What is the nature of the intense attachment between religion and violence that seems to constantly occupy the world headlines at the outset of the new millennium? One is instantly struck with a cognitive incongruity: how can the notion of religion, the definitive perception of the good, be so intimately entangled with aggression and brutality? For the current generation, this is not merely a philosophical contemplation but a daily callous reality. It is further enhanced by a long and gory history of religious wars with horrific human toll, from the days of the Scriptures to the Twin Towers, and beyond. This legacy instigates a genuine sense of bewilderment: does such nexus between religion and violence really exist? If it does, what made it possible, and facilitated its endurance? Is this association between religious beliefs and forceful behavior inherent to faith, and if so, in what way? If violence is not intrinsic to spiritual devotion, then who created such an affinity, and for what purpose? If we perceive religion and violence as variables (and which is the dependent and which the independent?), are there intervening variables — contingencies, circumstances, locations, interests, strategies — that can corroborate or refute the ostensible correlation between those two protagonists?

A plethora of works have been written on this subject. Scholars from vastly different backgrounds and training (philosophy, psychology, history, archeology, political science, law, culture studies, international relations, and of course religious studies) have been preoccupied with investigating the possibilities and circumstances of faith and aggression's coalescence. These two new contributions focus on the same case-study — Israeli politics — but from opposite directions. While Nadav Shelef's Evolving Nationalism investigates changes in Jewish nationalism in the three major factions of Zionism, Labor, Revisionists, and Religious Zionism, Motti Inbari's Jewish Fundamentalism and the Temple Mount highlights the fringe Temple Mount movements and individual activists. The former probes the intriguing question of what triggers and carries through transformations in nationalist ideologies, whereas the latter focuses on the ostensibly esoteric Third Temple cells who seek to precipitate the coming of the Jewish Messiah and, with him, divine redemption. Both orientations — radical nationalism and messianic fundamentalism — converge in the crossroad of religion and violence. Although the two books differ in many ways, they both agree that the nexus between religion and violence is not direct and unadulterated but mitigated, spurred, and intensified by politics. Thus, the operative question pertinent to both books: how does politics intervene to tighten and solidify the association between religious faith and brutal aggression?

What makes the nexus of religion and violence complicated is that different religions generate disparate institutions and norms, and relate to violence in dissimilar fashions. In addition, religion produces appalling violence as well as peaceful initiatives. Hence, it would be overly simplistic to say that religion as a concept is inherently violent since evidently it is capable of cultivating anti-violence as well. Surely, a more substantiated understanding of these two aspects of human existence, religion and violence, is needed. Neither Shelef nor Inbari furnish such an explanation, which would have illuminated their analyses and helped explicate the motivation of their protagonists.

The concept of religion is vague and the number of its working definitions approximates the number of practicing faiths. Ludwig Wittgenstein (Reference Wittgenstein1955) wrote about concepts with “blurred edges,” which rely on “family resemblances,” and not necessarily on identical characteristics to classify them under the same roof. Such an observation is certainly relevant to the task of defining religion. Eric Sharpe finds an elegant outlet of the definition conundrum: “to define religion is … far less important than to possess the ability to recognize it when we come across it” (Sharpe Reference Sharpe1983, 47). But how would one recognize and what should one look for when the opportunity to encounter religion arises? Perhaps, much like the sun, whose existence is deduced from photosynthesis and tanning but cannot directly be stared at, we should observe the epiphenomena of religion such as loyalty, commitment, readiness to sacrifice, love, and hate, and draw conclusions from them on the nature of religion. But here again, experience can vary. For example, what can be learned from Jonathan Swift's (Reference Swift and Nichols1738) famous adage in the opening of his Thoughts on Various Subjects, that “we have just enough religion to make us hate, but not enough to make us love one another”? Religion is capable of eliciting love and hate, but how it actually transpires, what are “just enough” and “not enough” and what to do about it is not quite clear. Nor is Oscar Wilde's (1890) lofty assumption from The Picture of Dorian Gray that “religion is a fashionable substitute for belief” any more helpful, because it entails yet another frustrating meander through the notion of belief.

A good starting point to explore the meaning of religion would be a rudimentary division between religious and secular approaches to the origins, evolution, and consequences of faith.Footnote ¹ Whereas the former explanation underlines the metaphysical and mysticism of religious discourse, the latter focuses on socio-psychological circumstances, and possibilities that invent such a discourse. If the first category concentrates on ontological reasoning such as a priori assertion that a perfect being must exist outside the human mind, the second category relies mainly on functional inquiry of what roles religion fulfills and what psychological and sociological needs it endeavors to satisfy. A typical definition that characterizes the supernatural approach perceives religion as “an understanding of the universe, together with an appropriate way of living in it, which involves reference beyond the natural world to God, or gods, or to a transcendental order or process” (Hick Reference Hick1977). The natural understanding may be exemplified in the view that religion is essentially an instrument of social control, as Marx and Engels and many other secular analysts believed, or a projection of inner human fears and desires being objectified to an external construct, as Nietzsche, Freud and others deemed. In order to better comprehend the two categories, consider the religious perspective of religion as revelation and experience and the secular perspective as psychological or sociological motivations of human construct (Thrower Reference Thrower1999). The Gush Emunim activists and the Temple Mount zealots epitomize both: they wholeheartedly believe that their actions expedite divine intervention but they were also propelled by political and other earthly concerns. But where does violence come in?

Mark Juergensmeyer defines religion as a constant tension between order and disorder, or a conflict between deeper and superficial realities. Many religions abound with violent images to provide their followers with the notion of disorder. But the violence of disorder must be confronted with violence, because the perpetrators of anarchy will not voluntarily capitulate. Some religions are more prone to violence than other. These are usually the traditions that uphold the idea of an eternal cosmic struggle between good and evil; the present is the decisive moment in the war to “tip the scales one way or another, so that a small intervention of dedicated humans could make all the difference” (Juergensmeyer Reference Juergensmeyer1990, 61). Violence is likely to intensify when religious identity groups identify mundane socio-political conflicts with the eternal cosmic struggle. The publications of Gush Emunim and the Temple Mount groups are fraught with inferences and idioms pertaining to Armageddon. The adversaries — Palestinians or secular Israelis — are heretics and symptoms of chaos. The Israeli government delays order and justice with imprudent and prejudiced policies, whereas the true believers of Gush Emunim sacrifice themselves to precipitate redemption. Since their violence is necessary in light of the larger cosmic battle, they will be exonerated from the results of their deeds.

Nadav Shelef's book explains how national ideologies change over time. He provides three alternative models: two intentional or guided (rational adaptation, elite imposition) and one unintentional and unguided (evolutionary dynamic). His case study is Jewish nationalism, or Zionism. He analyzes the three main factions of the movement-labor, revisionist and religious Zionism-to detect patterns of change in their views (along the parameters of borders and mission). His three-fold classification is original and provocative: Rational Adaptation arrives after a “cognitive punch,” a major exogenous shock that necessitates an immediate broad shift; Elite Imposition, a change induced by elites' interests and personal motivations, and Evolutionary dynamic, where change is due to emerging circumstances, political necessities, competition for supporters, and temporary adjustments. Shelef (2010, 18) succinctly charts the differences in a table underlining the when, where, and who of each model. One of his normative aims is made clear early on: “The conclusion lays out implications of the revolutionary dynamic for how democracies might confront religious fundamentalism” (Shelef 2010, 22): an ambitious goal for a relatively modest canvas.

Shelef does a remarkable job covering Religious Zionism's ideological trials and tribulations from its inception in the latter decades of the nineteenth-century to its modern progeny, the Gush Emunim (Bloc of the Faithful) movement and the settlers of the occupied territories. Despite their seemingly rational, even elite assertive demeanor, the author insists that religious Zionism's goal of settling the historic land of Israel and their tactics of evoking images of messianism and fundamentalism are better understood in the lens of party competition, adaptation to changing situations, and responsiveness to an ever-changing reality. Shelef perceives the change in religious Zionist ideological positions (giving up on the eastern bank of the Jordan, thereby relinquishing the biblical borders of Israel) as a result of evolutionary dynamic adaptation to political situations: their alliance with labor and, hence, access to power and resources and the capacity to protect their religious precepts and their religious constituents in a secular state. This was a realpolitik act of survival: “the transition … was a by-product of the tactical steps the Religious Zionists took to remain part of the governing nationalist alliance crafted by the labor movement in the 1940's … the success of the ‘historic alliance’ promoted the ambiguity about the territorial claims of religious Zionism that enabled the alliance to emerge” (Shelef 2010, 68–69).

Shelef likens the distinction between evolutionists and diehard ideologists to the tension between “consensus-builders” and “truth-seekers” in every human society or organization. In the case of religious Zionism, the former prevailed because “Like the territorial maximalists, the consensus-builders still desired and claimed the entire Biblical land of Israel. Unlike the truth-tellers, however, they were willing to modulate their rhetoric in the interests of party unity and of achieving their goals on other, equally important dimensions of nationalism” (Shelef 2010, 71). Even Gush Emunim, the more radical component of religious Zionism, operated in the evolutionary mode. In their zeal to keep the West Bank and Gaza under Israeli control, Gush Emunim leaders adapted themselves to the priorities of the Likud Party, which was in power. Like previous National Religious Party leaders, they benefited from their proximity to government. But for that they paid the price of muting their real demands: “Gush Emunim's engagement in politics, specifically its desire to ensure Israel's hold over the territories through a political alliance with the Likud unintentionally led to the institutionalization of the truncated map image of the homeland” (Shelef 2010, 78). The prominence of the evolutionary model in Shelef's analysis brings to the fore the most valuable and useful conclusion of his study, that religion and politics can be potent and loyal strategic allies.

Motti Inbari concurs with this outcome in his intriguing introduction to the movements of the Temple Mount. They are still in the fringes, he claims, but exert growing influence on mainstream religious Zionism as well. Although currently marginal on the Israeli political scene, Inbari nevertheless cautions of their “inherent potential for subversion and violence” (Inbari 2009) and their creeping influence on the broader religious population since their moral and stimulating influence far exceeds their inner circles. Religious messianism and fundamentalism are contagious. Inbari's main thesis is that the growing appeal of religious extremism in Israel is due to a theological crisis, a failure of faith, which produces extremism and radicalization. This concept resonates with what scholars such as Rapoport (1984) and Sprinzak (Reference Sprinzak1991) wrote decades earlier about the sense of imminent disaster propelling religiously motivated activists to a cosmic struggle against forces of evil. In a similar vein, Inbari (2009, 53) elaborates on the “psychological dissonance” experienced by religious Zionists, between their desired and actual realities. The crisis has been developing gradually, from the missed opportunity to inherit the biblical contours of the Promised Land after what religious Zionists believed to be a divine intervention in the 1967 war, the affliction of the 1973 Yom Kippur war, and the concessions of the peace treaty with Egypt (1978), the Oslo Accords (1992), the Geneva peace proposal (2003), and ultimately, the disengagement from Gaza (2005). All these hardships, fundamentalists believe, are meant to test their resilience and loyalty to their faith, and hence, their reaction according to Inbari is to strengthen the radical approach of activism and pursuit of maximalist goals.

The religious Zionist establishment is caught in a “Messianic Dilemma,” which curbs its capacity to marginalize zealots. It is very difficult for them to negate or annul a basic premise of their own thought: the messianic salvation. The extremists demand religious perfection; how could the leadership reject such a claim? Thus, they tacitly accept the radicals in their midst, hoping that militancy won't blow up in their faces. The Temple Mount activists on the other hand, maintain a “very delicate balancing game” (Inbari 2009, 48), walking a fine line between what is forbidden and what is permitted. They are still funded by the religious establishment but are not a part of it and cannot be coerced or pre-empted by it. This situation is convenient for religious authorities as well, because they can continue supporting the Temple Mount Institute while officially denouncing its extreme actions. Inbari detects two possible reactions of religious Zionism to the Crisis: working from “within” on more fervently and rigorously educating seculars toward “true Zionism”; and the opposite trend, divorce from Zionism, which had been secular to begin with and thus misguided. Zionist leaders were “false messiahs,” seeking normalcy as any other nation. Religious Zionists should therefore take over from them and continue the Jewish revival in the direction of divine redemption. This is the post-Zionism turn most identified with the maverick zealot Yehuda Etzion. Etzion, whose fanaticism led him to the ranks of the infamous Jewish Underground and to jail, is perceived as a prophet among the young generation of religious Zionism, a truth-seeker role model commanding admiration and respect (Inbari 2009, 76). As such, he has become untouchable and the religious establishment is disinclined to ostracize him and his views. Disregarding extremism in their midst has become even more alarming for religious Zionism when Etzion and others inspired by him promoted an all-out confrontation with the Israeli government, criticizing the religious establishment's refusal to enter the Temple Mount as preventing an effective struggle against the State (Inbari 2009, 54).

Inbari's real concern is how widespread is the trend of religious radicalization epitomized by the Temple Mount movements and inspirational leaders like Etzion? How effective are they? What is their future potential? “In what circumstances can the movement no longer maintain its position of reconciliation vis-à-vis the world and must it move to a mode of assault? In what conditions can the movement no longer conform to the secular regime?” (Inbari 2009, 164). His answer is not comforting: More and more of the religious Zionist camp experience constitute “a religious crisis due to the government's decision to uproot settlements. As a result, theocratic, and revolutionary sentiments can find roots within the hearts of many followers” (Inbari 2009, 165). Instead of being marginalized, Temple Mount movements became catalysts that radicalized the mainstream. They are pioneers who test the possible boundaries and the tolerance of the religious establishment and, ultimately, the State.

In both works, religious protagonists play in the political arena and seek political goals. They utilize religious terminology and symbols to mobilize supporters. The leaders of Gush Emunim and the factions of the Temple Mount initiative exploit messianic visions and images of imminent redemption. By depicting their cases as political struggles, the two authors clearly join the swelling tradition of politicization of religion as explaining the nexus between faith and violence (cf. Kepel Reference Kepel1994; Gopin Reference Gopin2000; Almond, Appleby, and Sivan Reference Almond, Appleby and Sivan2002; Pedhazur and Weinberg Reference Pedhazur and Weinberg2004; Stern Reference Stern2004; Avalos Reference Avalos2005; Crockett Reference Crockett2006). In the heart of this paradigm, lies the age-old quest for power disguised as sacred mission of the pious. However, in a fascinating reversal of the traditional wisdom, Juergensmeyer (2004), Antoun (Reference Antoun2001), Herriot (Reference Herriot2009), Ivanescu (Reference Ivanescu2010), and others have emphasized the opposite association, namely the religionization of politics. In this inverted relationship, protagonists exploit politics to advance and precipitate religious goals. Missionary leaders, avid proselyters, and campaigning shamans find the political arena propitious to recruit masses for religious crusades and holy confrontations. There they use religious language and symbolism to generate images of good versus evil, dichotomies of faithful and infidel, and the eternal cosmic collision between the forces of good and all the rest (Rapoport 1984; Sprinzak Reference Sprinzak1991; Appleby Reference Appleby2000; Gopin Reference Gopin2000).

Religionization of politics portrays everyday life in colossal and overblown colors. It renders every disagreement a contention and every challenger an enemy. Mundane discrepancies are elevated to celestial clashes and rebuttal or reservation is shunned as sacrilege. Every public debate is dramatic and sensational with omnipresent consequences and accordingly, the protagonists are the devout and their leaders the prophets and the virtuous, who must save the universe from the perpetual nemesis of the true believers, the Amalekites. The appropriate manner, indeed the only manner, to face and obliterate the wicked is a merciless all-out combat, a battle of salvation and purification, upon which hinges the destiny of the human race. Such zealotry permeates every walk of life and blurs the boundaries between public and private. As it expands and intensifies, it really becomes the religionization of life, not merely politics. Once the religionized life and reality contradict one another, there is trouble brewing. The incongruity between the law of God (natural law) and the law of the land (positive law) was one of the major incentives prompting Gush Emunim militants into action. They regarded secular law as temporary and expedient until it collided with their faith; then it must be transgressed. But must the collective action in the name of faith be violent?

Action and specifically violent action operate as unifying agents. The stress, the sense of common kismet, and the confidence that you are right help release moral inhibitions about violence, and as Hoffer recognizes, “these are admirable qualifications for resolute and ruthless action in any field” (Hoffer Reference Hoffer1951, 113)

This point can be illuminated from another perspective that juxtaposes political and religious distinctions to account for unmitigated religiously motivated violence. In trying to explain the affiliation between faith and violence, Bland (Reference Bland2003) enlists dichotomies coined by two scholars, Karl Schmitt and Rene Girard, who were equally fascinated by the ties between religion and politics. According to the former, politics, which subsumes all other human domains, boasts the binary classification of friends and enemies? These are poles of a political spectrum representing varying degrees of association and dissociation. The enemy is the ultimate stage of dissociation. Schmitt's ideas presage the agonistic tradition in political science (Connolly Reference Connolly2002; Reference Connolly2005; Honig Reference Honig1993; Reference Honig2001; Laclau Reference Laclau1985; Reference Laclau1994; Mouffe, Reference Mouffe2000; Reference Mouffe2005) according to which conflict has a crucial constructive role in politics. Rather than striving for common ground, society should cultivate its differences and embrace them as a cornerstone of pluralism and tolerance. The friends-enemies polarization is reflective of and commendable to the human condition. Rene Girard, invoking Durkheimian analysis of sacred and profane, constructed an original religiously-based binary observation of holy and evil. For Girard religionization of politics or of any social and cultural interaction is not an aberration but the norm. Humans are passionate but don't know what to desire. Consequently they mimic their role models' desires, producing a fierce competition for the same coveted objects. This mimetic desire dynamic generates violence as part of intensifying mimetic rivalries until crisis unfolds which jeopardizes the entire community's survival. Archaic religions were born to save the community from self-destruction: they pitted the mimetic rivalries (or redrew them) as the collision of all against one, a single victim, in a scapegoat dynamic. While the victim is condemned as evil, the community survives as holy and purified (Girard Reference Girard and Patrick1977; Reference Girard1987).

The fullest meaning of religionization of politics is the capturing of the political, which is ostensibly pluralistic, discursive, deliberative and critical by the imposing, intolerant and disciplinarian facets of religion. In the intrinsic nature of religion lies the propensity to extremism and dissension together with the craving for guidance and unity, the yearning for redemption and harmony jointly with the penchant for contention and violence. It is this Janus-faced disposition of religion — the unifier and the divider — that makes it a fertile ground for the burgeoning of ferocious violence. Embarking on a political mission and interpreting it as a sacred religious quest is sure to tilt the balance in favor of the latter and set the consuming fire.