Berkley Center

It is hard to talk about religion on a macro level in France because, more often than not, it just isn’t there. While vestiges of Roman Catholicism remain visible, the country’s long tradition of secularism dominates, manifesting itself in an incredibly low church attendance, a minimal amount of religion in public discourse, an absence of faith-based politics, and a lack of personal conversations about religion. The fact that 65 percent of the population identifies as Catholic while only 5 percent practice regularly indicates the spiritual realm’s fading influence in the daily life of French citizens. Churches function less as meeting places for active faith communities and more as landmarks or tourist attractions, secular temples dedicated to history, art, politics, and architecture. This social phenomenon of being gradually less religious is clearly traceable through French society today, and, in my experience, seems to be stratified along a generational gap. And fortunately, with an unofficial median age of at least 65 and a fitting reputation as a retirement town, Menton is the perfect environment in which to examine contrasts in generations.

The first and most obvious point to make about the intersection of religion and age is the distinct cleavage between young and old. While not uncommon to many post-modern societies, the lack of religious consciousness among youth is particularly strong in France. Not once have I encountered a French teenager who independently identified with Catholicism, the most prevalent religion (Islam presents a different case that I touch on in my previous letter). Most youth, in fact, describe a negligible religious upbringing from their parents, who are generally non-practicing themselves. And while religious traditions certainly remain, their influence seems to stop there, at the traditional, without entering into the ritual or the spiritual. A friend who attended private Catholic school in Paris, for example, sees his consequently vast knowledge of Catholicism not as a religion but as part of his general understanding of history and culture. Of course religion still holds great value, but this value is usually not exhibited in an active way. Other forces, even various forms of pop culture, seem to have replaced religious involvement among youth. The evidence: one is much more likely to see a group of teenagers dancing their tribute to the cult of “tectonique” in the streets of Menton than one is to witness them anywhere near a Sunday Mass.

In contrast to this younger, religiously reticent social group are the older generations exhibiting stronger faith-based affiliations. In Menton, clues of Catholicism’'s former influence abound in the old town, where statues of the Virgin Mary or paintings of the book of Revelation'’s last judgment still fill window decorations or adorn the entrances to colorful Mediterranean houses. Inside the seventeenth century Baroque cathedral one is likely to find an overwhelming majority of tourists and the elderly. And while Menton’'s aged population and tourist-based economy may seem to skew this trend, statistics confirm that it is in fact in line with the rest of France. A 2006 study by the French Institute of Public Opinion on Catholicism in France found that of the 5 percent of Catholics identified as “practicing,” approximately two-thirds are over the age of 50 and 43 percent are over 65. Only 7 percent, on the other hand, are between the ages of 18 and 24. So while there probably are not yet any credible studies on the sociology of techtonique, I would venture to say that for younger age brackets, that participation rate might be more promising.

Meanwhile, the contradiction between a more devout past and a more detached present exists within the older community as well. I witnessed this fact most clearly through a friend I talk with at the small, beachside community gym I frequent, which is coincidentally just as old as much of its clientele. The friend in question is a cute, spunky, inspiringly active, white-haired woman of about 70 named Hélène. One weekday morning just after Easter, I asked Hélène if she had celebrated the national holiday in any way, whether religiously or not. The eccentricity of her responses simultaneously tickled and fascinated me. First of all, Hélène only likes dark chocolate, and only a little bit at a time. So the traditionally milk chocolate Easter candy eaten in excessive amounts is at once exclusive and gluttonous as far as she is concerned. She also finds herself quite fed up with the vacationing Italians who swarm across the border for the holiday and crowd Menton'’s cafés and shops. In short, Hélène cynically yet lightheartedly rejects all commercialized aspects of Easter. More interesting and applicable, however, was her quasi-rejection of the religious element. You see, Hélène does not go to Mass on Easter Sunday. Instead, she flips on her television to the Mass that is broadcast from St. Peter’'s Basilica in Rome. And then, sitting in the comfort of own her living room, Hélène waits for what she considers to be the holiest of all Easter blessings: the one that comes from the Pope, and through her television screen.

In addition to adorably hilarious, I found Hélène’'s story to be an insightful metaphor representative of French attitudes towards religion. The explanation that she gave for her particular approach was key: the distinction between belief and practice. For Hélène, one can believe easily without practicing regularly. Thus, that which is often interpreted as religion’'s absence may in fact represent its transformation from a social phenomenon to a personal value system. Hélène clearly embodies this shift, falling into the 33 percent of those over 50 who stick to spiritual identity but who are non-practicing. And while this fact further nuances the generalization I previously constructed between the young and the elderly in France, it does not negate that religious patterns can be explained at least in part along generational lines.

It was in fact this particular role, the role in which religion forms the basis of individual values and moral standards, which Hélène was accentuating. In warning me that the values of today'’s generation are nothing like those of generations past, she revealed how, even despite declining participation, many French still define moral principles in terms of religion. So today'’s youth, who according to her only care about joints, alcohol, and girls, are thereby distinguishable from the more principled older generations. Mistrusting the moral fiber of modern society, Hélène showed that, practicing or non-practicing aside, religion'’s different roles in France are still discernible along age lines. Since I clearly belong to the younger generation, Hélène made sure to warn me on my way out of the gym, “"And Patrick…, make sure not eat too much chocolate!”"