Ask The Hard Questions

I had an unlikely ability to arise in the final years leading up to my exit from my past fundamentalist community and that was the ability to actively begin omitting. This was unusual due to the fact that that meant I had something to keep back. Thoughts uniquely mine began to develop, take root and form an argument that would build deep in my gut and reappear to debate while I was alone or at night, unable to go to sleep. Thoughts like wondering why I wasn't enthusiastic about serving in my church, feelings of disillusion with leaders and the cause, and the ever growing isolation that seemed to swallow me up whole while in the midst of a congregation. I began to have doubts and with them came the gnawing feeling to understand why. 

You're not to understand why. You're to do or die. 

That was a mantra I heard often growing up, demanding that asking why is proof of rebellion. Those final years I didn't fight to hold the doubts at bay anymore; I couldn't ignore that rising rebellion in me. I was convinced that truth, even when omitted, still remains. It may have taken great effort to bury it, but I knew eventually I'd dig it up anyway. It was inevitable, it seemed. 

I have always found that my thoughts like to spill onto paper, making themselves known. Smudged black ink is always on my thumbs and fingers and crumpled paper was what would litter my teenage bedroom floor if it was lucky enough to be removed from one of the many notebooks I had. I'm still like this. Either I journaled daily or jotted down some random thought to maybe explore eventually at a later time. 

For quite some time, this didn't apply to simple sermon notes while sitting in the pew, however. Paying attention was mandatory. From childhood, this translated so literally that I would intensely concentrate on the preacher's words. Hour long Sunday morning messages were often draining as I was intent on not missing anything, worried I'd be missing something from God himself. Church is where the answer to life's problems were solved, after all. 

In the renowned novel, 1984, the main character, Winston, exhibits an act depicted as one out of sheer rebellion. Hardly removed from prying eyes, he suddenly finds himself alone, scribbling out a single phrase in repetition. Down with Big Brother. Overwhelmed and disheartened, he broke a rule that had dire consequences: thinking for himself and then, putting those thoughts down on paper by keeping a diary. Not to mention, he was expressing contempt for the leader who controlled his entire existence. George Orwell captured so brilliantly this particular act of damnable rebellion and other such instances throughout the pages of his remarkable book. It's one of the reasons I found inspiration for this very blog, actually. 

My Oceania was not nearly as dramatic—it was real life, after all. And although there were no such rules against putting to paper an individual's thoughts, individuality was often squashed. Not always would a leader or a person in authority blatantly command a follower to never think for themselves. This would be achieved more subtly, usually using manipulative tactics like shaming, belittling or even praising a believer into compliance. Basically, if an individual somehow formed an opinion by themselves, and if this opinion did not reflect the popular, previously embraced in-group stance on a particular topic, then most likely they would experience fallout from that. Sometimes this would be in the words or actions of those at the top or around them, or even the ingrained reaction of a follower berating themselves out of confusion or embarrassment. I have multiple instances where personally I experienced all of those scenarios. In the end, if you didn't fully conform, you were made to know how wrong you were and how you lacked dedication to "right" and all that contained.

Often, I emphasize the inability to question in Christian Fundamentalism. I do this, because I remember countless vivid memories where this was true in if not every, nearly all, aspects of being a part of the particular movement I was born into. I also reference this subject throughout the words I write, because in those memories is the vivid fear that shows up on the scene once a question was prompted. There is a reason I'm a strong believer in the thought that there is freedom in questions. Simply it comes down to this: If a human can't question, then their freedom is being suppressed. A system, and even more so any religious movement, that discourages or hinders the ability for its followers to question is problematic. I'd dare say it's even possible there's some hidden dangers within it that curious questions could uncover, along with whatever troubling motive is behind any secrecy. I always say it's not safe faith if you can't question it. If a faith can't hold up to truth, then maybe it's time to question why it's holding you? Just a thought. 

Overwhelmed and disheartened, I, too, began to scribble out differentiating opinions in my fundamentalist days. Sitting in my pew as a preacher would scream or shout, I'd find myself signaling in on a particular point made in the Man of God's message and offering a contradiction to it. Other times, I'd flag it to go back over later, on my own. Then, there were times when I would sit alone and pour out an entire page worth of self-made opinions on doctrinal hallmarks, standards and actions that I continued to find problematic in one way or another. Most often though, it was just that the things I had accepted as truth for so many years started to make me wonder why that was. If right is right, why can it be wrong to ask why that is? Also, truth is truth, then it can hold up to criticism, can't it? And most likely the biggest one: If it can survive questions and criticism, then what's truth and what's right can withstand me figuring why that is. 

Thankfully, it couldn't. And because "truth" and "right" fell flat and eventually became deemed a simple matter of interpretation, those realizations gave me the freedom to question every aspect of my past faith, allowing me to explore the negative and positive, the dangerous and harmless alike. It removed so much ingrained fear in the simple act of uttering the single word why.

"Until they become conscious they will never rebel, and until after they have rebelled they cannot become conscious." -George Orwell

Still to this day, I don't understand how I gained this ability, especially in the environment I grew up in, spending my first twenty-one years mostly accepting what was taught from authority figures as automatic fact out of misplaced trust and respect. I find myself perplexed quite often about why that was and how it became real for me, became part of my story. Some would say it was out of pure rebellion and I suppose I would agree with that to some degree. Most things I eventually dared to question were result of witnessing the mistreatment of others or experiencing it myself. Other times, it just came down to pure curiosity. Regardless of the force behind it, it was something powerful then and still is today. 

In many ways, I think Socrates had it best...

To find yourself, think for yourself. 

I'm still finding myself.


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