Conviction Without Condescension: A Call for Caution in Our Judgments

(Note: “The church” in this post refers to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints)

I’m troubled by how some members of the church speak about those who have left. While many are loving and respectful--and only a few truly unkind or toxic--even well-intentioned members sometimes make comments that strike me as overly harsh or unfair. I worry that this can be isolating for those in the church struggling with their testimonies, and certainly to those who have already left. There are probably a number of contributing factors--for instance, an assumption that a sincere seeker is guaranteed to feel the spirit, or social conditioning from church upbringing, which can make its goodness feel too self-evident to imagine others perceiving it differently.

But one of the biggest factors, I think, is a conclusion-backwards way of evaluating decisions. By “conclusion-backwards,” I mean a mindset which, rather than judging choices based on what the person understood at the time, starts with a conclusion--in this case, that the church is true--and works backwards from there, interpreting every doubtful thought, or every action which took them away from the church, as bad and wrong.

In one very limited sense, I can agree with “wrong”: From an omniscient frame, if we assume that the church is true, any step away from the truth, is by definition, “wrong.” But I think this is a misguided way to look at it. Because a negative outcome does not, by itself, tell us whether the process that led to it was flawed. And a good outcome does not necessarily imply a good process. 

Exploring this idea, I have come up with a metaphor:

Imagine we are all explorers searching a vast terrain for a single source of light--we’ll call it the Holy Grail--which represents ultimate truth. None of us perceives this terrain in exactly the same way; our view is shaped by our unique vantage points and variations in how we see. Moreover, there are many other lights scattered across the landscape, such as campfires or fireflies, which may be difficult to distinguish at a distance from the light we seek. Sometimes, the true light of the Grail is reflected off of bodies of water or smooth cliff faces. But we do not seek reflections; we seek their source.

Some of us have come close enough to feel its light and warmth through the trees, becoming brighter and more distinct as we draw close. Excited and wanting to help others find it as well, we call out that we’ve found it.

But someone else in that same grove might see things differently. Maybe from their angle, there’s a gnarly thicket of thornbushes (which might be toxic church culture, or confusing church history, or mistakes made by leaders, etc.) between themselves and the light, and whatever light caused them to wander over in that direction has diminished, now appearing at best as mere pinpricks inside a tangle of thorns. So reasonably, they conclude that what they saw earlier was only a firefly, or sunlight glancing off a wet cliff face. Everyone keeps telling them that they’ve found it, with such conviction that they linger, wandering through the bushes, but only for a time--clearly they haven't found it! So, they wander off another way.

Now let's imagine another explorer, in that same position behind the thicket, who simply bites their tongue and pretends that they see the light too. If this is due to confusion, or an implicit trust in those guiding them, or especially if it’s a sense that the pinpricks they can see are special, then this is not in any way bad or wrong. And hopefully, they will keep seeking while staying nearby and end up wandering through the bushes and finding the light. But this does not make them superior to the first explorer. And in fact, if their motivation in sticking around was instead to save face or fit in, their choice would reflect less intellectual honesty and moral courage than the one who left. 

From where we stand, it might look as though that first explorer is walking away from the Grail. And if we are right about its location, then perhaps they are. However, that doesn’t mean it wasn’t the right choice to walk away at that time. After all, they didn’t find the Grail. If they had stayed where they were at, deluding themselves into believing that they had found it, they might never have found the Grail. Worse, they may perform mental contortions in an attempt to reconcile the thornbush with what they’d been told, recasting the light-choked thicket as the Grail itself. They may even lead others to the thicket, passing along the same confusion.

So while their decision to walk away technically took them in the “wrong” direction (“wrong” in the sense that it was further away from the Grail), it came about from a correct process for finding the Grail; ie: follow the light, and if it's dark over here, go search somewhere else.

Maybe from another ridge, another angle, the light will pour through in a way it never could at their previous position, and they will circle back. If the Grail is truly where we believe it is, then we can trust that things will ultimately resolve as they should, whether in this life or the next.

Now imagine that as you walk away, having given this area a good faith effort, some of the people whose voices you followed over here in the first place start rebuking you. Perhaps they accuse you of being lured away by the more attractive-looking fireworks party some other group is having, or of being sick of all the hard walking on the way to the Grail, or of simply being content to wander. Even if you were initially inclined to give these people the benefit of the doubt after they (from your perspective) led you astray, the injustice of these rebukes naturally sours your good feelings towards them.

Others, more well-meaning, tell you that they love you despite your leaving, or that they know you’ll find your way back when you are ready, or that they will pray for you. This chafes, especially if you are already struggling to manage your feelings of betrayal and irritation with them for calling you over to this forsaken, lightless place. Of course, not every explorer is earnest. A few really may be tempted away by more appealing lights, grow tired of the difficulty of the path to the Grail, or become disenchanted with their fellow travelers. Also, people are complicated; it may be a mix--we are all subject to our own self deceptions, blind spots, and imperfect motives alongside our purer ones. Regardless, it's not fair to make assumptions.

And there is another reason to be cautious. While we may feel deeply confident that we have found the light of the Grail, none of us possesses it fully in this life. We see enough to trust it, to move toward it, to call out to others--but not enough to eliminate all possibility of misperception. There's always the possibility, however remote, that what we see is a reflection, a mirage, or a convincing imitation of the real Grail. When we say we “know,” this in truth refers to a strong faith, not a perfect knowledge. As such, it isn’t reasonable to talk down to those who believe the Grail is elsewhere. You can acknowledge the inherent uncertainty of your position without contradicting your faith. You can have conviction without condescension--trusting what you've found while allowing others the dignity of their search. Within our own communities, it is natural to speak of our convictions as though they are a foregone conclusion. But it’s not fair to speak that way to those who see things differently. It's patronizing and undeserved.

The journey toward truth is not a test of who can walk the most efficient path. It is a long, winding search in which each of us moves forward with filtered light, imperfect understanding, and clouded vision. It is a shared pilgrimage. As such, we ought to support and encourage one another, not to judge one another’s progress or speculate about each other’s motives.

Because while we can trace the path they took, we cannot experience it as they did, nor fully access the reasoning behind each step. And without that, our judgements should be made with caution.