I didn’t leave the COJCOLDS because I felt deceived when I learned the truth about church history. For one thing, I grew up knowing a lot about church history because it was also my family history. When I was little, we used to go to family reunions for all the descendants of all seven wives of one of my maternal great-great-grandfathers. (One very memorable year, that family reunion was held at the North Rim of the Grand Canyon at the same time as the Hells Angels’ convention, so the park was overrun with Mormons and bikers.) My ancestors worked in the church’s winery in Toquerville, Utah. I knew about the Mountain Meadows Massacre because I heard my grandmother talk about how one of my other maternal great-great-grandfathers left the church when he learned of it.
I left the COJCOLDS because its god was a moral monster and I didn’t want to spend eternity with him. I left because LDS theology was morally objectionable. I didn’t feel I had been “misled and lied to” by the leaders of the church the way John Dehlin describes in a recent podcast as much as I felt misled and lied to by Joseph Smith himself. I felt exploited. I felt morally injured. I felt spiritually, morally, ethically, intellectually, socially, and financially defrauded by Joseph Smith and by a huge web of abstractions and concepts and relationships and people that sought to determine my actions and demanded that I “consecrate [my] time, talents, and everything with which the Lord has blessed [me], or with which he may bless [me], to the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, for the building up of the Kingdom of God on the earth and for the establishment of Zion.”
My recent post and commenters on that post have analyzed some of the problems in John Dehlin’s recent defense of the lies told by COJCOLDS leaders. But as is my wont, I’ve continued to mull the conversation, and I’ve finally articulated a really big problem that John hints at but doesn’t admit to himself when he says things like this: “There are these moments in church history where they could have come clean then, and for good, understandable reasons, they said, ‘We don’t feel ready to be transparent in our history.’ And then the internet happened.”
One of the “good, understandable reasons” the brethren didn’t “feel ready to be transparent in our history” is that they’ve known that if they admit how many of Joseph Smith’s claims were fraudulent, people will feel defrauded. People will unconsecrate “their time, talents, and everything with which the Lord has blessed” them, and go. People will stop spending their weekends cleaning meeting houses. People will stop paying tithing.
I really wonder if John doesn’t realize or doesn’t care that lying to cover up the immorality and dishonesty of Joseph Smith makes every single man who did so complicit in Joseph Smith’s immorality and dishonesty. It makes them unworthy of the roles they claim as spiritual, moral, ethical, intellectual, political, and social leaders. It makes them frauds. To be clear: I’m not saying their fraud is criminal (although Utah is a hotbed of criminal financial fraud, even if it’s not always the affinity fraud capital of the world). But I am saying that their fraud is unrighteous. And I don’t say that on my own authority; I say it by the authority of Doctrine and Covenants Section 121:
34 Behold, there are many called, but few are chosen. And why are they not chosen?
35 Because their hearts are set so much upon the things of this world, and aspire to the honors of men, that they do not learn this one lesson—
36 That the rights of the priesthood are inseparably connected with the powers of heaven, and that the powers of heaven cannot be controlled nor handled only upon the principles of righteousness.
37 That they may be conferred upon us, it is true; but when we undertake to cover our sins, or to gratify our pride, our vain ambition, or to exercise control or dominion or compulsion upon the souls of the children of men, in any degree of unrighteousness, behold, the heavens withdraw themselves; the Spirit of the Lord is grieved; and when it is withdrawn, Amen to the priesthood or the authority of that man.
38 Behold, ere he is aware, he is left unto himself, to kick against the pricks, to persecute the saints, and to fight against God.
39 We have learned by sad experience that it is the nature and disposition of almost all men, as soon as they get a little authority, as they suppose, they will immediately begin to exercise unrighteous dominion.
40 Hence many are called, but few are chosen.
In other words, the injury people feel is not just “feeling misled and lied to.” It’s thinking, “What the hell have I been doing, looking to a bunch of liars and deceivers for guidance on how to be a good person? Why have I been following a bunch of geriatric gits in Utah who had to be dragged kicking and screaming into the twentieth and twenty-first centuries because they’re too busy exercising unrighteous dominion to get any sort of inspiration from the Spirit?”
The remedy for that is not simply more transparency, because that does not meet the sort of repentance the church claimed its members should practice. The remedy is reparations, including refunding everyone’s tithing, since it was obtained under false pretenses. The remedy is a kind of humility the brethren cannot even mimic.
And anyone who, like John, defends the unrighteous dominion of the brethren is complicit in that unrighteous dominion as well.
Every time I think about the things I learned from the church that I still find value in outside the church, it’s things like the ability to speak in public, to organize and lead projects. A lot of white collar professional managerial class skills.
There was a period in my life where I asked, “isn’t this enough? Isn’t it enough to participate for these values even if I don’t have a testimony of any of the spiritual or historical truth claims”
… Then Prop 8 came, and I realized that the spiritual claims were used to direct people, organize people, lead people, to campaign against people’s rights. It’s not enough to learn valuable skills if you are then also expected to use these skills for immoral purposes.
I’ve been thinking about moral injury based on what you wrote here. The difference between being lied to and being morally injured. And I think part of it is precisely the difference between being a passive victim (not to say that being a victim is always passive, but comparatively so) and being complicit and coerced to co-perpetrate harms. In this way, the LDS church, precisely because it emphasizes so much about lay leadership, about member involvement, magnifying callings, and so on, it’s a perfect recipe for moral injury.
John’s thought process seems to be something like, “the church works, so it has some form of value”
But this makes me think of dark patterns on websites or with marketing…intentional patterns that are designed to trick users to doing what the marketer wants them to do. To make any other path frustrating or difficult. Dark patterns “work”
Addictive drugs “work”.
But what does it take for some people to overlook the incredible cost that comes with these things…?
Hi Andrew–
You write, “the LDS church, precisely because it emphasizes so much about lay leadership, about member involvement, magnifying callings, and so on, it’s a perfect recipe for moral injury.”
That’s a really good point, and it reminds me of a wonderful essay by Parker Blount (who used to comment here on MSP) titled “Scarlet Threads in the Lineage of Jesus” that ends with an anecdote about holding “a Church position that required [him] to hear confessions and make judgments about worthiness,” and listening to a young woman confess past sexual sins because
I think that’s probably an example of what you’re pointing to.
I would add that the COJCOLDS creates opportunities for moral injuries because it imbues certain elements of life with a religious significance it doesn’t necessarily have elsewhere–like, for instance, weddings. I’ve heard quite a few people with nonmember relatives say that they feel very hurt that they succumbed to pressure to exclude close loved ones from their weddings. It took the church way too long to stop punishing couples in certain places for wanting to have a ceremony all their loved ones could attend–all while it claimed to be an organization that valued families above all else.
My mission was an enormous moral injury, even when I was on it. I’m still mulling over some things I want to say about that.
The positive things I got out of being raised Mormon are very similar to the items the both of you mention. I’m glad I was encouraged to keep a journal and write about my life and my feelings. I liked having the opportunity to practice “white collar professional managerial class skills” like organizing activities. And I loved all of the opportunities to participate in amateur theater!! (Road shows, etc.)
When I joined a community theater club here in Zurich, I felt like I’d joined a church, but with all of the good parts of church and none of the bad parts. 😉
As someone who is not neurotypical, I liked being one of the “peculiar people” in this unusual movement, and I hated the pressure to conform that (ironically?) came from within this “peculiar” community.
When I had my epiphany at 17 years old — that the answer that makes it all make sense is that it isn’t true — I was happy. I didn’t mourn it at all — I was happy to realize that it was not real.
A lot of ExMos like JD like to downplay stories like mine because seem to corroborate the narrative that people leave just because they wanted to sin, therefore wanting it be true somehow conversely makes your exit more valid or moral. But I hadn’t thought about whether I wanted it to be true or not. As soon as I got it into my head to seriously consider that it might not be true, it was clear that it was not.
Then, after that, I was happy that it was not true because I realized that not only is it not true, it is also not good. The fact that the leaders feel justified in intentionally misleading the masses is just the first red flag.
One of my biggest lessons I’ve learned from the ExMo internet has been that people’s reasons for leaving vary wildly, and that the things I hated about the church were the parts other people loved and vice-versa. (I wrote a post about it here.)
I think JD may be one of those people whose LDS likes & dislikes are nearly opposite of my own. I think he liked being a golden boy on track to becoming a GA, and that he thinks the other virtuous people who leave are the people who wished to be the conforming followers listening to him at conference (if not for the tragedy of it not being true).
When someone who could be successful at Mormonism (a straight white male with decent earning potential) leaves the church because he sees that it hurts other people and because the ethics the church teaches are on balance bad, I see that person as being a moral/ethical giant compared to those who wish it were true.
In conclusion, I’d like to thank Holly for linking back to some really interesting old conversations here. In particular JD really demonstrates that he doesn’t understand the diverse range of reasons why people leave the church in this really gross quote from JD in which he projects his own personal experience on to others as being a typical ExMo experience — rather than being willing to own it himself.
Hi Chanson–
You write, “A lot of ExMos like JD like to downplay stories like mine because seem to corroborate the narrative that people leave just because they wanted to sin, therefore wanting it be true somehow conversely makes your exit more valid or moral.”
I wanted parts of the COJCOLDS to be true. The part about being able to spend eternity with people I’d loved on earth? That I wanted to be true. The part about God being a judgy polygamist who cared what underwear we wore? That part I wanted not to be true, and I didn’t actually see a way that it could be true, though I did my best to force myself to believe that it was.
And as I have said before and will no doubt say again: I did leave the COJCOLDS so I could sin. I left so I could freely commit the sin of loving people without wanting to convert them to Mormonism. I left so I could commit the sin of not assessing everything in the world through how it comported with Mormon ideas of righteousness. I left so I could commit the sin of not spending every Sunday with people whose vapid ideas about morality upset me so that it took me hours to calm down after I got home from church. I left so I could commit the sin of not thinking gay people were an abomination and AIDS was God’s righteous judgment upon them (because that was a thing Mormons were still supposed to think when I left). I left so I could commit the sin of relying on logic, reason, my own intuition and the wisdom of the whole wide world in making decisions instead of obeying a bunch of crusty old fools in Utah and a poorly-written nineteenth-century novel.
You can correct me if I’m wrong, Chanson (and Andrew, for that matter), but I think a similarity in our reactions to accepting that the church’s truth claims could not withstand scrutiny and so had to be false is that we thought the rest of the world had more to offer us than the COJCOLDS. I grew up in a Mormon community sufficiently insular that I was still afraid of the world in some ways, but that was about feeling out of step, not about seeing the world as fundamentally evil. I loved my secular education and felt enriched by my exposure to other cultures and religions. That brought me joy I never felt in the church.
I remember hearing this parable in church about a widow who scrimps and saves for years so she can afford a cruise she and her husband always hoped to take. But she is aghast when she sees the restaurants and cannot imagine how she can afford the extra expense of the meals, so she eats cheese and crackers in her cabin all week. Then, on the last night of the cruise, she decides to splurge on a meal in the restaurant, so she eats well and asks for the bill at the end of the meal, only to be told that all meals were included in what she paid for the cruise.
In church, the point of this parable was to say that Jesus paid for our sins by dying for us, and we’re depriving ourselves if we don’t accept the gift of eternal life, which requires us to give 10% of our income to the church and obey all its commandments. But I think the COJCOLDS is the “cheese and crackers in a cruise ship cabin” approach to life, and leaving the church is eating at the whole banquet of life.
So when someone like John says that he thinks a diet of cheese and crackers is superior to everything else while refusing to eat only cheese and crackers himself, well, I question both his intelligence and his sincerity.
And thank you, Chanson, for continuing to leave the lights on here.
Holly, I love the cheese and crackers analogy! It amazes me that so many LDS — including some former LDS — are still so brainwashed that they actually feel guilty for enjoying life. A few years ago a guy at an exmormon gathering asked how best to explain his exit to his believing dad. My snarky reply was, “Tell him you were offended and wanted to sin.” He looked at me like I’d just slapped him. I apologized for the snark and then, gently tried to tell him he didn’t have to explain. He was a grown man leading a happy and good life and that his actions would speak for him. Did that answer satisfy? Of course not. Not after years of being told that “the world” outside of Mormonism is evil, that only bad people leave the church, and that fun isn’t “real fun.”
“Real fun” is eating crackers in your cabin!
Hi Donna–
Your quip about “real fun” reminded me of Russ Nelson’s 2016 statement on joy:
“If we look to the world and follow its formulas for happiness, we will never know joy. The unrighteous may experience any number of emotions and sensations, but they will never experience joy! Joy is a gift for the faithful. It is the gift that comes from intentionally trying to live a righteous life, as taught by Jesus Christ.”
This statement is obnoxious and false if you accept the widely held definition of joy. However, if you define joy as “a feeling of happiness that can be felt only by the righteous,” and then define the righteous as “only those people who believe and behave as I do,” then the statement is true.
A very famous passage in Through the Looking Glass discusses the idiosyncratic use of words to mean things other than how they are widely understood:
I would say that the questions are: What is the purpose of the less common definition? How is it useful? Sometimes an uncommon or idiosyncratic definition can help us understand complex concepts in new ways.
What is the purpose of Russell Nelson’s definition of joy? It is useless in explaining either joy or righteousness, but it is useful in making the righteous feel superior to and sorry for the unrighteous. The purpose of his definition is to denigrate the lives and emotions of anyone who does not meet his definition of righteous.
What’s that quote from St. Augustine? “The wicked tell me of things that delight them, but not such things as Thy law has to tell, o Lord”.
I feel like religion is at its best when it’s proposing solutions for problems that are apparent and obvious to everyone, rather than proposing problems that people need to be convinced of, and then also proposing the solution to those same manufactured problems. It just uhhh, seems like there is a lot more of the latter than the former.
The Augustine quote I think of most often is “Lord, give me chastity–but not yet.”
I think “proposing problems that people need to be convinced of” is a good way to describe missionary work, or telling people they can’t go to heaven unless they join your church. What an utter waste of resources.