Thrashbrowns Loses His Religion: Pt. 2

 The question's the thing that's interesting. The answer is stupid.

Where did we come from? Why are we here? Where are we going? Does life have a purpose and if so, what is it?

These are big questions, questions that drive much of what humanity strives to achieve. Artists create hoping to find answers through mediums like paint and sculpture. Scientists have shot probes into deep space and built city-sized machines looking to answer these questions. Searching for answers to these queries drives philosophers to do whatever they do, which I assume is getting stoned and trying to figure out the implications of c-a-t spelling dog.

But no aspect of human life wrestles with these questions quite as intensely as religion. Every church I can think of claims to have the ultimate answers to the mysteries of human origin and the purpose of life. In the process of teaching you these answers, religions promise you that you'll find validation and a sense of belonging. 

But what happens when those answers stop being satisfying to you?

I was in my mid-thirties when I began to develop a keen interest in cosmology. The field is full of weird, crazy shit like dark matter, wormholes and magnetars. The idea that we are all composed of particles from long-dead stars, meaning that the universe is as much a part of us as we are a part of it, was oddly reassuring and validating. Though I didn't understand very much (reading A Brief History of Time made my brain melt and run out my ears), something about the astrophysics stuff I was learning made me feel like I was home.

The problem was how to reconcile things I was learning about cosmology with what I was expected to believe as an LDS church member. I could go as far as "The Bible doesn't really describe the beginning of the universe, so who's to say God didn't start it with the Big Bang." Who's to say God didn't evolve humans up from single-celled organisms? He's God, right? He's all-powerful and can do whatever the fuck he wants.

But the fact that I didn't know exactly how God did it started to bug me. And when I'd ask my leaders how exactly it happened or why there aren't many detailed breakdowns of creation, I'd always get the same answers. "Read the scriptures." "Pray about it." You know, the same Sunday school answers they seemed to think answered EVERY question.

Fortunately for me, part of the LDS faith is a backstory about what we were doing before we came to Earth. We existed as spirits and chose to come to Earth to prove ourselves and be part of the Lord's Plan of Salvation. Ok. Cool.

Unfortunately for me, that backstory created even more questions. Like, I get that I chose to come here to be tested and stuff but we are told that the most valiant spirits were held in reserve to come to Earth in the Last Days. But if God knew I was all valiant and shit back in the premortal realm, then what the fuck do I have to prove to him? Was I just sent here to screw up and guarantee my own damnation? 

But what really disturbed me was the answers I'd get discussing the subject with fellow lay members of the church. Over and over I'd get "That's not required for my salvation." 

That response put some serious fear into me. I understood that Mormons believe that in the postmortal world, they'll have the opportunity to learn everything there is to know as part of their eternal progression. So, yeah, perhaps one doesn't need to learn the answers to all the great mysteries during one's earthly life. 

But I don't understand how you wouldn't want to know. I don't understand why you wouldn't want to learn when knowledge is the only thing you carry forward with you into the next life. I don't know why you wouldn't want to learn now and save yourself some time in the afterlife. I. Just. Don't. Get. It.

Worse was when I got the "It's not required for your salvation" answer thrown back at me when I asked one of the leaders in my last ward (congregation) a deep, life-defining question. In that moment, two things were made crystal fucking clear.

1. LDS church leaders are terrified of "I don't know." I get it. Bishops and other Mormon leaders are expected to understand things rank and file members don't and they're expected to have answers NOBODY has. Maybe they feel their calling is to be able to answer any question, regardless of whether they know the answer or not. Maybe they feel like saying "I don't know" undermines them as authority figures. But I don't think it should be that way. I don't think "I don't know" is that bad of an answer. It doesn't mean we'll never understand. Just that we don't understand yet.

2. Curiosity seems like a bad quality for a Mormon to possess. It makes you ask questions you shouldn't ask. It makes you look for solutions to your queries in places you shouldn't look. It leads you down roads you probably shouldn't go down if you want to be in good standing with the church.

The problem is, "It's not required for your salvation" is a terrifying statement to me. It basically comes across as "kill your own curiosity" and that's not something I was willing to do as a Mormon. The idea that I had to become like my perception of my fellow Latter-Day Saints and only absorb the essentials of what was necessary to advance in the next world scared me to death. Basically, it was like the church was telling me "You can't be you if you want to reach your full potential."

Add in the convenience of answering deep, searching questions with  "Read your scriptures" or "pray" and it wasn't too long before I found the answers to the questions I was asking to be extremely unsatisfying. And when a central reason you're going to church is to find answers for questions that are constantly nagging at you, unsatisfying answers can kill your faith as fast as anything else. 

Somewhere lay the answers to the great mysteries that I've been chasing. I just don't think I can find them within the bounds of activity in the LDS Church. Or any other church, for that matter. That being the case, I think it benefits me much more to chase down these mysteries on my own.