Chiara Cardone on the Tension in France on Institutionalized Religion
By: Chiara Cardone
October 13, 2008
The French state has had a very long and tense relationship with institutionalized religion. I doubt very much that the authors of the current policy of strict secularism in France would like to be associated with absolute monarchy, yet nonetheless, both forms of government have declared a kind of cold war on the authority of religious institutions, with sometimes traumatic social consequences. Whether for high philosophical ideals or for pure political advantage, the state has always striven to reduce outside religious influence on its citizens. In the days of absolute monarchy, it was by assimilating and usurping religious authority under the name of the king. Since the Third Republic, the method has been to renounce and strictly ban all religious questions from politics. The result is a clearly observable conflict within French society.
My second Sunday in Menton, this small town on the Italian border celebrated the Feast of St. Michael, the town's patron saint. The rather sumptuously gilded basilica, usually sparsely peopled even on Sunday, was alive with the town band and traditional Mentonais choir. Every pew and every extra chair was occupied, and the Mass was said by the bishop who came from Nice just for the occasion. As Bishop Louis graciously recognized, the Mass was attended not only by Christians but many non-Christians, and of course the picturesque procession that followed attracted even more spectators. I listened curiously with a fellow student while prayers in the traditional Mentonais dialect were met not by "Amen" but by scattered applause, and as our charmingly verbose mayor added to his conventional speech an impromptu defense of tradition and ritual against an assertion of its irrelevance in our global era, a discourse clearly inspired by a recent debate among the town officials present.
It would seem to most that Catholicism, while rarely practiced in the strict sense, isn't going to disappear. It is ingrained in the culture and even still, I would say a little more boldly, in the national identity. In a country that has been heavily Catholic since long before the conception of the nation-state, it is inevitable that an attack on the Church will somewhere be felt as an attack on culture as well, although, as the above anecdote signifies, religious practice seems to have widely lost its mystique and devolved to a performance rather than a spiritual exercise.
The mayor's speech is one example of the perception of an attack on religious traditions in general. The 1905 law separating church and state faced centuries of state sponsorship of religion to reverse. Because Christian churches had long been state-funded, the law established state ownership of all religious buildings, and since the state was forbidden to recognize any religion, if it was to cede control of a church it had to do so to a cultural association of laymen, not a religious authority, causing strong criticism from the pope and civil disobedience from French Catholics. The very traditional French family of an old friend of mine feels that the French goverment has pitted their religion against their patrie. I get the impression from then that they so much want to reconcile their faith with their considerable national pride, they would almost vote to restore the monarchy.
It seems France has found out the hard way that a separation of church and state and religious freedom are here oriented on either side of a very fine line. One dynamic of this tension which particularly preoccupies me is the tension between the state, the French people, and the religious minorities in France. For example, the ban on religious symbols in public spaces infringes on the religious freedom of Muslim students in French public schools, who have been forbidden to wear their headscarves. France exhibits a strong current of prejudice against Muslims, most of who are of North African descent. A fellow student who is Arab was stopped abruptly (one student in a group of 50) by French police on the platform in the Gare d'Austerlitz. When I asked what it was all about, he told me, "It's normal, I'm used to it." Likewise, during a presentation to the new students by the French police, one noteworthy slide representing border threats depicted a package of contraband drugs and the green star and crescent moon, symbols of Islam. While ardent Catholics argued against state control of places of worship, Muslims today criticize the French government for owning, and therefore maintaining, old churches, but not mosques, which were almost all founded after 1905.
In fact, the separation of church and state has seen its fair share of success. I do not doubt that discrimination both religious and racial is more rampant among French civilians than among civil servants and policymakers, but it seems the strict secularism of the state can be incited as an excuse to ban undesirable traditions and discriminate against their adherents, when it ought to be protecting the religious freedom of all and fostering mutual respect. With the state's legal prohibition from recognizing any religion, perhaps a state-sponsored movement to foster respect would seem hypocritical.
It would seem to most that Catholicism, while rarely practiced in the strict sense, isn't going to disappear. It is ingrained in the culture and even still, I would say a little more boldly, in the national identity. In a country that has been heavily Catholic since long before the conception of the nation-state, it is inevitable that an attack on the Church will somewhere be felt as an attack on culture as well, although, as the above anecdote signifies, religious practice seems to have widely lost its mystique and devolved to a performance rather than a spiritual exercise.
The mayor's speech is one example of the perception of an attack on religious traditions in general. The 1905 law separating church and state faced centuries of state sponsorship of religion to reverse. Because Christian churches had long been state-funded, the law established state ownership of all religious buildings, and since the state was forbidden to recognize any religion, if it was to cede control of a church it had to do so to a cultural association of laymen, not a religious authority, causing strong criticism from the pope and civil disobedience from French Catholics. The very traditional French family of an old friend of mine feels that the French goverment has pitted their religion against their patrie. I get the impression from then that they so much want to reconcile their faith with their considerable national pride, they would almost vote to restore the monarchy.
It seems France has found out the hard way that a separation of church and state and religious freedom are here oriented on either side of a very fine line. One dynamic of this tension which particularly preoccupies me is the tension between the state, the French people, and the religious minorities in France. For example, the ban on religious symbols in public spaces infringes on the religious freedom of Muslim students in French public schools, who have been forbidden to wear their headscarves. France exhibits a strong current of prejudice against Muslims, most of who are of North African descent. A fellow student who is Arab was stopped abruptly (one student in a group of 50) by French police on the platform in the Gare d'Austerlitz. When I asked what it was all about, he told me, "It's normal, I'm used to it." Likewise, during a presentation to the new students by the French police, one noteworthy slide representing border threats depicted a package of contraband drugs and the green star and crescent moon, symbols of Islam. While ardent Catholics argued against state control of places of worship, Muslims today criticize the French government for owning, and therefore maintaining, old churches, but not mosques, which were almost all founded after 1905.
In fact, the separation of church and state has seen its fair share of success. I do not doubt that discrimination both religious and racial is more rampant among French civilians than among civil servants and policymakers, but it seems the strict secularism of the state can be incited as an excuse to ban undesirable traditions and discriminate against their adherents, when it ought to be protecting the religious freedom of all and fostering mutual respect. With the state's legal prohibition from recognizing any religion, perhaps a state-sponsored movement to foster respect would seem hypocritical.
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