The modern condition, characterized by globalization, digital hyperconnectivity, and the weakening of traditional structures of meaning, has left individuals searching for new forms of belonging. Religion, once a unifying metaphysical authority, has been pushed to the periphery of public life in many societies. Meanwhile, the nation-state struggles to hold the loyalty of increasingly cosmopolitan citizens. In this context, two seemingly disparate phenomena have emerged: fandoms and, in the realm of speculative fiction, Hives. This essay, drawing inspiration from my undergraduate thesis, explores how fandoms function as grassroots, decentralized forms of spiritual and communal life, and how Ada Palmer’s Hives reflect a future where such forms are formalized into socio-political institutions.
Fandoms, while rooted in popular culture, often exhibit features traditionally associated with religion: shared rituals (e.g., watching premieres, cosplaying), sacred texts (canon material and fan fiction), charismatic figures (celebrities and creators), and moral codes (community norms and fan ethics). These characteristics reveal that fandoms are more than entertainment—they are a kind of devotional practice.

The contemporary world is one of spiritual displacement. Sociologists like Zygmunt Bauman and Ulrich Beck speak of a “liquid modernity,” in which the certainties of the past have dissolved, and individuals must construct their own identities from unstable cultural materials. In such a landscape, fandom becomes a stabilizing force. The stories that people choose to consume and invest in become vehicles for identity construction. Fandoms are participatory in nature—they do not just allow consumption but encourage creative production. Fans create their own stories, reinterpret characters, and form collective myths around shared universes. This process re-centers agency in the individual and the community, offering a mode of resistance against both the homogenizing force of capitalism and the alienation of modernity.

Moreover, fandoms offer a way of forming a collective without coercion. Unlike traditional religions or national affiliations, which often demand exclusive loyalty and enforce uniform doctrines, fandoms are porous and pluralistic. A person can be a fan of multiple universes, engage at varying degrees, and freely move between communities. This fluidity is not a sign of shallowness, but of adaptability—a model for how we might construct communities in a pluralistic world.

Ada Palmer’s Terra Ignota series provides a speculative counterpart to this phenomenon. Set in the 25th century, the series imagines a world where humanity has moved beyond the nation-state and traditional religion, reorganizing into ideological collectives called Hives. Each Hive is built around a philosophical worldview, and membership is elective. These Hives satisfy many of the psychological and social functions once served by religion, offering structure, purpose, and belonging in a pluralistic world. In this future, belief systems are not eradicated—they are restructured. Palmer shows us a society where the sacred persists under different banners.

Both fandoms and Hives operate on the principle of elective affiliation. They allow individuals to choose their communities based on shared values, interests, and visions of the world. This elective nature fosters a cosmopolitan sensibility: a belonging not rooted in geography, ethnicity, or inherited tradition, but in shared intentionality. The line between identity and ideology is blurred. To be a Potterhead or a Cousin is to participate in a shared way of seeing and being in the world.

However, the structural differences between the two are significant. Fandoms are informal, decentralized, and often subversive. They lack formal hierarchies and institutional power, and their boundaries are porous. A fan can simultaneously belong to multiple fandoms, engage at varying levels of intensity, and hold contradictory interpretations of the same text. This multiplicity reflects the postmodern condition—fluid, fragmented, and ironic.

Hives, by contrast, are institutionalized. They possess political authority, territorial jurisdiction, and legal power. They demand ideological coherence and loyalty. While fandoms resist hierarchy, Hives enforce it. In this way, Hives are fandoms that have undergone formalization—sacred play hardened into sacred law. They transform the voluntary spirit of fan culture into systems of obligation and enforcement.

Palmer’s world illustrates the dangers of turning belief into bureaucracy. Hives, while elective, often demand allegiance that blurs into dogmatism. The characters in Terra Ignota must navigate political power struggles that stem from these ideological affiliations. In some cases, the lines between personal belief and political necessity become indistinguishable, echoing the critiques of scholars like Max Weber and Michel Foucault regarding institutional power and the entanglement of ideology with governance.

Fandoms also tend to maintain a meta-awareness of their own constructedness. Fans know that they are playing with fiction. This does not lessen the sincerity of their participation but makes space for irony, satire, and critical reflection. Hives, in contrast, often suppress this ambiguity. They claim a kind of political and philosophical realism that makes dissent more dangerous. This distinction is key: it suggests that while both forms answer the same existential questions, they do so with very different consequences for individual freedom.

As an undergrad student, I explored the possibility of fandoms as foundations for a cosmopolitan world order. Drawing from Kantian ethics and contemporary theories of global citizenship, I argued that fandoms create spaces where individuals from diverse backgrounds can engage in mutual recognition and collective action. These participatory cultures offer a model of community that is non-coercive, inclusive, and generative.

This vision aligns with the views of thinkers like Martha Nussbaum, who advocate for cosmopolitan education as a means to cultivate global empathy. In fandoms, empathy is not merely an abstract ideal but a lived practice. Fans often care deeply about fictional characters and by extension, about each other. This emotional investment translates into charitable action, activism, and the formation of transnational solidarity networks. Events like Project for Awesome, initiated by John and Hank Green, demonstrate how fan communities can mobilize around shared values to effect real-world change.

Palmer's Hives, however, complicate this vision. While they are also cosmopolitan in orientation, they show the risks of institutionalizing belief systems. The series illustrates how even elective affiliations can become exclusionary, how the utopia of choice can give way to new forms of coercion. The political conflicts between Hives in Terra Ignota reveal the fragility of pluralism and the dangers of ideological absolutism. They warn us that even our most well-intentioned belief systems can ossify into dogma.

This tension reflects a broader dilemma in contemporary political theory: how to balance the freedom of belief with the necessity of social coordination. The Hive model shows one extreme—an over-systematized society where every belief is mapped onto a political structure. Fandoms show the other—decentralized, free-form collectives with no coercive power. The challenge is to find a middle path: communities that bind without binding, that offer meaning without monopoly.

Both fandoms and Hives demonstrate that the sacred has not disappeared; it has been reconfigured. In an age that claims to be secular and rational, people still hunger for meaning, transcendence, and collective identity. They still kneel, though not always before gods. The sites of devotion have changed—from temples to Tumblr, from churches to conventions—but the impulse remains.

This paper suggests that what we are witnessing is not the death of religion but its migration. The structures once filled by divine authority are now occupied by narrative, ideology, and community. Fandoms represent the playful, emergent side of this migration. Hives, as imagined by Palmer, represent its institutional culmination. In fandoms, individuals play with the sacred; in Hives, they live under its rule.

The implications are vast. If fandoms are laboratories for new ways of believing and belonging, then we should treat them with the seriousness they deserve. Scholars of religion, politics, and media studies must pay closer attention to how these spaces function. They are not trivial. They are formative. They offer a glimpse into how meaning is made in the absence of traditional authority.

This insight is crucial in an age when democratic institutions are weakening, and authoritarian ideologies are resurgent. The structures of meaning that once held society together are fracturing, and new ones are rising to take their place. Fandoms and Hives are early indicators of this shift. Understanding them means understanding the future of belief, identity, and community.

We are not done building religions. We have simply learned to code them differently. Whether through the lens of speculative fiction or cultural theory, it is clear that belief persists—elective, performative, and politically potent. Underneath every Hive is a fandom. Underneath every fandom is a yearning for a world that makes more sense than this one.

As scholars, we must take seriously the cultural forms through which this yearning is expressed. Fandoms are not distractions; they are rehearsals. Hives are not fantasies; they are warnings. Together, they reveal a truth our secular age is reluctant to admit: that even in our most rational, algorithmic expressions, we are still builders of altars.