On the Box: The Trouble With Knowing

Mormons grow up subconsciously absorbing the vast difference between "knowing" something and "believing" something. We Mormons, by and large, never say we believe something. Mormons KNOW. Even before we know what the word means, every child's testimony goes pretty much like this: "I'd like to bare my testimony: I know this church is true. I know that Joseph Smith was a prophet. I know the Book of Mormon is true. I know that the Bible is true." To know is a very powerful thing. That power can be well-meaning or it can be divisive and destructive.

Words have far-reaching effects and implications. Language creates culture. It positions us against others. It aligns us with others. The cultural impacts of language have been studied by myriad linguists and anthropologists. For example, "English speakers tend to say things like 'John broke the vase' even for accidents. Speakers of Spanish or Japanese would be more likely to say 'the vase broke itself.' Such differences between languages have profound consequences for how their speakers understand events, construct notions of causality and agency, what they remember as eyewitnesses and how much they blame and punish others" (Boroditsky). Other studies indicate that our language actually shapes our reality, the way(s) we perceive the world around us. Some cultures do not make a distinction between the colors green and blue. (And, in fact, Chinese only recently added a word to describe blue. Until this point "blue" things were described in terms of greenness.) Some cultures have no word for "left" or "right," and instead describe everything in terms of north, south, east, and west. These cultures navigate the world infinitely better, and it changes the way they see and interpret the passage of time. Relatedly, using "to know" instead of "to believe" and growing up hearing those around you using that word changes the way the user positions himself in the world, affects how he compares himself to others, and defines how he interprets the words and actions and motives of others.

There are two ways the meanings and power of words can be looked at: through speaking them and using them (active), and through hearing them or seeing them (passive). The two seem to work together, the one bolstering the other. It is for that reason, I suspect, that Mormons have a testimony meeting once a month: the more we hear that others know things, the more we will be apt to know them as well (or at least want to know them), and the more we will want to share that knowledge with others. In other words, we want others' testimonies of truth and knowledge to build up and strengthen our own.

In a brilliant TED Talk I show to my students every year, Kathryn Schulz, an award-winning journalist, author, and self-professed "wrongologist," points out that we, as humans, all understand the concept of being wrong. We understand, in the abstract, that people make mistakes, that we are fallible, etc. But we do everything in our power to keep ourselves, as individuals, from being perceived as being wrong about anything. She illustrates something beautifully: she asks the audience at one point what it feels like to be wrong. She gets the expected responses: "dreadful," a thumbs down, "embarrassing." But, she says, those are the feelings we have when someone finds out we are wrong. Just being wrong, that "feels [exactly] like being right." The point she makes that I want to connect to my argument here is how we feel about others when we "know" one thing, and they "know" something else. When we "generously share" the things we know with others and they don't receive it the way we'd like, we first assume that they are just ignorant. Poor things. We pity them, for they lack the knowledge that we have. The second assumption we make, after we have shared all the facts and find out that they also have the same facts, is that they are idiots. They are too stupid to put the pieces together for themselves. When that doesn't work, when it turns out that people have the same info that you do and are actually intelligent, we decide that they are just plain evil. "They know the truth and they are deliberately distorting it for their own malevolent purposes." (Watch from 10:00 to 11:30, as she explains it much better than I.) But this addiction to our own rightness causes us to judge others negatively at best, and treat others terribly at worst.

Because to know is so absolute, isn't it? There is no room for bending or wiggling in that verb. I know that my hair is dark brown, despite many innocently ignorant people in my life trying to tell me that it is black. The bishop knows that God told him that I am supposed to be the Primary pianist. The missionaries know that Joseph Smith was an absolute and true prophet of God who saw God and Jesus Christ in a grove when he was 14 years old. Gun activists know that the second amendment says that they should be able to have an extensive gun collection. Anti-gay activists, of the Westboro Baptist variety, know, and know with an unflinching, undeniable, and unapologetic fervor, that God hates fags. 

But what about what I know? I have all the information that others have. I'm a pretty smart guy. And I'm not out to "deliberately distort the truth."

Would someone be able to sit in the bishop's office and say to him, "I know that this church does not have a monopoly on truth. I know that 'Satan' is just a symbol for all the things in the world that Christians don't like or believe in. I know that Joseph Smith was a guy who seemed to have a new 'revelation' whenever he needed to get someone to do what he wanted and who saw fit to marry 14-year old girls and women who had still-living husbands. I know that the contents The Book of Mormon were  taken from a variety of sources . . . ." Would he accept that person's knowledge as valid and true? Of course he wouldn't. If he "knows" something, then anything the other person claims to "know" to the contrary would be patently false in his heart, mind, and soul. The other person would be seen as delusional, perhaps. To him and others, that person would be under the influence of The Adversary, the Satan that person "knows" does not exist. 

(As a side note, I deliberately put quotations around know, and would like it to be assumed that they are around almost every instance of that word in this entire post. Does anyone KNOW that Satan does not exist? Of course not. Do Christians KNOW that Satan does exist? Of course not.)

So what would the psychological differences be if people were to say, "I believe that this church is true" or "I believe that the Book of Mormon is true" or "I believe that my Heavenly Father has a body of flesh and blood"? The word "believe," to any devoutly religious person, especially to that religion's leaders, is a dangerous word. It carries with it connotations of doubt and inconstancy, however slight they might be. There is a grey area contained in that word. People who merely believe can be swayed to believe something else. But those who KNOW, cannot and will not be swayed. By anyone. Ever.

People who know things oftentimes feel they have a duty, even a Divine Duty, to assist others in obtaining that same knowledge: "Pray about this, and you will know The Truth." If you don't receive their truth, however, then you didn't pray hard enough, didn't listen hard enough, or didn't have enough faith. Indeed, anything short of their truth is not truth at all. In order to maintain their own faith and their religion, even their very essence of self-identity, those who deny their knowledge are dubbed as "hard-hearted," "unfaithful," "worldly," "closed-minded," "just not ready for the truth yet," or worse. Each of these words, all of which I have heard in sacrament meeting talks and testimonies, create a hierarchy, a chasm between those who have The Truth and those who do not. Anyone who openly claims anything contrary to their truths is "attacking" them, "destroying" their faith, "dismantling" their traditions, "fueling" dissent, etc. I have heard all these words in church too. The war-like rhetoric is powerful stuff, for sure. (This is not to say that there are not those, especially of the Richard Dawkins-type, who are indeed seeking to dismantle and attack.)

But why? Why can't I have my own knowledge? Why are my facts less valid than their facts? Why must they think their facts are seen as less valid than mine?

It's because of the immutability of knowing something. A fact is a singular thing; that is, there can only be one truth. Either I am right and you are wrong, or you are right and I am wrong. Knowing something does not, and cannot, allow for two conflicting facts to exist in the same place at the same time: either my hair is black or it is dark brown. There is no conceivable way that it can be both. The sky is blue. End of discussion.

This is currently where I feel I am with the church. There are things I know are wrong. Because I know they are wrong, I will never be persuaded that they are anything but wrong. It doesn't matter how nice the bishop is to me. It doesn't matter how many callings I get. It doesn't matter how many sacrament meetings I go to or testimonies I hear. It doesn't matter how many people I see on the pulpit who are moved to tears by their rock-solid knowledge. It doesn't matter how many people share with me their life changing spiritual experiences, visions, or revelations. I am every bit as unbending as they are. 

But here's the difference: I think that's okay. I don't care what metaphysical things people know or don't know. It just doesn't matter to me. I do not get worked up--at least, not any more--if someone has a different set of religious facts than I do. My reality is based on my own experiences. My knowledge is based on my own research and pondering and meditation. Every single person on the entire planet has a unique world view that is born from his or her own life, experiences, feelings, and--some would argue to a larger extent--one's biological makeup. I hold no animosity. I am not angry at religion like I once was. I do not feel a need to change the hearts and minds of those who know things that are contrary to the things I know. Does your set of facts make you happy? Awesome! I totally embrace and accept that. But please accept that mine also make me happy. Don't pity me by falling for the conditioning you have received that I must be living a very unhappy life because I do not have the knowledge that you have or that my happiness is false because it doesn't contain the "completeness" that yours contains. 

I am happy that you're happy. Please be happy that I am happy.




Sources:

Boroditsky, Lera. "Lost in Translation." 

Schluz, Kathryn. "On Being Wrong."