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Religion may be their unifying feature, but I would suggest their motivation comes from years of exploitation by their Western-backed leaders, leaders who have gained great wealth by cooperating with their European and American backers and by enabling the exploitation of the vast majority of their people. The effort of the masses is fueled by a desire to overthrow these dictatorships. The Europeans and the Americans have backed the wrong horse, and they are now paying for it as the targets of terrorism. The armies of these dictators are equipped with arms furnished by Western nations, primarily the United States.
Conversely, the United States had nothing to do with the fall of the Ottoman Empire, nor with the sorry shape of Arab civilization thereafter.
These nations are not democracies. They remain in power to the extent their military can keep the masses at bay.
We've seen what Arab democracy looks like, and it's not pretty (e.g. Hamas, the Muslim Brotherhood, etc.). Democracy can produce some very evil results without the framework of liberal constitutionalism to restrain the tyranny of the majority. Fareed Zakaria's "The Rise of Illiberal Democracy" gives many good examples.
As long as we continue to choose sides in these civil wars, we will remain a target for the opposition. The religious fanatics take advantage of the hate built up over many years and use our military actions to fuel recruitment and support. Terrorists have learned that their support will increase if they can provoke the opposition into some overly repressive actions. We have willingly taken the bait.
I'm sympathetic to the argument that our ham-fisted foreign policy in the Middle East has created a lot of avoidable blowback, which should be minimized going forward by reducing our regional footprint dramatically. That said, I'm not a foreign policy idealist. Consistently supporting democracy would not improve stability in the region, but would empower Islamists. Like it or not, as the global hegemon, we have to underwrite global stability via "off-shore balancing". Right now, that likely means supporting regional actors who are willing to oppose ISIS (such as Iran). It forces us to deal with unsavory regimes, but there's no alternative that produces a more favorable result for the people of the Middle East.
As an aside, the conversation in the Theology thread has some relevance to our debate here. Your political instincts--skepticism of the establishment and sympathy for the downtrodden--is itself an artifact of Christianity. You won't find it in any other religious tradition. So it's sadly ironic that you now turn that instinct on the Christian moral framework to which you owe your current outlook.
Jody Bottum's "The Spiritual Shape of Politics" is on point:
Early in the twentieth century, however, the main denominations of liberal American Protestantism gradually came to a new view of sin, understanding our innate failings as fundamentally social rather than personal. Crystallized by Walter Rauschenbusch’s influential Christianity and the Social Crisis (1907), the Social Gospel movement saw such sins as militarism and bigotry as the forces that Christ revealed in his preaching—the social forces that crucified him and the social forces against which he was resurrected. Not that Christ mattered all that much in the Social Gospel’s construal. Theological critics from John Gresham Machen in the 1920s to Reinhold Niebuhr in the 1950s pointed out that the Social Gospel left little for the Redeemer to do: Living after his revelation, what further use do have we of him? Jesus may be the ladder by which we climbed to a higher ledge of morality, but once there, we no longer need the ladder.
Millions of believing Christians still populate the United States, of course: evangelicals and Catholics and the remaining members of the mainline churches. Demographically, America is still an overwhelmingly Christian country. But the Social Gospel’s loss of a strong sense of Christ facilitated the drift of congregants—particularly the elite and college-educated classes—out of the mainline that had once defined the country. Out of the churches and into a generally secularized milieu.
They did not leave empty-handed. Born in the Christian churches, the civil rights movement had focused on bigotry as the most pressing of social sins in the 1950s and 1960s, and when the mainline Protestants began to leave their denominations, they carried with them the Christian shape of social and moral ideas, however much they imagined they had rejected Christian content. How else can we understand the religious fervor with which white privilege is preached these days—the spiritual urgency with which its proponents describe a universal inherited guilt they must seek out behind even its cleverest masks? Their very sense of themselves as good people, their confidence in their salvation from the original sin of American culture, requires all this.
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