Alma 30

Ammon’s people were settled in Ammon; Lamanite corpses got dumped into mass graves, unnumbered because innumerable. The obligatory fasting and prayer ensued; everyone kept the law of Moses— the breaking of which carried the severest penalties (yes, more executions); and the land was, they said, at peace. This lasted for all of the sixteenth year and most of the seventeenth.

But late in the seventeenth year a man came to Zarahemla, who was anti-Christ, speaking passionately against the whole Lamb Anointed One Son of God trope that had so captivated the people who survived the holocaust. His belief was unprosecutable under Nephite law, which brandished notions of free choice: people could serve God or not, as they chose. No law either way. (As mentioned earlier, their laws pertained mainly to murder, robbery, theft, and adultery.) But social pressure and vigilantism, of course, always lay under the surface of legal impunity.

Anyway, the man called himself Korihor. His message? Kind of blasé. Not too logical and of doubtful persuasiveness. But annoying to majority opinion, certainly. Here’s a taste:

“Why live so constricted by belief in future events? No one knows the future—your own experience should have taught you that by now. Prophecy is tradition, not prediction. Try empiricism for once. Observe and live by what your senses tell you.

“As for sin and forgiveness of your sins: that’s a psychological trap you’ve laid for yourselves, trying to please your elders and avoid facing the real world of hardship and cruelty and trying to master it by your wits. Pursue conduct that works for managing your lives without psychotropic herbs (or religion, same thing). Act like you have free will and can change your circumstances with brain-power.”

Etc. Blah blah. You’d think people would have better things to do than carp about religion. Maybe he thought there’d be money in this.

Still, some people let him lead them around with a leash on their brains. He got them to misbehave in a thousand ways, mostly sexual, which is the easiest and funnest way to misbehave, obviously.

After his tour of Zarahemla, he headed for Jershon, a.k.a. Ammon, for more spiritual hijinks. They were, let’s say, less receptive: a mob tied him up and took him to Ammon. Sound familiar? They’d learned that stunt years ago. With Ammon.

They hauled him, literally, out of town. He went to Gideon, where a mob tied him up and took him to the high priest chief judge there. So much for freedom of speech.

The priest judge, Giddonah by name, browbeat Korihor with questions: “Why, Mr. Spiritual Pervert, are you pimping for Satan? How dare you challenge the consensus of the masses? What makes you think you can interrupt our culture with all your gratis blurting?”

Korihor replied, “I’m just not into tradition. I’m also not into oppression, which is what tradition does. You think you can control people by running them through daily rituals and weekly meetings. Those things deaden people’s minds—and that’s just what people like you, addicted to control, always want. Zombie brains.

“Freedom of speech? That’s fine if you’ve already extracted the brain. And you, you suppress free inquiry by loading it down with obeisance to alleged prophecy, predictions that always come true, even if you have to enforce their fulfillment by word games and conniving reinterpretations.

“Everyone’s a sinner, you say, because sin passes from parent to child. That’s warped. Moral guilt because of biochemistry? Sick.

“And I won’t even get into this Jesus crap. Pardon my French.

“It’s a shell game with you guys. Where’s God? He’s under this commandment, no, that one. Where’s happiness? It’s under this rule, no that rule. Meanwhile, people are gambling their lives away when God and happiness are in your pockets. You’re pathetic.

“Oooh scary! I had a vision, you say. Obey me. Oooh lovely! I just made up a new tradition, you say. Pay up for the new product tie-ins. It’s all about mystification, out of which you create a druggy haze of head-nodding complicity. Oooh don’t offend the invisible beast who made you, you say. And people bow down, kiss your boots, and drop their paycheck in your bank slot.”

This did not go over well. The priest judge’s reply? No comment, instant deportation to Zarahemla. Buck passing in the name of the Lord. Let Alma handle it.

In Alma’s court, Korihor gave the same spiel. He also attacked teachers, accusing them of falsifying the curriculum to keep their jobs.

Alma said, “You know darn well we don’t pander to make a buck. You also know that I’ve always worked hard for the common man. And I’m self-reliant to a tee, even when traveling, which I do a lot. Despite my zeal and sweat, I’ve never gotten one thin senine for my work, except for our civil-service pay to sit here in court. But church work: no money. Never. It’s all about the intangible blessings. I think you know all this. Do you honestly believe what you’re saying?”

“Yes.”

“Do you believe in God?”

“No.”

“So you’re denying God and, by clear implication, denying Christ, both of which I believe in, incidentally. Do you have any evidence to prove your atheism? Because I feel like I have proof of my faith: a feeling unlike any other I’ve known. Can you accept that?” Then Alma went further: “I know you believe. But some kind of evil ghost has taken hold of your brain. And he’s in control of your mouth.”

“Show me a sign and I’ll believe like you do.” Always a bad move.

“Yeah right. You think you’re smarter and more believable than me and my people and every sanctified priestly author back to the Dawn of Time? What chutzpah. Try looking at the structure and beauty of everything you perceive through your senses. Meanwhile, I don’t like anything about your attitude. You manipulate words in the name of rationalism, no matter the psychological consequences on others.”

“Just put up or shut up,” Korihor said.

“Your stubbornness disturbs me,” Alma shot back. I think you’re cruising for a heavenly bruising with that chip—no, log—on your shoulder. So, if you insist on purveying gloom, I’ve got a sign for you: God smite your tongue.”

“Wait, wait. I’m not saying I can prove there’s no God. I’m just saying you can’t prove there is one. But as for the sign, bring it on.”

“I’m speechless at your arrogance,” Alma said. “So may God make you speechless.”

And Korihor’s mouth swelled up so that he couldn’t make a peep. “So what do you think now?” The chief judge asked. “You want more? Or is this enough?”

Korihor motioned for pencil and papyrus. “Alright, I give up. Nothing could shut me up but God. I guess I’ve always believed, deep down. And I should have kept to myself with any doubts. Besides, I’ve had visions of my own. An angel tapped me on the shoulder and said, ‘I have it on good authority that, even though I’m clearly a divine supernatural being, there is no God.’ He then gave me a script I should learn for telling people not to believe. And it worked. I loved that. And I loved the celebrity. In time I came to believe the script myself. Now I’m doomed. I can just feel it. Pray for me, would you?”

“I don’t think so. If God removed this curse, you’d immediately start up your preaching again. My people can’t take that.”

So the curse stayed on Korihor, who begged on every doorstep for food and clothes.

Well, he was a bigger celebrity than ever. A new proclamation kept his name in the press: if you have followed or do now follow Korihor, you better back off. Now.”

Everyone came to know—and hate—the new beggar in town, as he was known. And then the poetic justice. He went to a sect of the Nephites named after Zoram. On the way, a crowd of Zoramites trampled Korihor to death. The moral: If you lead a charge to run away, don’t turn around and go back with all your followers still going in the opposite direction. Some took Korihor’s trampling as a sign from God—or from the devil, his cute way of reminding us to settle our accounts with him.

One more example of God turning on his own children when they defile his plain message. The devil too, as we’ve come to take for granted, had no real interest in anything but his own boarders in hell.