I've been interested for years in how religions get started.
There are a handful that come about from the work of a single person; Joseph Smith with the Church of Latter-Day Saints, L. Ron Hubbard's creation of Scientology, and Mary Baker Eddy's launching of the Christian Science movement come to mind. But I'm much more curious about ones that arise more organically, from a groundswell of belief that ends up sort of taking on a life of its own.
Of course, none of this happens in vacuo. Belief systems always arise because of a combination of social conditions and prior beliefs. Previous religious traditions are often combined, rearranged, jiggered around, and have new components added, resulting in something sufficiently different to what came before to warrant classification as a new religion. In fact, this is so common that the anthropologists have a name for it; syncretism.
As an example, let me tell you about one of the world's newest religions: the Church of Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte.
The name translates to Our Lady of Holy Death, and the deity is a female figure that is a personification of death. But it's not a belief system that reveres death; Santa Muerte is considered a protector figure, listening to and granting the prayers of devotees, and the association with death is that she guarantees to the faithful a peaceful transition to a pleasant afterlife. Her depiction, though, isn't exactly reassuring:
You're probably wondering if the worship of Santa Muerte is more or less the same as the rituals associated with the Day of the Dead, given the similarity in the imagery. The answer is that there is some overlap, but it's far from complete. The Day of the Dead, celebrated on November 1 or 2 (it varies in different areas), is a thoroughly Catholicized practice that involves praying for the departed, decorating their graves, and going to Mass in the hopes that the devotions will improve the deceased family and friends' lot in the afterlife. While Santa Muerte has some Christian symbolism incorporated into it, it is a religion of its own that has in fact been roundly condemned by both the Catholics and the evangelical Protestants. Cardinal Gianfranco Ravasi, head of the Vatican’s Pontifical Council for Culture, said, "It’s not religion just because it’s dressed up like religion; it’s a blasphemy against religion." The Archbishop of Santa Fe, New Mexico, John Wester, told his flock outright that you can't be a Catholic and at the same time worship the Skeletal Lady. Pope Francis himself visited Mexico in 2016, and on his first day there repudiated Santa Muerte as "blasphemous and satanic... a symbol of narco-culture."
The last objection has some merit. As a movement that was underground for a long time (in fact, the Mexican government has gone so far as to bulldoze shrines and places of worship), it has become associated with people on the fringes of society -- the poor, the homeless, prostitutes, and people involved in the narcotics trade. Interestingly enough, it's also become a haven for LGBTQ+ people; Santa Muerte herself is seen by many queer people in Mexico and Central America as their particular protector, who will intercede for them in matters of safety, prosperity, and love. It's apparently become quite common for practitioners of Santa Muerte to officiate at same-sex weddings.
Its influence is spreading fast. Andrew Chesnut, a historian who studies religion, has said that it is the single fastest-growing new religion in the world. There are now places of worship in New York City, Chicago, Houston, San Antonio, Tucson, and elsewhere, and even a temple built on a piece of ultra-expensive real estate on Melrose Avenue in Hollywood.
Honestly, I can understand the appeal. When life is uncertain -- which it is now, for about a hundred different reasons -- putting your trust in a deity who champions the weak and powerless, protects the poor and oppressed, and (should death occur) makes the transition to the afterlife easy, has got to be attractive. Anthropologist Lois Ann Lorentzen writes, "The subversive Santa Muerte, favored by undocumented migrants, including LGBTQ migrants, provides solace and protection against both church and state, while also reflecting their liminal, precarious lives." Writer Carlos Garma calls it a "cult of crisis."
Myself, I'm not religious, but my attitude toward religion -- particularly this sort, which (unlike other religions I will refrain from naming) doesn't bludgeon its way into political power and then demand that everyone believe likewise, or else -- can be characterized as, "Whatever gets you through the day." I've landed on a set of beliefs that (most of the time) helps me to make sense of the universe and keeps me putting one foot in front of the other. Who am I to criticize how someone else squares that circle?
I used to be a great deal more militant about atheism, but I've come to recognize that (like everything) religion is complex. My real beef is with religions that aren't content just to do their thing, but desire to compel universal compliance. (And often create a fake persecution complex on the part of the true believers, because people who feel embattled and frightened will be much quicker to strike out in anger -- and are easier for the leaders to control.) I'll fight like hell against religions that try to force adherence, or who muscle their way into public schools, which amounts to the same thing -- but otherwise? Eh, I've got no problem with you. Maybe I've tempered with age, or maybe I've just come to realize that "pick your battles" is one of the most important principles for a happy life.
So I'm more interested than repelled by Nuestra Señora de la Santa Muerte. If it gives you solace, and doesn't impel you to try to force me to believe, I'm happy you're happy. It's a hard old world, and we need all the help we can get, wherever it comes from.
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