Since I was a boy, I have held coercive authority in extreme disdain. This is not the disdain born of haughtiness or arrogance but quite the opposite; it is the disdain of those who see haughtiness and arrogance as the domain of the bullies of coercive authority.

Without entering the realm of psychoanalysis and the lack of parenting and problem-solving skills of my parents, let me just say this: If I ask, “Why?” And your answer is: “Because I said so,” you, are a bully in my eyes and I will have no respect for any authority you suppose.

If my parents told me to make my bed, I’d just say, “I don’t have to.” The response would be, “You do, because I said so.” Whereupon I’d not move a muscle toward the bed. A spanking would ensue and I’d run out both crying and smiling. “See,” I would think, “I was right. I didn’t have to make my bed.”

That said, I loved my parents but their poor problem solving skills created a difficult familial environment and extreme confusion in my emotional mind. When I left home at 18 and joined the Air Force I new I was broken and set about to find a fix. Little did I know the fix was in the scriptures. I searched high and low through many books and conversations with Buddhist monks and stoned hippies. Some possible solutions presented themselves but it wasn’t until I came, at least partially, to understand the Gospel of Jesus Christ that I found the answers I had sought all along.

I found a Gospel of peace, of peacemaking, forgiveness, and letting go of pride. I found doctrine that would, as they say, choke a horse. But I was persistent and learned quickly, bite by bite. The difficulty was in learning about inner healing. My intellectual understanding grew faster than my emotional understanding.

That left me with a conundrum. Objectively, I knew God loved me and cared deeply for my well-being, but what do I do with all this anger and rebellion for anything resembling any authority but His? Gradually, I learned that it isn’t authority, per se, that riles my anger and rebellion, it is only that which stems from the haughtiness and arrogance of bullies, or, in clearer terms, coercive authoritarians.

That was the missing piece of the puzzle I needed. It isn’t authority at all that’s the problem—it’s coercion. God persuades with example and forgiveness for missteps. He demonstrates the way to happiness through scripture and spiritual prompting then says, “Take that road, or not, it’s up to you.” Then, after a challenging learning experience, He will hold you in His arms and provide comfort and calm assurance that this has been for your best good. I have felt those arms. I love His example of kindness even when the challenge is daunting.

When that example, added to experience, finally leads to an understanding that “Wickedness never was happiness,” (Alma 41:10), the desire to follow the Lord’s path becomes stronger than the temptations to do otherwise and happiness becomes the dominant attribute of life. God’s persuasive authority, without compulsion, leads to sweet, even exalting, submission to His will.

The problem with bullies is simple: they are cowards. They hide behind their supposed authority and use it as a shield while they compel their subjects. Only they forget one very important thing: Their subjects can see their nakedness. The emperor has no clothes. The Wizard behind the curtain pulling the levers which control the Oz on the screen and surrounding fireworks can be seen by all—if they care to look, and see.

And yet, the bully continues to bully. Notwithstanding his nakedness and exposure he continues to act as if all that doesn’t matter. He has, after all, authority, and authority trumps truth. “I’m naked?” he queries, “Why, I’m not naked. There is something wrong with your eyes.” The trouble with many people in our world is their willingness to remain blind and ignorant and say, “You know, I’ve been meaning to get my eyes checked.”

Our entire world has been turned upside down by those who advocate all manner of evil be tolerated in the public square. Evil spirits occupy so many these days that it becomes uncomfortable to visit many public places. Of course, if you mention that possibility, the coercive psychoanalytical bullies will lock you up as mentally disturbed. The virtue of self-control has been buried under an avalanche of bullies throwing tantrums.

In middle school, I was enamored of disruption. I enjoyed throwing figurative gasoline on a fire, monkey wrenches in a machine, and all manner of disruptive behavior. I was, therefore, frequently in trouble with school authority. I am not disputing that my behavior was deserving of attention. However, the problem was not “a bad kid.” The problem to be solved was that a kid was troubled and needed discipline.

Coercive authoritarians define discipline as punishment. An interesting thought pattern when the concept of discipline could not be further from punishment. I needed to be taught not punished but the school authoritarians had other ideas. After one particular incident, I was brought before the Boy’s Vice Principal for an interview. He grilled me about my role in the fight and then asked this question: “How do I know you won’t do this again?”

My other problem was that I was a fairly intelligent undisciplined young man and saw the question as a chance to humiliate this pompous blowhard, (my opinion at the time). Rather than kowtow to this symbol of Oz-like flatulence, I returned the question with a condescending retort, “You don’t. Since I can’t see into the future I have no way of knowing exactly what I will or won’t do.” 

Well, after that unwise tossing of gasoline onto the fire of my situation, the Boy’s Vice Principal commanded that I stand, bend over and hold my ankles, and suffer the full consequences of my actions. Thereafter commenced a number of what was termed “swats” with a custom made paddle with holes drilled in it and designed for the purpose of making maximum noise when applied but not sufficient pain to cause anything but hurt pride.

Unfortunately, it only served to harden a young man’s attitude toward coercive authority. I learned only that authority has no sense of humor, but I already knew that. The experience also taught that authority isn’t much interested in understanding. It only wants to satisfy its own lust for creating subservience. Since I had no fear of it and even mocked its power, coercive authority had no other recourse but corporal punishment.

As a parent I leaned a very different lesson. The worst punishment you can inflict is to withdraw your approval and attention. I learned that from God. His method requires patience and understanding. It also requires accuracy. When the Boy’s Vice Principal asked his question, he only wanted assurances that I was willing to be subservient to his authority. He didn’t care about me but only about keeping the peace in school. A peace about which I cared little. In fact, for me, causing disruption was impishly great fun. Sounds like one of those pesky evil spirits, doesn't it?

Had that Vice Principal asked more accurate questions about my interests and why I wasn’t happy in school, he would have been directed to solutions which would have both solved the problem and also helped me grow. I needed someone who would help direct my mind to more constructive endeavors and, perhaps, rid me of my friends from the dark side. My father’s mother did exactly that.

Throughout my childhood, I never remember my grandmother spanking me. She spent her time disciplining me. When she could see I was troubled she would ask those solution-finding questions and I was introduced to activities which redirected my troubles into growing experiences. She helped me discover my inner mind by introducing me to Robert Lewis Stevenson and his Treasure Island, Kidnapped, Jekyll and Hyde, and others. This was high adventure and to a boy like me, intellectual candy. She led me to The Old Man and the Sea, The Pearl, and other wonderful works that gave depth to my shallow soul.

I often complained about Sunday School. My parents told me to study the scriptures more or that I needed to “get” the Spirit. Only my grandmother asked me once, “Why don’t you like Sunday School?” What an amazing concept? She was actually asking me what I thought! That must mean that my thoughts have merit! Oh the joy of her disciplining! 

I answered that the teacher simply read the lesson from the manual and that he wasn’t a particularly good reader. It was mind-numbingly boring. “Just give me the manual,” I said, “and I’ll read the lesson in half the time and then go and do something productive.” She thought for a moment and then gave me advice that has benefitted me throughout my life. “There is a reason,” she began, “why you are in that class.” Oh, here it comes, I thought, the Spirit, the scriptures, it’s my parents all over again. Not even close. This woman was so close to the Lord that her words displayed His thoughts. “The reason you are in that class,” she continued, “is so that you will learn what it is to be subjected to that kind of teacher. Because of that experience, you will never be a boring teacher.” 

I was flabbergasted. Here was an actual thought that had merit. Although I didn’t really understand the significance of her words then, as I grew and was given opportunities to teach, I realized that her words were true. To this day, the thing of which I am most fearful when I teach a class is that I will be boring. So I compensate by being generally upbeat and animated. By all accounts, I am decidedly not a boring teacher. I am grateful to my grandmother for her kindness and willingness to teach, and discipline, by the Spirit of the Lord.

My grandmother had an intrinsic understanding of me that few have ever exhibited. She never offered coercive authority as a solution. Always persuasion, longsuffering, meekness, and love unfeigned was her strategy. She was the only person in the world I was willing to obey without asking, "Why?" I never doubted her words. She understood something Ernest Hemingway said: “Happiness in intelligent people is the rarest thing I know.” She also taught me that without a correct understanding of the Gospel of Jesus Christ, happiness is not possible no matter what other attributes one may possess. I hope Hemingway has learned that fact by now. His Death in the Afternoon, a book about bullfighting in Spain, was the favorite reading of my mid-teens. His mortal end, in 1961, saddened me greatly.

Now back to the beginning and the bed-making incident. What I learned since those days is something I call the Great Equation. An equation is a balance. Like a children’s teeter-totter, a fulcrum balances two opposite sides. A proper equation always balances as does a functioning teeter-totter. In a mathematical equation, an equal sign balances the two sides. One plus one equals two. Or one plus one equals three minus one. However you form it, the balance must be there for it to be a correct equation.

The Great Equation is similar but rather than mathematical balances, the Great Equation simply says: What I want equals what I must do to get what I want. My earlier discovery about not having to make the bed was correct. If I am willing to take the punishment, I didn’t have to make my bed. If my parents would have said, on the other hand, if you want your allowance this week, you must make your bed. That would have been a completely different matter. What I wanted—my allowance—was on one side of the equation. What I had to do to get my allowance—make my bed—was on the other. No doubt about it. If I wanted one, I had to do the other. My grandmother would have added, “Do you know a really good way to make a bed? Here, let me show you.” And she would have made a game out of the work. Thereafter, the game and allowance would  be joined in a positive way. “Make my bed? Sure!” No coercive pressure could ever produce that.

The Great Equation takes down coercive authoritarianism and replaces it with logic and persuasion. If I want x, then I have to do y. And while we’re at it, let’s make a game out of it. The Lord could throw a lightening bolt at me every time I err, or, he can teach, “Wickedness never was happiness.” If I want happiness, then I cannot be wicked. Now, do I want to be happy? That is the question. The question is not should I be wicked. Then you can make a game out of it by asking, “How many ways can I be happy today?” And go throughout the day answering the question with your behavior.

I have learned that when I’m bored in church, I chase scriptures or read the Lectures on Faith or some other edifying thing. Complaining about boring church accomplishes nothing, however, spending time in good reading brings happiness and education. My happiness is up to me. A number of people are credited with saying, “Only boring people get bored.” Once I learned about the Great Equation, I was never bored again. I simply decide what is the cost for what I want, and then go pay it and make a game out of it. When my grandchildren are with us in church and are bored, we count the times the speaker says “um” or “uh.” We’ve counted over 100, many times.

I never tell my grandchildren what to do. I offer them alternatives. I let them know what is the cost for what they want. I teach them the Great Equation. I am trying in every way I can to mimic my grandmother and her ways. She is the closest person to the Savior that I have ever known in my life. She’s been gone for many years but stays close. The veil is thin and I feel her sweet, patient spirit often. 

One of the major costs for knowing the Savior is staying as far away from coercive authority as possible. I never tire of reading the words of the 121st Section of the Doctrine and Covenants from verse 34 to the end. (I do like the rest also, lots of meat in there too.) Especially the final verses:

“No power or influence can or ought to be maintained by virtue of the priesthood, only by persuasion, by long-suffering, by gentleness and meekness, and by love unfeigned;

“By kindness, and pure knowledge, which shall greatly enlarge the soul without hypocrisy, and without guile--

“Reproving betimes with sharpness [accuracy], when moved upon by the Holy Ghost; and then showing forth afterwards an increase of love toward him whom thou hast reproved, lest he esteem thee to be his enemy;

“That he may know that thy faithfulness is stronger than the cords of death.

“Let thy bowels also be full of charity towards all men, and to the household of faith, and let virtue garnish thy thoughts unceasingly; then shall thy confidence wax strong in the presence of God; and the doctrine of the priesthood shall distil upon thy soul as the dews from heaven.

“The Holy Ghost shall be thy constant companion, and thy scepter an unchanging scepter of righteousness and truth; and thy dominion shall be an everlasting dominion, and without compulsory means it shall flow unto thee forever and ever.” D&C 121:41-46

You can go through life with a chip on your shoulder thinking everyone should obey you because you’re, well, you. You can be offended when someone questions your opinion. You can order people to do this and that while feigning concern for their well-being. You can be wicked and uncaring about pleasing the Savior. Or, you can make a game out of it and see how many times you can allow someone else to take control. Find as many people to help as you can today. Forget yourself and focus on others. Focus on Christ. Focus on love. Focus on forever.

Fair warning to those with whom I come in contact: I revel in pulling back the curtain hiding Oz and I find great glee in pointing out that the emperor has no clothes. Do not think for one millisecond that your supposed authority, which you wield with coercion, has any effect on me. I will take your ineffective spanking and, as I walk out the door, I will weep at your foolishness.

You will have been yet another example to me that "Wickedness never was happiness." I wish, somehow, I could have effectively taught that to you. Forgive me for being just another boring teacher.