Conversion is then mainly a solidarity process. young children to the more primitive aspects of the value system of their societies” (Tajfel : ) would emerge. Therefore, this human capability of recognizing and distinguishing the differences and social belongings, and of being able to understand and share the complex system of norms and reference values through social interaction, provides us with the explicative background of the conversion process in the sharing of meaning outlined so far. 5 Empathy, which is usually considered an element preceding the implementation of behaviors aimed at helping other people (Hoffman ), is made explicit through emotional activation associated with a cognitive process in which one assumes the other’s perspective. To be able to assume the other’s needs implies perceiving similarity between people expressed in a system of rules and shared social norms. The theoretical reflection about empathy as preceeding prosocial and altruistic behavior, then, concerns the fact that the individual assumes a definition of himself as an unselfish person embodying

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This meaning of conversion—that is to say not as in deference to doctrinal truths, but as the capability of accepting and satisfying the others’ needs—characterizes the same behavior of Jesus in the Gospel, a behavior that causes a scandal in those who have made their agreement to doctrinal and ritual norms the aim of authentic conversion. Simon the Pharisee is shocked by Jesus’ acceptance of a sinful woman (Luke : –), and those Pharisees gathered in the Synagogue of Capernaum take counsel against Jesus when he makes a deliberate transgression of the sabbath rest by curing a man with a shriveled hand (Mark : –). Jesus’ disrespectful and infringing behavior has a justification in his construction of the meaning of religious conversion as an act of human solidarity, an act of charity. If we radicalize the consequences of such an observation, even faith in a universal world cause—that is the first conversion model we have described—can be joined to this type of doctrinal belief. It is actually a type of faith based mainly on experiences of a theoretical-individual kind, namely on the capacity of activating a subjective knowledge leading to an objective and sure grasp of a phenomenon. In other words, a faith modeled according to a scheme in which the relation between the self and the world develops without opaque or uncertain areas. Starting with modern critics (from Hume to Kant), of the idea that reality is available to the subject with total transparency, the phenomenological Husserlian stream has worked long on the subject-object scheme in general, up to putting its validity in a critical position (Husserl – ): the results are, among others, criticism of the ideas that man’s fundamental dimension is of a cognitive type (Heidegger ); that God must be thought in terms of “being” (Heidegger ; Marion ); and a repeated comparison with the experience of empathy, which in fact does not allow reduction of the intersubjective relation to a subject-object model (Stein ; Husserl ). Each subject forms itself in a mature and responsible way thanks to the call of language and responsibility from others: and sharing social values of respect and mutual help. Therefore, the self perception as an altruistic individual is emphasized through a social sharing process implying the acknowledgment of one’s altruistic dimension even from the others: “who are told that they are the kind of people who like to help whenever they can may infer that prosocial behaviors across a variety of situations are expected of them” (Grusec and Redler : ). The capability of identifying oneself with the other and of assuaging his suffering in this way become participative modalities in virtue of one’s belonging to a sharing social system considering the neighbor as oneself (see Batson ; Batson et al. ).

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In interlocution there is symmetry of roles: each “I” is reciprocal with a “you.” But such symmetry presupposes that the subjectivity of the interlocutors is already established; originally [ . . . ] the constitution of the subject (objective genitive) takes place through the (asymmetrical) allocution from another already constituted subject: addressing an infant as a “you,” the I, which “originally” is the other, makes possible the development of the subjectivity of the “person” to whom (alter) ego turns. Only this being made object of allocution makes the subject possible, that is to say thought as self-reference, as I, as cogito. (Olivetti : )

An important trend in contemporary philosophy of religion, pursuing such questioning of reflective and transcendental thought, is on account of this turning toward conceiving the religious experience first of all in ethical-practical and interpersonal terms. In this sense, the responsibility toward the other subject and religious conversion form two phenomena that are not immediately distinguishable, because “God” is not describable in terms of a conscience datum, a phenomenon, or an object, but is revealed only beyond the categories that structure the knowledge of the world in terms of relation between subject and object, and therefore one “comes to the idea” only in the “epiphany” of the other’s face (Levinas ). Religion understood in this way follows the semantic line of re-ligare, rather than re-legere: it is an appeal to duty, that at least in its essential and fundamental elements does not include theoreticalcognitive aspects (Olivetti ). As some evolutionist psychologists argue, the birth of culture would not be imaginable if the human species had not developed as advanced cognitive mechanisms as those of the theory of the mind. Culture, meant as knowledge shared by the members of a certain society, implies psychological mechanisms that make the human being capable of communicating with others and of creating agreement. And it’s only when agreement is reached on the information and the actions, that is to say on concrete things, that it is possible to think about beginning to agree on the conceptual and the arbitrary (Barkow, Cosmides and Tooby ; Plotkin ). This process, marking human phylogenetic and cultural evolution, also characterizes the development process of religious conversion according to the New Testament narrations. In them religious conversion is never reduced only to a solitary mystic experience of interiority and immediacy of the divine (Fischer ; Moioli )—which could have never led to the Christian religion as a cultural product— but to the negotiation of meanings emerging from the community of the experiences. Participation and agreement, then, on shared meanings

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reveal themselves in obedience to a content of faith, the kerygma. This first cultural product generates cohesion, expressing itself in community life. From here, inside a social group, the creation of the incorporeal products of the construction—rites, dogmatic truths, hierarchical roles, etc.—may begin.6 It is again the account of the Emmaus disciples that dramatizes all these psychological processes in a narration. The Emmaus disciples, once they have understood the meaning of that meeting with Christ in semblance of a traveler and once they have understood the meaning of the conversations they had with him on their way, do not remain in Emmaus, where they had lived that mystic experience, but they return to Jerusalem where the first community dwells. In the narration Luke pays great attention to describing the dynamics of this meeting: before the Emmaus disciples tell the others about what happened, the community announce to them: “It is true! The Lord has risen and has appeared to Simon” (Luke : ). It is in the community that the meaning of the religious experience is negotiated, the community is the mediator of the meanings of the conversion process. The Emmaus disciples cannot announce they have met the One Who Rose from the Dead if they have not previously received from the believers’ community those meanings that will confirm their experience as a path of authentic conversion, which they may share and in which they may participate.

References Aboud, Frances E. . Children and Prejudice. Oxford: Blackwell. Alloy, Lauren B. and Naomi Tabachnik. . “Assessment of Covariation by Humans and Animals: The Joint Influence of Prior Expectations and Current Situational Information.” Psychological Review : –. Baillargeon, Renee, Laura Kotovsky and Amy Needham. . “The Acquisition of Physical Knowledge in Infancy.” Pp. – in Causal Cognition: A Multidisciplinary Debate, edited by David Premack, Dan Sperber and Ann J. Premack. NewYork: Oxford University Press. 6 Even in this ambit it is possible to individuate a process of socio-cognitive nature beneath such meaning of conversion. A theoretical link to this type of process may actually be offered by the self-categorization theory of Turner and his collaborators (Turner et al. ). Self-categorization theory aims at explaining how an individual gets to defining himself as somebody belonging to a specific category or social group. Starting from the process of social categorization, through which one’s subjective experience of social reality is organized and defined, the individual would define himself on the basis

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Barkow, Jerome H., Leda Cosmides and John Tooby (eds.). . The Adapted Mind: Evolutionary Psychology and the Generation of Culture. New York: Oxford University Press. Baron-Cohen, Simon. . Mindblindness: An Essay on Autism and Theory of Mind. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Barrett, M. and J. Short. . “Images of European People in a Group of –Year-Old English Schoolchildren.” British Journal of Developmental Psychology : –. Batson, C.D. . “Sociobiology and the Role of Religion in Promoting Prosocial Behavior: An Alternative View.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology : –. Batson, C.D., Judy G. Batson, Cari A. Griffitt, Sergio Barrientos, J.R. Brandt, Peter Sprengelmeyer, and Michael J. Bayly. . “Negative-State Relief and the Empathy-Altruism Hypothesis.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology : –. Brown, Donald E. . Human Universals. New York, NY: McGraw-Hill. ———. . “Human Universals.” Pp. – in The MIT Encyclopedia of the Cognitive Sciences, edited by Robert A. Wilson and Frank C. Keil. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Buss, Allan R. . “Causes and Reasons in Attribution Theory: A Conceptual Critique.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology : –. Carey, Susan. . “Constraints on Semantic Development.” Pp. – in Neonate Cognition: Beyond the Blooming Buzzing Confusion, edited by Jacques Mehler and Robin Fox. Hillsdale, NJ: Erlbaum. Chomsky, Noam. . “Review of B.F. Skinner’s Verbal Behavior.” Language : –. Dennett, Daniel C. . “Beliefs About Beliefs.” Behavioral and Brain Sciences : –. ———. . Brainstorms: Philosophical Essays on Mind and Psychology. Brighton, UK: Harvester Press. Dunn, Judy. . The Beginnings of Social Understanding. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press. Ekman, Paul and Richard J. Davidson. . The Nature of Emotion. New York: Oxford University Press. Fischer, Heribert. . “Mistica.” Pp. – in Sacramentum Mundi , edited by Karl Rahner. Brescia: Morcelliana. Fodor, Jerry A. . The Modularity of Mind. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Gazzaniga, Michael S. . The Mind’s Past. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press.

of his position into specific social categories. The most salient environment, hence the one which is most capable of explaining differences and similarities inside the reference social schemes, would allow for activating the diverse social definitions of oneself. The importance of a new social categorization and the deriving perception of similarity among its members would then serve as a shared basis for the definition of oneself and of one’s behavior as a function of a different organization of reality.

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Grusec, Joan E. and Erica Redler. . “Attribution, Reinforcement, and Altruism: A Developmental Analysis.” Developmental Psychology : –. Harris, Judith R. . The Nurture Assumption: Why Children Turn Out the Way They Do. Washington, DC: Free Press. Harris, Paul L. . Children and Emotion: The Development of Psychological Understanding. Cambridge, MA: Blackwell. Heidegger, Martin. . Sein Und Zeit. Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann. ———. . Identität Und Differenz. Frankfurt am Main: Klostermann. Hoffman, Martin L. . “Developmental Synthesis of Affect and Cognition and Its Implications for Altruistic Motivation.” Developmental Psychology : –. Howlin, Patricia, Simon Baron-Cohen and Julie Hadwin. . Teaching Children With Autism to Mind-Read: A Practical Guide for Teachers and Parents. Baffin Lane, UK: Wiley. Husserl, Edmund. . Cartesianische Meditationen Und Pariser Vorträge. Den Haag: Nijhoff. ———. –. Die Krisis Der Europäischen Wissenschaften Und Die Transzendentale Phänomenologie. Eine Einleitung in Die Phänomenologische Philosophie. Den Haag: Nijhoff. John Paul II. . “Address of John Paul II to the Representatives of the Christian Churches and Ecclesial Communities and of the World Religions— Basilica of Saint Francis –  October.” http://www.vatican.va/holy_father/ john_paul_ii/speeches//october/documents/hf_jp-ii_spe__ prayer-peace-assisi-final_en.html (accessed  May ). Kelley, H.H. . “Attribution in Social Interaction.” Pp. – in Attribution: Perceiving the Causes of Behavior: Perceiving the Causes of Behavior, edited by Edward E. Jones. Morristown, NJ: General Learning Press. Koffka, Kurt. . Principles of Gestalt Psychology. New York: Harcourt, Brace. Lazarus, Richard S. . Emotion and Adaptation. New York: Oxford University Press. Leslie, Alan M. . “ToMM, ToBy, and Agency: Core Architecture and Domain Specificity.” Pp. – in Mapping the Mind. Domain Specificity in Cognition, edited by Lawrence A. Hirschfeld and Susan A. Gelman. NewYork: Cambridge University Press. Lévinas, Emmanuel. . De Dieu Qui Vient à L’Idée. Paris: Vrin. Lewin, Kurt. . Field Theory in Social Science. New York: Harper. Marion, Jean-Luc. . Dieu Sans L’Être. Paris: Fayard. Moioli, Giovanni. . “Mistica Cristiana.” Pp. – in Nuovo Dizionario Di Spiritualità, th ed., edited by Stefano De Fiores and Tullio Goffi. Cinisello Balsamo: Edizioni Paoline. Newberg, Andrew B., Eugene G. d’Aquili and Vince Rause. . Why God Won’t Go Away: Brain Science and the Biology of Belief. New York: Ballantine Books. Olivetti, Marco M. . Analogia Del Soggetto. Rome-Bari: La Terza. ———. . “Filosofia Della Religione.” Pp. – in La Filosofia, vol. , edited by Paolo Rossi. Turin: UTET. Pinker, Steven. . The Language Instinct: How the Mind Creates Language. New York: Perennial.

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———. . The Blank Slate: the Modern Denial of Human Nature. New York: Viking Penguin. Plotkin, Henry. . Evolution in Mind: An Introduction to Evolutionary Psychology. London: Allen Lane & Penguin. Premack, David. . “The Infant’s Theory of Self-Propelled Objects.” Cognition : –. Pyysiainen, Ilkka. . How Religion Works. Toward a New Cognitive Science of Religion. Boston, MA: Brill. Pyysiainen, Ilkka, Marjaana Lindeman and Timo Honkela. . “Counterintuitiveness as the Hallmark of Religiosity.” Religion : –. Schaller, Susan. . A Man Without Words. New York: Summit Books. Schillebeeckx, Edward. . Jesus. Freiburg: Herder. ———. . Menschen. Die Geschichte Von Gott. Freiburg: Herder. Schüssler Fiorenza, Elisabeth. . In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins. New York: Crossroad. Senghas, Ann and Marie Coppola. . “Children Creating Language: How Nicaraguan Sign Language Acquired a Spatial Grammar.” Psychological Science : –. Spelke, Elisabeth S. . “Initial Knowledge: Six Suggestions.” Cognition : –. Spelke, Elisabeth S., A. Phillips and A.L. Woodward. . “Infant’s Knowledge of Object Emotion and Human Action.” Pp. – in Causal Cognition: A Multidisciplinary Debate, edited by Dan Sperber, David Premack and Ann J. Premack. NewYork: Oxford University Press. Spelke, Elisabeth S. and G. van de Walle. . “Perceiving and Reasoning About Objects: Insights From Infants.” Pp. – in Spatial Representation, edited by Naomi Eilan, Rosaleen McCarthy and Bill Brewer. Oxford: Blackwell. Stein, Edith. . Zum Problem Der Einfühlung. Halle: Buchdruckerei des Waisenhauses. Tajfel, Henri. . Human Groups and Social Categories: Studies in Social Psychology. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Tooby, John and Leda Cosmides. . “The Psychological Foundation of Culture.” Pp. – in The Adapted Mind: Evolutionary Psychology and the Generation of Culture, edited by Jerome H. Barkow, Leda Cosmides and John Tooby. New York: Oxford University Press. Turner, John C. . Rediscovering the Social Group. A Self-Categorization Theory. Oxford: Blackwell. Wellman, Henry M. . The Child’s Theory of Mind. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press. Wimmer, Heinz and Josef Perner. . “Beliefs About Beliefs: Representation and Constraining Function of Wrong Beliefs in Young Children’s Understanding of Deception.” Cognition : –.

chapter thirteen CONVERSION AND MISSION: MISSIONARY INSERTION AND THE SOCIAL CONDITIONS OF CHRISTIANIZATION

Paul-André Turcotte One way to understand conversion is as a change of religious adherence that becomes a gain for a religion that proceeds from a different sociocultural environment from that of the person who converts. The central figure of such a change is the missionary. Conversion thus defined is not just a religious reaffiliation, that is to say, a change of adhesion that benefits, this time, another cultural, doctrinal and moral formation which, however, comes from the same socio-cultural environment in the midst of the same religious family—as for example the passage of the individual or the group from a reformed church to an evangelical church (Schwindt : ). An interconnected or preceding meaning is that of a spiritual awakening within the same religious confession that seeks to revitalize it in its totality. If the revitalization touches the whole of its religious organizations in a common social space, the individuals and the groups position themselves in a degree of vitality that is either turned toward tradition or unprecedented innovation. These possibilities do not exhaust the meanings and the practices of conversion that can overlap or cross over. The intentions of the presentation that follows in this chapter are not to discuss these conceptions in order to derive ideal-typical traits from a sociological point of view (e.g., Knoblauch ; Attias ). Rather, a theoretical analysis will be applied to the socio-religious actor who is the missionary, to his perception of the other and to the conditions of his insertion, with an impact on the strategies that are put in place to foster conversion. The conceptual framework will have Max Weber’s or Ernst Troeltsch’s insights as a theoretical background. The cases of figures are taken from archival research into the history of Catholic missions with respect to the influence of religious representations on human behavior. With respect to social conditions, attention will be given not only to cultural factors but also to the political and economic ones.

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paul-andré turcotte Missionary Insertions with Respect to the Conditions of Conversion

The history of Christian missions goes back to the very origins of the faith, whether through the writings of missionaries or in the form of external relations. The perspectives and descriptions have adopted some formulations that are accorded to the currents that go through the evolution of the method and historical narrative. The relations are incorporated, in that case, in the discovery accounts. The objective pursued seeks to evince, directly or indirectly, conditions of missionary insertion and its action in the evangelization of non-Christian or de-Christianized lands. Since the first centuries of Christianity some people were sent to proclaim the message of the gospel in those frontiers at the limits of the Roman Empire. Following this, the missionaries addressed themselves to the peoples considered barbarians on the great European continent and from there to other continents (Décobert ). Missionary action accounts have elicited renewed interest within Catholic and Protestant missions that have functioned since the sixteenth century. With the discovery of the American continent, Christian Europe had to deal with a new world—which became “The New World”—characterized especially by religious syncretism along with the merging of races and cultures. The questioning and innovations that resulted from unprecedented situations had few immediate effects on the structures, the symbols and the practices of the Churches or groups from metropolitan Europe. The relevant institutions, strong through their acquired experience, were able to readjust some strategies of implantation and expansion, of conversion and the organization of new Christians, without having to modify significantly their ways of doing things or the vision of things in their home country. As a result of transactions between organized religion, cultural or economic and political conditions, though not without resistance, Christianity in the Americas ended up becoming singularized while at the same time admitting the same base in belief and the same divisions in ministries and functions in structures that were relatively similar or identical. Tensions traversed the exchanges between the different places of implantation and regulation. This was the case within the great state churches and, to some degree, in the minority groups, including the Catholic religious orders (so Prudhomme : –; Bosch ). The expansion of Catholic or Protestant detachments took on greater importance with the facilitation of movement through the moderniza-

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tion of the means of communication and the progress of medicine. At the same time, the human sciences, principally on the Protestant side, rendered the missionary perspective stronger, which had consequences for the comprehension of the other and the strategies for his comprehension. Missionary accounts that used the ethnographic means of expression displayed the anthropological conception which is at the basis of insertion and the action of conversion. These missionary accounts were used in the research of fledgling social science, including both Emile Durkheim and Max Weber. While Durkheim () dedicated himself to tracing the elementary forms of religious life based on the accounts of primitive customs with a view to seeking some permanent historical elements, Weber () systematically sought historical comparison between the great religions to understand up to what point they participated in the emergence and the deployment of modernity, understood in the sense of the rationalization of human, material or symbolic production. The reception of the missionary accounts continued to extend beyond the frontiers of the religious sphere to interest other domains beyond those of organized religion. It was that way from the beginnings of the Catholic missions to the Americas. The missions and their accounts on the one hand inspired intransigent responses, religious closure and a pride of cultural superiority, but they also extended the horizons of knowledge and in that way opened minds to a renewed comprehension of “the human” in its diversity. In the Catholic context, the evangelization corresponding to the colonization of the Asiatic or American territories, and afterwards of Africa, did not cease to elicit lively discussions before and after the creation, in , of Propaganda Fide, which provided rules and regulations with respect to missionary activity. These rules are contained in the instructions to apostolic vicars going to Tonkin and Conchinchina. They consisted in establishing criteria for the relations between colonization and mission, relations among objects of sometimes violent conflicts, contradictions and compromises of missionaries with the colonists, and of the traumas of subjected populations. The main directive was the following: the missionary must maintain himself aloof from the affairs of state and, generally, from politics. Four principles founded the distinction between political action and mission: the independence of the latter from states and, in this respect, the existence of close relations with Rome; the priority of the formation of an indigenous clergy that would be capable of replacing missionaries if they were to be expelled; the creation of a regular hierarchy (lower clergy, priests, and an episcopate); and an agreement

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with the papacy to establish a complete Church, the obligation for the missions to tend to self-sufficiency, including economic self-sufficiency. With respect to evangelization, the missionaries were to avoid transporting their European culture with themselves, consequently they were to be careful with changing the rites, customs and practices of the peoples if they were not against religion and morality (Prudhomme : –, ; Union missionnaire du Clergé ). These instructions produce a great variety of sometimes opposing positions in different moments and places throughout history. The refusal to recognize the difference of cultural alterity meets compromise understood as an agreement that integrates contrary, even antagonistic, elements thanks to mediations that permit reciprocity while respecting the alterity of the elements. It is a transaction where the reciprocity is without fusion and the distinction is without rupture. In the best of cases, each of the parties finds its place, beyond the reciprocal concessions, in the negotiations in which power relations intervene, as well as the third party regulations, directive principles, shared values and so on. These relations can be exacerbated in case of the refusal to compromise, to accept shared criteria that are at the juncture of socially recognized rules and particularities that derive from the singularity of a point to be gauged and articulated (Turcotte ). Whatever the modality of his insertion may be, the missionary is that migrant, that foreigner who testifies to a total personal experience and, at the same time, acts as a delegate of an institution, which results from its organization, its beliefs, rites and discipline of life. Hailing from another land he is faced with the challenge of making a collectivity, which constitutes an organic whole that comes from another social environment, believe with a view to an adhesion that supposes a change of life that is optatively whole, both on the part of individuals and of the collectivity. Structural or formal movements are in question, and these contribute to changing the mentality and the behavior of the individuals who make up a society. The process of transformation of interpersonal relations (people and groups) and social structures is dialectical. In addition, the message and the activity of conversion are modified to the extent that individual and collective alterations take place. Strategies and mediations compete in a process of change that is globally tendentious (Russell : – ). Such an aim is ramified in a configuration of objectives with the complexification of the modes of action and the tentacular and sectorial reading of reality. In doing this, it is highly likely that an interpenetration of the reli-

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gious compound which originates from elsewhere and the culture of the people to which it is addressed attains a heightened degree over time. Even if this becomes the case, the ordinariness of life finds consistency in a religious reference mixed with references that derive from ancestral tradition. At the same time, the capacity for interpellation of change into the original message will have dissipated. This capacity is from now on confined to groups of religious virtuosity that rattle the torpor of belief and at the same time revivify the collective consciousness. We cannot expect to obtain durable effects on the conduct and the structures of the organic whole that envelop the life-world. Some awakenings are possible that position and call for the improvement of the social order according to Christian principles. Their crystallization is translated by a normalization which is imposed on consciences to various degrees. The social actors know how to reinterpret the rules of life that stem from normalization as well as how to elude them, to function in their own interests. Some inversions can appear and be deployed to the point of deconstructing a society completely (Séguy ; Ouédraogo ). Christian missions, especially after the eighteenth century, have sought to implement, often entering into open conflict with colonists, a Christian social order, which is to say, one that conforms to the evangelical message as it is interpreted by the original institutions. In a broad sense and at least since the sixteenth century, the Christian message, in its general practices and beyond its diverse historical forms, has opted for a positive vision of history, working for the advancement of the humanization of peoples, has supported action on the propagation of its religious message and not on economic or political objectives. In the interaction of instances that pursue specific objectives, however, equivocations are not lacking with respect to the missionary societies and the public colonial powers, and between these and the traditional leaders (Prudhomme : –; Comby ). While sharing points of similar discipline and of theological reflection concerning the relations of diverse instances and populations, Protestants and Catholics both knew drifts and compromise. The deviations came in several instances from the relative, and not directly intentional, confusion of the evangelical message with political or economic action. The sliding, from one to the other, is observable, it would seem, in the case of the formation of elites, with a view to implanting a society which is integrally Christian (Merle ). The comprehension of this question commands the knowledge of the Church as a type of Christian group,

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comparable to other historical types, while at the same time it hearkens back to different practices and the separation of powers. Throughout its history missionary Catholicism has strictly linked the annunciation of a message, revealed through events, letters and attempts at reflection held on Biblical texts, to the construction of social and religious works. The conversion of hearts goes hand in hand with the transformation of society (Union missionaire du clergé ). The Protestant missions abound in the same sense, through the articulation of preaching and of action in society, while insisting on the individual’s access to the Biblical text and, if the individual is not to have access to it, the character of an authority which is deemed to be certain. On the one hand and the other, the propagation of faith and the action of civilization are inseparable. This being the case, the Protestant missions should themselves have to have been more flexible and innovative than Catholic ones, because of these factors: their missionaries came from contexts which have been linked to modernization and openness to the world, the respect for religious liberty in the British colonies, the de-centered organization of autonomous Churches, and the importance accorded to religious revival and to social critique with respect to the reading of the Bible to confront concrete situations (Prudhomme : –; Bosch ; Merle ). At the turn of the twentieth century, the leaders of the Social Gospel movement had no fear to take recourse to the social sciences to analyze, for example, economic servitude in the context of mass industrialization and urbanization and to derive the traits of a theology which stressed a humanization of action, in accordance with the gospel and the Christian tradition which derives from them (cf. Walter Rauschenbusch ; Turcotte ). A critical reflection based on the socioeconomic or economical-political aspects of colonization and its dehumanizing consequences has been largely lacking in Catholic thought, geared as it is to social questions and based on political or theological-philosophical principles. With respect to enculturation it is difficult to articulate the cultural aspects with respect to those linked to economic or political practices, without forgetting the conditions of autonomization of the local churches that are in accordance with the Christian tradition of an evangelical perspective (Ndi-Okala ). Some notable exceptions to that dominant movement are the roles often played by members of religious orders or Christians who are socially involved in the name of an intense and reflective faith. It is necessary to acknowledge the innovations in the field and the reflexive production in the social sciences that continues to receive a mit-

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igated institutional reception if they are not, in fact, wholly rejected. These defensive reactions do not, fortunately, represent the totality of the Catholic intellectual production on missions.

The Missionary as Migrant and Foreigner: The View of the Other The sociocultural status of the foreigner constitutes the necessary condition of the missionary as a migrant. In this respect we are essentially indebted to the work of Alfred Schütz (). The foreigner is essentially one who moves toward another place to settle for a time that can be more or less long. In this way he is distinguished from the wanderer whose mobility does not allow for any form of attachment. He also displays a capacity for mobility within the new context because of the fact that he remains an outsider. Correlatively, he can easily come into contact with the different elements of his social environment, and he does not depend on any of them through blood ties or his profession, let alone through belonging to a common place of origin. Clearly the foreigner presents himself—on the inside and the outside, in the external and face-to-face— and the result of this is the perspicacity of his point of view, based as it is on objectivity and critical distance. The point of view of the other evidences both the incoherence and the logic of what “goes without saying” for the natives, in the name of references that are unknown to them. At the same time, it is through the investment in the socialization modalities of the context into which the foreigner is accepted that the foreigner also discovers himself to be a harbinger of alterity, which then leads him to be profoundly aware of the roots of his own identity and of difference. Even if inserted in his place of adoption and detached from his origins to the point of being considered as such by his compatriots, he is not considered as one who shares the same heritage as the rest of the countrymen. He could even be suspected of a lack of loyalty. Is he not able to represent the inconceivable or be a spy? Living in an ambivalent social condition, the foreigner can place himself in a better position between the past of the roots of his identity and a future to construct thanks to his position as a mediator of unsuspected compositions. Testimonies of missionaries as foreigners are increasingly rare. Particularly illuminating is the account of the Canadian Jesuit Nil Guillemette, in the Philippines after having been in the Ivory Coast for three years. He holds that “one never completely gets used to being a foreigner in a country which one considers as one’s own” (: ). The incapacity to learn

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the language of the place as well as one’s own is often cited as one of the principal problems, even if that language is learned well. Proverbs, popular expressions, piercing formulations and other things continue to elude even the speaker who is familiar with the language. It is also necessary to learn another system of social conventions and, worse, the complexity of the rules of day-to-day life which are based on a cultural sensibility and which will never be fully appropriated. If the missionary is white, he is assimilated into the race that claims industrial and technical superiority, which has a heavy colonial, religious and cultural past, even if Canada never had any colonies as such. The Catholic institution, as the religion of the white man, has the ambiguous prestige of western power and technology. The native demands intellectual knowledge from the missionary with a view to social and economic development and for a Christian synthesis that is capable of expressing the native cultural context. In order to attain this, it is fundamental to remain a non-native, different through one’s previous formation and education (: ). In addition, the missionary changes with contact with the people who have become “his” to the point of relativizing his own cultural world. Upon returning to his country of origin, on vacation or definitively, he also feels himself to be even more a foreigner than in missionary activity. He will share his condition of being foreign with those who have lived or live the same experience, as was the case—exceptional, naturally—of profound friendships with the natives. The second testimony is of an altogether different order. A Canadian Viatorian, René Pageau tells of his experience in Haiti where he was superior of missions from  to . He does so in poetic terms, which occurs rarely in Catholic missions. The tragic reality of Haitian existence, however crude, is described in literary form, in the search for humanization. Generally the idea is that of an inner perception, of one who is not entirely involved. This position is not comfortable, but it allows for audacity, denunciations which would be otherwise unreceivable, politically speaking. With respect to struggles for power in the midst of Haitian institutions, in both the Church and the State, the missionary poet does not hesitate to say the unspeakable: My country is a poem but there is misery and hunger/there is fear and betrayal/the class struggle/at fraternal war/those close to power/silently frequent/the presidency/while priests/in the episcopal poultry yard/talk and probe kidneys and hearts/to get to know who among them/will be the next bishop/or the next cardinal/of the first black republic/independent for two centuries/the victory of slaves decided/to take their destiny into

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their hands/[ . . . ] it is the reign of the princes of power/where each person has the great dream/of serving the interest of the people/after serving their own. (: –)

The dynamic evoked in literary terms is not specific to Haiti, it is the situation of economies of scarcity and of socioeconomic servility. When in Cameroon I often heard in Yaoundé the popular maxim that states: “The goat grazes where it is tied.” These modalities of insertion or writing of the missionary are not reserved to the person who comes from afar. Those from the same place can also create the conditions of a distancing, which can remain fictitious to a certain point, but it reveals itself nonetheless. This is the case notably when an individual or group, associative or institutional, takes the chance of revealing that which apparently goes without saying, beyond contradictions or malice, having perhaps to shake certitudes, situating oneself from what is commonly received, of the politically and socially correct, as an enclave with relation to the environment. If the measure includes the scrutiny of social relations, it is akin to that of the sociologist, as Schütz points out in his essay on the foreigner. Native peoples, in the etymological sense of the word, are able to attain a critical distance that foreigners cannot, culturally speaking, because the ideological perceptions darken reflection or they determine it, especially with respect to religion. Since Rauschenbusch, the social sciences have refined their tools to undertake a critical reflection, from questioning to analysis, illustrating the capacity of naming, and thus mastering decision-making with a view to change. The instrumental contribution—theory and method—has not ceased to shake up certitudes. The temptation remains high to resort to the simple use of techniques, of pastoral practice centered on itself. This option does not suffice to provoke change, to manage relations between continuities and discontinuities. It must pursue a work on itself, on its representations and its functioning. Is this challenge not that of the foreigner who is stable to the point of assimilating to his context, but who nonetheless continues to be considered as being foreign? In this sense the Jesuit Guillemette does not display the perspicacity of the point of view of the foreigner, which is demonstrated by the passenger Pageau, whose point of view remains external. Some studies evince the critical capacity of the missionary, such as that of Carlos Collantes Diez () in his work on the African city based on his ministry in Yaoundé.

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paul-andré turcotte The Point of View of the Other and Religious Conversion

A case that is contextually more complex is that of the French Viatorians who immigrated to Lower Canada, in present Québec in the middle of the nineteenth century. At the time of that immigration, the Clerics of St. Viator in the France of their creation constituted a religious order that, far from its origins, remained relatively unformalized beyond the Roman approbation. They began in the s at Vourles, near Lyons, thanks to the initiative of Louis Querbes, who died in . Approved by Rome on May , , from  to , they had only a sketch of a rule. The institutions approved by Rome comprised some articles of Christian life with specifications on religious vows (poverty, chastity and obedience). On April , , three French Viatorians, Etienne Champagneur, Louis Chrétien and Augustin Fayard set out, from New York, for Lower Canada. Champagneur was the Superior of the Canadian community, and he claimed that due to a lack of rules he was virtually forced to rule through his own authority, supported in that respect by the bishop of Montréal, Ignace Bourget (Dussault : ). In the same sense, Champagneur had Father Léautaud as a novice master, who maintained the function after Querbes’s concessions with a view to Roman approbation. The Canadian Viatorians deepened Léautaud’s spirituality, which hearkened directly back to the imagination of the creation of the order, before its formal institutionalization (Lévesque ). When the Viatorians arrived in Canada they found a land that was already Christianized, known as territories that had belonged to the first French empire. Their mission was no less missionary on account of the novelty of their project of insertion, and their contact with the Canadian scene presented a world which destabilized their cultural reorientations of life in society. Champagneur and his companions had the experience of being foreigners in a world that was not lacking in familiar aspects. They were confronted with the point of view of the other and at the same time agents of such a point of view, through the differences in the ways of seeing and doing things. During the early days a familiarization was forged in spite of the distinction, but not without problems (Hébert : ). The point of view of the missionary as a foreigner returned to the newly arrived, from their arrival until their implantation in a Viatorian community which was directed by Canadians, which occurred in . Two other French Viatorians were united in  to the Viatorians who just arrived from France, François-Thérèse Lahaye and Antoine Thibaudier, both having been missionaries in Saint Louis

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in Missouri since . They had undertaken their studies in theology before being ordained priests and exercising their ministries in teaching or in the parish. Landing in New York on May , , the Viatorians who had come from France recognized the highly commercial and Protestant character of the society. The shock that they experienced was of such magnitude that, as Champagneur said, “it is impossible to express the sentiments which the Europeans felt upon arriving in the New World” (Hémond : ). From New York to Montréal by boat it was the great expansions of land that impressed them: great forests, rivers and lakes, the beauty of the landscapes and the immensity of the territory (Héber : –). To sum up, everything was different from France, beginning with the immense cold of Winter and the excessive heat of Summer. The rigorous climate forced some newly arrived people to return to France, but a similarity was also evinced: agricultural production is “about the same as in the north of France” (Hémond : ). The sphere of the Viatorians encompasses the region of greater Montréal along a territory of around a hundred kilometers. Some dreamed of the immensity of the continent, dwelling on discovering the farthest points. The foundation of Bourbonnais in Illinois in  allowed for the knowledge of the center of America, where some Canadians had recently immigrated or where there were some families from Louisiana. The Viatorians also had a mission on the territory where, in the s, combat between the British army and the patriots seeking autonomy through “a responsible government” for Canada—a bourgeoisie which understood itself to be the mistress of the destiny of the country, in agreement with part of the clergy and the cultural elites, of aristocratic origin or other. The defeat of the patriots in – had as a result the hanging of the leaders of the rebellion, of whom some returned to the country, especially after the law of compensation to the victims of the rebellion was voted by the parliament of Montréal, which provoked the Fire of  by some conservative Anglophones. Among the consequences was the fact that the Canadian higher clergy saw its prestige diminish after its links to English power and the lack of social reception of its orders and exommunications. With a view to reaffirming the Canadian Francophone cultural identity and consolidating its institutions in order to reappropriate the government and industrial development, it was important to combine the diverse forces, among them, that of the Catholic Church. The Church could not count unconditionally on a clergy that was largely disavowed by the people and had to

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appeal to other agents, among them, French religious orders. Through the mobilization of a growing bourgeoisie, the Sulpicians and bishop Ignace Bourget attempted to recruit them to the point that the number of priests was insufficient to assure ministries. In  the Catholic Church of Lower Canada had  priests for a half-million faithful, among whom , were in the diocese of Montréal, which had the responsibility for  parishes or missions over an immense territory that extended to New England and Illinois, Vancouver and Oregon, in addition to the Outaouais and Hudson’s Bay. The Viatorians were also faced with the competition of the Francophone Swiss pastors and with the influence of the “apostate” priest Charles Chiniqui, which they countered on accepting the parish of Bourbonnais, and the quarrel, after , of the episcopate with the Institut Canadien which, founded in , supported conferences, reading libraries and the initiation of public speaking as well as other cultural manifestations (Hébert : ; Perin , ). In addition, Protestantism was no longer in the s the religion of the conqueror and rejected as such. One of the leaders of the rebellion of – against English domination, Dr. Côté, was ordained a Protestant pastor in  followed by the conversion of Catholic priests who entered the ranks of the Protestant clergy. Conversions reached the surrounding towns. Bibles in French were distributed and the “evangelical” newspaper Le Semeur Canadien was launched in . These Protestants, note the Viatorian letter-writers, observe Sunday as faithfully as Catholics and they do not harass them. On account of various structural reasons, the relations of the Viatorians with the Protestants were frequent and even encouraged. In their schools such as at Joliette or Berthier, the English teachers were often Anglo-Protestants. The usefulness of English was such that teachers had to be native speakers (Hébert : –, , , –). The massively Catholic nature of the Canadian Francophone population did not lead the observers of the time to a sanctimonious position. For example, Montréal is called “a most Christian town . . . the churches are magnificent and especially filled with people. The priests dress in their habits” (Hébert : ), which was tolerated only in Catholic Québec, the only state of the sort in North America that gloried in it. Montréal was also characterized as a corrupt city, especially on account of drunkenness and anticlericalism. At the same time the occasions for religious to lose their faith were greater than in France (Hébert : ). Generally, according to Champagneur, “this new continent . . . is a land of indifference at debauchery, of inconstancy and of a liberty incompatible

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with the true religious spirit.” The benefactor Barthélemy Joliette himself “did not frequent the sacraments” (Hébert : ). With regard to religion, one responsibility was remarked by the French Viatorians: cooperate with the clergy and other religious orders to stop the loss of Catholics to Protestantism, and work to revitalize an old religiosity, to give new credibility to the institutional Church in the eyes of the faithful.

The Political-Economic Relations of the Act of Conversion The French Viatorians were thrown into a society in which Catholic evangelization, launched in the seventeenth century, had worked according to Roman criteria. These foreigners had to adapt themselves to uses and customs that, of European origin for the most part, were culturally adapted to the American continent. They also had to deal with a society that was typical of a British colony, where a non-Catholic organization and mentality predominated, principally Anglican, which meant that the respect for religious liberty was on a non-French basis. This liberty declined in the diversity and autonomy of the diverse Christian churches, some with respect to others in their decentralized organization in institutionalized communities, even for Catholics. Since  the management and possession of churches—parishes in addition to the salaries of priests and vicars—depended on the council of the people elected by the faithful. Anglicans, Protestants and Catholics competed, while borrowing resources of a diverse nature and integrating useful elements that worked well and allowed for spiritual revival. These churches were ruled by the same regulations of the state and the same social structure of religion, often through the Anglican church. For them, the conversion of hearts or religious renewal along with social criticism and the construction of social and religious works went hand in hand, all with a view to installing a social order which conformed to the evangelical message interpreted by the ecclesiastical institution. In the socioreligious context very different from that of France, the Viatorians were among the first male religious orders to be established on Québec soil under English rule, from  to . The others comprised the Brothers of the Christian Schools who arrived on November , ; the Oblates of Mary Immaculate, on December , ; the Jesuits, on May , ; and the Congregation of the Holy Cross, on May , , along with the Viatorians (Dussault : –). This was linked to the

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Catholicism of New France, where male and female religious orders had played a role of great importance. The ceding of this France in the New World to England had, among its consequences, that of the interdiction of male religious orders, Jesuits and the Récollets, and of recruiting for them, along with the confiscation of their goods, like the College of the Jesuits of Ville Marie, which was to become McGill University after a long legal process; the chapel of the Récollets of Québec, which was transformed into a Presbyterian church, and that of Trois-Rivières, with the convent which was given to the Anglicans. The Sulpicians avoided the confiscation, insisting on their status as a society of priests, along with the Foreign Missions of the Seminary of Québec, founded by Monsignor Laval in . The derogation, however fragile it was, and an object of revision during almost the whole century, had permitted financial aid to be given to works undertaken by female communities, being untouched by the measures against male communities, and the creation of works at the behest of the male orders, such as the creation of the College of Montréal in , in substitution for the College of the Jesuits, by the Canadian Sulpician Curatteau de la Blaiserie (Turcotte : – ). Positivistic historians continue to reckon with the reasons and the factors for the arrival of the male French religious orders after . Some functional religious reasons are advanced: their episcopal instrumentalization with an end to control by religious orders, the extension of Catholic works thanks to cheap labor, and the recovery of establishments taken over by the conquering English. Financial reasoning seems to be the least grounded for the period which interests us: the average salary was equivalent to that of non-clergy in the positions they occupied in society, salaries which were, in fact, higher than those in France at the time (Dussault : –). Nonetheless the economic difficulties were important in the process of the implantation of new communities. The various salaries in the recognized civil projects proved to be insufficient to cover the cost of the intellectual and spiritual formation of the new recruits and to compensate those involved in pastoral and philanthropic activities who were badly paid. A common policy took hold: produce the maximum and consume the minimum. It was necessary to establish a price: that of sacrificing one or two generations of men, which was done, not without variations according to the communities, taking into account the deaths of young men in their twenties and thirties that took place among the religious as evinced by the tombstones in cemeteries of the communities (Dussault : –).

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One reason for the implantation of religious communities derives from letters by Viatorians and other documents and is the question of the drying up of secular Christianity in the cultural resistance to the Anglo-Protestant occupier and the necessity of a redefinition of this resistance through a project of sociopolitical reconquest, which was economic and cultural—in the line of the continental spirit, a reactivation of the mystical energy of New France, without breaking from the GrecoLatin source with a European reference. To the degree that the Catholic Church intended to play a decisive role in this project, it was necessary to diversify these human resources and to make them increase, to end the monopoly of the parish clergy, especially since its social credibility was on the wane, most especially among the up-and-coming social classes, and even among members of the clergy who protested against other clergy, who were aristocratic and disconnected with the problems of the population. In any case, we are far from the humanistic spirit of the Renaissance, of intellectual and spiritual competence, of the cultural openness of missionaries—traits that had characterized the evangelization of New France. At the same time, the connivance of members of the Catholic Church with Anglophone domination had provoked opposition which was crystallized in indifference with respect to the Catholic institution, in the places of worship and ritual practices that were once considered due the respect of things sacred. Even more had taken place in the territory of New France and also in Haiti and the French Antilles, by European clergy, be it with respect to social behavior deemed immoral or with respect to uncertain competence and to the authoritarian, if not contemptuous, attitude which severely judged the actions of their hosts and sought to impose rules of life on them that were unadapted and considered excessive. In spite of a prejudiced social credibility, the contribution of the religious orders rather than the secular clergy was desired by the emerging social classes, especially in such a multireligious and culturally diverse space as the area of Montréal. There the powerful Sulpicians confronted an episcopate that was still badly established and expecting the French religious orders to consolidate its institutional position both socially and religiously. At the same time, aligning itself with an entrepreneurial bourgeoisie that was a rivalry to the one that was associated with the clergy linked to the past was a renewing clergy, among whom was the bishop of Montréal, Bourget, who, beyond his ambivalence, counted on the mobility of the new arrivals, the diverse investment of those forces, and their spiritual influence transmitted by a style of life that sought to exemplify

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the gospel in the living out of daily life. This was evinced in the will to affirm publicly a revivified Canadian culture that was in continuity with the Catholic heritage, while at the same time respecting the existing cultural and religious diversity. To reach such objectives, Msgr. Bourget invited ten female religious orders, the greater part of whom were at first associated with educational or charitable work. All of them worked for the religious and sociocultural objectives, with effects that were political as well as economic. Multiple transactions were put in place that transcended confessional or linguistic limits and even the limits of the state. In this totality, in affinity with its aspirations and vision of things, an industrial and commercial bourgeoisie found the legitimate symbolism of its advancement along with other people who came from a Catholic context and were open to change and a portion of the Anglo-Protestant bourgeoisie. The Francophone Catholic public space became increasingly socially identifiable upon the adoption of an architectural style which was almost uniformly classical and installed itself even in Anglo-Protestant bastions—for example, the construction of the archdiocesan cathedral of Montréal, in the heart of the financial center, built according to the plans of the Viatorian Michaud, or afterwards, the University of Montréal on Mont Royal in the middle of an Anglophone quarter. The decoration of churches generally followed the Roman style of grand frescoes and paintings with dramatic scenes or those close to day-to-day life, done by Canadian or European painters. To render religion accessible to the whole of the faithful supposed a liturgical theatre that inspired an openness to the marvelous, to emotions, and to the reaction of the senses and not only the spirit. The revitalization of popular culture, previously highly politicized and weakened by the latest English repression, benefited as well, but not exclusively, from the revitalization of a Tridentine Catholicism, which was characterized by doctrinal rectitude, a religiosity which appealed to the heart, the Christ-centered conversion of the person, and the cult of saints in the framework of the institutional hierarchy. Counter to the great North American confessions which proposed religious practice within the confines of sacred spaces, Bourget supported religious processions, even in the heart of commercial neighborhoods or ones which were populated by non-Catholics, as a public expression of the faith of French Canadians. In greater Montréal and the newer surrounding towns, the Catholic church created a French-speaking institutional space, offering services whose competence escaped the control of the Anglo-Protestant majority in Canada, the

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autonomy of French Canada and, as a correlation, the guarantee that its culture had become incapable of dissociation from the liberty of action and transaction of the Roman Catholic church (Perin: : –, ).

Colonization and Christianization: Relations and Conflicts In an altogether different context, that of the high plains of Western Cameroon, from the First World War to the s, the Dehonian religious order was openly opposed to the French colonial administration whose economic policies let to the subjection of the population which was being evangelized. It was not a case of re-Christianization based on a new context and a cultural and political-economic reconquest but one of being able to establish a link between evangelization and the humanization of social relations in the context of economic production and its relations of dependence to the negative aspects of the conditions of life. The dynamics of the relations between the politicoeconomic realm and the mission of evangelization is shown to be one of the most complex, and during a long period essentially was centered around salaried work and its instances of regulation relating to the quinquina plantations in the traditional lands of the Bamileke. The issues of regulation were between the traditional leaders, the colonial administration, and the Order of Priests of the Sacred Heart of Jesus, commonly called the Dehonians. Even if they arrived on the same boat, the missionary, the colonizer and the administrator cannot be confused. Thus the Dehonians were able, through a way of action which was firm yet not without contradictions, to translate concretely the social teachings of the Catholic church in a different context than that of its elaboration, of its references to the situation. In the land of the Bamileke, the Fo were submitted to forced labor, even if it was remunerated, formulating demands that were deemed unacceptable by the French colonial powers and, upon not receiving their perceived right, the oppressed took recourse to violence. Their masters, the colonizers, practiced an accumulation of capital which did not take into consideration the moderation of profit, nor the salary that was necessary for the socio-economic reproduction of the forces of labor. In order to serve a market of workers whose remuneration was under the cost of living, the Dehonians in particular demanded a just salary in order to be able to form families and humanize work conditions. It was from their response to the exploitation of

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quinquina that the religious contributed, in a relative way, to the emergence of new socioeconomic relations through the transactions among these parties. The intention of impregnating existing social structures with Christian values through an exemplary practice supposed a detachment from the commissioner of the Republic, which was accompanied by a firm critique of colonial measures. Two kinds of schemes face each other: one seeks the humanization of the conditions of life and socioeconomic production with an explicit reference to Catholic social teaching; the other seeks the interests of profit and political, even cultural, domination. These two antagonistic positions came into play in daily life and the struggles that pit the dominant and the dominated. It is in relation to these two elements that the resistance and the transactions in the definitions of social relations display themselves, be it through maintaining or modifying conditions according to the parties involved. The teaching of the Church ends up having an impact on the behavior and the structures through the canals of mediations that intertwine with the evangelical mission of the Dehonians who have to deal with reticence on the part of the Catholic hierarchy. A constellation of interactions, with its advances and contradictions, has continued to grow around the emancipation movement, linked to the expansion of the gospel (Léon XIII ; Ledure ; Tsopmbeng : –, –, –, –). The Cameroonian situation of the previous century is similar to the consecutive positions and discussions that followed the subjection of the indigenous peoples of Spanish America in the sixteenth century. It is known that the domination of the invaders was rejected by the Dominican Las Casas, who dreamt about a Christian republic without servitude and for whom evangelization means the completion and perfection of Natural Law, meaning it be respected absolutely as it was before the introduction of sin in the relations among individuals. He appealed to the papacy to have it insist that human relations correspond to the exigencies of the gospel and to the Natural Law of humanity, but he forgot that the papacy no longer could rule over European kings and princes, some of whom had even broken with Rome (Bataillon and Saint-Lu ) Vitoria, another Dominican, elaborated a theological argument that was more complex in a certain way. Among other points he held that the indigenous people could seem rough yet they were not, nevertheless, devoid of reason. If they are culturally inferior, they are not so from the point of view of nature; the cultural gap finds its solution in the adoption of Christianity, which renders men equal in capacity. In fact, all

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men are free through Natural Law, hence colonization should be temporary and should prepare for emancipation. This argument does not consider the economic aspects of colonization (Martin ). Sepulveda justifies the conquest and subjection of indigenous peoples due to the rights of men over positive rights. What does this mean? Evangelization and colonization constitute necessary conditions for the access to civilization and to salvation of those savage people, who practice human sacrifices, cannibalism, and idolatry. Colonization, the “necessary evil” we would say today, is necessary to put an end to barbarity (Merle ; Union missionaire du clergé ; Prudhomme : –, – ). These three positions, typical in more than one way, will be reprised in similar ways, if not given way to opposing arguments on the topic of slavery and the consequences of European colonization. From this point of view the humanizing action of the Dehonians inscribes itself in a long debate and a history of Catholic missions, which were not globalized in univocal terms, especially with respect to the legitimation of relations of the missions with colonial policies, traversed as they are by cooperation and opposition, by transaction and distinction. The reference to Natural or humanitarian Law, in terms of equality or human liberty, that is to say the human’s fundamental and universal dignity on account of absolute Natural Law, and at the same time through the affirmation of the primacy of the religious message over economic and political objectives, constitute the symbolic weapons of missionary action for the advancement in the humanization of social relations, especially when the conditions of subservience affect Christianized populations or those who are being converted.

Conclusion: The Figure of the Missionary and the Action of Conversion The missionary, a member of a religious order, appears as a migrant, a foreigner in this way and as an external witness to innovations. At the same time, he is interpellated, and he tries to refashion culture in the manner of the Catholic institution. The conjugation of both figures of missionary action demands a realignment of the reason for and the finality of conversion along its process. This demand is necessary all the more knowing that the enterprise of proclaiming a religion that issued forth from another environment must be rendered credible with a view

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to a change in life that will meet with some reticence and obstacles. Some selective arrangements with respect to ways of perceiving and living, among them some with respect to power and the economy can correspond to this resistance. In the best of cases, the tension releases a process which produces a transaction that is the fruit of negotiations and of points of agreement among actors as well as the recognition, explicit or implicit, of difference. The compromise in question supposes a human cost, notably of a spiritual nature, for the missionary (Turcotte and Remy : –). To discharge exclusively upon the witness or the institution can psychologically solve the problem of identity through the closure of positions at the risk of ignoring or endorsing contradictions and hardening conflicting positions to the point of rupture. The possibility is high that things will be otherwise when the missionary is able to combine the two aspects of the mission. In any case the figure of the missionary is a complex one, more so since he is situated at the crossroads between the witness and the institution, the intensity of belief and its extension, of compromise and intransigence, of the continuity and the discontinuity in the recomposition of the things of life with reference to the foundational message and the tradition of another religion.

References Attias, Jean-Christophe, ed. . De la conversion. Paris: Centre d’Etudes des Religions du Livre/Cerf. Bataillon, Marcel, and André Saint-Lu, eds. . Las Casas et la défense des Indiens. Paris: Cerf. Bosch, David. . Dynamique de la mission chrétienne: Histoire et avenir des modèles missionnaires. Lomé: Habo. Collantes Diez, Carlos. . La ville africaine, entre métissage et protestation: De la colonisation européenne à la période actuelle. Paris: L’Harmattan. Comby, Jean. . Deux Mille Ans d’évangelisation. Paris: L’Harmattan. Décobert, Christian. . “La conversion comme aversion.” Archives de Sciences Sociales des Religions : –. Durkheim, Emile. . Les formes élémentaires de la vie religieuse. Paris: Presses Universitaires de France. Dussault, Gabriel. . Charisme et économie: Les cinq premières communautés masculines établies au Québec sous le régime anglais (–). Québec: Département de Sociologie de l’Université Laval. Guillemette, Nil. . Le missionnaire, cet étranger. Le Brigand : –. Hébert, Léo-Paul. . Le Québec de  en lettres détachées. Québec: Ministère des affaires culturelles. Hémond, Robert (ed.). . Etienne Champagneur: Annales de la Société des

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Clercs de Saint-Viateur. Mission du Canada. Joliette: Les Clercs de SaintViateur. Knoblauch, Hubert, ed. . Religiöse Konversion: Systematische Studien in soziologisher Perspective. Constance: Universitätsverlag Konstanz. Ledure, Y. . Petite vie de Léon Dehon: –. Paris: Desclée de Brouwer. Léon XIII. . Lettre encyclique Rerum Novarum. Fribourg: Saint-Paul. Lévesque, Benoît. . Naissance et implantation des Clercs de Saint-Viateur au Canada (–). Sherbrooke: Université de Sherbrooke (unpublished). Martin, Ramon Hernandez. . Francisco de Vitoria et la “Leçon sur les Indiens.” Paris: Cerf. Merle, Marcel. . L’anticolonialisme européen de Las Casas à Marx. Paris: A. Colin. Ndi-Okala, J. . Inculturation et Conversion. Paris: Karthala. Ouédraogo, Jean-Martin. . “Virtuoses, laïcs et compromis religieux chez Max Weber.” Pp. – in Médiations et compromis: Institutions religieuses et symboliques sociales. Contributions à une relecture des classiques de la sociologie, edited by Paul-André Turcotte and Jean Remy. Paris: L’Harmattan. Pageau, René. . Haïti sous les mangues: Poèmes. Montréal: Médiaspaul. Perin, Roberto. . “L’Eglise et l’édification d’une culture publique au Québec.” S.C.H.E.C. Etudes d’histoire religieuse : –. ———. . Ignace de Montréal. Montréal: Boréal. Prudhomme, Claude. . Missions chrétiennes et Colonisation: XVIè–XXè siècle. Paris: Cerf. Rauschenbusch, Walter.  []. Christianity and the Social Crisis. Louisville, KY: Westminster/John Knox Press. Russell, A. Sue. . Conversion, Identity, and Power: The Impact of Christianity on Power and Social Exchanges. New York: American Society of Missiology/ University Press of America. Schütz, Alfred. . The Stranger. New York: Kluwer Academic Publishers. Schwindt, Frederic. . “Rodney Stark et la sociologie religieuse américaine: Une stimulation pour la recherche historique européenne.” Revue de l’histoire des religions : –. Séguy, Jean. . “Intensité—extension.” Pp. – in Paul-André Turcotte and Jean Remy. Médiations et compromis: Institutions religieuses et symboliques sociales. Contributions à une relecture des classiques de la sociologie. Paris: L’Harmattan. Tsopmbeng, François Etienne. . Le travail salarié et les instances de régulation sur les hauts plateaux de l’Ouest Camerounais. Paris: L’Harmattan. Turcotte, Paul-André. . Intransigeance ou compromis. Sociologie et histoire du catholicisme actuel. Montréal: Fides. ———. . “Le socialisme évangélique comme antidote aux perversions de la modernité américaine.” Pp. – in Projet de société et lectures chrétiennes, edited by Camil Ménard and Florent Villeneuve. Montréal: Fides. ———. . “La sociologie des religions et la condition de minoritaire dans le champ religieux.” Social Compass : –. ———. . “Religious Arrangements, Regulation and Socialization: Introduction.” Social Compass : –.

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——— and Jean Remy. . Médiations et compromis: Institutions religieuses et symboliques sociales. Contributions à une relecture des classiques de la sociologie. Paris: L’Harmattan. Union missionnaire du Clergé. . Le siège apostolique et les missions: Textes et documents pontificaux, Paris-Lyon: Union missionnaire du clergé. Weber, Max. . Economie et Société. Paris: Plon. Yon, Armand. . Le Canada français vu de France (–). Québec: Les Presses de l’Université Laval.

CONTRIBUTORS

Luigi Berzano is Professor of the Sociology of Cultural Processes at the Political Science Faculty of the University of Turin. He is member of the Scientific Council of the Religion Section of the Italian Sociology Association. His research interests include social movements, sociology of leisure and lifestyles, religious transformations between innovation and fundamentalism. His publications include: New Age ( [Religiosità del Nuovo Areopago ()]) and Damanhur: Popolo e comunità (). Anthony J. Blasi, Professor of Sociology at Tennessee State University, earned the Ph.D. in sociology at the University of Notre Dame. He has authored many works in sociological theory and the sociology of religion. His most recent project was a translation of Georg Simmel’s  classic Soziologie (), with Anton K. Jacobs and Mathew Kanjirathinkal. He is a former president of the Association for the Sociology and current editor of the Review of Religious Research. His current research focuses on the history of American sociology of religion. Pierluigi Caddeo is lecturer for the modules of Environmental Psychology at the University of Cagliari and of Social Psychology at the University of Perugia. He received his Ph.D. in Cognitive Psychology () at the University of Rome “La Sapienza.” He is member of the International Association for People-Environment Studies and the Italian Association of Psychology. His research interests focus on the fields of Social, Environmental, and Economic Psychology and include the topics of attitudes and behaviors toward green consumerism, economic conduct, social and local identity and environmental sustainability. Roberto Cipriani is Professor of Sociology and Chairman of the Department of Sciences of Education at the University of Rome . He has served as editor-in-chief of International Sociology. He has been president of the International Sociological Association Research Committee for the Sociology of Religion and member of the Executive Committee of the International Association of French Speaking Sociologists, and of the International Institute of Sociology, as well as president of the Italian Sociological Association and a Directeur d’Études at Maison des Sciences de l’Homme in Paris. His publications include: Sociology of Religion: An

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Historical Introduction () and The Sociology of Legitimation (, Current Sociology : ). Régis Dericquebourg is affiliated with the faculty of the University Charles De Gaulle-Lille and a permanent member of the Group for the Study of Religions and Secularity (laïcité) at the Center for National Scientific Studies in Paris. He wrote a doctoral thesis on the Jehovah’s Witnesses and has continued research on this movement. In , he began studies on healing churches publishing such books as Healing Religions (), The Antoinists (), The Christian Scientists (), and To Believe and to Heal (), completing an habilitation in this area in . He also has research interests in religious discrimination and the prophetic personality. Stefano Federici, psychologist and theologian, is currently Associate Professor of General Psychology and lecturer in Psychology of Disability, at the University of Perugia, Faculty of Education, and visiting professor of Psychotechnologies at the University of Rome “La Sapienza.” He has authored more than  international and national publications in the research areas of cognitive psychology, disability, and religion. Recently, along with Giuseppe Giordan and Lluis Oviedo, he has carried out international research on the beliefs and opinions of United States, Spanish, Portuguese, and Italian Catholics concerning several controversial issues in Roman Catholicism. Kieran Flanagan is a Reader in Sociology at the University of Bristol, England. His latest book is Sociology in Theology: Reflexivity and Belief (). With Peter C. Jupp, he has edited: A Sociology of Spirituality (). He is a former Chair of the British Sociological Association Sociology of Religion Study. Recently he completed essays on the implicit theology of Zygmunt Bauman and the prospects of a leap of faith from sociology into theology. Currently he is writing a book: Sociology at Prayer: Utterances in the Wilderness. Giuseppe Giordan, Ph.D. in Social Sciences (), Pontifical University of St. Thomas Aquinas (Rome), is Lecturer in Sociology at the University of Padua. He is Secretary of the Italian Sociological Association Section on the Sociology of Religion, and Book Review Editor of Religioni e Società. His main works include Valori e cambiamento sociale: definizioni operative e modello esplicativo [Values and Social Change: Working Definitions and Explanatory Models], Dall’uno al molteplice. Dispositivi di legittimazione nell’epoca del pluralismo [From One to Many: Systems of

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Legitimation in the Age of Pluralism], Identity and Pluralism: The Values of Postmodern Time, and the edited volumes, Tra religione e spiritualità: Il rapporto con il sacro nell’epoca del pluralismo [Between Religion and Spirituality: The Relationship with the Sacred in the Age of Pluralism] and Vocation and Social Context, volume  in the Religion and the Social Order series. His current interests are the interaction between religion and spirituality, and the relationship between youth and religion. Cornelis N. de Groot (Kees) is a Lecturer in Practical Theology at the Faculty of Catholic Theology of Tilburg University and has served as President for the Association for the Sociology of Religion in the Netherlands (–). Kees received master’s degrees in sociology from the University of Amsterdam and in theology from Tilburg University, and wrote a doctoral dissertation on psychotherapy and religion at Leiden University. He has published on church, religion and liquid modernity in several international journals, and recently co-authored a Dutch textbook in congregational studies. Eliana Martoglio holds a Master of Science in Social Anthropology from Delhi University and is now training as a psychotherapist, collaborating with the chair of Sociology of Cultural Processes at the Political Science Faculty of the University of Turin. She conducts research on new religious movements in Turin. Her publications include: Indemoniati: Indagine sulla possessione diabolica e l’esorcismo (). Patrick Michel is a Senior Research Fellow at the Centre National de la Recherche Scientifique and President of the Political Science and Sociology of Organizations Section of the Comité National de la Recherche Scientifique of France. In addition to his primary interest in Central Europe, his research focuses on the theoretical aspects of the relation between politics and religion. His published works include: Religion(s) et identité(s) en Europe: L’Épreuve du pluriel, co-edited with Antonela Capelle-Pogacean and Enzo Pace () and Politique et religion—La grande mutation (). Roberto Motta has a Ph.D. in Anthropology from New York’s Columbia University. He has done fieldwork on the Afro-Brazilian religions and also has a keen interest in social change and social thought. He has published in several languages and has worked in teaching and research in Brazil and abroad. He is at present a researcher of the Conselho Nacional de Pesquisas in Brazilia and of the Groupe de Sociologie des Religions et de la Laïcité in Paris.

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contributors

Enzo Pace, Professor of Sociology and Sociology of Religion at the Faculty of Political Sciences of the University of Padua, is the Director of Department of Sociology and of the Interdepartmental Center on Intercultural Studies of the University of Padua. He is also PastPresident of the International Society for the Sociology of Religion (ISSR) and a Directeur d’Études at the L’École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales in Paris. His recent books include Religion(s) et identité(s) en Europe: L’Épreuve du pluriel, co-edited with Antonela Capelle-Pogacean and Patrick Michel, and Raccontare Dio: La religione come comunicazione (both ). William H. Swatos, Jr., has served as Executive Officer of the Association for the Sociology of Religion since , prior to which he served for six years as editor of Sociology of Religion, the ASR’s official journal. He is also executive officer of the Religious Research Association, adjunct professor of sociology at Augustana College (Illinois), and senior fellow of the Center for Religious Inquiry Across the Disciplines at Baylor University, serving as managing editor of the Interdisciplinary Journal of Research on Religion. A doctoral alumnus of the University of Kentucky, Bill is author, co-author, editor, or co-editor of over twenty books including the Encyclopedia of Religion and Society (). His current research centers on pilgrimage religiosity, secularization and resacralization, reflected in his most recent book, On the Road to Being There: Pilgrimage and Tourism in Late Modernity, also published in the Religion and the Social Order series (). With Kevin Christiano and Peter Kivisto he has written the text Sociology of Religion: Contemporary Developments ( [nd edition]). Francesco Valerio Tommasi is a post-doctoral scholar in Philosophy of Religion at the University of Rome “La Sapienza,” and is Wissenschaftlicher Mitarbeiter at the Thomas-Institut of the University of Cologne. He is Editorial Assistant of Archivio di filosofia. His recent publications include Philosophia transcendentalis. La questione antepredicativa e l’analogia tra la Scolastica e Kant () and, with Andreas Speer, the critical edition of Edith Stein, Des hl. Thomas von Aquino: Untersuchungen über die Wahrheit—Quaestiones disputatae de veritate (). Sophie-Hélène Trigeaud is Assistant Professor sociology at the École des Hautes Études en Sciences Sociales in Paris. She completed her doctoral dissertation, Conversion, Education, Community: A Social-Anthropological Study of the Mormon (Latter-day Saints’) Practices and Beliefs Today

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from a Transnational Viewpoint, at the ÉHÉSS in June . In addition to her research on Mormons, she has worked more recently with William H. Swatos, Jr. and André Sleiman on Marian pilgrimage religiosity in France. Paul-André Turcotte is Professor of Social Science at the Institut Catholique de Paris. His books include L’éclatement d’un monde: Les Clercs de Saint-Vieateru et la revolution tranquille (), L’enseignement secondaire public des Frères educateurs, –: Utopia et modernité (), Intransigeance ou compromise: Sociologie et histoire du catholicisme actuel (), and co-editorship, with Anthony Blasi and Jean Duhaime, of Handbook of Early Christianity: Social Science Approaches ().

Religion and the Social Order Edited by William H. Swatos, Jr. ISSN 1610–5210 The series Religion and the Social Order was initiated by the Association for the Sociology of Religion in , under the General Editorship of David G. Bromley. In  an agreement between Brill and the ASR renewed the series. . State, Market, and Religions in Chinese Societies. . Edited by Fenggang Yang and Joseph B. Tamney ISBN 978 90 04 14597 9 . On the Road to Being There: Studies in Pilgrimage and Tourism in Late Modernity. . Edited by William H. Swatos, Jr. ISBN 978 90 04 15183 3 . American Sociology of Religion: Histories. . Edited by Anthony J. Blasi ISBN 978 90 04 16115 3 . Vocation and Social Context. . Edited by Giuseppe Giordan ISBN 978 90 04 16194 8 . North American Buddhists in Social Context. . Edited by Paul David Numrich ISBN 978 90 04 16826 8 . Religion and Diversity in Canada. . Edited by Lori G. Beaman and Peter Beyer ISBN 978 90 04 17015 5 . Conversion in the Age of Pluralism. . Edited by Giuseppe Giordan ISBN 978 90 04 17803 8