Towards Mormopagitica

I've had a running internal/external debate in my head for the past ten... no make that fifteen years on the worth of wickedness observed. On the one hand, I think of the often graphic horrors opened in visions by the Lord to His prophets; if God saw fit to put wickedness on display for Isaiah, John the Revelator, there must be some value derived from it, right? And ancient american prophets seemed to view the records of the Gadianton robbers to be important to their education, right? But on the other hand, I argue that God and his anointed were the gate-keepers in both instances; maybe only He and the prophets who share His secrets are physicians fit to prescribe such useful drugs. Then again, don't we believe in an egalitarian God who upbraids not when any man seeks knowledge in faith?

"To both these objections one answer will serve, out of the grounds already laid, that to all men such books are not temptations, nor vanities; but useful drugs."

And so I've gone round and round. I suppose I should sit down to read and write and pray about it. But I have little confidence, at present, in settling the question by an appeal to King James, Mormon, or Milton. Rather, when stirred by Areopagitica and Paradise Lost, I find myself thinking about the official narrative of LDS history. Happily, it seems we are moving towards the free market of thought advocated so well by Milton in Areopagitica. I suppose this change in policy--where we find the Joseph Smith papers published unedited, and where CES teachers are being instructed to address uncomfortable facts rather than merely avoiding them, and where Pres. Uchtdorff and others frankly acknowledge the reality that LDS leaders have sometimes acted and spoken out of harmony with eternal truth--has been a necessary fruit of the internet: a digital tree whose broad boughs put the knowledge of good and evil at the fingertips of millions.

So where does this all essay? Toward confidence, calmed by faith. The bittersweet fruits of good and evil knowledge have been tasted in other worlds, including Milton's. It's natural to wish for cultural-narrative control, but can we become saints, individually or collectively, without confessing our fathers' transgressions?

Three Wise Monkeys

The Three Wise Monkeys, by Tumi-1983
Creative Commons

I've been thinking about censorship of late, and it's Milton's fault. I guess the idea that interests me most, though, is that of self-censorship--what we read, listen to, and watch and how that affects us as individuals. In Areopagitica, Milton proposes as one of his contentions against formal censorship that in order to comprehend and, ultimately, choose goodness and righteousness, a man must be exposed to both good and evil. "[B]ad books," Milton asserts, "to a discreet and judicious reader serve in many respects to discover, to confute, to forewarn and to illustrate."

Now this idea perhaps seems a little bit ridiculous at first, and it's easy to cast Milton aside as a dirty old man seeking to justify his ways. After all, the Doctrine and Covenants tells us to seek learning from the best books, and the prophets have encouraged us to use discretion in choosing which films to watch. But what if I were to tell you that this doctrine was preached in the early days of the LDS church? Brigham Young, for example, wrote in Journal of Discourses 2:93 (cue obligatory JoD eyeroll and sigh):