Kellee Hom was raised in the Roman Catholic Church but never
imagined she'd become a religious none.
No, not "nun." That's "none," as in "none of the above."
Hom is among a growing number of Americans who simply answer "none" or
"no religion" when pollsters ask them their religious affiliation. Some
"nones" identify themselves as atheists or agnostics, but the vast majority
believe in God, pray and often describe themselves as "spiritual but not
religious."
"My sense of God transcends all the different religions,'' said Hom, a
clinical supervisor at Asian American Recovery Services in San Francisco,
which helps people with substance-abuse problems. "It's an energy."

Addictions counselor Kellee Hom San Francisco was raised Catholic but now considers herself not to have any particular religious affiliatioin. 'My sense of God transcends all the different religions,'' she says. "It's an energy." Chronicle photo by Darryl Bush
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Nones are one of the fastest growing religious categories in the United
States.
According to a recent survey, their ranks have more than doubled in a
decade and include about 29 million Americans.
They're easy to find in the West and are the single largest religious
group in Oregon and Washington, where they make up 21 and 25 percent of the
population, respectively.
California is not far behind. Nearly one in five people in the Golden
State (19 percent) say they are nones. Only the Catholic Church (with 32
percent) outnumbers the nones.
Mark Shibley, a sociologist at Southern Oregon University in Ashland, has
studied the nones of the Pacific Coast. "The West is a vast place
geographically, which has made it harder for religious institutions to pervade
the landscape and corner the market," he said. "There's a sense of space --
an openness -- in this culture."
There are other reasons. People on the West Coast tend to be from
somewhere else. They tear up roots when they move out West, including their
religious roots. But this is not just a West Coast fluke.
What has gotten the attention of many scholars is the sharp increase in
the number of Americans nationwide who now claim no loyalty to a single faith.
The shift has been noted in several polls, including the American
Religious Identification Survey of 2001, conducted by the City University of
New York. This telephone survey of 50,000 Americans, which was also conducted
in 1990, asked the open-ended question, "What is your religion, if any."
Based on those answers, the study estimated that the number of "no
religion" Americans had jumped from 14 million in 1990 to 29 million in 2001.
Out of that 29 million, only 900,000 would call themselves atheists.
Those 29 million nones are outnumbered only by the 51 million Americans who
call themselves Catholic and 34 million who say they are Baptist.

In the 1990s, many people who had weak attachment to religion and either moderate or liberal political views found themselves at odds with the conservative political agenda of the Christian Right and reacted by renouncing
their weak attachment to organized religion.

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Michael Hout and Claude Fischer
UC Berkeley sociologists
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Two sociologists at UC Berkeley, Michael Hout and Claude Fischer, believe
the rise of the religious nones has more to do with politics than declining
piety.
"In the 1990s, many people who had weak attachment to religion and either
moderate or liberal political views found themselves at odds with the
conservative political agenda of the Christian Right and reacted by renouncing
their weak attachment to organized religion,'' they write in the American
Sociological Review.
Robert Fuller, the author of "Spiritual but Not Religious: Understanding
Unchurched America," also questions whether American belief has really changed
that much in a single decade.
Fuller, a professor of religious studies at Bradley University in Peoria,
Ill., said the survey might just show that people were getting more
comfortable saying they have no religion.
"They may have always been there," Fuller said. "But having a critical
mass of like-minded people gives them a social reference group.''
Many of the nation's religious nones have become dissatisfied with the
beliefs and practices of the Judeo-Christian mainstream.
Hom, the addiction counselor in San Francisco, was raised by a Buddhist
father and Baptist mother who sent her to Catholic school. "They made us feel
guilty if we didn't go to church on Sunday," said Hom, 33. "It felt like an
obligation rather than something I was choosing to do."
Hom said she had fallen away from the Catholic Church because she felt
its teachings "were unfair to women." She also couldn't accept the idea that
"innocent babies are born with original sin."
Alan Drummer, a father of two in Burlingame, was raised in the Church of
Christian Science, but left when he was 12 years old.
Now 46, Drummer and his wife, Charlene, have two children, a 5-year-old
and a 17 -month-old. Concerned about religious education for the kids, the
couple have been church-shopping on the Peninsula, but they don't like what
they see.
"Sunday school can be so doctrinaire and restrictive," Drummer said. "We
think we may just give them a religious education on our own, visiting
different religious groups. No single religion has the only true
interpretation of God.''
"I see truth and beauty at the core of most religions,'' Drummer added.
Bruce Meservey, who lives in San Francisco and works for an insurance
company, was raised in the Catholic Church. He says he left because of "its
hypocrisy and inability to address major concerns of mine.''
Now 52, Meservey says he is definitely a religious none.
"I believe, but I don't know what -- just in the universe as an entity,
" he said. "I don't know if I believe in heaven or hell. It's all so ambiguous.
"I believe in karma,'' he said after a pause. "Don't screw you neighbor.
It will come back to you one way or another. I pray once in a while. I kind of
believe in a supreme being, but if you start trying to pin me down ...
"We are all part of the same thing,'' he added. "We are all part of each
other and the animals and the Earth -- all part of one big thing.''
©2003 San Francisco Chronicle
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