Introduction

 

I came to a realization that I didn’t believe in the truthfulness of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints on November 10, 2004. I was in my first year of study at Harvard School of Dental Medicine. I remember the night it happened very well. I must have had a caffeinated beverage that afternoon, because it was 2 o’clock in the morning, and I couldn’t sleep. I didn’t want to wake my wife, so I was just laying in bed…thinking. In the quiet of the night I was able to reflect on some questions that had been troubling me for long enough that it’s difficult to know when it began. That night I approached these questions differently than I ever had before, and because of this, my life was about to change drastically.

 

Growing Up Mormon

 

I was “born into the covenant” in 1979. My father’s ancestry goes back to Anson Call, a Mormon leader, settler, and polygamist in the early days of the church. My mother joined the church in her early teens. My parents met during their last year at BYU. The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (LDS or Mormon) was a very large part of my life growing up in Tacoma, Washington. My father held multiple positions of authority in the church, presiding over up to 2000 members. Because these were (like all positions in the LDS church) unpaid, much of my father’s time outside of work was devoted to church business. I also held positions of leadership in my local congregation. Although I lived in a predominantly non-LDS town, most of my high school friends were members of the church. Likewise all the girls that I dated were members of the church. Worship services, Sunday school, early-morning seminary classes, and other church-related activities consumed my family’s time, and gave us an insulated social group.

I was a good kid growing up. I really wanted to please my parents, and they were very quick to let me know when they were in fact, not pleased. I also asked a lot of questions, at least for a little while. I remember being the kid who would always respond with, “but why?” When this got annoying to my parents and teachers, I learned to just keep my questions to myself. I learned how to act like I really believed in the church, because it made my parents happy. Soon, I didn’t know where the acting left off, and my real feelings started. Nothing pleases Mormon parents more than seeing their son or daughter get up at the monthly “testimony meeting” and recite what could be described as the “canned kid testimony.” It usually goes something like this: “I’d like to bear my testimony. I know the church is true. I know Joseph Smith was a prophet. I know the Book of Mormon is true. I know that Gordon B. Hinckley is a prophet. I love my family. I say this in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen.” Mormons have a tradition of dedicating one church service a month for the members of the congregation to stand at the pulpit and share their personal thoughts and feelings about Jesus, the prophets, the scriptures, their family, etc. Testimony bearing is encouraged of everyone, including those who do not yet have a personal witness (a testimony). One leader of the church said, “A testimony is found in the bearing of it.” This can be interpreted to mean that members of the church should say that they know it is the one true church until they actually believe it is the one true church. Until recently parents would bring their young children to the pulpit and whisper in their ear what they’d like them to say into the microphone. As children grow older, they learn to use their own words and original thoughts to express their testimonies, but there are always basic creeds that you should bear testimony of. This process, saying you believe something first with someone else’s words and later with your own words, until you think you really believe it, is a subtle one. I have a name for it – “socialization.” Some call it “brainwashing,” but I think that term carries too many negative connotations.

This socialization became glaringly apparent as I was preparing to leave on my mission. Every young man between the ages of 19 and 26 is expected to serve a 2 year proselyting mission. Growing up, my parents talked to me on a weekly basis about my mission, and how proud they were of me that I was preparing to go. I had a special piggy bank that had three slots, one for savings, mission, and tithing, though I spent much more on baseball cards than I ever put in the mission or savings slot. I didn’t really have a choice about paying tithing or not. I heard talks at church on a regular basis about how it is the duty of every worthy male to serve a mission, and how females should only seek a spouse among returned missionaries. The only reason ever given for not serving a mission was sin. Anyone who has studied psychology or group dynamics will recognize that there are some very strong social forces created by these ideas. By not complying, an individual faces rejection by the group, lower social status, and a smaller pool from which to marry and claim friends. Being “the good kid” had always been a part of my personality, so I rarely questioned the fact that I would go.

One important step before leaving on a mission is to visit the temple. In Mormonism, temples are special buildings set aside for faithful adults to visit on a monthly basis to perform ordinances. The specifics of the ordinances are not discussed outside the temple, so first time visitors often have little idea of what to expect. My parents tried to prepare me for the experience. They told me that I probably wouldn’t understand everything that would happen, but it was the house of God, and it was holy. When I arrived at the temple, dressed in my Sunday-best, I was ushered into a locker room where I was told to take of all my clothes and put on a small sheet that had a whole cut out in the center. I was then lead, as I clutched the edges of this sheet around my naked body, to a small curtained room. An old man dipped his finger in oil and water, and proceeded to give me a blessing as he dabbed this oil and water on different parts of my body. I was then led to another room where I was told to don special underwear that I should wear at all time from that moment on. I then dressed all in white and entered another room where my parents met me, and together with about 50 people, we participated in a ceremony that was equal parts Genesis, Free Masonry, Christianity, and cult mind-control. During the ceremony we: dressed in special robes and aprons, raised both hands above our heads to chant, promised that we’d devote all our time, talents, and material goods to the building up of the church, surrounded an altar to repeat a prayer, and learned secret handshakes, code-words, and tokens that would allow us to enter heaven. After the ceremony I was mentally exhausted, and spiritually broken. The ceremony that had been built up to be the most spiritual experience of my life instead felt cultish and weird. I couldn’t talk to my parents about my feelings. I thought they would be hurt, and disappointed in me. My friends came over later that night to see how it went. I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t feel like myself. I didn’t want them to see the new long underwear that was close to peaking out the bottom of my shorts. That night, before bed, I remember standing by my bed looking at the underwear that I was required to wear. I felt confused, depressed, trapped, and scared. I would go along with it though. I didn’t know what else to do.

The missionary candidate has no say in where he or she will serve; that decision is made by leaders at church headquarters. I had friends called to Peru, South Africa, Germany, Iceland, Mongolia, Brazil, England, Guatemala, the Philippines, Las Vegas, New Mexico, and California. Living conditions vary greatly from location to location. Some assignments are obviously better than others. I received my call to the “Italy Padova Mission.” This means that I would spend my two years in Tuscany and Veneto. To say that I was excited and relieved was an understatement. I wouldn’t have to worry about picking up parasites in a third world country. The location, combined with the fact that my parents were funding the mission helped make the two years bearable, but barely.

I fit into the mold as a good missionary. I served as a district and zone leader. I worked hard, because I wanted to have all those great experiences that I had been promised. It was incredibly difficult and disheartening work. I spent two years trying to talk to anyone who would listen about the Mormon Church. I was trying to share beliefs that made up the core of everything important to me and my family. Most people treated me like I belonged to a weird cult. Most would respond, “I’m catholic, and I’m going to stay that way. Thanks, but no thanks.” Of course there were occasional curses and slammed doors, but people were polite. The most painful rejections were more subtle: staring, avoiding eye contact, snickering. I felt like others saw me as a religious fanatic. Sometimes I understood why, and it scared me. I developed ways to cope with the constant rejection. I became a machine, without emotion. I would stop a person walking down the street who I could tell was trying to avoid eye contact with me. I would say what I was supposed to say, listen to why they weren’t interested, and move on to the next person. I saw other missionaries who weren’t able to put up the emotional barrier, and the rejection literally destroyed them. Halfway through his mission, one of my companions refused to try to talk with any more strangers. He would sit on a park bench while I walked around trying to stop people. At that time, I saw him as a failure. He had given up on the message. He wasn’t willing to suffer for Jesus. This motivated me to work hard so that I would at least know that I was doing everything I could. If people didn’t join the church it was their own fault. I came to be proud of, and even derived some pleasure from my own suffering. “Go home on a stretcher” was my motto. Getting on the train to come home, knowing that I’d never have to stop another stranger as they were enjoying a nice evening walk to try to tell them what I thought about God was possibly the best feeling that I had on my mission.

After my mission in Italy, I returned to Brigham Young University and roomed with 6 guys that could all be described as stalwart. I still consider these guys some of my best friends. I met my future wife at church, and after dating for 7 months we were married in the Salt Lake Temple. We had a lot in common. We were both “good kids.” We both had dealt with similar family issues, including older brothers with mental and emotional challenges. We were both looking to start a family in the Mormon mold. We had fun together. Most importantly, we both were planning on being married in the temple. After all, that’s where good Mormons get married. We thought we were in love, although in retrospect, I think I fell in love with my wife after about a year of marriage.

The night before our wedding we had a dinner with 100 of our close friends and relatives, 99% of whom were LDS. Towards the end of the dinner our parents talked briefly about how they were grateful that we had chosen to be worthy to be married in the temple, and how important it was to be “sealed there for time and all eternity.” They then opened up the floor to anyone who wanted to say something. What followed was an hour and a half of speeches that were a combination of best-man speech, testimony, and eulogy. We were both flattered and embarrassed by the experience which was so overwhelming it seemed to confirm to us that we were doing the right thing. After a couple minor hiccups common to every couple that marries young, we transitioned into a very happy marriage.

Change of Scenery

 

After graduation, I was accepted to the entering class of 2004 at Harvard School of Dental Medicine. My wife and I left the security of Provo and moved to proud and intellectual Boston. I don’t think that there are any two cities in the USA as different as Provo and Boston. Moving to Boston and attending Harvard was a thrilling experience for me. I had lived abroad, and I learned to enjoy the adventure of being around people who are different than me. I knew that I didn’t want to live my adult life in Utah; it was too homogenous. I was excited to be a Mormon out in the real world. Boston has an incredible history as the birthplace of our great nation. It also has an astounding academic presence, with over 30 colleges and universities. I loved the Harvard environment too; the professors not only the leaders in their field, but were also approachable, and my classmates were interesting, accomplished, and friendly.

The transition wasn’t nearly as smooth for my wife. She had never been east of Wyoming. She was used to the suburban lifestyle, and had a very hard time with the controlled chaos of urban living. She found a job as a nursing assistant at Children’s Hospital, but the work was menial, and she hesitated to make friends with her non-Mormon co-workers. What she really wanted was to have kids and be a homemaker. I wasn’t sure we could handle the emotional and financial stresses of dental school, Boston rent, and a child. I was coming home everyday invigorated and inspired, while my wife could think of little more than getting through this period in our lives so that we could start a family.

 

Learning to Question

 

There was a pervasive attitude at BYU that questions were ok, as long as they were within certain confines. In the Mormon Church, constant questioning can be interpreted as a challenge to authority. Leaders should rarely be challenged in private, and absolutely never criticized in public. Nowhere is this attitude better exemplified than in the teachings of Boyd K. Packer, one of the highest ranking church authorities. In his speech entitled “The Mantle is Far, Far Greater Than the Intellect” he says, “There is a temptation for the writer or the teacher of church history to want to tell everything, whether it is worthy or faith promoting or not. Some things that are true are not very useful.”

My least favorite classes at BYU were my religion classes, and my least favorite professors were Paul Hoskisson and Joseph McConkie. I hated their classes because I was forced to accept their myopic interpretations of scripture. I had spent my mission learning to understand the scripture on my own. I wasn’t about to give up my own critical thinking, to memorize the interpretation of another person. One time I got in a very heated discussion with Paul Hoskisson over temptation and sin. He was arguing that you cannot be tempted until you sin, and I was arguing that you can’t sin until you’re tempted. I was quoting Doctrine and Covenants 29:39 and 2 Nephi 2:16, and he was quoting 1 Corinthians 10:13. It didn’t bother me that there were two possible interpretations, but that he would mark my grade down for not accepting his interpretation.

Harvard was different. The only grades that were given were Pass or Fail. The learning was self directed. Groups of eight students taught each other under the direction of a doctor, who would guide the conversation with questions, and only resort to didactic teaching when we were well off the path. The breadth of knowledge expected of us was deeper and wider than I had experienced at BYU. The students were inquisitive, and came to their own, well-reasoned conclusions. When a student had a question, the teacher didn’t answer it. They simply had the student research it, and come back with what they had learned. The conclusions weren’t always right or complete, but the professors acknowledged the thought processes that had lead to those conclusions. Students were taught to trust their own thinking after careful research, and not depend upon someone else’s quick and trite answers. Even the greatest authority on a topic could be challenged. I quickly realized that this was the kind of place I had been searching for. I felt at home. No question was off limits.

 

Building a “Mental Dam”

 

During my religious studies, I frequently came across things that didn’t make sense to me. I think the tower of Babel was my first experience with cognitive dissonance. If people couldn’t successfully build a tower to get into heaven, why would God even bother destroying it and confusing their language? Then came the story of Noah and the flood. Is there even enough water on the earth to cover all the land? I was made to believe that these things were to be taken literally, but they didn’t make any sense! Other questions followed. Why did Jesus raise Lazarus from the dead, but not everybody? Was that strange when he got sick and died for the second time? What does it mean that Jesus was sinless? Yeah, he avoided sins of commission like killing people, and swearing, but he didn’t help every single person either. He used some of his time to eat and sleep. Weren’t these sins of omission? The Book of Mormon also raised a lot of questions. Why did Nephi have to kill Laban? Why couldn’t God just have arrested his heart or given him an aneurysm? How did Zoram not see all the blood that must have sprayed all over the clothes after he cut Laban’s head off while he was wearing them? How does an entire civilization of millions of people completely wipe themselves out in battle so there is only one man left standing? These questions seemed benign enough that I was able to accept whatever explanations I was handed at church, and go on winning parental approval as a faithful. On my mission many other questions came up. What about the church’s racist past? What about the Masonic connection to the temple? What about the temple itself; was this really part of the original Christian Church? What about homosexuals; can they be “straightened out?” What about other churches, and the good they do? Did Jesus really tell Joseph Smith that all the other church’s creeds were “an abomination in his sight?” What about polygamy? Is it a Christian principle? Why did Joseph Smith try to keep it a secret from his wife? Why did he deny it in public? Why did he marry women who were currently married to other men? Will we really have to practice polygamy in the Celestial Kingdom? What about the multiple versions of the first vision? What about the evolution of doctrine, especially regarding the Godhead, the plan of salvation, and priesthood that can be observed when all of Joseph’s writings (including the Book of Mormon) are placed in chronological order? I had questions from my own experiences. Why do some blessings of healing not work? Why do my prayers go unanswered? How can I distinguish God speaking to me, and my own thoughts?

The more I studied, the more questions piled up. I often asked myself why I believed in the church. The answer was invariably because it helped me to be a good person. It kept me away from alcohol, drugs, and premarital sex. It taught me the importance of selflessness and service. Coming to Harvard, and getting to know a lot of people (who I considered in most cases to be my ethical superiors) from many different religious or non-religious backgrounds quickly dispelled the myth that I was “good” just because I was Mormon. Even if that argument could be made, it would hardly be enough to prove that I belonged to the “only true and living church upon the face of the whole earth with which…the Lord [is] well pleased”. (Doctrine and Covenants 1:30)

Sunday school did nothing to resolve, or even attempt to approach these questions. The church authorities didn’t talk about them. I was beginning to be resigned to the fact that I would have to wait until I died to ask God personally for some answers.

I knew that everything in my life was virtually inseparable from the church. Risking everything good in my life wasn’t worth opening the Pandora’s Box that I knew was there, filling slowly but surely.

 

The Dam Bursts

 

So there I was lying in bed at 2 a.m. November 10, 2004, jittery with caffeine, pondering my concerns about the church. I was reminding myself of all the logical reasons to believe in the church. One of the big ones for me was the testimony of the three witnesses, found in the front of the Book of Mormon. I decided to get out of bed, and read about them. Maybe I could find something that would put my mind at ease on the matter so that I could sleep. I Googled “Martin Harris.”

Faithful Mormons would tell me this was a bad choice; I would only get anti-Mormon opinions on the internet. “Anti-Mormon” is a generalization used for anyone who opposes, says anything contrary to, or questions the authority or truthfulness of the Mormon Church, especially those who were formerly believers. Mormons are taught that Anti-Mormons are people who are deceived by Satan (probably because they sinned), that they become bitter and angry against the church because they are sinful, and that they spread all kind of nasty lies on the internet to try to make Mormons leave the church and be miserable too. After all, misery loves company!

I entered the shark infested waters of anti-Mormon websites because I wanted answers, and I didn’t care where they came from. My mental box was becoming so full that I couldn’t even study effectively, and my worst nightmare was failing out of school after coming so far. What I found shocked me. That night I learned that the church had lied to me. Martin Harris didn’t see the plates with his physical eyes, but rather, with his “spiritual eyes.” My parents neglected to mention the fact that if I had gone to the temple prior to 1990, I would have been required to make gestures imitating my throat being slit as a token of the seriousness of the secrets that I was being taught there. I read many, many other things which repulsed me, and made me ashamed to call myself a follower of Joseph Smith Jr. I realized that there was a mental whitewash in progress. That night, I read enough that my mental damn burst, and all my doubts came rushing out. I had to reevaluate everything. Had those anti-Mormons deceived me? No, everything was from the church’ own documents. Had they distorted things because they are miserable? Well, I felt like some had. Ed Decker and his “Godmakers” film comes to mind as a blatant distortion, but most were sincere. At exmormon.org I read personal stories (like the one I’m writing now) that helped me to realize I was not alone in my doubt.

The next morning I skipped class and instead sought out a counselor at school who I trusted, to talk through this new development with. I knew that I needed to talk to my wife about my feelings, but I was scared to death about how she would react. On my walk over to school I had a special kind of experience. It was a beautiful New England autumn morning. The sun was shinning. I felt a peaceful feeling wash through me as I thought, “I don’t know how all of this will turn out, but if I hold to what is true and good, than life will work out just fine.” It was a reverse conversion experience. I knew in the deepest part of my soul that I would be ok without the god that I had grown up with. I could face life and death with courage, without fear of this god, and his mysterious ways and strange rules.

I sat with the counselor, and the first thing I did was cry for about 15 minutes, without saying anything. My sobs were fear, anger, loss, betrayal, and relief all rolled up. The counselor gave me a much needed shoulder to cry on, and I left with the courage to call my wife. She immediately rushed home, scared by the tone in my voice, and not knowing what had happened. I think the news I broke to her was even worse than her worst fear. I felt like I was admitting I had been unfaithful to her. I said, “I don’t think I have a testimony of the church anymore, and I want to go to Target and buy new underwear.”

I attempted to talk to her about the deceptions that I saw, but she did not believe me. She had been taught her whole life that people who lose their testimonies are under the influence of Satan, and are confused. I had an idea; I would ask my Dad (who was not under the influence of Satan) to talk to her. I had discovered that the temple ceremony had undergone major changes in 1990 to remove gestures mimicking throat and bowel slitting, depictions of a protestant minister as a hireling of Satan, and a certain ceremony that required semi-intimate male/female contact. I could just ask my dad to tell her about these changes, so she would know that I wasn’t being deceived. His response to my request shocked me. He acted like he didn’t know what I was talking about. I had read that members were asked not to talk about the changes, but I couldn’t believe that my own father wouldn’t come clean so that my wife would trust me. I was furious. I felt like my father had chosen loyalty to the church over loyalty to his son.

 

The Rollercoaster

 

My wife and my parents were convinced that I had gone crazy, and sometimes I really felt crazy. They flew me home as soon as possible to try to resolve my problems. They sent high-ranking church leaders to visit me at home, and hopefully solve my problems. My mom mailed me over 10 books and about 300 pages of other church literature that was supposed to answer my questions. To them, I had changed overnight, but it only seemed this way because I didn’t feel like I could talk about my doubts with them before it was too late. Doubts and questions were things to be answered and resolved, not acknowledged and pondered. After November 11, I was free to consider whether the history of the church, and it’s doctrines were clearer through the lens of the believer or the skeptic. For me, there was no comparison; parsimony was on the side of the skeptic.

One of my most interesting experiences while doing my church research was a visit to church headquarters to talk with a church historian. My parents had arranged the visit so that I could get some answers to my questions. I happened to ask him about an LDS archeologist that I had read about, who it was rumored, lost his faith after scouring Central America for signs of Book of Mormon peoples. He admitted to me that this archeologist came to him about a week before his death, and confided that the lack of evidence for the Book of Mormon had caused him to lose his belief. He said that this man, regarded as the finest LDS archeologist, maintained appearances at church to protect his family.

My wife and I got marriage counseling from an LDS guy that my in-law’s knew. We talked through what each of us was willing to sacrifice, and what we weren’t willing to sacrifice for the marriage. I wanted to be free to believe in my heart how I wanted, and would try to support my wife in the church, if that is what she wanted. She was willing to give me time (6 months) for me to regain my testimony, and wasn’t willing to stay married to me if I continued to disbelieve. I was willing to attend Sunday services, but I wanted nothing more to do with the temple or the Mormon undergarments. I wanted to be free to use any available resources in my studies, but my wife wanted me to only consult church-approved literature.

After 3 months she could see that the belief just wasn’t going to come back, and left for good. It was unbearably heartbreaking. I couldn’t understand how she could say, “I love you so much, but I can’t be married to you.” I couldn’t understand why we couldn’t build a relationship on other things, like love, respect, joy, etc. In retrospect, I may have been naïve to even hope for that. Religion, like it or not, plays a large part in relationships, and it had been the cornerstone of ours.

Moving Forward

 

Despite some difficulty, I’ve remained close with almost all of my LDS friends. I appreciate their friendship, but I have noticed some awkward hesitancy around me. They witnessed the difficult period I went through. They don’t want that to happen to them, so we avoid talking about the church. I have discovered a wealth of friends outside the church. I love talking to people about their beliefs, and learning what motivates them to be good people. I have evaluated what matters most to me, and what I need to do to achieve it.

My relationship with my parents was rocky for a time. We had to redefine the relationship. I wanted more of a peer-to-peer relationship where communication is balanced by mutual respect, rather than a parent-child relationship where disapproval and rebellion can heat a war of words. It took some effort, and a lot of tongue biting, but we have been able to build what I can honestly say is a great relationship. I talk to them on a weekly basis, visit on holidays, and share “I love you’s.” They are probably deep down still concerned about me but I don’t let that bother me. I’m living the best that I can, and they can see that.

My split from Mormonism made clear to me how weak faith is as a means to find truth. Faith is a necessary evil. It’s what allows us to move forward when we lack knowledge. Carl Sagan said, “Skeptical scrutiny is the means, in both science and religion, by which deep insights can be winnowed from deep nonsense.” Bertrand Russell said:

“You find as you look around the world that every single bit of human progress in humane feeling, every improvement in the criminal law, every step toward the diminution of war, every step toward better treatment of the colored races, or every mitigation of slavery, every moral progress that there has been in the world, has been consistently opposed by the organized churches of the world. I say deliberately that the Christian religion, as organized in its churches, has been and still is, the principal enemy of moral progress in the world.

“I think our own hearts can teach us, no longer to look around for imaginary supports, no longer to invent allies in the sky, but rather to look to our own efforts here below to make this world a fit place to live in, instead of the sort of place that the churches in all these centuries have made it.”

These words resonated with me. I see the power to change the world in the hands of men, not gods. Humanism fit what I was looking for.

I feel great about the direction that my life is heading in. In fact, I feel like I’ve changed little, if at all. I now participate in the Humanist Chaplaincy at Harvard’s Graduate Humanist Community group as often as I have time for, and look for service opportunities outside the church. There is life after the church, and it is full of opportunity and possibility.