Beneath the White Coats: Psychiatry, Eugenics, and the Forgotten Graves

Dogma in a Lab Coat

We like to believe science is self-correcting—that data drives discovery, that good ideas rise, and bad ones fall. But when it comes to mental health, modern society is still tethered to a deeply flawed framework—one that pathologizes human experience, medicalizes distress, and often does more harm than good.

Psychiatry has long promised progress, yet history tells a different story. From outdated treatments like bloodletting to today’s overprescription of SSRIs, we’ve traded one form of blind faith for another. These drugs—still experimental in many respects—carry serious risks, yet are handed out at staggering rates. And rather than healing root causes, they often reinforce a narrative of victimhood and chronic dysfunction.

The pharmaceutical industry now drives diagnosis rates, shaping public perception and clinical practice in ways that few understand. What’s marketed as care is often a system of control. In this episode, we revisit the dangers of consensus-driven science—how it silences dissent and rewards conformity.

Because science, like religion or politics, can become dogma. Paradigms harden. Institutions protect their power. And the costs are human lives.

But beneath this entire structure lies a deeper, more uncomfortable question—one we rarely ask:

What does it mean to be a person?

Are we just bodies and brains—repairable, programmable, replaceable? Or is there something more?

Is consciousness a glitch of chemistry, or is it a window into the soul?

Modern psychiatry doesn’t just treat symptoms—it defines the boundaries of personhood. It tells us who counts, who’s disordered, who can be trusted with autonomy—and who can’t.

But what if those definitions are wrong?

We’ve talked before about the risks of unquestioned paradigms—how ideas become dogma, and dogma becomes control. In a past episode, How Dogma Limits Progress in Fitness, Nutrition, and Spirituality, we explored Rupert Sheldrake’s challenge to the dominant scientific worldview—his argument that science itself had become a belief system, closing itself off to dissent. TED removed that talk, calling it “pseudoscience.” But many saw it as an attempt to protect the status quo—the high priests of data and empiricism silencing heresy in the name of progress. We will revisit his work later on in our conversation. 

We’ve also discussed how science, more than politics or religion, is often weaponized to control behavior, shape belief, and reinforce social hierarchies. And in a recent Taste Test Thursday episode, we dug into how the industrial food system was shaped not just by profit but by ideology—driven by a merger of science and faith.

To read more:

This framework—that science is never truly neutral—becomes especially chilling when you look at the history of psychiatry.

To begin this conversation, we’re going back—not to Freud or Prozac, but further. To the roots of American psychiatry. To two early figures—John Galt and Benjamin Rush—whose ideas helped define the trajectory of an entire field. What we find there presents a choice: a path toward genuine hope, or a legacy of continued harm.

This  story takes us into the forgotten corners of that history, a place where “normal” and “abnormal” were declared not by discovery, but by decree.

Clinical psychiatrist Paul Minot put it plainly:

“Psychiatry is so ashamed of its history that it has deleted much of it.”

And for good reason.

Psychiatry’s early roots weren’t just tangled with bad science—they were soaked in ideology. What passed for “treatment” was often social control, justified through a veneer of medical language. Institutions were built not to heal, but to hide. Lives were labeled defective. 

We would like to think that medicine is objective, that the white coat stands for healing. But behind those coats was a mission to save society from the so-called “abnormal.”
But who defined normal?
And who paid the price?


The Forgotten Legacy of Dr. John Galt

Lithograph, “Virginia Lunatic Asylum at Williamsburg, Va.” by Thomas Charles Millington, ca.1845. Block & Building Files – Public Hospital, Block 04, Box 07. Image citation: D2018-COPY-1104-001. Special Collections.

Long before DSM codes and Big Pharma, the first freestanding mental hospital  in America called Eastern Lunatic Asylum opened its doors in 1773—just down the road from where I live, in Williamsburg, Virginia. Though officially declared a hospital, it was commonly known as “The Madhouse.” For most who entered, institutionalization meant isolation, dehumanization, and often treatment worse than what was afforded to livestock. Mental illness was framed as a threat to the social order—those deemed “abnormal” were removed from society and punished in the name of care.

But one man dared to imagine something different.

Dr. John Galt II, appointed as the first medical superintendent of the hospital (later known as Eastern State), came from a family of alienists—an old-fashioned term for early psychiatrists. The word comes from the Latin alienus, meaning “other” or “stranger,” and referred to those considered mentally “alienated” from themselves or society. Today, of course, the word alien has taken on very different connotations—especially in the heated political debates over immigration. It’s worth clarifying: the historical use of alienist had nothing to do with immigration or nationality. It was a clinical label tied to 19th-century psychiatry, not race or citizenship. But like many terms, it’s often misunderstood or manipulated in modern discourse.

Galt, notably, broke with the harsh legacy of many alienists of his time. Inspired by French psychiatrist Philippe Pinel—often credited as the first true psychiatrist—Galt embraced a radically compassionate model known as moral therapy. Where others saw madness as a threat to be controlled, Galt saw suffering that could be soothed. He believed the mentally ill deserved dignity, freedom, and individualized care—not chains or punishment. He refused to segregate patients by race. He treated enslaved people alongside the free. And he opposed the rising belief—already popular among his fellow psychiatrists—that madness was simply inherited, and the mad were unworthy of full personhood.

Credit: The Valentine
Original Author: Cook Collection
Created: Late nineteenth to early twentieth century

Rather than seeing madness as a biological defect to be subdued or “cured,” Galt and Pinel viewed it as a crisis of the soul. Their methods rejected medical manipulation and instead focused on restoring dignity. They believed that those struggling with mental affliction should be treated not as deviants but as ordinary people, worthy of love, freedom, and respect.

Dr. Marshall Ledger, founder and editor of Penn Medicine, once quoted historian Nancy Tomes to summarize this period:

“Medical science in this period contributed to the understanding of mental illness, but patient care improved less because of any medical advance than because of one simple factor: Christian charity and common sense.”

Galt’s asylum was one of the only institutions in the United States to treat enslaved people and free Black patients equally—and even to employ them as caregivers. He insisted that every person, regardless of race, had a soul of equal moral worth. His belief in equality and metaphysical healing put him at odds with nearly every other psychiatrist of his time.

And he paid the price.

The psychiatric establishment, closely allied with state power and emerging medical-industrial interests, rejected his human-centered model. Most psychiatrists of the era endorsed slavery and upheld racist pseudoscience. The prevailing consensus was rooted in hereditary determinism—that madness and criminality were genetically transmitted, particularly among the “unfit.”

This growing belief—that mental illness was a biological flaw to be medically managed—was not just a scientific view, but an ideological one. Had Galt’s model of moral therapy been embraced more broadly, it would have undermined the growing assumption that biology and state-run institutions offered the only path to sanity. It would have challenged the idea that human suffering could—and should—be controlled by external authorities.

Instead, psychiatry aligned with power.

Moral therapy was quietly abandoned. And the field moved steadily toward the medicalized, racialized, and state-controlled version of mental health that would pave the way for both eugenics and the modern pharmaceutical regime.

“The Father of American Psychiatry”

Long before Auschwitz. Long before the Eugenics Record Office. Long before sterilization laws and IQ tests, there was Dr. Benjamin Rush—signer of the Declaration of Independence, founder of the first American medical school, and the man still honored as the “father of American psychiatry.” His portrait hangs today in the headquarters of the American Psychiatric Association.

Though many historians point to Francis Galton as the father of eugenics, it was Rush—nearly a century earlier—who laid much of the ideological groundwork. He argued that mental illness was biologically determined and hereditary. And he didn’t stop there.

Rush infamously diagnosed Blackness itself as a form of disease—what he called “negritude.” He theorized that Black people suffered from a kind of leprosy, and that their skin color and behavior could, in theory, be “cured.” He also tied criminality, alcoholism, and madness to inherited degeneracy, particularly among poor and non-white populations.

These ideas found a troubling ally in Charles Darwin’s emerging theories of evolution and heredity. While Darwin’s work revolutionized biology, it was often misused to justify racist notions of racial hierarchy and biological determinism.

Rush’s medical theories were mainstream and deeply influential, shaping generations of physicians and psychiatrists. Together, these ideas reinforced the belief that social deviance and mental illness were rooted in faulty bloodlines—pseudoscientific reasoning that provided a veneer of legitimacy to racism and social control within medicine and psychiatry.

The tragic irony? While Rush advocated for the humane treatment of the mentally ill in certain respects, his racial theories helped pave the way for the pathologizing of entire populations—a mindset that would fuel both American and European eugenics movements in the next century.

American Eugenics: The Soil Psychiatry Grew From

Before Hitler, there was Cold Spring Harbor. Founded in 1910, the Eugenics Record Office (ERO) operated out of Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory in New York with major funding from the Carnegie Institution, later joined by Rockefeller Foundation money. It became the central hub for American eugenic research, gathering family pedigrees to trace so-called hereditary defects like “feeblemindedness,” “criminality,” and “pauperism.”

Between the early 1900s and 1970s, over 30 U.S. states passed forced sterilization laws targeting tens of thousands of people deemed unfit to reproduce. The justification? Traits like alcoholism, poverty, promiscuity, deafness, blindness, low IQ, and mental illness were cast as genetic liabilities that threatened the health of the nation.

The practice was upheld by the U.S. Supreme Court in 1927 in the infamous case of Buck v. Bell. In an 8–1 decision, Justice Oliver Wendell Holmes Jr. wrote, “Three generations of imbeciles are enough,” greenlighting the sterilization of 18-year-old Carrie Buck, a young woman institutionalized for being “feebleminded”—a label also applied to her mother and child. The ruling led to an estimated 60,000+ sterilizations across the U.S.

And yes—those sterilizations disproportionately targeted African American, Native American, and Latina women, often without informed consent. In North Carolina alone, Black women made up nearly 65% of sterilizations by the 1960s, despite being a much smaller share of the population.

Eugenics wasn’t a fringe pseudoscience. It was mainstream policy—supported by elite universities, philanthropists, politicians, and the medical establishment.

And psychiatry was its institutional partner.

The American Journal of Psychiatry published favorable discussions of sterilization and even euthanasia for the mentally ill as early as the 1930s. American psychiatrists traveled to Nazi Germany to observe and advise, and German doctors openly cited U.S. laws and scholarship as inspiration for their own racial hygiene programs.

In some cases, the United States led—and Nazi Germany followed.

The International Congress of Eugenics’ Logo 1921

This isn’t conspiracy. It’s history. Documented, peer-reviewed, and disturbingly overlooked.


From Ideology to Institution

By the early 20th century, the groundwork had been laid. Psychiatry had evolved from a fringe field rooted in speculation and racial ideology into a powerful institutional force—backed by universities, governments, and the courts. But its foundation was still deeply compromised. What had begun with Benjamin Rush’s biologically deterministic theories and America’s eugenic policies now matured into a formalized doctrine—one that treated human suffering not as a relational or spiritual crisis, but as a defect to be categorized, corrected, or eliminated.

This is where the five core doctrines of modern psychiatry emerge.

The Five Doctrines That Shaped Modern Psychiatry

These five doctrines weren’t abandoned after World War II. They were rebranded, exported, and quietly absorbed into the foundations of American psychiatry.

1. The Elimination of Subjectivity

Patients were no longer seen as people with stories, pain, or meaning—they were seen as bundles of symptoms. Suffering was abstracted into clinical checklists. The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) became the gold standard, not because it offered clear science, but because it offered utility: a standardized language that served pharmaceutical companies, insurance billing, and bureaucratic control. If you could name it, you could code it—and medicate it.

2. The Eradication of Spiritual and Moral Meaning

Struggles once understood through relational, existential, or moral frameworks were stripped of depth. Grief became depression. Anger became oppositional defiance. Existential despair was reduced to a neurotransmitter imbalance. The soul was erased from the conversation. As Berger notes, suffering was no longer something to be witnessed or explored—it became something to be treated, as quickly and quietly as possible.

3. Biological Determinism

Mental illness was redefined as the inevitable result of faulty genes or broken brain chemistry—even though no consistent biological markers have ever been found. The “chemical imbalance” theory, aggressively marketed throughout the late 20th century, was never scientifically validated. Yet it persists, in part because it sells. Selective serotonin reuptake inhibitors (SSRIs)—still widely prescribed—were promoted on this flawed premise, despite studies showing they often perform no better than placebo and come with serious side effects, including emotional blunting, dependence, and sexual dysfunction.

4. Population Control and Racial Hygiene

In Germany, this meant sterilizing and exterminating those labeled “life unworthy of life.” In the U.S., it meant forced sterilizations of African-American and Native American women, institutionalizing the poor, the disabled, and the nonconforming. These weren’t fringe policies—they were mainstream, upheld by law and supported by leading psychiatrists and journals. Even today, disproportionate diagnoses in communities of color, coercive treatments in prisons and state hospitals, and medicalization of poverty reflect these same logics of control.

5. The Use of Institutions for Social Order

Hospitals became tools for enforcing conformity. Psychiatry wasn’t just about healing—it was about managing the unmanageable, quieting the inconvenient, and keeping society orderly. From lobotomies to electroshock therapy to modern-day involuntary holds, psychiatry has long straddled the line between medicine and discipline. Coercive treatment continues under new names: community treatment orders, chemical restraints, and state-mandated compliance.

These doctrines weren’t discarded after the fall of Nazi Germany. They were imported. Adopted. Rebranded under the guise of “evidence-based medicine” and “public health.” But the same logic persists: reduce the person, erase the context, medicalize the soul, and reinforce the system.


Letchworth Village: The Human Cost

I didn’t simply read this in a textbook. I stood there—on the edge of those woods—next to rows of numbered graves.

In 2020, while waiting to close on our New York house, my husband and I were staying in an Airbnb in Rockland County. We were walking the dogs one morning nearing the end of Call Hollow Road, there is a wide path dividing thick woodland when we came across a memorial stone:

“THOSE WHO SHALL NOT BE FORGOTTEN.”

We had stumbled upon the entrance to Old Letchworth Village Cemetery, and we instantly felt it’s somber history. Beyond it, rows of T-shaped markers each one a muted testament to the hundreds of nameless victims who perished at Letchworth. Situated just half a mile from the institution, these weathered grave markers reveal only the numbers that were once assigned to forgotten souls—a stark reminder that families once refused to let their names be known. This omission serves as a silent indictment of a system that institutionalized, dehumanized, and ultimately discarded these individuals.

When we researched the history, the truth was staggering.

Letchworth was supposed to be a progressive alternative to the horrors of 19th-century asylums. Instead, it became one of them. By the 1920s, reports described children and adults left unclothed, unbathed, overmedicated, and raped. Staff abused residents—and each other. The dormitories were overcrowded. Funding dried up. Buildings decayed.

The facility was severely overcrowded. Many residents lived in filth, unfed and unattended. Children were restrained for hours. Some were used in vaccine trials without consent. And when they died, they were buried behind the trees—nameless, marked only by small concrete stakes.

I stood among those graves. Over 900 of them. A long row of numbered markers, each representing a life once deemed unworthy of attention, of love, of dignity.

But the deeper horror is what Letchworth symbolized: the idea that certain people were better off warehoused than welcomed, that abnormality was a disease to be eradicated—not a difference to be understood.

This is the real history of psychiatric care in America.


The Problem of Purpose

But this history didn’t unfold in a vacuum. It was built on something deeper—an idea so foundational, it often goes unquestioned: that nature has no purpose. That life has no inherent meaning. That humans are complex machines—repairable, discardable, programmable.

This mechanistic worldview didn’t just shape medicine. It has shaped what we call reality itself.

As Dr. Rupert Sheldrake explains in Science Set Free, the denial of purpose in biology isn’t a scientific conclusion—it’s a philosophical assumption. Beginning in the 17th century, science removed soul and purpose from nature. Plants, animals, and human bodies were understood as nothing more than matter in motion, governed by fixed laws. No pull toward the good. No inner meaning.

By the time Darwin’s Origin of Species arrived in the 19th century 1859, this mechanistic lens was fully established. Evolution wasn’t creative—it was random. Life wasn’t guided—it was accidental.

Psychiatry, emerging in this same cultural moment, absorbed this worldview. Suffering was pathologized, difference diagnosed, and the soul reduced to faulty genetics and broken wiring.

Today, that mindset is alive in the DSM’s ever-expanding labels, in the belief that trauma is a chemical imbalance, that identity issues must be solved with hormones and surgery, and in the reflex to medicate children who don’t conform.

But what if suffering isn’t a bug in the system?

What if it’s a signal?

What if these so-called “disorders” are cries for meaning in a world that pretends meaning doesn’t exist?

The graves at Letchworth aren’t just a warning about medical abuse. They are a mirror—reflecting what happens when we forget that people are not problems to be solved, but souls to be seen.

Sheldrake writes, “The materialist denial of purpose in evolution is not based on evidence, but is an assumption.” Modern science insists all change results from random mutations and blind forces—chance and necessity. But these claims are not just about biology. They influence how we see human beings: as broken machines to be repaired or discarded.

As we said, in the 17th century, the mechanistic revolution abolished soul and purpose from nature—except in humans. But as atheism and materialism rose in the 19th century, even divine and human purpose were dismissed, replaced by the ideal of scientific “progress.” Psychiatry emerged from this philosophical soup, fueled not by reverence for the human soul but by the desire to categorize, control, and “correct” behavior—by any mechanical means necessary.

What if that assumption is wrong? What if the people we label “disordered” are responding to something real? What if our suffering has meaning—and our biology is not destiny?

“Genetics” as the New Eugenics

Today, psychiatry no longer speaks in the language of race hygiene.

It speaks in the language of genes.

But the message is largely the same:

You are broken at the root.

Your biology is flawed.

And the only solution is lifelong medication—or medical intervention.

We now tell people their suffering is rooted in faulty wiring, inherited defects, or bad brain chemistry—despite decades of inconclusive or contradictory evidence.

We still medicalize behaviors that don’t conform.

We still pathologize pain that stems from trauma, poverty, or social disconnection.

We still market drugs for “chemical imbalances” that have never been biologically verified.

And we still pretend this is science—not ideology.

But as Dr. Rupert Sheldrake argues in Science Set Free, even the field of genetics rests on a fragile and often overstated foundation. In Chapter 6, he challenges one of modern biology’s core assumptions: that all heredity is purely material—that our traits, tendencies, and identities are completely locked in by our genes.

But this isn’t how people have understood inheritance for most of human history.

Long before Darwin or Mendel, breeders, farmers, and herders knew how to pass on traits. Proverbs like “like father, like son” weren’t based on lab results—they were based on generations of observation. Dogs were bred into dozens of varieties. Wild cabbage became broccoli, kale, and cauliflower. The principles of heredity weren’t discovered by science; they were named by science. They were already in practice across the world.

What Sheldrake points out is that modern biology took this folk knowledge, stripped it of its nuance, and then centralized it—until genes became the sole explanation for almost everything.

And that’s a problem.

Because genetics has been crowned the ultimate cause of everything from depression to addiction, from ADHD to schizophrenia. When the outcomes aren’t clear-cut, the answer is simply: “We haven’t mapped the genome enough yet.”

But what if the model is wrong?

What if suffering isn’t locked in our DNA?

What if genes are only part of the story—and not even the most important part?

By insisting that people are genetically flawed, psychiatry sidesteps the deeper questions:

  • What happened to you?
  • What story are you carrying?
  • What environments shaped your experience of the world?

It pathologizes people—and exonerates systems.

Instead of exploring trauma, we prescribe pills.

Instead of restoring dignity, we reduce people to diagnoses.

Instead of healing souls, we treat symptoms.

Modern genetics, like eugenics before it, promises answers. But too often, it delivers a verdict: you were born broken.

We can do better.

We must do better.

Because healing doesn’t come from blaming bloodlines or rebranding biology.

It comes from listening, loving, and refusing to reduce people to a diagnosis or a gene sequence.


The Hidden Truth About Trauma and Diagnosis

As Pete Walker references Dr. John Briere’s poignant observation: if Complex PTSD and the role of early trauma were fully acknowledged by psychiatry, the Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM) could shrink from a massive textbook to something no larger than a simple pamphlet.

We’ve previously explored the crucial difference between PTSD and complex PTSD—topics like trauma, identity, neuroplasticity, stress, survival, and what it truly means to come home to yourself. This deeper understanding exposes a vast gap between real human experience and how mental health is often diagnosed and treated today.

Instead of addressing trauma with truth and compassion, the system expands diagnostic categories, medicalizes pain, and silences those who suffer.

The Cost of Our Silence

Many of us know someone who’s been diagnosed, hospitalized, or medicated into submission.

Some of us have been that person.

And we’re told this is progress. That this is compassion. That this is care.

But when I stood at the edge of those graves in Rockland County—row after row of anonymous markers—nothing about this history felt compassionate.

It felt buried. On purpose.

We must unearth it.

Not to deny mental suffering—but to reclaim the right to define it for ourselves.

To reimagine what healing could look like, if we dared to value dignity over diagnosis.

Because psychiatry hasn’t “saved” the abnormal.

It has often silenced, sterilized, and sacrificed them.

It has named pain as disorder.

Difference as defect.

Trauma as pathology.

The DSM is not a Bible.

The white coat is not a priesthood.

And genetics is not destiny.

We need better language, better questions, and better ways of relating to each other’s pain.

And that brings us full circle—to a man most people have never heard of: Dr. John Galt II.

Nearly 200 years ago, in Williamsburg, Virginia, Galt ran the first freestanding mental hospital in America. But unlike many of his peers, he rejected chains, cruelty, and coercion. He embraced what he called moral treatment—an approach rooted in truth, love, and human dignity. Galt didn’t see the “insane” as dangerous or defective. He saw them as souls.

He was influenced by Philippe Pinel, the French physician who famously removed shackles from asylum patients in Paris. Together, these early reformers dared to believe that healing began not with force, but with presence. With relationship. With care.

Galt refused to segregate patients by race. He treated enslaved people alongside the free. And he opposed the rising belief—already popular among his fellow psychiatrists—that madness was simply inherited, and the mad were unworthy of full personhood.

But what does it mean to recognize someone’s personhood?

Personhood is more than just being alive or having a body. It’s about being seen as a full human being with inherent dignity, moral worth, and rights—someone whose inner life, choices, and experiences matter. Recognizing personhood means acknowledging the whole person beyond any diagnosis, disability, or social status.

This question isn’t just philosophical—it’s deeply practical and contested. It’s at the heart of debates over mental health care, disability rights, euthanasia and even abortion. When does a baby become a person? When does someone with a mental illness or cognitive difference gain full moral consideration? These debates all circle back to how we define humanity itself.

In Losing Our Dignity: How Secularized Medicine Is Undermining Fundamental Human Equality, Charles C. Camosy warns that secular, mechanistic medicine can strip people down to biological parts—genes, symptoms, behaviors—rather than seeing them as full persons. This reduction risks denying people their dignity and the respect that comes with being more than the sum of their medical conditions.

Galt’s approach stood against this reduction. He saw patients as complex individuals with stories and struggles, deserving compassion and respect—not just as “cases” to be categorized or “disorders” to be fixed.

To truly recognize personhood is to honor that complexity and to affirm that every individual, regardless of race, mental health, or social status, has an equal claim to dignity and care.

But… Galt’s approach was pushed aside.

Why?

Because it didn’t serve the state.

Because it didn’t serve power.

Because it didn’t make money.

Today, we see a similar rejection of truth and compassion.

When a child in distress is told they were “born in the wrong body,” we call it gender-affirming care.

When a woman, desperate to be understood, is handed a borderline personality disorder label instead.

When medications with severe side effects are pushed as the only solution, we call it science.

But are we healing the person—or managing the symptoms?

Are we meeting the soul—or erasing it?

We’ve medicalized the human condition—and too often, we’ve called that progress.

We’ve spoken before about the damage done by Biblical counseling programs when therapy is replaced with doctrine—how evangelical frameworks often dismiss pain as rebellion, frame anger as sin, and pressure survivors into premature forgiveness.

But the secular system is often no better. A model that sees people as nothing more than biology and brain chemistry may wear a lab coat instead of a collar—but it still demands submission.

Both systems can bypass the human being in front of them.

Both can serve control over compassion.

Both can silence pain in the name of order.

What we truly need is something deeper.

To be seen.

To be heard.

To be honored in our complexity—not reduced to a diagnosis or a moral failing.

It’s time to stop.

It’s time to remember that human suffering is not a clinical flaw. It’s time to remember the metaphysical soul/psyche. 

Our emotional pain is not a chemical defect.

That being different, distressed, or deeply wounded is not a disease.

It’s time to recover the wisdom of Dr. John Galt II.

To treat those in pain—not as problems to be solved—but as people to be seen.

To offer truth and love, not labels, not sterilizing surgeries and lifelong prescriptions.

Because if we don’t, the graves will keep multiplying—quietly, behind institutions, beneath a silence we dare not disturb.

But we must disturb it.

Because they mattered.

And truth matters.

And the most powerful medicine has never been compliance or chemistry.

It’s being met with real humanity.

Being listened to. Believed.

Not pathologized. Not preached at. Not controlled.

But loved—in the deepest, most grounded sense of the word.

The kind of love that doesn’t look away.

The kind that tells the truth, even when it’s costly.

The kind that says: you are not broken—you are worth staying with.

Because to love someone like that…

is to recognize their personhood.

And maybe that’s the most radical act of all.

SOURCES:

  • “Director of the Kaiser Wilhelm Institute for Anthropology, Human Heredity, and Eugenics from 1927 to 1942, [Eugen] Fischer authored a 1913 study of the Mischlinge (racially mixed) children of Dutch men and Hottentot women in German southwest Africa. Fischer opposed ‘racial mixing, arguing that “negro blood” was of ‘lesser value and that mixing it with ‘white blood’ would bring about the demise of European culture” (United States Holocaust Memorial Museum, “Deadly Medicine: Creating the Master Race,” HMM Online: https://www.ushmm.org/exhibition/deadly-medicine/ profiles/). See also, Richard C. Lewontin, Steven Rose, and Leon J. Kamin, Not in Our Genes: Biology, Ideology, and Human Nature 2nd edition (Chicago: Haymarket Books, 2017), 207.
  • Gonaver, The Making of Modern Psychiatry
  • Saving Abnormal-The Disorder of Psychiatric Genetics-Daneil R Berger II
  • Lost Architecture: Eastern State Hospital – Colonial Williamsburg
  • 📘 General History of American Eugenics
    Lombardo, Paul A.
    Three Generations, No Imbeciles: Eugenics, the Supreme Court, and Buck v. Bell (2008)
    This book is the definitive account of Buck v. Bell and American eugenics law. It documents how widespread sterilizations were and provides legal and historical context.
    Black, Edwin.
    War Against the Weak: Eugenics and America’s Campaign to Create a Master Race (2003)
    Covers the U.S. eugenics movement in depth, including funding by Carnegie and Rockefeller, Cold Spring Harbor, and connections to Nazi Germany.
    Kevles, Daniel J.
    In the Name of Eugenics: Genetics and the Uses of Human Heredity (1985)
    A foundational academic history detailing how early American psychiatry and genetics were interwoven with eugenic ideology.

    🧬 Institutions & Funding
    Cold Spring Harbor Laboratory Archives
    https://www.cshl.edu
    Documents the history of the Eugenics Record Office (1910–1939), its funding by the Carnegie Institution, and its influence on U.S. and international eugenics.
    The Rockefeller Foundation Archives
    https://rockarch.org
    Shows how the foundation funded eugenics research both in the U.S. and abroad, including programs that influenced German racial hygiene policies.

    ⚖️ Sterilization Policies & Buck v. Bell
    Supreme Court Decision: Buck v. Bell, 274 U.S. 200 (1927)
    https://supreme.justia.com/cases/federal/us/274/200/
    Includes Justice Holmes’ infamous quote and the legal justification for forced sterilization.
    North Carolina Justice for Sterilization Victims Foundation
    https://www.ncdhhs.gov
    Reports the disproportionate targeting of Black women in 20th-century sterilization programs.
    Stern, Alexandra Minna.
    Eugenic Nation: Faults and Frontiers of Better Breeding in Modern America (2005)
    Explores race, sterilization, and medical ethics in eugenics programs, with data from states like California and North Carolina.

    🧠 Psychiatry’s Role & Nazi Connections
    Lifton, Robert Jay.
    The Nazi Doctors: Medical Killing and the Psychology of Genocide (1986)
    Shows how American eugenics—including psychiatric writings—helped shape Nazi ideology and policies like Aktion T-4 (the euthanasia program).
    Wahl, Otto F.
    “Eugenics, Genetics, and the Minority Group Mentality” in American Journal of Psychiatry, 1985.
    Traces how psychiatric institutions were complicit in promoting eugenic ideas.
    American Journal of Psychiatry Archives
    1920s–1930s issues include articles in support of sterilization and early euthanasia rhetoric.
    Available via https://ajp.psychiatryonline.org

Weaponized Forgiveness, Institutional Abuse, and Evangelical Justifications for Harm

Forgive and Forget? The Dark Side of Christian Forgiveness Culture

One of the main reasons I left mainstream Christianity is the way forgiveness has been weaponized. It’s used not as a path to healing but as a tool to silence victims, excuse harm, and protect institutions.

Instead of confronting abuse, many churches demand those survivors “forgive as they have been forgiven,” which conveniently shields perpetrators and absolves leadership from responsibility. Nowhere is this clearer than in the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC)—the largest Protestant denomination in the U.S.—which has spent decades covering up abuse while doing the bare minimum to protect children.

What Is the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC)?

The Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) is the largest Protestant denomination in the U.S., with over 47,000 churches and 13 million members as of 2024. Founded in 1845, the SBC split from northern Baptists over slavery and has since maintained a conservative theological stance.

The SBC holds complementarian beliefs, teaching that men and women have distinct, God-ordained roles with male headship in both the church and the home. This doctrine reinforces strict gender hierarchies, contributing to a culture of silence around abuse, particularly when male leaders are involved.


The SBC’s Persistent Failure to Protect Children

Despite its size and influence, the SBC has long failed to protect children from abuse. Recent reports show that only 58% of SBC-affiliated congregations require background checks for staff and volunteers working with children, and in smaller churches, this number drops to just 35%. A past audit revealed 12.5% of background checks flagged criminal histories that could disqualify individuals from church roles. These numbers underscore the SBC’s ongoing failure to address its own scandals.

Even if some churches struggle financially, it’s grossly irresponsible to assume volunteers are qualified without basic screenings. Churches should at the very least implement strict policies and mandatory training on abuse prevention and reporting—but the data proves otherwise.

Source: Southern Baptist Membership Decline Slows, Baptisms and Attendance Grow | Lifeway Research | May 7, 2024


SBC’s Hidden Influence: The Non-Denominational Loophole

Many churches that appear to be “non-denominational” are quietly affiliated with the SBC for financial and structural support. This means:

  • They may not openly use “Southern Baptist” in their name, yet still receive funding, resources, and pastoral training from the SBC.
  • Their leadership and policies often align with SBC doctrine, even if they market themselves as independent.
  • Some SBC-affiliated churches hide their connections to avoid association with the denomination’s abuse scandals, while still benefiting from its network.

This hidden network allows the SBC to maintain significant influence over American evangelicalism, even among those who believe they’re attending independent churches. And when scandals emerge, the denomination claims little accountability over individual churches, even as it continues to fund them.

  • The Guidepost Report (2022) exposed that SBC leadership maintained a secret list of over 700 abusive pastors, shielding them from consequences while survivors were ignored, discredited, or retaliated against.
  • Jennifer Lyell, an SBC abuse survivor, was vilified by church leadership when she came forward. Instead of support, she was publicly shamed, and her abuser faced no consequences.
  • Christa Brown, another survivor, spent years advocating for reform after being assaulted by her youth pastor. The SBC’s response? Stonewalling, gaslighting, and further silencing.

This is not an anomaly. It’s a pattern.


The Hillsong Scandal: A Deep Dive into Leadership, Accountability, and Institutional Culture

Hillsong Church, once hailed as a beacon of contemporary Christianity with its celebrity-driven worship services and massive global influence, has been mired in a series of scandals that have sent shockwaves through the church and beyond. The drama surrounding Hillsong reflects much deeper systemic issues within religious institutions, particularly those that prioritize celebrity culture, financial power, and unchecked leadership.

Brian Houston and His Father’s Abuse Scandal

At the heart of the Hillsong scandal is the case of Brian Houston and his handling of sexual abuse allegations against his father, Frank Houston, a founding member of the Assemblies of God in New Zealand. Frank Houston’s abuse of children became widely known, but Brian Houston’s failure to act—despite being aware of the allegations for decades—has raised serious questions about the church’s culture of secrecy and its prioritization of protecting its leaders over seeking justice for victims.

In 2021, Brian Houston was charged with covering up his father’s abuse, but he was acquitted in 2023. While the legal outcomes may be behind him, the moral and ethical questions surrounding his actions remain. His failure to report the abuse to the authorities and the lack of transparency in how Hillsong handled the situation speaks to the larger issue of institutions shielding leaders from accountability, especially when their actions threaten the church’s public image.

Carl Lentz and Leadership Failures

Another key figure in the Hillsong saga is Carl Lentz, the former lead pastor of Hillsong New York. Lentz’s celebrity status, especially his close relationships with figures like Justin Bieber, elevated him to international fame. But in 2020, Lentz was fired from his position after admitting to an extramarital affair. The church’s response to Lentz’s scandal raised more questions than answers. Hillsong failed to address the broader cultural issues at play—namely, a leadership model built on celebrity culture and a lack of accountability.

The church’s focus on its brand, public image, and the reputations of its leaders made it easier to overlook the toxic dynamics that led to Lentz’s behavior. His fall from grace demonstrated the dangers of elevating leaders to superstar status, where moral accountability is secondary to their influence and popularity.

Financial Mismanagement and Lack of Transparency

Financial scandals have also been a hallmark of Hillsong’s decline. Despite its non-profit status, Hillsong has faced accusations of lavish spending by its leaders, including Brian Houston, and financial mismanagement that prioritized the comfort of senior leaders over the needs of the congregation. Hillsong’s lack of financial transparency has led many to question how donations were being spent, particularly when its leaders were living luxurious lifestyles while the church’s financial practices remained opaque.

Reports have shown that church members had little insight into the church’s budgeting or financial decisions, raising alarms about how donations were being used. This financial opacity has created a culture of distrust, with many questioning whether Hillsong truly operated as a faith-based organization or as a business built around its leaders’ financial gain.

Celebrity Culture and Unchecked Leadership

The rise of Hillsong as a “celebrity church” is a clear example of the dangers of celebrity culture within religious organizations. Leaders like Brian Houston and Carl Lentz became more known for their status than their spiritual leadership. This culture created a disconnect between the mission of the church and the behaviors of those at its helm, fostering an environment where moral failings were excused, and accountability was pushed aside in favor of maintaining the church’s celebrity-driven image.

The celebrity culture at Hillsong is not an isolated phenomenon—many mega-churches and influential religious organizations have succumbed to similar dynamics. Leaders are often viewed as untouchable figures whose actions are excused because of their fame and influence. This lack of accountability has led to repeated scandals and a breakdown in trust between church leadership and their congregations.


A Culture of Silence and Protection

Celebrity culture and the culture of silence are both hallmarks of Christian culture, where forgiveness is weaponized to silence victims and maintain the church’s authority. Survivors who seek accountability are often told they are “bitter” or “holding onto unforgiveness,” while abusers are framed as sinners in need of grace.

This forced-reconciliation model doesn’t just silence victims—it actively enables abusers. Over and over, religious institutions have shielded predators while insisting their victims move on.

  • The Catholic Church sex abuse scandal followed the same pattern—priests were quietly transferred rather than removed.
  • The Southern Baptist Convention (SBC) was exposed in 2022 for covering up hundreds of abuse cases, prioritizing its reputation over protecting the vulnerable.
  • The Institute in Basic Life Principles (IBLP), made infamous by Shiny Happy People, used its teachings to guilt victims into silence, reinforcing submission as godliness.
  • The Mormon Church (LDS) has been accused of systematically covering up child sexual abuse, instructing bishops to handle cases internally rather than report them to authorities. The “help line” for abuse victims has been exposed as a legal shield to protect the church from liability.
  • Jehovah’s Witnesses have a longstanding pattern of protecting sexual predators under their “two-witness rule,” which requires at least two people to witness abuse for it to be considered valid. This impossible standard allows abusers to go unpunished while victims are shunned for speaking out.

This cycle continues because religious institutions prioritize obedience and reputation over accountability. Instead of advocating for justice, they demand submission—a dynamic that ensures abuse thrives in the shadows, disguised as grace.


The Evangelical Rejection of Modern Psychology

Many evangelicals reject modern psychology, fearing it undermines biblical authority and promotes a so-called “victim mentality.” Books like Bad Therapy are used to discredit trauma-informed approaches, mental health care, and gentle parenting—reinforcing the belief that obedience and submission matter more than emotional well-being.

But this isn’t just about dismissing psychology—it’s about control. Evangelical spaces often use forgiveness as a tool to suppress legitimate pain and absolve abusers of accountability. Instead of being a process that centers the victim’s healing, forgiveness is reframed as an obligation, a test of faith that prioritizes reconciliation over justice.

This kind of messaging pressures survivors into “forgiving and forgetting” under the guise of spiritual growth. As Susan Forward explains in Toxic Parents, this demand for immediate forgiveness often leads to “premature reconciliation,” where the victim is pushed to restore relationships without ever addressing the harm done. She describes how toxic family systems—and by extension, religious institutions—weaponize guilt, framing any resistance to reconciliation as bitterness, rebellion, or even sin. Forward emphasizes that true healing requires acknowledging pain, setting boundaries, and understanding that some relationships are too harmful to maintain. Forgiveness, in this sense, should never be about dismissing harm but about reclaiming personal agency.

Similarly, Pete Walker in The Tao of Fully Feeling critiques how many forgiveness frameworks, particularly those influenced by religious teachings, encourage victims to suppress righteous anger rather than process it. He argues that when people are pressured to forgive too soon, they bypass the necessary emotional work of grief and anger, which are essential steps in healing. Walker describes how survivors of abuse are often gaslit into believing that their pain is an obstacle to their spiritual growth rather than a justified response to harm. In contrast, he advocates for harvesting forgiveness out of blame—a process that allows victims to first fully validate their experiences, express their anger, and grieve their losses before even considering forgiveness. This approach reframes forgiveness as something that should serve the survivor’s well-being rather than the comfort of the perpetrator.

This is why modern psychology takes a different approach. Unlike evangelical teachings that frame forgiveness as a duty, trauma-informed perspectives recognize that forgiveness is a choice—one that should empower the survivor, not burden them with more guilt. True healing requires honoring all emotions, including anger, rather than rushing to absolution for the sake of appearances or religious pressure.


ACBC “Biblical Counseling”: When Religion Overrides Psychology

Another significant issue within certain Christian communities is the rise of the Biblical Counseling movement, particularly through the Association of Certified Biblical Counselors (ACBC) and its Nouthetic Counseling model. This approach starkly rejects psychological expertise and promotes the belief that biblical wisdom alone is sufficient to address mental health struggles, trauma, and even domestic violence. While this may seem like a spiritual response to real-world issues, it often exacerbates the trauma and leads to harmful advice.

One glaring problem with ACBC counseling is its lack of professional psychological training. Many of its so-called counselors do not possess accredited education in mental health fields. Instead, they rely on an outdated and rigid interpretation of scripture that reduces complex psychological issues to mere spiritual shortcomings. This is particularly dangerous in cases of trauma, mental illness, and domestic violence, where the guidance of trained mental health professionals is crucial.

Additionally, ACBC’s approach often results in victim-blaming, particularly for women who are struggling with abuse or neglect. Rather than providing the resources and support these women need, the movement encourages them to endure hardship with a sense of spiritual submission. This can exacerbate feelings of helplessness and self-blame, which are already prevalent among victims of abuse.

My Experience within ACBC Biblical Counseling

I was involved in a biblical counseling program that reinforced a system of patriarchal control, stifling my autonomy and presenting a distorted view of marriage and gender roles.

One of the most telling moments was when I encountered an excerpt from The Excellent Wife by Martha Peace in one of the workbooks. The list of expectations outlined for a wife to “glorify” her husband was staggering and disempowering. It included directives like:

  1. Organizing cleaning, grocery shopping, laundry, and cooking while fulfilling your “God-given responsibility” so that your husband is free to focus on his work.
  2. Saving some of your energy every day for him.
  3. Prioritizing your husband above children, parents, friends, jobs, Bible studies, etc., and rearranging your schedule whenever necessary to meet his needs.
  4. Speaking positively about him to others and never slandering him—even if what you’re saying is true.
  5. Doing whatever you can to make him look good, from running errands to helping accomplish his goals, while never taking offense if he chooses not to use your suggestions.
  6. Considering his work, goals, hobbies, and religious duties more important than your own.

As I’ve explained, these expectations weren’t just fringe ideas—they were central to the teachings of Biblical Counseling, widely embraced within the Southern Baptist Convention and many non-denominational churches. What I experienced wasn’t just about a partnership; it was about submission—unquestioning and absolute. The woman’s role was essentially to serve her husband’s needs and desires, no matter the cost to her own identity or autonomy.

But perhaps one of the most chilling aspects of this program was a statement that underscored the complete denial of personal rights. The workbook stated that humble people have “no rights” in Christ—only responsibilities. It referenced Philippians 2:3-8 to justify this perspective.

Don’t be selfish; don’t try to impress others. Be humble, thinking of others as better than yourselves. Don’t look out only for your own interests, but take an interest in others, too. You must have the same attitude that Christ Jesus had.

The workbook then presented a list of “rights” that were seen as sinful or selfish to claim in this context. Some of the rights included:

  • The right to control personal belongings
  • The right to privacy
  • The right to express personal opinions
  • The right to earn and use money
  • The right to plan your own schedule
  • The right to respect
  • The right to be married, protected, appreciated, desired, and treated fairly
  • The right to travel, to have a good education, to be beautiful

There were over thirty items on this list. This wasn’t just a list of personal sacrifices; it was a grooming tool that laid the groundwork for further abuse and manipulation under the guise of spiritual obedience.

These teachings were not about partnership, love, or mutual respect. They were about control, and they left no room for the dignity and rights of individuals, especially women.

If you want to dive deeper into the power dynamics at play in these teachings, I highly recommend listening to this podcast that breaks down the power play behind these ideologies.

A study on women’s anger found that common triggers for anger in women include feelings of helplessness, not being listened to, perceived injustice, and the irresponsibility of others. Instead of addressing these genuine concerns, ACBC’s authoritarian approach often pushes women to submit further, casting aside their voices and their safety in favor of a misguided spiritual ideal. This not only exacerbates their mental health but creates an environment ripe for spiritual abuse.

Corporal Punishment and Legal Definitions of Abuse

A major component of ACBC’s teachings also intersects with the controversial use of corporal punishment, where a thin line between discipline and abuse is often blurred. In some evangelical communities, particularly those influenced by ACBC’s authoritarian doctrines, corporal punishment is defended as a necessary part of biblical discipline, despite overwhelming legal and psychological evidence that physical discipline can have long-term harmful effects.

One of the most enduring arguments for corporal punishment is the misquoted phrase, “Spare the rod, spoil the child.” However, this phrase does not originate from the Bible. It comes from a 17th-century satirical poem by Samuel Butler, Hudibras. Despite this, it continues to be used in evangelical circles to justify spanking, whipping, and other forms of physical punishment.

The Bible passages often cited to defend corporal punishment—Proverbs 13:24, 22:15, 23:13-14, 29:15, and Hebrews 12:5-13—are frequently interpreted in a rigid, literal manner by proponents of corporal punishment. However, this literal approach is a key part of what historian Mark Noll refers to as “the scandal of the evangelical mind.” This narrow hermeneutic reflects a resistance to modern biblical criticism, science, and intellectual inquiry. It prioritizes a literal interpretation of scripture without considering the historical, cultural, and literary context of these texts. As a result, the teachings of scripture are applied in ways that disregard the broader ethical and psychological implications of corporal punishment.

Despite the continued justification for corporal punishment in these circles, modern research overwhelmingly shows its harmful effects. Studies indicate that physical discipline can lead to increased aggression, mental health issues, and weakened parent-child relationships. Yet, many evangelicals remain unwilling to reconsider this harmful tradition, which reflects a broader resistance within conservative Christianity to engage with contemporary understandings of psychology, trauma recovery, and legal definitions of abuse.

To clarify what constitutes abuse, Congress enacted the Federal Child Abuse Prevention and Treatment Act (CAPTA) in 1974, defining physical abuse as:

The infliction of physical injuries such as bruises, burns, welts, cuts, bone and skull fractures, caused by kicking, punching, biting, beating, knifing, strapping, and paddling.

Despite this clear legal definition, corporal punishment remains legal in all 50 states, with 19 states still allowing paddling in schools. This creates a disturbing disconnect: what is considered child abuse in some settings (such as foster care) is still widely accepted in evangelical homes and schools, even when it causes lasting harm to children.

This tension highlights the problematic nature of ACBC’s teachings, which sometimes encourage discipline methods that can be classified as abusive under legal definitions. Rather than fostering healthy relationships between parents and children, these practices often reinforce cycles of harm and emotional neglect, contributing to the very psychological issues ACBC claims to address. The refusal to acknowledge these realities creates a fertile ground for continued spiritual and psychological abuse.


The Case of John MacArthur and Grace Community Church (GCC)

One of the most disturbing examples of ACBC counseling practices, combined with the authoritarian culture it fosters, can be seen in the actions of John MacArthur, the pastor of Grace Community Church in Sun Valley, California, and his church’s mishandling of abuse allegations.

MacArthur has long been a proponent of the Nouthetic Counseling model, promoting a brand of counseling that prioritizes submission and forgiveness above all else, even in cases of serious abuse. One such case involves Eileen Gray, a woman who endured severe abuse at the hands of her husband, David Gray, while seeking help from Grace Community Church. Instead of providing support or professional counseling, Eileen was told by church leaders that seeking outside help was “worldly” and wrong.

Eileen’s testimony reveals the disturbing practices within GCC, where she was repeatedly told to forgive her abuser even if he was not repentant. Pastor Carey Hardy, a close associate of MacArthur, allegedly taught Eileen the “threefold promise of forgiveness”—a concept detailed in a booklet by MacArthur himself. According to this model, forgiveness means acting as though the abuse never happened, never bringing it up again, and never sharing it with others. This approach not only trivializes the severity of abuse but also places the onus on the victim to endure suffering for the sake of forgiveness and spiritual purity.

What is perhaps most alarming is the pressure placed on Eileen to allow David back into the home and “model for the children how to suffer for Jesus.” Eileen was told to accept her husband’s abuse and, in a deeply misguided view, to make her children witness this suffering as an example of Christian resilience. When Eileen refused to allow her children to be exposed to further abuse, she was met with resistance and intimidation.

The Revelation of Abuse and MacArthur’s Dismissal

Despite Eileen’s pleas for help, GCC’s response was woefully inadequate. When Eileen eventually sought counsel from Alvin B. Barber, a pastor who had officiated her marriage, Barber corroborated her account of the abusive counseling she had received from Hardy. Barber’s testimony was a damning indictment of both Hardy and the church’s leadership, as he described how Eileen was told to submit to her abuser and accept the abuse as part of her spiritual journey.

Eileen’s refusal to allow her children to remain in an abusive environment ultimately led her to request removal from the church’s membership. However, in a shocking display of disregard for her safety and well-being, Grace Community Church denied her request and continued to maintain her as a member, further compounding the trauma she had already experienced.

In the wake of these revelations, MacArthur’s involvement in the case became a point of contention. While MacArthur publicly denounced David Gray’s actions and supported his conviction, he simultaneously failed to hold his own leadership accountable for their role in enabling the abuse. MacArthur’s contradictory statements and lack of transparency in addressing the failures of his church’s leadership reflect a deeper systemic issue within his ministry: a prioritization of church authority and reputation over the safety and well-being of its members.

The Larger Implications: Spiritual Abuse and Lack of Accountability

The case of Eileen Gray is far from an isolated incident. It highlights a pattern within certain corners of the evangelical church, where women’s voices are silenced, and their suffering is minimized in favor of preserving a theological ideal that values submission and suffering over justice and healing. This pattern can lead to widespread spiritual abuse, where individuals are subjected to harmful advice and counseling that prioritizes conformity over personal well-being.

Furthermore, the lack of accountability for church leaders like John MacArthur, who have enormous influence in evangelical circles, contributes to the perpetuation of this toxic culture. By refusing to acknowledge the harmful consequences of ACBC-style counseling and the dismissive responses to abuse victims, MacArthur and others in positions of power not only fail to protect the vulnerable but also send a message that spiritual authority trumps the dignity and safety of individuals.

In the case of John MacArthur’s response to abuse allegations within his church, we see a chilling example of how religious institutions, under the guise of biblical wisdom, can cause immense harm. Eileen Gray’s story is a reminder of the dangers of theological systems that prioritize submission, forgiveness, and authority without regard for the trauma and suffering of individuals.

As these abuses come to light, it’s essential to continue challenging the status quo and demand greater accountability from religious leaders and organizations that have long been able to operate with impunity. Victims of spiritual abuse must be heard, and their stories must be validated, not dismissed or ignored.


The Bigger Picture: Power, Control, and the Misuse of Forgiveness

Whether we’re talking about institutional abuse, forced forgiveness, corporal punishment, or the rejection of psychology, the common denominator is control.

Evangelicals often claim that therapy “makes people feel like victims”, yet they embrace an even bigger victim narrative—the belief that Christians are under attack, that psychology is a threat, and that questioning church authority is dangerous.

Modern psychology isn’t perfect. Some aspects can promote excessive victimhood narratives. But that doesn’t mean psychology is inherently bad.

What we need is balance:

  • Healing that acknowledges real harm without trapping people in a victim identity.
  • Forgiveness as a choice, not a weapon.
  • Accountability for abusers, not silence for survivors.

Forgiveness should never be used to:

❌ Silence victims

❌ Excuse abuse

❌ Bypass justice

Discipline should never be an excuse for violence.
Faith should never be a shield for abusers.

Final Thoughts

Leaving mainstream Christianity wasn’t about rejecting faith—it was about rejecting an abusive system that prioritizes power over people.

If the church truly cared about justice, it would:

✔️ Prioritize abuse prevention over “cheap grace.”
✔️ Hold abusers accountable instead of demanding forced forgiveness.
✔️ Recognize that psychology isn’t a threat—but unchecked religious authority is.

It’s time to stop justifying harm in the name of God.

If you’re questioning a church’s affiliation with the Southern Baptist Convention (SBC), here are a few ways to check:

  • Ask directly—but be aware that some churches may downplay or obscure their affiliation.
  • Look for “Great Commission Baptists”—a rebranded term used by some SBC churches to distance themselves from controversy.
  • Use the SBC church locator tool online.
  • Investigate whether the church’s pastors were trained at SBC seminaries (e.g., Southern Baptist Theological Seminary, Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary).

But here’s the thing: A new approach is emerging—one that focuses on community-driven solutions to address the consequences of institutional failures. Transparency, accountability, and education are now essential for organizations to operate ethically in the 21st century.

As these movements grow, it’s clear that change is happening. If you’re interested in exploring these shifts, especially within religious institutions, check out the upcoming docuseries dropping this Easter Sunday. It will dive deep into the pressing need for institutional reform, highlighting the intersection of religious nonprofits and the modern world. The series will explore the ethical, financial, and leadership issues many faith-based organizations face today. For more information, visit The Religion Business.

The Wounds We Don’t See: Betrayal, Recovery and Rebuilding Trust

Healing After Religious Abuse: A Conversation with Connie A. Baker

Religious abuse can leave deep scars—ones that don’t just fade with time but require intentional healing. In this week’s conversation, I sat down with Connie A. Baker, author of Traumatized by Religious Abuse, for an honest and heartfelt discussion about the journey of healing from spiritual trauma. Connie shares her own experiences, the painful realities of the “second wound,” and how survivors can reclaim their emotional autonomy after years of manipulation and control.

Why Healing Can’t Be Rushed

One of the most profound takeaways from our conversation was the reminder that healing isn’t something to bulldoze through. Connie calls herself a “recovering bulldozer,” always pushing to move forward as quickly as possible. But in trauma recovery, speed can be counterproductive. She embraces the mantra, slow is steady, and steady is fast. For survivors, learning to slow down and allow healing to unfold naturally is essential. Trying to rush past the pain often leads to setbacks, while true recovery requires patience, self-compassion, and time.

The Second Wound: Betrayal After Speaking Out

Connie describes how only 25% of the damage she endured came from the abuse itself—the remaining 75% came from the judgment, rejection, and betrayal she faced when she spoke out. This “second wound” is a devastating reality for many survivors who expect support but instead encounter disbelief, gaslighting, or outright hostility.

I resonated deeply with this. When I began speaking about my own experiences within the church, I was met with accusations of backsliding, manipulation, and spiritual rebellion. Survivors already carry the weight of their trauma, and the added burden of social ostracization can feel insurmountable.

So how do we heal from this betrayal? Connie shares practical steps, including:

  • Finding safe, validating spaces where your story is heard and honored.
  • Understanding that others’ disbelief or discomfort does not negate your truth.
  • Developing strong boundaries to protect yourself from further harm.

Naming Abuse and Embracing Spectrum Thinking

One of the most insidious aspects of religious abuse is the difficulty of naming it. Many survivors downplay their experiences, believing that if they weren’t physically harmed, it “wasn’t that bad.” But Connie emphasizes that minimizing abuse hinders healing.

Abuse exists on a spectrum—from coercive control and emotional manipulation to outright physical harm. Recognizing where an experience falls on that spectrum is crucial for understanding the impact and taking steps toward recovery. This applies beyond religion too—cults, MLMs, and even rigid ideological movements can exhibit the same coercive tactics found in high-control religious environments.

Developing spectrum thinking—moving away from rigid “all or nothing” perspectives—allows survivors to see the full picture. Instead of thinking, “I was never physically hurt, so it wasn’t abuse,” they can acknowledge, “This environment manipulated me, eroded my self-trust, and controlled my emotions. That was harmful.”

Reclaiming Emotional Autonomy

Spiritual abuse often hinges on emotional suppression. Survivors are told that negative emotions—anger, sadness, fear—are sinful or a sign of weak faith. Verses like “Rejoice in the Lord always” and “Be anxious for nothing” are weaponized to shame people into emotional denial.

But emotions provide vital information. Anger tells us when our boundaries have been crossed. Sadness signals loss and the need for healing. Anxiety can be a survival mechanism. Connie reminds us that full wisdom comes from embracing the entire spectrum of human emotions.

Learning to trust yourself again after years of emotional control is no small feat. Some practical steps include:

  • Allowing yourself to feel emotions without labeling them as good or bad.
  • Recognizing when religious conditioning is silencing your true feelings.
  • Using anger constructively—to set boundaries rather than self-destruct.

Wrestling with Worldview: From Spiritual to Materialist and Back Again

Many survivors of religious abuse go through a radical shift in their worldview. Some reject spirituality entirely, embracing a materialist perspective where only the tangible world is real. Others swing to the opposite extreme, seeking comfort in rigid new belief systems.

Connie highlights that this spectrum—from deeply spiritual to strictly materialist—is something many survivors navigate as they attempt to make sense of their experiences. Some turn to hedonism—“Eat, drink, and be merry”—while others find meaning in service, activism, or intellectual pursuits. What matters most isn’t where someone lands on the spectrum but rather the process of wrestling with meaning, truth, and autonomy after religious trauma.

Final Thoughts

Healing from religious abuse is not linear. It’s messy, painful, and often isolating. But as Connie’s journey shows, it’s possible. By embracing the full range of emotions, setting firm boundaries, and recognizing abuse for what it is, survivors can reclaim their autonomy and rebuild a life of freedom and self-trust.

If you’re in the midst of this journey, know that you are not alone. Whether you’re deconstructing, reconstructing, or simply trying to make sense of it all, your experiences are valid. And healing—real, lasting healing—is possible.

What part of this conversation resonated most with you? Drop a comment and let’s keep the discussion going.

And as always: Maintain your curiosity, embrace skepticism, and keep tuning in! 🎙️🔒

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