The standard works of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints occupy a unique place in religious conversation. They are often cited as the foundation of Latter-day Saint doctrine, yet in public discourse they are rarely the main target of criticism. Instead, debates tend to orbit around leaders—past and present—and the perceived moral failures attached to them.

This creates an interesting tension. On one hand, Latter-day Saints affirm that their faith is rooted in scripture, beginning with the Bible. On the other, critics and even some members can end up treating leaders as the primary lens through which the religion is judged. When leaders are elevated to near-symbolic status, disappointment becomes inevitable. And when disappointment arrives, it can overshadow the very scriptural framework that the faith claims as its foundation.

The Bible itself offers a sobering corrective to pedestal-building. Its pages are filled with deeply flawed people who nevertheless play central roles in God’s work. King David commits grave sins. Peter denies Christ. Jonah runs from his calling. These stories are not hidden footnotes; they are integral to the biblical narrative. Scripture does not sanitize God’s anointed. Instead, it presents a consistent pattern: divine purposes unfolding through imperfect human instruments.

Ironically, modern readers often extend a kind of protective silence over these biblical figures while applying an unforgiving spotlight to contemporary religious leaders. Negative episodes in ancient scripture are contextualized as part of a larger redemptive story, but similar charity is not always granted to modern faith communities. This asymmetry can foster a culture where historical shortcomings are weaponized rather than examined in light of the broader scriptural pattern.

Within the Latter-day Saint community, responses sometimes swing to the opposite extreme. Members may instinctively defend leaders with phrases like “they were products of their time” or “they’re only human.” While these statements are true, they can sound like evasions if they are not anchored in a deeper theological framework. A more persuasive approach is to acknowledge weaknesses openly while situating them within the biblical standard that God has always worked through fallible people.

This is not a call to dismiss criticism. Many who wrestle with the Church do so out of sincere concern. Their questions deserve engagement, not caricature. At the same time, there is a noticeable phenomenon of former members who continue to center their public identity around opposition to the faith. When critique becomes a defining posture rather than a step toward understanding, it risks mirroring the very rigidity it seeks to challenge.

The healthier path forward lies in intellectual and spiritual consistency. If one accepts the Bible as a meaningful religious text, then one must grapple with its central message about human imperfection and divine patience. Applying a modern standard of present-day virtue signaling to historical figures—biblical or Latter-day Saint—can obscure more than it clarifies. It replaces historical and theological context with the moral fashions of the moment.

For Latter-day Saints, this consistency invites a more mature faith. It encourages members to resist both blind hero-worship and reflexive defensiveness. Leaders need not be flawless to be instruments of good. Scripture itself sets that precedent. By grounding conversations about weakness, error, and growth in the biblical narrative, members can respond to criticism with humility and coherence rather than anxiety.

In an age of polarized discourse, such an approach does more than defend a tradition. It models a way of engaging religious history—our own and others’—with honesty, empathy, and perspective. Recognizing imperfection is not a threat to faith; it is one of the Bible’s oldest and most enduring lessons.