On Fragmentation
There are a number of groups and phenomena that demand attention recently despite their status as extremist or fringe. Daesh in the Middle East, the Alt-Right in the US, AfD in Germany, and countless other groups are emerging against the backdrop of an otherwise multicultural, inclusive, and accepting world. There are a great many things to celebrate in this world we have created, that accepts a great many refugees, that trades openly with one another, that accepts and tolerates difference more than ever before. But this may also be one of the reasons these fringe groups can gain power.
Like in physics, social order naturally tends toward chaos without substantial bulwarks against it. These bulwarks in a society are the narratives and identities in communities. The stories we tell about ourselves and the people we choose to include in those stories form the sinews that bind communities together cohesively. A national identity, a religious identity, an ethnic identity and so on all have a powerful ability to fight against chaos. People don't feel alienated from their group despite their many differences precisely because of the power of their overarching group narrative to unite them as more the "same" than different.
What feels tricky about modern inclusive cultures is their penchant for inclusion. There is a tough balance to be struck between inclusion and chaos in societies. Including a great many differences, highlighting all differences is a beautiful goal. That we have made inclusion a foundational principle of our country is the thing that makes me most proud to be American. In this understanding though, it may be this beautiful ideal that also causes some of the growing pains of modern society. As we grow to become a more accepting world, many still cling to and crave grand narratives. People in slightly different circumstances may find their narratives weakened by inclusion, or may have grown up fully in a backdrop that values the kaleidoscope over a single hue. To these people, strong narratives can be very appealing. And simple narratives, radical narratives, have strength. Think to the appeal of the grade-school class president who's platform was only to ensure two recesses, or the simple dream to have the power of flight as a child. Neither of these confront complexities, from the challenges of early childhood education, to the physics and mechanical engineering behind flight. They simply exclaim, and they capture the imagination. So too do groups that shout their existence and do so in contraposition to a comparatively wishy-washy world that says all stories are important. If all stories are important, then my story isn't special. If my story isn't special, then it doesn't matter who is shared in my story. Under this logic, the inclusive begins to feel atomizing. People are told they are included but the narrative arcs that frame their inclusion are discounted in favor of a narrative that discounts narratives and highlights the value of each individual. In this climate it can start to make sense for people to be drawn into something that reasserts the divisions of groups, that asserts the importance of a narrative.
Perhaps this is why as we reach toward what I consider our highest heights yet as an inclusive global civilization, we also see the spasms of radical ideologies and fractious fringe groups bubbling up powerfully on the periphery.
