Back in the Coraline age of England, John Milton got tied up in a couple of different pamphlet wars. One was a collection of polemics now called the divorce tracts, which documented Milton's approach toward the then-thorny theological question of whether or not divorce was biblically permissible. Living more than a century and a half after Henry VIII and his notorious marriages, Milton--whose first marriage, in particular, was unhappy and unfulfilling--found himself in a surprising place for a Puritan: Arguing against a fairly clear biblical prohibition. Milton's brilliant mind and writing style are in play, and his tracts are relied upon in Milton studies, particularly in light of the ways in which his conceits in the tracts become dramatized in Paradise Lost.
I invoke the specter of the 17th century pamphlet war--not casting myself in any camp or in the shadow of any writer--in the distinctly 21st century manner: Writing an essay in response to another essay with which I disagree. And, in further parallels, it's theological, definitional, and uncomfortable. I'm not a Puritan, but there's enough puritanical DNA in my American culture and Mormon upbringing that I sympathize with Milton's dilemma.
In this case, I wanted to give a broad response to the essay "The Alarming Truth Behind anti-Mormonism." Some of my critiques are nit-picky, some of them may not actually be the point of Dustin Phelps' essay, and some of them are questions that the essay inspired, though didn't address.
The modern iteration of this is the clickbait headline, where the thesis of the piece is hidden behind eye-grabbing but often empty declarations. Writing headlines is difficult work, but certain expectations come up when an article or essay purports something but then fails to deliver. I am not alarmed by what was written, despite its title, and truth claims from a blog are problematic in a general sense (current writing, of course, perpetually exempted), to say nothing of setting up an essay to feel like an expose that turns out to be a thinkpiece.
I invoke the specter of the 17th century pamphlet war--not casting myself in any camp or in the shadow of any writer--in the distinctly 21st century manner: Writing an essay in response to another essay with which I disagree. And, in further parallels, it's theological, definitional, and uncomfortable. I'm not a Puritan, but there's enough puritanical DNA in my American culture and Mormon upbringing that I sympathize with Milton's dilemma.
In this case, I wanted to give a broad response to the essay "The Alarming Truth Behind anti-Mormonism." Some of my critiques are nit-picky, some of them may not actually be the point of Dustin Phelps' essay, and some of them are questions that the essay inspired, though didn't address.
Form and Format
To begin: The title is clickbait (at best) and begs the question (at worst). Sensationalism sells, and headlines have a long history of being problematic, particularly when a journalist is seeking a scoop.
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| The quantity of people surprised I used this image is approximately zero. |
Tonally, I found the essay to be too much in the vein of an MLM infomercial, with Phelps using phrases like "nothing I have written can hold a candle to what I am about to share" or " There’s an important 'aha' moment in point #4 that you won’t experience unless you’ve carefully read everything that comes before it." These load the essay in a way that overstates the conclusions that Phelps has made, which weakens his arguments. As far as persuasive rhetoric, I came into the essay expecting large revelations, rather than mild observations, and so there was a disappointment I went through upon finishing the essay. "That's it? I thought I was going to have an 'aha' moment in point #4, but it was kind of just...there." Introductions, which like their kissing-cousins headlines, are difficult to write. Sometimes an anecdote works, background on where the topic came from, definitions, or even simply beginning the work of the essay are all good ways of commencing non-fiction writing. Emulating the tone of a Noni juice representative as a way of starting a persuasive piece comes off hollow to me.
This isn't to say that my writing is better. In fact, I'm sure there are many people who dislike my style of writing, who don't appreciate the droll tone, sarcasm, or any number of things. That stuff is important in terms of writing. As anyone who's been to Cafe Rio frequently knows, how you package the content makes a difference. A burrito and an enchilada have basically the same ingredients, but they're arranged differently and can change which dish a person orders. So, too, can kitschy writing spoil an intellectual appetite.
Going along with that, Phelps' constant encouragements to share the article bugged me. This is a purely superficial thing, but I don't need the writer of a piece to interrupt what she (or, in this case, he) is trying to say in order to remind me that other people may want to read it, too. I dislike when "related stories" interrupt any story. I hate sidebars, or the injection of a worthwhile quote from the article, put out of context and in bigger letters. I want the thoughts, organized, connected, and ready for me to appreciate. If I like it--or want to otherwise respond to it--then I know what to do. Proselytizing the piece feels tacky, regardless of whether or not it's religious.
Oh, and it really bugged me that he always capitalized atheism.
One Point on Point One
I liked how Phelps broke down his arguments into five distinct pieces. Chapters in novels help keep the action contained and organized, giving a sense of chronology and continuity. In Phelps' case, the five points were a good move.
The argument he makes in this section is that few (about one tenth) former Mormons go on to a new Christian denomination. The statistic is fine, and that fits in with what a lot of stories from people I've talked to about their leaving of the Church. While there are other strange ways that the Church keeps records, this is one statistic that makes sense to me and what I've seen. The point, however, that they don't go to other denominations because those sects don't have doctrines on "prophets, revelation, temples, priesthood authority, the plan of salvation, the doctrine of Eternal Man, etc." is one that goes along with the talk from Elder Ballard in the latest General Conference. The title of the talk is "To Whom Shall We Go?" and is a wonderful example of begging the question, mostly because, for many people who leave, what they leave behind--doctrines of prophets, revelation, and all else that Phelps lists--is unimportant to them. It's similar to asking a student who hates me and transfers out of my class, "But, if you're leaving, where will you go to have me as your teacher?" The point is to leave those things that no longer hold any value to them.
Phelps has this issue, too. No, other churches don't have doctrines that parallel Mormonism, but if those were doctrines that mattered to those leaving, they likely wouldn't have left in the first place.
Two is True...Mostly
I liked this point, though I'm not convinced about the "faith itself is weakening in the Western world" conclusion. But, yes, on the whole, America is having less to do with religion--though there's still plenty of it around--and more to do with spirituality. Phelps' argument that it's a millennial issue is statistically sound from the point of view of abandoning organized religion, but there's a lot of evidence that millennials are still seeking spiritual experiences and validation.
As a member of the Church, I get it: There are things offered within the four walls and two covers of a religion that are unattainable in a more nebulous sense of "spirituality". They aren't the same thing, but they aren't entirely dissimilar.
But it's less the particulars of this point than the broader one which moves forward as an assumption that I don't understand: The world is in a crisis of atheism and faith is crumbling all around us. There's a contradiction here. Within the Mormon purview, the Church has unprecedented numbers. Temple building--as long as I can remember, considered a sure sign of the progress of the Church--is increasing. There are two ways of interpreting that: Either there's an upsurging of devotion in preparation for the Second Coming (what I call a positive millenarianism) or there's an upsurging of wickedness in preparation for the Second Coming (negative millenarianism). Both are supported by scripture, allowing either reading. Since I'm personally a worldly optimist despite my depression, I find it discouraging that members invoke a negative millenarianism when considering the state of the world.
By almost every measure, global trends show the human family is improving in its education, health, freedom, and more. Historically, the world is safer, happier, and healthier than at any other point. I suspect that myopia contributes more to our sense of millennial anguish than any objective sense. God, as a Father of all humankind, has been continually strengthening, enhancing, and improving life on this planet.
Now, that isn't to say that there aren't problems--or consequences--to what we've accomplished as a species. I say, even with the enervating concerns of a Trump administration, that we're in a pretty amazing time. I pointed out before that there is a sense of how horrible things are, and I will say that individual circumstances certainly bear that out. I don't want to diminish anyone's lived experience: Life is hard, and things have been hard. But, and I repeat, we are not living in a world where human beings are regularly killed, skinned, and turned into riding gloves for the aristocracy. We have war and conflict, and we have suffering, but we've been--in living memory--in a lot worse situations than we are now.
So fewer people go to church on Sunday. That's true, and I think that's probably a sad (not necessarily bad) thing, but we now have a society that thinks that segregating students of different races into separate schools is not right. Frankly, if state-permitted lynchings of Black people is gone, but so is overall church attendance, I feel like that's a step in the right direction.*
But that quibble aside, Phelps goes out of his way to point out that atheists "don’t suddenly become moral monsters. Their moral views shift, but they probably have more in common with the moral beliefs of their religious friends than they have in contrast." This is really interesting, and his next argument is an intriguing one. Particularly in the West, the long reverberations of religious tradition and history are part of the soundtrack of existence. I once saw a documentary, made by a Christian believer, who explored the argument of full-scale separation of church and state. He pointed out that the vast majority of American cities and streets would have to be renamed if that were the case, since religion is so deeply pervasive in the American milieu. It's a good reminder that there are plenty of ways in which religious conceptions have moved beyond their roots and have been absorbed into the fabric of society. I'm not Catholic, but it doesn't bother me that there is a city called St. Louis. And his argument that an atheist morality naturally encompasses certain assumptions because it's growing out of a religious bedrock.
While I think there's a lot to consider and explore there, he jumps to the boiling frog idea, which is the slippery slope fallacy in amphibian clothing. Much like the begging the question problems in other parts of his essay, these fallacies diminish his reliability as a writer or crafting an argument. This resulted, for me at least, in some disappointment in the way I read the essay. (I would be the last (probably) to argue that I don't fall into fallacies myself--there are probably some within this essay already--so I'm not saying this from a point of superiority, but of recognition of the effect of fallacious arguments. I'm not pointing out his errors to try to exculpate my own; I'm trying to point out the fault lines in his thinking in the hopes of improving mine.)
Anyway, this section of his essay, as I said before, becomes entangled in a lot of assumptions and--at the very least--generous readings of the past. "For thousands of years," he argues, "morality has been based on beliefs about human purpose, the immortality of the soul, and other transcendent truths—all beliefs that are religious in nature, as they cannot be scientifically evaluated." I'm not quite sure what he means by this. It's vague with a sense of specificity that I can only interpret as being an invocation of biblical lore, but that's a baffling thing to rest his argument on. Biblical morality has been the source of an immense amount of immorality, power abuse, and more. I'm totally fine with saying that what the Good Book preaches isn't followed well by flawed humans--that makes sense to me--but within the text itself there are all sorts of shifts, changes, contradictions, and modified expectations.
Even if he's not alluding to Bible-only hermeneutics here, the broadness of his claim completely discounts the thousands of human philosophical systems and religions that have come around throughout the past thousands of years. And, if we're going to get really pedantic about it, the morality that he's invoking here isn't Christian morality; it's Jewish morality--Hebraic, to be even more specific. And a Mormon claiming an unbroken chain of morality from the Patriarchs of the Bible to modern day is indulging in a double standard about standards, since the Church speaks frequently of the loss of spiritual light during the Great Apostasy after the fourth century. It's possible that I'm missing his point in trying to orient myself in the history he's alluding to, which is much more my problem than his. Nevertheless, I'm left baffled by this claim.
When he dives into respect being the great desire of mankind, I feel as though he's finally getting to some new territory. In fact, that's the sort of thinking that I'm likely to start applying myself. What does it mean to desire respect? Do people deserve it? Earn it? Give it? Share it? There are manifold questions that go along with this idea, and I find it an intriguing avenue of inquiry.
But it isn't a shared enthusiasm. Phelps douses the implications with this curt paragraph: "This powerful desire for respect is held in check by a belief in God, but it is unleashed once the last vestiges of religious influence are eliminated from society." I'm trying to wrap my head around this. The desire for respect is...bad? He continues by attacking same-sex marriage, declaring that homosexual relationships wanted to have marriages because "They could have been content with anti-discrimination laws or civil unions, but it wasn’t enough."
Wut?
I mean, seriously, what is that supposed to prove? That our society is willing to accept and (apparently, this is bad, but) respect other humans and the feelings they have? That the hundreds of laws that married people enjoy should not be extended to other people who want to share their lives together? I was so flabbergasted when I hit that paragraph that I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped open in that stereotypical "I can't believe he just said that!" expression.
The thing that really sends me into a tailspin is the fact that I see people of Phelps' thinking also scratching their heads and gnashing their teeth and railing against the world that others don't respect Mormon beliefs. I'm going to do a little editing with his argument to see if this idea still falls apart when spun about:
This is hammered home with a concept of radical equality, which is an impossibility, for there's only equality or inequality--there aren't degrees of the former, because those are only manifestations of the latter. There's nothing "radical" about equality. It's difficult, uncomfortable, and--maybe--undesirable by some, but there's nothing fringeworthy about the concept. God frequently says he's not a "respecter of persons" (maybe where Phelps gets his disdain for respect? Is it disdain? I can't tell.) and that every soul is alike unto Him. That's equality.
For Milton, this was monism, or the idea that "God may be all in all" (1 Cor 15:28) at some point. That's part of Jesus' explanation of His role found in John 15, as well as His promise in Doctrine and Covenants 35:2. Monism may not be a tenet of Mormonism, but there are intimations of it all throughout Church doctrine. The idea that one takes upon oneself the name of Christ (in the baptismal covenant) is a concept of equality, of being made of the same worth as others.
There's likely a dogwhistle that's going off with this idea--and perhaps I'm misunderstanding how he's using the phrase--that I refer to as the Syndrome fallacy. This comes from the film The Incredibles in which Syndrome, the villain, repeats something that was said by one of the characters earlier in the film: "If everyone's special, then no one is."
Aside from the fact that it's the bad guy who espouses the idea, the fact is that being special isn't something that you gain through difference. It's not something that comes via definition through its negative. You're not "special" because someone else isn't; you're special because you're special. The idea that equality is some existential threat to the uniqueness of each person doesn't click with me. Of course, if monism is a larger part of Mormonism than I understand, then perhaps this isn't a fallacy at all, but is instead the ultimate destination of the soul. If that's the case, well...the conversation's going the wrong way for many reasons and I'll have to talk about that later.*
There are "mighty opposites" (Hamlet 5.2) that certainly give context, nuance, and heightened understanding. But I can't shake the feeling that we rely on opposites in order to categorize without looking at merit on its own terms. Admittedly, Phelps is pushing toward a different interpretation of that scripture than what I am seeing, and that's fine. He composes this point well enough, I suppose. But as I was trying to figure out what let me down about this conclusion, I have to say that it was the formulaic analysis of an incredibly knotty and complicated text.
As may be apparent by this (over-long) essay, I don't really agree with his conclusions, despite coming from the same religious background. Some may read this (if so, wow! Thanks! That was a long slog. Thanks for sticking around!) and think that I myself am one of the anti-Mormons and I'm alarmed at the truth he's throwing down. There are two issues with that concept: One, I'm not anti-Mormon...I'm a member of the Church and have been since I was 8 years old. Two, criticism, critiquing, and analyzing anything is not, de facto, being against it. If I didn't care about the Church, I wouldn't have put so much time into this essay. Challenging the Church and my understanding of the doctrine doesn't mean I am against it, that I hate it, or that I have no faith or testimony.
This isn't just a Mormon feeling. Criticism of the state of Israel is not inherently anti-Semitic. Critiquing the government does not make one an automatic traitor. Dissecting video games and game development doesn't make the critic an ally of Jack Thompson. Being a movie critic does not indicate an antipathy toward film. In other words, speaking about, questioning, and pushing for greater understanding of the Church does not equate with apostasy.
So don't be alarmed by that truth.
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* The idea of salvation is an interesting one that underpins my thinking here. I haven't yet written the essay in which I explore that, so I will have to leave that point undefined for the nonce.
** Don't forget: Early Christians were--by every correct definition of the time--atheists, because they denied the Roman gods.
*** I should say, Phelps indicates that there is a difference between postmodern atheism and its forebearers, but it's clear that everything is within this postmodern purview. I can't make any claims about Phelps' scholarship in this subject, but I get the sense that that which isn't We is They, and They think this way. The link on his site to the "Atheist thinkers" contains a short list that, I don't think, could be argued of being "post-modern"...not, at lest, if you're putting Nietzsche on the list. Yes, he says that they've been pioneering the idea for the last 150 years, but that doesn't strike me as very "post-modern".
By almost every measure, global trends show the human family is improving in its education, health, freedom, and more. Historically, the world is safer, happier, and healthier than at any other point. I suspect that myopia contributes more to our sense of millennial anguish than any objective sense. God, as a Father of all humankind, has been continually strengthening, enhancing, and improving life on this planet.
Now, that isn't to say that there aren't problems--or consequences--to what we've accomplished as a species. I say, even with the enervating concerns of a Trump administration, that we're in a pretty amazing time. I pointed out before that there is a sense of how horrible things are, and I will say that individual circumstances certainly bear that out. I don't want to diminish anyone's lived experience: Life is hard, and things have been hard. But, and I repeat, we are not living in a world where human beings are regularly killed, skinned, and turned into riding gloves for the aristocracy. We have war and conflict, and we have suffering, but we've been--in living memory--in a lot worse situations than we are now.
So fewer people go to church on Sunday. That's true, and I think that's probably a sad (not necessarily bad) thing, but we now have a society that thinks that segregating students of different races into separate schools is not right. Frankly, if state-permitted lynchings of Black people is gone, but so is overall church attendance, I feel like that's a step in the right direction.*
Three for All
There are a number of generalizations that make this point difficult to untangle. Phelps' broad view of atheism is detrimental and a little insulting--in the same way that saying "All Americans are the same; I know, because I've been to Miami Gardens, Florida" really doesn't get to the core of the issue. I've read a lot of essays by atheists, videos by them, and even (gasp!) talked with them. Atheism is no more a monolithic, single-minded force than Americans are. It's pretty clear that, while there are some aspects of Americans that are similar among almost all of them, there is a huge diversity of how Americans think, feel, react, believe, and engage with ideas. The same is true of atheists. There are different movements within the millennia-spanning philosophy, as well as appropriations (and reappropriations) of the term** throughout time. Even our modern (or, as Phelps calls it, "Post-modern*** Atheism") is hardly a cogent whole of concepts or beliefs. New Atheism is forwarded by people like the late Christopher Hitchens or Richard Dawkins, but they are not necessarily thought of highly by a lot of people within--for lack of a better word--atheistic communities. There are branches, conceits, and concepts that don't work together. This is not because atheism is a religion (another misconception), but because it is a philosophy. I love deontology, but that doesn't mean I always agree with Kant about every precept. And while I generally disdain utilitarianism, there are times when Bentham is correct. Philosophies can have different angles, interpretations, and implications, and what works in which framework is part of the reason philosophy is so interesting. Phelps' lumping together of all forms of atheism, agnosticism, humanism, and philosophy into a godless morass.But that quibble aside, Phelps goes out of his way to point out that atheists "don’t suddenly become moral monsters. Their moral views shift, but they probably have more in common with the moral beliefs of their religious friends than they have in contrast." This is really interesting, and his next argument is an intriguing one. Particularly in the West, the long reverberations of religious tradition and history are part of the soundtrack of existence. I once saw a documentary, made by a Christian believer, who explored the argument of full-scale separation of church and state. He pointed out that the vast majority of American cities and streets would have to be renamed if that were the case, since religion is so deeply pervasive in the American milieu. It's a good reminder that there are plenty of ways in which religious conceptions have moved beyond their roots and have been absorbed into the fabric of society. I'm not Catholic, but it doesn't bother me that there is a city called St. Louis. And his argument that an atheist morality naturally encompasses certain assumptions because it's growing out of a religious bedrock.
While I think there's a lot to consider and explore there, he jumps to the boiling frog idea, which is the slippery slope fallacy in amphibian clothing. Much like the begging the question problems in other parts of his essay, these fallacies diminish his reliability as a writer or crafting an argument. This resulted, for me at least, in some disappointment in the way I read the essay. (I would be the last (probably) to argue that I don't fall into fallacies myself--there are probably some within this essay already--so I'm not saying this from a point of superiority, but of recognition of the effect of fallacious arguments. I'm not pointing out his errors to try to exculpate my own; I'm trying to point out the fault lines in his thinking in the hopes of improving mine.)
Anyway, this section of his essay, as I said before, becomes entangled in a lot of assumptions and--at the very least--generous readings of the past. "For thousands of years," he argues, "morality has been based on beliefs about human purpose, the immortality of the soul, and other transcendent truths—all beliefs that are religious in nature, as they cannot be scientifically evaluated." I'm not quite sure what he means by this. It's vague with a sense of specificity that I can only interpret as being an invocation of biblical lore, but that's a baffling thing to rest his argument on. Biblical morality has been the source of an immense amount of immorality, power abuse, and more. I'm totally fine with saying that what the Good Book preaches isn't followed well by flawed humans--that makes sense to me--but within the text itself there are all sorts of shifts, changes, contradictions, and modified expectations.
Even if he's not alluding to Bible-only hermeneutics here, the broadness of his claim completely discounts the thousands of human philosophical systems and religions that have come around throughout the past thousands of years. And, if we're going to get really pedantic about it, the morality that he's invoking here isn't Christian morality; it's Jewish morality--Hebraic, to be even more specific. And a Mormon claiming an unbroken chain of morality from the Patriarchs of the Bible to modern day is indulging in a double standard about standards, since the Church speaks frequently of the loss of spiritual light during the Great Apostasy after the fourth century. It's possible that I'm missing his point in trying to orient myself in the history he's alluding to, which is much more my problem than his. Nevertheless, I'm left baffled by this claim.
When he dives into respect being the great desire of mankind, I feel as though he's finally getting to some new territory. In fact, that's the sort of thinking that I'm likely to start applying myself. What does it mean to desire respect? Do people deserve it? Earn it? Give it? Share it? There are manifold questions that go along with this idea, and I find it an intriguing avenue of inquiry.
But it isn't a shared enthusiasm. Phelps douses the implications with this curt paragraph: "This powerful desire for respect is held in check by a belief in God, but it is unleashed once the last vestiges of religious influence are eliminated from society." I'm trying to wrap my head around this. The desire for respect is...bad? He continues by attacking same-sex marriage, declaring that homosexual relationships wanted to have marriages because "They could have been content with anti-discrimination laws or civil unions, but it wasn’t enough."
Wut?
I mean, seriously, what is that supposed to prove? That our society is willing to accept and (apparently, this is bad, but) respect other humans and the feelings they have? That the hundreds of laws that married people enjoy should not be extended to other people who want to share their lives together? I was so flabbergasted when I hit that paragraph that I'm pretty sure my jaw dropped open in that stereotypical "I can't believe he just said that!" expression.
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| Yeah, that's the one. Source. |
Proponents of [temple] marriage loudly proclaimed that “love wins.” But this was never about love. [Mormon] couples already had the right to love whomever they wanted. They could have been content with anti-discrimination laws or civil unions, but it wasn’t enough. No, what they really wanted was for their union to be just as respected as anyone else’s. Marriage was an honor afforded only to [non-Mormon] couples and [Mormon] couples were going to feel slighted until that changed.Yup. It still sounds ludicrous. Mormonism has been persecuted since its inception. It's been persecuted for its marriage practices. There's criticism about whom the Church allows in to see the temple marriages, criticisms which I understand and sympathize with, but also understand why they're done the way they are. I mean, there are plenty of areas where 1) Mormons have their own unique ways of considering marriage and what it means, and 2) an expectation that others respect those differences. That Phelps would try to use this particular example is baffling. In some ways, this pulls us back to the beginning of the post. What troubled Milton's world so heavily was divorce, a practice that many mainstream Christian denominations allow now. When Milton was alive, believing that the Sun was the center of the universe was enough to get you excommunicated from the Catholic church. Nowadays, very few sects argue for geocentrism. Religious attitudes and beliefs about aspects of secular culture shift and change, often assimilating to the point that what was once heretical becomes unremarkable. Phelps' argument about respect--and his coupling of his concepts with same-sex marriage--is based upon the outrage du jour rather than a substantial, clear position.
This is hammered home with a concept of radical equality, which is an impossibility, for there's only equality or inequality--there aren't degrees of the former, because those are only manifestations of the latter. There's nothing "radical" about equality. It's difficult, uncomfortable, and--maybe--undesirable by some, but there's nothing fringeworthy about the concept. God frequently says he's not a "respecter of persons" (maybe where Phelps gets his disdain for respect? Is it disdain? I can't tell.) and that every soul is alike unto Him. That's equality.
For Milton, this was monism, or the idea that "God may be all in all" (1 Cor 15:28) at some point. That's part of Jesus' explanation of His role found in John 15, as well as His promise in Doctrine and Covenants 35:2. Monism may not be a tenet of Mormonism, but there are intimations of it all throughout Church doctrine. The idea that one takes upon oneself the name of Christ (in the baptismal covenant) is a concept of equality, of being made of the same worth as others.
There's likely a dogwhistle that's going off with this idea--and perhaps I'm misunderstanding how he's using the phrase--that I refer to as the Syndrome fallacy. This comes from the film The Incredibles in which Syndrome, the villain, repeats something that was said by one of the characters earlier in the film: "If everyone's special, then no one is."
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| I thought of calling this "Syndrome syndrome", but that made it sound like a stutter. Source. |
Fourth Right
The mic drop of #4, as I mentioned before, was underwhelming. I think the Book of Mormon is an incredible book and filled with hope, inspiration, and truths. I worry, however, about what the "opposition in all things" concept translates into. As I said earlier, there are concepts that are defined in their negativity--not what something is, but what it is not. Though this can be useful on occasion and for intersubjective agreements and other nonce taxonomic needs, it can be perilous, too. I appreciate Phelps' teasing out of deeper meanings in this section, but I think he may be applying it too far. If the Book of Mormon--indeed, any scripture from any tradition--is supposed to be the Truth (capital T), then anchoring too much on a subjective reading of a situation seems fraught.There are "mighty opposites" (Hamlet 5.2) that certainly give context, nuance, and heightened understanding. But I can't shake the feeling that we rely on opposites in order to categorize without looking at merit on its own terms. Admittedly, Phelps is pushing toward a different interpretation of that scripture than what I am seeing, and that's fine. He composes this point well enough, I suppose. But as I was trying to figure out what let me down about this conclusion, I have to say that it was the formulaic analysis of an incredibly knotty and complicated text.
Revenge of the Fifth
I actually have no critique of the fifth point he makes. He is expressing his own struggles, his own testimony. He is asserting what he hopes and believes, what he feels and, therefore, knows.As may be apparent by this (over-long) essay, I don't really agree with his conclusions, despite coming from the same religious background. Some may read this (if so, wow! Thanks! That was a long slog. Thanks for sticking around!) and think that I myself am one of the anti-Mormons and I'm alarmed at the truth he's throwing down. There are two issues with that concept: One, I'm not anti-Mormon...I'm a member of the Church and have been since I was 8 years old. Two, criticism, critiquing, and analyzing anything is not, de facto, being against it. If I didn't care about the Church, I wouldn't have put so much time into this essay. Challenging the Church and my understanding of the doctrine doesn't mean I am against it, that I hate it, or that I have no faith or testimony.
This isn't just a Mormon feeling. Criticism of the state of Israel is not inherently anti-Semitic. Critiquing the government does not make one an automatic traitor. Dissecting video games and game development doesn't make the critic an ally of Jack Thompson. Being a movie critic does not indicate an antipathy toward film. In other words, speaking about, questioning, and pushing for greater understanding of the Church does not equate with apostasy.
So don't be alarmed by that truth.
----
* The idea of salvation is an interesting one that underpins my thinking here. I haven't yet written the essay in which I explore that, so I will have to leave that point undefined for the nonce.
** Don't forget: Early Christians were--by every correct definition of the time--atheists, because they denied the Roman gods.
*** I should say, Phelps indicates that there is a difference between postmodern atheism and its forebearers, but it's clear that everything is within this postmodern purview. I can't make any claims about Phelps' scholarship in this subject, but I get the sense that that which isn't We is They, and They think this way. The link on his site to the "Atheist thinkers" contains a short list that, I don't think, could be argued of being "post-modern"...not, at lest, if you're putting Nietzsche on the list. Yes, he says that they've been pioneering the idea for the last 150 years, but that doesn't strike me as very "post-modern".