I know of no wars started by anyone to impose lack of religion on

Hear, O seekers of truth, the sharp and ironic words of Simon Hoggart: “I know of no wars started by anyone to impose lack of religion on someone else. We have lethal Sunni v Shia, Catholic against Protestant, but no agnostic suicide bombers attack crowded atheist pubs.” In this saying lies a piercing observation of history—that the bloodiest conflicts of humankind have so often been ignited not by the absence of faith, but by its excess, when religion is transformed from a path of the spirit into a weapon of division.

The origin of this quote is found in the long memory of mankind’s wars. From the Crusades, where Christian banners clashed with Muslim crescent moons, to the Thirty Years’ War, where Catholic and Protestant turned Europe into a field of ashes, faith has often been twisted into fire. Hoggart, with the wit of a modern observer, points out the contrast: we do not see armies rise to enforce disbelief, but countless legions have marched to impose belief. His irony unmasks a tragic truth—that what should unite humanity under heaven has too often torn it apart.

Consider the savage wars of the Reformation, where neighbors slaughtered neighbors in the name of Christ. In France, the St. Bartholomew’s Day Massacre drenched the streets with the blood of Protestants, murdered by Catholics in a frenzy of “holy” vengeance. In Ireland, centuries of conflict between Catholic and Protestant turned churches into fortresses and prayers into battle cries. These were not wars of atheists against believers, but of believers against one another, each convinced that their banner alone carried divine approval.

So too in the Middle East, the struggle between Sunni and Shia has claimed lives across centuries, with sectarian battles fueled by politics but sanctified by religion. Mosques that should have been sanctuaries became targets, and prayers that should have lifted souls became war cries. Hoggart points to this with biting clarity: faith has too often served as fuel for division, while disbelief, lacking its institutions and sacred claims, has not sought to impose itself by sword.

The meaning of Hoggart’s words is not to glorify atheism nor to dismiss faith entirely, but to highlight the irony: that men will kill to defend their vision of the divine, yet no armies are raised to enforce doubt. For agnostics and atheists may dispute with words, but they do not, as history shows, gather armies to burn villages in the name of uncertainty. His words remind us that when belief hardens into identity and power, it too easily mutates into violence.

The lesson for us, O listeners, is to beware of religion turned into weapon. Faith at its purest is humility before mystery, compassion toward neighbor, and reverence for life. But faith corrupted by pride or politics becomes a sword that cuts even its own children. We must not confuse devotion with domination, nor allow the sacred to be twisted into justification for cruelty. True religion unites; false religion divides and destroys.

Practical actions stand before you: If you are religious, live your faith in a way that heals, not wounds. Refuse to let differences in creed justify hatred. Seek dialogue, not division. If you are not religious, do not despise those who believe, but challenge them to live up to the highest ideals of their faith. And for all, remember that peace is not found in winning arguments but in honoring the dignity of every soul, whatever banner they carry.

Thus, remember the teaching of Simon Hoggart: wars are rarely waged for lack of belief, but often for excess of it misused. Let this truth guide you to humility, to compassion, and to vigilance against those who would turn the name of God into the language of war. For only when religion returns to its true essence—love, mercy, and justice—will it cease to be a sword and once again become a light.