This article is a preview from the Autumn 2019 edition of New Humanist
The Pontifical Gregorian University in Rome co-hosts a “Cultures of Unbelief” conference. Priests, monks and nuns browse Aubrey Wade’s photos of atheists. Sizing up the competition? Or a genuine attempt at dialogue and understanding? Probably a bit of both. The conference, held in May, was the high point of a multi-disciplinary “Understanding Unbelief” project, led by Dr Lois Lee from the University of Kent. The project, a major research programme involving several universities, aims “to advance the scientific understanding of atheism and other forms of so-called ‘unbelief’ around the world.”
It is about time. According to the former education secretary Charles Clarke and Linda Woodhead, Professor of the Sociology of Religion at Lancaster University, we are living through “the single biggest change in the religious and cultural landscape of Britain for centuries, even millennia”. The non-religious are a big part of it. But it is complex, and will affect everyone. From a sociological viewpoint, “religion or belief” has three dimensions: belief; belonging or identity; and behaviour, including practice. Each can be measured separately. And here’s the thing – they do not match up. In general, more people identify with a particular religion than hold the beliefs associated with it. Among believers, those who practise are generally in a minority.
For example, in a YouGov survey for Linda Woodhead’s “Westminster Faith Debates” in 2013, under a third of Anglicans said there was “definitely” a “God or higher power”. The same number said “probably”. Just one in seven said they engaged in religious practices with other people. Equally, a YouGov poll in 2015 reported that over a fifth of the non-religious believe in some sort of spiritual greater power, including a few who call it “God”.
If you ask people about their religion or belief identity, the question can make a big difference. In 2001 and 2011, the National Census included the optional question “What is your religion?” But that assumes you have one. NatCen’s British Social Attitudes survey (BSA) asks a more objective two-step question: “Do you regard yourself as belonging to any particular religion?” If the answer is “Yes”, there is a follow-up: “Which?” The effect is that the Census overstates the number of people who answer with a religion, especially “Christian”, and understates “no religion”, compared to the BSA and other polls. Where the Census comes into its own is the ability to drill down to local level. But the BSA provides a 40-year time series, and more breakdown, so it is the best source of national data. Three big long-term changes stand out.
Firstly, the increase in the number of people who say they do not have a religious identity. In 1983-85, under 35 per cent said “No” in response to the BSA’s question. In 2016-18 it was over 50 per cent. And for 15-24-year-olds, around 70 per cent. Secondly, the mix within the “religion” category has become much more diverse. In the early 1950s, we were mainly a “Christian country”, with a non-religious minority, a Jewish community of about 400,000, plus a scattering of others. Now 5 per cent of Brits are Muslims, 2 per cent Hindus, between 0.5 and 1 per cent each Sikhs and Jews, plus a long list of others, including Buddhists, Baha’is, Zoroastrians and Pagans. The third type of change is taking place within religion or belief groupings themselves, including the decline in Anglicanism.
Nearly two fifths of the population still identifies as some type of Christian. But identity with the Church of England is falling off a cliff. It is down from 40 per cent in 1983-85 to under 15 per cent now. Of people who were brought up in Anglican households, only half remain Anglicans now. Only 1% of 18-24-year-olds identify with it, so the downward trend will continue. The Church is doing what it can to turn things round: smart marketing techniques, evangelical initiatives, new churches and, of course, new schools. But it is not looking good.
As it shrinks, the Church’s centre of gravity is moving towards the evangelical, reflecting the position of Archbishop Justin Welby, and those around him. In a blog post for the London School of Economics, Linda Woodhead and Greg Smith concluded that the Church is likely to shift from the “moderate religion of the people to a more sectarian religion for an evangelical minority”.
That is a massive change. This is the Established Church in England, with roots going back to Augustine’s arrival in Kent in 597. The Queen is its formal head, and it has 26 bishops in the House of Lords. Its immense wealth makes it the third richest charity in the UK. It is custodian of some of our most beautiful and important architectural – and musical – heritage. And there is no denying that it contains dedicated and well-meaning people, and makes a positive contribution to many local communities. A serious conversation needs to take place on how its decline can be managed in the wider national and local interest.
Other traditional Protestant churches, such as the Methodists and Baptists, are also in decline. But one Christian trendline on the BSA chart is going up: “Christian – no denomination”. It is now at about the same level as the Anglicans. “Where is the church going?”, by the private consultancy Brierley, identifies three drivers: Orthodox Churches, responding to immigration from South East Europe and elsewhere; Pentecostals, many with African roots; and evangelical “New Churches”.
Pentecostal and New Churches are Christianity with the colours turned up; a world of “Sunday Nights of Miracles” (subtitle: “The Healings, The Miracles, The Prophetic Revelations”) and, especially for Pentecostals, speaking in tongues. These are experiential, emotionally powerful types of faith, with an active personal deity, and strong individual commitment. Combine that with the evangelical direction of the Anglicans, and it looks like the long-term future of British Protestantism will be overwhelmingly evangelical.
Then there are the Roman Catholics. Despite Mass attendance at barely a third of the levels in the early 1980s, the number of people identifying as Catholic has declined relatively little, to around 8 per cent, though there is a fall-off in the youngest age groups. This is partly because immigration from Poland and elsewhere has compensated for attrition. But it also highlights the distinction between people who identify as Catholics; Catholicism as a collection of beliefs; and the Catholic Church as an institution.
In Linda Woodhead’s 2013 survey of British Catholics, under half said, “There is definitely a God or some higher power,” with a further quarter saying there “probably” is. That is more than the Anglicans, but not hugely. Fewer than a fifth supported a complete ban on abortion, and over half of under-50s thought “same sex marriage is right”. Well under two fifths saw the Catholic Church as a positive force in society, the main reasons being: “it discriminates against women and gay people . . . child abuse scandals, because it is hypocritical, and . . . too morally conservative.” In a more recent survey of young British Catholics, only one in ten had a “strong positive perception of the Catholic Church”. It seems identity trumps doctrine and institution.
Although Catholic identity is “stickier” than Anglicanism – around 60 per cent of people brought up in Catholic households still identify as Catholic – without new Catholic immigration, the long-term direction seems clear.
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When it comes to Islam, generalisation is the big risk. British Muslims may only constitute 5 per cent of the population – growing, though far slower than most people think – but they are pretty diverse. Ethnically, around half have Pakistani or Bangladeshi origin, but others have ethnicities from all over the Muslim world, plus “white British” converts. Ethnicity, culture and religion can be hard to disentangle.
Unlike Christianity, Islam is not an institutional faith. No organisation is really representative of British Muslims. There are 2,000 or so local mosques. But, as Mehmood Naqshbandi’s “Muslims in Britain” analysis highlights, there is an “overwhelming domination of South Asian influence [in their] management”. Many management committees are patriarchal, and many mosques were founded “as much to preserve mother-country culture as to provide a religious service.” He goes on to say: “Along with factionalism, one of the biggest alienating factors for Muslim youth and converts in the UK is the way in which [mosques] fail to meet their needs or interests, and through ethnic parochialism, how their adherents fail to be able to tackle the influence of extremism.”
Muslims tend to be serious about practising their faith. According to a 2018 IPSOS-Mori poll, more than half pray five times a day, alone or with others. Mosque attendance is high. There are two mosques with capacities of over 5,000 in each of London, Birmingham and Bradford.
In religious terms, over 90 per cent of mosques are Sunni. Half are run by conservative Deobandis, or Salafis, and over a quarter by more mystical Barelvis, or other Sufis. About 6 per cent are Shia, including Ismailis. A small number serve the Ahmadiyya community, who are not considered Muslims at all by many of the others, because they follow a 19th-century “messiah” figure.
The dynamism you would expect from a young (half are under 25), still largely immigrant, minority population, with a strong sense of British identity, under constant scrutiny and challenge, shows up in many ways. IPSOS-Mori found that “Young Muslims hold distinct views to older Muslims on many issues; and there are often significant differences between men and women, between those living in London and elsewhere, or by educational attainment.” Bradford’s women-led mosque and the London-based Inclusive Mosque Initiative are examples. Muslim feminists, new young scholars, and Muslim LGBT groups are all growing, and there is plenty of social media activity. But there is also a strong core of conservatism, especially on LGBT rights, and on making fun of the Prophet. In a 2015 ICM poll, half of Muslims surveyed said homosexuality should be illegal. It remains to be seen whether that view will shift over time in the same way it has with the general population.
Most British Muslims, like everyone else, simply want to get on with life. But among activists there is an ongoing battle between progressives, and what have been called Salafi Islamists. Salafism is an austere, back-to-basics form of Islam, of which Saudi Wahhabism is an example, and Islamism is the term applied to the political movements begun by early/mid-20th-century figures such as Maududi in India and Pakistan, and al-Nabhani in Lebanon. These activists exploit disputes between conservatives and mainstream culture and values, such as the row over teaching of LGBT equality to primary school children in Birmingham. More moderate voices watch as their faith is brought once more into disrepute.
Although Islam and some other non-Christian religions tend to be “stickier” than Christianity, with most of the next generation remaining in their parents’ faith, over 10 per cent leave. Groups such as Faith to Faithless – which supports apostates from Islam and other faiths – see an increasing number of ex-Muslims; some are “out”, others remain covert.
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Then there are the non-religious – the biggest group of all, though no more homogeneous than the others.
Two surveys by YouGov for the charity Humanists UK have asked non-religious people for their views on what makes something right or wrong, the role of science and evidence in understanding the universe, and the role of empathy and compassion in moral decisions. The results indicate that roughly half have a broadly humanist worldview – which holds that you can answer these questions without recourse to religion or superstition – whether or not they use that term.
The population studied by the “Understanding Unbelief” project is based not on belonging or identity, but on belief: those who say they “don’t believe in God”, or “don’t know whether there is a God, and don’t believe there is any way to find out”. Atheists and agnostics, in other words. The UK sample included 15 per cent who identified as Christians. When asked to pick an identity label from 12 non-religious options, the most popular was simply “Non Religious”, with “Atheist” and “Agnostic” not far behind. But no label was selected by more than around a third of respondents.
As you would expect, atheists and agnostics are far less likely than the general population to believe in things like reincarnation, astrology or people with mystical powers. But just over a quarter of atheists said they believed that “significant events are ‘meant to be’”, and in “underlying forces of good and evil”. Just under 30 per cent had a completely “naturalistic” worldview. This is hardly a surprise. Everyone is influenced by their culture, and even the most naturalistic atheist may brush aside a moment of doubt before walking under a ladder.
Across a number of other points, there was little difference between the views of atheists/agnostics and those of the general population. In particular, the study reported “remarkably high agreement . . . concerning the values most important for ‘finding meaning in the world and your own life’.” Family, freedom, compassion and truth featured in the top five for both categories in the UK sample.
In this complex, multi-dimensional and dynamic landscape – unprecedented in history – the idea of a simple division between religious and non-religious is looking increasingly untenable.
Back at the Pontifical Gregorian University, a priest and a nun had perused the personal statements made by the atheists featured in Aubrey Wade’s photos. The priest said: “There are no atheists here.” I think he meant, “I hadn’t realised atheists are human too.” It speaks volumes that that came as a surprise – but there you have it; religious or not, humans are complex, and sometimes inconsistent. The question is: where do we go from here? λ
