It is a sad time for libraries. Once the pride of our communities (from small towns to large universities) they now struggle to keep patrons. And in order to keep up with the times, they are becoming a lot of things in order to justify their very existence - a lot of things, that is, except libraries in the real sense of that word. Books are being replaced by services and with the loss of these books, we run the risk of losing much of what we have worked so hard to learn.
A library is (and has always been) a place to keep literary and artistic materials. Traditionally, libraries have been comprised of current literature and stacks of older literature. (Many libraries also keep special collections of historic value.) Both were important. They also provided an atmosphere of learning. Libraries that were associated with colleges and universities provided an atmosphere where students could study quietly amid the volumes that they needed as reference materials. They also had access to the latest findings from their chosen fields with resources available to find information on practically any subject.
Today our libraries are mostly empty and students are finding all they think they need via computer. I have no intention of being critical of computers. To the extent that they improve our lives I welcome them. I must insist, however, that the move from the world of the library to the world of the computer is a risky thing. It is a move that threatens to destroy a great deal.
In the world of scholarship, for example, fewer and fewer volumes are being printed of many (perhaps most) important periodicals. Scholars are preferring to access articles on line from their office rather than walk over to the library. This is a convenience (I admit - and indulge in it myself). I certainly see no harm in this especially as it reduces the amount of environmental inputs and required shelf space needed to store books.
Many institutions have been wise enough to keep hard copies of these volumes on hand in case digital resources become temporarily unavailable. Of course it is impossible for any single institution to keep hard copies of everything that gets printed. So as a way around this, academic communities began a number of years ago sharing their holdings through a process of inter-library loan. This has been a real boon to scholars who have gained easier access to more materials. With an ever increasing amount of information getting printed, this service has become indispensible to serious research.
It's worth considering for a moment what shelf space in libraries meant many years ago and how it was managed. I have many fond memories of walking through the stacks of books as a graduate student at BYU in the 1980's and being amazed at the number of books. When I later transferred to The Ohio State University and discovered that its library was several times larger than BYU's I was even more amazed. The stacks of books made up several floors in the main library and space was being made to add more shelves in the mezzanine. Many subject libraries were already being moved to satellite locations to make room for the ever increasing number of volumes.
Some time later when I began studies at Colorado State University, I noticed that space was being handled in a different way. Many of the volumes had been moved to a storage facility - basically an over-sized warehouse. Requests had to be made for these volumes and there was a lapse of a day or two before a runner could find them and make them available. It was fortunate that many of these volumes had been moved because the Cache le Poudre River flooded in the mid-1990's and many of the volumes on the first floor of the library were destroyed.
Meanwhile, many volumes of older literature are now being digitally copied and made available on-line. Cornell University, for example, has made available hundreds of volumes of older agricultural literature that is hard to find elsewhere. This again is a great resource. Every year, more and more volumes become available in all branches of learning. And as a bonus we now have hand-held digital devices that make reading this material much easier and more enjoyable than older technology allowed. It is a great time to be doing research now that many older texts are becoming more readily available at our fingertips.
So doesn't all of this contradict my point? Not in the least. With all the technology (great as it is) our literature is increasingly at risk. Notice the trend. Fewer and fewer hard copies are being printed as more and more people are staying away from libraries (because more and more resources are available on-line). Libraries compensate by reducing shelf space in order to draw in more patrons with services (even coffee shops). It doesn't take much to imagine a scenario of computer collapses where vast amounts of information are irretrievably lost. This sort of collapse doesn't have to be a global melt-down. It could be local, or a series of local disasters.
Let me offer an example. I have in my library several volumes of taxonomic revisions that are very difficult to find. I require them for my research on insect diversity. I have worked at building this collection over 30 years. Much of this work was published when insect taxonomy was of greater interest to the academy than it is today and many more volumes were printed. Now when I say that many volumes were printed, I don't mean to compare this literature to the number of volumes that works of popular fiction generate. But many of these earlier taxonomic works had printing runs of several thousand copies. Even so, they are hard to find today.
If that is true of older literature, what is the situation like today? Important taxonomic research is still being conducted but it is often printed in journals with fewer and fewer hard copies produced. Authors buy fewer and fewer reprints because their work can be accessed on-line. It is very likely that hard copies are missing of these works from entire regions of the US. As a result, hard copies of current taxonomic research will be many times harder to come by in future than the older literature is today. Digital versions of this work are usually located on one server (hopefully backed up). If it gets lost... I think you get the point.
What then can be done? Clearly we should not be limiting computer resources. They are truly valuable - even if, indirectly, they justify the demise of traditional libraries and the loss of books. One thing, however, should be done: you should continue to keep hard copies in your own library.
I’m not suggesting that you accumulate a wall of books of best-selling authors. They will survive the short term disaster without difficulty. And their long-term survival will depend on their usefulness to later generations. I am suggesting that you save less popular works - titles and authors that because of their limited popularity are usually missing from libraries.
My collection of Gerald Durrell books, for example, or my volumes about science and religion. It is rare that I find any of these titles in local libraries. I don’t generally flatter myself about my collection. Mostly it takes up a lot of space – space that my wife would love to have. But it is a bit of security. I’ve been buying books for a few decades and only rarely pick a title because of its monetary value. I buy books that interest me. Even so, many of these volumes are now hard to find. What will they be worth in 50 years or more?
So again I urge you to buy real books. Think of it as insurance for the authors you love – for the books that you love. It may be that you end up saving one for future generations. Stranger things have happened.
Friday, September 3, 2010
Friday, August 27, 2010
Living Beyond Judgment
From the time we are little until the time we die, it seems we are being continually judged. Maybe more of this judgment is imagined than real but certainly not all of it is. We are judged by the clothes we wear, the car we drive, the company we keep. We are judged by our language, our jobs, even our dogs. Each exam we take in school is a kind of judgment, as are hiring decisions, try-outs, and performance evaluations. We are judged a lot and we are used to it - whether we like it or not.
But perhaps the most relentless and misplaced judgments of all are the incorrect kinds we make on ourselves. I say incorrect kinds because some self-judgments are necessary, even critical. A careful self-evaluation can be a prelude to repentance and an important grounding to our lives.
The incorrect kinds of self-judgments, however, are a different sort. They come from using the wrong kind of standards. Unfortunately we tend to spend so much more time on the wrong kinds of judgment than we do on the right kinds. Wise, indeed, is the person that knows when to judge and when not to - or as Jesus said, to “judge righteous judgment” (John 7:24).
The wrong kinds of self-judgments are invariably comparative. You pitted against others or even against yourself. The right kinds of self-judgments measure light instead. Do you like making others happy? Do you rejoice in learning spiritual truths? How positive are you? Do you make sacrifices for principles? How much can you be trusted? How much are you loved? How much do you love? These kinds of questions measure light. They are very different from the kinds of comparisons we’re more familiar with. It is light and truth, in the end, that really matter, not how you look or where you live.
Consider three employees at a local restaurant. Angela I works in the kitchen washing dishes. She is mostly interested in having fun. She likes to talk and tell jokes and tends to take longer at breaks than her employer allows. In her spare time she plays a lot of video games or talks to her friends. She often judges herself harshly for not being more responsible.
Angela II is a waitress and is mostly interested in making money. She is pleasant to her customers and knows how to turn on the charm if she thinks it might yield a bigger tip. She is quite capable and usually responsible. In her spare time she likes to go to the gym or talk to friends. She also judges herself harshly at times for not having moved ahead enough in her career.
Angela III is a cook. She likes making good food, especially if it makes somebody happy. She enjoys visiting customers just to interact with them and make them smile. She is happiest when she makes others happy. In her spare time she enjoys reading or talking to friends. She doesn’t judge herself very often because she is more interested in pursuing those things that bring her joy.
I don’t mean to imply that Angela I and Angela II are bad (or that the things they do are necessarily bad). But I do mean to point out the nature of a person seeking light: Angela III, that is. She may or may not move ahead in the restaurant, but that doesn’t matter. She may fall in or out of health, depending on her genetic heritage and her lifestyle. She may or may not be wealthy depending on her fiscal choices. But one thing is obvious: whatever her circumstances, she will be seeking light.
Another remarkable thing about Angela III is that she is living beyond judgment. I don’t mean that others won’t judge her. They will. Neither do I mean that she always avoids her own self judgment. I do mean that in the things that matter most - in the eternally important things - Angela III is an heir of glory and can never be condemned.
In Doctrine and Covenants Section One (verse 36) the Lord discusses judgments that are to come upon the wicked. But notice the way it is phrased. “And also the Lord shall have power over his saints, and shall reign in their midst, and shall come down in judgment upon Idumea, or the world.” Those, Like Angela III who are full of the light of Christ are beyond this judgment of the world.
I don’t mean to imply that Angela III (or any of us) will not be responsible for her (our) actions. The scriptures are clear that we will be recompensed for our actions. But what exactly is to be the measure of these actions? Again, Section One spells this out (verse 10): ... “the Lord shall come to recompense unto every man according to his work, and measure to every man according to the measure which he has measured to his fellow man.”
Our actions will be measured by the standard of service to others. This is a measure of light, not a mensurable quota. It is also different than the way some Christian denominations understand judgment - especially the final judgment - to be. To them the final judgment cannot be escaped and it is understood to be a forensic event - complete with courtroom, jury and judge. For the faithful the only consolation is that it will be less harsh.
This perspective, however, fails to take in to account many of the key scriptural verses on judgment. The Apostle John in particular was keen on this and spoke often about judgment, or living beyond it. He presents us with the apparent contradiction of living beyond judgment while affirming that Jesus will also be our judge. One has to pay attention to see what he actually means by this.
Most of us are familiar with the Biblical doctrine of the final judgment. It will be the ultimate accounting of who we are and where we will go in the life to come. There are a number of scriptural references that confirm this.
It comes as a bit of a surprise when we read in the third chapter of the Gospel of John (verse 17) that Jesus did not come to earth to judge us at all. Many New Testament versions of this verse use the word condemn, but in the original Greek the word is clearly krinetai - to judge. “For God sent not his son into the world to judge the world, but that the world through him might be saved.”
Of course you might point out that John surely can’t mean this since he is the one who clearly taught that Jesus is to be our judge. “For the Father hath committed all judgment to the son …. (John 5: 22). But this isn’t all that John meant. A closer reading suggests that judgment is only to separate those who will rise “unto the resurrection of life” from those who will rise “unto the resurrection of damnation” (John 5:29). For Christ came to bring everlasting life and not to bring others” into judgment” (John 5:24). Again the word is krinetai – judgment. Judgment is to separate light from darkness.
“[Jesus] said ... I am come a light into the world that whosoever believeth on me should not abide in darkness. And if any man hear my words, and believe not, I judge him not: for I came not to judge the world, but to save the world” (John 12: 44-47).
So of course Jesus is our judge in the sense the He is the author of our redemption from sin. But ultimately we will be our own judges as John points out in the following verse: “He that rejecteth me, and receiveth not my words, hath one that judgeth him: the words that I have spoken, the same shall judge him in the last day” (John 12: 48).
In a more detailed discussion of how this is to happen, Alma taught that our words and our works will condemn us: “For our words will condemn us, yea, all our works will condemn us; we shall not be found spotless; and our thoughts will also condemn us; and in this awful state we shall not dare to look up to our God; and we would fain be glad if we could command the rocks and the mountains to fall upon us to hide us from his presence” (Alma 12:14).
This relationship with judgment and condemnation appears frequently throughout the scriptures and the message is consistent: judgment is to separate those that will be condemned from those that will inherit more glory - that is from those that will inherit a kingdom of light, whether that be a light similar to the stars (perhaps the brighter stars), the moon, or even the sun (see I Corinthians 15:40-42).
This is consistent with John’s message that Jesus came to save us and not to judge us. This becomes particularly significant in light of Doctrine and Covenants Section 76 where it is indicated that these degrees of glory (telestial, terrestrial, and celestial) will be filled with the vast majority of the human family.
What a sublime truth this is: that Jesus has no interest in judging any of us. He rejoices in our individuality and, by giving us our agency, has allowed each of us to fully develop into the unique person that is our nature. We will not be clones in heaven.
The question we need to be concerned with has little to do with appearing to do the right things. It does, however, have everything to do with being the right kind of person. The popular image of Peter standing at the pearly gates to great us with a checklist in hand is a crude myth at best. Peter may not even be there, but Christ will - for He employs to servant there. And He most certainly will not be holding a checklist. He will be welcoming us, with open arms, to our place of glory - our place of light.
But perhaps the most relentless and misplaced judgments of all are the incorrect kinds we make on ourselves. I say incorrect kinds because some self-judgments are necessary, even critical. A careful self-evaluation can be a prelude to repentance and an important grounding to our lives.
The incorrect kinds of self-judgments, however, are a different sort. They come from using the wrong kind of standards. Unfortunately we tend to spend so much more time on the wrong kinds of judgment than we do on the right kinds. Wise, indeed, is the person that knows when to judge and when not to - or as Jesus said, to “judge righteous judgment” (John 7:24).
The wrong kinds of self-judgments are invariably comparative. You pitted against others or even against yourself. The right kinds of self-judgments measure light instead. Do you like making others happy? Do you rejoice in learning spiritual truths? How positive are you? Do you make sacrifices for principles? How much can you be trusted? How much are you loved? How much do you love? These kinds of questions measure light. They are very different from the kinds of comparisons we’re more familiar with. It is light and truth, in the end, that really matter, not how you look or where you live.
Consider three employees at a local restaurant. Angela I works in the kitchen washing dishes. She is mostly interested in having fun. She likes to talk and tell jokes and tends to take longer at breaks than her employer allows. In her spare time she plays a lot of video games or talks to her friends. She often judges herself harshly for not being more responsible.
Angela II is a waitress and is mostly interested in making money. She is pleasant to her customers and knows how to turn on the charm if she thinks it might yield a bigger tip. She is quite capable and usually responsible. In her spare time she likes to go to the gym or talk to friends. She also judges herself harshly at times for not having moved ahead enough in her career.
Angela III is a cook. She likes making good food, especially if it makes somebody happy. She enjoys visiting customers just to interact with them and make them smile. She is happiest when she makes others happy. In her spare time she enjoys reading or talking to friends. She doesn’t judge herself very often because she is more interested in pursuing those things that bring her joy.
I don’t mean to imply that Angela I and Angela II are bad (or that the things they do are necessarily bad). But I do mean to point out the nature of a person seeking light: Angela III, that is. She may or may not move ahead in the restaurant, but that doesn’t matter. She may fall in or out of health, depending on her genetic heritage and her lifestyle. She may or may not be wealthy depending on her fiscal choices. But one thing is obvious: whatever her circumstances, she will be seeking light.
Another remarkable thing about Angela III is that she is living beyond judgment. I don’t mean that others won’t judge her. They will. Neither do I mean that she always avoids her own self judgment. I do mean that in the things that matter most - in the eternally important things - Angela III is an heir of glory and can never be condemned.
In Doctrine and Covenants Section One (verse 36) the Lord discusses judgments that are to come upon the wicked. But notice the way it is phrased. “And also the Lord shall have power over his saints, and shall reign in their midst, and shall come down in judgment upon Idumea, or the world.” Those, Like Angela III who are full of the light of Christ are beyond this judgment of the world.
I don’t mean to imply that Angela III (or any of us) will not be responsible for her (our) actions. The scriptures are clear that we will be recompensed for our actions. But what exactly is to be the measure of these actions? Again, Section One spells this out (verse 10): ... “the Lord shall come to recompense unto every man according to his work, and measure to every man according to the measure which he has measured to his fellow man.”
Our actions will be measured by the standard of service to others. This is a measure of light, not a mensurable quota. It is also different than the way some Christian denominations understand judgment - especially the final judgment - to be. To them the final judgment cannot be escaped and it is understood to be a forensic event - complete with courtroom, jury and judge. For the faithful the only consolation is that it will be less harsh.
This perspective, however, fails to take in to account many of the key scriptural verses on judgment. The Apostle John in particular was keen on this and spoke often about judgment, or living beyond it. He presents us with the apparent contradiction of living beyond judgment while affirming that Jesus will also be our judge. One has to pay attention to see what he actually means by this.
Most of us are familiar with the Biblical doctrine of the final judgment. It will be the ultimate accounting of who we are and where we will go in the life to come. There are a number of scriptural references that confirm this.
It comes as a bit of a surprise when we read in the third chapter of the Gospel of John (verse 17) that Jesus did not come to earth to judge us at all. Many New Testament versions of this verse use the word condemn, but in the original Greek the word is clearly krinetai - to judge. “For God sent not his son into the world to judge the world, but that the world through him might be saved.”
Of course you might point out that John surely can’t mean this since he is the one who clearly taught that Jesus is to be our judge. “For the Father hath committed all judgment to the son …. (John 5: 22). But this isn’t all that John meant. A closer reading suggests that judgment is only to separate those who will rise “unto the resurrection of life” from those who will rise “unto the resurrection of damnation” (John 5:29). For Christ came to bring everlasting life and not to bring others” into judgment” (John 5:24). Again the word is krinetai – judgment. Judgment is to separate light from darkness.
“[Jesus] said ... I am come a light into the world that whosoever believeth on me should not abide in darkness. And if any man hear my words, and believe not, I judge him not: for I came not to judge the world, but to save the world” (John 12: 44-47).
So of course Jesus is our judge in the sense the He is the author of our redemption from sin. But ultimately we will be our own judges as John points out in the following verse: “He that rejecteth me, and receiveth not my words, hath one that judgeth him: the words that I have spoken, the same shall judge him in the last day” (John 12: 48).
In a more detailed discussion of how this is to happen, Alma taught that our words and our works will condemn us: “For our words will condemn us, yea, all our works will condemn us; we shall not be found spotless; and our thoughts will also condemn us; and in this awful state we shall not dare to look up to our God; and we would fain be glad if we could command the rocks and the mountains to fall upon us to hide us from his presence” (Alma 12:14).
This relationship with judgment and condemnation appears frequently throughout the scriptures and the message is consistent: judgment is to separate those that will be condemned from those that will inherit more glory - that is from those that will inherit a kingdom of light, whether that be a light similar to the stars (perhaps the brighter stars), the moon, or even the sun (see I Corinthians 15:40-42).
This is consistent with John’s message that Jesus came to save us and not to judge us. This becomes particularly significant in light of Doctrine and Covenants Section 76 where it is indicated that these degrees of glory (telestial, terrestrial, and celestial) will be filled with the vast majority of the human family.
What a sublime truth this is: that Jesus has no interest in judging any of us. He rejoices in our individuality and, by giving us our agency, has allowed each of us to fully develop into the unique person that is our nature. We will not be clones in heaven.
The question we need to be concerned with has little to do with appearing to do the right things. It does, however, have everything to do with being the right kind of person. The popular image of Peter standing at the pearly gates to great us with a checklist in hand is a crude myth at best. Peter may not even be there, but Christ will - for He employs to servant there. And He most certainly will not be holding a checklist. He will be welcoming us, with open arms, to our place of glory - our place of light.
Thursday, August 5, 2010
Preparing for Dred Scott
Yesterday's Walker decision against California's Proposition Eight has left many of us in California (supporters of traditional marriage that is) quite frustrated. The 2008 decision (determined from a state-wide election) to confirm the traditional meaning of marriage between a man and a woman has now been over-ruled. Judge Vaughn Walker's decision is based on his claim that denying marriage to gay and lesbian couples violates the 14th Amendment's equal protection and due process clauses. There is no question that this provincial decision by a biased judge will make its way to the Supreme Court. When it does, let's hope that sounder judgment prevails. It is no exaggeration to state that an unwise decision from our highest court may very well makes things worse than the Dred Scott decision did before the Civil War. Let me explain.
I am certainly no legal scholar, but the history of Dred Scott is not so difficult to understand. He was a slave that travelled quite a bit with his master through both free and slave states and free territories. While in free territories, he was recognized as a free man. After his master's death he sought to purchase his freedom with various degrees of success. Some court rulings granted his arguments, others did not. Finally his case came to the Supreme Court where Justice Taney ruled that Negroes were not citizen's of the United States and then reversed the Missouri Compromise (and its exclusion of slavery from northern Louisiana). It has been one of the worst decisions (if not the worst) in American legal history. By reversing the Missouri Compromise, Taney effectively gave expanding powers to the slave states against the northern states. Of course we know the outcome. It took the Civil War to reverse the decision.
Isn't it a bit fantastic, though, to believe that a mere decision about gay rights could be as significant as Dred Scott? Not really. Consider the following scenario:
Judge Walker's decision is upheld by the Supreme Court. Some weeks later a gay couple in a conservative state - say New Hampshire - decides to show up at the State Capitol and get their marriage license. Much to their surprise, the state refuses to grant them one. They might complain that their legal rights have been ignored but the bare reality of an overwhelming conservative majority of irate New Hampshire citizens might very well make it politically unwise for the state officials to acknowledge the Supreme Court's decision.
Then what happens? Uncle Sam might start withholding federal programs. New Hampshire might lose it's representation in Congress. Other forms of pressure would undoubtedly be found and exercised. Soon other states would decide to back New Hampshire and before we know it, there is a national crisis in the making.
Now you might argue that this sort of thing could never happen. Look at the Court's decision, for example, in Roe v. Wade where abortion was legalized. Certainly abortion is as divisive an issue as gay rights and yet nothing so drastic happened in its wake. But here is the main difference: Roe v. Wade was a decision that ultimately became enforceable at the level of an individual woman and her doctor. Even in conservative states, doctors were available to perform abortions when they were requested.
The issue over redefining marriage, on the other hand, will have to be handled at the state level. That's where marriage licenses are issued. It's also a place where tremendous amounts of political pressure can be applied either way. I think it is highly naive to imagine that an issue this divisive would fail to elicit extreme reactions from millions of Americans if this sort of scenario were to be played out.
This is a very serious issue indeed. Let us pray that the Supreme Court is wise enough to understand this. For the rest of us, it might not be a bad idea to rethink how dependant we should be on Washington.
I am certainly no legal scholar, but the history of Dred Scott is not so difficult to understand. He was a slave that travelled quite a bit with his master through both free and slave states and free territories. While in free territories, he was recognized as a free man. After his master's death he sought to purchase his freedom with various degrees of success. Some court rulings granted his arguments, others did not. Finally his case came to the Supreme Court where Justice Taney ruled that Negroes were not citizen's of the United States and then reversed the Missouri Compromise (and its exclusion of slavery from northern Louisiana). It has been one of the worst decisions (if not the worst) in American legal history. By reversing the Missouri Compromise, Taney effectively gave expanding powers to the slave states against the northern states. Of course we know the outcome. It took the Civil War to reverse the decision.
Isn't it a bit fantastic, though, to believe that a mere decision about gay rights could be as significant as Dred Scott? Not really. Consider the following scenario:
Judge Walker's decision is upheld by the Supreme Court. Some weeks later a gay couple in a conservative state - say New Hampshire - decides to show up at the State Capitol and get their marriage license. Much to their surprise, the state refuses to grant them one. They might complain that their legal rights have been ignored but the bare reality of an overwhelming conservative majority of irate New Hampshire citizens might very well make it politically unwise for the state officials to acknowledge the Supreme Court's decision.
Then what happens? Uncle Sam might start withholding federal programs. New Hampshire might lose it's representation in Congress. Other forms of pressure would undoubtedly be found and exercised. Soon other states would decide to back New Hampshire and before we know it, there is a national crisis in the making.
Now you might argue that this sort of thing could never happen. Look at the Court's decision, for example, in Roe v. Wade where abortion was legalized. Certainly abortion is as divisive an issue as gay rights and yet nothing so drastic happened in its wake. But here is the main difference: Roe v. Wade was a decision that ultimately became enforceable at the level of an individual woman and her doctor. Even in conservative states, doctors were available to perform abortions when they were requested.
The issue over redefining marriage, on the other hand, will have to be handled at the state level. That's where marriage licenses are issued. It's also a place where tremendous amounts of political pressure can be applied either way. I think it is highly naive to imagine that an issue this divisive would fail to elicit extreme reactions from millions of Americans if this sort of scenario were to be played out.
This is a very serious issue indeed. Let us pray that the Supreme Court is wise enough to understand this. For the rest of us, it might not be a bad idea to rethink how dependant we should be on Washington.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
What is a Classic?
I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but there’s a very good chance that your classical reading is not what you think it is. What I mean is that many of the presumed classics you may have read are really not classics at all.
You might question my right to make such a claim. After all, my training is in the sciences and there is a lot of good literature that I still haven’t read. Even so, I stand behind my claim. The more I stumble through our so-called modern classics and best-sellers the more I realize their fiction: they just aren’t classics.
What my children are reading in their high school and college English classes are award-winning novels. It is a gross misjudgment to call them classics. I don’t mean they are poorly written; they aren’t. Nor do I mean that their stories aren’t interesting or even important; many of them are. I do mean that they usually lack the key ingredient of a classic: a timeless and significant accounting of the great questions.
Now many of our award-winning novels are thought-provoking stories. Many of them also touch on great themes. But the great questions - sometimes called the Terrible Questions - are almost always absent. These are the questions inextricably associated with religion: Why are we here? What does death mean? How is it possible to find meaning in life?
Not all religions answer these questions alike. In a society that allows for differing religious beliefs, it is inevitable that these questions will be answered differently. But the fact remains that the sacred texts of these religious traditions, insofar as they grapple with the great questions, are classics.
Of course, you might not like your children reading my religious books at school. And I might not like my children reading your religious books either. Or maybe were both a bit more enlightened and are OK with this sort of cultural exchange. Either way we both have to acknowledge that some people would be offended by it. In a free society, it makes sense to keep controversial religious opinions out of public schools.
This doesn’t mean, though, that we should keep the great questions out of public schools. In fact one has to wonder how we can claim to be providing any kind of a quality education without them.
In the past we managed nicely with an accepted bundle of classics from Ancient Greece, Rome and pre-modern Europe (sacred Eastern texts were also included at times). And while these texts were mostly products of Western Civilization, they were suitable for a religiously diverse culture to discuss in a public forum.
Yet very often we look in vain to find them. What has happened to them? I think the answer is a combination of things. An important obvious reason is that there isn’t much money any more for the humanities. Another reason is that the remaining classical courses are only electives anymore. Yet another reason is that we’ve started teaching from award-winning novels instead of from the classics.
Now I don’t mean to be disrespectful of Mark Twain, John Steinbeck, or Harper Lee. In fact I like some of their writing a lot. I’m even happy that my children read them (for the most part). But I’m not at all happy that their books are taking the place of the classics. [I group Mark Twain with the award-winning novelists because I think he would have received an award if they would have been available in his day.]
It’s instructive to consider for a moment how literary awards are given. The important ones are chosen from a panel of representatives from prestigious publishers (of books, newspapers and magazines). One is hard pressed to find religious representatives - or from anybody who is particularly interested in the great questions.
This is really very understandable. Publishing houses along with other media sources (what Richard Weaver called the Great Stereopticon) are the great competitors of religion for the minds of citizens in a free society. I’m not suggesting that this competition is necessarily a bad thing. Yet while it may be true that actively religious people get exposure to the great questions through their participation at church, more people never take the chance to do so.
Instead, we force everyone to read whatever award-winning novel their particular English teacher happens to be familiar with. The great questions about what it means to be human are never considered. And we delude ourselves into thinking that our modern world is all that matters and that the solution to any problem, can be solved by popular vote.
Sadly, we now live in a society reaping the rewards of this myopia. Instead of wise leaders with a moral backing in what really matters, we have figureheads making decisions based on opinion polls. Nobody wants to talk about the important questions in public because we’ve thrown their associated texts out of our schools.
The result of all this is a society that has lost its moral grounding. We’ve pulled anchor and don’t know where we’ve drifted. Even worse, we don’t know where we’re going. Many of us are enjoying the scenery at least for the moment. But there’s a word associated with waking up from a dream and not knowing where you are. It’s called fear. And fear can only be the heritage of drifting souls.
One thing, however, is certain. We’ll never learn how to change this without a good deal of thinking about the great questions. It’s certainly time we stop confusing false classics for the real thing.
References
Weaver, R.M. 1948. Ideas Have Consequences. University of Chicago Press.
You might question my right to make such a claim. After all, my training is in the sciences and there is a lot of good literature that I still haven’t read. Even so, I stand behind my claim. The more I stumble through our so-called modern classics and best-sellers the more I realize their fiction: they just aren’t classics.
What my children are reading in their high school and college English classes are award-winning novels. It is a gross misjudgment to call them classics. I don’t mean they are poorly written; they aren’t. Nor do I mean that their stories aren’t interesting or even important; many of them are. I do mean that they usually lack the key ingredient of a classic: a timeless and significant accounting of the great questions.
Now many of our award-winning novels are thought-provoking stories. Many of them also touch on great themes. But the great questions - sometimes called the Terrible Questions - are almost always absent. These are the questions inextricably associated with religion: Why are we here? What does death mean? How is it possible to find meaning in life?
Not all religions answer these questions alike. In a society that allows for differing religious beliefs, it is inevitable that these questions will be answered differently. But the fact remains that the sacred texts of these religious traditions, insofar as they grapple with the great questions, are classics.
Of course, you might not like your children reading my religious books at school. And I might not like my children reading your religious books either. Or maybe were both a bit more enlightened and are OK with this sort of cultural exchange. Either way we both have to acknowledge that some people would be offended by it. In a free society, it makes sense to keep controversial religious opinions out of public schools.
This doesn’t mean, though, that we should keep the great questions out of public schools. In fact one has to wonder how we can claim to be providing any kind of a quality education without them.
In the past we managed nicely with an accepted bundle of classics from Ancient Greece, Rome and pre-modern Europe (sacred Eastern texts were also included at times). And while these texts were mostly products of Western Civilization, they were suitable for a religiously diverse culture to discuss in a public forum.
Yet very often we look in vain to find them. What has happened to them? I think the answer is a combination of things. An important obvious reason is that there isn’t much money any more for the humanities. Another reason is that the remaining classical courses are only electives anymore. Yet another reason is that we’ve started teaching from award-winning novels instead of from the classics.
Now I don’t mean to be disrespectful of Mark Twain, John Steinbeck, or Harper Lee. In fact I like some of their writing a lot. I’m even happy that my children read them (for the most part). But I’m not at all happy that their books are taking the place of the classics. [I group Mark Twain with the award-winning novelists because I think he would have received an award if they would have been available in his day.]
It’s instructive to consider for a moment how literary awards are given. The important ones are chosen from a panel of representatives from prestigious publishers (of books, newspapers and magazines). One is hard pressed to find religious representatives - or from anybody who is particularly interested in the great questions.
This is really very understandable. Publishing houses along with other media sources (what Richard Weaver called the Great Stereopticon) are the great competitors of religion for the minds of citizens in a free society. I’m not suggesting that this competition is necessarily a bad thing. Yet while it may be true that actively religious people get exposure to the great questions through their participation at church, more people never take the chance to do so.
Instead, we force everyone to read whatever award-winning novel their particular English teacher happens to be familiar with. The great questions about what it means to be human are never considered. And we delude ourselves into thinking that our modern world is all that matters and that the solution to any problem, can be solved by popular vote.
Sadly, we now live in a society reaping the rewards of this myopia. Instead of wise leaders with a moral backing in what really matters, we have figureheads making decisions based on opinion polls. Nobody wants to talk about the important questions in public because we’ve thrown their associated texts out of our schools.
The result of all this is a society that has lost its moral grounding. We’ve pulled anchor and don’t know where we’ve drifted. Even worse, we don’t know where we’re going. Many of us are enjoying the scenery at least for the moment. But there’s a word associated with waking up from a dream and not knowing where you are. It’s called fear. And fear can only be the heritage of drifting souls.
One thing, however, is certain. We’ll never learn how to change this without a good deal of thinking about the great questions. It’s certainly time we stop confusing false classics for the real thing.
References
Weaver, R.M. 1948. Ideas Have Consequences. University of Chicago Press.
Saturday, July 24, 2010
Human Nature and Original Sin
Are we by nature good or are we bad? Do we have the capacity for rising above our limitations or are we forever doomed by the biological constraints of our physical bodies? These are the questions thoughtful people ask in every generation and the answers turn out to be fairly consistent: we are both good and bad.
Take Solzhenitsyn, for example, who came to the conclusion while laying in rotting prison straw wishing that evil people could be somehow separated from good people. It isn’t hard to sympathize with him and lament the injustices he endured while in the gulags. But he realized that it wasn’t possible to separate people this way because “the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”
The Psalmist marveled that God had created man just lower than the angels and crowned him with glory and honor (Psalms 8:5). And yet the wickedness of man has been great and every imagination of his heart evil (Genesis 6:5).
There is nothing very surprising about this. A little honest introspection should be enough to convince each of us of our own dual natures. And yet for all this apparent clarity, we rarely manage to put into practice this truth that seems so obvious. We insist on shaping our societies as if we were just one or the other, as if we could do no good, or as if we could do no evil.
In American history, the Puritans stand out as clear examples of the former. Man inherited their evil natures from Adam and could not be trusted, or so they believed. In Hawthorne’s classic novel, The Scarlet Letter, Hester Prynne was required to wear a prominent letter A throughout her life as a sign of her degenerate - and seemingly incorrigible - nature.
Yet the very same New England that cultivated this 17th Century bigotry, turned completely around and by the mid 19th Century produced the Transcendentalists who believed that man could do no harm. Emerson’s belief in the greatness of man and in his immense potential has convinced (and still convinces) generations of Americans to trust no one more than their individual native geniuses.
Fortunately, the American founders were wiser in this regard than we have been. They established a government with the expectation that evil and designing men would seek public office. Checks and balances were accordingly put in place and with good effect. Today the United States government is the longest-lived constitutional government in the world. Ironically, it is because of this legal restraint that America has become a land of freedom, a land brimming with self confidence, and a land of realized human potential.
But things are not the same as they used to be. Almost all legislation these days ignores this dual nature of man. Committees are formed and budgets are allocated, but who checks-up on the committees or reviews the success of expensive programs? We write laws that are politically expedient (and self-promoting) while hardly worrying about their abuse once they are passed. Large budgets are created without the care needed to avoid the greed of special interests. Corruption abounds.
Of course we have political parties that carefully watch their corrupt competitors (and eagerly advertise what they find). But concern is much greater over deflecting criticism than it is over partisan character. In truth there is a greater moral divide separating individuals in the same political party than there is between the very issues separating these parties.
It becomes worthwhile asking ourselves how all of this came about. How did we start worrying about partisan causes more than about personal character? No doubt there are many reasons. One important reason that deserves special consideration is the unpopular and timeworn concept of original sin.
Original Sin
No one likes to think about their own faults. In fact only a few strong individuals ever attempt to look at their own failings objectively (as a prelude to personal improvement). Being told that we are sinful is almost certain to elicit a negative reaction on our part. Being told that we are sinful just by the fact of being born isn’t likely to be any more popular. Even so, this is one of the messages of original sin that has been accepted by many Christians as doctrine for centuries. Maybe our ancestors didn’t like it, but its truthfulness seemed self-evident. It was a doctrine that informed who they were and what they thought about themselves.
It was a doctrine that required rulers to accept - even plan for - corruption in their subjects. But it worked both ways. For example, when the barons of 12th Century England began exercising their own political rights, it became obvious to them that even rulers were likely to err and needed to be watched. One of the founding documents of Western freedom - Magna Carta - was forged from this realization.
Yet ironically it was the breaking away from the idea of original sin that empowered the Enlightenment, and ushered in the modern world with its confidence in man and its accompanying idea of progress. Clearly there seems to be an historical give and take here between fallen and enlightened man. For those who were taken in by the addictive fiction of an unpolluted human nature, the French Revolution came as a shock. Rousseau’s doctrine of the noble savage soon matured in to the massacres of thousands.
America, by contrast, experienced her own political upheaval at the same time but with very different results. More popularly called a rebellion than a revolution, her government retained traditional institutions, including a belief in a fallen world and of a fallible human nature.
History seems to be telling us something important here if we only had the wisdom to pay attention. It seems to be our inclination to believe in just one or the other of our dual natures, but not both, at any given time. Either we fail to be suspicious of our rulers and end up in bondage, or we fail to see our potential and live enfeebled lives. Today we are obviously making the first mistake, and in so doing are scoffing (or more likely ignoring) the whole idea of original sin.
Given our historical misunderstanding it would serve us well to consider the doctrine in a little more detail: where it came from and what it has come to mean.
The Doctrine of Original Sin
Both Judaism and Christianity agree (as do other religious traditions) that life on earth, as we commonly experience it, is a fallen or a corrupted place. Both traditions also agree that we experienced a better place prior to mortality from which Adam and Eve (our original ancestors) were driven because of sin. There is, however, a big difference between being a descendant of someone who has transgressed and actually carrying part of the burden for that sin oneself. It is something yet again to be guilty of that sin. These distinctions may seem subtle but they have been at the heart of many religious controversies through the years.
Nowhere in the Old Testament is there any suggestion that mankind is guilty of Adam’s transgression. There are places where the challenges of mortality are admitted and traced back to Adam, but these challenges, by themselves, do not constitute sin.
The New Testament is much the same with one primary exception. Paul’s epistle to the Romans (Chapter 5:12-21) recognizes Adam’s sin and then becomes a bit ambiguous (Tennant indicates that this is one of the most difficult passages in the Bible to understand theologically) about human sin. These verses were eventually understood to mean that mankind sinned with Adam’s sin, although originally this was not the case.
The early church fathers have nothing to say about original sin until Origen, who in emphasizing our inherited mortal condition failed to make a clear enough distinction between corruption and sin. To make matters worse, Origen also lived in northern Africa where there had developed the practice of infant baptism. Historians have not been able to show the reasons for this early practice but by the time of Origen, it was widely accepted. It became almost inevitable that the practice assumed a role of mitigating the corruption of the fall, once it was believed that corruption might involve sin.
Sometime later, Tertullian added another piece to the developing doctrine. While rejecting infant baptism, he taught that the spirit offspring of Adam inherited the sin of their ancestor at conception. This complex doctrine (known as traducionism) never became established church doctrine but the belief in an inherited sin did, along with infant baptism and Origen’s corrupted humanity. By the time of Augustine and the important Pelagian controversies, these basic points were fairly well established doctrines.
During the Reformation these doctrines were openly challenged. Some reformers argued that baptism should be done by immersion and not by sprinkling. Others argued that children did not need baptism because they didn’t carry the sin of Adam. An interesting perspective on this that sounds like a wise compromise from the time of Origen is Zwingli’s (16th Century) argument that we are all born with the inborn rapacity of the wolf. This inborn drive often prompts us to tear the sheep. But there is also an implication that we can chose not to act upon these prompting as well.
Latter-day Saint Beliefs
Latter-day Saint beliefs on original sin reject the notion that children can be sinful (either by inheritance or otherwise) before they reach an age of accountability (recognized to be eight years old). Mormon (in the Book of Mormon) writing to his son Moroni taught that, “little children are whole, for they are not capable of committing sin; wherefor the curse of Adam is taken from them in me…” (Moroni 8:8).
And yet human beings are clearly prone to mortal corruption. Nephi (also in the Book of Mormon) lamented, “how foolish, and how vain, and how evil, and devilish, and how quick to do iniquity, and how slow to do good, are the children of men…(Heleman 12:4).
Latter-day Saints do, however, accept an intergenerational responsibility towards sin that is often over-looked. Parents who sin are held responsible for the disadvantages they pass on to their children through generations. In Section 98 of the Doctrine and Covenants, however, it indicates that repentant children can repent and remove this guilt from their parents. This does not mean that children inherit sin, nor does it mean that we are not responsible for our own sins. It does, however, imply that we can inherit disadvantages from our parents. In this sense, Latter-day Saints do believe that we have inherited a fallen world from our first parents, but our agency has not been breached. This is an understanding of human culpability more reminiscent of early Christianity than the normative Christianity of Augustine.
Having this dual understanding of human nature, Latter-day Saints are both suspicious and yet trusting of their leaders. Public figures are known to behave immorally and need to be kept in line. On the other hand, religious leaders are held to a higher standard, and are often revered for having risen above the natural tendencies of fallen man. Nobody is perfect, but for Latter-day Saints, there exists the potential (frequently actualized) of virtuous leadership.
Today
Nobody that has lived more than a few decades can deny that mortality brings with it an ample supply of aches and pains. We don’t need an understanding of the human genome to convince us that our body’s programming isn’t perfect. Some of us believe this is due to our heritage as descendants of Adam. Others argue that our physical imperfections are inevitable artifacts of opportunistic evolutionary change. These opposing perspectives may not agree on the cause of our woes but at least they can agree that we have them.
So why then do we insist on creating our modern societies as if we had no moral limitations? Do we believe that despite our physical imperfections that our mental capabilities are less corruptible? Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe we no longer believe that our moral limitations should color our public policies since we’ve already banished religion from the public square.
Whatever the cause of this moral myopia, it is clearly a dangerous condition to be in. And whether we agree with the Catholic Church or not about the inheritance of Adam’s transgression, we should at least be wise enough to agree that we have inherited an imperfect human nature, subject to the constraints of a fallen world (call it a Darwinian world if you like).
In our pluralistic society, we feel a lot more comfortable talking about criminals in public than we do about sinners. One of the failings of this occurs at election time when we hope to elect public officials that aren’t criminals and yet we have to expect, in all honesty, that they are imperfect (dare we say that they are sinners).
But by abandoning the truth of our dual natures - including the doctrine of original sin - we are leaving public officials free to construct our societies as if they - with their eminent wisdom - were fully capable of the task. Sadly, it is quite apparent that they are not.
If we were smart we would adopt a more realistic perspective. We would start to realize that people (including public people) will fail. In fact they will make the kinds of mistakes that constitute sin. And we should, in spite of our own imperfections, plan accordingly.
References
Tennant, F.R. 1968. The Sources of the Doctrines of the Fall and Original Sin. Schocken Books, New York. 363 pp.
Schaff, P. 2002. History of the Christian Church, Vol. 8. Hendrickson Publishers. 890 pp. (originally published in 1858). Zwingli’s views on original sin are on pages 94-95.
Take Solzhenitsyn, for example, who came to the conclusion while laying in rotting prison straw wishing that evil people could be somehow separated from good people. It isn’t hard to sympathize with him and lament the injustices he endured while in the gulags. But he realized that it wasn’t possible to separate people this way because “the line dividing good and evil cuts through the heart of every human being. And who is willing to destroy a piece of his own heart?”
The Psalmist marveled that God had created man just lower than the angels and crowned him with glory and honor (Psalms 8:5). And yet the wickedness of man has been great and every imagination of his heart evil (Genesis 6:5).
There is nothing very surprising about this. A little honest introspection should be enough to convince each of us of our own dual natures. And yet for all this apparent clarity, we rarely manage to put into practice this truth that seems so obvious. We insist on shaping our societies as if we were just one or the other, as if we could do no good, or as if we could do no evil.
In American history, the Puritans stand out as clear examples of the former. Man inherited their evil natures from Adam and could not be trusted, or so they believed. In Hawthorne’s classic novel, The Scarlet Letter, Hester Prynne was required to wear a prominent letter A throughout her life as a sign of her degenerate - and seemingly incorrigible - nature.
Yet the very same New England that cultivated this 17th Century bigotry, turned completely around and by the mid 19th Century produced the Transcendentalists who believed that man could do no harm. Emerson’s belief in the greatness of man and in his immense potential has convinced (and still convinces) generations of Americans to trust no one more than their individual native geniuses.
Fortunately, the American founders were wiser in this regard than we have been. They established a government with the expectation that evil and designing men would seek public office. Checks and balances were accordingly put in place and with good effect. Today the United States government is the longest-lived constitutional government in the world. Ironically, it is because of this legal restraint that America has become a land of freedom, a land brimming with self confidence, and a land of realized human potential.
But things are not the same as they used to be. Almost all legislation these days ignores this dual nature of man. Committees are formed and budgets are allocated, but who checks-up on the committees or reviews the success of expensive programs? We write laws that are politically expedient (and self-promoting) while hardly worrying about their abuse once they are passed. Large budgets are created without the care needed to avoid the greed of special interests. Corruption abounds.
Of course we have political parties that carefully watch their corrupt competitors (and eagerly advertise what they find). But concern is much greater over deflecting criticism than it is over partisan character. In truth there is a greater moral divide separating individuals in the same political party than there is between the very issues separating these parties.
It becomes worthwhile asking ourselves how all of this came about. How did we start worrying about partisan causes more than about personal character? No doubt there are many reasons. One important reason that deserves special consideration is the unpopular and timeworn concept of original sin.
Original Sin
No one likes to think about their own faults. In fact only a few strong individuals ever attempt to look at their own failings objectively (as a prelude to personal improvement). Being told that we are sinful is almost certain to elicit a negative reaction on our part. Being told that we are sinful just by the fact of being born isn’t likely to be any more popular. Even so, this is one of the messages of original sin that has been accepted by many Christians as doctrine for centuries. Maybe our ancestors didn’t like it, but its truthfulness seemed self-evident. It was a doctrine that informed who they were and what they thought about themselves.
It was a doctrine that required rulers to accept - even plan for - corruption in their subjects. But it worked both ways. For example, when the barons of 12th Century England began exercising their own political rights, it became obvious to them that even rulers were likely to err and needed to be watched. One of the founding documents of Western freedom - Magna Carta - was forged from this realization.
Yet ironically it was the breaking away from the idea of original sin that empowered the Enlightenment, and ushered in the modern world with its confidence in man and its accompanying idea of progress. Clearly there seems to be an historical give and take here between fallen and enlightened man. For those who were taken in by the addictive fiction of an unpolluted human nature, the French Revolution came as a shock. Rousseau’s doctrine of the noble savage soon matured in to the massacres of thousands.
America, by contrast, experienced her own political upheaval at the same time but with very different results. More popularly called a rebellion than a revolution, her government retained traditional institutions, including a belief in a fallen world and of a fallible human nature.
History seems to be telling us something important here if we only had the wisdom to pay attention. It seems to be our inclination to believe in just one or the other of our dual natures, but not both, at any given time. Either we fail to be suspicious of our rulers and end up in bondage, or we fail to see our potential and live enfeebled lives. Today we are obviously making the first mistake, and in so doing are scoffing (or more likely ignoring) the whole idea of original sin.
Given our historical misunderstanding it would serve us well to consider the doctrine in a little more detail: where it came from and what it has come to mean.
The Doctrine of Original Sin
Both Judaism and Christianity agree (as do other religious traditions) that life on earth, as we commonly experience it, is a fallen or a corrupted place. Both traditions also agree that we experienced a better place prior to mortality from which Adam and Eve (our original ancestors) were driven because of sin. There is, however, a big difference between being a descendant of someone who has transgressed and actually carrying part of the burden for that sin oneself. It is something yet again to be guilty of that sin. These distinctions may seem subtle but they have been at the heart of many religious controversies through the years.
Nowhere in the Old Testament is there any suggestion that mankind is guilty of Adam’s transgression. There are places where the challenges of mortality are admitted and traced back to Adam, but these challenges, by themselves, do not constitute sin.
The New Testament is much the same with one primary exception. Paul’s epistle to the Romans (Chapter 5:12-21) recognizes Adam’s sin and then becomes a bit ambiguous (Tennant indicates that this is one of the most difficult passages in the Bible to understand theologically) about human sin. These verses were eventually understood to mean that mankind sinned with Adam’s sin, although originally this was not the case.
The early church fathers have nothing to say about original sin until Origen, who in emphasizing our inherited mortal condition failed to make a clear enough distinction between corruption and sin. To make matters worse, Origen also lived in northern Africa where there had developed the practice of infant baptism. Historians have not been able to show the reasons for this early practice but by the time of Origen, it was widely accepted. It became almost inevitable that the practice assumed a role of mitigating the corruption of the fall, once it was believed that corruption might involve sin.
Sometime later, Tertullian added another piece to the developing doctrine. While rejecting infant baptism, he taught that the spirit offspring of Adam inherited the sin of their ancestor at conception. This complex doctrine (known as traducionism) never became established church doctrine but the belief in an inherited sin did, along with infant baptism and Origen’s corrupted humanity. By the time of Augustine and the important Pelagian controversies, these basic points were fairly well established doctrines.
During the Reformation these doctrines were openly challenged. Some reformers argued that baptism should be done by immersion and not by sprinkling. Others argued that children did not need baptism because they didn’t carry the sin of Adam. An interesting perspective on this that sounds like a wise compromise from the time of Origen is Zwingli’s (16th Century) argument that we are all born with the inborn rapacity of the wolf. This inborn drive often prompts us to tear the sheep. But there is also an implication that we can chose not to act upon these prompting as well.
Latter-day Saint Beliefs
Latter-day Saint beliefs on original sin reject the notion that children can be sinful (either by inheritance or otherwise) before they reach an age of accountability (recognized to be eight years old). Mormon (in the Book of Mormon) writing to his son Moroni taught that, “little children are whole, for they are not capable of committing sin; wherefor the curse of Adam is taken from them in me…” (Moroni 8:8).
And yet human beings are clearly prone to mortal corruption. Nephi (also in the Book of Mormon) lamented, “how foolish, and how vain, and how evil, and devilish, and how quick to do iniquity, and how slow to do good, are the children of men…(Heleman 12:4).
Latter-day Saints do, however, accept an intergenerational responsibility towards sin that is often over-looked. Parents who sin are held responsible for the disadvantages they pass on to their children through generations. In Section 98 of the Doctrine and Covenants, however, it indicates that repentant children can repent and remove this guilt from their parents. This does not mean that children inherit sin, nor does it mean that we are not responsible for our own sins. It does, however, imply that we can inherit disadvantages from our parents. In this sense, Latter-day Saints do believe that we have inherited a fallen world from our first parents, but our agency has not been breached. This is an understanding of human culpability more reminiscent of early Christianity than the normative Christianity of Augustine.
Having this dual understanding of human nature, Latter-day Saints are both suspicious and yet trusting of their leaders. Public figures are known to behave immorally and need to be kept in line. On the other hand, religious leaders are held to a higher standard, and are often revered for having risen above the natural tendencies of fallen man. Nobody is perfect, but for Latter-day Saints, there exists the potential (frequently actualized) of virtuous leadership.
Today
Nobody that has lived more than a few decades can deny that mortality brings with it an ample supply of aches and pains. We don’t need an understanding of the human genome to convince us that our body’s programming isn’t perfect. Some of us believe this is due to our heritage as descendants of Adam. Others argue that our physical imperfections are inevitable artifacts of opportunistic evolutionary change. These opposing perspectives may not agree on the cause of our woes but at least they can agree that we have them.
So why then do we insist on creating our modern societies as if we had no moral limitations? Do we believe that despite our physical imperfections that our mental capabilities are less corruptible? Or maybe it’s simpler than that. Maybe we no longer believe that our moral limitations should color our public policies since we’ve already banished religion from the public square.
Whatever the cause of this moral myopia, it is clearly a dangerous condition to be in. And whether we agree with the Catholic Church or not about the inheritance of Adam’s transgression, we should at least be wise enough to agree that we have inherited an imperfect human nature, subject to the constraints of a fallen world (call it a Darwinian world if you like).
In our pluralistic society, we feel a lot more comfortable talking about criminals in public than we do about sinners. One of the failings of this occurs at election time when we hope to elect public officials that aren’t criminals and yet we have to expect, in all honesty, that they are imperfect (dare we say that they are sinners).
But by abandoning the truth of our dual natures - including the doctrine of original sin - we are leaving public officials free to construct our societies as if they - with their eminent wisdom - were fully capable of the task. Sadly, it is quite apparent that they are not.
If we were smart we would adopt a more realistic perspective. We would start to realize that people (including public people) will fail. In fact they will make the kinds of mistakes that constitute sin. And we should, in spite of our own imperfections, plan accordingly.
References
Tennant, F.R. 1968. The Sources of the Doctrines of the Fall and Original Sin. Schocken Books, New York. 363 pp.
Schaff, P. 2002. History of the Christian Church, Vol. 8. Hendrickson Publishers. 890 pp. (originally published in 1858). Zwingli’s views on original sin are on pages 94-95.
Tuesday, June 29, 2010
Old Notes
He opened up a book today
He hadn’t held in years
And found a penciled margin there
Intelligent and sure
A young aspiring reader with
A penetrating wit
Had managed with un-tempered lead
A calculating writ
He laughed just then and pursed his lips
An understanding hmm
For the wise author now long dead
Was laughing back at him
He hadn’t held in years
And found a penciled margin there
Intelligent and sure
A young aspiring reader with
A penetrating wit
Had managed with un-tempered lead
A calculating writ
He laughed just then and pursed his lips
An understanding hmm
For the wise author now long dead
Was laughing back at him
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
The Vital Desert
Abraham lived in Ur of the Chaldees - a productive agricultural land. It was watered by a large river and enjoyed a predictable growing season. Many people lived there and raised families. Paleontologists tell us that it was a lot greener in Abraham’s time than it is now. It’s easy to imagine that it was a nice place to live.
Abraham, however, was not destined to remain there. When his life was threatened by the city’s priests, he fled, leaving the relatively easy life than an arable land makes possible. He wandered a long time before finding the place God had prepared for him. One might be tempted to think that he deserved a nice place after all the trouble he had experienced. Instead he was given a wild and uncultivated land. He was given a desert.
Many years later, Abraham’s descendents (the family of his grandson Israel) were living in another lush agricultural land. This time it was in Egypt along the Nile River. No place in the world enjoyed a better place to grow crops. Each year the riparian land received a flush of fertility during the annual floods. It was the preeminent place for civilization.
But the Children of Israel were not destined to remain in this abundant landscape either. Over the period of generations, they had changed from being honored guests of the Pharaoh, to being his slaves. They too fled from their homes, like Abraham before, and wandered a long way - not to a fruitful land, but back to the desert.
In the early 19th Century, the young and growing Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints found itself in the rich deciduous forests of the American Midwest. The handful of early converts had migrated from New York and Pennsylvania to northern Ohio with its rich muck soils. They cleared the land and raised crops. But they were not able to stay. After being forced from their homes they settled again along the fertile lands of the Mississippi River. But they would not remain long there either.
Soon after the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum were martyred, the Saints packed up their belongings again and headed west. This time they left their fertile farms behind and pulled their wagons over the Rocky Mountains into the Salt Lake Valley - a high elevation desert.
And so it goes. A Chosen People is forced to flee from their homes. They rely upon the Lord for deliverance and direction, and He leads them to a Promised Land. Only this Promised Land isn’t really all that attractive. At least other people have pretty much left it alone, and for good reason: it doesn’t get much water. The Promised Land, as it turns out, is parched. In a word, it is a desert.
Is this all that a faithful people can hope for - sagebrush and sand? Or maybe this waterless wilderness isn’t meant to be a punishment at all but only the price one pays to be separated from the world. Or maybe - just maybe - there is something more. Maybe the desert is a particularly appropriate place for the People of God.
By definition a desert is a place that doesn’t get very much rain. When rain does fall, it often isn’t very predictable. The driest desert on earth is the Atacama Desert along the Pacific coast of South America. Some weather stations there have never recorded any rain at all. The Sahara and the Arabian Deserts usually get less than 4 inches of rain a year. The Gobi and Thar deserts usually get less than 10 inches. Other deserts get more. The Judean Desert gets less than 4 inches a year, although Jerusalem gets a bit more (averaging 19 inches). The Great Basin averages around 10 inches a year, although Salt Lake City averages around 16 inches.
What this means is that farming in these regions requires a lot of work. Wells have to be dug, or diversion canals have to be made. Yet even this does not guarantee a harvest. Fields have to be graded and then it still takes work to get water to the end of the row. Getting enough to eat is very much a dual effort. It requires a lot of physical work and it requires the bounties of the Creator. Because of this duality, the desert produces eminently practical and hardworking people with faith. And one can begin to see that living in a desert is less chastisement than a merciful gift. It is an opportunity to exchange a relatively carefree life for wisdom.
In its austerity, the desert is a great discounter of luxury and wealth. What matters more is sound judgment - and consistency. The desert may not give you a second chance.
Jacob Hamblin, one of the early settlers of the Mojave Desert, learned this the hard way. He lived along the Santa Clara River in Washington County, Utah during the late 19th Century. He was known for his wisdom in dealing with the Native Americans and learned a great deal from them. He knew, for example, that you could get water from the succulent leaves of a prickly pear cactus. You just had to get rid of the spines.
But one time Jacob found himself on the far end of the Mojave where there were plants he wasn’t familiar with. When he found himself without water he cut open the local variety of prickly pear - one that was colored a little different than he was familiar with - and quenched his thirst. A few hours later he was so sick he didn’t think he would survive. Fortunately for his family, he did, but not everybody is so fortunate.
Living in a desert says something about who you are. It’s like meeting someone at the top of a road-less mountain. You know they didn’t just get there by chance. No-one just happens upon the top of a mountain. You have to want to be there. So it is with the desert.
Even today with the luxuries of air conditioning, electricity and plenty of well water this continues to be true. But if most people are not cut out to live in the dessert, those that are will not be likely to leave it.
Perhaps it’s the magnificent sunsets, the wide open spaces, and the clear air that makes it so vital. Maybe it’s the magnificent carpets of wildflowers that bloom altogether after the rain. Or maybe it’s because of the loneliness or the austerity that broods there. Maybe it’s because the desert, like a mountain, is favored of God.
You might argue differently. After all, a moist forest enjoys a much greater abundance of living things. Clearly the Creator is partial to so much life. No doubt He is. But it is because of its abundance that it is so prone to human impiety. Human beings, after all, can live easily in a botanical paradise. And when things are easy, there is little reason to consider the divine.
The desert is different. Its very austerity is a repudiation of urban greed. There’s a reason the desert has been home for so many centuries to seekers of holiness. It offers itself as a holy place to those willing to work and do without the finer things in life. And in the absence of vainglory we can shed our shells of sufficiency. Then, as dependant sojourners in a harsh land, we find it is more natural to yield ourselves to God. Standing under a desert sky at night it becomes very apparent the He is not so very far away after all.
Abraham, however, was not destined to remain there. When his life was threatened by the city’s priests, he fled, leaving the relatively easy life than an arable land makes possible. He wandered a long time before finding the place God had prepared for him. One might be tempted to think that he deserved a nice place after all the trouble he had experienced. Instead he was given a wild and uncultivated land. He was given a desert.
Many years later, Abraham’s descendents (the family of his grandson Israel) were living in another lush agricultural land. This time it was in Egypt along the Nile River. No place in the world enjoyed a better place to grow crops. Each year the riparian land received a flush of fertility during the annual floods. It was the preeminent place for civilization.
But the Children of Israel were not destined to remain in this abundant landscape either. Over the period of generations, they had changed from being honored guests of the Pharaoh, to being his slaves. They too fled from their homes, like Abraham before, and wandered a long way - not to a fruitful land, but back to the desert.
In the early 19th Century, the young and growing Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints found itself in the rich deciduous forests of the American Midwest. The handful of early converts had migrated from New York and Pennsylvania to northern Ohio with its rich muck soils. They cleared the land and raised crops. But they were not able to stay. After being forced from their homes they settled again along the fertile lands of the Mississippi River. But they would not remain long there either.
Soon after the Prophet Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum were martyred, the Saints packed up their belongings again and headed west. This time they left their fertile farms behind and pulled their wagons over the Rocky Mountains into the Salt Lake Valley - a high elevation desert.
And so it goes. A Chosen People is forced to flee from their homes. They rely upon the Lord for deliverance and direction, and He leads them to a Promised Land. Only this Promised Land isn’t really all that attractive. At least other people have pretty much left it alone, and for good reason: it doesn’t get much water. The Promised Land, as it turns out, is parched. In a word, it is a desert.
Is this all that a faithful people can hope for - sagebrush and sand? Or maybe this waterless wilderness isn’t meant to be a punishment at all but only the price one pays to be separated from the world. Or maybe - just maybe - there is something more. Maybe the desert is a particularly appropriate place for the People of God.
By definition a desert is a place that doesn’t get very much rain. When rain does fall, it often isn’t very predictable. The driest desert on earth is the Atacama Desert along the Pacific coast of South America. Some weather stations there have never recorded any rain at all. The Sahara and the Arabian Deserts usually get less than 4 inches of rain a year. The Gobi and Thar deserts usually get less than 10 inches. Other deserts get more. The Judean Desert gets less than 4 inches a year, although Jerusalem gets a bit more (averaging 19 inches). The Great Basin averages around 10 inches a year, although Salt Lake City averages around 16 inches.
What this means is that farming in these regions requires a lot of work. Wells have to be dug, or diversion canals have to be made. Yet even this does not guarantee a harvest. Fields have to be graded and then it still takes work to get water to the end of the row. Getting enough to eat is very much a dual effort. It requires a lot of physical work and it requires the bounties of the Creator. Because of this duality, the desert produces eminently practical and hardworking people with faith. And one can begin to see that living in a desert is less chastisement than a merciful gift. It is an opportunity to exchange a relatively carefree life for wisdom.
In its austerity, the desert is a great discounter of luxury and wealth. What matters more is sound judgment - and consistency. The desert may not give you a second chance.
Jacob Hamblin, one of the early settlers of the Mojave Desert, learned this the hard way. He lived along the Santa Clara River in Washington County, Utah during the late 19th Century. He was known for his wisdom in dealing with the Native Americans and learned a great deal from them. He knew, for example, that you could get water from the succulent leaves of a prickly pear cactus. You just had to get rid of the spines.
But one time Jacob found himself on the far end of the Mojave where there were plants he wasn’t familiar with. When he found himself without water he cut open the local variety of prickly pear - one that was colored a little different than he was familiar with - and quenched his thirst. A few hours later he was so sick he didn’t think he would survive. Fortunately for his family, he did, but not everybody is so fortunate.
Living in a desert says something about who you are. It’s like meeting someone at the top of a road-less mountain. You know they didn’t just get there by chance. No-one just happens upon the top of a mountain. You have to want to be there. So it is with the desert.
Even today with the luxuries of air conditioning, electricity and plenty of well water this continues to be true. But if most people are not cut out to live in the dessert, those that are will not be likely to leave it.
Perhaps it’s the magnificent sunsets, the wide open spaces, and the clear air that makes it so vital. Maybe it’s the magnificent carpets of wildflowers that bloom altogether after the rain. Or maybe it’s because of the loneliness or the austerity that broods there. Maybe it’s because the desert, like a mountain, is favored of God.
You might argue differently. After all, a moist forest enjoys a much greater abundance of living things. Clearly the Creator is partial to so much life. No doubt He is. But it is because of its abundance that it is so prone to human impiety. Human beings, after all, can live easily in a botanical paradise. And when things are easy, there is little reason to consider the divine.
The desert is different. Its very austerity is a repudiation of urban greed. There’s a reason the desert has been home for so many centuries to seekers of holiness. It offers itself as a holy place to those willing to work and do without the finer things in life. And in the absence of vainglory we can shed our shells of sufficiency. Then, as dependant sojourners in a harsh land, we find it is more natural to yield ourselves to God. Standing under a desert sky at night it becomes very apparent the He is not so very far away after all.
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