There is a story about liberalism and religion, stemming from John Locke, that says that the state is in charge of public matters and should leave religion to the private sphere. There is another related liberal story that says that liberalism should be neutral on the question of the good life or on what Rawls called “comprehensive doctrines.” Yet these long-standing liberal doctrines are too simple to capture what the relationship between liberalism and religion should be, as Cécile Laborde eloquently shows in this important new book. Laborde’s book is a magisterial critical appraisal and reconstruction of many of the leading recent arguments about liberalism and religion, though in many ways it is a book about liberalism, neutrality, and association.

Its first half is a critical assessment of several kinds of arguments, ranging from those of critical theorists who argue that liberalism’s arguments on religion do not work to a variety of liberal arguments on how the state should treat religion. The second half presents Laborde’s substantive view of religion and liberalism. That view is complex and holds within it many distinctions, but I will nonetheless offer a broad summary that stems from Laborde’s book. First, for Laborde liberal ideas of broad neutrality do not fit religion; we should think instead in terms of what she calls “restricted neutrality.” Liberals often think they are providing us with a view of religion painted by a broad brush; for example, that “liberalism is neutral on the conception of the good.” But Laborde argues that typically these arguments really just focus on “distinctive subset of views, conceptions and commitments” (p. 71). Second, liberals are too fearful of religion (this is my terminology, not Laborde’s). Not all religious arguments are “inaccessible”; there can be ways in which a particular religion may influence a state’s policies without it harming other citizens; for example, the English queen is the “defender of the faith,” but this does mean that non-Christian citizens are second class. Third, there is a way in which liberals have wanted to push religion completely into the private sphere; this is hard to do and also often discriminatory against religion. Fourth, religion might be specially protected by liberalism but not uniquely so. Nonreligious groups may also have good claims for exemptions from liberal laws if they fit the criteria that Laborde describes.

Here I focus on the last two substantive chapters, one on freedom of association and the other on exemptions. Laborde is careful to state that these arguments are one possible path for a liberal state (albeit her preferred path), but that there could be others. The argument about associations begins with an explanation of why simply saying that religion is a private matter is insufficient: someone or some entity must define what is private and what is public. The family, health care, education, and sexuality were all considered to be private and often controlled by religious authorities, Laborde notes. But over time the state has increased its regulation of these affairs. And it is the state that decides what is public and what is private.

Laborde’s argument focuses on two integrity-related interests—what she calls coherence interests and competence interests. Coherence interests mean that groups that are voluntary have a pro tanto right to discriminate. These groups must be “identificatory,” which means that these are “groups that individuals join to pursue a conception of the good that is central to their identity and integrity” (p. 174). Discrimination, however, “should not come cheap,” which means that any grounds of discrimination should be publicly articulated (p. 188). If courts are to allow discrimination, they should be sure that the reasons for it are publicly articulated and justifiable given the organization’s purpose. The Catholic Church can exclude women from the priesthood on these grounds: people can readily leave the church if they choose, while the church has a coherence interest in living by its professed standards and principles.

Competence interests are broad but shallow: they point to the competence of an organization to articulate and apply its standards. Courts, for example, should be reluctant to weigh in if a faculty member is denied tenure based on the quality of research. Similarly, the qualifications for a rabbi, priest, or minister should be set by the religious organization.

The significance of these two distinctions is that they provide an alternative to the idea of the “ministerial exception,” which Laborde argues has been wrongly widened by the courts in the United States, in part because it is so loosely defined. This exception initially gave religious groups full immunity from scrutiny in whom they hired as ministers, but it has come to be expanded to include many other jobs, including schoolteachers, choir directors, and so on; in the United States, religious groups are now shielded from liability under the American with Disabilities Act for all their jobs.

Laborde’s argument shows what is wrong with the now infamous Hobby Lobby decision, where a business was allowed to be exempt from a legal contraception mandate on religious grounds. Laborde’s test points to the question: Is Hobby Lobby an identificatory group? Some businesses might be: a kosher supermarket, a halal butcher, or a bible seller—but not a large chain store with 500 stores and 13,000 employees that sells arts and craft supplies.

The challenge for Laborde’s argument, which she briefly addresses (pp. 181–82), is that to show coherence and competence interests means that groups must be organized so as to have a coherent doctrine. Nonreligious groups can fit, but as a matter of fact it will often be religious groups that can press the state for exemptions, because they often have organizational structures with a clear doctrine. Some Eastern religions, like Hinduism, are often diffuse with little hierarchy, which means that Hinduism may have a harder time pressing for exemptions. This does not mean that the Western view of religion is Protestant, but it does mean that organizational structure is helpful (though not necessary) if courts are to decide whether an exemption is justifiable.

Liberals are often uneasy with exemptions, but in the last substantive chapter, Laborde defends individual exemptions. Dress codes, for example, should often make exemptions for people who are compelled to violate them to satisfy their religious conscience. But it is not that the conscience is religious that is doing the work. Laborde argues that we should think in terms of ethically salient commitments, particularly “integrity-protecting commitments” (IPCs). An IPC is a commitment, “manifested in a practice, ritual or action (or refusal to act), that allows an individual to live in accordance with how she thinks she ought to live” (pp. 203–204). Clearly, this will fit many religious commitments, but others who have nonreligious commitments will also fit—pacifists, vegetarians, and so on.

Laborde lays out further tests for how to judge integrity-protecting commitments, which I will leave you to read for yourself. In some ways this is a book for the judiciary: it spells out how to determine whether claims for exceptions and exemptions should be allowed. Of course, the book is also much more than that, laying a vision for how religion and the liberal state should relate to one another. That Laborde’s argument is nuanced makes it hard to sum up concisely, but the relationship between associational life and the liberal state is a complicated one. There is no better place to come to an understanding of that relationship than Laborde’s superb book.