Professional Documents
Culture Documents
Janet Hoskins
‘We cannot know who we are, or become what we are, except by looking in a
material mirror, which is the historical world created by those who lived
before us. This world confronts us as material culture and continues to evolve
through us.’
Daniel Miller, Materiality (2005: 8).
Human sociality is formed within a complex field that includes both human
and nonhuman entities. The many scholars today who debate the issue of how,
why and whether we should extend the idea of sociality beyond the human do
so at the intersection of studies of material culture and studies of ‘human
culture’ (which is how anthropologists have conventionally defined them-
selves). On the one hand, perspectivism has argued that many peoples include
animals within their own social relations, and actor network theory includes
the agency of objects within the framework of theories of social causation. The
nonhuman entities that we engage with include things (concrete materials),
objects (materials which have already been fashioned by human intention into
something else) and invisible and intangible entities, which we may choose to
describe as spirits, gods or ghosts. Many of the objects that we choose to
engage with reflect back to us aspects of our own agency, and so they are in
some sense ‘mirrors’. Actual mirrors have also, of course, long been important
as tools for introspection, self-evaluation and self-transformation, and they
have often been used in ritual contexts to suggest invisible presences, new
perspectives and an unseen dimension.
I start with the mirror as a prototype for many other forms of technology, the
ancestor, if I might put it that way, of all more advanced forms of producing
flat images. By looking carefully at mirrors, in both everyday contexts and
more specialized ritual ones, we can move from there to some thoughts about
the newer electronic gadgets we can now play with. Both the oldest form of
reflective surfaces and the newer digital mirrors we manipulate share certain
characteristics that may shed light on the different uses we make of objects and
things/materials.
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attend to flows of materials. Since these flows are creative, creative practice
unfolds along a meshwork of interwoven lines. I agree with much of this, and
find his phenomenological perspective a fresh and useful one, but it seems to
me that we can focus too heavily on the liveliness of things, and therefore fail
to see that it is living persons who provide the life that is infused into materials
and turns them from things into objects.
My argument begins with some concrete objects – the mirrors, chairs and
paper dolls used in the Vietnamese spirit possession religion of Đao Mẫu (‘the
Way of the Mother Goddesses’). After situating them in the ritual _ context,
I consider how their use reflects certain ideas of the agency of both spirits and
objects. These theories are re-assessed using the perspectives of Ingold and
Miller, and these heritage-oriented objects are then compared to the more
individualizing electronic technologies of the iPod and the iPhone. Finally,
I suggest how notions of both things and objects are tied to an idea of agency
hidden within the material form.
Originating from a long tradition of trance dances performed for the ‘four
palace’ pantheon of the imperial family, the name Đao Mẫu first appeared in
the work of the eminent Vietnamese folklore scholar _Ngô Đức Thinh (2006),
and has been adopted by a number of more recent ethnographic studies _ (End-
res 2011; Fjelstad and Nguyen 2006; 2011; Norton 2008; Phuong 2009). Đao
Mẫu ceremonies begin by invoking the three great Mother Goddesses: the _
Mother of the heavens, in red; the Mother of the Earth, in gold; and the Mother
of the waters, in white. None of these goddesses actually ‘comes down to
work’. The spirit medium simply sways under the red veil, feeling their
powerful presence but not daring to speak or act as such a high-ranking
divinity. The spirits who ‘come down to work’ are members of an imperial
family, and they descend in rank order: first the members of the imperial Trần
dynasty, then other mandarins and generals, then the ladies of the court,
followed by princes, princesses from various ethnic groups and finally mis-
chievous children. These spirits come from Vietnamese history and commem-
orate the heroic resistance against the Chinese empire, alliances forged with
highland tribes, and the connections between courtly life and village healers.
Today, these rituals are performed both in the historic temples scattered
across the countryside of Vietnam and the modern cities of Hanoi and Ho Chi
Minh City, as well as in diasporic communities in San Jose and Orange
County, California (Hoskins 2013; 2014a; 2014b; 2015). The invisible con-
nections between the homeland and the hostland are given a material presence
in such objects as the mirrors, chairs and paper dolls used in these ceremonies.
They operate in material and immaterial worlds, as objects (in Gell’s sense,
where they can have agency) and as things (as defined by Ingold). By looking
at their various uses, we can try to understand how things are made by people,
and how things in turn also help to make people what they are.
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chair – a chair draped in red velvet which sat on the left side of the altar (to
the right as one looked at the altar) and was reserved for the most famous of
Vietnam’s military heroes, Tran Hung Dao, who defeated the Mongol
invaders and drove them out of his country in the twelfth century (Phuong
2009). This was also a very ordinary chair, but it was ritually set aside, so it
was very important that no one else could sit in it. I spent hours crouching
next to that chair, holding a video camera and making great efforts not to
touch it inadvertently or collapse into it as I made my digital recordings. The
value of the chair and the respect I showed for this great hero were indexed
by my not using the chair in the usual way and remembering the spirit person
for whom it was reserved.
The principle we see here is that it is not the object that is exceptional; it is
the way in which people treat the object and objectify its importance in relation
to a ritual frame. Without the altar behind it, the mirror is of no consequence.
Without the fact that this chair has been reserved for a great hero, it has no
distinguishing characteristics.
Each is a sort of screen onto which human intentionality is projected, in front
of an audience, and the participants in the ritual are spectators to this projection.
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At a particular moment, Tran Hung Dao was said to really sit in the
California backyard of this particular temple, and at another moment the
Mother Goddess was said to travel on her throne along the Perfume River, as
thousands of spectators thronged around her, on boats and along the river-
side, singing her praises and dancing with her in their bodies (Phuong 2009).
The throne carved for the goddess helps to produce her influence and to make
it visible. The regatta of almost a hundred boats culminating a three-day
ritual with the presentation of the goddess to her ‘home village’ in Hai Cat
mimes the ceremonies of imperial power and harnesses their power to
contemporary ends.
The gods were able to materialize because the chair served as a platform.
The spirit mediums themselves were able to see the transformation in their own
faces and bodies by looking into the mirror. These two objects became
‘platforms for the spirits’ and enabled the materialization of spiritual entities.
The revival of the popular cult of the Mother Goddess also marked an
important stage in the liberalization of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam.
The association of temples in central Vietnam that established this ritual in
the 1970s was reviving an imperial tradition in the context of civil war, as a
way to invest local struggles with a wider spiritual basis. For more than twenty
years, the goddess was not allowed to leave her dusty perch at the highest level
of a large temple boarded up and turned into a warehouse of discarded ritual
paraphernalia. In 1990, after the beginning of the Reformation period but
before Vietnam had fully ‘opened its doors’ to the rest of the world and the
market economy, a few older men and women had been allowed to come to
present gifts to the goddess on a modest scale. In 1998, permission was
received to start up the procession along the Perfume River, and by 2008 it
had grown to a huge, biannual festival with public dancing, spirit possession
and more than 5,000 participants.
The ‘return of the goddess of Hon Chen’ was part of a wider revival of
popular religion across Vietnam (Phuong 2006; 2009; Taylor 2007; Salemink
2015). It was encouraged more enthusiastically in northern Vietnam, where
authorities were reasonably certain that most participants had been ‘loyal’ to
the Hanoi government. They were more circumspect concerning the revival of
popular religious ceremonies in areas like Hue, which had been part of the
Saigon-based Republic of South Vietnam, and thus potentially allied with
‘reactionary forces’ and ‘dangerous superstitions’.
These objects – both the statues and the throne – were kept out of sight and
out of circulation for two decades because they were seen as powerful. Their
release and their participation in a public parade revealed the potency believed
to have been stored up during that period, which could now be extended to the
community of worshippers who crowded to see her at the festival and honour
her with their performances.
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Spirit mediums describe their own bodies as ‘seats for the spirits and the
heroes’ (ghế thần, ghế thánh) using a more sedate metaphor than the Vodou
idea of mediums as the ‘horse’ ridden during possession (Fjelstad and Nguyen
2011). But it links the idea of the spirit assuming a particular posture in the
world to the sense of the disciple kneeling to receive it.
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His discussion ends with the idea of the object as mirror: ‘Since our
technology is really just an extension of ourselves, we don’t have to have
contempt for its manipulability in the way we might with actual people. It’s
all one big endless loop. We like the mirror and the mirror likes us. To
friend a person is merely to include the person in our private hall of
flattering mirrors’.
While I understand his argument, I do not see any reason to join the many
writers who claim that by using technological devices we are necessarily
losing touch with our own feelings. Few people confuse the kinds of ‘friends’
one has on Facebook with important, long-term relationships, but Facebook
does make it easier to stay in touch with people who were once very important
to us but now live far away. I tend to agree with Miller, who has done an
ethnographic study of social networking in Trinidad and concluded that ‘the
single most important attribute of Facebook is not what is new about it, but the
degree to which it seems to help us to return to the kind of involvement in
social networks that we believe we have lost’ (Miller 2011: 217).
In a similar vein, Martin Lindstrom argued that ‘You Love your iPhone.
Literally’ (September 30, 2011) by citing research that toddlers handed Black-
berries immediately started swiping their fingers across the screens as if they
were iPhones (this seems a new way of promoting iPhones over Blackberries),
and that the sound of a ringing and vibrating iPhone activated audio and visual
cortices of the brains of sixteen subjects in the insular cortex associated with
love and compassion. From this evidence he argued that people have come to
embrace a new technology ‘that does everything but kiss us on the mouth’, and
‘the iPhone has become a best friend, partner, lifeline, companion and, yes,
even a Valentine. The man or woman we love most may be seated across from
us in a romantic Paris bistro, but his or her 8GB, 16GB or 32GB rival lies in
wait inside our pockets and purses.’
This presents an amusing portrait of the rivalry between man and machine,
but of course if there is no human being at least potentially interrupting that
romantic dinner with a call, the simple sound of the iPhone will not have the
same impact. This is why most of us would never give our cell phone numbers
to charities, philanthropic organizations or the various causes that we may
support but do not wish to be communicating with during a romantic dinner.
Marshall Sahlins argued some time ago that cultural innovations are always
‘indigenized’: People tend to use new commodities not so much to become
‘more like us’ (with ‘us’ meaning Euro-American industrial society), but to
become ‘more like themselves’ (Sahlins 2005). So DVDs of spirit possession
ceremonies are now sold widely in Vietnamese markets to promote the careers
of particularly entrepreneurial spirit mediums, and the scholars who support
the revitalization of Đao Mẫu have mounted an impressive website to make
this argument to a wider_ audience.
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