Dogma is heavier than iron shackles. A man bound in chains can be freed by breaking metal, but a man bound by dogma does not even know he is in prison. He calls his chains salvation, he wears his bondage like a crown, and he attacks anyone who dares to set him free.
From childhood, I was chained by dogma. We were told that the Bible was a complete book perfect, unquestionable, sealed by God Himself. Yet later in life, I discovered missing books, altered translations, and deliberate edits. The Apocrypha, for instance, was hidden. Why? Who decided that some parts of the supposed Word of God were unnecessary? And why did they not tell us that kings, popes, and councils of men decided what should be canon and what should be thrown away?
But we were not allowed to ask such questions. Dogma told us that curiosity was the devil's tool. Dogma told us that blind obedience was the highest form of faith. Dogma whispered: "Don't ask why, just believe. Don't think, just obey."
And so, entire generations were raised on rigid interpretations. They taught us that wearing trousers as a woman was a ticket to hell. They taught us that drinking alcohol was worse than committing fraud. They taught us that salvation was about outward appearances what you wore, how you knelt, how long you prayed not about the heart.
The chains of dogma are clever because they enslave the mind before the body. Once a man's thoughts are captured, his actions will naturally follow. He becomes his own jailer. He polices himself, scolding his own doubts, condemning his own questions. He does the work of the oppressor without the oppressor needing to lift a finger.
I remember one pastor who thundered from the pulpit that God would curse anyone who questioned the church's teachings. He said doubt was sin. He said if you asked too many questions, God would close the gates of heaven against you. And the congregation trembled not at God, but at the words of a man. That is dogma at work: replacing God with men, replacing relationship with ritual, replacing truth with fear.
The saddest part is how dogma divides people. Religion should unite us in love, but dogma separates us with endless arguments Catholic versus Protestant, Pentecostal versus Orthodox, Sunni versus Shia. Everyone claims their path is the only path, their prophet the only prophet, their book the only true book. And yet, they all preach the same God of love. How can love become so fragmented? How can one God have so many conflicting messages?
I have come to see that dogma is not about truth; it is about control. It gives leaders power over followers. It makes people cling to rituals and forget reason. It convinces the poor that their suffering is part of God's plan while the rich enjoy comfort under the same God. It tells women that silence is holiness while men preach, sing, and lead. It tells the oppressed that their reward is in heaven while their oppressors feast on earth.
But life has taught me this: God is not bound by our dogmas. He is bigger than our denominations, larger than our doctrines, freer than our narrow rules. The kingdom of God is not found in a church constitution or a pastor's decree. It is found in the heart of anyone who loves, questions, and seeks truth sincerely.
When I look back, I realize my greatest battles were not with the devil but with dogma. Dogma told me to suppress my bravery. Dogma told me to accept injustice because it was God's will. Dogma told me that to be righteous was better than to be bold. But life has proven otherwise. Life rewards the brave, not the righteous. Those who dare to question, to challenge, to seek knowledge those are the ones who escape the chains of dogma.
And so I write these words as both confession and warning. Confession, because I too was once a prisoner of dogma. Warning, because millions are still trapped, convinced their chains are crowns. But a crown of ignorance is still a shackle. A throne built on fear is still a prison.