Leon Langdon’s response to my article on Union of Atheists v. Greece (2025) offers a thoughtful engagement with the question of religious symbols in courtrooms. While his arguments merit careful consideration, they rely on a conception of state neutrality that the European Court of Human Rights (Court) declined to adopt.

The Scope of Lautsi and the Nature of Religious Symbols

Langdon argues that Lautsi v. Italy (2018) was confined to the educational context, rendering it irrelevant to courtrooms. He further contends that Orthodox icons (such as Christ Pantocrator) differ from crucifixes, describing them as “theological portraits” designed to induce worship rather than passive symbols.

This argument overstates the narrowness of Lautsi. There, the Grand Chamber’s reasoning was not limited to pedagogy; it articulated a broader principle concerning state neutrality, religious symbols, and the margin of appreciation. The Court held that the display of symbols, which the government argued reflected the country’s historical and cultural identity [para 67], does not violate the Convention and that the decision “whether or not to perpetuate a tradition” falls within the margin of appreciation [paras 68-71]. Crucially, the decisive factors were the absence of compulsion, proselytism, or indoctrination—not the particular institutional setting [paras 66, 72 & 74].

Langdon’s argument also overstates the legal significance of the distinction between icons and crucifixes. The suggestion that icons are inherently more coercive than crucifixes because of their theological function conflates religious meaning with legal effect. The Court’s task is not to assess a symbol’s spiritual significance within a particular faith, but to determine whether its presence amounts to compulsion or discrimination under the Convention. The crucifix is no less a sacred object within Catholic theology, yet its presence in classrooms did not amount to compulsion, proselytism or discrimination under the Convention [paras 72 & 74].

Nor does the characterisation of courtrooms as uniquely “coercive” environments sufficiently distinguish them from schools. If anything, the Lautsi Court’s acceptance of crucifixes in spaces where impressionable children spend formative years suggests that the mere presence of religious imagery in mandatory settings does not cross the Convention threshold.

Article 6 and the Standard of Impartiality

Langdon further argues that I have underestimated the breadth of the objective test for judicial impartiality under Piersack v. Belgium (1982), claiming that an icon placed above the judge’s bench necessarily raises a reasonable question of bias sufficient to engage Article 6. This reading of Piersack is too expansive. The objective test requires “ascertainable facts” capable of raising doubts as to impartiality. The Court has looked for concrete (not abstract) circumstances linking the judge to the case or a party. In Pitkevich v. Russia (2001), for example, the Court explicitly rejected the argument that a judge’s personal religious beliefs, without more, could establish objective bias. Does the presence of such a symbol provide sufficient evidence to meet the objective test? In Lautsi, the Court stated that there is “no evidence before the Court that the display of a religious symbol…may have an influence on pupils…” [para 66]. Absent evidence that the symbol influenced judicial reasoning, the mere presence of a religious symbol or icon, in itself, is not sufficient evidence to meet the objective test.

The claim that an icon necessarily communicates that justice is administered “under the auspices of a specific faith” assumes the conclusion it seeks to prove. Such symbols may equally convey historical continuity, cultural identity, or the architectural heritage of a building. The decisive question remains whether a specific arrangement creates a real and demonstrable risk to impartiality, not whether it might be perceived as problematic in theory.

European Consensus and Comparative Practice

Langdon dismisses my comparative examples as isolated historical exceptions and argues that the relevant inquiry is whether there exists a European consensus in favour of courtroom iconography. He suggests that the prevailing trend is toward symbol-free courtrooms.

This framing mischaracterises the evidence and the Court’s approach to consensus analysis. Religious symbols remain present in courts and public buildings in Italy, Austria, Spain, Bavaria, and elsewhere. That some states have removed such symbols while others have retained them is precisely the divergence that triggers the margin of appreciation.

The absence of a consensus in favour of courtroom iconography does not amount to a consensus against it. The margin of appreciation does not require states to demonstrate affirmative European endorsement of their practices; it requires the Court to refrain from imposing uniformity where member states have legitimately reached different conclusions.

Neutrality as Pluralism, Not Uniformity

Langdon concludes by arguing that my position conflates individual religious expression with the state’s duty of neutrality, asserting that a symbol-free courtroom best guarantees equality before the law.

The Convention does not require this conception of neutrality. Treating secularism as neutral assumes that it is ideologically empty, rather than a substantive model of state–religion relations. The Court has repeatedly recognised that member states may legitimately adopt different approaches to religion in public life, provided they avoid coercion and discrimination.

The Convention protects pluralism, not homogeneity. Neutrality requires restraint, not erasure.