Does religion breed violence?

David Nirenberg, the American historian of religion, begins his long review of Karen Armstrong’s book, Fields of Blood: Religion and the History of Violence, by reminding readers that it’s the so-called New Atheists who urge us to keep away from religion because, according to them, religion breeds violence. Armstrong’s book is one of many that set out to prove the opposite, arguing “modern society has made a scapegoat of faith.”

Nirenberg’s view is more nuanced. He writes in the Nation that “even (or especially) if we share Armstrong’s sympathies — that is, her view that religion is generally innocent as charged — we should want to ask why religion so often finds itself in the arms of the wicked.” He argues that “a sharp separation between power and piety can’t account for the very long history of intimate relations between the two.”

One way in which some defenders of religion choose to explain that relationship is to claim a franchise on truth. If my faith is the only true faith and all others are lies, I “know” that God wants me to eradicate their exponents with all the means at my disposal.

What looks like violence to the objective observer is presented as manifestations of love. As Nirenberg puts it: “For approximately 15 centuries, Christian theologians worked hard to explain why attacks on heretics, Muslims or Aztecs during Crusade or conquest could be considered an ‘act of love.’ ”

The Spanish Inquisition that sought to dispose of unconverted Jews as well as many others justified its persecutions and executions for similar reasons. Nirenberg adds that “as late as the 1930s, Catholic theologians worked (on different grounds) to justify the boycott and segregation of Jews in Germany as ‘love of neighbour.’ ”

Another way of abusing power in the guise of piety is to claim powerlessness. If we see ourselves as beleaguered by hostile forces we may feel compelled, indeed obligated, to defend our faith at all cost — in the name of God.

But, as Nirenberg writes, “violence committed in the name of powerlessness is also a claim to power.” Today’s terrorists who tell us that they’ve been called by God to engage in murder of infidels in defence of the true faith are products of this lethal mythology.

By contrast, a realistic appreciation of religion recognizes that each tradition — my own no less than that of others — is often a mixture of noble aspirations and less than noble acts. Religious people may manifest a genuine quest for peace while at the same time practise much that’s vile in human beings, including violence. Defending religion by all means instead of seeking to eradicate its ugly dimensions doesn’t serve it well.

My tradition ascribes the unacceptable side of religion to idolatry and teaches that the temptation to worship false gods is prevalent in all faiths. Though it’s convenient to fight the idols without, it behooves believers to fight them also within. Instead of only ascribing violence to other faiths, or to the enemies of all faiths, we’re bidden to seek to eradicate it in our own midst.

To do so we must accept the bitter truth that religion doesn’t only reflect the best of the human spirit but alas also the worst. To celebrate the best, exponents of all faiths must be ruthlessly critical of their own history and seek to purge it of violence and other vices.

This seems to be a much more sober response to the New Atheists than uncritical defence that flies in the face of history. The fact that those who attack religion may be even more violent is an unacceptable excuse.

“Even if we share . . . (the) view that religion is generally innocent as charged, we should want to ask why religion so often finds itself in the arms of the wicked.” DAVID NIRENBERG RELIGION HISTORIAN