Jennifer Lydic on the Subtle Influence of Religion in Paris

By: Jennifer Lydic

February 25, 2008

Last week, it was announced that French President Nicolas Sarkozy intends to expand a current law that requires high school students to individually read and learn about a French Holocaust victim to elementary school students as well. This decree has sparked a great public reaction and has reminded me of a question that has intrigued yet also daunted me since I arrived in this country. Indeed, it is a question that was first posed in the New York Times article, "France Uncovered," in April of last year. It asked, "How can a republic balance shared citizenship with cultural [and religious] pluralism?"

Now, having lived in Paris for nearly a month, I have started to slowly grapple with this question. Having originally come from New York City, an equally large and complex city, and having declared a major in culture and politics that specifically focuses on interreligious dialogue, I felt that I would be able to comprehend the unique balance that Paris has constructed between politics and religion. However, in a city that has notoriously become the pinnacle of "how to keep religion to oneself," it is hard to ignore the innumerable churches, cathedrals, and religious statues that abound in this metropolis. Surprisingly, I find myself now with more questions than answers concerning where and how exactly religion lies within French, and specifically Parisian, society.

Over the course of this past month, I have visited two cathedrals, one formal mosque, and one synagogue. I have attended two Christian Masses in addition to living with one atheist host parent. What I've come to realize is that though I am currently living in a city that is considered the model of laïcité (secularism) within France, religion nonetheless continues to have an enormous, though often subtle and indirect, influence on this culture; but there are certain restraints.

I came to such a realization most recently on a Sunday, which, even in Paris, is a day where every store and business is closed except, ironically, those related to religion or worship in some way. Beginning my day by attending my first Catholic Mass in Paris in a deceptively discrete church near the Champs-Elyées, I ended it just a few metro stops over in the historically delegated Jewish quarter of the city. It was in the course of this walk that I was reminded of a statement by a former Georgetown professor of mine, Rabbi Harold White, whose class on interreligious dialogue I had taken last semester. Indeed, he had once defined Judaism as an "evolving, religious civilization." This precise juxtaposition of words may, I am willing to propose, be equally applicable to the place of religion within France. What Paris, and all of France for that matter, possesses that New York City does not is centuries of history that have undeniably been entwined with religion. This country prides itself on its subtle tie to the history, the legacy, and the traditions of various religions. It is this unique association to religion that allows President Sarkozy, who himself has divorced twice, married three times, and admitted to not practicing his faith, to nevertheless honestly deem himself a Catholic. It is also why religion continues to be, albeit quietly, a passionate personal issue for French people, whether they relate to the 51 percent of French people who consider themselves Catholic, the 7.5 percent of French Catholics who actually practice, the 4 percent of the population who are Muslim, or the 1 percent who identify as Jewish.

In short, what I've come to realize thus far is that the connection that Paris has to religion transcends strict religiosity. Rather, people here seem to have come to accept religion as being historically and inevitably enmeshed within the evolving culture and history of this country.

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