Losing Our Religion?

“I just don’t believe,” she told me. “I just don’t buy it.”

I heard these words from a friend in the class above me. One year prior to this conversation, when we were first getting to know one another, she informed me of her Catholic upbringing. I noticed the Virgin Mary embossed on the gold pendant hanging around her neck—a small symbol of her culture that did not announce itself at first glance, but was revealed to the discerning eye.  

Now her necklace was gone. I imagined it stuffed away in a drawer somewhere at home. As I listened to her composed declaration, I realized how quickly the undoing of her faith had occurred. The same girl who used to proclaim an ambiguous sense of spirituality now blankly told me that the thought of oblivion did occasionally keep her up at night but that she ultimately felt good about how honest she was being with herself.

 One year. That was all it took.

According to Pew Research Center, Millennials and Generation Z are the least religious generation in recorded American history. Roughly a third of each age group do not affiliate themselves with an established religion. That being said, it only takes one search through Refinery29 or Teen Vogue to conclude that a certain degree of spirituality is still alive and thriving. Crystals, horoscopes, good vibes, mediums, ghost stories, tarot cards—all of these symbols of mysticism are hot topics amongst youth. If I had a dime for every time someone my age identified themselves as “kinda, like, spiritual”, I would be writing this from a yacht.

So, what do young adults of today believe in? And why do they believe what they do?  

With these burning questions on my mind and REM’s “Losing My Religion” stuck in my head, I trekked out to Lower Manhattan’s Washington Square Park in search of some answers.

I first talked with Luca, an 18-year-old gal from Sydney, Australia. As we stood over a courtyard bursting with color from chalk prose, she spoke with a candor that pleasantly surprised me. “I would say a lot of people [from our generation] are agnostic, or at least come across that way, because there is a lot of stigma right now with religious groups and the way that they divide people,” she told me. “But at the same time, there is a greater conversation between religious groups about being more including and accepting.”

When I asked her to share her own beliefs, she said that she is mostly agnostic, but that she does “like to believe that there is some type of higher power, so to say.” She smiled before tacking on, “And I’m also a sucker for astrology.” After a few moments of silence, she disclosed, “Maybe I believe in some sort of higher power because I want to take the blame for some of the stuff I do off of myself. And I think that’s extremely toxic, and I shouldn’t believe that, but I do.” She laughed at herself and flipped her black hair over her shoulder. “Religion can be very beautiful, and I kind of wish I belonged to a group that has such a rich culture.”

Her response confirmed a lot of the research I had done. But I know our generation too well to accept a singular textbook answer. So, I continued to seek out conversations.  

Sitting on a park bench, sipping on coffee and listening to a nearby saxophone player was 27-year-old Nicole from Brazil. Her presence felt warming in the chilling breeze. “I think this generation is open to learning about [different] religions, but because [many] are so involved in these terrible things, I don’t think they can see themselves entering into [them],” she explained. “I don’t believe in the Bible, but I think God is like this energy—not a man or figure in the sky, but a big energy, like the universe, that can be very special.” Without skipping a beat, she added, “And maybe she can be a goddess, you know?”

Feeling incredibly pleased with the honesty I had encountered, I walked over to the famous stone fountain that lies beneath the marble arch. Sitting by it, in front of a blanket swathed in baked goods, was a group of eight high school students. There is where I found 14-year-old Maude from Lower Manhattan passing out flyers for the next NYC Climate Strike. Her disposition was one of comfort in her own skin and pride in her passions. She answered my questions without hesitation, speaking quickly and clearly. “I feel like I kind of switch around. I mean, I don’t believe in God. Maybe there’s a higher force, but I really don’t know,” she said. “I kind of feel like many religions were created as a way for people to identify themselves as a part of a greater cause and kind of believe they have a fate and the world is going to go [a certain way]… I think it’s a coping mechanism for a lot of people.” She looked over my shoulder before she continued. “I have friends who go to Catholic school and pray every day, and that’s cool. But most of my friends I have to say are atheist. I mean, I know some people who kind of think that religion is dumb, and I don’t respect that because I think that’s a mockery of people’s way of life.”

Once my question-asking ceased, she reminded me of the climate strike and encouraged me to get involved with other future events. But distracted by my queries, I simply smiled and nodded while slipping her flyer into my bag. Walking away from Maude and her fellow activists, I wondered if I would be able to find anyone who belonged to an organized religion.

 Shortly thereafter, though, I stumbled into some young Catholics.

 The conversation took place by some tables adorned with dirty chess boards. Beneath a leafless tree was a group of three friends. Approaching them, I sensed the familiar air of collegiate exhaustion, but 22-year-olds Zack, Griffin and Angel were happy to ponder life’s mysteries despite their apparent fatigue. Zack identified himself as a “lapsed Catholic”, and Griffin declared he was “Catholic, but less Jesus Christ Social Worker than Zack.” Angel, on the other hand, just shook his head and said, “I’m not really religious.” Zack, who cited “shit that happened in the Catholic church, obviously” as the reason for his “lapsed” status, explained that now he attends mass once or twice a year.

After chatting casually about their religious influences, Griffin stated, “My family had a Catholic background, but it was kind of coming back to it later in life. There was a feeling of ‘there’s something missing, and there’s something more here.’ And that was the tradition that I had.” His sincerity was profound. His faith was quiet, but clearly resolute beneath the surface. Hearing his friend’s profession, Zack added, “That’s probably why I say lapsed Catholic and not just agnostic or atheist because I still want to have that connection and want to have that belief and hope, and I see the positive it can do and how people can definitely relate to it, but it’s tough…”

Angel was dodgy at first, seemingly uncertain about the potential judgment of his company. But finally, he said, “I’ll throw one thing in there. I wouldn’t describe myself as Atheist because I think that is a particular subset of very strictly anti-religion. I do see Christianity as—a lot of its employment has been as a tool of colonization, and so for me personally, it’s very hard to believe a lot of the stuff I see pushed by people who are basically more-or-less colonizing another country and saying ‘yeah, we’re spreading love and support.’ I find it hard to reconcile that with the actions of a lot of people who do claim that. Of course, there are people who practice who denounce all of that, but I don’t know.”  

There was no rebuttal from his religious friends. Rather, they nodded in respect of his beliefs. After witnessing this heartfelt tolerance, I thanked them for their time and headed home.

In the days following these discussions, I contacted some organizational leaders to discuss my inquiries and initial findings. 

I first interviewed Father Heston, a Catholic priest from India who has recently moved to Wyoming. Fortunately, he was open to discussing the concerns surrounding the Catholic church. He said, “Without knowing the background, they’re all talking. It is a history that is more than 2,000 years old. In those 2,000 years, we have seen ups and downs in the church. There are a lot of positive things that have been done and are being done now. The number of schools, hospitals, colleges, social services—even in the remotest of places where nobody likes to go there will be a Catholic priest or Catholic nun.” He emphasized a misunderstanding, explaining, “The priests are not my faith. Of course, a priest has to set an example, but my faith is to Jesus…. The church is made up of human beings. We are not all our saints. There are good people, and there are bad people… People will say today ‘I don’t like Catholicism because of the priests.’ But that is one percent. What about the ninety-nine percent that are good people?”

On the subject of vague spirituality, he noted, “Our spirituality lies in how we help others. It’s all about how you forgive and what you do for people. It’s easy for someone to say they are spiritual, but its proven through their behavior. And we must respect all different kinds of cultures, and therefore religions. Spirituality is not only fostered in the church. For example, there are non-Christians and atheists who give their whole lives to others. They too are spiritual beings.”

Though I found Father Heston’s words insightful, I knew there was a contrary viewpoint elsewhere. So, next on my list was Membership Director of American Atheists and Editor-in-Chief of American Atheist Magazine Pamela Whissel. During our phone conversation, she told me, “When I admitted to myself that there is no credible evidence for either a god or for an afterlife, and I’m really not going to know one way or another, and no matter what the answer is, I have no control over what the answer is, my existence became more important. And it was this visceral experience—you know, making every day count. I finally understood what that really meant… If this is the only life we have, then it is going to be an atheist’s moral obligation to work to make the world a place where every human being can thrive.”

She then clarified, “We [atheists] don’t hate religion; we hate when religion is used as an excuse for bigotry, an excuse to do harm… Religion’s business model is ‘you can’t be good without us.’ That’s a pretty powerful business model. And then you throw in there, with the more extreme religions, eternal damnation and hellfire if you don’t do the right thing, and if you do follow us, then paradise for all eternity, and that’s a pretty big motivator.”

Following these interviews, I felt I had my finger on the pulse of my generation somewhat, but I wasn’t fully confident in the accuracy of my reading. So, as any 20-something would, I asked my Instagram followers for their input in hopes of drawing some final conclusions.

47 survey responses later, I was awestruck. The deliberate thought put into the wide range of answers was moving, and it was clear to me that I am not the only one consumed by this topic. Most of the participants hypothesized that the majority of their generation is vaguely spiritual, agnostic or atheist, and though there were a significant number of people who did proclaim these beliefs, plenty of participants stated otherwise. There were devout Christians, a Buddhist who has begun “leaning towards Christianity” and a Muslim who values the universe’s power. There was an “optimistic atheist” and “a skeptical Christian” and a proud Wiccan. One person stated, “We really don’t know if there is an afterlife”, while another wrote, “When I die, I want to be with the stars.”

So, yes, many young adults are abandoning organized religion for other forms of spirituality or for agnosticism or atheism. But there is no single story here. The stark diversity of humankind still remains, even in the new age. I discovered this differentiation in a single park, through a single social media account and even through a couple shared conversations. Yet not once did I encounter condemnation or hatred. Though I’m sure plenty would disagree with my optimism, I believe religious tolerance is on the rise, at least in this country.

I know it doesn’t always feel like it. But it looks to me like we’re headed towards harmony, and I couldn’t imagine a better state of grace.