I was an LDS missionary in the late 80s, spending two years of my life to promote superstition, magical thinking, and (worst of all) faith. The whole thing embarrasses me acutely now. I sometimes try and excuse myself; I was under the influence of well-meaning family and friends, born into a religious system that valued its own perpetuation. However, I’m pleased to say that out of all the people I taught and baptised, none is active.
Except one family. I remember them especially because of the numerous discussions we had. As a missionary, I always felt a bit paternal toward people I taught. I tried to explain things to them, convince them of church doctrine, and persuade them to accept, one by one, an ever-increasing cycle of commitments. The trick of this, I realise now, was that, once the investigator is more and more heavily invested in the Mormon Church with time, effort, and money, the more the sunk cost fallacy takes over and the harder it is for investigators to extricate themselves. You don’t believe in the Church? Then why are you doing all these things? And if they don’t get out, on the cycle goes.
I’d seen this family around church over the years, but just the other day I ran into the mom at the shopping centre. We chatted, and she asked how I was going with church. So I explained that I was no longer a member, and that I didn’t do religion anymore.
Some people have taken this with some equanimity, but not her. She was shaken. “Why not?” she asked.
Ordinarily, I’d tell someone the usual: I’d thought the whole thing was true, but eventually I realised the evidence for God wasn’t there; that science does a much better job of getting at reality; that if you have faith in something it makes you less able to think critically about it, et cetera, et cetera. But I realised that I couldn’t give my usual spiel in this situation. The roles we’d played for each other were too different. See, her main memory of me was the guy who sat in her house representing the LDS Church, convincing her to spend hours of her life in the service of this group. Now I was bailing, and she was still there. And something in her tone suggested to me that she was not too happy about that. Some people really seem to enjoy being Mormons; somehow she gave the opposite impression. But how would she ever pull the ejector seat? Could I now be the anti-missionary, or would that make me seem completely evil? The whole Mormon image-conscious bullshit thing was doing a number on my head once again.
A funny thing: I didn’t sugar-coat the facts about the Church being wrong, but I didn’t argue tooth and nail either. I wonder why I held back. Maybe I’m sick of being The Evangelist. Evangelism’s for fools. And she hadn’t asked for me to change her religion that day, just as she hadn’t asked me to change it all those years ago. Had I interfered enough? On the other hand, I cared about this person as we argued about religion there in the shopping centre. I regretted the monstrous waste of her time that I was directly responsible for. If I could start her on a process of fact-hunting, maybe she could eventually get free of an organisation that she didn’t enjoy promulgating. Or would that just put her at loggerheads with her Mormon (and in some cases RM) family? Was I proffering freedom, or conflict? What do you do?
What I did was this: I told her about my experience of leaving the LDS Church, and how worthwhile it’s been. I gave my reasons plainly. And when she tried turning the tables and invited me to a church activity, I did what she should have done all those years ago: I politely declined.
There was one thing I didn’t say that I wish I had. All those years ago, when she looked up to me as a spiritual example, it was because I said what I believed, and told the truth insofar as I knew it. And that’s what I’m still doing now. There was no reason for her to think less of me, or me of myself. Quite the contrary.
But ever since that chance meeting in the shopping centre, I have had this inescapable impression: that out of all the rotten, evil, terrible actions in my life (not that there are all that many), serving a mission for the Mormon Church was by far the worst thing I have ever done. Not only did I waste part of my life in furthering ignorance, I wasted other people’s lives too.
26 December 2008 at 5:55 pm
I think that the key to your final realisation lies in your insightful comment: “And she hadn’t asked for me to change her religion that day, just as she hadn’t asked me to change it all those years ago.”
I think that trying to convince someone that they should think or act in a certain way is probably best avoided on the grounds that it is rare that we really know what is good for someone. Heck, it’s hard enough knowing what’s good for oneself most of the time. Evangelism – either for religion or atheism – requires a level of arrogance and paternalism which assumes a superior knowledge of a person, their context and their needs. Some people genuinely benefit from being involved in religious groups, others cannot cope with the perceived nihilism that a lack of God implies. Best just to get on with one’s own life as best as one can I guess.
26 December 2008 at 11:00 pm
There’s a special kind of arrogance in the ‘universalising‘ religions — the ones that think everyone needs to join them. They know what’s right for absolutely every human because god herself created their wonderful moral code. Imagine hopping someone up on that, and then turning them loose to convert the world.
Best to leave people alone. But having been the missionary in this situation complicates things. I interfered once, and interfering again could be read as ‘putting it right’. But I suppose things are different now.
5 October 2009 at 4:49 pm
I thought I'd have a read of your bloggernacle and have now been up way too late, before I go I thought I'd add a little something to this thread.
I would have been about 10 years old I suppose, when you were a missionary visiting my family. You were highly entertaining for me and siblings (I mean that in a non-sarcastic way). Looking back now I can say that I feel that there was no harm done. As you say, you were doing what you thought was right, and it was a nice message.
Then you were my Institute teacher for a while and I loved your classes because you had lots of interesting ideas about what we were studying and you got me thinking instead of just ingesting.
And here I am 30 years old and newly deconverted. I'm not exactly sure what I'm trying to say. I'm glad I knew you all those years ago and I'm glad I have found your blog today. I'm sure that your sincerity and kindness were evident to the mother you ran into at the shops just as much at this recent mtg as when you were a missionary. Surely that's all anybody can ask of a person ,honesty.
I'll read more tomorrow, I really must sleep zzzzzzz
6 October 2009 at 5:51 am
Hello, Maureen.
Well, I must say a hearty congratulations on your deconversion! I'm very pleased.
I do remember visiting your family all those years ago — thanks for the absolution. People don't usually mean to be wrong or promote silly ideas, but they sometimes do.
In retrospect, encouraging people to think in Institute was not likely to promote the kind of outcome the organisation might have wanted. Let that be a warning to anyone who wants to stay active in their religion: Don't think.
Please keep commenting from time to time. Glad you're here.
16 October 2009 at 4:04 pm
he he he (blush).. Toby informed me of the meaning of Bloggernacle! and here I was thinking that I was getting my head around all this computer jargon.
and I think my ignorance resulted in an unintended insult being hit your way so sorry about that.
Toby said not to worry about it and that you probably thought I was trying to make a funny 😉
18 October 2009 at 5:21 am
Oh, but I do have a bloggernacle.
I also haz an Internets.