Recognizing Christian Hegemony as Broader than Christian Privilege: Critical Religion Scholars Respond to Glanzer (2022)

Abstract

In this article, members of the Critical Religious Studies in Higher Education (CRSHE) network respond to Glanzer’s Recognizing Christian Complexity and Secular Privilege in Higher Education. We aim for the following goals: making explicit our fundamental assumption about Christian privilege and Christian hegemony, and their relationship to secular privilege; detailing our thinking about definitions, historical influences, social phenomena, and higher education practices related to critical theories of religion; and welcoming scholars from outside the CRSHE network into conversation about the topics of Christian privilege and critical theories of religion, so that we may, in community, move the theories forward.

Keywords:

• Christian privilege
• Christian hegemony
• secular privilege
• critical theory
• student affairs

Earlier this year, Glanzer (2022) published his thoughts on the recent theoretical advancements on the topics of Christian privilege and critical theories of religion. In his article, he makes frequent reference to Small’s (2020) Critical Religious Pluralism Theory (CRPT). The current article, coauthored by Small and several of her colleagues in the nascent Critical Religious Studies in Higher Education (CRSHE) network, responds directly to what we see as the most critical of Glanzer’s insights, critiques, and recommendations for future uses of critical theories of religion in higher education practice. As critical theories of religion require an interdisciplinary approach and ongoing dialogue, this article is coauthored by a team of individuals with varied academic paths and positions and with diverse religious, secular, and spiritual identities (RSSIs), including both Christian and non-Christian. We call ourselves critical religion scholars, rather than Christian privilege (CP) scholars (Glanzer, 2022, p. 123), because the narrow focus on Christian privilege fails to address the broader context of Christian hegemony in US society and therefore offers a limited perspective for understanding the role religion has played and continues to play in society. We discuss this broader context throughout the rest of this paper.

We—Christian and non-Christian critical religion scholars—have intentionally chosen to collaborate in inviting “sympathetic and justice-oriented Christians to support worldview justice in education” (Glanzer, 2022, p. 123). While there was some consensus among the seven authors on individual issues, there was honest scholarly disagreement on others and intellectual and emotional responses varying in both referent and intensity. That diversity of perspective enhanced the collaboration and, we believe, improved this essay. Working together strengthens our process. We have worked together on this not with the goal of making each other agree, but in order to advance the conversation. Our approaches are diverse, but our goals are shared. In this article, we aim for the following goals:

1. To make explicit our fundamental assumption about Christian privilege and Christian hegemony broadly in the United States and particularly in higher education, and their relationship to secular privilege,

2. To detail our current thinking about definitions, historical influences, current social phenomena, and higher education practices that relate to critical theories of religion, and

3. To welcome scholars from outside the CRSHE network into conversation about the topics of Christian privilege and critical theories of religion, so that we may, in community, move the theories forward.

Before we address those goals, we share our positionalities with the reader. These disclosures are important because they affirm the roles of both RSS minorities and Christians within dialogue about critical theories of religion. CRPT “prioritizes the voices of individuals with minoritized religious identities and those with pluralistic commitments in the work toward social transformation” (Small, 2020, p. 65). This is because people from minoritized religious backgrounds have been socialized within a non-Christian religious culture, enabling them to more clearly see the way Christianity is embedded in all aspects of US society. Non-Christians’ claims of oppression and discrimination need to be taken seriously by those empowered by that structure. However, scholars with marginalized RSSIs that are involved in critical religious scholarship networks and collaborations are able and willing to work productively with Christian allies. We hold the position that “the ongoing privileging of Christian identities in this country obliges Christian allies to utilize their existing power as a tool” (Small, 2020, p. 69) to establish social and religious justice within American society. The Christians among our authorship group wholeheartedly embody this stance. CRPT and other critical theories of religion exist due to communal spaces which have provided the opportunity for those of diverse RSSIs, especially those who are minoritized, to encounter each other and our Christian allies constructively. Through those encounters, we have been able to discuss and further develop these theories, especially in terms of how they relate to the field of higher education and the related issues in the field.

To that end, we disclose that four of us (Collett, Edwards, Kaur-Colbert, and Small) were raised and enculturated as religious minorities (Pagan, Buddhist/Hindu, Sikh, and Jewish, respectively) and currently identify as such. Three of us (Bowling, Nielsen, and Sayers) were raised within the Christian majority, in the evangelical, mainline Protestant, and Catholic traditions, respectively. While all three recognize and continually reckon with their Christian privilege, Nielsen and Sayers currently do not identify as Christian. Edwards and Kaur-Colbert are both women of color, and the rest of us are white. In addition to our RSSI and racial diversity, we are influenced by varied disciplinary training and current positions. Among the many degrees the seven of us hold, six of us hold or are about to complete doctorates in higher education or education policy, and four of us hold Master's degrees or a post-graduate certificate in religious studies or divinity. Five of us are full- or part-time faculty members; three of us are full- or part-time campus administrators.

We are all pluralists. We hold in dynamic tension our varied stories, beliefs, practices, and values. In our conversations, we strive to recognize the internal diversity of each discourse that we call “a religion,” by understanding everything from Bowling’s lived experience in a Christian subculture with a particular understanding of what it means to be a “true Christian” to Kaur-Colbert’s self-described complicity in her own subordination to Christian hegemony as a brown Sikh immigrant American. Crucial to this effort is resisting the tendency to essentialize religion and particular religions to individual lived experiences, claims made by any particular expression of that religion to authenticity, or the written materials about these populations.

Although we assert that non-Christians are generally better positioned to recognize the embeddedness of Christianity within US society, we understand the important role Christian scholars have in inviting fellow Christians into the conversation. Therefore, two of the coauthors of this paper who come from white Christian communities offer their personal understandings on the Christian perspectives from which Glanzer (2022) writes, as a means for demonstrating our willingness to engage in discussion with those who disagree with us. Growing up, Bowling, the evangelical author in our group, understood herself to be a socially conservative religious minority out of step with mainstream Christianity and American society. Her experience of public education spaces has been echoed by scholars from a diversity of RSS backgrounds who, like Glanzer, have noted the secular privilege that exists in the academy (Riggers-Piehl et al., 2022; Shahjahan, 2010; Zine, 2004). Nielsen’s response to Glanzer as author and scholar is to encourage him to be willing to self-interrogate his whiteness and his white Christian privilege. As scholars, we are constantly asked to interrogate our positions; Nielsen suggests that our colleague could improve in this area.

OUR FUNDAMENTAL ASSUMPTION

We have structured this paper to respond to specific areas of critique within Glanzer’s (2022) article, in particular exploring our definitions of Christian and secular privilege and clarifying what we mean when we talk about Christian hegemony in U.S. society and higher education. We will also highlight our areas of agreement with him throughout. Most of the critiques we make in this paper contain space for discussion, debate, and dialogue; however, we maintain one fundamental assumption that undergirds the entire critical religion perspective:

Christian privilege, Christian hegemony, and white Christian supremacy are real, historically significant, ongoing, and damaging, in ways that include but are not limited to, the material, psychological, and spiritual, both in American society and globally.

While the coauthors of this paper, and the CRSHE network and critical religion scholars more broadly, disagree on a variety of ideas related to critical theories of religion, there is strong (but not completely universal) agreement on this fundamental assumption. Therefore, while those of us who hold this assumption are willing to engage in conversation with any individual who wishes to discuss those related ideas, we will not engage with those who deny the very foundation of our work, and indeed, our real, lived experiences. Others among us are willing to connect with potential Christian allies around what can be a very challenging idea to grapple with. These degrees of openness do not include those who would engage with us in bad faith; in other words, while all of us by definition continually encounter people in our daily lives who do not recognize the existence of Christian hegemony, we reserve the right to engage in dialogue only with those people who are willing to do so productively.

To that end, while we aim to constructively engage with Glanzer’s (2022) ideas and critiques within this piece, we must state that we are quite troubled by his complaint that those he calls Christian privilege scholars are too focused on the “last remaining remnants” (p. 124) of Christian privilege. In the following passage, he implies that religious minorities should be grateful for how far some Christians have come in the work of dismantling Christian supremacy:

Thus, instead of recognizing that certain parts of the Christian community have been willing to give up political power and privilege to advance religious freedom and justice toward worldviews, or acknowledging the secularization of American higher education in the twentieth century, they focus upon the last remaining remnants of CP. (Glanzer, 2022, p. 124)

As we discuss below in detail, these “remnants” are actually not merely remnants at all. They are vast, deeply rooted in history and culture, painfully real, have materially damaging consequences, and extend through all areas of US society. One need only examine the bare surface of recent history of our country, from Supreme Court decisions (discussed below) to the January 6th insurrection, and from curriculum bans to hate crimes, to see how these “remnants” continue to traumatize those of minoritized RSSIs.

However, despite our grave concerns with some of Glanzer’s (2022) assumptions and arguments, we are committed to engaging any scholar interested in the discourse around critical theories of religion and look forward to a burgeoning number of theories and critiques in the literature. CRPT, like all theories, was never meant to be the final and unassailable say for understanding how Christianity, and religion more broadly, function in society or in higher education. It was designed as a framework for critical reflection and analysis. We intend to advance that conversation in this article.

DEFINITIONS: RELIGION AND SECULAR

We begin with definitions of the terms that bound our work. First, the term “religion.” Glanzer (2022) does not define what he means by religion but seems to be relying on a definition that assumes theistic belief is the primary determinant of religion and religiousness—a substantivist definition of religion (Clack & Clack, 2008). Critical religion scholars such as ourselves find useful a functionalist definition of religion, where religion is defined by the role it plays in society (e.g., Mutakabbir & Nuriddin, 2016). Because religion serves several social functions, this definition of religion helps us to more clearly understand religion’s role in conveying and expressing power, and therefore how it can be used to support violence and discriminate as well as uplift and motivate social justice (Small, 2020).

Moreover, following Lincoln (2006), we emphasize religion as discourse to correct for some category confusion that undergirds Glanzer’s (2022) essay. Discourse—the sum of our verbal, behavioral, and conceptual reflection on and creation of reality—does not merely describe reality; it shapes the way we experience reality. Through discourse we exercise power, and the exercise of power produces discourse. Most importantly, it is through discourse that knowledge is created (Nye, 2008, pp. 74–75). In other words, the way we think and talk about a concept or a phenomenon shapes what becomes accepted as legitimate knowledge. At the heart of Glanzer’s (2022) worry about secularism, which we discuss below, is a concern over the discrediting of religion as a legitimate source of knowledge. Understanding the function religion plays as a discourse is a useful lens for understanding the experiences of our neighbors in a diverse society, even if it is not one’s primary view of religion.

Discourses are complex tapestries of ways of knowing on diverse topics, including religion. More saliently, the discourses about higher education, religion, and secularism intersect and influence one another. In his analysis, Glanzer (2022) assumes that “religion” and the “secular” are easily distinguishable and separable discourses. For example, in the five levels of secularization he outlines, he describes the first two levels as explicit “separations” and characterizes the third and fifth with words that imply clean distinctions: “abandoned” and “when individuals or scholars ‘look upon the world and their own lives without the benefit of religious interpretations’” (p. 126). We argue that Glanzer’s view is heavily biased toward a conservative Christian perspective, a parochial view he mistakes for a universal one. Dominant discourses often represent themselves as universally shared, but they are all particular to the cultures that produce them (Sensoy & DiAngelo, 2017, p. 71). Glanzer’s understanding of religion and secularism fails to properly describe the world because it ignores crucial context and the reality of how these ideas function in society.

Glanzer’s (2022) assumption that the religious and the secular are clearly distinct distorts his view of both. Lincoln’s (2006) understanding of different styles of religion, maximalist and minimalist, helps correct for a simplistic religious-secular dichotomy. Throughout Glanzer’s (2022) essay, his descriptions of religion and secularity presume what Lincoln (2006) calls the maximalist style of religion, that is, “the conviction that religion ought to permeate all aspects of social, indeed of human existence” (p. 5). This idea helps us understand how some scholars with Christian biases view all religion through this maximalist lens, seeing religion as either totalizing or absent. However, not all religions espouse a maximalist style.

Lincoln (2006) contrasts maximalists with minimalist style, “which restricts religion to an important set of (chiefly metaphysical) concerns, protects its privileges against state intrusion, but restricts its activity and influence to this specialized sphere” (p. 5). This conception allows for a more nuanced understanding of the relationship between religion and secularism. Glanzer (2022) assumes all decisions about secularism originate in secular “worldviews” (p. 128). While Glanzer’s assumption that secularism is defined and shaped by secular worldviews is true for some individuals, identifying the secular and shaping secularism may arise as a part of one’s religious ideology/practice. For example, a person whose religious style is minimalist may advocate for creating a secular space on religious grounds. The Danbury Baptists and the signatories of the Flushing Remonstrance are two examples of groups who advocated for the separation of church and state for religious reasons (Baptists & Jefferson, 1802; The Flushing Remonstrance, 1657).

Glanzer’s (2022) artificial dichotomy of “religious” and “secular” also conceals existing complexities. Lincoln (2006) explains that religious discourse operates on two levels. At the micro level there is internal diversity, but none of the internal varieties are “normative; rather, they compete with one another—sometimes sharply—with the capacity to represent themselves as most faithful, authentic, or orthodox being both an arm and a stake of their struggle” (p. 8). That is, each subgroup (e.g., Baptists) argues for their own authenticity with others who claim to represent the same macro-entity (e.g., Christianity). At another level, critical religion scholars must account for the discursive force of the macro-entity, not as a single monolith, but as itself a mosaic of internal claims to that larger entity. Lincoln’s model allows us to account for the power of Christianity (macro-entity) in society, despite the fact that Christianity is made up of many denominations (micro-entity) that may or may not view each other as being within the same in-group. This also allows us to avoid the mistake of ignoring the effect of a Christian majority on society in favor of addressing internal diversity or sacrificing internal diversity to speak about broad social trends in overly simplistic ways. An example of such a mistake is Glanzer’s (2022) arguments about Christian privilege.

Glanzer’s (2022) assumption that “religious” and “secular” exist in opposition necessitates understanding Christian privilege and “secular privilege” (p. 120) as opposite ends of a binary spectrum. This approach has several issues. First, his conception of the secular seems skewed by his view of religion, namely, a conflation of Christianity with religion. This conflation occurs in two primary ways: (1) transitioning from discussing religion more broadly to Christianity specifically without marking the change and (2) assuming Christian features of religion apply to all religions. The former occurs throughout the paper. Examples of the latter include his statement that secularization occurs when an institution “separates itself from church governance” and when “fewer Christians … attend church” (p. 126). At the least, Glanzer seems to have imported Christian norms into his definition of religion; at worst, he seems to assume that Christianity is the only religion worth mentioning in the context of secularization. In either case, this elides non-Christian religiosities, inevitably distorts his view of secularism, and limits what counts as secular. By restricting his view of secularism to a worldview antagonistic to Christianity, he can account for neither secularism originating from within Christian theological practice (e.g., Kant), nor secularisms in the context of other religious traditions (e.g., secularism on the Indian subcontinent). Many scholars (e.g., Baker & Smith, 2009; Cragun, et al., 2017; Warner, 2010) have explored concepts of secularity, secularization, and modern expressions of secularism in dialectic relationship with particular religious traditions rather than as an abstract opposite to religion broadly, or Christianity specifically. Such works illuminate the context of the current conversation in important ways.

More practically, the false religious-secular dichotomy purports to encompass all traditions and experiences but fails to recognize those identities which are not easily included in categories developed under Christian ideological influence (Fitzgerald, 2003; Smith, 1998) and the negative social stigmas attached to non-Christian identities (Baker & Smith, 2009; Bowman et al., 2017; Goodman & Mueller, 2009). By presenting “secularism” as a worldview, Glanzer restricts religion to one dimension rather than recognizing the complexity and diversity of religious expression. Religions include, but are not limited to, worldviews.

Glanzer (2022) also ignores the origins of secularism within Christianity, e.g., in Kant’s defense of religion against the Enlightenment (Lincoln, 2006, p. 5) and its ongoing deployment by Christian cultures for legitimizing establishing Christian norms and values as universal (Fea, 2011; Sehat, 2011). The Enlightenment was a challenge to the hitherto unchallenged power of Christianity in Europe, as were the influence of nonwhite, non-Christian immigrants in the US (Shrag, 2010) and calls from non-majority religious groups for religious freedom in the US (Sehat, 2011). Glanzer and other Christian scholars see the decentering of religious ways of knowing as a threat.¹ What appears to Glanzer as creeping secular privilege or the rise of a nonreligious hegemony is instead the most recent stage of a battle for the reins of knowledge creation that has been ongoing for some time.

Glanzer (2022) references the origins of secularism in post-Enlightenment views of modernity; however, these views were themselves informed by a sacred/secular dualism rooted in a Protestant Christian worldview (Horii, 2019; Said, 1979). In the specific context of American higher education, secularism portrays neutrality while concealing Protestant Christian normativity. Rather than replacing secularism with overt Christian ways of knowing, we must “recognize that in a pluralistic society, we will need both to protect and show justice toward minority religious and secular worldviews, but we also need to recognize that neither contested religious or secular worldviews should be promulgated by government sanction” (Glanzer, 2022, p. 128). We agree that people of all traditions and the nonreligious suffer from the stifling of religious expression in public spaces that fail to validate or value alternative epistemologies (Dei, 2016; Shahjahan, 2010; Zine, 2004). However, due to wider Christian normativity in American society, the larger burden falls on non-Christians, who must navigate secularism in the academy, as well as Christian privilege within and without that space.

By focusing on the function that religion serves in society and dismantling the false religious-secular dichotomy, critical religion scholars are able to understand “secular privilege” as a phenomenon that in some spaces erodes Christian privilege and in other spaces reinforces it. Glanzer (2022) emphasizes the former, and we acknowledge that in some spaces, religious ways of knowing carry far less weight than in the past. However, Glanzer entirely fails to recognize the latter, an example of which is that those with minoritized RSSIs suffer the most from the academy’s silence on religion due to the persistence of hegemonic Christian influences in wider society (Shahjahan, 2010). Christian privilege acts as the larger societal filter, making the context and reference point one that operates on Christian normative assumptions and practices in public life so that, when presented as “secular” or religiously neutral, the fact that they stem from a particular religious tradition (Christianity) is concealed. Secular privilege functions within this wider context of Christian privilege in certain public spaces such as higher education, rendering a secular worldview normative, but still secondary, in these settings. That many institutions define themselves as secular spaces does not, in fact, make their environments nonreligious. Hence it can be the case that at the same time, a Muslim student is required to have working knowledge of Christian metaphors in coursework, has Sundays off but classes scheduled over her worship service, may not be able to access food around Ramadan fasting hours, and can still feel pressure to conform to a secular worldview in the classroom. Likewise, a Buddhist student may be required to submit evidence of “sincerely held religious beliefs” (Maples et al., 2021, p. 275) to receive accommodation to burn incense in his dorm room, even if his tradition is not focused on beliefs, against a standard of Christianity. In these examples, Christianity is the referent for all other worldview groups, even when secularism is operating normatively within the academy. In sum, we agree with Glanzer (2022) on the importance of acknowledging secular privilege in higher education, but we assert that it is necessary to nuance its relationship with Christian privilege in American society at large.

CHRISTIAN HEGEMONY

In addition to setting up a problematic dichotomy between religion and the secular, Glanzer (2022) focuses his paper on Christian privilege, therefore failing to fully account for Christian hegemony. Using a functionalist definition of religion, we can see that a focus on privilege alone fails to tell the whole story and elides context and effects important for understanding Christian privilege, namely that secularism serves to maintain the dominance of Christian hegemony in the US.

Christian hegemony is the overarching power structure sustained by multiple interlocking and competing discourses on Christianity. It is a system that privileges Christians and marginalizes non-Christians, including atheist, agnostic, and nonreligious people. The historical development of religion in the West, especially in the US, has established Christianity as the default religion, not merely culturally, but conceptually. The normalization of Christian values as universal values (e.g., monotheism) and the exportation of religious terminology (e.g., the Buddhist Church of America) is an intrinsic part of Christian hegemony (Joshi, 2020; Sehat, 2011; Shrag, 2010). The practices, symbols, and beliefs of Christianity are so embedded in US culture that they are seen as normal and intrinsic to what it means to be a citizen in the US. For example, many Christians assume all people celebrate Christmas regardless of their religious identity (Joshi, 2020). Because Christian practice is assumed to be the default, if someone does not engage in this practice, their behavior is seen as weird, odd, or unusual.

Further, the dominance of Christian discourse goes so far as to render its own impacts invisible, thus influencing societal values and norms more broadly (Blumenfeld, 2006; Joshi, 2020; Sehat, 2011; Small, 2020). Jacobsen and Jacobsen (2012) show that Christianity has an outsized influence on how we talk about religion in the US, for example shifting from the language of “God’s will” to “morality” (p. 18). This is still true today. Sehat (2011) demonstrates that calls for a “moral establishment” throughout US history that appear to be secular are actually the propagation of Protestant Christian moral norms (pp. 178–179, see also p. 170). The dropping of the label “Christian” does not render a Christian ethos or the moral establishment universal; in fact, it conceals Christian hegemony.

The intentional and unintentional imposition of Christian normative claims as definitional for American cultural identity has a long history that cannot be limited to “a residual historical Christianity” (Glanzer, 2022, p. 122). Christian hegemony, globally but especially in the US, is historical and contemporary, with the former perpetuating the latter (Joshi, 2020; Sehat, 2011; Shrag, 2010). Unwittingly importing one’s biases into what is purported to be merely a description of reality, regardless of the intent, contributes to the normalization of Christian concepts. This is at odds with the purported solution Glanzer (2022) advances about creating a just environment and advocating for transparency in one’s positionality. Such transparency must also include scholars doing their own internal work to ensure they have reckoned with their biases and are able to account for how these biases influence their research and practice.

Glanzer (2022) critiques critical religion scholars, asserting they fail to demonstrate “sophistication” (p. 123) in five ways. At least four of the five come down to ignoring Christian contributions to history. We assert that Glanzer fails to understand Christian hegemony and the covert nature of the discourse of Christian dominance. Acknowledging religious diversity does not eliminate Christian hegemony. In fact, people of minoritized religions asking for recognition or calling for religious freedom in the US have almost always been perceived as threats and sparked a backlash that seeks to strengthen white Christian normative claims (Shrag, 2010; Snow 2004). Shrag (2010) argues that our “history seems to tell us that nativism and a fierce backlash to immigration, however harsh, are frequently rearguard tactics of groups that feel besieged” (p. 13). The besieged group has always been Christians. This is not to overgeneralize or to fail to see complexity (further discussed below) as Glanzer asserts. It acknowledges in the macro-entity reality (Lincoln, 2006) that Christians of different sorts have always been dominant and have determined most discourses in American society. Within higher education, Glanzer (2022), like Jacobsen and Jacobsen (2012) before him, addresses the role of increasing pluralism, but both fail to account for the continuity of Christian hegemony in their analysis of that rise of pluralism. A critical analysis of the changes in higher education related to religious pluralism must understand those changes in the context of Christian hegemony. The Pluriform Era (Jacobsen & Jacobsen, 2012, p. 17) may have led to the rise of secularism in higher education, but it has also enabled Christian hegemony on college campuses to become more covert.

In sum, when critical religion scholars discuss Christian hegemony, we are looking at the wider phenomena that both prioritizes Christian holidays, beliefs, morals, and practices over non-Christian religious holidays, beliefs, morals, and practices, and disguises that prioritization under a veil of neutrality. By narrowing the scope of the conversation to just Christian privilege, Glanzer (2022) fails to account for the fuller context and the impact that Christian hegemony has on US society and culture.

CHRISTIAN COMPLEXITIES

Our differences with Glanzer (2022) on key definitions and terms also pertain to our understandings of Christianity itself, as well as other religions and traditions. Glanzer perceives critical religion scholars as ignoring Christianity complexity (p. 123). Indeed, there are many varieties of Christianity within which there have been historic divisions and persecution between groups, as we discussed above using Lincoln’s (2006) macro- and micro-entities. Some Christians view their community as nested within a larger umbrella of Christian society. Some define their Christianity in contrast to “the world” and other forms of Christianity. In addition, race, culture, country of origin, and a variety of other factors all contribute to this ongoing evolution of Christian identity (Joshi, 2020). Simply put, we know that in some spaces Christianity is essentialized, but that is something critical religion scholars resist doing. The non-Christians (and the Christians) among our authorship group do recognize Christian diversity. In fact, we have learned how to navigate Christian complexity, including its problematic contexts for proselytization, throughout our lives from kindergarten through doctoral programs and beyond while being on the receiving end of bullying, coercion, alienation, and surveillance (Joshi, 2020).

Glanzer (2022) asks critical religious scholars to consider the internal complexities within Christianity; we ask Christian scholars to offer the same courtesy to minoritized religions. For example, Glanzer himself only references Christian diversity within his article and makes no mention of other traditions’ diversity. CRPT in particular has never claimed that all Christians are the same (in just one example of such, Small [2020] reminds her readers that “interfaith work is more successful when it refuses to essentialize evangelical identities …, and instead helps them find a way to create inclusive environments alongside diverse others” [p. 10]). The same must be said for non-Christian traditions. The non-Christians among our group can offer detailed knowledge of Christian holidays, denominations, values, and scripture; we have had no choice but to learn this material through the hegemonic influence of cultural Christianity. While the vast number of traditions and the internal diversities within non-Christian religions makes it infinitely more difficult for Christians to do the same in return, Christians serious about collaborations with non-Christians must make conscious efforts toward parallel understanding.

While many Christians in the US have the luxury of observing complexity in their own tradition while not recognizing the internal diversity of others’ due to Christianity’s cultural power, critical religion scholars cannot avoid recognizing the complexity of Christianity and Christian identities. Glanzer (2022) reminds his readers of the necessary value of intersectional understandings of religion, such as when he mentions socioeconomic and racial identities when discussing the history of social justice movements (p. 124). We wholeheartedly agree with this statement; further, we assert that when scholars apply an intersectional lens to understanding religion, that lens demands working toward the dismantling of white Christian supremacy.

This conversation on Christian complexity underscores the need to recognize and understand the broader context of white Christian supremacy and Christian hegemony when discussing the concept of Christian privilege. Christian privilege functions in American society to advantage diverse Christian subcultures, even while individual Christians or Christian denominations reject some dimensions of the macro-entity of Christianity or other Christian subcultures. However, the internal diversity of Christianity does not undermine the dominance of Christian discourse; thus, focusing on individual Christians or specific denominations endangers our understanding of the cultural impacts of Christianity. When Glanzer (2022) accuses critical religion scholars of demonstrating “a general lack of understanding of the larger American and Christian historical story and Christian diversity” (p. 123), then cites examples of internal oppression as evidence, he ignores the larger context. When Catholics were marginalized by Protestants, that was an example of Christian hegemony, one which Catholics now participate in and impose on other Christians and non-Christians alike. To say that “oppression can happen internally” (p. 123) does not mean that Christian oppression of others did not happen historically and does not continue today. As the discourse of Christianity evolved, more Christians were included, and Christian hegemony was extended, not limited.

RELIGIOUS FREEDOM

In the next two sections of this paper, we review historical influences that continue into the present day and should be viewed through a critical religion framework. An important area of contention we hold with Glanzer’s (2022) article is with his interpretation of the historical and current events that progressed the cause of religious freedom in the US. He places his focus on Christianity’s role in this progress, for example stating that it was truly groundbreaking that “a majority religious nation decided not to privilege the dominant religion in its Constitution” (p. 123). In addition, he states that, although “imperfect and slow” (p. 124), over time the ideals enshrined therein increasingly included other races and genders (beyond white men), and were applied to other religious groups and nations.

We find the points Glanzer (2022) makes about religious freedom to be selective and harmful. Critical religion scholars understand that religious freedom in the US has often favored certain types of Christians, excluding religious minorities and even some Christian denominations. To begin, the passage of the First Amendment by a group of deists and Christian white men did not provide religious freedom for people of all identities (Waldman, 2019). Furthermore, the passage of the First Amendment left states free to make their own decisions, with religious “tests” still present in state Constitutions well into the 19th century (Fea, 2011, pp. 136–146). While Glanzer (2022) is correct that the U.S. Constitution did not specifically privilege Christianity, every state other than Virginia did so in their state Constitutions. Only when the 14th Amendment, which stated that “no state shall make or enforce any law which shall abridge the privilege or immunities of citizens of the United States,” was ratified in 1868 (Fea, 2011, pp. 137–147), did the First Amendment potentially apply to all persons (Wilder, 2013). In practice, the First Amendment only applied to federal laws until federal courts expanded those protections to all levels of government in the 1920s and the Supreme Court did so in the 1940s (Sehat, 2011, p. 4). Even then, limitations on religious freedom remained in place and were codified with immigration barriers such as the 1882 Chinese Exclusion Act and the Immigration Act of 1917 (Waldman, 2019; Uddin, 2019), which were not repealed until 1943.

This Christian privilege continues to today, with court cases finding more frequently in favor of Christian defendants than minoritized religious groups (Uddin, 2019). The more like the Christian majority a religious group comes to be seen, the more likely they are to reap the benefits of religious freedom (Corbin, 2016). For example, the Amish may cease school attendance at eighth grade (Wisconsin v. Yoder, 1972), but Native Americans are penalized for using herbal psychotropics in religious rituals (Employment Division v. Smith, 1990).

In modern practice, religious freedom continues to pertain to Christianity, and especially white Protestant Christianity, more clearly than to other religions. For example, in Kennedy v. Bremerton School District (2022), the Supreme Court ruled that a white male Christian coach, a school official, was within his rights to publicly lead students in prayer after football games. In this case, in which even the facts were disputed (Blake, 2022), a court populated by six justices rooted in Catholic traditions overturned decades of precedent on public school officials leading prayer to grant a Christian man his religious freedom. In contrast, the religious freedom of Muslims in the US has been eroded through legal attacks since 9/11 (Uddin, 2019) and attempts by legal practitioners to place Islam as counter to established norms of religious practice. Case after case chips away at the idea that Islam, the second largest religion in the world, “is not a religion” (p. 31) and that Muslims should assimilate into Christian social norms. In sum, Glanzer’s (2022) interpretation of the First Amendment as a universal protection of religious freedom differs greatly from reality as experienced by minoritized religious groups. For him to state that the passage of this amendment gave religious freedom to everyone is the sort of revisionist history that only reinforces the conflation of religion with Christianity. Instead of revising history in this way, we hope for Christians to become allies to minoritized religious groups in US society through advocating on behalf of the religious freedoms of others, even (and especially) when their interests do not align.

RELIGION AND SOCIAL JUSTICE

Another historical point that Glanzer (2022) takes issue with is what he perceives to be a lack of appreciation for the Christian contributions to social justice movements. His concern is that critical religion scholars “focus on the oppression promulgated by Christianity but fail to acknowledge the historical contributions of Christianity regarding the origins of social justice,” claiming that we “ignore the history of social justice advocacy internationally” and thus have “historical amnesia” (p. 124).² We feel this accusation requires a direct response.

Critical religion scholars acknowledge that those working for social justice find resources, motivation, and legitimacy in many of the world’s religions. When we choose to decenter the positive contributions of people from the Christian tradition, our intent is not to devalue those efforts, but to reorient the conversation from a Christian dominated one, to reveal contributions from other traditions, and to establish theory-practice connections that can foster broader conceptions of resources, motivations, and legitimacy in service of building a more just society. In addition, those who perpetuate violence and oppression also find resources, motivation, and legitimacy in many of the world’s religions. For instance, in the American context, Christianity has contributed to movements such as women’s suffrage, child labor laws, and civil rights, it has also motivated chattel slavery, xenophobic immigration policies, and the genocide of Native peoples and the forced removal of their children.

Does Glanzer (2022) not think that other people, communities, or entire religious traditions have also developed similar concepts as social justice? Millions of people worldwide suffered from colonization and its white supremacist legacy, had their cultures and religions destroyed, were forbidden from speaking in their languages and from learning how to read, and were systematically excluded from political power in their societies. Of course they have long histories of understanding and advocating for social justice. Glanzer’s suggestion that the roots of social justice advocacy should singularly be attributed to Christians unwittingly (we hope) perpetuates the Doctrine of Discovery (Joshi, 2020). This stance is still touted by organizations such as the National Italian American Foundation that continue to celebrate Christopher Columbus as a courageous voyager, willingly or unwittingly ignoring that his expeditions were the catalyst for 12.5 million Africans to be kidnapped and sold to slavery in the Americas and the murder, rape, exploitation, extraction and theft of land belonging to Indigenous peoples that is still ongoing. We respectfully suggest that history paints Christian culture in a much grimmer light vis-a-vis social justice than Glanzer seems to recognize.

Glanzer’s (2022) assertion that Christianity should be appreciated and celebrated for its contribution to social justice, without acknowledging the historical and current injustices committed in the name of Christianity, reminds us of James Baldwin’s (1962) writings on white innocence. Instead of sitting with the discomfort that might come with the knowledge of what has passed in the last 500 years, in which white Western European Christianity has been the apparatus for colonization (Mignolo & Walsh, 2018), Glanzer seems to repeat a tendency that has not changed since Baldwin first wrote his words in 1962. This tendency is to cling to white Christian innocence, fragility, and a reluctance to admit historical wrongdoing for the fear of accepting complete social change—specifically, losing a society in which whiteness and Christianity are normalized, hegemonic, and superior. It can be difficult to grapple with the knowledge that it was white Christians who essentialized their race and religion and then ascribed it to notions of American identity and rights to citizenship (Joshi, 2020).

As critical religion scholars and pluralists, we seek to build a community that thoughtfully wrestles with the processes and prerequisites for social justice and grapples with the shared knowledge of human suffering caused by the past 500 years of white Christian supremacy in the US and abroad. To be clear, we include consideration of the suffering of white Christians, both those who have been persecuted at the hands of others and those who, in their positions of social dominance, are, as Baldwin (1962) said, “trapped in a history which they do not understand” (p. 8). At the same time, we recognize the functional and power difference between suffering as a non-Christian in a Christian supremacist society and the suffering of Christian innocence. We see a difference, for instance, between Italian Americans (Christian and otherwise) campaigning for Columbus Day to remain a federally recognized holiday and Indigenous people (Christian and otherwise) campaigning for it to be renamed as Indigenous People’s Day, or African Americans (Christians and otherwise) campaigning for Juneteenth to become a federally recognized holiday. That difference is between the effort of the marginalized to gain recognition and equity and the effort of the privileged to avoid losing cultural and/or political power. All of these actions, like all historic moments, must be understood within their greater context. Likewise, a white Catholic Italian coining the phrase “social justice” must be understood within the greater context of white Christian supremacy of the past 500 years. To center Christians in the historical story of social justice advocacy mirrors the arguments of Christian apologists who, when confronted with the reality of injustice in the name of Christianity, choose to respond by claiming that they, in fact, are being persecuted. We do not deny that Christians have been involved in social justice movements in valuable ways, or that the specific phrase “social justice” has roots in the Christian tradition. We do point out, however, that social justice is not a concept unique to Christianity—for example, Socially Engaged Buddhism or the tradition of tikkun olam in Judaism—nor is it the predominant feature of Christianity throughout history.

HIGHER EDUCATION PRACTICE

Finally, taking into account the broader context we have discussed, we are concerned with areas of practice within higher education about which Glanzer (2022) makes assertions that we see as based on false premises. For example, he states that all religious communities are free to establish and run colleges and universities, claiming that “none of these religious institutions have the benefit or secular privilege of direct government funding to support them” (p. 130, emphasis in original). While we agree that Glanzer’s argument is de facto accurate, he fails to recognize intertwined systems of capitalism, generational wealth, and power dynamics in his statements. These systems are why today’s modern tally of established colleges and universities includes only a handful of Islamic, Buddhist, and Jewish colleges and universities, and more than 150 Christian colleges and universities in the US alone (CCCU, n.d.).

The US higher education system, founded first at Harvard College in 1636, began with a Christian framework (Wilder, 2013). The “Colonial Nine,” the first nine colleges established in the United States, are outgrowths of divisions between Protestant Christian communities which led to competition for clergy development, but not even for spaces for Roman Catholic academic study (Wilder, 2013). Funded by donors and permitted by the early United States government to the tune of more than 180 before the Civil War, Christian colleges and universities continue to outpace others due to socioeconomic power (Wilder, 2013) and Christian cultural dominance. So, Glanzer may be accurate that anyone can open a school, but this argument repeats his tendency to ignore the larger Christian hegemonic context.

In addition, within the academy, systemic Christian hegemony does not abate despite the veil of neutrality placed over it by institutions removing overtly Christian language and symbols from their campuses. Most obviously, institutions no longer requiring theology courses, which Glanzer (2022) sees as a concession, does not eliminate the centuries of Christian hegemony entrenched into structures of higher education. So while Glanzer mentions a “Bible department [changing] its name to religious studies,” (p. 126) and demands recognition of “certain Christian thinkers and policy groups [that] support … this form of secularization in public institutions since it helps establish fairness toward different religions and the nonreligious,” he ignores the underlying systems of Christian hegemony that ensure that even in ostensibly secular spaces, Christianity still dominates.

Further, many institutions purport to be secular (and therefore neutral toward religion) but are not nonreligious. Public institutions of higher education actually contribute to the perpetuation of Christian hegemony through academic calendars, absence policies, programming budgets, lack of access to non-Christian religious communities, and many more institutional facets that are claimed to be neutral when they, in fact, are not (Joshi, 2020; Maples et al., 2021). The reality of Christian influence at these institutions is seen in on-campus chapels and dining options that do not allow students to adhere to their religious practices. Christian students are never asked to prove their religiousness, but students of minoritized religions are often required to “prove” they are religious to be excused from class on a major holiday (Maples et al., 2021). Secularism often serves as a rationale for not providing religious equity for students of minoritized religions (Collett, 2022). For example, public schools will claim they cannot pay a rabbi to kasher a kitchen in a dining hall because state funds cannot go to a religious cause (Collett, 2022).

More subtle is the assumed audience for classes and programming on campuses. Christian holidays are celebrated by communities as part of the shared culture, such as with Christmas concerts. Non-Christian holidays, if they merit mention, are spectacles or objections of curiosity, such as with Holi celebrations and “foreign” food served at diversity programs. Further, they are presented as opportunities for education and celebrations of diversity. The implications of this minor difference in language are that schools are educating those students who are not already aware of non-Christian holidays: their white Christian students. Non-Christian students must know Christian holidays, but the reverse is not true. Only isolated from the fuller white Christian context can these events be seen as on par with Christian events. Understood in that fuller context, these events can be seen to commodify nonwhite, non-Christian students (if they are even present) and exploit their cultures for the consumption of white Christian students and staff (Joshi, 2020). We recommend student affairs practitioners employ a justice-oriented framework (such as a critical theory of religion) when planning diversity and multicultural programs.

One area where we do agree with Glanzer (2022) is that we believe that students should not be taught to only see the world through a secular lens. We affirm that learning to understand and utilize diverse ways of knowing that include religious, secular, and spiritual worldviews is important.³ However, when Glanzer laments that “religious ways of thinking” (p. 122) are not given attention in secular educational settings, what he seems to be saying is that Christian or Christian-like ways of thinking are not given attention. While he does not say this explicitly, the fact that he conflates Christianity with religion as a whole throughout the paper leaves us with this impression.

When we say we think students should be taught multiple ways of knowing, what we mean is that students should learn about far more than just Christian and secular worldviews (although we problematize the dichotomy between the two). Students should learn about Indigenous knowledge systems, contemplative inquiry and practice, and relational (vs. independent) understandings of what it means to be. They should learn that many religious traditions are deeply scientific, and what it means to interpret time as cyclical vs. spatial vs. linear. They should learn that questioning, critique, and resisting received knowledge are considered by some traditions as superior to accepting truths as declared by religious authorities. They should learn the concept of a pluriverse, where multiple worlds exist, as opposed to a singular universe. In short, they should learn from a much, much wider range of religious, spiritual, and secular ways of knowing than Glanzer seems to be suggesting. Yes, Christian ways of thinking can and should be included in that list, but they certainly should not dominate in an increasingly pluralistic society.

Glanzer (2022) also suggests that critical religion scholars are too “American-centric” claiming that we have not thought about international students (p. 124). Interestingly, the only examples he mentions to support this point are anecdotes of Christian international students who experience persecution in their non-Christian majority home countries, despite the likely scenario that most international students are not (initially) Christian.⁴ Research on international students in the US frequently mentions their (i.e., non-Christians’) experiences of religious discrimination, and has shown that some choose to convert to Christianity as an attempt to assimilate to the dominant religious culture (Yan, 2017). We agree that international students should be given attention, as Glanzer suggests. Unlike Glanzer, however, we consider more than just Christian international students as well as the longer history of colonialism that is an important context for understanding conversions of entire cultures across the globe.

Beyond international students, it seems Glanzer (2022) is concerned more broadly that literature on Christian privilege does not recognize Christians elsewhere in the world who are persecuted for their religious identity. We do not deny that there are Christian communities in many countries that experience persecution; we recognize that as a fact and are deeply concerned about the rights and the wellbeing of these Christian minority communities. At the same time, however, Christian hegemony is not a uniquely American phenomenon; it is a global phenomenon, and the Christian hegemony embedded in US higher education has global implications (Edwards, 2022). So, while we agree with Glanzer that discourse on Christian privilege/hegemony in the field of US higher education should look beyond America, we would like to point out that there already exists robust research in the field of comparative and international education that demonstrates the power and influence of Christianity around the world. Examples of this research include the Christian roots of international assessment scales (Tröhler & Maricic, 2021) and the Christian onto-epistemological framework undergirding dominant aims and assumptions related to global citizenship education at the international level (Yano & Rappleye, 2022). As critical scholars we know that this kind of historical, international, and systemic analysis is crucial for understanding our work (Jennings, 2011; Said, 1979). That is exactly why we apply these kinds of analyses as our standard practice.

CONCLUSION

In response to Glanzer (2022), we, a collection of seven scholars with diverse RSSIs and disciplinary backgrounds, have shared our current thinking on critical theories of religion. We began with our fundamental assumption, that Christian privilege, Christian hegemony, and white Christian supremacy are real, historically significant, ongoing, and damaging, in ways that include but are not limited to, the material, psychological, and spiritual, both in American society and globally. We then furthered our argument for that assumption through a discussion of definitions, history, current social phenomena, and higher education practice. All told, our reading of Glanzer’s article suggests that he is unaware of or unreflective on his positionality, and that this manifests in a bias that derives from and perpetuates Christian hegemony. He ignores the complexity of the relationship between religion and secularism, while arguing that critical religion scholars fail to see the complexity of Christianity and history. He holds up positive contributions of Christianity and downplays oppression at the hands of Christians, while accusing critical religion scholars of doing the same for secularism. Ultimately, Glanzer’s argument fails to recognize that Christian hegemony functions as a system that oppresses people of minoritized religious, secular, and spiritual identities, and that justice requires more than the goodwill of well-intentioned Christians. We invite Christians who wish to love their neighbor to uncouple religion and power, to recognize and interrogate religious privilege and neutrality in society, to advocate for the religious freedoms of others, and to not seek to extend the dominance of their own culture over that of others. We welcome Glanzer and any other scholars who wish to engage with us around critical theories of religion to continue sharing dialogue on this important topic.

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Jenny L. Small

Jenny L. Small is at Salem State University, Salem, MA, USA. [email protected]

Sachi Edwards

Sachi Edwards is at School of International Peace Studies, Soka University, Tokyo, Japan. [email protected]

Matthew R. Sayers

Matthew R. Sayers is at Social Justice and Civic Engagement, Lebanon Valley College, Annville, PA, USA. [email protected]

Renee L. Bowling

Renee L. Bowling is at Educational Studies, Ohio State University, Columbus, OH, USA. [email protected]

Julia R. Collett

Julia R. Collett is at Residence Life, SUNY Buffalo State College, Buffalo, NY, USA. [email protected]

Simran Kaur-Colbert

Simran Kaur-Colbert is at Student Engagement and Diversity, Equity, Inclusion, Earlham College, Richmond, IN, USA. [email protected]

J. Cody Nielsen

J. Cody Nielsen is at Center for Spirituality and Social Justice, Dickinson College, Carlisle, PA, USA. [email protected]

Notes

1 The titles of books he cites when pointing to the power of secular critiques are telling: So Many Christians, So Few Lions: Is There Christianophobia in the United States? (Yancey & Williamson, 2014); No Longer Invisible: Religion in University Education (Jacobsen & Jacobsen, 2012); The Resilience of Religion in American Higher Education (Mahoney, 2018); Christianity and the Secular Border Patrol: The Loss of Judeo Christian Knowledge (Kanpol & Poplin, 2017).

2 As pointed out in the source that Glanzer (2022) cites on the origins of the term “social justice” (Shields, 1941), the term was coined first in Italian by A. Tapparelli in 1845 and not translated into English until 1900 by Westel W. Willoughby, an American political scientist (pp. 26–27). This failure to reveal the full context of the origins of the term “social justice” illustrates both the importance of context to scholarship and the danger of presuming one’s own cultural history represents human cultural history more broadly.

3 Glanzer (2022) mentions science only once, when the reader is asked to imagine if science were excluded at a fundamentalist Christian school (p. 129). However, the debate about the relationship between science and religion is ancient, and much has been written about the variety of ways in which people understand them to relate (Barbour, 2000). Though it is beyond the scope of this essay, we suggest that putting the rise and appeal of secularism in the context of that ongoing debate would be constructive.

4 While there is no data available to determine international students’ religious demographics, the vast majority (77%) of international students in the US come from non-Christian majority countries (Institute of International Education, 2021).