God: the Ultimate Mindf**k
How to sin without lifting a finger
My mother stepped across our kitchen and slapped me.
“That’s for what you were thinking,” she said.
And she’d been right about my thoughts. After standing in the doorway for an hour, listening to another recitation of my personal failings, my 16-year-old self had revolted. I’d wanted my mother dead — I’d wanted to kill her, even — and something of my animosity must’ve shown on my face.
Was I surprised to have been punished for my thoughts?
Not at bit. After all, I was a Christian.
Brains without borders
I’ve been deconstructing for decades now, yet as one who was raised in the religion, I’m still finding ways in which Christian indoctrination has twisted my views and rewired my brain. Thus it was only recently that I found myself questioning the notion that God could read my thoughts. It occurred to me, too, that my belief in a mind-hacking deity might not be universal — that some might regard their thoughts as their own.
Of course I used my husband for research.
“Do you believe there is something or someone out there that can read your thoughts?” I asked him during his morning bath. “Or is your mind a closed loop, viewable only to you?”
“Interesting question.” He pulled his eyes from his iPad. “I have some pretty dark thoughts.”
“I know.” I may have rolled my eyes. “You say that a lot. But it’s not what I’m asking. Do you think God can read your mind?”
He pondered a moment. “No.”
And there it was — proof that not all humans view their mind as an open book. Yet I’d venture to say that nearly all Christians would check the second box, asserting that their God can see straight into their souls, reading their thoughts, dissecting their motives, judging their moods and intentions.
That’s certainly what I was taught.
Seeking more data, I asked my youngest daughter the same question I’d asked her father.
“Do you think there’s something out there that can look into your mind?”
“Geez, I hope not,” she answered. “Some of my thoughts are quite dark.”
“Yes, yes. But do you think they’re visible to a higher power?”
“No.” She didn’t have to pause to reflect. “That sounds horrible. It’s an interesting question, though.”
Later that day, I polled my eldest daughter on the subject, and this time I had a different response.
“I believed it more when I was younger,” she admitted, and I could tell by her tone that she was trying to spare me. “You have to remember that when I was little, we were still religious. You may not have given me that idea, but others did.”
I felt the guilt that was mine to carry for leading her down that path, but I also felt I was onto something. The difference between our family members’ perceptions was Christianity. The younger and longer the indoctrination, the more fixed we were in our belief that our thoughts were not our own.
“Jesus knows our hearts”
Of course, it’s not exactly a subtle message in the religion. Google “God sees our thoughts,” and you’ll find Bible verse after Bible verse maintaining that God is right up there in our brain business.
“For the Lord sees not as man sees: man looks on the outward appearance, but the Lord looks on the heart.” 1 Samuel 16:7
“The Lord knows the thoughts of the wise, that they are futile.” 1 Corinthians 3:20
“ . . . for the Lord searches all hearts, and understands every intent of the thoughts.” 1 Chronicles 28:9.
. . . and on and on.
In fact, one need look no further than the concept of “silent prayer” to realize how common and well-accepted the idea of a mind-reading God is. Without the ability to see into our thoughts, how could God hear our unspoken prayers? What a cacophony religious services would become if everyone spoke their personal supplications out loud!
And I’ll admit that when it comes to prayer, the belief in a mind-reading God might provide comfort. Lying in bed and stressing over life, it’s pleasant to think that we can simply send out our petitions, and a Santa Claus-like deity will receive our message. That’s nice, right?
But there’s a flip-side to this warm and fuzzy concept. If God can see our “good” thoughts, he can also see our “bad” ones. He can see when our faith falters or our human nature flares. He can see those “dark thoughts” that my family members seem to have in spades.
And according to Jesus himself, we will be judged for them.
“Ye have heard that it was said by them of old time, Thou shalt not commit adultery: But I say unto you, That whosoever looketh on a woman to lust after her hath committed adultery with her already in his heart.” Matthew 5:27, 28
The devil’s doorway
My younger daughter, while we were discussing a mind-reading deity, mentioned her intrusive thoughts, and how she’s learned to dismiss them as the fleeting nothings they are — simply passing notions.
That’s not so easy to do when your god classifies those mind farts as sin — when you have to beg forgiveness for your lack of faith, your annoyance, your lust or anger or bad attitude. Instead of letting our worst thoughts fade into the ether, to be replaced by more hopeful or happier ideas, they are pinned to the corkboard of our mind — something to angst over and apologize for until they calcify and become part of us. Until they grow heavier and more solid. Until they create shame.
And for those of us raised to believe in Satan and demonic possession? Then it’s not only God who can hack our minds. The wrong thought, the wrong attitude, the wrong song, the wrong show — yoga or meditation or hypnotism — all of it, we’re assured, can open the door to evil spirits.
For many of us, the idea of God judging our thoughts — and Satan seizing on our weaknesses — results in a constant scouring of the mind. We must keep our thoughts perfect. In fear and trembling we weed out our unsightly notions, shoving the ugliest into a closet and squeezing the door shut.
I can’t believe that’s good for us as individuals. I don’t believe it’s good for us as a society. I know it wasn’t good for me as a nervous, pliable child.
Reclaiming my mind
Lately I’ve begun to question the existence of a mind-reading God, and already it’s proven a game changer. I can explore my humanity without fear of reprisal. My anger and frustration and lust and uncertainty are mine alone. I no longer owe penance for my imperfect attitude — for my human frailty. No deity is looking to punish me, and no devil is waiting to pounce.
Dark or light, ugly or lovely, my thoughts will earn me no slap at the end, and that feels like freedom at last.
