I hear you, and as a quasi, very unofficial Secular Humanist, I’ve been working hard to build sources of meaning with people my age and younger. It’s a lot of work—but fulfilling for me personally.
Secular spiritual fulfillment comes in many forms. At its most convenient and accessible, it’s often a deeply individual experience: communion with the outdoors, diving into your deepest passions, and finding purpose in your interests. These are sources of individual spiritual fulfillment I’ve discovered in myself and observed in others.
What I struggle with most, however, is fostering the outward forms of spiritual fulfillment—community and charity. It’s not that people don’t want to participate in community or engage in charitable acts, but there’s often a reluctance or suspicion about committing to them. For many people my age, including myself, this hesitation may stem from growing up in deeply religious or dysfunctional families and communities. It’s understandable that those experiences might make one wary of investing in new communal spaces.
Here’s my working theory: this suspicion of community is partly tied to the inability of many young people to put down lasting roots. Without stable housing, the opportunity to start families, or the ability to build resilient, positive communities organically, it’s harder to create those spaces of connection. This crisis of community is compounded by a broader lack of “third places”—the neutral, informal spaces like cafés, parks, or libraries where people can gather. The pressures to uproot for work or education only deepen this instability.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this, living it, and asking myself: Where is my third place? Why do I want one? Do others feel the same way? It’s been a long journey, but one that’s brought me closer to understanding what I value. Through intentional effort, I’ve built a fulfilling network of friends and community—both online and offline—that gives me a sense of purpose and connection.
My hope is that more people can find or create their own third places, those spaces where community and meaning can thrive. It takes time and effort, but it’s worth it.
I’ve found a lot of fulfillment in the volunteer work I do in the community, around issues like building more housing. I also have good friends and a lot of good relationships with other people in the community. So I rarely go to synagogue because I feel little need for it. My life is oriented around my husband and friends, and the community.
I had a similar experience when I entered Sagrada Familia. Afterwards, when I was sharing the experience with friends and family, I described it as an almost-secular cathedral.
Notre Dame was such a missed opportunity in my mind!
What if a community bought up one of those beautiful churches and then left it open for people to sit in whenever they want? Maybe that alone would be enough?
(Also how fun to come across my own writing while reading this! Thanks for the mention!)
It's funny: part of me would have loved to have seen Notre Dame repurposed, but I'm also impressed by the restoration and relieved that they didn't pursue some of the quirkier proposals. I remember the place as super dark and gloomy, but the interior now seems transformed.
While I was reading about Notre Dame and France's strange relationship with its churches (the French state owns them), I learned that many Catholic churches throughout the country had originally been built by their communities and were "owned" by them, rather then The Church. I imagine that many of these places, sitting empty or with declining attendance, could reactivate as community centers more integrated into the daily life of the villages around them.
And you're welcome! I thought it was interesting that several of us RPI fellowship folks are thinking a lot about this issue
Sagrada Cathedral is truly amazing. And you’re right, the weakness of secularism is the lack of shared meaning and shared transcendence.
I hear you, and as a quasi, very unofficial Secular Humanist, I’ve been working hard to build sources of meaning with people my age and younger. It’s a lot of work—but fulfilling for me personally.
Secular spiritual fulfillment comes in many forms. At its most convenient and accessible, it’s often a deeply individual experience: communion with the outdoors, diving into your deepest passions, and finding purpose in your interests. These are sources of individual spiritual fulfillment I’ve discovered in myself and observed in others.
What I struggle with most, however, is fostering the outward forms of spiritual fulfillment—community and charity. It’s not that people don’t want to participate in community or engage in charitable acts, but there’s often a reluctance or suspicion about committing to them. For many people my age, including myself, this hesitation may stem from growing up in deeply religious or dysfunctional families and communities. It’s understandable that those experiences might make one wary of investing in new communal spaces.
Here’s my working theory: this suspicion of community is partly tied to the inability of many young people to put down lasting roots. Without stable housing, the opportunity to start families, or the ability to build resilient, positive communities organically, it’s harder to create those spaces of connection. This crisis of community is compounded by a broader lack of “third places”—the neutral, informal spaces like cafés, parks, or libraries where people can gather. The pressures to uproot for work or education only deepen this instability.
I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about this, living it, and asking myself: Where is my third place? Why do I want one? Do others feel the same way? It’s been a long journey, but one that’s brought me closer to understanding what I value. Through intentional effort, I’ve built a fulfilling network of friends and community—both online and offline—that gives me a sense of purpose and connection.
My hope is that more people can find or create their own third places, those spaces where community and meaning can thrive. It takes time and effort, but it’s worth it.
I’ve found a lot of fulfillment in the volunteer work I do in the community, around issues like building more housing. I also have good friends and a lot of good relationships with other people in the community. So I rarely go to synagogue because I feel little need for it. My life is oriented around my husband and friends, and the community.
I had a similar experience when I entered Sagrada Familia. Afterwards, when I was sharing the experience with friends and family, I described it as an almost-secular cathedral.
Anyway, if you haven't read it, you might find this Atlantic article interesting: https://www.theatlantic.com/magazine/archive/2018/10/losing-the-democratic-habit/568336/
I think about this a lot.
Notre Dame was such a missed opportunity in my mind!
What if a community bought up one of those beautiful churches and then left it open for people to sit in whenever they want? Maybe that alone would be enough?
(Also how fun to come across my own writing while reading this! Thanks for the mention!)
It's funny: part of me would have loved to have seen Notre Dame repurposed, but I'm also impressed by the restoration and relieved that they didn't pursue some of the quirkier proposals. I remember the place as super dark and gloomy, but the interior now seems transformed.
While I was reading about Notre Dame and France's strange relationship with its churches (the French state owns them), I learned that many Catholic churches throughout the country had originally been built by their communities and were "owned" by them, rather then The Church. I imagine that many of these places, sitting empty or with declining attendance, could reactivate as community centers more integrated into the daily life of the villages around them.
And you're welcome! I thought it was interesting that several of us RPI fellowship folks are thinking a lot about this issue