Vernacular utopia

ABSTRACT

This article engages with utopian studies as an interdisciplinary field, scrutinizing the contested, yet prevailing bifurcated conceptualization of ‘utopia’ as either an ideal or praxis. Drawing upon Leonard N. Primiano’s notion of ‘vernacular religion’ as a comprehensive approach for overcoming epistemologically problematic models in theorizing religion, I propose the concept of vernacular utopia as a methodological tool for the comparative study of utopian worldmaking beyond conceptual binaries, such as blueprint versus practice, or religious versus secular. My case example is New Harmony, one of the most famous 19th-century emigrant settlements in the US, where pietists and early socialists encountered and implemented their respective blueprints at the same geographical locale. Focusing on the historiographical roots of Primiano’s concept, my objective is to substantiate the vernacular perspective within historical methodology by illustrating how the approach fosters alternative perspectives on source materials and integrates new sources into the historical study of religion.

KEYWORDS:

• Vernacular religion
• utopian worldmaking
• conceptual binaries
• religious-secular
• communitarianism
• New Harmony
• Johann Georg Rapp
• Robert Owen

Introduction

The development of utopian studies as an interdisciplinary research field revolves around two ostensibly conflicting interpretations of utopia: as a blueprint and as praxis. The ideal or blueprint interpretation of utopia has long been the dominant perspective in utopian studies’ principal areas of research – the history of utopian literature and thought, and the study of intentional communities (see Levitas 2010, xi–xiii). On adopting an intellectual history approach, research of utopian literature and thought tended to place a strong emphasis on the programmatic character of utopian ideas. Studies focusing on historical utopian communities, accordingly, were commonly concerned with the practical realization of these ideals and thereby aligned with the blueprint conception of utopia.

Although recent debates in the field of utopian studies have made room for more fluid interpretations, the method of conceptualizing utopia as an inherent clash between the ideal and the real remains influential. Within the study of intentional communities, notably, the tension between blueprint and praxis has led to the creation of a normative success-failure paradigm for assessing these communities. In many cases, research into the social tenets of community building has resulted in pinpointing towards religion as a crucial determinant of success. Despite substantial criticism (e.g., Lockyer 2009; Pitzer 1989 and 2013; Sargent 1994; Wagner 1985), the practice of categorizing communities based on their ‘success’ or ‘failure’ remains prevalent (Sargisson and Sargent 2016, 350). Consequently, a notable aspect of the terminological discourse in utopian studies aims to bridge the perceived divide between utopian theory and practice, and between static blueprints and dynamic realities, and to challenge the ‘binary separation between utopia/non-utopia’ (Levitas 2013, 4).

Such conceptual debate holds significant relevance for religious studies. When applied to religion, the debate on the relationship between blueprint and practice mirrors the debates in which scholars of religion first advocated for a more holistic portrayal of religion as a field of practice. Terms such as ‘popular religion’, ‘folk religion’, or ‘lived religion’ emerged out of a methodological dissatisfaction with the oversight of religion’s social and everyday realities, and an undue emphasis on its textual and codified attributes. Even though these terms facilitated delving into and portraying religion as an entity intertwined with everyday life, thought, and practice, the limitations and prejudices associated with terms like folk, popular, and official religion soon faced extensive scrutiny (for an early example, see Vrijhof and Waardenburg 1979, 631–704). Nevertheless, the inherent duality of these terms, even when acknowledged and explicitly labeled as an epistemologically challenging ‘two-tiered model’ (Brown 1981, 17–22), proved difficult to transcend conceptually.

‘Vernacular religion’, as introduced by folklorist and religious studies scholar Leonard N. Primiano in 1995¹, was one attempt to propose a comprehensive methodology aimed at dissolving implied conceptual binaries in theorizing religion. Where terms like folk, popular, lived, and everyday religion suggested counterparts such as elite, official, or high religion, he borrowed the term ‘vernacular’ from linguistics and architecture as an inclusive concept. Pointing to the ‘omnipresent action of personal religious interpretation’ and the dynamic situatedness of lived religion (Primiano 1995, 46–47), the approach fundamentally challenges categorial dichotomies such as the demarcation between popular and official piety and the religious-secular binary. While mostly employed to promote more holistic views on contemporary religion, the approach also facilitates a re-assessment of historical sources relevant to the history of religion and utopia.

This article seeks to stimulate a conversation between religious and utopian studies by introducing ‘vernacular utopia’ as a framework to comparatively study blueprints in practice. My case study for exploring the vernacular perspective as a historical approach and highlighting its methodological benefit for the history of religion is the emigrant settlement Harmonie/New Harmony,² Indiana. In the tumultuous religious milieu of the ‘most utopian century’ (Kumar 1991, 33), the New World became a sought-after destination for various emigrants, leading to the establishment of myriad communities across the United States. New Harmony, however, stood out for several reasons.

It was established in 1814 as the second settlement of the Harmony Society, a group of radical Württemberg pietists led by Johann Georg Rapp (1757–1847). In 1825, the Harmonists sold their second Harmonie to the renowned British social reformer, industrialist, and critic of religion, Robert Owen (1771–1858), who then (re)named it New Harmony. With this encounter, the village became a focal point of nineteenth-century discourse on religion. International newspapers monitored the development of both communities carefully in a persistent debate on the nature of their settlements. It was in these debates that the need for models to classify emigrant endeavors became pressing, and the modern religious-secular binary took form: While Owen’s New Harmony blossomed into a vibrant hub for utopian worldviews of various inclinations, Owen coined the term ‘secular’ in contrast to ‘religious’ in a notable speech in its Harmonist church, which he had repurposed as town hall. One of Owen’s followers, George Holyoake, later coined the term secularism for the political position first taken in Owen’s New Harmony. In a quite literal ‘Boatload of Knowledge’, scholars settled in the commune to assemble ‘useful knowledge’, as Owen’s associate William Maclure phrased it, building the foundation for the US Geological Survey. In New Harmony, natural history was recast as an applicable science, establishing the village as a cornerstone of modern scientific thinking. Still, Owen’s experiment formally ended after only two years. Apparently underscoring the argument that ‘religious’ communities have an advantage in longevity over ‘secular’ communities, New Harmony gained a pivotal role in highlighting the religious-secular divide as a primary analytical framework in the study of intentional communities.

Epitomizing the intersection of three key dichotomies – blueprint versus practice, success versus failure, and religious versus secular – New Harmony stands as a prime case to highlight the potential of a vernacular approach to analyzing 19th-century utopian settlements from a religious studies perspective that aims at transcending conceptual binaries.

In what follows, I aim to connect theoretical discussions from religious and utopian studies to discuss ‘vernacular utopia’ as an analytical framework suitable for historical analysis. My argument will unfold in three stages: Firstly, I will develop the concept of ‘vernacular utopia’ by examining recent debates within utopian studies and outlining its utility as an analytical tool in the history of religion. Subsequently, I will present my case study of New Harmony by introducing the two emigrant communities and portraying their endeavors as practical blueprints. In the third stage, I will employ the vernacular perspective to historical material by presenting four analyses sourced from the rich material available for both community periods. The concluding section will discuss the implications of the vernacular approach for the historiography of religion more broadly.

Bridging binaries: conceptual development

Changes in the choice of terminology reflect

substantive shifts in our perceptions of human realities.

L. N. Primiano (1995, 38)

Vernacular religion: an integrative concept with epistemological impact

In 1995, Leonard N. Primiano (1957–2021) programmatically introduced vernacular religion as a novel methodology for examining religious folklife (Primiano 1995). Although the term ‘vernacular’ quickly gained traction in folkloristics (Valk 2022, 2), it took longer for the concept to garner broader attention within religious studies. The foremost proponent was Marion Bowman, who introduced the vernacular approach to our discipline (e.g., 2000, 2014; and, significantly, Bowman and Valk 2012a). In recent years, ‘vernacular religion’ has been applied to diverse religious contexts, extending its reach from vernacular Christianities to global vernacular religions. However, the concept has still almost exclusively been received by scholars who study contemporary religion (e.g., DeNapoli 2014; Illman and Czimbalmos 2020; Nygaard 2019), while attempts to apply the approach to historical materials are rather rare (as examples, refer to Goldberg 2009; Hesz 2021; Keinänen 2012).

This is surprising, given the strong relation of the vernacular approach to history. Despite the catchy and often-quoted part of Primiano’s definition of vernacular religion as ‘religion as it is lived’ (Primiano 1995, 44), which might suggest equating ‘lived’ with ‘contemporary’, the concept was explicitly conceived as a comprehensive methodology. Accordingly, Primiano not only highlighted that vernacular religion is a historical phenomenon (see also Bowman 2000; Bowman and Valk 2012b, 2), but he also envisaged it as a ‘theoretical hybrid of several fields’ – including religious history (Primiano 2012, 383). Furthermore, I want to emphasize another, deeper, reference to history that helps us understand ‘vernacular religion’ as a truly historical approach: Primiano’s conceptual development was profoundly shaped by the historiographical discourse of the 1970s and 1980s.

Beyond folkloristics (Yoder 1974), cultural history and history of mentalities approaches to religion, as represented by Peter Brown, Peter Burke, Natalie Zemon Davis, or Carlo Ginzburg (among others), and their reception in historical religious studies (Vrijhof and Waardenburg 1979), were most influential in developing the concept of vernacular religion (see Primiano 1995, 40; explicitly: Primiano 2017, 2). Critiques of the term ‘popular religion’ were pivotal. Scholars have expressed concerns about the implications of dichotomies inherent to such terms such as ‘norm’/‘ideal’, ‘laity’/’clergy’, and ‘magic’/’religion’, indicating class distinctions. This implies a perspective in which we consider ‘a human problem […] “everyday” […] when it occurs in a peasant’s breast and “spiritual” and “ethical” when it occurs in the breast of a saint or religious leader’ (Davis 1974, 313). Such concerns have prompted challenges to the rigid ‘two-tiered’ model of religion, particularly the popular/elite dichotomy (Brown 1981). Building on these criticisms, historians of religion refined the concept, introducing ‘lived religion’ as a historical category (Waardenburg 1979, 654) and redefining popular religion as ‘religion as it is lived in daily life’ to be studied as ‘empirical reality’ (Vrijhof 1979, 695).

This critique of conceptual binaries in historical religious studies, combined with a push for recognizing the dynamic and creative nature of religion, laid the foundation for ‘vernacular religion’. Drawing on plurality and locality, Primiano’s definition of the vernacular resonates with linguistic approaches that aim to counterpoint exclusive focusing on ‘high language’ such as Church Latin (e.g., Watson 2022) or Pali (e.g., Berkwitz 2004) towards a more dynamic perspective on religious cultures and the agency of texts.³ While the concept shares linguistic and architectural principles such as adaptiveness and regional specificity, Primiano’s understanding of ‘vernacular’ goes beyond merely studying local languages and text cultures to encompass artefacts, food, or construction reflecting the broader dimensions of material, somatic, and visual piety (Primiano 2004; 2014; 2016).⁴

Conceived as an integrative concept that reaches beyond the present, beyond Christianity, and across academic disciplines (see Primiano 1995, 41; Primiano 2012, 382), ‘vernacular religion’ complements religious studies’ historiographical discourse (e.g., Albrecht et al. 2018; Nordberg 2018). Furthermore, it addresses core epistemological issues. Stating that ‘[c]hanges in the choice of terminology reflect substantive shifts in our perceptions of human realities’ (1995, 38), Primiano sought to remind us of the limiting effects of binary thought structures in both contemporary and historical research. It is precisely because terminologies profoundly influence perceptions (see also Kapaló 2013, 7) that they deserve thorough scrutiny.

When embraced as an epistemological perspective, the vernacular approach breaks down barriers, highlights deep-rooted binary conceptualizations, and suggests alternative theoretical constructs. In the next section, I will discuss how utopian studies, grappling with analogous conceptual binaries in theorizing ‘utopia’, could benefit greatly from the vernacular approach, which offers a valuable tool to navigate these discussions.

From blueprints to practices: locating the vernacular approach in utopian studies

The two classical fields of utopian studies – utopian thought and communal societies – have long been depicting a traditional understanding of utopianism as ‘the attempt to describe in fiction or construct in fact an ideal society’ (Levitas 2010, 181). However, the static ideal and blueprint function of utopia has become the subject of critique (e.g., Moylan 2014; Sargent 2003, 225–226; Sargisson 2012, 15–20, 239; for an overview of the criticism, see Levitas 2013, 103–149; Marks, Vieira, and Wagner-Lawlor 2022, 15). Newer approaches underscore the dynamics of utopia, and its positive and creative potential (e.g., Martell 2018, 442–443), its processual character (e.g., Sargisson and Sargent 2017; see also Beutter, in this volume) and its placement in the present: ‘Utopia is now asserted as a process, and is incorporated in the daily construction of life in society’ (Vieira 2010, 22). This shift has prompted the development of new terms within academic discourse, which, drawing from classical theorists such as Ernst Bloch and Henri Lefebvre, emphasize the everydayness of utopia (Cooper 2014; Gardiner 2011). This has led to terms such as ‘practical’ (Westra, Albritton, and Jeong 2017), ‘real’ (Wright 2010; 2013), ‘existential utopia’ (Vieira and Marder 2012), and ‘lived utopianism’ (Sargisson and Sargent 2017) emerging as concepts associated with the ‘idea of possibilitism’ as their guiding principle (Vieira 2010, 23).

These terms often overlap, and not all of them have been conceptually and theoretically outlined. Practical utopia is vaguely defined as a utopia ‘that in principle is achievable’ (Albritton 2012, 144) and ‘intended to be implemented’ (Segal 2017, 233). Conceived as concrete solutions for pressing global economic, ecological, or social crises, practical utopias are intended to ‘offer schemas for the future’ (Westra, Albritton, and Jeong 2017, 3).⁵ At its core, practical utopia is less an analytical concept or methodological framework for examining utopian practices or utopias in practice (such as life in intentional communities), and more an activist approach: ‘The concept of “practical utopias” by definition encourages connections to the realm of public policy, to trying to improve the world’ (Segal 2017, 241). This principle also applies to real utopias, conceptualized as a term of empowerment for political or systemic change (Wright 2010),⁶ and as a stepping stone for developing ‘a social science of the possible’ (Wright 2013, 168).⁷

Existential utopia as outlined by Marder and Vieira (2012a) also carries a political intent, although the primary objective is conceptual redefinition. The authors aim to ‘unbind the notion of utopia from its intellectual history’, its ‘largely essentialist core’, and ‘strict separation between the ideal and the real’ (Marder and Vieira 2012a: XIII). Unlike utopias transcending time, existential utopia is temporal and aligns with human fragility (Marder and Vieira 2012b, 40, 48). This notion counters the traditional binary framework of ideas versus reality, or theory versus practice, used to describe utopia, and instead accentuates the transience of (everyday) life.

That utopia and everyday life may be closer than traditionally believed is foundational to approaches concerning utopia in everyday contexts. Advocating for political change as the goal of utopianism, Gardiner’s everyday utopianism (2011) balances between the realms of the possible and the impossible. However, the everyday and the utopian are viewed as conflicting entities, requiring integration to foster a ‘utopian orientation’ that embeds the ‘pervasive desire for social transformation in the rhythms and textures of everyday life’ (Gardiner 2011, 19). Citing Bloch’s expansive utopian impulse, Gardiner delineates everyday utopianism as ‘a series of forces, tendencies and possibilities that are immanent […] in the pragmatic activities of daily existence’ (Gardiner 2011, 20). Utopias manifest not only in specific spatial designs and societal customs (like architecture or legal systems), but also tangibly in human forms through avenues such as fashion, body alterations, performances, habitus shifts, and the like (Gardiner 2011, 21).⁸

While Gardiner delves into everyday utopianism by scrutinizing the relationship between utopia and the everyday in utopian theory, Davinia Cooper’s Everyday Utopias illustrates how the everyday ‘folds into the utopian’ (2014, 7). Highlighting people’s attempts to depart from conventional norms in matters such as economy, sexual relations, or education, her book surveys six examples of sites that exemplify alternative social practices. Characterized by a productive tension between imagination and actualization, everyday utopias challenge social norms by creating and safeguarding innovative practices within mainstream society, rather than aiming for large-scale change. The proximity of everyday utopias to the mainstream, and at times their embeddedness within it, might influence the ability of such sites to generate new, radical, conceptual pathways (see Cooper 2014, 223–226).

While Cooper describes specific places as spaces of alternative action and performance, Sargisson and Sargent’s (2017) concept of lived utopianism provides an intriguing counterpoint, suggesting that mundane everyday activities – like cleaning or eating in intentional communities – embody politically significant acts and expressions of utopian practice. This concept bridges the gap between communal and utopian studies by blurring the distinction between ideas and practices. Furthermore, moving beyond a simplistic success-failure dichotomy, lived utopianism underscores the congruence between everyday actions and a more expansive vision for society (Sargisson and Sargent 2017, 20).

The concepts discussed do not merely illustrate a terminological development, but point towards a paradigm shift in utopian studies. This shift is twofold: humanizing and politicizing utopia. Instead of static, timeless spaces, utopias are understood as dynamic, ever-evolving human endeavors and practices. Notions of completeness and perfection, often associated with literary and blueprint interpretations of utopia, stand in stark contrast to this ‘possibility approach’ that relocates the perspective from ideas to people. Furthermore, all concepts broadly define utopia as the aspiration for a better life, making it applicable to the comparative study of different ideas and endeavors of ultimate betterment and change. What critics might regard as simplification or ‘conceptual inflation’ (Kumar 2013, 108) is, furthermore, reframed as a political program in this context. Instigating political change and foregrounding the social responsibility of research, concepts such as practical, real, existential, and everyday utopia are not solely descriptive, but essentially activist in nature. By aiming to incite political change, they inherently – and programmatically – blur the boundaries between academia and social activism.

Questions regarding the role researchers play (or should play) in instigating social and political change – whether their duties should surpass analytical and descriptive efforts, or whether activism is (or should be) a component of research – are undoubtedly valid and ethically pressing. Yet the fact that the concepts outlined above not only promote activism, but also systematically interweave such activism with methodological development and theory building, poses methodological challenges for religious studies that have long been discussing the relationship between researcher and research object or subject.⁹ While this may limit the descriptive scope of terms like ‘practical’, ‘everyday’ or ‘lived utopia’, the methodological dissatisfaction they document can be productively utilized for the conceptual refinement of a vernacular approach to utopia suitable for religious studies and the history of religion.

Towards ‘vernacular utopia’

In both religious studies and utopian studies, conceptual discussions have led to a shift in perspective on their respective subjects, religion and utopia. The shift from elite to lived religion in religious studies parallels the transition from blueprints to everyday utopia in utopian studies. Historiographically, this paradigm shift can be depicted as a move from intellectual history to cultural history. Yet, while the vernacular approach provides a holistic model to analyze past and present religions beyond binary concepts, conceptual refinement in utopian studies has not quite dissolved the binary thought structure, especially evident when discussing religion. For example, existential utopia aims to include all facets of human life in utopian practice. Yet the authors juxtapose what they label as ‘metaphysical utopias’ – as seen in messianic theology and Platonism – with their methodology (see Marder and Vieira 2012b). They perceive these ‘metaphysical utopias’ as abstract, transcendent, and intangible, thereby creating a stark division between religious ideals and human practices (also see Gardiner 2011, 19, 46). From a religious studies perspective, which views religion as a human phenomenon and therefore integral to the study of utopia, such a distinction is insupportable. Here, Primiano’s methodology offers insight, transforming the notion of metaphysical (or religious) utopia from an abstract category into a tangible human activity.

By definition, vernacular utopia leans on human actions, thoughts, beliefs, and expressions to shape and validate (alternative) worlds that signify their values, whether they manifest in endeavors like building God’s kingdom, liberating humankind, or crafting a perfect society. Embracing both processual (e.g., Lockyer 2009; Pitzer 2013) and the lived utopianism approach, which accentuates everyday activities as ‘significant acts’ (Sargisson and Sargent 2017, 21), the vernacular perspective specifically emphasizes the prescriptive nature of these acts. It underscores the immersive quality of utopia that invites individuals to project themselves into the blueprint, thus dispelling the perceived friction between ideals and reality. Instead of claiming that ‘nineteenth century utopians […] were shamelessly materialistic and fell little short of calculating individual happiness in terms of pieces of furniture, articles of clothing or the number of courses served at each meal’ (Berneri 2019, 517), the vernacular perspective recognizes these as central to utopian discourse. Practically, a utopia’s viability was assessed by the caliber of houses in an emigrant utopian community, the breadth of its laid-out roads, the height of its church tower, or the presence of its facilities such as a threshing machine, tannery, mill, or distillery. Reconstructing the nineteenth-century utopian discourse requires considering these tangible metrics as earnestly as lists of equipment for migrants published in newspapers. Of course, equipment and provisions largely determined the actual scope of action and, consequently, the future role model of a migrant as an independent self-made man or pauper. Yet more illuminating than contrasting the materialistic with the idealistic side of utopia is a holistic approach that understands descriptions of economic systems, technological apparatuses, or itemized travel essentials not as rote lists or indicators of a community’s wealth, but as manuals for the effective realization of a utopia. As such, they become tangible acts of utopian worldbuilding and real-making.

The vernacular approach encourages the inclusion of source materials that might have been overlooked so far. By challenging established thought patterns and conceptual separations, this approach ‘tends to rupture boundaries, first and foremost between what is “religion” and what is not’ (Eller 2015, 203). If applied as a guiding principle for perspectives on source materials, blurred boundaries prompt historians of religion to realize that no source is, in itself, ‘beyond the scope’ of religion and, thus, ‘insignificant’ to study. ‘The religion of an individual is inherently vernacular’, asserts Primiano’s foundational principle (1995, 44). The far-reaching implications of the principle – that the vernacular has no boundaries – might be challenging to accept. As a result, this principle is occasionally viewed as optional (e.g., Eller 2015, 204). However, this should not be the case. To harness the full methodological potential of the vernacular approach, it is essential to consistently challenge conceptual binaries and classifications. By spanning genres, the vernacular approach enables us to write the history of religion differently. This is precisely what I intend to demonstrate through my analysis of New Harmony.

New Harmony: a blueprint in practice

When Johann Georg Rapp met Robert Owen in 1824 to discuss the sale of the new Harmony, their enthusiasm was palpable as they exchanged ideas on designing prosperous settlements (MacDonald 1942, 228–229; Owen 1906, 53). United by a common goal – to create self-sufficient communities that would function effectively – the intricate details of their individual settlement plans became a secondary concern for the time being. While these specifics were undoubtedly crucial to their community designs, they were equally significant for their utopian practices. In both cases, the utopian blueprint was the grid of their towns, and New Harmony was temporarily the place to realize it.

Rapp had crossed the Atlantic in 1803, seeking a suitable place to establish a city of refuge for himself and his followers in anticipation of the coming Millennium. In his hometown of Iptingen, Duchy of Württemberg – then the heartland of Pietism – he had become the leader of a fast-growing radical Protestant movement that had separated from the domestic church. They rejected church rituals, removed their children from the Lutheran-influenced school, and abstained from the oath of fealty to the Duke of Württemberg and, as pacifists, from military service (Ott 2014, 52–65). This ‘“Anabaptist” ecclesiology’ led to conflicts with the political and church authorities, which Rapp and his followers interpreted as a sign of the imminent second coming, as expressed in the Book of Revelation. The group developed a unique theology according to which they saw themselves as the chosen ones. Identifying themselves with the woman ‘clothed with the sun’, as described in Revelation 12, they wanted to build a refuge where the Sunwoman, fleeing from the beast ‘into the wilderness’ (12:16), found shelter. This was to become the place from which the 1,000-years’ kingdom of justice on Earth would emerge and in which the righteous, after the struggles with the beast, would flourish. Envisioning an ideal community, the emigrants founded the Harmony Society in 1805, legally enshrining the principle that all ‘who had become believers were together and had all things in common’ (Acts 2:44, Luther Bible). They constructed three flourishing villages in succession all of which ‘developed according to a strict geometrical blueprint’ (Rode 2014, 345): Harmonie (Harmony) in Pennsylvania (1804–1814), Harmonie on the Wabash River in Indiana Territory (1814–1825) – later sold to Robert Owen and renamed New Harmony –, and Oekonomie (Economy), once again in Pennsylvania (1825–1905).

Built on the principles of the city of refuge, the second, or the new, Harmony is emblematic of the utopian architectural tradition (Lewis 2016). Under the guidance of ‘providence’ (Rapp, in Arndt 1975, 8), Rapp meticulously selected the location of the town, considering the availability of natural resources such as forests and quarries for construction materials, a nearby river to facilitate transportation, and the fertility of the soil. Friedrich Rapp, his adopted son, played a pivotal role as the architect of the settlement. He designed the town’s layout, superimposed the plan on the selected location, supervised the land surveying, and orchestrated the construction sequence. The initial focus was not on establishing a church, but on erecting standardized log cabins elevated above the ground to later function as storage spaces. These were followed by essential structures aimed at ensuring self-sustainability, including a barn, gristmill, tannery, and storehouse. Once the cruciform brick meetinghouse was completed, the community embarked on producing goods. Production soon became industrialized through self-constructed factories (see Lewis 2016, 204–212).

Extant records provide a detailed account of the Society’s remarkable economic accomplishments. Central to their financial strategy was selling preconstructed settlements. As their business flourished, they channeled substantial resources into land acquisition and enhancing regional infrastructure. Rapp also ventured into stock trading and served as one of the commissioners of the State Bank of Indiana, tasked with the sale of stock subscriptions. While some contemporaries doubted the divine nature of their economic endeavors, the Harmonists perceived themselves as the custodians of the impending Millennium: ‘A great structure stands before our eyes, […] now it is our turn to take an active part in this building of humanity, until the Lord again returns […] that is a nearer duty than to dream about eternity’ (Rapp, in Arndt 1978, 838). Within the Harmonist storyworld of Revelation 12, every pragmatic task and everyday undertaking was imbued with religious significance; each step meticulously calculated to bring the utopian ideal to fruition. After a decade, the Harmonists sold their town to the Welsh industrialist and social reformer Robert Owen and proceeded to establish their third and concluding settlement along the banks of the Ohio River, near Pittsburgh.

Born into a Welsh artisan family, Owen prospered in the textile industry and became famous for his innovative cotton-spinning mill in New Lanark, Scotland. Amalgamating social welfare and education with modern manufacturing techniques, he aspired to establish a model for a new society united by ‘peace and amity’, a ‘system of happiness’ that could be globally replicated through methodical, rational education and character development (Owen 1813, 16, 18). Owen posited that moral behavior was intrinsically tied to one’s social environment and the educational opportunities it presented. These ‘circumstances’ would determine human actions and personalities. Adhering to the belief that humans inherently adapt to their social environments, he asserted: ‘Train any population rationally, and they will be rational’ (Owen 1813, 60–61). This leading principle questioned the prevailing societal and political structures as much as the church’s position as a conveyor of moral tenets. While Owen’s endeavors initially garnered acclaim, his controversial views attracted criticism, and his reputation waned. Disregarding traditional religion as having ‘no practical value whatever’, and advocating instead for an evidence-based ‘religion of charity unconnected with faith’ (Owen 1817, 12), he faced considerable discord with his associates, particularly concerning religious education in New Lanark. After ambitions to establish self-sufficient communities in England went unrealized, Owen eventually acquired Johann Georg Rapp’s second Harmony, planning to create a model settlement on North American territory to demonstrate social transformation from scratch.

Owen purchased this town because it already represented a blueprint, albeit one for the divine Kingdom of Justice. The former city of refuge was now intended to serve as the epicenter of global social transformation, a prototype to implement a new moral world governed by scientists, social reformers, and artists. For Owen, the future of humankind was rooted in communal living. As with the Harmonists’ settlements, private property was non-existent, replaced by a collective economy. In the ‘New-Harmony Community of Equality’, all members were to be ‘considered as one family’ (New-Harmony Gazette, hereafter NHG, February 15, 1826, 162), sharing equal living standards and educational opportunities.

In Owen’s New Harmony community, deliberations centered on the prospective fate of humankind, with the overarching objective of forging a ‘new state of society’. However, perspectives on achieving this aim varied. According to his doctrine of circumstances, Owen emphasized the vital role of education and training, positing that under optimal conditions, this novel societal state would emerge organically. In contrast, his associate, William Maclure, introduced a different viewpoint. The pressing question became: Are adults still adaptable, or are only children truly moldable? The debate centered on two contrasting developmental theories, each offering an interpretation of science as either a bottom-up or a top-down process. Within these debates, a secular dimension arose: While religion might have a place in life and individuals retained a personal right to their religious beliefs, religion was just one of several worldviews coexisting in New Harmony. Accordingly, its constitution assured ‘freedom on all subjects of knowledge and opinion; especially on the subject of religion’ (NHG, February 15, 1826, 162). Rooted in principles of critical discourse, rational thought, and scientific inquiry, New Harmony evolved into a nexus where politics, society, and religion were all subjects to be publicly discussed. As a result, representatives from various denominations and faiths were invited to present their views in New Harmony’s Town Hall, allowing listeners to assess their verisimilitude. Within this emerging discursive space, religion was framed not as an unassailable truth, but as a position to be scrutinized just like all other ‘opinions’. However, in the overarching blueprint, it was deemed irrelevant. The rise of secularism became evident in the very idea that religion was a matter of personal choice and, consequently, distinct from the utopian design.

Although Rapp and Owen shared a profound vision, the foundations of their respective community designs were notably distinct. According to the Harmonist logic, the core principle of their blueprint was to assemble the chosen ones, ‘united in heart and soul’ (Acts 4:32). Owen, on the other hand, believed that the town was the primary ‘circumstance’, within which the blueprint was to unfold, and people would naturally coalesce. In response to the plurality of beliefs and convictions among New Harmony’s residents, Owen refined his doctrine, encouraging individuals to join ‘heart and hand’ (NHG, August 2, 1826, 359), seeking to form an emotional bond bridging varying opinions. While the foundation of the Harmonist design was to gather the right people, for Owen, it was the physical setting.

Having long fascinated scholars of utopian studies, utopian communities such as these have not yet received much attention in religious studies. However, the ‘capitalistic Christian communism’ or the ‘Christian communal capitalism’ (Pitzer 2015; Slaughter 2020; 2023) of the Harmonist emigrants, whose rapidly acquired wealth made them influential players in regional politics, is a rare phenomenon at the verge of modernity that deserves to be studied in the context of alternative religiosity. Owen’s New Harmony community, which dissolved after just two years and thus served as a prominent example of communal ‘failure’, represents a pioneering case of vernacular secularism and criticism of religion. Not only can the term secularism, which later adopted anti-religious connotations, trace its origins to Owenite circles, but some community members, like William Maclure, were also explicitly critical of religion. Yet, others were not. Furthermore, Maclure derided Owen for his reliance on a ‘faith-based’ approach to education, rather than an approach anchored in empirical observation and exploration of nature. The varied backgrounds and views of the New Harmony inhabitants prompt an in-depth study of the intricate tapestry of utopian worldmaking, extending beyond the religious or secular as a ‘binary taxonomy’ (Kleine and Wohlrab-Sahr 2021, 48).

Studying nineteenth-century vernacular utopia

Both groups residing in New Harmony have left a rich legacy of sources, including their material cultures, having preserved their original residences as historic sites with richly stored archives that hold printed and unprinted materials, ranging from official utterances to ephemeral sources. This exceptional situation invites us to comparatively study community building from scratch, as well as different ways of worldmaking in their everyday contexts. In the following, I will present four source examples to outline the vernacular perspective as a historical approach and to specify vernacular utopia as a research tool.

Harmonist ‘business’ as religious practice: the vernacular approach dissolves dichotomies between religion and everyday life

In a letter dated May 10, 1814, Johann Georg Rapp communicates to his adopted son and right-hand man, Friedrich, that he has finally identified the location for constructing the second Harmony, and provides instructions for subsequent planning steps:

We now have purchased close to 7,000 acres […] Some of this is still to be bought […]. We shall see if we can still make a few bargains. […] It will be your first business to get a steam engine for the factory. There is coal along the White River which one can get along the water, and then there is enough wood. This will allow us time to acquire the millworks. […] The town will be located about ¼ mile from the river […], perhaps a good quarter mile from the hill which lies suitable for a vineyard. The hill is worth more than the land because it has many stones for building. […] In short, the place has all the advantages which one could wish, if a steam engine meanwhile supplies what is lacking. (Rapp, in Arndt 1975, 7–8)

This seemingly standard and business-oriented report is, in essence, a paragon of religious practice: ‘On our journey wisdom through providence has played magnificently and has led us along the straight way’ (Rapp, in Arndt 1975, 8).

With confidence in divine providence, Harmonist homemaking was not reliant on location, but was entirely integrated within the divine congregation. When business matters necessitated travel that would divide the group, Harmonist letters were filled with expressions of loss. ‘It won’t get any better until we are all together again’, wrote Rapp on 2 July 1814, to his companion, Romelius Langenbacher, who had already relocated. He continued, ‘We belong together. […] How true it is […] what has been written: you are all one in Christ Jesus; in this consists the kingdom of God’ (Rapp, in Arndt 1975, 13–14). In response, on 20 July 1814, Langenbacher wrote, ‘The wound which the break has caused on both sides can be healed only by reunification’ (in Arndt 1975, 20). To the Harmonists, the most painful experience was not the – frequently occurring – death of a member, but rather the physical separation. The cultivation of romantic friendship and eternal unity in Christ was pivotal to the unique piety and the industriousness of the Harmonist communal religion.

While the religious foundation of Harmonist activity is evident in letters from these periods of departure and inception, much of their correspondence is devoted to routine business operations, negotiations, and transactions. Comprehensive details of Harmonist banking, stock trading, and financial management reveal the group’s prosperity and wide-ranging influence. In December 1815, about a year after the establishment of the new Harmony, Friedrich conveyed to a congressman that ‘this country [Indiana] in a few years will be one of the most flourishing [sic], as well in Agriculture as Manufactories in the united [sic] States’, with aspirations ‘to make of a wild country fertile fields & gardens of pleasure’ (F. Rapp, in Arndt 1975, 170f.).

Is the keen economic activity and the Harmonists’ investment in the future incongruent with their religion? Karl Arndt, the historiographer of the Harmony Society, addressed this supposed contradiction, considering the notion that the Harmonists had become ‘completely materialist’ a ‘mistaken impression’ – despite the periodic lack of ‘religious’ sources (Arndt 1987, 310). However, researchers frequently grapple with the Society’s economic success, insinuating a dichotomy between business and religion.¹⁰ In reality, no such dichotomy existed.

Rapp conceived of a utopia where members would reside and labor in unity with God (Rapp 1824, 15, 27–28, 31–32, 56) and, thus, establish a ‘divine economy’ as the ‘major purpose of noble human sentiment’ (Rapp 1824, 58). The name of the third Harmonist village, Economy, alluded to God’s economy – yet it remained an economy where all components harmonized: ‘Agriculture, animal husbandry, doings and dealings, all [are] one, a cohesive entity, a machine’ (Rapp 1824, 65).

Arndt’s critical comment is valuable to illustrate the common distinction drawn between religious life and worldly activities – in other words, the religious-secular binary – as an epistemological problem. While experts barely question the religious nature of the Society, it is no coincidence that the ‘business’ aspects have often been ignored in the study of Harmonist religion (see Slaughter 2020, 718–719; 2023, 4; as an exception: Rode 2014). The pitfalls of conceptual binaries may be difficult to overcome. For example, mere allusions to the Harmonist ‘divine economy’ might suggest a divergence between religion and economy, unintentionally rendering ‘divine economy’ a term of conceptual differentiation. Moreover, pragmatic categorizations of source material into ‘theological’ and ‘economic’ to streamline research focus may inadvertently reinforce the notion of identifiable, distinctly isolable domains of life and society.

The vernacular approach conceptualizes the daily routine as an arena of religious life. This not only supplements existing research, but may also lead to radical reinterpretations. By prioritizing the Harmonists’ storyworld – encapsulated in Revelation 12 – over theology as the concept to properly research Harmonist religion, we might gain a more nuanced understanding that pastoral letters and financial reports are equally derivative of that storyworld. Temporal life and affairs had to be taken seriously, since gardening, work in the fields, and town planning, as well as trade, banking, and stock trading were acts of building the new Jerusalem, thereby expressing the economy of the Millennium. Harmonist ‘business’ was the blueprint in practice. Much work on the relation between religion and business is not only to be done ‘to more fully understand Lutheran Pietism’s contributions to the early American marketplace’ (Slaughter 2020, 758), but also to fully grasp Harmonist religion.

Rapp’s sermons as reflections of everyday life: toward vernacular theology

On the evening of 9 nJanuary 1838, an anonymous Harmonist reports Rapp gathering with a group of Harmonist men to instruct them ‘in the name of Jesus Christ’ (in Arndt 1987, 313) to fight against Lucifer.¹¹ Well-documenting the Harmonist millennial storyworld, in which the Harmonists serve as the instrument of God to free the righteous, banish the beast, and cause Christ’s reign, the report contains an episode that illuminates their vernacular theology. The writer accounts that ‘Father Rapp’¹² once said to a member of the community:

You must still become so simple that you may sit on a bench for an hour and not know what you have been thinking about. If anyone asks you: What are you doing here? You answer: I don’t know. How long have you been here? Answer: I don’t know. What are you thinking about? I don’t know. Are you a fool? I don’t know. You will say: I feel well inside me etc. (In Arndt 1987, 315)

The practice of simply ‘being’, as advocated here, stands in stark contrast to Protestant industriousness and contemplation. In contrast to a contemplative philosophical religion, the message here is unambiguous: Take a moment to neither work nor pray; avoid pondering the essence of God, for within Harmony, that essence has already been realized. In the holistic worldview of the Harmonists, the physical and spiritual realms merge, uniting material and spiritual as one. To become a part of the Harmony settlement means to live both in and with God. Achieving this seemed to be difficult, however. As the anonymous writer remarks, ‘I believe he could do that at night, during the day his congregation did not leave him time for it’ (In Arndt 1987, 315).

Given the demands of everyday community life, moments of calm, such as sitting on a bench during the day, might have been rare. This made it all the more important to continuously train one’s senses amidst the hustle and bustle of everyday life. As Rapp emphasized in another sermon, this training encompassed sensory perception, stating, ‘For there’s naught more foolish than humans believing in a spiritual God, when they are so sensuously made’ (Rapp, quoted in Arndt 1987, 316). Lamenting the incongruence between people’s belief in a spiritual God and their own tangible nature, Rapp stresses that Christ should be perceived in a sensory manner, through the word of God, which serves as the main source of spiritual satisfaction. This source can be experienced, as it ‘dwells within you’. By embracing this source, ‘the Holy Spirit will bountifully impart it unto you; then in every object [emphasis mine] you shall find cause for a thought’ (Rapp, quoted in Arndt 1987, 316). What Rapp suggests here is a training of the senses that extends beyond mere contemplation. Staying close to the Word of God enables one to find inspiration or purpose in each and every thing one encounters in everyday life and routine. Existence is inherently a religious act, and its core method is the cultivation of attention, fostering a distinct perceptual regime.

Rapp’s sermons have previously been subjected to detailed and comprehensive theological interpretation (Ott 2014). The vernacular approach, however, does not intend to do so. Instead of adopting an intellectual history approach – which would trace the theological origins ‘to pinpoint definitively the sources of Rapp’s religious beliefs’ (Ott 2014, 18–19) – I propose reading the sermons as reflections derived from practice, or as praxis-driven interpretations.

The vernacular approach methodically recommends reading the sermons as responses to questions that arose in the everyday life and practice of the Harmony community and regards them as manifestations of religious life. The exact nature of these questions remains, of course, unknown to us. However, this reading allows us to see Harmonist religion as it was lived, highlighting theological innovation, evolving discourse, and narrative involvement, rather than top-down communication. What might initially appear as a traditional religious genre simultaneously becomes an expression of vernacular theology in a utopian context, in which the sermons were responses to the everyday challenges faced by the Harmony Society members and a platform of dialogue to address their concerns. Emphasizing the participatory nature of the sermons proves especially valuable in challenging the ‘guru principle’, which has been a dominating motif in both contemporary receptions and academic investigations of the Harmony Society.

Blueprints in the making: the vernacular approach focuses on processes, not products

Robert Owen established the New Harmony community to change the world:

I am come to this country, to introduce an entire new state of society; to change it from the ignorant, selfish system, to an enlightened, social system, which shall gradually unite all interests into one, and remove all cause for contest between individuals. (NHG, October 1 1825, 1)

The New-Harmony Gazette (NHG), the newly founded community newspaper that was printed in New Harmony’s own printing office and published weekly from 1825 to 1828, served as the medium for this change. It was designed as the primary tool to disseminate Owen’s vision of an ideal society both internally and externally¹³ and to develop ‘more fully the principles of the social system [emphasis orig.]’ (NHG, October 1, 1825, 1). With this, the Gazette stands as a dynamic record of a blueprint in progress, showcasing how Owen adapted his doctrine to the practical realities of everyday community life. ‘If we cannot reconcile all opinions, let us endeavor to unite all hearts’, was the corresponding motto of the newspaper, placing emotional bonds over consensus. Accordingly, themes of impulse control, emotional training, and anger management aimed at fostering positive interpersonal perceptions became integral to Owen’s lectures, speeches, and educational lessons published in the Gazette.

Established with the mission to ‘promote the Happiness of the World’, the initial constitution of the ‘preliminary’ New Harmony Society obligated its members to contribute to the grand plan of personal betterment, preparing them for the forthcoming community of equality rooted in communal property. Any disputes arising were to be resolved by arbitration (NHG, October 1, 1825, 2). In a retrospective address marking the community’s first anniversary, Owen enumerated its achievements while carefully addressing everyday community challenges, notably the diverse backgrounds of its members. New Harmony was as much a social as an emotional experiment to test ‘whether a large heterogenous mass of persons […] can be amalgamated into one community, and induced to acquire the genuine feelings of kindness and benevolence’ (NHG, May 10, 1826, 263). By integrating an analysis of antagonistic sentiments into his doctrine of circumstances, Owen posited that hostile emotions arise more from early indoctrinated ignorance or misconceptions than from a deep understanding of human history. They were a systemic issue, resolvable by transitioning from an old individualistic to a new system, ‘directed for the immediate benefit of each [member]’ (NHG, May 17, 1826, 266).

On 4 July 1826, Owen delivered a speech entitled, ‘Declaration of Mental Independence’, in which he heralded a ‘mental revolution’ aimed at the liberation of humanity, envisioning the rise of a globally rational populace liberated from past ‘superstitions’ (NHG, July 12, 1826, 330–331). This mental revolution was not solely an intellectual endeavor. At the inaugural ‘Sunday meeting’, established to educate the community members in the new system, Owen elucidated an advanced version of his doctrine of circumstances, centered upon emotions. At its core, the doctrine posits that emotions are innate, yet shaped by external factors. Consequently, individuals lack full control of their feelings. While there is nothing inherently wrong with feelings, societal conditioning instills shame about them. Such shame serves to oppress. Advocating for swift change, Owen called for creating circumstances in which thoughts and feelings could be expressed freely and rationally (see NHG, July 12, 1826, 335).

In the everyday operations of this utopian community, Owen’s rationally conceived doctrine of circumstances met head-on with the genuine emotions and sentiments of its members. Owen believed that addressing emotional tensions would expedite their resolution, directing individuals towards a comprehensive understanding of his Declaration’s principles – principles he deemed foundational for realizing ‘the Millennium’ (NHG, July 12, 1826, 335). Therefore, he urged the community to endeavor ‘as soon as possible to overcome all the disagreeable, all the antisocial feelings’ (NHG, July 12, 1826, 335). Successive Sunday gatherings consistently emphasized emotional training and affect control as pivotal tenets of the new society. Managing anger was likened to ‘cultivating’ a forest: ‘The ground must be prepared before we can deposit the seed’ (NHG July 26, 1826, 351). Adhering to the new system’s principles would help in tempering irritability, making one ‘less subject to anger than formerly’ (NHG, August 2, 1826, 358). In doing so, the human mind would be ‘born again’, uniting ‘heart and hand’ (NHG, August 2, 1826, 359). Owen asserted that only through understanding this new system could conditions be fostered ‘which will enable us really to love another’, deftly intertwining knowledge with affection (NHG, August 23, 1826, 383).

In a success/failure paradigm, any adjustment of doctrine indicates flaws in the blueprint, rather than ongoing reflections on and experience of the dynamics of complex social structures. While it is reasonable to interpret Owen’s amended doctrine of emotional circumstances as a response to growing tensions among New Harmony’s members, the vernacular approach highlights the creative use of ideas, plans, and designs in the flow of everyday communal life. For the New Harmonists, the theoretical examination of emotions and affects became as important as the foundational examinations of the nature of society, politics, and religion. It demonstrated how the blueprint and the doctrine of circumstances provided a flexible tool adaptable to local situations. This adaptability allowed for negotiating more and more aspects of personal life using categories no longer indebted to the religious domain but instead pioneering modern psychological frameworks. Notably, it prefigured psychological associationism as later presented by James and John Stuart Mill (Johannsen 2023, 25–28).

Side notes, miscellanies, and criticism of religion in passing: vernacular secularism

The paramount objective of the Gazette was ‘to disseminate a correct knowledge of the principles, practice, and local affairs of this Society’, stated William Pelham, a member of its editorial board (Pelham 1916, 396). Although public lectures, official speeches, and reports served as pivotal mediums for disseminating these principles and practices, they did not operate in isolation. The Gazette bristled with brief contributions, side notes, and miscellanies that addressed practical questions of everyday life. These were frequently interwoven with references to ‘science’, ‘knowledge’, and ‘rationality’ and typically blended with social critiques. For example, a contributor highlighted the health detriments of grain coffee based on ‘chymical and medical observations’, promoting a breadcrumb infusion as a superior, economical alternative. His commentary culminated in a sharp criticism of societal consumption disparities, observing that while the elite advocates the health benefits of rye coffee, they ensure the ‘purest Java or Barbadoes’ for themselves, leaving rye for the ‘common and laboring people’ (NHG, August 2, 1826, 354). Coffee drinking was construed as a question of equality and therefore became a political issue. By transitioning from dispensing advice to political criticism, the comment showcased the amalgamation of genres and the pervasive nature of the social utopia.

While medical information could serve as a platform for social criticism, agricultural advice became a medium for disseminating knowledge grounded in personal experience and validated by methodical observation. Various contributions detail methods such as preserving meat in buttermilk or apples in dried sand (NHG 4, July 26, 1826, 349, 352); cleansing fruit trees with a potash-based solution to eliminate moss and – again politicizing everyday life – make fine-looking trees achievable for even ‘the poorest man in the State’ (NHG, August 2, 1826, 360); consuming strawberries to remove dental plaque and alleviate pain from gout or kidney-related issues (NHG, August 2, 1826, 357); or applying the ‘scientific principles’ of fertilization to maximize crop production (NHG, August 2, 1826, 360). Advice was transformed into a medium of science and utopia. More than just practical guidance, these suggestions invited New Harmony’s residents to contribute their knowledge to the great social experiment, thereby actively involving them in the utopian discourse.

Integrating ‘science’ and everyday life, activities like eating, cleaning, and dressing became subjects of scientific scrutiny and rational analysis (for fashion, refer to NHG, November 22, 1826, 67, 71). This emphasis on rationality was deeply intertwined with criticism of religion, a theme consistently echoed in Owen’s speeches, lectures, publications, and educational meetings. However, criticism of religion was not disseminated exclusively through lengthy, programmatic contributions. Often, it was conveyed in passing: ‘It is calculated, that there are in China more than one thousand and four hundred [emphasis orig.] temples dedicated to Confucius, and that more than 60,000 animals of various kinds are sacrificed to this supposed deity every year’, stated a typical side note from the miscellany section of the Gazette (NHG, October 8, 1825, 16). Such brief notes effectively portrayed religious traditions as peculiarities and offered concise, pointed critiques of religion.

To emphasize Owen’s core message that all religion is superstition – as stated in his 1826 Declaration of Mental Independence (NHG, July 12, 1826, 330) – the Gazette highlighted reports of perceived superstitious beliefs to challenge religious truth claims in general, and to extend criticism of religion across cultures. Under the heading ‘Superstition of the Chinese’, an article in the Gazette critically examined a missionary account, suggesting that Christian nations might be perceived in a similar light by the Chinese (NHG, May 2, 1827, 243). The challenge to religious truth claims blends with a critique of cultural superiority. Another article reported on the ‘superstitious customs’ in Africa, describing ‘Rain-Makers’ who purportedly deceive their unsuspecting communities, thereby expanding the geographical scope of a typical motif in the criticism of religion: the priest as a fraud (NHG, March 28, 1827, 208).

Much of the academic scrutiny surrounding Owen’s critique of religion has concerned his formal treatises and significant speeches. In contrast, the vernacular approach gives prominence to everyday genres like advertisements, agricultural and medical advice, brief notes, and miscellanies as they appeared in the Gazette. Broadly, these short columns may be understood as a pivotal source to describe the everyday life of New Harmony, documenting the continued work on the blueprint or ‘lived utopianism’ (Sargisson and Sargent 2017). Yet the vernacular approach provides an additional layer of understanding. It underscores the descriptive and prescriptive role of side notes and miscellanies as mediums in which ‘rationality’ – deeply embedded in everyday routines – was to become the mode to perceive the world. By presenting their message in digestible episodes and succinct comments that were both memorable and applicable to everyday concerns, these columns effectively translated high-level philosophical criticisms of religion into everyday language, thereby exemplifying vernacular secularism, i.e., criticisms of religion in their specific local contexts.

This vernacular secularism is characterized by both casual critiques of religion and by the application of contemporary scientific methods and principles to everyday life, evident in topics ranging from preservation techniques to the medicinal use of food and foundational agricultural principles. These topics were grouped under the umbrella of ‘useful knowledge’ – a phrase introduced by the community’s geologist, William Maclure, to distinguish merely descriptive natural history from a predictive natural science directed towards the future. By Maclure’s definition, what was ‘useful’ was synonymous with being ‘scientific’ and ‘rational’, whereas what was ‘unuseful’ was associated with the religious, ‘superstitious’, or false knowledge. Aiming to control and predict the mechanics of society and nature, the scientific method also carries a promise: if communities could grasp the core principles of farming, eating, dressing, or living communally, then those communities would naturally thrive.

Conclusion

The aim of this article was to foster conceptual and theoretical dialogue between religious studies and utopian studies and to bridge theorizations of religion in contemporary and historical religious studies research. Drawing on a classical field of utopian studies – 19th-century intentional communities in North America – I have discussed the analytical potential of vernacular utopia for the comparative study of emigrant worldmaking beyond categorical dichotomies such as utopian ideal vs. practice, religious vs. secular communities, and communal success vs. failure.

As a comprehensive methodology, vernacular utopia fundamentally challenges the notion of utopia as an imaginative and impossible place, and as an abstract idea that, by definition, cannot be realized; for its realization would mean it is no longer a utopia. As I have argued throughout the article, this understanding stems from an intellectual history approach which – implicitly or explicitly – considers ideas as the driving forces of history. From this perspective, utopia appears to represent an unrealizable ideal. Historiographically, the vernacular approach takes a different angle, rooted in the conceptual debates of cultural and social history, and transferring utopia from ideas to people. While recent debates in utopian studies seem to echo this shift, concepts such as lived, practical, or everyday utopia do not fully bridge the alleged gap between ideal and reality. On the contrary, they may perpetuate categorical differences, representing what sociologist Wolfgang Eßbach characterizes as ‘relational concept[s]’. He argues that the sociological notion of everyday life ‘implicitly presupposes the non-everyday as its counter-phenomenon’, thus ultimately conceptualizing the relation between the everyday and the abstract and between reality and theory as a ‘conflict model’ (Eßbach 2022, 49, 53). Concepts such as these are, in Primiano’s terms, ‘dividing practices’ that emphasize ‘status differences’ between practitioners and administrators, and between those who theologize or philosophize and those who study religion or, one might add, utopia (2022, 315).

In adopting Primiano’s methodological principles for utopia, the stark contrast between blueprint and practice fades. Furthermore, epistemological criticism of categorical binaries fosters new ways of conceptualizing the relation between man and utopia: The dualistic model does not capture how blueprints may function independently from humans and the world they inhabit and therefore fundamentally misconstrues what a blueprint is. By emphasizing the continuous adaptation and integration of ideals and dogmas to human conditions, the vernacular approach underscores efforts to bridge the gap between the ideal and the perceived. Consequently, future research might concentrate on how individuals either adjust their blueprint or alter their world to align with it. Vernacular utopia does not dismiss the significance of ideals, but invites reconceptualizing utopia as a mental map crucial to the dynamic process of human worldbuilding.

For religious studies, the foundational principle of the vernacular concept offers substantial theoretical and historiographical value. By bridging the divide between intellectual and social history, a holistic approach to utopia includes ephemeral sources that enable us to reconstruct utopian discourse in its entirety. However, besides documenting and analyzing life in intentional communities as professionalized in communal studies research, the vernacular perspective approaches the prescriptive character of ‘everyday’ sources as intensive acts of real-making. ‘The more richly detailed the shared imaginative landscape’, anthropologist Tanya Luhrmann states with respect to religious real-making, ‘the more vividly individuals can rework it as their own’ (2020, 32).

Given the significant variability in the availability of sources, a historical approach to vernacular religion (or utopia) entails combining the inclusion of diverse source types with new perspectives and systematic re-readings of the material. The foundational principle of the approach is: no binaries – no boundaries. Its historiographical implications are profound: By thinking in binaries, we delineate what falls within and what lies ‘beyond the scope’ of religion, secularism, or utopia. Thought patterns such as the divide into religious and secular define which sources we deem pertinent to the history of religion and which sources we assign to that history. Challenging entrenched scholarly perceptions, the vernacular perspective prompts a systematic shift in focus towards materials that have hitherto been given little attention in religious studies.

If our research subjects do not simply exist ‘out there’ waiting to be ‘found’ – in other words, if data for religion is nonexistent – then likewise, there is no data for utopia. The vernacular approach underscores this point, prompting us to transcend genres and to either uncover new sources or reinterpret existing ones in a new light, to broaden our understanding of the complexities of human world – and real-making in past and present.

Acknowledgments

I would like to thank Andrea Rota for his comments on a draft version of this article and the anonymous referees for their valuable feedback on the earlier draft.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Correction Statement

This article has been corrected with minor changes. These changes do not impact the academic content of the article.

Additional information

Funding

This work was supported by the Research Council of Norway [grant number: 334603].

Notes on contributors

Anja Kirsch

Anja Kirsch is Professor of Religious Studies at the Department of Philosophy and Religious Studies at NTNU, Trondheim. Her research focuses on the relationship between religion and ‘the secular’ in contemporary and historical perspectives, nineteenth-century utopia and migration, and narrative and cognitive approaches to the history of religion.

Notes

1 Conceptual development had already begun from the mid-1980s onward, when Primiano, a student of Don Yoder at the University of Pennsylvania, started publishing on the topic (see Valk 2024, 147).

2 The place was home to two communities that used different names for the locality. The town’s founders, members of the so-called Harmony Society, referred to their second settlement as ‘Harmonie’, retaining the name of their first settlement. Occasionally, they called it ‘die neue Harmonie’ (the new Harmony) or, more rarely, ‘Neu-Harmonie’. The variability of these terms and their interchangeable use suggest that they functioned less as formal toponyms and more as colloquial differentiators for two settlements with the same name in everyday communication. When the Harmonists sold the town to British reformer and early socialist Robert Owen, he anglicized the name to New Harmony, which remains its name today. I will refer to the town as ‘the new’ or ‘the second Harmony’ when discussing the Harmonist settlement and will use ‘New Harmony’ to refer either to Robert Owen’s community or to speak generally about the town.

3 Berkwitz’s historiographic insights prove invaluable in this context. He underscores the pragmatic objectives of Buddhist texts, emphasizing their transformative role, rather than merely chronicling an abstract history. This bottom-up methodology places emphasis on the actions of individuals and their innovative engagement with religion. The vernacular prompts us to reconsider the idea of singular meanings of a text and draws attention to the diverse contexts of religious discourse (Berkwitz 2004, pp. ix–39). I am grateful to Nina Kollmar-Paulenz and Anka Bretfeld-Wolf for introducing me to Berkwitz’s work as a reference in the historical discussion of the vernacular concept.

4 Consequently, recent criticism of the terminological normativity of ‘vernacular’ (e.g., Bronner 2022) may not apply (see specifically Valk 2023, 2–6).

5 Despite being prominent in the title, the concept of ‘practical utopia’ remains notably undertheorized in this volume. The same goes for Raithelhuber, Sharma, and Schröer (2018), who aim to provide a ‘“practical utopia” research agenda’ for mobility studies. The paper contributes significantly to the critical discussion of border politics, but does not offer conceptual or theoretical reflections.

6 Wright’s understanding of utopia still adheres to binary thinking when he equates utopias with ‘fantasies’ (2010, 4) and emphasizes the supposedly contradictory nature of ‘real utopias’, drawing on the interpretative notion of utopia as ‘nowhere’ (2013, 167).

7 Drawing on Ernst Bloch, some scholars use concrete utopias or utopianism (e.g., Elder-Vass 2022; Wilder 2022) as a terminological variation of real utopias. This concept also postulates change as its political concern and aim.

8 Gardiner refers to Bingaman, Sanders, and Zorach (2002) who highlight that utopias are not just concerned with places or spaces, but also with bodies as ‘the inhabitants and users, that constitute those spaces’. They introduce embodied utopia as ‘the act of imagining an alternative to the constrictive and discriminatory spaces of the present, and then enacting that vision in all its materiality’ (Bingaman, Sanders, and Zorach 2002, 11 and 12).

9 Cf., for example, the ‘insider/outsider’ debate (e.g., McCutcheon 1999; Jensen 2011; Chryssides and Gregg 2019).

10 The religious-secular divide is frequently utilized in accounting research as a theoretical model to probe the nexus between religion and economy (Booth 1993; Flesher and Flesher 2022). While the model’s efficacy is contested (Carmona and Ezzamel 2006, 125), critiques are usually specific in nature (see Cordery 2015, 431 and 436) and seldom question its binary conceptualization as non-universal and historically contingent. Laughlin (1988) introduced this binary notion as a theoretical structure, even though his example, the Church of England in the 1980s, is highly specific. Booth references this binary in his observations on the Shakers and the Harmony Society: ‘While both were religiously rooted, they also displayed a pronounced focus on business activities’ (1993, 41).

11 Most of Johann Georg Rapp’s regularly delivered sermons that are extant come from the period of the third and last Harmonist settlement, Economy, in Pennsylvania with only a few available in printed form (in Arndt 1987). The unprinted material consists of Rapp’s sermon notes, listener transcripts of his sermons, and Rapp’s own summaries (see Ott 2014, 217).

12 From 1806 onwards, Johann Georg Rapp referred to himself as ‘father and brother’ of the Harmony Society (e.g., Rapp in Arndt 1980, 134). This title was taken up by his followers (see Arndt 1980, 230) and understood to reflect the tradition of ancient Israel’s patriarchy (see Arndt 1980, 230, 273–274), also Ott (2014, 172–173).

13 The subscription rate was commendable. Beyond the 123 copies sold within the village, an additional 175 were distributed across various US states, with some even reaching Europe. A portion of these found its way to public reading rooms, further amplifying the spread of Owen’s ideas and news from New Harmony. For the numbers, see Pelham ([1825/26] 1916, 395).