The Push Away from Religion and the Pull Towards Secularity: The Rise of the Nones - by Ryan Cragun and Jesse Smith

by Ruth Kuta

Let me begin with a short story. Imagine Amina, a young woman in Kano, who has long wrestled with doubts about parts of her faith, especially when sermons condemn women’s autonomy or restrict free inquiry. She keeps these thoughts close because in her community, questioning religion can bring suspicion or censure. One day, she hears of a movement in the U.S. called the “nones,” people who disaffiliate from organized religion, and wonders whether such a thing could ever take root in Northern Nigeria. It was in that spirit that I read “The Push Away From Religion and the Pull Toward Secularity: The Rise of the Nones in the U.S.” by Jesse M. Smith and Ryan T. Cragun, and here is my review in light of that story and my own context.

Smith and Cragun’s essay examines the growing trend in the U.S. of people identifying as religiously unaffiliated (“nones”) and seeks to explain it using a “push-pull” framework. Three of their most significant points are: (1) push factors within religion contribute significantly to religious exit, (2) pull factors toward secular life or nonbelief help sustain that exit, and (3) the decline of social pressures and changing generational attitudes make disaffiliation more socially feasible.

First, the authors articulate push factors as internal problems or tensions within religious life that drive individuals away. These include moral conflicts (for example, religious teachings on gender, sexuality, reproduction), perceptions of hypocrisy among religious leaders or congregants, doctrinal teachings that conflict with science or modern worldviews, and political alignment of religious institutions with ideologies that some members disagree with. Many interviewees in their study express disillusionment when they see religious institutions failing to live up to their moral claims or covering up wrongdoing. The tension between belief and lived behavior becomes unbearable for some.

Second, the essay emphasizes pull factors, the attractions of a secular or nonreligious life that draw people toward disaffiliation. These include the freedom to construct one’s own moral framework without needing to defend doctrines; intellectual satisfaction with evidence-based or scientific worldviews; the sense of authenticity and autonomy that comes from no longer feeling bound by dogmas; and the availability of secular communities and social acceptance for nonbelievers. The authors relate testimonies where former believers speak of relief, increased personal time, and mental peace after leaving religious obligations behind.

Third, Smith and Cragun argue that broader social changes have lowered the costs of leaving religion. In earlier eras, religious affiliation was socially expected, and the stigma of nonbelief was strong. But over time, social pressures to maintain religious identity have weakened. The authors point to generational shifts: younger generations are more likely to reject religion than their parents. The rise of the internet, increased exposure to plural worldviews, and more open public discourse have made nonbelief more visible and less socially penalized. Their data suggests that in certain regions, disaffiliation is becoming the “modal identity” (i.e. the statistical norm).

Reading this, I felt both resonance and skepticism. On one hand, their push-pull framework is compelling; it helps explain the complexity behind what might superficially look like simple “abandoning religion.” I appreciated how they combine qualitative interview data with broader social trends to show that leaving religion is rarely impulsive or single-caused. I also admire the voices they give to “religious exiters,” the testimonies of personal struggle, gradual disillusionment, and ultimately, redefinition of identity. On the other hand, I have questions about how well their U.S.-centered model translates into places like Northern Nigeria, where religion is not just personal belief but deeply entangled with family, community, law, and politics. Their essay assumes a social environment where leaving religion is increasingly tolerated; in many parts of Northern Nigeria, that assumption does not hold.

In the context of Northern Nigeria, the essay raises both opportunities and cautionary lessons. The push factors they identify, moral conflicts, perceived hypocrisy, and doctrinal tension with science, are very much present. People, especially among educated youth, often find religious teachings on sexuality, gender roles, and modern life difficult to reconcile. Hypocrisy among religious leaders is also a frequent grievance. Thus, the push side of the model seems plausible in my context. However, the pull side autonomy, secular communities, and social acceptance is harder to realize. In Northern Nigeria, disaffiliation is socially risky; nonbelief may result in ostracism, family conflict, or even violence. Also, there is less infrastructure for secular or nonreligious community formation; nonbelievers are more isolated. Therefore, even if many feel pushed away by religious institutions, the pull toward secular identity is weaker or more perilous.

Do I agree with the authors’ core thesis? I largely do, with important caveats. I accept that many leave religion because of internal disillusionment and the appeal of autonomy, and that social change lowers the barriers to doing so. But I also believe the model underestimates the asymmetry of risk in different cultural contexts. What works in the U.S. (where social safety nets, pluralism, and legal protections are stronger) might fail in places with high religious homogeneity and limited freedoms for dissent. In Northern Nigeria, a push-pull framework must factor in not only psychological, moral, and intellectual dynamics, but also sociopolitical realities: how state, community, and religious institutions may actively resist or punish disaffiliation.

In conclusion, “The Push Away From Religion and the Pull Toward Secularity” offers a persuasive and nuanced account of how and why disaffiliation from religion has grown in the U.S., using a balanced push-pull lens. The article’s insights stimulate reflection about similar dynamics in other societies. In Northern Nigeria, the push factors they describe certainly resonate, but the pull factors face much stronger barriers. For change to happen in my context, any movement toward secularism or nonbelief would need not only personal courage and intellectual appeal, but protective social structures, safe community spaces, legal protection for dissent, and gradual cultural transformation. The article gives a helpful theoretical lens, but its full promise depends on adapting it sensitively to varied local realities.

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Humanism and Its Possibilities in Africa - by Dr. Leo Igwe

By Ruth Kuta

The article “Humanism and Its Possibilities in Africa” is a brave one. Leo Igwe presents a compelling argument for humanism as a rational and ethical alternative to the religious dogma, superstition, and traditional practices that continue to undermine human dignity across the African continent. The author identifies three central ideas that define his position: first, that humanism provides a means of countering harmful superstitions and oppressive traditions; second, that it serves as a framework for defending human rights and dignity against the excesses of religious authority; and third, that despite the social risks associated with promoting humanism in Africa, its advancement remains a moral necessity. Igwe points to persistent practices such as the osu caste system, ritual killings, and witchcraft accusations, all of which perpetuate suffering and social exclusion. He argues that humanism, with its emphasis on reason, ethics, and human agency, offers a liberating philosophy that empowers individuals to seek solutions to their problems through rational thought rather than supernatural explanations. Furthermore, he critiques how religion, when left unexamined, can be used to justify discrimination, violence, and the subjugation of women and minorities. For Igwe, humanism represents a path toward reclaiming human worth and autonomy in societies long constrained by irrational fear and dogmatic authority.

From an analytical standpoint, Igwe’s argument is persuasive and courageous. His critique of superstition and religious authoritarianism addresses deep-rooted issues that continue to shape many African communities, including those in Northern Nigeria. His essay evokes both empathy and admiration for the resilience of individuals who advocate for reason and freedom of thought under hostile conditions. Nevertheless, it also raises important questions about how such ideas can be effectively introduced in regions where religion is central to social identity and moral order. In Northern Nigeria, for instance, religion functions not merely as a belief system but as the foundation of communal life, influencing law, education, and family relations. Promoting humanism in this context must therefore be approached with cultural sensitivity. A confrontational or dismissive approach toward religion may only reinforce existing resistance and misunderstandings. A more sustainable strategy would involve emphasizing shared values—such as compassion, justice, and human welfare while encouraging critical reflection and rational inquiry within existing religious frameworks.

In the Northern Nigerian context, Igwe’s insights are both relevant and urgent. The persistence of witchcraft accusations, child abuse justified by religious superstition, and gender-based discrimination reveals the continued dominance of belief systems that prioritize fear over reason. Humanism could serve as a transformative force in these communities by promoting scientific education, human rights awareness, and interfaith tolerance. However, its success depends on how it is communicated. Rather than presenting humanism as a rejection of faith, advocates might present it as a complementary moral philosophy that prioritizes human well-being and rational problem-solving. Educational institutions, civil society groups, and local leaders could play pivotal roles in fostering this understanding, bridging the gap between secular humanist values and the cultural realities of Northern Nigeria.

Overall, I concur with Igwe’s central thesis that Africa needs a philosophical framework grounded in reason, empathy, and human dignity. His call for an ethical reawakening rooted in humanism aligns with broader global efforts to promote human rights and critical thinking. Yet, I also acknowledge that cultural transformation is a gradual process, requiring both intellectual engagement and social patience. For humanism to gain traction in Northern Nigeria, it must be articulated not as an attack on religion but as a movement for human progress and moral integrity.

In conclusion, Leo Igwe’s “Humanism and its Possibilities in Africa” stands as a thought-provoking and courageous appeal for intellectual and moral liberation. His arguments challenge Africans to re-evaluate inherited beliefs and to embrace a worldview that places human welfare at the center of moral concern. In Northern Nigeria, where religious orthodoxy often dictates social norms, humanism offers a necessary discourse on reason, dignity, and compassion. I agree with Igwe’s conviction that humanism holds great potential for transforming societies, provided it is pursued with wisdom, cultural sensitivity, and a genuine commitment to human development.

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Five Fierce Humanists: Unapologetically Black Women Beyond Belief - The Humanist

By Ruth Kuta

In “Five Fierce Humanists: Unapologetically Black Women Beyond Belief”, C. Gorham, S. Hutchinson, L. Ross, B. Crutchfield, and M. Thomas present profiles of five Black women humanists whose work or lived experience exemplifies how secular or non-belief perspectives can be deeply enmeshed with social justice, feminism, and intersectional activism. Three central themes emerge from the article. First, intersectionality is fundamental: the women show how race, gender, religion (or non-religion), sexuality, and class all combine to shape experiences of oppression and identity, and thus humanist activism must attend to all these axes rather than treating nonbelief as a standalone issue. For instance, Sikivu Hutchinson’s work connects sexual violence, “toxic masculinity,” and racial inequality, not only criticizing religious dogma but also addressing how Black girls and youth are harmed by structural systems. Second, the compatibility (and tension) between feminism and secular humanism is a major point: the article argues not only that feminism is compatible with humanism, but that for many Black women, humanism is made meaningful through feminist concern. The profiles show that rejecting religious authority or doctrine often goes hand in hand with seeking gender justice, bodily autonomy, and resisting patriarchal control. Third, the importance of community, visibility, and mutual support among marginalized nonbelievers arises again and again: these women speak of building communities (for Black nonbelievers, atheists, and humanists), creating safe spaces, supporting one another, and amplifying voices of persons who leave or critique religion, often at social cost. Mandisa Thomas’s work with Black Nonbelievers illustrates this; the Ebony Exodus Project of Candace R. M. Gorham does similar work.

Reading the article, I feel both inspired and challenged. I admire the courage of these women: to reject prevailing religious norms, to speak out on sensitive issues (gender, sexuality, criticism of religious institutions), to endure likely backlash, and yet to persist in forging meaningful social change. Their stories make clear that nonbelief is not passive, not merely “absence of faith,” but often is an active stance toward justice, equality, integrity, and dignity. On the other hand, I also feel awareness of how difficult, risky, and socially costly such a stance must be in many places, especially in societies where religion is deeply interwoven with social norms, family expectations, law, and identity.

In the context of Northern Nigeria, the article’s ideas have considerable relevance, though their application is complex. Northern Nigeria is largely religious (especially Muslim), and religious identity is central to social life. Criticism of religious doctrine, or open nonbelief, can lead to ostracism, sometimes danger; many people’s moral authority and legitimacy derive from religion, and religious institutions often provide social services or mediation. However, many of the intersections discussed gender injustice, sexual violence, class or economic disparities, and discrimination are present. The idea of a humanist perspective that includes gender equity, that supports those marginalized by religion, and that builds community among those who feel alienated by religious dogma, is therefore potentially very powerful. It could help empower women who suffer under patriarchal norms justified by religious interpretation; help victims of discrimination based on religious misunderstanding; and foster rational and moral critique of harmful traditions.

Do I agree with the article’s core positions? Largely, yes. I believe intersectionality is essential for understanding oppression: one cannot address only one dimension (say, religion) without considering others like gender, race, and class. Also, I think feminism and secular humanism can be mutually reinforcing, especially when religion is used to uphold patriarchal or oppressive norms. And the emphasis on community and visibility is necessary; change rarely happens in isolation.

However, I also think there must be sensitivity in how these ideas are introduced in Northern Nigeria. Because religious belief is deeply embedded, advocating for atheism or nonbelief might be interpreted as hostile, irreverent, or un-Islamic, which could provoke defensiveness or backlash. So while I support the article’s advocacy for visibility and outspoken critique, I believe that in contexts like Northern Nigeria, some strategies might need adaptation: more dialogue, gradual critical reflection, engagement with religious reformers, use of shared moral values (compassion, justice, honesty) that overlap religious and nonreligious moralities. Also, while building communities of nonbelievers is important, there will often be social isolation; so finding ways to ensure safety, respect, and mental/emotional support is vital.

In conclusion, “Five Fierce Humanists” is a powerful and eloquent exposition of what humanism (broadly conceived) can be for and by those who are doubly marginalized by virtue of race, gender, religion or non-religion, and sexuality. The article’s insistence that nonbelief is not simply about rejecting supernatural claims but is deeply tied to social justice, feminism, intersectional activism, and community resonates strongly. In Northern Nigeria, these ideas offer valuable possibilities for challenging harmful norms, for giving voice to those marginalized, and for promoting a morality rooted in human dignity rather than fear or dogma. But successful adaptation demands cultural sensitivity, understanding existing religious moral frameworks, and proceeding with respect and patience.

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Phil Zuckerman in conversation about humanism

By Ruth Kuta

In the video, Phil Zuckerman examines the social, psychological, and cultural dynamics driving religious disaffiliation, secular trends, and changing belief systems in contemporary societies. Three major points emerge from the presentation. First, Phil Zuckerman highlights the growing generational shift in belief: younger cohorts increasingly identify as “nones” or religiously unaffiliated, rejecting institutional religion in favor of personal spiritual autonomy or secular humanism. Second, the video underscores the role of disillusionment with religious institutions as a catalyst for instances of hypocrisy, corruption, rigidity, exclusion, or moral failure in religious communities push many toward exit. Third, the speaker emphasizes the importance of alternative communities, social support, and identity redefinition after leaving religion: the journey of disaffiliation is rarely solitary, and forming networks, shared language, moral frameworks, and new communities is crucial to sustaining secular or nonreligious identity.

As I watched, I felt both resonance and caution. The generational shift narrative rings true: in conversations with educated youth, I sense increasing ambivalence about rigid doctrine, especially on issues of gender, sexuality, and religious authority. I also found the point around institutional disillusionment persuasive; many leave not because they deny belief entirely, but because institutions fail moral expectations. However, I worried that the transition narratives sometimes assume a cultural environment tolerant of dissent, which is not universally present. In places with strong religious homogeneity, disaffiliation can carry steep personal, social, or security costs.

In the context of Northern Nigeria, these points take on sharper edges. The generational shift may already be nascent: among university students, for instance, questions about religious interpretations and doctrine are more openly voiced. Yet, the institutional disillusionment is also vivid: scandals, corruption, and moral hypocrisy by religious leaders are frequent grievances. But leaving religion in Northern Nigeria is not just a private decision it is bound up with family, community, reputational risk, and sometimes legal or social sanctions. Thus, forming alternative supportive communities is harder. Nonbelievers are often isolated or silenced; safe secular spaces are scarce. The “pull” toward secular identity must overcome not only internal doubts but external pressures and potential dangers.

Do I agree with the speaker’s thesis? Broadly, yes: the speaker draws a useful map of how disaffiliation is shaped by both push (failures of institutions) and pull (new identities, autonomy) forces, which helps to explain the growing visibility of nonreligion in many parts of the world. Yet I would add stronger caveats: such transitions are deeply contingent on cultural, legal, and social contexts. In Northern Nigeria, religious identity is tied to law, kinship, public life, and social legitimacy. So while the described dynamics may be valid, their expression will be constrained and mediated by the local realities of power, risk, and community norms.

In sum, the video offers a compelling and nuanced look at why and how many are departing organized religion in modern societies. Its observations about generational change, institutional disillusionment, and the need for new communal structures are insightful. In Northern Nigeria, these forces are present, but the struggle is more complicated; the “exit” is riskier, the new communities harder to form, and the cost of dissent greater. I find the argument thought-provoking and partially persuasive, but its full promise depends on acknowledging the heavy weight of culture, tradition, and social risk in contexts like mine.