Ambivalence
The most recent (and highly fascinating) issue of Newsweek magazine details the behind-the-scenes drama and intrigue in both the Obama and McCain campaigns. Not only does this issue supply many hours of compelling reading for aficionados of politics, but in its pages our very own President-elect provides an excellent notion for me (and you) to chew on.
While ruminating over his “uneven” performance in early debates, Obama said this about himself:
There’s a certain ambivalence in my character that I like about myself. It’s part of what makes me a good writer, you know? [But] it’s not necessarily useful in a presidential campaign.
Let’s leave aside the fact that it’s exciting for me (nay, thrilling) to have a President who’s not only adept with the spoken word but is an accomplished writer in his own right. But when I read the above quote, I thought, “Exactly, Barack!” That dang ambivalence does get in the way of being an effective debater . . . or, in my case, (hypothetically) a really really good visiting teaching coordinator. In the same way that one might be able to see both sides when it comes to diplomatic talks with Iran, one might understand why Sister Lundquist didn’t get her visits in during October (she has those four boys, and her husband is always out of town, and there was that sinus infection) and tell her, “Hey, hon, don’t you worry about it. You just do the best you can. Heck, I think it’s cool when people manage to fit quarterly visits in! Besides, your heart’s in the right place . . .”
Do you think there’s a reason I’m not the Visiting Teaching Coordinator? Exactly.
It made me wonder, though, how the quality of “ambivalence” affects us as Mormon writers. I agree with President-elect Obama; an ambivalent nature can be an important asset for a writer to possess. But ambivalence isn’t exactly highly valued in our Mormon community. In fact, it often makes folks highly suspicious.
So what do you think? Does our cultural expectation to eschew ambivalence hurt our writers? And how in the heck do we acknowledge ambivalence in our writing without alienating LDS writers who expect, if not passionate certainty, then at least a solid sense of right and wrong? And conversely, can a writerly inclination toward ambivalence, if taken too far, hurt our testimonies? Can this ambivalence be dangerous? And maybe I’m wrong, and so is our future President. Maybe it’s entirely possible to be an excellent writer without the (curse?) of a vacillating nature.
At any rate, I’d like to know . . . are you ambivalent? (And if so, you don’t need to answer “yes” or “no.” You can say “maybe, kinda, sometimes.”) How has this affected you as Mormon, and if you’re a writer or an artist, what are the fruits of this ambivalence?
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November 12th, 2008 at 11:07 pm
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Perhaps I’m only saying this as an ambivalent person myself, but I think everyone’s ambivalent — just not everyone is comfortable with that fact.
My own refusal to make definite statements or connect all the dots have been the primary reason for my booklength Mormon projects being accepted by editors but rejected by marketers. How do you market ambivalence to the Mormon market? Yet who besides an apostle has much claim to the absolute?
November 13th, 2008 at 9:10 am
I think there is a difference, however, between ambivalence and the ability to see both sides of a problem.
November 13th, 2008 at 10:41 am
Adj. 1. ambivalent – uncertain or unable to decide about what course to follow; “was ambivalent about having children”
incertain, uncertain, unsure – lacking or indicating lack of confidence or assurance; “uncertain of his convictions”; “unsure of himself and his future”; “moving with uncertain (or unsure) steps”; “an uncertain smile”; “touched the ornaments with uncertain fingers”
I think SilverRain has the key here – you want people who can see both sides of a problem. I do think that at some point, you have to decide on *a* particular course, even if the other courses are adequate and would have done OK.
The VT example cited is not a case of ambivalence, I don’t believe. It just means being able to see a different angle of a problem. You certainly decided on an acceptable alternate course of action.
I believe that bishops and RS presidents can feel absolute about a certain course of action re a certain issue.
November 13th, 2008 at 11:15 am
Keats called this quality “negative capability,” which he described as, “when man is capable of being in uncertainties, Mysteries, doubts without any irritable reaching after fact & reason.”
I find that I have to go through periods of negative capability to put out any quality piece of writing. I often start a personal essay with a point that I want to make, but those kinds of essays always fall flat on their faces. Why? Because my opinions are not worth committing to publication. The only thing worth committing to publication is what lies beyond my opinion. But I’ll never get to that as long as I think I’m right. I have to go dwell in uncertainties, Mysteries, and doubts, which is always a charged experience, until I finally get beyond myself.
November 13th, 2008 at 11:51 am
Oh, yeah, I’m full of ambivalence. Didn’t even get around to voting because of it. My ambivalence toward Mormonism is characterized by rock-solid belief in the theology but rather strong dislike of Mormon culture and religious practice; church downright puts me in a bad mood most weeks, and I think reading scriptures and attending the temple are both rather boring nearly all the time.
I think the satire I’ve written reflects this ambivalence: I’m tied enough to Mormonism that I can’t leave it alone as a topic, yet I can’t just parrot the usual culturally acceptable, spiritually correct outlooks that bore and nonplus me. This was very true in my novel KINDRED SPIRITS as well, in which my testimony of Mormonism and my mocking of it are interlaced throughout. I couldn’t even commit to a real ending for it.
I think ambivalence actually hurts authors more than helps, at least at the commercial level. The majority of mainstream readers–and practically 99% of all Mormon readers–want an author to take a clear stance and deliver a clear message. Only a relatively few readers have a taste for ambivalence on the page, and almost no Mormons.
November 13th, 2008 at 3:51 pm
Perhaps “ambivalence” isn’t the best word. (See? I’m ambivalent about my word choice). I chose it because the Obama quote struck a chord and I wanted to run with that idea, and I think I was true to the meaning of the word as Obama intended it in context.
“Negative capability” is a much more apt description of what I’m after–thank you, Stephen. I also loved your idea of writing about “what lies beyond opinion.” I also have a terrible (TERRIBLE) time writing about a topic if I start with a “point” I want to make . . . which is why I prefer fiction to nonfiction. Ask Kathy Soper about my angst over one little personal essay I’ve been writing for the next _Mother in Me_ book. I kept lapsing into exhortation and explication, and the first couple of drafts were pretty terrible. Fiction, on the other hand–there, I can just pretend I’m someone else. Show you a scene from her day. Allow the dialogue and the action do the heavy lifting instead of letting my own rather tiresome opining gum everything up.
That’s why I like your creative nonfiction so much, Stephen. You dwell in uncertainties–you do little to no pontificating or explicating–you let the story be. It’s a tough, tough genre and I respect anyone who can pull it off.
And Chris, I can see what you mean about ambivalence hurting some authors, but I don’t think I agree that 99% of all Mormon readers want a non-ambivalent author. I’m convinced that it’s “negative capability,” for example, that allows a writer to create strong characters. Isn’t it curiosity about the “other,” the acknowledgement that all our lives are fundamentally mysterious, the ability to doubt that one’s one life is the “only” good way, that allows a writer to get in another character’s head and create something realistic? I think one of the reasons many Mormon readers balk at (some!!)LDS fiction is because the writer’s nature is not ambivalent enough; the characters are too black and white; the answers are too easy; the story doesn’t seem “real.”
How about an example from popular culture–the TV series “Lost.” There are very few clear cut villains or heroes in this show, yet it’s very popular. Even “The Office” is essentially ambivalent, don’t you think? (Although–okay–Jim and Pam are pretty much awesome all the time.) So I have to believe that there are lots of people out there who respond to “dwelling in mystery” . . . even if that mystery is why in the world any woman would be physically attracted to Dwight Schrute.
November 14th, 2008 at 11:05 am
I hope it’s not too revealing, Angela, but I can’t relate to a word of what you wrote about Lost and The Office because I’ve never seen either of them. I don’t even know who the characters are or what the basic premises of the shows are. So I can’t answer your question, but I think I get your point.
This is what meager offering I have to add to this discussion, though it might be slightly in a different vein than the rest. Or it might just be my way of restating what’s already been said. Either way, here goes:
I believe that all truth is found in paradox. It has to do with that “opposition in all things” principle – not opposition in the sense of adversarial forces, but simply opposite. Equal and opposite, like in physics. The opposition or tension keeps things from flying apart – it makes a real truth work. I get endless satisfaction out of things that help me to see either or both sides of a paradox.
On one hand, it seems that the paradoxical nature of truth attracts the LDS audience, because the tension it creates is spiritually challenging and affirming at the same time. On the other, it forces thinking, so if readers are in it for entertainment only, writing that sees multiple sides might drive them away. Writing that ignores paradox, on the other hand, is, as Angela says, too easy to be believable.
No one has accused me of being an expert, but in my neophytic (I love inventing new words!) opinion, the best writing allows the reader to see all sides of a paradox – which doesn’t disallow direct assertions of truth, by the way, but doesn’t force acceptance either – but doesn’t try to compel those perspectives to reconcile. The tension is evidence of the principles’ truthfulness, not evidence against it. To reconcile the forces of inertia and gravity would destroy the universe. Trying to reconcile paradoxical principles similarly destroys the reality of a written work.