Berkley Center

This past month the European Court of Human Rights overturned a ban of crucifixes in Italian public school classrooms, which was implemented in 2009 after a lawsuit brought by a Finnish-Italian mother wishing to raise secular children. The court found that while the crucifix was above all a religious symbol, there was no evidence its presence on a classroom wall might have an influence on students. Although this issue offers much to be discussed in terms of the role of the European Union in its member states’ internal policies, it also reveals quite a bit about the complex relation of the Church and Italian state which has been evolving for centuries.

The crucifixes found their place in classrooms as the result of Italian laws dating back to the 1920s, when Mussolini was in power and mandated their display. The laws have never been repealed despite the fact that Catholicism ceased to be Italy’s official state religion in 1984. Prior to my arrival in Florence I had no idea Catholicism had ceased to be the state religion of Italy. Before my arrival, when I thought of Italy, I thought of Vespas, il Davide, food, wine, opera, and the Vatican. Catholicism, from the outside, appears to be as much a part of Italian culture as espresso, leisurely lunching, or excessive gesticulation. And yet, can religion really be a part of a culture of an increasingly diverse country?

Regardless of the influx of immigrants, the increasing popularity of different faiths, and the move towards secularization, the prominence of Catholicism in Italy is indisputable. Flying over Florence for the first time I was struck by the Duomo, not just because of its breathtaking beauty but also the fact that it trumps the entire city. And yet, upon closer inspection or when viewed through a thick cloud of camera-happy tourists by day and international and inebriated students posing ridiculously on its steps at night, the Duomo I have come to know and love feels more like a monument to the people and culture that accomplished the feat of its construction than a place of worship. Somehow, the history and physical features of the Duomo have come to draw more focus than its intended purpose.

Apparently the same thought has occurred to those in favor of maintaining the crucifixes in classrooms. A leading argument among supporters of the appeal was that the crucifix is more a unifying symbol of Italian culture and history than a symbol with exclusively religious value. Thus, supporters claim, the crucifixes stand for the shared identity of all Italian citizens and support the idea of the modern secular Italian state.

Curious about the idea that a crucifix could represent anything associated with secularism, I asked a secular Florentine friend how he managed in a city with a church on every corner. He told me that despite his detachment from Catholicism he often found himself stopping in churches to think. This was not because he wanders in looking to God for answers, but rather “because it is a quiet, big, and cool place where I know no one will bother me.” Whereas upon entering one of Florence’s churches my mind becomes flooded with questions of a theological nature, it is possible that when you grow up in the shadow of the Duomo your eyes adjust to the light.

Maybe there is some truth to the sentiment that the ubiquity of religious iconography can give those symbols a different meaning. Although I am still not convinced that a crucifix can represent a secular state, I do feel closer to understanding how Italy’s religious legacy can still be a part of its evolving culture.