I recently listened to the podcast, “The Witch Trials of J.K. Rowling,” which explored not only the author’s journey from beloved to blacklisted, but also the psychology behind fundamentalism, and yes, witch hunts.*
Fundamentalism is classically defined as a strict belief in the literal interpretation of Scripture, but it has been applied to mean strict adherence to any dogma or creed. You may be a fundamentalist Christian, Jew, Hindu, Buddhist, Muslim, or atheist. So far, so good.
Certainly in our modern, pluralistic society, we shouldn’t critique anyone for holding strongly to their beliefs, even if we may debate those beliefs in good faith.
But in practice, fundamentalism has taken on a much darker meaning.
The term itself arose to describe a movement in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. It was an effort to shore up historic Christian truths, or fundamentals, such as the authority of Scripture, and the physical resurrection of Jesus Christ, against the erosive forces of modernism and liberal theology, which were making headway in the halls of academia at the time.
Over time, this set of vital Christian truths, came to include views on evolution, abortion, gay marriage, etc. Eventually, within the wider culture at least, it morphed into a list of political issues, and inevitably, political efforts arose to preserve Christian morals in a culture where it was becoming increasingly uncomfortable to hold them.
But now, the first thing that probably pops into your head when you hear the word “fundamentalist,” is not preserving the faith once delivered to the saints, but instead, the war on Christmas.
I grew up in a Christian home where I was taught the authority and inerrancy of Scripture. I didn’t think it distinguished us in any way — it was the air we breathed. But in a high school religion class, I was surprised to find out that there was a label for people like me and my family: fundamentalists.
Fundamentalists, I was taught, believed in a literal interpretation of Scripture, which made them angry, close-minded, intolerant, and ignorant. As if adhering too closely to the Bible inevitably led to behaving like creeps.
Where did this caricature come from?
I remember seeing news footage of congregants from Westboro Baptist, and feeling a visceral sense of disgust and shame. They really were angry, close-minded, intolerant, and ignorant.
But it wasn’t only them. I also remember a sense of fear among the most influential fundamentalist voices. Fear of the devil, fear of the left, fear of the gay agenda, fear of teen sex. As if the greatest threats we faced were external, not internal.
But it’s not like those voices were completely wrong. That’s what bothered me. As much as I was embarrassed by the legalism, anger, and straw-manning, I did agree with some of the points they made. So I always carried a sense of deep discomfort about the incongruity between what I believed and what I was told I believed.
As an adult, I decided to find out, once and for all, whether I was a fundamentalist or, as the ex-vangelical cool kids would say, a “fundie.”
So, do I believe we should interpret the Bible literally?
Yes. To paraphrase R.C. Sproul, we should interpret the Bible the way it was written. So, if a passage is an historical narrative, we read it as an historical narrative, not poetry. If a passage is poetry, we read it as poetry, not historical narrative.
And by my literal reading of the Bible, there is a big difference between being a fundamentalist and being a fundie.
I believe in the physical birth, life, death, resurrection, ascension, and impending return of Jesus Christ. I believe in protection for unborn babies and their mothers, a historically Christian view of marriage, and a young earth. And I hold these views because I believe the Bible is God-breathed, and that it speaks unequivocally on these things.
For some, holding those views makes me a fundie. Fine. But I can hold all of those views I just listed and still condemn book-burnings, Christless conservatism, Westboro, and efforts to “own the libs.”
In my view, what makes a fundamentalist a fundie is fear. This fear dehumanizes anyone who does not agree, and when coupled with supposed divine endorsement, it could be weaponized. Too often, confessing Christians do display this quality. Yet many non-Christians do as well. This was the point of “The Witch Trials of J.K. Rowling:” any person, regardless of belief system, can be inflamed by their own fear. The fear gives way to anger, which takes root and manifests as an authoritarian attempt demand obedience, and to silence anyone who does not agree.
The late pastor John MacArthur once described fundamentalism as “no fun, too much damn, and not enough mental.” Some might think such a remark ironic coming from someone like MacArthur, who was well-known for having firm convictions and boldly proclaiming the authority of Scripture. Yet he saw biblical Christianity as freedom, and fundamentalism as bondage.
Fundamentalism is not Christian. Far from it. It is anti-Christian. It is anti-Christ.
Here’s why:
To be a Christian is to declare “Jesus Christ is Lord.”
Jesus, the anglicized Greek equivalent of his given Hebrew name, Yeshua.
Christ, the Greek word meaning anointed, or in Hebrew, Mashiach/Messiah.
Lord, the Greek word kyrios, which also referred to the Roman sovereign. “Kaiser Kyrios” was a phrase that meant “Caesar is Lord.” It rendered unto Caesar divine status, ultimate authority.
Jesus Christ is Lord. Christos Kyrios. It’s easy to imagine how that may have been received. An itinerant Jewish teacher, born of obscure parentage in a backwater town, killed in a humiliating public execution…to ascribe to him divine status and ultimate authority?
Sure, if Jesus of Nazareth is still buried somewhere beneath Jerusalem, he is not Christos, and he’s certainly not Kyrios.
But that’s not what Christians believe. We believe that Jesus of Nazareth rose from the dead, was seen and touched by hundreds of people, and ascended into heaven. We believe that He is the Lord Jesus Christ, the Son of God.
We submit to the authority of Him who said: “In this world, you will have trouble. But take heart! For I have overcome the world.”
This does not mean that we sit idly by and watch the world burn. We are called to action: to be salt, which preserves and enhances, and light, which adorns and illuminates. We unload the dishwasher, bake bread, clean the gutters, walk the dog, commit to our churches, love our neighbors, and help our communities. Some might even be given positions of great responsibility for a time — unique opportunities to do good works for the glory of God and good of others. We are called to do all of this in hope that we will not be ashamed or abandoned by our Lord, Who is the First and the Last, the Beginning and the End.
But fundamentalism — that force that is so characterized by fear, which dehumanizes other image-bearers of God, which seeks to win through force, which ignites emotions instead of the intellect, which is a man-centered effort to force our will upon another — has nothing in common with Jesus Christ.
But we are not doomed to be angry, close-minded, intolerant, and ignorant. We are not consigned to carry the heavy burden of legalism, which demands allegiance to manmade standards, darkens the intellect, and quenches the Spirit’s work of grace. Indeed,
It is for freedom that Christ has set us free. Stand firm then, and do not let yourselves be burdened again by a yoke of slavery. — Galatians 5:1
*I recommend this podcast with reservations, since it is thoughtful, comprehensive, and well-made, but includes some pervasive, deeply disturbing, R-rated language that is not fit for anyone to hear. I did not sense that the producers took any pleasure in presenting the uglier details of the story, but there were a lot of them.
Katie Bertola 