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Secular Religious Education? Brief Reflections Based on a Brazilian Case

Guilherme Borges is a postdoctoral researcher at the Brazilian Center for Analysis and Planning and at the Nonreligion in a Complex Future project, based at the University of Ottawa. Drawing on these dual affiliations, he conducts comparative analyses of the presence of religious education in public schools in Brazil and Canada. He holds a PhD and a master’s degree in Sociology from the University of São Paulo.

Keywords: Religious education, Secularism, Brazil, Teacher training, Pluralism, Diversity

Introduction

In the recent years of the pandemic, the need for social distancing led not only to the adoption of remote classes for students but also required many teachers to take part in online continuing education programs. In this context, the Brazilian State of Paraná stood out nationally by creating audiovisual materials to train teachers remotely. Even before the pandemic, Paraná already stood out among Brazil’s 26 States for its substantial investment in teacher training. This leading role became even more pronounced during 2020 and 2021, when hundreds of training sessions were produced to guide—at a distance—the professionals working in the State’s public education system.

As religious education has been part of the public school curriculum in Paraná for decades, nineteen remote training sessions were produced specifically for teachers of this subject. These trainings were officially produced and broadcast by the Paraná State Department of Education. Although there was no monitoring of who actually watched these sessions, teachers were instructed and expected to follow them. Despite being aimed at a specific audience, all sessions are freely accessible on a YouTube channel administered by the state government. Given this availability, it is worth taking the opportunity to examine the guidelines for implementing religious education in this State, which also stands out for the emphasis it places on developing “a form of religious education attentive to the secularity of Brazilian public schooling,” as stated in one of the training sessions analyzed[1].

A Brief Historical Overview of Brazilian Secularity

With regard to the secularity of Brazilian public education, it is worth noting that the formal separation between Church and State in Brazil began in 1889, when the country became a republic. In the preceding period, ecclesiastical leaders played a key role in legitimizing and sustaining political institutions, with Catholicism recognized as the official religion of the Empire[2]. The end of the monarchy marked a radical break from this context. The first republican Constitution, enacted in 1891, established the principle of religious neutrality, stipulating that no religion could receive any form of favor from public authorities, which drastically limited the Church’s influence over political, judicial, and legislative decisions[3].

This trajectory also encompassed the educational system, resulting in a process of separation between Church and State in the school sphere that was more uncompromising than what occurred in other South American contexts[4]. With greater or lesser intensity, this process reverberated over the following decades and continues to the present day. A clear sign of this is that publicly funded confessional schools—common in societally far less religious nations such as Sweden and Finland, for example—were completely prohibited in Brazil at the end of the nineteenth century and have never existed since.

These changes can be observed in light of Max Weber’s reflections, which point to the progressive distancing of State institutions from religious regulations as capitalist modernity advances[5]. As can be seen in the training sessions analyzed, this distancing appears to occur even within the very model of religious education that is expected to be taught in public schools: “You don’t ask doctors if they’ve prayed or dentists what their religion is. You expect them to act professionally. […] a teacher, of whatever ideology or philosophical foundation, has to be impartial, and especially in religious education”. There is a strong emphasis in the training sessions on the fact that religious education teachers must not and cannot act as proselytizers of any particular faith.

Four Religious Matrices

The training sessions suggest that teachers should make their possible religious affiliations invisible while they are at school. Ideally, they should even be recognized by their students as nonreligious: “I think the best way to show this respect for the other person’s religion is for the students to say: ‘Teacher, are you nonreligious?’”. As noted by Weber, as modernization advances, religion tends to be privatized— not necessarily in the sense that it disappears from the public sphere, but because it is removed from the State apparatus[6]. This is a process of juridical-political secularization rather than societal secularization[7]. In the case of religious education taught in public schools in Brazil, this occurs through the expectation that teachers conceal their religious convictions when they are in the classroom.

The secular disposition is seen as a standpoint of impartiality, and this is treated as crucial for managing diversity: “The teacher must take an impartial stance, addressing Brazilian religious matrices without distinction: Indigenous, African, Eastern, and Western”. The reference to these four matrices is not random, as it is reiterated throughout the training sessions. Emphasis is placed on the importance of teachers adhering to the “four religious matrices” that make up the “rich diversity of religions in Brazil”. This multiplicity is anchored in these broad and clearly defined “civilizational” clusters, each representing one of the population groups that have historically shaped Brazilian society.

By concentrating on abstract cultural frameworks, this approach enables teachers to overlook the concrete religious diversity within the classroom: “when we talk about matrices, the student’s religion doesn’t matter”. This process of distancing from the visible diversity in the school is emphasized in the training sessions as beneficial, particularly with regard to the students’ well-being: “Often some teachers choose to ask the student’s religion. I don’t think that’s a very good strategy. […] Some students feel embarrassed when they are forced to express their religious choice in public”.

Image of a religious education class in which the teacher presents the “African matrix”

Culturalist and Scientific Religious Education

During class, religious affiliations should not be brought up, either to maintain professionalism for teachers or to avoid discomfort for students. From the perspective of the matrices, the focus moves away from the individual beliefs of the teacher or student. Instead, the focus shifts to broad (imagined) ideal types. Perhaps it is possible to say that, in this approach, religions are viewed not through personal convictions, but as collective national and ethno-racial traditions. This culturalist perspective is also what enables religious education in Brazil to be seen as scientifically grounded. This is indicated in the teacher training sessions:

What supports religious education […] is not faith or belief, but what we know about religions from sociology, history, and geography. Cultural repertoire. Almost everything we work on in religious education is cultural. We work on religious diversity through culture. It’s almost an anthropology of religions.

Another video similarly reinforces the scientific nature of this approach to religious education:

The approach is cultural and not based on assumptions of truth or lies. Faith can’t be discussed, it’s not an object of science, nor could it be. Culture, on the other hand, we can analyze.

Rather than using theological terms, teachers must rely on the frameworks and reasoning of post-metaphysical sciences. This implies that the explanations provided to students should be grounded in social reality, not the supernatural. Teachers should present the study of religion as a cultural phenomenon. Additionally, teachers must adopt a stance of critical awareness, ensuring they do not neglect the essential fact that their explanations must remain within a secular episteme.

Post-Metaphysical Approach, Pre-Metaphysical Object

However, if the approach is secular—in the most strictly Weberian sense of the term—the object of this school subject is far from being so. This can be seen from the following excerpt, taken from one of the continuing education sessions:

Religion is the religious institution, the religious organization, the religious tradition. It was born before you and will last even after you no longer exist. Religiosity is not like that. It is in the subject. It’s how the subject relates to the various forms of religion. This applies even to those who have no religion, even to those who call themselves atheists, skeptics or agnostics. […] Spirituality transcends all this. With spirituality, they don’t need to go to religion, they don’t need to go to church. They create their religiosity from what they connect with, from what is sacred to them.

There is an expectation in these trainings that both teachers and students may have a wide range of religious beliefs and sensibilities. Yet little or no room is made for the possibility that they may not have any religious convictions or aptitudes. According to the excerpt above, even those who self-identify as atheists, skeptics or agnostics would actually have an innate religiosity or spirituality. It may be possible to give up religion, but religiosity would be universal, because “it is in the subject”.

Such idealistic and transcendental statements contrast with a religious education that is culturalist and based on post-metaphysical sciences such as sociology and anthropology. The idea of a universal religiosity is also at odds with a religious education that aims to embrace the diversity of lifestances and worldviews. As secular as this religious education may be, the possibility of there being people without religiosity is not considered.

This blind spot, so to speak, does not simply reveal a conceptual inconsistency; it has broader implications for how diversity is understood and managed within Brazilian public schooling. By presuming that all individuals possess some form of innate religiosity or spirituality, the training sessions end up reinforcing a normative anthropology that marginalizes nonreligious worldviews. This assumption narrows the range of what can be recognized as legitimate diversity and risks reproducing a subtle form of epistemic exclusion, in which students and teachers who do not perceive themselves as religious become unintelligible within the very framework that is meant to include them. Bringing this dynamic to light helps us understand how secular projects may inadvertently reintroduce religious normativity and how policies oriented toward pluralism can, in practice, constrain the set of identities they claim to acknowledge.

To learn more about this topic, see the chapter ‘Religious Education in Brazilian Public Schools: Between Pluralism and Secularism’, forthcoming in The Palgrave Handbook of Religion in Public Education.

Endnotes

[1] All excerpts from the training sessions reproduced here were translated by me from Portuguese into English. 

[2] Negrão, L. N. (2008). Pluralismo e multiplicidades religiosas no Brasil contemporâneo. Sociedade e Estado, 23(2), 261–279. https://doi.org/10.1590/S0102-69922008000200004

[3] Montero, P. (2006). Religião, pluralismo e esfera pública no Brasil. Novos Estudos do Cebrap, 74, 47–66. https://doi.org/10.1590/S0101-33002006000100004

[4] Montero, P., Borges, G., Copetti, A. B., & Armando, S. (2024). Ensino religioso no Brasil e na Argentina: entre confessionalidades e laicidades. Revista USP, 142, 13–32. https://doi.org/10.11606/issn.2316-9036.i142p13-32

[5] Weber, M. (1982). Ensaios de sociologia. LTC Editora.

[6] Weber, M. (1969). Economía y sociedad: Esbozo de sociología comprensiva (Vols. 1–2). Fondo de Cultura Económica.

[7] Pierucci, A. F. (1998). Secularização em Max Weber: da contemporânea serventia de voltarmos a acessar aquele velho sentido. Revista Brasileira de Ciências Sociais, 13(37), 43–73.

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Nonbelieving Clergy

Alexandr Zamușinski is a scholar of religion specializing in secularism, nonreligion, and religious change. He holds a PhD from the University of California, Riverside and is currently Instructor at the Defense Language Institute, Monterey, CA. Email: alexandr.zamusinski@dliflc.edu / ORCID https://orcid.org/0009-0006-7807-8811

Keywords: The Clergy Project, nonbelieving clergy, nonreligion, secularism, behaving without believing

When we think about people leaving religion, we usually imagine ordinary believers quietly drifting away from faith. But there’s another group—smaller, quieter, and far more complicated—whose stories are rarely told: religious professionals who have lost their faith yet often continue to serve within their institutions. These are the nonbelieving clergy. Pastors, priests, rabbis, imams, ministers, monks, and nuns—people whose lives and identities are built around religious leadership but who privately no longer believe in God or the supernatural. Studying them might sound like a narrow niche, but in reality, this group offers one of the most revealing windows into how religion and nonreligion intersect.

For more than a decade, The Clergy Project (TCP)—an online support network for current and former religious professionals who no longer believe in supernatural[i]—has quietly provided a safe space for people in this position. Since its founding in 2011, TCP has grown to nearly 1,400 members from over 50 countries. My research draws on more than five years of engagement with TCP members, including interviews, surveys, and analysis of narratives across diverse traditions[ii]. These people once stood at the heart of religious institutions, trained to guide others in faith and ritual. Yet over time, they moved from supernatural belief to a naturalistic worldview. Their stories— often marked by secrecy, doubt, and deep moral struggle—offer rare sociological insight into what happens when belief collapses within the very institutions meant to sustain it.

The Hidden Side of Deconversion

For many people, leaving religion is already difficult. For clergy, it can be an identity earthquake. Their livelihoods, reputations, and social worlds are often tied to the institutions they serve[iii]. When belief collapses, it’s not just a private loss—it can mean losing family, community, income, and belonging all at once. Some clergy leave openly. But many stay, continuing to preach and perform rituals long after faith has faded[iv]. They do so for many reasons—financial stability, fear of rejection, stigma against nonreligion, or simply not wanting to hurt the people they love. Family is often central here. Many choose silence to avoid causing their parents or spouses pain, or making them feel like they failed as believers[v]. For example, Jim, an ex-clergy from Ontario, Canada, stated: “My mother is 80 and would not understand. It would be a tragedy for her. So, I keep it quiet.” Another poignant account comes from Oliver, a current Baptist deacon in South Africa, who remarked: “My exit strategy at this point in time is to continue maintaining my social life and ties to the church until my parents have passed on and my children have all finished High School. I have no intention of putting further strain on my parents, especially my mother whose health is not good. At that stage, after their death, I will make my lack of belief known and allow my children to decide for themselves the path of life they wish to follow.” This tension between authenticity and belonging produces what I call performative religiosity.[vi] It isn’t hypocrisy—it’s empathy and survival. These clergy navigate a world where their professional role demands belief, but their private conscience no longer allows it.

Behaving Without Believing

We often assume that religion is held together primarily by belief. For most members of TCP, that is indeed the case—once belief disappears, so does religious commitment, and they exit. Yet for others, who may wish to leave religion entirely but cannot due to social or material constraints, religion represents something deeper. It is sustained not only by faith, but by relationships. For many nonbelieving clergy, what keeps them within their religious communities is not doctrine but love—family bonds, communal rituals, shared expectations, or economic dependence, coupled with limited prospects for new employment if they were to come out openly. Another common factor is the pervasive anti-atheist stigma and the fear of ostracism[vii].

This is why studying this group can be valuable for scholars of nonreligion. Their experiences blur the neat boundary between “religious” and “nonreligious.” They reveal how people inhabit the gray zones in between—how belonging and behaving can outweigh believing, and how emotional and moral ties can sustain, or even compel, participation long after faith itself has faded. Such behaving without believing offers crucial insight into secularization. It reminds us that the shift toward nonreligion is not merely about the loss of faith, but also about how individuals and communities renegotiate identity, loyalty, and meaning when belief no longer aligns with behavior.

The Emotional Cost of Secrecy and Disclosure

What struck me most in these stories is the profound emotional cost of living a double life. Imagine standing before a congregation each week, preaching words you no longer believe, all while concealing your disbelief to protect your livelihood or shield your loved ones from distress. For many clergy, this state of secrecy becomes a kind of “closet”. The secrecy is exhausting, but often motivated by care. Remaining closeted can be a way of shielding loved ones from distress or confusion—a form of moral sacrifice that places compassion above personal authenticity[viii].

For those who do “come out” as nonbelievers, the costs can be equally severe—sometimes even greater. Coming out often entails the loss of employment, reputation, and community, and in some cases, family. What one experiences as intellectual honesty or existential integrity, others may interpret as betrayal, arrogance, or moral collapse. The aftermath can be devastating: profound loneliness, social exile, and the painful process of rebuilding one’s life from the ground up. Many of my respondents spoke of rejection not only from their congregations but also from close friends and even family members, including spouses and children. Divorce, isolation, and stigma are common outcomes. For those in midlife, the challenge is especially acute. After decades spent in ministry, many find themselves forced to begin again—searching for new communities, and new sources of meaning. The transition can be profoundly disorienting. Individuals who once served as moral authorities and spiritual guides within their congregations suddenly face the loss of that status and identity. Moving from the pulpit to ordinary forms of employment—driving a taxi, working as a substitute teacher, cleaning, or taking shifts in a supermarket—represents not only a practical adjustment but also an existential one. For many, it feels like a collapse of the very framework through which they once understood their purpose and self-worth. The contrast between who they were and who they have become often brings a deep sense of grief, humility, and alienation. For many, networks like TCP become lifelines—a place to find understanding and support amid upheaval.

Of course, it is essential not to overgeneralize from the example of clergy. They represent a distinctive and highly visible segment of the broader population of nonbelievers. Their experiences of deconversion and disclosure differ markedly from those of lay individuals. Even among clergy, the trajectories of loss and adaptation vary widely. Some choose public transparency—publishing memoirs, giving interviews, or engaging in activism—while others remain silent, disclosing their nonbelief only to a few trusted confidants.

The Clergy Project offers a rare glimpse into this hidden world. It reminds researchers that behind the public face of religion are private, untold stories that complicate our assumptions about faith, doubt, and belonging[ix]. These clergy are not villains or hypocrites. They are people caught in a web of obligations and compassion, trying to balance authenticity with care. Their stories illuminate the emotional, relational, and moral dimensions of deconversion that statistics alone can’t capture. By listening to them, we gain a fuller picture of what it means to move from belief to nonbelief—not as a sudden break, but as a deeply human journey through the spaces in between.

Endnotes

[i] Upon joining TCP, during the application process on the web-site and during the entrance interview, all members are required to declare that they no longer believe in the supernatural.  For example, they must check the box under the statement: “I consider myself to be a non-theist who does not believe in a supernatural dimension. Specifically, I do not believe in an order of existence that is beyond the visible observable universe appearing to transcend the laws of nature, a mystical dimension, an afterlife, or a god.” – See section “Becoming a TCP Participant” – https://clergyproject.org/nonbelieving-clergy-join/.

[ii] Zamușinski, Alexandr. 2025a. “Understanding the Role of the Clergy Project: Misconceptions and Realities of a Support Network for Nonbelieving Clergy”, Secularism and Nonreligion, 14(1), p. 1-14. https://doi.org/10.5334/snr.211.

[iii] Dennett, Daniel, and Linda LaScola. 2013. Caught in the Pulpit: Leaving Belief Behind. Durham: Pitchstone Publishing.

[iv] Zamușinski, Alexandr. 2025c. “Hidden Apostasy: What Prevents Nonbelieving Clergy from Disclosing Their Lack of Faith?” Journal of Contemporary Religion. 40(3) (pages TBD), October 2025. https://doi.org/10.1080/13537903.2025.2580133

[v] Ibid.

[vi] Ibid.

[vii] Zamușinski, Alexandr. 2025b. “How Anti-Atheist Prejudice Keeps Non-Believing Clergy Silent: The Clergy Project Participants Share Their Pain”. The Journal of Religion and Culture. Vol. 30 p. 5-34. https://www.jrc-concordia.ca/wp-content/uploads/2025/05/Article1_ZamusinskiAlex_JRCVol30_2025.pdf

See also Abbott, Dena, and Debra Mollen. 2018. “Atheism as a Concealable Stigmatized Identity: Outness, Anticipated Stigma, and Well-Being.” The Counseling Psychologist 46 (6): 685-707.

Frost, Jacqui, Christopher Scheitle, and Elaine Howard Ecklund. 2023. “Patterns of Perceived Hostility and Identity Concealment Among Self-Identified Atheists.” Social Forces 101 (3): 1580–1605.

[viii] Zamușinski, 2025c. See also Gull, B. (2021). ‘We Are the Women Our Parents Warned Us Against’: Identity Reconstruction and the Re-imagining of Gender After High-Cost Religious Disaffiliation. Symbolic Interaction 45 (1): 97-122.

[ix] See also Fader, Ayala. 2020. Hidden Heretics: Jewish Doubt in the Digital Age. Princeton: Princeton University Press.

Brewster, Melanie. 2014. Atheists in America. New York Chichester: Columbia University Press.

Brooks, Marshall. 2018. Disenchanted Lives: Apostasy and Ex-Mormonism Among the Latter-day Saints. New Brunswick: Rutgers University Press.

Cottee, Simon. 2015. The Apostates: When Muslims Leave Islam. London: C. Hurst & Co.

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Euthanasia and the Right to Die as a Nonreligious Project? The Belgian Case Entangled with Global Dynamics

Niels De Nutte is affiliated with the history department and the Secular Studies Association Brussels research group at Vrije Universiteit Brussel as a guest professor and postdoctoral researcher. He serves as an associate director to the International Society for Historians on Atheism, Secularism and Humanism and editor to the Secular Studies journal (Brill). Niels’s research interests include post-war organised non-religiousness and unbelief, with specific expertise in church-state relations,  the history of bioethics, and end-of-life in Belgium and abroad.

Much of the public and academic discourse surrounding euthanasia tends to frame the practice as a fundamentally secular concern[i] — a rallying point for humanists, atheists, and liberal-minded progressives. Yet, this framing is not only historically simplistic but also obscures the deeper, more entangled social, moral, and even religious and worldview genealogies that shape the right-to-die movement. This contribution shortly displays some key findings from my PhD project on the entangled history of the right-to-die in Belgium. For my project, which was graciously funded by the Fonds Wetenschappelijk Onderzoek (FWO), several archival collections – which included organisational documents, egodocuments, legal document and newspapers – were analysed.[ii]

Far from being a strictly secularist crusade, euthanasia advocacy in Belgium for instance, emerged from a complex constellation of ideas, anxieties, and institutional actors that defy easy categorisation. This complexity is especially apparent when one moves beyond legislative milestones, such as the 2002 law decriminalising euthanasia,[iii] and examines the decades-long evolution of public attitudes, philosophical undercurrents, and socio-political dynamics.

Beyond the Secular–Religious Binary

It is true that humanist and freethinking organisations — particularly the Humanistisch Verbond (HV – Humanist Association) and the Unie Vrijzinnige Verenigingen (UVV – Union of Secular Associations) — played key roles in Belgium’s euthanasia debate.[iv] These groups were vocal proponents of individual autonomy, often framing their arguments in terms of zelfbeschikkingsrecht (the right to self-determination) and critiquing medical paternalism and what they perceived as “therapeutic tenacity.[v]” However, even within these secular circles, the justification for euthanasia was far from monolithic or exclusively rooted in anti-religious sentiment.

Many of the early discussions on euthanasia in Belgium — dating back to the 1930s — were not advanced by advocacy groups, and predate them significantly, but emerged through journalistic inquiry, literature, and courtroom drama. Letters to the editor in socialist newspapers like Vooruit in 1950, for instance, reveal a surprisingly receptive attitude among the secular (vrijzinnig) populace toward euthanasia as mercy killing, long before it became institutionalised within the humanist sphere or dedicated end-of-life advocacy groups.[vi] These expressions of support did not always originate from irreligious motives; rather, they reflected evolving ideas about suffering, dignity, and the limits of medical intervention.

Moreover, while secular humanist organisations were pivotal in advancing the right-to-die cause, they were responding to — rather than initiating — wider shifts in cultural sensibilities. From the 1960s onward, an increasing awareness of overmedicalisation, coupled with dramatic advances in life-prolonging technologies, prompted both religious and nonreligious individuals to reconsider what a “good death” meant.[vii] This mirrors Philippe Ariès’ influential critique of “therapeutic tenacity,” which lamented the erosion of natural death in favour of endless medical intervention — a critique not bound to secular thought.

Entangled Histories, Not Isolated Ideologies

The claim that euthanasia was solely the domain of secular advocacy also ignores the transnational and cross-ideological nature of the movement. Belgian right-to-die societies were deeply influenced by foreign counterparts, such as the Dutch Nederlandse Vereniging voor Vrijwillige Euthanasie (NVVE) and the American Hemlock Society.[viii] Yet unlike in the Anglophone world, where early euthanasia debates were often entangled with eugenics and notions of social utility, Belgian advocacy was largely disconnected from such problematic legacies. This detachment allowed Belgian organisations to frame euthanasia more clearly as an issue of compassion and choice, rather than social engineering.

Importantly, religious responses to euthanasia in Belgium were not uniformly hostile. While official Catholic doctrine continued to oppose euthanasia, some Catholic opinion groups began to express sympathy for limited end-of-life autonomy by the late 20th century.[ix] In fact, elements of Catholic moral reasoning — especially the emphasis on intention and discernment — overlapped in practice with certain secular arguments for pain relief and palliative care. This moral convergence suggests that the secular–religious dichotomy fails to capture the full ethical landscape in which euthanasia advocacy operated.

The Role of Bioethics and the Medical Profession

Another key insight from my research is the role of bioethics as a potential mediating force. The emergence of bioethics on the continent in the 1980s brought with it a new language for discussing death and dying that transcended traditional worldview boundaries. Discussions about living wills, patient rights, and medical consent became central, with both secular and religious voices contributing.[x] It is in this space — not in abstract philosophical disputes about the sanctity of life — that the practical contours of the euthanasia debate were shaped.

Interestingly, early medical resistance to euthanasia was not primarily religious in nature. Many doctors feared legal liability or saw euthanasia as an admission of professional failure. As medical confidence in palliative care grew, however, so too did the openness of some physicians to end-of-life autonomy. This shift highlights the importance of professional ethics and scientific culture in shaping euthanasia debates — realms that do not map neatly onto religious/secular lines.

From Grassroots to Legal Reform

Belgium’s euthanasia law of 2002 is often portrayed as a triumph of secular rationality over religious conservatism, but this narrative overlooks the decades of “prepolitical” activity that made such legislation possible and a societal consensus that significantly predated law-making successes. From the living will storage facilities established by HV in the 1980s, to the increasing number of public debates, media campaigns, and court cases that normalised the issue, euthanasia advocacy was driven as much by grassroots moral reflection as by formal secular ideology, yet notably with much less mobilising success than the abortion movements.[xi]

Notably, support for euthanasia among the Belgian population grew steadily over time, and not just among self-described secularists. Opinion polls from the mid-20th century already revealed openness to euthanasia in secular and socialist circles and support for the wider idea of euthanasia as a medical practice was almost at 90% by the late 1980s.[xii] Arguments even in the 1950 often lacked theological justifications and were instead motivated by compassion, family consultation, and a sense of moral responsibility — values that transcend religious affiliation.[xiii]

Conclusion: Rethinking the Nonreligious Frame

To cast euthanasia and the right-to-die purely as secular projects is to overlook the rich tapestry of beliefs, experiences, and institutional dynamics that have informed end-of-life debates, Belgium being a good test case. Advocacy for euthanasia did not emerge in a vacuum of unbelief; it developed through the interaction of scientific progress, shifting death practices, political realignments, and human concern — concerns shared by religious and nonreligious people alike.

Indeed, what my research illustrates is that euthanasia advocacy was not a reaction against religion, but a response to the changing meaning of death in modern society. As medical technologies challenged the boundary between life and death, and as traditional rituals lost their explanatory power, people from diverse backgrounds — secular, religious, and in-between — began to seek new ways of dying well.

In that sense, the right-to-die was never solely a secularist project. It was — and remains — a human one.

[i] For the American and British cases, see: Ian Dowbiggin, A Merciful End. The Euthanasia Movement in Modern America (Oxford: University Press, 2003); N.D.A. Kemp, Merciful Release: The History of the British Euthanasia Movement (Manchester: University Press, 2002). For Belgium, this is exemplified quite early on in an opinion piece: Het Handelsblad, 12/01/1936, p. 10. The author of this lengthy column is Wilfried Broeckaert, a catholic opinion maker and medical doctor.

[ii] I consulted archival material from the following institutions: Centre for Academic and Secular Humanist Archives (Brussels), Felixarchief (Antwerp), Association pour le Droit de Mourir dans la Dignité (Brussels), Royal Library of Belgium (Brussels), Wellcome Library (London), University of Washington Libraries, Special Collections (Seattle).

[iii] Belgisch staatsblad 12.3.2014, Wet tot wijziging van de wet van 28 mei 2002 betreffende de euthanasie, teneinde euthanasie voor minderjarigen mogelijk te maken, https://pha.be/wp-content/uploads/2020/02/45-wet-euthaniasie-voor-minderjaringen-1.pdf.

[iv] Niels De Nutte, “So to live, that one has also at the right time one’s will to death! Humanist euthanasia advocacy in Flanders between the 1970’s and 1990’s. A story of personal choice and therapeutic tenacity,” Essays in the Philosophy of Humanism 28 (2020).

[v] This concept originated in France and, through the Dutch connection of Belgium and the Netherlands found its way into the English language, see: Niels De Nutte, “Lighting the spark? Murder Trials in the 1960s and 1970s in the Liège Court of Assizes and Their Influence on Belgian and International Attention for the Issue of Euthanasia,” Derecho en Sociedad 19, no. 2 (2025) forthcoming.

[vi] Niels De Nutte, “In the face of death. Societal attitudes and popular opinion on medical aid and dying in Belgium 1936-1950,” Secular Studies 4, no. 1 (2022): 71-92.

[vii] This is exemplified by the sheer number of publications that emerge in this period which include ‘good death’ (in Dutch ‘waardig’) in their title. Interestingly enough, the word meant something different depending on who published. For end-of-life advocates it referred to dying without suffering and with medical interventions to hasten death, whereas for religiously inspired opponents it meant a natural death, without any form of intervention.

[viii] Niels De Nutte, The right-to-die in Belgium: A history of societal attitudes, conceptual confusion and advocacy concerning euthanasia between the 1920s and 1993 (Vrije Universiteit Brussels, 2025), unpublished PhD dissertation.

[ix] Notably, the first president of the Association pour le Droit de Mourir dans la Dignité, the first Belgian Right-to-Die Society, was a socialist catholic physician.

[x] For instance, see the entry on euthanasia in the interuniversity governmental report: s.n., Bio-ethica in de Jaren ’90 (Antwerp: Omega Editions 1987):367-369. To understand how these issues related to proposals of law in the 1980s, see: Niels De Nutte, “Dealing with the ambiguity of end-of-life decision-making. Living wills and patients’ rights in Belgian end-of-life advocacy in the 1980s and 1990s,”  in Pieter Dhondt e.a. (eds.), Dealing with medical uncertainty in and through the history of medicine eds  (Leiden: Brill, 2025), 231-252. (Clio Medica Studies in the History of Medicine and Health).

[xi] For the history of the abortion legalisation in Belgium see: Els Witte, “Twintig jaar politieke strijd rond de abortuswetgeving in België (1970-1990),” Res Publica 32, no. 4 (1990): 436-437.

[xii] Institut Interuniversitaire de sondage d’opinion publique, Les soins de santé dans la société belge (Brussels, 1988), 56.

[xiii] Niels De Nutte, In the face of death.

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Beyond Smudge and Creator: Recognizing Indigenous Nonbelievers in Canada

Jonathan Simmons is a sociologist specializing in nonreligion, atheism, and religious change. He holds a PhD from the University of Alberta and is currently on staff at the University of Alberta. Email: jssimmon@ualberta.ca

Keywords: Indigenous nonreligion, atheism, secularism, Canada, spirituality

A common, often unexamined, assumption clouds discussions about Indigenous peoples in Canada: the conflation of Indigeneity and spirituality. This widespread idea suggests Indigenous identity is inherently and uniformly linked to spiritual beliefs and practices. Such a perspective, for example, often assumes universal participation in traditional ceremonies like smudging (a spiritual cleansing ritual) or a ubiquitous belief in a “Creator.” This view frequently overlooks the many Indigenous people who do not hold such beliefs, contributing to what can be termed the “invisible atheism” among Indigenous populations. This conflation creates a significant gap in our understanding and research of Indigenous nonreligion.


To fully appreciate this diverse population, clarifying “Indigenous” in the Canadian context is essential. The term encompasses First Nations, Métis, and Inuit peoples, the original inhabitants of the lands now known as Canada. These diverse nations and communities each possess unique cultures, languages, and histories spanning thousands of years. Understanding this immense cultural richness makes the prevailing research oversight concerning nonreligion all the more striking.

It is this gap that my own work seeks to address. My research, based on in-depth interviews with 18 Indigenous atheists in Canada, specifically challenges the pervasive assumption that Indigenous identity is monolithically spiritual. As I argue, “By overlooking Indigenous nonreligion, scholars not only miss an important aspect of atheist experiences, but they also perpetuate a Western-centric perspective that homogenizes Indigenous people as inherently spiritual and religious” [1]. This post aims to bring some of these research findings to a broader audience.

Data from Canada’s 2021 Census underscores this diversity. Nearly half of Indigenous people reported “No religion and secular perspectives,” a significant increase from 20% in 2011. This category, as Statistics Canada clarifies, includes those identifying as atheist, agnostic, or humanist. In contrast, about 4.5% reported “Traditional (North American Indigenous) spirituality” [2]. These figures clearly demonstrate a substantial and growing nonreligious demographic among Indigenous peoples in Canada. Recognizing this diversity is necessary for supporting Indigenous self-determination. For international readers, this principle affirms the right of Indigenous peoples to freely determine their political status and pursue their economic, social, and cultural development. Indeed, for such self-determination to be authentic and effective, it must be based on an accurate understanding of Indigenous communities in all their variety, including their nonreligious members, ensuring all voices can shape their collective future.

My research identifies various pathways Indigenous individuals take toward nonreligious identities, with intellectual inquiry being one of the most common. Many participants described a process of systematically questioning supernatural claims in favor of scientific or evidence-based explanations. This commitment to a consistent, evidence-based worldview was a core theme. For example, one participant, whose perspective is further detailed in my forthcoming work (Simmons, forthcoming 2026), explained that his sense of intellectual consistency (and humility) required him to examine traditional spiritual claims with the same critical lens he used for Christianity. He felt it would be dishonest to reject one set of beliefs for lacking evidence while accepting another without that same scrutiny [3]. This is not unique to a Canadian context. It in fact strongly parallels recent findings by Rahmani, Adds, and Senanayake (2024) in their work with Māori atheists in Aotearoa New Zealand. They also identified a pattern of “intellectual doubt,” where participants described a similar process of elimination in examining and rejecting religious frameworks [5]. This parallel across different Indigenous communities underscores the significance of this skeptical, evidence-based pathway to a nonreligious identity.

This critical stance sometimes extends to how Indigenous ways of knowing are positioned against what some participants termed “regular science.” While the Canadian government and many Indigenous scholars rightly advocate for recognizing Indigenous Science as a distinct, time-tested knowledge system, some Indigenous atheists in my research expressed a clear preference for empirical, non-supernatural explanations of the world, applying their skepticism broadly. This careful navigation of knowledge systems is also articulated by other Indigenous thinkers. David “Maheengun” Cook, an Anishinaabe atheist humanist, for example, emphasizes the importance of epistemological clarity, valuing cultural heritage alongside the distinct methods of scientific inquiry. [4].

Religious trauma also contributes significantly to Indigenous individuals becoming nonreligious. The devastating legacy of Canada’s residential schools is central here. These church-run institutions inflicted deep intergenerational harm. For many, this trauma directly leads to a rejection of organized religion and, for some, extends to all supernatural beliefs. A poignant familial example captures this sentiment: “I didn’t realize that it’s 100% a response to residential school. [My father’s] atheism isn’t just philosophical; it’s a direct reaction to religious trauma” [3]. Such responses to colonial religious imposition, framing atheism as a decolonizing act, are not unique to Canada. Similar motivations are found among Māori atheists in Aotearoa New Zealand, who often view the rejection of colonial religion as a form of resistance and cultural reclamation [5].


The experience of being an Indigenous atheist is often marked by navigating stigma. Many of my participants felt societal pressure to believe, and worried about being judged, sometimes fearing that openly identifying as atheist could be seen as a betrayal of their culture or as not being “‘Native’ enough” [1]. This pressure to conform can lead to what I term “navigating disclosure,” where individuals carefully manage how and when they reveal their nonbelief.


The growing presence of Indigenous nonbelievers has important consequences for ongoing reconciliation efforts. Reconciliation aims to build a renewed, respectful relationship between Indigenous peoples and Canadian society. If public understanding and institutional responses are based on the conflation of Indigeneity and spirituality, however, these efforts may fall short. For example, initiatives creating “smudge-friendly spaces” in public institutions, while intended to affirm Indigenous cultures, are centered on a spiritual practice. This focus can inadvertently marginalize Indigenous atheists, agnostics, or those of other faiths. While the provision of culturally relevant spiritual support is rightly seen as vital for many Indigenous individuals seeking to connect with their heritage and find healing, particularly in challenging environments such as correctional facilities [6], it is equally important that public understanding and institutional responses do not presume universal spirituality. Such presumptions risk deepening what my research identifies as a growing divide within Indigenous communities between those who practice traditional spirituality and those who embrace a more secular and naturalistic worldview [1]. Inclusivity requires acknowledging the full spectrum of Indigenous (non)belief.

A nuanced perspective is also important in areas like healthcare. My research found that for some participants, “spirituality” was associated with “complementary and alternative medicine, magic, and various contemplative practices,” and some expressed concern that “spirituality and pseudoscience often went together” [1]. While traditional Indigenous medicines hold cultural value, some nonreligious Indigenous people may prioritize evidence-based medical treatments exclusively, particularly if they perceive some traditional spiritual healing practices as lacking empirical support. An overemphasis on traditional spirituality in healthcare, without acknowledging secular or skeptical Indigenous perspectives, can create tension. Recognizing diverse Indigenous viewpoints is key to developing healthcare that is both culturally sensitive and medically effective.

A critical advancement in Indigenous studies and related disciplines necessitates moving beyond simplistic, spiritualized conceptualizations of Indigenous peoples. Future research must prioritize the recognition of Indigenous individuals as contemporary subjects possessing a wide spectrum of beliefs, experiences, and identities. Engaging with this inherent heterogeneity does not constitute a dilution of Indigenous identity; rather, it affirms its dynamism and resilience.

Endnotes

[1] Simmons, J. (2024). Indigenous Atheists in Canada: Challenging Assumptions and Navigating Belonging. Secular Studies, 6(1), 62–83. [Page 64 for “By overlooking…”; Page 63 for “Jackie” quote; Page 74 for “Native enough”; Page 71 for “spirituality and pseudoscience”]. doi:10.1163/25892525-bja10060.

[2] Statistics Canada. (2022). Table 98-10-0288-01 Religion by Indigenous identity: Canada, provinces and territories. Release date: October 26, 2022. Retrieved from https://tinyurl.com/37z6n4tn.

[3] Simmons, J. (forthcoming 2026). De-Converting from North American Religious Traditions. In The Oxford Handbook of Apostasy and Religious Deconversion. Eds. Zuckerman and Zamușinski.

[4] Jacobsen, S. D. (2025, April 22). Navigating Indigenous Identity and Atheist Humanism. Humanists International Blog. (https://humanists.international/blog/navigating-indigenous-identity-atheism-humanism/; the content is based on an interview with David “Maheengun” Cook).

[5] Rahmani, M., Adds, P., & Senanayake, R. (2024). Māori atheism: a decolonising project? Kōtuitui: New Zealand. Journal of Social Sciences Online, 19(4), 522-541. doi:10.1080/1177083X.2024.2333544. Available at https://doi.org/10.1080/1177083X.2024.2333544

[6] See, for example, Tetrault, J. E. C. (2022). Indigenizing Prisons: A Canadian Case Study. Crime and Justice, 51(1), 637-680. doi:10.1086/720943. Tetrault’s research highlights the value incarcerated Indigenous peoples place on Indigenized programming, including spiritual supports, for cultural connection and healing.

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Nonreligious Recollections of Religious Educations in Flanders, Greece, and Norway

Sofia Nikitaki, KU Leuven Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies

Keywords: nonreligion, religious education, cross-cultural research, qualitative research, Belgium, Greece, Norway

While literature regarding the inclusion of nonreligious worldviews into religious education (RE) curricula is growing, the experiences of nonreligious individuals regarding RE are not often the topic of discussion. This contribution shortly presents how 64 nonreligious adults from different European contexts described their past experiences of RE, by presenting part of the outcomes of a larger qualitative study with nonreligious individuals in Flanders (Belgium), Greece, and Norway. The research participants were all Millennial (born 1981-1998), described themselves as nonreligious, and had attended their primary and secondary education in the countries explored.

RE in Flanders, Greece, and Norway

Before proceeding, some educational specifics in these three contexts should be briefly outlined. Unlike Greece and Norway, where attending a public school is most common, the Belgian/Flemish education system is divided into two networks: government-aided public education (‘officieel onderwijs’) and government-aided private education (‘vrij onderwijs’), with the latter including a very large network of Catholic schools. As a result, a significant number of the Belgian participants were enrolled in a Catholic school, at least during some point during their childhood. This often limited their option to follow non-confessional RE1. However, since switching between different types of school is common, many interviewees had attended both confessional and non-confessional RE classes during their school years.

For the Norwegian participants, the situation was also complicated because of constant changes in the Norwegian RE curriculum during the years that interviewees had attended school (Jarmer, 2022: 781). In 1997, Norway moved from a parallel model with a choice between attending ‘confessional’ or ‘non-confessional’ RE – similar to the one currently existing in Belgian public schools – to introducing an integrative RE model with the course ‘Christianity, Religion, and Ethics’ (Kristendoms- religions- og livssynskunnskap/KRL) (Andreassen, 2014). Consequently, some Norwegian participants attended school when they could choose between the two courses, some experienced the change to integrative RE during their school years, while a few began attending school after the integrative curriculum was implemented.  

In contrast to Belgium and Norway, where RE has greatly changed during the past three decades to reflect religious pluralism2, RE in Greek public schools remains catechetical in nature. Overall, RE in Greece greatly prioritizes Orthodox Christianity, with law 1566/1985 describing the development of citizens “driven by loyalty towards their country and the fundamental principles of the orthodox Christian tradition” as one of the aims of primary and secondary public school education. Consequently, and in addition to the confessional nature of RE, the Greek public school environment is also Orthodox-centred, with daily morning prayer, a yearly school blessing, occasional church visits, and Christian iconography displayed in every classroom. Furthermore, the Greek research participants never had the choice of following non-confessional RE because this option was not – and still is not – available in Greek public schools.

Nonreligious Recollections of RE 

When recalling their relation with religion while growing up – and no matter whether they described coming from religious, nonreligious, or culturally/nominally religious family backgrounds – participants in all contexts often mentioned RE as a common childhood contact point with religion. Despite this shared contact point, a clear distinction emerged between, on the one hand, the experiences of Belgian and Norwegian participants and, on the other, the experiences of the Greek interviewees. 

In particular, Belgian and Norwegian participants expressed a wide variety of reactions to the RE they followed as children. Recollections ranged from indifference and boredom to considering it a course that interested them and broadened their horizons3. Overall, when discussing their experiences of learning about religion and worldviews in school, the vast majority of Belgian and Norwegian interviewees recalled RE as being ‘just another course’ in their school curriculum, one which was relatively easy, often interesting, and mostly informative and pluralistic in nature. None of the interviewees described their general school environment as ‘religious,’ even Belgian participants who attended Catholic schools.

In contrast, Greek participants expressed a great amount of frustration and disappointment with how RE was taught during their primary and secondary education. Descriptions were largely similar as well as overwhelmingly negative, with RE repeatedly described as Orthodox ‘catechism,’ ‘propaganda,’ and ‘brainwashing.’ The disappointment many expressed however, was not only tied to the confessional content of RE but also to the prevalence of Orthodoxy more generally in the Greek public-school environment. School practices such as morning prayer, church visits for receiving communion, and displaying Orthodox iconography were viewed unfavourably and described in very negative tones. Participants cited both personal negative experiences (e.g. feeling ‘forced’ to pray in school) and general reasons (e.g. the preferential treatment of Orthodox Christianity in public education institutions) for disliking such practices. The prevalence of the Orthodox Church in the broader Greek context was also often cited when speaking about RE, with many negatively mentioning the power and involvement of the Orthodox Church in Greek politics and society.

Some Thoughts on the Relationality of it All  

Comparing the recollections of participants revealed a stark contrast, tightly connected to the educational and cultural particularities of each context. This study highlights the necessity of taking contextual background into account when discussing nonreligious experiences. Despite being a common contact point with religion during childhood for all interviewees, contextual particularities of RE made for substantial differences in how participants described their past relationships with religion – including how they described their upbringing. 

The noticeable difference between reactions of the Greek participants – who had no alternative but to follow catechetical RE in a school environment that promotes Orthodoxy – and Belgian and Norwegian participants – who described their education as more ‘pluralist’ or ‘open’ regarding religion – was made extremely clear. The Greek education system stands out when it comes to negative criticism. Reflecting on these results, it does make sense to ask: Can a person growing up in Greece really have a nonreligious childhood if they have to attend – and undergo RE – in a Greek public school? 

Another possible question could be: Would Greek interviewees have expressed the same views if their experiences of RE and school environment were similar to the ones of Belgian and Norwegian participants? The most probable answer is that they would not, as they would not have perceived RE as undergoing a form of catechism or experienced school as an environment that favours Orthodox Christianity. To use an experience cited by some of the Greek participants as an example, anxiously hiding in the back of the school assembly on a daily basis in order to avoid being called to recite the morning prayer does have an effect on how people understand, experience, and live (non)religion both in their past and in their present. And these are experiences that are worth considering if we aim to attain a well-rounded understanding of religion, nonreligion, and everything in between.

  1. Unlike government-aided public schools, which are required to offer RE in all recognised worldviews including “non-confessional ethics,” government-aided private schools are not required to offer all courses but have the freedom to do so if decided. Being the largest group of government-aided private education, Catholic schools usually offer only one religion, specifically Roman Catholicism (Loobuyck and Franken, 2011: 17-19). ↩︎
  2. Even though the RE curricula in Belgium and Norway prioritized the teaching of Christianity at some point in the past, both countries have largely moved beyond that during the 1990s. For example, the Belgian Roman Catholic curriculum opted to pay more attention “to the reality of religious diversity, (the dialogue with) non-Christian traditions and inter-religious learning,” (Loobuyck and Franken, 2011: 23) while the Norwegian curriculum changed consistently over time to reflect “society’s growing cultural and religious diversity” as well as human rights (Andreassen, 2014: 138). ↩︎
  3. As mentioned, some participants from both countries had switched between confessional and non-confessional RE during their time in school; however, the cultural specifics of each context in combination with the limited sample only allowed for looking at the participants’ general experiences of RE and not for a comparison between recollections of different RE types. ↩︎

Sofia Nikitaki is a postdoctoral researcher at the KU Leuven Faculty of Theology and Religious Studies. Her PhD research, “Living A Nonreligious Life: A Qualitative Empirical Exploration of Nonreligion in Belgium, Greece, and Norway” (2023), focused on an in-depth cross-cultural examination of nonreligion and nonreligious individuals in different European contexts. Sofia is also affiliated with the Secular Studies Association Brussels (SSAB) as well as a part of the international board of the European Society for Women in Theological Research (ESWTR). When not exploring (non)religion and secularity, Sofia enjoys doing (street)art, where she is known under the alias Guilt-free OCD.

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Atheist Spirituality: Reflections on André Compte-Sponville’s L’Esprit de l’athéisme: Introduction à une spiritualité sans Dieu

Ehsan Sheikholharam, Kennesaw State University

Keywords: atheist spirituality, laïcité, pluralist ethics, post-Christian Europe

It’s not surprising to hear that someone identifies as Jewish, while not believing in a transcendental God. Likewise, it’s not unlikely to hear that some Muslims don’t observe daily prayers or believe in the Day of Judgement. The categories “cultural Muslim” or “secular Jew” are well established and widely used. But what about “athée fidèle,” or faithful atheist? What are the implications of declaring oneself atheist, while also remaining faithful to Christianity as a tradition?

In his 2006 publication, L’Esprit de l’athéisme: Introduction à une spiritualité sans Dieu, French philosopher André Comte-Sponville presents his case for spirituality without God. One does not need to throw out the baby of culture with the bathwater of organized religion. For Comte-Sponville, Christianity is not simply a religion among the rest. It represents a vast philosophical, literary, and social tradition that can still offer valuable intellectual and moral resources for life in the 21st century.

Unlike the populist claims about the decadence of the Judeo-Christian civilization by thinkers such as Michel Onfray, or the xenophobic framings of Islam as the civilizational Other of Christianity by Marcel Gauchet, Comte-Sponville’s The Spirit of Atheism takes on an optimistic and positive tone. It draws on diverse cultural, spiritual, and intellectual traditions of Europe to build a new re-enchanted collectivity.

André Comte-Sponville’s advocacy for reframing Christianity as a tradition worth defending emerged out of his worries about two tendencies in secularized France. First, the disoriented youth—who no longer believe in a religion—often face difficulties in finding a moral compass. Second, the historical process of secularization (laïcisation) did not eliminate religion. Instead, it created disembodied religiosity: beliefs without collective rituals or public presence. This forcing out of religion from the public sphere contributed to the rise of new forms of extremism and religious fundamentalism.

Even before the post-colonial growth of Islam in Europe, the continent’s intellectual and cultural traditions were diverse, and to a certain degree, contradictory. From Greek paganism to Israelite monotheism, from the Talmudic Law to Epicurean hedonism, and from the Inquisitions to the Enlightenment, European heritage encompasses elements that are not oriented towards a singular nexus. Within this mixed heritage however, some commentators have traced lines of continuity — as reflected in the hyphenated term “Greco-Judeo-Christian.”  

Today however, many have suggested that this civilizational lineage is in a state of decline. Statistics point to the waning of church attendance on the one hand, and the emergence of new forms of religiosity, on the other. Many of the latter exhibit tendencies towards obscurantism and fanaticism. To ‘save’ the intellectual, cultural, and spiritual heritages of Europe, André Comte-Sponville embraces Christianity as a repository of ethical values worth preserving. Unlike the paranoid and xenophobic outcries of far-right voices in France demanding a return to the “Judeo-Christian roots,” Comte-Sponville doesn’t subscribe to the essentialization of the tradition. He keeps the genealogy open and invites a pluralist reading of Europe’s history. Europe is inevitably becoming more diverse, ethnically and culturally. The book is a remedy for his compatriots who are troubled by the unraveling of their national, ethnic, and cultural identities. It offers those anxious about the presence of other cultural expressions, especially immigrant identities, to feel grounded in Europe’s larger civilizational substance.

Would a French adolescent who visits the Louvre today still recognize any Christian symbolism in the paintings of Raphael or Michelangelo? Probably not; and for Comte-Sponville, this is a consequential loss.

By setting aside confessional religions as well as a religiosity embedded in the belief in a transcendental divinity, Comte-Sponville’s “Godless” spirituality presents a vision of reenchanted collectivity that is more open, tolerant, and resourceful. What is important here, is that his version of atheist spirituality doesn’t discard aspects of culture only because they carry vestiges of religion. He regards Christianity as the repository of diverse moral values and civilizational resources of the West, especially Europe. Yet one does not need to believe in Christian God to engage with cultural and spiritual resources associated with Christianity.

Proponents of the “secularization thesis” professed that with Europe’s progress towards rationalization, religious authority (and religions more broadly) would decline from the public, political life. It is naïve, however, to declare their prophecy readily bankrupt. While certain types of religious commitments are in decline, other forms are on the rise—especially when one compares the decline in church attendance with accounts of religious violence. Furthermore, with the rise of anxieties over ethnic identities, religious sentiments lend themselves to forms of communitarianism. On the one extreme, there are metonymies of white, conservative, ultra-nationalist, neoliberal, anti-immigrant politics; on the other, Salafist, Islamist, and separationist outcries. Comte-Sponville bemoans that new religious phenomena lean toward obscurantism, dogmatism, and fundamentalism. To save Europe and its Enlightenment heritage from both of these tendencies, one does not need to fight religion as such. To the contrary, the Judeo-Christian tradition, according to him, can serve as a repository of cultural and civilizational resources that can foster more open forms of shared values and collective identities. Comte-Sponville underlines values such as compassion, humility, and fraternity without falling into traps of identity politics. On a more practical level, he advocates for teaching religion in public schools solely as a historical and social phenomenon. Enshrined in the principle of laïcité and freedom of conscience, this secular education will help to restore a sense of collective heritage beyond race, ethnicity, or any other exclusionary categories.

Religio, religare or religio, relegere?

Comte-Sponville draws on different etymologies of religion to make a case for his atheist spirituality. In the first formulation, he traces religio to religare and the French relier. Religion in this sense operates as a social bond and offers common values necessary for social cohesion. Secondly, he examines religio in connection to the Latin relegere, connoting the act of reverent and contemplative reading. In this latter sense, religion is akin to the love of a Logos. Using these definitions, then, Comte-Sponville’s privileges the joy of life over religion of fear and persecution, communion over sectarianism, loyalty to ethical values over blind faith, and love over otherworldly hopes and despair.

To popularize his pluralist ethics, Comte-Sponville evokes binary choices that are difficult to disagree with. Across cultures, he suggests, courage is valued over cowardice, sincerity over lies, and kindness over cruelty. His atheist spirituality, therefore, is a patchwork of “values” woven from diverse religious cultures.

But should the universal horizon of understanding be built upon religious values? Can foundational values capable of fostering social cohesion be made up of “secular” elements such as equality between the sexes, the chance to participate in democracy, or the right to secular education? Such questions are – at their root – political questions. Which history should be included in public schools: the history of Christianity or civilizational exchanges across religions/cultures? In short, is European democracy a product of the Enlightenment’s critique of religion or a historicist development of Christianity itself?

Closing Thoughts

L’Esprit de l’athéisme inspires readers to formulate new questions surrounding the role of religion in public life. Can Europe rely on something other than religion to create a shared horizon of history and a foundation for cultivating social cohesion? Isn’t Europe’s legacy in music, literature, philosophy, and architecture powerful enough to serve such a purpose?

On a material level, Comte-Sponville doesn’t assign Christianity the task of building social solidarity. He doesn’t trust charity—whether individual acts of generosity or organized religious giving—as a means of ensuring everyone’s right to a dignified life in a capitalist society structured around individual and egoist interests. Instead, he urges his compatriots to defend collective solidarity as expressed in the state’s social programs. It is primarily in building a shared symbolic horizon that he promotes critical engagements with Judeo-Christian tradition.

But has not the time come to find new horizons? For many, the call has long been overdue. Alain Badiou, for example, reformulates the concept of neighborhood to envision new forms of collectivity organized on porous boundaries and shared experiences. Bruno Latour, Michel Serres, and Philip Descola, for their part, advocate for new modes of collectivity and social contracts that recognize the Earth and “all the Living” as subjects of right and collective decisions.

Contrary to self-serving oppositional framings of Islam versus the West, Comte-Sponville’s philosophy promotes trans-civilizational affinities. To highlight shared horizons, he elaborates how Spinoza’s notion of immanence resonates with key elements of Buddhism, Confucianism, and Taoism. In formulating a “wisdom for our times,” Comte-Sponville selectively connects these dots in surprising but delightful fashion. Andre Comte-Sponville’s philosophical project is complex, nuanced, and at times ambivalent. While this brief reflection cannot capture the depth and breadth of his thinking, I hope that this piece sparks your interest in learning more about this work.

Ehsan Sheikholharam has a multidisciplinary background in architecture, religious studies, and philosophy. He holds a Ph.D. in Religious Studies from the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and a terminal degree in Architecture from the University of Miami. He has also served as the Coordinator of Religion and Public Life fellowship at the Kenan Institute for Ethics at Duke University. Building on his diverse scholarly and cultural identity, Ehsan’s work cuts through key questions in the Humanities and design disciplines, including representations of minority identities in public space and critical cultural productions in the Global South. He is currently an Assistant Professor of Architecture at KSU.

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‘Christianity Showed Its Face’: The Role of Power in the Process of Christian Exiting and Formation as a Religious None

Tess Starman, Howard University

Keywords: secularization, politicized religion, deconstruction, deconversion

U.S. Christianity has seen a sharp decline in affiliation over the last 20 years. Scholars have often associated this decline with the growing secularization of society and other forces including industrialization, rationalization, and urbanization.[i] However, one alternative explanation for religious decline is the concept of political backlash, positing that Christianity’s growing conservativeness has led moderates and liberals to reject religion.[ii] Given the increasing association of Christianity with republicanism in the public square and growing nationalism, I aimed to see how political backlash might be at play in Christianity’s accelerating decline in the United States.  

My work aims to test how Christianity’s maintenance and support of larger societal systems of inequality have contributed to disaffiliation and deconversion. My larger dissertation study answers several research questions: (1) What is the process of leaving Christianity, and how does Christianity’s maintenance of power systems impact this process? and (2) How do ex-Christians form their social and political identity after leaving religion? Here I present three key findings from preliminary analysis of interviews with 58 ex-Christians.

Building Discontentment

Participants were overwhelmingly committed Christians who had robust knowledge of tradition and scripture. This commitment to their religion led most to explore inconsistencies from a young age. For many, their questions date back to learning about the biblical creation story. A biblically literal seven-day creation story conflicted with what they learned about in library books and science classes. When Matt (a 30-something Black male ex-Evangelical) learned about the creation story, he recalls asking his pastor, “but what about the dinosaurs?” Matt felt disappointed in the reductionistic answer from his pastor: “well they just must not have made it onto the arc.” He also felt this answer did not match with an image of God as master and creator of all things. Why create dinosaurs, only to have them die in the flood?

Other commonly discussed sources of discontent amongst participants were a lack of women in leadership and anti-LGBTQ sentiment. Jules (a 30-something white female ex-Mainline protestant) noted her discontentment with the role of women in her church:

“There were no women in “real” leadership roles, like the only woman ‘leader’ was the worship pastor who was also the lead pastor’s wife… But they never let women preach. It always bothered me, but not enough to say something about it, like I get you using the bible and this tradition of patriarchy to justify these gender roles.”

These topics were early and ongoing sources of discomfort with religion. Questions or inconsistencies themselves were just one side of the discontentment coin; the other side was that religious authorities lacked in-depth critical engagement with these issues. Nearly all participants attempted to reconcile these feelings of tension on their own, engaging in a deeper study of scripture and church history. In other words, their initial response was not to pull away, but to lean in.

Pivotal Movement  

While attempts to reconcile inconsistencies and discontentment varied, all participants came to a pivotal moment where they felt they could no longer be part of Christianity. Oftentimes, this moment was neither large nor devastating, but simply one final straw that broke the camel’s back. Rose (a 30-something white female ex-Evangelical) shared her pivotal moment:

“I was invited to dinner at this church family’s house. I had been to dinner there several times and they were so inclusive of me as a single person in the church. I had known them for maybe 4-5 years at this point. When we’re getting ready to sit down for dinner, [the son] looked at me and said, ’I am missing a $20 from my wallet… did you take it? No, [he laughed] you didn’t take my money, you’re not Black.’ and I was appalled…It was willful ignorance, and that, coupled with everything else, was the turning point for me.”

Like Rose, many participants’ pivotal moments revolved around maintenance of systems of power, or more specifically, Christianity’s support of sexism, heteronormativity, racism, and conservative-bent nationalism. Sometimes moments came in direct response to an event, but other moments were smaller, internal dialogues. Amber’s (a 30-something white female Ex-Mainline) pivotal moment occurred when reading an article about Christian support of Trump before the 2020 election and thinking, “this is not my religion.” Avery (a 20-something Black gender queer ex-Evangelical) described a similar moment before the 2016 election: “Evangelical Christianity showed its face, and I couldn’t be a part of it anymore.” A seemingly decisive moment came after years of trying to see love and goodness in what they described as a “toxic religion.” Carlos (a 30-something Latino) eloquently described this process as an avalanche. All of the questions, problems, and tensions were not individually enough to walk away. But eventually one more light snowfall creates an avalanche, thus dismantling a mountain of faith.

Political and Social Formation as a None

Since leaving Christianity, participants shared that they feel more free to express progressive and liberal social attitudes. Many participants noted their direct support for abortion access, the Black Lives Matter movement, belief in gender equity, support for LGBTQIA+ rights, and many more progressive and contrarian attitudes. Most describe these attitudes as a direct response to their religious socialization, be it an internal response as a coping mechanism or a social response as a form of activism.

Even when Christian, many participants believed in these stances as fundamentally just, but they were not able to express that in their religious context. Others note that they supported and even participated in the pro-life movement and patriarchal and white supremacist structures, but after leaving their religion, they reassessed and changed their stances on these topics. Many are taking intentional efforts to engage in the political process or social movements to try and undo some of the wrong they believed they did while Christian. Some attended women’s marches and free Palestine rallies, while others found smaller forms of resistance, like assessing their household’s gendered division of labor.

Each participant’s social and political formation as a non-religious person is complex, with many seeking mental health services and communities of other ex-Christians for support. Leaving religion is greater than leaving a community. It involves leaving a worldview, belief systems, support network, and sometimes, family.  

These preliminary findings lend support to the proposed political backlash concept. The unique politicization and growing ideological conservatism of Christianity in the United States has been a direct catalyst for many to opt out of religion. While each story is unique and nuanced, many formerly devoted Christians recognize recent politicization as an example of Christianity’s use of power to maintain the status quo. Unwilling to be complicit and unable to reconcile this with their lived experiences and surrounding social realities, they feel like they have no option but to leave.

Tess Starman (she/they) is a PhD Candidate in Sociology at Howard University. Her research specializes on intersections of race, gender, sexuality, and power at the nexus of religion and politics. She studies progressive Christian attitudes, religious exiting, and religion’s impact on political attitudes and engagement. Her dissertation, entitled, “A Corrupted Faith: The Role of Power in the Process of Christian Disaffiliation and Rise of the Religious Nones,” examines the religious exiting process and non-religious identity formation of ex-Christians. She serves as the Research Assistant for Howard University’s Initiative on Public Opinion. Tess is the co-chair of the American Sociological Association’s Student Advisory Board and serves on the Pedagogy Committee of Sociological Forum. 

References

[i] See for example Calhoun, Juergensmeyer, and VanAntwerpen 2011; Kasselstrand, Zuckerman, and Cragun 2023; Voas and Chaves 2016

[ii] See for example Chaves 2017; Fischer and Hout 2008

Calhoun, Craig, Mark Juergensmeyer, and Jonathan VanAntwerpen, eds. 2011. Rethinking Secularism. Oxford: Oxford University Press.

Chaves, Mark A. 2017. American Religion: Contemporary Trends. Second. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press.

Fischer, Claude S., and Michael Hout. 2008. “How Americans Prayed: Religious Diversity and Change.” in Century of Difference: How America Changed in the Last One Hundred Years (The Russell Sage Foundation Census Series), edited by C. S. Fischer and M. Hout. New York: Russell Sage Foundation.

Kasselstrand, Isabella, Phil Zuckerman, and Ryan T. Cragun. 2023. Beyond Doubt: The Secularization of Society. New York: NYU Press.

Voas, David, and Mark Chaves. 2016. “Is the United States a Counterexample to the Secularization Thesis?” American Journal of Sociology 121(5):1517–56. doi: 10.1086/684202.

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The Soul in a Secular World: Investigating a Discrepancy in Beliefs

Dani Gaudette, The University of Tampa

Keywords: soul belief, afterlife, Norway, Finland, nonreligion, secularism

Developing countries are experiencing secularization, leading to a noticeable decline in religious beliefs. Since this change is still underway, its long-term impacts on people’s beliefs around the world are unclear. Without religious traditions offering guidance, we may ask: What do the nonreligious value? What do they believe? How do they make sense of their lives? During my junior year at The University of Tampa I began working with Dr. Ryan Cragun, who introduced me to the Nonreligion in a Complex Future (NCF) Project. This project aims to investigate the above questions and more. Together we began exploring data from the Cultural and Social Values Survey administered by the NCF project, in search of some insight on the perspectives and beliefs of the nonreligious.

In 2023, the Pew Research Center released a report on religious ‘nones’ – those without a religious affiliation – in the United States, finding that approximately 67% believed in a soul, while only 36% believed in an afterlife. We found this discrepancy intriguing, as it seems counterintuitive at first glance. If someone believes in a soul, wouldn’t it make sense for them to also believe in a life after death? We began by questioning what causes this discrepancy. Could it be that a significant proportion of people hold inconsistent beliefs? Or could something else be at play, like respondents interpreting survey questions differently from researchers?

To explore this further, we analyzed whether our own survey data reflected a similar trend as the Pew report. Of the eight countries surveyed, we began with Norway and Finland. Just as the Pew report observed in the US, we found a gap of about 30% between ‘nones’ who believe in a soul and those who believe in an afterlife.

The percentages of participants from each country who answered “Yes” for each concept

A quick Google search for the definition of “soul” gives the following: “the spiritual or immaterial part of a human being or animal, regarded as immortal.” This was the definition that I held at the start of this project. I found that many others I discussed the topic with shared the same understanding. Similarly, if you search for a definition of “life after death” you’ll get a similar answered with some aspect of a person continues to exist even after their physical body dies.

Given these definitions, it is surprising that many people report believing in a soul but not in life after death. After all, the two concepts seem so deeply related. This disconnect is exactly why we found these results so intriguing.

The figure above attempts to illustrate this peculiarity. Not only do a significant proportion of ‘nones’ believe in a soul; there is a notable proportion of the religious who do not believe in a soul. Together, these observations suggest that the soul as a natural concept – in contrast to a supernatural concept – is not exclusive to the religious. Furthermore, this belief is not universally held among the religious.

Much of the literature on the soul is rooted in theological or philosophical perspectives. There are few sociological studies to base our work on. Regardless, some relevant research exists. Richert and Harris, for example, investigated the concept of dualism – the belief that the physical and mental properties of the body are distinct.[i] Martyn has also conducted several studies on how people (specifically medical students) conceptualize the soul, and what it means for them.[ii]

A few key themes throughout the literature are worth noting: there is no single, universal soul concept, and the soul is often closely connected to notions of identity. In W. E. B. Du Bois’s famed work, The Souls of Black Folk, soul is referenced in a distinctly different manner.[iii] Here, it captures the ideas of the shared experiences, culture and history of the Black community, in contrast to the more personal interpretations we focus on in our research.

To explore what factors influence belief in a soul, our study uses statistical analysis to uncover patterns across different demographics. We are investigating religious factors such as religiosity and religious affiliation, as well as basic demographics like gender, education, and age. Based on existing research on beliefs and related concepts, we anticipate trends in soul beliefs associated with these factors. By identifying those who hold belief in a soul, we can lay the groundwork for qualitative analysis to look deeper into how people conceptualize the soul. As secularization continues, understanding the different ways people think about concepts like the soul becomes important in discovering how they experience the world around them. Our work not only addresses the gap we observed in the sociological literature, but also opens up opportunity for deeper discussions about ways that we find meaning. By exploring these beliefs, we may uncover unexpected commonalities that connect the religious and nonreligious in unexpected ways.

Dani Gaudette is a senior undergraduate student at The University of Tampa studying Applied Sociology and Biochemistry. She began working with Dr. Ryan Cragun on this research in January 2024 as a part of the Nonreligion in a Complex Future project. Since the start of her research, Dani has presented this work on various occasions including the ASR Annual Meeting in Montreal this past summer. She hopes to continue this research through her senior year with the goal of publishing the results.

References

[i] Richert, Rebekah A., and Paul L. Harris. 2008. “Dualism Revisited: Body vs. Mind vs. Soul.” Journal of Cognition & Culture 8(1/2):99–115. doi: 10.1163/156770908X289224

[ii] Martyn, Helen, Anthony Barrett, and Helen D. Nicholson. 2013. “Medical Students’ Understanding of the Concept of a Soul.” Anatomical Sciences Education 6(6):410–14. doi: 10.1002/ase.1372.

[iii] Du Bois, W. E. B. (William Edward Burghardt). 1996. The Souls of Black Folk. Project Gutenburg.

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Podcast – The Anthropology of Nonreligion

Mascha Schulz, The Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology

Keywords: podcast, nonreligion, anthropology, lived nonreligion

A podcast video with Mascha Schulz on the Anthropology of Nonreligion has recently been published by the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology in Halle, Germany. In this episode of the series Talk On!, Christoph Brumann talks to Mascha Schulz about her research on non-religion in Bangladesh. They also discuss the special issue ‘An Anthropology of Nonreligion?’, published in the Berghahn Journal Religion and Society (2023) and edited by Mascha Schulz and Stefan Binder. In their introduction, Schulz and Binder suggest that recent ethnographic studies of what might be called lived, embodied, situated, or everyday forms of nonreligion have opened up possibilities for new questions that address the different ways in which nonreligious positionalities and their attendant social dynamics are shaped by the contexts in which they are embedded. Consequently, many of the papers in this special issue address nonreligion in ways that offer comparative perspectives on how specific dispositions, sensibilities and expressions—including those of everyday, ambivalent or less obvious forms of lived nonreligion—are linked to specific social configurations and imaginaries, power structures and transnational entanglements. They examine not only what people doubt or disbelieve—or how these positions are shaped by particular intellectual traditions—but also when, how and why critiques of religion, skepticism or unbelief emerge in particular embodied and situated practices in the first place. In this podcast episode, Brumann and Schulz summarize some of the points made in the special issues, covering topics such as forms of non-organized non-religion, the Satanic Temple, and why anthropology is a latecomer to the study of non-religion but is nevertheless important in this field. Watch the full podcast below!

Mascha Schulz is a Research Fellow at the Max Planck Institute for Social Anthropology in Halle, Germany, whose research focuses on politics, (non)religion, and law in Bangladesh. Her recent publications include the edited volume “Global Sceptical Publics: From Non-religious Print Media to ‘Digital Atheism’” (UCL Press, 2022, co-edited with Jacob Copeman) and the special section “The Anthropology of Nonreligion” in Religion & Society (2023, co-edited with Stefan Binder).

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Beyond the Sacred-versus-Secular Dichotomy: Humanist Wedding Ceremonies in Contemporary Poland

Agata Rejowska, Jagiellonian University

Keywords: humanism, marriage, weddings, Poland, sacred, secular

Humanist marriage ceremonies are an emerging form of civic rituality in Poland, and their popularity is on the rise. The first official humanist marriage ceremony was conducted in 2007 by the Polish Rationalist Association. As advocates of this type of rituality argued, this is an alternative to both religious and civil marriage ceremonies. The latter, although secular, meaning in theory suitable for non-religious couples, are often perceived as formulaic, bureaucratic, and devoid of meaning. I conducted empirical research on humanist weddings conducted in Poland between the years 2016 and 2020. As my study shows, as a hybrid phenomenon, humanist marriage ceremonies elude such binary divisions as secular/sacred or non-religious/sacred.

The conducted research reveals the various motivations of couples who decide on such form of celebration. In addition to ‘nonreligious’ or ‘antireligious’ motivation, there are also ‘anti-institutional’, ‘individualistic’, and ‘practical’ motives. It also shows that even if some couples decided on humanist marriage ceremony, that did not necessarily mean that they were deeply steeped in rationalism and materialism. In Europe, the majority of non-religious individuals believe in a ‘spirit or life force’ rather than embracing hard atheism and a rationalist-materialist viewpoint. In the same vein, for some of my research participants, spiritual or religious frameworks were still the important points of reference in their marriage ceremonies.  

But even when they did not refer to spiritual and religious outlooks, the ceremonies remained sacred despite being secular/non-religious. By ‘sacred’ I mean something that ‘people take to be absolute realities that have claims over their lives’ (Lynch 2012, 15). Sacred is not an exclusively religious category, although for a long time it has been reduced to this field. Also, it does not have any actually existing ‘ontological referent’ but it is a social construction. For this reason, people can experience ‘the sacred’ as very diverse social phenomena.

For instance, love and intimacy are feelings that are often experienced as sacred. This is often expressed through terms such as ‘my one and only’ or ‘soulmate’. Sometimes the romantic narrative presents a meeting of two people as an effect of ‘destined coincidences’. The opposition between destiny and coincidence was a subject of reflection at one of the weddings I observed, during the groom’s speech:

I have the impression that you could easily divide people into those who believe in coincidence and those who think there are no coincidences and everything happens for a reason. I belonged to the first group until the ski camp [where the couple met]. And 15 minutes in the bus was enough (…). And then for the first time in my life I felt really calm, an emotion I didn’t know before came over me and I felt somehow looked after by the energy of the world, and since then I think that everything happens for a reason. You are definitely here for a reason.

Sacred is something that needs to be ‘set apart’ and protected from ‘any profanation’ and, by the same logic, the loved person is set apart from other women or men and the relationship is something that needs to be protected (for instance being unfaithful could profane it). Relationship can be symbolically polluted by the interference of the external institutions that represent irrelevant and rejected values, and are ‘inauthentic’.  For this reason one of the research participants, Harry[1], did not want to have a religious ceremony:

It was kind of conflicting to have something that really meant a lot to me, which was my love for my wife, with something that meant nothing to me, which is a belief in God. That means zero to me. So, I didn’t want to mix those two things.

Although advocates of humanist marriage ceremonies consider these rites of passage to be the alternative not only to religious but also to civil marriages (similarly in the UK), in Poland the civil ceremony is still the only legally recognized option for non-religious couples who do not want to be married within any institutionalized religious tradition. Hence, because humanist marriages in Poland do not have legal recognition, contrary to other countries like Australia, Canada, Ireland, New Zealand, Norway, Scotland, and some parts of the United States (Kasselstrand, 2018), if couples wish to have a legally valid wedding, an additional civil ceremony is required (usually a modest ceremony at the registry office is held on another day).

At this wedding, everyone was asked to wear white, preferably linen, clothes. As the bride said: ‘it was very important for us for everyone to be in white, for everyone to participate in the ceremony, be part of the ceremony, so not just the bride in white, but everyone participating in it.’ (photo: Dorota Koperska)

The interviewees often complained that civil marriage ceremonies are impersonal and generic. Couples usually associate civil ceremonies not only with something cheesy and anachronistic, but also emotionless and mundane. As Norbert, one of the interviewees, put it: ‘a woman plays some “da-da-da-daa” [imitates Mendelsson’s Wedding March] on a tape recorder and there’s nothing sublime about it and you don’t feel any emotions either’. According to participants, civil marriage ceremonies deploy ossified symbols and meanings that have lost their power. It is either ‘funny’ or grotesque in its seriousness. The civil ceremony represents the secular-profane; it belongs to the mundane, emotionally uncharged everyday life. Many couples I spoke to treated it rather as a ‘necessary evil’ and something grotesque in its ‘seriousness’. Dominika laughed as she described how, when the official told them that ‘the mayor of the district joins in sending wishes’, they were not able to treat it seriously, especially as this was a random district with which they had no attachment.

Lighting a candle is a common element of humanist marriage ceremonies. It can symbolise, for example, the home hearth and the couple’s new life together (photo: Maciej Butkowski)

In the background of humanist marriage ceremonies there is a belief in universal moral order, common values, immanent interconnectedness between people and a universal foundation of humankind. These shared beliefs are another source of potential sacralization. As Helena said: ‘We have something in common because we are human beings. And those values are important to all of us. Like love, relationships, happiness, and things like that’. The equation of humanism with something that is universal often triggered comparisons and allusions to religion (as something particularistic). During the research, I often encountered the narrative that humanist values are something that unify people, while belonging to a particular religion constitutes a dividing factor. In this sense, humanism in general and humanist rites of passage in particular are perceived as the means that help people to function despite or above the already existing divisions and to avoid generating new ones. As Harry put it:

I think it’s important to recognize that there is a way of being spiritual amongst people without being attached to a religion. (…) We have to find a way, or start to find ways to love one another and to be with one another, without turning to any mainstream religious beliefs (…). So I think that’s what humanistic means to me.

This narrative alludes to the understanding of humanism as an ethical project, striving to build a democratic and open society, and humanist ceremonies are one of its tools.  This is relevant especially in Poland, as sociologists note that Poles lack identities other than the religious Polak-katolik one. This lack of other identities means a deficit of ritual alternatives to Catholic rites of passage, which are an important tool for the institutional Church to maintain its power in Poland. Humanist rites of passage, therefore, can be a tool for forging an alternative identity to the Polak-katolik one.

Some weddings also involve non-human actors to emphasize that they are also part of the community. Here, a dog is bearing the rings (a small bag with wedding bands is attached to his collar). (photo: Kamila Piech http://www.kamilapiech.com)

Humanist ceremonies are a sign of the secularization of the ritual sphere, yet do not indicate its desacralization. Participants expressed a rejection of impersonal and formulaic civil ceremonies, but also a need to saturate the marriage rite with meanings that are perceived as contemporary and relevant. Although secularization undermines the authority of institutional religions, secularized social life is not devoid of the sacred. However, secularization also affects ‘the sacred’ and its manifestations, including marriage ceremonies, as its form is flexible and adjusts to the changes taking place throughout society.

Agata Rejowska is an assistant professor at the Institute of Sociology at the Jagiellonian University in Krakow. In 2021 she was a Visiting Assistant in Research at Yale University, Center for Cultural Sociology. In 2023 she received the Best Early Career Article Award granted by the International Society for the Sociology of Religion for the article “Humanist Weddings in Poland: The Various Motivations of Couples” published in Sociology of Religion. From 2024 she has been a member of the research group for the project “Practices of Secularity in Catholic Poland: Forming a New Social Order?” (led by Professor Katarzyna Zielińska).

References

[1] The names of all participants have been replaced by pseudonyms.

Kasselstrand I (2018) ‘We Still Wanted That Sense of Occasion’: Traditions and Meaning Making in Scottish Humanist Marriage Ceremonies. Scottish Affairs 27: 273-293.

Lynch G (2012) The Sacred in the Modern World: A Cultural Sociological Approach. Oxford: Oxford University Press.