With God on my side: The paradoxical relationship between religious belief and criminality among hardcore street offenders

Dealing with fear

Street offenders lead exceedingly dangerous lives, operating outside the bounds of the law and relying only on their wits and will to navigate a world where the threat of retaliation, crimes gone wrong, or police action places them at risk for the daily possibility of injury, paralysis, and death (see Dobrin, 2001; Hoffman, 2000; Jacobs et al., 2000; McCarthy and Hagan, 2005; Sampson and Lauritsen, 1994; Topalli et al., 2002; Tremblay and Paré, 2003). The criminological record is replete with accounts by offenders that describe numerous life-and-death encounters and occurrences. Many experienced offenders—even those who are by most standards quite young—have endured stabbings, shootings, or other horrific life-threatening injuries and yet remain committed to a risky and criminal lifestyle (Anderson, 1994, 1999; Hoffman, 2000; Jacobs et al., 2000; McCarthy and Hagan, 2005; Topalli, 2005a).

How and why are street criminals so fearless and undaunted? Why are they not deterred by the prospect of either formal or informal lethal sanctions (i.e. the death penalty or the possibility of being shot dead in the streets)? Previous research suggests that many offenders experience a heightened sense of ‘futurelessness’ and fatalism as a consequence of growing up and living in economically distressed, high-crime communities where a lack of opportunities and the prospect of a violent death are ever present (Anderson, 1994, 1999; Garbarino et al., 1992; Kitwana, 2002; Simons and Burt, 2011; Wilson and Daly, 1997). Brezina et al. (2009) found that such attitudes underpin a perceptual orientation of many offenders that their deaths are imminent, unpredictable, and nearly unavoidable. They argued that individuals with no future prospects have little to lose by engaging in crime and violence, and focus instead on the immediate reward and gratification provided by their offending in the moment (see Katz, 1988; Wright and Topalli, 2011). It is important to note however, they did not contend that offenders completely ignore the future or that they do not fear death. As Hochstetler and Copes (2003: 89) note, ‘fear factors into the decision-making process of many offenders. Few offenders give their crimes and the potential consequences careful consideration, but this is not evidence that dreadful thoughts do not cross their minds at some time’.

Indeed, if criminals were wholly oblivious or disdainful of the legal or existential consequences of their actions they would consistently act with impulsive, reckless abandon, precluding any sort of planful behavior. This is clearly not the case, as offenders frequently report planning their offenses and thinking about the extralegal consequences of their actions (see Fleming, 2003; Tunnell, 1992; Wright and Decker, 1997). ² In fact, most hardcore offenders do fear death and contemplate the consequences of their actions, but it seems that such considerations are far less salient for them than for members of mainstream society, and certainly not salient enough to act as a comprehensive deterrent (Hochstetler and Copes, 2003), particularly when they are desperate or close to the moment of the offense itself (Wright and Topalli, 2011). What appears evident is that in the same way offenders must neutralize the guilt they may anticipate for committing crime (Sykes and Matza, 1957), so too must they neutralize the fear they anticipate of both the proximate and distal consequences of committing crime.

Doing so may require offenders to employ a variety of behavioral strategies, such as consuming judgment-dulling alcohol and drugs before committing a crime, or relying on the encouragement of co-offenders to steel themselves for the contemplated law breaking ahead. They may also employ a variety of self-enhancing cognitive ‘tricks’ or techniques such as redefining crime as thrilling (Fleming, 2003; Peersen et al., 2004; Webe, 2004) or mundane (Sutherland, 1937; Topalli, 2006). Such self-enhancing and self-deceptive thought processes are well documented by researchers in the social cognition literature (see, for example, Taylor et al., 2000), and are particularly helpful for those seeking to mitigate the anxiety associated with the consideration of death and mortality (Greenberg et al., 1986, 2001). But, are legal and existential consequences the only ones they may actually contemplate? To what extent do they consider the transcendental consequences (i.e. punishment in the afterlife) that may also—at least in their minds—result from criminality? In other words, what role do religious beliefs play in either deterring or encouraging criminality among serious street offenders?

Religiosity, deterrence, and criminality

Both deterrence theory and situational crime prevention focus on the extent to which instilling fear in criminals of the consequences of offending serves as a means of dissuading them from breaking the law (Clarke, 1992). Since most research on deterrence theory is designed to inform crime policy, work in this area has largely been limited to the impact of formal legal sanctions (i.e. imprisonment) on criminality. However, research has also shown that informal mainstream consequences such as shame, loss of employment or status, isolation, and so on, also affect many would-be offenders and such deterrents have been found at times to be even more powerful than fear of legal sanctions (see, for example, Erickson et al., 1977; Grasmick and Green, 1980; Tittle, 1980).

Beyond that, transgressions within the criminal underworld can also trigger ‘street’ sanctions that are uniquely salient to offenders such as the situational deterrent measures that offender/victims can employ (i.e. retaliation; see Jacobs, 2010; Jacobs et al., 2000) or the threatened loss of reputation and respect (see Anderson, 1994; Berg and Stewart, 2009; Topalli et al., 2002). A much less well-studied category of sanction has to do with the interrelated existential and transcendental consequences of criminality, namely the fear of crime-precipitated death and subsequent anticipated punishment in the afterlife.

Such assumptions are implicit in previous work by criminologists on the power of religion to deter offending. Much of that literature focuses on the ability of religion to constrain or control offending by strengthening the bonds between would-be criminals and society, with the assumption that such bonds increase a person’s loyalty to and acceptance of mainstream values (Akers, 2010). In keeping with a classical social bonding approach (Hirschi, 1969; Schreck, 2009), religion is assumed to encourage prosocial behavior by emphasizing religious beliefs, commitment, and activities. Although early research seemed to disprove such an effect (see, for example, Hirschi and Stark’s classic 1969 article on the ‘hellfire’ effect) it has partially been supported by subsequent work demonstrating that religious behaviors (e.g. church attendance, prayer) and beliefs (e.g. belief in God, in the Bible) can serve to deter risky behaviors in general (Wallace et al., 2007) and offending in particular (see Akers, 2010; Akers et al., 2008; Cochran and Akers, 1989; Evans et al., 1995; Stark, 1996; for a meta-analysis, see Baier and Wright, 2001).

However, most researchers in this area tend to focus on the role of mainstream-oriented religiosity, where it is expected that the religious beliefs of the individual are ‘conventional’ and shared by others members of the community. In fact, evidence indicates that religion exhibits stronger deterrent effects on crime in communities where overall levels of religiosity are high (Baier and Wright, 2001; Stark, 1996). In such communities, individuals are likely to be surrounded by liked-minded believers, who help to enforce the mainstream value system. But what happens when religious belief becomes disconnected from the mainstream value system?

As Akers (2010) points out, there are times when religion is purposely manipulated to serve ends that are decidedly counter to mainstream values, as when religious indoctrination is oriented toward encouraging terrorism (see Atran, 2003; Berko and Erez, 2005, 2006; Hamm, 2009; Kruglanski et al., 2009). In such cases, a ‘warped’ anti-mainstream religious message is communicated externally (by proponents of terroristic action) to individuals to encourage them to violence in the name of either religious obligation or potential transcendental rewards (i.e. heaven, ‘72 virgins’ etc., see Routledge and Arndt, 2008).

Another heretofore-unconsidered possibility is that offenders themselves may employ (either purposefully or out of ignorance) alternatively distorted and/or self-serving religious narratives to justify their offending behavior and neutralize any deterrent effect that fear of transcendental negative outcomes would normally have. To the extent that such manipulations are successful, religiosity may fail to deter crime in such cases and may, in fact, facilitate persistent criminality.

Methodological justification

Most serious street crimes are committed by a small, dedicated group of individuals in concentrated areas of most cities (see Braga, 2003, 2005; Kennedy, 1997; Sherman, 2001, 2006; Weisburd et al., 2009). Our goal in the current study was to understand how such offenders’ views and concerns about life, death, and religion interact with extant structural and cultural factors to generate serious criminal behavior, and more specifically, how offender decision-making processes are driven by the dynamic interaction of social, psychological, and cultural variables that comprise the interaction between background and foreground factors of crime (see Katz, 1988; Wright and Topalli, 2011; Wright et al., 2006). Put simply, while quantitative data are well qualified to establish that a relationship between variables like religious belief and criminality exists, qualitative data are useful for contextualizing this relationship; disentangling the unique contributions and interactions of such variables as religious belief, fear, subcultural views and avidity to serious street crime. As such, we elected to investigate these issues employing a qualitative approach, targeted toward active, hardcore street offenders. Our strategy was inspired by the notion that to understand the offender’s perspective it is critical to go beyond simple description and investigate the subjective, lived experiences of those who partake in crime and violence (see Feeney, 1986; Jacques and Wright, 2008, 2010; Schinkel, 2004).

We conducted our interviews with noninstitutionalized individuals rather than taking the more traditional route of interviewing those who were incarcerated. Although an offender’s incarcerated status may be seen as a valid and compelling indicator of deviance (and thus an appropriate starting point for understanding criminality), incarceration itself is problematic when attempting to understand the decision-making processes that lead to crime out on the streets.

To begin, the interview setting is a critical component of the interview process. It maintains the potential to significantly alter or distort the offender’s perceptions, memories, and responses during the interview and must be carefully considered with an eye toward maximizing the external validity of the research endeavor at hand (see Jacques and Wright, 2010; Lee, 1995; Spradley, 1979; Topalli, 2005b; Wright and Decker, 1994, 1997; cf. Copes and Vieraitis, 2008). While interviewing offenders in prison may provide valid and important information on such topics as prison life, rehabilitation, or reentry, it is less well suited to helping us understand how offenders decide to commit crimes when they are free (Jacobs, 2006; Maruna and Copes, 2005; Presser, 2004, 2010). Prisoners are, by definition, out of criminal circulation. In attempting to understand how and why offenders decide to engage in violent crime, it is important to determine if a logical distinction can be made between the information provided by offenders distal to their offending activity (i.e. in prison) versus those who were proximal to the same (i.e. on the outside).

Finally, most prisons employ rehabilitation programs run by faith-based groups, with a good deal of content focused on religious instruction or at least steeped in religious language (see O’Connor et al., 2006; Sumter and Clear, 2005). The implementation of these programs in the rehabilitative setting of prison is problematic when the aim of research is to identify the manner in which religious beliefs affect wrongdoing among those operating in criminogenic situations and settings outside prison (cf. Kerley et al., 2010). While faith-based prison programs deliver a religious-based message of rehabilitation (see Adler et al., 2008), the streets deliver a different message altogether. There, the salient concern for offenders is not rehabilitation or redemption but the principles of violence, retaliation, and self-interest (see Anderson, 1999; Berg and Stewart, 2009; Stewart et al., 2006). Given that our goal was to identify how religion interacts with those principles to encourage or discourage criminality and violence, we logically pursued a data collection strategy aimed at those living and operating in the streets.

Setting

For a variety of (unfortunate) reasons, Atlanta is well positioned to serve as a setting for studies on urban crime and violence. Atlanta has been identified as a ‘primary distribution center’ for illicit drugs within the state of Georgia, serving as ‘both a final destination point for drug shipments and a smuggling corridor for drugs transported along the East Coast’ (Drug Enforcement Agency, 2008). Moreover, the city suffers a homicide rate that is close to four times the national average and its overall crime rate ranks among the top 10 for major metropolitan areas in the United States (Federal Bureau of Investigation, 2010). We focused our data collection efforts on two parts of the city; Central West Atlanta (CWA) and South Atlanta. According to the Atlanta Police Department’s Crime Analysis Unit, CWA represented only 10 percent (48,216) of the city’s population in 2005–2009; yet it accounted for 20 percent of all city homicides, 22 percent of the rapes, 22 percent of the robberies, and 29 percent of the aggravated assaults known to police. South Atlanta evidenced similarly lop-sided rates based on its population (13 percent of the population with 28 percent of homicides, 18 percent of rapes, 27 percent of robberies, and 31 percent of assaults).

Participants and recruitment

Our sample of 48 participants was comprised entirely of African Americans, with an average age of 26, and included six females. Our recruiter (an African American male) is a seasoned veteran of Atlanta’s criminal underworld. ³ Now in his early 40s, he participated in a variety of criminal activities throughout his teens, 20s, and 30s (including robbery and drug dealing), developing a fearsome and well-respected reputation among community members and offenders alike in South Atlanta and CWA. He was instructed to identify and locate participants for the study who fell within our stated inclusion criteria; offenders actively involved in serious street crime throughout their career with four or more serious offenses (drug dealing, robbery, carjacking, burglary) within the past year.

A common refrain on the streets is that one should ‘never do anything for nothing’ (see Anderson, 1994; Topalli and Wright, 2004). Offenders value their time and are unconcerned with the notion that they should ‘help’ researchers with their work in any context. As such, we paid them a $50 incentive for their participation in the study. Our recruiter was paid a $50 referral fee per successful interview. We maintained the anonymity of participants by never asking for their real names, assuring them that the interviews were to be used solely for the purpose of research, paying them in cash, and referencing them only by their street nick-names in the current work. For those who did not wish to have their street names used, we have substituted fictitious names (only two offenders asked for this). To protect the identities of the interviewees we never recorded their names and retained strict control over interview content (erasing digital recordings after transcription). To limit the possibility that interviewees would be vulnerable to the ill intentions of other offenders, we do not share information about offender activities across interviewees and the recruiter has been instructed to do the same. Finally, though our data have not been subpoenaed by the authorities, we take great care not to ask interviewees about the specific dates, times or locations of their offenses or any other identifying information that could make them vulnerable to prosecution.

Procedures and analysis

Interviews lasted from 45 to 120 minutes and were conducted between 2009 and 2011. Twenty-nine interviews took place in the authors’ private offices on campus. In such cases, the recruiter drove the participants to our offices escorting them on and off campus. The remainder of our interviews were conducted on the streets of CWA and South Atlanta at fast-food restaurants, public parks, in other outdoor public areas, or in cars; wherever the interviewees and the researchers felt comfortable.

The purpose of conducting interviews on the street was two-fold. First, many offenders balked at the prospect of being interviewed on a university campus, feeling more comfortable in their own surroundings. Second, conducting interviews in their home territory sometimes enhanced the offenders’ recall of key events, providing us with richer detail on important aspects of the interview topic at hand. Engaging offenders on their home turf does carry a certain amount of risk. Lee (1995: 4–5) identifies two kinds of danger that arise from such activities; ambient danger to the interviewer (‘when the researcher is exposed to otherwise avoidable dangers simply by having to be in a dangerous setting’) and situational danger (which ‘arises when the researcher’s presence or actions evoke aggression, hostility, or violence from those within the setting’). As researchers experienced with this kind of work (see, for example, Brezina and Topalli, 2012; Brezina et al., 2009; Topalli, 2005a, 2005b, 2006, etc.) we have become adept at avoiding the latter type of danger—through common sense, maintaining cell phone contact with colleagues when out on the street, not carrying or displaying excessive cash, and observing a discreet profile—and have accepted the former as an unavoidable but necessary cost of engaging in this type of research. ⁴

Interviews were digitally recorded (and later transcribed verbatim, amounting to 778 pages of transcripts). We employed a predetermined question-and-answer protocol designed to extract key concepts and domains (see Spradley, 1979), but the interviews were semi-structured and conducted in an informal, conversational manner. We were particularly keen on allowing participants to respond freely and to introduce their own concepts and categories, thus avoiding the perception on their part that the ‘conversation’ was a formal question-and-answer interview. This approach has been employed successfully in many previous ethnographic studies of active (see, for example, Brezina et al., 2009; Topalli and Wright, 2004; Tyler and Johnson, 2004; Wright and Decker, 1994, 1997) and institutionalized (see, for example, Blatier, 2000; Cherbonneau and Copes, 2006; Copes and Hochstetler, 2003; Shover and Honaker, 1992) offenders. Coding of the interviews was conducted by the authors and two research assistants. Domains and concept categories were compared and contrasted. Repeat coding was employed to more clearly identify core concepts. Data that were determined to be inconsistent across coders were not utilized.

Anticipating an early death: ‘cause you don’t know if you gonna live to see next year’

Consistent with the results of Brezina et al.’s (2009) work, the offenders we interviewed regularly stated that they anticipated an early death. Forty of the 48 respondents made statements along the following lines: ‘I do [think about dying] … I’ve done woke up in the morning and [thought] I might, I might. Think I might die today or I might not make it’ (LayLow, male, 22, robber).

In many cases, when pressed to explain where such attitudes came from most referenced how dangerous street life was in general and how their day-today activities placed them at risk for violence. As Jersey (male, 37, drug dealer) put it,

Do I think about dying soon? Man you got to think about what you doing here because you’re taking your life not only in your hands but taking your future too …’cause they’ll kill you man. In my neighborhood man, somebody find out you got $2–3000 they will kill you man and leave you on the side of the road. The thing about robbing man is when you rob, you either go out to rob, kill, or be killed. There could be a time when I go to rob somebody’s house and they could be waiting on me to kill me.

It was during these points in our interviews that the offenders’ mortality became more salient. Their discussions and descriptions of violence naturally invoked notions of existential and transcendental outcomes, and we used these opportunities to inquire about their views on religion and spirituality. Consequently, we were able to reference these themes to invoke discussions and consideration of how the offender’s criminal decision-making process was influenced in some fashion by these views. Many interviewees (roughly half) stipulated that their participation in violent crime was inappropriate and believed that their lives could be cut short within the context of divine retribution:

Well, you know, what I think about a lot is, I shoulda’ been dead a long time ago. God has kept me around for a certain reason you know, I worry about it because I can’t say that I’m not afraid to die, you know, ’cause I am. Either I’m gonna die to the streets, die to the drugs, or somebody gonna kill me, you know. One of these. (Detroit, male, 47, carjacker, robber)

One might view such admissions of iniquity on the part of cold-blooded, hard-core offenders as antithetical to offending (and therefore a deterrent to such behavior). However, Sykes and Matza (1957; see also Matza, 1964) demonstrated that while many offenders acknowledge that offending is wrong, they proceed with their transgressions by engaging in self-deceptive cognitive exercises (i.e. neutralizations) to overcome such considerations (see also, Matza, 1964). For our offenders, this process of self-deception was demonstrably complex and, as will be seen below, they employed a variety of such techniques to support their continued offending. This pattern became apparent as we moved the discussion from how imperiled offenders felt to their considerations of God, religion, and the afterlife. A surprising number of offenders proclaimed their belief in a higher power, and that they were adherents to a specific religion (44 of 48 claiming to be Christian, one claiming to be Muslim and three claiming to be atheists):

Yeah, I believe in God. I love God, you know what I mean? I put Him first and foremost [before] anything. Yes indeed I believe in God. I know you looking at me like, how’s that? How’s he believe in God with all the shit he do? But I do man. I know the Bible, I been to church. I pray on shit all the time. I mean, look around. All this [waving his hands up to the sky and to the surrounding area] didn’t just pop outta nothing. If God didn’t make it, who did? You? (LayLow)

Yeah, I was going to church. Baptist Church. But then I converted to Islam. I’m a believer man. I believe in all that, in God. Someday I will go to Mecca for the Hajj. I still try to attend two mosques every chance I get. Give my soul the right state of mind. ’Cause I know you can’t pray in Hell. See, I know Allah knows that this is not the life I wanted. I think that it is the graciousness of Allah that I have been protected. (Smitty, male, 45, drug addict, robber)

These kinds of statements provided us with the opportunity to juxtapose their offending with their purported religiousness. What emerged from these discussions was that offenders were able to use a variety of cognitive self-deceptions to not only reconcile, justify, and excuse their criminality, but to formulate the transcendental consequential constructs of religion as reasons for their offending.

Religion as a reason to offend: ‘Its like I’m giving punishment to them for Jesus’

The results of our study suggest that counterintuitive understandings or manipulations of religious doctrine facilitate crime in three ways (see below). ⁵ Whether such ‘misuses’ of religious doctrine are willful or genuine, the consequence is that offenders were often able to apply them as a basis for defending their criminality through a variety of a priori neutralizations (see Sykes and Matza, 1957) and a posteriori excuses and justifications (see Scott and Lyman, 1968).

First, offenders’ religious beliefs may be incomplete; many interviewees lacked a clear or comprehensive understanding of the precepts, rules, and expectations of their faith. Thus, offenders’ predictions or beliefs regarding the transcendental consequences of their criminality were simply imprecise, albeit supportive of offending. In fact, we found that while offenders strongly proclaimed their faith, many had only a cursory understanding of the specifics of religious doctrine, including such important concepts as the nature of the afterlife, and the conditions that establish transcendental punishment. Often, offenders were well aware of such knowledge deficits. For example, Gutter, a 24-year-old male robber, stated, ‘I believe but I don’t read the Bible. I don’t go to church. I sit by myself and pray though. I know, shit, I know there is a God up there.’ Que, an 18-year-old male robber, echoed these sentiments:

Such incomplete understandings often supported criminalistics beliefs. When we pointed out to Triggerman (a 33-year-old enforcer and hit-man for local drug dealers in New Orleans) that the ‘transcendental penalty’ for murder was eternal damnation (a crime he had committed), his response was,

No, no, no, I don’t think that is right. I mean, anything can be forgiven. We live in Hell now and you can do anything [transgression] in Hell. When it all end … we go up there [to Heaven] and the Devil comes down here. Only the Devil lives in Hell forever man all by his self. God has to forgive everyone, even if they don’t believe in him.

Other offenders voiced similar theological twists regarding the manner in which heaven and hell worked. For example, Detroit, a 47-year-old robber and carjacker believed that, ‘there is a Heaven and there is a Hell, but I believe that it is Hell on earth, and we trying to fight to get [there, to Heaven]. Like it’s Hell on earth, we already in Hell, you know?’

Second, their religious beliefs may be selective; some offenders were aware of religious doctrine but seemed to manipulate or selectively attend to certain precepts though not others to accommodate their self-serving desire to offend. In a number of cases, offenders demonstrated a more purposeful selective understanding of the culpability of their behavior. Major, a 19-year-old male carjacker and robber, exemplified this, ‘I believe in God. Yeah I believe, but there ain’t no such thing as the Devil though. I was raised not to think of no Devil.’ In almost classic positivist phrasing, Young Stunna, a 23-year-old male robber interpreted his faith as excusing criminal behavior for those who were disadvantaged but not for those with means:

Well, you do get punished for doing wrong, but not if you don’t have no choice. It’s like this here. See, if I go and rob a motherfucker then I’m still going to Heaven because … uhm … it’s like, Jesus knows I ain’t have no choice, you know? He know I got a decent heart. He know I’m stuck in the hood and just doing what I gotta do to survive. But you now, if you [poking interviewer in the chest] rob somebody, then you might get punished because you going to the Pearly Gates and Jesus going to be like, why you robbing motherfuckers when I gave you a job and a nice life already? What’s up with that?

A similar self-serving interpretation of religious doctrine was evident in commentary from Cool, a 25-year-old male drug dealer:

The way it work is this. You go out and do some bad and then you ask for forgiveness and Jesus have to give it to you, and you know wipe the slate clean. So, I always do a quick little prayer right before and then I’m cool with Jesus. Also another thing is this; if you doing some wrong to another bad person, like if I go rob a dope dealer or a molester or something, then it don’t count against me because it’s like I’m giving punishment to them for Jesus. That’s God’s will. Oh you molested some kids? Well now I’m [God] sending Cool over your house to get your ass.

Such selective understanding of religious doctrine served offenders well in justifying their behavior, particularly when it came to considering the transcendental consequences of offending. Many offenders expressed a great deal of faith in the forgiving nature of God vis-a-vis themselves, and believed that if there was a Hell, it was reserved for others. Our offenders—who most certainly represent some of the most serious and violent criminals on the streets—frequently declared that their actions warranted dispensation from punishment in the afterlife but that such mercy was not due to others. For example, Erica, a 40-year-old transgender (male to female) robber and con artist stated:

Why I think that [I’m going to heaven]? Because, I have a good heart. I do, I have a good heart. And I have a good soul. You know, I mean, some of the things that I do, I mean, I still look out for people, you know what I’m sayin? And that’s one of the biggest things that God looks at, you know, what would you do for your neighbor? [Those that end up in Hell] are the murderers, rapists, child molesters. People with no kind of morals or values about themselves or about other people.

Finally, it would be unfair to assume that all of our offenders had deeply flawed knowledge of religious doctrine. They were all recruited from neighborhoods where religious institutions (i.e. churches) maintain a consistent presence, where many of them had significant exposure to such institutions as children. Consequently, a number of them seemed to know enough about their religion to argue convincingly that their behavior was in fact permissible (if not condoned). Thus, their beliefs may be technically accurate to stated doctrine but paradoxical to the mainstream approved intent of religion. Religious scripture is known for its complex dialectical nature, its tendency for contradictory edicts (e.g. ‘eye for an eye’ vs ‘turn the other cheek’), and its oftentimes-opaque prose. Given that supposedly educated, mainstream society often disagrees as to the use and meaning of religious text, we would argue that the latter point is in fact at least a strong possibility for offenders operating in criminal subcultures (something that should be jointly explored further by religious and criminological scholars).

To wit, offenders frequently applied their knowledge of religion to support their offending with specific recognition of an omnipotent higher power that permitted or even wanted them to continue their offending. In the former scenario, this was most often tied to a belief in a benevolent and forgiving deity. According to Butter, a 31-year-old male robber, ‘If God wasn’t forgiving, I wouldn’t be living … if you’re praying to God he’s probably protecting you and all that kinda stuff.’ In the latter, their continued offending was often viewed as ‘part of God’s plan’. He would stop their offending at His, not the offender’s, discretion. For example,

Before I do anything, I pray, right, and to me, it keeps me out there longer, until it gets to a point where it seems like God says, ‘Well, I can’t let you get along, I can’t let you do this no more.’ See, I do believe that people can change, but that has to come from the most high. When you get that calling, that is it. You know, I have a cliché that I say … I’m getting high to the day I die. I’m doing this to the day I die, unless the most high intercedes, that is. (New York Red, male, 38, robber)

In other instances, offenders were so bold as to actually attempt to ‘game the system’ so to speak. A particularly colorful example—and one of the clearest instances of a priori neutralizing conveyed to us—was provided by Miami, a 40-year-old male robber:

I think [God] is forgiving ’cause you know, what I learned from going to church, you know, sometimes is that like the guys that was on the cross with Jesus, both of ’em did wrong, and that at the last minute one of them ask God to forgive him … and I figured as long as I be able to ask for forgiveness before I die I’m going to Heaven, but if somebody shoot me and I don’t get no chance to pray, you know, I’m going to Hell. So, I came up with this great idea, that hey, I ask God in advance if I don’t get a chance to pray, to forgive me you know for what I’ve done and then I feel like God know in my heart that I don’t like what I’m doing but that’s the only thing I know to do.