Politics

“I never dreamed I’d be writing these words,” Washington Post columnist Dana Milbank admitted recently. “I’m finding solace in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

That sentence alone signals something unusual. Milbank is not a Latter-day Saint, nor is he an admirer by default. He identifies himself as a Reform Jew from the East Coast, a longtime political columnist who has watched American public life grow harsher, more absolutist, and more tribal. What surprised him was not Mormon theology, but Mormon formation—the way this faith quietly shapes the instincts of its people.

And in an age of political spectacle and performative outrage, that distinction matters.

A Prophetic Call That Preceded the Moment

Long before Milbank put pen to paper, President Russell M. Nelson had been issuing a clear and consistent warning to Latter-day Saints about the moral dangers of contention. Again and again, he has urged members of the Church to become peacemakers—not as a sentimental aspiration, but as a defining mark of discipleship.

In his April 2023 address, President Nelson was direct: the world is increasingly hostile, polarized, and angry, and followers of Jesus Christ must choose a different path. He warned against contention in speech, online behavior, and civic engagement, teaching that peacemaking is not passive neutrality but active moral courage. Other apostles have echoed this message repeatedly, reinforcing that how we engage one another—especially in disagreement—is a spiritual matter.

Those words have quietly resonated across the culture of the Church. They have shaped conversations in wards, guided family discussions, and informed how many Latter-day Saints think about their responsibilities as citizens. What Milbank noticed in public leaders did not emerge spontaneously; it reflects years of prophetic counsel steadily internalized.

Where Those Instincts Come From

Milbank’s attention was drawn first to Utah Governor Spencer Cox, whose calls for civility and compromise have stood out nationally—not because they are fashionable, but because they are costly.

“The instincts Cox is demonstrating on the national stage,” Milbank wrote, “have deep roots in The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.”

Rather than attributing this to personality alone, Milbank examined the Church’s organizational life. One feature struck him immediately: Latter-day Saints do not self-sort.

“Membership in local congregations, or wards, is assigned by geography,” he observed, “which means parishioners don’t get to choose a church with like-minded people.”

That single fact runs against nearly every modern social impulse. In most of American life, we curate our communities—online and offline—to minimize friction. But in Latter-day Saint wards, friction is unavoidable. You worship, serve, and lead alongside people you did not choose and cannot escape.

Paul Edwards, director of the Wheatley Institute, gave Milbank language for what that does over time:

“The sociology of our lived experiences as Latter-day Saints is one of frequent accommodation, negotiation, and engagement with people we didn’t pick as our best buddies.”

That is not a recipe for ideological purity. It is a recipe for patience.

A Church Without Incentives for Extremes

Milbank also noticed something else that is increasingly rare in American religion: the absence of professional incentives to inflame.

“Latter-day Saints churches are run by volunteer, lay clergy,” he wrote, “whose livelihoods don’t depend on placating the most extreme members of their church.”

No one builds a career by escalating outrage. No one gains status by deepening division. Leadership rotates. Service is expected. Authority is exercised locally, temporarily, and quietly.

Add to that the Church’s emphasis on missionary service—where young people spend months or years engaging “all walks of life”—and the pattern becomes clear. These are not practices designed to produce ideological warriors. They form people who must listen, adapt, and persist without coercion.

This is not political training. It is moral training.

Not a Political Eden—but a Guardrail

Milbank was careful not to romanticize Utah politics or Latter-day Saints themselves.

“To be sure, the political scene in Utah is no heaven on earth,” he wrote, noting that “some of the bitterness and dehumanization of the Trump era has seeped into the state’s politics.”

Latter-day Saints are not immune to national contagions. But Milbank’s point was comparative: the Church has succeeded in keeping politics from overtaking its religious life “to a far greater extent” than many other faith communities.

That restraint, he suggested, is rooted in history.

“Ideologically,” Milbank noted, “the Latter-day Saints, persecuted for much of their history as a minority religion, embrace pluralism and regard as divinely inspired the Constitution.”

A people once driven from place to place learned early what happens when power is unconstrained and majorities are unchecked. Constitutional boundaries were not abstractions to them. They were protections written in lived experience.

President Dallin H. Oaks has frequently reinforced this understanding, teaching that the Constitution’s genius lies in its limits as much as its liberties. In that sense, reverence for constitutional order and the call to be peacemakers arise from the same moral root: restraint.

Why This Resonates Beyond the Church

Milbank did not write his column to flatter Latter-day Saints. He wrote it because he is alarmed about America.

He sees a political culture addicted to humiliation, incapable of compromise, and increasingly indifferent to truth. And when he encountered leaders who spoke plainly about conscience, peacemaking, and constitutional limits—without theatrical anger—he traced those instincts back to the soil that produced them.

“Could it be,” Milbank asked, “that this uniquely American religion has come up with a solution to America’s political crisis? The evidence suggests it has.”

Whether one agrees fully with that conclusion or not, the question itself is revealing. It suggests that what America is starving for is not better messaging, but better formation—communities that teach people how to disagree without destroying one another.

A Quiet Responsibility

For Latter-day Saints, Milbank’s observations should not inspire triumph. They should inspire stewardship.

President Nelson’s call to be peacemakers was never intended to be situational or selective. It is not dependent on which party holds power or which outrage dominates the news cycle. It is a permanent expectation for covenant disciples.

An outsider noticed something worth preserving. The responsibility now rests with those inside the Church to ensure that prophetic counsel continues to shape behavior—not just in conference talks, but in conversations, votes, social media posts, and everyday civic life.

Because in an age when politics rewards the loudest voices, the quiet discipline of peacemaking may be the most countercultural—and Christlike—witness of all.