There
are many different personality types, and every one of them can be
consistent with obedience to the gospel and service to the Church.
But
as I read the book Quiet:
The Power of Introverts in a World That Can’t Stop Talking,
by Susan Cain, I couldn’t help but wonder if the present
culture of the Church expects us all to either be, or imitate, one
all-dominating personality type.
Quiet both
broadens and narrows the classic definition of an introvert as a
person who thrives on solitude and is exhausted by too much social
interaction.
We often think of
introversion as including shyness — quietness in public
settings — and stage fright, or anxiety over public speaking or
performance.
That is why there have
been outstanding public performers who were profound introverts —
people my age might remember Johnny Carson. There are also
extroverts who are terrified of public performance, or who simply
prefer to remain quiet in conversations.
But Cain treats shyness,
stage fright, and introversion as aspects of being “quiet”
— and describes how American society, for the past century or
so, has switched from valuing quiet people to regarding them as
somehow limited or insufficient.
We are at the point where
being “outgoing” is regarded as a trait that everyone
should aspire to, while shyness or stage fright are treated as
pathologies that need treatment.
What Cain says about
America seems at first glance to be true of Mormon culture. From an
early age, we expect our children to stand up in class or in front of
the whole Primary to pray or give talks or recite scriptures.
That requirement only
increases, along with the size of the audience, as our young men and
women are expected to give talks in sacrament meeting, to bear their
testimonies whenever asked, and to conduct meetings, lead the
singing, say prayers, and otherwise perform in public.
Then we send our young
men on missions, where they are required to talk to strangers all the
time.
I know that for me, as an
introvert, that’s one of the main things that made me reluctant
to serve a mission. While I could easily and happily talk to an
audience of hundreds or thousands of people, it was almost unbearable
to think of walking up to a stranger, holding out my hand, and
starting a conversation.
To me, giving a talk was
a solitary action; it didn’t become “social interaction”
until there were just a few of us trying to carry on a conversation.
It seemed to me, growing
up, that leadership positions went to the extroverts — the
people who were eager to chat, to shake hands. People like me became
clerks if they had stage fright, teachers if they did not.
Does the Church share
American society’s bias against introverts and promotion of
extroverts?
Then I thought about the
bishopric in which I’m currently second counselor. Because I’m
at ease in front of an audience, I’m considered the
“extroverted” or “outgoing” member of a
bishopric that otherwise consists of profoundly quiet men.
In private, when they’re
comfortable, they aren’t quiet at all, of course. They are
very effective leaders, full of love and concern for other people,
with keen insights into their needs and feelings.
But
from the outside, it’s hard to imagine how, if this is an
extroverted Church, men as quiet
as this ever became leaders.
Then I thought of the
Apostles and other General Authorities I’ve dealt with
personally. While they are all required to give lots of speeches,
and to meet constantly with people they’ve only just met, most
of them seem, in private, to be very quiet men.
It
is their position that requires them to seem
outgoing; by disposition, they do not put themselves forward.
Along with our talks,
along with conducting meetings and leading the singing, along with
public prayers and testimonies, along with visiting in the homes of
other members, we also do a lot of very quiet, introverted things.
We are expected to read
and think about the scriptures — a very solitary act.
Key decisions are rarely
made through consensus-building, in an open meeting, though many
problems are solved and much information must be gathered in such
settings.
But when something
potentially life-changing is on the line — and every calling in
the Church changes the life of the person called or released —
the decision is made by a leader who prays and thinks in private.
All those talks and
lessons are prepared in private. We’re supposed to begin and
end our days with prayer.
In fact, one can make a
pretty good case that ours is an introverted society, too — one
that requires everyone to be responsible for his own education and
understanding of the gospel, through private acts and small
conversations.
The extroverted aspects
of Mormon culture prepare us to take part in the surrounding culture,
which really does reward “outgoing” people and regards
shy, quiet, private, and solitary people with suspicion.
But it is in the
introverted aspects of our culture that we reach the conclusions and
make the decisions that determine our life’s course.
It is in the intimate
partnership of marriage and the tiny society of the family that our
lives are primarily lived and in which we expect to find our
happiness.
It is not with our ward
that we expect to spend eternity, but with our family.
We may gather together to
gain the broad outlines of doctrinal understanding; it is in private
that we fit the doctrines into the specifics of our lives, and vice
versa.
The Church recognizes
that while our work is to help each other, our individual salvation
depends on our individual choices.
The extroverted aspects
of our lives in the Church are important, and we should be glad for
the opportunity to stretch ourselves if we are not naturally disposed
toward such activities.
But we introverts should
also recognize that the private study and contemplation that come so
naturally to us are just as difficult for and contrary to the innate
nature of extroverts.
All of us are required to
move outside our comfort zones. Instead of envying others who find
easy the things that are hard for us, we should recognize that
everyone is challenged.
Let us then magnify what
we do easily and well, and embrace the forms of service in the
Kingdom of God that seem desirable to us; yet let us also work to
improve our performance in activities that we have no talent for,
that we don’t enjoy, and yet must be done.
Even if we can’t
equal the facility of those who have a natural bent in such
directions, we can become reasonably competent.
It will increase our
respect for those who do these things well; and it will also make us
independent and resourceful enough that no matter what the Lord needs
us to do, we at least know how to begin to serve. Then we trust in
the Spirit of God to take us the rest of the way.
Orson Scott Card is the author of the novels Ender's Game, Ender's
Shadow, and Speaker for the Dead, which are widely read by adults and
younger readers, and are increasingly used in schools.
Besides these and other science fiction novels, Card writes contemporary
fantasy (Magic Street,Enchantment,Lost Boys), biblical novels (Stone Tables,Rachel and Leah), the American frontier fantasy series The Tales of Alvin Maker
(beginning with Seventh Son), poetry (An Open Book), and many plays and
scripts.
Card was born in Washington and grew up in California, Arizona, and
Utah. He served a mission for the LDS Church in Brazil in the early 1970s.
Besides his writing, he teaches occasional classes and workshops and directs
plays. He also teaches writing and literature at Southern Virginia University.
Card currently lives in Greensboro, North Carolina, with his wife,
Kristine Allen Card, and their youngest child, Zina Margaret.