11 years ago, at the ripe old age of 20, I exited a fundamentalist Mormon cult…
And what a wild ride it has been.
This is chapter 1 of a 6 part series that maps my journey from cult kid to ethical culture.
But before we embark on this odyssey together, we need to lay down an important frame from philosopher (and potentially problematic guru) Mark Gafni about the three primary levels of consciousness through which we experience our lives:
Pre-tragic [stage 1]: Life is good. Life makes sense. Life is reasonable. Pain occurs, but it is not tragic, as our stories and frameworks (religion, science, psychology) create tidy explanations for it.
Tragic [stage 2]: Life is brutal. Life is confusing. Life is meaningless. Our stories and frameworks for holding reality are broken, our old map of the territory is useless, and we often fall into nihilism and despair. We may continue to be high achievers, but our mechanism for experiencing joy seems to be broken.
Post-tragic [stage 3]: Life is beautiful. Life is paradox. Life is meaningful. We reconnect to the core aliveness of reality and participate in the joy of life once again. We deepen into emotional maturity and wisdom, holding more complexity and surrendering to life.
“You shall be free indeed when your days are not without a care nor your nights without a want and a grief,
But rather when these things girdle your life and yet you rise above them naked and unbound.”
Khalil Gibran, The Prophet
My story, like all heroes journeys, begins in the pre-tragic.
Meaning 1.0
I was born in 1992 in Colorado City, AZ to a loving family of fundamentalist Mormons.
When I say fundamentalist, I mostly mean polygamists, since that’s the main distinction that forked our cult from the mainstream LDS church.
My father’s legacy was a virile one, and I land squarely at #18 of 24 children.
Two dozen children might sound like something from a hen-house rather than a house-house, but this is honestly child’s play for my home town. For example, one of my grandfathers had 16 wives and 60+ children, and his family was certainly not the biggest around.
Needless to say, being cousins where I come from means fuck-all, with literally thousands of us springing forth from the loins of just my two grandfathers.
Unfortunately, this also means its a bit of a cousin fuck-all. Cousin marriages are fairly normalized these days, and hilariously, I even lost my virginity to one of my 1000+ cousins.
I laugh about it now… to keep from crying.
All jokes aside, growing up in a big family in Colorado City in the 90’s was mostly awesome. My early years were spent running around the seemingly endless garden we “crickers” longingly call, you guessed it, “the crick.” Plenty of mature cottonwood giants to climb, miles of dirt roads to bike, and my very own range of sandstone cathedrals to explore.
I was in awe of the beautiful desert garden all around me.
I belonged to my hometown mountains, my large loving family, and to our greater community at large. There were a few thousand of us living in camaraderie and relative consensus about the nature of reality, God, and the meaning of life.
We all believed the same story.
To use the terminology of Jaime Wheal, author and founder of The Flow Genome Project, I will call this story “Meaning 1.0.”
Meaning 1.0 can be thought of as any institutionalized structure that provides a map of reality, a foundational story of value, and a community to belong to. It traditionally shows up as an organized religion, but many different configurations occur.
The benefits of Meaning 1.0 include a clear direction in one’s life, inclusion in an in-group (community), and a set of doctrines and scriptures that contain the totality of “The Truth.”
The downsides of Meaning 1.0 include conformity, problematic hierarchies, and the madness of crowds (group think, witch burning, echo-chambering, etc).
If you want a deeper dive, Jaime lays this framing out in eloquent detail in his book, Recapture the Rapture - Rethinking God, Sex and Death in a World That's Lost its Mind, but here is the simplest version I could muster:
My Meaning 1.0 Equation
SACRIFICE x FAITH x GRACE = SALVATION
Colorado City & Centennial Park
Colorado City was founded in the early 20th century by fundamentalist Mormons seeking to practice plural marriage (polygamy).
The founders claimed to be keeping “The True Gospel” alive by sticking to the original teachings of Joseph Smith, the founder of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
Theocracy is a form of government in which one or more deities are recognized as supreme ruling authorities, giving divine guidance to human intermediaries who manage the government's daily affairs.
Colorado City functioned as a Theocracy, and was unified under one banner until the late 80’s, when a power dispute fractured the religion (and town) into two groups. The smaller group split off and migrated next door to Centennial Park, founding a new Theocracy called “The Work.”
This was the cult I was raised in.
The larger cult of fundamentalists remained in Colorado City and would later be ravaged by the reign of Warren Jeffs.
As their leader, Jeffs manipulated religious beliefs for personal gain, sexually abused minors, and exercised authoritarian control over the community. He also “took” no less than 70 wives.
His rule had a horrific impact on the people of Colorado City, leading to the fracturing of families, the extraction of all forms of capital, and widespread suffering and abuse.
Since Jeffs arrest in 2006 however, Colorado City has been transforming and seems to be doing its best to move on from it’s culty-cult past.
Centennial Park on the other hand, is still going strong.
Clearly the “The Work” still needs doin.
Why is it called “The Work” you might ask?
Well, lets take a little trip down memory lane and tease apart the axiomatic claims of this philosophy and worldview. After all, I studied this shit almost exclusively for like 20 years… I should be able to remember the gist of it.
The Work [In 10 Verses]
Important Caveat:
Behold, this account is of mine own making, and representeth not the collective voice of Centennial Park.
Yet verily, despite my jests and light manner of speaking, I testify that these ten axioms do truthfully depict the philosophy of "The Work" wherein I was nurtured from my youth. I am willing, yea, even eager, to engage in faithful discourse with any soul from Centennial Park who disputeth these claims or desireth to present "The Work" in a more favorable light.
Now, let the opportunity be seized to declare the Gospel with sincerity. Come, let us reason together on my podcast. Truly, let us converse.
Thou art indeed a child of God (separate from Him), and thy spirit was valiant in the great war in the heavens before the foundation of the earth was laid. Thou didst align with the Son of God, even Jesus Christ, and didst champion the cause of righteousness and the freedom to choose, battling against Lucifer and his host of (deterministic) devils.
And behold, those who rebelled were cast down to hell with the adversary, and those who remained neutral, taking no side in the conflict, were marked with a curse, even that their skin should be black. Yea, and I remain confounded as to why those who did abstain were thus cursed… and why black skin is beheld as unseemly. (Racism maybe?)
And it came to pass that after this great war, thy spirit descended from the heavens and was clothed with flesh, yea, even a body tainted by sin, to dwell in mortality, a period of probation. Herein thou art to prove thy worthiness to inherit the Celestial Kingdom, the most exalted of the three degrees of heavenly glory, wherein there dwelleth none with the curse of black skin. (Did I mention racist?)
And Jesus, who is our elder brother, did offer Himself as a perfect sacrifice, shedding His blood to atone for the sins of the world, thus fulfilling the will of the Father, who seemeth to require such human sacrifices from time to time. And by His life and His death, Jesus hath shown the path, even The Gospel, by which we might also rise from death and live eternally in the presence of God in the Celestial Kingdom.
And verily, it came to pass that after the martyrdom of Christ, the church which He had established among men fell into apostasy; the truths once clear became corrupted, and the unwashed hosts of the Earth became increasingly wicked and unseemly.
In the fulness of time, Joseph Smith, a farm lad of humble beginnings, was called as a prophet. By the gift and power of God (and a rock in a hat), he did translate the Book of Mormon, a record of the peoples of the ancient Americas. He did practice polygamy, taking unto himself some forty wives, and did restore the fullness of the gospel of Jesus Christ, even restoring the holy Priesthood to the earth, which had been lost for nigh eighteen centuries.
This Priesthood, being the authority to act in the name of God, is inherently patriarchal and may only be conferred upon men, yea, those men who are not of black descent. Thus, the sexism and racism inherent in this divine order is made manifest.
And it came to pass that Joseph Smith was martyred, and the one true church fell once more into corruption. Therefore, the Priesthood were compelled to go underground and hide up the true authority of God, to preserve the full practice of the Gospel, particularly that of plural marriage. Thus, the authority that Joseph restored has been passed from one white man to another, by the laying on of liver-spotted hands, a continuous line unbroken by death or deceit, preserved unto this day among the faithful in Centennial Park, Arizona, a small remnant amidst the teeming masses of the earth. (<0.01%)
And now, behold thy quest is laid before thee: do THE WORK of the Lord. This work doth entail being faithful unto the commands of the Lord, receiving baptism by one having authority, heeding the counsel of the Priesthood, paying a full tithe unto the church, attending all meetings as required, refraining from romantic entanglements until a marriage is appointed unto thee, maintaining a clean-shaven face, covering thy body modestly at all times, wearing the sacred garments provided for thy protection, and abstaining from all impure practices (masturbation).
If thou shalt be diligent in these duties, thou shalt indeed be blessed with resurrection, an innumerable posterity in the worlds to come, and eternal joy in the presence of thy God. But beware, shouldst thou shirk these sacred duties, thou shalt be cast out into outer darkness, where there is weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth, a state so dire that it is beyond all description, save that it is exceedingly dark.
My Faith Crisis
In my cult we had a saying:
“If you have doubts or concerns about The Gospel, put it on the shelf and pray about it. God will answer your prayers (eventually) and your doubts will be put to rest.”
Maybe the problem was my prayers. I stopped praying regularly to my Mormon “Father in Heaven” when I was a teenager. When I asked for answers to my doubts, I got crickets… further adding to my doubts.
Or maybe the problem was my shelving situation. I should have gotten some of those thicc Costco shelves like the ones Costco members get. You know, the ones who struggle to find extra space for all their new Costco-stuff. So they make the executive decision to park the cars under a car port they bought at Costco and convert the garage into their own little Costco warehouse. This new makeshift warehouse would be filled to the brim with Costco treasures: towering stacks of bulk toilet paper and paper towels, rows of oversized laundry detergent and fabric softener jugs, crates of canned goods from beans to tomatoes, 4 1/2 giant bags of dog food, an array of office supplies like printer paper and pens in bulk packs, an assortment of snack boxes containing granola bars and mixed nuts, a small mountain of bottled waters and various soft drinks, several large drums of cooking oil, and a stash of emergency supplies including batteries, flashlights, and more batteries.
Instead of reinforced steel bomb-proof shelves holding up my worldview (like the Costco ones that the boomers got), I had some bullshit rink-a-dink thing that easily buckled under the weight of my curiosity.
Rather than a straw, it was more like a pallet of bricks that “broke the camels back” (to mix metaphors). This pallet was delivered for free, courtesy of Jeremy Runnels and the internet.
Jeremy wrote The CES Letter - My Search for Answers to My Mormon Doubts in 2014, and somehow one of my best friends found it on Reddit that same year. After a heated and emotional discussion, I conceded to read the letter and see for myself what it was all about.
I think I only made it through 10 (of 138) pages before I found myself in full faith crisis, shelf-less, naked, and afraid.
If you’re still nurturing a testimony of Joseph Smith as a prophet, I’ll leave it up to your discernment.
I’m not here to force my views on anyone and certainly nobody can swallow that “red pill” for you.
It’s not too late to unfollow my Substack, put the blinders on, and cling onto that pre-tragic testimony for dear life.
For those curious and a bit unsatisfied with their shelving situation, I recommend that you read the CES Letter yourself.
But maybe I’ll just briefly cherry pick my top 5 highlights from the document that broke the camels back… err shelf…
Top 5 Mormon Elves on My Shelves
Yes I am still shamelessly rolling with the shelf metaphor. Buckle up.
Human Migration & DNA
The BoM tells us that the family of Lehi left Jerusalem some 2600 years ago, traversed the Atlantic Ocean with some magical GPS (Liahona), and populated the Americas with (eventually) millions of descendants. Since Joseph Smith’s day however, we have mapped the world, mapped the human genome, and got a pretty solid understanding of the migration paths of our distant ancestors. Based on the traces left in our DNA, we can actually see where we have come from. If the BoM is an accurate telling of the peopling of the Americas, then at least SOME of the DNA of Native Americans should carry a middle eastern signature (Jerusalem). Unfortunately it doesn’t, because we didn’t sail across the Atlantic until 1492 (Columbus), and Lehi and his kin never actually existed.Anachronisms & Other Archeological Ghosts
An anachronism is something that is not in its correct historical or chronological time. The BoM contains a mighty host of these historical ghosts, including horses, chariots, elephants, steel, wheat, barley, and many more. These anachronisms simply didn’t exist in the Americas until European contact, roughly 2000 - 3000 years after the BoM suggests. Perhaps God hid up all the evidence to test your faith? You know, all the horse skeletons, spear tips, teeth, city ruins (Zarahemla), the remains of millions of people, traces of ancient Hebrew or Egyptian languages, smelted iron and copper tools and weapons, and abundant evidence of large-scale battlefields scattered with armor and bones.Book of Abraham
The “source” for the Book of Abraham was some Egyptian papyri that Joseph Smith acquired in 1835. At the time, nobody around could read Egyptian, so Joseph fired up his prophet powers and “translated” the papyri. Out came the Book of Abraham, which is still considered an inspired text in the Mormon cannon today. The problem is, we have since found the Rosetta stone, cracked the Egyptian language, and have translated the exact papyri in question. Turns out the Book of Abraham isn’t about Abraham at all (written in his own hand or otherwise). The papyri are simply funerary texts for a standard Egyptian burial. Oops.Problematic Translations
The BoM quotes the Bible… a lot. In fact, about 30% of the Book of Isaiah from the King James Bible is included within the pages of the BoM. This is totally fine if you believe the BoM is an inspired “download” and God is revealing the same truth in multiple cult-starting books. Buuuuut there’s a small problem. The first edition of the BoM includes 170 translation errors that are unique to the 1769 edition of the King James Bible… and you guessed it…. the 1979 edition of the KJB was the one that Joseph Smith had in his possession. In other words:
“ctrl + c, ctrl + v”Rock in a Hat
I grew up on the story of Joseph Smith translating the BoM from the golden plates he had discovered in the Hill Cumora, guided by the spirit of Moroni, the last of the ancient authors of the BoM. Unfortunately, Joseph never actually translated off of the plates. In fact, there’s no hard evidence that the plates existed at all, unless you consider seeing them with your “spiritual eye” as hard evidence. Instead of translating from golden plates, Joseph put a rock in a hat, put his face in the hat, and the rest is Mormon history.
A rock in a hat.
A. Rock. In. A. Hat.
AROCKINAHAT
Before I wrap up this chapter of the saga, I’ll leave you with my own little Mormon story, courtesy of Chat GPT and a far too much of my attention.
A Tale of Two Prophets
In a land of tall hats and tales even taller,
Where truths twist and turn for the almighty dollar,
Lived a crafty Joe Smith, with a grin and a scheme,
Spinning gold from thin air in a con artist's dream.
While out seeking treasure, he thought of the lark,
"Let's make up a scripture," he mused in the dark.
With plates of pure gold, or so he would claim,
A story of forefathers, Mormon by name.
He squinted in hats, no gold to be seen,
Translating through stones, a sight quite obscene.
"He's speaking to angels!" some folks would cheer,
While others just chuckled, clutching their beer.
"A book!" cried out Joseph, "with stories so bold,
Of Nephites and Lamanites and prophets of old.
But ah, the translations were tricky, you see,
With errors and blunders, as clear as could be
The Book of Mormon, a marvelous tale,
With horses and steel where history would fail.
Anachronisms galore, yet followers came,
Enthralled by the story, engulfed by the flame.
As Joe’s book took off, his ideas grew more wild,
”Embrace Polygamy” he said, “Its God’s style!”
“Why stop at one, when many can thrive?”
Joe declared with a wink, “Keep lovin alive!”
”Multiple wives for each man,” he'd assert,
”But extra for me, I’m a bit of a flirt!”
Thus husbands collected wives two, three, or ten,
A celestial marriage again and again.
Now fast-forward time to a creep named Jeffs,
In Colorado City, where they put faith to tests.
He took ol’ Joe's plan to a sinister level,
His rule more akin to a deal with the devil.
Warren Jeffs led with a tyrant’s fist,
Abuses and traumas, too long to list.
The town split in two, because of old men.
A community broken, beginning the end.
From Joseph to Warren, the path was quite clear,
What started as faith, was now ruled by fear.
In the shadow of plates that were never to be,
Stood a history marked by stark tyranny.
My story begins in a cult called "The Work,"
With a testimony that I just couldn’t shirk.
But something arrived when I turned twenty,
Crushing my shelf and leaving me empty.
The CES Letter, a picture to paint,
The fraudulent history of latter day saints.
Pages turned slowly, doubts starting to swell,
The tales I had cherished, now breaking their spell.
From pre-tragic comfort, where all seemed to align,
To tragic awareness, where truths intertwine.
The garden of faith, once lush and so grand,
Now a desert of questions, stark and unplanned.
"The Work," once my haven, now walls closing in,
My heroes journey was about to begin.
Out from the Platonic cave of my youth,
I left my homeland in search of the truth.
A new map to draft, as the old one had torn,
From the ashes of faith, a new man was born.
Out of the church and into the bars,
Beginning a quest to find my North Star.
So let's tip our hats to tales tall and wide,
From golden plates hidden to brides multiplied.
With stone and hat, plus a story well spun,
The Mormon’s history is second to none!
Stay tuned for chapter 2.
Christian