Humanism

"An outlook or system of thought attaching prime important to human rather than divine or supernatural matters."

I was first introduced to the idea of humanism last year in my AP Art History class during our discussion of the Greeks and why everyone was naked. Everyone. Unlike the Middle Ages (where Christian art displayed a certain distaste for the imperfect earthly body) or most ancient world art (where forms were still stylized and, frankly, creepy), the Greeks loved the human body--they practically worshiped it in their art.. Much like today, they had idealized forms of beauty and the perfect human body. (but unlike today, these idealized forms are actually somewhat  realistic, which is wicked awesome)

In my 100% Mormon class (or maybe 95%--basically, it was just an overwhelming majority), this whole concept of honoring the body by showing it off was completely foreign. Shouldn't we show that we love our bodies by covering them up respectfully? Those heathen Greeks had no clue what they were talking about. I was captivated by the idea nonetheless. In a sort of inexplicable way, I just love that they loved the body. It opened my mind to the idea that there are so many ways to honor your body.

I didn't think I was being unique in my love of artistic nudity until one day in sacrament when a ward member gave a talk about how they came to realize their art books were pornographic. It started with a long story about how the the member of my ward had had trouble feeling the spirit, and fasting and praying didn't work until he had an impression to get rid of some of his art books. As this man had at one time been an artist for a living, I was shocked. I thought it was generally accepted that nude art was beautiful, that it contained all sorts of cultural value. I dismissed his talk as that of a radical who had embellished a bit, until I later heard praise for his words, accompanied by sentiments such as "I'm so glad someone agrees with me! I dropped a history class in college because they studied nude art!" and "I took my child out of an art class in school because the teacher was showing them drawings of naked people!"

As of right now, I'm still in the process of redefining my standards and setting my moral compass in a direction I'm comfortable with, but If I ever get the guts up to set my own definitions of modesty, I'm going to Humanistically honor the heck out of myself. I'd better flaunt it while I've got it; I won't be 18 forever.

(Seriously, though. Porn?!)

Modest is Hottest

Anybody who has ever come in close contact with a Mormon or the Mormon community has heard the the phrase "Modest is Hottest" at least a dozen times. (Really, it's practically the 14th article of faith--no joke) Now, this is all fine and dandy, and isn't a bad idea--we really shouldn't be running around in our underwear with all our vajiggle-jaggle hanging out. It is neither classy nor healthy (more exposed skin = more surface area for mosquito bites and exotic flesh-eating bacteria) However, anyone who has come in close contact with the Mormon community can also tell you that the Modest is Hottest dogma is taken to such extremes sometimes that all interest in promoting God and Christian principles can be completely forgotten by really passionate teachers.

As a girl, modesty is extremely important in the Mormon church. That skirts above the knees and tank tops were off-limits never made too much sense to me, but I accepted it as one of those things we just accept because that's the way they are. That is, until one Sunday when I was 12 or 13 and a member of the Bishopbric said with no reservations, "Young ladies should be modest to make it easier for us dads and other men to be comfortable." (I'm paraphrasing of course, but the message is pretty clear) As the free-thinking, independent Mia Maid that I was (sarcasm doesn't translate well to the internet, sorry) I had some sort of spiritual "Ah-ha!" moment. Of course! Girls should be modest not because they're interested in each others' bodies, but because men are! Da doi!

For years, that was how I convinced myself to cover up my shoulders with jackets and cardigans. That lesson sticks out in my mind as much as the time I learned that Joseph Smith was a polygamist and that blacks weren't allowed to hold the priesthood until the 70's. But as years passed and my body developed, I began to question it. Now I think, "Brother H. was a 40-something man with a wife and 4 kids. Why would he care what a 12-year-old girl was wearing? I had no boobs, no hips, and my figure was still pretty much interchangeable with boys my age.  Why should my shoulders make him uncomfortable?"

This is where the Modest is hottest doctrine gets me now. Isn't that men are tempted and are made uncomfortable their problem? Why should I be concerned that I'm turning an old man on? The modesty issue essentially exempts men from all responsibility and self-control. The church doesn't advocate sex crimes, obviously, but I've certainly heard members--even women--ask "what was she wearing?" about rape victims. (In fact, on one rambunctious outing with some girlfriends where we went skinny dipping and sat around in our underwear afterward, one of my friends said, "We're just asking for it right now".)  It's always the girls' responsibility to make sure a man can control himself. Don't tempt him. Don't initiate inappropriate contact.

But whatever. I guess the burden of the priesthood is so heavy that men can't be concerned with much else.

Also, in preparation for this post, I raided my closet for the sluttiest outfit I could find. I really just consisted of a tank top and a lacy skirt I bought when I was 14 that goes a little below my mid thigh. I wore it around my room for a good five minutes before I realized I was being ridiculous and there were no men around to make uncomfortable. Bummer, right?

P.S. Keep in mind that I do realize there is a difference between appropriate and inappropriate attention, and dressing with respect for yourself is still important.

Awkward Balancing Act

How do you tell one of your best friends that you're proud that he's giving two years of his life to something you don't believe in? How do you cheer when you know he doesn't know what the gospel is that he's professing? How do you promise to write, all the while knowing your letters will be full of lies about your faith and love of the Church?  Last night, these questions were answered in a crash course on the beauty of mission call opening.

Last night was my first one--since they lowered the missionary age last October, a bunch of recent high school grads are getting their calls and heading out. It has become a new thing to throw these "parties" where everyone you ever talked to in high school is invited to your house to watch your cry and bear your testimony. At first, I was worried about last night. I knew there would be tears. I knew there would be "I'm SO proud of you!"s, and that I'd be expected to contribute at least a few of each. As the room of 50 people grew more and more excited as we sang "Called to Serve" and had a slightly-too-long prayer, I felt myself being absorbed by the atmosphere. And when he opened his call, I DID shed a few tears, and when I said, "I'm so proud of you!" I MEANT it. To see how happy the Church makes him--and everyone else in the room too--almost made me want to stay a member. I wished, more than anything, that I could have been one of them. To believe so strongly that you can say you "know" the truth, to want to go on a mission more than anything else, to have your ultimate goal to be marrying in the temple--it would be a dream. Everyone in that room was so happy, in that sort of tangible way that only new mothers and newlyweds get. It was absolutely beautiful.

 And yet, as they talked about going to the temple and a recently endowed elder talked about how weird garments are to wear, I realized that as much as I might wish it, I could never be one of them again. The temple is no longer sacred to me, and garments are nothing more than uber-underwear. I know the connections between the ceremonies and Freemasonry; I know about Joseph Smith's womanizing; I know about the Church's outright lies and contradictions. Sometimes, I think I hate the church. I hate what it has made me:  scared of the real world and lost. But other times, like last night, I love it. I love that it makes my friends so happy, I love that it protects them and sets them up to live a safe, happy life. I love it. And I want that for them. It would break my heart for somebody to tell them the Church's full history--and I'd be the first to explain it all away.

Below is a video of students opening their mission calls. It really is a wonderful experience if you've never witnessed it yourself.

3 a.m. Brain Children

A couple of weeks ago, I delved into the mysterious world of post-Mormon blogging. I stayed up to ungodly hours of the night (the spirit goes to bed at midnight, so that's probably why I enjoyed it so much) reading blogs from brilliant people who have made incredible steps toward their happiness. And just as I was falling asleep at 3:30 one night, I came up with the most clever idea for a blog of my own. Too bad I forgot it, but I thought it might be a good thing to experiment with nonetheless.

So here I am. As of this moment, I am officially one of those post-Mormon bloggers--those anti-Church anarchists who have nothing better to do than bag on Joseph Smith. Frankly, that's probably true. I currently don't have anything better to do, but this blog is a testament to my hope that one day I will have something better to do. (And I don't meant temple-marriage-relief-society-president-PTA-chair better things to do) I'm attempting to break away from the only thing I've ever known, and I'm terrified. And what better way to voice your fears than anonymously on the internet, right?

Basically, I'm not here to ruin testimonies or to destroy the church, I'm here to vent my feelings when my only non-Mormon friend has heard enough and wants to punch me. If you like what I have to say, cool. If not, also cool.

Sheesh. I feel like I'm writing to nobody--I got all serious for nothing. If anybody ever reads this, I may cry. Internet famous? The only dream I've ever had worth following.