Consider the fol­lo­wing des­crip­tion from the 1930s of a par­ti­cu­lar fes­ti­val (still quite com­mon in India) that entails the wor­shi­ping of machi­ne­ry by wor­kers : “In some of the jute mil­ls near Calcutta the mecha­nics often sacri­fice goats at this time [autumn]. A sepa­rate alter is erec­ted by the mecha­nics… . Various tools and other emblems are pla­ced upon it… . Incense is burnt… . Towards eve­ning a male goat is tho­rough­ly washed … and pre­pa­red for a … final sacri­fice… . The ani­mal is deca­pi­ta­ted at one stroke … [and] the head is depo­si­ted in the … sacred Ganges.” This par­ti­cu­lar fes­ti­val is cele­bra­ted in many parts of north India as a public holi­day for the wor­king class, on a day named after the engi­neer god Vishvakarma. How do we read it ? To the extent that this day has now become a public holi­day in India, it has obvious­ly been sub­jec­ted to a pro­cess of bar­gai­ning bet­ween employers, wor­kers, and the state. One could also argue that inso­far as the ideas of recrea­tion and lei­sure belong to a dis­course of what makes labor effi­cient and pro­duc­tive, this “reli­gious” holi­day itself belongs to the pro­cess through which labor is mana­ged and dis­ci­pli­ned, and is hence a part of the his­to­ry of emer­gence of abs­tract labor in com­mo­di­ty form. The very public nature of the holi­day shows that it has been writ­ten into an emergent natio­nal, secu­lar calen­dar of pro­duc­tion. We could thus pro­duce a secu­lar nar­ra­tive that would apply to any wor­king-class reli­gious holi­day anyw­here. Christmas or the Muslim fes­ti­val Id could be seen in the same light. The dif­fe­rence bet­ween Vishvakarma puja (wor­ship) and Christmas or Id would then be explai­ned anthro­po­lo­gi­cal­ly, that is, by hol­ding ano­ther mas­ter code—“culture” or “religion”—constant and uni­ver­sal. The dif­fe­rences bet­ween reli­gions are by defi­ni­tion inca­pable of brin­ging the mas­ter cate­go­ry “culture” or “reli­gion” into any kind of cri­sis. We know that these cate­go­ries are pro­ble­ma­tic, that not all people have what is cal­led “culture” or “reli­gion” in the English senses of these words, but we have to ope­rate as though this limi­ta­tion was not of any great moment. This was exact­ly how I trea­ted this epi­sode in my own book. The erup­tion of Vishvakarma puja inter­rup­ting the rhythm of pro­duc­tion, was no threat to my Marxism or secu­la­rism. Like many of my col­leagues in labor his­to­ry, I inter­pre­ted wor­shi­ping machinery—an eve­ry­day fact of life in India, from taxis to scoo­ter-rick­shaws, mini­buses and lathe machines—as “insu­rance poli­cy” against acci­dents and contin­gen­cies. That in the so-cal­led reli­gious ima­gi­na­tion (as in lan­guage), redundancy—the huge and, from a strict­ly func­tio­na­list point of view, unne­ces­sa­ri­ly ela­bo­rate pano­ply of ico­no­gra­phy and rituals—proved the pover­ty of a pure­ly func­tio­na­list approach never deter­red my secu­lar nar­ra­tive. The ques­tion of whe­ther or not the wor­kers had a conscious or doc­tri­nal belief in gods and spi­rits was also wide of the mark ; after all, gods are as real as ideo­lo­gy is—that is to say, they are embed­ded in prac­tices. More often than not, their pre­sence is col­lec­ti­ve­ly invo­ked by rituals rather than by conscious belief.