What I Actually Liked About BYU

It’s no surprise that I have a lot of issues with my undergrad alma mater, Brigham Young University. Recent newsworthy topics are glaringly appalling to me, like the preponderance of rape culture and the violations of religious freedom against students who want to leave the Church. 

When I was a student there, it was more often the little things that revealed to me how the glove never fit quite right. One crisp autumn evening with my best friends, an overeager Honor Code official wouldn’t let me participate in our play-off intramural soccer game because of a dress and grooming violation- that is, because some of my curly hair touched my ears.

My hair was clearly an affront to all things holy.

I recognize that I would be falling back into the trap of black-and-white thinking were I to focus only on the unfortunate aspects of the institution. It would be psychologically healthy for me to discuss how I feel BYU excelled, and that is in the quality of my education. 

Unlike what many would assume about a religious school, the integrity of my pre-med journey through the physics, chemistry, biology, and physiology departments never felt jeopardized by the LDS influence. Sure, some of the classes would start with an innocuous prayer, which felt a little weird even as a true believer. More often than not, though, professors only brought up religion in discussing the spiritual connection they experienced by understanding scientific principles. They reinforced within me a continually developing awe for the universe as portrayed through observable data, whether on the microscopic or macroscopic scale.

Perhaps my favorite class was Evolutionary Biology. Dr. Byron Adams focused the course on fostering the invaluable skill of thinking critically and dialectically. We even spent a good chunk of the class on how to talk to overzealous family members about the theory of evolution, as many refuse to accept it despite the LDS Church having no official position on the matter.  Dr. Adams led me to understand the importance of juggling seemingly conflicting paradigms.  I allowed myself to put aside the ideas from the Church’s worldview and focus on what the evidence says about existence. I didn’t let conflicting religious narratives impede scientific understanding, and as a result ended up looking to these biblical stories for their symbolic value as opposed to as a source of history. I allowed my mind to play- maybe Adam was the first creature to become self-aware, representing the entrance of a human spirit into a body for the first time?

Unfortunately, the Church as a whole is not up to speed with the BYU science departments. Despite their tolerance for the theory of evolution, they doctrinally still believe in a literal global flood and Garden of Eden. As a result of this strict interpretation of the Bible, there is a looming sentiment within the Church that danger comes from diving too far into intellectual matters. In 1993 LDS apostle Boyd K Packer had this to say:

“The dangers I speak of come from the gay-lesbian movement, the feminist movement (both of which are relatively new), and the ever-present challenge from the so-called scholars or intellectuals. Our local leaders must deal with all three of them with ever-increasing frequency.”

Yikes. Enemies clearly identified. But perhaps rightly so; all these philosophies inherently call into question the binary thinking necessary to maintain the leaders’ absolute authority.

In the Book of Mormon, 2 Nephi 2 reveals a doctrinal basis for absolute belief in both the Garden of Eden and black-and-white thinking. Amid quite a bit of circular reasoning, Lehi recognizes the apparent existence of opposites, believing that a greater Oneness would imply that all things “must remain as dead.” In fact, while the linguistic process of explanation through negation allows us to identify opposites, these seemingly mutual exclusions imply a higher unity. This crown jewel of critical thought is known as polar thinking or dual-aspect monism. Just as one cannot have a positive magnetic pole without an accompanying negative pole, so are all our apparent paradoxes inseparable. 

The objective and subjective realms of science and spirituality are two fundamentally different epistemologies that describe approaches to the same universal experience. Allowing scriptural references to supersede geological evidence in the ability to describe the past is to cheapen both science and spirituality. Let's use scientific principles to acquire general knowledge of the universe, and spiritual experiences to aid in personal growth and development of a healthy self.

I’m extremely grateful for the excellent education I received from the BYU science departments. As I believe the goal should be for all university-level education, I learned how to suspend disbelief and think critically. They might have done too good a job, by our late friend Boyd and his buddies' standards.

Anger: From Apostles to Apostates

I recently posted this music video and accompanying Rolling Stone article, which resonated strongly with a part of myself I hadn’t fully explored yet. Tyler's music oozes with raw anger toward the church that we have felt so betrayed by. Instead of shrinking away, he embraces the pain stemming from the emotional manipulation and logical fallacies that are held as gospel truth within the dogmatic religious mindset, transforming it into hyperbolic artistic expression. It felt so vindicating to me. 

It's tempting to think that such over-the-top sacrilegious displays are not necessary, and that everyone should just do their own thing in peace. While this is a generally good practice in moderation, it leaves no room for anger, a fundamental human emotion that needs to be experienced in a healthy manner. The Church did a good job helping me understand the value of keeping anger in check, as impulsive anger can be harmful. However, they left out how important it is to recognize the benefits of the emotion. This effectively allowed me to alienate anger altogether; I didn’t think I ever really felt angry, nor did I think I should feel it.  

A forensic psychiatrist recently taught me, “anger cannot be created or destroyed.” If the anger isn’t being expressed outwardly, it tends to be directed inwardly with disastrous results. I can be extremely harsh on myself. Too harsh. Tyler emoted to me how art can be a wonderful medium to contain outward expressions of anger, and through the aesthetic experience I felt a spiritual link to Tyler and all those who have suffered at the hands of dogmatic religion.

In an interesting parallel, LDS apostle Jeffery Holland expressed some anger in a recent stake conference address in Arizona.  Although Handbook 2 Section 21.1.33 prohibits the recording of these local talks, it’s 2016, and if you don’t want what you say to be heard by the world, than you shouldn’t say it in a public setting. Besides, if you’re speaking the words of God, shouldn’t you want them to be recorded and studied by all? Then no one can twist your words! Perhaps this prohibition on spreading the Good Word is in the spirit of the “pearls before swine” thing. Well, despite the Church’s intentions, the whole world now has this pearl: 

“I am so furious with people who leave this church. I don’t know whether ‘furious’ is a good apostolic word. But I am. What on earth kind of conviction is that? What kind of patty-cake, taffy-pull experience is that? As if none of this ever mattered, as if nothing in our contemporary life mattered, as if this is all just supposed to be ‘just exactly the way I want it and answer every one of my questions and pursue this and occupy that and defy this – and then maybe I’ll be a Latter-Day Saint.’ Well, there’s too much Irish in me for that. This church means EVERYTHING to me. Everything." [emphasis mine]

I could have chosen to react emotionally and take offense to the condescending sentiment of this bizarre rant, or the delighted laughter of the audience. But I have recently discovered the value of anger, and if I can believe that my anger is justified, might Jeff’s anger be as well?

After all, the very notion of my “paddy-cake, taffy-pull” life is earth-shatteringly terrifying to him. The existence of millions like myself who find spiritual fulfillment after leaving the Church threatens the very core of his identity. His church’s dogma is “EVERYTHING” to him. Some critics may think the higher ups in the Church are intentionally deceptive in their public persona, but I’m not so sure about all of them. I believe, in his heart of hearts, Jeff truly thinks of himself as one who speaks the words of Jesus Christ. I was there with him at one point; I felt so deeply that he and his buddies were God’s chosen authority figures, and that what they taught was the truest of the true. Within that black-and-white mindset, it’s either all correct or completely false, and think of all he would he lose were he to discover his EVERYTHING was completely false!

I know firsthand that it’s a painful realization. In entertaining the thought that what I hoped to be true may be wrong, I suffered a blow to what psychiatrist Irvin Yallom describes as the most important defense mechanisms against raw death anxiety. These include the myth of personal specialness (e.g. I am a child of God and he really loves so he won’t give me more than I can handle)  and the myth of an ultimate rescuer (e.g. death isn’t really real because Jesus’ resurrection will save me). It makes sense that why Jeff and his millions of fans wouldn't want to face this; holding tightly to these protective defenses and transforming the underlying fear into anger is much easier than embracing reality.

In continuing through the pain, though, I have begun to understand that the world is not black and white. It is a lush spectrum of grays that has room for all I value, as well as the things that scare the shit out of me. The Church had persuaded me to believe my emotional and spiritual experiences were inseparable from their canned narrative. But my experiences are unique to my own inner world, and I can fully access these states of consciousness (and more) even without the Church’s framework of rituals and beliefs.

Thank you, Tyler, for helping me to embrace the anger I so desperately needed to integrate in order to progress toward psychological wholeness. And thank you, Jeff, for reminding me how far I’ve come.

φ

Our lives burn away as the enthalpy of day is lost in a slow sizzle

like the frost accosting his elaborate glow,

a sublime experience few may know that

even sunlight will fear

against all odds

his explosions

gods of an aesthetic moment, a flow sent 8 minutes later

only to be captured into a greater mess than the chaotic brew it left

a stew bereft of flavors that don’t contradict on the palette

but do waver, dew drops

into the pot from flower petals wrought

from shiny metals and opal arrogance,

the subtle flare against reason mocked by the mathematical paradox

a Pandora’s box into the golden spiral

rare but often viral, not uncommon

on any given comet water identical to the tonic fodder for your camaraderie

and warfare, all’s fair in love and hate

diametrically opposed to fate, suddenly exposed

a grayscale flailing catastrophe cast

as a trophy to be won

when clearly

it is

already

one.

Vines

The vines, once fettered for their wine and left to sleep like earthy twine awake

still

never resting, void of will and always testing out the soil

with no reverence for the toil the sunlight’s stare affords a royal drape

but not a grape was cultivated

thankless youth

the vineyard spoiled for want of truth beyond a garden’s weeded charm, the five alarm

fire seems awfully warm

to life left alone, in comes the swarm of wildness

pristine but never mild

necessarily a feral beast to meet me in a grove of trees

with pruning shears and grass-stained knees

apologies for past offences lost in memories of fences I had built

torn down and ravaged for my guilt

the savage kudzu overgrown until it’s good.

It’s all I’ve known.

Sonnet

Beyond the brink of failure’s shattered light

Awaits a paradox, a void of peace

Where hopes to see your ego’s worth increase

Bow out with grace, and lightly reek of spite.

A symphony can hardly carry on

As the esteemed conductor writhes in pain

And exultation for the notes contained

In songs he’ll never learn, his chance forgone.

Without a broken stanza to repair

Time flows forever floating just above.

Its silver eyes to peel life with its stare

And find us rotten to the core with love.

The bottom of it all can offer rest

If you suppose that you’re the honored guest.

Devil in the details

An epiphany, epitome of poetry, showing me
that life laughs when you think you've got a hold and see
the white flash that melts to moving gold from headlights
through the window by your childhood bed, nights
when whatever then was said now floating in the ether,
either loading on some cosmic cloud or caught between the teeth
of a monster starving for emotion, slowly carving out an ocean
in the sewers of forgotten dreams and neverminded notions.  I'm hoping
to lean back and listen one of these days, in ways
you might be missing if you're too involved with pissing
away your thought patterns, all tattered and torn
by the devil in the details, screaming as he flails and drowns
out the sound of perspicacious laughter life breathes into your sails.