Abstract
Awareness of how researchers’ locations and sympathies influence their research agendas and outcomes has long been a topic for methodological consideration. This article complicates that question by considering the position of the researcher in relation to the position in society of the religions researched, and asks whether what we understand as constituting criticism or advocacy varies depending on whether the religions in question are powerful, dominating traditions or small, new, and/or beleaguered traditions. The Locations Matrix is an application of the insights of standpoint analysis to the question of critical research in the sociology of religion. Researchers’ own locations—as an insider, an outsider, an apostate and/or an advocate—have consequences for the questions they ask, and to whom they address them, as well as how they interpret the data they collect. This article pushes scholars of religion to reflect on the significance of their own location in relation to the location of the religion they study.
Do researchers who study religion consciously or subconsciously uncritically support the institutions they study? There are many ways to approach this question. Do widely used theories and methodologies end up implicitly supporting the subjects under study? How does the rhetoric of one’s discipline constrain the ways that we write our results, limiting critical commentary? Much research in the sociology of religion starts from the neopositivist assumption that the researcher’s objectivity is essential to producing valid, value-neutral research, and that objectivity is produced through methodologies that reduce or even eliminate bias. Yet this is not the only position. Critical research traditions assume that all research is vested in human interests—economic and political, and the goal of research is to interrogate these interests to produce greater equality. Interpretivist traditions emphasize empathy as a research tool in order to understand and present the point of view of the subjects. In some cases these researchers move from empathy as a research tool for deeper understanding to becoming advocates for their subjects. This article poses questions about the relationship between the researcher and researched with reference to each one’s location in a social field. Awareness of how researchers’ locations and sympathies influence their research agendas and outcomes has long been a topic for methodological consideration. This article complicates that question by considering the position of the researcher in relation to the position of the researched and asks whether what we understand as constituting criticism or advocacy varies depending on whether the religions in question are powerful, dominating traditions or small, new, and/or beleaguered traditions.
The following three examples suggest a range of concerns regarding the stance of researchers who study religion toward their topic. The framing of the question reflects differences in the authors’ topics and locations. In the introduction to his book, One True God, Rodney Stark (2003) argues that western theorists of modernity in the late nineteenth and twentieth century presented secular stances as the unbiased ones relative to religious research topics, in contrast to the work of adherents, whose writings they viewed as obviously biased. Stark contends, however, that secular writers are also biased and argues that the objective stance would be an agnostic one. Stark confronts the lack of empathy in the writers who implicitly advocate secularization and suggests that even understanding the human side of religious experience requires a sympathetic understanding of believers’ experiences (2001: 4−6).
Cadge et al. include a call for more critical research in their 2011 article. Following Smilde and Mays’ (2010) findings that between the 1970s and the 1990s positive portrayals of religion in journal publications increased, they argue that research in that period was an important counter to negative portrayals of religion as “the opiate of the masses” and predictions of religions’ decline. Now, however, they ask “in what some would call a post-secular world, in which there is less debate that religion remains a vital social force, does it still make sense to see it as generally positive?” (Cadge et al., 2011: 442).
In his African Pentecostalism (2008), Ogbu Kalu writes as a Pentecostal and an African. He finds the western scholarly voice distorting, in part because it discounts the agency of indigenous actors. Moreover, according to Kalu, western scholars emphasize Pentecostalism as a social phenomenon over understanding it as a religious phenomenon.
Stark argues that there is a secular, anti-religion bias in theory; Cadge et al. argue that Christian (Protestant) assumptions are so taken for granted that researchers are not even aware of them, which is one reason why research ends up supporting established religion; Kalu wants space to recover an indigenous African voice. When these scholars assess the field, they do so from their own research standpoints, reading different bodies of work, and from different locations; so, their assessments vary accordingly.
As many have pointed out, there is no place an observer can stand that is outside of the research process (Smith, 2005: 28−29). Feminist standpoint theories paralleled Marxist historical materialist analysis, which claimed that under capitalism, workers occupied a position of epistemic privilege. Feminist standpoint theorists initially argued that women as a group could achieve consciousness of their position, and a privileged understanding of the oppression of women (Hartsock, 1983). Subsequent writers challenged the universalizing of the category women, and offered deconstructionist (Haraway, 1988) and intersectional (Hill Collins, 2000) approaches to thinking about how locations of subjects and researchers matter for what gets studied and the understandings researchers produce. Current standpoint epistemologies (Neitz, 2011; Sprague, 2005) offer an epistemology that shows how our processes of knowledge production lead to knowledge that is always located and partial. The Locations Matrix is an application of the insights of standpoint analysis to the question of critical research in the sociology of religion. Researchers’ own locations—as an insider, an outsider, an apostate and/or an advocate—have consequences for the questions they ask, and to whom they address them, as well as how they interpret the data they collect. This article pushes further to ask scholars of religion to reflect on the significance of their own location in relation to whether the religion they study is marginal or dominant in the society.
Locations Matrix
I offer the Locations Matrix as a tool for thinking about the locatedness of subjects and scholars. In actuality it is not so easy to identify locations. Researchers have complex identities and may find themselves “inside” on some dimensions and “outside” on others. Similarly the line between “mainstream” religions and marginal ones (“sects and cults”) is also one that can shift over time: there are many examples of sects that become mainstream denominations (Finke and Stark, 2005). These categories are contextual; what is a sect in one society or even region can be the dominant religion in another. What is significant for researchers who study religion, however, is that in any given society, all religion is not equal and researchers do their work positioned in relation to their subject and to the society.
Locations Matrix.
When I hear the claim that researchers who study religion fail to be critical (enough?) of the groups they study, it is group A that comes to my mind. For most of my career as a sociologist of religion in the US, it has meant researchers with some kind of mainstream Protestant background who also study mainstream Protestants without any indication of their own background. What is significant about this group is that researchers’ backgrounds are “unmarked.” As part of the dominant Protestant religious culture, they can (and often do) take for granted their own religious identity without questioning whether it may constitute a bias. Natives studying their own groups have been viewed as unable to conduct unbiased research; however, that accusation has rarely been made for those in Cell A. The boundaries of what constitutes the “dominant religious culture” can change, of course: in looking at the US today, we can debate whether Evangelical Protestants, Catholics, and Mormons are now part of it. The core, however, through most of the twentieth century was mainstream (white) Protestantism (Long, 2008). It may be that the pervasive influence of the culture of this dominant group has also allowed researchers in Cell C to slip in under the radar as well, so long as they do not call attention to the space between themselves and those they study by being outspokenly critical. In what follows I will explicate these four categories further.
Further complications are possible if we were to consider disciplinary location as well. Sociologists, anthropologists and historians of religion have elaborated the methodological issues differently, in part because of different locations in this schema. Until recently anthropologists were always outsiders. The groups they studied may have been the dominant culture in the societies that they observed, but they were quite foreign to the anthropologists. The discipline had a stake in maintaining the anthropologists’ commitments both to anthropology itself and to their own cultures. Going native was abandoning science, but it was also abandoning western culture—an act of disloyalty on two fronts. Natives could be informants, but not anthropologists. 1 In the nineteenth century, historians of religion, on the other hand, were embedded in European Christianity—including funding of scholars by denominations. Their explorations of other religions originated in a project of proving the uniqueness and superiority of Christianity. By the end of the nineteenth century the older philological arguments that had dominated research in the field were crumbling, and some religious studies scholars were moving toward a pluralistic view of world religions. Many celebrate the 1893 World Parliament of Religions at the Columbian Exposition in Chicago for marking an opening toward a new religious pluralism, despite the fact that Protestantism was overrepresented at the World Parliament (Masuzawa, 2005: 266−267). Some contend that this new ecumenical pluralism (coming out of the American context) was in fact a way to promote religion against irreligion, and of course, celebrating the denominational configuration of the United States.
As Masuzawa (2005) points out, the logic of the pluralist stance completely failed to deal with competing claims of two (or more) universalistic religions. She asks how two world religions seek to accommodate each other. “An answer might be through a mutual respect—even sympathy—that takes the form of a complete and willful disregard for the other side’s exclusivist claim for totality and universality” (Masuzawa, 2005: 288), while in both anthropology and history of religions scholars were critical of the religions they studied—they found them inferior to Christianity. That kind of criticism became unacceptable in many academic settings, although many forms of exoticizing and othering outsiders’ traditions persisted. These disciplinary issues, however, are outside the scope of this article.
Researchers in relation to subjects: Culturally dominant religions
Cell A: Dominant religions studied by adherents
It is likely that most work conducted by sociologists of religion in the United States belongs in this cell. Research on American Protestantism dominates the field. Not only does much research focus on American Protestantism, but studies that look at “religion” in general often end up looking only at dominant religions. This is especially true for quantitative research that uses survey instruments because minority traditions may not show up in sufficient numbers to be included in the analysis.
The research on dominant religions shapes the questions that are asked, even when studies focus on other religious traditions. It is likely that most of the researchers doing this work are themselves members of dominant religious traditions, although they do not usually identify as such in writing up their work. It is interesting that the idea of natives researching their own culture has been suspect, yet researchers from the dominant group studying their own group are unremarkable and unmarked.
David Smilde and Matthew May reviewed the past 30 years of publications in the sociology of religion in five journals: American Journal of Sociology, American Sociological Review and Social Forces as well as Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion and Sociology of Religion (Smilde and May, 2010). They document an emerging “strong program” in the published articles where religion is increasingly studied as an independent variable. They found that research that looks at religion as an independent variable is also more likely to contain socio-evaluative components, particularly positive evaluations (Smilde and May, 2010: 23).
Building on a tradition with its roots in Durkheim and de Tocqueville, scores of studies have found that “religion” is beneficial for the individuals, families, neighborhoods, congregations, and/or the society as a whole. A recent example, based on large national surveys, is Robert Putnam et al. (2010)’s well-received American Grace. The researchers investigate the paradox of high rates of religious devotion and diversity coupled with a relative absence of religious conflict. They celebrate this American exceptionalism, and go on to show how participation in organized religious activities promotes social engagement. While the reader is overwhelmed with empirical “facts,” the research is deeply embedded in the Christian (Protestant) values that pervade American life and culture. This supports the argument of Cadge et al. that “Protestant Christian templates profoundly shape religious and secular organization and practice, the role of religion in public life, and research about it” (Cadge et al., 2011: 439). Definitions of what constitutes religion and pluralism are based in the experience of the dominant group.
Cell C: Dominant culture studied by non-adherents
This cell is part of the matrix, but in practice it is problematic. First, people who study dominant religions do not necessarily identify their own religious background, so we may not be able to separate research in this cell from research in cell A. Second, what does it mean to be a non-adherent? Anecdotal evidence suggests that many sociologists of religion grew up in an established, culturally sanctioned religious tradition, although they may not practice as adults. No doubt there is wide variation in the extent to which such people consider themselves outsiders or would be considered outsiders by their readers. It seems likely that this group is smaller than Cell A, simply because people who actually study religion tend to be those who believe it is important.
Those who truly believe religion is the opiate of the people may be busy studying things they think are more important—such as corporate capitalism or new media. Most do not spend a lot of time looking at religion. People who have no emotional connection (positive, negative or even ambivalent) to religion may also be less likely to have an intellectual connection. It particularly does not seem likely that there is a body of critical work produced by people in this cell. Commenting on Durkheim, an atheist who “provided the classic articulation of pro-religiousness”, Smilde and May point out that there is no one-to-one correspondence between positive evaluations of religion and a scholar’s own religious identity (Smilde and May, 2010: 6). 2 Perhaps the significant factor is that disciplinary practices, including the methodological and rhetorical ones discussed below, provide a set of taken for granted assumptions about the utility of the dominant religion. These assumptions are so strong that many researchers who work within them will posit positive evaluations, without examining their own standpoints. It may be also be the case that there is a tradition of critique or even occasional exposes by outsiders, but that for various reasons those works do not become a part of what we inside the discipline read and cite.
Researchers in relation to subjects: Culturally marginal religions
Cell B: Marginal religions studied by natives
Doubly marginalized, accounts of religions outside of the dominant groups—sects, cults, foreign religions—by natives or adherents have frequently been treated with suspicion, although there are certainly exceptions. The issue of adherents studying the religions they practice is a complicated one. On the one hand, they are arguably well informed about the culture of the group and can ask good questions, based on their insider knowledge. In the 1998 re-issue of his book, Synagogue Life, Samuel Heilman argues for the benefits of beginning his study as a native, but then being able to use his training as a disciplined researcher to call into question what he had previously taken for granted in order write an ethnography that insiders would recognize and outsiders would find useful. Although Heilman is a native, he is also constrained by disciplinary practices. Fred Kniss’s (1997) study of conflict within the peace churches uses his insider knowledge of Mennonite history and culture to situate his case study of conflict in an unexpected location. While we learn about disputes over dress codes, congregational authority and religious practices, the study is not so much about religion as it is about larger questions regarding processes of conflict and social change.
Sometimes natives studying their own traditions bring agendas that are different from those of the outsiders. In her review of Ogbu Kalu’s African Pentecostalism, referenced above, Jane Soothill conveys her appreciation for the text, yet at the same time has difficulty locating his work in the scholarly arena. Kalu himself sees his project as distinct from the secular western social science that has dominated the field, and claims his work is “confessional.” Soothill’s conclusion describes it as “prescriptive” and a “Pentecostal wishlist” (Soothill, 2013: 132−133).
Another complication for adherents is that they may be members of or closer to one part of the sect than another. They might reflect the views of one side of a conflict, or of particular groups such as elite males rather than young people or elderly non-elite females. 3 Such partisanship needs not discredit the work, however. In fact, it is one way that research critical of a religion comes into the discipline. A reader of Nancy Ammerman’s Baptist Battles (1990), for example, is quite aware of the author’s sympathies with the losing side, yet that does not diminish the power of her analysis of the conflict.
Cell D: Marginal religions studied by non-adherents
Cell D includes all the research done on sects and cults by individuals who are not members of the groups they study. There is less research in this category than in Category A, but it presents some interesting issues for our consideration. “Sects” and “cults” are both terms that have been used in the sociology of religion to designate religions that exist in tension with the dominant society. Adherents differentiate themselves from those around them by their beliefs and practices. This presence of tension has to a considerable extent shaped sociological work on marginal religions. For sociologists, sects are splinter movements that originate when leaders or small groups of people break away from a dominant religion (a denomination or the established church) seeking purer or more radical religious expression. Sects maintain high boundaries and claim an exclusive truth. Sociologists have different interpretations of how cults differ from sects. Some argue that both separate themselves from the dominant culture, and that the main difference is origination. Richardson (1993) argues that while sects break away from another religion, cults can be newly invented, or, as was the case with some of the “new religions” of the 1960s and 1970s, newly imported from other countries with little or no previous presence in the US. For others, the distinction lies in sects having formal organizational structures, whereas the essence of the cult is an individual’s religious virtuosity and the relationship between the followers and the leaders (Campbell, 1977). Another usage focuses on the degree to which the religious organization sees itself as uniquely legitimate with an exclusive truth (Robertson, 1970). Sects are exclusive, demanding that their adherents remove themselves from the broader culture and seek the true path among the believers. In this view, cult membership, however, can exist alongside continuing involvement with mainstream religion or other practices. Following analysis of what we know about the ancient mystery cults, this usage understands cults as embracing views and practices that are in tension with the dominant culture, but not as taking an exclusive stance so that a person can be a member of culturally dominant religion and also engage in cultic practices, focusing on healing or spiritual enlightenment (McGuire, 2002: 157−158). 4 In popular usage, calling a group a cult has been so negative that some sociologists argued for avoiding using it entirely, instead talking about “new religious movements” or NRMs (Barker, 1986; Lewis, 1995).
The 1960s and 1970s saw the growth of a visible presence of new religious movements in the US and Western Europe. In the popular view, some of the movements were viewed as coercive and dangerous, believed to gain membership by “brainwashing” naïve recruits from among the young adults drawn to the counterculture. An active deprogramming industry developed. Some deprogrammers kidnapped converts and then submitted them to coercive therapy regimes to get them to drop their allegiance. Psychologists whose encounters were likely to be with people who had unresolved problems with their experiences (and/or parents who were unhappy about their children’s choice) focused on the negative effects of cult membership often in alarming and highly publicized writings.
Sociologists and scholars in religious studies were more likely to compare membership in groups such as the Hare Krishna or Moonies with joining a Catholic religious order, and to normalize participation. 5 In relation to negative depictions in the media and from the psychologists, sociologists tended to defend the new religious movements. Drawing parallels to marriage, some sociologists focused on members’ choice to join, and also that members who were dissatisfied could, and did, leave (Wright, 1987). In some cases, scholars became advocates, for example, testifying in child custody cases reporting a lack of harm in raising children in the environment of a new religious movement (Richardson, 2006). Even in disastrous events such as Jonestown or the Branch Davidian tragedy, sociologists recognized abuses among the leadership, but they also noted the impact of a group’s existence in the broad context of hostility, and argued that media stereotypes fueled government interventions that exacerbated the negative outcomes (Hall, 1987; Lewis, 1995).
In this area of research, researchers who were not themselves members did implicitly and sometimes explicitly support and defend the groups they studied. But arguably this stance has a different meaning when the religions being defended are themselves marginal. In cases where the religion is not mainstream religion or part of the dominant culture, normalizing cults or sects could involve an implicit or even explicit critique of the dominant culture. Furthermore, without necessarily evaluating the marginal religions themselves, social science research repeatedly confirmed that indeed the public perception of cults is negative (e.g. Bromley and Breschel, 1992; Olson, 2006; Pfeifer, 1992). That negative perception shaped even the terms that sociologists used to classify these religions. A popular textbook argued that the environment for new religions is so hostile that even using the word “cult” could contribute to harm and constituted an ethical breach (Christiano et al., 2002).
In a context where sociologists were defending marginal religion against popular attacks, it was initially difficult to get a hearing for sociological work that was actually critical of sects and cults. When feminist researchers began to uncover stories of sexual abuse of female devotees by leaders, for example, they had to figure out how to frame their critical concerns in ways that would not exacerbate generalized biases against cults and sects (Goldman, 1999; Jacobs, 1989). One form that criticism of marginal religion could take is separating out criticism of the leaders (who may be guilty of abuses or even criminal charges) from criticism of followers. It can be difficult to do that, however, without making the followers look simply like dupes and losers. Criticisms of the marginal religion can also be coupled with criticism of the dominant culture. In studies of Jonestown, a case with a clearly negative outcome, for example, some researchers described the deviant activities of Jim Jones, but also emphasized the desperate conditions of the followers, many of whom were poor, minority women, and children before joining the movement. These analyses document racial tensions in California, and they criticize society’s failures and point to the larger society’s responsibility for the vulnerable condition of those who joined Jones’s movement (Hall, 1987). Criticism of Jones and his movement are also placed in a critical analysis of a larger context. In cases where the religion is not mainstream religion or part of the dominant culture, researchers position themselves in relation to both the sect or cult, and the dominant culture.
In a critical evaluation of research in the New Religious Movement tradition, Marion Goldman called attention to a selection bias in this body of work. She notes that “groups experiencing significant tension and overt hostility with their host societies have received disproportionate popular and scholarly attention over the last four decades (Goldman, 2006: 88). She contends that the concentration on violent and apocalyptic cults has limited attention paid to novel religions and their forms of accommodation to the dominant society. A shift away from focusing on the sects and cults that exist in the greatest degree of tension could have an impact on when and how sociologists act as advocates for marginal religions.
Complications of location
Of course, the reality is much more complicated than my table suggests. It is not always easy to locate either the researchers or the groups, in part because of the potentially unstable locations of both researchers and religious groups. Converts are often treated as natives; “going native” is a danger of ethnographic work. Their opposites, the apostates, are also difficult to locate. What does it mean to leave a religion? Clearly that depends on both the person and the religious tradition. One imagines that the experience of leaving is different for Orthodox Jews whose religious experience is both particularly embodied and segregated, than the experience is for a Unitarian where the boundary with the dominant culture is comparatively diminished. Individuals may retain various degrees of affection and hostility toward the beliefs and practices with which they were raised. The sociology of religion is well populated by people who grew up in a religious tradition that they no longer practice. How that knowledge and social location affects our work is variable, but no doubt it affects the subjects we choose and the questions we ask.
Furthermore, what might be categorized as the dominant religion in the United States is not stable. The Protestant mainline had a certain cultural hegemony through most of the twentieth century—so much so that scholars, denominational leaders, and church members in post-Reagan America were surprised to find the mainline increasingly displaced by “conservative churches.” Jerry Falwell’s “Moral Majority” competed with the liberal churches for cultural dominance. Southern Baptists, no longer confined to a single region, exerted a new impact on national culture. At the beginning of the twenty-first century, Michael Lindsey (2007) documented the expanding numbers of evangelical individuals within the halls of power. Mormons, too, have experienced numerical growth, geographic expansion and a move away from marginal status.
The question of whether Roman Catholicism now counts as being a part of dominant religion in the United States depends on the study. One complication comes from the fact that marginal religious status has been conflated with marginal racial status. Migrants in the late nineteenth and early twentieth century were not regarded as “white.” While Italians and Irish have moved into majority status and “become white,” the large presence of (non-white) Latinos among the Catholic population in the twenty-first century may continue to complicate the Catholic Church’s relation to the dominant culture.
The reading of research on religion as conveying positive evaluation of the religion it studies is at least partially produced by the rhetoric of particular methodologies. The rhetoric of participant observation usually conveys empathic understanding. A small scale ethnographic study of a marginal religion, written in such a way as to make unfamiliar practices seem normal and their practitioners unthreatening may be perceived as advocating for the group. The rhetoric of survey research, on the other hand, conveys objectivity to uncritical readers. The god-voice, with the researcher located as a writer outside the scene conveys neutrality. Furthermore, quantitative studies with large samples are more likely to reflect dominant cultural values. These studies feel “objective,” and when they find that [dominant] religion is good for society, that gets read as an unbiased rather than an interested account, although these studies frequently implicitly support the dominant religion.
Finally, what is perceived as critical may also depend on the location of the reader. One of sociology’s conventions is that we learn to write in such a way that we lay out a case but allow readers to draw their own normative conclusions. We may offer a rational argument and provide excellent evidence that for the writer critically unmasks the workings of power. But understanding the evidence that way requires shared understandings that might not exist across readers. This deference to readers’ interpretations is not necessarily a bad thing. However, if researchers intend their descriptive accounts and their explanations to be taken as critical of the way things work, then perhaps we should consider being explicit about the conclusions we want readers to draw.
Conclusion
This article reflects my own position as an American reader and researcher in the sociology of religion working in a feminist tradition of standpoint methodology (Neitz, 2011). Consistent with that tradition, I believe our research is always located, and our truths partial. Currently, “unmarked” researchers—adherents of dominant traditions who study dominant traditions—are unlikely to question what they may be taking for granted about the value of those traditions for practitioners and society in general. Researchers who are natives of marginal religions studying their own traditions may be judged as biased and their findings found as illegitimate. However, they both look different when we shift our approach to assuming each is located. I echo here Sandra Harding’s call for “double reflexivity”—that we scrutinize not only the social relations that are the direct object of observation but also the observers themselves (Harding, 2004). I would like to see more reflexivity in all of our work, and the same kind of scrutiny applied to the work on dominant religion as we give work on marginal religions.
I very much welcome the call for more critical research, but I would also like to see more discussion of what that means. In presenting the Locations Matrix it is not my intention to reify these categories. They are inherently unstable. Rather, the point is to show how the call itself contains unquestioned assumptions about who “we” are and what “religion” is.
Footnotes
Acknowledgements
I thank Mimi Goldman for her very helpful close reading of the first draft of this article and Rhys Williams for his astute editorial guidance.
