I wish to tell my own personal story about why I hate Christian fundamentalism. My experiences are similar to those of thousands of other people’s, and I want to add mine to the online collection of accounts of religious oppression. Oppression of the mind.
There might be a gene for it. My paternal grandfather was a religious fanatic who spent his time and money on fundamentalist preaching, to the neglect of his family. He left on a preaching tour while his son, my father, lay dying in bed from an infection, from which he recovered. When my grandfather died, he left his biological family $1. His church parasites got the rest and spent it on luxuries.
When I was in junior high and high school, I was a devotee of Garner Ted Armstrong, a slick radio preacher whose every word I considered to be direct from God. I was even ready to, as soon as legally possible or sooner, join his church. His religion was a strange mutation of Identity Christianity, that is, the British and Americans were direct descendants of the patriarch Joseph and, as such, deserved world rulership. Many white-supremacist churches today believe that God wants them to have their guns ready to maintain white oppression, but Armstrong just said the problems of the world are too big for humans to solve, and that Jesus would come back and set things right, with white people ruling the world. I never realized the racist content of his message, since he never said “white” but just “Joseph.”
Part of the power of Armstrong’s influence upon me came from the fact that I first learned about the perils of the world from his radio shows—for example, famine and overpopulation; pollution; the threat of nuclear war. He said he and he alone knew the answer to these problems: God would solve them, not gradually, but in one big apocalyptic event.
Because
of my devotion, I was blind to Armstrong’s immorality. One day, when I started
to listen to his program—on which I took extensive minuscule notes—his father (Herbert
W. Armstrong) was on the radio, giving Bible-centered fundamentalist sermon
reruns. I found out later it was because Garner Ted had run off with a woman.
Later the world found out that he had been systematically sleeping with girls
from one of his Ambassador colleges, as described in In Bed with Garner Ted.
Those young women, and his thousands of little donors, paid a much higher price
than I did.
The
reason I left the Armstrongs’s church was that I fell into another
fundamentalist cult, the Church of Christ. They actually convinced me that they
alone had the correct interpretation of the Bible. They had whole books and
sermons about how “The Lord’s Supper” (communion or eucharist) was to feature
just one cup, not multiple cups, of grape juice, not wine. The only way I could
consider such a trivial point to be important is that they had complete control
over my mind. This continued through my undergraduate days. Because I thought
that it would be wrong for me to marry any woman who was not a member of our
little branch of the Church of Christ (even other Churches of Christ were
off-limits to “fellowship”), my social life was truncated into a frustrated
loneliness. I drove fifty miles each way each Sunday to attend the one and only
correct Church of Christ in my part of the world, ignoring the one right down
the highway from me. They controlled my life. I remember how awful I felt when,
even when I was in high school, the local preacher had denounced me as a
dangerously wrong person when I taught a different interpretation of scripture
than he did. I was seriously depressed from it. Gee, thanks, Brother Bob
Sanders. One of the congregations to which I was devoted eventually closed, but
was taken over by another openly oppressive fundamentalist church, this time
Baptist.
Eventually, when I went to graduate school, I found I could not maintain this link. It was an emotionally wrenching experience when I tore away from my roots in that church. But, of course, I promptly fell into a new fundamentalist spiderweb: the creationists. My link with creationism had begun in my undergraduate days. As a biology major, I developed the intricate skill of believing the science that I agreed with and rejecting the rest, not realizing I was being dishonest.
After I began to learn scientific and careful thinking in graduate school, I questioned the creationists. I taught a church class about creation and evolution, which was basically a theistic evolution approach. Two old men, fierce creationists both, arranged to have me put on trial by the church leadership. I was not allowed to speak in my own defense. I found out later it was because the trial was just meant to let the old men blow off steam. But once again, it was an emotionally battering experience. Gee, thanks, Marlyn Clark.
Then I fell into the web of Christian colleges. My first two faculty jobs were at so-called Christian colleges. I was unspeakably inspired to be teaching students about science, not in opposition to but enriched by Christian views. This included environmental issues, about which I believed Christians should care. But, as I learned from these two jobs, a Christian college was just an excuse to pretend to have intellectual honesty. At the first college, The King’s College, factions of the faculty spent most of their time disputing with one another over college politics. Later, after I was gone, they chose a president (Dinesh D’Souza) whose only qualification for his job was that he hated Democrats and could write convincing lies against them. He would (and continues to) just make stuff up. The only thing that got him fired was when he had an extramarital affair. But even this King’s College experience did not disturb my idealism about Christian Higher Education.
The second college was Huntington College. Here, the pervasive assumption was that Christianity consisted of obedience to the Republican Party. This was at the time when Huntington native Dan Quayle was vice president. Since I taught environmental issues, which Dan Quayle considered to be leftist propaganda, I was in a precarious position. When I became the victim of secret political maneuvering, I was extremely upset and depressed for about two years. This time, I wanted to write a book about The Reality of a Christian College, an antidote to the widely read The Idea of a Christian College and to the hypocritical books written by Huntington president Eugene Habecker. I wanted to describe Christian Higher Education as corrupt while pretending to not be. It did not occur to me that nobody, including me, would want to read such a book.
The agony I experienced from these two jobs considerably lessened my ability to enjoy my beautiful daughter as she grew up from ages one to seven. I played the role of responsible father, but I could not experience the full delight of being her father, a delight I have thankfully recovered by enjoying my granddaughter at these ages. What joy I missed the first time around!
After these experiences, which lasted about 23 years, I settled into a calmer, more generalized Christianity. I could finally enjoy religion and life. All of the previous links, from Armstrong to Huntington, were dead to me.
But
I eventually realized that even good religion was not worth the effort. For the
last sixteen years, I have not been associated with a church. This, plus my
rejection of popular entertainment such as cable TV and movies, has left me
with an enormous amount of time to think about, write about, and enjoy the
world of science. I had to wait until I was almost 50 years old before I could
inhale the breath of freedom found in agnosticism. I now know that if there is
a God, this God is a spirit of love, rather than a dictator of doctrines. My
message to the world, in this blog and in many books, is not to hate religion
but to hate its oppressive forms and seek inspiration directly from the natural
and scientific world. I still read, and love, the sayings of Jesus, for
example, without stressing out about the correct literal interpretation.
