Dating, Career Choices, and Personal Defects

Different jobs attract different kinds of flawed specimens of humanity. We are all flawed, of course, beset with our own neuroses, but we flock together according to certain interests. For example, I used to work in the non-profit sector which attracts people with more passion than sense.  The result is waste and constantly conflicting arguments about values and justice.  There is conflict, high highs, low lows, screaming, crying, and every emotion in between.  People attracted to non-profit work love to feel their emotions.  

I now work in an environment where my particular neurosis are more at home: the library.  Librarians love order and hate conflict.  They value knowledge, eschew confrontation and, for most, overt competition.  This produces an atmosphere of passive-aggresiveness and back-biting where people snipe at others reputations, act polite to one another in person, but oppose and obstruct in secret.

You can tell a lot about a person by the job they choose (not necessarily by what job they are doing, but what job they would choose).  This should be considered in dating, because i come to realize that the important thing in dating is not to find the person whose positive traits are your ideals, but rather, find the person who does NOT have the flaws you cannot stand.  You can learn to live with anything else and learn to love.  

I think the trick in life is first of all: Never give up. A person can change and grow for the better, but it takes time and lots of it; second: recognize that things will never be perfect, ever! The trick is to learn what you absolutely cannot stand and learn to love the rest. It works for dating as well. When dating a person, figure out if they have anything you could not tolerate under any circumstances. If they don't, you can learn to love the rest.

The Pearl: Chapter One

The following is the first chapter of a novel I am writing.  I'm offering it as a serial while I write both to stoke my ego and to get feedback.  I would like to hear from everyone who reads it would you keep reading, is it dragging (hopefully not in chapter one), is it boring, etc. etc.  Happy reading.

~The Author

Chapter One: The Singer and Prophetess

The tiny craft was no more than a drop amid the immensity of the turbulent waves.  It seemed to sit still in the chaos of sea mixing with sky as the mountains of water rose and fell beneath it.  The boat’s narrow, low profile meant that water easily breached the sides and only the feverish fury of the men kept the gaping sea at bay.  Four men handled the oars but could do no more than aid the helmsman steer into the rising crest to ensure they met the wave head on and were not overtaken.  The remaining crew bailed the water with helmets, boxes, buckets and quiet prayers to the spirits of the sea.  Only the helmsmen wore a face of stolid confidence as he shouted orders only to find the words torn from his mouth and swallowed by the storm. 

It did not matter that they could not hear their captain; the crew knew what needed to be done to stay alive.  They tossed what could be spared and steered into the waves that rose and fell with mechanical regularity.  They rode up the mountain and tipping at its crest they fell into the trough where the sea opened like the jaws of a beast to engulf them. 

The wind howled, the water boiled, and the blood of the men ran red on their limbs.  In the momentary gloaming of the lightening, the predators of the sea appeared silhouetted in the mounting and falling waves.  At times, they floated ominously above the men as the ship sank in the waves, but as the bronze sprit was buried in the bottom of each trench, the sea and her angry gods claimed another sailor and soon only three remained clutching the ship with any further hope of helming her.

The tiny ship was now given over to the elements.  On board, the remaining crewmen were surrounded by water and wind and blood that stained the ocean surface and drew the predators closer.  All but the captain stared down, not daring to see their coming deaths, but hoping where there was no hope to avoid their crewmates’ fate. 

The ship rode up the monstrous wave and hesitated at the precipice of the yawning gulf before spilling down the wave where the sea floor awaited them.  It crashed into the exposed reef, shuddered, and splintered.  One man was impaled on the rugged rocks and where he sank as the sea rose.  His blood reddened the water, but the sharks dared not come here where land and sea and sky mingled threateningly.  The two survivors clung to the flotsam and jetsam and rode the next wave which pulsed toward the tar black land.  The waves rose faster and broke in shimmering foam and surf that surged forward dragging the men under and throwing them forward once more in its relentless agony. 

In the tumult, one more body was dragged under and did not reappear.  Only one was tossed ashore, the sea and sailor both spent from their labors.  The storm moved on and the sea quieted to a gentle rhythm.  Each rumble of thunder moved farther and farther afield until, at the horizon, it melted away.

*     *     *

 The little village on the bay looked as it had since their ancestors had first settled here between the sheer red cliffs and the opalescent sea.  The shelters were sturdy, but pliant, as were the people.  Each house consisted of a stone and mortar foundation, which the village as whole helped to construct whenever a new one was needed, but the upper portion, including the roof, was made of reeds and poles and the leaves of Taytay tree which grew nearby. 

As the storm abated, the men of the village emerged, leaving their families and livestock inside, to inspect any damage and to consult on needed repairs.  There had been worse storms, as the Singer reminded them, when the whole village was destroyed and every stone overthrown, but this storm had done only superficial damage to the houses, but the real danger was the crops. 

The elders consulted, and after the Singer sang about other storms and what the Brave Ones had done during them, it was decided that the he would take the young boys to the shore to collect the best Taytay leaves to re-weave the walls so he could show the youth the best ones to select and how best to prepare them.  The remaining elders would inspect the fields and determine if any lasting damage needed to be addressed for this was still spring and the plants were tender, but there was still time to replant if necessary.

The Singer’s name was Ghaysan.  He sang the songs of how Antar had killed the demon Tamar and from his blood he made the life-giving sea, from his flesh the fertile earth and from his bones the protecting cliffs that kept the fearsome raiders out.   The raiders were Elat’s children, too, but born of his bile instead of his tears and were demons who in the dark could make themselves like smoke.  But Elat’s favor fell on the people of the village, because he had given them knowledge of how to hunt, how to grow food, and what plants could calm fever and ease illness.  He taught them what plants were good to eat and what to do when the rains came. 

It was the singer who remembered this wisdom and Ghaysan was renowned, not only in his village, but for many miles around for his knowledge of the Days of the Brave Ones and how they made the world safe from demons who spat fire and gathered the children of Elat for his slaves, but Antar had made them free and given them knowledge obtained from Elat and his Daughters with which he founded the village and drove out the dangerous boar and the wild raiders banishing them behind the bones of Tamar.  Antar tamed the river and taught the people knowledge of Elat and what plants to grow and how to build houses. 

Often elders came from other villages to consult with Ghaysan about their troubles.  He would listen as he and the elders sipped teas and then he would sing the songs.  Once a tribe came because a plague was killing their young children.  All the other tribes would not let them in, but Ghaysan knew it was okay.  He listened to their tales and then retreated to the cave in the red cliffs where he sang to Elat.  Then Elat’s servant, his Daughter Tahi came and sang him a new song about the hero Tayza who had saved his village from an angry spirit that lived in the spring.  Realizing that he could not overpower the demon in the well, he sealed it off and placed stones there with powerful enchantments and dug a new well farther up stream.  The plague never recurred.  Ghaysan sang this song to the visiting elders and they concluded that they must do as Tayza had done and when they had finished their work, the plague stopped.

Ghaysan took the boys with him to show them how to select the best leaves and poles for their homes.  He told them to look for the straightest poles and not to disturb the younger ones in their play so that these could grow and be used later. 

As they walked, a young boy named Mahur brought something strange.  It was hard like a rock and sharp like a spearhead, but smooth like a fired pot.  He had seen such things before from traders and travelers who occasionally happened on the village, but few outsiders save those from neighboring villages ever came to Antar’s cove.

“Uncle,” Mahur cried, “I found more of them over their by the cove.”  He led the old Singer to the debris which lay scattered along the tidal zone where small waves lapped gently.  Ghaysan looked closely at each piece which looked shattered from the storm.  Bits of wood and cloth lay along the length of the bay.  He picked them up, examining each in turn.  It was, he thought, a boat from one of the traders who occasionally sailed by, but who never stopped at the little village in the nestled cove.  The sheer cliffs and the prominent reef kept all but the smallest ships from entering and none of those who could ever tried. 

He searched for larger pieces that could be used around the village: a large block of wood to repair a house, more smooth spear-like objects for hunting.  He called the young men to him.

“My sons, Elat has given us this bounty to compensate for the storm.  We must gather it up and take it to our village.”  They began to search the shore and placed all the useful objects in a large woven blanket to carry back.  There were large square pieces of wood, others that were narrow and smooth like reed poles.  There was cloth woven so tight that Ghaysan thought it could hold water if needed. It was soft like a new leaf and the Singer could only see the web and the weft when he held it up to the light.  As he ambled along the rocks and the sand, he found a curious piece.  It was smooth and hard like the spear-like items they had found, but was more like the idols in the Cave.  He examined it closely.  It was the size of the palm of his hand and had on one end two circles that interlocked.  Each circle had spines that protruded on one side.  Below that was a single eye with lines that radiated from around it.  Below that was a disc surrounded by wavy lines.  There were two long poles on either side like palm trees without leaves and below all that were scratches.

He placed the totem in the leather pouch he always carried with him and continued searching.  The boys continued to bring more and more items, many, Ghaysan thought, of no real value, but they needed to learn.  Out beyond a large rock that protruded into the bay a voice rang out:

"Uncle, uncle!”  It was Tamam’s son, Tamamhah, a young boy not 10 years of age.  Ghaysan turned and despite his many years, ran with his shuffled gate. 

“My son, what is it?  Why do you yell?” 

“Uncle, I have found a man.”

“A man?”

“Yes, uncle.  Mahur thinks he is dead, but I do not think he is dead.  I think he is alive, but sleeping.”

“Show him to me.”

"Yes, uncle.”

Tamamhah lead him along until they reached a smooth stretch of beach bestrewn with shattered bits of wood as well as seaweed and other items tossed up on the shore by the storm.  In the middle of the beach, and so covered in sea weed, moss, and blood as to be unrecognizable as a man from far away, was a figure surrounded by prodding boys all crouched on their haunches to inspect him. 

“Away with you young scamps! Away!” cried Ghaysan.  They scattered obediently and Ghaysan drew up close.  The body was covered and where skin did show through it was purple and blue from the mass of bruising and blood.  Ghaysan rolled the figure onto his back and saw that he was naked.  He looked young, not nineteen years, but he did not have a beard save for a few wisps of growth such as young boys have.  Kneeling down and leaning over him, Ghaysan placed an ear to the man’s bruised and bloodied chest.  It was indistinct and muted, but he heard a heart and felt the chest rise. 

“He is alive, young fools.  Bring me the cloth, we can return later for the leaves and the wood.  Elat has sent this man to us and we must help him.”

The boys ran and returned quickly carrying the large cloth among them.  In their absence, Ghaysan cleared the moss and kelp from the man’s body carefully examining his wounds.  Under the dried moss that clung to his body were cuts and gashes where there waves had tumbled him against the rocks and the coral.  Small stones and debris were lodged in many of the wounds.  He would not treat them here, but would bring him to Amamah, the Prophetess.  She had outlived all her children and lived now with her grandchildren who had children of their own and while Elat had taken much of her vision and left her wrinkled and stooped, he had given her wisdom to heal.

Together with the older boys who could be trusted to be gentle, Ghaysan rolled the man, whom the boys were called Lammam, or, the man from the sea, onto the cloth.  As each who could lifted from a corner, they raised him up and carried him to the village while the younger boys scampered around and shouted:

“Lammam, we have a Lammam!  Come see what we have found.  Elat has sent a man to us from the sea!” 

The curious came from the homes and fields and before they reached the house of Amamah, nearly the whole village was accompanying them. 

“What is this noise?!” cried old Amamah from within.  “I am old and while Elat has taken my sight, he has left me my hearing and you should leave me my peace!”

“But Grandmother,” replied a young boy, “Ghaysan has found a Lammam.”

“A Lammam?  There is no such thing, foolish boy.  Men come from the earth, birds from the air, fish from sea.  Men do not come from the sea.”

“Grandmother has spoken the truth, but nevertheless, Ghaysan has found a man who is in need of your skill.”

“I will see him,” she replied simply and reached out her arm to lean on the young boy.  She walked with careful steps, her glassy eyes looking nowhere, but seeing many things in her memory. 

“Old Amamah,” said Ghaysan when he reached the small home she shared with her grandson, “Elat has sent us a guest.” 

“Bring him in.” Amamah said, and turned around letting Ghaysan follow her.  She began to run her fingers along his skin.  “He is filthy.  You did not clean him, Ghaysan.  You never clean anything.  Old Tayma when she lived was always cleaning up after you while you sang songs and saw visions.  What good are visions, foolish Ghaysan, if you cannot do anything for yourself?”

“Do not argue now, old woman.  We have a guest.”

With the young men’s help, they carried the sleeping sailor into the hut.  Amamah quickly turned and with sudden energy she drove the men from the house to the waiting crowds.  The presence of someone in need of her help had energized her and she seemed years younger.  

The Singer and the youth joined the waiting crowd, only Amamah’s granddaughter, Narah, remained to assist.  The entire village was drawn out by the news of something different.  Already this week was memorable because of the storm, but a stranger was always cause for great excitement and led to people abandoning the hard work of survival and necessity.

Inside, Old Amamah quickly shuttered the few windows and lit the turtle wax candles which cast a flickering glow.  She breathed deeply the aromatic scent that smelled of fats and the oils she had added to the wax. Narah was set to work wiping the wounds and skin with a damp cloth that had been soaked in water and myrtle oil.  Amamah went hastily but carefully about her work arranging by memory the tools of her trade.  In the east, where his head was pointed, she placed a drum on which she had, many years before, painted her healing vision of the Great Fathers and Mothers of her people.  This would draw forth visions and dreams and help her see how to heal.  Toward the west, to the direction of his legs, she placed totems of Elat and Marid with horrible, twisting faces that writhed in pain and horror.  This would scare the demons as they left and drive them far away.  On either side she placed a small row of dried, powered Taytay leafs mixed with the root of Zam plant and, for scent, several aromatic flowers.  These would channel the spirits.  This done, she knelt at his head and, placing her hands on his head, she looked toward the sky and began to chant.

“O Grandmothers, make me see his pain

O Grandfathers, make me hear his hurt.”

She repeated this over and over again until they ceased to be words, but became a series of sounds and silences.  She felt them as they slid out over her tongue, between her teeth and across her lips and she let herself follow them until she left her body and her spirit walked in the shadowland with the stranger.  She could see him, lost in a great wilderness, bewildered and afraid.  He turned hurriedly in ever direction, but stumbled only a few feet through the parched and dying shrubbery before turning around.  The land was vast as eternity but empty of every feature save the desiccated plant life.  Every horizon burned the red of an approaching dawn, but it never came closer.

Eventually the man quieted down and collapsed to the ground.  Old Amamah, now her youthful self in vision with long, sleek black hair and deep honey-colored eyes, drew closer to him.

“Child,” she said, cradling his head, “do not worry.  Old Amamah is here to help you.  Tell me who you are.” 

The young man, now free of wounds, looked at Old Amamah with sorrowful eyes that welled with tears.  He seemed to age before her getting weaker and weaker.

“I am lost,” he said.  “And no one can show me the way.”  He looked away toward the far horizon.  In her hands, she felt him grow colder.

“What is that you are seeking?  I can help you find your way.”

“I must find the one wise to show me the pearl.  Only he can fight the dragon and take me home again.”

As he said this, he grew quiet and limp in her arms.  About her the world was melting into nothingness and even the figure of the young boy grew less and less substantial until Old Amamah found herself sitting on the floor of her hut.  She arose and began to clean and dress the wounds.

Writing as Meditation and Prayer

I have lately found it very difficult to write.  Every word has been a chore and my once verbose fluidity has run dry.  There was a time when I wrote constantly.  I wrote poetry, essays, short stories, treatments for future novels, etc.  However, for the last couple of years I have been beset by both an intense need to write and a dread fear.  

For me, it is only in writing that I can feel myself free and open.  When I speak, unless it is from prepared remarks or unless it is around one of the very few persons in whose presence I feel comfortable, talking can be torturous.  The words come ajumble spilling across my tongue and tripping indelicately over my teeth only to pratfall at my lips.  Perhaps I have too high of standards for my communication; I despise idle chatter and small talk, though I recognize that it serves a social function not discernible from its vacuity of content.  It is the interstitial adhesive of social interactions.  

Writing is my meditation and my prayer (hence the name of my blog).  I have, at times, actually written my prayers in the form of poetry.  Meditation is at the its most basic organized, directed, sustained thought and as such is the basis of all prayer and writing.  It is perhaps for this reason that I have found writing so difficult lately.  Mark Twain, that divine agnostic, wrote that, "you can't pray a lie."  I find it diffult to write a lie.  That is not to say that I don't write fiction, merely that I must write honestly and when I find a blockage, I do not write lies, I simply stop writing, I stop meditation, I stop praying.  It is a damnable sin to tell a lie, but is a damning sin to lie to oneself.  It warps your soul and leaves bare the conscience of the sinner.

It was Abraham Lincoln who said that we must trust that Right will make Might; that from righteousness will come power.  This is echoed in the Doctrine and Covenants where we read that from virtue arises confidence and here is power.  There are those who can with great flippancy marshall words to defend any cause.  I admire the flexibility of that talent, but for me, I can only express myself when I say what I utterly feel and for some time now I have felt unable to be honest with myself and hence unable to write.  I have, instead, attempted to sate myself with TV and books hoping against hope to drown out my thoughts with the thoughts of others, to deaden beyond feeling my spiritual sense.  But this is a failure and I am a victim of my own fears.  

But the impulse remains.  For fear of self honesty I hide from it; though it compels me day after day.  I find myself composing in my mind on the train, on the street, thoughts of brutal honesty and sometimes sublime insight.  I rework them again and again, but too often I lose them to the ether.  How I wish I had the courage to write what is bursting within me, but it is too easy find an excuse.  It is not difficult to bound between two poles, for how can I justify writing when have so many other responsibilities weighing upon me?  Yet I am weighed down in inaction by fear.

O if only I had a muse!  The times when I had someone to write for have been my most productive for, to paraphrase Tom Stoppard, writers publish publically what others think privately.  I am not sure as to whether I am a "good" writer or not, but I am not a consistent one.  My words are pretty, but my pages are a mess.  My ideas come not in verbs or phrases, but in pictures, in wholes, in blind yearnings for a way to match what I see and feel.  In my meditations, my tantric mantra is the steading tap-tapping of the keys.  But for the last couple of years the visions and the images have been blurred, the yearnings confused, and the wholes dislocated.  There is a blockage, a Pauline thorn with which I have lived now for so long that I am afraid to remove it for fear that once gone, I will be all out of excuses.

National Sin

I have been pondering two different world views lately and wondering whether, in fact, they are as divergent as is generally supposed. I have a tendency to view the world as interconnected, a series of Venn diagrams that overlap to infinity. I watched yesterday as thousands marched on the US Supreme Court building to protest on the anniversary of Roe v. Wade that legalized abortion in the US and based on the numerous nuns and priests, a good deal of them were Catholic. Today, I listened to an environmentalist on Science Friday on NPR discuss the need to keep the population engaged in saving the world. He sounded, frankly, a little evangelistic -- and I am quite the environmentalist myself. He even condemned the dissent among scientists regarding global warming since it damages their program for converting the public.

I thought about these two "religions." One would be recognized widely as religion, Catholicism, and the other, Environmentalism, is generally only called a religion by its opponents. However, one need not disapprove of the goals of environmentalists to note the comparisons to religious belief and activity (see, for example, my earlier post on Environmental Repentance).

Religion naturally led me to eschatology and I began to think about the collapse of civilizations throughout time. There have been, despite historians' wrangling over what a golden age actually means, ups and downs from renaissances to economic and political collapses. Pharaonic Egypt collapsed, Rome fell, the Mayans imploded, Andalusia crumbled. The eternal question and perhaps the original question of political science is why. The man who was arguably the father of modern sociology and political science, who brought together the philosophical inquiry of the Greeks with the bold empirical science of the Arabs, was Ibn Khaldun. His famous magnum opus began with its even more famous introduction which discussed historical theory and the whys of history, the first time that had ever been done. Simplifying it greatly, he argued that great societies endured so long as their cohesion or self identity endured. As people began to see their destinies as separate from that of the state, then the state weakened until a new group capable of coalescing the identities of the people around them overthrew the old empire and established a new one.

The whole history of political science since then has been trying to understand, empirically, the life cycle (or lack thereof) of the state and, in consequence of this understanding, how to guide, sustain, prevent, or direct this process as deemed necessary. It reached its positivistic ne plus ultra with Hegel whose teleological models have entranced authors from Marx to Fukyama.

Now, to return to my thoughts, which are truly not any less teleological than Hegel's, but rather less sanguine. History does not show progress to me as it did to the nineteenth century mind. I see at best cycles. I believe that modern civilization will collapse, eventually. I do not expect it soon, but it will be, when it comes, sudden. Change always is.

What causes a society to collapse? I thought about what I have been taught in Sunday School and I have tried to understand how it relates to all that I have been taught in political science and history courses. Ibn Khaldun believed that it was primarily internal, the result of the deterioration of society.  More modern scholars have argued that it is structural, though this does not preclude internal disintegration.  Jared Diamond in his famous book argued that societies rose and fell as a result of their relationship with their natural environment and that environmental stress either through natural climatic changes or through environmental destruction will lead to their collapse.  It is demonstrably true that climate and environment has had a profound impact on human society.  We are only just beginning to appreciate how climate shift has shaped history by driving migrations, sparking war for sparse resources, and so forth.  However, and Diamond admits this, the relationship is complicated by the nature of the society thus afflicted and its ability to react.   We cannot, therefore, predict empirically what will happen.

As a Latter-day Saint (or a Latter Day Saint if I wish to be bothersome and heretical (see www.strangite.org), I believe in the writings of the Prophet Historian Mormon as inspired texts.  Mormon's narrative argues repeatedly that righteousness leads to success which leads to class differentiation (something denounced fiercely by Mormon) which leads to internal strife which weakens the society until it is unable to confront disaster and war.  It is a surprisingly subtle argument.  Mormon and some of the prophets of the Book of Mormon show that when the people were righteous they worked hard.  The lack of strife amongst them during these times meant that all their efforts were focused on building their society, but this virtue became a vice as some amongst changed from building society and themselves to accumulating wealth.  One remembers the Parable of the Savior in which the wealthy man finds he has too much to fit in his barns and so rather than giving it away, he builds bigger barns only to die in the night and be condemned for his avarice.    Jacob condemns those who sought after wealth and neglected the people around them.  He describes in at least three places explicitly that wealth led to class distinctions and that those with greater opportunities for education and business began to persecute the poorer classes.  

 

In Mormon's sparse prose, we see how a society can dissolve from within because of sin.  A historian, however, would not see it in that terms, but I believe it can be fairly described so.  Lincoln, the bicentennial of whose birth we celebrate this year, saw this.  In his famous second inaugural address, he noted that the American Civil War could be seen as a punishment or atonement that must be endured to end slavery.  I do not wish, however, to oversimplify things. 

What is the relationship between sin and society's decay?  This has troubled me for sometime.  I believe however, that the link is there and empirically defensible.  A society given over to sin is a society given over to selfishness and pleasure seeking.  A society like that loses its ability to sacrifice for others and for the future.  Good and bad exist in all times and in all places, but when the time comes that the majority of the people of the society care more for themselves than for others -- and this pride is at the heart of all sin -- then that society cannot endure.  They will seek for wealth, establish impenetrable barriers, hardened class lines that oppress and corrupt.  Each individual will seek after his own god, his own wealth, his own glory, his own fame, his own good.  They will tear down the mountains in search of worthless minerals to make themselves rich, because only by having more can they be satisfied, but more is a relative and is insatiable.  A society given over to lusts and riches will not stop to plan for the future, but will consume itself into self destruction. 

Mormon says almost offhandedly that there came a time in the northern part of Nephite civilization that trees became so scarce that no one cut them down anymore, hoping to reforest the land.  This is born out by archaeological discoveries showing that deforestation was a continual problem in Mesoamerica.  Much of the rain forests we associate with the Yucatan was once all gone, having been stripped by the Mayans.  It was a problem for the ancient Greeks as well who had to enact laws forbidding the cutting of trees for construction.  A bad day for foresters, but a great day for stone masons.

The continual greed, lust, and conflict of a sinful society cannot endure and eventually, as King Mosiah tells us, the majority will choose evil.  Conflict will destroy the cohesion of the society and leave them vulnerable and incapable of defending against war, crime, and environmental threats.  I believe that this would be precipitated in a breakdown of social bonds amongst family -- and I refer not just to nuclear families, but also to extended families and amongst society in general.  People would be left without hope.  Without hope, there can be no civilization.

Just a few thoughts.  I hope to elaborate and improve the many deficiencies in this draft.

On Happiness

The following is the full text of a Talk I am giving in Church January 18th, 2009.  I likely will not get through it all, so I am publishing it all here in case anyone wants the full text:

“Happiness is the object and design of our existence; and will be the end thereof, if we pursue the path that leads to it; and this path is virtue, uprightness, faithfulness, holiness, and keeping all the commandments of God.”   These are the words of the Prophet Joseph Smith.  And he is not alone.  Lehi said that men are that they might have joy; that is, men (and women) exist in order to be joyful.  Thomas Jefferson wrote the famous words that among our inalienable rights are Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness.  That august news source, the Onion, has remarked that Americans will frequently pursue happiness at the cost of everything else, even of Life and Liberty.  Alma called God’s plan for our lives, the Great Plan of Happiness. 

The content of my address today will be happiness and joy.  I have drawn my ideas from the General Conference addresses by Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin, President Thomas S. Monson, the work of psychologists on happiness, and the experiences of myself and that of others.  I chose this topic because of my own struggle to be happy.  Some people, and I am not among them, have a native cheeriness.  Others among us, it would seem, have a native disposition to melancholy.  Nevertheless, I believe that true joy is deeper than our native temperments; it transcends mere enjoyment or contentedness.  It pierces the very truth of our existence as spiritual beings.  As such, joy is available to all.

Before I proceed, let me say a few words about words.  In many respects, joy and happiness describe similar emotions, but they are not entirely synonymous; if they were, we likely would not need both words.  We have this profusion of words with similar and overlapping meanings because, among other reasons, no single word can truly encapsulate our experiences.  Joseph Smith once remarked that words and not sufficient to explain the truth, but they were all that we have.  And so, we throw an effusion of words and imagery trying, often vainly, to relate fundamental truths that can only truly be gleaned by direct experience.  Thus said the Prophet: “The things of God are of deep import, and time, and experience, and careful, and solemn, and ponderous thoughts can only find them out.  Thy mind, oh man, if thou wilt lead a soul unto salvation must stretch as high as the utmost heavens and search into and contemplate the darkest abyss and the broad expanses of eternity, thou must commune with God.” 

 One last aside before I continue on my theme by way of, I hope, illumination.  The deep and important doctrines are not the arcane teachings about Kolob or the origin of God or whether Adam had a belly button.  Rather, the sacred, immensely deep concepts of truth, mercy, love, hope, happiness, faith; these are the true “deep things of God,” as Paul calls them.  My proof text, if I may call it that, comes from the Savior who said to his accusers:

 “Woe unto you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites!  For ye pay tithe of mint and anise and cumin, and have omitted the weightier matters of the law, judgment, mercy, and faith: these ought ye to have done, and not to leave the other undone.” 

To put our gospel lives in perspective, we must focus on the weightier matters, the deep principles of the gospel upon which hang all the other peripheral but no less true teachings and practices of the gospel, but we must not neglect these matters, rather, we must ground them in the roots of the tree.  Most of these often thorny doctrinal issues that some people, particularly in the age of blogs, have wasted hours and days debating are really of little importance for our salvation and everything we know about them from authoritive sources could be summarized in a paragraph or two.  Mercy and love, however, require entire volumes and lives to explore and even then the fountain is not tapped out.  

Let me begin by establishing my definitions of happiness and joy.  Then, though you may disagree with my delineations, you will at least know exactly what I mean.  Happiness is often fleeting.  It is the enjoyment we get out of the things we love to do.  Joy, however, represents a much deeper and more enduring connectedness to people and the world around us and a knowledge that we are where we need to be.  Happiness, to use an analogy, is what we feel when we receive a sought after gift.  Joy is the feeling we have when we give a sought after gift.  They are not mutually exclusive and frequently align, but Joy has the capacity to encompass suffering, as we mourn with those that mourn; love, as we serve those in need; and gratitude, as we learn to receive well and not just take.

 I have been pondering what it means to be happy and have joy in one’s life.  As I’ve defined them here, happiness is quite easy to achieve.  Simply do things you enjoy.  This sort of pleasure seeking, however, is hollow—I think no one would contend with this.  Such pleasure seeking leads to loneliness ultimately.  To achieve that lasting joy which can endure through sorrow, strife, and set backs requires work and it requires the Spirit of God, for we read that “the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness[, and] temperance.” It is virtually impossible to extricate joy from the concepts of love, peace, hope, and faith.  They are intertwined and increase or decrease together.  There are other factors that will increase and help us complete and fill up our joy.  Indeed, Joseph Smith indicated that there is a path to lasting happiness and joy and the prophet Nephi wrote that his people lived “after the manner of happiness.”  Happiness is, I believe, simple, but that is not the same as being easy.  As Alma counseled his son, we must not grow slothful because God’s path is so simple that we almost forget we are on it.  We must daily recommit to it.  

It is the nature of God is to be joyful.  Alma says that wicked men are without god.  Being buffeted by their own desires and lusts, they are enslaved to their bodies.  They have gone contrary to the nature of God, whose child they are and hence from whom they have a divine inheritance, a spark of divinity that resides in embryonic form within each soul.  The natural man as described by the prophets, far from being the innate spirit of man, is rather the man given over to the natural world of bodily appetites.  Alma tells his son that those who are in this natural, carnal state “have gone contrary to the nature of God; therefore, they are in a state contrary to the nature of happiness.”  We are commanded to emulate the divine nature and hence we are commanded to be joyful. 

There are several things that experience, the scriptures, and the work of psychologists have shown to have either no influence on our joy or to have a negative influence.  Dr. Martin Seligman, former President of the APA and a professor of psychology at the University of Pennsylvania, has demonstrated in his work that intelligence, level of education, and good physical health have no impact on one’s ability to be happy.  Neither does money, provided that you have sufficient to provide for housing, food and other necessities.  In fact, several independent studies have shown that beyond this, money and wealth can actually have a slight negative impact on happiness.  Once you have enough, no amount of increase will make you happy.

Save for those who live in abusive or similar situations, we cannot suddenly become happier by moving or quitting our job or starting over.  Such false beliefs and expectations can injure our ability to be happy.  On my mission, I became acquainted with a man named Paul Cardon, who had been a bishop in Chataqua, New York.  He told me a story that I have never forgotten.  He said that while he was bishop, he frequently interviewed individuals and families as they moved into the ward.  Almost invariablely, they would ask him whether this was a “good” ward or not.  He never gave them his opinion, but rather asked them about the ward they had just moved from.  If they said, “It was a great ward; the people tried hard to live the gospel and to help one another; there were problems as there always are, but it was a great ward,” then he would say, “I’m happy to tell you that you will find this ward to be very similar."  If, however, they said that the ward they came from was a terrible ward full of hypocrites where no one helped out and no one– excepting themselves, presumably – was trying to follow the commandments, then he would say: “I’m sorry to tell you that you will find this ward to be similar.”  The amazing thing is that almost without exception, both groups of people would come to him later and tell him:  “Bishop, you were right.”  

People often see what they wish to see.  We condition ourselves to receive and remember those experiences and incidents that justify our expectations.  Negative emotions have a powerful pull on our memories.  We often focus on them, perhaps because we feel the need to protect ourselves.  Remembering that a particular individual has betrayed us protects us from being hurt by them again.  However, if we give too much weight to these memories, we distort our future perception.  We can become obsessed and harassed by our negative emotions and reminiscences forgetting that there is sorrow and joy in every life; abundance and scarcity exist side by side for all of us.  It is ironic that frequently in the midst of material abundance such as that in which we here in the US live, it becomes too easy to forget God and our relation to Him.  We suddenly believe that we are able to care for our selves. 

While intelligence has no effect on our happiness, knowledge does.  We cannot be saved in ignorance.  Nephi said of his arrogant, ignorant, irritable brothers: “And thus Laman and Lemuel, being the eldest, did murmur against their father. And they did murmur because they knew not the dealings of that God who had created them.” They had not studied the scriptures and the history of God’s dealings with men.  Therefore, when they saw prophecies revealed and miracles performed, they could not perceive them.  False understanding is damning to our souls and leads to negativity that halts our progress to be more like God and hence our ability to feel joy.  Ignorance and the arrogance to believe that we could not possibly be wrong in our understanding can be as damning to our souls as any grave sin.  To be happy, we must understand God’s character, His being, and his manner of dealing with His children.  To have joy, in short, one must search the scriptures and know God.  Hence, the Prophet Joseph Smith tells us to contemplate the heights and the abyss and commune with God in prayer if we are to bring our souls to salvation.  Alma tells us that on the morning of the resurrection, the righteous will be raised to a state of happiness, but this will be merely a continuation and perfection of the path they walked on earth.  Those who are joyful here will have joy in the hereafter and those who are miserable will be miserable still because they have gone contrary to the nature of God which is the nature of happiness. 

There are many things which will bring us joy.  In their recent general conference addresses, President Monson and Elder Wirthlin spoke about some of these things.   One of the keys to true happiness and joy is righteousness.  Lehi said to his sons: if there be no righteousness there be no happiness.  Elsewhere we read that wickedness never was happiness.  Joseph Smith echoed the same sentiment in the quotation with which I began.  Joy is a gift of the spirit and it enters our lives as we strive to do the will of our Heavenly Father.  Perfect joy would therefore follow perfect righteousness, but that is impossible.  

We read that the angels rejoice over the repentant soul and that we, too, will be filled with great joy when even one person repents and works righteousness.   It follows, then, that our joy would be great when we ourselves repent.  Repentance is nothing more or less than the opportunity to be today, better than we were yesterday; to leave our past behind us and improve.  Never forget that this gift is open to all.  Part of repentance is forgiveness.  If we do not forgive ourselves and those who have sinned against us, not only are we not fulfilling a commandment of God, but we are mocking the very mercy upon which we ourselves depend.  War is often easier than peace, because peace requires forgiveness and forgiveness requires humility and a mutual forbearance of others’ imperfections but unless and until we “put up” with others as they put up with us, there can be no lasting peace.  Pride refuses to forgive, believing instead that another’s action, far from being the tragedy that can damn that individual’s soul, has somehow damaged our own soul; and the ego cannot permit this.  Pride leads to fear which leads to anger which leads to war which leads to tragedy, but it preserves the ego intact in all its petty smallness and self-deluded, damning hell. We are all beggars at the mercy seat and the distance between my imperfection and God’s infinite perfection is no less insurmountable than is the distance between you and God, unless we repent.  

There are few things more destructive to happiness and joy than comparing yourself to others.  The Spirit when it enters into us begins to make of us new creatures, born of God and remade spiritually in His image.  We begin to take upon us the divine nature and we grow, as Peter describes, from faith to virtue, from virtue to knowledge, from knowledge to temperance, from temperance to patience, from patience to godliness, from godliness to kindness, and from kindness to charity.  Thus we through our spiritual progression make our calling and election sure and fill our souls with joy.  We must work to bring our natures in line with the divine nature if we are to find lasting joy; for, as Alma says, the nature of God is the nature of happiness.

Study the scriptures, learn about God and Jesus Christ and follow His example.  Learn to serve others and to care more for their welfare than for you own.  There is nothing so small and so pathetic as that soul which is wholly wrapped up in itself.  I know this, because I’ve been there.  It is a lonely and depressing place.  Even scientific studies have confirmed that friendship, socialization, marriage, and service are essential for happiness.  How this looks may be different for each person, I believe, for while principles are universal, details are not.  I will never, no matter how hard I try, ever be the affable and gregarious life of the party, but that is not required.  We can all find joy in the emulation of the life of the Savior. 

Paul said that sorrow is common to man.  Jesus himself is described of as a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.  Sorrow is an essential part of our mortal probation.  Joy consists not in ignoring or eliminating all sorrow from our lives, but in keeping our sorrow within perspective and finding God in our sorrows.  In fact, I believe that true and lasting joy is impossible without experience sorrow and grief.  Suffering can bring humility and bind us closer to our fellow beings.  Through our failures, we learn that we are dependent on God and on our fellow men and can leave forever behind the fiction that we are truly somehow able to live our lives completely in isolation.  We are told, for example, that the reason Christ is able to succor and help us all is because he suffered more than us all.  Suffering increases our capacity for empathy and consequently brings us closer to others which will in turn create bonds of friendship and without friendship we cannot have joy.  

Our trials also make us stronger.  In ancient Greece there was a man named Demosthenes who was famed for his oratory.  People would come from miles around to hear him speak (this was pre-TV, of course).  As a child, Demosthenes stuttered so severely that he could scarcely talk, but through hard work, he surpassed all his contemporaries.  Had it not been for his speech impediment, it is likely that he, like most of us, would have taken speech for granted.  Demosthenes was, in the words of Elder Sterling W. Sill, the greatest orator in all of Greece not in spite of his weakness, but because of it.  Our challenges and sorrows are what give us the humility to recognize and address of shortcomings and through Christ we find the strength to grow and become more like God and hence to find joy. 

Another godly trait we need in order to have joy is gratitude.  President Monson stressed this in his talk.  We can learn to accentuate the positive aspects of life and find joy and goodness even in the most trying of circumstances.  We must acknowledge God in all things:  “And in nothing doth man offend God, or against none is his wrath kindled, save those who confess not his hand in all things, and obey not his commandments.”  I used to struggle with this statement, because it seemed to imply that we should say that God caused little children to suffer or women to be abused.  I have come to see it another way, however.  The commandment to acknowledge God’s hand in all things is not a commandment to claim that God causes ever act of suffering, because that would require that we claim God is responsible for making people do wicked things.  Rather, it is a commandment to remember God and to see where He is when we are in the midst of our sufferings.  We must, in short, be grateful and find and highlight the positive.  Both the scriptures, ancient and modern, and the studies by Dr. Seligman confirm this.  Gratitude is one of the most powerful ways to boost our happiness.  It is a part of being optimistic, of emphasizing the good.  We remember the story of the ten lepers whom Christ healed.   When one returned to thank Jesus, he asked where the nine were.  When Christ was told that only this one returned, he turned to the man and said: Go thy way, thy faith hath made thee whole.  All were healed, but only one was made whole spiritually.  

Finally, true joy should be centered in the Savior.  He is the way, the truth, and the life.  His way is the path that leads to happiness and eternal life and it is the fruit of the tree of eternal life that is desirous to make one happy.  Perhaps because these are trying times, I was led to read the final words of Mormon to his son Moroni.  After reciting the horrible scenes of wickedness and death that surrounded them both, Mormon said this:  

“My son, be faithful in Christ; and may not the things which I have written grieve thee, to weigh thee down unto death; but may Christ lift thee up, and may his sufferings and death, and the showing his body unto our fathers, and his mercy and long-suffering, and the hope of his glory and of eternal life, rest in your mind forever.” 

Paul said that if we as Christians could only hope for the things of this world, then we were doomed to be miserable, because the life of a disciple does not lead one to the enjoyments of this life, but the joy of the eternal soul.  Perspective and patience is required for our joy to be full.  Christ has overcome this world and our Joy may be anchored in Him and in the hope of his mercy and kindness and patience with us, his errant children.

 One final thought on finding joy.  Do not give up.  For those that struggle, do not give up.  For those who find it easy, do not judge too quickly those for whom the path is not so simple.  The infinite goodness and perfection of God is equally distant for all of us.  We are all finite beings with struggles and challenges which we are called upon to bear.  Why some struggle where some prosper is a mystery, but what is clear is that we all called to bear up with one another: to dry the tears of the sorrowful, to bear up the burdens of the heavily laden, to bind the wounds of the injured.  It is a much graver sin to judge others in their weakness, than it is to combat, even unsuccessfully, our own failings.  We are not promised relief from sorrow in this world, nor release from the temptations and the weaknesses that beset us.  But, as C. S. Lewis said, you find out the strength of the German army by fighting it, not by surrendering.  Every battle, even those we lose, can build strength in us. The Pauline thorn may not pass away on this side of veil.  What we are promised, however, is strength for the journey, peace in our hearts, and the promise that all will eventually be made right and in that there is a comfort that cannot be denied.  Jesus Christ as the only sinless person, is also the only person who know to perfection how to resist temptation.  He has descended below all things becoming in his ignominious death, the lowliest of all and he has ascended above all things become master of all and so He encompasses all that lies between: the totality of our experience good and bad.  He knows how to succor the weak and the tired, because He has felt more what it is to be weak and tired than we could bear, but His perfection was not compromised and his mastery is not diminished.  I do not know everything.  In fact, the more I learn, the less I feel I know.  However, I cannot deny my testimony of the Book of Mormon and of the Gospel of Jesus Christ.   These two facts bind me to the testimony of my Savior and of His Church.  I cannot go anywhere else, because despite the weakness of us, the membership, this Church has the words of Eternal Life.  I hope and pray that I will continue to be humble enough to recognize this always.  Amen. 

I would like to close with one of my favorite poems, the Desiderata by the American Poet Max Ehrmann:

 

Go placidly amid the noise and the haste, 
and remember what peace there may be in silence.

As far as possible, without surrender, 
be on good terms with all persons. 
Speak your truth quietly and clearly; 
and listen to others, 
even to the dull and the ignorant; 
they too have their story. 
Avoid loud and aggressive persons; 
they are vexatious to the spirit.

If you compare yourself with others, 
you may become vain or bitter, 
for always there will be greater and lesser persons than yourself. 
Enjoy your achievements as well as your plans. 
Keep interested in your own career, however humble; 
it is a real possession in the changing fortunes of time.

Exercise caution in your business affairs, 
for the world is full of trickery. 
But let this not blind you to what virtue there is; 
many persons strive for high ideals, 
and everywhere life is full of heroism. 
Be yourself. Especially do not feign affection. 
Neither be cynical about love, 
for in the face of all aridity and disenchantment, 
it is as perennial as the grass.

Take kindly the counsel of the years, 
gracefully surrendering the things of youth. 
Nurture strength of spirit to shield you in sudden misfortune. 
But do not distress yourself with dark imaginings. 
Many fears are born of fatigue and loneliness.

Beyond a wholesome discipline, 
be gentle with yourself. 
You are a child of the universe 
no less than the trees and the stars; 
you have a right to be here. 
And whether or not it is clear to you, 
no doubt the universe is unfolding as it should.

Therefore be at peace with God, 
whatever you conceive Him to be. 
And whatever your labors and aspirations, 
in the noisy confusion of life, 
keep peace in your soul. 

With all its sham, drudgery, and broken dreams, 
it is still a beautiful world. 
Be cheerful. Strive to be happy.

 

Other People's Problems

It is of interest to me that so many seem to think that other people's problems are so easily solved, wheareas theirs require time and patience.  I am, of course, among the many who so believe, at least unconsciously, and in many specific instances I will defend why your problem is solubable, but mine is intractable.  There is a certain human tendency toward solipsism, for a lack of empathy.  We can all be guilty of it at one time or another and in varying degrees, though only a few of us, I believe, totally lack the ability to understand another's point of view.  

While watching NOVA the other day, I learned something quite fascinating.  The subject was primate intelligence.  Apes have shown the ability to invent tools, cooperate, solve problems and even use language in a limited way, though without any concept of future or past or any ability to discuss unreality.  Like most animals, except- so far as we know - humans, primates are trapped in the present.  As Robert Burns said to the Mouse: The present only toucheth thee: But Och! I backward cast my e'e, On prospects drear! 45. An' forward, tho' I canna see, I guess an' fear!  

The researchers noted that there are two things that priates seem to truly lack: the ability to grasp that others have different minds and the interest in teaching.  These two are likely related.  Children under the age of four, for example, have a hard time conceptualizing that others have a separate "mind," and when confronted with a situation that requires them to judge what another person knows in relation to their own knowledge, they invariably assume that everyone thinks and knows what they know. It occurs to me that even as adults, we humans frequently do the very same thing.  We think that others' thoughts cannot possibly be different from ours because we're right, of course.  We know that people differ, but so much of our thought process is instinctual and subconscious that it becomes difficult to apply our own intelligence to what we do and say.  It seems that we act before (or in lieu of) thinking.  

The French have a term, l'esprit d'escalier, which roughly means stairway wit: being too late smart and too soon dumb.  The existence and popularity of this term at least comforts me into believing that I'm not the only one who speaks without thinking or forms opinions before understanding; and this despite knowing better.  

I believe that this leads us often to impose our own experience on others' problems.  In short, we seek to solve without understanding the problem.  We talk when we should listen.  We think that the difficulties others face, at least when they are different from ours, are so easily surmountable because that particular problem is no challenge for us.  Our own problems are very different; if only they could see how difficult our problems are, then they would see how easily solved their problems are.  

However, this all seems so clear once I am standing on the stairway.

Of Virtue, Vice, and Fear

Of my fears and of the self-avoidant overcautiousness of my heart, I have often crafted virtues from what are, in reality, vices.  I believe that many of us do this from time to time.  We self justify our secret fears and private vices until they become, in our eyes, virtues.  We couch our failings in lauditory tones until they seem to be the very dew drops of heaven and we defend them fierociously.  And that, this prickly defensiveness, is what demarcates a virtue so-called, born of fear and that certain fretful, fearful looking for the wrath we know in secret but deny in public that we deserve from the true virtue that neither needs nor demands any such jusification.

I have found myself doing this often; often because of my innate and sometimes paralyzing shyness.  Through force of will, I have been able to suppress my isolating tendencies and move beyond my selfish self.  However, I have my limits even still and this has destroyed many potentials friendships and relationships because I quite honestly am terrified of becoming emotionally close to someone else.  I have acually sabotaged relationships and avoided people simply because I felt myself becoming emotionally vulnerable.  I won't psychoanalize that any further partly out of a list ditch effort to save face and partly because I don't value psychanalysis very much.    Somehow out of my fear of others, I have crafted some sense of noble, self-destructive stoicism.   

I have seen other people carefully crafting their own damnation out of their fears, brick by brick damming their self improvement because they are too afraid to look honestly at their own reflections in the clear light of day.  It is unnerving to look and assess oneself honestly and that includes honestly acknowledging the good as well as the bad.  The sticking point is ego.  

I have contemplated ego quite a bit, not mine in particular, but just egos in general.  I have often wondered what exactly the "self" is and its relationship to attributes and qualities.  It is difficult for me to extrapolate my self from the qualities I ascribe to myself.   How to disentangle the easy going, shy bookworm from me, if indeed that is possible.  Pride remains the stumbling block, for pride is the root of fear.  Fear reenforces pride and from it extrapolates the devlish rationales that create the silken cords which bind us down to destruction by lulling our senses to our failings.