My research explores how religious identity shapes legal practice among those practising Canadian Common Law. Most of my data comes from interviews I have conducted across Canada with lawyers, law professors and law students. While I am interested in numerous things such as how religious identity shapes/influences legal practice and whether those from religious minority groups face unique challenges within the practice, what I am most curious about are the ways in which religious belonging might both compliment and conflict with legal practice. What I have learned so far, from the perspective of interviewees — 85 in all, from a broad range of religious identities — is that religious beliefs and legal practice work together far more than they work apart.

Why then, when I tell people about my research do they respond with confusion and even contempt more often than curiosity? Generally, people respond in one of two ways: “Religious lawyers? Is that even a thing?” or “No! If you can’t separate the two, then you have no business being a lawyer.” While the latter comment has sometimes come from lefties that I tend to surround myself with, it has also come from lawyers and people who are themselves religious. What is it about legal practice and religious belonging that so many imagine to be worlds apart? When I posed this question at a recent talk I gave, one audience member quipped, “Because law is science and religion is magical thinking!” (In my opinion, he gave too little credit to religious belief and too much credit to law.) However, in our increasingly secular world, religious belief has no space in the public sphere. This seems to be particularly felt when it comes to the practice of law. Certainly, we watched this unfold with the Trinity Western University case where — on the surface — the issue was the school’s requirement that students, faculty and staff agree to live by the rules laid out in their Community Covenant, which upholds a traditional (i.e., heterosexual) definition of marriage. Beyond this, however, many people simply felt uneasy at the idea of a religious law school. Perhaps this is because we often see religion as working against liberal democratic values. I, too, have sometimes fallen prey to that way of thinking. What my research indicates, however, is that religious lawyers find all kinds of ways to braid the two identities together in ways that work toward the public good. The conflict that many imagine, rarely occurs. Despite this, many of my participants feel it necessary to, if not hide their religious identity in the workplace altogether, then at least hide the impact it has on their legal practice. This has been mostly keenly felt by the law students I have spoken to. As one law student said, “If I talk about my religious identity [in the classroom] people are going to question my ability to be a lawyer. My reputation is ruined before I start.”

Law school curriculums across Canada indicate that lawyers are no longer expected to be entirely neutral in their thinking. Courses in feminist, Queer, and Indigenous legal theories indicate that the practice is finally valuing alternative worldviews, as long as, it seems, those worldviews are not religious in nature. As many interviewees told me, our conversations were the first opportunity they’ve been given to speak about something profoundly important to who they are. I am grateful to be able to provide a platform for them, and I hope that my work shifts the way we think about religious lawyers.