Tag Archives: Sociology of Religion

Nones Across the Globe

Image from Patheos

The third largest religious affiliation in the United States is “None.” Roughly one-fifth of adult Americans tell surveyors that they have no religious affiliation at all. The rise of the Nones, which began in the 199os, is perhaps the most important development in American religious life today, raising difficult questions for traditional religious institutions and the legal system as well.

We shouldn’t think of the Nones as a uniquely American phenomenon, though. (Only Americans would be tempted to do so, probably). Here’s an interesting report from The Weekly Number, a religion website, on the percentages of Nones worldwide. The overall percentage of Nones across the globe is lower than in the US: 16%. They are distributed very unevenly. Almost 80% live in the Asia-Pacific region. About 60% live in one country, China. The entire continent of North America, by contrast, accounts for only five percent of Nones worldwide. In sub-Saharan Africa, Nones make up about two percent of the population. In the Middle East and North Africa, religiously unaffiliated people are even scarcer, comprising less than one percent of the population.

One might expect that, as China continues to rise, Nones will become an even more powerful global force. But here’s another interesting statistic. Unlike in the US, where Nones are disproportionately young, as a global population, the Nones skew old. The median age of Nones (34) is significantly higher than the median age of the overall global population (28). Who knows? Perhaps the rise of the Nones among America’s youth will be offset by the much-noted rise of Christianity among young people in the global South.

Rosenberg, “Critical Enthusiasm: Capital Accumulation and the Transformation of Religious Passion”

imageIn August, Oxford University Press will publish Critical Enthusiasm: Capital Accumulation and the Transformation of Religious Passion by Jordana Rosenberg (U. Mass.).  The publisher’s description follows.

The Atlantic world of the long eighteenth century was characterized by two major, interrelated phenomena: the onset of capital accumulation and the infusion of traditions of radical religious rapture into Enlightenment discourses. In exploring these cross-pollinations, Critical Enthusiasm shows that debates around religious radicalism are bound to the advent of capitalism at its very root: as legal precedent, as financial rhetoric, and as aesthetic form. To understand the period thus requires that we not only contextualize histories of religion in terms of the economic landscape of early modernity, but also recast the question of secularization in terms of the contradictions of capitalism.

Sullivan & Beaman, “Religious Freedom and Varieties of Establishment”

This July, Ashgate will publish Varieties of Religious Establishment edited by Winnifred Fallers Sullivan (SUNY Buffalo) and Lori G. Beaman (University of Ottawa). The publisher’s description follows.

During the past decade attention to the topic of religious freedom has grown exponentially. Examining the various forms religious establishment takes globally, from both theoretical and practical perspectives, this book argues that legal protections for religious freedom only make sense in a context of socially and culturally specific constraints. Leading international scholars from a diverse range of disciplines explore how countries today manage religious diversity.  Rather than adopting the common assumption that religious freedom is incompletely realized, the authors argue that the starting point should be what has historically been seen in the United States as freedom‘s evil twin – religious establishment. In the hyper-globalized world of the politics of religious freedom today, a focus on establishment brings into view background cultural assumptions, cosmologies, anthropologies, and institutions which are used to manage religion, as well as internal and external religious diversity. Establishment further reveals the limitations of universal, multicultural, and interfaith models. Disestablishment is impossible, as is religious freedom.

Movsesian at the European University Institute (June 3)

For CLR Forum readers in the area, I’ll be giving a talk, “Psychic Sophie and the Rise of the Nones,” next week at the European University Institute in Florence. My talk will be sponsored by the Institute’s ReligioWest project. Here’s the abstract:

The most important story in American religion today is the rise of the “Nones,” the category of people who declare no religious affiliation. Approximately one-fifth of American adults are in this category, and their numbers have exploded in the past two decades. Surprisingly, perhaps, the Nones tend to be believers; very few of them say they are atheists or agnostics. They reject not belief but organized religion, and draw on a variety of traditions to create their own, a la carte, spiritualities. In this paper, I explore the rise of the Nones and the tensions it exposes in American law, particularly with regard to the definition of religion. To illustrate, I rely on a recent US appeals court case in which the plaintiff, “Psychic Sophie,” argued that the state had interfered with the exercise of her religion — which she defined, in typical None fashion, as “following her inner flow.”

Details are here. Stop by and say hello!

Do Skeptics Make Better Lawyers?

This will be my last post as a guest blogger.  Many thanks to Mark and Marc for allowing me this opportunity to share some thoughts and to the many readers who contributed comments, e-mailed me offline, or just read.  I’m now back to my day job saving monopolists not from their sins but from treble damage judgments.

Since I haven’t been able to stir up any controversy by asking how Jesus would rule on same-sex marriage or why evangelicals are underrepresented at elite law schools, I thought I might go out with a bang by asking whether skeptics—atheists, agnostics, and others skeptical about religious devotion and belief—generally make better lawyers than do people of faith.  And, in case the reader assumes that any post on a law and religion blog must necessary answer this question with a self-righteous snort, please be assured that I mean it quite seriously.

The question has lingered uncomfortably in my mind for a long time.  Back in June of 2005, when I was an untenured faculty member at Cardozo Law School (which is part of Yeshiva University, an Orthodox Jewish institution), my then dean, David Rudenstine, gave a provocative address to group of 200 undergraduate counselors from northeastern universities in which he seemingly questioned whether people of faith could make good law students or lawyers.   David argued:  “Faith challenges the underpinnings of legal education . . . . Faith is a willingness to accept belief in things for which we have no evidence, or which runs counter to evidence we have.  Faith does not tolerate opposing views, does not acknowledge inconvenient facts. Law schools stand in fundamental opposition to this.”

That story is old and was widely discussed at the time, and I don’t mean to use this as an occasion to pick on David Rudenstine, whom I have always known to be fair-minded, ethical, and generous.  It’s just that I’ve often wondered whether David had at least half a point.

In an earlier post. I mentioned an online survey of students at an elite law school that suggested that evangelical Protestants might be underrepresented compared to their national demographic figures.  The same survey (and please see all caveats from last time about its informality) suggested that atheists and agnostics might be very significantly overrepresented compared to their national demographic figures.  According to Pew Forum data, people who identify as atheist or agnostic account for about 4% of all respondents nationally and about 7% of respondents in the 18-29 age cohort.  Skeptics are well educated overall, claiming 8% of all post-graduate diplomas (basically doubling their base 4% share).  In the law student survey, they accounted for a whopping 28% of all respondents, more than all Protestant categories (evangelical, mainline, and traditionally African-American) combined.

The case that skeptics have the edge in the legal profession seems easy to make.  Lawyers are trained to be skeptical, to question everything and believe nothing, to assert that all positions are tentative and relative.  A lawyer must be ready to argue either side of any dispute, suspending her personal views to advance the interests of her client.  This sort of fluid intellectual role-playing is hard to square with a dogged conviction in a single vision of the truth.

This is not to say that anyone who identifies with a religion is necessarily disadvantaged in the legal profession.  But it does suggest that the legal profession will select for the religious traditions that are most open to skepticism and for religious adherents who are the most iconoclastic within their respective traditions. Jewish law students far outperformed their national market share in the law student survey (2% nationally compared to 10% in the survey), and it’s my sense that Judaism has a long history of encouraging internal debate.

So far so good for the claim that skeptics, or at least skepticism, makes for lawyerly success.  But, being a skeptical lawyer myself and hence necessarily seeing both sides of every issue, I need to ask whether there isn’t also a sense in which religious skeptics might face some disadvantages in the study and practice of law.   They might.

One of the things that has most amused me in my years as a law professor is how so many of my colleagues and students seem mystified at the persistence of various ritualistic and formalistic aspects of law.  They just can’t understand why the legal system continues to employ all manner of fictions, incantations, rites, dogmas, and formalities that serve only to hinder the scientific pursuit of human wellbeing.  What my skeptical students and colleagues are missing is that these legal rituals are bound up in the same impulses that undergird religion.  The legal system exhibits aspects of human psychology, emotion, and experience that are bound up in metaphysical yearnings for the divine and the transcendent.  This will continue so long as law is produced by men and not computers.  A successful lawyer must not only understand these impulses but channel them.

Take, for example, the ongoing debates over textualist and “plain meaning” approaches to interpreting written instruments—constitutions, statutes, regulations, contracts, wills, etc.  Years ago the legal realists showed—or thought they showed—that texts do not have an objective meaning and, hence, that textualist searches for an objective meaning were inherently misguided.  Yet textualism is arguably more entrenched as an interpretive methodology today than it was at the heyday of legal realism.  One of the contributing factors is an abiding cultural reverence for the inherent—some would say primitive—power of written texts.  Whether this reverence is caused historically by the primacy of written texts in Western religious traditions or instead emanates from some deeper aspect of human psychology that creates a demand for textualism in both law and religion is an open question.  But it does seem that those who begin law school connected to textual reverence and related exegetical methods may have a leg up.

There are many other ways in which religion—not just intellectual knowledge about religious history and dogmas but a religious mindset—could prove useful in the study and practice of law.  Think, for example, of legal skills as far flung as mastering jury psychology, crafting the poetic cadences of a sensational appellate brief, and inducing several hundred egotistical lawyers to sacrifice for the good of a law firm partnership.  A religious persuasion isn’t essential to these skills, but it could often come in useful.

In conclusion, I remain convinced that my old dean had half a point—but only half a point.  Skeptics are naturally drawn to law and enjoy some clear advantages.  It’s just that the law naturally attracts certain religious personalities as well and offers them their own advantages.  In the end . . . well, why do I have to commit myself to anything?  I’m a lawyer, after all.

Two New Books on Pentecostalism

Pentecostalism–a variety of Evangelical Protestantism for which direct experience of God and baptism with the Holy Spirit are crucial features–is experiencing something of a boom in many parts of the world today.  According to this essay by the historian of religion, Randall J. Stephens, Pentecostalism is “the second-largest subgroup of global Christianity” and claims “a worldwide following of 430 million”–an estimate that is likely already dated since Stephens wrote the piece.

Here are two recent books from Oxford University Press that discuss this To the Ends of the Earthreligious phenomenon and its historical, political, and social importance.  The first is To the Ends of the Earth: Pentecostalism and the Transformation of World Christianity by Allan Heaton Anderson (OUP February 2013).  The publisher’s description follows.

No branch of Christianity has grown more rapidly than Pentecostalism, especially in the southern hemisphere. There are over 100 million Pentecostals in Africa. In Latin America, Pentecostalism now vies with Catholicism for the soul of the continent, and some of the largest pentecostal congregations in the world are in South Korea.

In To the Ends of the Earth, Allan Heaton Anderson explores the historical and theological factors behind the phenomenal growth of global Pentecostalism. Anderson argues that its spread is so dramatic because it is an “ends of the earth” movement–pentecostals believe that they are called to be witnesses for Jesus Christ to the furthest reaches of the globe. His wide-ranging account examines such topics as the Azusa Street revival in Los Angeles, the role of the first missionaries in China, India, and Africa, Pentecostalism’s incredible diversity due to its deep local roots, and the central role of women in the movement. He describes more recent developments such as the creation of new independent churches, megachurches, and the “health and wealth” gospel, and he explores the increasing involvement of pentecostals in public and political affairs across the globe. Why is this movement so popular? Anderson points to such features as the emphasis on the Spirit, the “born-again” experience, incessant evangelism, healing and deliverance, cultural flexibility, a place-to-feel-at-home, religious continuity, an egalitarian community, and meeting material needs–all of which contribute to Pentecostalism’s remarkable appeal.

Exploring more than a century of history and ranging across most of the globe, Anderson illuminates the spectacular rise of global Pentecostalism and shows how it changed the face of Christianity worldwide.

The second book is Spirit and Power: The Growth and Global Impact of Spirit and PowerPentecostalism edited by Donald E. Miller, Kimon H. Sargent, and Richard Flory (OUP August 2013).  The publisher’s description follows.

Pentecostalism is the fastest growing religious movement in the world, currently estimated to have at least 500 million adherents. In the movement’s early years, most Pentecostal converts lived in relative poverty, yet the rapidly shifting social ecology of Pentecostal Christians includes many middle-class individuals, as well as an increasing number of young adults attracted by the music and vibrant worship of these churches. The stereotypical view of Pentecostals as “other-worldly” and disengaged from politics and social ministry is also being challenged, as Pentecostals-including many who are committed to working for social and political change-constitute growing minorities in many countries. Spirit and Power addresses three main questions: Where is Pentecostalism growing globally? Why it is growing? What is its social and political impact? The contributors to this volume include theologians, historians, and social scientists, who bring their diverse disciplinary perspectives to bear on these empirical questions. The essays draw on extensive survey research as well as in-depth ethnographic field methods, with analyses offering diverging and sometimes competing explanations for the growth and impact of Pentecostalism around the world.

Does It Matter that Evangelicals Are Underrepresented Among the Legal Elite?

This is the third and last post in my mini-series on evangelical underrepresentation among the legal elite.  My first post presented the claim that evangelicals are underrepresented and the second asked why this might be.  To conclude, I want to ask whether it even matters and, if so, in what ways.  I’ll limit myself to three somewhat random observations.

First, evangelicals don’t seem to care too much about their underrepresentation in the legal elite.  Although there have been a few murmurings about the lack of an evangelical on the Supreme Court, evangelicals seem to be much more interested in judicial appointments that will vote for outcomes favored by evangelicals than on the religious identity of the appointees. Thus, for example, after the Supreme Court nomination of evangelical Harriet Miers fell apart (and to repeat a point from yesterday’s post, observe that Miers, an SMU Law grad, lacked “elite” credentials), there seemed to be no great reaction from evangelicals when John Roberts, a Catholic (who undoubtedly had elite credentials), was picked instead.  The choice of Sam Alito, a Catholic, over one of the (very few) plausible evangelicals (like Mike McConnell) barely registered.

That evangelicals by and large feel “represented” by conservative Catholics in the upper echelons of the legal system is interesting in many ways.  One interpretation is that evangelicals accept that viewpoint rather than identity is what matters to representation—a claim that has all sorts of implications for other kinds of “diversity” questions (i.e, do liberal whites adequately represent the interests of liberal African-Americans?). 

Another implication—and I’ll go ahead and say it although I know I’ll get pushback (perhaps even assassination)—is that evangelicals care about identity, but increasingly understand evangelical and conservative Catholic identity as converging.  Is it possible that, in the post-Vatican II world, evangelicals and Catholics are beginning to see themselves less as mere political allies and more as sharing a common identity in the loyal and traditionalist wing of Christendom?  This is clearly happening at least at the margins (witness the growth of evangelical Catholicism and liturgical revivals within Protestant evangelicalism, for example).

A second point:  Does evangelical underrepresentation in elite legal jobs matter to the way law is performed?  In his wonderful book Constitutional Faith, Sandy Levinson draws parallels between the competing Catholic and Protestant traditions on textualism, authority, and tradition and similar debates in law.  In Levinson’s terminology, a “Protestant” judge would assert that (scriptural) constitutional text trumps tradition and that all citizens are equally entitled to interpret the (scriptures) Constitution for themselves (i.e., paralleling the “priesthood of all believers”).  By contrast, a “Catholic” judge would assert that tradition may be more important than textual exegesis and that the “priesthood” of judges are the ultimate interpreters of the Constitution.

If it were the case that Protestants in general, and evangelical Protestants in particular, were likely to follow a “Protestant” disposition as judges or other legal elites, then the underrepresentation of evangelicals might matter to the construction of law.  Or, at least it would matter in the sense that legal outcomes would be systematically different if there were more evangelicals among the legal elite.  But, in fact, there seems to be little evidence that judges who are Protestant, Catholic, Jewish or anything else are particularly more likely than others to follow a “Protestant” or “Catholic” approach on textualism, authority, and tradition.  For example, as Levinson showed, the notoriously anti-Catholic Hugo Black scores as “Protestant” on textualism but “Catholic” on judicial authority.

Finally, if I’m not convinced that evangelicals would systematically display traditionally Protestant approaches to texts, authority, and tradition, I do think that a greater evangelical presence among the legal elite might have an important effect on the development of law in another way. The defining element of modern American evangelicalism is its individualistic experientialism, its insistence on a personal born-again experience, its adherence to what religion critic Harold Bloom defines as the key trait of any genuinely American religion—walking alone with Jesus in the wilderness.  To be an evangelical means to know Jesus in the heart.

 It is not hard to see the misfit between evangelicalism’s experiential epistemology and law as a rationalistic, deductive system.  But to a pointy-headed legal academic like me, the portrayal of law as rationalistic and deductive seems so nineteenth century.  In the post-realist, post-modern world, law is increasingly understood as personal, subjective, and even experiential.  To take just one small example, the whole “expressivist” strand of contemporary legal scholarship is about how law is received, understood, internalized, and experienced.

Although evangelicals may not understand this well, modern legal thought may be very much up their alley.  It would be a shame if evangelicals continued to stand on the sidelines while the legal academy, the courts, and other legal institutions worked through the implications of law in the post-modern world—something about which evangelicals should have lots to say.

Why Are Evangelicals Underrepresented Among the Legal Elite?

In a recent post, I asserted that evangelical Protestants are dramatically underrepresented compared to their national demographic figures in the American legal elite.  In this post, I ask why that is the case.  Let me make clear at the outset that I want to avoid causal reductionism, particularly of the kind that leads to easy imputations of blame.  The causes of this phenomenon are surely complex.

Let me begin by offering a thesis:  An important contributing factor to evangelical underrepresentation in the legal elite is evangelical underrepresentation in student enrollments in elite law schools.  Since the American legal elite is overwhelming staffed with graduates of elite law schools, there is at least a strong association between evangelical underrepresentation in student enrollments and the upper echelons of politically important legal jobs.  Since law school pedigrees are very important to securing elite jobs, then it is likely that evangelical underrepresentation in elite law schools provides a significant explanation for evangelical underrepresentation in the legal elite.

In my last post, I asserted (based on admittedly casual evidence) that evangelicals seem to be dramatically underrepresented (again compared to their national demographic percentage of 26%) in elite law student enrollments.  I can’t improve on that assertion for now, but I can provide some evidence on the importance of an elite law school pedigree for securing elite legal jobs.

A few snapshots:  Since 1970, the law school pedigrees of the thirteen Justices appointed to the Supreme Court are:  seven from Harvard, three from Yale, two from Stanford, one each from Columbia, Northwestern, and Washington & Lee.  Attorney General appointments since 1970:  Harvard (5), Chicago (2), Yale (1), Columbia (1), Berkeley (1), George Washington (1), Pittsburgh (1), Maryland (1), Ohio State (1), and Mercer (1).  Solicitor General appointments since 1970:  Harvard (3), Yale (2), Columbia (2), Chicago (2), Berkeley (1), Virginia (1), Duke (1), George Washington (1).  Among the current active or senior status judges on the D.C. Circuit, which is the top feeder circuit to the Supreme Court (with four current Justices having come from the D.C. Circuit), the figures are:  Harvard (4), Chicago (2), North Carolina (2), Yale (1), Virginia (1), Penn (1), Michigan (1), and UCLA (1).  To put a bow on this, of the 54 elite lawyers included in the foregoing lists, only 10 did not attend a traditional Top 10 law school (and the number falls to 8 if Northwestern and Duke, traditional Top 14 law schools, are included).

To bring things closer to home, consider the JD pedigree of faculty at my current employer, the University of Michigan Law School.  On the tenure or tenure-track faculty, the figures are as follows for faculty with a U.S. JD or LLB:  Yale (16), Harvard (9), Columbia (2), Michigan (2), NYU (2), Berkeley (2), Stanford (1), Virginia (2), Chicago (1), George Washington (1), Wisconsin (1).  These figures are broadly representative of the faculty at top law schools.

Now back to evangelicals and elite legal jobs.  If evangelicals are (and historically have been) underrepresented in student enrollments at the Top 10 law schools, which is the opening of the elite pipeline, it will be no surprise that they are underrepresented in the upper echelons of legal jobs.  So why are evangelicals underrepresented in elite law school student bodies?  Let me offer five possible contributing factors:

  1.  Geography

The elite law schools all draw their student bodies nationally, but there may be overall bias (in the statistical sense) toward students from the Northeast, particularly at the two most important “feeder” schools, Harvard and Yale.  Evangelicals are 26% of the nation, but just 10% of the Northeast.  The data are here.  Further, to the extent that the elite schools draw disproportionately not just from particular states or regions but from particular sub-regions (i.e., Manhattan, large metropolitan areas, etc.) or undergraduate schools, the effect may be even more pronounced.

2. Socio-economic status

Evangelicals skew lower in socio-economic status compared to other major religious demographic groups.  Significant indicators in which evangelicals “underachieve” include  household income and educational degree achievement.  To the extent that elite law schools draw disproportionately from upper income and high educational achievement households, socio-economic status may be an important contributing factor to lower evangelical enrollments in elite law school.

3.      Anti-intellectualism

As Mark Noll chronicled in his wonderful book The Scandal of the Evangelical Mind, American evangelicalism has a long and unfortunate tradition of anti-intellectualism.  It would not be surprising to find that some bright evangelical college graduates decline to pursue legal educations at elite law schools because they have been weaned on a deep mistrust of Ivy League intellectualism.

4.      Anti-elitism

Closely related to the last point but a little different is the possibility that a spirit of anti-elitism keeps some evangelicals away from elite law schools.  It is a mainstay of evangelical teaching that one should avoid pursuing “worldly” status at the expense of godly virtue.  Consider a bright young evangelical college graduate who is weighing a scholarship at the local state law school against a non-scholarship admission to a top ten school.  She balances her desire for a more prestigious degree against her desire to avoid debt and stay close to friends, family, and church.  It would not be surprising to find that, compared to her peers from other traditions, she is more likely to decide that the prestige value of the degree does not merit foregoing the scholarship to the state school.

5.      Alienation from the legal profession

Finally, I wonder to what extent the phenomenon of low evangelical representation at elite law schools is just part of a wider phenomenon of evangelical alienation from the legal profession more generally.  Are eligible evangelicals disproportionately not enrolling in law schools of any variety and opting instead for other sorts of careers?  I don’t know the answer, but it would not be surprising to learn that evangelicals have disproportionately not pursued legal careers because of a variety of attitudes, perspectives, or biases.  Just to throw out a few possibilities:  “practicing law requires unethical compromises;” “law is the province of liberals;” “trial lawyers are ruining America.”

My intuition is that each of these five stories has something to do with it, although I’m unsure how much weight to put on each.  I’m also pretty sure that there’s a lot more to the story, and would welcome reader comments with other perspectives.

I’ve posted some follow-up thoughts on whether it matters that evangelicals are underrepresented here.

Are Evangelicals Underrepresented Among the Legal Elite?

When Elena Kagan joined the Supreme Court in 2010, there was ample chatter about the fact that there were no longer any Protestant justices on the Court.  With six Catholics and three Jews, the Court stood in stark contrast to the bare majority of the country that affiliates as Protestant.  Supreme Court appointments are few in number and idiosyncratic, but there’s a broader religious demographic phenomenon that’s harder to explain away as random:  the underrepresentation of evangelical Protestants among the American legal elite.

First, some definitions and boundaries.  The gold standard for religious affiliation in the United States is the Pew Forum on Religion & Public Life.  Using their affiliation categories, here are the breakdowns for the largest religious demographic groups in the U.S.:  evangelical Protestant 26%; mainline Protestant 18%; Catholic 24%; historically black church (which would include evangelical and non-evangelical Protestants) 7%; Jewish and Mormon 1.7%; unaffiliated 16%.   By “legal elite,” I refer to something with looser boundaries, but still recognizable.  Roughly, it would include elite federal judges (Supreme Court and the most prestigious federal circuits); top legal jobs in the executive branch (Solicitor General’s office, White House counsel, etc.); law professors at top-ranked law schools; and various talent pools that feed into the upper echelon of legal jobs (i.e., student bodies at elite law schools; Supreme Court clerkships).

My strong intuition is that evangelicals are grossly underrepresented in the legal elite.  To focus again on the (admittedly idiosyncratic) Supreme Court, it’s not just that there are currently no Protestants on the court, it’s that at least since the rise of modern evangelicalism as a political force in 1970s, there has never been an evangelical on the Court.  Even though evangelicals have had great success in politics writ large, including the Presidency, Congress, and governorships, they have been conspicuously absent from the top echelons of the federal judiciary.

It’s a good bet that that this underrepresentation stretches back to the beginning of the elite pipeline that feeds the elite echelons.  While I’m unaware of any good data on the religious affiliation of law students at elite law schools, my own experience suggests that evangelicals fall far short of their national demographic numbers in elite law school enrollment.  Several years ago, David Skeel, Larissa Vaysman, and I conducted an online survey of the religious affiliation of first-year students at a top ten law school (a project we are hoping to continue elsewhere).  The 57% of the students who responded provided the following data.  Evangelical Protestants comprised merely 7%, compared to the national figure of 26%, while mainline Protestants and Catholics largely maintained their national shares (16% for mainline Protestant compared to 18% nationally, 20% for Catholics compared to 24% nationally).  Caveat:  this was just one survey and there are all sorts of statistical problems with extrapolating from voluntary online surveys, so take this for what it’s worth.  Still, this snapshot resonated with my intuitions about law school enrollments.  And it would be very surprising if evangelical Protestants amounted to even 5% of the law professors at the top law schools.

Let me be clear that I’m not starting out to tell a bias or victimization story.  The enormous disparity between national demographics and the legal elite (if my intuitions and fuzzy data points are right) could have many different and complicated explanations.  Nor am I necessarily taking a position on the normative implications of evangelical underrepresentation.  For purposes of this post, I just want to make the empirical point, such as it is.  In future posts I will offer some observations on possible explanatory stories and the normative dimensions, if any.

Berger on American Civil Religion and the Boston Marathon Bombing

Peter Berger has a very smart column describing both the shortcomings and the advantages of American civil religion, as expressed and manifested in the rituals and ceremonies after the Boston Marathon bombing.  A bit:

Soon after the bombings a makeshift memorial was spontaneously put up. A Globe article described it as “an eclectic collection of crosses, candles, teddy bears, medals, running shoes, and hundreds of other personalized items that reflect a common sorrow.” I don’t know when or where this practice originated, but it has occurred on other occasions of shared grief, for example following the death of Princess Diana. There were a few overtly religious messages inserted into the display, but the memorial as a whole had a clearly ritual, quasi-sacral character. People were coming and going, stood quietly in an attitude of prayer, wrote messages. A six-year old girl laboriously wrote a message saying “We love you so much!”. That was the major theme—expressions of affection for the victims. Then there were affirmations of resolve against violence, and expressions of the intent to run again in next year’s Marathon. Sacral ritual or not, no denominationally specific religion was visible here . . . .

The opening address at the Cathedral service was delivered by the Reverend Liz Walker, a Presbyterian minister. I was struck by the following passage: “How can God allow bad things to happen? Where was God when evil slithered in and planted the horror that exploded our innocence?” She said that she had no answer, and added, “But this is what I know: God is here, in the midst of this sacred gathering and beyond.”

I would not be misunderstood: I have no problem whatever for a minister not knowing “the answer” to the age-old question of theodicy. After all, I co-authored a book with the title In Praise of Doubt—by definition, I think, faith implies an absence of certainty—I don’t have to believe what I know. But that is not the point here. The point is this: The faith that Walker represents does have an answer, centered on the redemptive process inaugurated by the Incarnation and Resurrection of Jesus Christ, culminating on that Day of Judgment when all evil will finally be punished. But what is more: She could not (whether in tones of certainty or not) explicate this answer in the context of this service. Once again, I would not be misunderstood: I have no criticism of Walker’s reticence about the Christian faith she is supposed to represent. It would have been inappropriate here for her to come out with overtly Christian (let alone with Protestant or, if such there are, Presbyterian) references.  But it is useful to reflect about the relation between any specific faith and the civil religion affirmed in this service . . . .

Grace Davie, a British sociologist, has written about the way in which established churches, in moments of collective grief, become the official mourners of the nation, even though only a minority of citizens worship in their services. The Church of England played this role at the funeral of Princess Diana, as did the Lutheran Church of Sweden (it has recently been disestablished) when the cruise ship “Estonia” sank in the Baltic Sea and a large number of Swedish tourists perished. The United States of course has no state church, but all the denominations together serve to legitimate the civil religion that can be embraced by all citizens.

This is a very distinctive American version of the separation of church and state, a quite strict legal separation, yet with diverse religious groups noisily present in public life. I think that, by and large, this has been a very successful arrangement. It presupposes that a religious group, when it enters public space, must translate its commentaries into terms that can be understood and debated by all citizens, most of whom will not be members of the particular group. Put differently, if one wants to persuade fellow-citizens in public space, one must employ a secular discourse. That discourse does have a moral foundation, the value system of the “American Creed”. Adherents of this or that specific faith may find these values more vague, even superficial, than the ones derived directly from faith, and they themselves may understand their allegiance to the Creed in terms specific to their faith. Thus the secular discourse of the public space coexists with the plurality of specific (if you will, “sectarian”) religious discourses.

I wonder about the point about translation, which reminds me a little bit of Rawls’s proviso.  It may be more accurate to say that the specific religious discourses not only coexist with the civil religion, but themselves somehow constitute it.  That could be compatible with believing that the whole of civil religion is greater (and, of course, also less) than the sum of its discrete sectarian parts.  But it would also be compatible with rejecting the metaphor of translation.  Because, as Berger himself suggests, there are deep features of the specific traditions that do not translate (as in, for example, his example of theodicy) but may nevertheless in some way constitute part of the civil religion amalgam.