ethical problems in new religion field research

Ethical Problems in New Religion Field Research

Marie W. Dallam*University of Oklahoma

Abstract

Scholars studying living religious communities confront myriad questions about all levels of appro-priate social interaction, and fortunately some lessons from the disciplines of sociology and anthro-pology help us navigate the work. However, those engaging in research on New Religions mayhave added burdens, as the marginalized communities we study may be further complicated byfactors such as exclusivity or defensiveness, among others. As we work to balance critical academicstudy with engagement that is sensitive to practitioners, we may find ourselves in murky ethicalsituations. This essay, the second of a two-part series, discusses a range of unique ethical problemsthat those researching New Religions may confront, and for possible guidance it refers to specificexamples faced by scholars in the past.

Introduction1

The study of New Religions, a small but vibrant subfield lying somewhat outside of theacademic mainstream, attracts scholars from a wide range of subject areas and experience.Because no scholar has been trained for field research specifically on New ReligiousMovements, to some degree many of us learn as we go, finding ourselves well-preparedfor some aspects of the research but playing catch-up in others. At times, a scholar findshim or herself puzzling over procedures, perhaps facing a tough choice about the researchprocess that has potentially significant consequences for the subject or for the researcher.These are the ‘ethical problems’ that this essay seeks to address.

The first of this two-part series (Dallam 2011) considered ethical issues germane to pre-paring a new research project such as designing a study, navigating interactions with com-munity members, and handling distortion in collected data. The present essay looks atthree sets of issues relevant to a study that is underway and ⁄or nearing completion. Thefirst set of issues relates to religious actions: specifically, questions about a researcher’s per-sonal religious identity and degree of participation in rites and ceremonies. The secondset of issues is about the general admonition to ‘do no harm’ in one’s research, which isboth a vague instruction and often hard to define. The final set of issues relates to deci-sions about publication, such as determining whether to reveal secret or negative infor-mation, and anticipating the consequences of written work.2 By identifying some of thecommon problems scholars face and directing interested readers to sources that offer moreextended discussion on specific points, this article series aims to strengthen the integrityof New Religions research by opening a wider conversation among all interested parties.

The Researcher’s Religion

When a newcomer walks into a religious setting, it is almost always the case that religiouspractitioners will view that person as a potential convert. This is true even if you are

Religion Compass 5/9 (2011): 528–535, 10.1111/j.1749-8171.2011.00302.x

ª 2011 The AuthorReligion Compass ª 2011 Blackwell Publishing Ltd

publicly presented as a researcher because, to members, a research agenda does not ruleout a possible conversion. The benefit is that when people want to assist with a conver-sion they will be more responsive to questions and discussions of a religious nature. Atay(2008) recommends that pre-planned ‘tactical responses’ to put off conversion attemptsmay work for some time, but could also backfire and lead to renewed vigor in proselyti-zation (pp. 56–8). Because there is rarely a clear, on-going social role for outsiders in reli-gious settings, if the researcher’s continued presence is not accompanied by eventualconversion or signs of commitment, she may find herself in an increasingly awkwardposition as members begin to distance themselves. Gordon (1987) makes a strong argu-ment that researchers should establish and reinforce personal limits regarding conversionthrough open discussion, though he is somewhat overly confident that this approach willwork unilaterally. A variety of perspectives on the pressure to convert and possibleresponses can be found in Ayella (1990, pp. 568–70), Calley (1965, p. 146), Leatham(2001, pp. 82–3), Pryce (1979, pp. 284–6), and Van Zandt (1991, pp. 11–2).

For the researcher who has a strong religious identity and chooses not to obscure it,forethought should be given to how it may relate to the subject religion – will it be anobstacle, will it foster a connection, or will it simply be a non-issue? Shaffir (1985), as anon-observant Jew, found that Hassidic communities were unwelcoming to him becausehe was considered a bad religious example and possibly a corrupting influence. In con-trast, when he studied Lubavitchers, whose religious goals were motivated by outreachrather than isolation, his Jewishness meant they were especially eager to assist him.Leatham (2001) found that at first his Catholicism facilitated his welcome in a charismaticCatholic sect in Mexico, but ultimately his failure to convert caused him to be considereda ‘heretic’ and forced him to end his project. He writes that his ‘‘overlapping religiousidentity acted as the proverbial double-edged sword in fieldwork’’ (p. 91).

An ethical researcher must also stay aware of how his or her own religious beliefsmight affect the ability to study and write objectively, and should make deliberate deci-sions about navigating the research process. Resolutely abstaining from religious ritualsmay help distinguish you as a researcher in the community and simultaneously protectyour personal religiosity, but some scholars prefer to compromise. Homan (1980), forexample, decided that he could pray with his Pentecostal subjects, but in his heart hewould not pray for the same things they were praying for; he would also take commu-nion as long as he thought of it as eating rather than as a religious act. In these ways, hecould blend in without feeling personal discomfort. In the case of Von Hoffman andCassidy (1956), two mainline Christians studying Pentecostals, they recognized that theirown faith commitments hindered an ability to write without negative judgment. Theyconcluded that it would be easier to study a religion that was dramatically different fromtheir own rather than something that was a close variation. For any researcher who holdsstrong beliefs regarding religious truth, this may be sage advice.3

The question about appropriate degrees of participation in religious rituals is a validone regardless of whether or not the researcher has a strong religious viewpoint. Somemight consider it rude and unethical for a non-believer to participate in religious activi-ties, while others think the most polite and ethical approach is to blend in; there is nosingular clear answer. Homan (1980), who was generally at ease as a covert researcher inPentecostal circles, was surprised to feel ethically dubious in worship. For example, rec-ognizing the intimacy of the moment, he wondered whether it was wrong to watchsomeone pray; furthermore he pondered whether it was more or less respectful towardthem if you were standing nearby pretending to pray too. In contrast, Calley (1965) didnot feel unethical about active, insincere participation in worship such as leading prayers

Ethical Problems in New Religion Field Research 529

ª 2011 The Author Religion Compass 5/9 (2011): 528–535, 10.1111/j.1749-8171.2011.00302.xReligion Compass ª 2011 Blackwell Publishing Ltd

and even preaching, but he drew the line at pretending to speak in tongues. For him, thisdecision was not about a concern for what was right or wrong, but about being expectedto officially join the church if he did so. Lauder (2003) provides an example of the slip-pery slope of participation, in which each act becomes its own ethical dilemma. Posing asa member of a white supremacist group, Lauder saw that gradually he was participatingnot only in activities he disliked but in things that were illegal. He found he was willingto do passive acts like distributing hateful literature, but was unable to speak publicly orparticipate in strategic decision-making. The social pressure to become more deeplyinvolved caused him to leave the group abruptly rather than trying to explain hishesitance about these activities.

There are no clear answers about the appropriate limits of participation, and for mostpeople these decisions will be situational. A wise observation comes from Shaffir (1998),who, in reflecting on two and a half decades of field work, commented that a smallchange in his own behavior greatly affected his welcome in religious circles. He recalledthat as a young researcher he would sit at the very back of synagogue services in anattempt to be respectful and not get too involved. However, he eventually came to real-ize that his behavior was interpreted not as respectful but as suspicious and standoffish. Itwas only when he seated himself in the middle of the room near other people that hebegan to receive a warmer welcome. While this worked very well in his particularresearch circumstances, in other situations it might have a different effect. His example isa good reminder that researchers must maintain awareness and flexibility even in minutedetails of social interaction and participation.

Some researchers who have actively participated in religious rituals also made a choiceto convert in the midst of their study. Some have done this for personal religious reasons(for example, see discussion in Brown 2002), and others have done so as a deliberatemove to advance their work.4 Pryce (1979) found that despite cooperation from the lead-ership, average church members in his study avoided him because he was ‘unsaved’. Thushe joined the subject church purely for pragmatic reasons of advancing the project. Henoted: ‘‘Baptism did make a difference to my status among saints. I was now treated witha new candor’’ (p. 286). The previously standoffish members, who now trusted him,began to socialize with him and answer his questions. An accidental conversion that ledto similar results was experienced by Atay (2008). In the course of a typical observationday at the Sufi community, Atay suddenly found himself invited to take an oath of disci-pleship. Put on the spot and feeling confused, he went through with it, though he didnot consider his actions genuine. He felt some regret later on when a member admittedto him that he had never trusted Atay until he converted; now, the man said, he knewAtay’s first focus was his faith and his research was secondary.5

Forms of Harm

Just like medical doctors, a field researcher’s primary ethical goal should be to ‘do noharm’. Professional codes dictate that we neither alter the course of the individual sub-ject’s life nor disrupt the community, and human instincts typically guide us toward pre-venting bad things from unfolding in front of us. Yet the parameters of ‘harm’ can befluid and even run contrary to expectations, so there are times when a wise researchermust divert from standard rules. Wilcox (2002) came to embrace this concept after con-ducting a series of unsettling interviews. In one, her responses to a man’s comments dur-ing the interview appeared to make him think about his religious beliefs in a whole newway, and he thanked her for her input. Though she did not feel bad about the content

530 Marie W. Dallam


of what she had said, she knew she had crossed the professional line by altering his think-ing. Trying to correct herself, Wilcox subsequently withheld her thoughts and suggestionsto another interviewee who was struggling with personal issues. But again, she left feelingshe had done the wrong thing by failing to lend support to a man in emotional pain.Wilcox ultimately decided that the mandates to maintain professional boundaries andnever intervene do not always make ethical sense, because they may be forms of passiveharm. Similarly, Barker (1984) felt that assisting Unification Church members stay inpositive communication with their families was the ethical route she had to take, eventhough it ‘‘jeopardized [her] role as an ‘uninvolved researcher’ ’’ (p. 36). Certainly,choosing to intervene in any major way is a difficult decision. As DeWalt and DeWalt(2002) advise, the researcher must personally negotiate the balance of ‘‘noninterference incommunity culture and values, and personal ethics. We believe that the researchers willhave to live with themselves longer than with the study community’’ (p. 207).

Not surprisingly, most published discussions of harm are centered on the research sub-ject, rather than the researcher, yet there are potential dangers – both real and imagined– for scholars working in the field. Professional association guidelines are unlikely to bevery helpful in such situations. Writers whose experiences offer guidance on this includeLauder (2003), who feared for his own physical safety when he ended his covert researchin a violence-prone group; Kovats-Bernat (2002), who conducted fieldwork in a politi-cally volatile and violent environment; Van Zandt (1991), who hid his assets and madecontingency escape plans in anticipation of being trapped in a commune; and Goldman(2001), who gradually became aware of personal violations and illegal activities brewingat her subject community Rajneeshpuram. In general, however, discussion about thesafety of the scholar is under-represented in the literature, which reflects the professionalassociation emphasis on care of the subject.

It is also possible for a researcher to find himself torn over choices that all appear tolead to some form of harm. In such cases, he must make a subjective choice about whichpath will be the least harmful and hence most ethical. A helpful insight on such situationscomes from far outside the bounds of religion research: Kellehear’s (1989) interview pro-ject with terminally ill patients. Kellehear spent long hours with his subjects discussingtheir impending deaths, and though it often seemed to cause them emotional anguish andeven physical discomfort they insisted on continuing the interviews. Kellehear writes,

My research, and research into vulnerable social groups generally, caution against the arroganceof assuming that comfort and safety are more important to them than their desire to be heard,or their desire to contribute to our attempts to understand them. (p. 66)

Harm, he realized, can take all different forms, and in this case the painful interviewswere less harmful than no interviews. Kellehear does not argue for ‘‘an ethics of conve-nience’’ (p. 71), but rather says that study of any delicate group requires intense ethicalscrutiny, and a moral high ground cannot be achieved by ticking off items on a standard-ized protocol list.

Although one cannot anticipate every form of intellectual trespass, researchers must stayespecially aware of how their actions may affect members who have befriended them.This is particularly important in religious groups that emphasize strict adherence to rulesand ostracize members who stray, because a researcher’s poor conduct can reflect nega-tively on the member, thus causing harm. No matter how much one tries to stay in thebackground as an observer, every researcher will likely have an effect on the subject, butthe wise researcher will actively maintain awareness of this. Toelken (1998), whocollected Navajo sacred stories, was oblivious to a cultural taboo against discussing



witchcraft, and he asked several of his interviewees about it. His questions made themfear he was trying to practice witchcraft, inciting discord in the community and causingsocial trouble for those considered friendly with him. Toelken is an example that veryinnocent actions can cause harm; in fact, as I learned firsthand when writing about theUnited House of Prayer, it is even possible to harm a religious community withoutengaging in any fieldwork at all. For many members of the House of Prayer, their churchhistory is a sacred narrative that undergirds present day belief and action. My history oftheir church (Dallam 2007) challenged some of those beliefs, in part because I revealedinformation not commonly known, and in part because I gave practical explanations forthings members considered divine or otherworldly. For some, my book raised hard ques-tions that undermined their faith. I was disturbed to realize that, without even meetingthe people who were effected, my actions had brought harm to the community byfomenting doubt. In sum, while we must heed professional ethics codes and universityresearch rules, we should anticipate that they will not apply to every situation because theparameters of ‘harm’ are almost limitless.

Issues in Publication

We now live in times of information saturation. Though a group may welcome or rejectus based on superficial details like appearance, explanation, or perceived sincerity, theyare also likely to make decisions based on our personal and academic history (see discus-sions in Palmer 2001; Rochford 2001). The more you publish, the more it might affectyour ability to conduct research, so it behooves you to build your publication recordwith care and forethought. Nonetheless, when you authoritatively examine and discuss areligious group, inevitably a portion of the subject community will disagree with some ofit and claim inaccuracies. In extreme situations they may attempt to discredit your work.Though this is a concern, in fact opposition can come from any number of places.6 It isbest to avoid making promises or definitive statements about your plans for the writtenwork to anyone, since you cannot accurately predict the future. Kellehear (1989), forexample, regretted making assurances to his dying subjects about their stories reaching awide audience through his future trade press book. After several failed attempts at findinga publisher, he realized that his best alternative was to utilize bits and pieces of his studyin both academic and popular articles. However, this was drastically different from whathe had guaranteed to the subjects, and they could not be consulted about their wishes.Kellehear struggled with whether it was more ethical to publish the results in some form,or not at all, and even after moving on to new projects he carried the emotional burdenof his unfulfilled promises.

Because impressions are subjective, a scholar must take special care in the writing tosubstantiate all claims and elucidate the full context of actions and words (see discussionin Palmer 2001). You may have become aware of sensitive information about the group,and deciding whether and how to reveal it is an ethical decision you must make. Forexample, you may have learned ritual secrets, or ugly truths not publicly known, or evenabout criminal actions. The choices scholars have made on this issue run the gamut, andmany of them have articulated the emotional difficulty involved. For example, Chancellor(2001) struggled when writing about The Family: he considered many group members tobe good friends, yet he had also learned extensive details of earlier abuse in the commu-nity. He felt obliged to report the truth even though exposure would be hurtful forthem. He came to feel that each decision about content was a not merely an academicdecision but a personal ‘moral choice’ (p. 49).7 In contrast, DeWalt and DeWalt (2002)

532 Marie W. Dallam


argue for erring on the side of protecting internal secrets. ‘‘Ethical publication shouldrespect the general principle of doing no harm to our research subjects,’’ they write, andthat sometimes means withholding information that may incriminate individuals (pp.203–4). Certainly, if one has personally witnessed unsavory acts, the stakes are higher.Greenwood (2003) dealt with two aspects of this after seeing a Pagan ritual that seemedphysically and psychologically abusive to participants. Foremost, she wondered if she hadan obligation to report the high priestess to social service authorities in case the womanwas a public danger. Upon further reflection she also felt confusion about what to write,since the basis of her project was to fight negative stereotypes of Paganism. Revealing thedetails of the ritual she had observed would work against that goal. For Greenwood,decisions about what to preserve in the written account involved considering how itwould affect the long-term reputation of Paganism overall. Other scholars have suggestedthat the writing should mirror the individual research process. For example, during hisresearch Chrisman (1976) initiated conversations with members and leaders of his subjectDanish Lodge about whether revealing ritual secrets would be acceptable. The responseswere quite mixed and did not provide a clear answer, but because he had kept an opendialog about it, when writing he felt free to make the actual decisions himself.8

Concerns about how to frame sensitive information should be a high priority for anyresearcher who has achieved a rapport with an isolationist group. A critical evaluationcould damage future access to them, especially if the written portrait makes them feeltheir trust has been violated or that they were exploited for someone else’s gain. Present-ing multiple voices in the text is helpful, so that many people do the talking while theresearcher merely facilitates the process. One method of dealing with sensitive informa-tion is permitting members of the subject community to review a draft of the workprior to publication. Though well-intentioned, scholars report very few happy endingsto these stories. Wallis (1977) characterized the initial decision as ‘‘an ethical dilemma …a tension between the obligation to one’s subjects and the possibility of censorship’’ (p.160). He decided to allow Scientology leaders access to his manuscript, subsequentlyengaging in critical discussions with them and making a few changes. However, hefound that the more changes he made the more changes they demanded, in a seeminglyendless cycle. Ultimately Wallis’s attempt to invite the subject community into the pro-cess backfired and created more problems than he anticipated (see other examples inRochford 2001; Rubin 2001). Retrospectively Wallis identified the heart of the problemas the insurmountable fact that ‘‘both researcher and researched sought…to define thebehavior of the other’’ (p. 164). This approach could likely be more successful if thesubject community agreed in advance that they would be allowed input, but notcontrol.

Finally, in addition to anticipating how the subject community will respond to yourpublished work, it is useful to consider how colleagues and reviewers may respond,because in academia what you write can increase or decrease your professional capital. Ifyou are perceived as too closely aligned with a particular group, and ⁄ or if your work isthought overly favorable toward them, colleagues both far and wide will fault you (fordiscussions of this see Chancellor 2001, pp. 48–9; Neitz 2002, pp. 42–3; Rochford 2001,p. 158). Young scholars especially should weigh the effect of New Religions research ontheir careers, because it remains a marginalized area of study that is not always well-respected or desirable. Carving out a niche working on NRMs may fulfill your intellec-tual ambitions and at the same time make you less appealing on the job market. AsRochford (2001) has astutely reflected, ‘‘studying the Hare Krishna meant that I tooshared in the stigma attached to the movement, in spite of being a Professor of Sociology



at a reputable College’’ (p. 168). In the long run, you – as a researcher, a writer, and ahuman being – must find satisfaction in your work. There are no easy solutions or perfectguidelines for every ethical conundrum you may face along the way, so the best you cando is to put care into making decisions that you will feel at peace with long afterpublication.

Short Biography

Marie W. Dallam is an Assistant Professor of Religion and American Culture inthe Honors College of the University of Oklahoma. Her primary research interests lie atthe intersection of religion, race, and marginalization. Dallam’s book, Daddy Grace:A Celebrity Preacher and His House of Prayer, was published in 2007 in NYU Press’s serieson ‘Religion, Race, and Ethnicity’. She is currently serving as chairperson of the NewReligious Movements Group of the American Academy of Religion.

Notes

* Correspondence address: Marie W. Dallam, Honors College, University of Oklahoma, 1300 Asp Avenue,Norman, OK 73019, USA. E-mail: [email protected]

1 My thanks go to student Kalli Wolf for her research assistance.2 Recommended starting sources on these issues include: Atay (2008) and Brown (2002) for religious identity andparticipation; Wilcox (2002) regarding harm; Urban (2008) on secrecy; and Rochford (2001) for other publicationconcerns.3 In the case of Roy Wallis’s (1977) work on Scientology, group members felt that his preconceived notions aboutthem biased his entire research project such that he was never objective; Wallis admitted that this was somewhattrue, and he thoughtfully explored the question of whether objectivity is ever achievable. See also Gaiman (1977,pp. 168–9).4 For more on this issue, see Dallam (2011) regarding covert research.5 Van Zandt (1991) discusses having momentary desires to convert to The Family, even in the midst of feeling thatthe entire religion was nonsense.6 For an interesting discussion of a graduate student experiencing resistance from professors, who she laterdetermined were biased by preconceived notions, see Kravva (2003).7 For further discussion, see Rochford (2001).8 See also Urban (2008), who delineates different types of secrecy and generally argues for respecting the privacyrights of religious groups.

Works Cited

Atay, T. (2008). Arriving in Nowhere Land: Studying an Islamic Sufi Order in London. In: H. Armbruster andA. Laerke (eds.), Taking Sides: Ethics, Politics and Fieldwork in Anthropology, pp. 45–64. New York: BerghahnBooks.

Ayella, M. (1990). ‘They Must Be Crazy’: Some of the Difficulties in Researching ‘Cults’, American BehavioralScientist, 33(5), pp. 562–77.

Barker, E. (1984). The Making of a Moonie: Choice or Brainwashing? New York: Basil Blackwell.Brown, K. M. (2002). Writing About ‘The Other,’ Revisited. In: J. V. Spickard, J. S. Landres and M. B. McGuire

(eds.), Personal Knowledge and Beyond: Reshaping the Ethnography of Religion, pp. 127–33. New York: NYU Press.Calley, M. J. C. (1965). God’s People: West Indian Pentecostal Sects in England. London: Oxford Univeristy Press.Chancellor, J. (2001). The Family and the Truth? In: D. G. Bromley and L. F. Carter (eds.), Toward Reflexive

Ethnography: Participating, Observing, Narrating, pp. 37–51. New York: JAI ⁄ Elsevier.Chrisman, N. J. (1976). Secret Societies and the Ethics of Urban Fieldwork. In: M. A. Rynkiewich and

J. P. Spradley (eds.), Ethics and Anthropology: Dilemmas in Fieldwork, pp. 135–47. New York: Wiley & Sons.Dallam, M. W. (2007). Daddy Grace: A Celebrity Preacher and His House of Prayer. New York: NYU Press.——. (2011). Ethical Design of New Religion Field Projects, Religion Compass, 5(9), pp. 520–7.DeWalt, K. M. & DeWalt, B. R. (2002). Participant Observation: A Guide for Fieldworkers. Walnut Creek, CA:

AltaMira Press.

534 Marie W. Dallam


Gaiman, D. (1977). Appendix: A Scientologist’s Comment. In: C. Bell and H. Newby (eds.), Doing SociologicalResearch, pp. 168–9. New York: Free Press.

Goldman, M. S. (2001). The Ethnographer as Holy Clown: Fieldwork, Disregard, and Danger. In: D. G. Bromleyand L. F. Carter (eds.), Toward Reflexive Ethnography: Participating, Observing, Narrating, pp. 53–75. New York:JAI ⁄ Elsevier.

Gordon, D. F. (1987). Getting Close by Staying Distant: Fieldwork With Proselytizing Groups, Qualitative Sociology,10(3), pp. 267–87.

Greenwood, S. (2003). British Paganism, Morality and the Politics of Knowledge. In: P. Caplan (ed.), The Ethics ofAnthropology: Debates and Dilemmas, pp. 195–209. London and New York: Routledge.

Homan, R. (1980). The Ethics of Covert Methods, The British Journal of Sociology, 31(1), pp. 46–59.Kellehear, A. (1989). Ethics and Social Research. In: J. Perry (ed.), Doing Fieldwork: Eight Personal Accounts of Social

Research, pp. 61–72. Geelong: Deakin University Press.Kovats-Bernat, J. C. (2002). Negotiating Dangerous Fields: Pragmatic Strategies for Fieldwork Amid Violence and

Terror, American Anthropologist, 104(1), pp. 208–22.Kravva, V. (2003). The Construction of Otherness in Modern Greece. In: P. Caplan (ed.), The Ethics of Anthropol-

ogy: Debates and Dilemmas, pp. 155–71. London and New York: Routledge.Lauder, M. A. (2003). Covert Participant Observation of a Deviant Community: Justifying the Use of Deception,

Journal of Contemporary Religion, 18(2), pp. 185–96.Leatham, M. C. (2001). Ambiguous Self Identity and Conflict in Ethnological Fieldwork on a Mexican Millenarian

Colony. In: D. G. Bromley and L. F. Carter (eds.), Toward Reflexive Ethnography: Participating, Observing, Narrat-ing, pp. 77–92. New York: JAI ⁄ Elsevier.

Neitz, M. J. (2002). Walking Between the Worlds. In: J. V. Spickard, J. S. Landres and M. B. McGuire (eds.),Personal Knowledge and Beyond: Reshaping the Ethnography of Religion, pp. 33–46. New York: NYU Press.

Palmer, S. J. (2001). Caught up in the Cult Wars: Confessions of a Canadian Researcher. In: B. Zablocki andT. Robbins (eds.), Misunderstanding Cults: Searching for Objectivity in a Controversial Field, pp. 99–122. Toronto:University of Toronto Press.

Pryce, K. (1979). Endless Pressure: A Study of West Indian Life-Styles in Bristol. Middlesex: Penguin Books.Rochford, E. B. (2001). Accounting for Child Abuse in the Hare Krishna: Ethnographic Dilemmas and Reflections.

In: D. G. Bromley and L. F. Carter (eds.), Toward Reflexive Ethnography: Participating, Observing, Narrating,pp. 157–79. New York: JAI ⁄ Elsevier.

Rubin, J. (2001). Contested Narratives: A Case Study of the Conflict Between a New Religious Movement and ItsCritics. In: B. Zablocki and T. Robbins (eds.), Misunderstanding Cults: Searching for Objectivity in a ControversialField, pp. 452–77. Toronto: University of Toronto Press.

Shaffir, W. (1985). Some Reflections on Approaches to Fieldwork on Hassidic Communities, The Jewish Journal ofSociology, 27(2), pp. 115–34.

——. (1998). Doing Ethnographic Research in Jewish Orthodox Communities. In: S. Grills (ed.), DoingEthnographic Research: Fieldwork Settings, pp. 48–64. Thousand Oaks, CA: SAGE Publications.

Toelken, B. (1998). The Yellowman Tapes, 1966-1997, The Journal of American Folklore, 111(442), pp. 381–91.Urban, H. (2008). Secrecy and New Religious Movements: Concealment, Surveillance, and Privacy in a New Age

of Information, Religion Compass, 2(1), pp. 66–83.Van Zandt, D. E. (1991). Living in the Children of God. Princeton: Princeton University Press.Von Hoffman, N. & Cassidy, S. W. (1956). Interviewing Negro Pentecostals, The American Journal of Sociology,

62(2), pp. 195–7.Wallis, R. (1977). The Moral Career of a Research Project. In: C. Bell and H. Newby (eds.), Doing Sociological

Research, pp. 149–67. New York: Free Press.Wilcox, M. M. (2002). Dancing on the Fence. In: J. V. Spickard, J. S. Landres and M. B. McGuire (eds.), Personal

Knowledge and Beyond: Reshaping the Ethnography of Religion, pp. 47–60. New York: NYU Press.



ethical problems in new religion field research

Documents