Is there a universal basis for morality? Part One

We live in an age of utter cynicism. There are many reasons for this, but prominent among them is the horrible direction in which "progress" has taken us.

The nineteenth century was an age, to a large extent, of positivism and belief in natural, inexorable progress toward some better state of collective being. The dominant paradigm of the intellectual world everywhere reflected that basic optimism, which itself was based on the values of the Enlightenment as carried by its missionaries, the merchants and rising "middle class" everywhere. Science would bring increased freedom, and steady improvement in everyone's lives. Reason would lead naturally to increased cooperation and universal brotherhood. Civilization would become humane, its legal structure evolving toward "natural law" based upon universalities.

While the first World War was a massive, horrifying shock to this optimistic worldview, the second World War put it to rest, and we have since been passing by its grave daily on our way to work, casting it scornful, disapproving glances.

Indeed, an age of optimism has given way to an age of cynicism. Somehow the Enlightenment did not bring what its prophets augured, though it has brought to a select few profits and power undreamt of before. Science, instead of bringing freedom and improvement, has, for most of the world's population, only resulted in more efficient and inescapable forms of exploitation and control. It has, for all of us, brought the horror of vastly more effective weapons of mass destruction and of individual annihilation.

Reason has become a whore, used spuriously by those who have no respect for it and who cast the worst of aspersions upon its actual adherents, giving us a more scientific, self-absorbed consumerist tribalism rather than universal brotherhood. Civilization has merely improved its capacity for propaganda, collective self-deceit and war. "The worst are full of passionate intensity, while the best lack all conviction..."

The law has abandoned any pretense at universality, instead scoffing at the idea of morality as anything more than "generally accepted beliefs" (which, given their previous bases for morality and their belief in the natural universality of their own narrow views, is probably a good thing anyway) and wholly reflecting the cynicism of the age.

The events of the twentieth century have resoundingly and painfully rebuked humanity for its arrogant assumption that evolution -- biological, social, cultural or otherwise -- is "progress," that history is a natural progression toward better, higher. No, evolution is adaption to circumstances, not improvement, and it is noteworthy to remember that the height of evolution is the development of sophisticated predators, not its unusual and unique hominid children that have come to dominate the planet. History has no guarantees that the world of the future will be a better one, and current events suggest it may be steadily worsening.

So, it is no wonder that the most prevalent epistemological attitude toward philosophy, morality and truth is a disapproving denial of universality, and indeed in many ways of objective reality itself. Post-modernism is a reaction to the foolish, self-righteous strutting of an eager modernism that has since shown itself to be nothing but a charlatan. But is it the answer? After all, if we accept post-modernism, we, as a matter of course, have little hope for peace and true progress toward a better world. And, indeed, post-modernist thought tends toward self-absorption and abandonment of interest in the outside world, concentrating instead on one's own limited "circle of influence." Post-modernism, in fact, plays right into the hands of the worst of us, those who love power and thrive on conflict.

I once heard someone say that the optimist is someone who sees the value of everything and the price of nothing, while a pessimist is someone who sees the price of everything and the value of nothing. Could it be that we have swung from one unsustainable extreme to another? Could it be that, rather than defining the extent of what is possible, modernism and post-modernism merely express two possible answers among a larger variety available? Might there be another answer that provides humankind with a new possible direction, with new hope for that universal brotherhood that today, given the comeback of fundamentalism, fascism and sheer cynicism throughout the first world, seems laughable?

I have thought long and hard on this subject for most of my life. I have wondered at it as a puzzle to be solved. Is there a way to resolve the conflicting views, needs and perceptions of all human beings into a social, or at least intellectual, reality that is consistent and truly universally-applicable?

Put another way, is there a universal basis for morality that is not culturally-biased, based on superstition or collective self-deceit? One that is not self-serving, serviceable only to the needs of a certain region or nation, or even species-specific? A morality that is not only logically-consistent and able to withstand the deepest of scrutiny, but also compelling and useful to an ailing, technologically-advanced humanity in thrall everywhere to the worst of men using creeds of bigotry, hate, propaganda and fear to control their wards?

I think there is. I will elaborate in a second post. For now, however, I would love to hear anyone's thoughts on the matter.



Cheers!
Gluby

Thoughts on Atheism and Faith

I can speak, you know. I just choose not to.
-- The Rabbit

I have often heard the claim that someone who is atheist or anti-theist is essentially committing the same error as a religionist, akin to the recent assertion of a good friend of mine, from a quasi-religious viewpoint of his own informed by a sort of postmodern skepticism, that atheism is "just another kind of faith" -- the belief in something that cannot be proved.

At first, he had me at a loss to explain the difference. After all, one can't prove a negative, and therefore to believe there is no God (or god, or god-figure, or Shiva, or Athena, or Pan, or what-have-you) is to believe in a proposition that cannot be proved. But surely one cannot consign the principled skepticism of atheism to the dustbin of presumptuous faith-based belief, can we? (And, I might add, to the solipsistic skepticism of postmodern thought.)

I thought about it for the next few days, and I came to what I believe is the answer, or, more accurately, a decent answer that gets at the root of the issue.

I believe that the key to the riddle is patterns.

The nature of all learning comes from the fact that we perceive patterns in life. Everything we "know" is based on patterns taken either from the assertions of others (hearsay) or our own observation. For example, we don't know exactly what causes gravitation, but we all can see that gravity exists as a pattern of matter being attracted to the earth, and, in space, to other matter based upon relative mass. From our observation of the physical effects of it, we can believe that it, and similar phenomena, are at least reasonable and believable suppositions. Indeed, we would be hard-pressed, indeed backed into the corner of irrational fantasy, to attempt to disbelieve it.

But that's too dull. Let's take a more, well, exciting example. It is perhaps obvious, but I shall name it anyway: talking rabbits.

You see, I not only do not believe in rabbits that can speak Swahili, or any of various pre-revolutionary French dialects, but I affirmatively believe that they do not exist. That is something of a leap. How can I be sure? How can I be so arrogant?

The problem is that we are not at liberty to responsibly believe everything. Everything we accept as real must somehow suggest itself in some sort of pattern. No evidence exists, nor has any ever been recorded or even alluded to, that rabbits have spoken. Indeed, none exists of any non-human animal ever having picked up on a human language. There just is simply no recorded pattern whatever in existence of non-human animals speaking human language, despite the fact that people have been rather inclined to induce and record such things.

On the other hand, there are plainly measurable and consistent patterned reasons why they cannot -- lack of sufficient brain development and lack of vocal apparatus being chief among these. Indeed, researchers have spent years trying to teach the most intellectually-capable species of monkeys and dolphins language, without success. Even where basic concepts are taught (e.g., "hungry," "food," and "come here"), complex ideational linguistic development is well beyond their reach. (Although, from what I understand, dolphins have come closest, and are just simply amazing creatures who have their own rather complex form of aural communication that allows them to coordinate complex aerobatic maneuvers and to cooperatively herd large schools of fish with great precision and timing. But, even if they do have the intellectual capability to understand language in some form, one won't say, 'allo there!, to you. They are just not physically capable.)

Thus, there does not exist a pattern of any non-human animal speaking human language, other than rote-memorized repetitions of small phrases without true comprehension (parrots) or sub-linguistic communications (dolphins, monkeys).

But, you say, my child just told me that Dog spoke to him, as a man speaks to a man! And, indeed, there have been numerous animated films starring talking rabbits. Here is evidence!

Okay. Let's rephrase this. No evidence from reliable witnesses that ought to be taken as evidence of the occurrence of real phenomena. The human imagination is amazing, and can mix existing, real patterns into new imagined patterns that have no counterpart in what we call reality. Thus, this very second, I am envisioning rabbits with a species-specific form of gravity that makes any two rabbits coming within 20 feet of each other slide toward each other and stick together like two little fuzzy magnets. I'll call it, say, Rabbitation.

And note that, in my mind, those rabbits are chatting quite amiably with each other over tea as it happens.

As I noted, however, human imaginings are noteworthy in this ability to synthesize new, impossible patterns from perceived existing patterns. I might be able to submit my Theory of Rabbitation to the nearest university physics department, but your average first-year student will see right through it, and indeed might find my submission of the theory to constitute evidence of propositions quite different from those I've asserted. For example, my lack of sanity, or at least my lack of sincerity.

So, to rein this back in, human imaginings are not valid evidence constituting "patterns" upon which belief ought to be formed. When we speak of "reality," we speak of observable patterns beyond the realms of our own fancy. I understand that post-Modernist modes of thought currently fashionable posit no distinction between the inner and outer world, between perception and reality, but I disagree rather strongly, and think they've disappeared down the rabbit-hole of solipsistic contemplation. (To be fair, not all are so bold, but there are some that boldly follow themselves to that logical conclusion.) I invite any of them who imagine no distinction between physical reality and perspective to abandon food and just imagine they do not need it anymore.

Of course, is it truly physically impossible for a French-speaking, tea-drinking rabbit to be born tomorrow somewhere in Marseilles? No, not strictly so. There could be a series of simultaneous, viable mutations that spontaneously do what millions of years of evolution took with the hominids, producing a rabbit with human-approximate intelligence, motivations and vocal characteristics, that happens to be born in the right place and time to be noticed for what it is and appropriately educated in the French countryside. However, given that the probability of even two or three minor simultaneous mutations to be both viable and improvement-bearing is almost impossibly remote, and given the overwhelming likeliness that any given mutation will be nonviable, we can handily classify this rabbiteering possibility as "impossible" in the same way that we may so conclude with Douglas Adams's postulate that a million monkeys banging on a million typewriters will eventually reproduce the collected works of Shakespeare.

Thus, coming back to the god conundrum, how do I "know" that there is no god?

Well, it's not strictly, technically impossible that some sort of metaphysical uber-being approximate to the forms envisioned by the self-ordained prophets of the world could in reality exist somewhere, somehow. But we might assign it the same probability as our simian Hamlet. Tielhard de Chardin be damned.

The idea of deity as envisioned by the creators of human religions throughout the preceding millenia matches no existing observable patterns. It's not just that we can't see these guys; it's that there is no fact, no evidence, no phenomenon, nothing, that even suggests that such patterns exist. Indeed, most such superstition has had its starting points in wonder, ignorance and fear; why did a big mountain explode out of the earth and pour fire on the neighboring village? They must have pissed off someone.

On the other hand, there is overwhelming evidence to support the conclusion that, for every religious utterance; for every assertion of divinity or communication with divinity; for every sighting of a ghost, a god, a demon, or the sudden collision of two teacups shattering and spilling their contents as the rabbits holding them were violently thrust together by an unknown force; for every assertion of human superstitious imaginings, there is a far more simple, consistent and reasonable explanation, producing far less inconsistency. Or, in other words, we can cut them all with Occam's Razor.

Of course, enumerating these is beyond the scope of my argument here, but I imagine anyone who would care to read this probably needs little enlargement upon this proposition.

But what is more damning to assertions of the existence of deity is a third factor: the countless examples supporting a pattern of the invention of deities, demons and other metaphysical bugaboos for reasons psychological and sociological. Indeed, there is a rather strong and consistent pattern of certain groups of humans, who we'll collectively call "the priests," using religion as a tool to control those beneath them and to "consume the grass belonging to their flock," to roughly quote the recorded statement of a victim of the Catholic Inquisition. We have much evidence of patterns of self-serving motivations and creative ignorance behind the creation of many of these people's gods, of which Mormonism is but one excellent case study. In law, we call it conflict of interest.

To render it in terms familiar to the Western courtroom, we have ample evidence of these declarants being unreliable, self-interested witnesses whose answer to questioning is hostility, derision and condemnation, rather than honest answers. Would you believe a witness whose only answer was to damn opposing counsel to eternal flames, or to the depths of Hades, or to "outer darkness"?

To conclude: given the utter absence of supporting evidence for, or patterns suggestive of, the possibility of deity (outside the rather anything-goes realm of human imaginings), combined with the utter banality of self-serving or ignorant-superstition-induced creation of spiritual or deific beings, we can safely conclude that these assertions of gods and demons are indeed the self-serving imaginings that what evidence does exist shows them to be. Kinda like our fuzzy pink talking rabbits, and like any of the sundry tribal gods and demons our modern religionists themselves facilely dismiss as ignorant, superstitious paganism (even as they assert their own invisible gods and demons) in their selective critical inquiry.

Yes, I imagine it's not outside the realms of possibility and probability so aptly explored in Adams's Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy series, but I'm rather comfortable sticking to observable patterns and probabilities and therefore actively disbelieving in gods, demons, spirits, and little, pink, unusually-adhesive bunnies chatting with each other over broken dishware. To do otherwise is to disappear down that rabbit-hole of subjectivity and remain in the darkness of superstition, confusing imaginings with reality.

(For the record, I understand that gravity is not adhesion, per se, but I claim poetic license.)

Does this mean that I, and others who likewise so disbelieve in things without example in reliably observable reality, are closed-minded and assume we have seen all patterns in existence? No. But neither are we gullible, taking the self-interested word of suspect individuals or groups without scrutiny. Furthermore, religion is a special case, because of the massive evidence against every instance of it, the total lack of any supporting patterns elsewhere, and the emotion-based nature of such faith. Indeed, I am far more apt to be open to the possibility that rabbitologists and rabbosophers might be able to show my rabbit example wrong. I am open to new patterns and to the possibility that patterns in which I had believed were incorrect (or incorrectly perceived). But show me evidence and do not try to persuade me through emotion and histrionics.

Note: By the way, I had not read of "Russell's Teapot" or the "Flying Spaghetti Monster" when I wrote this. But, except for the "patterns" bit, it is the same sort of approach. In other words, take away the special dignity given to one's religion of choice, and apply the same standard to all propositions, and the absurdity becomes manifest. In the end, it's just institutionally-backed special pleading. Not all propositions are equal.

Of Sinners and "Saints"

As those of us who have painfully crawled, or been dragged kicking and screaming, out of the proverbial cave into the painful light of day all know, the Mormon church (and Christianity in general, in most cases) has very damaging and repressive effects upon the psyche, all of which last well beyond the escape of the damaging religious social system.

I am not very much into "self-help" books myself, given that I object to what I see as the solipsistic subjectivism of much of New Age thought. [1] However, some time ago I happened upon and found interesting a book by one of my favored authors, Bertrand Russell [2], called "The Conquest of Happiness," and bought the book for LB. Reading it myself, I find it to be excellent and quite relevant to current circumstances.

[1] The denial or minimization of objective reality, instead positing that subjectivity is the only lens that matters, that the self is the only provable truth, and that the highest calling of the enlightened human being is to focus on the self and be at peace with the rest of the world, no matter what its state.

[2] Russell is, of course, is, like me, an objectivist/realist -- one who believes in the independent existence and verifiability of the world outside the self, and in the ideal of human interconnectedness and cooperation in finding universal truth, rather than individual searches for individual subjective truth.

More particularly, in his introductory chapter, "What Makes One Unhappy," Russell touches on a major source of deep, abiding unhappiness that is, to be sure, endemic to humanity in general, but that is exacerbated and brought to crushing heights within puritanical Christianity, and even more so within its more manipulative and suppressive forms (such as, of course, Mormonism): self-absorption.

One of the foremost goals of Christianity in general to inculcate in people a sense of real inadequacy, sin and need for redemption. The psychological fallout from this is broad in scope and deep in effect, and the sense of preoccupation with self, combined with the lack of a sense of personal identity, is among the worst and most difficult-to-repair damage.

So, for those of us who have imbibed an excessive self-consciousness from within this kind of religion, I thought I would reproduce, with minimal editing, a small section from Russell's first chapter that I find to be insightful. His paragraphs are a bit long, and this is, overall, not the shortest passage in the blogosphere, but I highly recommend reading it, as it gives a big-picture view of a phenomenon of which many of us are accustomed to thinking in terms highly-tailored to our own life and religious experience. Also note that the book was written in 1930 Britain, and it is evident. Footnotes are my commentary.

. . . I was not born happy. As a child, my favorite hymn was: "Weary of earth and laden with sin." At the age of five, I reflected that, if I should live to be seventy, I had only endured, so far, a fourteenth part of my whole life, and I felt the long-spread-out boredom ahead of me to be almost unendurable. In adolescence, I hated life and was continually on the verge of suicide, from which, however, I was restrained by the desire to know more mathematics. [3] Now, on the contrary, I enjoy life; I might almost say that with every year that passes I enjoy it more. This is due partly to having discovered what were the things that I most desired, and having gradually acquired many of these things. Partly it is due to having successfully dismissed certain objects of desire--such as the acquisition of indubitable knowledge about something or other--as essentially unobtainable. But very largely it is due to a diminishing preoccupation with myself. Like others who had a Puritan education, I had the habit of meditating on my sins, follies and shortcomings. I seemed to myself--no doubt justly--a miserable specimen. Gradually I learned to be indifferent to myself and my deficiencies; I came to center my attention increasingly upon external objects: the state of the world, various branches of knowledge, individuals for whom I felt affection. External interests, it is true, bring each its own possibility of pain: the world may be plunged in war, knowledge in some direction may be hard to achieve, friends may die. But pains of these kinds do not destroy the essential quality of life, as do those that spring from disgust with self. And every external interest inspires some activity which, so long as the interest remains alive, is a complete preventative of ennui. Interest in oneself, on the contrary, leads to no activity of a progressive kind. It may lead to the keeping of a diary, to getting psychoanalyzed, or perhaps to becoming a monk. But the monk will not be happy until the routine of the monastery has made him forget his own soul. The happiness which he attributes to religion he could have obtained from becoming a crossing-sweeper, provided he were compelled to remain one. External discipline is the only road to happiness for those unfortunates whose self-absorption is too profound to be cured in any other way.

[3] Math??

Self-absorption is of various kinds. We may take the sinner, the narcissist, and the megalomaniac as three very common types.

When I speak of "the sinner," I do not mean the man who commits sins: sins are committed by every one or no one, according to our definition of the word. I mean the man who is absorbed in the consciousness of sin.

This man is perpetually incurring his own disapproval, which, if he is religious, he interprets as the disapproval of God. He has an image of himself as he thinks he ought to be, which is in continual conflict with his knowledge of himself as he is. If, in his conscious thought, he has long since discarded the maxims that he was taught at his mother's knee, his sense of sin may be buried deep in his unconscious, and only emerge when he is drunk or asleep. Nevertheless, it may suffice to take the savor out of everything. At bottom he still accepts all the prohibitions he was taught in infancy. Swearing is wicked; drinking is wicked; ordinary business shrewdness is wicked; above all, sex is wicked. He does not, of course, abstain from any of these pleasures, but they are all poisoned for him by the feeling that they degrade him. The one pleasure that he desires with his whole soul is that of being approvingly caressed by his mother, which he can remember having experienced in childhood. [4] This pleasure being no longer open to him, he feels that nothing matters; since he must sin, he decides to sin deeply. When he falls in love, he looks for maternal tenderness, but cannot accept it, because owing to the mother-image, he feels no respect for any woman with whom he has sexual relations. Then, in his disappointment, he becomes cruel, repents of his cruelty, and starts afresh on the dreary round of imagined sin and real remorse. [5] This is the psychology of very many apparently hard-boiled reprobates. What drives them astray is devotion to an unattainable object (mother or mother-substitute) together with the inculcation, in early years, of a ridiculous ethical code. Liberation from the tyranny of early beliefs and affections is the first step towards happiness for these victims of maternal "virtue."

[4] Or, perhaps, from authority figures within one's community or church -- any early-life source that offered beaming, seemingly-unconditional approval at an early age before that approval became conditional.

[5] I have studied violence against women and domestic abuse in general, and this brings to mind the "cycle of abuse" that abused couples go through. According to one researcher, conservative religious affiliation is "one of the greatest predictors of child abuse, more so than age, gender, social class, or size of residence." This quote comes from Kimberly Baker, "God's Warrior Twins," Toward Freedom, Fall 2003. See the studies cited therein for more information.

Narcissism is, in a sense, the converse of an habitual sense of sin; it consists in the habit of admiring oneself and wishing to be admired. Up to a point it is, of course, normal, and not to be deplored; it is only in its excess that it becomes a grave evil. In many women, especially rich society women, the capacity for feeling love is completely dried up, and is replaced by a powerful desire that all men should love them. When a woman of this kind is sure that a man loves her, she has no further use for him. The same thing occurs, though less frequently, with men: the classic example is the hero of that remarkable novel "Liaisons Dangereuses," which describes the love affairs of French aristocrats just before the Revolution. When vanity is carried to this height, there is no genuine interest in any other person, and therefore no real satisfaction to be obtained from love. Other interests fail even more disastrously. A narcissist, for example, inspired by the homage paid to great painters, may become an art student; but, as painting is for him a mere means to an end, the technique never becomes interesting, and no subject can be seen except in relation to self. The result is failure and disappointment, with ridicule instead of the expected adulation. The same thing applies to those novelists whose novels always have themselves idealized as heroines. All serious success in work depends upon some genuine interest in the material with which the work is concerned. The tragedy of one successful politician after another is the gradual substitution of narcissism for an interest in the community and the measures for which he stands. The man who is only interested in himself is not admirable, and is not felt to be so. Consequently the man whose sole concern with the world is that it shall admire him is not likely to achieve his object. But even if he does, he will not be completely happy, since human instinct is never completely self-centered, and the narcissist is limiting himself artificially just as truly as is the man dominated by a sense of sin. The primitive man might be proud of being a good hunter, but he also enjoyed the activity of the chase. Vanity, when it passes beyond a point, kills pleasure in every activity for its own sake, and thus leads inevitably to listlessness and boredom. Often its source is diffidence, and its cure lies in the growth of self-respect. But this is only to be gained by successful activity inspired by objective interests.

The megalomaniac differs from the narcissist by the fact that he wishes to be powerful rather than charming, and seeks to be feared rather than loved. To this type belong many lunatics and most of the great men in history. Love of power, like vanity, is a strong element in normal human nature, and as such is to be accepted; it becomes deplorable only when it is excessive or associated with an insufficient sense of reality. Where this occurs, it makes a man unhappy or foolish, if not both. The lunatic who thinks he is a crowned head may be, in a sense, happy, but his happiness is not of a kind that any sane person would envy. Alexander the Great was psychologically of the same type as the lunatic, though he possessed the talent to achieve the lunatic's dream. He could not, however, achieve his own dream, which enlarged its scope as his achievement grew. When it became clear that he was the greatest conqueror known to fame, he decided that he was a god. Was he a happy man? His drunkenness, his furious rages, his indifference to women, and his claim to divinity, suggest that he was not. There is no ultimate satisfaction in the cultivation of one element of human nature at the expense of all the others, nor in viewing all the world as raw material for the magnificence of one's own ego. Usually the megalomaniac, whether insane or nominally sane, is the product of some excessive humiliation. Napoleon suffered at school from inferiority to his schoolfellows, who were rich aristocrats, while he was a penurious scholarship boy. When he allowed the return of the émigrés, he had the satisfaction of seeing his former schoolfellows bowing down before him. What bliss! Yet it led to the wish to obtain a similar satisfaction at the expense of the Czar, and this led to Saint Helena. Since no man can be omnipotent, a life dominated wholly by love of power can hardly fail, sooner or later, to meet with obstacles that cannot be overcome. The knowledge that this is so can be prevented from obtruding on consciousness only by some form of lunacy, though if a man is sufficiently great he can imprison or execute those who point this out to him. Repressions in the political and in the psychoanalytic senses thus go hand in hand. And whenever psychoanalytic repression in any marked form takes place, there is no genuine happiness. Power kept within its proper bounds may add greatly to happiness, but as the sole end of life it leads to disaster, inwardly if not outwardly.

The psychological causes of unhappiness, it is clear, are many and various. But all have something in common. The typical unhappy man is one who, having been deprived in youth of some normal satisfaction, has come to value this kind of satisfaction more than any other, and has therefore given to his life a one-sided direction, together with a quite undue emphasis upon the achievement as opposed to the activities connected with it. There is, however, a further development which is very common in the present day. A man may feel so completely thwarted that he seeks no form of satisfaction, but only distraction and oblivion. He then becomes a devotee of "pleasure." That is to say, he seeks to make life bearable by becoming less active. Drunkenness, for example, is temporary suicide: the happiness that it brings is merely negative, a momentary cessation of unhappiness.

The narcissist and the megalomaniac believe that happiness is possible, though they may adopt mistaken means of achieving it; but the man who seeks intoxication, in whatever form, has given up hope except in oblivion. In his case, the first thing to be done is to persuade him that happiness is desirable. Men who are unhappy, like men who sleep badly, are always proud of the fact. Perhaps their pride is like that of the fox who had lost his tail; if so, the way to cure it is to point out to them how they can grow a new tail. . . .

And thus ends my lengthy quotation.

As a side curiosity, it's interesting to note the difference between deceitful hedonist, Joseph Smith, and his successor, the iron-handed powermonger, Brigham Young. It is plainly clear to me, from my reading of history, that Smith was a charismatic narcissist whose love of himself could only grow as he gained adulating followers. It is also plainly clear, on the other hand, that Brigham Young was not. He was a megalomaniac. Fuck love, you sentimental assholes; give me power, do what I fucking say, and enjoy your proximity to my power. (Indeed, he explicitly said as much several times in Journal of Discourses, though not so bluntly.)

I do think there is a relationship here, in this context, between these megalomaniacs and the sinners who follow them. The American beauty rose rises to heights of beauty and size usually unmatched by other similar plants, but it does so by greedily grabbing nearby nutrients and sunlight for itself, stunting the growth of nearby plants. So it is with those who wish to fulfill their dreams of self-elevation. After all, if you desperately need people to give all their attention to you, your interests and your thoughts, it will naturally require that they stunt their own growth and selves, and will require various methodologies to get them to accept their own de-emphasis as autonomous, equally-valid human beings.

If you have read through all of this, I'm impressed and appreciative. Again, I apologize for the length (particularly of Russell's paragraphs -- he writes 'em long). I'd love to hear any thoughts on this, in either direction. Who knows? Maybe Russell's full of shit.

[H]arming your Children with the Gospel

Looking through some old book boxes, I came across the hated church-books box. While I am satisfied to see this load of propaganda de fide no longer consuming valuable space on our shelves, I still find it an obnoxious imposition that they take up a cheap cardboard box and a couple of cubic feet in the garage.

Nevertheless, I picked one up on top, intrigued by the title: Arming your Children with the Gospel: Creating Opportunities for Spiritual Experiences by a presumably husband-and-wife team of "organizational consultants" -- Wayne Boss, a professor of business management, and Leslee Boss, who "holds a Ph.D. . . . and has been on the nursing faculties of several universities." [1] Of course, "[t]he Bosses are members of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints and have served in numerous church leadership positions." So, figuring this surely has some juicy bits of sheer manipulation, I began paging through it and did not take long to run across a fascinating, marvelously-manipulative passage in a chapter ominously entitled "FOLLOW THE BRETHREN." I'll produce it here, footnoted with my comments and translations.

Criticism of Church leaders damages the faith and spiritual development of children. [2] The testimonies of most children are not well grounded in Church doctrine, and many children do not have sufficient wisdom and experience to differentiate between Church doctrine and the behavior of Church leaders. [3] Thus, when parents ridicule, condemn, or find fault with leaders, it can be, in their children's eyes, the equivalent of criticizing Church doctrine or the Church itself. And most children's fragile testimonies cannot withstand such an attack without suffering permanent damage. [4]

In citing research on the subject [5], Gene Dalton observed, "The Mormon parents, who had apparently been reared in active homes themselves, constantly complained and criticized Church authorities, but they never left the Church nor abandoned its teachings as guides in their lives. They were too much a product of their own upbringing to do so. [6] But their children, who had heard the chafing and the criticisms at the dinner table all their lives, did leave -- to the partial dismay of their parents." [7]

Rearing children is such an important yet unpredictable challenge that, to be successful, most of us need all the help we can get. [8] We never know who will be called to teach or lead our children. [9] So to destroy the credibility of a future leader or teacher is of such serious consequence as to hardly go unnoticed by the Almighty in the eternal scheme of things. [10] Under such conditions, the law of the harvest often comes into play: "Whatsoever ye sow, that shall ye also reap." (D&C 6:33).

Several years ago, a counselor in a Young Women's Presidency had a serious conflict with the Scoutmaster over the scheduling of some church facilities. [11] Although the Scouts had previously scheduled the building, the counselor insisted that the activity for all the girls in the ward took priority. The Scoutmaster disagreed and refused to change the schedule. An appeal to the bishopric resulted in a decision in favor of the Scoutmaster. [12]

The woman [13] took the decision personally and singled out the Scoutmaster for being at fault. She shared her feelings with anyone who would listen. [14] Unfortunately, her most captive audience sat around her dinner table each evening; [sic] and for two years she consistently pointed out the man's shortcomings to her four teenage children. [15]

Two-and-one-half years after the incident, the Scoutmaster was called to serve as the bishop. [16] At about the same time, the woman began having trouble with her oldest daughter. When the problems became quite serious, this woman [17], now repentant, went to her bishop for assistance. However, when he sat down with the daughter, she refused to even listen -- he had absolutely no credibility with the girl. [18] The continuous diet of criticism had rendered him powerless. [19]

Regardless of the seriousness of our problems with others or the depth of our feelings about those problems, it is in our and our children's best interests to avoid criticism. [20] . . .

[1] I find it fascinating that Mormons have accepted, lock-stock-and-barrel, the presumption of business leaders in teaching them how to run their families, corporate-style. Consider this book along with one of the vaunted and pre-eminent Mormon authors on family and life: Steven Covey, who wrote The Seven Habits of Highly Successful... series, one of which, of course, is an adaptation called The Seven Habits of Highly Successful Families. (LB and I actually read the latter during our TBM phase. This nauseates me.) His collaborator and wife, we are told, holds "a Ph.D." and thus is some sort of smarty pants, we assure you.

[2] "Spiritual development"? Translation: ability to swallow massive incongruities, egregious hypocrisies and outright contradictions without letting their logical implications register in the psyche; reverential regard for the infallibility of religious authority despite its daily production of evidence to the contrary; incapacity for critical thought of any form.

[3] Right. Because they have been emotionally manipulated, made fearful of thinking for themselves, and fed a steady diet of guilt- and obedience-drugged milk in preparation for a later lifetime of gospel "meat." Brainwashing of children includes emotional-button-pushing stuff -- singing how they love to obey, mindlessly reciting the programmed words that will later constitute the "testimony" they bleat to people later in life, playing follow-the-leader games, and happy-joy stuff, not mere recitations of dry doctrine. Surely they won't be able to learn off-the-bat that you do as church leaders say, not as they do, and give the church leadership room for hypocrisy and backpedaling where they change their position.

[4] Translation: Fear! Be careful not to EVER let your children come into contact with critical thought or the idea that they can consider sacred truths using the hated light of reason. Such "permanent damage" is a dreadful contamination of their desensitization to any form of real moral agency or application of logic to important life events. Obedience, obedience, obedience. Why don't you talk about those pretty Book of Mormon action figures instead? You can recreate the slaying of Laban! "I will go and do..."

[5] Research indeed. I'd be curious to see what constitutes faith-promoting research.

[6] It is interesting and telling that he makes a deterministic argument here, rather than sticking to the free-agency line of argument. If people stick to whatever religion in which they're indoctrinated in their youth, then the issue is brainwashing of children to the point of inability to leave the cult, not the bringing about of free moral agents to an enlightened decision. I am consistently amazed at how quickly religionists use deterministic reasoning when it suits their fancy, then switch back to free-agency arguments when it is time to condemn others or tout the allegedly non-coercive nature of their faith and their deity.

[7] So, children must be steadfastly isolated from open conflict or talking of negative subject matter to ensure their inability to deal with it realistically later. Scrutiny of church doctrine that is not admiring and "reverent" will destroy your children.

[8] You can't do it alone; you need us. Give us your children, let us take care of it. After all, given the burden we place on you in addition to your childrearing responsibilities, you'll drown without taking every opportunity you can to let us indoctrinate your children.

Incidentally, they are correct to an important extent; solitary nuclear childraising is a poor substitute for the raising of children in a supportive community. The only problem is that the church community comes with strings attached, which slowly attach to one's extremities until one is little more than a marionette.

[9] Read: any "potential church leader" (i.e. male, but also to some extent females) must be immune from the application of critical thought.

[10] Ah, the ominously-understated divine threat. The authors are not pulling punches. "Destroy the credibility of" (i.e. criticize or complain of) a potential "future leader" in a divinely-ordained patriarchal order and you will be divinely punished. It's that important that you remain silent and obey.

[11] Here we have the beginnings of a classic patriarchal cautionary tale. Woman versus man. Certainly this won't take the predictable route, will it? This isn't going to be a "women keep your mouth shut" story, is it?

[12] Oh, my! Here we have a dutiful male priesthood-holder at the head of "the Scouts" who have scheduled the building, and an unreasonable, uppity woman who feels the need to challenge the natural order of things. Getting juicy.

[13] "The woman"! I love it! I learned how to do this kind of thing in Trial Advocacy class. Selective use of language, dehumanizing the other party with terse labels while upholding the dignity of your client. Let's see how the authors refer to the man.

[14] This "taking the decision personally" is a big favorite of the church. Everyone who has a problem with anything in the church has obviously let themselves be "offended" and has "taken personally" some sort of neutral, reasonable event. So, here we have "the woman" who took a predictable scheduling decision and began murmuring. We priesthood holders can wink at each other here with a knowing smile -- such children; don't they ever shut up?

[15] "Captive audience" -- implying that no one reasonable would bother to listen to such claptrap, but the uppity woman abused her power with her family to force them to listen to her talk about his every "shortcoming." The reader is led to understand here that she has broadened her very personal, bitter criticism of the poor man.

Also, we have "the man" used -- perhaps both will be referred to in neutral form, here? Of course, your average hearer will hear in mind the intonation of your average rhetorician. There is a subtle but distinct difference between "the woman" who is a wrongdoer and "the man" who is done wrong. ("Leave the man alone!") This difference is understood and clear here.

[16] As we see, "the Scoutmaster" is a worthy, upstanding male, of course, and his leadership time has come due. But what effect will that murmuring woman have?

[17] "This woman," not "the former Young Women's President"? Are we given no further information about her? No current calling? She remains faceless and a postergirl for shameful behavior. We may presume she holds no calling and is performing poorly in all capacities. Damned complainer.

[18] The standard story twist given by those who hold power to the powerless. You see? You complain about our power and resist us, but some day you'll be sorry and need us, and you'll come crawling back. And then your very complaining will be your undoing. I will be powerless to help you, though I will of course be the magnanimous one. And thus it comes to pass that she does so with "the bishop."

[19] Interesting wording. "The continuous diet of criticism" had made him "powerless." Us poor men, always the victim of unfaithful murmuring of women. Always the underdog, always powerless before sharp-tongued, insubordinate shrews.

[20] Translation: Keep your fucking mouth shut. Speak no evil. As was written in enormous letters on the wall of an old mid-century asylum I once toured, "Keep your voice low and be sweet."

In Tribute to Martin Luther King, Jr.

I celebrate few holidays. I either care little for them and find them pointless, like Halloween or my birthday, or find what they stand for to be noxious, like Easter, Christmas or Columbus day. Today is one of the ones that matter to me.

Martin Luther King, Jr., is a rather special figure in history -- someone who was altogether more real and powerful for me than most. He is also a religious figure who retains his appeal and moral authority even after my re-abandonment of religion, and who still inspires deep emotion in me. So, today, I thought I would write about what he means for me.

First, I should note that most people don't truly know what King stood for. He was a figure far more visionary and insightful than is generally known. If you recall Martin Luther King and think primarily of his feel-good "I Have a Dream" speech as definitive of him, then you're missing a lot about him -- in fact, you're missing some of the most important things, not least of which were his view of racism as part of a greater problem at the core of American society and his consequent opposition to the U.S.'s war in Vietnam.

There are two of his speeches in particular that express this part of King, which has (almost pointedly) received little attention, and that bring me to sorrow every time I hear them. In fact, listening to the latter of them was one of the few occasions in which LB and I have ever cried together. They are his "Beyond Vietnam" and his "I Have Seen the Mountain Top" speeches, the latter of which makes plainly clear that he knew he would be killed soon -- it was his last speech. (You can listen to them both here.)

Having read about him and listened to his speeches, I have discovered that I truly love the man and mourn his loss, though he was killed just a few years before I was born. He is one of the few celebrated people in history I truly, deeply respect and would give much to have known or even met, blemishes and all. Beyond that, he is an essential, grounding figure in history -- one that cuts through much of the smoke and mirrors of media blather and "official" history that gives us little understanding of the past, instead leaving us with a whitewashed list of facts, figures and dates leading to how wonderful everything supposedly is now. I know better. We all do, in our collective historical knowledge if not in our individual knowledge, because of men and women like King.

So, today, here, I express solemn appreciation and love for the Reverend Martin Luther King, Jr., and what he stood for, and hope, somehow, to be one of those working to carry the torch he left behind. I will teach my children to love him as I do.

Every now and then I guess we all think realistically about that day when we will be victimized with what is life’s final common denominator – that something we call death. We all think about it. And every now and then I think about my own death, and I think about my own funeral. And I don’t think of it in a morbid sense. Every now and then I ask myself “What is it that I would want said?” And I leave the word to you this morning.

I’d like somebody to mention that day, that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to give his life serving others.

I’d like for somebody to say that day, that Martin Luther King, Jr., tried to love somebody.

I want you to say that day, that I tried to be right on the war question.

I want you to be able to say that day, that I did try to feed the hungry.

And I want you to be able to say that day, that I did try, in my life, to clothe those who were naked.

I want you to say, on that day, that I did try, in my life, to visit those who were in prison.

I want you to say that I tried to love and to serve humanity.

-- Martin Luther King, Jr.