The memorial service for Charlie Kirk focused Americans’ attention on the intersection of religion and politics, particularly among Christians and Republicans.
To discuss those themes in a broader context, the Times Opinion editor John Guida interviewed Ryan Burge, who has researched religion and politics for years and offers sharp insights through data. This interview has been edited for clarity.
John Guida: Several days have passed since Charlie Kirk’s memorial service. Do you think it will ultimately be seen as a catalyst for a Christian revival or a G.O.P. rally?
Ryan Burge: As someone who looks at long-term trends using survey data, I haven’t found a single event in the last 50 years that has led to a statistically significant, durable change in America’s religiosity. After Sept. 11, 2001, we did see a small uptick in religious attendance, but that faded by early 2002.
The religious discussion has largely focused on the right. According to the Public Religion Research Institute’s annual census last year, upward of 80 percent of Republicans described themselves as Christian. But the Democratic coalition is a very different spiritual universe. It is made up of a big mix of faiths — Christians of various kinds, Jews, Muslims — as well as somewhere between 30 percent and 40 percent of nones, or people who describe their faith as atheist, agnostic or nothing in particular. How do they respond to the Kirk phenomenon?
The Kirk assassination exposes some of the really deep divides in the Democratic coalition. Many Democrats come from a strong faith tradition — like Black Protestants and Hispanic Catholics — and might have been encouraged by Kirk’s continued insistence on marriage, family and religious devotion. However, 45 percent of the people who voted for Kamala Harris identify as atheist, agnostic or nothing in particular. Many of them see that kind of discourse as patriarchal and old-fashioned.
The Republican Party is largely the party of Christianity, particularly white Christianity. Over 80 percent of white evangelicals voted for Donald Trump, but the Catholic vote has shifted significantly to the right over time. In 2008, John McCain won 52 percent of the white Catholic vote. Trump drove that up to 59 percent in 2024. But Trump also made inroads in a lot of moderate Protestant denominations, too. He won a majority of United Methodists, Presbyterians and Lutherans. It’s easy to speak to a coalition that is so religiously unified.
Do you think that spiritual mix within the Democratic coalition is why so many of its politicians revert to the language of policy and procedure and economic conditions rather than values or morality or social issues? And does that limit their ability to connect with a broader range of Americans?
Absolutely. Talking about social issues — especially transgender Americans — will not pull the Democratic coalition together. For instance, on the question of whether it should be illegal for health care providers to provide a minor with medical care for a gender transition, 65 percent of Black Protestants were in favor, compared with only 35 percent of atheists.
On the other hand, the Democrats are unified around issues like raising the minimum wage. There’s a reason that Trump leans into culture war rhetoric so much. He knows how divisive it can be for his opponents.
You mentioned the substantial bloc of Harris voters who were nones. Do you have new insight into them and the phrase “spiritual but not religious”?
That’s a term that’s been bouncing around the academic literature for decades now, but we haven’t really been able to wrap our arms around it. In a new survey, my co-author Tony Jones and I polled over 12,000 nonreligious Americans. What we found was that they (obviously) weren’t very traditionally religious, but they were also not that spiritual either. In fact, just about a quarter of the nones said that spirituality was very important to them.
When we asked them about New Age spiritual practices like meditation, yoga and crystals, we found that they engaged in those activities no more than respondents who identified as religious.
In other words, the nones aren’t replacing religion with spirituality. In reality, they are replacing it with nothing at all.
With that in mind, do you see anyone doing a particularly good job of bridging what sounds like a substantial divide within the Democratic Party, particularly on issues around spirituality and religion?
There are two names that come to mind. Pete Buttigieg, the transportation secretary in the Biden administration, and James Talarico, a Texas state representative who is running for the U.S. Senate. Both come from religious backgrounds and talk about their faith in a way that doesn’t seem shoehorned into conversations.
That’s recently become a significant issue with Democrats — many of them who didn’t grow up around religion seem like they are pandering when they throw in a Scripture reference. Anyone who grew up in the church can quickly sniff out whether someone came from a similar background. Even for some prominent Democrats, faith may not have been a core part of their early formative years.
Is a Charlie Kirk of the left possible?
I think not, for two reasons. One is that Kirk built his following by going to college campuses and debating liberal young people. There’s no corollary for someone on the left.
The second is a more symbolic reason. Kirk was a white Christian, two identities that make up a vast majority of the Republican base. There’s no single individual who can do that on the left, because it is much more racially and religiously diverse.
Is there an anti-institution aspect to the nones that might also play a part?
When people say that they are spiritual but not religious, there’s a common thread there: They reject the institutional nature of spirituality but still want to pursue it in a more individual way. The faith that Kirk preached was incredibly institutional; he encouraged people to come back to church. That’s not going to resonate with a growing share of Americans who are deeply distrustful of institutions.
One of the biggest blocs in the Democratic Party is of people who claim no religious affiliation. Do you think that people who claim no religious affiliation have political representation? There are very few, if any, politicians who claim no religious affiliation. Yet even beyond the Democratic Party, Americans who are not affiliated with any religion make up nearly a third of the country. Is there anyone out there speaking a language that is not from a spiritual tradition but is also broadly appealing?
There’s a way to talk about religion without alienating the nonreligious. Focusing on Christian values that unify — like love for neighbors, seeing the dignity in everyone and forgiving other people — seem like universal ideas.
A significant share of nonreligious people reject the idea that religion has no place in the modern world. Among atheists, only 49 percent agreed that “religion has no place in the modern world.” Among all nonreligious people, 68 percent agreed that “churches bring people together and strengthen community bonds.” Focusing on the social aspect of faith communities and the universal truths of all religions can actually be a way to hold together the disparate parts of the Democratic coalition.
Are there examples of universal ideas that might be effective for Democrats?
Every major religious tradition on Earth teaches that we should treat other people the way that we would want to be treated. Also, every such faith tradition teaches that each individual has dignity and worth. Both of those ideas can align really well with core tenets of the modern Democratic Party. For some reason, though, the most prominent voices on the left haven’t been able to make that connection in a compelling way.
Can you think of Democrats of the past who were able to hit those notes connecting religious traditions to the core tenets of the current Democratic Party?
The one that comes to mind is from John F. Kennedy’s Inaugural Address: “Ask not what your country can do for you; ask what you can do for your country.”
That speaks to the idea of sacrificing our own personal gain for the collective advancement of the country. That’s a foundational value of every major religion: being selfless in pursuit of a greater good. One of the philosophical underpinnings of the Democratic Party is collectivism: None of us succeed unless we all succeed. That’s when America is at its best: When it remembers our highest ideals, and sacrificing ourselves for the good of the country certainly meets that criteria.
You noted above that the nonreligious don’t generally hate religion. Yet elsewhere you have noted that in study after study, Americans appear to hold a tremendous amount of negative feelings toward atheists. Why is that?
There’s a fun paper on this: “Drawing on four survey experiments, we find that Democrats are more supportive of an atheist, Republicans less — producing a null effect overall.”
I did find some data from 2012 that asked respondents to put a bunch of groups on a scale ranging from 0 (meaning very cold) to 100 (meaning very warm). Republicans scored atheists 33 out of 100, which was only higher than their feelings toward the federal government and liberals. But even among Democrats, they only scored 43 out of 100 — slightly above Christian fundamentalists.
I still wouldn’t advise politicians to publicly declare they don’t believe in God, though. Civic religion is still incredibly strong in the United States.
That is striking, given the significant percentage of Americans who profess no religious affiliation.
The stigma against atheists is certainly still there, even among people who aren’t deeply religious themselves. But I think that will likely fade over time. When at least 40 percent of millennials and members of Gen Z claim no religious affiliation, the stigma won’t be as strong in 30 or 40 years.
America is still often known as a religious country. You recently posted a graphic indicating that 25 percent of Americans attend weekly religious service, compared with 14 percent of Europeans (and the European figure may be inflated because of Poland’s very high rate, which nearly matches that of Utah, where 44 percent of residents attend weekly religious service).
But that rate of religious observation is way down from, say, 50 years ago. We now have a gulf between people for whom faith is at the very heart of life and those who hardly think about it at all. How can our politics do a better job of accommodating that — or can it?
The most effective messaging going forward will focus less on catering to one particular religious segment of the population and instead tap into the idea of what it means to be an American. When our leaders talk about those who have given their lives in service of our country, that rallies all of us. When someone or something threatens our basic freedoms, that’s when Americans tend to pull together. Focusing on what we have in common is a way to bridge those divides.
However, I also think our leadership needs to be more thoughtful about not listening to the fringes of either party. They take up way too much oxygen on social media, and they seem to have an outsize role in the overall discourse. Fringe ideas are fine to espouse, but they shouldn’t be guiding policy for 340 million Americans.
Let’s end on a happy note, or at least a note about happiness. You wrote in a recent newsletter “one true thing,” which is that religious people say they are happier than nonreligious people. What’s the secret sauce there?
Some of it may just be what we call the halo effect. Religious people are supposed to be happier, so they don’t tell the truth to pollsters. Or maybe happier people tend to gravitate toward religion. Or it could be something this simple: Hanging out with a diverse group of people in a social setting on a regular basis — a common occurrence for religious communities — can improve our mood and give us a sense of purpose and belonging.
Human beings are designed to live in community with one another. The data is clear on this point: We are more isolated than ever before. Houses of worship used to be the great meeting place for many communities. Now we just stay in our houses and watch Netflix or scroll TikTok. There’s a phrase that has come up a lot that needs to be said more: We need to touch grass. That’s what going to a house of worship is for lots of people: a chance to disconnect from the virtual world and build real relationships. We shouldn’t be surprised that those types of people are happier.
Ryan Burge is a professor of practice at the Danforth Center on Religion and Politics at Washington University, a former Baptist pastor and the author of the Graphs About Religion newsletter. John Guida is an editor for Times Opinion.
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