Gentle Persuasions
March 18, 2018I I often went with my father on home teaching visits when I was ten and eleven. I don’t remember why his companions were never around. I suppose they were inactive. Back then, inactivity wasn’t…
I I often went with my father on home teaching visits when I was ten and eleven. I don’t remember why his companions were never around. I suppose they were inactive. Back then, inactivity wasn’t…
Like a wine taster swirling a thin glass stem, I want
to hold the name of God on my tongue, color
my mouth wine-bibber red, let the heat run
down deep past heart and lungs. I want
Writing on the subway feels like etching
an intaglio on horseback. The train
writhes and bucks beneath me, making
I’m wearing jeans I chose for comfort
held low on my hips by a belt
when from a too-shallow pocket
my cell phone slips out.
This script, with punctuation, capitalization, and formatting standardized, is published here by permission of Darius Aiden Gray and Margaret Blair Young.
Two analogies occurred to me as I developed this essay—first, that of a dialectical assertion with its thesis, antithesis, and subsequent synthesis. The second analogy, more visual, is of a triptych, with two opposing side panels and finally a central one—an attempt to integrate and reconcile the other two. Hence, the essay’s three divisions. It is less an argument than a plea. Its reconciliations depend upon the reader’s willingness to make the shifts in perspective necessary to see, in the same moment, the opposing panels and the emergent synthesis of the center.
The Green Library stacks are a study in contradictions.
Outside lies Stanford grandeur—three-story stucco architecture spread across multiple thousands of acres, perfectly manicured lawns and plant arrangements, arches, gates, fountains. The rest of Green Library shares that aura: airy rotundas with marble floors and booming ceilings, elegantly decorated study lounges with comfortable, oversized couches, crisp clean top-of-the-line Apple G5 computers, luxurious carpeting, and well-lit lines of bookshelves holding knowledge in tens of different languages.
More than half a century ago, sociologist Thomas O’Dea said the following about the university student who is a Latter-day Saint: “He has been taught by the Mormon faith to seek knowledge and to value it; yet it is precisely this course, so acceptable to and so honored by his religion, that is bound to bring religious crisis to him and profound danger to his religious belief. The college undergraduate curriculum becomes the first line of danger to Mormonism in its encounter with modern learning.”