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.

[Research] “Of” or “For”: Studying “Spirituality” and the Problems therein…

How might “spirituality” relate to “nonreligion”? In this blog post Galen Watts reflects on this question galen-wattswith respect to the category of “spiritual but not religious.” Noting how a distinction between the study of spirituality and the study for spirituality is rarely made in the field of spirituality studies, he challenges scholars of spirituality to define their object more clearly and to declare their stakes in it.

There is a category that has recently begun to rise in popularity in those societies often deemed Western and which seems to fall—albeit somewhat uneasily—under the label “nonreligion.” I am speaking of those who self-identify as “spiritual but not religious” (SBNR). Having recently conducted research on Canadian millennials who self-identify as SBNR, it has become clear to me that SBNR spirituality, or contemporary spirituality, is a type of nonreligion that is quite distinct in form and content from, say, atheism, or even agnosticism (of course, as signifying discourses, these labels do not reflect reality, in any sense, flawlessly, but I think you get the point). We might then say the recent upsurge in the number of people in North America who self-identify as SBNR (Pew Research Center 2013) troubles any simplistic narrative one might tell about the secularization of Western states, whereby societies simply move from a “religious” standpoint to a “secular” one—“secular” understood as the decline of religious belief and practice. I am not alone in holding this view (see Fuller 2001; Heelas and Woodhead 2005; Carrette and King 2005; Gottlieb 2013; Mercadante 2014). Indeed, the rise of SBNRs has engendered an increase in the number of scholars, based in a variety of disciplines, who research “spirituality.”

In this post, I want to discuss a specific issue that continues to stifle the nascent field of what we might call “spirituality studies.” It seems to me that those of us interested in “spirituality” have not yet figured out how to adequately study this puzzling phenomenon. I believe this is in part because we have not been entirely upfront about how we approach our subject of interest, and what our underlying motivations are.

Let me explain. There are a number of scholars—usually arising out of the fields of health studies, management, or education (but not always)—who view the emergence of “spirituality” as purportedly distinct from “religion” as a positive thing, but are nevertheless reluctant to articulate how they define “spirituality” or what political commitments underpin their use of the term. For instance, Christopher Cook (2004), in offering a comprehensive overview of 265 published books and academic articles on the broad topic of “spirituality and addiction,” found what he calls “a diversity and lack of clarity of understanding of the concept of spirituality” (539). He writes: “It is therefore somewhat concerning that the authors of well over one-third of the papers studied here felt no need to attempt to define or describe the concept [of ‘spirituality’] or even to comment on the difficulty of definition” (547). This is by no means uncommon outside of the realm of “spirituality and addiction,” either. More amazing is the fact that many who remain reluctant to provide a clear explication of their use of the term nevertheless argue that “spirituality”—whatever it is—ought to be embraced and promoted, for it is universal, and therefore transcends religious and/or secular contexts.

I would argue this rests on the (implicit) view that “spirituality” is inclusive (understood positively) while “religion” is exclusive (understood negatively). Indeed, many SBNRs I spoke to seemed to endorse “spirituality” over and above “religion” on this very basis (as Joel Thiessen notes in another NSRN post, this is not uncommon). The basic assumption is something like, “religion” is exclusivistic, ideologically charged, and (in some cases) dogmatic, whereas “spirituality” is universal and inclusivistic in nature. Of course, this assumption is problematic because it is, in fact, self-contradictory. For no discourse is truly universal, most especially those discourses which claim a universal scope; in the end, a discourse that is founded on the principle of inclusivity is at least exclusive of those which are founded on the principle of exclusivity. Thus it is somewhat curious how those who herald discourses on “spirituality” in many instances are reluctant to embrace those discourses which they deem “religious.” Nevertheless, this dichotomization helps to explain why and how even a New Atheist like Sam Harris can embrace a “secular spirituality.”

Of course, there are those who propose such a vague definition of “spirituality” that it becomes truly universally applicable. Ursula King (2011) has done this in offering her open-ended definition of “spiritualities”: “[they] quite simply connote those ideas, practices and commitments that nurture, sustain and shape the fabric of human lives, whether as individual persons or communities” (21 emphasis in the original). This definition is useful in that it provides a framework with which to begin discussions about different kinds of spirituality. However, it should be noted, it offers no substantive description of any specific spiritualities. Under it, one could just as easily call Christianity, American Football or Nazism types of spirituality. And although I see nothing intrinsically wrong with these applications, such examples should lead us to recognize why we ought to be more forthright and articulate about the kinds of spirituality we wish to endorse, and the substantive moral and political commitments that underpin them.

Disciplinary boundaries clearly play a formative role here. Scholars that work in health studies, management, or education tend not to study “spirituality” in order to better understand what it is or what it signifies, but rather to find out what a specific kind of spirituality – that they usually normatively endorse (or disparage) – might do for their workplace. In other words, these scholars are motivated by a personal interest in contemporary spirituality and the positive benefits (or negative consequences) they believe it yields in practical application. This approach, I believe, is better understood as the study for spirituality. In contrast, religious studies, cultural studies, or critical theory scholars generally take a broader (perhaps less practical) approach to “spirituality,” framing it as a socio-cultural and/or discursive construct that is everywhere and always political. These scholars therefore may seek to offer a description of contemporary spirituality as it presents itself in a specific social or cultural context, and/or critique it from a normative standpoint. This approach rightly falls under the study of spirituality.

Nevertheless, this is not to suggest these two approaches cannot, or do not, overlap. One may hold a normative understanding of contemporary spirituality, while at the same time, seek to better understand it as an abstract concept or as a lived phenomenon, or, wish to criticize that which one views as an inauthentic or perhaps corrupt form of it. And conversely, one may seek to better understand how spirituality operates within certain spheres (e.g. healthcare, education, etc.) from a critical perspective, all the while hoping to promote its application in said spheres. Thus I do not wish to give the impression that these approaches are inherently at odds. What remains true, however, is that they are, in important ways, distinct endeavours; and the confusion surrounding the study of spirituality, I argue, originates in their not being recognized as such.


Bibliography

Carrette, Jeremy R., and Richard King. 2005. $elling Spirituality: The Silent Takeover of Religion. London: Routledge.

Cook, Christopher C. H. 2004. “Addiction and Spirituality.” Society for the Study of Addiction. (99) 539-551.

Fuller, Robert C. 2001. Spiritual But Not Religious. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

Gottlieb, Roger S. 2013. Spirituality: What It Is and Why It Matters. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

Heelas, Paul, and Linda Woodhead. 2005. The Spiritual Revolution: Why Religion Is Giving Way to Spirituality. Malden, MA: Blackwell.

King, Ursula. 2011. “Can Spirituality Transform Our World?” Journal for the Study of Spirituality. (1) 17-34.

Mercadante, Linda A. 2014. Belief Without Borders: Inside the Minds of the Spiritual But Not Religious. New York, NY: Oxford University Press.

Pew Research Center. “Canada’s Changing Religious Landscape.” 2013. Pew Religion Public Life Project. Accessed June 26, 2016. http://www.pewforum.org/2013/06/27/canadas-changing-religious-landscape/.


Galen Watts is a PhD Candidate in the Cultural Studies Graduate Program at Queen’s University. He has a broad and diverse range of academic interests. Currently, his research could be classified as convening at the intersection of political philosophy, religious studies, and social theory. For his Masters, he sought to articulate and analyze how Canadian millennials (ages 18-34) who self-identify as “spiritual but not religious” conceptualize the relationship between their “individual” spirituality and their commitments, or lack thereof, to a number of social justice issues. For his PhD, he is continuing to research the basic values, belief-systems, and practices that inform contemporary spirituality among millennials in Canada in order to discern its ideological nature, as well as its social and political implications, broadly understood.

CFP: International Conference on Religion and Spirituality in Society

Sixth International Conference on Religion and Spirituality in Society

23-24 May 2016

The Catholic University of America


Washington D.C., USA

Current Submission Deadline*:
 18 March 2015

PLEASE NOTE: The Fifth International Conference on Religion and Spirituality in Society is taking place at the University of California at Berkley, 16-17 April 2015. Proposals are still being accepted for a short time. Click here for more details.

Continue reading