Pedestals and Prisons

A pedestal is as much a prison as any other small, confined space. -Gloria Steinem


If you ask a Mormon if women are suppressed, second-class citizens, they will tell you no. Women are not limited in the Mormon religion, or considered to be less than men; if anything, they are greater than men because of their greater spirituality and divine roles as mothers. Virtually any Mormon will tell you that they believe that husbands and wives are equal partners. And these Mormons won't be lying to you; they really do believe these things. Women are not subjugated in the Mormon church in the same sense as a chattel wife in the eighteenth century. But they are still prisoners to their prescribed roles.

Subjugation of women in the Mormon church is much more subtle than it once was, but that makes it no less real. Mormonism is very restrictive in the sense that it prescribes virtually every stage of a person's life for them, from cradle to grave. This prescription varies according to one's gender. The place of a woman is in the home.

As a child growing up in the Mormon religion, I was aware at a very early age that girls were treated differently from boys at church. The boys got to pass the sacrament on Sundays. The boys got to go to Cub Scouts, where they had camping trips and hikes and Pinewood Derbies. The girls got Achievement Days, which met half as often as Cub Scouts did, never had camping trips (although we did have hikes sometimes), and typically did things like painting wooden snowmen, baking cookies, and learning how to sew. I recall one activity where we learned how to be "ladylike"-- how to sit, walk, stand, and bend over like a lady.

It wasn't long before I learned about the priesthood, and learned that only boys got it. When I asked why, the response was memorable. I was fairly young at the time, perhaps seven or eight years old. The teacher made all the boys cover their ears, because she was going to tell the girls a great secret. Then she whispered to us, "You can't tell any of the boys this, because it's a secret-- but girls are special because they get to have babies. So God let men have the priesthood so they wouldn't feel bad."

I remember cocking my head to the side and thinking, "that doesn't make sense. Isn't having babies supposed to hurt a lot?" That explanation was so ridiculous, even when I was a brainwashed seven-year-old. It didn't seem fair. Besides, boys got to have the priesthood when they were twelve, and girls couldn't have babies until they were all grown up and married. That didn't seem fair at all.

Later on, when I was sixteen or seventeen, I was spending a Sunday afternoon reading some church books from my mom's large collection. One in particular was written for women, and this book talked about how bad it was for women to have careers, how it was vitally important that they stay at home with their children-- because their divine callings as mothers trumped all else. By this point, I had begun to amass a store of dreams for my future. I wanted to go to college and learn as much as I could. I wanted to write a book. At this point in my life, I was thinking about becoming a lawyer, or maybe a politician or journalist. I had ideas, and I had plans. I wanted children, because I had been taught to want them, but I did not plan on my children being my only contribution to the world.

What this book had said upset me. I thought, men get to be fathers and have careers at the same time. They get to go out into the world and engage with other people and make a difference in the public sphere. Why can't women be mothers and do the same thing?

At this point, I still had another two years of the Young Womens program ahead of me. And by the time I had finished with those two years, I was convinced that I didn't really want a career after all. I was enamored with my "divine calling" of motherhood. Shortly before I turned eighteen, I wrote in my journal that I had been so foolish for worrying about what I was going to do with my life. God, in his wisdom, had already planned that out for me. He knew what would make me happy, and I would follow that plan.

This change was a direct result of my time in the Young Womens program. About half of the lessons I had on Sundays were about women's divine roles. They had titles like "Preparing to Become an Eternal Companion," "Eternal Families," and "Obeying Commandments Helps Us Fulfill Our Divine Roles." I recall leaders regularly having the young women make lists of ways that Satan might try to keep us from fulfilling our divine roles. I want to make clear that I have no ill feelings towards my Young Women leaders; all of them were wonderful women, for the most part highly intelligent and genuinely caring. They were just as brainwashed as I was, and it wasn't their fault. But the organization that I was a part of attempted to steal my identity and replace it with pink pastel conformity.

Women are indeed placed on pedestals in the Mormon religion. They are supposed to be ever-faithful spiritual bastions and pure Madonnas. All our efforts were supposed to be ultimately focused on raising up a righteous generation. Our goals, our dreams, our intelligence, our creativity, and our sexuality were all subverted to this end. We were raised up on high pedestals, and our identities were circumscribed into the square foot of standing space on that pedestal. Our humanity was ignored in favor of our supposed perfection. In this way, we were placed in an elevated prison by an organization that wished to use us for its own ends.

What do I believe in?

"Atheists don't believe in anything."

"Atheists believe that life has no meaning."

"Atheists have no values."

I'm an atheist. The word atheist literally means "one who does not believe in God." And that is quite accurate; I do not believe in God. But I also find the word to be unsatisfactory. I may not believe in God, but there are many things that I do believe in, and those things have a much more profound impact on my life than the mere fact that I don't believe in God, souls, or afterlife.

What do I believe?

I believe in truth. I'm not entirely certain that humans can ever reach certain truth, because our limited faculties of knowledge and perception can be, and often are, mistaken and deceived. Science is always changing, because what we know is always changing. But really, this is the strength of science-- that it changes in accordance with the known facts. You can't say that about religion. Religion claims to know truths about the universe a priori, and it refuses to alter itself.

Have you ever respected someone less because they admitted that they were wrong?

The search for truth is not for the weak of mind or the faint of heart. If you really want to find the truth, then no belief must be too sacred to challenge. If you don't challenge your beliefs, how can you know that they are true?

I believe in integrity. Atheists are often accused of arrogance. In my case, becoming an atheist was easily the most humbling thing that I have experienced. I had to come to terms with the non-existence of god, the soul, or an afterlife. I had to let go of my self-centered beliefs in my eternal nature and eventual apotheosis. And I had to admit that I was wrong. It was the hardest thing that I ever did. Why would anyone want to believe that when the people you love die, they're gone for good and you'll never see them again? Why would anyone want to believe that humanity is nothing special, that the universe does not revolve around the earth? An honest person does not believe something out of choice. An honest person follows where the facts, evidence, and logic lead. Even if it leads into the seeming abyss of atheism, my integrity demands that I follow.

I believe in individual initiative. Perhaps the most apparently depressing aspect of atheism is the fact that it implies a lack of inherent meaning to human existence. There is no God in heaven observing your actions, totting up the good and the bad like some kind of divine cosmic banker. There is no afterlife where you will be judged for your actions. And there is no prescribed meaning to your life.

This was shattering to me. I was like a child presented with a sheet of blank paper after becoming accustomed to coloring books. There was no plan for me to follow; there were no lines for me to color in. I had to make my life my own instead of painting by the numbers of religion. My life is now mine, and I create its meaning myself.

I believe in beauty. My appreciation of beautiful things has greatly increased since I gave up religion. In the ubiquitous words of Douglas Adams, "isn't it enough to see that a garden is beautiful without having to believe that there are fairies at the bottom of it?"

As a theist, I believed that the world existed only to be exploited. God had created all things for the use of humanity. Animals were not full beings. The earth's resources existed only for my use. Now, I see myself as no different from the rest of the world. I have no more "soul" than an animal does. A cat's, dog's, or dolphin's pain is no less distressing than my own. I believe that I have a responsibility to treat other living things well, because they are really not all that different from me.

I believe in love. The problem of evil in the world is vexing. Why do innocent people suffer? Because the world itself is amoral. There is no god, benevolent or otherwise. No god is going to help a starving child or a captive woman. If these people are to be relieved of their suffering, then I and people like me must do it. And I believe that I should do this, not out of any desire for eternal reward, but because I am genuinely distressed by the suffering of others. Do I need any more motive than that?

My lack of belief in gods does not mean that I don't believe in anything. On the contrary, I find that I am a better person because of my atheism. I judge not-- not because I fear the judgment of God, but because I have no reason to judge. If I can help even one person, then I am glad-- not because I desire a great reward in heaven, but because I genuinely care for the rest of humanity.

I am an atheist, but that does not define me. I am not defined by what I am not, but by what I am.

Affirming the consequent

I had an epiphany recently. Alma 32 affirms the consequent.

Allow me to explain. A very popular passage in the Book of Mormon, Alma 32:28-33, compares the gospel to a seed. The passage is as follows:

28 Now, we will compare the word unto a seed. Now, if ye give place, that a seed may be planted in your heart, behold, if it be a true seed, or a good seed, if ye do not cast it out by your unbelief, that ye will resist the Spirit of the Lord, behold, it will begin to swell within your breasts; and when you feel these swelling motions, ye will begin to say within yourselves—It must needs be that this is a good seed, or that the word is good, for it beginneth to enlarge my soul; yea, it beginneth to enlighten my funderstanding, yea, it beginneth to be delicious to me.

29 Now behold, would not this increase your faith? I say unto you, Yea; nevertheless it hath not grown up to a perfect knowledge.

30 But behold, as the seed swelleth, and sprouteth, and beginneth to grow, then you must needs say that the seed is good; for behold it swelleth, and sprouteth, and beginneth to grow. And now, behold, will not this strengthen your faith? Yea, it will strengthen your faith: for ye will say I know that this is a good seed; for behold it sprouteth and beginneth to grow.

31 And now, behold, are ye sure that this is a good seed? I say unto you, Yea; for every seed bringeth forth unto its own alikeness.

32 Therefore, if a seed groweth it is good, but if it groweth not, behold it is not good, therefore it is cast away.

33 And now, behold, because ye have tried the experiment, and planted the seed, and it swelleth and sprouteth, and beginneth to grow, ye must needs know that the seed is good.

This passage essentially means that if you try out the gospel by living it, you will experience good effects in your life, and that will tell that the gospel is good (and, therefore, true).

There's one problem with this, though. It embodies a logical fallacy called affirming the consequent, which looks like this:

If A, then B.

B.

Therefore, A.

For example, suppose the following:

If it is raining, then the sidewalk is wet.

The sidewalk is wet.

Therefore, it is raining.

Obviously, that structure doesn't work. There are plenty of reasons why the sidewalk could be wet besides rain; maybe your neighbor has the sprinklers on. So, let's put Alma 32 into a syllogistic format:

If the gospel is true (the seed is good), then you will experience positive effects in your life when living the gospel (planting the seed and it begins to grow)

You experienced good effects

Therefore, the gospel is true

To make it even more straightforward, let's use letters instead. P = experiencing positive effects after trying the gospel (planting the seed and it begins to grow), and T = the gospel is true (it is a good seed). It looks like this:

If T, then P

P

Therefore, T.

This is a clear case of affirming the consequent, and therefore fallacious.

The Fourteen Fundamentals in Following the Prophet

At the last LDS General Conference, Elder Claudio R. M. Costa gave a talk entitled Obedience to the Prophets. This talk was basically a rehashing of an address that Ezra Taft Benson gave at BYU in 1980 and later republished in the Ensign [note: the link I provided is actually a Liahona article; the Liahona is the international version of the Ensign]. Benson's talk, The Fourteen Fundamentals in Following the Prophet, outlines in detail what members of the LDS church believe about prophets.

This post might require some background information for readers not familiar with Latter-Day-Saint theology. Belief in a modern prophet is a fundamental aspect of LDS faith. The structure of the religious organization and theology is very focused on the existence of a single person who speaks for God and holds all priesthood authority. In Latter-Day-Saint theology, Christ gave some of his authority to his apostles in the form of "priesthood keys." However, these keys died with the apostles (with the exception of John the Beloved, who is believed to have been given immortality). As a result, the world was plunged into an 1800-year "Great Apostasy", when the true church of God and the priesthood keys of authority were not on the earth.

Mormons believe that these keys of authority were restored in the 19th Century when Joseph Smith, under the direction of God, restored the true church to the earth. The LDS doctrine of the priesthood is very detailed, and I'm not going to go into much of that in this post. Suffice it to say that in Latter-Day-Saint theology, the full set of priesthood keys belong to the prophet and president of the church, passed down in a direct line from Joseph Smith to the present prophet,Thomas S. Monson.

Now, with that out of the way, I shall commence my analysis of the LDS conception of prophets as outlined by Benson and quoted by Costa.

1. The prophet is the only man who speaks for the Lord in everything.

This point is pretty self-explanatory. As I explained above, Mormons believe that the prophet is God's representative on earth, and that he is God's only official representative. Unlike most of the other fundamentals, this one doesn't really bother me. If there really were a prophet, of course he would speak for God in everything. The trouble is that if the Mormon prophet really does speak for God in everything, then God must be schizophrenic or something. Or else he just likes to play mind games. Either way.

2. The living prophet is more vital to us than the standard works.

Now things get more interesting. The living prophet is more vital to us than the standard works are? That's awfully convenient. By this reasoning, the prophet can say anything, even if it's contrary to canon, and expect to have his words treated as doctrine. I find this disturbing, as it essentially gives the prophet absolute spiritual authority. If the prophet came to a married woman in the church and said, "God told me that you are supposed to be my wife, and that an angel with a flaming sword would kill me if I didn't marry you," the woman's natural inclination would be to point out that Exodus 20:14 says, "Thou shalt not commit adultery." However, under this doctrine-- the ability of the prophet to contradict the standard works-- the woman has no such recourse.

For those unfamiliar with Mormon history, this scenario sounds preposterous. But it is precisely what happened to Mary Rollins Lightner (married to Adam Lightner), Zina Huntington Jacobs(married to Henry Jacobs), and many other women. (Note: I will go into more detail on polygamy in a future blog post, as it was a huge conundrum for me during my time as a believer and one of the many things that led me out of the church. For now, the sources I've provided will do to make my point.)

Polygamy is just one of many instances in Mormon history where the prophet told members to do things that no moral person would ever do of their own accord. Steven Weinberg nailed it when he said, "Religion is an insult to human dignity. With or without it, you'd have good people doing good things and bad people doing evil things, but for good people to do bad things, it takes religion." Danites . . . Mountain Meadows . . . blood atonement . . . the rabbit hole goes deeper and deeper the more you look. And everything in that rabbit hole has been condoned by a prophet at some point in the Mormon church's history.

I think I've mentioned that I tend to be suspicious of authority. It's a well-known, documented fact that power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Nowhere is this more true than with religion. When you have a person declaring that they are the ultimate authority on all matters temporal and spiritual, that their word is always final, and that neither individual reason, democratic process, nor canonical documents can overwrite his word, you have a dangerous tyrant on your hands. I don't care if he is religious, political, social, intellectual, or what-have-you. Power corrupts. And religious power is even more dangerous, because it claims to have authority over your mind, your soul, and your eternity. This problem is evident throughout European history in the struggles for the papacy, and the attempts by many popes to wield both secular and religious authority.

3. The living prophet is more important to us than a dead prophet.

This one strikes me as a clear case of the LDS leaders, to use the vernacular, covering their butts. If we accept the above concept as true, then all the contradictions in church leadership over the years are nicely glossed over. Brigham Young's Adam-God doctrine? We don't believe that anymore, and the fact that Brigham Young taught it is irrelevant. A living prophet is more important to us than a dead prophet.

Now, I'll concede that, practically speaking, it's a lot more valuable to have a living guy who speaks for God now than a dead one who spoke for God two hundred years ago. The concept of an open canon isn't what bothers me. What bothers me is the way this concept is used in the LDS church-- to deceive people and to downplay very real problems.

The way I see it, either truth does not change, or truth is relative. I find the idea of relative truth to be incomprehensible and repulsive. Truth does not change; only our perception of it does. So, when you have a prophet who expands on something an earlier prophet says, or who reveals new doctrine, that's all well and good. But what about when a later prophet blatantly contradicts an earlier one? Adam-God is a great example, but what about polygamy? What about blacks and the priesthood and the Curse of Cain? What about blood atonement? All these things were taught as doctrine-- vital doctrine, doctrine that was supposed to be universal and necessary for the salvation of all people. Yet all of them were later repealed. How does this square with Fundamental #4-- the doctrine that the prophet will never lead the church astray? Either the truth changed, and truth is therefore relative, or else one or both prophets were leading the church astray after all.

Perhaps I'm reading too much into this one; somehow, however, I don't think so. When I've brought up things like Adam-God, polygamy, Curse of Cain, etc., the people I have spoken to have been unable to disprove that earlier prophets did, in fact, teach those things. At this point, I am told one of two things. Option #1: A living prophet is more important than a dead one. Option #2: Even if the prophet is sometimes wrong, God will bless you for your obedience and punish the bad prophet for any crimes you may commit. I've already dealt with Option #1. Option #2 has two serious problems with it. Firstly, it directly contradicts Official Declaration #1, which is canonized scripture. (Oh, wait-- the prophet is more vital to us than the scriptures are. Never mind.) Secondly, and more importantly in my book, obedience does not negate individual responsibility. If someone tells me to do something that I know is wrong, and I do it, that does not absolve my moral responsibility. Option #2 is a total cop-out. It is an excuse to not think.

So-- back to "a living prophet is more important than a dead prophet." This concept is nothing but the Mormon version of the Memory Hole in Orwell's 1984.

4. The prophet will never lead the church astray.

The thing about absolutes is . . . they're kind of absolute. That "the prophet will NEVER lead the church astray" is a pretty big claim, especially when prophets have contradicted each other on major issues (as I've described above; I don't think I need to reiterate). The only way to reconcile this is to accept the concept of relative truth. Maybe that works for some people. I find it unconscionable.

Yet again, this gives members an excuse to turn off their brains. If the prophet says something that seems wrong, or just plain doesn't make sense, members aren't allowed to question. Oh, sure, they're supposed to go "pray for a witness." But they're not allowed to actually doubt the prophet. They're supposed to ask for confirmation. This, of course, invites confirmation bias and introduces the concept of thoughtcrime.

I'll say it right out-- I hold the human mind to be among the most sacred of all things. Independent reasoning is a priceless gift. Anyone or anything that tries to take that away is evil. I can't stress this enough. This is thought control, and it is evil.

5. The prophet is not required to have any particular earthly training or credentials to speak on any subject or act on any matter at any time.

I find this one interesting. It's what I'd expect from a real prophet. So here's my question. If the prophet can speak on any subject or act on any matter at any time, then why doesn't he? Why doesn't the Mormon church have an official position on evolution-- why do they defer to the experts? Evolution is a huge stumbling block for many members. You'd think that if the prophet had any real authority to speak on any matter, he would say something. You'd think that the LDS church would be way ahead of the rest of the world in scientific knowledge and social awareness. Yet they didn't let blacks have the priesthood until it was politically expedient for them to do so. They fought the Equal Rights Amendment tooth and nail. They have never been about progress. They have always placed paramount importance on maintenance of the status quo. I'm not saying that all change from the status quo is good, but it also seems absurd that the status quo should automatically be the "right" way. And it seems that something as basic as human rights should be right up the Mormon church's alley. If God as conceived by Mormons really does love all of his children regardless of race, gender, ethnicity, culture, sexual orientation, or any other factor, then why does it appear that he's a racist, chauvinistic businessman with something to lose from progress?

If the prophet can speak on anything, why doesn't he tell us how to cure cancer? Why doesn't he tell us how to cure AIDS? Why does it seem that he doesn't use his pipeline to God to alleviate human suffering instead of as a political tool that often increases it??

6. The prophet does not have to say “Thus Saith the Lord” to give us scripture.

I'll admit, I got a chuckle out of this one. When I began my intellectual journey out of the church, I was directed to several LDS apologetic sources such as FAIR and FARMS. When it came to things like Brigham Young's Adam-God doctrine and Joseph Smith's false prophecies (e.g., temple in Missouri, second coming in 1890), the main argument that these apologetic sources employed was that these prophets were only "speaking as a man." This "fundamental"-- the prophet speaking as a prophet whenever he opens his mouth-- destroys that argument. Ironically, as I was writing this blog post, I went to look up some of the apologetic articles that employed this argument in order to link to them, but lo and behold! The "speaking as a man" argument had entirely vanished without a trace! The Mormon memory hole is alive and well. Oceania has always been at war with Eastasia-- but I digress.

Aside from the resultant memory hole phenomenon, this fundamental brings up some interesting questions. If everything that comes out of the prophet's mouth is scripture, why doesn't the prophet give us more scripture? Why is it that when a prophet or an apostle publishes a book, the book contains a disclaimer stating that its contents are not official church doctrine? Why is it that General Conference contains little or no new information-- just the same old recycled messages on such dead horses as faith, obedience, tithing, and families? If the Mormon prophet is a real prophet, he sure doesn't act like these fourteen fundamentals say he should.

7. The prophet tells us what we need to know, not always what we want to know.

I suppose that this is where the doctrine of "true, but not useful" comes from. One question: does this justify lying for the Lord?

I imagine a believing Mormon would look at this fundamental and think, "oh, this just means that people don't like to be told that they're sinning." And that's fine. If Mormonism was true, and if I believed in sin, I'd expect the prophet to warn people against sin. And that does definitely go on in the church-- all those girls and women wearing flip-flops to church are sinners and must repent. Okay, fine. But that doesn't negate the fact that this concept gives church leaders an excuse to hide, manipulate, and obfuscate information that is not "useful" to the church. I guess honesty and transparency don't apply to prophets.

8. The prophet is not limited by men’s reasoning.

I suppose this renders my whole argument invalid, doesn't it? But wait-- I am no man! There's no mention of woman's reasoning! In that case, I shall proceed.

9. The prophet can receive revelation on any matter, temporal or spiritual.

I think things are starting to get redundant-- this is basically the same as #5. And it brings up the same question. Why doesn't he? It also, I think, gives one man way too much power. Even if you really believe that he's a prophet, the Old Testament example of Balaam shows that even prophets can be corrupted by power and money. The lack of checks and balances of power in the Mormon church concerns me.

10. The prophet may advise on civic matters.

Ah, here we come to another minefield. I don't want to bring up any politically charged issues-- I'd hate to bring Prop 8 into this-- but this concept comes uncomfortably close to theocracy. How is this different from the medieval popes and all the problems that their corruption caused?

11. The two groups who have the greatest difficulty in following the prophet are the proud who are learned and the proud who are rich.

I find it interesting that Benson specifically pointed out "the proud who are learned and the proud who are rich," instead of just saying "the prideful." "The proud who are rich" is an obvious reference to Christ and the rich young man-- a cliche, if you like. There are also numerous references throughout the Book of Mormon to the proud rich. I'm not going to say much about that; I think it's a two-dimensional dead horse, but I don't find it terribly interesting.

I suppose that many believing Mormon readers would say that I am among the "proud who are learned." I've certainly made it clear that I value the human mind more than so-called "spiritual witnesses," and any observer will note that I have a propensity to use such things as evidence and logical reasoning. I wouldn't say I'm proud-- I think that faith is the real pride (see "Oh Say What is Truth"). I'll take criticism, of course, but the jab at "the proud who are learned" just seems so obvious to me. But then again, it's true that intellectuals are one of the greatest threats to the church, along with feminists and homosexuals.

12. The prophet will not necessarily be popular with the world or the worldly.

I see this as a defense mechanism. The Mormon church's PR is awful, and this is an easy line for members and leaders to spout when the rest of the world starts criticizing-- I mean, persecuting them. I guess I'm just cynical about the LDS church at this point.

13. The prophet and his counselors make up the First Presidency—the highest quorum in the Church.

This is just a definition. Not terribly interesting. Whatever.

14. The prophet and the presidency—the living prophet and the First Presidency—follow them and be blessed—reject them and suffer.

You hear that? Be obedient and be blessed, or think for yourself and suffer! This is just hyperbole and fear tactics. And, unfortunately, it seems to work.

Belief

In the culture that I grew up in, belief was treated as a virtue. It was important to believe in God and that Joseph Smith was a prophet. It was bad to ask too many questions, or to be too skeptical. Even today, I feel slightly guilty for expecting religious claims to be backed up by logic and evidence. I don't think that this is necessarily a Mormon thing. I've noticed it in American culture in general (I can't speak for other countries), especially this time of year. Christmas movies are full of statements about belief.

"Seeing isn't believing. Believing is seeing."

"Seeing is believing, but sometimes the most real things in the world are the things we can't see."

"If you can't believe, if you can't accept anything on faith, then you're doomed to a life dominated by doubt."

All these movies, of course, are about Santa Claus. I haven't believed in Santa Claus in years. But I believed in God and Jesus and Joseph Smith until about a year ago. Why is it that grownups don't believe in Santa Claus anymore, but so many still believe in God-- when there's about the same amount of evidence for God as there is for Santa Claus? At least I got presents from Santa under my tree. God doesn't even have that to his credit.

I'd like to talk about this whole "seeing is/isn't believing" bit. I don't necessarily think that seeing is believing. I believe in lots of things without having seen them-- the existence of New York, for example. But beliefs have to be based in reality. They have to be based on evidence, and they have to stand up to evidence against it. I've never seen any evidence to refute the existence of New York, but there is lots of evidence that refutes the veracity of Mormonism and the existence of God.

Why is it that our culture places such great value on believing? An honest person doesn't believe something because he or she wants to believe that. They believe what they believe because they find the evidence, arguments, etc. for that belief to be convincing. Anyone who would try to make himself or herself believe something, in spite of evidence against it, just because they wanted to believe it, is being foolish and dishonest.

Okay. Now I've completely poo-pooed Christmas. I feel like Ebenezer Scrooge. Bleh.

My Position on Religion

I'd like to write a bit about my current position religion and its role in society. I've mentioned several times that I consider Mormonism to be harmful, and that I do not subscribe to any religion, nor do I believe in any kind of god or gods.

On reflection, it is a bit ironic that I'm an atheist, since that is a total 180-degree turnabout from where I was a little over a year ago. In my pre-enlightenment era, atheists were the bane of the world, intent on removing anything and everything that remotely referenced God, the supreme creator of the universe. I was also convinced that atheists were a large, powerful, and militant group that exercised great power over the embattled faithful.

I view religion quite differently now; in my previous post I gave an extremely condensed version of my transition to atheism. To be completely honest, I view religion as kind of silly. None of it makes any sense to me whatsoever.

So-- do I wish to remove religion from the world entirely? No, not exactly. I'd like to see religion get out of American government. I would like to see "In God We Trust" removed from the currency and "under God" removed from the Pledge of Allegiance. I see these actions as essential for proper separation of church and state. And just like I would like to see all traces of religion removed from government, I would never condone any atheistic expression in government. Religious belief (or lack thereof) is an important consideration, but neither theism nor atheism should play a role in governmental affairs.

However, I would never, ever, ever support anything that would regulate private religious belief or expression in any way, provided that all religious expression does not infringe upon the rights of any person-- e.g., if you want to believe that there are Quakers on the moon, knock yourself out. I do not care. However, if you believe that these Quakers on the moon require that you sacrifice a virgin to them on the 31st of March, then that religious expression ought to be illegal.

Do I believe that religion is a force for good or for evil? I don't think that the question is as black-and-white as that. I absolutely believe that brainwashing is a force for evil, and I am convinced that many religions, Mormonism included, do use brainwashing. To the extent that a religion brainwashes its members, I consider it to be evil. Allow me to clarify: "brainwashing" is a loaded word, and I'd hate to come across as vitriolic. I don't just throw that word around at any group or ideology that I happen to disagree with; I use it in a literal sense. When I say that a group brainwashes its members, I mean that said group uses harmful persuasive techniques, such as coercion, guilt, distrust of one's own rationality, etc., to convince its members to adhere to its tenets. A brainwashing organization will tend to treat obedience as a virtue, vilify apostates and skeptics, and employ methods of making its members feel different, special, or "peculiar". Mormonism, for example, manipulates its members into using false methods of seeking truth (see my post "Oh Say, What is Truth?"), among many other things.

Many religious groups, including many Christian groups, do use brainwashing techniques-- some more than others. My personal test for identifying a cult is to ask oneself if one is afraid to question the group, and to follow those questions to their ultimate conclusions even if they mean leaving the group. (Great-- now I'm going to have to add "cults" to the list of things I intend to blog about.)

A second aspect of religion that I consider to be harmful is its promotion or justification of violence on the basis of ideology. Crusades, the Biblical account of the Israelites conquering Canaan, and jihad are all examples of religious violence that is not only justified, but commanded by religious ideology. I cannot condone this, and I consider any religion that allows, promotes, or justifies violence to be evil.

This analysis of religion is based entirely on my personal rubric for morality: does it cause harm? If a religion advocates, justifies, or allows any kind of harm to anyone, then I consider that religion to be harmful and a negative force in society. Inasmuch as religion supports tolerance and kindness, I consider it to be a positive force. I do not believe that religion is necessary in order for positive virtues such as tolerance and kindness to exist, but I will say that anything that supports those virtues is a good thing, including religion.

To sum up: I view religion in and of itself as neutral. It doesn't bother me if my neighbor believes in a moon god or reincarnation or Santa Claus. Beliefs, by themselves, are generally harmless. However, insofar as religion creates negative effects, I will decry it as harmful.

Becoming Atheist

After I rejected Mormonism, I wasn't sure what I believed anymore. It wasn't like I had a Plan B for my religious beliefs. For the first few weeks I avoided the subject. I had strong suspicions that no true church existed, but I knew that I'd just gone through a long and complex process of giving up my childhood faith. I didn't want to be reckless and reject all religion out of hand. However, after spending so much time in a religion that claimed to be the One True Church, I had difficulty with the idea that there was a single true church. The whole idea of faith was suspect to me.

I remember one day in particular. It was a Sunday afternoon in early November, about a week after the final remnants of my testimony shattered. My roommates were all taking their Sunday afternoon naps and everything was quiet. I wrapped myself in a blanket and stood on the balcony outside my apartment like I had the night I lost my testimony, only this time the sun was out and it was almost warm. I looked at the grass, the trees, the sky, and I asked myself if all of it could be just chance. If it was possible that there was no God at all. I didn't like that idea. It was nearly incomprehensible to me. I wanted there to be a God. If there wasn't one, what was the meaning of life? What was the point of doing anything, of existing at all? In spite of my these thoughts and feelings, however, I strongly suspected that there was no God. I'd already rejected the Mormon concept of "The Holy Ghost" as a manipulative hijacking of my own feelings. Besides the Holy Ghost, I had absolutely no experience with God. I had absolutely no basis for believing in him.

I stood out there just thinking for a long time. I think I knew, even then, that I had no real reason to believe in God, but I didn't want to admit that to myself. My internal conversation went nowhere. I didn't come to any kind of conscious conclusion that day.

I wasn't comfortable declaring myself an atheist, even to myself. I didn't actually talk to anyone else about my redefinition process. It something I did purely for my own benefit. I told myself that I was agnostic, and that was true, more or less. I wasn't comfortable with taking a position one way or the other yet. For a few weeks I let the issue rest.

Several months later, I started talking with a friend of mine who had left the Mormon church for Christianity. We had several long conversations about Christianity and I explained many of my reservations about it. My friend did clear up some of these for me and gave me some resources to research Christianity some more. I realized that after my testimony shattered, I hadn't really given Christianity a fair shake. I didn't know much about traditional Christianity except what the Mormon church had taught me about it, and that could hardly be fair. So I researched.

For about a month I was very close to becoming a Christian-- albeit a much more liberal Christian than most. I prayed nearly every night. I read the Bible and Christian apologetic literature. But I never felt totally comfortable with Christianity. Sure, it seemed to have a lot more internal consistency than Mormonism, but that still didn't make it true. It still made absurd, unprovable claims. And the more I read and researched, the less I was satisfied with it intellectually.

Emotionally, I liked Christianity very much. I was very depressed at this time, and I was really desperate for something to hold onto. I'd lost Mormonism; what was left? I prayed to God and asked for comfort, but I knew I wasn't being completely honest with myself. I was taking a totally emotional approach. My conscience wouldn't let me accept Christianity without adequate evidence. When I prayed, I would say something like this: "Dear God, you know I'm looking for the truth. You know I'm doing the best I can with what you gave me. If you're really there, if you really exist, then show me somehow. Help me find the evidence of your existence. If you're real and if you are what they say you are, you'll understand that my integrity won't let me accept an unsubstantiated proposition. So if you're really there, I ask that you not play mind games with me. Just show me that you actually exist."

My answer?

Nothing.

It was the same as with Mormonism. I found lots of apologetic stuff that looked pretty convincing on the surface but fell apart on close scrutiny. I found a lot of stuff that I considered complete hogwash-- the doctrine that all non-Christians go to hell, for instance. I found the whole concept of heaven and hell to be utterly ridiculous. What kind of a psychopathic god would create a giant lake of brimstone for everyone who didn't join a particular sect? What kind of god would hide his own existence from the world, demand that everyone accept his existence on "faith", and then throw everyone who didn't believe into said lake of fire and brimstone? I found this and many other Christian doctrines to be untenable.

So I got no emotional or spiritual confirmation of any kind, and the more I looked at the evidence, the less likely Christianity looked. I can't pinpoint a specific moment when I finally concluded that it was false like I can with the loss of my Mormon testimony. It was a more gradual process, and the emotional stakes were much lower. I wasn't holding myself hostage, so to speak, torturing myself for not getting the "right" answer.

After that, I toyed briefly with a few other ideologies, primarily paganism and Buddhism. I wasn't so much looking for the "one true religion" anymore as I was trying to create my own religion. I still felt like I needed some kind of organized religious creed and practice, some set of rituals and beliefs. So I went through a brief "Build Your Own Religion" phase. It didn't last long, however. I was coming out of my depression, and realizing that I didn't need religion to be happy; that I was happier without it, in fact.

At this point I was back to agnosticism again, mostly because I still didn't want to admit to myself that I was an atheist. But I dropped the issue. I was at peace with not having all the answers. In short, I moved on. However, I eventually realized that there probably isn't a god, and that until and unless I see some good evidence for one, I'm not obligated to give equal weight to the proposition that there is one. I had chosen agnosticism because it seemed to me to be the most intellectually honest position. However, I now think that the existence of a god of any kind is highly unlikely, and I don't have to reserve judgment on the subject any more than I have to reserve judgment on the existence of unicorns.