Dynamic Relations: The Sacred and the Profane; The Religious and the Capitalist

My first time in Paris was in 2011, a quick 4 days, an extended layover. I didn't then know much about the city, the metropole that so irrevocably changed the course of the region I call my ethnographic home: West Africa. Like all new cities I visit, I walked. I walked from one historic landmark to the next and none made an impression on me as the gothic behemoth Notre Dame. I didn't go in that time. The lines were too long and I was pinching my euros. Imagine my surprise when, admiring the layers of gothic details on the facade the other day I read that it's free to enter the cathedral! It's free to enter one of the world's most famous churches/tourist destinations!Think about that for a minute. It's free. In a city where even the smallest museums can cost about 10euros to enter; in a global political economy that attempts to give everything a monetary value, it is free to enter a 850 year old structure of exquisite artistic achievement and profound historical depth. "It's a church," I reasoned with myself. It is a space of the sacred, a house of the divine, "it ought to be free."Money and ReligionIn the anthropological literature, the sacred is often associated with the pure, the holy, the superhuman, and supranormal. It is contrasted with the profane, the dirty, or the base. The sacred is the ideal. The profane the near-to lived reality. And at first glance, they are often counterposed. So imagine my shock--and don't be surprised at my initial repulsion--when I found that Notre Dame is not entirely free. Or rather, it is not entirely free of capitalism. Herein lies the source of my repulsion. How, in this day of Free/Fair Trade, Occupy movements, human economics, the continued concern over unemployment rates and the recession that sparked them, and Sen. Warren's recent proposal to give students the same loan interest rates as banks, is capitalism seen as anything but profane by most people? And, moreover, why would they allow such profane infiltrations into this sacred space?Audioguides of the cathedral are available for a small fee. This is understandable: quiet, personal tours of the cathedral, with the fee being applied toward maintenance of the audio guide system, itself. But there are other, seemingly more insidious examples of capitalism working its ways into the sacred:For a few euros one can buy a custom coin commemorating Notre Dame's 850 years from a vending machine.Two and five euro candles are available for prayers. You're on the honor system for these, which 1) isn't entirely capitalist and 2) a fascinating study, itself (i.e. are people more honorable when taking a candle because of the sacred space?).At first I didn't notice these infiltrations, these tendrils of capitalism, but was shocked with more blatant manifestations. Guide books have their own vending machine.Preview before you buy music of the divine: some are actual recordings of choirs performing in Notre Dame. Others aren't specific to the cathedral.And what tourist destination is complete without a gift shop? There are two for your convenience. Where you can buy distinctly un-gothic religious memorabilia such as a crystal nativity or plaster cherubim.And, of course, one is able to make donations to the church in honor of it's 850 years. All currencies welcome.I was relieved to see, however, that the confessional booths were free and open to the public. I think that confessions-for-a-price might have been too much.The Bedfellows: Religion and CapitalismTry as I might, I couldn't articulate one valid argument for why these prehensions of capitalism shouldn't be in Notre Dame. It wasn't a matter of not knowing where the money goes--whether it's upkeep, taxes, maintenance, or greedy church and political officials divvying up the money in smoke-filled rooms--or how large the profit margin is. In truth, there is nothing profane at the heart of economics. There is nothing base about using a symbol (money) to stand for value, and to use it to buy and sell goods. And there is nothing desecrating in the accumulation of value as such. Those which we despise in the capitalist system are the uses to which it is put. We decry the use of economics to disenfranchise and to oppress. And we decry the unequal application of rules and regulations to players in the capitalist game. The Occupy movements lost steam and public support when it began to be portrayed not as a movement to call out those who cheated in the game, but a movement to change the game itself. In 1905 Max Weber, the sociologist, saw the present "spirit of capitalism" as rooted in the Protestants of northern Europe who advocated an ethic of work, accumulation, and reinvestment. For the early Protestants, specifically the Calvanists, economic success was, in some ways, a proxy of divine favor, a way of knowing if God had predestined you for salvation or damnation. Walter Benjamin extended this thesis, writing that capitalism goes hand in hand with Christianity. Not only was the spread of Protestant and Orthodox sects essential for the proliferation of capitalism, but that capitalism intimately mirrors Christianity in structure. He went so far as to say that capitalism is, itself, a religion, and, perhaps, a better religion than Christianity. Like Christianity, which defines and categorizes the world in terms of Christian theology, capitalism defines and categorizes the world in terms of value. Everything is understandable--everything!--in terms of value. But unlike Christianity, which identifies one or several days for special worship and religious reflection allowing one to "relax" on the "off" days, capitalism doesn't take a break. Every day and every action is capitalistic in nature. This suggests that in the religion of capitalism, the accumulation of wealth is sacred, the dispersal of wealth is profane. There is, of course, still room for God in capitalism. We do not (yet) bow to the Almighty Dollar. But value does embody characteristics of the divine. Things have more or less value, more or less divinity. Perhaps our present zeitgeist is a hashing out of this relationship, a battle of religious regimes. A battle I felt in my repulsion of vending machines in Notre Dame. More Than the Sum of PartsWhen I entered Notre Dame I felt profound reverence. The space of the cathedral dwarfs the individual, invoking a sense of sublime awe: a sense of being part of something large and spectacular, something extremely large and unfathomable. Terrifying beauty. Others didn't feel the same. Groups walked around carrying casual conversations in every language imaginable. The constant noise, amplified by the vaulted ceiling and archways. There are signs throughout Notre Dame asking visitors to be silent. They are hard to miss. Yet, apparently, easy to ignore."How could people miss these," I wondered. "Don't they realize they're in a church?"I now understand that Notre Dame is not a space of the Christian sacred only. Neither has it been completely appropriated by capitalism. Potentially it is a space of struggle, a meeting place where the regimes of Christianity and capitalism are continuous hashed out, a point of structuration, constantly in motion as each new visitor enters the doors. But it may also be a space of hybridity, a manifestation of the joint meeting of Christianity and capitalism, a dynamic new realization of the sacred that is neither Christian nor capitalist. I don't know more than this. The building is worthy of an entire dissertation and  I'm getting on a plane tomorrow to get back to mine.But I'm left with the realization that Notre Dame is more than an historic cathedral. It is also more than a tourist destination. It condenses and reflects some of the paramount ideals and values of the age and it's up to the visitor to take it or leave it.