1.a. A declaration by a witness under oath, as that given before a court or deliberative body.
1.b. All such declarations, spoken or written, offered in a legal case or deliberative hearing.
2. Evidence in support of a fact or assertion; proof.
3. A public declaration regarding a religious experience.
http://www.thefreedictionary.com/testimony

Obviously the first definition deals with legal process.  It is definitions two and three which concern me here.  While I think it is appropriate to have these separated, I think for many believers by giving some kind of public declaration regarding a religious experience, they are intending to give evidence in support of a fact or assertion: the act of making a personal expression of faith is, in and of itself, seen as an authoritative statement of truth.  Simpler said, because I’m willing to say I believe it, it must be true.

Testimony is highly subjective.  Religious truths are universal and objective, yet they are often reinforced by this subjective process.  Testimony is powerful when a group of like-minded (or like-experienced) individuals get together and share their stores.  However, what happens when someone shares a personal testimony of a different religious experience? That person’s personal experience no longer holds authority.  There appears to be an important aspect of conformity in testimony holding authority for a community.

A community where the use and power of testimony is clear and important is The Church of Jesus Christ of Later-day Saints.  I’m not singling out the Mormons for any reason other than the fact that testimony is vital to their daily religious experience and often done in a very accessible manner–one of the big reasons they are a strong and growing religion.  They provide strong and convincing evidence of how testimony can be used to express religious truths and to maintain a strong community.

Here is an short (5 minutes) and interesting example of testimony in action:

I find this video incredibly interesting.  Even without the well-done video use of audio and staged visuals for emotional responses, the testimony by the apostle is very powerful and surely convincing within the community.  It is actually testimony about testimony–the witness is saying I know this is true because these other people believed it so much they were willing to die for it. That’s serious and heart-moving business.

It’s also where I need to move from observation to criticism.  People die every day for their beliefs; people often die because of a difference of belief.  While it makes for good drama, it is a logical fallacy to assume that because someone is willing to die for a belief, that belief must be true.  This representation can work in a vacuum–assume only one truth, “our belief if the truth,” and it makes a lot of sense that someone would die for it.  But look at everyone who has died for their religious truth and at best you’ve got a really solid argument for religious pluralism.

This is ultimately the problem with testimony as it is often used today.  Personal experience is the cornerstone of the religious experience, but using personal experience as a singular expression of authority within a community setting can (and appears to usually) create an environment where the community becomes focused on patting itself on the back or defining/defending itself from society at large.

Looking at the big picture, it also makes a pretty good case for the very thing many religions try to fight against–the idea that each individual can believe what they want and it is a valid because it is their own experience.

Working out is often a very personal thing.  Trust me, I understand this.  Getting myself to a place where I can workout on a regular basis has been a very long, uphill battle.  Not only was I incredibly socially awkward in middle and high school, but I (gladly, at the time) was able to get out of taking P.E.  I have cocked ankles and “pes planus” (flat feet).  At the time it made a lot of sense–I could have seriously hurt myself.  Knowing what I know now, though, and spending a lot of time doing things like hiking, running, playing racquetball, and foot hockey, I realize what a disservice not getting to do P.E. was.  Who knows, maybe not doing it then allowed me to do it now?

Whatever good or bad decision it was, one consequence is I never learned how to work out.  This is not just an issue about discipline, but even knowing how to lift weights, run right, hydrate, all of those things.  When I first started working with upper body weights, I hurt myself easy and often because my back and shoulder muscles had zero support–and not just core, but a lot of the muscles were just never used in things like marathon reading.

So when I say working out is a personal thing, I mean for many it takes incredible concentration.  Ironically, though, it took having people to go with to motivate me.  I know it is this way for others, but for me it had to do a lot with things like not knowing or understanding even how gyms or locker rooms worked out.  My last experiences in early public school with working out before I stopped doing P.E. were humiliating because I was so clumsy and so weak that I could hardly participate in events… and young boys are hardly understanding.

Thankfully, all of that is in the past and I’m much more fit and I’ve found a real passion for getting physical.  Which allows me to be observant as I work out now.  I have noticed that people behave differently at the two facilities.  Maybe because at the big gym there are a lot of students, but it is clearly more social there.  But even I’m this way when I go with my friends to work out.  Is it the space?  Is it the setting?  People are still focused, but it just feels more loose.

The rare time I run into someone in my complex, there always seems to be some kind of tension.  Maybe there is some sort of small workout etiquette I am just not aware of.  Maybe a lot of people who like the workout room like it because it is private–I can totally get that.  I just find it weird that two people can be in a room and hardly even say hello.  But I guess that is how it goes.  So many people don’t even say hello to their neighbors–funny how the closer the dwellings are, the less likely it seems people try to form community.  Especially in a pseudo-urban “young working professional” type place like where I live.

Really, though, I find the gym to be a nice tool.  It helps me get in shape and get the workout I need, but I try to spend my time doing other physical things as much as I can, especially if they are social.  If you can get community + fitness together, that’s an even bigger win to me.

I have some good friends who are very important to me and who I definitely do not spend enough time with. When I talk about community, I do not talk about individual friendships or groups of friends and associates. I am talking about being a part of something bigger than oneself–about having a network of people to invest in, to lean on, and to support. I’ve tried to find groups who share passions that I do: atheists, hockey fans/players, readers, etc… While I’ve met good people and even found groups to be a part of, I’ve never felt like I belong.

Some of that I attribute to my childhood. Until I got into the middle of my freshman year of high school, I moved every year or two–three times I moved states. Each time, I had to give up everything I knew–everyone I knew–and start over. I look at pride with being able to be self-sufficient and to find the strength I need to get through in myself, but I often wonder what it would be like to feel part of something bigger.

The other side of the coin, though, is that community often includes necessary exclusion–by definition, there are outsiders. Sometimes this is nominal and sometimes it is highly marginalizing. I have joked about this before, but I really do feel marginalized sometimes. A big issue is religion–not believing in God (and the lack of belief being important to me) makes me quite a pariah–and not being militant about it makes me feel distant from many, if not most, atheists.

There is something about atheism which breeds militancy. Someone very important to me recently said, on an unrelated but similar topic, “I don’t want to spend my life on the defensive.” I think that feeling plays into it–what better defense than an offense? I know I went through a period of militancy, but I just felt empty and hollow–I don’t hate religion, I don’t hate people who believe in God. I do hate ignorant group-think. I do hate blind thinking and perception. I do hate intolerance. But none of these are unique to religion or adherents.

Intolerance is something which can come along with community, especially community with boundaries of righteousness. And the greatest irony is that the stronger the walls that a community builds, the more they are at risk from isolating themselves from society, which in turns causes inward focus on the community, which in turn builds stronger walls…

One of the areas of religion I have studied is cults and one of the characteristics which people first identity as “cultish” is strong isolation. Give up your family, your friends, your past–they are tainted, we have the answer. That sort of stuff. But people are too heavy handed with their use of the word cult. It is, important I think, to understand how any strong community risks breeding this sentiment, especially from outsiders. The challenge is finding a way to balance community and interaction with the greater society.

I know I want to feel a part of a greater community–like I belong. But the honest truth is that I will never, ever give up my ability or interest in judging a person on his/her individual merit for a sense of belonging. I would rather be entirely alone and honest with myself and my relationships with others. I will never be a part of something which draws lines and says “you are in or you are out.” Those of you who know me or have been reading my writing for long enough know that among the top of my frustrations is either/or ideas. If my options are “all or nothing” then there is a serious problem with my options.

But I have to wonder–is there something acceptably human in the failure of the attempt to codify the divine ideal? Take the line of thinking: Humans are fallible (let’s assume some kind of personal, divine intention for this), God reveals truth to humans, humans attempt to interpret that truth, the interpretation becomes codified laws, those laws are not perfect–that seems to make some sense to me. Unless of course you choose to believe that divine inspiration is divinely perfect, and then you’re just screwed in explaining how things go wrong and why that is okay.

And how does individual interpretation of revelation factor in? Does the institution have divine inspiration and therefore represent the full and actual culmination of God’s will and desire? If the church is seem something as man made, and therefore fallible, I find my level of acceptance for problems in law and practice much higher. But, again, if the codified laws are divinely inspired, no way. Can the individual decide for him or herself what is right and wrong? How does human fallibility play a role in that interpretation?

Besides the fact that I believe the codified laws found in organized religion can simply be wrong, I also believe that at some point the religion becomes more about the worship of the law than about any kind of relationship with divinity. That, to me, is an ultimate tragedy. I find beauty, wonder, and grace in the world around me. If I were theistic, I would probably try to find divinity in the world, in my relationships with people, in life here and now. I’m sure it is a generalization and highly biased, but I feel like there is so much stagnation when the doctrine of law becomes more important than the doctrine of spirit.