Decalogue for Dissenters

The first Sunstone piece I may have ever read was likely Armand Mauss's "Alternate Voices: The Calling and its Implications," though I first encountered it at Times and Season's reposted as "Alternate Voices". I remember being particularly impressed by the final section, "Decalogue for Dissenters", and apparently Elder Dallin H. Oaks (who himself was a founding member of the editorial board of Dialogue: A Journal of Mormon Thought) saw value in it too, for he sent a short letter (three lines) to compliment Brother Mauss on his piece and express approval of it’s interpretation of his conference address. Those of us today who at times feel called to dissent, whether in person or even on Facebook or through blogging, will likewise find value in Armand Mauss's words:

Decalogue for Dissenters

My remarks in this final section are directed mainly to those who would undertake to join the ranks of “alternate voices” as speakers, not just as listeners. These include, I hasten to add, not only academics or other professional intellectuals but anyone who would aspire to be efficacious in offering alternative ideas or counsel to the saints and their leaders at any level, whether in the pages of Dialogue and SUNSTONE, in ward council, priesthood quorums, Relief Society, or Sunday School. 

I would like to share ten principles that I have learned, sometimes painfully in the breach, during the past twenty-five years from my own efforts to offer an effective “alternate voice” at various forums and occasions. As a rhetorical devise, I will use the imperative tone appropriate for a decalogue; I apologize in advance if the tone also seems imperious in places. Also, since my efforts have taken place in the context of an ultimate commitment to the LDS faith, some of the following principles will be less applicable to those who don’t share that commitment. 

1. Seek constantly to build a strong personal relationship with the Lord as the main source and basis for your own confidence in the alternate voice you are offering. We often have to do without the Church’s approval, but we need the assurance of the Lord’s. 

2. Do your homework before you speak up. We must be sure that our knowledge of the scriptures, of history, and of other relevant data on a given matter will bear up well under scrutiny and under efforts at rebuttal. Otherwise, our offerings will be exposed as unreliable, we will lose credibility as intellectual leaders or teachers, and we will be suspected even by our sympathizers as mere malcontents. No one expects infallibility, but we must know whereof we speak, especially if we espouse an unpopular or untraditional idea. 

3. Relinquish any and all aspirations (or even expectations) for leadership callings in the Church. Actually, that is wonderfully liberating. In any case, stake and ward leaders, to say nothing of general authorities, rarely call people to powerful positions who are suspected of too much “independent thinking.” To be sure, the ranks of “alternate voices” have provided occasional examples of bishops, stake presidents, and Relief Society leaders, showing that there may be some happy exceptions to this generalization, but don’t count on that. If you have a career in C.E.S. or in any other Church bureaucracy, don’t expect approval or promotion to accompany your identification as an “alternate voice.” 

4. Endure graciously the overt disapproval of “significant others,” including family members, but never respond in kind. Lifelong friends and old missionary companions may sever (or reduce) friendship ties when they learn that you are one of "those.” They simply cannot understand what your “problem” is. If such reactions prove especially crucial in your case (e.g., if your marriage is threatened), you will have some tough choices to make. 

5. Pay your “dues” as a member of the Church. Pay your tithing, make clear your willingness to serve wherever called, and do your best to get your children on missions. Try as hard as anyone to “keep the commandments.” You still probably won’t get much Church recognition, but you will win over a few who once looked on you with suspicion. More important, you will make it difficult for your critics to dismiss you as an apostate, for all will see that “thy faithfulness is stronger than the cords of death” (D&C 121:44). 

6. Be humble, generous, and good natured in tolerating ideas that you find aversive in other Church members, no matter how “reactionary.” As “alternate voices,” we cannot complain when we are ignored or misunderstood if we respond with contempt toward those whose ideas we deplore. Besides, if we have any hope of educating them, we have to start where they are and treat them with love and tolerance. No one is won over by being put down, especially in public. Whether in our writing or in our exchanges during Sunday School classes, we must try to be gracious as well as candid (difficult though it be on occasion) and always remember to show forth afterward “an increase of love toward him whom thou has reproved, lest he esteem thee to be his enemy” (D&C 121:43). 

7. Show some empathy and appreciation for Church leaders, male and female, from the general level down to the local ward and branch. Anyone who has ever held a responsible leadership position knows how heavy the burdens of office can be, especially in callings like bishop, Relief Society president, and stake president (to say nothing of apostle), in which the decisions made can affect countless numbers of people for good or ill. We may privately deplore the poor judgment, the unrighteous dominion, the insensitivity, and even the outright ignorance of some leaders. Yet, after all, they are, like us, simple mortals doing their best according to their lights. Some of them sacrifice a great deal for no apparent benefit, and all are entitled to our support, and occasionally our praise, whenever these can reasonably be given. When they do something outrageously wrong, they need our sympathy even more. “There but for the grace of God . . . ” etc. 

8. Do not say or do anything to undermine the influence or legitimacy of Church leaders at any level. They have their callings and prerogatives, and we should not step forth to “steady the ark” by publicly offering our alternative leadership. Please don’t misunderstand: I am not advocating silent submission in the face of official stupidity. There is much that we can do without playing the role of usurper. When we write for publication, let us by all means criticize policies, practices, or interpretations of doctrine; but let us not personalize our criticisms with ad hominem attacks. They are not only discourteous and condescending, but quite unnecessary. (They can also get you “ex-ed.”) 

We should feel free, though, to seek private interviews and/or correspondence with Church leaders, including our own bishops, in which we can offer, in a spirit of love and humility, our constructive criticisms and suggestions. If these are ignored, then at least we have exercised our callings as “alternate voices,” and we have done so without sowing seeds of contention. We are not responsible for how a given leader carries out his or her stewardship. Yet we are not powerless, which leads to the next principle. 

9. Take advantage of legitimate opportunities to express your “alternate voices” and to exercise your free agency in “alternate” ways within the LDS church and culture. We must never lapse into a posture in which we just sit and gripe. If we find the correlated lesson manuals to be thin fare, it is up to us as teachers to enrich them with relevant supplementary material (including some “alternate voices”). If we are not teachers, then at least we are obligated as class members to speak up knowledgeably and enrich the class, not simply boycott it. 

If we find a general intellectual famine at Church, then we are free to start study groups of our own to supplement the Church fare for those who feel the need. Some of our more conservative leaders may not like such unsponsored study groups, but they have no right to forbid them, and they seldom try (but don’t forget principles 2, 3, and 4). In short, even if we are not bishops or general authorities, and even if we are ignored by those who are, there is much constructive that we can do with our “alternate voices”: “For the power is in them, wherein they are agents unto themselves. And inasmuch as they do good they shall in nowise lose their reward” (D&C 58:28). 

10. Endure to the end. The calling of “alternate voice” is too important for us to allow ourselves either to be intimidated by the exercise of unrighteous dominion or to be silenced by our own fatigue. “And let us not be weary in well doing: for in due season we shall reap, if we faint not” (Galatians 6:9; D&C 64:33). I have seen many a rich harvest in people’s lives from seeds planted by “alternate voices,” and I hope to live to see many more. 

Though I have often failed to comply with all ten of these principles, I have learned from my failures as well as from my successes that the likelihood of influence and efficacy for “alternate voices” depends heavily upon compliance with those principles. They also add up to a personal philosophy that has yielded me a great deal of inner peace in my years of coping with the predicament so common among “alternate voices”: commitment to the religion but a feeling of marginality in the Church. That is my testimony.

"Restive And Concerned"

Armand Mauss (from p. 70 of his memoir), writing about correlation during an era he came to call 'retrenchment':

I recall being pleased originally with the new FHE and CES initiatives of the church leaders, since they seemed likely to enhance and strengthen both family life and systematic religious instruction around the church. However, I was increasingly restive and concerned about certain other signs indicating that a new postwar generation of church leaders was moving to magnify and intensify its control not only over organizational processes, but also over the religious and intellectual life of its members and individuals. In particular, a revitalized "correlation" effort (rather dilatory since the 1920s) began gradually to centralize operations of the entire ecclesiastical organization, including all the accessories, under the apostles and the First Presidency, with operational authority confined to the priesthood ranks. Although not apparent during the 1960s, at least not to the rank and file, this "correlation" process was gradually to have certain consequences and implications (some no doubt unintended) during the succeeding decade: for example, reduction in the status and power of LDS women, both in their ecclesiastical and in their domestic roles; reduction in the tenure and authority of local bishops, stake presidents, and mission presidents; standardization and reduction in the intellectual rigor of church publications and instructional materials for the auxiliaries (such as Sunday school); declining tolerance in the priesthood leadership for independent intellectual activities of members that it could not control (publications, symposia, study groups, "firesides," and so on); and the interposition of a large paid, professional civil service-like bureaucracy between the members and their lay priesthood leaders in the planning and implementation of the "correlated" policies and teachings from headquarters.

Faith, Hope, and Charity, even with Reduced Church Expectations

I recently finished reading Armand Mauss's memoir, "Shifting Borders and a Tattered Passport: Intellectual Journeys of a Mormon Academic". Aside from a few areas where I'm more liberal minded, I often felt throughout the book that he and I are kindred spirits. He offers a really healthy, candid, and refreshing perspective. This excerpt is the final two paragraphs of the book:

So it is that I have continued to value my membership in the LDS church...and to give it my voluntary loyalty, even when I have believed church policies to be in error in certain respects and even on several occasions when I have felt personally offended. Well into my ninth decade of life, I have felt no more inclination to leave the church than I have felt to leave the nation, though, as I said, I have become disenchanted or disenthralled. Yet – and this is important – it has been precisely my disenchantment that has inoculated me against disillusionment, because of the concomitant reductions in my expectations. That is, an understanding of the church and its leaders as human and mortal has kept me from holding out unrealistic expectations for their performance. This has left me free to offer them my own support, loyalty, respect, and appreciation as fellow laborers in the vineyard, but not as contingent on an inerrant execution of their duties. 

When I have been critical of church policies, practices, or leaders, this kind of emotional detachment has also left me free to express myself, in fair and respectful terms, without an accompanying anger that might have led to my departure from the church. During those occasions, described in chapter 9, when I was called in by leaders for interviews about my publications, I was able to arrive without indignation, because I had long since learned to see the church as an impersonal bureaucracy, with the local leaders simply doing their best to cope with unpleasant responsibilities sometimes imposed on them by their roles. I entered these interviews expecting to be treated fairly. I was prepared to hear and consider criticism, but I was never obsequious. I saw my relationship to the church as separate from my relationship with Deity, so that if I were to be unfairly treated or disciplined by church leaders, I could count on Deity eventually to make things right. In these respects, I guess one could say that I have always tried to look on the church and its leaders with faith, hope, and charity, even while keeping my expectations modest. I suspect they might say the same about me.

Shifting Faith Paradigms of a Mormon Academic

If you know me well, or perhaps if you read about my own shifting faith paradigms/personal faith journey, you might understand why I feel a kinship to Armand Mauss after reading the following excerpts. They come from the beginning and the end of chapter 3 in Mauss's memoir: "Shifting Borders and a Tattered Passport: Intellectual Journeys of a Mormon Academic". Buy the book–seriously! By way of introduction, I'll quote Richard Bushman from the forward:

As with all intellectuals, Mauss had his private battles to fight as well. His greatest early struggle was with "the social construction of reality," the notion that was sweeping the scholarly world at the time of his intellectual formation in graduate school. The words "social construction" mean that each society puts together it's own version of reality rather than finding a fixed and unchangeable reality out there somewhere. Independent reality may exist with God, and be known by faith, but humans have no direct access to it via reason and science. Every truth we know comes through a human mind embedded in a society of some kind. We have to accept the principle that every conception of reality is contingent on the conditions in the society where that conception originates. One can imagine the impact of this realization on a young Mormon scholar who had been raised on belief in absolute truth. One of the most intriguing passages in the memoir is the account of how Mauss coped with this crisis.

With five years' bishopric service behind me, I ventured back into the secular academic world to resume my graduate studies in 1962. I was, of course, expecting to be exposed to new intellectual territory, especially since I was switching my disciplinary focus from history to sociology for the doctorate. I did not, however, expect to be confronted with an entirely new ontology and epistemology. As my intellectual development continued, the sociological concept that truth or reality is socially constructed turned out to offer a greater challenge to my religious faith than anything else I was to encounter in my entire academic career. Gradually came to terms with that challenge, however, and eventually became quite comfortable with the "social constructionist" way of understanding reality.

My upbringing as a Mormon, as well as my intellectual training under the Jesuits at Sophia University, had equipped me with an absolutist or essentialist ontology. I recognized, of course, that there could be a variety of understandings and interpretations of reality derived from different cultures, religions, and life circumstances. Yet, among all of these, or perhaps outside of them, there would be a single ontology – an absolute reality as defined by God or as given in nature or both. The search for truth was a matter of applying the empiricism, the logic, and the epistemology, well known since the ancient Greeks, to get beyond all these differing conceptions to the real truth, or the true reality, in the universe. I have observed that most people, at least in the Euro–American world, grow up with similar epistemological and ontological assumptions and rarely have reason to question them.

I am not sure exactly when my doubts about these assumptions began, but it was sometime after I returned to sustained doctoral study in sociology in the 1960s. I recall no sudden epiphany or "breakthrough," no sense that I was leaving behind one entire intellectual paradigm for a different one. My intellectual transitions always seem to have been gradual and evolutionary. I simply became increasingly aware of the need to reconsider and revise earlier assumptions in light of new ideas to which I had been exposed...

[Different works and readings eventually helped show] how different visions of reality emerge from different social circumstances and...these works made clear the processes by which different cultures and interest groups construct the ideas, facts, "plausibility structures" that come to be "taken for granted" by their respective members – a process defined as the "sociology of knowledge" in academia. The major implication here is that any notion of "absolute" truth or reality, of the kind promulgated by the Judeo-Christian traditions, might ultimately exist in the mind of God, or in some other great cosmological sense, but if so, we as human beings have no access to it through any field of science.

Therefore, if we embrace any reality as "objective," existing independently of human invention, of the kind claimed in religions like Catholicism or Mormonism, then we do so on faith, as a matter of choice. Operationally speaking, the only reality we "know" is that which has been constructed by our families and passed along to us as part of our cultural heritage. In this way of looking at reality, it is easy to see how different claims to truth are embraced as ontological realities, not only in religion but also in science, in politics, and in many other fields of human knowledge. Where religion was concerned, at least in my case, it became increasingly obvious that if I were to continue as an active believer in the LDS faith, it would be mainly a matter of choosing to embrace a certain construction of reality, not the result of a meticulous process of testing and proving incontrovertible claims about the supernatural...

My reflections on this predicament [that embracing a social constructionist epistemology (that reality or truth is socially constructed within each contending society) is more relativistic than and challenges the traditional Christian and Mormon absolutist conceptions of reality/epistemology], however, led me not away from faith but rather toward a realization that in order to engage in a community of discourse, whether ethnic, religious, political, or any other kind, I would first have to understand that community's epistemology and ontology. My understanding, then, would depend on interpreting its discourse and behavior through the lens of its own shared conceptions of reality, rather than through my own or other lenses that I might bring to the examination. The same would be true, of course, for understanding the discourse and behavior in my own religious community. I had already learned to understand LDS reality as an insider and had taken that for granted. My new understanding, however, did not require me to abandon my religious community, ontology, or epistemology, but only to embrace them as a matter of choice, rather than as the only valid way of seeing reality.

Such a recognition seemed to accord also with a theological conception of faith as an active personal choice, rather than as a passive acceptance of a religious tradition. A social constructionist understanding of reality, furthermore, leaves one free also to reject any secular definition as the only true understanding of reality, since no particular epistemology can claim privileged status in the eyes of God or nature–or (still less) in Academia. Any epistemology has validity only within its own community of discourse. My "Mormon passport," then, was as valid as any other as I traveled through the various communities of discourse that I encountered. This line of reasoning, one might say, further relativizes the relativity of the social scientist's construction of reality. The scholar thus remains free to embrace the epistemology and ontology of a religious believer for ordering his or her own life and world, while at the same time being entirely free to venture into other epistemological worlds to understand other peoples with their respective discourse and behavior.

Epistemological humility about "the same organization that existed in the primitive church"

Armand Mauss on a humbling mission experience (from "Shifting Borders and a Tattered Passport: Intellectual Journey's of a Mormon Academic", pages 8-9):

Among my most important [missionary] experiences in that town [Torrington, Connecticut] was an encounter with a Protestant minister. (Episcopal vicar, as I recall, though he might have been congregational – my memory is not clear on this). Over the resistance of my senior companion, we called at the parsonage or rectory, as the residence was usually called, and we were greeted by a dignified clergyman who reluctantly invited us in. What followed, at least from my viewpoint, was a debacle that had a profound impact on my faith, to say nothing of my ego. The vicar dealt with us kindly. He recognized and seemed to value our sincerity and intellectual naïveté as he listened patiently to my recitation of the conventional Latter-day Saint understanding of the organization of the primitive Christian church, complete with proof-text verses from the New Testament. 

When I had finished, he said he had a few questions, which raised my hopes until I realized that his "questions" all had to do with such matters as the historical sources on which I had based my presentation, my understanding of the various functions of ecclesiastical roles within the primitive church, and my grasp of the meaning of certain terms in ancient Greek (starting with ecclesia.) Then came a thirty-minute tutorial on the historical and linguistic difficulties of figuring out how closely the organization and functions of the primitive Christian church resembled any modern model, LDS or otherwise. I was stunned and humbled. I had had no idea that so much knowledge was available outside of LDS literature on subjects of such great importance to the LDS religion itself. That entire experience left me with two resolutions that have guided my intellectual explorations ever since: I would never again enter controversy so ill-equipped to defend my own convictions, and I would never again consider one interpretation of the scriptures – by my religion or any other – as the only authoritative word on anything. The first resolution meant that I would spend as much of my free time as possible in local libraries during my mission, and with the second resolution, I was fated, from that point on, to live in a certain intellectual tension with the conventional understandings of some of my fellow Mormons and our leaders.

"Scholars seem stubborn and proud, whereas laypeople seem complacentand unaware."

"During parts of Mauss's life, LDS intellectuals did not always enjoy an entirely comfortable place in the church. Devoted as he was, he was sometimes summoned by leaders to account for some of his scholarly publications on Mormon matters. Church leaders, not familiar with the ways of intellectuals and a little skeptical, did not immediately recognize these publications' potential usefulness. The hardest thing for ordinary Mormons to appreciate is the battle intellectuals are called upon to fight to make sense of the world. Their very effectiveness as intellectuals grows out of their commitment to ideas and evidence. Whereas most people want simple, clear conclusions in harmony with their own preconceptions, scholars have to deal with the evidence and hammer out ideas. The advice to "forget it" when they come across a troubling idea is precisely what they cannot do. Their work would be useless if they did not make these pains. Inevitably, there will be misunderstandings. Scholars seem stubborn and proud, whereas laypeople seem complacent and unaware. Even when both parties act with goodwill, it takes time to achieve mutual understanding."

From Richard Bushman's foreword of Armand L. Mauss's memoir: "Shifting Borders and a Tattered Passport: Intellectual Journeys of a Mormon Academic".