Our Fading Civility: The Art of Dialogue, part 2

Having failed to conclude my last entry properly, I will bridge the gap with two wry quotes regarding the crying need for dialogue between the sexes, since “There is no sex-war among the Latter-day Saints” (John A. Widtsoe, MS, 94:136) was confidently uttered by one who hadn’t seen our present fall from the ideal. Even good-natured ribbing about differences has disappeared in the wake of constant misunderstanding. We will frequently see men and women either shunning their natural divine qualities or using them as weapons against the other. I won’t lie: even prophets are among those who talk about lifelong difficulty drawing the two into a perfect complement, but they also attest to an unimaginable magnification of potential where this is attempted. It certainly won’t occur where communication lines are cut.

I believe both authors of the following intended to point to the absurdity of their character’s statement.

To speak frankly, I am not in favour of long engagements. They give people the opportunity of finding out each other’s character before marriage, which I think is never advisable. (Lady Bracknell, in Oscar Wilde, The Importance of Being Earnest [New York, New York: Avon Books, 1965], 99)

(For some reason, one of the girls I’ve mentioned in my dating history lent me that book.)

“Well,” said Charlotte, "I wish Jane success with all my heart; and if she were married to him to-morrow, I should think she had as good a chance of happiness as if she were to be studying his character for a twelve-month. Happiness in marriage is entirely a matter of chance. If the disposition of the parties are ever so well known to each other, or ever so similar beforehand, it does not advance their felicity in the least. They always continue to grow sufficiently unlike afterwards to have their share of vexation, and it is better to know as little as possible of the defects of the person with whom you are to pass your life.” (Jane Austen, Pride and Prejudice [New York: Signet Classic, 1989], 21)

Does the fact that I’m conversant with such a book enhance my standing with the ladies? Unlikely. Actually, I think I read this one as the direct result of contact with a different girl. I once startled yet another girl because on Friday night she mentioned her favorite book, and by church that week I tried engaging her in a book review discussion about it—it’s not one I’ll recommend. Trouble is, I think she was more disturbed than flattered that I’d checked it out and finished it in the intervening time. Moving on, then...

I also have a rather opinionated opinion about dialogue, in that it probably ought to be elevated. Many seek fun, and only (or primarily) fun, in companions. This becomes something like a permanent Peter Pan partnership, scarcely differing from the single men Elder Oaks refers to who refuse to get married, in that they assume that one responsibility, but no more. (Say “permanent Peter Pan partnership” five times rapidly.) It’s been my observation that as much as four years later there are no children (delayed—in at least two cases I know of—by their own declaration of intent), no serious dedication to some sort of church goal; there are just late nights of PlayStation and Saturday mornings of cartoons. Sundays might be an endless shuffle between parents’ wards and homes, and other places. (My parents pledged to not be intrusive, and they’re true to their word.) Something huge is missing in terms of establishing one’s own homestead—and it’s hard to take them very seriously. Since I didn’t intend for the entry to take this turn, I won’t insert a couple of President Kimball quotes. :-)

“The family institution comprises more than the wedded union of husband and wife with its mutual obligations and responsibilities. The status of parenthood is the flower of family existence, while marriage was but the bud” (James E. Talmage, Vitality of Mormonism, 216). (I’m not going to open this big can of worms right now.) Even their date nights continue to resemble a wild night on the town more than a mature deepening of an eternal romance. This is well enough insofar as they seem to share goals, but it still seems to me like a subtle mockery of the sacred institution of marriage and covenants made at the altar. I guess it’s the result of two individuals marrying each other at the same stage of life and modern society not really urging graduation into the next stage. All of human history, church history, and the Spirit speaking to us proclaim that the arrival of infants to parents prepared to train them properly, at this VERY time, is vital to future events. Heaven justifies no vain delay.

I’m right there with Elder Ballard this afternoon on the danger of mind-numbing time wasters, as well as the need for rejuvenating fun time. A partner ought to also be a playmate, but at appropriate times. Both should rejoice in life’s responsibilities and instinctively know how to make the most of their windows of alternate opportunity. He also issued a timely warning, central to my whole dialogue reflection, that we should not put other things ahead of listening to our family.

Somehow with the removal of the harsh conditions of the past, we’ve also largely removed our sense of obligation to the serious matters of life. People once grew up out of necessity by 16; now there’s no telling at what age “necessity” would dictate maturity.

Susan, I’ve been bursting with the need to share some things gleaned from a thorough new book (Bertrand Van Ruymbeke, From New Babylon to Eden: The Huguenots and Their Migration to Colonial South Carolina), so I’m simply going to pretend it's pertinent to this essay. It concerns the examples of some forebears, standing at the head of a progeny to which they gave their all.

After Jean and Jacques Roque’s deaths, in light of their time in prison, it appears that the sentence passed upon the remaining Roque family was typical of that reserved for “those whose obstinate refusal to abjure made them, in the eyes of the monarchy, potential leaders,” “hopelessly impervious to conversion.” Charles LaPierre’s role as predicant (preacher)—which, it is said, he took upon himself after the regular minister expired upon the wheel—meant certain death, and his son Jean’s apparent assistance at secret meetings would have guaranteed imprisonment. Jean (John) grew up quickly in all those ways that should matter most anyway, since at the age of six he lost his mother. It’s interesting that his first daughter, born in Westminster shortly before his departure to America in 1708, was named for his martyred mother, Jeanne. We descend from his next daughter, Martha, named for the youngest (surviving, to that point) Roque, beloved of the family and likewise martyred for her beliefs.

We learn that Jean’s wife, Susanne, was blind before they came to North America on assignment from the Bishop of London. I’m touched every time I think of her successfully raising five children in the frontier wilderness. Oh, how these families loved each other, too! LaPierre later became unfortunately embroiled in controversy with difficult parishioners, and I don’t exactly approve of his preaching for sustenance, but I rather enjoy this:

Apparently they were not disappointed by their minister’s sermons, which “surpassed their hopes,” as LaPierre revealed himself to be “a good theologian,” expounding on biblical texts “methodically and in a charming manner with his expressions, his voice, and hands” so that “the entire assembly was extremely edified.” Within a few weeks LaPierre had won “the heart and affection of his church,” and his parishioners were so eager “to bring him what is necessary to life [that soon] he was agreeably overwhelmed with an abundance of goods.” In no time LaPierre was “admired by the English as much as by the French” and was heralded as “the most skilful preacher in the French language who ever came to this land of Carolina.” This reputation is supported by Thomas Hasell, pastor at St. Thomas and formerly a fellow student of LaPierre’s at “l’academie de Dublin,” [Trinity College] who remembered him as “the most recommendable of all the students for his good behaviour having never been censured.”

Personally amusing is this historical fact: “LaPierre, ‘having in [Carolina] no Book upon this Subject,’ composed a pamphlet entitled The Vindication of ye Christian Sabbath. This document has not survived and it is not known whether anyone ever read it, but it obviously had no influence whatsoever on the course of events.”

Passing on to dialogue once more... Earlier today I sought admittance to a small ward gathering. I thought it was well worth the effort to see whether it could offer peaceable Sabbath sociality. No one heard my knocking. Though “forced entry” is a repugnant idea to me, I tried the doorknob, but it seemed stuck. Then, thinking of how the Savior must feel, I couldn’t bring myself to ring the doorbell. I’m not into rude intrusions. “Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me” (Revelation 3:20). I stepped up the knocking a bit more. They were sufficiently loud that I could easily hear the clamor through the door, yet they could not hear me in return. So, thinking again about the Savior’s experience, I’d received the nominal invitation as well as a passing wish last week that I’d make it, but somehow it didn’t seem welcoming enough.

I left, helpless, because if they were unable to hear me at the volume I had to offer, I already knew it was not the type of setting in which I could express myself. Such noisome festivity was not my kind of thing anyhow. Immediately after that failed attempt, I came home to hear Elder Neuenschwander paint an excellent character sketch of the Savior, in view of crowds and leadership. I similarly enjoyed Elder Zwick’s remarks. Now, it’s hardly a perfect analogy—just a glimpse into how I try to gather lessons from everything. I certainly do not intend to roundly condemn. Having made the venture on a sacred day, made holier by counsel with men of God, it was an interesting experience to turn in sadness from the company of peers back into the full and beautiful light of day.

The price of leadership is loneliness. The price of adherence to conscience is loneliness. The price of adherence to principle is loneliness. I think it is inescapable. The Savior of the world was a man who walked in loneliness. (Teachings of Gordon B. Hinckley, 304)

There is still always one form of dialogue which one can fall back upon:

Prayer is not artful monologue
Of voice uplifted from the sod;
It is Love's tender dialogue
Between the soul and God. (John Richard Moreland, in Jack M. Lyon, Linda Ririe Gundry, Jay A. Parry, and Devan Jensen, ed., Poems That Lift the Soul [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company (Shadow Mountain), 1998], 259)

If men do not suit you, make God your friend. He says, "Cursed is he that putteth his trust in man, or maketh flesh his arm." The man that trusts in his fellow man is likely to be deceived. Men will fail; husbands will fail; wives will fail; children will fail; parents will fail; but God never fails. (George Q. Cannon, CD, 2:334)

Leaving off that essential dialogue between lonely disciples and God, and entering the essential dialogue between humankind.... I left the doorstep today in part because of what I wrote on January 20, 2003 concerning a once-standard Sunday evening practice at BYU following ward prayer, which I was hardly surprised to see cancelled for reverence reasons in our stake:

Relief from Linger Longer has been incredible. . . . Linger Longer fits my “theological” definition of hell very neatly. I can be an intensely active member without subjecting myself to competitions the very rules of which torment me. Not all that is religious is social, and by all means not all that is social is religious.

I’ve told myself for some time that “the first time around” with dating I endured all sorts of things to which I am not partial, seriously believing that I’d find my type of person while engaged in what were not my type of activities. The second time around I am not so concerned about that as I am proper dialogue at proper times and places.

For this reason, whatever young single adult events I tackle I only do so on my own terms. Even in elementary school, there was a time in P.E. when I could not do what everyone else was doing, so I sat on the steps and finished reading Bulfinch’s Mythology. (My favorite was Sir Bedivere, who remained with Arthur to the end and, though it’s too difficult to find online, it seems he was one of those granted a view of the Holy Grail on account of his purity of heart.) If I do so today, I hope people are not offended; it suggests momentary inaccessibility to the event, not my own distancing from all the participants. I’m a grownup now, with a mode of transportation. I could always go home and read, if that was my sole intent! It would just be foolish for me to be caught with nothing to do when in need of passing some time. Once upon a time, people would engage me in conversation, but that seems to be a dying art. Instead, they get stuck on the notion that I need additional invitations to the sport at hand. As a youth, some kindly missionaries launched into a discussion about 3 Nephi with me. Nowadays, it’s easier when people ask me what I’m reading to simply show them the cover, since they’re so seldom interested. (One of my readers gets extra credit points for having at one point expressed genuine interest!)

Now I must set the stage for describing an event at which I have ever and always found dialogue nigh unto impossible: the dance. I once thought this was on account of my poor hearing, although it seemed odd that the music hurt my ears all the same. However, with the restoration of my hearing, I am positively astonished at the environment of choice. In coming decades, I expect some individuals’ hearing loss on its way down to pass my own. ;-)

Is it so surprising that a loud and shrill society has its way on the dance floor? Once upon a time, I received still more blank looks when I oversaw activities in a broad setting and proposed that we needed to start holding dances, but for a change we should give ALL of the guidelines the “strict attention” that the Church Handbook of Instructions requests. If a violation cannot be readily corrected, we have no more warrant for holding such an event under Church auspices. It was with considerable wonderment in my BYU apartment that I’d first read the part of the handbook (printed at that time in the December 2002 Ensign, 51, and confirmed to be no different today) specifying: “The beat of the music, whether instrumental or vocal, should not overshadow the melody. Music volume should be low enough so two people standing side by side can hear each other as they carry on normal conversation.” Pray don’t think me naive and oblivious; I’ve had nice girls at dances take off their shoes—bad move, on their part, as I might as well be “Lefty”—and one even got on her knees, and that didn’t help the conversational coherence much. Among other afflictions, that one is here clarified:

Volume intensifies the excitement of all music, but as anyone in the music business knows, it is a "hype." It covers up poor musicianship. When auditioning groups for recording, I would often say, "Okay, I know how loudly you can play, now let's hear how well you can play." In short, "volume covereth a multitude of sins." (Lex de Azevedo, Pop Music & Morality [North Hollywood, CA: Embryo Books, 1982], 69)

A church-related source warns just what a multitude of sins might be covered:

The remaining factor is concerned with a combination of loudness, rhythm (“beat”), tempo, the emotional fervor of the performers, and other elements. This combination is called intensity. The intensity of a musical performance is what affects the responses of those listening to it probably more than other factors. . . .

Intensity can be a special problem at a dance. When dance music is wild and uncontrolled, the dancers may become emotionally overstimulated. At such times they tend to let physical responses and gestures be controlled by the music instead of by their personal wills. Taken to the extreme, this leads to wild and suggestive movements. . . .

Often, lowering the volume reduces most of the problem. . . .

As a suggested guideline for dances, it is recommended that music should not dominate to the point that conversation is impossible. . . .

As we engage in a dialogue with our young people, we must be understanding and look at the issue from their point of view, but it is also important to be forthright and not compromise principles of righteousness. As Elder Packer said in his General Conference talk: “It is not the privilege of those called as leaders to slide the Church about as though it were on casters, hoping to put it into the path that men or youth seem already to be traveling.” (Larry Bastian, chairman of the Youth Committee of the Church Music Department, Ensign, Apr. 1974, 38)

With a host of other clearly-labeled and oft-neglected guidelines, including dress and appearance, lyrics, and lighting (manipulation included)—all of which should contribute to a Spirit-filled atmosphere—it’s not remarkable that many dances have elicited President Benson’s sharp rebuke:

Youth leaders, are you holding aloft our standards, or have you compromised them for the lowest common denominator in order to appease the deceived or vile within the Church? Are the dances and music in your cultural halls virtuous, lovely, praiseworthy, and of good report (Article of Faith 13), or do they represent a modern Sodom with short skirts, loud beat, strobe lights, and darkness? (TETB, 323)

I don’t merely offer this commentary as an outside observer. I’ve had a very long history of a love/hate relationship with dances. In 1996 I had to turn down a kind girl’s request, on account of foot surgery, but I wrote in my journal:

Yet in the same breath I must here confess one thing. Only here will I do so. I indirectly got what I prayed for. Feeling bad on that night, after many a girl's choice dance, I said a prayer in my heart that I needed an occurrence that would lift me up soon or I would leave, never again to return to a dance. So He sent ------.

Early in 1997, one of the UVSC (UVSU?) institute student representatives spent a good part of her evening taking me around to meet everyone and trying to persuade me to be involved. When she finally saw that I was going to leave, she told me something incredibly complimentary. She did not know that in order to be consistent with the quality she praised, I felt compelled to depart. A few months later I had a similar experience from the BYU dorms with a dance instructor really taking personal time on me. (Around this time my sister said she hoped I didn’t seriously dance the way I just had in front of her—evidently I do something strange with my face as I get caught up in the intensity!) Just before my mission I very nervously had no idea what to do about a girl who came up again after the dancing just to make sure I remembered to come get a haircut from her.

Regardless, to cut things short, I’ll summarize this New Year’s experience from an extract:

20 feet away from the building, with all gym doors closed and the double set of glass doors, I still felt the loud music. As I walked in, there was a girl from my ward unhappily crouched in a chair in the far left corner. I said hello cheerily and wandered through the periphery of the rioting, er, riotous living, er, New Year’s party. One could but choose between loud video gaming or cramped and at least equally noisy dancing. So I went back out to my car and retrieved Elder Lund’s book, Hearing the Voice of the Lord, that Dad got me for Christmas. (I had given them the opportunity of surprising me upfront with entertainment worth my while.)

I sat in the available foyer seat by the girl from my ward and read a few pages. Glancing at my watch, I turned to ask her how they’d planned on transitioning to breakfast (something no doubt calmer, more civil, and quieter). . . .

In the dancing area I pulled a chair against a wall, to accomplish another goal: that of exposure, regardless of success. . . . One recently returned missionary, named Heath (or possibly Keith) took time to talk to me. Some other men sat alone, looking miserable. But my mission that night pertained solely to females, so I remained where I was. Strange as they thought I was, at least I had something to show for the evening. I read the first 38 pages of Elder Lund’s book, tuning out the raucous background, and even laughing aloud at a statement on page 6: “We know that the Lord will never lead us astray or give us untruth, but how can we learn to distinguish His voice from the banging clamor all around us?” I wasn’t about to waste an evening in isolated unhappiness! I was also reminded of a dance hosted in an Elms apartment, with the usual pulsating music and boisterous bodies packed together in darkness. All I said to one roommate, who couldn’t get me to stay: “One would think that to those acquainted with the Holy Ghost, such is an uncomfortable environment.” I similarly stand on my remark that perhaps only two church dances in my life have actually conformed [completely] to Church guidelines. Plus, when the lights came on, people scurried out of the open area, much like cockroaches. “The Lord God worketh not in darkness.”

I realize that this marks me as one of the more unusual people on the planet. Never mind that. In fact, I believe I promised something far funnier in this ?-part series. My plan is to introduce a homage to Sir Mister Landlord Sir by sharing witty dialogues I’ve encountered. As he discerned with his blog entry on Jacob 5, the Book of Mormon is rife with excellent dialogues.

I’m occasionally surprised at how rudely prophets seem to interact with certain people. I hope it doesn’t seem warped that I’m amused by the manner in which they sometimes take charge of the conversations, interrupting people before they can even answer the question just posed to them, and even peppering their sermon with a few choice—albeit accurate—insults. I’ve highlighted a block in my scriptures that was utilized today: “I will not recall the words which I have spoken unto you concerning this people, for they are true” (Mosiah 17:9).

In terms of the necessary backbone for discipleship, this is how I once introduced one of my favorite scriptures (and explained why I like it):

Yet “all men were offended because of” Enoch (Moses 6:37). This is because he preached concerning Jesus Christ, “a rock of offence” (Isa. 8:14). Passive offense is taken by the wicked. Nephi said, “I knew that I had spoken hard things against the wicked, according to the truth; and the righteous have I justified, and testified that they should be lifted up at the last day; wherefore, the guilty taketh the truth to be hard, for it cutteth them to the very center” (1 Ne. 16:2). The people in Alma’s time were also “offended because of the strictness of the word” (Alma 35:15). Remember that offense does not mean we must silence ourselves. Nor, however, is offense as an objective or means very appropriate; if offense is taken, rather than given, though, it becomes the burden of the other party. Just as the gospel is shocking enough on its own merits, it is offensive enough without our stooping to disagreeable methods of teaching it. The Savior said, “Blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me” (Matt. 11:6).

Elder Packer spoke about those who choose to be offended: “Some few within the Church, openly or perhaps far worse, in the darkness of anonymity, reproach their leaders in the wards and stakes and in the Church, seeking to make them ‘an offender for a word,’ as Isaiah said.” Certainly, we should never allow ourselves to be too easily offended—that opens the door for hypocrisy. The Lord’s messengers cannot change the message to make it less offensive, since it savors of life and salvation to those who believe. President Kimball declared, “Church leaders are not able, each time we teach you, to offer a new or more glamorous route that will lead back to the presence of our Heavenly Father. The route remains the same. Hence, encouragement must often be given concerning the same things and warnings must be repeated. Just because a truth is repeated does not make that truth any less important or true.” Joseph Smith said, “It mattereth not whether the principle is popular or unpopular, I will always maintain a true principle, even if I stand alone in it.” Jesus has also informed His disciples, “The world cannot hate you; but me it hateth, because I testify of it, that the works thereof are evil” (John 7:7). It would be assuming a great deal if we took things personally. The world hates Him whose glad tidings we bear.

The prophets often ask heaven “how long” they must endure their mission among such a wickedly ripened people, “for behold, a continual scene of wickedness and abominations has been before mine eyes ever since I have been sufficient to behold the ways of man” (Morm. 2:18).

But I definitely digress now. Rolling out the red carpet for funny dialogues....ta da....here are two examples from a phone conversation last month with a USAA representative.

Me: I’ve been very happy with USAA.
Him: Yes, you’ve been with us 16 years.
Me: That won’t be changing.
Him: Aaaactually, next year it’ll be 17 years.
Me: You got me there.

(This one is in paraphrastic form. You don’t know the conversation’s worth quoting until it’s over.)

Him: Are you sure you don’t want your Roth funds in a more volatile account?
Me: This is all I’m comfortable with right now.
Him: You do realize at your age you can stand some market risk exposure.
Me: I have other diversified funds.
Him: Oh, yeah! With us...
Me: And elsewhere.
Him: Hm. Your CD was locked in at only 4.75%. You realize the rates have all fallen. You won’t get any kind of rate with a money market.
Me: Yes, well, that CD sure did outperform the market.
Him: *silence*

I suppose I’ll end with a more religiously instructive dialogue, not my own.

Throughout the dating years of the Lee girls, many situations brought teaching lessons from a father who consistently taught that commandments were to be lived without compromise, regardless of circumstances. One illustration occurred in Maurine's dating experience, the memory of which provided some good chuckles for the family for years to come. Helen recounts:

It was a Sunday afternoon in early June, and Maurine had accepted a date earlier in the week from a young man she had not been dating for long. This fellow called her after our mid-day dinner to make final their plans. The conversation went something like this:

"Hi! What would you like to do today?"
"Well, what did you have in mind?"
"Let's see . . . it's so warm and beautiful today, and since we haven't been out to Black Rock Beach on Great Salt Lake yet this year, how about going there to get some sun?"
"Gee, I'm sorry, but I don't think my father would approve of that. Could we think of something else?"
"Well, there's a new show at the Centre Theatre. Would you like to go there?"
"I'm really sorry, but we've never been allowed to go to shows on Sunday. Maybe there's another possibility."
"Hmmm . . . How would it be to go hiking up the canyon? Surely there's nothing wrong with that?"
"I hate to tell you this, but I know Dad wouldn't think that hiking is an acceptable Sunday activity either. I hope you understand. Is there another alternative?"
(With great disgust and sarcasm): "Oh, sure! Why don't you just ask your Dad if there's a good rousing funeral we could go to somewhere!"
Thus, it was humorous as well as stressful at times for the teenagers growing up in this home of an Apostle as social events came into conflict with family and Church mores, but the girls met with unyielding but comfortably consistent guidance from their parents. With his policy of no compromise between right and wrong, Harold B. Lee held the reins tightly but lovingly. His daughters knew that they had limits, and they tried to live within them. (L. Brent Goates, Harold B. Lee: Prophet & Seer [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book Company, 1985], 130)