Erin Kenzie

Hnrs 490

Winter 2001

(Sati9@aol.com)

Browsing for Fulfillment:

Shopping Malls as Sacred

in Contemporary American Society

A common goal of anthropologists is to examine a culture’s sacred objects and places, often in the larger context of belief and religion. Countless pages have been written attempting to interpret various cultures’ texts by looking at their fetish objects, places of worship, and other manifestations of the sacred. As Euro-American scholars debate the ins and outs of sanctity in other cultures, one can’t help but ask what story our own culture tells. What is it that functions as sacred in American society? Looking from within a society that popularized the phrase ‘nothing’s sacred’, it quickly becomes obvious that using such a label in a society so secular and diverse is not without difficulties. Acknowledging the fact that many different religions function in America with their own ideas of the sacred, it still seems possible that a general set of beliefs and behaviors regarding the sacred can be pulled out of the images perpetuated in American popular culture. Because we are so entrenched in our biases about our own culture, it may be best to first view the things which function as sacred to us as a metaphor. As with any interpretation of a cultural text, when the comparisons and analyses become striking enough, the discussion leaves the language of metaphor and enters that of dialectic. This being said, I’d like to examine the idea that in America, shopping malls function as secular, yet sacred, temples.

To avoid confusion, I’d like to offer my working definition of ‘sacred’, and explain how an institution not clearly associated with any organized religion can function as such in a society. Maurice Godelier defines the sacred as a “certain type of relationship that humans entertain with the origin of things, such that, in this relationship, the real humans disappear and in their stead appear duplicates of themselves, imaginary humans.” (Godelier 1996: 171) To Godelier, the sacred has its origins in society, but it also “conceals something from the collective and individual consciousness, something contained in social relations, something essential to society, and in so doing the sacred distorts the social, makes it opaque to itself.” (Godelier 1996: 173) Emile Durkheim designates the sacred as “superior in dignity and power” to the profane, and adds that anything can be sacred. (Durkheim 1947: 37) Working from these definitions, we can say that for something to be considered sacred in a society, it has to, through these images of imaginary people, address the very nature of what it means to be a human in that society. When describing the ‘religious’ characteristics of my topic, I am not referring to any specific denomination or belief in a supreme being. My inquiry defines religion as a “system of beliefs and practices relative to sacred things,” (Durkheim 1947: 47) and focuses on how shopping malls function in our society in a characteristically religious way.

If the parameters for religion and the sacred are so flexible, why single out shopping malls? Well, in order for something to function in a society in such a prominent way, it must be fueled by some powerful underlying assumptions about our place in the world. America’s brand of excessive consumerism has been scrutinized by critics from many disciplines- sociology, philosophy, anthropology, and environmental science, among others. Mark Kingwell argues that “commercialism and advertising work to colonize our very deepest desires, those centered on the wish to be happy, by playing on our various weaknesses and lack of critical training. These forces are, in their way, a form of ideological control... a system of thought and representation that all of us, producers and consumers alike, implicitly accept and reinforce with every commercial transaction. This system is so much taken for granted in our cultural milieu that it has become, indeed, naturalized- part of a set of background assumptions and ideas concerning life and work, even concerning what it means to be human, that we no longer pause to question.” (Kingwell 1998: 161) These assumptions, fueled by advertising, say that fulfillment can be found in the consumption of commodity goods. As Ivan Illich argues, “the myth of unending consumption has taken the place of the belief in life everlasting.” (Gill 1999) I’d argue that the properties of naturalization and centrality inherent in these assumptions are the same as the opaqueness and essentiality in Godelier’s definition of the sacred. In this way, our underlying consumerist assumptions provide the framework for a discussion of America’s ideas of the sacred. And if it’s advertising that fuels our ideas of happiness and the sacred, is there a more appropriate place to examine our ‘religion’ than the shopping mall?

To not place the blame entirely on advertising, a more historical look can be taken on the origins of consumption. Before industrialization, a person’s work held certain qualities of the sacred for them. “Religion provided the necessary restraints and opportunities for experiences of transcendence through one’s work.” (Weber) With the onset of corporate capitalism, this transcendence was replaced by Marxist feelings of alienation from the product of one’s labor. Intrinsic or religious satisfaction from work was largely overshadowed by the external motivation of realizing the worth of one’s labor through consumptive potential. As Daniel Miller points out, “the projects of value that are being constructed through commodities are more a continuation of projects that previously were objectified through social categories such as kinship, household, and ethnicity.” (Miller 1997: 310) That in a historical context the consumption of commodities can serve such an essential function for individuals leaves the door open for outside forces such as advertising to have such a heavy hold on our ideas of the sacred.

To accompany the previous, predominantly rationalist, portion of my essay, I intend to shift focus now to more empirical observations about the religious dimension of shopping malls. There’s no doubt that the shopping mall is a significant feature of the American landscape. Bill Thomas of Baltimore’s The Sunday Sun commented that malls “have become so much a part of the every-day landscape that it’s as hard to imagine an America without malls as it is to imagine an America without purple mountains and amber waves of grain.” By the late 1990’s, they took up an estimated 21.5 square feet per capita. (Gill 1999) Studies show that Americans spend their most time, outside of home and work, in shopping malls. Forty percent of mall patrons do not intend to buy anything. (Zepp 1986) Given these statistics, it seems only logical that we should investigate the meaning behind such a large part of our lives.

There are three universal functions of religion that I will explore in the context of shopping malls. First, a look into the symbolism involved in the aesthetic characteristics of these centers responds to an “impulse of people to symbolize their lives.” (Zepp 1986) The shopping mall as a ceremonial center must be examined in the terms of ritual, another universal function of religion. Third, religion also functions as a way for individuals to feel connected to their community.

Imagery and symbolism undoubtedly have a lot to do with the propagation and subconscious appeal of religions. The metaphor of shopping malls as secular cathedrals can be discussed at a theoretical level, but holds no real ground if not also examined at a more literal one based on physical characteristics. Imagine the following scenario:

You leave the familiar confines of your car, and walk towards the monolithic structure in the distance. When you reach your goal, you walk up several stairs and are greeted by a several-stories-tall doorway surrounded by columns and flowerboxes. Once inside, you once again feel comfortable in your surroundings- the muted hum of nameless music mixes with the somehow distant voices of the people around you. As you walk on, you might catch the scent of food or perfume. You pass the occasional water fountain or man-made stream. You also pass various potted plants- more flowerboxes, and trees that appear to have been built around when tiling the floor, because they seem to be coming out of the ground. The tiled floor itself is shiny, and reflects the rich array of colors in the area- banners, decorations, vegetation, and the colors of the clothes of passersby. In various rooms you can find life-size statues of idealized humans dressed in the finest attire. As you near the center of the building, you notice an increasing sense of height and space. The arched glass atrium ceiling lets in natural light to the rows of vegetation lining the balconies above you, and imbues you with a vague sense of awe at those things larger than yourself. The atmosphere is one of relaxation. There are benches, and perhaps a small play area for children or a pianist. People in this center area seem to be taking a break, ‘regrouping’. Somewhere nearby there may be a stage of some sort, or at least an area designated for performances. If you visit this place during holiday time, you might see children lining up to meet Santa or the Easter Bunny. There are also other various seasonal observances, such as Back-to-School.

This description of the idealized version of a mall, which leaves out the commercial aspect, lets us see its symbols in the context of a religious human gathering place. The comparison to traditional cathedrals is striking. Both are large, impressive structures with equally impressive doorways. Vegetation is a universal symbol for life, and combined with water fountains at the center, one could be reminded a natural haven like Eden. Water itself is a symbol of rebirth, “restoration, re-creation, and healing”. Water is used in cathedrals in the form of holy or baptismal water. (Zepp 1986) Aromas such as food or perfume are analogous to ceremonial meals, and the incense found in cathedrals, respectively. Mannequins are the most literal examples of Godelier’s imaginary, idealized humans. The arched ceilings and large indoor spaces found in malls are reminiscent of the divinely impressive interiors of traditional cathedrals. Atrium domes can be traced back to the Roman architecture of the Pantheon. (Zepp 1986) Both of these point to the idea that large interior space symbolizes a connection to something greater than ourselves.

Apart from these specific symbolic comparisons, the idea of the ‘center’ is an important symbol in and of itself. These centers are most often, but not necessarily, circular. Jung formed his idea of the mandala, a circular symbol of the universe and picture of the self, while noticing that victims of severe trauma would draw circles, presumably to reassure themselves that life is not radically ruptured. Circles are a matter of mathematical symmetry and perfection, and so “are a way of saying that the universe and, finally, or lives are symmetrical, well regulated, ordered, and under control.” (Zepp 1986) This “thirst for order and orientation,” manifested by the circle, is a human universal. (Elaide) This regeneration associated with the center, and manifested in the symbol of the circle, reflects the second function of religion- ritual.

The ritualistic aspects of shopping malls can best be understood by relating them to ceremonial centers. Ritual comes from the Sanskrit word Rta, “a cosmic force which keeps the world turning at its proper pace.” (Zepp 1986: 107) Zepp claims that it is “by way of ritual that a community defines itself and remembers who it is.” (1986:107) From those roots, we can get the idea that a modern ritual would be essential and reaffirming. Rituals would mark the passage of time in an orderly, communal way. This happens in the modern shopping mall, and can best be understood through the ideas of sacred time and festival time.

Sacred time is the notion that time spent at the mall is somehow inherently better than time spent elsewhere. This doesn’t have to be so consciously articulated. On the contrary, it usually gains importance for people at a more subconscious level. “To the extent that the mall is space discontinuous from the trivial, ordinary world, it is understood to be potentially sacred.” (Zepp 1986: 51) ’Sacred’ in this context refers specifically to this space being more ‘real’ or powerful than other, more profane places and activities. It is the familiarity of this ritual that prevents us from being overwhelmed by the whole affair. This is the place where one realizes their consumptive potential, reaffirms their basic consumerist understanding of the world, and reconnects with others in their society. This can mean slightly different things to many people. To the young and the very old, the mall can mean a cure for loneliness. Indeed, the shopping mall is considered to be the primary way for many people to meet others. (Jacobs 1984) The teenagers strive to be accepted by their peers, while the elderly enjoy the companionship and amelioration of boredom perhaps not found at home. People feel drawn to these human gathering places because they undoubtedly provide support for one of the main motivating ideas in their lives- that the consumption of commodity goods will make one happy.

The nagging feelings of envy and emptiness facilitated by advertising can be momentarily quenched by purchasing whatever product is desired at the moment. (Kingwell 1998) In this way, we perpetuate the very thing controlling us. However, this doesn’t have the entirely passive overtones it suggests. As Eric Voegelin points out, malls are designed to repeat a cosmogony, to re-create an ordered world. This act is “not an act of futile imitation, for in repeating the cosmos man participates, in the measure allowed to his existential limitations, in the creation of cosmic order itself.” (Zepp 1986:52) Although the messages of consumerism that we help support are ethically questionable, there is at least a rewarding feeling of connection. Identifying with the more powerful forces that drive our culture, we become somehow connected to our society at large as a meaningful, functional person operating within it. As Zepp states in his book, “the entire world meets in the center of every mall.” One might claim that the mall is only a collection of shops, but it is good to remember that “practical activities take second place to the need to see ourselves appropriately related to our environment.” (Zepp 1986: 50)

Besides helping us connect to our society as a whole, the ritual elements of the mall experience allow us to fulfill the last function of religion- to connect, in one way or another, to the real people around us. The first way that mall patrons feel connected to those around them is by simply being in a mall that reflects their approximate socioeconomic class. A person from suburban New York who is accustomed to mall anchor stores such as Sears or Target will feel more at home in a mall of a similar class level, regardless of actual geographical location. They are more likely to feel like they fit in at a similar mall in suburban Florida than an upper-class downtown New York City mall that houses stores like Neiman-Marcus or Macy’s. To extend the religious metaphor, the distinct variations in class status among malls can be compared roughly to different religious sects.

This idea of ritual festival time can be found by examining the community and festival events that malls host year-round. These events are designed to propagate the image of the mall as “more than a marketplace.” (Zepp 1986) In this way, malls take on the role of civic or community centers. The previously discussed symbolism of the ‘center’ helps to support the idea that these community gatherings are places of human empowerment. They also help to maintain open lines of communication with the community at large, by allowing an overlap of public and private space. Such festival observances take place to celebrate religious or national holidays, business promotions, and family holidays such as Valentine’s Day or Mother’s Day. They make the mall seem like an central, vibrant hub of the community. They also allow for the illusion of change over time, while keeping well-regimented safety and order. The generally jovial festival atmosphere extends past the specific holiday observances. The playful names of stores, combined with colorful decorations and a generally relaxed pedestrian atmosphere, allow the mall to offset the more serious business of commerce, and to “protest the mall’s potential to deceive and manipulate.

The idea of a mall as a sacred community gathering place speaks to the now-extinct town square, the cornerstone of our past social relations. Another type of ceremonial center, the town square was a marketplace as much as it was an intimate social affair; a place for relaxation and renewal as much as excitement and festival. In these town centers everyone knew each other, and the crowd was punctuated by homespun characters. A weekly outing uptown was sacred time for the members of these communities. As Jerry Jacobs points out, “in a formal sense, shopping malls may be seen as a modern extension of these efforts for a completely different socioeconomic class’s search for a street corner society.” (Jacobs 1984: 15) Although they have some similar characteristics, the shopping malls of today and the town squares of yesterday function quite differently. As a contrived version of the small-town city center, the mall will always come up invariably short, lacking the personal closeness of town squares. Paul Wheatley suggested that when a community shifts from personal to impersonal, “there is a tendency to move from an emphasis on status to an emphasis on contract, from primary relationships to secondary ones, from societas to civitas, from living to contrived, from organic to plastic.” (Zepp 1986: 144) Exactly how close malls come to the impersonal, plastic end of the continuum is up for debate and individual interpretation. Malls offer a connection to the fellow members of your community, but it necessarily remains a mostly anonymous one. The physical closeness to other people and to the bustle of a festival atmosphere falls necessarily short of genuine personal social interaction.

Regardless of class or location, each mall is an idealized version of its surrounding community. Security personnel make certain that the mall is free of vagrants, drunks, rowdy teenagers, solicitors, and other unwelcome reminders of reality. There’s a higher standard of personal composure at the mall than at other public places. Even the Salvation Army had to stop their bell-ringing charity efforts at several malls because they supposedly interfered with the desired atmosphere of the malls. (Pollock 1982) It seems as if the whole situation is orchestrated so that we can bask in our sacred consumerist ethos and soak up the images of idealized people without disturbance from the profane outside world. “Malls intended to filter out the undesirable aspects of urban life.” (Jacobs 1984: 93) The safety and respectability of malls attracts many people, but this leads to an interesting paradox. The patrons and stores in the mall have such a drab homogeneity that there is a prevailing image of “nothing unusual happening here”. However, the completeness of this image, combined with saturating religious symbols and a manufactured festival atmosphere, makes the whole thing seem very unusual. (Jacobs 1984)

One may ask why I am claiming that the traditional function of the pre-industrial urban cathedral is fulfilled in the present day by shopping malls, and not churches. There are several reasons for this. In medieval times, the cathedral served as a place of orientation and a “center of felt value.” (Zepp 1986: 125) This general set of attitudes continued with large urban cathedrals and churches, without much change in function. Post World War II suburban sprawl caused a great deal of social disorientation for people of all ages. Suburban churches were constructed in the 1950’s as an attempt to orient this homogeneous community of socially isolated nuclear families. For this first group of upwardly mobile, white, middle-class ex-urbanites, suburban churches provided a welcome source for religious regeneration and social interaction. However, while the first generation of suburbanites came of age in this new society, it became obvious that “the church was not relating to all that many people and that it as not a true community center in terms of time and space.” (Zepp 1986: 125) The fact that churches couldn’t completely take the place of cathedrals, along with the increased secularization of the American world-view, and a rise in criticism of organized religion in general, leads one to look elsewhere for a functioning ‘center of felt value.’ This search leads invariably to an inquiry about what would make something function as such a center, and to my previous discussion of the underlying values and assumptions in our society.

My use of the term ‘functional’ when describing the place malls have in our society perhaps implies an undue sense of sanity or virtue about the whole thing. The fact that our underlying assumptions about nature of happiness can manifest themselves so strongly in an institution so blatantly unethical and self-serving only serves to strengthen the doubt already cast on the merit of consumerism and capitalism. Does it really say anything good about our general character if we believe that the only real way to happiness is the consumption of commodity goods? Is it healthy to so readily internalize advertising’s images of the perfect person, images that were manufactured with the express purpose of fabricating envy? What about the Haitian worker who gets 26 cents an hour to manufacture the latest trends?

The fact that an unfulfilled, socially disjointed suburbia birthed this relatively young and dysfunctional “religion” also leads to questions about the validity of suburbanization and development in general. Is our boredom really that powerful so as to allow such assumptions about our place in the world? Jacobs said that our increasing affinity to shopping malls was indeed due to a growing and powerful sense of boredom. This boredom in turn causes a need to escape from the monotony of everyday existence. To indulge in these “time-out” activities occasionally is healthy, says Jacobs, but for a society to be so enthralled in these escapes is indicative of a greater social problem. He calls the minimization of social interaction the ‘shrinking social world syndrome.’ (Jacobs 1984)

I don’t mean to suggest that we are all, by definition, powerless cogs in the corporate machine, destined through no fault of our own to perpetuate the very things that imprison us. To say this would be to deny that humans are capable of any more than a default mode of action. The most viable option for anyone who doubts the rationality behind all of this is to enact what Bertrand Russell calls ‘mental discipline’ when confronted with the onslaught of advertising images and slogans. I believe that this kind examination of the origins and value of our beliefs and customs is essential, and that the idea that the shopping mall is sacred in our society deserves discussion. Upon proper investigation, it seems to me that it deserves to leave the language of metaphor, and to enter that of dialectic.

Bibliography

Beth Gill (1999) “Temples of Consumption: Shopping Malls as Secular Cathedrals” http://www.trinity.edu/~mkearl/temples.html

Adrienne Baker (2000) Serious Shopping: Essays in Psychotherapy and Consumerism. London: Free Association Books.

Jerry Jacobs (1984) The Mall: An attempted escape from everyday life. Prospect Heights, IL: Waveland Press.

Ira G. Zepp, Jr. (1986) The New Religious Image of Urban America: The Shopping Mall as Ceremonial Center. Westminster, MD: Christian Classics, Inc.

Mark Kingwell (1998) In Pursuit of Happiness. New York: Crown Publishers.

Maurice Godelier (1999) The Enigma of the Gift. London: Polity Press

Emile Durkheim (1947) Elementary Forms of the Religious Life. Glencoe, IL: The Free Press.

Daniel Miller (1995) Acknowledging Consumption. London: Routledge

U. S. News and World Report, June 18, 1973, p. 43.