and here I go... [nervously hitting "publish"]
My history, or parts thereof, contributing to a study of religious socialization
Many years ago, long before I was with child, but at a time when I was in a committed relationship with thoughts of marriage and children in the future, I wondered what children’s perceptions of religion are and how children come to learn about and understand religion. Certainly, I thought, it’s not simply through formal religious education or inherited from parents. If that were the case I would be either an Anglican or Catholic. I attended Anglican Sunday schools and Catholic catechism; I sang in the church choirs; I even attended a Christian youth group with my best friend in grade two. ( I loved the cookies and juice, singing, and games.) However, at some point during my three years at a Catholic elementary school (grades 3 to 5) I realized that what the principle had told my family wasn’t exactly true. It wasn’t necessary for us to attend church in order to attend that school. I would miss the church choir, where I was the only child member (it was how I could convince my young self to attend church) and the center of attention (those older women loved me and always gave me a solo at the Christmas mass), but if I didn’t have to attend church then I was most certainly not going to. It was boring, even with a book of songs to flip through and music to learn. Singing was, when I think upon it now, a spiritual mode of expression for me, but I didn’t need to be singing those songs. I later joined a youth choir that sometimes sang Christian music, but not exclusively. As my voice would join in harmony with others, something greater than myself was formed, and that was spiritual, that was communitas for me[1]. I was, by that time, without religious affiliation. From grade 6 until the end of my public school education there was no more talk of religion in the classroom and little at home that I can recall. It wasn’t until I was fourteen years old that I embraced religion on my own terms and without any supportive community. Thus it was that I understood, on a personal level, that one’s religion is not dictated by early religious education or familial religious affiliation. And perhaps that is why in high school I wrote my history paper on religion in the German Third Reich (a topic most definitely not approached in the classroom) and researched first century Gnosticism for an extended essay in the International Baccalaureate program. In retrospect, it may have been inevitable that I would find myself in a PhD program for religious studies, but when I started my bachelor degree I was certain I would study psychology (I desired to better understand “why” people do things, and this inspires me still) and theatre (which I continued with, doing a double major). In my first year of university I was quickly disenchanted with psychology and entranced by a world religions course as well as a philosophy course that critically considered religion as part of the human condition. I had never imagined I could, or would want to, study religions, but I discovered a new world of possibilities and as I looked back upon my high school projects I realized that this was truly an area of study I wished to pursue further as I explored the “whys” of human activity. Under the tutorship of Dr. Paul Bramadat I studied religion and culture (alongside the world religions), but it was his course on Storied Lives that most profoundly shaped my future studies using qualitative and ethnographic research methods.
An interactionist perspective
In retrospect I now know that the research perspective I adopted during my undergraduate years is an interactionist perspective, but it was not until near the end of my PhD program that I took time to dive back into the theoretical underpinnings of my research methodology. I had been “doing” it for so long, since the last year of my BA, throughout my MA, and into my PhD program, that I took this theoretical perspective for granted. I was engaged in other research, of expanding my research and theoretical breadth (studying the classics in the sociology of religious as well as the popular new theories such as Rational Choice Theory, keeping up with the secularization debate, and socialization theory), rather than examining my methodology. I had continued to read literature related to methodology, particularly about reflexive ethnography, and reviewing qualitative field research methods to improve my skill set. I was also deeply engaged with the growing literature on the sociology of childhood, an area of research that was new to me and thus I sought to fully immerse myself in the literature. So it was that as I was engaging with the new paradigm in the sociology of childhood and developing my research project I found myself at odds with the dominant sociological theories of socialization. As I will describe in the following chapter, these theories did not adequately address the interactions between agents in their definitions or discussions. And so I developed my own theory. For six months I struggled to define socialization in a way that accounted for agents and agencies – and then I happened to access the right resource, read the right passage, and discovered that this definition was already available from an interactionist perspective which I had not yet encountered because such a perspective is not commonly referenced in the dominant literature I was reading. This was the point at which I began formally (re)acquainting myself with interactionist theory and, retrospectively, realized that I had already been familiar with much of this theory without properly taking notice of the field[2]. Such can be the tangents of research in academia – something I find both frustrating and delightful for there is always new perspectives to explore and new insights to be gained.
Reflections from a Scholar-Practitioner
At this point I expect I should situate myself as an active member and practitioner with the Pagan movement. When I moved to southern Ontario I deliberately became involved with local Pagan communities for two reasons. On the one hand, I enjoy facilitating and participating in group rituals and activities. Although I began my studies of Paganism (at the age of fourteen) as a solitary practitioner, I made a conscious effort to meet other Pagans as I reached adulthood and as I moved across the country to begin grad school. I sought community, particularly when I moved to St. John’s, Newfoundland alone. The Pagans I have encountered in the last decade or more have been a supportive community, one which I am appreciative of. Certainly I have learned much as a practitioner through my interactions with other Pagans, but most pertinently here, I have learned a great deal from observing others and reflecting upon my participation. Ever the observer, I often find myself at the edge, watching, and must force myself to be more engaged. The second reason I became involved with local Pagan communities was in anticipation of conducting this research. I have always been honest about my research interests, but as a scholar-practitioner (in a religious movement composed of many scholar-practitioners), I did not preface every interaction with a statement about my research and certainly I was not able to inform every person I observed at public Pagan events. Public observations are included in this study only at a general level out of respect for the persons I observed but also because I am critically aware that what I observe are public presentations of the self that require more engaged qualitative discussions and interviews with the individual to be better understood. Similarly I have read hundreds of public Internet discussions written by Pagan parents on bulletin boards, in e-groups, and other public and semi-public[3] discussion forums which have informed my perspective in general but will not be referenced directly out of respect for individual’s right to be informed about participation in research. This applies to discussion forums, but not to electronic publications. I treat Internet articles written by Pagans as a form of primary documents the same as print media publications. These include blog postings on public blogs (I am not subscribed to any private Pagan blogs) that constitute a dedicated space in which individuals deliberately publish their thoughts, ideas, and perspectives for a general audience.
As a Pagan practitioner I attend public Pagan events as well as semi-private events[4]. Public events include Pagan Pride days and similar public gatherings at which any passerby is welcome[5]. I classify semi-private Pagan events as being advertised among a general Pagan populace but occurring in non-public spaces. For example, many group rituals are hosted at community spaces. Although they are advertised as “public” events, the rituals themselves are intimate events and in many cases the participants are already familiar with one another from previous gatherings. Some such events require that attendees contact the organizer to learn the location of the event to ensure greater intimacy. I also consider Pagan festivals to be semi-public events insofar as attendees expect that other attendees are Pagan practitioners (of some form) like themselves, registration is required, and it is an intimate space of interactions wherein Pagans expect to not have to hide some aspects of their identity that they may feel obliged to hide from the mainstream public. Although there is a possibility at all of these public and semi-private events that non-Pagans could interrupt the activities, this was never the case at any of the events I attended during my fieldwork.[6] Similarly, although it is possible that some attendees do not identify as Pagan practitioners, they at least seem to be positively oriented towards the movement.
Being an active member within local Pagan communities provided me with some advantages. I do not think it would have been possible for me to locate as many families to participate in the research had I not already known many families. Given the high rate of non-participation among the many families I encountered as a member of the community, I think it would have been even more difficult for me to have secured family interviews if I was not a familiar face. Although I am an active participant I am not particularly well known as a community leader compared with others with whom I have worked in the community. Being relatively new to the community and having many other commitments has hindered my participation, even where I desired to be more active. I also deliberately strove to not associate myself with any single group that might cause other Pagans to not associate with me. However, my activity in the “Pan-Pagan” community (or more precisely, my lack of association with any form of traditional witchcraft) did hinder my relations with some groups and persons. There were times that I did not have the energy to be actively involved in Pagan communities[7], as well as times when interpersonal dynamics were stressful and I wanted to back away. However, I feared burning bridges and closing doors that would hinder my research and so I worked to maintain connections. More often than not, the relationships I developed with Pagan communities enriched my life as well as my research.
Reflexive research
As a reflexive-researcher, however, my greatest struggle has been with my (hyper-) self-reflexivity. I think the word often used to describe me is perfectionist (although in some things I make a conscious effort to embrace imperfection, my research and writing are not among those things). As I would begin to explore new research areas (such as the sociology of childhood, socialization theories) and to deepen my knowledge of other areas in my speciality (new religious movements and Pagan studies, sociology of religion, religion and culture), my perfectionism and reflexivity drove me to read widely, never satisfied with a narrow study. I wanted to be sure I was thoroughly familiar with the topics that are so critical to my analysis. I also sought familiarity with multiple perspectives, whether I agreed with them or not.[8] Eventually (months to years later) I would feel satisfied that I understood the field sufficiently (if never perfectly because fields of knowledge shift). I would write and reflect, and then I would begin to reflect and question my informed understanding. How much, I wondered, was I taking for granted? (For example, see the above discussion of interactionist theories that I took for granted.) It is never enough for me to assume something is “common knowledge”, even when it is common within a field of study, because it often seemed to me that what is presumed to be common understanding might not be well rooted in current research but simply a commonly shared perception of things[9]. Certainly, my research on socialization theory and on the state of second generation Pagans challenges what I found to be the dominant ideas in the literature. What else, I wondered, might I be taking for granted in my new-found comfort zone? This makes writing very uncomfortable for me. I must make a statement; I must write something, and what I write will be a permanent statement. Ultimately, putting aside philosophical questions about truth and knowledge, I frequently must remind myself that as a researcher I can only put forward my own well-reasoned, well-researched, analysis and invite others to join me in conversation to explore these issues. Even so, as I write I frequently find myself triple-checking small things, never satisfied that my understanding is sufficient, and hours later putting the final period on an extended footnote or a sentence. Some of those footnotes lasted for days and weeks, even though I knew that the ideas were tangential to the focus of this project. Some of the extra research never made (or has yet to be cut, as I write this) into the final dissertation. It has been put aside for future projects, for even as I was engrossed in the dissertation my mind frequently imagined other projects concerning children and religion.
Fieldwork
I formally began my fieldwork in mid-October of 2007 by interviewing one family as part of a pilot project required of me by the University of Waterloo Research Ethics Review board. Permission to conduct this pilot study came after more than a year of negotiations with board members who were hesitant to allow me to conduct qualitative interviews with young persons concerning a new religious movement[10]. Following the success of the pilot interviews I was granted permission to continue my research. Interviews with twelve more families (in addition to the initial family interviewed for the pilot project) were conducted between January of 2008 and December of 2010. I am very grateful to the families who agreed to participate in the study and took time from their busy schedules to allow me to visit with them in their homes to speak with them. Given the relatively small number of participating families, I feel obliged to state that there were at least another twenty families I spoke with who either a) were not interested in participating, usually because the child was not interested, b) did not respond to inquiries sent after we spoke in person at an event, or c) initially agreed to participate but one or more family members changed their mind just prior to the arranged interview. Although I personally found the experience frustrating because I was not able to interview as many families as I had intended when I began this research, I respect the choices of those who declined and recognize how easily my inquiries might be ignored or forgotten. Life situations occur; there certainly were large changes in my life also during the last few years. With that in mind, I am all the more grateful to those who have allowed me to come to their homes and speak with them. In my small sample there is great diversity and I strongly suspect that research with additional families would have reflected the same findings. Even so, I continue to imagine a longitudinal study and a larger quantitative study focused on the religious socialization of and religious identity of second generation Pagans for comparison purposes.
Formal interviews with families were supplemented with several years of participant-observation of children and parents at public Pagan events, most especially beginning in September of 2004 when I moved to southern Ontario. Some of this participant observation began years before I was formally engaged in fieldwork, as a natural outcome of my participation as a practitioner in these events. I knew well in advance what I intended to study for my dissertation and so my ever-observant-self paid particular attention to the presence of children and parents. Early participant observation helped me to shape my research questions before formally beginning the study[11]. My first journal of fieldnotes dedicated to this project was begun in June of 2006 in anticipation of attending my second witchcamp. All of the festivals attended for this research take place in southern Ontario and involve explicit programming for children. I attended Wild Ginger Witchcamp (WGWC)[12] in June of 2005, 2006, 2007, and 2009. WGWC provides childcare for young children, path work[13] for school-aged kids, and invites older teenagers to participate in most of the adult-focused path workings.[14] Children are also welcome to most of the evening rituals, but childcare is provided for those parents who would prefer this option during rituals, particularly when rituals will involve long meditations. WGWC is an explicitly family-friendly event. It is also drug- and alcohol-free. Given the predominance of female attendees and children, which result in a lack of sexual activity around the fire, as well as its drug and alcohol prohibitions, it is not subject to the same evening revelry concerns that other adult festivals encounter. In addition to structured events (morning path work, rituals, and meals), WGWC includes afternoon free-time where participants can enjoy swimming in a pond or exploring the natural landscape along the Niagara escarpment, gather with other attendees for affinity group discussions, attend additional workshop offerings provided by fellow attendees, walk the labyrinth built in 2007, or otherwise spend their time as they choose. I often spent sunny days at the pond where many children were gathered to play and adults lounged in conversation. WGWC always concludes with group discussion and feedback about the event from participants, which provided ample opportunities to hear about the experiences of parents.
In July of 2007, 2009, and 2010 I attended Spirits of the Earth Festival (SOTE)[15]. SOTE provides daytime, supervised activities for children with an annual theme. The children’s accomplishments (of those who attended the organized children’s activities) are recognized publicly on Friday evening during the medieval feast. At SOTE, the evening concerts and fireside revels are expected to be “child-friendly” until 11pm, at which time it is left to the parents’ discretion whether they allow their kids to stay as the adult attendees’ behaviour becomes more raucous. Like other festivals, SOTE expects attendees to volunteer their time during the festivals. I volunteered to help out with the children’s activities each year, which provided me with opportunities to observe the children who attended (notably, this was usually a small proportion of the children attending the festival) and talk with the children’s events organizer. It was difficult to observe the children much of the time as they ran about in groups engaged in their own activities. When there was a pool present, they could often be found there. In 2009 I camped with another family and was able to learn from the kids I was with and observe how they (new attendees) slowly established relationships with the other kids (many of whom have attended festivals together in the past). In 2010 I camped with a mother and her adolescent daughter.
Between 2004 and 2010 I also attended several Pagan Pride Day and public Meet and Greet events southern Ontario where I observed children and parents in attendance and recorded fieldnotes of my observations. In 2007 I volunteered with a year-long Pagan program for children called Wondergarten. Most of the child participants of Wondergarten were too young to participate in my research project at the time, however, I was able to interview two of the participants years later. During my 6 years living in the region I have also attended many group rituals, some of which included children and teenagers, and some of which I helped facilitate. During ritual planning meetings, the presence of children at public rituals was often discussed.
In the spring of 2008 I gave birth to my daughter. Consequently, I did not attend any festivals that summer. She has accompanied me to all Pagan events since then, except one group ritual for adults only. My husband does not attend these events with me. Fortunately my daughter is a very easy-going, extroverted child who loves social events. Her presence provided me with additional access to some of the programming for kids. For example, at WGWC in 2009 my daughter attended the childcare programming while I followed the “unpath” during workshop hours to write fieldnotes, observe the children’s path that took place outside the dining hall, and develop my research. Childcare during the days (and this was my first experience with daytime childcare as I had been the sole primary care person for my daughter since her birth) enabled me to continue my research as well as provided me with an opportunity to experience the childcare programming as a parent.
Anonymity
Many of the families I interviewed were also families I observed before, or after, at events. I have largely kept these observations separate when the details might compromise the anonymity of interview participants. The question of anonymity is one that was particularly challenging for me with this project. It is my preference to grant participants the choice of anonymity or the use of their name. In my past research with Pagans, many choose to be identified in the research. I encountered the same for this project, however I had already made the executive decision to require that all participants be anonymous. This decision was made, on my part, to respect all members of the family – those who participate and those who choose not to. To allow one family participant the option to be identified within the work would compromise the ability of other family members to choose anonymity. That children might choose to be identified was particularly problematic if parents would prefer that their children be anonymous participants. Although one line of reasoning, to require anonymity, might be that children could potentially change their mind later, this was not a reason for my decision. I approach the rights of children in research as I approach the rights of adult persons: both might change their mind later, but both equally should have the right to choose whether or not they are anonymous participants at this time. Each family was allowed to choose their own pretend family name and each participant chose their own pseudonym. Similarly, all participants completed and signed their own consent form, although for legal reasons children technically signed “assent” forms and their parents additionally signed consent for the children’s participation.
Where my research would reveal the identity of a participant, such as a person who is actively involved in facilitating group activities and thus well known within a community, I have separated their discussion of group events from their discussion of their family. Where participants have referenced particular local persons and events, I have made those references more anonymous. I have made a concerted effort to provide anonymity for my participants but, as I have warned them, it is possible that persons who know the family well will recognize their contributions.
Interview methodology
During the interview, participants were given the option to speak with me alone in a common room (typically a living room or kitchen) or with others present. Some chose individual interviews, others chose to have their family around. Occasionally, when they were present, family members would add comments; both children and parents helped to elaborate upon the topic of discussion, although each were interviewed separately. Interviews with parents typically lasted between one and two hours[16]. Interviews with kids were shorter, and frequently required more probing questions, lasting between 30 minutes and an hour. Participants were provided with a list of discussion questions prior to the interview and asked to complete two short self-reflection projects that explored their identity (“Who are you?”) and priorities (“Describe up to 10 things that are very important to you”). At the beginning of the project I had asked participants to photograph up to ten things that are sacred (“very special”) to them to be discussed at a follow up interview. However, this was not a very successful protocol and I later asked participants to take photographs prior to the interview. These three tasks provided participants an opportunity to reflect on themselves before participating in research that would ask them to speak more of themselves and their experiences. The question of “Who are you?” and the list of important things enabled me to gauge the importance of religion and religious identity for participants prior to specifically asking about this during the interview. These descriptions provided a base-line for locating the role of religion in their lives. The reason I had initially not asked participants to take photographs of what was sacred to them prior to the interview was to not raise a discussion of religious things prior to the interview. However, given the difficulty I encountered in arranging follow-up interviews and sustaining interviewee’s participation in taking photographs after the primary interview, I did move this inquiry to the pre-interview tasks mid-way through the research process. Not all participants completed all of these tasks. Where participants had not completed them, I asked them to respond to the questions during the interview just as I asked other participants to discuss their projects with me. Participants who had not completed the pre-interview tasks found it more difficult to respond to the questions.
All interviews were audio-recorded using a digital recording device, with the consent of the participants. Additionally, I made some notes during and after the interview. When transcribing the interviews I included the nuances of speech. However, in my presentation of the interviews I have edited for grammar and coherency where appropriate. During the process of transcription I often find that participants move back and forth between ideas, and interrupt themselves with asides. As I am not conducting a narrative analysis of the interviews, I have chosen instead to highlight the coherent thoughts of participants rather than give attention to grammatical errors in speech or a discussion that shifts mid-sentence and returns to the original topic half a paragraph later. Where such interjections illustrate important ideas, I would appropriately indicate these.
Participants will be provided with a PDF copy of the final dissertation (submitted for completion of the PhD program) and invited to give their feedback before it is (hopefully) published for a public readership. It is my expectation that participants will not be offended by any content, particularly regarding their contributions. However, should participants be concerned about their contribution or inclusion, this will be addressed in conversation and appropriately resolved. Participants might still withdraw the inclusion of quotes or descriptions of their family if they are dissatisfied with their participation. Participant feedback may also be included, with their permission, in the final publication where relevant.
[1] I still love group chanting. In my later teen and young adult years I was involved in group theatre, seeking that same sense of communitas in performance.
[2] I had seen it before, but because it was a familiar perspective, I would skim past and would slow down instead when I encountered perspectives that were new or challenging to me. When I look back over the most influential texts that have shaped my perspective, the explicit discussions of interactionist perspectives is clear to me.
[3] Some of the Internet discussions I have accessed required that I be a group member. This typically involved clicking a button to join or, at most, providing one sentence that proves I am not a computer spam-bot. I engaged with most of these boards as an observer. However, early on in my research process I made a public announcement on several boards concerning my research and seeking research participants. I did not make many successful contacts using Internet-mediated requests for participation. My announcement concerning my research project had little visible impact upon group discussions and seems to have been quickly forgotten, perhaps because I was not an active participant in Internet group discussions.
[4] I also attend private events, but these do not ever feature in my research.
[5] Despite this openness, I observed that many Pagans in attendance at public events such as Pagan Pride days treated them as more intimate semi-private events because they felt surrounded by fellow Pagans. Given that most people in attendance are also Pagans – as evidenced by their clothing and jewelery, this is not surprising.
[6] Only once, during a dawn ritual at a park in Winnipeg many years ago, have I observed a ritual interrupted by a passerby. In that case it was a curious young man, evidently on his way home from a late night involving many intoxicants, inquiring about the group’s activity. The ritual organizers politely informed him using general terms before he wandered away.
[7] I am involved with multiple communities, some of which overlap but each with their own dynamics.
[8] I have written long critiques of the research and works I disagreed with, but for the sake of this project, I forced myself to reconsider their value and to highlight what can be learned from diverse perspectives. I have always disliked publications that assert their own superiority over the research perspectives of another. My critiques remain my own, for private discussion and as a way of sharpening my perspective through interaction with the other.
[9] That shared perception may be an accurate description, but it may simply be repeated so often that it seems to be accurate without anything more than anecdotal evidence.
[10] This is the polite and much-abbreviated retelling of events. For all my fellow researchers who have encountered resistance from a university research ethics board, I extend my full sympathy. I still keep in my dissertation binder the business card of a fellow researcher who I had the pleasure of hearing present an interactionist paper on the topic of conflicts between researchers and research ethics boards. I spoke with him later, retelling my story, at which point he nearly bowed in my presence and began to tell others at the conference that I was a Goddess for succeeding in pushing through to achieve my research agenda. Such praise came at a point when it was much needed.
[11] Prior to moving to Ontario, I had almost never observed children at public rituals in St. John’s Newfoundland, my previous place of residence, but that may have been because events I attended were usually organized by university students. During my two years in Newfoundland, there were a small handful of public rituals in St. John’s, but none were attended by parents with children accompanying them. There were, however, several teenagers (first generation) and other adult Pagans not associated with the university in attendance at these events. Since 2002 I have also attended a few events in Winnipeg, Manitoba while visiting with family. These public rituals did include young children in attendance, and it was some of my early observations of children and parents at these rituals that inspired me to engage in a study of children within the Pagan movement.
[12] For more about WGWC, their website is http://www.wildgingerwitches.org/
[13] Path work consists of daily workshops in series. Attendees are expected to choose one “path” for the weekend and so attend workshops with the same group. The workshops build in sequence within each path.
[14] Some of the more emotionally-intensive path workings do not invite young people. This is primarily motivated out of a respect for the adult practitioners who might be uncomfortable revealing very intense memories or emotions in the presence of children and adolescents. It also reflects an expectation that such adult emotional-intensity is not appropriate to be witnessed by children and adolescents. These adult concerns will be addressed in chapter five.
[15] For more about SOTE, their website is http://www.spiritsfest.com/
[16] The longest interview, however, was over three and a half hours. The child’s interview was also unusually long at just over an hour.
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