Marriage Thoughts, Generally

Since there are a lot of bumbling and conflicting ideas floating out there about the SCOTUS ruling with regards to marriage equality, I felt the need to document some of my thoughts and try to cobble them together here.

My Religion and Marriage Equality

According to a simple Google search, those who self-identify as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints--or an LDS (I guess, grammatically, that's what you'd have to write)--make up approximately two- or three percent of the United States. The numbers can be tricky: The Church's numbers can include children and those who've left the Church but haven't taken their names off the records. Surveys by the PEW and others have pointed to a lower number (since they'd be interested in adults and those who self-identify as being a member), but I think ballpark statistics bear out the point I'm headed toward: There are roughly the same number of self-identifying Mormons as there are self-identifying members of the LGBTQ community.

This, to me, is significant for a number of reasons: One, I heard used as a justification for discrimination the quantity of those affected. "There's only, like, three or four percent of the population that's gay," someone said. "Why should we be worried about them?" This, of course, shocked me--that number really wasn't so big, at least, as a percentage. But a second thought occurred to me: What does that mean in terms of real, actual people? Well, it puts the total number of the LGBTQ community into a similar range as total number of the LDS community. If you take the Church's numbers at face value, they're quite close.

A thought experiment helps illustrate another reason: What would people's response be if, through the alternate timeline I'm suggesting here, the Supreme Court had just ruled in a 5-to-4 ruling that Mormon marriages are legal and they could now be practiced in all 50 states? Mormons currently practice a very specific, unique type of marriage--one that is eternal and as permanent as God's love. This eternal marriage is the current method of LDS matrimony. What if that type of marriage had never been recognized since Utah became a territory in 1848? Or since eternal marriage's inception under Joseph Smith in the 1830s? Heavens, part of the reason that the Mormon Pioneers fled their country and emigrated to Mexico was because of political opposition to their marriage practices (a small portion of them participated in plural marriage, which has since been discontinued). So what if the last 175 years had been a struggle for Mormons to be accepted in the legal system of the country in which they lived?

(Part of what works--for me, at least--about this thought-exercise is that a lot of people have convinced themselves that sexual orientation is entirely a matter of choice and, therefore, can be legally restricted. While I can't seem to find any credible source for such a posit, the same argument is entirely applicable to being a member of the Church. Not only is membership entirely self-selected, but so, too, is continued affiliation with the Church.)

Would the LDS Church have seen massive amounts of solidarity among those who chose not to be members of the community, the way the LGBTQ has seen? I submit that it would have. Increasingly similar to almost all mainstream evangelical and protestant denominations, the LDS Church's most unique, extra-biblical doctrines would not have been enough for a coalition of sensitive allies of other faiths--and, I daresay, for the exact same reasons, irreligious people--to abandon those who had suffered under an injustice for so long.

Some may argue that, based upon Church history, Mormons would never have gained allies when it came to marriage questions, with the aforementioned expatriation as a proof. Indeed, there's reason to believe that Joseph Smith's assassination was likely due, in part, to his practicing of plural marriage.

That was the nineteenth century.

This is the twenty-first.

My point is that the same sort of momentum with regards to LGBTQ rights has taken decades--longer, in fact, considering that any non-normative orientation has been part of oppression and abuse for centuries--to get to this point, I believe that any religion making the same appeals as the LGBTQ community did would have found allies and, eventually, justice.

A third reason this numerical parallel fascinates me is because of the disproportionate strength that both movements have to their overall population. These very small swaths of people are making significant contributions to the national discourse and influencing the way politics is treated in America.

It may be an overstatement to say that both the LDS Church and the LGBTQ community have been responsible for significant shifts in the political landscape, though if it is, I don't think it's overstated by too much. Ignoring the current cultural clashes, even so far back as the founding of the Church we saw governments reacting to (and, more often, against) Mormonism. Long before Mitt Romney was courting the GOP, Joseph Smith was preparing for a presidential run. His death in Carthage, Illinois stopped his aspirations; still, politics has been molded by the power of the LDS Church throughout the nation's history. (Review, for example, the ways in which Mormon settlers in the Utah Territories affected trade routes, Native American relations, and even triggers for the Civil War.)

Given the immense shift in view of marriage equality in the last six years, it's also fair to say that the LGBTQ community also wields immense power. On the same night as the election of Barak Obama, California's Proposition 8 succeeded, ushering in a number of law suits that eventually led to marriage equality now. During the time since then, we've seen large numbers of corporations, communities, municipalities, cities, and states resolve and remove stumbling blocks to integration of LGBTQ brothers and sisters within the greater cultural fabric of the United States. That does not happen without political allies and grassroots activism. Trends in the changing views of Americans are well documented and, though all statistics and polling ought to be considered with a grain of salt, definitely demonstrate the shift in zeitgeist.

Doctrines and Concerns

I mean this in circumstance only, not talent, but I feel much as John Milton likely did when he composed his divorce tracts in the mid-1640s. He, too, was looking at questions about marriage and their biblical precedent and sanction; he, too, was extrapolating a different interpretation than the overwhelming majority of his peers. His argument had to do with whether or not two people could divorce because of incompatibility, rather than because of adultery (the only then-legal reason for divorce). Even in post-Henry VIII England, it wasn't an easy thing to do to get a divorce.

Of course, the largest stumbling blocks to Milton's arguments were biblical injunctions, which was also to where he repaired in making his own positions known. Much like the arguments that would arise two hundred years later an on a different continent, when abolitionists and slave owners would point to the same book--sometimes the same verse--to justify their feelings toward human slavery, Milton had to use the Good Book against itself to prove itself as being interpreted incorrectly over a long swath of history.

I'm not convinced he was able to get the job done. And if Milton can't spin the Bible to help his point, then no one in America is qualified for the job. (Note to self: This last sentence is probably the most controversial comment I've said so far.)

So, again, circumstantially, this feels very similar. How does one wrest the scriptures in their interpretation? Many people make specific claims about what a certain verse says...but it also leaves open the possibility of interpretation, grounded on a number of criteria. I'm not interested in biblical hermeneutics, however, since I'm not a textbook Christian* anyway.

How, then, does a practicing and believing member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints dare to change the filter of his Facebook profile to the rainbow stripes of solidarity? How can I claim that I support the First Presidency of the Church if I'm happy for the LGBTQ friends I've met online, taught in my classes, and had positively affect my life?

I don't know. That's part of why I'm writing this post. I'm trying to sort it all out.

See, the expanded scripture set of the LDS Church (including The Book of Mormon, The Doctrine and Covenants, and The Pear of Great Price) doesn't provide any additional insight to the question. That is, a quick search of the Topical Guide of the Scriptures doesn't clarify any position on homosexuality (a term that's too loaded for me to want to use regularly, but...well, here we are). The scriptures cited are exclusively biblical, with two exceptions. Exception one is in 2 Nephi when Isaiah is quoted verbatim--in other words, a repetition of Old Testament thinking. The second is one about the wicked taking the truth to be hard to hear--a verse that doesn't address homosexuality specifically, but anything that is sinful. This scripture would apply to...well, everyone, since all humans make mistakes and those errors make imperfect creatures incompatible with a perfect God.

I think the strongest Mormonic (not a word, but ought to be) argument against homosexuality--indeed, to move away from orientation to the actual thing that seems to get people the most grossed out (I guess?)--is the same argument that could be applied to all sexual sin from the point of view of a Mormon: that is, any extra- or premarital sexual activities. That kind of behavior is considered one of the worst things a human can do. (For those who care, I'm thinking of Alma 39:5.) It doesn't parse out the types of sex that ought not to be done, just that sex shouldn't be done out of marriage.

By that logic, the Church should've been pushing for marriage equality just so that those so inclined could get married and stop living in sin.

Okay, so LDS scripture doesn't approach the topic in any guiding way. Why not just rely on biblical readings? Well, the veracity of the Bible is something that I take with a grain of salt. Biblical metaphors mean much more to me--and teach me much better--than the literal renderings that one branch of hermeneutics gives me. For instance, the story of the Garden of Eden is much more applicable metaphorically than literally, especially since the only way to square the circle of a literal reading of Genesis and the ample evidences of life's origins and evolution is to assume that God is more akin to Loki than the Lord of Hosts, hoping to dupe mankind with a cosmic sleight-of-hand about the creation of the world. Wherever biblical literalism and observable facts differ, I assume that the Bible, having passed through many hands, is likely mistranslated in a way that prevents me from seeing the clear connections. In short, I'm not wedded to the Bible's injunctions on every aspect of life. I embrace that which is literal--the life and ministry of Christ, predominantly, but also the early struggles and organizations of the Primitive Church--and I internalize the metaphorical.

This type of arm's-length acceptance of the Bible is something that alienates me from a lot of mainstream Christians (which is fine, as I discuss below*) but then puts the question of hermeneutic accuracy back at me. Where do I go for interpretation, then? For most members of the Church, that onus is borne by the leaders of the Church. Their (almost) sole responsibility is to determine what the Church ought to do, the policies it embraces, and where, institutionally, the Church should go. I think this is exactly the way it's supposed to be.

So how can I "oppose the Brethren" in having a differing sense of everything? Well, there's historical precedence for the Church remaining fixed to social expectations--the Official Declarations of the Church that ended polygamy (OD-1) and priesthood restrictions on black male members (OD-2) spring easily to mind. But there's also manifold minor examples, significantly less visible but still an indication of shifts, changes, and recalibrations.

Here are a couple: 1) During the middle part of the twentieth century, church meetings--including Primary, Sunday School, and Sacrament Meeting--were held at different times during the day, and even during the week. Eventually, the Church moved toward a consolidated block, bringing in a three-hour worship session every week.

2) Until the 1979, the Church used the Authorized (King James) Version of the Bible, which was self-referenced but didn't interconnect with any of the other pieces of LDS scripture. Ever since then, however, the English versions of LDS scripture--the Standard Works--have been standardized, cross-referenced, and indexed.

3) As a missionary for the Church in 2002-2004, I was a part of a shift in teaching techniques that differed from what my older brother (who served from 2000-2002) did. During his service--and part of mine--the missionaries were required to memorize verbatim the Church-supplied discussions. Teaching involved the recitation of whichever discussion the investigator was on, though there was room for answering questions extempore. Partway through my service, I was instructed to no longer memorize the discussions, instead restructuring them in my own words as an outline. This outline was used to prepare me for the topics I needed to cover in the conversations I was planning on having that day, and the emphasis of rote memorization disappeared. Not too long after my mission ended, a new program was implemented (called Preach My Gospel), which is the current standard of missionary work.

I bring up these examples to demonstrate that there are changes within the Church. Things shift. Attitudes, time, and capacities shift. A dozen years ago, the Church did not provide free Wi-Fi to members; now, the Wi-Fi is so ubiquitous that a friend of mine, vacationing in Russia, was automatically connected to the Church building's wireless, using the same credentials he used in the U.S. The Church is supposed to change; part of its core doctrine is that continued revelation will help people understand the gospel message--and, more importantly, it will help members understand it better, too.

"Those are hardly addressing the point," some may say. "You're pointing out policies that change, not doctrines."

Yes, well, I did, actually, point out changes in doctrines. There are more than the Official Declarations contain, of course, but I'm not interested in pursuing more than what I've laid out here: The Church's stance has changed--doctrinally. It will change again, of that I'm quite confident.

Does that mean that the Church, which has emphatically expressed its stance on the topic of marriage equality, will change its tune? I don't know. I have no idea if this is one piece of doctrine that will change in the Church. We've weathered criticisms in the past. I'm sure we'll do so as well here.

But going back to the broader question of how I could be out-of-line with Church leaders and still feel I'm a good Mormon? Well, the second half of the question is presumptuous: I don't think I'm a "good Mormon". I'm politically liberal and think repressive thinking about the human experience is damaging. I like the occasional rated-R movie and boy if I don't drink a lot of caffeinated soda.

Maybe I'm actually a bad Mormon for being happy about the SCOTUS ruling. That is certainly a possibility. I'm not writing this as an exculpation; perhaps all I'm doing is putting down a 4,400 word analysis of my transgression.

Still, I haven't approached where I get the nerve to stand against the Brethren who lead the Church. I would probably say that, if I were "standing against the Brethren", I wouldn't spend time at the Church buildings. I mean, if I were really against them, I wouldn't bother being a member. On this, I disagree with their stance. I think there's plenty of justification for that--the idea that "if you're not with us, you're against us" applies here seems (as that kind of thinking always does) sill at best, juvenile at worst. So, no, I don't agree with the Brethren on a perceived misstep of the SCOTUS ruling. I am not against marriage equality and I would hope that anyone, anywhere who finds a person whom they love as deeply and unconditionally as I do my wife may find happiness, success, and support in the difficult, wondrous experience of a conjoined life.

Okay, so picking the question apart over with, why do I feel comfortable being in solidarity with the LGBTQ community? Miltonic precedence points out the importance of the Spirit, which he uses as his trump card in every argument about divorce. I think I would apply the same here. Which option makes me feel closer to God, stronger in my love for humanity, and more generous in spirit: Supporting my oppressed brethren? Or supporting my oppressing brethren? When I put it in those terms, the former makes much more sense.

Oppression Depression

And now there's a new consideration. Is the LDS Church oppressing a minority? How can it if it is, as I noted earlier, numerically smaller than the LGBTQ community?

To answer baldly: 1) Yes. 2) Numbers do not create the positions of oppression; power does.

Does the LDS Church have power? Oh, yes. Quite a bit. And, for the most part, I think the Church uses its power for good. Television ads encouraging people to spend time with family, massive amounts of time and funding to help disaster relief, quiet contributions to communities--the list goes on and on. The Church is a definitive force for good in the world.

Sometimes, the Church's presence alone is a power, strangely enough. The Church doesn't often get involved in political battles, though (obviously) there are some exceptions. One of the things the Church has defined pretty clearly of late is that there's no contradiction in the teachings of the Church and evolutionary science. That may not seem terribly surprising to you, but this Salt Lake Tribune article illustrates that even perceived stances of the Church can affect politics, specifically here in Utah. The point that I draw out of the article is this: "One day after Nelson's remarks, the state school board tentatively approved updated science guidelines for Utah's middle schools." In other words, the power of the Church pushed along something that was stymied in religious/political rhetoric. Elder Nelson didn't speak in order to get the science standards moving along; he spoke on a topic that related to the science standards, which was enough to goad the lawmakers into tentative action.

I will happily admit that the Church recently pushed for laws that improved renting, job-retention, and other issues that LGBTQ people have struggled with. It has tried to make living in Salt Lake City (specifically, as it was a municipal law) and in the state (generally, depending on the proposed legislative action) possible for those of an "alternative lifestyle".

So how does this mean that the Church is oppressing people, particularly the LGBTQ community? Really simply, the exclusion of LGBTQ partnerships from legal protections essentially prevents them from the same protections that "straight-married" couples enjoy. You've heard the list: Visitation rights, joint bank accounts, rights to retirement and health care...it goes on and on. And that's what's at the very heart of the SCOTUS ruling, despite what Justice Kennedy says about love. The marriage equality movement wasn't about the right to love someone of the same gender: It was about the law recognizing the people as people who wish to commit to each other and, as part of that commitment, receive the rights generated for such a coupling.

I can see that some may have a problem with that point of view. "It is about love. You don't go to the courthouse to get married because you're just itching to open a joint-bank account."

Fair enough. For those involved, I think Justice Kennedy and the Twitter trend of #LoveWins is probably right; marriage of people is deeply emotional, and love is the appropriate feeling for marriage (acknowledging and setting aside the fact that many people marry for other reasons). Sure, for the individuals affected, that makes a lot of sense. But in terms of why I'm okay with the ruling on a religious level is because this isn't really a religious question. I think that laws ought to be obeyed, even ones I disagree with. If there's a fundamental problem with them, the courts and legislative action can approach these laws, refining as we go along.

Look, if we're going to detail the different ways Mormons see sin, then structure our legal code around that, it's going to look a lot like a theocracy and it's also going to outlaw some stuff that non-Mormons might miss: Alcohol, tobacco, tea, coffee, and too much meat all spring to mind. Other things that Mormons find sinful but aren't being turned into restrictive laws include having a business open on Sundays, showing off one's shoulders, saying the eff-word (unless that eff-word is "fetch"), watching television on the Sabbath, and rooting for University of Utah over Brigham Young University. The fact that Mormon theology considers homosexuality a sin doesn't really register to me as an excuse to oppose marriage equality.

Freedom to Religion and to Opine

The line of what services can be refused based upon religious expectations seem indistinct. I've seen--not read, due to suspect sources--claims that gay couples are suing for a church to marry them. I don't doubt that's a possibility, but it seems remote. I suppose there are some people who would like to use the SCOTUS ruling to strike back against religious institutions that had been a part of the system preventing them from getting their marital rights, but I certainly wouldn't condone that type of action.

I do think there's a point about picking and choosing which "sins" others are guilty of that merits their dismissal from premises and refusal of services. Gluttony is condemned in the Old Testament, but I don't see people working at Chuck-O-Rama refusing service to oversized Americans who walk in the door.

Perhaps it's my own belief in the goodness of people that makes me think that a few prickly people will grouse and strike back but, on the whole, the entire thing will be rather civil. Then again, there are people who refuse to do their jobs because of personal convictions, denying marriage licenses to same-sex couples. On the one hand, I applaud them for standing up for what they believe is right--that is difficult to do. On the other hand, I don't see why the county clerks would care so much. Divorced couples remarrying different people are (I'm making a large assumption here) not prevented from applying for their licenses, despite specific biblical condemnation of the practice. Many people viewed interracial marriages as a violation of biblical command, yet county clerks the nation over aren't reported as refusing services.

I will say this, though: I recently saw someone's lengthy post about how afraid she (the blogger) was to come out to her online friends as believing that marriage is between a man and a woman and is ordained of God. That she was so terrified about it really made me think. After all, I didn't post a lot about my support of marriage equality, and I added the Facebook filter to my profile only after some careful thought about what it would signify to a number of my friends. Indeed, this blog post was specifically set up to allow only those who actually want to hear my opinions to, well, hear them. So I understand the impulse. But what she was apologizing for wasn't the problem with the friction of the fallout from the SCOTUS decision: It's what it represented.

One of the greatest detriments to the ubiquity of social media is the warping of what opinions are supposed to be. I'm reminded of Pericles, wherein Simonides says, "Opinion's but a fool, that makes us scan/The outward habit by the inward man." We're perpetually fooled into think that opinions are sacrosanct--because we believe something or feel a particular way about them, they're above reproach. In fact, we can see some deplorable sentiments expressed, then hidden behind a flimsy, "Well, that's my opinion, anyway." Ideas, feelings, and opinions are powerful tools. They aren't empty rhetoric, devoid of real-life implications. They're the fuel that turns imagination into reality, and we have to be very wary of them. Opinions can definitely be wrong. A white supremacist can say hateful things about the President--they do, actually, on a regular basis--and I can recoil from it and condemn it and even insist that action be taken to prevent the speech from turning into behavior (say, but supporting hate speech legislation). In many ways, that's part of what free speech is all about, isn't it? Saying what you'd like, knowing others may push against it?

All this isn't to say that because they're opinions, they are wrong. But opinions operated on have real implications--Galileo works as well as any example--and so opinions must be seasoned with reasonable application. I don't think there's anything wrong with a person saying, "I believe in God's definition of marriage." The issue that "opponents" have to it is that the opinion has, for a long time, enforced that opinion. This associates the belief with the oppression, and there's no surprise that the two become interchangeable in people's minds.

I don't know where that leaves us. I don't see this as an end-times catastrophe, or a massive relief to a burdened minority. It's a step toward worrying about people as people, rather than forcing labels signify more than is worthwhile.

But that's just my opinion.

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*The idea of being a Christian is, I think at its most fundamental level, built upon a belief in Jesus of Nazareth being the Savior of the world (which I believe) and that His teachings have been refined throughout history (which I don't believe). Christianity has been a very poor disciple of Christ since its inception. Some people (St. Francis, St. Augustine, some Popes and other Byzantine leaders, Mother Theresa, Martin Luther, Martin Luther King, Jr., and others) are definitely Christians. However, as a group, Christianity has been anything but Christ-like. The name, then, is tainted in my mind, a perversion of its Founder. I don't like being called a Christian because it has too much baggage. I'd prefer to be called a Mormon (not without its own difficulties) or, better yet, Steve.