12 A Mormon in the Cheap Seats: Moral Imagination (Guest)

[Heidi, a fellow cheap-seater, still  has the floor.]

In an earlier Cheap Seats post, Brent asked “Why do we spend so much time telling each other what spiritual experiences mean?” I think  it’s an important question and it’s one I    keep coming back to. Anyone who has read my column knows the reverence I have for stories and the meaning that I take from narratives in all forms. I love reading stories, I love hearing and watching stories and I love telling stories.

I also love the narratives of religion, both the narratives I grew up with and the ones I’ve learned from other traditions. My favorite part of any service has always been reading the scriptures and hearing the heartfelt stories of others. But, of course, telling stories isn’t exclusive to religious life, it’s an inextricable part of being human. The poet Mary Oliver wrote, “Instructions for living a life:  Pay attention. Be astonished. Tell about it.”

Of course, religion is about much more than narrative. Religion is a collection of culture, belief systems, and worldviews. Most religions have narratives, symbols, traditions and histories that explain the origin of life or the universe. The morality, ethics and rules of a religion arise from these stories and ideas. However over time, the narratives can become calcified, they harden into the way things are.

In  a provocative essay  about the lessons we’ve learned from 9/11, writer Steve Almond wrote something that struck me very powerfully, especially when it’s considered in the context of religion:

One of the duties of the artist — not the only duty, but a central one — is to impel people to imagine the complexity of thought and feeling inside another person. Art complicates moral action, because we have to accept that other people matter, that their hardship and suffering, even their rage and sorrow, are, to some extent, our responsibility. Propaganda has the opposite aim: it is intended to simplify moral action. People get to disregard the humanity of others. This makes them easier to ignore, deport, imprison torture, enslave, and kill.

Religion contains art and propaganda, often mingled together; indeed huge periods  of  art history are studies in religious propaganda. On Sundays the art and propaganda are mixed in more humble ways. We read the scriptures, we liken them to ourselves. We hear the testimonies of others and we imagine ourselves in their place, maybe we think about how we are the same or different. It is difficult to imagine how an organization the size of the church, especially one that proselytizes, could exist without any propaganda, hence all the ad campaigns, pass along cards, CTR rings  and the giveaway Book of Mormon. But I’m a Mormon  aside, the church’s greatest tool of propaganda is correlation. Ostensibly driven by a desire to standardize the teachings and facilitate the spread of the church to many different cultures, we can now boast that saints all over the world are sitting through and teaching the same lessons. But correlation, for better and worse, is a force for simplification.

What happens when we tidy up our messy human narratives, trimming away unflattering facts and doing away with moral ambiguity? There might be art in reading scripture or singing the hymns, but the propaganda of correlation is careful to tell us how to interpret the narratives. When we read from manuals that mention only one of Joseph Smith’s wives or gloss over uncomfortable parts of our history, what happens to our moral imagination? Does it atrophy without the opportunity to wrestle with ambiguity and conflict? And if we stop using our moral imagination, what happens to our kindness, our compassion? Does that atrophy as well?

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