The Truth Will Set You Free and other Christian dogmas

A boyfriend in college used to regularly insist, “Christianity is nothing but dogma.” While this wasn’t exactly a startling observation coming from a Jew educated in Catholic parochial schools, it has served as a reminder over the years that religious concepts insiders accept without question might seem like nonsense to an outsider.

While I disagree that Christianity is nothing but dogma, I admit there are some dogmas Christians don’t notice precisely because they are dogmas.

My personal favorite is, “The truth will set you free,” a dogma made all the more amusing by the fact the Bible thumpers who repeat it the most come across as the most rigid, least free, people I’ve ever known. I find myself wanting to blithely respond, “Well, I hope you find it someday.”

A few variations on the phrase include: “The truth will set you free, but first it will make you miserable,” attributed to President James Garfield; “The truth will set you free, but first it will piss you off,” attributed to feminist Gloria Steinem; and “The truth will set you free. But not until it is finished with you,” attributed to author David Foster Wallace.

Then there’s my own addition: “The truth will set you free, but first it will give you violent diarrhea.” To which my response is, “Bring it on! Gimme that truth!” Then again, maybe not.

Like many dogmas, the statement is a paraphrase. What Jesus actually said in John 8:31-32 was, “If you hold to my teaching, you are really my disciples. Then you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”

The passage goes on to say the freedom isn’t one of political liberties, or even that you’ll be a less uptight person, but that you’ll be set free from sin, or what’s more popularly referred to nowadays as addictions.

The computer geek in me thinks the “If-Then” transition in the two sentences merit particular attention. There’s a conditional statement involved here that isn’t included in the dogma as it’s commonly quoted. Holding to Christ’s teachings to love God and your fellow man is a necessary condition to put you on the road to truth and morality.

Love first in the fashion that Christ taught his disciples, and then truth and morality will follow. This raises the bar considerably. Haters who hold to the aforementioned dogma appear to believe they’ll be set free by truth alone, which is to say whatever truth appeals to them, thus explaining why they’re no more moral, and in many notable cases less so, than the rest of us.

Christ’s teaching may be true, though I can’t say because I’m not sure I really qualify as Christ’s disciple. There are some pretty hard teachings in the Gospels, especially for a capitalist like me who often struggles with forgiveness. But the dogma is most definitely untrue to its biblical context. Truth doesn’t set anyone free, especially someone else’s truth that has been forced upon you.

With that in mind, the next dogma I plan to address is John 14:6, “I am the way, the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me,” a dogma interpreted by many Christians as saying Christianity is the only true religion.

Are there dogmas people have thrown at you over the years you’d like to see addressed? If so, make note of them in the comments.

He's A Dead Man

I was working out this morning at the health club and eavesdropping on a conversation between a couple of guys. The middle-aged man said his son was going to start his desert training soon, and would be shipped out to Afghanistan in October. The older man said Afghanistan was a difficult situation, a large country, with a widely varied landscape.

The middle-aged man then mentioned his son was flying out to visit a friend in the states. He’d asked his son what they’d be doing there; his son said they’d be playing paint ball. “He’s a dead man,” the father said, chuckling. “He’s never shot a gun in his life.”

I cringed. The juxtaposition of this man’s proclamation with the earlier discussion about his son shipping out to Afghanistan didn’t sit well with me. It was a knee-jerk, superstitious reaction.

I used to attend churches that preached the Prosperity Gospel, a Christian doctrine espoused by people like Joel Osteen, a photogenic televangelist of the largest church in America, a man who could sell snake oil to his own mother. The Prosperity Gospel claims that if we don’t have health and wealth in our life, it’s because we’re not saying the right things. God spoke the world into existence. Created in the image of God, men and women can do likewise. Positive confession, my friends used to call it.

I left the Prosperity Gospel a long time ago, finding the emphasis on material wealth inconsistent with Christ’s teachings. But I still experience these artifacts from time to time, these moments of being drawn to a positive message, or overly concerned about the negative things somebody says. As a writer, I find it appealing to believe our words have intrinsic power to change the world.

I said a quick prayer for this man’s son, that his father wouldn’t receive bad news in the future.