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.

Oh Say, What Is Truth?

"I'd like to bear my testimony that I know this church is true. I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet, that my Heavenly Father loves me, and I am thankful that we have a living prophet, Thomas S. Monson, to guide us through these latter days. I have a testimony of the Book of Mormon, and I know that God hears and answers my prayers. I say these things in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen."

Fast and Testimony meetings are among the more interesting of Mormon practices. On the first Sunday of every month, Mormons fast for the first two meals of the day, and donate the money that they would have spent on food to the church to be used to help the poor. In church on this day, instead of the usual sacrament meeting with prepared talks by pre-assigned speakers, the pulpit is opened up to all the members-- to anyone who wishes to speak. At these meetings, Mormons do what is called "bearing one's testimony."

What is a testimony? I've used the word on this blog a few times already. Mormons talk a lot about testimonies, but looking back, it's difficult for me to put my finger on exactly what the word means. As best I can tell, a testimony is a sense of the truth of the LDS church-- a feeling, really, a "burning in the bosom" that tells you that this is the truth. To bear that testimony is to share it.

Here's the thing. It's often said in the church that one's testimony is found in the bearing of it. As I look back, that disturbs me. In testimony meetings, the vast majority of testimonies given are variations on the same theme, which I used as the opening of this post. Everyone says more or less the same thing, often with personal anecdotes or a focus on a specific principle, such as faith or prayer. The phrase, "a testimony is found in the bearing of it", sounds a lot to me like, "if you tell a lie often enough you start to believe it yourself." The church openly encourages people to get up in front of the congregation and say things that they don't necessarily believe, because if you say it, you will start to believe it.

How does one know if the LDS church is true? If you ask a member, they will tell you to pray about it. They say that God will tell you, by way of the Holy Ghost, that it's true. What does the Holy Ghost feel like? It's said to feel different to everyone. Some people get goose bumps, some feel a burning in the bosom, and others just feel a sense of peace. According to members, you know the church is true if the spirit tells you in your heart.

I always had difficulty with this concept as a member. How do you tell what's supposed to be the Holy Ghost, or the Spirit, from your own feelings? Feelings are great things that serve several functions, but identifying truth isn't one of those functions. I might feel all warm and fuzzy about the car I'm buying, but that doesn't mean that it's a good car. Only a naive fool would buy a car without taking it for a test drive, checking the engine, and generally making sure that they were getting a fair deal on it. Would you buy a car that sounded funny when you drove it, just because you had a good feeling about that car? Of course not! Your feelings can tell you whether or not you like the car, but whether or not the car runs well is independent of your feelings.

The gap between feelings and evidence is a difficult problem in Mormonism. Sometimes what the evidence tells you is different from what the church tells you. How does one reconcile these things? The answer, in Mormonism, is faith.

Faith-- that's enough of a topic to merit a blog post of its very own, but I'll try to address it here. When I have shared my concerns about the LDS church with friends, family, and ecclesiastical leaders, the people I talk to do not have any logical answers for me. They often try, but ultimately we come to a dead end. They-- and I-- cannot reconcile the facts. When we reach this point, we invariably return to the concept of faith. I've spent hours trying to get some of these people to tell me what, exactly, "faith" means. From these conversations, the best definition I've been able to come up with is the ability to set aside your rational concerns and objections and just believe in something regardless.

I don't see any merit in this. To quote Sigmund Freud, "Am I to believe every absurdity? If not, why this one in particular?" There are hundreds of thousands of unfounded propositions that one could make. I could propose that the sky is purple, but all the faith in the world won't turn the sky purple. Mormonism has unfounded claims. Why should I believe them without evidence, while rejecting the unfounded claims of Catholicism or Buddhism or Islam? At this point we come to the Holy Ghost. But the way the Holy Ghost manifests itself is supposed to be through feelings. In my own personal experience, the feelings that I or others have attributed the Holy Ghost have been indistinguishable from my own feelings. I have felt the "Spirit" in church; this is true. But I have felt those exact same feelings in movie theaters, libraries, and practice rooms. The feelings that I have experienced while reading the Book of Mormon have been indistinguishable from the feelings I felt while reading the Lord of the Rings, watching Ever After, or playing Beethoven's Pathetique, Opus 13. Does the fact that I felt those things mean that a hobbit named Frodo really traveled across Middle Earth to throw a ring into a volcano? No, of course not! So why should the fact that I felt those things mean that a guy named Nephi and his posterity really did the things that the Book of Mormon says that they did, in spite of evidence to the contrary? I could go into the anachronisms and other problems in the Book of Mormon, and I probably will in a future blog post, but that isn't my point here. My point is that my feelings about the Book of Mormon-- or anything else in the church-- don't make anything true. Certainly those feelings have value, but they are not indicators of truth. Furthermore, members of other faiths feel just as strongly about their beliefs as Mormons do about their own. Who is to say who is right? The only person who can comprehend a person's feelings is the person who felt them. What right do I have to say that another person's experience regarding their faith is invalid? The only conclusion that I can accept in good conscience is that feelings, while valuable and valid, are not indicators of truth.

Given this, I see the LDS church's approach to epistemology as dishonest and harmful. Encouraging people to say things until they believe them and insisting that feelings are a firm basis for decision-making is not honest. I have never, in all my time as a Mormon, been encouraged to look at actual evidence for and against the church. Historical documents, the archaeological record, and logical processes are not seen as valid methods for finding out if the church is true. The way you're supposed to find out is by praying and getting a "spiritual confirmation" in the form of a feeling.

There is another problem in the Mormon church's approach to finding truth-- one is expected to start with the answer predetermined. To consider the possibility that the church might be wrong is considered a bad thing, a road to apostasy, a thoughtcrime. Honest intellectualism doesn't work this way. A true seeker of truth will welcome doubts and questions. If something is true, then it can withstand whatever questions or evidence I can throw at it. One should never be afraid to ask hard questions. If you feel uncomfortable asking difficult questions of your belief system, then something is terribly wrong. You should never, ever be afraid to think.

Out of all the different problems with the LDS church-- the history, the doctrine, the culture-- its attitude toward truth and the search for truth is the one that disturbs me the most. When I was getting ready to go to college, I mentioned to an adult friend that I was considering studying philosophy. This friend warned me against doing that, as she had known a girl who had studied philosophy at BYU and then apostatized. This bothered me. Philosophy, when you break it down to its Latin roots, literally means the love of truth. I love truth; why should I be afraid of it? There are times when I wish that the LDS church was true and that I could believe it-- but wanting doesn't make it so. As a humble seeker of truth, I am morally obligated to follow wherever the facts, the evidence, and logic may lead me. I may be wrong sometimes. People who look for truth often revise their views. Einstein's Theory of Relativity supplanted much of Newton's work. Does that make Newton's work invalid? Most of what Newton discovered was "true", in a limited sense. But it was incomplete. Similarly, I may be wrong about some things; in fact, I most certainly am wrong about many things. But I am aware of that possibility. I do not get up the first Sunday of every month-- or any other time-- and proclaim that I "know" that mass is attracted to mass. I have no need to keep reminding myself to believe in that. If I stopped believing it without evidence, that wouldn't make me bad (although it would make me gullible and intellectually irresponsible). On the other hand, Mormons-- and members of many other religions-- have to constantly remind themselves to believe, lest they "lose their testimony." The way I see it, truth stands on its own. I don't have to keep reminding myself and bearing my testimony of gravity. That would be silly.

Religious people sometimes speak as if accepting something without evidence is a virtue. I see that as a heinous crime against sanity. Evidence is vital when one is attempting to form a worldview that is anywhere near reality. Without evidence, one would be subject to believing any irrational proposition that might come one's way, regardless of its truth or falsity.

I am reminded of a video clip that I saw in one of my college history classes about Galileo. Galileo Galilei's work supplanted much of what Aristotle had said. One of those things that he supplanted was the idea that heavier objects fall faster than lighter objects. In the video that I saw, Galileo was sitting at dinner with some church and political figures, discussing his theories with them. He told them what he had discovered-- that objects fall at the same rate, regardless of weight. His dinner companions asserted that this was not possible, as Aristotle

had told us that Galileo's assertion could not be true. Galileo proposed that they test the idea, but his dinner companions objected, saying that that was not necessary. Aristotle had already told us what was so, and there was no need to test the matter any further. But Galileo proposed that they test it, just for fun. He picked up a grape and an orange from the table, and he dropped them. Each hit the table at the same time. His dinner companions were astonished, but still refused to accept what was right in front of their eyes.

The Mormon approach to spiritual truth is a lot like that, in my view. Once you've had that spiritual witness, once you've felt good about the church, you don't need to test it anymore. Once the prophet has spoken on something, there's no need to debate the issue further. A real seeker of truth, once they think they have found the truth, will always keep the caveat, "but I could be wrong." A real truth seeker will welcome the opportunity to be proved wrong, because if you are wrong, wouldn't you want to know about it?

So this is why I'm a Mormon heretic. Everything I've written on this blog is subject to review. All the evidence I've seen against Mormonism is subject to reevaluation in the face of new information; I'll gladly reconsider in the face of new evidence. But I cannot in good conscience accept a certain set of feelings about a given proposition as evidence that said proposition is true.

Once a Mormon, Always a Mormon

I no longer consider myself a Mormon. But, in some ways, I will always be a Mormon. There are certain parts of my Mormon upbringing that are a part of me.

When I first lost my testimony, everything associated with the Mormon church that had used to bring me joy was unbearably painful. Listening to old favorite hymns like "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" and "Come, Come, Ye Saints" felt like a razor to my heart. The sight of a temple made me ache inside. One evening a few months after my apostasy, I went to the grounds of a temple near where I live, just to think. It had been over a year since I'd gone inside a temple. The sight of the temple, glowing white against the evening sky, awoke such a sense of loss in me that I just cried for nearly an hour. And on top of all of this, I was angry. I shoved all these things that I used to love away from me. I wouldn't allow myself to feel anything positive about them anymore.

But I will always be a Mormon. That is something that I have to come to terms with. I can remove my name from the records, I can never set foot in a Mormon building again, I can delete all the hymns from my iPod and throw away my scriptures and hymn book, but I'll still be a Mormon. I've had to learn to tell myself that that's okay. It's okay if "Come Thou Fount of Every Blessing" still makes me feel the way it used to. It's a familiar hymn, and, to be fair, it's a beautiful piece of music. It's okay if the sight of a Mormon temple still makes me ache; what else would you expect from someone who grew up singing, "I love to see the temple, I'm going there someday"?

My former, Mormon self would tell me that the things I feel when I see or hear these things is the Spirit of God telling me that the church is true. I think most Mormons would say that. But just because I still feel this way doesn't make the church true. I was raised around these things. They are safe, comfortable, and familiar. I can't speak for another person, but I'd venture to suppose that a person who was raised Catholic would have similar feelings when visiting a cathedral and hearing Mass. All religions have beautiful things in them. For centuries, the most beautiful music, art, architecture, and poetry was religious. The words of Isaiah are exquisite, the Sistine Chapel is an incredibly beautiful edifice, and Handel's Messiah is a masterpiece of composition. I can't praise those things enough; they represent some of the highest achievements of human endeavor. But that doesn't mean that the religions they represent are true. The same goes for Mormonism. Mormon artists have written hymns, painted pictures, and designed temples, many of which are very beautiful. I am learning to accept the beauty of these things without feeling intense sadness or visceral anger.

The sadness is an interesting thing. Since I no longer believe, I feel that these things no longer belong to me. But I will allow myself to feel what I feel in response to beauty, even if that beauty comes from a religion that betrayed me.

Young Women

I have come to believe that the LDS church's youth programs are programs of control and manipulation-- particularly the Young Women's organization. The LDS church is very big on traditional gender roles-- the man as the "priesthood authority" and the woman as the compliant housewife. A lot of this is subliminal, but what is overt is shocking.

Consider, for example, the Young Women theme. Every week, all the young women stand and recite the following word-for-word: We are daughters of our heavenly Father, who loves us, and we love him. We will stand as witnesses of God at all times and in all things and in all places, as we strive to live the Young Women values, which are: Faith, Divine Nature, Individual Worth, Knowledge, Choice and Accountability, Good Works, Integrity and Virtue. We believe that as we come to accept and act upon these values, we will be prepared to strengthen home and family, make and keep sacred covenants, receive the ordinances of the temple, and enjoy the blessings of exaltation. Listening to a room full of 20-odd young women reciting that in monotone unison is chilling.

Another example is the the Sunday lesson manual. Sub-sections include, "Fulfilling Woman's Divine Roles," "Contributing to Family Life," and "Learning about the Priesthood." Lessons are packed with teachings about how the divine role of women is to stay at home and raise children. True, there are sections on such things as education. However, while these sections may appear innocuous on the surface, even they serve to reinforce the idea that women belong at home and are made to serve others. The lesson I provided a link to, for example, suggests using images of a mother teaching her children and a woman teaching at church as part of the lesson. The message is clearly that a woman's education must train her to serve her family and the church.

Another lesson is devoted entirely to marriage-- specifically, the Mormon conception of it. A significant portion of this lesson is devoted to a story featured in the New Era some years back.

“It all began that first Sunday in March. Or did it? I guess it couldn’t really have had a beginning, because Karen, Emily, and I have been best friends forever. Whether celebrating birthdays and knitting identical purses in Primary as young girls or marching on the drill team and double- or triple-dating in high school, our vastly different personalities somehow seemed to complement each other, and for 15 years we were practically inseparable.

“After high school graduation, though, things began changing in our gleesome threesome. Karen and Emily lived at home and attended the university, while I lived three hours away in a small state college dorm with five strangers. After enduring so much together, we wondered what a few miles could possibly do to our great friendship. But we soon knew. …

“I realized that our special communication had vanished, but I was still shocked one day to open my mail and find a wedding announcement from Emily. Even more surprising was the absence of the wordtemple in the announcement.

“I rushed home that weekend and headed straight for Emily’s. There we talked—talked in the almost forgotten way we had that eternal year ago. She had only known Ted two months, but he was the most handsome, intelligent, popular guy on campus. They would both finish college, and then Ted would go on to dental school. His folks had already agreed to help them with expenses, so that would be no problem. After he graduated, Emily joked, all they would have to do is sit around and rake up the money.

“Once again I had begun to feel close to Emily, when suddenly, I heard myself wondering out loud why there had been no mention of the temple on her announcement. ‘Well, we can’t,’ she said, her flippant attitude not quite covering the concern I sensed. ‘Ted’s a Baptist in the first place, and besides, we want to be married in his parents’ ski lodge and write our own ceremony. A wedding should be really personal and meaningful, not just the same words for everyone. Ted will join the Church someday. But even if he doesn’t, my dad’s not a member and it hasn’t stopped my mother from being active. It won’t stop me either.’

“By the time Emily was through with her well-practiced little spiel, her defiance had built a wall between us once again. What could I say? After a few moments of fumbling chatter to try to ease the discomfort, I said goodbye.”

Pause in the story and have the young women consider this question:

• • If you were Emily’s friend, what would you say to her?

Continue with the story:

“Three weeks later I attended Ted and Emily’s ski lodge wedding. Contrary to my expectations, it was a very striking event—though not religious in any way. They both read poetry to each other for the ceremony, while a flute played lightly in the background. After there was dancing, with punch for us Mormons and champagne for the others. Ted’s parents were super rich, I could tell, and they had just about planned the whole wedding. They were deliriously happy with their new daughter-in-law (and probably a little from the champagne, too). But I noticed Emily’s mom had really red and swollen eyes—like she’d been crying a lot. Mothers are that way—especially when it’s their only child.

“Surprisingly enough, Emily did stay active in the Church. With all her school work and married duties, she attended her meetings faithfully and also served as the assistant librarian. She and Ted lived in an apartment in our ward and I saw her quite often. She always gave me glowing reports of marriage and told how great Ted was to her. ‘What a life,’ I thought.

“Six months later Karen married a returned missionary who was just completing his master’s degree in education. They were married in the Logan Temple, so I couldn’t go, of course. But I did attend the reception in our cultural hall, and it was really beautiful. …

“I kept seeing Emily now, coming to church radiant and excited about everything she was doing. ‘No problems at all,’ she would say. ‘He’s really very liberal. “You go to your church and I’ll go to mine.” Only he doesn’t even go to his.’ But in the back of my mind I could also see Emily when we were younger: praying her nonmember dad would baptize her, wondering if her dad would take her to the Primary daddy-daughter party, trying to pretend it didn’t matter when he went golfing instead of coming to her seminary graduation. But then childhood is such a small part of life. What difference does it really make in the long run?

“Karen and Emily, still doing things together, had baby girls within a week of each other. I took a pink dress to Emily’s little girl and absolutely fell in love with her. Karen’s mother told me in church one day that Karen, David, and their little Melissa would be coming in March to show off the baby and get her blessed where Grandpa and all three of Karen’s adoring older brothers could stand in the circle.

“Then came the first Sunday in March. …

“As I made my way … into the chapel, I met Emily and her baby in the foyer. It was her first time back to church since Julie’s birth. We talked for a minute and then entered the chapel. Emily and her mother sat in the row in front of me. …

“Through the rows of heads and shoulders that I saw from my position on the fourth row from the back, I caught a glimpse of Karen and the rest of her family taking up an entire center bench. …

“After the songs and announcements were over and after we had taken the sacrament, Bishop Edwards stood behind the pulpit and said, ‘This afternoon we have a special treat. I know many of you have known Karen Evans since she was a little girl.’ Emily looked back at me and winked knowingly, but then turned her head sharply forward as the bishop went on. ‘Well, this afternoon Karen, now Karen Sanders, has brought her own little girl to receive a name and a blessing from her husband. Assisting in the circle will be her father and brothers.’

“As I watched David take his little girl from Karen and carry her almost reverently to the front, I could see a side view of Emily. Tears were rapidly filling her deep blue eyes and streaming down her face onto Julie’s downy head. Her shoulders shook violently as she buried her head in her baby’s neck. Emily’s mother tenderly put her arm around her daughter’s throbbing shoulders, and I could see that she, too, was crying. Emily looked up, and I heard her gasp in a desperate whisper, ‘Oh, Mama! Who is going to bless my baby?’

“ ‘I bless you, Melissa, with a sound mind and body,’ I heard David Sanders say at the front of the room, ‘and that you will live a righteous life, that when the time comes, you will meet a choice son of our Father in heaven, one who honors his priesthood and who will take you to the temple of the Lord to be sealed to him for eternity.’ Through the entire blessing and for the rest of the meeting, Julie’s baby shawl absorbed her tears.

“And now, even though a year has passed … whenever … I see a mother and baby alone, something grabs at my heart. For I keep seeing Emily” (Carolyn White Zaugg, “I Keep Seeing Emily,” New Era, June 1975, pp. 26–29)."

The message of this story is, in essence, "if you do not marry a good Mormon boy in the temple, you and the children will suffer for it." I remember being given this lesson several times while growing up, and each time I promised myself that I would not suffer that kind of pain. It was very effective.

Marriage is considered to be the ultimate goal for an LDS young woman. In the Young Women Theme, "mak[ing] and keep[ing] sacred covenants" and "receiv[ing] the ordinances of the temple" refer to marriage-- Mormon marriages are performed in temples. Temples are presented to young women as the ultimate fairytale castle for their weddings. Young Women are expected to complete "Personal Progress", a program that stresses the eight values listed in the theme. Elements of Personal Progress include preparation for homemaking and church service, preparation for marriage, and reinforcement of "keeping the commandments."

Chastity in young women is so important in the LDS church that there are annual firesides specifically dedicated to chastity. A new "value" was recently added to the list of values that Young Women are required to memorize-- Virtue. I'm not criticizing the idea of virtue or chastity; only the LDS church's treatment of it. If a young woman in the LDS church commits some kind of sexual sin (which can range anywhere from French kissing to actual intercourse), she must go to her bishop and go through a lengthy "repentance process" in order to regain her "worthiness." This process entails not being allowed to take the Sacrament (the Mormon equivalent of communion), meeting regularly with the bishop, and "confessing" the sordid details of her sin to the bishop. How does this compare with Christ's treatment of the woman accused of adultery? Christ was the most perfect human being ever to walk the earth. He was perhaps the only person who ever had the right to condemn anybody else for sin. Yet, his words to the adulteress were, "Neither do I condemn thee. Go, and sin no more."

Young women in the LDS church are frequently told that they are of "infinite worth", but actions speak louder than words. Is the "virtuous woman" the only one whose worth is "far above rubies"? The attitude of the LDS church towards women indicates that their worth is contingent upon conformity. Pink pastel conformity.