Radio Beloved

On hearing of the death of John the Baptist, possibly one of the men in the world who knew Jesus Christ best, the Savior sought the solitude of desert places. We know naught of what he was feeling, or whether he went to mourn or worship or commune. The record reads:

When Jesus heard of it, he departed thence by ship into a desert place apart: and when the people had heard thereof, they followed him on foot out of the cities.
And Jesus went forth, and saw a great multitude, and was moved with compassion toward them, and he healed their sick.
–Matthew 14:13-14

There was not, at this time, a quiet moment of meditation for Jesus. Rather, the pressing crowds, oblivious of their intrusion on his desired tranquility, demanded instant attention. Christ did not for a moment begrudge them this, but immediately, “moved with compassion”, turned to their ministry.

Recently, I was musing on frustration in life, and stress, and their geneses via our own unrealistic expectations. We stayed with the family of my wife’s sister, her husband, and their five children. There wasn’t much time to do anything remotely personal with all the hectic running about and attention that five kids require, and at the beginning of the week I found myself staring into the abyss. I wondered how I could ever shoulder the burdens of parenthood for the long years required, when I have so many things I still want to do and be.

I came to realize, however, that although the parents may not be doing all that they may have envisioned in their past, they were not unhappy, but very, very satisfied with their good family life. It struck me that I’ve been approaching life incorrectly. Life isn’t about meeting the peculiar urges and desires of this ego right now, but about becoming via study, prayer, meditation, and especially selfless service, begrudging no moment to another’s salvation when necessary (less [of ourselves] is more [like who we need to be]). And I’m referring to much more than just parenting, although that is a wonderful example.

Self-fulfillment is a relatively modern notion, but it finds little scriptural support. Life isn’t about becoming the armyman-doctor-fairyprincess-astronaut with a pony we may have dreamt of as children. It isn’t about becoming the MBA or black belt or bishop we may dream of now. Some of these may happen incidentally, as we choose righteous pursuits and use them to hone our spiritual development, but the divine expectation is not that we seek to meet our own needs now but that we change and grow into the sort of being who is happy in the service of God.

A changing definition of happiness is also needed. Instead of constant pleasure-seeking, we need to become happy with the things God allots to us and happy in the service he requests. It is not a sacrifice of happiness, but a recognition that in this subjective redefinition greater peace and happiness is possible than ever we suspected before. This is no idle leap of faith, either–turning your back on years of wishing and planning can be frightening, but it need not be a resignation to despair.

The prophet Alma exclaimed:

But behold, I am a man, and do sin in my wish [to do more than I have been called to do]; for I ought to be content with the things which the Lord hath allotted unto me.
I ought not to harrow up in my desires, the firm decree of a just God, for I know that he granteth unto men according to their desire, whether it be unto death or unto life; yea, I know that he allotteth unto men, yea, decreeth unto them decrees which are unalterable, according to their wills, whether they be unto salvation or unto destruction.
–Alma 29:3-4

In other words, we get what we want, though we don’t always suspect the terms of that fulfillment. Joseph F. Smith wrote of “educating our desires”–that “in nature we have our seedtime and harvest”. He also preached, “Our desires are the strongest motives which incite us to energy and which make us productive and creative in life” (Smith, Gospel Doctrine, pp. 297-98). This is a solemn reminder and rejoinder to continually engage in the deliberate practice of self-purification.

Verily, verily, I say unto you, Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit.
He that loveth his life shall lose it; and he that hateth his life in this world shall keep it unto life eternal.
–John 12:24-25

Thou fool, that which thou sowest is not quickened, except it die.
–1 Corinthians 15:36

We are now a hard kernel of wheat, dead but with infinite potential. Face to face with the breadth of charity, charity greater than love, we pause in trepidation. Yet there need be no fear in the consecration of ourselves to God, nor in the metamorphosis from a selfish creature to a child of God. Far less of our ego than we suspect is truly who we are, and far more of our potential.

I’ve been reading Don Quijote (en castellano; hyperlinked books are the versions I’ve read) for about two years now. Pretty good, considering that it’s the first book outside the Book of Mormon that I’ve read in Spanish (since I’ve started it I’ve read some others).

A dominant theme of Cervantes’ masterpiece is the disconnect between idealism and realism. Don Quijote believes completely in his fantasy, to the point of facilitating others’ willfull deception of him. The hidalgo is not loyal to reality, he’s only loyal to his notion of it, whether or not they are consistent with his sensuous, phenomenal experience. Because of this, he ends up disillusioned and even somewhat embittered–but whose fault is it? It raises an interesting question, phrased by Roger Waters as the choice between “a walk-on part in the war [and] a lead role in a cage.”

Don Quijote is sincere in his efforts, but he is fundamentally incorrect, both in his approach to the world and his interpretation of it. His will to believe in knight-errantry leads him into situations quite as ridiculous as the metaphysical acrobatics in which those who believe in doubt engage.

The trick is to be both sincere and correct. The basis of approaching Truth is to approach it without preconceptions (impossible) and with complete willingness to accept the ramifications (unlikely).

Do you begin from what you know (risking starting from the conclusion) or do you reduce completely in the Cartesian sense (risking abandonment on the lone rocky outcropping of skepticism)? How do you ensure that your mental framework(s) of belief is (are) both logically self-consistent and externally consistent? Is that possible in a pluralistic world?

Personally, I’m something of a fideist when it comes down to it. I’m not antirational–reason can validate your experience and guide your path, but it is not the basis of it. There are always certain facets of your existence which you know, deep down inside, to be true; experiences you’ve had which have come to define your essence. It is possible to radically reinterpret those experiences, but not to discard them without be inauthentic to yourself.

All this brings me to my next point: David Hume and skepticism. Hume masterfully asserted (among other things) the complete unreliability of eyewitness accounts which narrate fantastic stories and religious miracles. The fatal flaw in his assumptions (and he would have been a good engineer; he always states them) is that he always assumes that you yourself, the rational being to whom Hume appeals, have had the same or substantially similar phenomenal existence that he has had. I’m not talking here about the validity of Biblical or other ancient miracles, I’m not talking about their consistency with holy writ or each other or what we perceive the nature and will of God to be; I’m talking about personal, subjective, experiential perception, yours and mine. Differences in subjective perception aside, have you ever experienced something which you consider quite unlikely to be explained by rational, reductivist means? I know that I certainly have, and although I believe that God works within physical processes and laws (regardless to our empirical understanding thereof), I know that he often effects circumstances we would recognize as frankly preternatural if we weren’t continually trying to apply post-Enlightenment reason to break them down into mechanistic terms (with mixed results). Oftentimes we can succeed in identifying the physical devices God uses, but fail to examine motivations; similarly, we attribute too much to chance and too little to Providential benevolence.

Doubt is a temporary state, not a perpetual one. It is inherently negative, because it creates nothing but only takes. (Read Kierkegaard’s Johannes Climacus for more details). It is a useful tool, but not an end. The will to believe is more powerful, and speaks to our innermost desires. For instance, our brains are pattern-detecting machines. The brain thrives on symbols and patterns, because it is looking for information and truth. In large part, how effective it is at constructing the framework is due to what we put into it. The mind wants to believe, and it will believe in doubt as firmly as it will in faith. In any case, any event, whether dubbed miraculous or not, is subject to continuing reinterpretation over the lifetime ensuing.

I am not convinced that reason can ever constitute the firm foundation of experience and interpretation, but only the exposition and development thereof. Most of our day-to-day lives are constructed on faith, and I’m not talking about the specious example of the sun rising every day or electromagnetics continuing to be true. We have faith in human goodness (or badness), faith in God or fortune or the absolute lack of both, faith that there is something called me which thinks these thoughts, and faith that there are no Cartesian demons invalidating all external sensuous perception.

I’m reading Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason, in which he outlines the modes and nature of human thought and perception and judgment. What we generally mean when we refer to reason is the a priori (first principles) analysis he puts forth in that volume. But although the interior worldview we synthesize is a conglomerate constructed by reason (his unity of apperception), it does not mean that every element thereof is strictly rational. It just means that the pencil we used to connect the dots was reason–but the same is true of imagination. (The irony of using reason to understand reason does not escape me.)

So on what can we ultimately build? That’s not a question I’m prepared to fully answer (and may never be, in this mortal sphere), but we can build on the experiential truths we’ve acquired over the years. Many things need to be questioned, but a few do not. For instance, I have absolute faith in the physical and metaphysical reality of the Atonement of Jesus Christ, though I am far from understanding it or even its absolute necessity or mechanism. I have absolute faith in the capacity of the Holy Ghost to communicate itself directly to the heart and mind, without intervening sensuous phenomena. Those are starting points for exploring the universe, and certainly more stable than the fragile point I call ego.

The question is: What can reason do that faith cannot?

I just ran across a site that crystallized some thoughts which have been floating around in my head for a while. It’s an article on time usage, Gin, Television, and Social Surplus, discussing the disgusting amount of collective useful time we burn in this world every single day. Go read it, and see if it doesn’t change your perspective just a little bit.

I’ve been considering the utility of my time lately; you can see some evidence of that in my last post, the thoughts on self-improvement and the application of the Atonement in our lives. What books we could read, what books we could write, what languages we could learn, what dreams we could realize, if we were just willing to reach forward and turn off the television. I’ve started turning off the power strip for the TV (even before I read this article), so it takes enough effort to watch television that I don’t do it unless I’m determined. In other terms, if it takes less effort to pick up Wuthering Heights than it does to walk over to the TV, turn it on, and find the remote, I’ll be reading a lot more Brontë.

While I don’t agree with Clay Shirky’s conclusion that we need to spend more time in social networking media, I do believe that how we utilize our own cognitive surplus will be something we’ll be held accountable for, before our family, our society, and our God.

Verily I say, men should be anxiously engaged in a good cause, and do many things of their own free will, and bring to pass much righteousness;

For the power is in them, wherein they are agents unto themselves. And inasmuch as men do good they shall in nowise lose their reward.

–D&C 58:27-28