What "Under the Banner of Heaven" Gets Right About Losing Your Faith
I’ve always felt a bit of a kinship with the Mormons, though the reasons why have changed as I’ve gotten older.
I was raised a Jehovah’s Witness (I no longer practice or believe, nor am I really much of a thiest at all these days), and as a child I would occasionally see Mormons while out being forced to knock on people’s doors. I only knew them as the “other” people who knocked on doors; I certainly wasn’t supposed to talk to them and probably would have mocked their beliefs, but I admired them for doing something I, at the time, thought was important. More importantly, I knew they understood the downsides and trials of living that sort of life better than anyone, and occasionally imagined swapping stories with them.
Fast forward thirty years and one abandoned religion later, and my affinity has shifted to ex-Mormons. While the actual beliefs and doctrines of Jehovah’s Witnesses and the Church of Latter Day Saints couldn’t be more different, the methods both groups use to control their members — the fear, obligation, and guilt — are remarkably, unfortunately similar. Check out any ex-JW forum or group and you’ll find several ex-Mormons hanging around, and vice versa. I’ve somewhat-jokingly referred to them before as my “sister cult,” a sentence that would piss off any practicing member of either group for at least thirty different reasons.
Anyway, this is the mindset that led me towards recently checking out Under the Banner of Heaven (originally airing on FX, currently streaming on Hulu). Heaven is difficult to sum up quickly. It began life as a book written by Jon Krakauer that chronicled two interconnected non-fictional stories: the uncensored origin and early years of the Mormon church, and the double homicide of Brenda Lafferty and her daughter committed in the name of God by Brenda’s brothers-in-law, fundamentalist Mormons Ron and Dan Lafferty. The FX series (written by gay ex-Mormon Dustin Lance Black) adapts both stories, telling them from the perspective of two fictional composite characters: Mormon Detective Jeb Pyre (played by Andrew Garfield) and his partner, Piaute Detective Bill Taba.
Heaven is a heavy, brutal, and engrossing story, but while the tragedy of Brenda and her family rightfully took center stage, the storyline that struck a chord with me was that of Garfield’s Jeb Pyre and the gradual, distressing dissolution of his faith as he learned the unvarnished truth about his own religion.
My own loss of faith was a much longer affair; I guess because it didn’t need to fit within seven episodes. I grew up a true believer, but I’d also argue that, raised in a culture as insular as the Witnesses’, I had little choice but to believe. It wasn’t something I ever enjoyed all that much, though. I believed because it was all I knew, participated because if I didn’t I’d let down God and my family, because I’d face everlasting destruction at the hand of God if I didn’t. It was that fear, obligation, and guilt I mentioned, not a passion for God or the Bible or preaching.
One thing in particular made my childhood as a Jehovah’s Witness especially distressing: I’m gay, and the Witnesses are more than a bit homophobic. Being eight years old, discovering that you’re attracted to other boys, then hearing from the stage the next day that people like you are wicked, evil, and destined for destruction is a special kind of hell that I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. From a young age I believed that I was worthless, that I had no future; by my teens I largely figured I’d be dead before I reached adulthood, though thankfully I never actually tried to follow through.
By my late teens the Witnesses adopted that ol’ “hate the sin, not the sinner” chestnut when it came to homosexuality, which for me at the time was a lifeline as much as it was an anchor. These days the Witnesses will tell you that they don’t hate homosexuals, that they can even be members of the religion as long as they’re non-practicing, but referring to homosexuality as a sin at all is a destructive, hateful act that shatters people’s lives and psyches. It’s also one of hundreds of cases of the religion’s written teachings not matching up with the culture it creates — sure, a non-practicing homosexual can be a Witness, but they can’t really be open or honest about it, lest they face scorn, disgust, and distrust from their friends and family. Hiding who I really was, living a life absolutely drenched in shame, was a dreadful existence.
Looking back now, it’s hard to believe that I stuck around for so long in a such a toxic environment. The truth is, I didn’t love myself enough to realize how badly I was actually being treated. Instead, the first cracks in my armor formed when I finally really started to get to know non-Witnesses, and to see that they’re just people like me. I finally questioned the justness of everything I’d once believed; I’d been taught that God would some day wipe out all wicked people on Earth, but in practice that amounted to killing anyone who wasn’t a Jehovah’s Witness. There are plenty of vile, evil people out there, but for the majority of that group, their “crime” is what? Smoking some weed, cursing, getting a tattoo? Loving the “wrong” person? For many, they’d be destroyed simply because they’re in the “wrong” religion. I regret that I ever believed in this, even for a moment. There was no justice in it, no room for nuance or the complexity of the human experience.
Not to sound too high and mighty, but I think it takes real empathy and humility to admit that something you devoted your life to is wrong, to take into consideration the experiences of others and adjust your beliefs accordingly. It’s all too easy to dig your heels in, to find anything to justify your actions and dismiss criticism. You have to care about something more than your own ego or whatever identity you’ve created for yourself up to that point.
I certainly see that in Heaven’s Pyre. He’s a flawed man for sure — especially in how he sometimes treats his wife or non-Mormons — but he cares about finding justice more than anything else. It’s what motivates him to pursue Brenda Lafferty’s killers even when he’s told that their story could bring disgrace to his church, and what keeps him listening to Allen Lafferty’s recounting of the true history of the Mormon church even when what he hears shatters his own faith to the core.
That’s another thing Mormons and Jehovah’s Witnesses have in common: a heavily propagandized history. Just as Pyre didn’t know of the full extent of the violence and lies in the history and past teachings of his church, Witnesses aren’t taught of the failed prophecies, hostile takeovers and petty grudges, outright scams, and ongoing abuse in their own religion. If you’ve ever got the stomach for it, Google the Royal Australian Commission to see the ways Witnesses have systematically been hiding Child Abuse and Abusers among their own members for decades. It’s infuriating.
As those around Pyre begin to notice his wavering faith, they begin to use his family as a cudgel to beat him back into shape, all but explicitly threatening him with the loss of his family, friends, and entire social circle should he turn against his church in any way. It’s another trait shared by the two religions; both employ shunning of any members who leave, and it’s inhuman in a way I’d need a whole ‘nother essay to really unpack.
That threat adds an extra layer of oppressive, ominous dread Heaven’s best scene. Late in the season, Pyre has been given a secular book on the true history of the Mormon faith by Allen. Even in prison, even as an admitted ex-Mormon, Allen has the book hidden under a false dust jacket, as if he fears what’s really inside, or what others would think if they saw him with it. Pyre certainly has that fear. He, hesitantly, tries reading it in bed while his wife is asleep, but feels too exposed; he moves to his locked office, and then to his garage, where he finally manages to crack the book open in the safety of his car before absolutely losing it.
Andrew Garfield’s at his best in this scene (what a year that dude’s had!); Pyre’s collapse into absolute despair as the last vestiges of his faith fall away is devastatingly acted and incredibly well observed (even if my own personal reactions when I reached that point in my journey leaned closer to simultaneous anger and relief), but what rang most true about this sequence was Pyre’s paranoia, the primal fear he felt as he contemplated cracking that book open.
The series had already established the stakes; not just Pyre’s personal faith, but his family was on the line if he was caught. But there’s more to Pyre’s fear than that. In groups like the LDS or the JWs, the viewing or reading of any material critical of the religion is branded as “apostate” and is treated as one of the greatest sins possible. That kind of fear digs into you and sticks with you. I can still remember the day several years back when I stumbled upon a Tweet talking about the Witnesses’ child abuse problems. By that point I’d already lost my faith, no longer considered myself a Witness, and was actively planning my escape, yet just seeing that Tweet come across my timeline made my stomach drop, my palms sweaty. I would swear the room was spinning. The fear is drilled into us, and it’s disgusting how long it can take to rid yourself of that kind of conditioning, even when your mind knows better.
This scene alone convinced me that Heaven was the work of somebody who had been through this themself, who got it. It left me with mixed feelings; I’m incredibly grateful to see my experiences reflected back at me, to know that I’m not alone in them, but it also makes me so sad to know that so many others have gone through the same kind of shit as me. At least we have each other, right?
HEY GUYS, HOW Y’ALL BEEN?
It’s been a while since I’ve put out a newsletter, and as you might guess from the content of this entry, it’s been an incredibly busy and occasionally fraught six months or so. I moved into my first apartment and have been getting used to living by myself! I came out to my family, officially let them all know I wasn’t part of their religion anymore, and have been dealing with the fall out. I’ve been going to concerts, attended the wedding of a great friend (and a reader of his newsletter!), and have been spending a lot of time swimming in my apartment complex’s pool; I also had a death in the family and caught Covid.
I’d say it’s been more good than bad, but I’ve missed you guys, and I’ve missed writing. I hope to be more regular around here, and already have a few more ideas gnawing in the back of my head I’d love to get to soon. Thanks to everyone who’s checked this entry out, thanks to everyone who’s stuck around, and I wanna give a huge thank you to the reader who recommended this newsletter to his followers and the new readers I gained afterwards. It means a lot that you subscribed even in the middle of such a prolonged dry spell. I’m so happy to have you here!
Take care of yourselves, take care of each other, and I hope to see you all soon!
ABOUT
“Do You Know What I Love the Most?” is a newsletter from Spencer Irwin about his relationship with the stories he loves. Spencer is an enthusiast and writer from Newark, Delaware, who likes punk rock, comic books, working out, breakfast, and most of all, stories. His previous work appeared on Retcon Punch, One Week One Band, and Crisis on Infinite Chords, and he can be found on Twitter at @ThatSpenceGuy. If you like this newsletter, please subscribe and share with your friends!