I’ve watched with fascination the discussion of baptism for the dead, both in online message boards I frequent and in the larger media, after the news that Mitt Romney’s atheist father-in-law was posthumously. Maybe I’m so fascinated because, like the gay marriage issue, there’s a “we mean well” attitude among Mormon church members that makes them completely tone deaf to legitimate, if sometimes blistering, criticism, and instead they just perceive persecution. (I’ve concluded that Prop 8 was less a bold moral stand than it was a gross miscalculation by elderly men who didn’t know how much the tide had turned. But, I digress.)

I’ve tried to put my finger on what is so bothersome about BFTD to so many people, beyond the “lack of respect” argument. It seems to violate an old American tradition—religion is a choice. We’ve usually done a decent job in this country—especially compared to others—of navigating religious freedom while not being oppressive. There are plenty of horror stories, sure, but by and large the Founders’ vision of a public, but not state, religion has worked.

Logically, the “you’re dead, what do you care?” argument lobbed at those who find BFTD distasteful is right. It is a little amusing to see people so dismissive of Mormonism’s faith claims get so worked up over something they have no faith in or belief in themselves. It is an emotional response, but one that I see as completely valid.

We prize individuality and choice above all else in this country. These are old notions, and the idea that someone is messing with our names, long after we’re dead, is troublesome. (Would Mormons want someone to donate money to a pro-choice cause in their name after they die?) It also removes choice from the equation (again, if illogically). Right now a Mormon can knock on a door and ask someone to listen. We (for the most part) respect that right in this country, with the understanding that others can refuse to listen.

We’ve decided in the last century or so, that religion is private, a choice, and like politics, damnit you just don’t discuss it in polite company. You gotta respect people’s religion! But BFTD doesn’t feel like it’s playing by those rules. (I think this is why so many people bristle at “in your face” atheism as well.) Baptism for the dead feels like…cheating, in some ways. An old American principle has been violated. It feels a little like “Neener neener, we’ll just get you when you’re dead,” even if that isn’t the intention. Americans are a prideful bunch, we don’t like the idea of anyone forcing us to do anything.

Maybe I’ve just over thought it, but I do find the whole thing to be interesting.

“Memory’s unreliable…memory’s not perfect. It’s not even that good. Ask the police; eyewitness testimony is unreliable…. Memory can change the shape of a room or the color of a car. It’s an interpretation, not a record. Memories can be changed or distorted, and they’re irrelevant if you have the facts.” —Leonard Shelby, Memento

A recent episode of the Point of Inquiry podcast mentioned a book that instantly colored me intrigued. The title, 50 Great Myths of Popular Psychology: Shattering Widespread Misconceptions About Human Behavior, practically begged my inner-skeptic to read it. All the delicious psych topics are here—memory, recall, perception, intelligence, dreams, behavior, the subconscious, human development, even ESP. But one curious theme unintentionally keeps emerging: the unreliability of memory and personal experience. (more…)

I was excited to see Bob Rees—a thoughtful believer if there ever was one—review Bill Maher’s pseudo-documentary, Religulous, in Sunstone (May 2009), but was ultimately disappointed. As is often the case with critiques of anti-theists like Bill Maher, Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, or Christopher Hitchens, the review chose to play the “Religion Shouldn’t be Ridiculed” card, rather than substantively engage the criticisms it raised. The New Atheist movement brings an opportunity for sharp debate, but instead the same tired criticisms are trotted out: “they don’t understand religion;” “they’re just as narrow-minded as those they criticize;” “that’s not what my religion is.” On and on it goes, but when it’s all said and done, we end up in the same place—nowhere, with no specific criticisms of the indictments levied against religion. (more…)

When I stopped going to church, it was a decision based upon years of wrestling with its truth-statements.  I had stopped believing.  I didn’t leave angry.  I didn’t want my tithing back.  In fact, I worried about the sociality and opportunity to grow through service that I was missing by not remaining active on some level.  I believed that the church offered social and spiritual benefits that gave people a sense of purpose, ethics, and comfort.  I still felt that being raised in the church can make bad people good and good people better.  Though many of my Mormon friends and family members have sinced worked very hard to dissuade me of this notion, I still tend to believe it. (more…)

I have heard Obadiah say, “I choose to believe.”  I have also heard other Mormons speak of their faith as a choice.  Like Obadiah, these other Mormons seem to be well read enough to recognize their religion is not without historical or theological problems, but they still feel there is sufficient evidence in their lives to make the choice of belief.  None of these Mormons deny the contribution of environmental influences to that choice, but only insist that such influences are not fully determining, and, therefore, do not render the act of choosing a mere delusion of agency.

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It’s not like I wanted to be a monster. Often one arrives here unwillingly, organically. In my case, I served an LDS mission among evangelical Christians and found their critiques of my tradition fairly easy to fend off. At some point in my early twenties I wanted to become a “servant of my Father in Heaven” by becoming a competent defender of my tradition. Unfortunately, in Mormonism, as one ties down one loose end, five more pop up in the process. For me, as the years rolled by and I studied more and more, the tapestry of my tradition didn’t just unravel—it dissolved. (more…)