In our current world of suicide bombers and nuclear warheads, there is one word that scares me more than any other: fundamentalism.
And ever since the tragic events of 9/11, I am quite confident that I haven't been alone in this fear. Despite how saddening such catastrophes have been, however, what concerns me most is not the threat of further terrorist attacks, which (thanks to our "code orange" status) continues to loom over our heads. Rather, what I lose the most sleep over is the religious certainty that has seeded and fueled these atrocities in the first place.
It seems to me that any and every time faith is distorted into a type of assured knowledge or self-avowed fact, it's always dangerous-the violent examples are simply the most visible. Men who run into family restaurants with belts made of dynamite shouting "praise be to God" scare me just as much as a president who, in the face of an unprecedented lack of support, says, "My faith frees me to do the right thing."
The worst part of all is that the intensity of fundamentalism's confidence in itself amplifies both its volume and visibility. The world is left to see religion as dogmatic and intolerant as the shouting televangelist loudly proclaims her possession of "truth" from an adorned studio while the unassuming saint quietly prays and serves in the forgotten corners of the world.
In his Time Magazine editorial "When Not Seeing Is Believing," Andrew Sullivan describes how the fundamentalist psyche has caused a polarization between religious literalism and secular subjectivism. The literalist feels religious doctrine is no different than scientific fact and therefore should be pressed upon others; the subjectivist feels there is no such thing as religious truth and thus we should leave each other alone and let each individual figure it out on her own.
There is a third alternative-I would call this approach "humbled faith." This is a perspective that believes in truth, but is hesitant to say it can know it wholly and perfectly. The approach says, "Yes, we cannot know anything for certain, but we can still try to meaningfully learn and grow through our limited perceptions." It is a desire to share what has transformed one's own life while still recognizing how much more there is to learn.
The reason I am addressing these issues is this: I believe fundamentalism has severely hindered our ability to engage in sincere moral and religious discourse and I believe this is a loss we cannot afford to suffer. And I believe a type of humbled faith may be our way out.
Because the arrogance of many fundamentalists is often only matched by their ignorance, I do not blame the large portion of reasonable and intelligent individuals who no longer want to hear about God, faith or meaning. Every time I am asked "do you have Jesus in your heart" by a complete stranger who knows nothing about me, I often ask myself what the hell I am doing calling myself a believer (and usually respond by saying back to them, "Do you?").
Admittedly, I also think my last column may have tended toward this type of "self-assuredness" that I am warning against. I think I forgot how tired so many of us are (and rightfully so) of the condescension and pride that is so often included with the sharing of opinions and beliefs.
However, here is the truth of the matter: I came to Duke in search of meaning (or truth or God, whatever you would like to call it), and I have been fortunate enough to find at least a few fragments of it. But I have no way of knowing what they might mean to others, and have no business deciding if they even should. And maybe most importantly, I am also very open to the possibility that they might even be wrong.
Still, Christian, Jewish or humanist: central to each is the recognition that life is not an individual effort. It is a communal endeavor. We can only grow by our willingness to teach and learn from each other through honest sharing and genuine listening. And to be successful, we must have the courage to discern and share what has formed our own lives while maintaining the patience and humility to be changed by the stories of each other.
Unfortunately, the obstinate voice of fundamentalism has been so loud, the rest of us have gone deaf even to each other. I think we can work toward meaningful discourse by remembering three things. First, we cannot be absolutely sure of anything. Second, there is still a very real amount of meaning, peace and truth to be found in this world. And lastly, whatever truth we can find, it is best enjoyed through sharing in it together.
Mark Stoltenberg is a Trinity senior. His column runs every other Wednesday.
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