(CNN)It's a visceral and involuntary reaction, perhaps even knee-jerk: A black church burns in the South and our minds race immediately to hatred.
It must be arson. It must be the handiwork of some despicable white supremacist.
That was the sentiment on display acrosssocial and traditional media these past two weeks. The NAACP, while acknowledging only three of the recent fires were suspected arsons, called for vigilance, saying the blazes require "our collective attention."
"For centuries, African-American churches have served as the epicenter of survival for many in the African-American community. As a consequence, these houses of faith have historically been the targets of violence. We will use every tool in our advocacy arsenal to preserve these beloved institutions," Cornell William Brooks, the group's president, said in a statement.
Brooks also cited the recent church massacre in South Carolina.
On June 17, Dylann Roof allegedly killed nine members of Charleston's Emanuel African Methodist Episcopal Church. Four days later, black churches began burning across the South. To date, seven in five states have caught fire.
After 9/11, acts of hatred were high on America's mind, and violence targeting Muslims and Sikhs, who were assaulted because they were mistaken for Muslims, made for major news.
Fast forward to the 2012 Sikh temple massacre in Oak Creek, Wisconsin, that left six people dead, and the story's life was much shorter than it might have been 11 years earlier because it didn't happen against a backdrop of terrorism and retaliatory violence against Muslims, Levin said.
"That episode never got the publicity that the black church in Charleston got. I don't think it's that three more people died," said the sociologist who has written more than 30 books, including "Why We Hate."
Mohamad Al-Hakim, an assistant professor of philosophy at Florida Gulf Coast University, said he, too, felt the firebombing of mosques and Sikh temples after 9/11 led people to jump to "the conclusion that these acts must not be random."
He took Levin's thought a step further and said we are so shaken by acts of terrorism, that every shooting or bombing conjures the possibility of a terrorist act, at least initially, before the facts start rolling in.
The reason is human nature, he said, explaining that our minds demand answers, and not just any answers. We like causal explanations. We seek to assign blame, even if it's to something abstract like mental illness, greed or racism. Saying there is no agent that brought about an event -- or that lightning caused a church fire -- leaves us feeling rudderless, Al-Hakim said.
"We often feel more frustration when there's no reason for an event," he said. "An explanation always fills that void of having no answers."
This is not the case solely with church fires or terrorism, he said. We look for reasons to explain anything, whether it's why our friends aren't talking to us or why we had a rough patch during our childhoods. The need for answers can often override reason, he said,
"Any explanation is better than no explanation," Al-Hakim said, paraphrasing philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche.
Where does evidence point?
In its search for scapegoats, the court of public opinion often jumps to assumptions based on experiences, emotions, bias or evidence -- be it good, bad or misconstrued. With the church fires, Al-Hakim said, reason tells us the modus operandi for those trying to incite fear would be to take credit or make themselves known or at least leave some indication such as a swastika or racial pejorative to make their intentions clear -- none of which has surfaced yet.
Still, we want to assign blame, and the recent streak of racial strife in the country serves only to make our assumptions that hatred sparked the church fires more plausible, he said.
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