Recognizing the “Both-And” instead of Promulgating the “Either-Or”: a Critical Response to Critical Religion Scholars

We recently read with interest the response to Glanzer’s paper titled ‘Recognizing Christian Hegemony as Broader than Christian Privilege: Critical Religion Scholars Respond to Glanzer’ (Small et al., 2022). We were struck by the fact that we share important common ends with the seven authors—the advancement of religious liberty in a pluralistic society to benefit all citizens. Furthermore, 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’ (p. 7).

We also recognize Small et al.’s response as deeply rooted in a clearly presented set of shared assumptions and a broad commitment to the critical perspective. In continuing to engage them in dialogue, we neither want nor need to question the validity of their personal and scholarly assumptions and lived experiences, though it is worth noting that we do write from an epistemological stance similar to their critical perspective. Moreover, we view this opportunity to respond to their critiques as a practice in the sort of academic dialogue a truly pluralistic society demands. We think Small et al. would agree that the topics we are engaging in are of no small consequence and thus demand careful treatment and abundant clarity.

To these ends, we must point out to readers that different scholarly and personal perspectives lead us to emphasize slightly different realities and lived experiences within our respective papers, none of which are less valid than the others for those who experience them. Additionally, it is worth noting that the focus of Glanzer’s paper (Christian and secular privilege, specifically in our contemporary context) was far narrower than Small et al.’s (2022), which addressed Christian hegemony more broadly.

With that being said, we are genuinely concerned that Small et al. (2022), risk confusing readers as they, quite boldly at times, speak to what they assume were my (Glanzer’s) fundamental assumptions and positions related to a variety of topics. Unfortunately, their harshest criticisms are rooted in misinterpretations of my words.

As such, our response in this essay aims to provide much-needed clarity and corrections, regarding those aspects of my (Glanzer’s) perspective that Small et al. presented in ways incongruent with either my actual written words or my intents. Of course, some of the misinterpretations are sure to be my own fault. I perhaps left the wrong impression regarding my thinking, simply failing to present my ideas clearly and leaving too much space for conjecture.

That being said, many of the incongruencies we will note stem from differences in our respective approaches. As I pointed out in my initial essay, critical religion scholars who discuss Christian privilege tend to traffic in broad generalizations that pit Christians, whether those Christians are contemporary scholars, practitioners or historical actors, versus all others. Doing so effectively pushes back against Christian privilege and hegemony, which is quite fairly part of Small et al.’s aim, but it does so divisively by creating sharp either-ors that often fail to represent reality accurately or wholistically. Conversely, we enter the dialogue with a commitment to a both-and approach that embraces the inherent complexities and tensions in the experiences of both majority and minority groups. For good reasons, inherent in their response, critical scholars tend to highlight the latter and, at times, overlook or dismiss the former. Examples of the problems introduced by either-or thinking in Small et al.’s critical response to my essay include:

1. misinterpretation of my argument by suggesting I implied things I never actually said;

2. outright dismissal of evidence I presented about secular privilege in higher education via their claim that secularism is simply a cover for Christian hegemony (a point they supported with weak counterevidence);

3. changing the subject to focus on political oppression with a racial component (‘white Christian supremacy’) or other political components unrelated to education (‘January 6^th insurrection’); and

4. demonstrating a continued lack of recognition or understanding of the ways that Christians and minority religious groups help further religious liberty for all.

An approach that makes a case employing the above strategies demonstrates the danger of allowing simplistic either-or thinking to become a means by which to depersonalize whole identity groups (e.g., ‘Christian hegemony functions as a system that oppresses people of minoritized religious, secular, and spiritual identities’ italics added, p. 16). Instead of demonstrating rigorous empirical study that demonstrates important complexities among human beings, communities, and institutions, we fear Small et al.’s method and manner of offering their critical perspective may contribute more to simplistic slogans, distinctions, and solutions than nuanced responses to complicated and important issues. Most importantly, it also fosters an inaccurate understanding of reality. We will expand on these claims in the rest of this article.

MISINTERPRETATION OF MY ARGUMENT

The authors express ‘grave concerns with some of Glanzer’s (2022) assumptions and arguments’ (p. 4). We too would have serious concerns about my assumptions and arguments if they are what Small et al. claim they are. Unfortunately, despite having seven readers and authors, they engage in systematic misinterpretation of those views throughout their article.

ACKNOWLEDGMENT VERSUS GRATITUDE

To begin, the authors contend, ‘In the following passage, [Glanzer] implies that religious minorities should be grateful for how far some Christians have come in the work of dismantling Christian supremacy’ (p. 4). Small et al. cite the following passage to support this claim,

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)

Nowhere did I suggest that religious minorities should be grateful. In fact, I was not writing to them. I simply pointed out that Critical Religious scholars, who as the authors’ own positionality statements indicate may be from a variety of traditions, overlook an important historical reality. Even despite the harms of Christian hegemony noted by the authors (and which we freely confess—see for example Alleman & Glanzer, 2017), the United States has been the leader of the world in expanding religious liberty (and not simply religious tolerance) to all religious and non-religious groups (Zagorin, 2004). Simply acknowledging that Christians played a key role in this expansion does not preclude me—or Small et al.—from holding in tension the pitfalls of Christian hegemony.

This acknowledgment is important because it avoids a kind of ‘either-or’ approach that plagues critical scholars going back to Marx and continues with critical scholars today. We should always give attention to injustice toward religious minorities, and nowhere in my paper do I claim we should not, but we should also recognize the growth of discrimination against Christians in certain spheres such as higher education. This recognition is what a ‘both-and’ approach requires.

In general, we should recognize both that religious minorities such as Mormons (Fluhman, 2012; Talbot, 2013), Jews (Dinnerstein, 1995; Jaher, 1994; Michael, 2005), Muslims (Beydoun, 2018; Lajevardi, 2020), and Hindus (Kurien, 2005) have faced discrimination in various ways throughout United States history, but we should also acknowledge negative attitudes toward Christians are rising, particularly in higher education (Yancey and Williamson, 2015). For instance, the three most likely religious groups to be discriminated against in university hiring are now Evangelicals, Christian Fundamentalists, and Mormons (Yancey, 2011). In fact, non-Christian faiths are one of the most overrepresented groups relative to the U.S. population among full-time faculty at four-year colleges and universities (+225%). The religiously unaffiliated are +55% overrepresented and Christians are −30% underrepresented (Al Gharbi, 2023). Empirically speaking, Small et al. cannot claim that Christian privilege exists regarding faculty hiring in the university relative to the U.S. population. Of course, that does not mean Christian hegemony does not exist regarding the academic calendar or various other assumed cultural norms in higher education. The latter is certainly significant, and Small et al. are right to center it in scholarly conversation; indeed, this is the very purpose of critical scholarship. Yet, we contend that, even in a critical approach, ignoring or dismissing the former reality is counterproductive. To repeat, the situation is a ‘both-and’ and not an ‘either-or.’

We maintain, with Small et al. the need to recognize both the historical privilege and power of Christians in American society, and we extend our view to simultaneously acknowledge certain forms of power and privilege amongst religious minorities. Though the latter is not the primary focus of Small et al.’s response, we suspect they too see the value of asset-positive perspectives. Every group deserves a full and honest telling of their story—good and bad, privilege and pain. Small et al.’s less-than-charitable reading of my essay is the natural result of an either-or approach that views their focus on the privilege of Christians and the pain of minorities as being fundamentally at odds with my essay’s focus on the present pain of some Christians and the privilege of some other groups. A both-and approach holds Small et al.’s and my approaches together rather than apart.

To Small et al.’s (2022) point, we agree that those in a hegemonically Christian society need to be more intentional about learning the stories of other groups. Yet, to respect the human dignity of all people, we need to acknowledge and tell the whole story for every group as inclusively and accurately as we can. After all, Christians can be dehumanized as well (Yancey, 2018). We raise these points, not from a position of feeling threatened by the privilege of others (recognizing the dignity of all enhances and strengthens all of humanity). Rather, we contend that human dignity-minded individuals of any religious or social group must acknowledge the complexities of each other’s stories that do not fit simply into an oppressed and oppressor binary. For example, due to the tradition of religious liberty that has developed in this country—at least in part due to Christian efforts as well as other factors—Hindus and Jews are two of the wealthiest religious minorities in the United States, and Mormons and Muslims are, as a group, wealthier than the average American (Masci, 2016). The privilege and oppression we experience are not simply either-or. They vary by context, category, and domain so that a group can be both privileged and oppressed.

All that said, my particular argument was and is focused on higher education. I simply argued that when it comes to the actual hiring practices and content of education, and not domains like the general historical experience or financial status of religious minorities, the contemporary evidence demonstrates that religious perspectives, in general, endure hostility through avoidance and that certain Christian faculty experience the most religious hostility in hiring.

MISINTERPRETING DEFINITIONS OF RELIGION AND THE USE OF ‘SECULAR’

Small et al. (2022) claim my definition of religion ‘assumes theistic belief is the primary determinant of religion and religiousness—a substantivist definition of religion’ (p. 4). That is not true, although I bear part of the blame for this false assumption. I should have clarified that in this in this context, I am using ‘religion’ comparably to how the Supreme Court has used the term in First Amendment educational contexts. In these contexts, since incorporation, the Court has used a broad substantive definition for Establishment Clause cases (a substantive definition that includes nontheistic religions such as Buddhism and polytheistic religions such as Hinduism) and a functional definition for Free Exercise cases as well as conscientious objection cases where they interpret a legal reference to ‘religion’ in the law functionally (McConnell et al., 2016; Oldham, 2001; Witte & Nichols, 2016). The point of my discussion of ‘secular privilege’ is that the Court’s use of a substantive definition in Establishment Clause cases often blinds people to the way that secular approaches themselves can function as a religion of sorts in American education and consequently be privileged.

Small et al. go on to write, ‘Glanzer (2022) assumes that ‘religion’ and the ‘secular’ are easily distinguishable and separable discourses’ (p. 5). Again, the authors claim I hold to an Enlightenment-derived belief I do not share, but again this error is perhaps because I was not as explicit at distinguishing my views from Supreme Court jurisprudence as I should have been. As mentioned in my earlier paper, the idea that one could easily distinguish religion and the secular originated in the mid-1800s from Enlightenment thinkers in Europe.¹ I agree with Small et al.’s claim that this development was made possible by certain elements in Protestant Christian thinking, but it was also adopted by other strict separationists. The famous Jewish church-state scholar Leo Pfeffer (1967) noted in 1953,

Those to whom the American secular public school is one of the supreme achievements of our democracy should never forget the debt they owe to the Catholic Church and Catholic parents. The triumph of the secularization of the public school was in no small measure due to the persistence of the Church and the courage of Catholic parents in refusing to sacrifice their claims of conscience by yielding to a settlement that was entirely satisfactory to the Protestant majority. (p. 335)

Yet, Pfeffer (1967) acknowledged that the secular-religious dichotomy that he championed and considered easily achieved was not what the Catholics wanted, ‘Of course, the Catholic Church and Catholic parents were not motivated by a yearning for secularism in education—Catholicism does not recognize the possibility of isolating religious teaching from secular knowledge’ (p. 336). As a result of the triumph of views like Pfeffer’s, before the incorporation of the Establishment Clause of the First Amendment, some states began to use this Enlightenment-derived religion-secular distinction in their laws (Rian, 1949).

Interestingly, in the 1947 Everson v. Board of Education case that incorporated the Establishment Clause, Justice Black started with this description of what Catholic schools do that failed to acknowledge what Pfeffer knew about Catholic schools. He wrote, ‘These church schools give their students, in addition to secular education, regular religious instruction conforming to the religious tenets and modes of worship of the Catholic Faith’ (p. 33). As Pfeffer astutely observed the Catholic schools did view the education they offered as simply secular education with religious practices and content added. After that decision, this simplistic distinction between religion and secular became the Court’s usual way to distinguish different public and religious education as well as various kinds of content and rituals. It gained prominence with the creation of the Lemon Test in Lemon v. Kurtzman (1971) and the term ‘secular’ was used 152 times in that case alone.

So, to be clear, it has been U.S. Supreme Court justices and strict separationist lawyers, academics, and lobby groups that think this distinction between religion and secular can easily be made. I, like the Catholics Pfeffer mentioned, do not think one can easily make this simple distinction without engaging in the promotion of secular privilege, but we must recognize that the U.S. Supreme Court has taken the opposite view regarding the establishment of religion and the use of ‘secular.’ The Court used a broad substantive definition for understandable reasons. If it used a functional definition, it would have to rule about all kinds of worldviews, practices, and rituals that function as a religion in education (e.g., high school football in Texas).

In other words, the approach I take in my article is not one ‘heavily biased toward a conservative Christian perspective, a parochial view he mistakes for a universal one’ (p. 5)—an interpretation by stereotype. This claim is simply not true. I am working with the definitions and distinctions used by the Supreme Court. Thus, when Small et al. (2022) claim ‘Glanzer’s (2022) artificial dichotomy of ‘religious’ and ‘secular’ also conceals existing complexities,’ they are actually critiquing the whole history of Supreme Court Establishment Clause jurisprudence (and views of strict separationists such as Pfeffer). In fact, I agree with them that the Court’s use of this distinction conceals the way that secular beliefs, practices, and rituals function as religious beliefs, practices, and rituals in public schools (using a functional definition). I authored my article to illuminate how simply labeling certain types of education ‘secular’ does not mean they are neutral. We should also be concerned about secular privilege.

MISINTERPRETING HOW I UNDERSTAND THE RELATIONSHIP BETWEEN SECULAR AND RELIGION

Finally, the authors misinterpreted how I think about the relationship between ‘secular’ and ‘religious.’ They write, ‘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’ (p. 6). Again, this approach does not accurately represent my views, but it does represent how both the Supreme Court and strict separationists such as Pfeffer have approached the matter (whether Pfeffer, a Jew, was captive to a ‘sacred/secularism dualism rooted in a Protestant Christian worldview’ (p. 7) is a subject for another conversation).

This strict separationist approach is highly problematic. For example, what would a liberal arts education about marriage, sex, and family entail? Of course, only discussing marriage as a sacrament or covenant between a man, woman, and God would privilege Catholic and certain Protestant and Eastern Orthodox perspectives. Yet, only talking about marriage in secular terms as a contract between two (or more) consenting adults of a certain age would privilege a secular perspective. Indeed, Nord (2010) found in his curricular study that most public education texts approach the text only from a secular perspective, and that is why he concluded, ‘…students are illiberally ‘educated’ if they learn to think about sexuality only in secular categories.’ (p. 277). My hypothesis would be that publicly funded education about marriage would follow the same pattern.

In this respect, we once again argue that we need to acknowledge the ‘both-and’ instead of creating an ‘either-or.’ Small et al. (2022) claim ‘in the specific context of American higher education, secularism portrays neutrality while concealing Protestant Christian normativity’ (p. 7). Actually, secularity can conceal all kinds of philosophical and religious traditions (even critical religious ideology). It depends on what part of the education we are discussing. If we are talking about hiring in higher education, it serves as a cover for privileging minority religions and secularists. If we are talking about curriculum, it serves to conceal the prioritization given to viewing the world through secular epistemologies.

In contrast, we envision that in a just, pluralistic education system, institutions would present the current legal understanding of marriage and sex, but they would also attempt to present the major approaches in a pluralistic society (although they could not be exhaustive) (Glanzer, 2016). In other words, ‘secular’ and ‘religious’ are not rightly understood as opposing views on a spectrum since there are all kinds of narratives and views about marriage among world religions and various philosophical schools of thought (see for example Browning et al., 2006).

On an ending side note, we have no idea why the authors argue, ‘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).’ I never brought up Kant or the Indian subcontinent in my earlier paper (I have, however, written about how Kant contributed to the secularization of European higher education, see Glanzer et al., 2017, pp. 63–68), and we think we can quite easily account for how secularism originated in a Christian context. The invention of a secular sphere was a mid-1800s way to solve religious conflict among Christians (e.g., Catholics and Protestants) and in colonial contexts such as colonized India.² Various countries around the world have tried to deal with religious and worldview pluralism in diverse ways (Monsma & Soper, 2009). The American legal establishment took the approach that the authors criticize. Strict separationists argued that one could easily separate religion and the secular (they considered a secular approach neutral and acceptable to all) and only funded secular education. In contrast, countries such as Australia, the Netherlands, Hungary, and South Korea have taken the principled pluralism approach that does not consider the secular a neutral domain or secular schools neutral. Instead, they recognize that the state could and should solve the tournament of religious and philosophical traditions problem by funding all distinct kinds of religious and secular educational institutions.

MISREADING OF MY VIEW ABOUT SOCIAL JUSTICE AND CHRISTIANITY

Small et al. claim that I assert 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’ (p. 12). Of course, I never said anything about ‘celebrating’ Christian contributions or ignoring injustices. I was demonstrating that Small lacks an understanding of the term ‘social justice’s’ history and genealogy. Here is what I did write.

Small talks about encouraging white Christians to sanctify social justice when in reality the term originated as a sanctified term and was only later secularized. In reality, the problem was that white Christians did not expand the term beyond economic matters, and it was the black church that led the way in both sacralizing and expanding the meaning of the term to issues of race.

Upon reading that sentence, I agree that I could have been more specific in naming the injustices caused by this failure (e.g., genocide and slavery). Yet, that hardly means I argued for not acknowledging the historical and current injustices committed in the name of Christianity. Here again, one finds the twisted epistemology of the critical approach creating an either-or that did not exist in my article.

WHY ALL OF THESE MISINTERPRETATIONS?

We want to ask: What might lead to all of these misinterpretations? We do agree with Small et al. (2022) that those from minority religious backgrounds can see Christian influence in the culture of American higher education that Christians take for granted. Yet sometimes minority groups are subject to epistemological limitations of their own. I (Glanzer) remember telling one of my Russian friends while teaching in Russia about this rude shop clerk who I thought treated me rudely because I was an American. He laughed and noted that she treated everyone that way. In this context, my minority identity distorted my interpretation of the situation and limited my ability to see the whole reality. To apply this limit to their paper, it appears they often mistakenly attribute something to Christianity, or a certain kind of Christianity, which is only tangentially related and more properly attributed to a particular political group. For example, they talk about ‘the January 6th insurrection’ as an example of how the Christian majority ‘continue[s] to traumatize those of minoritized RSSIs [religious, secular, and spiritual identities]’ (p. 4). Yet, here is what Burge (2023) shared from a Nationscape Survey of 4,138 adults conducted a week after the event (Table 1).

Table 1. Do you approve or disapprove of the actions of the people who stormed the U.S. Capitol? Share approving.

Muslim	48%	Nonwhite Catholic	11%
Unclassified	30%	Something Else	20%
Buddhist	30%	White Evangelical	17%
Mormon	24%	White Catholic	11%
Nonwhite Evangelical	22%	Orthodox	11%
Jewish	10%	Agnostic	4%
Nothing in Particular	9%	Hindu	4%
Non-Evangelical Prot.	6%	Atheist	3%

N = 4138, Taken January 12–18, 2021

Source: Burge (2023). Nationscape Survey

Muslims, Unclassified, Buddhists, Mormons and nonwhite Evangelical were the most likely to approve of the event. Interestingly, one finds a mixture of Christians, Hindus, Jews, Atheists, and Agnostics who were the most likely to disapprove. In this case, the authors demonstrated epistemological limitations. Critical religion scholars do not automatically become expert interpreters of historical events or majority scholars’ arguments simply due to whether they are minorities or sympathetic to minority experiences. A wider perspective requires more nuance, not less. In other words, we think they misinterpret my argument because they engage in either-or thinking instead of both-and thinking. They acknowledge the unique epistemological insights of oppressed minorities, but they too easily assume they know what someone who is part of a majority religious group thinks. We believe practicing intellectual virtues such as humility and charity (see Nord, 2010, p. 123) can be corrupted both by failing to heed those on the margins (an area they note for growth in my initial essay regarding my use of examples) and uncharitable readings or interpretations of the majority (an area I’ll note for growth in theirs).

ASSUMPTIONS AND EVIDENCE

Related to this point, we find it fascinating to observe how Small et al. (2022) use language. They start with an ‘assumption’ that is really an empirical claim. Thus, they write,

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. (p. 3)

We assume by their use of the word ‘however’ that they do not believe this ‘assumption’ can be questioned. Yet, this assumption is an empirical claim that requires evidence.

We wish to be clear though. We have no doubt that they could have supplied much stronger evidence than they did to support this ‘assumption’ from their own personal experience, the experience of other religious minorities, or general studies of higher education. For example, we have little doubt that one is going to find more classes about Christian subjects in certain religion departments at public universities and that religious minority students will deal with a majority who see Christianity as normative. There is plenty of evidence they do not even mention. Therefore, I did not, and we do not, question the assumption that Christian privilege and hegemony are real and often damaging, that they have experienced damaging consequences, or the reality that evidence could be produced to support this statement.

What we do set forth, however, is that Christian privilege scholars fail to acknowledge two things for which I argued using empirical evidence. Again, this failure is the result of their tendency to focus on either-or instead of both-and. Yes, Christians have used their privilege and power in evil ways. And they have also used it in productive ways. Some American Christians, with the help of other religious minorities (and their lawsuits at times), have learned to give up that privilege and power to help create the first country without an established religion and to support an ongoing and robust tradition of religious liberty that has been copied by other countries. We would hope critical religious scholars would acknowledge both realities as non-mutually exclusive. Since they do not, Small et al. merely provided further empirical proof for my argument that their form of critical religious scholarship peddles simplistic dichotomies that distort reality.

Second, in the field of education, secular privilege, and power—to use the phrase from Small et al. (2022)—are also ‘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’ (p. 3). In fact, if one examines the evidence, there is more evidence for secular privilege in contemporary public higher education than there is for Christian privilege (see my last paper and the faculty representation stats I cite in this paper). This reality does not negate that the hegemony of Christianity has been and continues into the present in ways significant to the lived experiences of the authors and so many others. Furthermore, today secular privilege often serves as a cover for various forms of secular philosophical thinking (and not Christianity as the authors argue).

Again, we do believe that what past educational leaders called nonsectarianism served to maintain the dominance of a broad Protestant hegemony. In one of my recent books, I note how in 1841 regents for the University of Michigan described the ideal faculty member. They wanted to avoid ‘the morbid prejudices of [Protestant] sectarians’ and ‘the sectarian of the atheistical or infidel party or faction’ (Glanzer & Alleman, 2019, p.25). They claimed that the university should be built on a general belief in what is held common among Christians, since ‘the great mass of the population profess an attachment to Christianity and, as a people, avow themselves to be Christian’ (p. 25). Obviously, this thinking is evidence of historical Christian privilege of a certain kind (and prejudice against Protestant sectarians). Yet, in this century the least likely job candidate among surveyed professors is a Christian fundamentalist, Evangelical, Mormon, or member of the NRA (Yancey, 2011), and minority religious believers are one of the most overrepresented groups on college faculty (Al Gharbi, 2023). Times have changed.

Thus, we do not find evidence for Small et al.’s claim (2022) that ‘secularism serves to maintain the dominance of Christian hegemony in the US’ (p. 8). We would be open to hearing their evidence, but we did not see it in their article. Also, what we do not find persuasive is the nonsensical argument that proves our point, ‘When Catholics were marginalized by Protestants, that was an example of Christian hegemony…’ (p. 10). Their definition of Christian appears to be ‘white, male, and Protestant.’ Otherwise, if one takes a broader approach, one could just as easily say that when Catholics were marginalized it was a case of Christian oppression! Again, it helps to recognize ‘both-and’ rather than ‘either-or.’ Christians can be both oppressors and oppressed.

To be accurate, the phenomenon they mentioned was an example of Protestant hegemony and the oppression of Catholics. Failing to acknowledge these subtleties demonstrates they have little familiarity with the broader international context where Russian Orthodox Christians consider most Protestants members of ‘totalitarian cults’ and where Latin American Catholics often discriminate against the growing Protestant minority, secularists, and other minority religions (Glanzer, 2002; Gustavo Morello, 2021). One cannot make sense of religious oppression in Saudi Arabia, Iran, and Iraq without understanding the diverse sects within the Islamic faith. Yet, using the language of Small et al., they would apparently prefer to claim that Muslims are oppressed in Saudi Arabia, Iraq, and Iran rather than being specific. In contrast, we contend that making sure one identifies the type of religious privilege or hegemony being exerted is vitally important. Instead of switching the subject, however, it would be better if they provided significant counter-evidence that might prove the influence of Christianity upon contemporary American education outside of holidays and days of worship.

THE CONTRIBUTIONS OF CHRISTIANS TO RELIGIOUS FREEDOM

Finally, Small et al. demonstrate a continued lack of understanding regarding the ways that Christians furthered and continue to further religious liberty for all. Again, I find it interesting to contrast what I wrote to what they claim I said (see Table 2):

Table 2. Religious Freedom Assumptions.

What Small et al. argue against	What I wrote
‘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, p. 11).’	‘For the first time in history, a majority religious nation decided not to privilege the dominant religion in its Constitution. This legal approach was historical and unprecedented…. (p. 123).’

The authors once again misinterpret my argument by implying that I do not acknowledge the slow expansion of the religion clauses to non-Christians, even though I wrote:

Of course, as the religious pluralism in America has expanded, we have had to expand our notions of justice toward different religious worldviews to expand beyond Protestants, Catholics, and Jews to include Muslims, Hindus, Buddhists, secularists and more. Realizing this ideal has always been imperfect and slow, but expansion has occurred. (Glanzer, 2022, p. 124)

In other words, I agree completely with the historical story the authors recount about the slow expansion of the implications of the First Amendment (particularly the Free Exercise Clause) for religious minorities (e.g., Sehat, 2011). I also acknowledged that story in my paper.

Our differences in focus come through with remarks such as, ‘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’ (p. 11). But I did not tell the story they claimed I told. Of course, the First Amendment is not ‘universal’ (it only applies to America), had only limited federal application until incorporation in the twentieth century, and has only slowly been expanded in conception to be more sensitive to religious minorities (with special help from religious minorities, such as the Jehovah’s Witnesses who filed numerous religious liberty lawsuits). I never wrote otherwise.

Unfortunately, they once again take an either-or approach instead of recognizing ‘both-and’ historical realities. This tendency manifests in two ways. First, and one of the points we find most problematic, is Small et al.’s (2022) failure to recognize that a victory for religious freedom for Christians eventually turns into a victory for religious freedom for all other religious and nonreligious groups—as if only one benefits but not the other.

Consider higher education: two cases won by Christians or Christian groups established two important principles. Religious groups should have equal access to (1) facilities (Widmar v. Vincent, 1981), and (2) funding for student groups (Rosenberger v. University of Virginia, 1985). What have been the implications of these victories for both religious and secular minorities? The recent book on The Resilience of Religion in American Education by John Schmalzbauer and Kathleen Mahoney (2018) provides a helpful summary of the empirical developments. Non-Christian religious and secular ideological groups are blossoming on campus. Between 1963 and 2001 Hillel Foundation groups increased from 77 to 110. In 1963, the Muslim Student Foundation was founded and now over 500 exist on campuses today. The Hindu Students Council founded in 1990 now has over 50 chapters. The Secular Student Alliance now has over 200 chapters. Since access and funding are now provided to a wide range of student groups, these minority religious and secular groups also have access and funding, and they are thriving. Indeed, it would be hard to conclude from examining the growth patterns and percentages of these groups that ‘minoritized RSSIs suffer the most from the academy’s silence on religion due to the persistence of hegemonic Christian influences in wider society’ (p. 7). Once again, evidence conflicts with their critical interpretive lens.

Or consider K-12 education: the released time education decision obtained by Christians that allows off-campus religious education also has benefited religious minority groups (e.g., Mormons) who have an extensive system of released time education. The Equal Access Act decision, Board of Education v. Mergens (1990) that allowed voluntary Christian student groups on campus has also benefited the same minority religious and secular identities mentioned earlier that also sponsor groups on high school campuses. Furthermore, it benefited LGBTQ + groups on high school campuses as well. As Howarth (2009) noted more than a decade ago, ‘the equally big, perhaps even bigger beneficiary of the Equal Access Act is LGBT gay-straight alliances, of which there are now thousands in high schools across the country’ (p. 937). Victories for the religious freedom of Christians also help other religious and nonreligious minorities.

The critical approach exemplified by Small et al. merely critiques any evidence of Christian influence or favoritism without recognizing that victories won by Christians for religious freedom also benefit religious and secular minorities. In the future, if Muslim coaches want to pray in public after a game when they are ‘off the clock,’ they can do so. As a side note—as a Christian I do not recommend Christians engage in such a practice for theological reasons; but as a citizen, I do believe the case was an important victory for religious freedom (Glanzer, 2022; for a similar view see French, 2022).

Second, Small et al. (2022) fail once again to acknowledge key historical realities as they make an ‘either-or’ point about how Christians win religious freedom cases and minorities lose them. They write, ‘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)’ (p. 11). They fail to mention two important realities.

First, it was Jehovah’s Witnesses, a group considered heretical by Protestant, Catholic, and Eastern Orthodox Christians, who were instrumental in advancing religious liberty by winning 14 of 19 Supreme Court cases between 1939 and 1950. They were not beneficiaries of Christian privilege.

Second, Small et al. fail to acknowledge that it was virtually all Christian politicians in Congress from both sides of the aisle who spoke against the decision in Employment Division v. Smith and passed legislation that tried to correct it—with the help and support of numerous religious groups of all types (the law was later struck down by the Supreme Court in the City of Boerne v. Flores, 1997). I personally worked in public policy to try and mitigate the effects of Smith and was amazed to see both Senators Edward Kennedy and Jesse Helms decrying the decision (two Christian Senators who rarely agreed on anything). As someone who participated in the coalition building for that response, I can testify the groups that eventually undermined further efforts to restore strong legislative efforts to protect religious liberty were not a group of Christians but, in fact, were secular groups such as the ACLU and People for the American Way. Worried about the implications for LGBTQ + rights, they withdrew from the broad coalition. If Small et al. take issue with the outcomes of the Smith decision, they should blame the secularists who were fine with its weakening of religious liberty protections.

Overall, in their arguments, Small et al. (2022) demonstrate how the critical religious perspective undermines serious scholarly dialogue. They take an either-or approach that avoids acknowledging religious liberty victories won by Christians, and they take a myopic view of both history and recent church-state cases by failing to recognize past and present allies and Christian efforts to further religious liberty. Two things can be true at the same time: some Christian groups have worked to protect various forms of religious liberty and some Christian groups have sought Christian hegemony (and still do).

CONCLUSION

In sum, Small et al. (2022) appear united more around sustaining simplistic dichotomies between oppressed and oppressors than support for religious liberty for all, pluralism, and efforts to find mutually beneficial ways to structure and sustain American higher education. They would serve all higher education faculty, staff, and students better by acknowledging the complex both-ands of reality, particularly in American higher education.

Disclosure Statement

We have no conflicts of interest to declare that are relevant to the content of this article.

Notes

1 Small et al. (2022) incorporate an anachronism into their argument. For example, the authors think the early advocates for the separation of church and state (e.g., the Danbury Baptists, Flushing Remonstrance) supported their claim that “identifying the secular and shaping secularism may arise as a part of one’s religious ideology/practice.” Neither the Danbury Baptists, Thomas Jefferson, William Penn, nor Roger Williams argued using the word “secular.” In fact, the term never appears in Jefferson’s writings. “Secular” is also not a word that guided the interpretation of the First Amendment when it first originated. It does not appear in First Amendment Supreme Court cases until after the mid-1800s. Even then, in a case such as Watson v. Jones (1871) it was used primarily to contrast “secular courts” as distinct from religious courts.

2 For example, one finds in the famous Woods letter (1854) that set the stage for English education in colonized India, that the authors thought the distinction was quite clear.

Education in Government institutions should be exclusively secular. The Bible may be placed in the libraries of Government colleges and schools and explanations of the Christian religion may be given by the teachers out of school hours, such explanation being voluntary on both sides… (paragraph 84). Dispatch from the Court of Directors of the East India Company, to die Governor General of India in Council on the subject of the Education of the people of India,—(Mo. 49, dated the 19th of July 1854).

In this case, the secular-religion distinction was made to create peace between different religious groups.