The infectious
disease theory of pluralism
Fighting
fundamentalism is fighting a perception of reality, as opposed to fighting
a single political opportunist and his resources.
President
Bush has gone to great lengths to make the case that the U.S. is not at
war with Islam itself but with a network of terrorists. It is a difficult,
if not impossible, case to make.
For obvious
diplomatic reasons—most notably to keep moderate Arab states feeding us
information and logistical support—he will, nonetheless, continue to try
to make that distinction.
The crux of
the problem we face is that we are after something much more illusive than
Osama bin Laden will ever be. Ultimately, we are trying to destroy not
terrorists or training camps or bio-terror labs, but a way of thinking
that is not at all unique to Islam, namely fundamentalism. It is a way of
thinking so inflexible that it breeds violence.
Fundamentalism
is an element of Islam just as it has been an element in the past and
present of Christianity. From the 11th through the 14th
centuries, European Christians carried out the Crusades against the
"heretical" Muslims. Then as now, religious and political
motivations were blurred.
My,
admittedly, simplistic understanding of what fundamentalism is—whether
we are talking about Muslims, Christians, or Aryans—comes down to an
almost philosophical notion: that deviance from a set of beliefs or even
non belief are not only sinful and evil but, more importantly, infectious
agents. It is the belief that those who don’t subscribe to a particular
belief actually threaten those who do, so much so that, in this way of
thinking, it would be considered a greater sin not to try to eliminate the
threat.
In
explaining his perception of the infidel threat, a fundamentalist might
draw an analogy, say, to an outbreak of small pox in a society. Would you
not do everything in your power to destroy that infection lest it destroy
you and everyone you love? This may not be a perfect analogy, but I think
it is illustrative of what we are dealing with.
Unfortunately,
one can find textural evidence in the Koran to support this type of
thinking. People have found the same in the Bible, at least as they
interpret it. And anyone who has ever taken a literature class knows just
about any interpretation can be found in any text. Not incidentally, it is
perhaps why the Catholic Church maintains strict authority over
interpretation of scriptures. There is no such authority over the Koran.
In the
Western world, in general, we’ve come a long way from the Crusades. We
don’t burn "heathens" at the stake in order to purify them for
eternal life or to protect the rest of Christian society from the them.
Rather, we trust individuals to wrestle with their own demons. Underlying
this trust, I think, is faith in a moral compass within us that exists
long before religion or politics or social norms or any other human
constructs, come into play.
Still, to a
certain extent, we all subscribe to this "infectious evil"
thinking, only in a much more moderate sense. Everyone worries about
influences on children. When the bad kids at school are doing bad things,
we want them away from our children. We want them expelled. We could care
less how they see the world or what problems they have.
We see
other, more virulent strains of fundamentalism in various slices of
American society. Members of Operation Rescue justify murdering doctors
who perform abortions with similar logic. Homosexuality is considered by
some segments of society as moral turpitude that can and will spread.
Aryans have the same attitude about people of color.
I’m
convinced that fear of the other is a fairly basic human quality. We tend
to fear all that is separate or different. How we handle that fear is what
matters—whether we use it for political ends or not. I suspect that bin
Laden is using a fundamentalist guise for political opportunism. His
ambitions are probably more of a geo-political design than that of ridding
the earth of evil and protecting Muslims from infidels. That is not to say
there aren’t true fundamentalists working for him who believe they are
commanded by the Koran to kill infidels. The latter is a wider, more
vexing problem.
Fighting
fundamentalism is fighting a perception of reality, as opposed to fighting
a single political opportunist and his resources. Beliefs, if true at
heart, are difficult to grapple with. It’s like waging war with the air.
What makes
a society civilized in this case is whether we place trust in individuals
to draw distinctions about the sea of ideas we live in. The Osama bin
Ladens of the world will not allow these distinctions to be made. He and
his followers would consider the average Muslim as capable of resisting
Western culture—capitalism, Judeo-Christian faiths, and civil liberties—as
he would be able to resist getting the flu.
Which
raises a question: Is faith necessarily a collective undertaking? Can one’s
faith in a God or a religious vision exist independent of context. I would
hope to believe that one’s spiritual connection to something greater is
neither diminished nor made greater by whatever connection one’s
neighbor might have. I believe we can have a million different
relationships with as many different Gods if need be.
Certainly
faith loves company, but it is not a necessary condition. Spirituality
resides, for the most part, in hearts and minds. And never can we know,
absolutely, what is in the hearts and minds of even those we know best.
While we travel through life together, at base, we come to terms with life
as individuals. And surely we face death alone. All of this is to say that
whatever relationship we may have with a God is uniquely ours.
To think
that the beliefs of others can destroy us is to underestimate our own
convictions and strengths.