1 Introduction
When someone in a household lowers the thermostat or leaves towels on the bathroom floor,
it can evoke sudden irritation. According to Orvar Löfgren, it is precisely these kinds of
everyday impulses that reveal how material environments, feelings, routines, and social
relations are intertwined.1 He refers to this assembly as ‘throwntogetherness’: a situation in
which objects, people, and affections do not exist in isolation from one another but
collectively form an implicit order, sustained by unwritten rules. It is specifically moments of
affective disruption that temporarily render this hidden order visible.2
Löfgren’s analysis aligns with a broader methodological shifts within the humanities
and social sciences, in which attention has emerged for the non-discursive dimensions of
everyday life.3 Instead of regarding daily life as a passive background against which societal
changes unfold, he emphasizes that the everyday itself plays an active role in how new
practices, technologies, and ideas are received, adapted, or rejected. 4 Many of these processes
are difficult to verbalize and are unnoticeable, making them difficult to capture within
discursive analytical frameworks.5
In this respect, the concept of throwntogetherness offers a usefull lens for the study of
‘lived religion’ within religious studies. Within this approach, attention shifts from
institutional doctrines and theological authorities to the everyday religious actions of people,
often in ways that deviate from prescribed dogmas. 6 Religion, then, thus appears not as a
coherent system, but as a dynamic whole of practices, objects, feelings, and relationships
situated in concrete social contexts.
At the same time, this approach raises methodological questions, particularly in the
context of ethnographic fieldwork. On the one hand, conducting prior literature research can
provide the researcher with perspectives they might otherwise miss, making them better able
to understand what they observe. On the other hand, it can also mean that the researcher
enters the field with a preconceived notion and consequently overlooks things because they
are guided by their theoretical framework. Therefore, the question reflected upon in this paper
1
Löfgren 2014, 86.
2
Löfgren 2014, 94.
3
Löfgren 2014, 77-79.
4
Löfgren 2014, 80-81.
5
Löfgren 2014, 77-81.
6
Ammerman 2016, 87.
1
, is: to what extent is it desirable to research a historical background before entering the
research field when applying the concept of throwntogetherness?
To reflect on this question, I make use of two of my fieldwork reports. In section 2, I
discuss my visit to the El-Hijra Mosque in Leiden, for which I immersed myself in the
historical context of the community beforehand. Section 3 focuses on my visit to the Sufi
house in Haarlem, where this prior contextualization was absent. In section 4, both visits are
discussed side-by-side, followed by a conclusion in section 5.
2 El-Hijra Mosque
In the El-Hijra Mosque in Leiden, the theoretical value of prior historical and sociological
knowledge became immediately apparent when attempting to interpret the material
environment. Without prior literature research, a visitor might perceive the mosque merely as
a religious building that happens to deviate from the surrounding architecture. However,
through the lens of Islamologist Welmoet Boender, the mosque appears as a so-called
‘nostalgia mosque,’ which attempts to materially replicate the world of origin of immigrants. 7
The choice for a Moorish architectural style, characterized by sand-colored stones and a
square minaret, is not a purely aesthetic decision, but an active material positioning within
Dutch society. The throwntogetherness of this building, the coherence between the physical
structure, the migrant history, and the Dutch political context, only truly seems capable of
being understood when the researcher possesses the historical framework of the community.
This prior knowledge also proved essential for critically reflecting on the discursive
presentation of the community. During the observation, the guide claimed that the mosque is
‘a place for everyone.’ In a political climate marked by strong anti-Islamic sentiments, it
seems understandable to me that a community strives for an inclusive image. 8 However, in my
view, the material choices tell a more layered story.
While the architecture aligns with the local building style on the one hand by adopting
the yellow color of a nearby windmill, the Moorish style simultaneously emphasizes a
specific cultural tradition that deviates from the Dutch environment and other Islamic styles.
Here, the researcher, also in line with my paper on archivists, functions as a ‘gatekeeper’ of
meaning. By knowing the historical background, I was able to perceive the tension between
the inclusive rhetoric of the guide and the material reality that celebrates the richness of a
specific tradition.
7
Boender 2018, 34.
8
Boender 2018, 40.
2
When someone in a household lowers the thermostat or leaves towels on the bathroom floor,
it can evoke sudden irritation. According to Orvar Löfgren, it is precisely these kinds of
everyday impulses that reveal how material environments, feelings, routines, and social
relations are intertwined.1 He refers to this assembly as ‘throwntogetherness’: a situation in
which objects, people, and affections do not exist in isolation from one another but
collectively form an implicit order, sustained by unwritten rules. It is specifically moments of
affective disruption that temporarily render this hidden order visible.2
Löfgren’s analysis aligns with a broader methodological shifts within the humanities
and social sciences, in which attention has emerged for the non-discursive dimensions of
everyday life.3 Instead of regarding daily life as a passive background against which societal
changes unfold, he emphasizes that the everyday itself plays an active role in how new
practices, technologies, and ideas are received, adapted, or rejected. 4 Many of these processes
are difficult to verbalize and are unnoticeable, making them difficult to capture within
discursive analytical frameworks.5
In this respect, the concept of throwntogetherness offers a usefull lens for the study of
‘lived religion’ within religious studies. Within this approach, attention shifts from
institutional doctrines and theological authorities to the everyday religious actions of people,
often in ways that deviate from prescribed dogmas. 6 Religion, then, thus appears not as a
coherent system, but as a dynamic whole of practices, objects, feelings, and relationships
situated in concrete social contexts.
At the same time, this approach raises methodological questions, particularly in the
context of ethnographic fieldwork. On the one hand, conducting prior literature research can
provide the researcher with perspectives they might otherwise miss, making them better able
to understand what they observe. On the other hand, it can also mean that the researcher
enters the field with a preconceived notion and consequently overlooks things because they
are guided by their theoretical framework. Therefore, the question reflected upon in this paper
1
Löfgren 2014, 86.
2
Löfgren 2014, 94.
3
Löfgren 2014, 77-79.
4
Löfgren 2014, 80-81.
5
Löfgren 2014, 77-81.
6
Ammerman 2016, 87.
1
, is: to what extent is it desirable to research a historical background before entering the
research field when applying the concept of throwntogetherness?
To reflect on this question, I make use of two of my fieldwork reports. In section 2, I
discuss my visit to the El-Hijra Mosque in Leiden, for which I immersed myself in the
historical context of the community beforehand. Section 3 focuses on my visit to the Sufi
house in Haarlem, where this prior contextualization was absent. In section 4, both visits are
discussed side-by-side, followed by a conclusion in section 5.
2 El-Hijra Mosque
In the El-Hijra Mosque in Leiden, the theoretical value of prior historical and sociological
knowledge became immediately apparent when attempting to interpret the material
environment. Without prior literature research, a visitor might perceive the mosque merely as
a religious building that happens to deviate from the surrounding architecture. However,
through the lens of Islamologist Welmoet Boender, the mosque appears as a so-called
‘nostalgia mosque,’ which attempts to materially replicate the world of origin of immigrants. 7
The choice for a Moorish architectural style, characterized by sand-colored stones and a
square minaret, is not a purely aesthetic decision, but an active material positioning within
Dutch society. The throwntogetherness of this building, the coherence between the physical
structure, the migrant history, and the Dutch political context, only truly seems capable of
being understood when the researcher possesses the historical framework of the community.
This prior knowledge also proved essential for critically reflecting on the discursive
presentation of the community. During the observation, the guide claimed that the mosque is
‘a place for everyone.’ In a political climate marked by strong anti-Islamic sentiments, it
seems understandable to me that a community strives for an inclusive image. 8 However, in my
view, the material choices tell a more layered story.
While the architecture aligns with the local building style on the one hand by adopting
the yellow color of a nearby windmill, the Moorish style simultaneously emphasizes a
specific cultural tradition that deviates from the Dutch environment and other Islamic styles.
Here, the researcher, also in line with my paper on archivists, functions as a ‘gatekeeper’ of
meaning. By knowing the historical background, I was able to perceive the tension between
the inclusive rhetoric of the guide and the material reality that celebrates the richness of a
specific tradition.
7
Boender 2018, 34.
8
Boender 2018, 40.
2
