Professional Documents
Culture Documents
THAT fact that specific objects, food, and apparel are central features of religion is hardly
news. Mormons are famed for undergarments that are ascribed protective powers;
International Society for Krishna Consciousness (ISKCON) members adore statues of
Krishna; and Scientologists install replicas of Lafayette Ronald Hubbard’s office
(including a bust of the founding father) in each center around the world. Despite its
centrality, material dimensions of religion have often been overlooked.
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However, since the mid-1980s, the humanities and social sciences have undergone what
can be called a material turn—evident in the increasing number of publications,
conferences, and journals dedicated to the topic.1 This shift has also influenced the study
of religion, where it coincides with, and constitutes part of, the larger movement away
from belief-centered studies toward the lived religion of everyday life. Material
perspectives on religion have developed in an interdisciplinary way, through the efforts of
scholars of religion Colleen McDannell and Manuel A. Vásquez, anthropologist Webb
Keane, art historian and religious scholar David Morgan, social anthropologist Birgit
Meyer, and several others. What began as an interest in visual religious culture—evident
in the early work of McDannell (1995) and Morgan (1998)—has developed into a broad
field of research. Theoretically, inspiration comes from performance theory, the
embodiment phenomenology of Maurice Merleau-Ponty, feminist and postcolonial
critique, the work of Michel Foucault, and the postfunctionalist anthropology of Pierre
Bourdieu and Bruno Latour. Although scholars of materiality differ in terms of
terminology and orientation, they have gathered around the twofold task of critically
examining previous approaches to religion and materiality and of outlining new ones.2
By addressing religious materiality, scholars have been able to shed new light
(p. 381)
upon the dynamics in different religious traditions. However, material perspectives have
not yet gained a firm foothold in the study of New Religious Movements (NRMs), even
though Jeremy Biles’ (2010) work on spiritualism and UFO religiosity, Åsa Trulsson’s
(2010) research on female Neo-Pagans, and Dorien Zandbergen’s (2010) study of “New
Edge” spirituality in Silicon Valley indicate that they have a lot to contribute. This chapter
introduces material theory, hoping to inspire NRM scholars to integrate them into their
research. Obviously, it is impossible to provide a complete overview of the many ongoing
debates, and this is not the purpose of the chapter either. Rather, the aim is to present
central critical points and lines of thought and to introduce four analytical perspectives
from which NRMs can be studied. For reasons of space, I have been forced to leave
discussions of apparel aside. For those interested in the subject, I recommend Anna-
Karina Hermkens’ “Clothing as an Embodied Experience of Belief” (2010) and the first
chapter of Daniel Miller’s Stuff (2010). To illustrate the practical use of material theory,
an example is provided from my own research on Neo-Pentecostalism. The chapter closes
with a discussion of how material studies may further the study of NRMs.
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2011, pp. 21–28). As pointed out by Meyer (2012, pp. 8–14) and Keane (2007, pp. 13–16,
51–58), Platonic idealism has been furthered not only by Protestantism but also by
Enlightenment narratives of progress, in which the new, rational individual was to reach
emancipation by breaking free from superstitious notions that religious artifacts could
affect him or her in any way. As Keane (2007, pp. 51–58) notes, this narrative is
underlined by a strong, renewed dichotomization between active human subjects (the
sole possessors of agency) on the one hand, and passive objects on the other.
In the nineteenth century, when new academic disciplines took an interest in religion,
they were strongly influenced by this legacy. As a result, scholars either equated religion
with belief or put forward degrading interpretations of religious materiality—most often
of non-Western religions in the colonies. Meyer and Houtman (2012, pp. 9–10) note the
explicit idealism in Edward B. Tylor’s famed definition of religion as “belief in spiritual
beings” but emphasize that it is also inherent in Max Weber’s evolutionary theory, in
which religions become increasingly immaterialized (belief centered) as they develop—
with Western Protestantism at the top and “heathen fetishism” and (p. 382) “animism” at
the bottom. Vásquez (2011, pp. 6, 221–225) notes similar tendencies in Émile Durkheim’s
theories and in structuralist anthropology, where objects (and practice) were seen as
expressions of underlying immaterial culture and symbolic systems respectively. Critical
theory has also been burdened by this tradition. Meyer (2012, pp. 16–23; cf. Miller 2011,
pp. 60–61), scrutinizing the work of Karl Marx and Sigmund Freud, proposes that their
theories of commodity fetishism and sexual fetishism draw on Enlightenment
emancipation ideas, where liberty can be reached through breaking pathological
dependence on objects. While Marx sees the condition as a symptom of alienation that
can be solved by changing the social order, Freud understands it in terms of individual
neurosis that demands therapy.
Agreeing that these provincial biases have prevented us from seeing how matter is
intrinsic to all religion (Protestantism included), new materiality scholars wish to move
beyond them. Drawing on studies from different times and places, they emphasize that
not only is it normal to have relationships with objects, but they are central in turning us
into who we are (Keane 2008, p. 124; McDannell 1995, p. 4; Meyer 2012, p. 23).
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Second, the outer world is no tabula rasa upon which we write—nonhuman matter has
agency, meaning that objects may affect our behavior, emotions, and motives. Vásquez
(2011, p. 154) stresses the ability of the climate to affect us beyond our control, although
most material scholars are mainly concerned with relationships between humans and
human-produced things, and the latter’s ability to transform us (see Meyer 2012, p. 21;
Morgan 2010b, pp. 70–73). Discussing its ability to do so, social anthropologist Daniel
Miller suggest that its efficiency lies in the fact that “stuff” so easily becomes naturalized
and “fades from view.”
Miller (2010, pp. 59–63; cf. Morgan 2010b, pp. 71–72) does not deal exclusively with
religion but has developed a model of this relationship, which can be useful to think with
when dealing with religious materiality. Miller (2010, pp. 61–63, 155), who draws
inspiration from Hegel and Marx—albeit discarding the idealism of the former and the
pathologizing tendencies of the latter—understands people and “stuff” as involved
(p. 383) in as a dialectical process. While people produce objects, they in turn gain a
certain autonomy and affect how we act and imagine ourselves, a process he refers to as
objectification. Miller exemplifies his reasoning with car production; having created cars,
the car industry has changed our patterns of mobility and created new visions of who we
are. Calling attention to power, he notes the ambitious effects of objectification: While it
can be positive, enhancing our ability to experience and understand, it can also oppress
us, and not everyone can equally enjoy new material benefits.
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religion “happens materially”—that is, how practitioners render the “beyond” tangible
and present in the world; how physical sensations of otherworldly presence are produced;
and the results for those who participate. Meyer (2012, pp. 22–26) has elaborated further
on the topic and refers to this as the study of “the genesis of presence,” a complex world-
making process that involves sensing and acting humans who engage with different
materials, which become mediators of the otherworldly. She emphasizes that any object,
including the human body, can become a mediator through which the distance between
the everyday and “what lies beyond” can be bridged. Bringing power issues to the fore,
Meyer calls us to pay attention to how specific mediators are authorized, how these
processes of sacralization are controlled, and how they transform social relationships.
Looking at religion from this angle implies asking, for instance, “[t]hrough which acts
does a sculpture, a building or any other object become a harbinger of spiritual power?
Which concrete steps are involved in the process of sacralization? How is the human body
involved and addressed; which sensorial registers are invoked?” (Meyer 2012, p. 22).
Methodologically, it involves posing “very concrete empirical questions about the specific
practices, materials and forms employed in generating a sense of something divine,
ghostly, sublime or transcendent” (Meyer 2012, p. 22).
Meyer (2012, pp. 22–31) has also coined the concept “sensational forms,” which can be
helpful in studies of material religion. She underlines that traditions have fixed, socially
shared and transmitted structures for generating experiences of the beyond—sensational
forms—that streamline material mediation in those traditions. Sensational forms often
include specific utterances, practices involving objects, musical expressions, and
techniques of the body. Catholics, for instance, bring bottles of water to Mass to be
ritually “charged.” In other settings, such as in spirit possession and in Pentecostal
groups, the human body can be configured into a religious medium. According to Meyer,
sensational forms are simultaneously scripts (written or memorized) and (p. 384)
performances. By taking part in them, practitioners learn (often gendered) bodily
techniques for turning their attention from certain stimuli and develop sensibility toward
others, which shapes their sensorium and leads to various emotional modes. However, not
only emotions are affected; physical experiences generate belief, in that the evoked
emotions authenticate the religious mediation. Meyer (2012, pp. 28–29) suggests that “by
generating bodily sensations, over and over again, within structures of repetition,
religious worlds are invested with truth and reality.”
Material Socialization
If Meyer’s discussion invites scholars to study material mediation, Morgan and
McDannell point in another direction: toward studies of religious training, or
socialization. Outlining an approach for the study of material religion, Morgan (2010a, pp.
3–7; cf. Meyer 2012) underlines that practitioners’ accounts for belief should be
understood as symbolic utterances that constitute the tip of the iceberg of a long training
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process. This process involves learning specific ways to interact with specific objects and
adoption of physical habits, which result in physical sensations that practitioners learn to
comprehend as interaction with the divine. Morgan also provides examples of how
religious training can be studied, proposing that researchers look into what parents teach
their children, how they learn embodied routines such as praying, singing, touching, and
venerating religious objects. In her groundbreaking Material Christianity (1995),
McDannell highlights other ways in which religious training, contemporary and historical,
can be studied. The volume focuses on how American Protestantism has been handed
down in everyday life through doing, seeing, and touching. Using nineteenth- and
twentieth-century photographs of people’s homes, Christian medals, pictures of Jesus,
apparel, embroidered samplers with pious sayings, written texts, and interviews with
contemporary practitioners, McDannell illustrates how Protestants have learned central
habits (such as prayer) and narratives by surrounding themselves with, and learning to
interact with, religious objects. The perspectives of Morgan and McDannell, especially
given their focus on the everyday, are useful for those interested in the cultivation of
religious identities. Yet both are rather visually oriented, and studies of religious
socialization would benefit from including how people learn to structure relations with
the perceived divine through taste, hearing, smell, and touch.
Objects in Circulation
Thus far, religious identities and traditions have been portrayed as rather stable entities.
This is, of course, far from the case. As McDannell (1995, pp. 33–34) has pointed out,
objects may circulate between traditions, with Protestants adopting Catholic (p. 385)
pictures and giving them new meaning. Another way of studying religious materiality is to
make the flow of objects the main concern. The approach developed by Vásquez (2011,
pp. 295–310), which includes global and economic perspectives, offers a fruitful way of
addressing the topic. Vásquez has taken interest in connections between local
communities and global networks in which people and objects circulate, suggesting that
we approach material practices as “global commodity-chains.” Noting that mobility is
neither random not free, he recommends that we pay attention not only to what is flowing
in today’s networks (relics, texts, bodies, money, gifts, or other objects) but also in which
directions these flows go, how mobility is restricted and regulated, who the key actors
within the networks are, who sanctions religious goods, and whether others can be
denied access to them. Applying Vásquez’ perspectives, one may consider the process
where objects are manufactured (where, by whom, and on what scale), distributed (given
or sold and to whom), consumed, and introduced into practice. Looking at the
“consumption end” of the process, one can also look into the circulation of objects
between traditions, as McDannell (1995, pp. 33–34) has done.
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Dallam (2014, pp. xviii–xxviii) also outlines four highly useful ways in which foodways can
be studied. She refers to the first as the study of “theological foodways”—that is, how
divine mandates regulate consumption of food and drink and how eating is used as a
method for spiritual results, taking various forms of vegetarianism as examples. The
second, “identity foodways,” implies studying how the preparation and consumption of
food serve as methods for identification with religious traditions. The third, “negotiated
foodways,” concerns how people in everyday life relate to and negotiate with official
edicts, engaging in acts of invention and resistance. The forth, “activist foodways,”
involves studying people’s attempts to change the word—battling injustice and
exploitation of people and nature—by following what they consider divinely ordained
foodways.
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by the same Spirit.” These ideas popped up frequently, both during sermons and in
informal conversations. Furthermore, members testified that they experienced God’s
presence as they interacted with each other, surprisingly often during informal activities
such as eating together. One such occasion is church coffee.
Over the last twenty years, church coffee has gained a more significant role in some Neo-
Pentecostal circles. In fact, New Life Church is one of a handful Stockholm congregations
where consuming coffee has been relocated from after the service and repositioned
between the initial worship and the subsequent sermon. This makes participation
mandatory and can be seen as a way of introducing relationship building into the service.
This change has been paralleled by alterations in the furnishings; instead of the
traditional rows, participants are seated at small coffee tables in groups of six or eight.
Asking New Life Church staff about these changes, I was informed that they were
biblically inspired and that they sought to replicate the actions of the first Christians,
although in “modern form.” Elaborating on the topic, a male leader explained that the
congregation’s multicultural makeup and the emphasis on close relations were both parts
of this original Christianity. Turning to coffee explicitly, he stressed that “informal
handing and chatting while sharing a meal” had been a central feature of their religiosity.
On a regular Sunday, practitioners would gather in the foyer, where they would extend
hugs, chat, and subsequently enter the main hall where the service took place. Once
inside, they were seated face to face at the small tables, where baskets with cinnamon
rolls and plastic cups had been distributed. After the opening worship, one of the pastors
would announce that it was time for coffee, calling visitors to seize the opportunity to
“have fellowship around the tables” and to get to know new people. In response, those
present quickly turned their attention to their “table comrades.” The baskets containing
cinnamon rolls were circulated and thermoses with coffee and tea brought to the tables.
As the practitioners served each other coffee, the smell of coffee filled the room. Soon
everyone was engaged in eating and making small talk with (p. 387) their neighbors,
sharing issues from their everyday lives, making new acquaintances, and making plans
for the upcoming week. After some minutes, some got on their feet, saying hello to people
at the neighboring tables. In terms of their physical appearance, the participants’ mixed
ethnic backgrounds were clearly visible. Moreover, upon interacting with each other, they
engaged in extensive eye-to-eye contact and looked extraordinarily happy—displaying
really broad smiles. Church coffee lasted about a quarter of an hour and was interrupted
from the stage at the front. After service, many described how they had felt God’s
presence during the various activities and that it had made them “grow in faith.”
Regarding coffee, such experiences were described in terms of feeling of warmth and joy,
sometimes interpreted as the touch of the Holy Spirit. Remarkably often, such accounts
were directly connected to seeing and hearing people from different parts of the world
socialize—an uncommon sight in segregated Stockholm. Many congregants in fact saw
direct links between divine encounters and interaction between smiling people from
different parts of the world. A woman with a West African background, for instance,
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explained that she rejoiced seeing that “all the different people were inhabited by the
same spirit” and how “God really is at work here.” In a similar vein, a man from a
Swedish background expressed that he had seen “the joy of God” shining through the
faces of his friends.
We should also bear in mind Meyer’s claim that material mediation is interwoven with
power relations, and that participants may either conform to, or resist, dominant forms of
mediation and their authorization. Quite obviously, having coffee contributed to the
establishment of hierarchies. Actually, I saw several examples of how happy and socially
skilled congregants were given formal or informal status, and in a few cases they were
(p. 388) explicitly depicted as “being really close to God.” The opposite also happened,
with those who were more introverted or tired looking being asked if there was
something wrong with their spiritual lives. In both cases, these interpretations drew on
an analogy between one’s relationship with God and with other people. Consequently,
happy socializing was seen as an indicator that one’s relationship with God was good,
while the opposite was seen as a sign that something was wrong in their relationship with
God. From the viewpoint of material mediation, those falling into the latter category can
be said to have failed to transform their bodies into acceptable (smiling and socializing)
material mediators.
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mediator. Interestingly, many such visitors had Pentecostal backgrounds and hence no
problems with the congregation’s socially conservative theology. Yet, they would find the
routines surrounding coffee “too head on” or “artificial” rather than divinely inspired, and
did not return.
Church coffee also invites analysis from foodway perspectives, especially the variety
Dallam refers to as identity foodways. To carry out such an analysis, we must look beyond
the coffee drinking and scrutinize how the foodstuff is sanctioned, acquired, prepared,
and consumed, and how those steps contribute to the formation of community, identity,
and relations with the divine. Having dealt with the last stages already (consumption and
identity making), attention is now turned to preparations.
It is hardly surprising that neither coffee nor cinnamon rolls are understood as
specifically ordained by God; as illustrated, it is the sharing of a meal. Rather, the choice
of foodstuff is influenced by eating patterns in the mainstream culture, with coffee and
cinnamon rolls being standard components of Swedish fika culture. Turning to
arrangements, coffee is prepared by one of the many house groups3 according to a
rotating schedule, which makes organizing coffee a responsibility of all congregants.
Cinnamon rolls are not made by the house group members but bought from a nearby
wholesaler, meaning that the arrangements do not start in the practitioners’ homes, but
in church, or, if one “follows the food,” in a local bakery or factory. Gathering in church
prior to the service, house group members handle the practicalities, which includes
cooking liters of coffee and pouring it into the many thermoses, putting sugar cubes and
jugs of milk on the table, arranging cinnamon rolls in the baskets, and placing them and
plastic cups on the tables. Both men and women are equally committed to these chores,
and as far as I could discern, neither of the tasks were gendered. Organizing coffee
naturally implies informal socializing with other house group members, as they gather
around the common task. It also includes ritualized activity such as collective prayer for
the service, which often includes wishes that newcomers should feel welcome, that God
will manifest, and that he bless the food (no one says grace prior to drinking coffee). For
house group members, arrangements also include bringing coffee to the tables at the
right moment and removing empty baskets and thermoses after service. It is possible to
see how these preparations both build community and structure (p. 389) the
practitioners’ relations with the divine. In fact, food arrangements in church were often
described as a way of serving God, which made it different from preparing and eating
food in other contexts. Speaking with members of the organizing house groups, they
stressed that they took pride in the task and that they saw their work as God’s work
materialized in the world. Consequently, neglecting this chore would sometimes result in
bad conscience and feelings of having failed to commit to God.
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Since the establishment of NRMs as a field of research, scholars have done tremendous
work mapping and theorizing new religions. As hinted in the introduction, I believe that
material perspectives have a lot to offer for the future study of NRMs. First, they enable
us to rethink religion and identify new areas of interest; second, they can bring new
insights into ongoing theoretical discussions. Particularly Meyer’s discussion of
sensational forms and Vásquez’ (2011) commodity-chain approach make productive ways
of reapproaching new religions. They could, for instance, be used for analyzing
production of, and practices involving, neo-shaman drums, the E-meter of the
Scientologists, and popular Spiritualist objects like the Ouija board.
Issues like conversion, relations to mainstream society, and internal transformations have
received a lot of attention in the study of NRMs, and two of the discussions accounted for
above seem particularly promising for shedding new light upon these topics: material
socialization and foodways. Many NRM members are converts, meaning that they have
had to undertake religious training as adults. Although scholars of materiality mainly
have dealt with childhood socialization, I consider Morgan’s take on identity (understood
as socially shared material and embodied habits) formation helpful for analyzing
conversion. Taking material habits as a point of departure, scholars may consider how
such habits are transformed in the process of conversion, looking at both rupture and
continuity in relation to the convert’s past life. Two options would be to analyze
alterations of eating/drinking habits, and how practitioners learn to physically relate to
central objects (for instance, correctly bowing in front of a statue) and how interacting
with them informs emotions and belief. Although not addressed here, conversion studies
could also focus on the role adoption of specific apparel plays, in terms of making
converts identifiable and shaping their physical mobility. A place that has been paid
relatively little attention in NRM studies is the home (except for members living in
collectives), and I believe that focusing on alterations in the home may provide further
insights into conversion. In concrete terms, this would include focusing on how pictures
of key figures, home shrines, and decorations are introduced; how these are used in ritual
practice and as everyday reminders; and how such readjustments are perceived by
possible co-habitants. Finally, material perspectives may bring insights into why people
leave NRMs—if for instance eating restrictions and/or wearing specific apparel becomes
too much of a burden—and how leaving happens (p. 390) materially. Does parting from a
particular organization necessarily go hand in hand with changed material and embodied
habits?
Many NRMs advocate specific eating and drinking habits, and approaching them as
foodways might bring insights into their internal dynamics and their relations with
surrounding society. One alternative is to study how local groups relate to the (often
international) official regulations of the mother organization, and to indigenous food
trends and national legislation. Legislation is interesting in this respect, and, obviously,
laws regulating the activities of religious bodies and food production can both cause
tensions between NRMs and surrounding society and provide the former with
opportunities. In Sweden, a conflict arose between ISKCON and local authorities at the
turn of the millennia. The background of the quarrel was that the organization kept cows
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at their collective farm to obtain milk (they have had to buy additional milk) but refused
to slaughter old and sick cows, which is a legal obligation. However, jurisdiction has also
made it possible for the organization to sustain itself economically and enabled positive
contacts with outsiders. For many years now, the movement has run vegetarian
restaurants, drawing on the popularity of vegetarianism and Indian cuisine in Sweden.
Moreover, having status as a religious organization, ISKCON restaurants are not
burdened by taxation.
Material perspectives can also be used for analyzing transformations within NRMs. One
may, for instance, examine how dress codes and religious objects change over time.
Another possibility is to look at how they (re)construct and relate to their history
materially, both with regard to distant “imagined history” and to its founding mothers and
fathers. The way Scientologists construct replicas of Hubbard’s office in their centers,
which was mentioned in the introduction, can be seen as an expression of material
history, where the founder and his heritage are presented in a rather intellectual manner,
in the shape of an office. From material perspectives, change is naturally material as well,
and studying it may include focusing on alterations of how founders and other key figures
are materialized and addressed. Writing this chapter, a colleague and friend informed me
that Scientologists in the United States have started to collectively turn toward the bust
of Hubbard and clap their hands—a ritual address that indicates that the founder is given
a new, even more prominent status. This phenomenon, and similar ones in other NRMs,
would certainly make fascinating case studies of history and identity construction.
In conclusion, scholars of NRMs have a lot to benefit from including material perspectives
on religion. Whether one is interested in midwar Spiritualism, contemporary Neo-
Pentecostalism, abductee spirituality, or anything else, there are, as Miller (2010, p. 3)
would say, “good many reasons why you should give a stuff about stuff.”
References
Biles, Jeremy. 2010. “Out of This World: The Materiality of the Beyond.” In David Morgan,
ed. Religion and Material Culture: The Matter of Belief. London: Routledge, pp. 135–152.
Houtman, Dick, and Birgit Meyer. 2012. “Introduction: Material Religion—How Things
Matter.” In Dick Houtman and Birgit Meyer, eds. Things: Religion and the Question of
Materiality. New York: Fordham University Press, pp. 1–23.
Keane, Webb. 2007. Christian Moderns: Freedom and Fetish in the Missionary Encounter.
Berkeley: University of California Press.
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McDannell, Colleen. 1995. Material Christianity: Religion and Popular Culture in America.
New Haven, CT: Yale University Press.
Meyer, Birgit. 2012. “Mediation and the Genesis of Presence: Towards a Material
Approach to Religion.” Universiteit Utrecht, Faculteit geesteswetenschappen.
Moberg, Jessica. 2013. Piety, Intimacy and Mobility: A Case Study of Charismatic
Christianity in Present-day Stockholm. Gothenburg: Gothenburg University.
Morgan, David. 1998. Visual Piety: A History and Theory of Popular Religious Images.
Berkeley: University of California Press.
Morgan, David. 2010a. “Introduction.” In David Morgan, ed. Religion and Material
Culture: The Matter of Belief. London: Routledge, pp. 1–17.
Morgan, David. 2010b. “Materiality, Social Analysis, and the Study of Religions.” In David
Morgan, ed. Religion and Material Culture: The Matter of Belief. London: Routledge, pp.
55–74.
Trulsson, Åsa. 2010. Cultivating the Sacred: Ritual Creativity and Practice among Women
in Contemporary Europe. Lund: Department of History and Anthropology of Religions.
Vásquez, Manuel A. 2011. More than Belief: A Materialist Theory of Religion. New York:
Oxford University Press.
Zandbergen, Dorien. 2012. “Fulfilling the Sacred Potential of Technology: New Edge
Technophilia, Consumerism, and Spirituality in Silicon Valley.” In Dick Houtman and
Birgit Meyer, eds. Things: Religion and the Question of Materiality. New York: Fordham
University Press, pp. 356–378.
Notes:
(1.) See Material Culture (since 1996) and Material Religion (since 2005).
(2.) I refer readers interested in the former to the work of Vásquez (2011) and Meyer
(2012).
(3.) The congregation is divided into house groups with approximately eight to fourteen
members, who gather weekly in the home of one or another member.
Jessica Moberg
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Oxford Handbooks Online for personal use (for details see Privacy Policy and Legal Notice).