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It’s like a grilled zucchini and banana sandwich. If you can’t understand why, then you just need to have more faith that it is and someday it will be clear to you.
I just finished reading a book about Charles Taylor’s book A Secular Age. One of his cautions that I think is really valuable is that the narrative around “faith crises” is one of attaining higher knowledge or progressing or “graduating” from religion – growing up, basically. He calls this a subtraction narrative, meaning that it’s the idea that if you subtract superstition and religious control you get reality. But he says that’s a really self-serving narrative, and one that doesn’t hold true for people over a lifetime from what he sees. People are still drawn to meaning and spirituality. He says they are “haunted” by a longing for meaning. They ditch a religious worldview, but don’t realize that the one they are choosing is also just a worldview, a theory, an idea of how things are. It’s just exchanging one authority (religious) for another (secular). I’m going to do a post on it–still in draft–maybe a series of posts. There’s a lot there to unbox.
Orson – Quote:I will forthrightly say “I believe in Santa” without hesitation.
Me, too. Deeply.
Hawkgrrl – Your paragraph intrigues me. Thanks for a teaser.
hawkgrrrl wrote:… Charles Taylor’s book A Secular Age. … the idea that if you subtract superstition and religious control you get reality. But he says that’s a really self-serving narrative, and one that doesn’t hold true for people over a lifetime from what he sees.
That sounds to me a lot like trading one paradigm of certainty for another. The way I see it true religious experience begins when we let go of our desire for certainty — take the leap of faith. …obviously not a “faith” that will lead to proclamations of certainty, but faith that the path of ambiguity is the road less traveled – the one that will make all the difference.
On Own Now wrote:– I think we need to realize that, though there is a lot of commonality, each of us experiences our FC/FT in different ways. For example, Always Thinking talked about betrayal of trust. That was a major factor in AT’s Faith Crisis and a common element for many. I can tell you that I have never felt that way. It was not a factor in my FC/FT. And in saying that, I don’t mean that there is anything wrong with feeling betrayed. I understand it and see it a lot… all I’m saying is that it didn’t have any impact on me. So, when AT proposed an analogy, it centered around that betrayal. My analogy, if I were to create one, would be very different.
– Along those lines, we all have a strong tendency to project our experience onto a huge screen that we think reflects universal truths. So, if I start talking about what a faith crisis is, or how a faith transition unfolds, I am only really qualified to talk about one person, and that, just barely.
I agree and I find myself wondering whether the real value in coming up with analogies is that it helps us unpack a radical change that we’ve undergone. There’s no one analogy that works for all cases but there’s the story we tell others, a story we tell ourselves, to help us make sense of it all.
Orson – Charles Taylor would, I believe, agree with what you said. He talked a lot about exchanging one closed loop belief system for another, and that this is a real issue because doubt & faith co-exist. Orson and Hawkgrrl – Having not read Charles Taylor’s work but just an observation from faith crisis that have happened close to me and to some degree mine, is that many people just moved across the street. When they were LDS believers they were devout, dedicated, vocal people. Then when the shift happened many of them took those same values and just walked to the other side of the road and are now using them towards the group they just left. Which makes me wonder if they will shift again. I also perceive ego being involved too. All my life people have left the church. My grandfather was the first one, but I never knew it until I was a late teen. I had always assumed he wasn’t a member. His feelings got hurt, he left church and never returned. He didn’t brood, broadcast, pontificate or discuss it. There were no secret efforts to convince us to abandon the religion. He just went about his life. Over the years I have seen that replayed by others. This causes me to wonder about faith crisis – are we really having a faith crisis or a life crisis? Did we define ourselves by our religion, when the definition slipped, so did our identity. Then we were hurt, shamed, and so on. It is that shame, hurt, blame that causes the war. I don’t know. Just conjectures or wonderments.
The farther I go on the road the less cut and dried things become.
nibbler wrote:On Own Now wrote:Along those lines, we all have a strong tendency to project our experience onto a huge screen that we think reflects universal truths. So, if I start talking about what a faith crisis is, or how a faith transition unfolds, I am only really qualified to talk about one person, and that, just barely.
I agree and I find myself wondering whether the real value in coming up with analogies is that it helps us unpack a radical change that we’ve undergone. There’s no one analogy that works for all cases but there’s the story we tell others, a story we tell ourselves, to help us make sense of it all.
That’s the conclusion I’m coming to as well. How I explain this to others is necessarily different, for many reasons. One reason, stated already, is that others mostly can’t understand unless they’ve been through it. Another, which is clear now that I look over this thread, is that these analogies are too easily perceived as threatening or demeaning.
I’ll carry on trying to understand myself with wild abandon, though. Here’s an analogy I came up with to try to explain (to myself of course) why going to Church is hard now: it’s like I’ve learned that my dad is actually dead, while all of my grown siblings insist that he’s alive and well. Going to Church is like going to a family reunion where they’ve propped up a life-sized cardboard cutout of our dad in the living room.
“Isn’t it great that Dad can be here with us?”
“Here, have a steak. It’s from Dad.”
“Why don’t you get Dad a drink? Just hold the bottle up to his lips and tip… yeah, like that.”
“Are you feeling okay? Well, of course you should. Dad’s here! You should spend some quality time with him before you go.”
I could immerse myself in the absurdity of it all, and eventually find a non-literal way to get something out of the experience, but I’m still coming to terms with the fact that he’s gone. I get no space or time to grieve. I have to pretend he’s alive and that I’m happy about it, because the last sibling who insisted that he was as three-dimensional as a slice of deli ham was invited to leave, permanently. Surely it’s not just me hurting and pretending, but how can I find out who the others are without outing myself?
Reuben wrote:Here’s an analogy I came up with to try to explain (to myself of course) why going to Church is hard now: it’s like I’ve learned that my dad is actually dead, while all of my grown siblings insist that he’s alive and well. Going to Church is like going to a family reunion where they’ve propped up a life-sized cardboard cutout of our dad in the living room.
“Isn’t it great that Dad can be here with us?”
“Here, have a steak. It’s from Dad.”
“Why don’t you get Dad a drink? Just hold the bottle up to his lips and tip… yeah, like that.”
“Are you feeling okay? Well, of course you should. Dad’s here! You should spend some quality time with him before you go.”
Love this analogy!
Reuben wrote:Or, does anybody want to take a crack at another one?
Reviving this old thread, but I’ve had this analogy running through my head since this whole thing started, and it’s how I explained my faith crisis/transition to my husband. It didn’t resonate as much with him but it works really well for me:
I’m in a museum. I arrive at large stained glass window- floor to ceiling in a beautiful mosaic with a hundred colors, depicting a nature scene-a jungle. It’s stunning.
The museum tour guide says to me, “This is the most beautiful thing we have here. This is truth.” I trust them because hey, they’re the tour guide, and the window is so stunning that they must be right- this is truth.
Some people could stand back and enjoy this window and be completely content.
Some walk away because they’re not interested in stained glass or nature scenes.
Some want to explain exactly how each piece fits together and prove that it’s the best stained glass window there is.
As I stand at the window, I look closer at a depiction of two giraffes, something doesn’t look quite right. I reach forward and touch the window- and the image falters- it’s only a projection, and I can see that just behind the image is the nature scene itself, alive and moving changing.
I’m stunned- I stood so long at what I thought was a window and I’m confused that what I’ve been staring at all along was not a window at all, but something constructed completely different. Why did the tour guide not say that the window wasn’t a window? Does he know?
I step back and try to look at it again, but it doesn’t feel the same. I can see the inconsistencies like the giraffes that don’t add up. Mad, hurt, irritated, confused, I almost walk away. But then I think, what if… there’s still truth? Behind the image?
So I step through.
In the jungle, I see the animals and plants depicted in the stained glass.
Some are so incredible that the stained glass could never have done them justice. Some look completely different- the birds are not the same breed, what I thought was a duck is actually a platypus.
I approach the 2 giraffes to find that they’re not giraffes at all- from another angle, they look like an elephant- is that even possible?
The whole scene is overwhelming- it would be so much easier to go back the way I came and find a different exhibit to look at. But I’m curious, and this jungle is beautiful.
It’s a little scary it disappointing at times, but in general it’s beautiful, and I like being here.
[IMG]https://uploads.tapatalk-cdn.com/20180109/bb6d0928340200514d0d42d348e3198c.jpg [/IMG] Sent from my SM-G950U using Tapatalk
Quote:In social psychology, ‘’’Shattered Assumptions Theory’’’ proposes that the experiencing of traumatic events can change how one views themselves and the world. Specifically, the theory–developed by Ronnie Janoff-Bulman in 1992–concerns the effect that negative events have on three inherent assumptions:
overall benevolence of the world, meaningfulness of the world, and self worthiness. These assumptions act as schemas to constitute our “assumptive world”, defined as “a strongly held set of assumptions about the world and the self which is confidently maintained and used as a means of recognizing, planning, and acting” by M. Parkes. Janoff-Bulman emphasized the assumptive world as an abstract yet accessible set of ideas, whilst being unarticulated. Roy wrote:
Most people that have happy childhoods tend to have these 3 assumptions to some extent. The parents of these kids are successful in establishing secure homes of purpose, stability, and worth. The world is just, the world has purpose, and I matter.
My Faith Transition was a consequence of this “Shattered Assumptions Theory”. The first part was when our family, responsibilities, and hormones hit critical mass and I wound up dealing with anxiety as a more permanent house guest then previously. I felt “broken”, “incompetant”, and “over my head”. I talked to people, talked to counselors, got medicine from doctors, and made positive lifestyle choices, so eventually things got better. And then… circumstances changed and enlightenment occured when I realized that I could add an Asperger’s Autism to my dossiere.
By Adding this description to my narrative, I started a General Identity Transition, which bred a Faith Transition. I learned that the world is not as just as I thought it was, the purposes of the world are pretty baffling (and I am allowed to admit that to myself and include in my narrative), and I matter (only because I am good enough at masking how different I really am, working hard, working smart and finding my niche well enough to survive).
NOTE: All 3 principles are still in flux – sometimes hourly. I was blessed with parents that taught me how to do my part to matter out in the world, and to believe that I matter no matter what.Roy wrote:
The good news is that the church can be a beautiful place for a childhood where these assumptions are intertwined and given extra weight with church doctrine. God is our father that loves us and protects us. We are His children and as such are inherently worthy or of divine origin. He has designed this world as a sort of learning exercise to bring us to our full potential. God rules this world in justice. Those that are righteous will be rewarded/blessed. Those that are wicked will be punished. If I follow the rules and am obedient, I will be loved, protected, rewarded, blessed, and ultimately exalted.
Right now, the verdict is still out for most of those things. Individual mileage will vary.
Roy wrote:
Some people’s lives play out in such a way that these assumptions hold true throughout. Things go more or less as planned and they are comforted and feel security in these assumptions. Unfortunately, sometimes something traumatic happens that shatters these assumptions and leaves the survivors broken and bewildered.
What is funny is that my family’s reverse trek is held up as a “success story” where God’s hand was visible to us, and we grew greatly. In the last 3 years I have learned to plan less, and enjoy comfort/security as it comes a long (which is the opposite of what it theoretically is supposed to look like).
BeJoyful – That was quite good. It almost seemed like “and then the alarm clock woke me” 
I don’t know if I have an analogy per se, but this is kind of what it has been like to me, in a nutshell: It’s as if everything I’ve ever known suddenly feels foreign to me. It’s almost like you got hit by the tower of babel effect, but you still speak the same language. Like you know what they’re saying, but it doesn’t make sense anymore. Or maybe it’s a bit like a computer screen. When you first see it, you see whole pixels rather than the red, green, and blue subpixels. Suppose you’ve been raised and conditioned to believe that the white pixels truly are white and that yellow is yellow, etc… Then one day, a bit of your spit lands on the screen and you notice there is a rainbow effect. You show it to your friends who simply write it off as “oh yeah, the water droplet just acts like a prism.” The average “true believer” would probably be satisfied with this answer and perhaps you even write it off. But then one day, a water droplet lands on a flashlight and you realize, “why does this make the rainbow on my computer screen, but not a flashlight? They’re both white.” You ask around and most people just kind of shrug it off. This bothers you. So you decide to look at the monitor with a magnifying glass and are then able to see the subpixels. Your entire worldview has shattered. You can’t go back to believing in a single magical pixel, yet nobody else seems willing to accept the idea. You go to conferences and hear people talking about the magically changing pixels and it just drives you bonkers. I mean, they’re still correct in a sense, but you know the truth behind it.
Of course, most TBMs would find that idea offensive and would not want to be labeled as naive and dogmatic, but let’s be real here, many of us here feel that is the case.
Beefster wrote:
I don’t know if I have an analogy per se, but this is kind of what it has been like to me, in a nutshell: It’s as if everything I’ve ever known suddenly feels foreign to me. It’s almost like you got hit by the tower of babel effect, but you still speak the same language. Like you know what they’re saying, but it doesn’t make sense anymore.
Yup. And when you bring up the idea to others of what you might be experiencing – you are told to a) pray more, b) read your scriptures more, c) stop making it about you and that you “want” to break the commandments, and d) looked at suspiciously and with fear – what is she going to believe/do next…
It is very lonely at times rebuilding my faith house plank by plank while pretending that the original house is still standing all shiny and bright. There are still parts that are shiny and bright though – and I don’t know which planks I will be replacing until I see it needs to be done.
I am striving not to “contaminate” others with my beliefs while going slowly and charitably. I trust that if I really need to know something, God will inspire someone to tell me, and other than that – part of the mortal process is the struggle of figuring it out for yourself. God helped Nephi build a boat in the Book of Mormon by giving him general directions and starting points – Nephi still had to build the boat slab by slab, and make the tools to shape the slabs first.
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