Moronic Mormons

So Mitt Romney, a few weeks out from the primary and caucus season, decided to make a televised speech explaining to voters why we shouldn't be put off by his devout Mormonism. For a variety of reasons, this whole farce really makes me want to fling my own feces at the TV screen with all the primal enthusiasm of a drunken chimp.

It's tough to decide on the first brick to yank out in deconstructing the absurdity of this "national conversation", a cringe-inducing dialogue occurring in a country that fancies itself as the most enlightened society on 21st-century Earth. The sad reality that in 2007 religious belief still influences voter behavior -- or, for that matter, rears its superstitious head during any serious debate, regarding any substantive issue, between any two parties who are not both woefully poverty-stricken and astonishingly under-educated -- is a travesty warranting much more derision than I'm willing to spew forth today. At any rate, minds superior to mine have articulated the general case against religious faith much more eloquently and comprehensively than I could ever hope to do (see Christopher Hitchens, Richard Dawkins, Sam Harris, et al.).

Therefore, I'll narrow my focus onto two tangential issues from which I've been able to wring a modest measure of mild amusement (in the face of suppressed exasperation).

Firstly, Romney's assurance to voters that he intends to lead not as a Mormon (as some apparently fear) but simply as a "Christian man of faith" (as apparently comforts others) is a distinction without a difference. It's the equivalent of a sober blind man insisting you hand him your car keys, assuring you he's not too drunk to drive. The hoopla and communal anxiety regarding Romney's Mormonism, and his decision to clarify his "position" via press conference -- it all misses the point. It's pitiful to witness how clearly the real issue sails well over the heads of far too many ostensibly sophisticated, rational-minded voters in our country.

Secondly, I've observed a distressing number of professional talking heads expressing befuddlement as to why any voter should eye a devoutly Mormon politician more suspiciously than, say, a devout Roman Catholic politician. (In fact, I agree with these pundits that no distinctions should be drawn between adherents of competing religious faiths, though my rationale is likely the opposite of theirs: whereas these commentators would argue that we shouldn't discriminate against the candidates based on their preferred doctrines because there's room enough for all creeds on this Good Ship Lollilop, I would argue, quite to the contrary, that we should toss ALL the faithful overboard, irrespective of which toga-clad version of the "Most High" they callowly designate as their master, because they're all equally unworthy of high office.)

Political correctness is clearly at work. Though most of them have all the appeal of nails on chalkboard, political talk show hacks are nothing if not well-informed. So while they may be playing dumb for the cameras, most of them surely are familiar with the details of Mormon doctrine, which serves up a virtual buffet of disbelief-suspending nuggets. A sampling: Native Americans originally sailed to the U.S. from Israel several centuries before Christ; the Garden of Eden was a real live historical locale that we can pinpoint today in modern-day Missouri; "God" instructed a prophet named Joseph Smith to go on and round himself up a cozy little harem (I'll grant Smith a point for chutzpah); all of these wondrous teachings were transmitted to man via gold tablets -- I repeat: gold tablets.

Concededly, these superstitions are hardly any more (though certainly not less) ridiculous than the doozies proffered up by any of the other major Judeo-Christian cults. But unlike those older sects, Mormonism is less than 200 years old, i.e., it developed in an era no more than a virtual blink prior to the modern age, when we as humans finally arrived at a scientifically more accurate conception of our actual place in the universe. Roman Catholicism, Judaism, Islam -- these traditions rather perniciously ingrained themselves into our collective psyche at a time when man possessed an infantile grasp of science. A couple of millennia later, it's not entirely surprising -- if perhaps wholly disappointing -- that we still haven't let go of those deeply-anchored ancient mythologies.

But Mormonism? This belief system hasn't been around for even two centuries, and yet its adherents have allowed themselves, in record time, to be fooled into accepting as "Truth" a mythology of incredibly ludicrous magnitude, even by religious standards -- and all of this despite their access to modern science and the array of humbling discoveries about our universe and our species that it has revealed. Viewed in this light, it's easy to understand why Mormons might be perceived as among the kookiest religious dolts around. Thus it should surprise no one, let alone the invariably well-informed members of the punditocracy, when a Mormon presidential candidate like Mitt Romney is viewed with a higher dose of skepticism than his (equally and disgracefully religious) opponents.

In any event, the candidates -- and sadly, the public -- seem content to pit religious belief against religious belief, superstition against superstition. What somehow escapes notice -- or is diplomatically glossed over by politically correct commentators -- is that this really all boils down to no more than a contest of willful ignorance, a question of who is more gullible than whom within the community of "believers." In this humble blogger's opinion, our Mormon neighbors stake a persuasive claim to that ignominious crown.

Then again, I may be wrong on all counts, and ultimately doomed to the fiery depths of Hell.