Blogger of Jared

Picture this:

You are the Bishop of a well-educated Avenues ward in Salt Lake City; you are also an amateur Church historian who is preparing an article for a widely-read historical journal. Your article deals with an important leader of the early Church and, while researching, you stumble on a letter which recounts a particularly unsavory episode in this man’s life. Intrigued, you research the incident further and find no previous author has brought it to light. Still, so far as you can tell, the depiction you found is accurate. This incident will add a significant facet to your portrayal of the man–it will help you round out the picture you paint. Still, because it is quite troubling, you wonder if you ought to mention it in your article.

You discuss the matter with your wife. She says, “Honey, you have to examine this letter in your article. To do otherwise would be dishonest. This one letter is not going to shake anyone’s faith; in fact, such documents strengthen my faith because they remind me our leaders do great things despite their foibles. If you don’t publish it, you will effectively be lying. You know what you need to do.”

Still troubled, you take the issue to your best friend. “Well, Bishop,” he explains, “I respect your wife–but I disagree with her. In fact, I think you’re obligated not to examine this letter in your article. As a Bishop, your primary responsibility is for the welfare of your flock. The faith of the members is paramount, not historical accuracy. Besides, what obligates you to discuss the letter? You can still write a fair and balanced article without it. You never know, if you examine something so negative, it may impact one of your members–you know many of them read the journal. Why risk that harm when you have no way of knowing how ignorant you really are concerning the letter’s antecedents and context?”

You must submit the article, one way or another, next Monday–whose advice do you follow? Why?