Andrew Henry doesn't just ask if fandoms are religions; he dismantles the very definition of religion to show why the question matters more than the answer. By shifting from what religion is to what it does, he reveals that the intense devotion of Swifties and Star Wars nerds isn't a cultural oddity but a functional mirror of ancient spiritual practices.
Beyond the Checklist
Henry immediately rejects the lazy internet comparisons that flatten complex belief systems into simple checklists. "I'm not a fan of the simplistic matching game you sometimes see online," he writes, noting that arguments claiming "Wokeism is a religion" or "Environmentalism is a religion" often fail because they ignore the depth of both subjects. Instead, he pivots to a functionalist approach, arguing that we should stop asking if a fandom has a god and start asking if it performs the work of a religion.
This distinction is crucial because it moves the conversation from theological gatekeeping to behavioral analysis. Henry explains that while substantive definitions focus on belief in spiritual beings, functional definitions look at the outcomes: generating powerful emotions, setting rules, and building solidarity. "Religion is not some distinct thing that we can substantively define," he asserts. "It's a label we apply to a bundle of very ordinary human behaviors." This reframing is effective because it allows us to see the sacred in the secular without diminishing the unique power of traditional faith.
Religion is not some distinct thing that we can substantively define. It's a label we apply to a bundle of very ordinary human behaviors.
Critics might argue that equating a trip to Disney World with the Hajj risks trivializing the profound spiritual commitment of actual religious pilgrims. Henry anticipates this, clarifying that he is not saying the experiences are identical in status, but rather similar in function. He uses the scholar Jonathan Z. Smith's concept of comparison as a "disciplined exaggeration in the service of knowledge" to justify the link.
The Pilgrimage of the Super Fan
The core of Henry's argument rests on the concept of pilgrimage, specifically how fans travel to sites like Graceland or New Zealand to see the landscapes of their favorite stories. He draws on anthropologists Victor and Edith Turner to explain that these journeys create a state of "liminality," where normal social roles are suspended. "Pilgrims temporarily leave behind their ordinary lives and social roles, entering a state where normal societal structures are temporarily dissolved," Henry notes.
This is where the comparison becomes undeniable. Just as a project manager becomes a devotee of a goddess in Taiwan, an accountant becomes a "Disney devote" at the Magic Kingdom. Henry highlights that these fans use these spaces for "moments of ultimate concern," such as mourning lost relatives or celebrating cancer survival. "If these Disney trips are used to celebrate weddings, mourn the dead, or mark survival from cancer," he reasons, "you know, moments of ultimate concern, from a functionalist perspective, the pilgrimage to Disney operates a lot like the limonality of pilgrimages."
The strength here is the specific evidence of emotional transformation. It's not just about buying merchandise; it's about using a branded space to process life's most difficult transitions. However, the argument relies heavily on the intensity of the individual experience, which can be subjective and harder to measure than the structured rituals of organized religion.
Communitas and the Canon Wars
Henry extends the functionalist lens to community building, describing how fan conventions create "communitas"—a sense of intense equality and solidarity. He points out that at Comic-Con, a lawyer and a delivery driver can kneel side by side as Sith Lords, their everyday hierarchies erased. "In that space, a lawyer, a high school teacher, and a delivery driver can all kneel side by side for a photo op as Sith Lords with their everyday social role suspended in favor of their shared fan identity," he writes.
Furthermore, he tackles the concept of the "canon," showing how fans engage in the same messy, political debates over authority that early Christians did regarding the Bible. He cites the controversy over Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, where fans fought over whether the play was truly part of the wizarding world's scripture. "Scholars like Dr. David Brackie have demonstrated that cannons in early Christianity were never just neutral lists of books," Henry reminds us, drawing a parallel to how fans now debate who gets to speak for their community.
Comic-Con resembles the Hajj with respect to how each suspends ordinary social roles and fosters solidarity.
This parallel is compelling because it highlights that the struggle for authority is a human constant, not just a religious one. Whether debating the New Testament or the rules of the Star Wars universe, communities are always negotiating who holds the truth. The only potential gap is that religious canons often carry eternal consequences for the soul, whereas fan canons usually carry social consequences for the community's cohesion.
Bottom Line
Andrew Henry's strongest move is refusing to let the definition of religion be a barrier to understanding human behavior, successfully arguing that fandoms perform the same psychological and social work as traditional faiths. The argument's vulnerability lies in the risk of over-extending the comparison, potentially obscuring the unique metaphysical claims that distinguish religious belief from pop culture appreciation. Readers should watch for how this functionalist lens might reshape future debates on the role of secular institutions in modern society.