Faith Waits

Life isn't fair, which is arguably an implication of believing in a God who defines what is fair, is powerful enough to destroy all that’s unfair, but allows the most virulent incarnations of unfairness to flourish anyway.

Ah, you say, but that’s just the problem of pain, a conundrum of faith you’ve already contemplated to your satisfaction. Some people—perhaps you included—resolve the paradox by saying God is infinitely wise and knows that goodness is possible only in the presence of its opposite. How can anyone, for instance, be judged righteous, who hasn’t recognized and overcome evil? To this you might add another, supremely comforting, idea: While mortality is pain-filled and subject to corruption, it’s but a blink of an eye compared to the eternal reward that awaits the just. Fairness will come in the hereafter.

But do you see the problem with that notion? I’m not referring to the inexplicable narrative of how God creates a world and populates it with children He loves, only to watch them kill and brutalize each other. Rather, I speak of the license it gives the living to do likewise, to simply witness the evil and say: “Thank God, for the pain is only for a moment and He will right these wrongs.” This shining article of faith serves as a salve on the conscience and a boast to all who hear it, but it’s also an excuse to do nothing. The living could mitigate life’s unfairness, but too many abide by a tainted premise: While shit rains, I can wait for God’s will to manifest itself, there’s no need for an umbrella.

And so faith waits.

We pray for peace—just like we pray for the hungry, the naked and the sick—but rarely do we become the miracles we seek. Help for the displaced pales beside the wars, pogroms, class boundaries and other weapons of alienation that displace even more. All the while our faith waits for the end times, or a miracle, or some other divine response to prayer’s equivalent of kicking the ball into God’s court.  I would rather we had no faith in a hereafter at all and worked to bring heaven here.  Maybe our world would be more caring and sharing then.

The Doubt Essential to Faith

When I was a young Mormon missionary, I was intrigued by a dialogue that I would hear regularly during one of the lessons we taught investigators.  The lesson was entitled, The Plan of Salvation, and one of the first tenants it covered was our reasons for being born into mortality. According to Mormon theology, there are two grand purposes for our lives here on earth: 1) To gain a body and 2) To learn to walk by faith.  In combination, the two conditions allow us to be tested.  Regarding the second purpose, my missionary companion and I were very quick to point out that faith is not a perfect knowledge.  Humans, we taught, were caused to forget their pre-mortal existence with God, so that faith was not only possible, but that uncertainty would become an ingredient of their lives.  

Now, here's the interesting part of the story.  No sooner would we cover this concept than my companion would say with the greatest conviction: "I bear you my testimony that I know these things are true."  And he would repeat the same mantra, time and time again, after relating new theological concepts.  Was my companion a bit nutty?  Of course not, because that's exactly what our lesson plan taught us to say, but do you see the irony in this?  We were essentially saying: Faith isn't a perfect knowledge, but we can know that it's a necessary part of our existence and that all aspects of Mormon theology are true.  

As I've pointed out before, the fundamentalist's dogmatic and unshakable boast that he knows God's will on a matter disregards the fact that faith has far more to do with uncertainty than knowledge of what is true.  Yet, Christians deem uncertainty as a kind of failing and a sin.  When I tell my Mormon friends that I've become agnostic to everything that the church teaches, except for the most fundamental of Christ's commandments that we're to love each other, they believe I've committed some horrible wrong that keeps me from true communion with God.  I would know otherwise, they say, if I'd only humble myself and pray with real intent.  

I've done that, of course.  For decades there was nothing more important to me than to one day know that the church was true, but God answered my pleas in a way that surprised me.  The fact is, if we harbor no doubts about Noah and his ark, or if we stick to literal readings of Genesis, then we relegate Christian culture to a scientific backwater that fears facts and learning.  We might as well read chicken entrails for the value it provides.  

Press this link for a wonderful TED speech given by Lesley Hazleton, who has apparently been doing a lot of thinking on this topic.

Faith as a Grain of Mustard Seed

Be patient with me here, because I’ll attempt to show that a popular interpretation of an important scripture is incorrect and leads to corrupted thinking.  First, let me make a rather obvious statement: Math and logic are types of languages. For example, the function f(x) = a + xb can be expressed in plain English as an equation that describes a straight line, where x is the slope. Similarly, the statement “If x, then y” also has a corollary in both grammar and logic.

Consider, for example, the following sentence that is a reference to the game of basketball: “If you are tall, you can rebound.” Here, the initial clause establishes that being tall is a necessary condition for what follows, which is the ability to rebound. Now, I’m not saying the sentence is true. I’m only summarizing what the expression is trying to say. Regarding its veracity, however, most people would agree that all else being equal—relative athleticism, strength, experience, and the ability to leap and grasp—the taller of any two men will be the better rebounder in a game of hoop.

Let’s now make a small adjustment to the sentence. Add the word “even” to the beginning of it and the result is this: Even if you are tall, you can rebound. Anyone who thought the previous sentence was intuitively correct will find fault in this one. Why? With this change the condition of being tall is disparaged. The meaning of the sentence is, in effect, that the ability to rebound is a fait accompli. It will occur despite one being tall.

This is an important distinction because it’s at the center of what I consider a misreading of an important declaration Christ makes in Matthew Chapter 17. In a passage that begins with verse 14, Jesus performs a miracle His disciples had attempted, but failed, to accomplish. When asked why previous efforts had been ineffective, Jesus answers that it was because of the “unbelief” of His followers. He goes on to say:

For verily I say unto you, If ye have faith as a grain of mustard seed, ye shall say unto this mountain, Remove hence to yonder place; and it shall remove; and nothing shall be impossible unto you.

Notice that Christ’s words are couched as a conditional statement similar to the one I introduced above. That being said, when people quote the scripture, they tend to disparage faith the size of “a grain of mustard seed” and interpret the statement as though it begins with the term, “Even if.” In doing so, they imply that bigger is better. However one can assume from a literal reading of the scripture that Christ isn’t being critical of a small grain-sized amount of faith, but is presenting a necessary pre-condition for the miraculous in life to occur. It’s possible that He’s describing an ideal!

Perhaps what He’s saying is that faith doesn’t imbue us with power despite its small size, but rather because faith at its most powerful is small and inconspicuous, that it doesn’t walk with a swagger but admits that it doesn’t know. Admitting to a lack of knowledge is the beginning of true learning. On the other hand, when we convince ourselves in an a priori fashion that the Bible is an infallible rendering of reality, then we become apologists to everything it contains, including, for example, its approval of slavery. In this way, apologists don’t discover anything new, because they don’t seek knowledge or wisdom. What they seek is only comfort and confirmation and they’ll obtain both, even if it requires them to ignore facts and discrepancies.

The difference in people who practice true scholarship verses apologetics is remarkable. The difference is especially clear when comparing the accomplishments of the people of my church—the Mormons—verses people who identify as being Jewish. I once heard a Jewish friend of mine say that if you put two Jews in a room, you will have between them five different opinions. That’s because they welcome questions and intellectual inquiry, even if it countermands previously held notions of truth. One of their heroes, the 13th Century thinker Maimonides, coined the phrase “Teach my mouth to say I don’t know.” Maimonides taught that to admit to a lack of knowledge was a noble and courageous act.

To Mormons and other fundamentalist Christian sects, however, doubt and questioning has been elevated to a sin. Disbelief is deemed the fault of individuals, rather than an implication of life’s uncertainty. When scriptures lead to moral ambiguity, it becomes the duty of Christian apologists to ignore the discrepancies. That’s the message of Mormon leaders who have excommunicated church intellectuals for speaking truthfully—but too critically—about the organization’s past. One of its leaders, Boyd K. Packer, has demonstrated his mistrust of intellectual inquiry by saying, “Some things that are true are not very useful.”

How these two differing worldviews translate into a regard for scholarship is clear. There are roughly as many people in this world who self-identify as being Jewish as there are Mormons, but while 185 Jews have earned Nobel Prizes, no Mormon has yet to receive the honor.

Coincidence? I don’t think so.

Catch the Irony?

I served a mission for the Mormon Church in Tokyo, Japan.  While I don't share many of the fundamental beliefs of its membership anymore, I consider my missionary service as one of the finest things I've ever done.  But here's a tiny example of what I find disturbing about the work and what it does to the young men and women who provide the selfless service. 

One of the lessons we taught to investigators of the church was a doctrine referred to as the Plan of Salvation.  According to Mormon theology, we came to earth after living as spirits in God's presence and did so for two important reasons: 1) to gain a body and 2) to have the memory of the pre-existence taken from us so that we could learn to live by faith.  Regarding the second purpose, we were quick to say that faith was not a perfect knowledge, but something akin to belief.  However, no sooner would we teach this than my companion would invariably say (because I refused to make such a statement) that he knew these things were true. 

Do you see the irony?  So few Christians do.  For the most part they acknowledge the need for faith--even agree that faith has more to do with uncertainty than perfect knowledge--but then they fill their lives with dogma.  Saying one has faith in the Bible is entirely different than forcing one's reality to conform to the Bible's teachings.  Yet, that's what many Christians do when rejecting science in favor of scripture.  Remember how pious church leaders forced Galileo to do the same and turned back the clock on the human understanding of the solar system?  Recall also that a variety of evil acts have been perpetuated--slavery, for example--by using scripture to support them. 

In my opinion, faith should be the thing we cling to until the truth of a matter is made evident.  Now, of that I can bear testimony.

How Did the Rapture Work Out for You?

If you're reading this, I'm guessing you weren't called home in the rapture.  Join the club.   

I wasn't horrified by my continued presence in mortality.  My wife and I often say (tongue in cheek, of course) that we know we're going to hell, but at least we'll be entertained by the surprised looks on people's faces when they realize they've joined us there.  In fact, I've not spent a minute even considering the possible timing of an apocalypse.  There's too many other things to worry about--things that we have some amount of control over--including: global warming, the growing divide between the haves and have nots and war. 

Here is where I stand regarding the obsession over the End Times.  If we diverted the energy many people spend in determining when the events in Revelation will happen in favor of activities that actually bless the lives of others, we'd be far better off.  There's a corollary among some of the LDS faithful, who spend oodles of money in trips to Central America to visit ruins that they believe are evidence of the civilizations described in the Book of Mormon.  These efforts are akin to apologetic thinking, which only comforts people in their beliefs and leads to no real improvement in their lives.  It's like painting by the numbers: decorous, but without a soul. 

Let's stop speculating about things even Christ said we can't predict and use that energy to solve real problems.  Is it a deal?

What It Takes to Be Christian

Can you call yourself a Christian if you don’t believe in the virgin birth?  What if you’re unable to accept the notion that Jesus was the literal son of God and that He died for our sins?  What if all you believe is that His gospel of love, service and forgiveness is the best way to live and will produce saints of us all?  Are you a Christian then?

I hope so, because I consider myself to be a Christian, but as you might have guessed from the opening paragraph, I don’t believe in what some refer to as the mystery of Christ’s birth or His mission to atone for our sins.  In this way, I might be a goat among the Shepherd’s flock, but that doesn’t mean I don’t love the Shepherd and what He represents.  In fact my greatest desire is that we—all of us, together—learn to live His creed more fully. 

Some people will read this and conclude I lack faith and am destined for hell.  They’re welcome to their opinion, but I’m convinced that Christ would be happier if we lived His gospel, rather than simply believed in its mystical trappings.  As a father, I don’t care if my sons think I was the smartest investment banker who ever lived.   I only hope they’ve learned from my best deeds and intentions, and that they practice kindness and generosity in everything they do.  Faith might be a noun in the dictionary, but it must, of necessity, be a verb in the heart.  A kind-hearted Hindu is far better off than a hypocrite who claims to have been born again. 

In the same way, lip service means nothing to me.  In my mind, being a Christian has little to do with publically testifying of the Savior’s greatness and expressing love for Him.  Such pronouncements are the spiritual equivalent of muscle flexing on Venice Beach.  Rather, the gospel should be about putting one’s money where one’s mouth is.  Show me a person who emulates all that is good in Jesus and I’ll show you someone who doesn’t need to say he owes it all to God. 

Creating Myths

I've mentioned this before, but I grew up in an idyllic place in SouthCentral Alaska, a place with a history rich in interesting anecdotes and colorful people. One of the town's more fasinating stories dates back to 1778 when the British sea captain, James Cook, discovered the bay at the mouth of the Kenai River.

When the Athabascan Indians who lived there saw Captain Cook’s ships, Resolution and Discovery, they thought the vessels were whales of a breed they’d never seen before. So, a few of them approached in seal-skin canoes to investigate. When they got close, they were met by a stench that caused many of them to get sick. Shipbuilders at the time sealed the hulls of large ships with tar to protect the timbers. The Indians had never smelled anything like it, but a few brave souls ventured onto the ships and were immediately amazed by the things they saw.

In particular, two observations had a lasting influence on them. First, the Athabascans had never seen people smoke tobacco before and they found the habit fascinating. Second, they were amazed by the unusual clothing that Cook's men wore and they were especially impressed with the rows of brass buttons sewed onto the men's sleeves. Later that day, the natives returned to their village with an astonishing, but perfectly understandable, story. They had met a fire-eating and smoke-breathing breed of men, who had arms like octopi and lived on the dead and decaying carcasses whales.

I tell you this story to illustrate a point: It’s quite easy to create and perpetuate a myth, and that’s true for religious concepts, as well. You'll see below another excerpt from Autumn Run that illustrates the point. 
____________________________________________

Jesse Toyonek’s life went topsy-turvy when his niece returned to the village.  She’d been away at school, getting her head filled with strange notions, and came back like a whirlwind of opinions.  It was her idea, for example, that Jesse get a job and make something of himself.  But from the day he left for the Aleutians—a letter in his pocket promising him work—his only wish was to return home to the Killborn River. 

If he’d been told he was on the moon, Jesse might have believed it.  There were no tundra-covered valleys spilling out of mountain passes, no stands of timber.  He saw only craggy hillsides, occasional tufts of grass, and the ocean surging around him.  The co-workers with whom he shared a barracks could have been from another world, too.  They were white kids on break from college, who talked of little else but sex and money.  To Jesse—a thirty-five year-old virgin with no bank account in his name—their chatter amounted to nonsense.  He’d never been among so many people, yet he’d never felt so lonely.

Then came a day worse than all the rest, a day bad enough to make him ache for the Dutch Harbor cannery where he butchered fish.  He was hauling gillnet to a beach site across the bay when a fog came up.  A few hours later he was still in the skiff, unsure of his location and out of gas.  Throughout the day and the next night he drifted about in the tide, the fog so thick it soaked his black hair and formed droplets that rolled down his glasses.  He rowed to stay headlong into the swells and bailed as water spilled over the bow. 

Jesse wished for the wisdom of the old ones.  In sealskin kayaks his people had once traveled the ocean and understood it in ways long since forgotten.  From changes in water color, crosscurrents, and whirlpools, they could tell the location of land and bad weather beyond their sight.  What would he give for that knowledge now?

He’d almost lost hope of ever seeing home again, when the fog turned to wisps and scattered in a rising wind.  With a view to the horizon, however, a sense came to him that he was alone in a world without end.  The water grew rough.  His body hurt from exertion and cold.  He almost wished for the fog’s return, until he glanced over his shoulder and saw land in the distance.  Jesse wondered how far it might be: one mile, or a hundred.

He stole another glimpse at the island and noticed spray rising off the shore, an indication that it was close.  Even better, the wind and tide combined to push him toward it.  In time he spotted a narrow beach pressed between steep bluffs.  He aimed for the haulout and heaved with all his might across the chop.  For an hour he worked the paddles, his back feeling like it might snap.  The closer he approached, the more violent the sea became.  White water threatened to swamp him, but he held his course. 

When the hull finally scraped bottom, Jesse leaped overboard and wrestled the skiff forward.  He came out of the water and fell, as limp as the seaweed surrounding him.  His cheek struck rock and gravel before exhaustion raised a wall between his thoughts and everything outside his head.  In seconds he was neither asleep nor fully conscious, but in a limbo between the two.

###

Time passed and Jesse became aware of movement, only to realize it was his own body shivering.  He wanted rest, but knew he needed a fire.  In agony he pushed himself to his knees, cleaned the salt off his glasses and scanned his surroundings.  The tide was ebbing and the skiff was nearly out of the water.  He stood to secure it and the effort to hoist the anchor overboard brought tears to his eyes. 

Jesse took a seat in the back of the boat, his legs thigh-deep in seawater, and released the drain plug.  As the water spilled, he checked a storage bin for anything useful and found a waterproof bag with blanket and a hatchet, matches and a flashlight inside.  For the first time in what had seemed like days he smiled.  Maybe I’ll see my village again, he thought. 

He compared the beauty of his home near Bristol Bay to the strange place upon which he’d landed.  Except for the beach, the island was composed of right angles and black cliffs that reached to the sky.  There were no trees, but Jesse saw a line of driftwood further up the haulout.  He stepped out of the boat, intending to gather fuel for a fire, when he was startled by the sight of smoke.  It rose from behind a steep hill to his right and he wondered if a cabin or campsite lay beyond it. 

Across a stretch of surf-flattened rocks he stumbled to the bluff and began to climb.  There was a ridge twenty feet up and he was halfway to it when he noticed something odd.  The smoke continued to rise, but it vanished quickly and didn’t leave a smell.  Not until he reached the summit did he understand.  What he’d thought was evidence of a fire was only steam hovering over a waterfall.  And the queerest aspect of the scene was this: The water was hot. 

It tumbled over a lip of rock and formed a shallow pool several steps down the summit.  In his cupped hands Jesse caught a portion of the falling water and lifted it to his mouth.  It was fresh and tea-flavored—hot, but not scalding.  He lowered himself into the stream and the water crashed over him, soothing his aching muscles and warming the chill in his gut.  Within minutes he was asleep.

###

Jesse awoke, dizzy with hunger, a share of his strength restored.  He stepped out of the pool and raised his eyes toward the cry of seabirds.  The thought of gull eggs made his mouth water and he looked to the cliff face for a way to the top.  His view went from outcropping to ledge—from crease to crevasse—but in the end he rubbed the stubble on his chin and whispered. 

“I could break a leg up there.”

He turned and picked his way to shore.  At the base of the bluff he found hairy crabs, snails, and seaweed.  He cracked open a sea urchin and sucked out its creamy innards.  Limpets and mussels clung to the rocks and he gorged on them.  As his hunger abated, he began to think of the island as a magical place, like the setting in a child’s fairy tale.  It had saved him—even given him warmth and food.  What other gifts might it provide?

He returned to the boat and dragged two driftwood logs together—enough fuel, he reckoned, to burn through the first few hours of twilight and signal his presence.  Evening came and he could barely keep his eyes open and his legs moving.  At the head of the beach, where the bluff began its straight-up rise, he found a cleft in the rock and dropped to his knees before it.

The opening seemed to lead into a warm and spacious cavern, but the interior was dark and smelled oddly like gunpowder.  He crawled inside, drawing his survival gear behind him.  With no other thought than the need for rest, he peeled off his wet clothes and wrapped himself in a blanket.  Before his head touched rock, he was already dreaming of home. 

###

The next morning the screeching of gulls startled Jesse awake.  In the dark he put on his clothes and emerged from the cave with the sun overhead.  He shaded his eyes to search the beach and saw a flock of seabirds fighting over a dead tomcod.  Jesse chased the gulls away and salvaged the fish.  He cooked it beside a newly kindled fire, when a mix of surprise and gratitude overwhelmed him. 

Except for a few minor aches and scrapes, he felt like a new man.  What’s more, the fish seemed to have come as another gift, like the fresh water and warm shelter he’d received the previous day.  He was happy to be alive, but his circumstances puzzled him.  Who’s doing this for me? he wondered.  And why?

Jesse ate his fill and gathered more driftwood.  He fed the fire to mark the beach and hoped to maintain the blaze by working and sleeping in shifts.  Satisfied with his progress, he returned to the cave to rest, but as he slipped inside, sounds of his entry echoed and caused him to wonder what was hidden in the darkness.  From his survival bag he fished out the flashlight and pointed it into the gloom. 

What appeared on the far wall made his mouth open in shock.  He saw drawings—dozens of them—like an ocean full of kayaks, whales, and other sea creatures.  He panned slowly across the rock face, thinking: That’s how it used to be—that’s how my people once lived.  He was lost in the glory of it, when the light fell upon a man sitting within a stone alcove.  Jesse screamed and dropped the flashlight.  He held his breath and listened for a response.

“Who are you?” he asked, but there was only silence. 

Jesse’s heart beat like a village drum and he wondered if his head had played tricks on him.  He retrieved the flashlight and trained its beam again.  The man was still there, sitting cross-legged and naked, not far from where Jesse had slept the night before.  His eyes looked empty and his face was deeply wrinkled.  Scattered about him were treasures: a kayak, ropes, spears, floats, and nets. 

“Are these yours?” Jesse asked, but the man remained silent and unmoving.  He didn’t even breathe.

       

###

Early the following afternoon a plane circled overhead as if looking for a place to land.  Jesse stood on the haulout and waved, but the plane left and was replaced by a Coast Guard cutter that appeared offshore the next morning.  The ship lowered a motorized inflatable boat that two rescuers piloted to shore. 

Jesse was almost sad to see them come.  He’d enjoyed the company of his wrinkled and unmoving host, a being he’d begun to think of as the god of the island.  At the time of the rescue Jesse was sitting outside the cave with the god and all his possessions spread out around them.  Amazed by the craftsmanship, Jesse studied a bone-tipped spear and committed its design to memory.  He looked up when one of the rescuers, a fellow with red hair and a thin moustache, drew near. 

“Mr. Toyonek?” the man said.

Jesse nodded.

“We’ve been looking for you.  Are you okay?  Any injuries?” 

“I’m good.”

“What do you have there?”  The rescuer knelt and pointed to the god of the island, whose head was resting in Jesse’s lap.

“He saved me.”

“Saved you?”  The man laughed and moved closer.  “It looks to be a mummy.”

Jesse was stunned.  How could the god of the island be a mommy, when he was clearly a man?  Too flustered to correct his rescuer, he asked, “Are you going to take me home now?”

“Sure, but I’m wondering what to do with your friend.”  He turned to his colleague, who arrived carrying a medical bag.  “Take a look at this.”

“I’ll be damned.”  The second man gazed at the items scattered before the cave mouth.  “It’s Aleut, isn’t it?”

“Seems likely, but how old?”

“There’s no metal in any of it.  Even the fishhooks are made of bone.  I’d say it predates the coming of the Russians.  We can’t leave it here, can we?”

“My thoughts, exactly.”

Half an hour later Jesse was on the ship.  The rescuers led him to the galley, where several uniformed people sat at a long table.  They gathered around him, offered him hot coffee and asked how he’d survived the bad weather and days alone.  Jesse tried to answer, but when the ship began to leave, he felt a pang of misgiving. 

“Why are you taking the god of the island?” he asked.  “This is his home.  I know that much.”

The galley quieted.  Jesse looked from one crew member to another and saw confusion on their faces.  A gray-haired man finally spoke.  “Are you talking about what you found?” he asked.  “Because it’s quite a discovery.  Folks at the university will want to study it.”

“Why?”

The man shrugged.  “It’s in our nature, isn’t it?  Don’t we all want to learn about our past?”

The words put new ideas in Jesse’s head.  Maybe, he decided, it wasn’t an accident that he’d landed upon the island.  The more he considered that possibility, the more it seemed right.  But for what purpose had he been saved?  Suddenly he imagined life as it once had been, the same life depicted on the walls of the cave where he’d slept.  It was a simple existence with a clear purpose.  Didn’t the gray-haired man speak the truth, as if the words had been put in his mouth? 

We must learn from our past. 

A Couple of Poems

Here are a couple of poems I recently wrote that depict what I believe to be completely justifiable ways to relate to whatever we call God.  Acknowledging that faith is not a perfect knowledge and admitting that we are riddled with doubt is a good first step.  Rejecting the view that God is jealous and vengeful is a good second.  To do so would help render us more honest and forgiving.

Only Human

By my electric

Involuntary word,

Unseen legions rally

To battle the clandestine intruders

And renegade factions

That would destroy this vessel.

Making possible a storybook universe,

Embedded in dreams

And impenetrable longing,

Peopled by the captured and constructed,

Who cry for attention,

Then whisper in equal measure:

Truth and lies.

They have sentience

And also free will,

Capable of posing

That most disconcerting of questions:

Why should you be any different?

Maybe God, too, is an impulse

In the synapse of a greater consciousness.

Brushing Up to Godliness

I commanded, “No,”

But still he leaped,

Then whirled in midair,

Blinded and sneezing,

Frothing from the mouth.

The skunk wandered off,

Unbothered,

Just another day

For a being possessed with power

Worthy of a comic book character.

It was a bad morning to be without a leash.

Hand to collar,

We staggered to the nearest pond,

Barely able to breathe,

Rubbing the stink and the sting

From our tear-filled eyes.

Oh, I dunked him—

Be assured that I dunked him good—

Muttering all along,

“You damn dog.”

On the way home—

He in back,

Muzzle on paws,

Sad eyes only now opening

To the possibility of new

And disquieting hazards—

I lowered the window

And laughed into the passing breeze.

So what if the Jeep will never be the same?

Will I condemn the penitent

For his most endearing

Instincts and preoccupations:

Childlike enthusiasm

And boundless curiosity?

Perfection is unwarranted.

Give me quirkiness instead,

And other sweet foibles,

In all their glorious variety.

If so blessed,

Laughter will accompany me

Everywhere I go.

Adam's Transgression

There are aspects of the biblical account of Adam’s transgression that I’ve always found disturbing, but never heard addressed—never, that is, except once in a youth Sunday School class that I attended thirty years ago.

The teacher, Sister Brownlee, had handed out Bibles and asked us to take turns reading the story of Adam and Eve. You’re familiar, no doubt, with the account. It tells of how God gave His first human creations a fertile garden and only two conditions regarding its use. First, He told them to multiply and replenish the earth. Second, He forbade them to eat a certain fruit, even warned them not to touch the tree bearing it or they would die. Though God’s mandate was clear, Satan—disguised as a serpent—slithered into Eden’s tranquility and tempted Adam and Eve to break that important second commandment.

He told them, “Ye shall not surely die: For God doth know that in the day ye eat thereof, then your eyes shall be opened, and ye shall be as gods, knowing good and evil.” In the end, the temptation was more than Adam and Eve could ignore.

Of that day the Bible says:

And the eyes of them both were opened, and they knew that they were naked; and they sewed fig leaves together, and made themselves aprons. And they heard the voice of the Lord God walking in the garden in the cool of the day: and Adam and his wife hid themselves from the presence of the Lord God amongst the trees of the garden.

Sister Brownlee asked us to consider the charity of our Creator. Adam and Eve had everything they needed, but do you see what they did? They stole from the source of their good fortune. She seemed ready to complete the thought and offer a comparison to our own lives, to say that God has given us much, yet we turn on Him in disobedience. Before she could do so, I raised my hand.

“God told Adam and Eve that they would die if they ate the fruit,” I said, “but they didn’t. Why is that? Was God just bluffing to make His children obey?”

Today, the question still seems like a good one to me, but by Sister Brownlee’s reaction, it was clear that I’d treaded into sensitive theological territory. Perhaps she thought I was accusing God of lying. “God speaks only the truth,” she said, frowning. “In a way, Adam and Eve did die because their offense robbed them of life with God. They became sinful and unworthy of His spirit. They were so guilt-ridden that they hid themselves from their Creator. The real liar was the serpent, Lucifer, who convinced Adam and Eve to transgress.”

It occurred to me as I pondered Sister Brownlee’s answer that it hadn’t really addressed my question. In fact, if anything, it had only suggested other questions that I couldn’t wait to ask. Without raising a hand, I said, “The serpent told Adam and Eve that they would learn the difference between good and evil, and that happened. Their eyes were opened. The Bible says so. The serpent led them to knowledge—a knowledge God seemed happy to keep from them. Why is that?”

There was a nervous twitter in the class, but Sister Brownlee forced herself to smile and explained. “Your confusion is understandable,” she said, “but this is an example of how the devil uses half-truths to confuse people. That’s why we need faith to keep from being deceived.”

Suddenly a thought entered my head, like traffic noise through a thin wall. At first I tried to ignore it, but it got my attention. Sister Brownlee had been dealt a question for which there was no answer, but she wouldn’t admit to the deficiency. Instead, she used the same wedge that has separated humankind from a great deal of worthwhile inquiry: the admonition to accept without questions. I knew even then that logic leads to intellectual canyons into which we must take a leap of faith. Yet our teacher had couched that leap in terms of truth and that wasn’t right, even if she could create an ignorant bliss by doing so.

But I digress. For those of you who believe the Bible to be the unadulterated word of God, let me reiterate the two questions:

1. Why did God warn Adam and Eve of a consequence that ultimately did not occur?
2. Why did God seem to want Adam and Eve to remain ignorant? (Not until they ate the forbidden fruit were their eyes opened, which was exactly what the serpent promised would happen).

Proof of Uncertainty

Kurt Godel proved that in any axiomatic mathematical system there are propositions that cannot be proved or disproved within the axioms of the system.

You’ve heard me say that logic invariably leads to faith, but don’t take my word for it. There’s considerable evidence to support the idea and people who love the hard sciences will especially appreciate it, because the confirmation comes from logic itself.

As an introduction, consider the 19th Century worldview and how it changed going into our modern age. Throughout the 1800s, there was great enthusiasm and optimism in the power of logic. Earlier scientific and mathematical discoveries—Newton’s classical physics, for example—had uncovered what seemed to be an elegant symmetry in nature, which gave intellectuals a view that all things could be understood in terms of scientific laws. In fact, people (the great Emmanuel Kant, included) believed the logic inherent in science would eventually lead to an understanding of the mind of God.

But cracks began to appear in this deterministic construct. One of the first was the development of non-Euclidean geometries that rejected a postulate used in the plane geometry we study in high school. The possibility that other postulates might be incorrect or of limited value ushered in an age of uncertainty that additional scientific and mathematical discovery only amplified.

The study of physics, for example, added to the disquiet. As physicists delved more deeply into the interactions of subatomic particles, they discovered that such relationships were based upon probabilities rather than strict rules as had been previously supposed. To make matters worse, one implication of the discovery was that the result of any subatomic interaction didn’t finalize until a sentient being observed it. To understand what this means, consider that old philosophical conundrum: If a tree falls in the forest and no one is there to hear it, does it make a sound? Well, according to one interpretation of quantum mechanics—the Copenhagen version first posited by the Nobel Laureate, Niels Bohr—the tree doesn’t even fall! Its subatomic particles remain in what is referred to as a probability wave until a sentient observer comes along. Thereupon the particles “choose” one of the infinite range of possibilities available to them. (My son, who is working on a physics PhD, tells me no one really believes that’s what happens, although it is consistent with the inexplicable results of various experiments. For more on this, see the book Schrodinger’s Kittens and the Search for Reality, by John Gribbin, which in my opinion is the best book about quantum mechanics written for lay people).

Perhaps one of the most significant discoveries that increased the uncertain worldview of our time was made by Bertrand Russell, a man who had once been a proponent of mathematical determinism. Russell discovered a logical inconsistency in set theory that is evident in the following question:

A man of Seville is shaved by the barber of Seville, if and only if, the man doesn’t shave himself. Does the barber shave himself?

The paradox can be described in a rigorous mathematical way, but consider the following simplification: Obviously, the barber of Seville either shaves himself or he doesn’t. Regardless, however, the result is illogical. If he shaves himself, he cannot be shaved by the barber of Seville, but since he is the barber of Seville and he shaves himself...well, you get the point. The problem, as Russell was able to distinguish, can occur anytime a set is an element of itself. For example, the set of men shaved by the barber of Seville (let’s call this A) is not an element of itself, because A is not a man shaved by the barber of Seville. However, let’s create another set (which we’ll call R) and include in it everything that is not in set A. Since set R is also not a man who is shaved by the barber of Seville, it is an element of itself, a characteristic often called self-referencing. This may seem like a trivial matter, but self-referencing can lead to serious logical problems and points to the limitations of logic.

Finally, let me describe a theorem that is simplistically sneaky, but has implications that have essentially put an end to strict mathematical determinism. I’m talking about Kurt Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem, which like Russell’s Paradox, has a rigorous mathematical rendering, but can be described in simplified terms.

Let’s say you create a computer that you call the Universal Truth Machine (or UTM for short) which you’ve programmed to tell the truth. Before approaching it, you write the following words on a sheet of paper:

The UTM will never say this sentence is true.

Now, you turn the UTM on, show it the paper and ask if the statement is true. What happens? First, the UTM can’t say the statement is true. Can you see why? If it does, the statement will be rendered false, which is contrary to the UTM’s programming. In a paradoxical way, the fact that the computer will not say the statement is true is your greatest evidence that the statement is, in fact, true. On the other hand, the UTM can’t say the statement is false, either, since as we’ve already demonstrated, that would be untrue. (Another way to look at it is if the UTM said the statement was false, it would render the statement true).
Again, the result seems contrived and trivial, but the math is sophisticated and full of implications. In short, Godel’s Incompleteness Theorem suggests that rational thought can never penetrate to the ultimate truth, or said another way: There are truths that cannot be discerned, or proved, strictly through the use of logic.

Touched by the Spirit

In response to one of my earlier blogs, Jack said the following:

I think you've overlooked the fact that when the spirit testifies of something (like, for example, that God lives) then you have your proof. That's more proof than anything a mathematician can show on paper.

To Jack and anyone else who cares to listen, let me relate a personal experience.

After Lori and I were married, we attended church at a Mormon ward that was comprised of young married students. I was asked, at the time, to organize regular events during which the ward members could gather and listen to speakers address issues of secular interest. Soon after accepting the responsibility, I heard of a man who’d uncovered numerous historical documents from the church's early days. I gave him a call and asked if he would speak to my congregation. He agreed without reservation.

On the evening of the event, the man came at the appointed time and brought several examples of documents he had uncovered. They included a fragment that contained Queen Isabella’s signature and another that came from an original Declaration of Independence. However, the document he showcased was a letter written by Lucy Mack Smith, the mother of the Mormon Church’s first prophet, Joseph Smith. He handed out copies of the letter printed on expensive parchment paper. I wish I still had my copy, but alas, I’ve lost it.

The letter was addressed to one of Lucy Mack Smith’s relations and told of the work Joseph was accomplishing to bring forth the Book of Mormon. He had, according to the letter, translated over 100 pages that Lucy referred to as the Book of Lehi. Two aspects of the letter’s contents are noteworthy. First, the over 100 pages (actually 116) were subsequently lost and never recovered. According to Mormon theology, God instructed Joseph to, rather than retranslate the work, replace it with a translation of another source document. Therefore, the contents of the original manuscript are the subject of much speculation. Nowhere that I know of, aside from the letter ascribed to Lucy Mack Smith, are there any claims that the lost pages were known as the Book of Lehi.

Second, the letter gives insight into Book of Mormon events that aren’t recorded in the current version. For example, the Book of Mormon talks of a prophet Lehi, who after prophesying of the destruction of Jerusalem, took his family into the desert to await further instruction from God. There, God ordered Lehi to send his sons back to Jerusalem to convince a man named Ishmael to accompany them into the wilderness. This was necessary, according to the account, so that Lehi’s sons would have Ishmael’s daughters to marry. As part of the letter’s commentary on the event, Lucy Mack Smith told her relation that Ishmael was Lehi’s brother and therefore knew of Lehi’s standing with God. That information is not included in the Book of Mormon today.

The reason this remains so clear in my memory is because the man who shared the document with us, became quite emotional as he referenced this section of the letter. He told us that he’d always wondered what would cause Ishmael to walk into the desert (after all, the invitation of a few young men who were hungry for his daughters seemed insufficient) but the letter answered his nagging question. When I say the man became emotional, what I mean is he shed tears of what appeared to be joy and gratitude, and with a wavering voice he shared a powerful testimony that the Book of Mormon was what it claimed to be: God’s word. I have to say that I was moved by what the man said, and judging from the sniffles and smiles from others who’d come to listen, I wasn’t alone. By the end of the evening, I was being congratulated for organizing a wonderful faith-promoting experiencing.

Why am I telling you this story?

If you’re familiar with events that shook the Salt Lake Valley in 1985, you’ll know that the Lucy Mack Smith letter is a forgery created by the very man who came to speak at the gathering I'd arranged. That man, Mark Hoffman, was the creator of dozens of similar forged documents, including one that is now known as the Salamander Letter, which supposedly quotes Joseph Smith and is an account of a white salamander that gave Joseph directions to where the source record for the Book of Mormon could be found. Yet, that’s not Mark Hoffman at his worst. In an effort to protect the secret of his forgeries, the man murdered two people and is now behind bars for the rest of his life.

My question is: Why would I—and others, too—have felt the spirit, if it confirmed what amounted to a lie? Perhaps it wasn’t the spirit, after all, but an emotional response based upon William James’ will to believe. The fact is, as I’ve asserted elsewhere, we can’t know if God is speaking to us, although it would be nice to think He does.

What I’ve written here isn’t an isolated case, as I could give other examples. For instance, my first spiritual experience was in the Vatican, while I sang with a choir in Saint Peters Basilica. Most Mormons would object if I were to say that the spirit had come to testify of Catholicism. Then, a year later, I decided to go on a mission after hearing a church leader, Paul H. Dunn, speak. Dunn was an extraordinary orator, who had tremendous influence over the youth of the church. During his address he spoke of once being a pitcher for the Saint Louis Cardinals and of his exploits as a decorated soldier in the Korean War. Though I was filled with what I presumed then to be the spirit, subsequent developments have cast a shadow on that special moment in my life. You see, a journalist began looking into Dunn’s background and discovered that he’d never played professional baseball, neither had he fought in a war. When this information came to light, Dunn was quickly put on emeritus status by the church.

In a future blog, I’d like to use Mormon scripture to show how difficult it is to “hear” God’s instructions, but for now, let’s acknowledge the difficulty and the underlying uncertainty involved. At the very least, we might admit that such an experience is not proof at all, but a jumping off place for our leap of faith.

The Leap of Faith

Someone recently asked me to clarify what I mean about a leap of faith and why I claim that all people experience it. Let me begin by saying that I take a more inclusive view on the nature of faith. To me, it’s any unproven, or un-provable, premise upon which we base our decisions. I realize that most people see faith as a religious construct. However, I recognize little difference in the effect of 1) believing God wills the sun to rise in the morning, versus 2) believing the interaction of gravitational fields causes the phenomenon. Eventually, one has to put trust in a concept that is unseen.

I know what you’re thinking. One might object by saying gravity is a proven physical property, whereby God’s existence is not. To this I say: Proof, at a personal level, is something that occurs in the intellect and heart. For instance, going back to the concept of gravity, I’ve spent a considerable amount of time trying to fathom Einstein’s General Theory of Relativity, which is sometimes described as a theory of gravity. While Einstein’s Special Theory of Relativity is quite easy to conceptualize (first-year physics students are required to understand it) the General Theory is dense and requires a background in complex mathematics, including non-Euclidean geometry, to master. To fully comprehend it, one must go beyond the conceptual breakthrough Einstein achieved in equating gravity with acceleration. Though I believe in his theories, I’m relegated to only professing faith in them. Despite much effort otherwise, I don’t understand his work in any degree that I can call knowledge. Furthermore, I can’t see gravity. All I can see of it is what I presume to be gravity’s effects, including the earth’s orbit around the sun.

What I’ve just described is also akin—I might say, nearly identical—to my faith in God. Though in many ways God remains a mystery to me, logic has led me to believe in His existence and the value of the gospel of love and kindness He espouses. The logical pathway that has led me to a subsequent leap of faith is perhaps the topic of another discussion, but for now let me say this: I’ve come to believe in God, not through any willy-nilly process, but through study and contemplation of life’s experiences. Yet, I’m quick to admit that my concept of Him might be wrong or incomplete, which notion keeps me learning and allows my faith to rest comfortably beside Einstein’s (and Darwin’s, as well as other people’s) theories. In fact, I’m convinced that God wants us—above all else—to never end our search for knowledge and to accept what is true no matter where truth is found. That idea is contained in the following poem I penned many years ago:

Drawing its timelessness incapsulated,
As from an apothecary’s jar,
The word stretched me beyond horizons
To give me a sense of God.

For what of Godliness,
Unless it be unfettered, unchained,
Free of horizons constraining mortal men?

Its good news changed this mortal’s course,
Having swallowed
(But being swallowed in return)
And hearing Him, who was more than philosopher say:
“Know the truth,”
I’ve searched.

But the search continues,
For somewhere unbound and never-resting,
The father of my soul urges onward,
To walk the path free of mortal constraints,
To be like him:
Unfettered and unchained.

A belief that the sun will rise tomorrow—whether it’s derived from religious faith, logic, or a combination of the two—results in behavior that plans and prepares for the eventuality. In the same way, if we were confident the sun would never rise again, would we go to work tomorrow? Most of us, I’m sure, would huddle with family and other loved ones in an expression of love and devotion until the end came or we were proved wrong. This result would be the same, whether rooted in scriptural or scientific revelation. To that extent, the effects of our assumptions are similar, no matter how they’re derived.

Here, I must be allowed a digression: Would the holocaust—or the inquisition, or slavery, for that matter—have occurred without religion? In my opinion, immoral and selfish people would have justified such abhorrent acts on the basis of some other philosophy or pseudo science. In each case, it was political gain and wealth that people were after and tortured logic made God a convenient scapegoat. (I’d like to discuss this in more detail in some future blog).

But back to my point: Another way to express a leap of faith is to say thinking people, over the course of their lifetimes, acquire sets of values based upon personal inquiries that little differ whether approached from a religious or secular perspective. These personal inquiries include the following:

• Is there a God who loves me and can intercede on my behalf?
• Is there a purpose for me in life? If so, how can I actualize it?
• What is the nature of human beings? Are they good, evil, or neither?
• What is proper behavior and what is its calculus?

Notice two things about these questions. First, they have been—and will continue to be—asked by spiritual and secular thinkers alike, and are as important to reason-loving Plato as to the deeply pious Kant. They are the purview of both religion and social science, and are topics central to what Mortimer Adler calls, “The Great Conversation,” which every generation must consider for itself. Second, none of these questions can be answered by pointing to indisputable physical proof, but must be concluded on a deeply personal basis. The process of answering these questions is the universal leap of faith of which I speak.

The resulting faith—the set of assumptions we each acquire—gives birth to core values and becomes the basis for every decision made. However, as I’ve said many times before, these decisions are rooted in beliefs rather than knowledge and we should be open to the possibility that better choices are available.

Logic Leads to Faith

In an earlier blog, I reiterated a statement that I’ve made numerous times. In short, I believe that behind each momentous decision we make, we can trace a logical line of justification that eventually leads to a leap of faith. At various times I’ve described that process as a leap into a canyon of uncertainty or wonder. In response, DC said the following:

True, logic—and evidence—take us only so far in knowing and understanding, but “canyons of wonder” can thrive happily in “faithless” uncertainty. Wonder does not lead inevitably to faith…

Let me try to articulate why I think otherwise by first saying that my idea of faith includes any reliance on an unproven premise as a guide to correct behavior. For example, I don’t know for a fact that the phenomenon we call global warming is caused by greenhouse gas emissions, yet there seems to be evidence of a causal link between the two and so I’ve taken steps to reduce my consumption of the earth’s resources. In the final analysis, I believe we all have a responsibility to the earth. To me, that is as much a leap of faith as refraining to murder only because the Bible says it’s a sin.

To further demonstrate what I mean, let’s say three men (Alex, Bob and Corey) at different times come across the same parked car at the side of a road. They notice that the vehicle is unlocked with the key still in the ignition and the identical idea occurs to each of them—I could easily take this car—but, based upon vastly different premises, they resist the temptation. The grounds by which they make their decisions are as follows:

• Alex thinks he would get caught in the act, the consequence of which would exceed his desire for the car
• Bob decides to act in accordance with the law, which he believes is the key to social harmony and stability
• Corey considers the needs of the car owner and reconfirms his commitment to do no harm to others

In terms of the construct I introduced in my very first blog, Alex is following the Law of the Jungle, which encourages him to insure his own survival and seek personal gain to the exclusion of any and all other objectives. Presumably, if he’d thought he could avoid the possible consequences, Alex would have stolen the car. Bob, on the other hand, is following the Mosaic Law, which instructs him to avoid certain acts, including theft. This heuristic set of rules has become his reference guide to life. Finally, Corey is following Christ’s gospel, which encourages him to let love and conscience direct his behavior. The gospel’s requirements are less formalized and often require some amount of improvisation. How do we love our neighbor? There is no gospel equivalent to Leviticus.

In the end, all three men take what is arguably the correct course of action by not stealing the vehicle, but their motivations put them on differing planes. Of the three, who do you consider to be the most trustworthy? As William James was famous for asserting, knowing a person’s “philosophy” is quite possibly the most important thing we can understand about him, since it is the best predictor of how he will act in the future. Now, for purposes of my argument, it’s important to point out that, despite their contrasting motivations, each man could have reached his conclusion by first asking, “Why shouldn’t I steal the car?” and validating the answer by asking, “How do I know my conclusion is correct?”

For inquiring minds, the second question often leads to a string of logical inquiries, until the questioner eventually arrives at one of the canyons of uncertainty of which I spoke. For instance, returning to the example above, Bob, upon seeing the unlocked car, might have processed the following logic in his head.

Question: Why shouldn’t I steal the car?
Answer: Because God commanded me to do otherwise
Question: How do I know that?
Answer: Because the Bible says so and it’s God’s word
Question: How do I know that?
Answer: Because the spirit testifies that it is so
Question: How do I know that?
Answer: Because I’ve felt the spirit
Question: How do I know that?

Eventually, a truly honest Bob will admit that he doesn’t know if he has felt God’s spirit testify of the Bible’s truthfulness. He may have been moved by the Bible’s words, but that isn’t evidence of a Godly communion. People of other faiths, after all, seem similarly motivated by texts they deem sacred and are willing to die as proof of their confidence. So the way we’re sometimes touched by Biblical teachings could be an emotional response (though admittedly a powerful, life-changing and often good response) rather than a spiritual communion, whatever that entails.
Yet, even if we were in contact with God’s spirit, how can we know we've interpreted it correctly? As I’ve said before, if God is as great as we believe, His thoughts must be beyond human understanding. (Think of Einstein squared, or cubed). Is it possible, for example, that the nightmare of the inquisition was God’s will? Or could it have been a terrible misinterpretation of God’s intent. What I’m trying to say is that at some point in the process of logically defining who and what we are, we must admit that we’re making value judgments that we cannot know as fact.
Furthermore, one need not be a Christian to go through the same exercise. Let's say Bob is a scientist, who has no religious bias, whatsoever. Perhaps his thinking would follow more along these lines:
Question: Why shouldn't I steal the car?
Answer: Because that would be wrong
Question: How do I know that?
Answer: Because society has decided, through long experience, that stealing leads to chaos, which would be intolerable for everyone
Question: How do I know that?
Answer: Because I can imagine the consequences of a world in which all people steal, but I guess that is a supposition on my part and I really don't know that for a fact
That doesn’t mean, however, that we live life in a corner, shaking from the possibility—no, the certainty—that we will occasionally be wrong. On the contrary, once we know where we stand, we act with assurance that we’ve done our best to define the lines that make us who we are. However, we are equally willing to redefine those lines, when contrary evidence demands it, and we respect the actions of others to define themselves, as long as such actions do no harm.