Tribalism Part VI: Religion

        This last post of my tribalism series is going to be my hardest post yet.  I wish religion didn’t need to be tribalistic.  I wish we could be bonded by love and faith, not separated by beliefs and theories.  Psychologically, we thirst after meaning.  We want the world to make sense.  We want life to extend beyond now.  So furiously we cling to the beliefs that are handed down to us.  They help us to maintain order and a sense of security. 

        But opposing beliefs can’t co-exist.  My favorite part of the book, “The Life of Pi” is when Pi is surrounded by his Catholic Priest, his Muslim Imam, and his Hindu Pandit.  They each praise him for being such a good student of their respective religions, until they realize that he is also a student of the other two.  Outraged, they contend with each other about the falseness of the other religions.  The exchange is humorous and it sheds light on how silly it is for one religion to claim all the truth for its followers.  I believe that religion is about gaining spiritual maturity and obtaining pure love.  There is no maturity, nor love in the war between religions. 

        One tribe will call itself the true church, and refer to everyone else as heathens, infidels, gentiles, “the world,” or non-members.  Straw men of sinners and followers of Satan are created to spark fear and to keep those within the tribe from exploring and understanding the other.  In my experience, other straw men become a threat to the tribe: intellectuals and liberals.  A great cliff of apostasy is created and fear is used to keep tribal members as far from that cliff as possible. 

        I spent the first thirty years of my life beautifully, peacefully living amongst a religious tribe that I loved.  I lived an orthodox life and I was, as they say in my religion, “A member in good standing.”  I learned the doctrine inside and out.  I served in leadership positions.  I devoted my whole life to my tribe.  My life has been what it is because of my religion.  It introduced me to God and to faith.  It taught me that I could achieve high standards of moral conduct and it taught me how to live providently.  Because I was orthodox, I felt a sense of community and love from my tribe.  Like I mentioned in my first post, tribalism can be a beautiful thing. 

        But then I was cast out of the Garden of Eden into the cold harsh world.  My curious mind led me to understand the “other” and to realize that they are not so different from me.  How am I any different from the Muslim woman who devotes herself to Allah, prays four times a day, lives a good life, loves a lot, and sacrifices to make her pilgrimage to Mecca?  Her rituals are sacred to her and mine are sacred to me.  They are different.  Our beliefs about eternity are different.  But our faith is the same.  Why would a loving God choose only one of us because the other’s sacred rituals and beliefs were not the right ones. 

        This new way of thinking took me to the edge of the apostasy cliff, and I jumped off.  Guess what?  It wasn’t really the scary cliff I had grown up believing in.  In fact, I found a bridge.  It’s a bridge that unites the world by love and faith.  Unfortunately, this bridge is invisible.  All my tribe can see is me, and apostasy.  I have to admit, it’s pretty scary to be on an invisible bridge over a cliff of apostasy.  So I turned back for love and support, but I found that I was already “the other,” so easily dismissed and cast out by my tribe. 

        I wanted to share with my tribe the beautiful world I had found beyond ours.  I wanted the love and support I had always found from them when I did what was expected.  Instead, they threw straw men at me.  I was one of the elect being led astray by Satan, I had lost my testimony, lost the spirit…I had been deceived.  Out of fear, I was pushed away at arm’s length.  I understand that the bullying is not out of malice.  Bullying is a necessary part of tribalism.  It keeps people from leaving by causing a “pain of independence.” 

        I still love my religion.  It is home.  It’s part of me.  I crossed my bridge, but I came back.  And I will always come back.  I don’t fit in like I used to.  But I come back because I hope that someday the great gulf of apostasy won’t divide us and keep us from understanding the true purpose of our religion: to love and understand each other. This love and understanding is the bridge that I now call home and I hope that someday it will no longer be invisible.