In Defense of Korihor

And it came to pass that the high priest said unto [Korihor]: Why do ye go about perverting the ways of the Lord? Why do ye teach that there shall be no Christ, to interrupt their rejoicings? Why do ye speak against all the prophecies of the holy prophets?     Now the high priest's name was Giddonah. And Korihor said unto him: Because I do not teach the foolish traditions of your fathers, and because I do not teach this people to bind themselves down under the foolish ordinances and performances which are laid down by ancient priests, to usurp power and authority over them, to keep them in ignorance, that they may not lift up their heads, but be brought down according to thy words.     Ye say that this people is a free people. Behold, I say they are in bondage. Ye say that those ancient prophecies are true. Behold, I say that ye do not know that they are true.

—Alma 30:22-24

For those of you tuning in late to this whole Mormon morass, a few words of explanation are probably in order for the moniker under which I've chosen to present my musings on the logical fallacies and moral shortcomings of that behemoth that calls itself the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.

Korihor is perhaps the most infamous of the several "antichrists" put forth as characters in the Book of Mormon. He receives rather harsh treatment at the hands of that book's author, Joseph Smith, not to mention at the hands of other characters. This shouldn't be surprising, since the story of Korihor exists expressly to illustrate the evils of intellectualism. Brilliantly and briskly, it lays the foundation of the mindset which permits Mormons to dismiss any rational criticism of their beliefs out of hand as the work of Satan. All this in just a few short pages of tortured pseudo-Biblical prose. Wow!

Briefly, the story goes like this: Into the peaceful, God-fearing land of Zarahemla comes the sly and evil Korihor, who goes about preaching that the people should not believe in ancient prophecies, that there is no life after death, and so forth. Now, the law can't touch him, because the people of Zarahemla are free to believe as they like, but Korihor makes the mistake of wandering into the lands of Jershon and Gideon, where the laws against free speech are apparently more strict (and where, as the author is careful to point out, the people are "more wise"), and the people there tie him up and take him before their chief judge.

After a short theological debate, Korihor gets extradited back to Zarahemla, where he appears before Alma, who is not only governor of all the land but also God's head prophet. (Can you say conflict of interest?) After a somewhat lengthier debate, Korihor asserts that he will not believe in God unless he is given a sign. Alma handily obliges him, striking him mute by the power of God.

At this point, Korihor admits (in writing, of course) that he really believed in God all along, but that the devil had appeared to him one night and taught him all sorts of pretty things to say which were "pleasing unto the carnal mind" in order to lead the people astray. He then somewhat contradictorily explains that he told so many lies that he eventually came to believe them, and he begs Alma for his voice back.

Alma's response? "Um, I don't think so, Korihor. You'll just start telling lies again." So much for freedom of speech in ancient America.

Well, poor Korihor's wickedness is published throughout the land, and he himself is cast out into the streets to eke out a beggar's existence, going from house to house for his food. Eventually he comes to the land of the Zoramites, where the people run him down and stomp him to death.

All of which is basically a disheartening and even frightening parable of how the Mormon Church as both an institution and a society silences its voices of dissent. See what wonderful things you can learn from the Book of Mormon?

Thank goodness for the Internet. If Korihor had had a Web page, maybe the Big Brethren would never have put the make on him.

So this one's for you, Korihor, in whatever imaginary hell Joseph Smith conjured up for you. I know they only obtained your confession under duress. I mean, what are you going to do? They had your fucking voice. But don't worry—there are plenty more of us now, and they can't get us all.

Hang in there, guy. We'll tear down those deafened walls of superstition and set you free. Along with ourselves. And whomever else we can take with us.

And to the men with the silencers, look out. We're coming for you, too—and we're closer than you think.