What Does Fundamentalism Look Like?

So I’ve had this post in the ideabox for almost half a year now, but everytime I’m on the verge of publishing it, some drama erupts in the blogosphere and I put it on hold because I don’t want it to look like I’m picking on a specific writer.

Now some ugliness has erupted over who gets to use the word “Pagan.” I’m really digging the conversations it seems to have sparked, though, so I figure I’ll dive in. As someone who has had some pretty appalling encounters with hard polytheists–encounters that my therapist recently confirmed have actually left me with PTSD-like symptoms, if you can believe it–this issue really hit home. I really appreciate John Halstead’s pushing back against Pagans who believe everyone needs to conform to their own beliefs, and I was glad to read Jason Mankey’s thoughts on deity, Nornoriel Lokason’s Devotion vs. Brainweasels, and John Beckett’s recounting of his fundamentalist past, even if not all those posts were direct results of the initial argument.

The fear that John Beckett talks about in his post is intimately familiar to me. Unlike many Witches, I was lucky enough not to grow up in a fundamentalist household–but I did grow up in a fundamentalist region, so I was still steeped in it for eighteen years of my life. Until I went to college, I thought that conservative, literalist Christianity was the only kind there was. Even my alternative friends, the punks and hippies, went to the evangelical mega-churches. Here’s an excerpt from my diary when I was 16, when I first identified as a witch:

One thing I’m afraid of is what if I’m wrong and Christianity is the true religion? Let’s assume that for a second. God would accept people of a different religion as long as they were good and kind, but what about a good and kind person who converted away from Christianity? What then?

The implication being, if I remember correctly, that if you never spend any time as a Christian, then you get into Heaven based on merit, but if you leave Christianity, then that’s an automatic fail.

The thing about religious fear is that, whenever your rational mind tries to counter it with logic, your emotions twist that logic around until it’s no longer convincing. The purpose of that fear is to make you ignore common sense, which in turn makes you easier to control. See also Nornoriel’s yellow and red Volkwagen analogy.

It’s no secret that fundamentalist strains have arisen within contemporary Paganism. I think Pagan fundamentalism looks different than Abrahamic fundamentalism, though, and I’d like to talk a little about my experiences with both kinds in the hopes that anyone who’s getting roped into a fundamentalist community (in person or online) can recognize some of the warning signs and get out.

First, some basic definitions. The colloquial definition of fundamentalism as a “my way or the highway” mentality is accurate, but I’d like to expand it. In my experience, fundamentalism is the belief that there are objective, literal truths at the core of a religion; that those truths have been obtained in their entirety by a particular group of practitioners; and that the only acceptable spiritual practice within said religion is strict adherence to those truths. I posit that one can believe other religions are valid but still hold fundamentalist beliefs when it comes to one’s own religion.

It’s important to remember that fundamentalism is not the same as orthodoxy, although there is overlap. Despite its implications, orthodoxy can function as strict adherence to certain creeds within one’s personal practice without a rejection of those who don’t follow those creeds. Many Orthodox Jews, for example, strictly follow Jewish law themselves, but don’t consider non-Orthodox forms of Judaism “untrue.” (These are the Orthodox Jews whom we don’t tend to see in the news very often, but trust me, they exist!)

Also, fundamentalism is not the same as hard polytheism. This may seem obvious, but I know there’s been some misunderstanding on this point, so I just want to emphasize it. One can believe deities are literal beings without believing that one possesses the ultimate truth of their nature.

So, now that we know what fundamentalism is, what does it tend to look like?

Here are some traits that tend to dominate the Christian and Jewish fundamentalist communities that I’ve interacted with, and that I’ve seen replicated in some strains of Paganism. These aren’t definitions, but rather worldviews that I’ve seen stem from fundamentalist thought. While none of them are indicators by themselves, and one certainly doesn’t have to hit the whole list to qualify, any one of them can be a red flag:

• The belief that your engagement with deity–worship, perception and gnosis, interpretation of texts, magical work, etc.–is the correct form of engagement, and other forms are not only incorrect, but offensive to the deity and harmful to the practitioner;
• The belief that this form of engagement must be followed to the letter, with no aberrations or lapses, and must be kept pure no matter what;
• The belief that your role in religion is one of subservience, and you have no choice in the matter–that deities are your masters, and bad things will happen to you if you don’t obey them;
• The belief that gods do not evolve alongside human civilization; rather, they reached maturity at the time their myths were recorded, and it is your duty as a practitioner to adapt your worldview to their recorded sensibilities, no matter how archaic, irrelevant, or just plain wrong those sensibilities may seem;
• The belief that the age of myth-making is long over, and you are bound to the texts, stories, and practices that the deities revealed to your ancestors, which are perfect and complete.

I know these beliefs sound ridiculous when I describe them so bluntly. The reason for that, though, is that like an abusive relationship, fundamentalism couches itself in the rhetoric of love and reciprocity. A few months ago, Annika Mongan at Pagan Square wrote about Jesus as an abusive deity. In it, she linked to an article that explains how to see through that rhetoric:

So even though I’d heard that “absolute power corrupts absolutely,” I couldn’t believe that God-ordained authority could be abused because “Greater love has no man than this: that he lay down his life for a friend.” Jesus had that perfect love … He was a “servant-leader” …. and husbands are commanded to love their wives as Christ loves the Church, right?….When the very definition of perfect love is sacrificing your children and martyring yourself, there is no place for emotionally healthy concepts like boundaries, consent, equality, and mutuality.

Judaism is rife with stories of fundamentalism, too. In “Memories of an Orthodox Youth,” Thena Kendall recounts how her Orthodox Jewish family let an obsession with the minutiae of Jewish law rule their daily lives:

The Passover crockery was not allowed to touch any surface on which a hametz [leavening] plate had rested. As a result, in those pre-plastic days, there was a fantastic accumulation of cardboard, wood, and even wire which covered kitchen sinks, draining board, and stove, getting soggier and dirtier throughout Passover….Somehow holy days seemed to involve drudgery and restrictions but none of the compensating joyousness with which our Hasidic ancestors had celebrated their faith. Once again, as in eighteenth-century Poland, the letter rather than the spirit of the law seemed to dominate. (from On Being a Jewish Feminist: A Reader)

By now, I know what you’re thinking: you claim this article is about Pagan fundamentalism, but all you’ve talked about are Christians and Jews! Where are all these Pagan fundamentalists you’re so worried about?

I’ll admit, partly this article is speculative. Happily, there’s no giant Church of True Paganism that I can point to–only individuals I’ve encountered here and there. The commenter who tells me I’m “disgracing myself” because I see a deity in an unconventional way. The Meetup organizer who demands cult-like exclusivity to avoid contamination by the impure. There’s no one I can look at and unequivocally identify as a fundamentalist. However, we need to foster awareness of fundamentalism before it becomes a cohesive movement. If a religion based on love and nonviolence, like Christianity, can be warped so effortlessly, do we really think a religion with war deities is immune?

Another reason I’m withholding specific examples, though, is because there are people out there whom I don’t want to draw to this post. Like I said above, my dealings with “true believers” have been pretty awful, and I don’t want to go through it again. I’m not the first blogger to anonymize my experiences for this reason. People with fundamentalist tendencies–who are undoubtedly struggling with their own doubts and fears–can be pretty damn nasty.

So, instead of making accusations, I want to talk about how to leave fundamentalism. I want to address readers who have been told that they’ll be harmed if they leave a community or break a vow or stop doing something that feels wrong.

There’s a wealth of stories of people who have successfully left fundamentalist communities. See the Christian articles above for stories of women leaving the Quiverfull Movement. Here’s an article about Hasidic Jews leaving their communities:

The first time Lynn Davidman bit into a cheeseburger, she was worried for her life. “I was afraid some punishment by God might be imminent,” she recalls. She wasn’t sure what form his retribution for eating a non-kosher burger would take; she probably wouldn’t be hit by lighting [sic] in a restaurant, she figured, but perhaps she would be struck to the ground.

And, for a Pagan perspective, here’s an article that mentions how the owner of Brooklyn’s Catland Bookstore stopped practicing Satanism. True, this isn’t a case of fundamentalism, but it does demonstrate that it really is possible to walk away from a practice that isn’t serving you:

He became a theistic Satanist, a form of Satanism that claims the Devil is an actual deity….“It was this perfect, beautiful, rebellious feeling,” Phil says. “But it wasn’t healthy….And then I got over it.”

Christianity, of course, saves its worst punishments for the afterlife, which means its claims can never be disproven. But what’s interesting about other forms of fundamentalism is that they make threats about the here and now. Eat the wrong thing, and misfortune will befall you. Displease a deity and you’ll get hit by a truck! But, no matter what belief system they’re leaving, people who escape fundamentalism discover that all those horrible, scary things that they’re told will happen…don’t happen. Fundamentalism turns deities into boogeymen, and leaving means realizing that the boogeyman never existed.

I’m not an expert in these things, so I can’t give you instructions on exactly how to leave. I know it’s not easy. It can be hard to recognize a toxic practice until you’re deep inside of it. It can be almost impossible to escape a controlling, manipulative family or community. And the psychic scars can linger for the rest of your life.

All I can say is that it is possible to leave. It’s always possible.

* * *

I know this post is pretty messy and, like I said, speculative. I’ll confess that I’m mainly sorting out my own thoughts, trying to make sense of experiences I’ve had before and during my time as a witch. Our relationship to the divine can be rigid and dogmatic. Or it can be fluid, intimate, messy, and surprising.

Whatever you believe and whatever you practice, I hope it brings you peace and joy.