At Zelophehad’s Daughters, Lynnette had a personal post regarding her experience of spiritual disconnection. In the post, she discusses several possibilities she’s considered for what could be the cause of the disconnection (as well as the reasons she doesn’t think those are the case). But there was one thing she posted that was particularly interesting to me:
Maybe I’m learning some empathy from this. I realize that many people go through longer dry spells than I’ve been experiencing. And I can only imagine what it’s like for members of the church who simply don’t have spiritual experiences. I’ve talked to people who say that that’s the case for them, and this gives me a glimpse of what it’s like to be in that situation, in a church that is so focused on personal revelation.
This sort of sentiment came through from certain commenters as well:
I can totally relate to this. I went through a long “dry spell” several years ago when it felt to me like God just didn’t care about me anymore. The first time I had an identifiable spiritual experience after all that silence is one of the sweetest memories of my life. And I definitely feel like the dry spell helped me understand and feel compassion for people who are going through what I went through. Hang in there. I hope the light returns soon for you.
These thoughts are interesting to me because they are entirely foreign to my experience. It’s tough for me to even say if I know what it’s like to feel spiritually disconnected because I can’t say I’ve ever felt anything that I would feel comfortable describing as spiritually “connected.” I have nothing to compare my normal experience to, and therefore no sense of disappointment or anxiety or malaise from the difference.
In 2013, Seth Payne presented at the FAIR Mormon conference on the rise of “pastoral apologetics.” A lot of people (including me, inevitably) have written about pastoral apologetics, but since I’m too lazy to link to great articles, I’ll just summarize the key points here: This pastoral apologetics is often contrasted against the traditional apologetics of defeating the claims of LDS church critics (showing that the criticisms are incorrect or inaccurate, or that the critics are untrustworthy), in that it usually accepts many of the claims that critics makes, but instead bases its defense of Mormonism on a recontextualization or reconstruction of the narrative that underpins Mormonism (and its relationship to history, scripture, translation, and so forth).
So, for example, to the extent that traditional apologetics and pastoral apologetics are coherent distinctions (which can’t be taken for granted…really), an example gloss of the differences might be to say that traditional apologetics might be most concerned with establishing that the Book of Mormon is historical (and identifying potential locations that it might have occurred, defeating arguments to anachronisms, and so forth), whereas pastoral apologetics is not as concerned with those points (even if the pastoral apologist does believe the Book of Mormon to be historical) and instead focuses on developing a model of scripture that would allow Mormons to view texts as scripture regardless of the debate of historicity (in other words, that God’s inspiration and communication to humanity need not work via secular methodologies of history, archeological findings, and so on.)
Even though Seth Payne ultimately announced his resignation from the church in November of 2015 (and the date alone should give you clues as to why), it was in, I think, a decidedly pastoral rather than traditional way. It wasn’t a crisis of history, but a crisis of the sort of community that the LDS church is or that the institution promotes.
Dealing with the messiness of LDS history is one thing…but what happens when one comes to think that the LDS church is simply a hostile community for oneself, one’s family, or one’s friends? It’s the latter that threatens the pastoral model — not just that the claims of the LDS church aren’t true, but that its way of life and community environment may not be good.
Still, I think pastoral apologetics is a welcome new trend in the LDS apologetic space, because it helps increase the likelihood that the LDS church experience will be good for more people, and there are certainly other writers and speakers who are taking this approach. Today’s article actually focuses on Patrick Mason’s remarks at the 2016 FAIRMormon Conference — The Courage of Our Convictions: Embracing Mormonism in a Secular Age.
Maybe you haven’t really kept up with Twitter, but you should probably know that Twitter doesn’t have the greatest reputation regarding civility and harassment. I don’t want to go into all of the stories of people being harassed on Twitter, but instead I’ll just point out what happened when I clicked on a few Olympics-related Twitter trending topics.
First, let’s look at Michael Phelps:
If you look to the left here, you’ll see “Related searches.” I assume that Twitter generates these based on data of what people have searched for before. So, presumably, it thinks that a lot people are interested in his race and in his race time and in his time. Seems reasonably.
But of course, some people are also interested in his wife, and some are interested in his marijuana appreciation.
But this is fairly tame.
My dreams frequently share a consistent plot line, universe, and characters. In one series of dreams, I have the power to become hidden or invisible by holding my breath. I cannot do much from this state (because I can still expose myself by making too much noise, and if I exert myself too much, I will have to breathe, thus becoming visible again), but I have come to believe that hiddenness, camouflage, and invisibility is a tremendous super power.
When I was in 10th grade, my English teacher split the class into a three or four groups, so that each group would read a different American novel and then present to the class about the plot, themes, and so on. (It was a great way to cover 3-4 novels in the same time frame as 1, haha). I was assigned Ralph Ellison’s Invisible Man.
By now, within certain segments of the population, it is almost entirely assumed that anyone who opposes same-sex relationships does so out of hatred or fear. I asked some people whether they thought there could be any non-homophobic (that is, non-fear-based or hate-based) sexual ethics that opposed same-sex relationships, and one of the responses I received back was very interesting: this respondent commented that arguments against same-sex marriage were almost always based in fear…fear of negative consequences to society…fear of negative consequences to the participants or their children…and so on.
This was very intriguing to me. I normally don’t associate evaluation of consequences (positive vs negative, pros vs cons) as a fear-based sort of activity…however, from looking at this perspective, I could see how, if one thought that, then pretty much any evaluation in terms of avoiding negative consequences could be deemed fear-based.
Over at Peculiar People is a review of the indie game Undertale (one I love sooooo much, and I have arranged and recorded several covers of songs from the game’s OST) from a Mormon perspective. Just the first paragraph:
In the game Undertale, your adventure begins when you fall into the underworld—a sort of hell that turns out to be quite Mormon.  That is to say: it is not the typical Christian hell of punishment and torment, fire and brimstone. The underground’s inhabitants, monsters banished and trapped there by humans defeated them in an ancient war, are instead afflicted by stagnation, regret, and alienation.
For this Independence Day, my boyfriend convinced me to go on a trip. We flew in to Montreal, Quebec just in time for Canada Day, and then we met up with his aunt and drove down to Vermont.
Both Old Montreal and Vermont are quite different from one another, and each has been very different from Texas. Old Montreal was all historic streets and buildings, people walking and biking, and steep hills and cathedrals and things like that.
I know I probably shouldn’t judge all of Montreal by Old Montreal, but as we traveled through, I couldn’t help but think that it would be rather treacherous to try to drive through that city on my own. Even though Houston can feel somewhat unlivable if you don’t have a car, I’ve come to appreciate that if you do have a car, it’s very easy to get from A to B. In contrast, for Old Montreal, you might as well park far away and take advantage of the metro or with walking, because you’ll certainly be able to get around better that way.
Maybe that’s the point? It definitely is healthier than driving.
Vjack of the Atheist Revolution blog and twitter just reposted an article from 2015 about hope and false hope. In this article, he discusses that the practicality of things that may be false — such as the practicality of the hope that religiosity can bring to someone who believes that hope to be false. As a snippet:
…is false hope necessarily bad because it is false?
For those of us who want to believe true things and not false ones, the answer may seem obvious. At the same time, I think that one could argue that the sort of comfort, sense of peace, reassurance, or whatever else you want to label it that hope provides might be more important to some people in some circumstances than whether the hope is based in reality. Could false hope provide one with the sort of benefits that might make it worthwhile?
…consider the example of a young Christian father with a critically ill child who is able to sustain the effort required to get out of bed each day and take his child to the many necessary medical appointments based, at least in part, on his faith. On one hand, this is the very definition of false hope. This man has misplaced his faith in something that doesn’t exist. On the other hand, is it so difficult to imagine how this sort of false hope might make a crucial difference for him? I realize it probably wouldn’t cut it for you or I, but can we reasonably insist that it couldn’t be worthwhile for him? Perhaps his false hope motivates his positive actions, persistence, effort like our college student’s legitimate hope. Perhaps his false hope also provides comfort and reassurance in the hard times in much the same way her real hope did.
I am a fan of pragmatism, so my inclination is to say that the practical effects of hope are more important than whether that hope is based in something real or not. The subjective experience and motivation of hope is what is crucial, in other words.
But, one thing that vjack didn’t discuss that I wish he had was the following question: what if someone cannot force themselves to believe in that hope?
Adam Miller is filling up my book list. I have already read his “Grace is Not God’s Backup Plan: An Urgent Paraphrase of Paul’s Letter to the Romans,” but since then, he’s come out with several other works, such as The Gospel According to David Foster Wallace, Nothing New Under the Sun: A Blunt Paraphrase of Ecclesiastes, and Future Mormon: Essays in Mormon Theology.
There is a common theme I’ve noticed in Adam’s works (at least, from the reviews and what little I’ve read directly of him) — and I suspect that reading Future Mormon will confirm my thoughts.
Adam takes scriptures, concepts, theologies that we normally view as well established and set in stone…and then he retranslates them for a modern audience, often in unexpected ways. I have been reading posts on Making Sense of Christianity about viewing Christianity as an antifragile heuristic rather than as a fragile set of theories, and I wanted to write a post about whether Mormonism has “antifragile” elements (especially since the growing number of online communities dedicated to faith crises suggest that there’s definitely fragile elements to the religion.) That post has been on hold because I wanted to have some concrete “heuristics” for an anti-fragile Mormonism. (It would be easy to conclude that Mormonism just is fragile, but I didn’t want to go for the easy route.)
I’ll have to read to confirm, but I suspect that Adam’s growing body of work is honing on on one possible heuristic: translation.