*This interview is a contribution to an upcoming text on global indigeneity and international humanism from In-Sight Publishing.*
How do Indigenous communities in Canada reconcile traditional spirituality with Christianity and humanist or atheist worldviews?
Dennis Bevington, former MP for the Northwest Territories, talks about the intersection of indigeneity, humanism, and atheism. He is non-Indigenous and was mayor of Fort Smith–a majoritively Indigenous fort in the Northwest Territories. Bevington reflects on his journey from a scientific worldview to curiosity about unexplained phenomena, while maintaining non-religious beliefs. He highlights how Indigenous communities blend traditional spirituality with Christianity, and how humanists reconcile identity without supernaturalism. Bevington describes the challenges of constitutional development, colonial legacies, and the shift in governance structures. He emphasizes the importance of open public dialogue and respect for cultural integrity, noting practical examples of syncretism, such as combined Indigenous and Christian ceremonies at community events.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen: Today, we’re here with Dennis Bevington, former Member of Parliament for the Northwest Territories from 2006 to 2015. So today, we will discuss indigeneity, humanism, and potentially atheism, and how one can navigate or reconcile these elements.
Many people have explored this intersection, but from what I’ve seen, it’s often approached on a national level while being grounded in small, in-depth, often syncretic case studies. This reminds me of how a friend of mine, Tsimshian, an Alaska Native and American Presbyterian minister, approaches this. Her theology is rooted in the traditional Indigenous beliefs she already held.
That sort of blending seems familiar across Indigenous communities in Canada as well. So, how would you frame the relationship between indigeneity and, primarily, Christianity in Canada? And for the minority within those communities who identify as atheist or humanist, how do they work that out for themselves? How do Indigenous people in Canada reconcile their Indigenous identity with the legacy of Christianity, which was imposed on many of their communities through colonization?
Dennis Bevington: Regardless of atheism, many Indigenous communities seem to understand that reconnecting with a form of spirituality aligned with traditional worldviews is a meaningful and healing process.
Even if someone is not drawn to spiritual practice themselves, there is often deep respect for those who are. This is especially evident in individuals recovering from addiction, systemic poverty, and intergenerational trauma—issues that disproportionately affect Indigenous communities in Canada. There is a greater respect today for Indigenous spirituality than there was, say, forty years ago. That respect has grown.
I have good friends who practice Indigenous spirituality. I sometimes join them in sweat lodge ceremonies—probably every couple of months. What stands out to me is the openness: They say, “Pray as you see fit.” Some rituals are followed, and they ask that you respect them, but the experience itself is collective, inclusive, and welcoming.
That’s my connection to Indigenous spirituality. I don’t identify as a religious practitioner, but throughout my life, as a mayor and then as a Member of Parliament, I’ve appreciated what religion and spirituality can offer communities in a positive sense. They can provide support, purpose, and healing, which is a very important part of many people’s lives.
Jacobsen: Is there ever any sense of being “in the closet” as a humanist or atheist within your community in Canada?
Bevington: No, not really. That’s not a significant issue where I come from.
My immediate family—my son, my daughter, and my wife—are all spiritual, but I wouldn’t necessarily call them religious. They don’t attend church but gather every Sunday to connect, talk about spirituality and Christianity, and support one another. They know I don’t share the same interest in spirituality as they do, and they’re completely accepting. They don’t criticize or pressure me about it.
But I live in a fairly unique community. I don’t think you’d find the same degree of empathy or acceptance for non-religious individuals—people who identify as humanists or atheists—in many other small rural communities across Canada. It depends on the specific community. Some communities are accepting, while others are not. It wouldn’t always be well-received.
Jacobsen: What is the population of your community?
Bevington: For the transcript, the population of Fort Smith, where I live, is about 2,500 to 3,000.
Jacobsen: Would that be about the average population size for small communities in Canada, or more specifically, in the Northwest Territories?
Bevington: No, not quite. In the Northwest Territories, we have 33 communities. There’s one major centre—Yellowknife—with around 20,000 people. Then there are a few mid-sized communities like Inuvik and Hay River, each with about 3,500 people, and Fort Smith, which is slightly less than that. After that, the numbers drop significantly. Many communities have populations around 1,000 or fewer. Quite a number of them have between 300 and 500 people, and a few have as few as 100.
It’s interesting when you look at the demographics. Communities tend to stay at a specific population size until something triggers growth, like economic development or government investment, and then they jump to a higher size. It’s a growth phenomenon. I remember reading about it years ago, though I wouldn’t call myself an expert.
You can see it in Alberta, where some communities have grown this way. Another example is Nunavut, where the birth rate is high and communities are expanding rapidly. That’s part of why Nunavut faces such severe housing shortages—it puts intense pressure on community infrastructure.
Jacobsen: Were you always a humanist, or did you have a prior philosophical or religious commitment?
Bevington: No. I was always—well, even when I was younger, attending church with my parents—I didn’t find it interesting. I wasn’t drawn to religion. In school, I would get into long debates with teachers who held religious beliefs. We’d have extended dialogues about the nature of the universe and similar topics. So, from early on, I was very much on the scientific side.
Over time, my attitude has shifted slightly. I’m still not religious, but I sense that there’s some creative force or order in the universe that remains unexplained—and that idea interests me more now than it used to. But I haven’t found anything that leads me to a firm conclusion, and I certainly haven’t experienced any spiritual awakening.
Jacobsen: So, the proverbial finger hasn’t come out of the sky and tapped you on the head?
Bevington: No, not at all—and I’m perfectly comfortable with that. I don’t feel any remorse about not having a strong sense of spirituality.
I also see the problems that sometimes arise for people with fixed religious beliefs. Those beliefs can lead to rigid views about what will happen in the world, the universe, or their personal lives. That rigidity can become limiting or even harmful.
Jacobsen: For those First Nations or Métis people who are not particularly adherent to traditional beliefs and practices, or who take part in ceremonies but do not believe in the supernatural aspects, are there meaningful distinctions we should be aware of? Whether they are Cree, Métis, Chipewyan, or from elsewhere in the region where you served as mayor and grew up, do you notice different paths people take regarding philosophical or spiritual reconciliation?
Bevington: That’s a big question. Reconciliation and restoration of Indigenous and Métis culture have been difficult and remain incomplete. There are still many areas of pain and struggle. It’s hard to imagine it reaching full realization any time soon, though there is some hope.
I’ve noticed that there are two bands in our area. One of them places a stronger emphasis on traditional spirituality, and it seems to be seeing better outcomes—more cohesion, more cultural vitality—than the one that doesn’t put as much effort into practicing or maintaining those traditions.
Traditional spirituality gives people a sense that their culture is important, meaningful, and filled with integrity. Those are the qualities people need to lead good lives. If someone has grown up facing addiction, family trauma, or unstable relationships, it’s tough to move forward without becoming hardened by those experiences. Even if they survive or prosper in material terms, there’s a psychological toll. Traditional spiritual practices can soften that hardening and reintroduce a sense of worth and purpose.
And that hardened attitude is a difficult thing to overcome. It often means you make choices that, later on, you might not feel good about. But if you’ve become hardened, brush it off and continue on the same path. Many Indigenous people recognize the sickness in broader non-Indigenous society—the degree of corruption—as part of what drives the larger system. Those who see this often become quite jaundiced. I don’t believe that leads to a healthy or prosperous way of life.
Jacobsen: That sounds to me like a textural and aesthetic analysis of ethics, where, in mainstream Anglo and Franco-European Canadian culture, societal pathologies stem from the economy. That economic foundation leads to psychological patterns, such as greed, avarice, the willingness to trample over others, and the drive to avoid any internal or external state of poverty, at all costs.
Bevington: Yes, exactly. And how that plays out in some Indigenous communities, which is quite interesting. There’s now much power available to Indigenous people in various ways. But power—well, in broader society, we have structured systems for contesting and distributing it. I’m not sure those systems reflect the traditional Indigenous approach to power.
Now, Indigenous people are engaging with a different kind of power—often externally imposed—and that shift creates conflict and tension. I’ve seen this in band governance and Métis relationships over the years. If there had been a more traditional sense of power sharing or collective decision-making—something culturally rooted and accepted by everyone—it might have created a smoother path.
But this transition, from traditional power dynamics rooted in family, oral tradition, and communal responsibility, to a Western model where power is expressed by marking a ballot in an election, is fundamentally different. It’s a difficult shift. Even in non-Indigenous communities, we see significant challenges with political transformation. So, the added burden of shifting cultural paradigms in Indigenous communities only makes it more complex.
We see court case after court case—this is ongoing. It is one of the persistent problems with the systems that have been set up for Indigenous peoples to access and exercise power within a colonial framework.
Jacobsen: If you could design your ideal governance structure that balances contemporary humanist ethics with Indigenous systems of decision-making and power, while honouring the reconciliatory efforts of the Canadian government, what would that look like?
Bevington: I’ve thought about that quite a bit, especially in the context of the Northwest Territories. We still don’t have a finalized constitutional framework. I was co-chair of the Constitutional Development Steering Committee in the mid-1990s, when we created two separate territories. Nunavut resolved its constitutional questions internally and established a system that, in many ways, has served them well.
In contrast, here in the Northwest Territories, as we entered the same constitutional development process, there was resistance at many levels to the ideas coming out of our committee. We hosted a large constitutional conference in 1996. It became a real moment of understanding—a positive experience overall—but the follow-through wasn’t there. There was a point where we came to a shared understanding—that Indigenous and public governments needed to advance on parallel tracks, with mutual respect on both sides. Yes.
But just two weeks later, the federal government cut off funding for our organization. This happened with the support of the Premier of the Northwest Territories, who was Inuvialuit—Nellie Cournoyea. In some ways, she was the outlier in all this, likely because she had stronger linkages to Nunavut, which was being separated. That area of the Northwest Territories was particularly complex regarding constitutional development. The best solution she saw, it seems, was to ignore the whole process.
So that’s where I’ve seen real tension in moving forward. There have been good ideas—ways of maintaining the notion that Indigenous and public governments should be equal, with clear systems for providing services and legislation that respects both. Some of those ideas are still being tested today.
Under the Harper government, during the devolution agreement of 2013–2014, the federal government essentially said: “This is your responsibility now, territorial government. You figure out the relationship.” They weren’t particularly interested in engaging with the more profound constitutional questions. They did care about ensuring that governance debates would not hinder resource development. But as for how we chose to live together? That wasn’t a concern for them.
That’s my observation, as I was a member of Parliament at the time and was closely involved in the devolution discussions in Parliament. Now the Liberals are in government. They tend to be centralists in many ways, and it’s hard to get a clear sense of how they view constitutional development in the North. Their model leans more toward the idea that Indigenous governments should be separate, not twin tracks working in parallel with public governments. So it’s less about integration and more about separation.
Over the years, I’ve gotten people interested in constitutional development. I did this both as a Member of Parliament and afterward. But it’s not been easy to get people involved, especially in a public way. And that’s a significant problem, because these things must be public. The discussion has to be open. The thinking has to be transparent. You can’t decide these matters behind closed doors, in a cabinet room, or through bilateral conversations with First Nations leadership that exclude the public.
Unfortunately, there is a great deal of reluctance now to engage in public discussions about constitutional change, perhaps because past efforts have been frustrating or inconclusive.
Jacobsen: Earlier, you focused more on the role of individuals in this process. Can you take me back to that line of thought? It was both a collective and individual question. We discussed governance, relationships, realistic and evidence-based reconciliation, and how those can align with humanist values while respecting traditional structures.
The individual side of the question concerns the appropriateness of someone’s relationship to Indigenous governance structures, alongside those imposed by the Canadian government, especially when that individual holds humanistic or explicitly humanist values. How does one think through this deeply and find an appropriate balance that feels suitable to them?
So yes, the collective aspect is more pragmatic and focused on governance for everyone. The individual side is more about philosophical reconciliation: aligning ethics and worldview. Then, we can state the obvious parts in passing, such as the humanist rejection of supernaturalism and divine intervention. That shapes how one engages with spiritual traditions.
Bevington: Yes, that can be challenging. For Indigenous people, belief in the Grandfathers—those who have passed on—is central to traditional spirituality. They’re seen as spirits carrying messages and providing Indigenous people protection and guidance. That’s a deeply embedded part of the spiritual worldview.
So yes, if you come from a humanist position that excludes supernaturalism, then you’re setting aside a significant dimension of Indigenous spirituality. That’s not a small thing—it’s foundational.
Over the years, I’ve come across experiences that I would describe as, at the very least, interesting—maybe what people might call paranormal. I can’t say more than that. I’m still fundamentally someone who approaches things scientifically or rationally. But I’ve witnessed things—some personally, others through people I trust in the community—that are difficult to explain.
And there is still a strong element of this belief system among most Indigenous people. A large number continue to report experiences with spirits or ghosts. That’s very real to them—it’s culturally embedded.
Jacobsen: That’s a fascinating intersection—both anthropologically and psychologically. Many Indigenous people had grandparents or great-grandparents who were ideologically colonized through Christianity. That belief system brought a complex spiritual cosmology: angels, demons, spirits, and a divine moral order.
So when you speak about beliefs in ghosts, the Grandfathers, and even paranormal experiences, those might get interwoven with Christian symbols and narratives introduced by force or coercion. Some people adopted them, but for many, these beliefs were imposed.
Bevington: Yes. Let me give you an example. One time, a local man approached me and my brother-in-law. He knew us both as responsible members of the community. He approached us very concerned and said, “Someone is practicing bad medicine on me.”
He was serious. He believed that a person in the community was intentionally harming him through spiritual or ritual means—what some might call bad medicine. It wasn’t just superstition to him. It was a lived experience with real emotional and psychological weight. He was seeking help—not from a doctor, but from people he trusted in the community.
He mentioned the person’s name. Three days later, he was found dead on the side of the highway. The police concluded it was an accident involving his rifle—he was reportedly pulling it out of his truck when it discharged. Later, I discovered that the first person on the scene—the one who reported the incident—was the same person he had identified as practicing the bad medicine on him.
I reported that to the police at the time because I thought it should be taken into account, but nothing came of it. No one followed up. It was officially recorded as an accident. However, the circumstances struck me as very odd.
Jacobsen: Perhaps shifting from contrast to comparison—since we’re short on time—what would you say are some similarities between Indigenous traditional beliefs, at least among the bands in your region, and Christianity? What aspects seem more easily reconcilable?
I can offer a practical example. I recently interviewed a man from Aotearoa New Zealand—he’s Māori and the author of Māori Boy Atheist, the only book written on Māori atheism and humanism. We did a long-form interview and a series of follow-ups.
During the conversation, he pointed to the haka—the traditional Māori war dance that has become widely known partly because of Dwayne “The Rock” Johnson and the New Zealand All Blacks. It’s culturally prominent.
Looking at the haka, I saw no inherent contradiction between the dance and a humanist or atheist worldview. It did not require supernatural belief, making it an easily reconcilable cultural practice requiring little cognitive dissonance.
So, are there elements like that in your community—things that are easily reconcilable between Christianity and indigeneity or between humanism and indigeneity?
Bevington: Sure. From my experience, yes. For example, just the other night, I was at a celebration hosted by one of the bands. They invited a well-known drumming group. At the event’s start, they performed a traditional drum prayer to open the evening. But afterward, they also made the cross sign and recited a Roman Catholic prayer.
So the traditional Indigenous prayer and the Christian ritual were used—one after the other, without contradiction. That’s quite common among many conventional people in the region.
Jacobsen: Thank you for the opportunity and your time, Dennis.
Scott Douglas Jacobsen is Secretary of, and Chair of the Media Committee for, The New Enlightenment Project. He is the publisher of In-Sight Publishing (ISBN: 978-1-0692343) and Editor-in-Chief of In-Sight: Interviews (ISSN: 2369-6885). He writes for The Good Men Project, International Policy Digest (ISSN: 2332–9416), The Humanist (Print: ISSN 0018-7399; Online: ISSN 2163-3576), Basic Income Earth Network (UK Registered Charity 1177066), A Further Inquiry, and other media. He is a member in good standing of numerous media organizations.
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