Unanswered Questions

I've been primarily focused on logical arguments in these posts about Watchtower. Lets face it, there's a lot to pick apart when it comes to their reasoning. I could spend a lifetime parsing their incomprehensible reasoning, prophecies, and policies. A career though it could be, there are enough academic minds mulling over the conundrum of a corporate publishing company posing as a charity that my contributions will be barely missed.

There are times when it's simply a personal journey to point out the absurdity of Watchtower. As often, it's more about what one can't say about their milieu that what they can that exposes the deep scars they hide.

While I didn't realize it at the time, I was first faced with this inward examination when I was about ten-years-old. I had taken my first trip to Colorado with the family for an annual ski trip. Before then, I'd been too young to go. I was, for my lack of skiing experience, left to the devices of the Winter Park Ski School. By sheer luck, I was put into a class of nearly all Spanish speaking students who were on some kind of retreat.

The inherent isolation of being the only Witness in my school and part of a non-affectionate and dysfunctional family was horribly punctuated by my new isolation vis a vis my native tongue. Be that as it may, I was paired with a boy about my age, Emilio. Despite this language barrier, he and I looked after each other and got on quite well.

I progressed quickly in the ski school. By the third day of the trip, I found myself alone yet again as the Colombian Delegation had found other things to do. I received de facto private lessons on Wednesday of the week with a pretty cool instructor. His name I can't seem to remember.

By mid morning, I was having one of the best days of my young life. I was getting to ski with a cool older guy without the leering oversight of my parents. We hopped onto a lift and started our way back up the hill. In a conversational way, my instructor asked me who my favorite band was.

It was a question I couldn't answer...

Even at the age of ten, I had received so little exposure to popular music that I couldn't even identify what I liked, or who sang it. Most music of the era was simply of the Devil. What radio we did listen to was KMOX talk radio. It was the only thing ever on in the family vehicle, much to my eternal dismay.

But here I was. Suspended twenty feet above a snowy hill in Colorado with no way to answer such a simple question. I was hard pressed to even name a band that was relevant or current. Sensing my struggle, the instructor retained his cool and began naming off some of his favorites. I heard a name I recognized and jumped on it.

As I've grown older, I've realized that I there is far too much in life that I'm experiencing for the first time. The world has had a particular blandness that can only be appreciated after one has had a taste of its wondrous variety. Even now, fifteen years on since my exit from Watchtower, I'm still amazed by new things; things that were a very normal part of life for most as they came of age.

These days, the number of questions I can't answer has shrunk to a much smaller list. I will, however, admit that my twenties were bland by comparison to those of my generation. By my age, people generally have ridiculous stories of foolishness, risks taken, and youthful conquests. I have none of those.

"What's the craziest thing you've ever done," one may ask me? For that, I have no answer. Nothing in my life would seem all that crazy. At least it doesn't seem that way to me.

In my humble opinion, a life as a Witness could be likened to eating food only naturally. The steady diet of the mundane could make the smallest dash of salt shockingly offensive. Enough so that it could make one recoil in horror and discomfort. That really doesn't seem to be so far off from what Watchtower tells us from the platform. We've been warned about the corrupting influence of the world. Fleshly pleasures. Ungodly pursuits. Leaven that ferments the loaf.

The book of Genesis claims that the Devil seduced Eve by saying that she would become like God, knowing good and evil. This is often expressed as the first 'lie', when it was in fact just a clever turn of phrase. He never promised that Eve would have dominion over good and evil, the authority to declare which was which, and certainly never claimed she'd become a deity. He simply said she would know good and evil.

Even from a young age, I never regarded this as a lie. I always took it to mean that by eating of the forbidden fruit, she would become intimately familiar with sin. Thus she knew evil because she had experienced evil.

Similarly, I could not comment on anything I didn't know.

If I were to stand before God at judgement and he asked if I'd done my best, I would have to claim ignorance. How can I know my best if I do not also know my worst? This too is a question I cannot answer.

The unremarkable flavor of life I experienced as a Witness didn't particularly leave me longing for more. It was my 'normal'. There was no way to differentiate between what I did not know and what I wanted to know because, as Ockham's Razor dictates, that which we cannot perceive may not be considered an influence. As with Eve, it was impossible for her to perceive sin in any other way than to become familiar through commission. And with me, I could not long for that which I did not know existed.

It's my personal hope that I reach the end of my days, and if asked what I will miss most about my life, I can honestly say 'everything' instead of  'I don't know'. 

Confirmation: Bias

Somewhat by accident, I've unplugged myself from the world of proactive apostasy and former Jehovah's Witnesses. Facebook is a wonderful tool, but it sometimes presents dangers that outweigh the benefits by a healthy margin. While I admit to having my own concerns about Watchtower, it didn't truly take root until I discovered support groups established for those struggling with separating from the organization.

In that respect, it was extremely helpful. I admit that I didn't know how much I didn't know. As I've previously written, my exit from Watchtower was an unintentional fade born of general disinterest rather than any specific rift in philosophy. So the plethora of documented tom-foolery that Watchtower has been caught up in over the years was both shocking and glee inducing.

However, a theme started to develop.

There are certain examples of chicanery that were frequently repeated. While they may be the easiest examples to pick on because of just how far left of center they are, the arguments are about as flawed as they are frequently rehashed. Poster after poster all point and scream "a-HA!" as if some revelation has been had. Do these examples demand further scrutiny? Sure! Are the criticisms cited by the community logically sound? Hardly...

I pride myself on being open minded. I, above all else, seek truth. A fact is, or it isn't. There really isn't much in between. If that thing is to be called a fact, it has to be real, measurable, and verifiable. A lot of the arguments I allude to above contain none of those things. What they do contain is a lot of supposition to fill in the blanks where facts cannot be validated.

For example, Watchtower is known to have had Non-Government Organization association with the United Nations. That has been confirmed by both Watchtower and the UN. The standard argument of malfeasance centers on Watchtower's hasty withdrawal of its status following exposure in the UK media. While that is also true, apostates regularly claim that Watchtower was completely aware of a complicit support clause present in the NGO membership documents. This is based off of possible misinformation in a letter distributed by the UN regarding when that language appeared in the paperwork. I say 'possible' because I've been unable to independently confirm that the document in question contained the offensive language at the time the UN letter claims. There is simply no proof of it.

Even so, apostates readily claim that Watchtower was completely aware and only distanced themselves after being outed. Inductive reasoning like this is the enemy of truth. Likewise, apostates also claim that the reasons Watchtower claimed to have sought this status in the first place (to gain access to the UN Library) are invalid. They state over and over that such a card is not necessary and that Watchtower is lying about this. What cannot be disputed, since it appears in published UN policies, is that the library access is in fact restricted in such a way if one is attempting to visit the UN headquarters in New York. Is that not exactly where this access was being used?

Unfortunately, in many cases, the people who are disgruntled by Watchtower are looking for some validation of their concerns (and there are plenty of valid concerns). Inevitably, when they look for it, they will quickly and easily stumble across things like the above example. Though it is loaded with inaccuracies, this quasi-urban-legend provides confirmation bias.

The disaffected are hoping for proof that they are justified in their anger. Since this particular story is so often repeated in substantially the same form, it's convenient, if not lazy, to accept it as properly researched fact. It is anything but...

A minimum of effort will turn up all kinds of cracks in the argument. An argument that lacks originality and vetting. One just needs to put forth the effort, which just means that it's never going to get better. Among other things, I'm a realist.

But that brings me back around to my original purpose; pointing out the danger of confirmation bias. We've all come to some kind of conclusion about Watchtower. It's natural to cling to the information that proves out what we feel. Be that as it may, the constant barrage and reinforcement put in front of people simply looking for information bears a duty to accuracy. 

In my absence from social media and its regurgitation of only the juiciest gossip, I realized that my own hatred has died down. Don't mistake this for acceptance, or even tolerance, of Watchtower policy or practice. Quite the opposite. I've been able to take a dispassionate view and examine what really is true. The frenzied passions of the groups to which I belong(ed) often caught others in a tidal wave of ire.

The same can honestly be said of my days in Watchtower. The collective zeal of the congregation often kept me from having a dispassionate and balanced view of the world. I could not see things for what they were. I was only able to see them for the monstrous abominations that Witnesses believed all non-Witnesses to be. It wasn't until I unplugged myself from that incessant reinforcement that I was able to actually see the error in my judgement.

It's a mistake to arrive at judgement before all the facts can be known. Witnesses do it about the world. Ex-Witnesses do it with information that seems to be damaging to Watchtower. There is a persistent rush to judgement, or at least complicit ignorance of information that doesn't support group bias. If for no other reason than that, I'm glad I have stepped back from it.

It was hard for me to be in the congregation and accept confirmation bias an operating model. It's just as hard as an apostate. I'm only questing for truth. That deserves my full effort, I think.

There is no "Oww" in Holy

There is a ubiquitous expectation of religion. It is there to bring you comfort. Comfort that in your piety, you gain salvation. Comfort that your suffering is not without purpose. Comfort that your self-denial will reap rewards in due time. Comfort that the temporary nature of our existence will be supplanted with eternity given the proper behavior.

So, what to do if your religion doesn't supply that...

As one of Jehovah's Witnesses, I was never comforted. That's a big statement, and I accept that it's a little hard to believe. I am, however, confident that I speak it truthfully. In twenty years of conscious, active participation in the Watchtower Society's organization, I had an unquenchable ember of anxiety burning a hole through my soul. Sometimes it would burn with the fire of a thousand suns. Other times, it simply smouldered in the dark as an irritating reminder of my own insufficiency.

There were two absolutely reliable things that I would encounter at three weekly meetings. First, the platform would tell me that I didn't measure up to God's standards. There was always something more that needed doing. More study. More meditation. More ministry. More self-denial. Second, the vast majority of the congregation could have been breaking their necks looking down their noses at each other. Brotherly love? More like brotherly rivalry. As the old joke goes, you don't have to outrun the bear, just the hiking partner you're with. The same thing works for piety. You don't have to be holy, just holier than the next guy.

In those two respects, the religion failed to be what all religion is really supposed to be - a platform for a personal relationship with God(s). Watchtower, by accident or design, fosters a pecking order based on fear of eternal death. It's a rat-race to salvation. The only measure of success is really how high up the ladder you can climb.

When I realized this, I also became aware of how miserable I really was. It truly was the sense of obligation that kept me going to the meetings for so long. I genuinely hated every meeting I went to, every door I knocked on, every talk I gave. With that went the self-loathing of being a public face that carried out a lie for the benefit of people that I didn't respect, and didn't respect me.

The assured reward was always just beyond my grasp, as I imagine it was for most Witnesses. To ever be so certain as to confidently declare that you were sure of your spot in the Paradise was outright haughtiness, and therefore reason enough for you not to be worthy. In fact, the proper mindset to have, so far as the platform would have you know, was to feel as if you weren't doing enough and should therefore strive to do more. Yes, a sufficiently righteous person is convinced that they aren't righteous enough!

Now, if I have you scratching your heads at that, you're not alone. As I said earlier on, the Society wants more from you. Your time, money, dedication. But the only way they continue as an organization is if you feel like it's not enough. It's the only way you give more. It's the only way to feed the beast.

But what is the logical conclusion that is to be drawn from that? The faith provides no comfort, only motivation for greater effort. Of course, as a matter of operational certitude, you come into the group with a ledger that's already in the red. At the very least, you're operating on a heavily extended credit line, and if you ever decide that you don't want to keep paying on a debt that you didn't agree to, your account is closed and your reputation destroyed (see Disfellowshipping).

The model itself declares that discomfort is the only proof of success...

I'm going to dramatically rub the bridge of my nose for a moment...

This falls under the umbrella of asceticism. It is the constant-self-punishment-as-the-only-means-to-salvation version of Christianity that society generally looks upon as fucked up. Witnesses are pretty good at pretending to be happy, but then depression and anxiety wouldn't be so disproportionately common among them. There wouldn't be high instances of alcoholism, domestic abuse, and drug use. The faith does nothing to curb these actions that are common enough in the general population. It can be reasonably argued that it contributes to them.

So, having entered the circular reasoning of saved = suffering = pious, we have to accept that we cannot be one if we are not all three. So you see, I'm not lying when I say that it never brought me comfort.

There are three different Gods in the bible. The Hebrew God tried to baptize the entire world at once via global flood, and when that didn't cleanse the earth of sin He dropped flaming rocks on them. That God was sort of a dick. Jesus' God was all about the love. Be good to people; help them out; don't be judgy. Doesn't sound too hard. And then there's Paul's God. Love people, but hate everything they do, and teach them not to do the things you hate.

Protestant Christianity is a bigger fan of Paul's God than Jesus' God, which is odd in many ways. Paul was an exclusionist who was far better at telling you who wasn't deserving of grace than telling us how to help those who needed it most. As the Protestant Reformation was founded on the premise that Catholicism was too stingy with clerical power, I find this particularly ironic. Christ, whether divine or not, had a single interest; making sure that the whole of mankind was not tread upon. Treat them with tenderness, compassion, and community. Jesus commanded us to look after the infirm, sin prone, and suffering.

Paul, however, was a shape-up-and-fly-right kind of apostle. His advice often focused on making sure that free thought was weeded out of the congregation. He prattled on about how those who were guilty of long lists of sins were not worthy of God's love, and how it was only proper to remove sinners from our good company. He was quite the opposite of Jesus. Quite the opposite.

It is also noteworthy that this is the Paul that was previously known as Saul of Tarsus; not the one that was of the first twelve apostles. He was a notorious persecutor of early Christian disciples and no 1st-party acquaintance to Jesus. It can't even be established that he was known to any of the original twelve apostles. That's right! The man most credited as an author of the New Testament (14 of 27 books, the now scholarly-rejected Epistle to Hebrews included) never met the man whose message he perverted and then promulgated. 

For as much as Witnesses claim to be Christian, there is very little that can be said to be Christ-like about their activity. They minister, yes, but only with the focus of redirecting the ways of Paul's sinners. There is nothing done to actively bring them comfort; to show them love that has no conditions. They provide no safe harbor for the abused or battered. They provide no relief for those in dire need. They neither feed the poor, educate the ignorant, nor employ the downtrodden.

Their only form of comfort is a promise of a future without disease or want. It is a future that, as described above, is only attainable through suffering... now. Their succor is to make the misery of today seem like it is a blessing. Jesus at the very least fed the hungry, treated the ill, and shouldered the tears of the broken-hearted. He eased their suffering without ever exacting a price.

If a religion cannot do that first, what good is it? There are needs of today that are not out of the reach of any person or church to address. The true test of holiness is, must be, the capacity and willingness to provide comfort. If not for our bodies today, then for our souls in eternity. If it fails at both, it is no reflection of the divine.

"Love your neighbor as yourself," he said. Loving ourselves is the first of our duties. When we do that, we can love others. Loving ourselves is not a sin. In fact, it is the foundation of all good things that come from us. To wallow in discomfort, in the punishment of self, is not loving. It is not the model that Jesus gave us.

"Love your neighbor as yourself," he said.

He did not stutter.

The Shame of it all...

The epiphany of realizing that shame is an imagined obligation freed me from its crushing weight. 

But I want to back up a moment...

You heard it from a parent, grand parent, teacher, minister, or minister's wife. 'Shame on you!' Somebody, somewhere, told you that. If you were like me as a kid, you heard it a lot. It wouldn't be until much later that I would realize the full import of that phrase, or its complete impotence, but I knew when I heard it that I was supposed to feel bad. For the most part, I did.

The dictionary definition of shame is more or less a feeling of guilt or unease when you know you've done something wrong. When placed within the framework of a religion, the shame of sin is based on the investment you have towards the liturgy of your faith. I have to define it as such since, as I've mentioned in previous posts, religion is not just a matter of personal faith, but of social convention. In other words, religion is the commonly agreed upon exercise of a given faith, and therefore it is measured by the public practice of those rites and rituals.

To feel shame for sin, you must agree that the publicly held standard is correct, and that you didn't live up to it. The issue that causes me struggle is that shame over failing to meet the standards of one's religion is not necessarily an affront to God. Even within the Abrahamic religions of the world, there is sect after sect that all claim to be the 'true' religion, but which have no difference in the foundations of their faith over the next. With that in mind, I conclude that religious shame is really shame over having disappointed your fellow man rather than your Creator.

Why does that matter?

It depends on how you feel about the idea of External Control Psychology. The premise states that the 1st Party is subject to the expectations of behavior and/or thought of a 2nd Party. As children, we experience this as the parent/offspring relationship. Our parents have certain rules and standards that they expect us to observe. It is involuntary as they are our caretakers. They feed, house, and educate us. We are entirely dependent on that relationship and are shaped by it until we reach adulthood.

Dr. William Glasser, the developer of Choice Theory and its ties to External Control Psychology, holds that as adults we are no longer bound to this relationship, yet often fail to realize it. We have learned through our entire upbringing that we are expected to behave in a certain way. If we failed to do that, the person in authority could (and often did) react, rightfully, with anger, and punishment may be a result. Without the proper understanding of the hierarchy, this simply looks like it is acceptable to respond with anger when we don't get our way. That is predicated on the idea that we even have the right to expect behaviors of any kind other than voluntary from anyone outside of ourselves.

So what happens when we view that in the religious context? Seems pretty apparent to me. The moral authority has developed some kind of expectation of liturgical conduct, at the very least. More than likely, they also have expectations of private conduct and worship. There are two problems with that.

Firstly, they are self-appointed authorities. They have determined through their own inductive reasoning that they should have the only say to be had over what constitutes righteous conduct.

Secondly, they presume that by right of their religious appointment, anyone is bound to listen to them as an intermediary between the faithful and their God.

It is a very big leap to shrug off any agreement with this thinking. We've been indoctrinated in it since we first recognized positions of authority outside of ourselves. However, it is a mistake to think that anyone has either the right or ability to make us feel anything. We are not obligated to feel compassion, remorse, pride, guilt, or even shame. Emotions of pressed obligation, like shame, are simply self-punishment. To feel it, we must have accepted that someone has the power to dictate what we feel, and when we know that we have failed to appease that power, we hold ourselves accountable to it. No one can absolve us of that guilt until our consciences are clear. And if our conscience has always been clear, no one can cloud it without our permission.

The true shame of it is that social homogeny has duped so many people into thinking that someone else is responsible for their spiritual journey. I am answerable only to the Creator, first cause, or genesis of my existence. If there was purpose inherent in that event, it is my duty to find it and reconcile my fulfillment of that purpose.

The conscience is a remarkable thing. In the faith of my youth, it was explained that it could "accuse or excuse" my actions based on how I trained it. As we've established, most of our training has been to accept that someone else had already made the rules and we were obligated to them. With that understanding, my conscience accused me incessantly for two decades. I was a walking, talking failure of every variety you could name. My greatest shame came in the form of not feeling that my conscience should be accusing me for the things I thought. I regretted, lamented, and cursed my conscience for doing exactly what I had been told it should do.

The day that I accepted that feeling shame over standards defined by someone else was voluntary, and that I no longer volunteered, the burden was lifted. That burden was one that no words could ever describe. It permeated every facet of my life, every thought, every fiber of my being. I wasn't just crushed by it. I was saturated with it. Stained with it.

The epiphany itself was not enough to free my conscience entirely. It took time to accept that I could trust myself. My steps were in fact mine to direct. My thoughts were my own, and only mine. There was no direction that I couldn't move. I am me, and me is okay.

It's a shame it took so long to figure that out.