Epic Banality

Today marked the last symbolic step in finalizing what I am calling my “trial separation” from religion. It’s been a long and complicated road the last few years, where I’ve struggled much more with the concept than I had as a child or teenager. However, this year finally did it for me. There wasn’t any particular event, but most people out there have a threshold for the amount of guilt and disappointment that they’re willing to tolerate. Furthermore, people who value things like reason and logic tend to have a similar threshold for the amount of arbitrary ceremony that they can stand. My thresholds have all be crossed I guess.

So what was my symbolic step? I went underwear shopping today and for the first time in about six years I’m wearing something other than white underwear; it’s red right now, for those of you who are curious. I purchased an array of colors: greens, blues, the red pair and some gray and black. No white though, not a one.

For those of you unfamiliar with the specific traditions of world religions, this implies that I was LDS or “a Mormon,” though I loathe the latter term and did even when I was openly a member. My reason for detesting it was primarily because in the early days—back in the 19th century when the church was formed—”Mormon” was a derogatory term used primarily by so-called Christians who wanted to convince people that Latter-Day Saints weren’t Christians and were something else altogether. These self same Christians demonstrated their own love, charity and kindness by acting with textbook human xenophobia to steal the land of these “upstarts,” drive them west and kill men, women and children.

I tell this story as a matter of presenting some very biased and cursory history, but also as a matter of pointing something out: by and by, religionists—not just Christians and Mormons, but pretty much anyone who is dogmatically religious—are the most obnoxious hypocrites on the planet. I used to zealously defend religionists by saying, “Well, that’s true, but by their very nature religions set standards and the more standards you have, the greater capacity for hypocrisy you possess.” My statement is true, mind you, but what I’ve come to realize is that regardless of the reasons, a hypocrite is a hypocrite and it bothers me on just about every level to have to be around it.

Don’t get me wrong, everyone’s a hypocrite. We all have our moments. The difference is, some of us have made hypocrisy a lifestyle rather than an occasional (or more than occasional for that matter) blunder. Religionists are notorious for this.

I stopped attending church regularly some time ago. In fact, there were really only pockets of my life where I was a regular member of the congregation, the longest spanned most of my late teens. I always viewed myself as academically religious. I loved the history, the philosophy and the deep discussions about what I considered to be the “great mysteries” of the universe. I wanted to know who said what and why. I wanted the doctrines to make sense and I wanted to see their practical applications. I mean, if this is indeed God’s regime, the proof should be in the pudding, right?

The trouble is, I was a minority—a big time minority. Week after week I found out church wasn’t about learning at all, because I’ve got to tell you, if you haven’t got 95% of what you’re going to hear in church memorized by your first year you either have alzheimer’s or you’re just a moron. I had most of the lesson plans and the rhetoric down before I was ten. I wanted something more, but I never found it there.

Now, if church had stopped there and my only complaint was that it was like modern public education in that it panders to the lowest common denominator, I would have been okay. That was just the beginning. One of the biggest troubles that all religions suffer from, at least those with any sort of social structure, is that the social culture tends to dominate the doctrine. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-Day Saints is one of the worst offenders in this regard because, as a result of being pushed west and being culturally isolated for a couple generations, it formed a very unique and tight culture. This culture, with all it’s positive and negative quirks, is the truth and the light for a good portion of the members. It’s the structure and the social company that cradles them, not the doctrine.

This becomes further muddied by all the ridiculous social posturing that religion is supposed to rid us of. We’re the divine children of God, right? We didn’t come from monkeys and we’re supposed to cast aside the natural man. Sure, that’s what the book says. You’d never know it from spending time in a church ward and watching and listening though. Gossip, lies, bravado and a social hierarchy that feels like you’re staring at a chimpanzee in the mirror fill the chapel halls and classrooms. I’m not talking about the ecclesiastic structure either, but the natural cliques and webs that form within and between people who are obsessed with exclusivity and who have made the worst mistake any religion can make: they’ve convinced themselves that they’re the chosen people. Any organization that makes this claim is simply bound to breed a lot of assholes. It’s just going to happen.

Some of you may say, “Wait a minute, humans are social animals. Of course that’s going to happen. It’s our nature.” I agree. That’s exactly what happens with any human social structure, whether it’s a business, a church or a club, and the bigger it gets, the worse these traits become. Most organizations, however, don’t make it part of their mission statement to be anything else. So when a group claims to be something elevated and something different I expect it to be different and not just more of the same with its own particular window dressing. Other than priding themselves on public restraint and creating a squeaky clean image, I’ve found the private lives of fellow brethren mirror everyone else’s—some are good and some are bad.

When a voting block of over 80% of the Mormons in the USA voted for George W Bush, a man who is the very antithesis of figures like Jesus Christ and many of the church founders, I can’t do anything but stand in awe. “Do you people know nothing?” These are the same fools who sing “We Are All Enlisted” in reference to the current war in Iraq and, on a weekly basis, thank God that our troops are “fighting for our freedom.” This was a group that was hunted down and murdered casually by the US Government a century and a half ago. Now, BYU is a breeding ground for CIA and FBI agents as well as bureaucrats at every level. Our current senate majority leader is one of theirs for heaven’s sakes! And like most government Mormons, their religion is a name tag and nothing more. Their voting record demonstrates their contempt for church doctrine. Also, as a result of church conditioning, the lower level bureaucrats make ideal yes-men who feel it’s their sacred duty to follow orders without question.

I don’t fit there. I upset the people there. I also refuse to shut my mouth, which has exposed some of the blackest spots on the local infrastructures. Imagine this, you’re a Catholic and in Sunday school you read aloud a canonized statement by the Pope that contradicts the teacher or a fellow classmate. Later that day, the priest confronts you and tells you that you’re making people uncomfortable and that you need to stop. What? Excuse me? That’s analog to what happened to me on more than one occasion. “So let me get this straight, I shouldn’t quote church leaders if it might upset people? Are you kidding me?” This is what happens when culture drives the doctrine. The absurd becomes social reality.

I’ve watched too many little men get a whiff of power, whether they become a member of the Bishopric or High Council, and suddenly they feel like God has elevated them to some kind of infallible prophet. I’ve seen them work and conspire together to drive away “undesirable elements” in their wards and stakes. It’s sickening.

Ultimately though, it wasn’t the people that did it. They were a big part of it, sure, but even as a child I always made a clear separation in my mind between the doctrine and the membership. One was the “perfect philosophy” and the other was the “imperfect application.” I dealt with that for a long time and got along.

No, in the end, the killer was the silence.

Reading is something I do with regularity. I study history, politics, religion, technology and a number of other things. I like knowing and understanding things. It’s that simple. As such, digging deep into church doctrine, history and philosophy came naturally because I figure if you’re going to do something, do it right and have some idea about what you’re doing. The problem came when I turned to religion for things that weren’t expressly intellectual. I can learn things anywhere, that’s easy. I held on to religion for reasons beyond that though; things like comfort, peace, forgiveness and hope. I wanted to feel those things. I still do. It’s just that I don’t.

The most basic and fundamental ceremony of most western religions is prayer. You talk to God. Among people that pray, there seems to be two kinds of people: people that feel or hear the voice of God and people who might as well be praying to a brick wall. I happen to be the latter. Since I was a child I just wanted to hear or feel something—anything. I never did. In fact, with one exception, every spiritual experience that came as the result of prayer was always when someone else did it. This started to lead me to feel like perhaps God simply doesn’t like me. That’s a reasonable explanation. I’m a hot head. I’m stubborn. I’m arrogant. What’s to like?

There was a time when I prayed a lot—multiple times a day in fact. I read scripture before bed and then knelt down to try and have a conversation. Unfortunately, it was just me talking or thinking to myself. Sometimes it was excellent for personal reflection, but I can do that on my own and without getting on my knees. This is not to say I felt nothing, because I did: guilt and a void. There was a silence that was the silence of death, not the calming peaceful silence of salvation and forgiveness and in turn because I felt only that, I felt guilty and could only wonder constantly what was so wrong with me that I felt that. I mean, I’m an interesting person, aren’t I? I’ve seen a number of the drooling sheep around me that claim to feel things and hear things from God. Come on! I have to be at least that worth saying something to. I’m not though. (For a rather candid look at how I feel, George Carlin says it best. 5:21 - 7:18 says it all since I don’t agree with everything he says here, though that doesn’t make it any less amusing.)

Ironically, I still feel the urge to pray now and then, but only in thanksgiving. When I get out of a tight spot or things “just work out,” I still say thanks from time to time.

See, it’s not that I don’t believe in God. I’m a theist, or minimally a deist. I want to believe that there’s some kind of all-powerful force out there that lends reason to an absurd, cold and merciless universe. I hope that concepts like justice, liberty, charity and love have eternal meaning and that in the end we amount to more than a cosmic accident. It’s a terrible thing to believe that this life is it. God is how I have chosen to make sense of the world around me. I feel closer to God when I stop and help someone who is broken down or offer up any small measure of service to those in need than I have in all the church meetings and prayers combined. Why waste time on things that produce no results?

What I have given up on is other people telling me what to do and how to find and serve God, especially if they’re people who do a pretty lousy job of it themselves. I’ve given up on structures that don’t set themselves apart. I’ve given up on ceremony and symbolism. I’m done with the posturing. I’m done with the guilt. I’m done with broken expectations. God doesn’t talk to me, and that’s fine. I don’t expect Him to anymore, so I don’t talk either. I just do the things I feel will be the best service to those around me.

Liberty, justice and charity are the three ideals I base my life around. I fall short of meeting all the expectations, but instead of reminding myself day in and day out that I’ll never live up to some perfect being, I’ll take His teachings and do the best an imperfect soul can do with them, unapologetically and without regret. I know what I believe is right and good, and no one else is going to convince me otherwise, something that’s true for a lot of us.

A few years ago I was engaged in debates and discussions with a group of Calvinist Christians for the course of about six months. It was fun because I got an excellent look at the Bible and it forced me to really analyze my own beliefs and see if they could stack up to reason. Over the course of this, I got really good at cutting their philosophies to pieces under the blade of reason and consistency. Given the fact that Calvinists believe in predestination and the elect, it wasn’t hard to do.

The Calvinist doctrine is so awful and so antithetical to all that I consider good, in hearing it I had a sort of personal epiphany. I told one of the men I was arguing with, “The reality is this, even if you are right and your version of god really is God, I oppose him and am just fine rotting in hell for it.” That statement and that realization started to have a strange effect on me over time because I realized that I had concepts of what constituted good that superseded everything. Even if some deity showed up to tell me otherwise, I’d rebel. With or without religion, there are certain things I am going to do and certain things I’m going to fight for, come hell or high water.

Over the course of our discussions, I had been critical with them. I’d analyzed things to death and looked far and wide for inconsistency and hypocrisy. Unfortunately, if you possess any level of honesty, there comes a time when you have to turn that same critical eye on yourself and really look at what you believe and who you’re associated with. That’s where I’ve been and that’s where I am now and believe me, it’s no picnic.

I guess we’ll see how this “trial separation” goes. We’ve been sleeping in different rooms for a long time anyway.

As a final note, I don’t want someone to get the idea that I’m universally anti-religion or think it’s a bad thing. I’m not trying to get anyone to leave their respective faiths or structures if it works for them. Just because something isn’t working for me only means that it’s not working for me. I don’t hate my childhood faith. I’m not like your run of the mill bitter ex-Catholic (Bill Maher, I’m looking at you). Do what works for you and so long as you can give me the peace to do the same, I won’t be forced to tear your proverbial head off.

This entry was posted on Sunday, July 20th, 2008 at 5:57 pm and is filed under Personal, Religion. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.