A response to Richard Bushman

It is dangerous ever to disagree with Richard Bushman about just about anything. But some recent remarks by him, if accurately reported, leave me deeply dissatisfied. (The remarks are found here:  http://www.wheatandtares.org/17915/richard-bushman-on-mormonism/ -- and they include lots of remarkably good advice. But still I quibble with some of what he says.) Here’s why.

His counsel to focus our faith on Christ rather than Mormonism could be taken by some as an attenuation rather than a refocusing of belief. I’m entirely in agreement that Christ is worthy of our faith and worship while systems of thought and even institutions are not, especially as either of these involves human beings. But I find problematic the idea that we can follow Christ while suspending or minimizing our acceptance of his human witnesses and representatives. Jesus himself said that whoever received his servants received him (Matthew 10:40; John 13:20). Believing in Christ without believing in “Mormonism” leaves hundreds of questions that have to be resolved, of which the Trinity and the nature of Christ’s saving work are only the beginning. In fact, if we try to believe in Christ without accepting his apostles, that leaves us without the witnesses of Peter, John, James, and Paul and calls into question the resurrection of Christ, his teachings, and even his very existence. I’m concerned that if we focus too much on the fact that the vessels are “earthen,” we may miss the treasures that they carry (2 Corinthians 4:7).

My conclusion is that Latter-day Saints must of course make Christ the center of their faith and seek to be his disciples. But to be in any sense Latter-day Saint followers of Christ, it makes sense for us also to believe in the reality of prophetic calling and inspiration and in priesthood authority and the importance of ordinances and to “receive”—listen to and accept counsel from—the Church’s leaders. It also makes sense for us to accept the Book of Mormon as a witness of Christ and the Doctrine and Covenants as containing the voice of Christ. Since I believe—not with blind faith but after careful consideration and with what I believe is strong spiritual confirmation—that the things I’ve listed are true and real, I believe that truly following Christ also means accepting them. If others don’t believe these things but want to follow Christ, I certainly think that is better than not seeking to follow Christ at all—and I hope they find a way to support that effort that makes Christ a living reality for them and not just a subjective ideal.

I’m sure Richard Bushman has respect for the leaders of the Church. He knows many of them well. But the comments some have made in response to the post in which he is quoted make it clear that some people—particularly of an intellectual bent or with an interest in Church history—have a negative attitude toward Church leaders and find in some of what Bushman has said a rationale for their attitude. I’ve had enough interaction with Church leaders to be quite aware of their flaws, but I also know of their sincerity, devotion, and inspiration. One of them once told me, “You know, the Lord doesn’t hand us things on a silver platter.” Yet I know of and have witnessed moments of remarkable revelatory power. It saddens me that some are hyper-aware of the imperfections of Church leaders but seem to have no sense (or a minimal sense) of the inspiration and heavenly power that at times is made available through them.

One question (made in the comments) was that, if Church leaders don’t know the truth of Mormon history, how can we trust them in anything. My answer would be that, first of all, knowing the history is not their job—at least not their main job. My second answer would be that I think the post exaggerates the difference between the “standard narrative” and “true history” as it has been uncovered by professional historians. Besides the fact that history is always a reconstruction, it’s possible to know the factual details of events without understanding their meaning. Ultimately, I believe it takes spiritual insight to understand history, as much as to understand anything. There are major gaps and inaccuracies in some versions of the “standard narrative,” and these should be corrected. But I don’t think the standard narrative should be replaced, especially for purposes of religious discipleship, by a washed out version of the facts that focuses so much on historiographical procedures and unresolvable questions that it misses the human and spiritual essence. Furthermore, in matters of religious belief, I believe choosing to trust the witness of those one considers worthy of trust must work in tandem with, and ultimately take priority over, strict adherence to the rules currently accepted by professional historians.

I’m married to someone who is among a handful of genuine experts on one difficult episode of Mormon history, namely, the experiences of black Latter-day Saints and their exclusion for a significant period of time from the full privileges and blessings of the Church. Because of who my wife is and the work she has done, I have become intimately acquainted with the history of this issue and even more have gained some sense of what black members of the Church have felt and experienced. Though I’ve had to revise some of my thinking, overall what I’ve learned has strengthened rather than diminished my faith. I have a much richer sense of how the Lord works with and through imperfect human beings. Though I wish the history could have unfolded differently in many ways, learning of the struggles of Church leaders to understand the will of the Lord has been instructive. It seems clear to me that these leaders acted with authority and inspiration in doing the Lord’s work, while at the same time not being as fully informed about some historical details as we are now—not because they were uninspired or unintelligent in general, but because they lacked access to information or made assumptions that led to misunderstanding some of the historical record. (And honestly, they were very busy doing other important and often extraordinarily hard things.) The circumstances and culture of their time certainly had an impact. But along with all of this, I have become more clearly aware of the process by which revelation can come and of the powerful ways it has on occasion come. There are many unnoted people who are among the most Christlike who have lived on the earth. But the leaders of the Church, who have the blessing and burden of being better known, have generally been devoted, sincere followers of Christ and, in their office and calling, have done many good things and have generally done them remarkably well. I believe they are worthy of our respect and gratitude. As President Eyring has said, if we love them, we are more likely to hear and accept the inspiration that comes through them. (And I love the passage in the Doctrine and Covenants that Tom Griffith likes to quote—21:5—that indicates we need patience and faith to bear with the human weakness of our leaders and hear the Lord’s word through them: “For his word ye shall receive, as if from mine own mouth, in all patience and faith.”)

On the topic of the Book of Mormon: Richard Bushman knows the Book of Mormon well and has written some illuminating things about it. But the remarks quoted in this post leave the impression mainly of some tentativeness about the book’s ancient origin. I have a number of problems with the way that impression is created as well as some thoughts about what seems to me a better approach.

(1) Though pointing to one interesting problem (the presence of nineteenth-century religious language in the Book of Mormon), there’s no mention of the many departures from standard nineteenth-century language and thought (more on this below).

(2) This leaves in some the impression that Bushman views the Book of Mormon primarily as a nineteenth-century document, and those having this impression easily go a step further to imagine that it was entirely made up by Joseph Smith—despite Bushman’s statements to the contrary (or at least his statement that the book is so complex that it must be the product either of inspiration or [credibility defying] genius). (I added “credibility defying,” because he’s talking not just about genius on the order of a Shakespeare, but on an order for which it is difficult to find a credible parallel.)

(3) I am dissatisfied with Bushman’s suggestion that the nineteenth-century language may be the result of “amplification.” I first heard that theory many years ago and have thought about it as I’ve read the Book of Mormon another dozen or so times, and it doesn’t make sense to me. Except for possible amplification at a very local level (in terms of phrasing—where amplification can arguable be necessary even in quite a close translation), I see no evidence of it. No one to my knowledge has identified the passages that are original to the plates and those that were added in the course of translation. Any extensive additions would seem to play havoc with the narrative or with the sense we have of particular authors speaking. Furthermore, some of the rhetorical and narrative structures seem so deliberate and solid that there doesn’t appear to be much room for additions. I think there are better explanations for the nineteenth-century language (see below).

(4) Bushman (as quoted here) doesn’t seem to be aware of the detailed work that has been done by linguists suggesting that the language of the Book of Mormon is not primarily nineteenth century—in fact, that much of it displays constructions not found in the nineteenth century or more usual in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. (These are not, by the way, necessarily constructions reminiscent of the King James Bible. They often find parallels elsewhere in material from those centuries, especially in the sixteenth.)

(5) I know Bushman is aware of the studies indicating there are Hebraisms and other ancient stylistic features. He may not have kept up on the latest in such studies, and he likely chose not to mention even those he knows of in this interview. But mentioning them would have nicely balanced the impression the interview gives. I suppose it’s possible Bushman doesn’t give as much weight to such features as I do. But this is a case where I trust my own judgment. As a student of language and literature, I feel quite confident that many (if not all) of the Hebraic and other ancient features scholars have identified provide genuine evidence for the ancient origin of the Book of Mormon. Chiasmus, for instance—a feature that has been much argued over—is clearly present. In some cases, it is so elaborate and elegant, so expressive and functional, that its presence is undeniably deliberate. (Either that, or we have to start imagining that the sonnets embedded in some of Shakespeare’s plays appeared by chance.) I believe the evidence is very strong that (a) Joseph Smith and his associates knew nothing—certainly nothing very specific or conscious—about chiasmus; (b) they were not aware that chiasmus appears in the Book of Mormon. Furthermore, for me it stretches credibility beyond the breaking point to think that the more elaborate examples of chiasmus in the Book of Mormon came about as the result of unconscious influence from the King James Bible (for one thing, these examples are clearer, more elaborate, and usually more functional than the biblical examples as they appear in the King James Version). There’s also the peculiar fact that the chiastic features are mainly in the first half of the Book of Mormon, including in the first portion of the Large Plates and in the Small Plates, which were translated last, after the rest of the book. Nothing, of course, that our rational minds discern is absolutely certain, but this is a phenomenon that seems to me more solidly supported by the evidence than some phenomena that science claims to demonstrate. If it were to be shown that the Book of Mormon is in fact wholly the product of a nineteenth-century mind, the presence of some of the examples of chiasmus—and certain other remarkable features of the book—would strike me as a mind-boggling mystery that I would love to have someone satisfactorily solve.

(6) Despite the many years the Book of Mormon has been studied, scholars have barely scratched the surface of what would need to be known to understand the relation of the English translation to the original text. Presumably, the original was in some form of Hebrew. Furthermore, the written script (“reformed Egyptian”) may have been at least partly ideographic, which means that a translation could be close but still open to wide variation in precise wording. Much of the book was heavily edited by Mormon, but it apparently includes large chunks taken directly from his sources. Even with the little we know, I can think of some factors that could contribute to a much better theory than the “amplification” one and certainly than the theory that it is entirely a nineteenth-century fiction. An adequate theory would need to account for all the evidence, including phrases and longer passages paralleling the New Testament, some language suggestive of nineteenth-century religious expressions, some language peculiar to the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, and a good deal of language suggesting an ancient original. It would also have to account for the very strong evidence that there were plates and for the evidence that Joseph Smith, in translating, recited words that he saw before him, so that the translation proceeded quickly and continuously—meaning that, in whatever way his mind and his language may have been involved, he did not deliberately ponder or puzzle over how he should phrase the translation. The content seems to have unfolded to his mind as he read the words, not as something he was previously aware of.

            Among the factors that have a bearing on the nineteenth-century language are these:

   (a) Nineteenth-century religious language was soaked in biblical language and thought. Nineteenth-century readers of course had their own understanding of the Bible, but their language and thought, especially when it came to religion, had been shaped by centuries of religious tradition heavily informed by the Bible, with special intensity during the Reformation and the religious fervor of early America.

   (b) New Testament language differs in some ways from the language of the Old Testament, but at the same time the language of the New Testament is heavily indebted to that of the Old—even more so than appears to modern readers. Much New Testament language comes from the Old Testament via the Septuagint translation, which differs in some respects from the Hebrew text. Many phrases in Paul’s epistles are quotations from the Old Testament, quotations that are not always apparent to most readers. Another example is “full of grace and truth” from the Gospel of John: it’s a quotation from Exodus 34:6 (“abounding in kindness and faithfulness” in the 1985 Jewish Publication Society translation; “abundant in goodness and truth” in the King James Version).

   (c) Though it’s possible to quibble with some of the details of Margaret Barker’s work, I think she makes a persuasive case that the New Testament understanding of Christ is much more continuous with older Jewish traditions than the Bible as we have it makes obvious. This is largely because those who shaped later Jewish thinking rejected some of those older traditions and edited the Hebrew scriptures in such a way as to eliminate or obscure those traditions. Yet these views (including the idea that Israel’s God—Yahweh—was the Son of the Most High God) continued as an important part of Jewish culture and are evident in much extra-biblical literature and have left traces in textual variants in the biblical text. (Oxford UP’s Jewish Study Bible notes one example of this last phenomenon: Deuteronomy 32:8 almost certainly first read “according to the number of the sons of God,” a reading still found in the Dead Sea Scrolls and some other versions, but was later revised to read “in relation to Israel’s numbers” “to avoid a polytheistic wording” [2069].) In identifying Jesus as “Son of God,” “Lord,” “Messiah,” and “Savior,” early Christians were therefore not creating new concepts out of whole cloth. Jesus was the fulfillment of many centuries of expectation in far more specific ways than those who know the Bible only in its current form would be aware of. It’s probable that Lehi and his family were adherents of the older traditions at about the time that these traditions were being viewed with disfavor by those who ended up shaping the biblical text as we have it.

   (d) The Christocentric language and thought of the Book of Mormon appears much less strange once you’ve read some of the material Margaret Barker draws on. Still, it’s true that the Book of Mormon is much more explicit in naming names: Jesus, Mary, and John the Baptist, for example. The only way to account for these, I think, is to take seriously the New Testament reports that the names “Jesus” and “John” were provided by angelic messengers (I don’t know what to do with “Mary”) and thus that there really are angels, as well as a personal God who uses angels as messengers. Obviously, those who reject the reality of angels have undercut any possibility of taking the Book of Mormon literally, or the New Testament too, for that matter.

   (e) The Book of Mormon itself gives a reason it is more explicit than the Bible about some aspects of the plan of salvation. Alma tells the people in Ammonihah that, as the coming of Christ approaches, “Now is the time to repent. . . . Yea, and the voice of the Lord, by the mouth of angels, doth declare it unto all nations; . . . wherefore they [glad tidings of what is to come] have come unto us. And they are made known unto us in plain terms, that we may understand, that we cannot err; and this because of our being wanderers in a strange land” (Alma 13:21-23). As I understand it, he is saying that angels are sharing this news broadly but that it is being shared more explicitly with the Nephites because they have been cut off from contact with other nations, including the nation they came from. They won’t see the Savior till after his resurrection, and their witness of him won’t be made known to the rest of the world for hundreds of years. For whatever reason, it will be a more explicit witness, naming names and giving details that will corroborate the biblical record and be transmitted under more immediate divine direction. I think this all suggests that the clarity and specificity of Book of Mormon prophecies were divinely mandated.  

   (f) It’s possible that some of the language reminiscent of the New Testament was an accommodation to the language available to Joseph Smith and his contemporaries. It’s also possible that some was supplied by Mormon in his editing and abridging. If Jesus really did appear to the Nephites and taught them much more than is recorded in the Book of Mormon—and if Jesus also taught much more in Palestine than is recorded in the New Testament, including instruction during his 40-day post-resurrection ministry—then it could be that many of the ideas and expressions found in both the New Testament and Book of Mormon have Jesus himself as their source.

   (g) Finally, there’s the question of how close the English translation of the Book of Mormon is to the original text. Assuming the ancient text was in some form of Hebrew, then renderings in English will necessarily have a different feel than the Hebrew, even if the translation is quite close. (The use of “reformed Egyptian” writing would also have an impact.) Someone who knows more than I do—maybe a whole group of people—need to look carefully at evidence of what a Hebrew text of some kind might have looked like. From the little I know, I think it’s very possible that some phrases used as part of nineteenth-century religious discourse (for example, “song of redeeming love”) could effectively translate the original text—especially because such phrases, even though they may not appear exactly in the Bible, have themselves been shaped by biblical ideas and language. (See note 1 for an example of what I’m getting at.)

NOTE 1: Here’s a little example based on my very feeble grasp of Hebrew and of issues involved in translation. Three passages in Alma use the phrase “redeeming love” and associate it with “song” or “singing.” “Redeeming love” could mean “love that redeems (purchases, preserves)” or possibly “love by reason of redemption” or “redemption by means of love.” There are Hebrew equivalents to all of these that would sound quite normal (as far as I can tell). “Redemption” or “deliverance” is associated with “songs” or “singing” in several passages in Isaiah, the Psalms, and elsewhere in the Hebrew scriptures. In those cases, the word for “sing” or “song” is ron (song, ringing cry, shout of deliverance) or rinnah (ringing cries of joy , praise, or supplication), rather than shiyr or shiyrah (ode, religious song, song of Levitical choirs). So Psalm 32:7 has the phrase räNëy faLë† (“songs of deliverance” in the KJV), which a newer translation might render “joyous shouts of deliverance.” And Isaiah 35:10 has “And the ransomed of the Lord shall return and come to Zion with songs [rinnah] and everlasting joy upon their heads.” The last part—B'riNäh w'sim'chat ôläm al-roshäm säsôn—could be rendered “with ringing cries (of joy, praise, supplication) and joy everlasting on their heads.” I’ll skip over other relevant verses. With some of what I know or suspect in mind, I would render the verses in Alma something like this:

  Alma 5:9: And again I ask, were the bands of death broken, and the chains of hell which circled around [compassed: ’atar=encircle (for attack or protection)] them, were they loosed? I say to you, Yes, they were loosed, and their souls did expand, and they did shout (cries of) redemption by love (or love by reason of redemption). And I say to you that they are saved/delivered.

  Alma 5:26: And now look, I say to you, my brothers, if you have undergone a change of heart, and if you have felt to shout the ringing/joyous cry of redemption by love (or: the ringing/joyous cry of love by reason of redemption), I would ask, can you feel the same now?

  Alma 26:13: Look, he has loosed thousands of our brothers from the pains of hell; and they are brought to shout (cries of) redemption by his love (or: shout (cries of) love by reason of redemption).

  The phrase translated as “redeeming love” in the Book of Mormon might have been something like “ringing/joyous cries (shouts) of deliverance [räNëy faLë†]” or “ringing/joyous cries [riNäh] of redemption [G'uLät or f'dût] by thy love [B'ahávätô]” or “ringing/joyous cries of love (lovingkindness [chešed] or love [ahávat]) by reason of [min] redemption [G'uLät or f'dût]). (For chešed and ahávat, see Jeremiah 2:2, among other verses.)

            The point of this experiment is to ask this: Suppose that the original phrase was something like “shout ringing/joyous cries of redemption by means of love,” which could have been a fully meaningful Hebrew phrase, and that it needed to be rendered into English? “Shout” might have been translated as “sing” (as it usually is in the King James Version), “ringing/joyous cries” could have been translated “song” (again, as in the King James Version), and “redemption by means of love” (or “love by reason of redemption”) could have been rendered “redeeming love.” The fact that “songs of redeeming love” appears in nineteenth-century religious literature is a result in part of biblical ideas and the language of the King James Version (where God's redemption and love are as pervasive in the Old Testament as in the New), as well as ways those ideas and that language were modified over time. As a phrase possibly familiar to Joseph Smith and his contemporaries, it would have been an appealing and effective translation. 

Conference adventures

"Conference adventures" could mean many things--for instance, I'll be going to a Shakespeare conference in Paris later this month.  But for Latter-day Saints, "conference" means first of all General Conference, the twice-a-year gathering when we listen to Church leaders, along with prayers and music, during five two-hour sessions.  ("Church" as used here means "The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints," the church to which I belong, in which I believe, and in which I currently serve as a bishop.)  Elsewhere, you can find much written about the folklore, humor, and cultural trappings associated with General Conference.

Here I want to talk about my adventures this time around.  There's one more session to go, so I may end up writing an addendum.  But I feel the need write now while the desire is fresh and active.  This is not going to be a detailed summary of what was said.  Instead, I want to give a feel for what the experience was like.

The first session was yesterday, Saturday, April 5.  I believe I watched the first session in my pajamas--something that's typical for me, especially for the morning sessions.  After a brief opening talk by President Thomas S. Monson, we heard a stirring address by Jeffrey R. Holland--one of my wife's and my favorite speakers and someone we're grateful to know personally.  A later speaker, Linda Reeves, gave an exceptionally powerful talk, discussing the beauty of sexual intimacy in marriage, the destruction power of pornography, the help available through the addiction recovery program, and the power of talking and testifying of and rejoicing in Christ.  She also talked of how she and her husband tried to deal with the stress of raising young children and their learning that focusing on Christ and on scripture, prayer, and home evening was far more important than many of the other things they were worried about.  One of our favorite lines (by "our" I mean my wife's and mine) was, "It's OK if the home is a mess."  We may write that down and post it somewhere in the house.

There were other great talks in that session.  But on with the adventures . . .

Between sessions, I got one of our cars inspected so it registration can be renewed (which was supposed to have happened by the end of March) and then did some shopping.  The plan for the afternoon session was different than usual.  I had promised my oldest son, Rob, that I would go with him to a chocolate exhibit for which he was getting school credit.  (Rob is 27 and is a student at Utah Valley University.)  So I needed to get myself ready (dressed, etc.) to leave about 2pm to arrive in Salt Lake at 3pm.  Our plan was to listen to the afternoon session of conference on the way.  I would be missing part of it, but could listen to that later.  Rob would then go with me to the Priesthood session at 6pm, followed by Bombay House (our traditional General Conference dinner).  I was grateful Rob had agreed to do this since he no longer considers himself a believer and is critical of some things about the Church.  So to agree to spending time with me in a Church-related setting is--I was going to call it quite a concession, but I think I'd rather call it quite an expression of love for me.

Things did not go entirely according to plan.

We left a little after 2pm and did indeed listen to conference on the radio--mixing that with a bit of conversation.  Rob needed us to stop along the way so he could get something to drink and wash down a pill he needed to take.  So we did that--the stop taking a little longer than expected.  Rob had told me the museum with the chocolate exhibit was the Leonardo in Salt Lake, and I had looked it up on a Mapquest and gotten a basic idea of how to get there.  The directions got a bit mixed up in my mind and so I led us a few blocks astray but then quickly found the Leonardo and found a parking place waiting for us.  It was a little after 3pm.  Rob was wondering if he had remembered the name of the museum correctly--for one thing, he wondered how chocolate would mix with the Dead Sea Scrolls exhibit being featured at the Leonardo.  But we walked to the entrance to find out.  At the admissions counter we were told that, no, the chocolate exhibit was not there but was at the Museum of Natural History . . . which briefly the young woman at the counter said was at Thanksgiving Point, back in Utah Valley.  We had passed it a good while back--and indeed there is a natural history museum there.  But then she corrected herself: no, it was at the Museum of Natural History of Utah at the University of Utah.  And she gave us the address on Wakara Way, along with the approximate location.

We headed off.  The only problem was that we didn't know how to get to Wakara Way--and the University of Utah Campus blocked a direct drive to the final location.  So we spent about a half hour driving around trying to find the museum--and finally found it.  We were inside buying tickets about 3:40.  We had missed the person Rob was supposed to get a free ticket from at 3:00.  And we learned that the chocolatier who was supposed to present at 3:30 (that was Rob's required event to get credit for coming) had not shown up.  No free ticket was waiting for Rob, so I bought tickets for both of us, and we had a great time at the museum, learning lots about chocolate and its history.  We didn't see anyone from Utah Valley University.  If they had been there, they left by the time we were where they had been.

We found a parking place a few blocks from the Conference Center and got in our seats by about 5:30.  (I omit another mini-adventure involving confusion over tickets I was supposed to provide for someone else.  I hope they managed to get in.)  Rob let me know he might leave if anything was said that he couldn't handle, but it didn't come to that.  We heard talks on the priesthood, on our need to change, on the use of technology and the Internet, on "not sleeping through the restoration" (a memorable talk by President Dieter Uchtdorf--another family favorite), on heroes, and on courage.  I slept through part of the second to last talk.  Sleep deprived and exhausted, I found the gentle voice of President Henry B. Eyring inviting me into slumber--ironic given that the preceding talk, by Pres. Uchtdorf, had discussed the need to wake up.  I'll listen to or read Pres. Eyring's talk later.

After the session, Rob and I left by way of the outside balcony, with fresh air and a beautiful view--but we found ourselves surrounded by a slow-moving crowd, and Rob felt anxious and found it hard to listen to me because of the distraction of the voices around us.  I gave a slow account of the time Rob had met Pres. Uchtdorf.  I believe Rob was 13 at the time.  It was April of 2000.  Pres. Uchtdorf was then Elder Uchtdorf of the Seventy, and he along with Douglas Smoot had reorganized our Stake Presidency.  I was to be set apart as first counselor to Brian Wolsey.  Pres. Uchtdorf set apart Pres. Wolsey; Douglas Smoot set me apart; I don't remember who set apart the second counselor, Steve Park.  I do remember that Margaret and our children were there; my parents were there, my mother probably with a walker.  Pres. Uchtdorf was solicitous with my parents; he was patient and positive with our rambunctious children.  Margaret especially remembers him telling us, "Don't inhale."  I especially remember him telling us, "Brethren, be sure to smile.  The members need to know that living the gospel is a happy thing."  I also gave Rob an extended preamble to another thing I would finish telling him once we got to the car--about a breakthrough I had the other day when I realized why I get so upset when I feel I've performed badly in front of people.  (Basically, my parents' high expectations of me when I was a child.  But the breakthrough consisted in feeling compassion for them--they were doing the best they knew how--and for myself, the little boy who was growing up with such an intense feeling that he must not mess up in front of other people.)

Along with this conversation, you should imagine Rob and me walking along with the crowds beyond the Conference Center and then up the hill to where our car was parked.  We then decided to go with my memory that Bombay House was somewhere on Foothill Drive.  Problem: We didn't know exactly how to get to Foothill Drive.  But eventually we found it, but then didn't find Bombay House where I thought it might be, stopped at a mini-mart to ask for information, and were given directions.  Bombay House had in fact moved a few blocks away since we had last been there in Salt Lake, but luckily they were still on Foothill Drive, and we managed to get there.  It may have been almost 9pm by this time.  We had a great time talking--about the history of gender roles, the questionable historical accuracy of a medieval fantasy Rob is reading, mindfulness and T. S. Eliot's The Four Quartets, philosophical ideas found in Buddhism and C. S. Lewis, etc. (some of this was after the restaurant)--and had a great meal, with vegetarian dishes, naan, drinks (rose lassi and mango lassi), and a delicious dessert whose name I forget (sort of pastry balls in a rose scented liquid).

We did more wandering finding the freeway.  (We definitely took the long way getting there.)  I had reflected right after leaving the restaurant that one advantage of all the wandering around we had done, despite the stress and frustration, was that it could remind us that, even if we didn't know how to get where we wanted to go, we would eventually get there (as long as we didn't die in the process).  However odd that may sound, I was genuinely feeling some assurance that, though it's best to plan and know where we're going and how to get there, the world is not as scary a place as we sometimes imagine it to be.  And we have the ability to figure things out along the way.

We got home (in Provo) about 11:30pm.  And had done some wonderful bonding.

The next morning, after relatively reasonable sleep, I watched the Sunday morning session, again in my pajamas.  This was perhaps my favorite sessions so far--filled with light and power and goodness and joy.  President spoke powerfully of gratitude.  Elder M. Russell Ballard spoke of inviting others to share the gospel and then following through--extending our hands and lifting others up and walking with them (compare Peter and the lame man in the book of Acts).  Sister Jean Stevens gave a powerful talk about trusting in God's love (you are not alone; you are not forgotten).  Bishop Gary Stevenson discussed three LDS athletes who won medals at the Winter Olympics: Noelle Picus Pace, who wore her Young Women medallion on her neck along with the silver medal; Christopher (I don't remember his last name), who persevered through trails; and Tora Bright, who gave an anxious Kelly Clark a hug to help her calm down, and then went on win a silver medal.  When asked why she would help a competitor, she said, "I want to do my best, but I also want my competitors to do their best."  Elder David A. Bednar spoke of how our loads help us and how they can be lightened through the atonement.

And President Monson spoke of love.  Some outsiders have spoken ill of him, as if he doesn't deserve to be taken seriously.  I feel otherwise, not just because of my respect for his calling as president of the Church, but because I recognize in him a remarkable example of and powerful proponent of what Dostoevsky called "the experience of active love": charity, the pure love of Christ, put into action daily in service to the specific people we encounter.  He told moving stories.  He spoke directly and simply.  His words may not be satisfying to those who seek complexity and ingenuity.  But there can hardly be a message more important than the one he gave: our need to view all others as our brothers and sisters and to serve and love them.  Speaking of Dostoevsky, there's something in President Monson's approach akin to that the Elder Zosima in The Brothers Karamazov.  Read it; I think you'll see what I mean.

So here we are, now about 50 minutes away from the last session.  Let the adventure continue!

Names and Titles (part 1)

In most of the classes I teach, at the beginning of the semester, I tell students "what to call me"--mostly so they won't agonize over the competing alternatives but also so I'll see or hear more often the alternatives I prefer. When they forget--or don't care--I really don't consider it a big deal. As long as both my students and I know more or less who we're talking to when we communicate--and as long as the assignments they mean to give me actually get to me--I'm OK.

I've noticed, though, that some of my colleagues prefer different titles than I do.  The preference for "Dr. So-and-so" seems to have increased over the years.  When the university is giving awards to faculty, I notice that sometimes the commendatory description moves among the alternatives ("Dr.," "Professor," "Brother" or "Sister"), perhaps linking each to different aspects of the honoree's work, different roles--researcher, teacher, mentor, colleague.  Some college teachers prefer being called by their first name--something that I'm guessing would have been rare on any college campus before the 60s. 

The teacher of one of the classes I took as an undergraduate at Brigham Young University was Jean Anne Waterstradt.  She emphatically preferred--insisted on--the traditional custom not only of being called by her last name ("Miss Waterstradt") but of referring to her students in the same way (I was "Mr. Young" and sat next to a "Miss Wilson").  I called most of my other teachers "Brother" or "Sister"--I think that was the prevailing custom in the 1970s at BYU. 

It was hard for me to make the adjustment to calling these same teachers by their first names when I returned as a faculty member in 1983.  I managed to do it--call these respected figures from my earlier days "John" or "Elouise" or "Marden."  But my effort to accept my place as a colleague ran into a bit of a wall one day when I was walking across campus with Jean Anne Waterstradt.  I said something to her, prefacing my words with "Jean Anne."  She responded, "Well, Mr. Young, . . ."  Perhaps she was telling me I wasn't yet on her level, perhaps just that I was not yet a familiar friend.  I never quite figured out whether she reserved first names for a small circle of friends or for all colleagues who had been around long enough.  I avoided using any name or title when talking to her after that.

Over 30 years of teaching, I've never asked students to call me by my first name, though a handful have on their own initiative.  Though I like to think of my students as fellow learners, even people who can teach me in various ways, I guess I've also wanted to remain conscious that my role as teacher and mentor in some ways separates me from them, gives me a different role.  I'm not just one of the guys.  At the same time, I think almost anyone who knows me--including my students--would say I'm approachable and, most of the time, genial and unassuming.  That may be one reason I've been asked, for the past several years, to serve as the department ombudsman--the one who usually handles student complaints against teachers and tries to mediate between the conflicting parties.

My wife likes her students to call her by her first name--she says that makes the class feel more like a family.  At the same time, she says she's increasingly taken on a maternal role with students.  They often come to her for comfort or reassurance.  I'd like to think I do at least a bit of the same for my students, but it's true I rarely get as close to them as Margaret does with hers.  (She has fewer students and has regularly taught creative writing, where students often share their personal stories.)  Yet I'm not sure making the class feel like a family requires teachers to be called by their first names.  I can't help thinking of how odd it would have felt to me to call my own parents by their first names or of the challenging moments when (during her teenage years) one of my daughters--actually a stepdaughter, though I never felt she was anything less than fully my daughter--would call me "Bruce" sometimes in conjunction with saying, "You're not my real dad."

I guess my way of trying to have the class feel like a family--or at least like a community--is to be called "Brother Young."  To me, that title carries gospel connotations: the reminder that we are all brothers and sisters.  Using "brother" and "sister" as titles is a standard practice among Latter-day Saints, as well as in Black churches and many other religious groups.

So I've made my confession: "Brother Young" is my first choice.  But "Professor Young" comes in a close second.  (I honestly love the word "professor"--partly because it sounds truly cool but also because of all the traditions and connotations it brings with it.)  "Dr. Young" comes in a distant third--yes, I have a hard-won Ph.D., but I generally don't feel a need to remind people of that.  (Doing that makes me think me of the kooky self-published books on off-the-wall political or pseudo-scientific topics in which the title page proudly bears the author's name, followed by "Ph.D.")  Then, of course, there's "Mr. Young," which I almost never hear, except from an occasional first-year student fresh from high school, where "Mr." and "Ms." (etc.) are probably the common titles for teachers.

I have reasons for my preference, significant ones (at least in my own mind).  I've almost never discussed the question with colleagues--except just recently, when I talked with an esteemed colleague who seemed to feel almost exactly the same way I did and for some of the same reasons.  The fact is that "Dr." is NOT the preferred title at many universities, and there are historical as well as cultural reasons it's more common in some places than others.  My impression is that some of those who think--erroneously--the only professionally appropriate title (for those with Ph.D.'s) is "Dr." are unaware of the cultural differences among institutions or of the history of academic titles.  Whether or not my impression is right, I like to remember that history when I think about the matter.

So here's why my preferences rank in the order they do.  I've already said I like the connotations (ethical and religious) of "Brother" and that I think the word "Professor" is cool.  Here are further reasons:

(1) From the Middle Ages (when the university as an institution was invented) until the nineteenth century, doctorates were offered only in three subjects: medicine, law, and theology (or divinity--as in "a doctor of divinity, who resides in this vicinity").  For everyone else, the M.A. was the terminal degree.  (The phrase "Master of Arts" suggested someone had mastered a subject and had authority to teach it; the word "Doctor"--literally "teacher"--implied much the same thing, just in other disciplines.)  The Ph.D. was invented in the nineteenth century by the Germans--who also reimagined the university with its disciplinary divisions and other changes.  Of course, a Ph.D. is not really a doctorate in philosophy; it's a doctorate in "whatever," as I like to say--or at least in just about anything other than medicine, law, or theology.  Apparently, the German Ph.D. was originally the equivalent to an M.A., but it eventually became an additional degree. 

The Ph.D. was soon adopted by Americans.  But the British resisted it until the twentieth century when (it appears to me) they started offering it, at least in part, to Americans who wanted a Ph.D. at a British university.  Though it was also available to British students, the Ph.D. did not become the standard terminal degree in many  British institutions--Oxford and Cambridge in particular--through most of the twentieth century.  I don't know what the common practice is in Britain now.

(2) Because of the fairly recent invention of the Ph.D. and the difference in national practices, some of the great modern figures in the world of scholarship--in particular in literary studies, which is my field--did not have a Ph.D.  One of my heroes, for instance--C. S. Lewis--never had a doctorate, nor would anyone have expected him to.  The M.A. was the terminal degree in both English and philosophy, the fields in which he studied and later taught.  Also, though he was an esteemed teacher, scholar, and critic (not to mention writer of fiction and apologetics), Lewis was not, through most of his career, a "professor."  At Oxford and Cambridge, the title of "professor" was reserved for those who were elected to a "professorship."  Lewis was passed over more than once by his colleagues at Oxford.  His friend J. R. R. Tolkien, on the other hand, was elected Professor of Poetry and so could be called "Professor Tolkien."  But neither of them had a doctorate and so no one would have called them "Dr. Lewis" or "Dr. Tolkien."

Lewis was finally offered a professorship by Cambridge University, and so late in his career he became the "Professor of Medieval and Renaissance Literature" at Cambridge--and finally could be called "Professor Lewis."  But through most of his life, he was "Mr. Lewis" to his students.

I jokingly tell my students, "So who am I to be called 'Dr.' if C. S. Lewis wasn't?"  But, inconsistently, I don't use the same argument against being called "Professor" (nor do I say "don't call me that until I get an endowed chair").  My real point is that "Dr.," because of its idiosyncratic origin and history, has not been a title associated with many of the greatest figures in the broader world of modern scholarship.  I like to think of these figures as being among my colleagues and mentors, even if I've encountered them only through their writings.

(3) So what led to "Dr." being the preferred title in some parts of America in recent decades?  My version of the story goes something like this: From the time the Ph.D. was imported into America in the mid-nineteenth century until World War II, only a small fraction of college and university teachers had a Ph.D.  After World War II, the practice of getting a Ph.D. as a terminal degree before teaching at a university became more common, and many of those who had one (and who wanted other people to know it) insisted on being called "Dr."  The title became a mark of distinction not only with one's students but among one's colleagues.  By the end of the twentieth century, almost everyone teaching at most American universities had a Ph.D. (or equivalent terminal degree).  An M.A. had come to be considered a sort of half way mark and was no longer considered sufficient by most departments in many (if not most) universities when they considered applicants for faculty positions.  So now--in many institutions--virtually ALL the teachers have Ph.D.'s or their equivalents.  But in many--though not all--"Dr." still carries a special prestige.

(4) When I say "not all," I'm thinking especially of Ivy League schools and other major universities in the Northeast.  What I'm about to say may be true elsewhere as well, but I speak mainly of what I know from experience.  In many of the schools I'm thinking of, simply being a tenured faculty member is prestigious enough.  In fact, the distinction between tenured and non-tenured faculty is much more significant than the question of degrees earned, especially in those universities where few junior faculty are given tenure.  (New senior faculty slots are usually given to scholars who have already gained a high reputation at another university.)

When I went to graduate school (at Columbia and Harvard) in the late 1970s and early 1980s, none of my professors were called "Dr." so far as I remember.  They were usually called "Mr." or "Mrs." or sometimes "Professor."  Of course, we thought of them as "professors."  One of my professors--Harry Levin--did NOT, despite his high reputation, have a doctorate.  But apparently he had met James Joyce, and he knew Leonard Woolf (Virginia's husband), who (he said) was very upset at Ed Albee for calling his play Who's Afraid of Virginia Woolf.  In any case, nobody thought Professor Levin was in any way on a lower level than his colleagues because he lacked a doctorate.

At BYU, we've come to expect a Ph.D. as standard, certainly for anyone we consider hiring in the English Department.  Yet one of our greatest professors of recent years, the late Leslie Norris, did not have a doctorate.  Of course, even now a doctorate isn't necessarily expected of someone who is primarily a writer of fiction or poetry, but we do expect an MFA.  But with Leslie, degrees were really irrelevant: he was a wonderful writer with an international reputation and one of the best teachers we had had at BYU; he mentored a generation of writers and was a valued colleague.  Not a Latter-day Saint, he had somehow fallen in love with Utah and BYU (though also capable of being a gentle critic).  Wikipedia calls him "one of the most important Welsh writers of the post-war period."

Students, who were learning that many of their teachers expected to be called "Dr.," often called Leslie Norris "Dr. Norris"--which he wasn't.  "Professor Norris" was the appropriate title.  I don't know what he thought about being called "Dr." (I suspect he didn't mind).  I vaguely recall some discussion I had (maybe with Leslie himself?) about his sometimes being called "Brother Norris," something that would have sounded odd to him, I suppose, given that he came to BYU relatively late in his life, as a non-Latter-day Saint.  But I think he wasn't bothered by "Brother" either--didn't mind in a way being adopted into the LDS community.

I see that my supposed three reasons are really more occasions for reflection.  But they can be boiled down to (1) the Ph.D. is a fairly recent invention and even took a while to be considered an essential terminal degree; (2) many of the greatest figures of modern scholarship did not have a Ph.D.; and (3) its use as a mark of prestige has been limited in time and geography to places where it really served that function but even in those places is not necessary for someone who really has earned distinction as a member of the academy through quality of teaching, thinking, and writing.

And I guess I should add some of my real reasons--by which I mean the ones that matter most to me or have most influenced my preferences.  I am influenced by my own experience as a student.  When I was an undergraduate at BYU, my teachers (as I remember) didn't insist on being called "Dr."; certainly the best ones didn't.  In the graduate programs I attended, "Dr." wasn't commonly used as a title--in fact, I don't remember it at all among the teachers I studied with.  It was "Professor Donno" or "Mrs. Fredman" or "Mr. Perkins" or "Professor Bate" or "Professor Evans."  So it appears I prefer what I'm used to.

But I also have a visceral reaction against using titles as a way of setting oneself higher than others, of competing for prestige.  Not that I'm entirely immune from the temptation to do just that--but I don't like the way I feel when I'm in the grip of that temptation, and I don't feel good about myself when I yield to it.

There's one other reason that honestly carries more weight than it probably deserves.  But life is filled with these sorts of quirky things.  When my children were young and answered a phone call to my home from a student asking for "Dr. Young," they would sometimes say, "Mommy, is Daddy a doctor?" 

No, I'm not that kind of doctor.  And given the way language works, especially the wonderful free-for-all that we call the English language, "doctor" to many of us means someone who probes us in ways we wouldn't normally let much of anyone else, prescribes things we take on trust, and (sometimes) delivers us from danger or into life in ways no one else can.  If I'm a doctor in that sense, I would have to be a metaphorical one.  But I hope that on occasion I rise, at least metaphorically, to that level.

(P.S.: I call this "Names and Titles (part 1)" because I focus here on academic titles.  But there's so much else to say in connection with church, family, and other settings.  Part 2 will come . . . whenever, if ever, it does.)

Attending to the poor and suffering: should it always be purely voluntary?

Most people acknowledge that we all have an obligation to attend to--to help, serve, comfort--those who are poor or suffering.  This obligation is an important tenet of most religions and is central to the teachings of Christ.  It is mentioned insistently in scripture, including the Old and New Testaments.

The Jewish philosopher Emmanuel Levinas points to our responsibility to "the Other" as the essence of our humanity, and he argues that this is not a responsibility we choose: this "responsibility is incumbent on me" (Ethics and Infinity 96; see also 100-01).  It "can not have begun in my commitment, in my decision.  The unlimited responsibility in which I find myself comes from the hither side of my freedom, from a 'prior to every memory'" (Otherwise Than Being 10).  What makes me human--indeed, what makes me an individual self--is the fact that I am under the obligation to serve "the poor, the stranger, the widow, and the orphan," Levinas's list of those that scripture in particular reminds us we must serve, though (as Levinas notes) all others are in one way or another needy (Totality and Infinity 245; see also 215 and 251). 

In the face of every other person, we experience the call to service and responsibility.  What I choose is how I respond to this call.  According to Levinas, "The will is free to assume this responsibility in whatever sense it likes; it is not free to refuse this responsibility itself; it is not free to ignore the meaningful world into which the face of the Other has introduced it" (218-19).  It is impossible for me to be deaf to the call that comes from others--yet I can refuse that call: "the separated being can close itself up in its egoism" and "[shut] itself up against the very appeal that has aroused it, but [the separated being--the self--is] also capable of welcoming this face of infinity [the other person] with all the resources of its egoism" (216).

Scriptures that are particular to Latter-day Saints--the Book of Mormon and the Doctrine and Covenants--repeatedly emphasize our obligation to those who are poor or suffering.  (I'll list some of those scriptural admonitions at the end.)

Yet Latter-day Saints, with the value they place on agency and responsibility, also wonder how or whether this obligation should be in any way enforced by law.  Or to put it otherwise, when faced with political questions about the use of public funding to help people who are in need, Latter-day Saints sometimes engage in discussions about whether such use of public funds is appropriate or whether all assistance to those in need should be purely voluntary.  If you listen carefully or look for such discussions in print or online, you can find Latter-day Saints arguing both sides of this question.

I'm on the side of using public funds to help those in need, though doing so needs to be done with care--intelligently and pragmatically as well as compassionately.  And I don't believe public (meaning governmentally sponsored) efforts can or should take the place of all the voluntary efforts that also do much good.  For one thing, neither private, voluntary efforts nor public ones alone are sufficient to take care of pressing needs. 

Yet I acknowledge some truth in the contrary point of view.  For one thing, if all efforts to help those in need are made as part of institutionalized public programs, the wells of compassion may dry up in us as individuals.  We need the face to face experience of concern for specific others and of personal, voluntary sacrifice.  We can show compassion indirectly through our contribution to public efforts, but there is something impersonal, even something at times brutal in institutionalized programs, especially when their practices become routine.  Our humanity depends most of all on our response to the specific others we encounter each day.  Ivan, in Dostoevsky's The Brothers Karamazov, struggles with this truth, finding he can love anonymous humanity, while he cannot find it in himself to love his neighbor: "It's just one's neighbors, to my mind, that one cannot love." 

Ultimately, what matters most is the state of our hearts. Each of us must learn to love others and must willingly engage in "the experience of active love" (to quote Dostoevsky again).  But one expression of that state of our hearts is our ability to come together as communities to help those in need. And the idea that the only kind of help we can give is private and voluntary contradicts both the scriptures and common sense.  Our roads, police forces, and many other services are paid for with tax money, which by its nature is not voluntary.  Scripture also supports this idea that we may appropriately be required to contribute to the common good.  One scripture I’m thinking of is Mosiah 21:17 (in the Book of Mormon), where King Limhi commands his people to contribute to the support of widows and orphans. These were apparently not merely voluntary contributions, but were expected of everyone as part of their community responsibility.

And note that in Limhi's case, members of the community were required to contribute--not just to roads that everybody uses--but specifically to the support of widows and orphans. They were required to do it not as a denial of their agency but as a condition of being part of the community.  Certainly, it's better not to be compelled to be humble (or to repent or to be charitable). But living in a community means having to do certain things.  If one disagrees with those expectations, there are several alternatives: refusing to fulfill the expected obligations and suffering the consequences (civil disobedience means willingly accepting the consequences for breaking laws one believes to be unjust); moving to a different community; or obeying while trying to change the laws. The LDS Church normally advises this last approach and does not condone refusal to pay income taxes (whether for social programs or for the military). 

Meaningful freedom does not mean refusal to be part of any community.  Despite the high importance of agency in LDS theology, some Church leaders have pointed out that the scriptures don't ever use the term "free agency"--which might imply absolute freedom, without responsibility or consequences.  Rather, the concept (explicitly or by implication) is "moral agency," the fact that, through God's grace and by our very natures, we are always free, whatever the circumstances or constraints, to choose between good and evil, to follow the "better" rather than the worse "angels of our natures."  We exercise such agency not as purely isolated individuals, but within a context of obligations and expectations, as members of communities, even very imperfect ones.

Part of the trick is how to do WILLINGLY and from the heart things that (a) we believe to be good and that (b) we are required by law to do--for instance, obeying traffic laws or contributing to the general welfare by paying taxes, including to help those who are suffering or in need.  Jesus said that if you're required by a law court to give someone your coat, you should give him your cloak too; and if someone compels you to go a mile, you should go two miles with him.  "Give to him that asketh thee, and from him that would borrow of thee turn not thou away."  Could that mean that the answer to how to be charitable when the law requires us to assist those in need is to meet that requirement and then do EVEN MORE than we're required?

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AN APPENDIX OF SCRIPTURAL REFERENCES (from Latter-day Saint scripture):

Mosiah 4:26: . . . for the sake of retaining a remission of your sins from day to day, that ye may walk guiltless before God—I would that ye should impart of your substance to the poor, every man according to that which he hath, such as feeding the hungry, clothing the naked, visiting the sick and administering to their relief, both spiritually and temporally, according to their wants.

Doctrine and Covenants 104:18
Therefore, if any man shall take of the abundance which I have made, and impart not his portion, according to the law of my gospel, unto the poor and the needy, he shall, with the wicked, lift up his eyes in hell, being in torment.

D&C 49:20: But it is not given that one man should possess that which is above another, wherefore the world lieth in sin.

D&C 70:14: Nevertheless, in your temporal things you shall be equal, and this not grudgingly, otherwise the abundance of the manifestations of the Spirit shall be withheld.

D&C 78:6: For if ye are not equal in earthly things ye cannot be equal in obtaining heavenly things; . . .

D&C 56:16: Wo unto you rich men, that will not give your substance to the poor, for your riches will canker your souls; and this shall be your lamentation in the day of visitation, and of judgment, and of indignation: The harvest is past, the summer is ended, and my soul is not saved! (See also verses 17-18, which show the dangers of envy, resentment, and greed on the part of the poor: “Wo unto you poor men, whose hearts are not broken, whose spirits are not contrite, and whose bellies are not satisfied, and whose hands are not stayed from laying hold upon other men’s goods, whose eyes are full of greediness, and who will not labor with your own hands! But blessed are the poor who are pure in heart, whose hearts are broken, and whose spirits are contrite, for they shall see the kingdom of God coming in power and great glory unto their deliverance; for the fatness of the earth shall be theirs.”)

2 Nephi 9:30: But wo unto the rich, who are rich as to the things of the world. For because they are rich they despise the poor, and they persecute the meek, and their hearts are upon their treasures; wherefore, their treasure is their god. And behold, their treasure shall perish with them also.

Mosiah 4:16-19:
And also, ye yourselves will succor those that stand in need of your succor; ye will administer of your substance unto him that standeth in need; and ye will not suffer that the beggar putteth up his petition to you in vain, and turn him out to perish.
Perhaps thou shalt say: The man has brought upon himself his misery; therefore I will stay my hand, and will not give unto him of my food, nor impart unto him of my substance that he may not suffer, for his punishments are just—
But I say unto you, O man, whosoever doeth this the same hath great cause to repent; and except he repenteth of that which he hath done he perisheth forever, and hath no interest in the kingdom of God.
For behold, are we not all beggars? Do we not all depend upon the same Being, even God, for all the substance which we have, for both food and raiment, and for gold, and for silver, and for all the riches which we have of every kind?

Mosiah 18:27-29:
And again Alma commanded that the people of the church should impart of their substance, every one according to that which he had; if he have more abundantly he should impart more abundantly; and of him that had but little, but little should be required; and to him that had not should be given.
And thus they should impart of their substance of their own free will and good desires towards God, and to those priests that stood in need, yea, and to every needy, naked soul.
And this he said unto them, having been commanded of God; and they did walk uprightly before God, imparting to one another both temporally and spiritually according to their needs and their wants.
(Note the paradox in these verses, related to what I discussed above, of being "commanded" yet needing to fulfill this command voluntarily, with one's "free will and good desires"--doing this, as all things, "unto God.")

Note also this remarkable statement from some early LDS Church leaders: "The experience of mankind has shown that the people of communities and nations among whom wealth is the most equally distributed, enjoy the largest degree of liberty. . . . One of the great evils with which our own nation is menaced at the present time is the wonderful growth of wealth in the hands of a comparatively few individuals. . . .  If this evil should not be checked, and measures not taken to prevent the continued enormous growth of riches among the class already rich, and the painful increase of destitution and want among the poor, the nation is likely to be overtaken by disaster . . ." (Brigham Young, Daniel H. Wells, Wilford Woodruff, Orson Pratt, Lorenzo Snow, Franklin D. Richards, Brigham Young Jr., George A. Smith, John Taylor, Orson Hyde, Charles C,. Rich, Erastus Snow, George Q. Cannon, Albert Carrington, qtd. in Edward WilliamTullidge, History of Salt Lake City [1886] 728-29). (For the source and a fuller version of the statement see http://books.google.com/books?id=fNkBAAAAMAAJ&q=luxurious+habits&f=false#v=snippet&q=luxurious%20habits&f=false )

Family history indexing

This image symbolizes what happened on July 2, 2012: Over 10 million records were indexed and arbitrated with the help of over 45,000 participants in a project sponsored by LDS Family History Indexing.

Here's the announcement (found at https://familysearch.org/node/1726 ):

Amazing! We passed the 5 million records goal in less than 16 hours and just kept going! Thank you to the 46,091 indexers and arbitrators who participated in this historic event.
Final Record Count:

• 7,258,151 Indexed
• 3,082,728 Arbitrated
• 10,340,879 Total

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I took part, indexing 1940 census records from Washington, DC; enlistment records from the War of 1812; and World War I draft cards from Texas.  All were fascinating.

At some point, I may explain more about my experience, as well as the meaning of "indexing" and "arbitrating" and the point of delving into these records of the past.

Politics and Facebook

I have mixed feelings about Facebook.  I'm sure I'm not alone in having such feelings.

I realize that I've picked my Facebook friends (or let them pick me) and that nobody is forcing me to look at Facebook.  But I still want to explain WHY I DON'T LIKE POLITICAL POSTINGS ON FACEBOOK.  Obviously, the political season is beginning to heat up, and this is something I'm going to have to deal with for several months.  I'm afraid many of the political postings leave me feeling irritated and frustrated--not feelings I like having.

This morning I got on Facebook.  There's much I like about it--it's a great way to keep in touch with friends and family, and people share lots of interesting links.  But this morning, as has become usual lately, a good portion of the items I saw were political.  Of the first 22 items (mainly from the past 24 hours), 4 were political--and all took a point of view different from mine.  (More on this a bit later.)

Two were simply endorsing Mitt Romney (but also criticizing President Obama).  One attacked "liberals" for their views on gun control.  Another was a very negative anti-Obama posting.  Part of what makes this an unpleasant way to start the day is that I'm reminded that, at least among my Facebook friends, I'm in the political minority.  But even more unpleasant is the negative tone of so many of the postings (note the words "criticizing," "attacked," "negative," and "anti" above).

Despite the many calls for civility, respect, and mutual understanding, these posts on Facebook reveal that the prevailing tone in American politics, even among my Facebook friends, is negative, combative, sometimes mean-spirited.

So why don't I just join in and critique the criticisms and promote my own views?  I feel tempted to do just that, and it sometimes takes me a while to work through the feelings of turmoil as I concoct imaginary counterarguments in my mind and try NOT to have negative feelings toward the people who have posted what I find to be offensive or wrong-headed content.  (This morning, for instance, I found ammunition--oops!--for a contrary view on gun control and considered adding it as a comment on the anti-gun control post.  See http://welcomingtheother.blogspot.com/2012/07/contrary-view-on-gun-control.html for what I wanted to post.)

But I almost never post my counterarguments for three reasons: (1) I do NOT want to contribute to the negative, combative spirit of political discourse; (2) I don't think Facebook is the right place for political propaganda; and (3) as I understand it, my responsibilities in my church make it inappropriate for me to do political propagandizing among many of the people in my list of Facebook friends.

This last reason especially sometimes leaves me frustrated because I'm drawn in two directions at once: I want to live up to my church responsibilities but at the same time I want to express my political views.  Sometimes to ease the frustration, I do something indirect: I say something about civility and respect (while avoiding a partisan edge) or I write a blog post (as I'm doing now) and provide a link to it on Facebook.  Even in these blog posts, at least when I provide a link, I try to avoid partisan propaganda.  I save that for other posts that people have to work harder to find. 

(I realize that people who work at it can certainly find the posts where I state my views more directly.  One example: A member of my congregation--he also happens to be married to my son-in-law's younger sister--said to me at church one day: "Bishop, I've been reading some of your blog posts. It looks like you and I agree on a lot of things."  I said something about how I'd love to talk with him about politics some other time, but I asked him to not spread around what he knew about my views to others in the congregation.)

Since I've brought it up, I may as well explain more about how my faith and religious commitments are related to my political involvement.  I'm a believing and enthusiastically committed member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.  Though I think it would be "cool," as some people put it, to have a Mormon president of the United States--and though I've had pleasant personal interaction with Mitt Romney (this was when he was a counselor in the Boston stake presidency during the time I was living in the Boston area), and though I think Romney is one of the better Republican alternatives, considering those he ran against in the primaries--he's not my favored candidate.  Elsewhere I've written about what I think of him as a politician and what I think about his political views.  Let's just say that I don't believe that membership in the same church is a reason I should support him politically.  I say this despite the fact that I've been defending him for years against attacks (mostly from the evangelical right wing) based on his religion.

I've been politically active to varying degrees since about the age of 13.  I've been aware for much of that time both of my church's official policy of political neutrality and of the unfortunate and extreme political imbalance among American Latter-day Saints.  For 10 years, I was a counselor in the stake presidency in the area of Provo, Utah, where I live, and during that time I did my best to avoid mixing partisan politics with any of my church activities.  So that I wouldn't offend any of my neighbors in the stake, I avoided bumper stickers and yard signs.  I attended party precinct meetings, but so few of my neighbors were involved--at least in the party of my choice--that my political involvement was not widely known.

Released from the stake presidency in 2007, I felt freer to express my political views.  My church calling was now at the Missionary Training Center, and so I didn't have direct responsibility for people in my area in Provo.  I became an enthusiastic supporter of Barack Obama, created a couple of blogs devoted to politics, and even put an Obama sticker on my car.  (I devised a way to cover the sticker when I parked at the Missionary Training Center--though, seeing Romney and McCain stickers on other cars there, I wondered if I was being too careful.)

Then in March of 2009, I was called as bishop of my ward.  (For any non-LDS readers, a ward is a congregation consisting of a few hundred members--and it is one of the marvels of the LDS Church: a unit of just about the perfect size to become a real community and one in which everything, from running church meetings and activities to counseling to visiting to compassionate service, is done voluntarily, involving as many people as possible.)  Besides being smacked by an intense sense of my inadequacy upon becoming my ward's bishop, I was also filled with a sudden sense of caring for everyone in the ward, especially the youth and also ward members who were struggling in various ways.  And I was also filled with intense gratitude for all the good work being done by members and leaders in the ward.  I was not in this alone, by any stretch of the imagination.

At the same time--the week I was called as bishop--I removed the bumper sticker from my car and vowed to avoid mixing anything political with my church calling.  There were a couple of bumps on the road during the first months, and both were related to Facebook.  One ward member posted some content about the evils of socialism (I should add that I'm not a socialist), and I responded to what I felt were inaccurate implications about the current political situation.  (We resolved things and remain good friends.)  Someone else posted something else I disagreed with--probably something anti-Obama--and I responded in some way.  (This was at the very beginning of Obama's presidency, and he was already heavily under attack from those who felt he could do nothing good.)  That ward member dropped me as a Facebook friend.  I felt very bad about both of these lapses on my part and was determined to avoid anything partisan or negative on Facebook, knowing that at least some of my Facebook friends were also members of my ward.  I've kept to that determination pretty well for about 3 years now.

I also have relatives--one in particular, someone I love and admire in many ways apart from his political views--who have been relentlessly political in their Facebook postings.  I first noticed this when I was listening live to Obama's inaugural address and noticed a series of postings via Facebook from a particular relative, DURING the address, attacking and critiquing what Obama said almost sentence by sentence.

In 2010, I attended the local political caucus meetings hoping to find someone to replace me as precinct chair.  Given my desire to separate my church responsibilities and my political activities, I found it awkward to be the representative of my party in my neighborhood.  It turns out, though, that at this meeting I was one of only two from my precinct who attended: the other person was my stake president.  So we decided that I'd continue as precinct chair and he'd be a convention delegate.

Two years later, there were many more who attended the caucus meetings, mainly because the LDS Church strongly encouraged its members in Utah to attend caucus meetings of the party of their choice.  A couple of my ward members were there, and I believe one became the new precinct chair.  And I was delighted to see many other members of my stake, including stake and ward leaders.  As for myself, I felt comfortable giving up any official position--for now.  But I plan to remain involved in appropriate ways.

Earlier this year, official instructions from leaders of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints specified what political involvment would be appropriate for general and local church leaders.  These instructions are more explicit than anything I've seen in the past.  I'm guessing the reason is that, at the time the instructions came, there were two Mormon candidates for president (Jon Hunstman and Mitt Romney).  With the strong possibility that one of them might end up as the Republican candidate for president, there may have been concern that it would be difficult for the Church to maintain its stance of political neutrality if leaders were getting visibly involved in politics.  Among the instructions are these: general leaders, who serve full-time in their church responsibilities, are not to endorse candidates or parties or even contribute financially to any candidate.  Local leaders are free to make financial contributions and be involved politically in other ways as long as they do not imply that they represent the Church in doing so and as long as they do not engage in political activities (including promoting particular candidates) among those for whom they have direct church stewardship.  In other words, as a bishop, I should not be going door to door or making phone calls to promote a candidate or a political position within my ward boundaries.  (I interpret the counsel as also preventing me from having a yard sign or bumper sticker.)  These instructions are also reason I try to be very careful in what I say on Facebook.

Over the years I've seen many minor violations of the Church's policy of political neutrality--mainly by members who wax political in a Sunday School class or comments in a testimony meeting.  (A few months ago, a member in our ward came awfully close to crossing the line in comments made over the pulpit in testimony meeting, though she spoke in somewhat vague--I would say "coded"--language so as to avoid naming names.)  I believe the repeated statements by the Church's First Presidency are sincere attempts to avoid connecting the Church and its worldwide mission of service and spreading the gospel with particular parties, candidates, and political ideologies.  In other words, I believe the First Presidency mean what they say.


For those who are interested, I'll provide an appendix with some of the official Church statements and other material.

For now, just a couple of other things.  Why this intense concern with political neutrality?  I believe there are several reasons.  One, as I've already indicated, is that the Church's mission transcends partisan politics and many other concerns of the moment.  Furthermore, associating the Church with particular candidates and positions would certainly make it harder to share the gospel with people who have contrary views.  (At the same time, I'm one of those who believe it's entirely appropriate for churches to take positions on moral issues and to promote their views in the public square.  But even that needs to be done carefully and respectfully.)  Another reason for political neutrality is that the gospel itself--the good news of redemption and all the associated revelations about who we are and what our eternal possibilities are--far transcends the narrow human ideologies over which we spend so much of our time squabbling.  A current member of the Church's Quorum of the Twelve Apostles--Elder Dallin Oaks--put it in a way that resonates for me: "Those who govern their thoughts and actions solely by the principles of liberalism or conservatism or intellectualism cannot be expected to agree with all of the teachings of the gospel of Jesus Christ. As for me, I find some wisdom in liberalism, some wisdom in conservatism, and much truth in intellectualism--but I find no salvation in any of them" (“Criticism,” Ensign, Feb 1987, 68ff.).

Another of the crucial reasons for the Church's stance is the desire to preserve harmony among Church members while inviting all those who are willing to accept the gospel and participate in the Church.  Church leaders have expressed deep concern about political divisions within the Church.  George Albert Smith, a president of the Church during the mid-twentieth century, warned, “Whenever your politics cause you to speak unkindly of your brethren, know this, that you are upon dangerous ground.” More recently, President Gordon B. Hinckley reminded us that “political differences never justify hatred or ill will,” and added, “I hope that the Lord’s people may be at peace one with another during times of trouble, regardless of what loyalties they may have to different governments or parties” (see “Instruments of the Lord’s Peace,” Ensign May 2006).

So one of my concerns is how to purify my own heart--how to avoid and extinguish the negative feelings I have when I see political propaganda on Facebook, among other places.  An anti-Obama posting by a Church leader with responsibilities for members within the stake seems to me unfortunate and wrong.  The same would go for an anti-Romney posting by a leader with similar responsibilities.  (I wonder how such a leader can expect members to read a negative partisan posting and then be ready to received help or blessings at that leader's hands.)  Even when it comes to someone who has been released from an important calling and who has access through Facebook to many of those he formerly had stewardship for, I wonder whether more bad than good comes from posting a daily dose of political propaganda, especially if it's negative in tone.  I think ahead to what I will do after my release and how I will do it.

Meanwhile, I have to consider what approach to take now.  Should I drop some of my Facebook friends whose postings regularly disturb my feelings of peace?  Is there a way to limit postings to certain circles of friends so that I can follow the instructions I've been given while still sharing my views?  Is there some sort of filter that would allow me to admit the positive content posted by my friends but not the negative?

Who would have thought 10 years ago that we'd be dealing with this sort of challenge?  Still, underneath the specific media we're now using are all the old issues of kindness, respect, and self-control.  I guess I'll have to keep working on that age-old project of learning to "school my feelings."  I also look forward with hope--despite much of the evidence that surrounds me--that people will learn better ways of sharing their thoughts and feelings, ways that don't consist so much of battering one's opponents while congratulating oneself and indulging one's prejudices, but that instead include some elements of real listening and humble sharing.


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APPENDIX (with links and other items related to civility and political neutrality):

The LDS Church's statements (and related items) on political neutrality--including the assertion that "Principles compatible with the gospel may be found in various political parties":

> http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/first-presidency-issues-letter-on-political-participation and http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/first-presidency-issues-letter-utah-precinct-caucus-meetings
> http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/official-statement/political-neutrality
> http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/church-reemphasizes-political-neutrality
> http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/political-neutrality-whiteboard-animation-draws-out-church-position
> http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/newsweek-reporter-msnbc-mormon-church-politically-neutral
> http://www.mormonnewsroom.org/article/political-neutrality

President Obama (and others) on civility: http://faceofother.blogspot.com/2011/01/two-speeches.html

Mark DeMoss (a Romney advisor) on civility (from a forum address at BYU): http://news.byu.edu/archive12-jan-demosstalk.aspx  (see also http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2011/01/12/mark-demoss-civility-project_n_808219.html and http://speeches.byu.edu/index.php?act=viewitem&id=2013 )

President Hinckley's comments on kindness and civility: http://lds.org/general-conference/2006/04/the-need-for-greater-kindness?lang=eng (and much that he and other Church leaders have said elsewhere)

Another beautiful LDS Conference talk on the same issue (more or less): http://secret-memo.blogspot.com/2009/07/instruments-of-lords-peace.html

LDS Church leaders on political extremism (you'll find these a ways into my post): http://secret-memo.blogspot.com/2009/08/conspiracy-theory-mentality.html

More of my own views: http://bruceyoung-election2008.blogspot.com/2008/10/religion-and-politics-especially-for.html