Many people in the modern world are made uncomfortable by
the notion of “holy war”: of wars fought in the name of religions whose central
message (in the case of the major salvation religions) appears to be
anti-violence. This discomfort leads some students and scholars to discount the
genuineness of beliefs expressed in favor of holy war and to see religion as a
mere rationalization or pretext for the real, usually material, motives they
think more plausible. For example, some scholars have characterized the
Crusades as western Europeans’ device for hooking into the lucrative circuits
of Asian trade that had theretofore largely passed them by.
Such a view imposes modern notions of believable motivation
on a different world (almost as if the Crusades were the first Gulf War) and
does violence to the evidence. Not only are religious motives as we see them in
the sources clearly sincere, but the best economic evidence for the Crusades is
that, at the individual level, crusading was almost always a losing bet. Only
Italian merchants profited consistently from crusading, and they were neither
crusaders themselves nor the motivating force behind crusading.
The discomfort may stem from the difficulty of reconciling
modern notions of the role of religion with aggressive war. But religion’s role
as an all-encompassing worldview in the traditional world meant that it had to
accommodate warfare in some way. How comfortably did it do so? A brief survey
of the major salvation religions reveals a range of answers.
Buddhism conforms most closely to modern preconceptions:
There is no Buddhist idea of holy war, and, although Buddhist polities have
conducted warfare, the religion has legitimated war only in a limited range of
cases, most notably medieval Tibet. Asoka, the first great Buddhist ruler,
renounced wars of conquest on his conversion. Only in Japan, in this as in many
things an exception, did a form of Buddhism, Zen, become central to the values
of a warrior class. Japan and Korea also saw the rise of Buddhist
warrior-monks, but in terms of the religion as a whole, they are an even
greater aberration than the Zen beliefs of Japanese secular warriors, and they
fought not in the name of religion but in defense of their landed estates.
Hinduism accommodated warfare early on: Warriors were one of
the four major classes in the caste-bound Hindu conception of society and
fulfilled their dharma, or class duty, through fighting. But the caste system
that accommodated warfare also limited its legitimate scope to the warriors. A
militant Hinduism did arise in response to Muslim raids and conquests, but not
in any organized or centralized way, and not as a mass movement. Modern mass
Hindu militancy is really a variant of nationalism, not holy war.
Islam apparently incorporated warfare into its theology from
the beginning in the form of jihad, but this may be deceptive. The regular
appearance of slave soldiers in a wide range of Islamic polities is a sign of
discomfort at the heart of Islamic ideology with states wielding force. Islam
maintains both military and spiritual interpretations of jihad, which in any
case is supposed to be a defensive policy in terms of warfare. The history of
Islamic holy war is further complicated by issues of conversion of nomadic
peoples, fundamentalism, and, more recently, resistance to imperialism and
western hegemony, in which nationalism and other modern ideologies play a large
part.
Perhaps ironically, Christianity has historically made the
easiest alliance with war. In contrast to Asoka’s renunciation of conquest
after his conversion, Constantine, the first great Christian ruler, converted
after winning a battle under the sign of the cross. The tradition of in hoc
signo vinces—“in this sign you shall conquer”—became a constant part of the
religion, expressed, among other ways, through the Crusades, through orders of
warrior-monks unprecedented elsewhere (the Japanese monks being in truth incommensurable
with the Templars and their like), and through the deep penetration into
society of crusading ideals, as evidenced in events such as the Children’s
Crusade. Christianity’s warlike zeal would later be turned inward in the Wars
of Religion (though Islam too has had its Sunni–Shi’ite conflicts).
Two other religions are worthy of note in this context.
Christianity’s accommodation with war derived in part from the Jewish notion of
holy war attested in numerous biblical stories and in the Jewish revolts
against Roman rule. And Zoroastrianism, like Judaism the universal-seeming
religion of a particular people and state, sanctioned the state’s wars
unproblematically. Indeed, Sassanid Persian warfare with the Byzantines rose to
the level of a crusade on both sides at its climax around 600.
Religion, of course, was not the only factor in traditional
or modern motivations to war and patterns of the use of force. But especially
in the traditional world, religion should not be discounted as a sincere
motivation to violence as well as to nonviolence.
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