Dallin H. Oaks

Attack dog. Enforcer. Culture warrior. These labels and more have been used to describe Elder Clark G. Gilbert, newly called apostle of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. He has also been described as a “high-profile defender of doctrinal orthodoxy” and a proponent of “retrenchment.” What’s all the fuss about? As Commissioner of Church Education, Elder Gilbert is accused of instituting a variety of measures to ensure that professors at BYU support the doctrine of the Church that pays their salaries—specifically on issues related to marriage, family, and gender. According to some, these measures have ushered in a culture of fear among faculty who have reservations about Church doctrine or policy. Other concerns have been mentioned, but this seems to be the heart of the issue. Before I say a few words in defense of Elder Gilbert, I want to take a moment and recognize the difficult space that many Latter-day Saint scholars inhabit. The Church’s views on family, sexuality, and gender are (to put it gently) not popular in academia. Despite stated aspirations to diversity and inclusivity, there isn’t much room in academia for researchers who vocally promote the Church’s positions on family life. I have seen this first-hand in my nearly two decades in academic life. Those who support marriage as the union of a man and a woman and claim that sexual relations should only happen in such marriages are castigated as out of touch, prudish, ignorant, hateful, and bigoted. It’s hard to get along in your profession when your colleagues view you as little better than a racist. There are intellectual resources to defend the Church’s positions on these matters (more on this below), but the opposition to such arguments is so loud, so confident, and so strident that often it’s easier to just keep quiet. Latter-day Saint scholars are generally trained in the same graduate programs, go to the same academic conferences, and are under the same pressure to publish in top journals as scholars who don’t belong to the Church. It’s hard to not imbibe the norms, expectations, assumptions, and conclusions of the culture, including revisionist views about gender, sexuality, and family. The implicit and explicit pressure to fall in line with the prevailing orthodoxy can be suffocating. Even Latter-day Saint scholars who want to resist the prevailing academic culture on these issues can feel bewildered about how to do so.  In an environment where so much of your professional success is influenced or determined by people who are hostile to the Church’s views, I can see why many people would feel concerned about Elder Gilbert’s efforts to align the faculty with the doctrine of the Church. At the same time, I, like many other faculty and students, choose to study at BYU precisely because of its doctrine. I want to be at a university where I can “seek learning, by study and also by faith” (D&C 88:118). As Elder Gilbert has emphasized many times, institutional drift in academia is real, and many universities that start with religious aspirations end up abandoning them later. It’s tempting to say that this is the standard arc for religious universities in the United States. Believing that BYU’s distinctive religious heritage can be maintained without intentional efforts to preserve it is naive. But perhaps it is not possible to run a quality university that is committed to religious beliefs? Indeed, many of the criticisms of Elder Gilbert presuppose that it is inherently wrong to try to get professors to align with Church teachings. The critique takes two forms: first, that any attempt to align (or more darkly, “impose”) views about any topic at a university is wrong; and second, that it is wrong for BYU to expect faculty to support the Church’s doctrine on marriage, family, and gender. The first view is widespread but breaks down upon inspection. As I have explained in detail, it is neither possible nor desirable for a university to be completely devoid of commitments. Without well-known and agreed-upon standards, university life would descend into a cacophony of competing claims, none of which could be evaluated as better than any of the others. The scholarly practice of peer review presupposes that practitioners in the discipline know what counts as “legitimate” scholarship and can reject submissions that do not meet disciplinary standards. (A more blatant example of institutional gatekeeping would be difficult to imagine.) As I wrote in the previously mentioned article: The point of academic study is to produce knowledge. This search is a winnowing process, as academic ‘disciplines’ (note the word) seek to separate the wheat of truth from the chaff of unsupported opinion and bias. Good scholars are committed to getting it right, which presupposes that truth is real and knowledge is possible, which in turn is premised on a host of philosophical and other presuppositions. Academic freedom cannot mean the freedom to be supported in whatever one believes; rather, it is the freedom to seek truth, which means being accountable to reality. It may come as a surprise to some readers, but some people actually want to go to a university that includes religious beliefs among its commitments (see Elder Gilbert’s recent article on this in The Chronicle of Higher Education). A recent essay by prominent Catholic sociologist Christian Smith explains that he chose to teach and research at Notre Dame because he wanted more direct engagement with the Catholic intellectual tradition. But after 20 years at Notre Dame, Smith decided to leave because (in his view) the university was not living up to its potential. He writes: “When I came to Notre Dame, I believed the university was serious about its Catholic mission. I tried to make my contribution, I think with some success. But I also saw much of the institution absorbed by other interests that, in my view, were often irrelevant to or at odds with the Catholic mission.” I don’t have enough information to know if he is right about Notre Dame, but many…