In the context of studying ritual and emotion, especially when relying on archaeological records, some kind of foundation is needed for theorizing the materiality of emotional practices and the affectivity of material. Rituals cultivate moods and dispositions that sustain a larger cultural system of which they are part. In doing so, they work through thingsâartifacts, architectures, spacesâlinking them in affective relationships with humans. Therefore, in addition to knowing the steps of a ritual and its religious logic, scholars of ritual need to ask, as archaeologist Sarah Tarlow puts it, âhow do things become emotionally meaningful?â (emphasis added).1 One way of doing so is by focusing on things themselves as agential kinds of beings, as well as aesthetic objects with formal qualities and as artifacts with social histories. In this paper I aim to offer theoretical resources for writing, as Tarlow calls for, âobject biographies and context.â2 I do so by joining certain strains of thought about objects, including the materiality of the spaces, relationships, and processes in between them and (non)human actors. Namely, I synthesize ânew materialistâ resources for theorizing how emotionâand those kindred categories of feeling, sensation, perception, and experienceâworks in ritual through material things and places. Hopefully this will provide, as Lawrence Lessig puts it, âa way of talking about thingsâ3 that counterbalances the fact that the history of emotions has âturned inward to some extent, speaking increasingly to members of its own guildâ4 at a time when historians of ritual would benefit from its insights.
Feeling things
Let me begin by explaining what I am referring to when I use the term ânew materialism.â New materialist theories deal with the way qualities of experience seem to consist within us (e.g., as âprediscursive compulsions circulating heavily in bodiesâ5) in objects of the world (e.g., Sara Ahmedâs âhappy objects,â6 in which âhappiness functions as a promise that directs us toward certain objects,â sticking to them habitually and ritually, and accumulating positive affective value as they circulate as social goods), and throughout spaces in between. They are often therefore speculative. Speculative, in this sense, means speculating as to what it is like from the perspective of different kinds of beingsâhumans, nonhuman biological creatures, inanimate objects, imaginary conceptsâwithout privileging any viewpoint, especially the human, as the defining perspective for the others. The motivation for this speculation is different for different thinkers. The concern of philosophers coming from a âspeculative realismâ position is primarily that philosophy has âstopped being occupied with realityâ7 since Immanuel Kant insisted that humans only ever have access to the world as it appears to them, and never to the world in itself. The concern of feminist philosophers like the âagential realistâ Karen Barad8 is to move past the retrograde binaries of material versus discursive, human versus nonhuman, in order actually to fulfill what she sees as an ethical responsibility to shed our limiting beliefs and respond to the universe as it is. For Bruno Latour and philosophers influenced by his thinking on processes and relationships (notably âactor-network theoryâ9), the concern is to recognize the agency of nonhumans, including things, ideas, and processes, seeing them as factors in creating social situations as much as humans are. On this view, beings are conceptualized in terms of processes rather than entities. Conceptualized as a process, ritual performers and ritual objects can be thought of as âinterfacesâ that become âmore and more describableâ the more receptive they are to being âaffected by many more elements.â10
These speculative strains of materialism are part of yet a larger âmaterial turnâ that emerged with the term âmaterial cultureâ in anthropological archaeology throughout the twentieth century, especially the last quarter.11 Some scholars, like Manuel A. VĂ squez in his book More Than Belief: A Materialist Theory of Religion, take an even longer view. VĂ squezâs genealogical approach marks Spinoza and Nietzsche as a turning point away from classical epistemologies that ignored the role of the body. However, what all have in common is that, similar to the way the Frankfurt School realized âcultureâ was missing from Marxism, attention to materiality, the nonhuman, and affect is seen here as a supplement to analytical modes focused on ideology critique and discursive analysis. The âmaterial turnâ aims to be a corrective to the wide âlinguistic turnâ that preceded it, where, at its apogee from the physical world, everything was to be read as a text.
As some critiques12 have pointed out, however, it is by no means inevitable to construe text and language as immaterial or uninvolved in emotion.13 The disposition of any affective approach is a poetic one, leaning on devices like metaphor, allusion, simile, and techniques like prosody. The sensory qualities of the language matter. With this in mind, we can think of how power sometimes also inheres in the materiality of words, drawn in their familiar shapes and spoken with resonance both sonic and connotative. Words might âwork not through âmeaningsâ per se, but rather in the way that they pick up density and texture as they move through bodies, dreams, dramas, and social worldings of all kinds.â14 For instance, the biblical scholar Erin Runions has ventured that scholars ought âto consider how cultural texts such as the Bible are purveyors of feelings and bodily responses.â15 As she says, âif affect is central to cultural and political reasoning, as cultural and queer theorists have recently been suggesting,â then it is important to appreciate how these texts âboth support and subvert violent relations of subordination.â16 Another biblical scholar, Maia Kotrosits, takes a similar tack. Appealing to the categories of trauma studies and diaspora theory, she challenges the idea that texts conventionally described as âearly Christian literatureâ are even interested in a distinctive Christian identity or self-definition.17 Instead, she explores in them the complex entanglements of desire and revulsion, forgetting and anxiety of colonized and diasporic peoples. Attention to feeling and experience in language, things, humans, and the spaces in between is therefore a useful supplement to any analytics of power (one indebted to Foucauldian power-knowledge) that primarily seeks to know: what is somethingâs efficacy within a particular ideological regime? Letting the category of âexperienceâ roam in an expanded field links the concrete material of tangible things with the ephemeral material of affective processes, relationships, and atmospheres.
It may also be a subtle but illuminating shift in the philological imagination to consider how often certain words have been used to pin down the sensation of meaning long enough to grapple with it. Words are objects of the senses too. âFor writers of the past,â reminds the anthropologist Tim Ingold,
a feeling or observation would be described in the movement of a gesture and inscribed in the trace it yields. What mattered was not the choice and semantic content of the words themselvesâthese could be wholly conventional, as in a liturgical textâbut the quality, tone and dynamic of the line itself [that represented the words].18
Nor was the page mute; since speech is primary and writing only follows from speech, the semantic content of the words themselves always exists alongside the sensory information of how they sound, either pronounced aloud or inside oneâs own head. Considered affectively, words can be part of a materialist analytics in religious studies, as with other humanities disciplines.
What is more, in its concern with the material, the bodily, and the everyday, new materialism canâthough it does not alwaysâmitigate a problem with theory itself tending toward the view from nowhere, or the âGodâs eye view.â The âmandarin elitism and feckless utopianismâ of master theories19 has been a matter of concern at least since the activist New Left took up the formerly conservative critique of theory in the mid-twentieth century. Yet the matter of everydayness is complicated when those everydays cannot actually be observed in the quotidian. Archaeology and other historical modes rely on material culture in lieu of participant observation. Yet compared to archaeology, anthropology has actually been readier to embrace âaesthetics as related to the sensory (and technical) qualities, emotional impacts, uses and evaluations of objects (as well as bodies and landscapes) in varying places and times and to their shaping of social relations.â20 Recently, though, scholars like Howard Morphy21 and Robin Skeates have drawn inspiration from âeveryday aestheticsâ to study âthe affects of the physical properties of objects on the senses and the qualitative evaluation of those properties.â22 Everyday aesthetics is a subfield of philosophical aesthetics that engages the sensations and feelings involved in everyday meaning-making practices and attempts to cultivate unconventional ways of working with them.23 In the context of âeveryday aesthetics,â the âaestheticâ functions as both an abstract noun and as an adjective. The adjective âaestheticâ is a modifier of âexperienceââthat is, one might have a special experience of, for instance, a common, everyday ritual, which transports the experiencer out of the everyday. The abstract noun refers to aesthetics as a methodâthat is, to analyze something as one would an art object. One can take an everyday experience and analyze it aesthetically by using its formal qualities as a grounding for imaginative speculation about its affective powers on the people and things that int...