Religious wars are not caused by the fact that there is more than

“Religious wars are not caused by the fact that there is more than one religion, but by the spirit of intolerance... the spread of which can only be regarded as the total eclipse of human reason.” — so spoke Montesquieu, that wise philosopher of the Enlightenment, who saw the madness of men clothed in holiness and dared to name it for what it was: intolerance. His words were not uttered in calm peace, but in an age when swords were drawn in the name of heaven, when faith — the bridge between man and the divine — had been turned into a weapon. He looked upon this and saw not the light of belief, but the darkness of reason’s eclipse.

In these words, Montesquieu reminds us that diversity of faith is not the cause of war; rather, it is the intolerance of the heart that transforms difference into hatred. Religion itself — in its purest form — is but a path leading toward the same summit of truth. Yet men, blinded by pride, build walls where there should be bridges, declaring that their own way alone is sacred, and all others false. This is the moment when the divine flame becomes a raging fire, devouring reason, compassion, and brotherhood. Thus, he calls this spirit of intolerance a “total eclipse of human reason,” for it is as if the bright sun of understanding has been swallowed by the dark moon of fanaticism.

Let us turn our gaze to the chronicles of history. In the sixteenth century, the land of France was bathed in blood during the Wars of Religion, when Catholics and Protestants — both followers of Christ — slaughtered one another in the name of the same God. The massacre of Saint Bartholomew’s Day, when thousands of innocent souls perished under the cry of faith, stands as a wound upon the conscience of mankind. What madness seized those hearts? It was not love of God, but hatred of difference. It was not piety, but intolerance — that poison which corrupts the soul and blinds the mind. Had reason shone in their hearts, had they seen the divine spark within every human being, no sword would have been drawn, and peace would have reigned.

And yet, history offers also its lights of wisdom. Recall the noble Emperor Akbar the Great, who ruled in India during the same age of blood and fire. Though born a Muslim, he opened his court to scholars of every creed — Hindu, Christian, Jew, Zoroastrian — and declared that all faiths held a measure of truth. He sought not to conquer belief, but to understand it. His reign was a testament that harmony is not found in sameness, but in respect. Akbar’s greatness did not lie in his armies, but in his heart — a heart that refused to be clouded by the darkness of intolerance.

Montesquieu’s words, therefore, are not merely a lament; they are a warning to all generations. When intolerance spreads, it consumes wisdom, silences reason, and enslaves the soul to fear. It begins not with fire and blood, but with scorn — with the whisper that “they” are not like “us.” From such whispers arise persecutions, exiles, and wars. But when we honor the light of reason, when we listen instead of condemn, then the eclipse lifts, and the world brightens once more.

The lesson, then, is simple and yet profound: Respect diversity, guard reason, and let love be your creed. Do not seek to destroy another’s faith; seek instead to understand it. Speak gently where others shout. Extend your hand where others raise their fist. To tolerate is not weakness; it is the strength of those who see beyond the veil of difference and behold the shared flame of humanity.

So, my child, when you encounter another whose beliefs differ from yours, do not fear — for the truth is not fragile, nor is goodness divided by language or ritual. Remember Montesquieu’s wisdom: that it is not the many paths to God that darken the world, but the blindness of those who refuse to see that others may also walk in light. Be therefore a guardian of reason, a servant of peace, and a voice against the spirit of intolerance. For in doing so, you preserve not only harmony among men, but the very dignity of the human mind.