Heretic Hereafter Podcast

Katharine Strange
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Heretic Hereafter is about figuring out how to live the good life after leaving Evangelical Christianity. Whether you're religious or not, join us for a weekly dose of humor and reflection that helps us look past the superficial for life's deeper meanings. heretichereafter.substack.com

  1. 6D AGO

    What Will People Think?

    Early in my blogging career, I pitched my first-ever interview. I wanted to ask a local butcher about ethical meat buying. In emails, he seemed eager for the exposure. I don’t know if he checked out my itty-bitty blog before agreeing, what I do know is that I walked in with my notebook, recorder, and my toddler son in a stroller, the butcher took one look at us and doubled over laughing. I’m not exaggerating—he laughed at me for an uncomfortably long time. Long enough for my patient smile to fall off my face. Long enough for a thousand doubts to swirl through my mind: who was I to call myself a writer when I couldn’t even afford a babysitter? I was a fraud and a failure and just a mom. Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. In that moment, all I wanted was to turn around and wheel my stroller back out the door. Being laughed at is, I believe, a universal fear that drives many of our decisions. It’s why public speaking is so scary and why picking out new clothes or a haircut can feel dire. Deeper than that, fear of being laughed at is the reason many of us avoid pursuing things we’re passionate about. We don’t want to look like idiots or weirdos. We don’t want to be gossiped about or excluded from the group. You want to do…what? Getting laughed at during my first professional interview was what came to mind as I watched the documentary Maintenance Artist at Seattle International Film Festival this past weekend. The film explores the career of Mierle Laderman Ukeles, a visual artist who, upon entering motherhood, pivoted from sculpture to developing the idea of “maintenance art”—reframing acts like cleaning and care work as art. The documentary traces Ukeles’ evolution from invisible housewife to the creation of her Manifesto for Maintenance Art, which ties in the personal, professional, and environmental importance of maintenance. In documenting these overlooked forms of work, Ukeles elevates them to something worthy of notice and praise. In order to make these artworks, Ukeles had to risk being laughed out of the New York art scene. As you can see in the clip above, at first, many of her collaborators did not take her seriously. She had to be the first believer in her own work. What would you do if you were not afraid to fail? It’s cliche to ask, but how many of us hold ourselves back out of fear? The Stoics, as always, have a bit of advice here. They break the world into two categories: things you can control and things you can’t. And they squarely locate “reputation” in the category of things outside one’s control. When this fear arises, they advise refocusing on something you can control, like your own actions. In the immortal words of Marcus Aurelius: haters gonna hate. That day in the butcher’s shop, I fended off the urge to flee. Instead, I calmly waited for my interview subject to get ahold of himself. Finally, he stopped laughing. Then we went into his office and I conducted the interview. My son was quietly absorbed in his toy and did not disrupt the interview, as I knew he wouldn’t. At home, I wrote up my article and shared the link with the butcher, who thanked me profusely. He never broached his awkward laughter, but I hoped as he bragged about the interview on his social media, he learned his lesson. Here’s the thing with trying something new: you never know where it will lead. I couldn’t have known that that first, embarrassing interview would eventually lead to me writing articles for local and national publications, or to a career as an author. It’s terrifying to stick your neck out. People might laugh at you, they might ask, “Who the hell does she think she is?” But here’s what I know: you can survive it. And the more you’re able to overcome the low opinions of others, the more your confidence will grow, until the idea of being laughed at isn’t so scary anymore. Is there anything that fear is holding you back from doing? What would it look like if you failed? What about if you succeeded? Imagine you’re 90 years old, would you regret trying or not trying more? BONUS MATERIALS: * in case you want to geek out more about Ukeles. (She’s also discussed in Angela Garbes’ excellent Essential Labor) * this glorious anthem of losers who try hard! Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Heretic Hereafter at heretichereafter.substack.com/subscribe

    4 min

  2. MAY 6

    Confessions of a Scaredy-Cat

    Here’s the thing no one warns you about healing: once you stop numbing all your feelings and start facing yourself, you’ll be confronted with a lot of ugliness. You think you’re a nice person? Look, here are all your petty resentments! Pretty sure you’re capable? Here are all your failures and shortcomings! Think you’re rational? Behold your bizarre late-night fears! I speak from personal experience. As I’ve worked towards mindfulness, I’ve noticed how much fear dominates my thinking. Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Here’s a shortlist of things that scare me: murderers, climate change, whether my kids will have economic opportunities, Manfluencers, military drones, my husband getting hit by a car while he’s cycling, AI replacing jobs, AI replacing MY job, school shootings, scary noises in the middle of the night, professional failure, war, raising sons who grow up to be Manfluencers, getting diabetes, raccoons, losing my kids on public transit, the US becoming a theocracy, my parents dying, losing the right to vote, my neighbors being harassed and/or deported, things never getting better. And, yeah, I probably shouldn’t be surprised; during my tenure in therapy, I received a litany of fear-related diagnoses: everything from post-partum anxiety to Generalized Anxiety Disorder, though those were before my eventual C-PTSD diagnosis, which made more sense of things. In the last 20 years, I’ve worked hard to tamp down my anxiety. So when mindfulness dredges up even more fear it suuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuucks. I just thought I was better, ya know? It’s so hard to know what a normal level of fear is. If I feel safe walking home by myself at night and my neighbor doesn’t, am I foolish or is she paranoid? But I know it’s not just me. We live in an age of fear: if it’s not our sensationalized media ecosystem (everything from TV news to social media), it’s rampant consumerism that says buying more stuff is the only thing that can save us. And even if you manage to dodge all that, there’s our whole government chaos operation run by Fearmonger in Chief, Donald Trump. Is Iran about to nuke us? Are our streets being overrun by violent gang members? Every week there is some new threat which only Trump can save us from. All this is for a purpose: fear is the ultimate tool for manipulation. As the historian Anne Applebaum shows, authoritarians (and wannabes) try to consolidate power by creating a culture of fear. Just like those Fox News commercials selling gold bars and emergency disaster kits, Trump sells us vague doom that only he can rescue us from. How do we opt out? How can we notice when we are being manipulated and resist it? I want to be a reasonable person unswayed by fearful rhetoric, but it’s easier said than done. It’s embarrassing to admit how much of my inner monologue is fear. Nobody wants to be a scaredy-cat. So, this month, I want to look at fear. Here are some questions I have: * is it possible to be less afraid? How? * how do we carry on living in what feels like a constant state of emergency? * do Exvangelicals experience more fear post-faith deconstruction? * how do we sort out appropriate vs. inappropriate fear? * why does fear feel so bad? * can we make friends with our fear? * how do we avoid being paralyzed by fear? Are you, too, a scaredy-cat? What tips, tricks, or recommendations do you have for handling fear? As always, I love to hear from you in the comments or via email or DM. BONUS MATERIALS: * this overview of Anne Applebaum’s Psychology of Totalitarian Control is a great starting point * my brain every time someone says “face your fears” Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Heretic Hereafter at heretichereafter.substack.com/subscribe

    4 min

  3. APR 29

    The Sacred Power of an Off-Key Beatles Song

    “There are no unsacred places. There are only sacred places and desecrated places.” -Wendell Berry A few years ago, I was hanging out with a friend who’s an Episcopal priest, when the topic of wedding music came up. I told her that I’d walked down the aisle to The Beatles’ “And I Love Her,” played by my brother, Karl, on acoustic guitar. My friend explained that, in the Episcopal church, “only sacred music is allowed,” so no Beatles for weddings. I wondered if she was right. Ought I have marched down the aisle to Bach or Vivaldi? Indeed, the switch from organ prelude to my brother’s acoustic and his off-key singing was a bit jarring! Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Still, her response rubbed me the wrong way. Maybe it was because I’d ingested enough bad Christian art (Christian contemporary music, Kirk Cameron movies, THOMAS KINCADE) to last me a lifetime. The problem with this sort of Christian “art” is that the artists feel the need to clobber the viewers over the head with The Message. There’s no nuance, no subtlety, and certainly nothing that could offend the delicate sensibilities of the largely Evangelical audience. (You’ll never hear someone swear in a Christian movie, for instance.) Thomas Kincade aside, this division between sacred and nonsacred art offends me as an artist. The point of art (be it visual art, film, literature, music or the humble Substack) is to reveal capital-T Truth. In my opinion, the primary measure of artistic success is how effectively Truth is revealed, if at all. The idea that art has to be explicitly about God or Jesus for it to be sacred strikes me as absurd. Why should the church (or anyone, really) gatekeep what others find transcendent? This argument about The Beatles is what came to mind when I read the above Wendell Berry quote last week. Whereas I was raised to believe that certain places, times, and things were holy (i.e. the sanctuary, communion wine, etc.) Berry challenges us to find holiness in the ordinary places and things around us, something echoed in the work of Father Richard Rohr, who writes: “Over time, we move beyond a dualistic view of God being ‘up there’ while we are ‘down here’ to a vision where God is up there, down here, in others, and within ourselves, all at the same time…In taking this view, we start to see that all things are sacred, including the masks we wear, the shadows we seek to hide, the wounds we carry, and the parts of ourselves we consider profane. Every thing is sacred.” The truth is, sometimes I get wrapped up in my own cosmic significance. I want to save the world and create great art and be capital-I Important. But mostly my life is not these things. Mostly I am washing dishes and making meals and chaperoning field trips. It’s not prestigious or even paid, not seen as having much purpose in the grand scheme of things. Can I find sacredness in such work? Thinking back to Karl’s performance on my wedding day, it was so many things: jarring, off-key, sincere, lovely. I remember standing in the narthex, vibrating with nerves because Holy shit I am 22 years old and going to promise to do WHAT for the REST OF MY LIFE?!?!?!? I was totally spiraling. And then my brother’s voice crackled over the PA system. And it was so goofy and sweet and I remembered who and where I was and who was around me and what I was doing. I took a deep breath, my dad squeezed my hand, and the church doors opened. In that moment, my brother and The Beatles grounded me. And that’s sacred, too. The more I explore my spiritual practice, the more I see that the challenge is not in finding right answers, in parsing this or that doctrine, the challenge is in unlearning the artificial divisions created by labels and striving to see God in all people, places, and things. Even The Beatles, even bad singing. Even myself. Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Heretic Hereafter at heretichereafter.substack.com/subscribe

    4 min

  4. APR 22

    Why Rules-Based Morality Falls Short

    Several years ago, I was moderating a local online parenting group when a post made me do a double take. It wasn’t any of the usual controversies about sleep training or “rehoming” dogs. Instead, it was an ouroboros of antiracism, which became, incidentally, kinda racist? I’m paraphrasing, but this was the gist: “I need advice on hiring a nanny. My partner and I are white moms committed to antiracism. We don’t have many people of color in our lives, except for a housecleaner who comes weekly. We don’t want our kids to grow up seeing people of color primarily in subservient roles to white people, so we are thinking we should hire a white nanny. However, we are unsure how to explain this in a job listing. Any advice?” Hoo boy. Where to even begin? I stared at my computer, dumbfounded, for a few moments. I was sympathetic to this anxious white mom who wanted to get antiracism “right,” but felt pretty surprised by where her conclusions led. Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. While I debated what to say, other commenters were quick to point out that posting a “whites only” job listing was not only immoral but actually illegal. Things got heated, as internet comment sections often do. Eventually, I decided to shut down commenting while sharing a link about state laws against employment discrimination. But long after the comment frenzy, I found myself wondering about this poster. At the time, I was working with an organization teaching parents and teachers about antiracism and I’d seen many other instances of well-meaning white people blundering into racial faux pas. What most of these instances had in common was a failure of empathy: white people thought of what they could do to or for people of color but did not stop to ask what those people of color actually wanted. I wondered if the poster could’ve imagined a person of color reading her theoretical job listing, would she have understood the problem? It wasn’t just well-meaning blunderers that left me worried. Worse were those who were frog marched to mandatory antiracist training. These folks tended to spend the entire workshop sitting there with their arms crossed, rolling their eyes. They left me wondering whether company-mandated training might actually make workplace racism worse? After all, you can’t force someone into empathy. The problem is that, for some, antiracism has come to mean a series of rules against microaggressions. But rules can’t get us where we need to go. In some of the schools where I led workshops, I’d hear stories of white teachers who, afraid of over-disciplining Black students, didn’t discipline them at all, instead relying on their Black colleagues to do it. (Yikes!) In situations like this, we see how easily rules can become tools of shame or manipulation. Don’t get me wrong, rules can guide us in the beginning, but our goal should not be perfect adherence but rather building relationships. And in all relationships there will be mistakes. What matters is how we repair. It’s not just in neurotic lefty circles that we see this sort of legalism, of course. Earlier this month, Alabama governor Kay Ivey signed a law mandating the display of the Ten Commandments in public schools. This follows similar laws proposed in Texas, Tennessee, and Arkansas. (And let’s not forget Alabama supreme court chief justice Roy Moore, who campaigned to be “The Ten Commandments Judge” while also allegedly committing tax fraud and being sexually inappropriate with teenaged girls.) For many Christians, the Ten Commandments have become an idol, a litmus test for who is good and worthy of respect. Rules-based morality often deteriorates into self-righteousness and exclusion of the “unworthy.” That’s because this sort of morality is focused on controlling a person’s outward behavior rather than producing inner change. What we all need is to become people who are more loving towards others and ourselves, but that’s a long and arduous process, (probably involving therapy!) It’s much easier to point to something outward like, “We don’t have premarital sex; therefore, we are good people.” And is it any coincidence that people who are spiritually immature and worried about appearing well-behaved are much easier to control? Spiritual maturity also requires role models and mentorship, which are often in short supply. Our churches are filled with elderly people, but how many of them are actually spiritually mature? Growing into wisdom is a tall order. We have to be able to let go of simplistic, rules-based thinking and wrestle honestly with difficult moral questions. Stories, art, and therapy can help lead the way, as can healthy relationships. How about you? Do you ever find yourself clinging to certain rules? What (or who?) helps you figure out the right thing to do in tricky situations? Who in your life displays wisdom? As always, I love to hear your thoughts, gripes, and recommendations in the comments or via email. Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Heretic Hereafter at heretichereafter.substack.com/subscribe

    5 min

  5. APR 8

    Progressives Need Better Stories

    How do you feel about these “secular saints” candles? Are they a funny joke? A cringe Millennial trend? The desperate grasping of a culture that has lost its way? I’ll admit, I’ve owned a few of these (Harriet Tubman, RBG.) My husband received a Jeff Bezos one as a gag gift that I keep threatening to smash. This is one of the problems with living heroes—they keep revealing problematic behavior. It’s why every Tesla bumper in Seattle now looks like this: Maybe this is why Roman Catholics require at least 5 years pass before canonization can begin, time for all the skeletons to emerge from a potential saint’s closet. And yet, the recent revelations about labor organizer Cesar Chavez have shown that it can take a long time (33 years in this case) for the dark truth about a “hero” to come out. For years we’ve been having a conversation about how to deal with heroes who have done monstrous things. Is it still okay to listen to Michael Jackson? Watch Roman Polanski movies? Ought we still have statues of great American statesmen who also enslaved African Americans or slaughtered Indigenous Peoples? Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Many conservatives seem intent to put their fingers in their ears and stress that it was a different time, that Thomas Jefferson, for instance, couldn’t possibly have known that it was wrong to father children with his teenaged slave, Sally Hemings, then enslave those children until their early adulthood. (To be sure, many white American men at that time had no problems with this arrangement, which was common enough to have the moniker “shadow family.” Nevertheless, abolition has always been part of American political thought. The truth is always out there, if you know who to listen to.) On the other hand, liberals have been anxious to be seen tearing down our national mythology without anything to replace them with. Remember when the San Francisco Board of Education spent the pandemic debating school names instead of, you know, focusing on reopening schools? It’s important to be able to grapple honestly with our history and culture. At the same time, I wonder: what does it mean to be American without The American Dream? Without glazing George Washington and his ilk? Where are the stories that a multicultural, multiracial, religiously plural society can unite around? The more polarized we become, the harder it is to find common ground. It seems to me there’s a hunger for mythology and heroes, whether it’s the eight billion movies in The Avengers franchise or the enduring popularity of Greek mythology. And I do think we need common stories. Whereas lectures and laws dictate, stories invite us in. They have a way of sneaking past our defenses and engaging us at an emotional level—we empathize with the characters and find ourselves weighing moral questions we would never otherwise consider. Stories are also not black-and-white. As any English teacher worth their salt would tell you, stories ask us to bring our lived experience and external knowledge to our interpretations. In discussing stories together, we learn to question our preconceived notions and see through others’ eyes. I mean, it’s no coincidence that beloved religious teachers like Jesus, Buddha, and Muhammad taught in parables and analogies. But the problem with idolizing living folks is the “man in the hole” problem. I believe it was Kurt Vonnegut who said there are basically two story structures: man falls into a hole, and man climbs out of a hole. In either case, you need a change in status—the lowly are elevated, the lofty are brought low. Maybe human beings simply aren’t fit for life on the pedestal. If Martin Luther is right, we are each sinners and each saints. This duality, or “and-ness” as I like to call it, can’t be ignored for long. Saints will disappoint and sinners will surprise. Maybe we need gods and mythologies. At any rate, if the Left is going to win the culture war against Christian Nationalism, we need a grander illustration of moral imagination. What do you think? Do we have common stories/heroes anymore? Who would be on your personal Mount Rushmore of great Americans? As always, I love to hear your thoughts, ramblings, pushback, and recommendations in the comments or via email/DM. Thanks for reading Heretic Hereafter! If you enjoyed this post, why not share it? This helps others find the Substack. BONUS MATERIALS: * Ugh the Cesar Chavez revelations…still, this article provides some interesting context * ICYMI, this podcast is a reliable hit with the kiddos Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Heretic Hereafter at heretichereafter.substack.com/subscribe

    4 min

  6. APR 1

    Easter for Doubters & Skeptics

    It’s Holy Week for many of the world’s 2.6 billion Christians (for Eastern Orthodox, it’s next week.) Easter marks the most important holiday in the Christian calendar—the date of Jesus’ alleged resurrection. But what if you don’t believe? Or if you have major questions about it? Does Easter still matter? Can this holiday still be meaningful if you’re not sure about the whole bodily resurrection thing? Fifteen years ago, I would’ve said, absolutely not. If you don’t believe in the resurrection, there’s no point and you’re not in the club!!! For those of us who were raised to read the Bible literally, questioning the resurrection is dangerous territory. In these traditions, miracles are proof of God’s existence, the very cornerstone of faith—if you don’t believe in them, everything else falls apart. In this black-and-white worldview, any speck of doubt can put you on the path to Hell. Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. I spent years trying to convince myself to believe Bible stories were factually true, even as scientific evidence and my own lived experience contradicted this interpretation. I was the red-faced teen who tried to argue her high school biology teacher out of teaching evolution. Luckily, I lost. During this era, I felt constantly at war with myself. How could I silence my doubts while still living in integrity? Answer: I couldn’t. It was a losing battle. And so I went to the opposite extreme: scientific materialism. My family quit church. I stopped believe in God or anything else that couldn’t be historically or scientifically verified. But that didn’t satisfy me either. Science is a wonderful tool, but it doesn’t provide a moral framework or answer big life questions about meaning and purpose. I had torn down my old belief structure that was no longer serving me, but I didn’t have anything to replace it with. The 3+ years of this Substack has been me finding my way to something new—a new way to think about ethics and morality (and how to teach those things to my kids) and to feed the spiritual hunger that’s always been a part of me. And one of the conclusions I’ve been circling is this: belief is not the most important thing. It might not even be top 10! Basing an entire theory of salvation on belief seems hopeless, because beliefs fluctuate. They evolve. Any system that encourages people to stay frozen at the moment of conversion is, frankly, ridiculous. Imagine, for example, a marriage where the wedding ceremony was the most important part. Every day that you loved your spouse as much as you did on your wedding day counted as success. But every time you fought with them or checked out a stranger at the gym or envied a single friend meant failure. People under this situation would likely grit their teeth and try to avoid changing (which is impossible) or just give up and get divorced. In marriage, we recognize that feelings fluctuate. Staying married is arguably more about what you do than what you feel or believe at a given moment. You honor your promises, sometimes joyfully and sometimes sulkily. The point is: you show up. I think the church (and, TBH, society as a whole) would be a lot healthier if we stopped prioritizing litmus tests and instead focused on showing up. Sure, you might say, showing up is important, but what about the resurrection? Isn’t belief in the resurrection kind of a dealbreaker for being a Christian? Eh, I don’t think so? And I’d argue there’s good evidence on my side. In her latest book, Miracles and Wonder, religion scholar Elaine Pagels argues that the authors of the gospel, the apostle Paul, and many of the early church patriarchs disagreed on what actually happened at the resurrection and what it all meant. Pagels reminds us that the gospels were constructed with the intent to persuade particular audiences, as well as to refute disparaging remarks that were circulating about Jesus in the years after his death. In the hands of these gospel writers, the most shameful marks against Jesus (his out-of-wedlock birth and his execution by the Roman government) were transformed into holy and miraculous stories that highlighted his divinity. Keen readers will recognize that this theme of reversal is present in many beats of the gospel stories: the formula is typically “Society/religion/the government values ___, but what’s really valuable is the opposite.” The story of Jesus is, again and again, about the foolishness of those in authority and the wisdom of the poor and marginalized. Pagels offers up plausible alternate theories about Jesus’ birth and death, but never rules out the miraculous, telling us that’s not her lane as a historian. And I like that approach. I think it’s okay to say we don’t know how these events unfolded. Even if we don’t believe they literally happened, we can appreciate the value these stories have held for people throughout history and for us, today. And I get it: your mileage may vary. Some of you never got into Christianity; maybe other stories speak to you more. For those sorting through heavy religious trauma, maybe you opt out of Easter. (Too gory!) That’s okay, too. Personally, I’m enjoying finding new ways of looking at these old, tired stories. Maybe that’s because they’re what I was raised on. Or maybe I just find Jesus to be a compelling ideal. At any rate, this month, I want to look at stories as spiritual tools. Here are some questions I have: * do stories express our values better than laws and rules? * does the Left need better stories? Do we lack moral imagination? * why do we keep building up heroes only to tear them down? * what role do stories play uniting people from different cultures and religions? * what stories (religious or not) hold special meaning for you? What do you think? As always, I love to hear your thoughts, complaints, questions, and recommendations in the comments or via email. Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. BONUS MATERIALS: * I’m really enjoying the daily meditations from The Center for Action and Contemplation (of Richard Rohr and Brian McLaren fame) * as I’m gearing up for spring break with my teens, this song is my mantra Get full access to Heretic Hereafter at heretichereafter.substack.com/subscribe

    6 min

  7. MAR 25

    A Code of Ethics for the Chronically Online

    It’s been 35 days since I logged onto social media. Apart from some minor boredom, it hasn’t been that bad. During my time away, I’ve delved into research on how the socials work and spent time reevaluating my own relationship to them. Here are some lessons I’ve learned and how I’m going to change my behavior going forward. Social media really is that bad. Virtually all the platforms I researched are designed for subscriber growth and profit over any sort of responsibility. Twitter/X is a cesspool of revenge porn and death threats. Instagram has been found legally liable in one case of teenaged suicide and accused in countless others. Facebook has been implicated in genocide in Myanmar and political violence in countries such as the Philippines and Ethiopia, to say nothing of its role in American political violence. Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. We’ve had whistleblower after whistleblower come forward to show that these sites prioritize user engagement over basic health and safety concerns and have a devil-may-care attitude towards election interference. As Sarah Wynn-Williams amply illustrated in Careless People, the people who run these platforms simply do not care. This is wrong. The greater one’s power, the greater one’s responsibility. These companies (and the people who lead them) need to be held accountable for their reckless pursuit of profits over the safety of their fellow human beings. I’m no longer a huge Bible quoter, but I can’t think of a more apt description for these folks than Matthew 6:24: “No one can serve two masters...You cannot serve God and be enslaved to money.” Even overlooking the most extreme cases, these platforms are built on an amoral foundation which encourages polarization and vitriol over relationship building and lets people anonymously bully each other with zero accountability. All that being said, I think there’s a strong moral case to be made for disengaging from social media as much as one can. But I’ve also been thinking about Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s argument against moral purity, which Hanna Reichel summarizes in her great devotional book, For Such a Time is This: “…when [authority] is rotten, personal integrity is also endangered. In his posthumously published Ethics, Bonhoeffer even denounces the desire to preserve one’s moral purity as a temptation. The only way to stay innocent, he muses, would be to have no part of history.” Is leaving a platform akin to dropping out of a conversation we may have a positive influence on? By logging off, do we abdicate these platforms to the trolls and neo-Nazis? I, along with many other Liberals, quit Twitter/X after Elon Musk’s takeover, but our boycott barely registered. So I question whether simply deleting one’s account is the moral slam dunk it seems like. Furthermore, as a person whose vocation is bound up in finding readers, quitting social media doesn’t feel like a realistic option. These platforms are incredibly flawed and skewed away from content like mine, but they are still discovery engines for creatives like me. So, I plan on reengaging with social media once Lent is over. But I have come up with some new guidelines for myself and my kids around social media/screen time. NEW RULES FOR MYSELF: * Scroll mindfully. Before you open the app, name the reason you’re logging on and how you’re feeling at the moment. (Doing it aloud is a great trick for accountability!) Log on to complete a work-related post, then log off. What I noticed most about the absence of social media this month was that I was longing for connection. The problem is, social media doesn’t provide the type of deep connection we need. Which brings me to my next rule: * Opt for High-Context Communication. If I want to talk to someone, the best option is face-to-face. A phone call is next best; texting is a distant third. Recognize that social media creates parasocial relationships not real relationships. It can be a tool for keeping in touch with friends you’ve made IRL, but it’s not a good way to “meet” people. As a busy mom, one app I like for keeping in touch is Marco Polo, which lets you send video messages to friends to watch and respond to at their convenience. * Resist Addiction. Recognize that social media was designed to be addictive. Turn off notifications. Log on for a purpose and severely limit time spent on social media using timers and apps (I like Minimalist Phone.) If you find yourself regularly going over your allotted time limit, make a contract with yourself such as, “If I go over ___ minutes, I will log off for __ days.” * No Phubbing. (aka “phone snubbing.”) If you’re lucky enough to be face-to-face with someone, put your phone away. Introduce phone-free zones in your home (such as the table) and times (such as meals.) * Big Screens > Little Screens. Choose communal screentime over individual. The same goes for sharing a Bluetooth speaker rather than everyone retreating to their own set of headphones. Do I love my kids’ meme songs and James Bond marathons? Not exactly! But I also know that when we share media, we’re getting the opportunity to both broaden our tastes and connect on a deeper level. * Support Politicians Who Hold Big Tech Accountable. The good news is that some politicians are FINALLY waking up to the threat of unregulated social media, particularly where it relates to kids. Keep an eye out for news about the Kids Internet and Digital Safety (KIDS) Act. This podcast discusses some current regulation attempts. RULES FOR MY KIDS: * This is Our Phone, Not Yours. My spouse and I gave our kids an old smart phone because we don’t have a LAN line and we wanted them to be able to reach us in an emergency, such as when I’m running errands and my son texts, “MOM WHERE IS THE CREM CHEESE?” But when we gave it to them we said, this is our phone which we let you use. That means we have the right to review their activity, block apps, or take the phone away as we see fit. They’re allowed to use it for specific purposes at specific times. The fact that there is 1 phone and 2 of them also helps limit individual screen time. * The Smart Phone Stays Home. My eldest might be the only kid in middle school who doesn’t take a phone or smartwatch to school. Has he gotten lost riding the city bus home? Yes, many times! But he’s always figured it out (just like we did as teens) and his dad and I feel great that he’s not being distracted at school or while hanging out with friends. Plus, he reads actual books on his commute! * No Social Media Under 16. We know that social media is addictive, and we don’t give addictive substances to kids. Jonathan Haidt recommends this specific age limit; or to paraphrase the very wise Lisa Damour, PhD, “Is your child old enough to be trusted at a high school party?” If not, then they’re not ready for social media. Our specific rule is that messaging with individuals or groups of IRL friends is fine, but broadcasting their lives to the world via social media is not an age-appropriate activity. That’s the plan! Time will tell how well I can implement new routines and stick to my guns, but I’m hoping that reminding myself the bald facts about these platforms will strengthen my resolve. What do you think of my rules? Is there anything I missed? Anything you think is completely unrealistic? Are you using any cool tricks or apps to limit your screen time? As always, I love to hear your thoughts, ramblings, and rants in the comments or via email. BONUS MATERIALS: * have you ever fantasized about becoming an influencer? This memoir was a fascinating look at what it’s really like * I cannot recommend this BBC podcast highly enough Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Heretic Hereafter at heretichereafter.substack.com/subscribe

    7 min

  8. MAR 18

    "If I'd Just Done Good Things, I Would've Never Blown Up on the Internet"

    This quote comes from red pill influencer, Harrison Sullivan, in Louis Theroux’s latest documentary, Inside the Manosphere. Theroux was prodding Sullivan about the influence he wields over young boys. As an audience, we’d just witnessed Sullivan and his crew catfish and then physically assault a gay man who thought Sullivan had asked him on a date. In the aftermath of this unprovoked attack, Sullivan seems momentarily shaken. He’d been live with his viewers, who’d been encouraging the group towards violence, but Sullivan seems shocked at what actually transpired. Wary of further legal troubles (he had already fled a warrant in the UK for reckless driving and fleeing the scene of accident) he quickly deletes the video. The quote struck me as a rare moment of honesty. Harrison is admitting that he sees how social media works and has decided to ride that train to money and fame at the cost of his integrity. If the choice was between being a good person and being a successful influencer, he chose the latter. Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. The manosphere has been a concern and fascination for me in the last few years. As a feminist raising tween and teen sons, I worry about the messages they’re exposed to online. I’ve seen the YouTube algorithm lead my 13-year-old, A, from videos on proper pull-up form to a stream of rise-and-grind fitness influencers who promote six-hour-plus “morning routines” and tout body transformations that are impossible absent heavy steroid use. And I worry that darker corners await. A and I watched the Netflix doc together; as much as it pissed me off, it provided good discussion fodder. From our talks I’ve gathered that the manosphere’s appeal for young boys is: * they provide a clear roadmap to becoming “a man” in a confusing landscape of quickly changing social mores around gender. (Adolescents are in the process of figuring out their identities, so they’re particularly receptive to these sorts of messages) * they promote agency in a culture that’s increasingly bent towards passive consumption/entertainment * they’re selling a so-called “proven” path towards power (abs, crypto) to a group who often feels disempowered As we talked, I tried to affirm A’s feelings and desires. It’s normal to crave clarity in a confusing world and it’s great to tap into your own agency and make positive changes in your life. We want young men to have healthy self-esteem and work towards building competence and independence. The problem is that while these influencers start with a kernel of truth, they serve it up alongside a pile of BS, conspiracy theories, and hate. Like most kids his age, A is puzzling out his identity: what does he like and not like, what labels will he accept or reject? At his school, there are clubs and affinity groups for Black boys, for girls, and for LGBT youth. As a straight white boy, A sometimes complains about being left out. I believe these affinity groups have value, but I also empathize with A: where is the safe space for guys like him? Into this vacuum comes the manosphere. On one hand, they promise that boys can take charge of their lives, and on the other they’re hawking the same passive consumption that all influencers do. It’s never just “work out and feel good about yourself” it’s “buy my supplements” and “invest on my day trading app” and “pay for my monthly program.” Worse still, these manfluencers don’t just promote pride in one’s masculinity, they actively promote beliefs that dehumanize women, LGBT people, and Jewish people. Their view of masculinity has zero intersection with any recognizable form of morality. And the funny thing was, when Theroux confronted these men with their own horrific quotes, they grew defensive but lacked any coherent argument to back up what their claims. It made me suspect that either a.) they’re mindlessly repeating this stuff or b.) that they didn’t really believe these things, they’re just doing it for the clicks. Where previous visions of masculinity said things like “a man is only as good as his word,” these men’s words have no weight at all, that is, except to the millions of boys who are listening. Their bald hypocrisy also reveals the rot at the heart of social media. When most platforms (such as Facebook) began, they relied on chronological feeds. In those early days, I remember regularly hitting the end of my Facebook newsfeed because I’d read all my friends’ updates. But in the 2010s, platforms began to move from chronological feeds to algorithmic ones. Engagement drove popularity, rather than recency or your relationship to the poster. And the most engaging content? Rage bait and controversy, of course! These algorithms prioritize lies over facts and bad actors over common decency. Behavior that would get a person kicked out of any halfway functional community club is rewarded on these platforms, often handsomely. And that’s not to mention the algorithms’ polarizing effects on our democracy, our journalistic ecosystem, and our interpersonal relationships. Is it possible to interact with a such a skewed system morally? I honestly don’t know. What do you think? What justifications or limits do you place on your social media use for moral reasons? I’d love to hear from you via the comments or email. BONUS MATERIALS: * this BBC podcast is a good explainer on why the internet is like it is * I liked this simple timeline on social media algorithms * want the dirt on Facebook? Here’s a horrifying but compelling read Heretic Hereafter is a reader-supported publication. To receive new posts and support my work, consider becoming a free or paid subscriber. Get full access to Heretic Hereafter at heretichereafter.substack.com/subscribe

    5 min
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About

Heretic Hereafter is about figuring out how to live the good life after leaving Evangelical Christianity. Whether you're religious or not, join us for a weekly dose of humor and reflection that helps us look past the superficial for life's deeper meanings. heretichereafter.substack.com

Information

  • Creator
    Katharine Strange
  • Years Active
    2025 - 2026
  • Episodes
    53
  • Rating
    Explicit
  • Copyright
    © Katharine Strange
  • Show Website
    Heretic Hereafter Podcast