A study in Nature magazine reported that the number of scientists who believe in a personal God has diminished over recent decades. In a new book, Duke University philosophy professor Owen Flanagan (2002) has stated the atheistic conclusion rather expansively: “There simply are no good arguments—theological, philosophical, humanistic or scientific—for beliefs in divine beings, miracles or heavenly afterlives.”

Those of us who have been around for some decades are dismayed to find God dragged before another earthly tribunal. Each generation poses the question of God afresh and each answers it according to its own sensibilities and assumptions. Some day it will be clear how presumptuous our provincial questions and minimizing pronouncements have been.

In the meantime, it seems fair to observe that our standard scientific processes for taking God’s measure are limited and biased. When we set up the rules of inquiry, we also foreordain the outcome. The dullest attorney knows the importance of controlling what evidence is entered in a court of law. Control the evidence and you control the conclusion. Likewise in the philosophical court of theology. When we decide what we will accept as evidence, we decide what our conclusion will be.

There is an interesting assumption in skepticism, an assumption that God, if He existed and wanted to be acknowledged, would want to be discovered by scientific methods. Let’s reflect on that assumption. Is it likely that our Heavenly Father wants to be approached through the scientific method? The assumption has merit if we believe that God’s primary concern is cultivating systematic inquiry—if we believe that God’s highest priority is rewarding cognitive complexity.

If, however, God’s primary interest is in cultivating compassion, humility, and faith, the trail of clues that lead to God are likely to be found on a very different path. If God is real, He will choose to be found on His own terms, which terms will be based on the qualities He wants to cultivate.

Rather than see the lack of scientific evidence about God’s existence as supporting a contention that He does not exist, I see any dearth of clues on the mortal crime scene as evidence of His profound regard for agency. The God who created the world chooses not to leave obvious evidence lying around in a manner that cannot be ignored. He wants us to be able to choose to believe or disbelieve without any intimidation or heavy-handedness.

In contrast, consider Saddam Hussein. I have not been to Iraq but, judging from media images, it appears that (before the invasion of Iraq in 2003), a picture could not be taken of the landscape anywhere in the country without getting a billboard, poster, statue, or bust of Saddam Hussein in it. His commanding image was ubiquitous. He retained armies and police to assure social order—as he defined it. And, when free and open elections were held, he was the only candidate.

The One who reigns over eternity is very different from Saddam. His divine imprint is subtly displayed in the visages of friends and family who are being transformed by Him. God employs no police but He has always provided an inner voice and official inviters—priesthood messengers—who beckon us to enjoy the blessings of obedience. In the elections of daily life, our ballots are littered with options, from secular humanism to atheism, from Buddhism to Shintoism, from Catholicism to Christian Science, from indifference to extremism.
God is not an insecure and demanding autocrat who insists on being obeyed. He is a Father who deigns to bless, teach, and enlarge us (see D&C 38:18 and 124:42). He knows that He honors our agency and ministers to our growth when He invites us to use our own agency and discernment.

Glenn Tinder has stated the case for human intellectual modesty much more eloquently than I can:

Perhaps discussions of religion would be more fruitful if we could rid ourselves of the assumption, common among Christians and practically universal among non-Christians, that God (if God exists) is simple-minded. We readily grant that a great writer such as Joyce or Proust is infinitely subtle and resourceful in fashioning a novel; but we assume that in fashioning human history God will be heavy-handed and obvious. Accordingly, some believers conclude that they know exactly what God has in mind and, vested with high office, could provide him with some much needed help. . . . In a parallel way unbelievers conclude that they know what God would do if he existed, and that since those things are not being done, he does not exist (The Atlantic, 265(3), March 1990, p.12).

Many of us find intriguing hints and harmonies in areas of science that suggest that the force behind the world is wise, good, and effective. When I took an astronomy class as a physics student, I felt that I saw the face of God on the elegant universe He created. More recently I have been amazed that, as our science in the realm of human relationships has improved, the conclusions have gotten closer and closer to the observations and recommendations of scripture. But it is not in the realms of science that I seek assurance of His reality.

For those of us who have chosen to seek him primarily on non-scientific paths and who feel that we have discovered encouraging signs of His existence and well being, the productive question is, “What can I do that will make my seeking more productive?” I think the first principles and ordinances of the gospel provide the guides. Those first principles seem also to be the second, third, and fourth principles of progress. They guide us from childhood to the end of mortality.

Faith in the Lord Jesus Christ comes first. It is the gift from our souls to him that testifies that we yearn for a relationship with the divine. God will not come and club us into submission. He will not compel us with a mountain of scientific data. He invites us. Ultimately we decide to try the personal experiment of trust or to resist it. If we are too proud or too independent to want a relationship with Him, we will not have one. He honors our choice while continuing to reach for us. His hand is stretched out still.

William James, the famous Harvard psychologist, observed that, “just as a man who in a company of gentlemen made no advances, asked a warrant for every concession, and believed no one’s word without proof, would cut himself off by such churlishness from all the social rewards that a more trusting spirit would earn—so here, one who should shut himself up in snarling logicality and try to make the gods extort his recognition willy-nilly, or not get it at all, might cut himself off forever from his only opportunity of making the gods’ acquaintance” (Fosdick, 1918, p. 9).

God asks that we enter into the spiritual experiment by trusting him—by showing faith. Even in that fundamental requirement He accepts baby steps, even good intentions—even a desire to believe—as an authentic first step in the journey of faith (Alma 32:27).

The fruits of faith are repentance. Having taken steps toward His way of thinking, we agree to test His way of living. We must do His will if we want to know the truth of the doctrine (John 7:17). Progressively we give His will and His purposes greater place in our lives. Having offered our minds to Him, we next bring our acts. Repentance is the evidence that we are serious about our spiritual investigations.

In our standard list of the principles and ordinances of the gospel, baptism and confirmation come next. Those washing and cleansing functions are marks of the transformation, the indescribable change that replaces the worldly in us with the divine. That spiritual process that makes us gentler and kinder may be mistaken for the effects of aging to those who are uninformed or uninitiated. For those who have felt that distinctive (and welcome!) change, it is much more than aging. It is the most serene of God’s miracles. It is a process that is repeated thousands of times as we progressively rid ourselves of the natural man to make room within us for the disciple.

As part of the vision of the tree of life, Nephi was quizzed by an angel: “Knowest thou the condescension of God?” Nephi gave a wise and inspired reply: “I know that he loveth his children; nevertheless, I do not know the meaning of all things” (1 Nephi 11:16–17). Even in our finest, most inspired moments we cannot comprehend God’s incalculable condescension. But we may sense that it is sure testimony of His love for us. He descended below all things that He might lift us above all things. The evidence of His good will contract is the subtle expanding of our souls. That subtle change of heart is hard to weigh in an earthly balance. It cannot be used to compel belief in others. Yet it is a welcome whisper of eternal hope for any who have felt it.

Joseph Smith, that remarkable messenger of heaven, observed that “good doctrine . . . tastes good. I can taste the principles of eternal life, and so can you. They are given to me by the revelations of Jesus Christ; . . . You say honey is sweet, and so do I. I can also taste the spirit of eternal life. I know it is good; and when I tell you of these things which were given me by inspiration of the Holy Spirit, you are bound to receive them as sweet, and rejoice more and more” (Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith, p. 355).

Science rightly holds an honored place in this world. It helps us discover the regularities that are woven into natural law. It helps us live more comfortable lives. Yet a scientific orientation might reduce any statement about the sweetness of honey to a chemical and biological formula. Science cannot adequately describe (or create) the subtle growing process of the soul that God directs. That process is as subtle as a breeze and as elusive as a neutrino.

In the laboratory of life, those who have followed His lab instructions and have tasted His love know that it is sweet beyond any description. They know He is real and, more important, He is good.

References:

Harry Emerson Fosdick (1918). The meaning of faith. NY: Association Press. [Recommended]

Owen Flanagan (2002). The problem of the soul: Two visions of mind and how to reconcile them. New York: Basic Books. [Not necessarily recommended.]

“And we know that all men must repent and believe on the name of Jesus Christ, and worship the Father in his name, and endure in faith on his name to the end, or they cannot be saved in the kingdom of God” (D&C 20:29).

While I was serving as a branch president some years ago, a young returned missionary in the branch made an appointment to see me. He wanted to renew his temple recommend but confessed a bothersome sin. He had done everything he could think of to overcome it. With youthful optimism, I joined him in support of his effort to overcome the sin. We made a plan to strengthen him spiritually. We fasted together. We considered and changed those circumstances that made him vulnerable. We arranged for him to get a father’s blessing. We did everything we could think of—but the troublesome behavior persisted. I was fully convinced that he was earnest—even intense—in his effort. But we seemed to be making no progress.

I assumed I could not issue a recommend as long as he had any problems with that behavior. He was discouraged. I was discouraged. The story was not following the standard script. Spiritual exertions are supposed to be rewarded with steady progress. What could we do?

A new way of thinking

I think I would handle the situation differently today. I would do all of the things that I described. But, with permission of the Spirit, I would not wait until the behavior was fully conquered to move forward. I would turn our focus away from the problems to the positives in his spiritual life. I would ask the young man about his experiences with the Spirit. Is he feeling the Spirit in his life? Is he being taught from on high? Is he feeling the goodness of God?

In spite of our most determined efforts to root them out, some thorns in the flesh may last a long time–maybe a lifetime. That failure to conquer may not be a failure at all. Maybe resisting evil, without fully overcoming it, is a part of what enduring to the end is about.

Many of us who hope for steady improvement in ourselves get discouraged, self-blaming, and despairing as a result of our lack of progress. When habits and weaknesses persist, we give up on ourselves spiritually. Yet maybe enduring to the end does not mean that the last vestige of fallenness will be removed in mortality. Maybe it means that we continue to resist evil. If that is true, those who have ever felt discouraged by the tenacious hold of a bad habit or weakness can take hope.

Surely it is true that we should draw on good sense, determination, faith, and priesthood power. But some of us may have thorns in the flesh that persist despite our spiritual exertions. Paul grieved: “For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me” (2 Cor. 12:8). Yet the trouble persisted. But wise Paul turned it to his spiritual benefit. He transformed his dismay with his own limitations into rejoicing in the Lord’s power.

“And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

“Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong.” (2 Cor. 12:9)

I do not presume that Paul’s “thorn in the flesh” was a moral weakness. But I believe that the God who gives us weakness in order to make us humble (Ether 12:27), may continue to administer His unique humility medicine for a lifetime. Our persistent weaknesses and failings can be a continuing reminder of our dependence upon God. They can energize our humility.

Enduring is resisting evil

Telestiality is a stubborn malady. Maybe that young man’s valiant struggle, together with the clear activity of the Spirit in his life, are indicators that he should have had a temple recommend. Clearly I am in no position to set policy for the Church. Yet I believe that I may too often take overt behavior as the primary indicator of spiritual progress when the activity of the Spirit may be a surer indicator. Stephen Robinson observes that “if we experience the gifts of the Spirit or the influence of the Holy Ghost, we can know that we are in the covenant relationship, for the gifts and companionship of the Holy Ghost are given to none else” (Robinson, 1992, p. 94).

If I were that young man’s bishop today, I would ask the Lord for permission to grant him a recommend, not because he had overcome all weakness but because he was humble—because he was seeking the Lord and His goodness with all his heart—as manifest by the young man’s experiences with the Spirit.

President David O. McKay observed that “not a few of us have a thorn in the flesh as did Paul. Perhaps to some of us a dead leaf of some past act is clinging. It may be that there is a little dirt in our character, but each one has also a rose in his life, a hawthorn twig, or a lily. And it is a glorious lesson for us to learn: to see the rose and be blind to the thorn; to see the hawthorn twig and he blind to the dead leaf; to see the lily and not the dirt in our fellow’s character” (Conference Report, October 1967, p.8).

Down in the dumps

To use a metaphor rather more vulgar than President McKay’s, mortality is somewhat like a lifespan at the garbage dump. Disorder and stench are everywhere. We are wise not to believe that the odors are the indicators of character; those foul smells remind us that we inhabit a place where we are all bedeviled by our weakness and burdened by fetid shortcomings. The smell around mortals is not a measure of character but a reminder that this world is not our true home. Maybe it is a person’s noblest moments, those times when character shines through all that garbage, that give us the truest measure of character.

Let us not be discouraged by the persistent and bothersome odor of mortality. As Harry Emerson Fosdick reminds us, “What a King stoops to pick up from the mire cannot be a brass farthing, but must be a pearl of great price.”

He has stooped down to this mortal garbage dump for you and me. He intends to rescue and cleanse us if we will keep reaching for him to the end.

At various times and in various places I have heard it said that it would be better for a person to come home in a pine box than to come home unclean.

Marion G. Romney reported that his father said the following to him just as he was boarding the train to go on a mission: “My son, you are going a long way from home. Your mother and I, and your brothers and sisters, will be with you constantly in our thoughts and prayers; we shall rejoice with you in your successes, and we shall sorrow with you in your disappointments. When you are released and return, we shall be glad to greet you and welcome you back into the family circle. But remember this, my son: we would rather come to this station and take your body off the train in a casket than to have you come home unclean, having lost your virtue.”

This is one of those statements that can be inspiring or evil–depending on how one understands it.

One way to understand the statement

If, by the statement, we mean that sin is worse than death, then it is in defiance of everything Jesus said and did. He was the One who cherished the sinful woman in the house of Simon the Pharisee. He was the One who left the 99 to reclaim the one. He was and is the friend of publicans and sinners. He is the One who paid an infinite and eternal price so that He could reclaim all of us from our sins.

A different way of understanding the statement

If, by the statement, we mean that choosing a life of sin is more miserable than suffering death, then we are right. Wickedness never was happiness. It is always ugly and miserable. Satan glamorizes sin. But he is a liar from the beginning. Sin is always a downer. That is a timely and timeless message.

But let’s return to the first interpretation, the troubling one. If God believed that sinning was the ultimate awfulness, He would not have sent us to this place where sin is inevitable. The fact is that learning and growth are more important than cleanliness. So God sent us to a dirty place where all sin and come short of the glory of God. But He didn’t do it because He was indifferent to sin. He sent us here in order to facilitate our growth. And, knowing that we would become soiled by our mortality, He provided a Savior for us so that we can return to be with Him.

The ugliness of sin

None of this recommends a careless attitude toward sin. Most of us hate it, resist it, and cry out for mercy. We do all we can to avoid it. Harry Emerson Fosdick (1918) expressed the disciple’s attitude toward sin better than I can:

[Man] wallows in vice, wins by cruelty, violates love, is treacherous to trust.  His sins clothe the world in lamentation.  Yet in him is a protest…He hates his sin even while he commits it.  He repents, tries again, falls, rises, stumbles on–and in all his best hours cries out for saviorhood.  (The Meaning of Faith, pp.19-20).

In spite of our hatred of sin, only One in the long history of this world and its billions of inhabitants has been entirely successful in avoiding it. The rest of us have been tainted. We have only one way to be clean. We throw ourselves on the merits, mercy, and grace of Him who is mighty to save.

While Satan would like us to feel that our sins and mistakes make life worse than death, Jesus invites us learn from our experience and be made holy by His redemptiveness. Without hope in Christ “we are of all men most miserable” (1 Corinthians 15:19).

Can I ever be worthy?

A friend of mine shared a vital experience.A youth at the detention center really impressed me.  He helped the other kids with finding verses in the scriptures.  He volunteered to play the piano and was very familiar with the hymns.  Every indication was that he was a fine well-trained Latter-day Saint.  All the while, though, he was glum and downhearted and refused to participate in discussions.  Finally, I was able, after several tries, to persuade him to have a one-on-one visit. I felt prompted to tell him my story [of addiction and recovery].  He wept and wept and wept.  When he finally regained his composure he told me of his very similar story.  Only his was worse.  Worse, in that his adoptive parents, who had loved and trained and kept him from the time he was three years old, had rejected him for his sin and refused to allow him back into their home.  The poor young man was laboring under the impression that he’d never serve a mission, be married in the Temple or be worthy of anyone’s love ever again–things he had longed for all of his life.  I guess his parents would rather he came home in a pine box too.   I bore testimony to him that he could be clean and whole and utterly acceptable to the Lord and His church.  He went on his way rejoicing to a foster home [elsewhere in the state]. I pray his new family will help him along his way.  I’m confident he’ll make it now that he knows of the power of the Redeemer.

The bright hope of Jesus

The testimony of scripture and the chorus of brethren must not be swamped by a misunderstanding. The price in pain and hopelessness would be an insult to the Redeemer.

“Is it possible to reclaim a life that through reckless abandon has become so strewn with garbage that it appears that the person is unforgivable? Or what about the one who is making an honest effort but has fallen back into sin so many times that he feels that there is no possible way to break the seemingly endless pattern? Or what about the person who has changed his life but just can’t forgive himself? . . .”The Atonement of Jesus Christ is available to each of us. His Atonement is infinite. It applies to everyone, even you. It can clean, reclaim, and sanctify even you. That is what infinite means–total, complete, all, forever.” (Shayne M. Bowen, “The Atonement Can Clean, Reclaim, and Sanctify Our Lives,” Ensign, Nov. 2006, 33-3)

When we habitually understate the meaning of the Atonement, we take more serious risks than simply leaving one another without comforting reassurances—for some may simply drop out of the race, worn out and beaten down with the harsh and untrue belief that they are just not celestial material. (pp. 5-6 Bruce C. Hafen, 1989, The broken heart. Salt Lake City, UT: Deseret Book)

There is no habit, no addiction, no rebellion, no transgression, no apostasy, no crime exempted from the promise of complete forgiveness. That is the promise of the Atonement of Christ. (Boyd K. Packer, “The Brilliant Morning of Forgiveness,” Ensign, Nov. 1995, 19)

We must not succumb to the false doctrine that our ability to sin exceeds His ability to redeem. We must not tell ourselves that we have fallen so badly that He can’t pick us up—or doesn’t want to pick us up. And we must not communicate that hopeless message to any of His children.

He descended below all things so that He can lift us above all things. He bore every sin and indignity so that He can lift us out of them. He is not surprised to find that we, like children who were all washed and dressed for church, have wandered off and found the mud. Time and again, He washes us off and points us toward the sacred.
It is clear that we must cheerfully do all we are able to do as we go through our earthly experience–but it will not be enough. We all must turn to Christ for cleansing, healing, and sacralizing. Only He can make us what He is.
Wherefore, ye must press forward with a steadfastness in Christ, having a perfect brightness of hope, and a love of God and of all men. Wherefore, if ye shall press forward, feasting upon the word of Christ, and endure to the end, behold, thus saith the Father: Ye shall have eternal life. (2 Nephi 31:20)

Reflecting with an old friend this morning, he asked the question: When did you change? When did everything become different?

My mind hopped around my life history looking for that one moment. When did it happen?

There was my mission when I caught fire. That fire changed me.

There was and is Nancy, so gently and totally transformative. She continues to change me in subtle ways.

There was the time when I finished Les Miserables and felt overwhelmed with a mixture of compassion and goodness. I wanted to be a better man.

There was the time when I counseled a woman with a life in shambles. As God sent a message of love for her, I realized that He loved me. I stopped resisting His love.

There was that time when everything seemed to fall apart. I realized that I couldn’t make my life what it needed to be. I turned to Him more earnestly than ever.

It is hard for me to assess how much my believing ancestors and dear parents have changed me. They are the water in which I have always swum.

There was Stephen Robinson’s book that opened my heart to new vistas of the atonement of Jesus Christ. That book continues to bless me.

Of course there are the books of scripture. What would I be without them?

There have been thousands of flashes of insight along the way. Which is the definitive experience?

After some reflection I realized that the question doesn’t fit my experience. While it is true that some transformative moments are bigger than others, I cannot find a single magical moment. All the pieces of life’s puzzle must fit together. No piece makes sense independent of its context. Even a big piece needs all the other pieces in order to fit, to make sense, to add meaning.

And the One who assembles the puzzle of our lives knows exactly when to put each piece in place.

For behold, thus saith the Lord God: I will give unto the children of men line upon line, precept upon precept, here a little and there a little; and blessed are those who hearken unto my precepts, and lend an ear unto my counsel, for they shall learn wisdom; for unto him that receiveth I will give more; and from them that shall say, We have enough, from them shall be taken away even that which they have. (2 Nephi 28:30)

Thank you, Father, for giving precisely what I needed exactly when I needed it. And for doing the same for each and every one of Your children.

Recently a beloved missionary called to ask us a troubled question. “Why am I so weak and imperfect? All the people love Sister So-and-so. I’ll never be like her. I just want to give up.”

The instinctive response is to argue, “But you are so good at such and such. You have so many talents!” We may even stoop to faulting the praised one as if making the competition poorer might make her feel better.
But there is no right way to do a wrong thing. There is no right answer to a wrong question. When the question is, “How can I respect myself when there are others so much better than I?” the answer is not, “You are better than you think you are.”

We can learn a better model from God’s example of dealing with His children. Enoch, after being told to prophesy unto the people, objected in a way very similar to the missionary who called us:

. . . he bowed himself to the earth, before the Lord, and spake before the Lord, saying: Why is it that I have found favor in thy sight, and am but a lad, and all the people hate me; for I am slow of speech; wherefore am I thy servant? (Moses 6:31).

If we were to contemporize Enoch’s language, it might sound like, “O Father, how can you use me? I am a nobody. The people hate me and I have no ability at speaking. How can you possibly use me?”

How did the Lord respond to such self-abnegation? Did He offer praise, encouragement, or contradiction? His answer is a pattern for responding to discouragement.

And the Lord said unto Enoch: Go forth and do as I have commanded thee, and no man shall pierce thee. Open thy mouth, and it shall be filled, and I will give thee utterance, for all flesh is in my hands, and I will do as seemeth me good (Moses 6:32).

In the mouth of a supportive, mortal parent, the message might be, “Go ahead and do what you are able. I will protect and guide you. You do what you are able and I will make up the difference.”

In dealing with Enoch’s self-doubt, God did not offer platitudes or palliatives. He told him to have the faith to move forward. He even gave Enoch the words to say. “Say unto this people: Choose ye this day, to serve the Lord God who made you” (Moses 6:33). Surely God was teaching Enoch even as he was using him to deliver a message to the people.

Two steps in the process of reassuring the hesitant are even clearer in the experience of Moses. Moses offers an ideal test case since his identity had been shattered and remade in such dramatically different ways. He was revered as the son of Pharaoh with all the princely privileges and honors. Then he was seen as a slave-Israelite and criminal on Egypt’s “Ten Most Wanted” list.

So he fled to Midian to start over. In a mountaintop interview with God, Moses got the message of his true identity. God introduced himself to Moses with grandiloquence. “Behold, I am the Lord God Almighty, and Endless is my name; for I am without beginning of days or end of years; and is not this endless?” (Moses 1:3). God did not use such boldness to impress Moses; he used it to set the stage for Moses’ most important discovery: “And, behold, thou art my son” (Moses 1:4). Moses learned that he had a role more important even than a prince in Egypt. He was a son of God.

God also showed Moses the workmanship of His hands. He beheld the entire history of the world and every inhabitant. God had a specific instructional objective in showing His creation to Moses: “And I have a work for thee, Moses, my son” (Moses 1:6). Think of the power of those two messages: “You are a son of God. He has a work for you to do.”

The two messages we offer to those who are discouraged and overwhelmed relate to relationship and mission: 1. We love you. We do not love you because you are better at this or that than so and so. We love you because you are you, because you are a unique creation of your Heavenly Fathder. 2. You are able to do an important part of God’s work. With heavenly help, you can do a work that He has designated just for you.

Ammon, with characteristic exuberance, expressed the attitude of a true servant:

Yea, I know that I am nothing; as to my strength I am weak; therefore I will not boast of myself, but I will boast of my God, for in his strength I can do all things; yea, behold, many mighty miracles we have wrought in this land, for which we will praise his name forever (Alma 26:12).

Lasting comfort does not come from comparison but from “relying wholly upon the merits of him who is mighty to save” (2 Nephi 31:20). We may be tempted to ask ourselves, “Could I do what Moses did?” The more interesting question is, “Could Moses do what Moses did?” The answer is a resounding “No!” Only God can do miracles. But we can be His messengers or helpers. Just as God used meek Moses to do a vital work, He can use us.

Our job is not to impress people, move mountains, convert people, or change the course of history. Our job is simply to do His will. As Jesus, the perfect servant of God, observed:

Verily, verily, I say unto you, The Son can do nothing of himself, but what he seeth the Father do: for what things soever he doeth, these also doeth the Son likewise” (John 5:19).

When Satan assails us with self-doubt, the right answer is, “I am a child of God. I trust him to use me to bless His children.” Life becomes more meaningful as “one joyfully, voluntarily, and quietly submits one’s whole life to God’s will” (Alice T. Clark, Humility, Encyclopedia of Mormonism, Volume 2).

Every once in a while I am amazed by some simple blessing in our lives. For example, it is amazing to me that we can jump into our cars and travel in climate-controlled, music-filled comfort to our destinations with speed and ease. I get thinking how much I would like to take Brigham Young or one of the pioneers for a ride in our Honda Civic. He would be amazed! Imagine driving him across the country in only a few relaxed days instead of months of sun-baked, soul-blistering plodding.

But then I realize that Brigham certainly has a mode of transportation now that is far superior to our old compact car. In fact his mode of travel must be even better than a Mazda Miata! I don’t know just how immortals travel, but I suspect that it makes our cars look very provincial. While I don’t begrudge him his mode of transportation, I suspect that he would not be impressed by ours.

So my gloating falls flat.

But maybe there is an alternative to gloating: gratitude. Maybe we can feel blessed without needing to feel superior. Maybe Brigham would love to roll down the power window in the Civic and slap the side of the car as we zoom across prairie and plain. Maybe his appreciation does not depend on comparisons but on the simple realization that we are surrounded by blessings.

I’m glad for the blessing of our little Honda Civic. Let’s go for a ride, Brigham!

“F. W. Myers, when asked what question he would put to the Sphinx, if he were given only one chance, replied that he would ask, ‘Is the universe friendly?’” (Fosdick, 1918, p.51).

When only a little boy I wrestled with a related question. I evaluated the odds of getting in trouble for my assorted misdeeds as opposed to the chance that I would be appreciated for my good intentions. I found myself wondering, “Am I more likely to be in trouble or to be happy?” I wasn’t sure. And I worried about it. I knew I was not man enough to resist the temptation to tease my sister or steal homemade English toffee from my Mom’s stash. I imagined a lifetime in prison.

Youthful misdeeds increased my anxiety. For example, my childish amusement of throwing apricots at passing cars had not turned out well. Though, to tell you the truth, my blameless brother suffered more serious consequences than I. He innocently answered the door when the angry driver came to the house. I hid in the woods while my brother cleaned the apricotted car. Yet I lived in dread of being busted by the law for years thereafter.

Some years later, it seemed to me like an innocent study in science to light matches and throw them off the rock outcropping in the fields near Aunt Mary’s house. The matches made a lovely trail of smoke as they dove to the ground. It never occurred to us that we would start a brush fire.

It seems that life conspires against little boys.

But childhood held more than mischief, anxiety, and unwelcome consequences. My siblings and I grew up in the mountains of Utah. We had a stream to explore, mountains to climb, dragonflies to admire, and all of nature to discover. Imagine a pet skunk, a pet squirrel, and a cheerful collie companion named Pretty Boy. All of that was part of childhood for us.

Life was glorious. Most of the time.

Same tune, second verse

The issue of the nature of nature was still not settled for me when adulthood reluctantly arrived. I found that life also conspires against adults.

I tried to support myself in college with a combination of part-time work and full-time frugality. For example while many of my friends had cars, I saved money by driving a motorcycle, a Honda 175 named Mildred. Mildred and I loved going everywhere together. And most girls I dated (with a couple of notable exceptions) thought my wheels were funner than a Volkswagen—though we were clearly at the mercy of the weather. A skiff of snow or sheet of ice could upend one’s travel plans when a motorcycle is your only means of transportation.

One winter Mildred languished. She would start as usual, run nobly for a while, and then lose power. I assumed that a logical guy majoring in physics could conquer her balkiness. So I spent hours scouring the manual, adjusting the timing, and checking the wires. Admittedly I had no experience at this special application of physics—but how hard can it be to fix a motorcycle?

Very hard. I ultimately got Mildred so messed up that I had to drag her to the shop. It was scant comfort that the mechanics could not find the problem any better than I. They tinkered with this and replaced that. All at my expense. Mildred had betrayed me. I might as well have bought the Volkswagen.

Several hundred dollars later, the shop discovered that Mildred had a temperamental spark plug. It worked some times and failed at others. After all my frugality I paid a terrible price for a $2 spark plug.

The universe didn’t feel very friendly to a scrimping college student after being betrayed by his “faithful” companion. Goethe’s words might be too dramatic to describe the exorbitant expense of a spark plug, but we have each—at one time or another–felt like a “troubled wanderer upon a darkened earth” (p.64).

Good from bad

As I was finishing college I dated a kind, gentle, and lovely woman named Nancy. She loved Mildred in spite of her occasional balkiness. On our first date I picked Nancy up early one Saturday morning to go for a motorcycle ride up a glorious canyon. But, as we entered the canyon, the clutch hung up. I was humiliated by Mildred. Another point scored for entropy and general anarchy.

But Nancy knew how to turn bad into good. She cheerfully offered to push the motorcycle the seven miles to the shop as I sat on it and steered. I was amazed! I offered to push while she steered but she insisted on taking her turn. Nancy turned a chore into recreation. Score several points for a benevolent universe.

Nancy and I married.

We had been married about a year when we got pregnant, a burden which one of us bore disproportionately. Pregnancy wasn’t fun for Nancy. Weeks of nausea then swollen ankles. Yet she rejoiced in the growing life within her. When it was time for delivery, I rubbed Nancy’s back for hours and hours. Through the night, the morning, and the afternoon. Finally little Emily emerged. I never remember a time when I felt more amazed. I exulted to Nancy, “Wow! This is a miracle! We should have more children!”

Nancy groaned.

But in time we did have more children. Delightful Andy and Sweet Sara. Interspersed between the joyous arrivals, we also had more than twenty miscarriages. This is not a picture with a clear message. The universe gives and the universe withholds. Is nature a friend or a foe?

As a parent of little children I found that it is quite natural to be chronically irritated. We may be glad for children in principle, but babies spit up, toys accumulate, and shoes track vast mud reserves into our lives. And there are mumps, measles, chicken pox, and, in time, dating.

Growth

So our children grew up. They were people we loved and cherished. That is a blessing. Yet we worried. Would they make good choices? Would they be healthy? Would they do good things with their lives?

I thought maybe I could retire from fretting when our children started families of their own. It hasn’t worked that way. We love more little people while having even less direct influence. We worry about them learning to walk, learning to read, getting hurt by friends, managing their vast energy, and getting jailed for throwing apricots at passing cars. It seems that there are so many hazards in this world.

Sometimes I think nature is our friend. Sometimes I fret.

So life doesn’t provide a simple definitive answer to the big question. Is life a burden to be borne or a blessing to be celebrated?

It is tempting to say it is both. Or maybe life is simply indifferent. Or maybe it is what we make of it. Pat answers don’t do justice to the complexity of experience.

Laws and lawgivers

The laws of thermodynamics seem to suggest that our bodies will fall apart, toys will break, machines will mock us, and sickness will dog us. But I have a growing suspicion that there is a lot that thermodynamics can’t explain.

Physics can’t explain the feeling I had when Emily was born. Physics can’t explain the pure joy I feel when I sit next to my beloved Nancy. The laws of nature don’t explain the yearning I feel for the grandkids to come over and wreck our house. The laws of nature cannot account for love, joy, peace, and everything that seems to matter.

Another generation

I suppose I learned that once again when Max, our first grandson was born. Natalie struggled through a long night of labor while Andy comforted her. Every minute seemed to stretch her soul to the breaking point. Exhilaration of impending arrival had given way to exhaustion by the time tiny Max arrived. Natalie was bleeding so the nurse handed Max to my sweet Nancy while all in the room but Nancy and I turned their attention to Natalie.

Nancy held Max close and began to whisper to him. “Welcome to this world Max. Welcome to our family. We love you. We always will love you.” The tears streamed down my face and I knew what I believed.

Life conspires relentlessly to bless us. Even our pains add meaning to our joys. I have what Fosdick (1918) called an “irrepressible impulse to thank somebody” (p.53).

The Sphinx has spoken to me. I know what I believe. Life is good. The universe is friendly.

Reference:

Harry Emerson Fosdick: The Meaning of Faith, 1918, NY: Association Press.

Have you ever had a distinct and unexpected impression?

When I was a young Boy Scout—and I was very young for my age—I went to a week longe scout camp. I left home with a fresh face and a full pack. Early in our week in the mountains, a frightening impression settled in on me. I had the feeling that my baby sister had been bitten by a rattlesnake. Since our family lived in Emigration Canyon and since we often saw rattlesnakes around our home, the idea was entirely plausible. Because I loved (and continue to love) my baby sister, the thought was very distressing.

Every day from sunup to sundown I fretted about my sister. Camp was miserable. There was no phone service at our remote camp so I could not call to check on Lorene. I wondered about asking my scoutmaster to take me. All week long I fretted.

By the end of the week at camp I was quite sure that Lorene was either dead or hospitalized. The drive home seemed endless. As the truck pulled up to our home, I was filled with dread. I was quite surprised to see little Lorene riding her tricycle in front of the house. No snake had been seen all week.

Meanings and feelings

What did the feeling mean? Was heaven mocking me? Was I being tested?

My explanation is more simple: “That which doth not edify is not of God, and is darkness” (D&C 50:23). The impression I had was from Satan, not God. God does not mock, cajole, annoy, torment, or tease us. It is contrary to His nature. Satan is the father of lies and misery.

I learned an important lesson from that camp experience (though it took me decades to formulate it): Feelings and impressions are only creditable if they come with that signature lilt that testifies that they are from God. Otherwise they are no better guides for wise living than a fortune cookie at a second-rate Chinese takeout.

“That which is of God is light; and he that receiveth light, and continueth in God, receiveth more light” (D&C 50:24).

Low-grade misery

The principle of the rattlesnake has broad application. Satan likes to keep us in a state of low-grade unrest. He wants us bothered and fretful enough that we do not break into joy and goodness. But he does not want us irritated enough to take off our spiritual shoes and shake out the pebbles.

I have learned that a heavy sense of sadness is not some sure indicator of our spiritual failure. It often means that we are simply tired. It can also mean that Satan is trying to “interrupt [our] rejoicing” (See Alma 30:22).

One popular use kind of satanic misery is that subtle feeling of irritation, annoyance, or disappointment with our spouses. We brood silently. We mull over their shortcomings. We begin to feel cheated and misled. We begin to rewrite our relationship history with discontent as the theme. We have a low-grade spiritual fever. The diagnosis is chronic uncharity syndrome. What a quiet but grand triumph for Satan.

Satan also loves to have us feel irritated with our children, our bishop, our co-workers, and our lives. He relishes misery and he knows that the best way to get humans to consume massive quantities of misery is to subtly sneak it into our daily diet. One spoonful at a time, we consume tons of murk.

What to do with those feelings

So, are feelings to be distrusted or ignored? Will they only lead us into trouble?

A sweet Christian couple in a rural Utah town came to know and love a young man in their neighborhood. When he was preparing to leave for his mission, he invited them to attend his farewell even though they were not LDS. They attended. In fact, they felt warmed and blessed by the music and messages in the service. They later consulted their minister. “Why did we feel so good when we were at that LDS service?” The minister’s response: “You can’t trust your feelings. Never listen to your feelings!”

If that counsel were put into action, it would undermine one of God’s chief ways of communicating with us. It would leave us at the mercy of cold—and fallible—logic. It would leave us shivering.

God recommends otherwise. Paul listed the first fruits of the Spirit as “love, joy, and peace” (Galatians 5:22). Those fruits have a distinctly emotional character. If the Spirit is our sure guide and He primarily speaks to us through feelings, we must not discount feelings as a guide in our lives.

Yet not all feelings are created equal. Some are more trustworthy than others. Brother Dayley has wisely observed that “we know we are learning under the influence of the Holy Ghost if we are being edified. Edification is characterized by a perception of goodness, a noticeable enlarging of the soul, and enlightenment of the mind. Those who desire to learn by faith must continually reject darkness and seek light” (K. Newell Dayley, (1994). “And Also by Faith.” Brigham Young University 1993–94 devotional and fireside speeches. Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University.)

Those impressions that edify should be honored with remembrance and action.

Spiritual checks and balances

The Lord provides spiritual checks and balances. In addition to providing the edification test for feelings, He has also provided the good-sense test for thoughts.

“Yea, behold, I will tell you in your mind and in your heart, by the Holy Ghost, which shall come upon you and which shall dwell in your heart” (D&C 8:2).

We can test any impression by its sweet, inviting nature and by its consonance with good sense. We should join our minds with our hearts in discerning God’s will. That can be a powerful combination. Our minds can provide a unique balance to our feelings.

It is logically unlikely that God will ask us to embezzle, cheat, or lie. He is not likely to ask us to hurt each other. Our minds know this. They can help us challenge those impressions that are not heavenly.
When our feelings and good sense work in heavenly harmony, the fruits of the spirit are the natural result. In addition to love, joy, and peace, there are long suffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, and temperance (Galatians 5:22–23). These are sure evidence of God’s presence and influence.

There are rare times that God has commanded something contrary to logic. God asked Nephi to slay Laban. But He provided not only the spiritual impression but also the clear rationale: “Behold the Lord slayeth the wicked to bring forth his righteous purposes. It is better that one man should perish than that a nation should dwindle and perish in unbelief” (1 Nephi 4:13).

Cultivating spiritual sensitivity

If you are as good as I am at rationalization and self-deception, then you know the importance of cultivating spiritual sensitivity. This is a lifelong process. Most of my spiritual blunders were the result of listening too selectively to the messages of my emotions and treating logic as a servant to discernment rather than as a partner and friend. Our impulsive desires can get in the way of what the Lord wants for us unless partnered with good sense.

Managing emotions

What are the principles of emotional management? I recommend a selective attention to feelings. Ignore negative feelings. Go toward the light. Push away darkness. “Look to me in every thought; doubt not, fear not” (D&C 6:36).

There is an exception to the general rule of ignoring bad feelings. On special occasions God may send a warning feeling of foreboding. There is a way to discern whether it comes from Father. When darkness comes from Satan, it leaves us feeling hopeless and helpless. If Father sends a warning, it will be attended by clear and specific instructions for getting out of the darkness and into the light.

For example, as you enter a movie theatre, you may have a clear sense of dread. If your mind also tells you that the movie is unfitting for a Latter-day Saint, heed the feeling. Go do something else. Following our impulses over His instructions leads to spiritual blindness. “They are walking in darkness at noon-day” (D&C 95:6).

Most instances of gloominess settle over us without providing a clear message to our minds. In such a situation we can ask God, “Is there something you want me to know?” If He does not give specific instructions and if we are doing what we believe to be right, we should dismiss and dispatch the feeling. God is not the author of gloom. We can fight darkness with faith and gratitude. (Some people may need counseling and medication to deal with various biological causes of depression.)

I suggest that we learn to tune in to the subtle whisperings of heaven. Notice the gentle nudge to offer kind words. Enjoy the wisp of love that comes unbidden in our daily lives. Dwell on feelings of peace and spiritual reassurance. Be grateful for every hint of goodness.

When we are less experienced, Satan will try to block such impressions by telling us, “Maybe that is just your own selfish desires talking. It is all just self-delusion” Satan wants us to turn from light to darkness. But if, for example, we have asked God how we can better serve him and a clear impression comes that is consistent with what the bishop or goodly parent might ask us to do, we should do it. If, in the course of our day, we feel inexplicably happy, we should thank heaven.

The metaphor for my spiritual goal may not seem very lofty: I want to become like a trained horse. I do not want God to have to jerk my head with His reins in order to turn me to an appointed rendezvous with service and growth. I want to become sensitive enough that the slightest nudge will redirect me. Perhaps one day He will merely lean in the saddle and I will discern His intent.

“. . . and that light groweth brighter and brighter until the perfect day” (D&C 50:24).

Sincere mortals have one central challenge in mortality, figuring out what to do with our persistent badness. We strive to be good and regularly fall short. We seek to be holy but we have holes in the knees of our jeans and stains on our elbows. This burdensome fact of mortality haunts our journey. “When I desire to rejoice, my heart groaneth because of my sins” (2 Nephi 4:19).

The popular American treatment for persistent feelings of inadequacy has long been the self-esteem movement. We focus on our inherent worth and try to ignore or deny our weakness and shortcomings. “I am good enough, I’m smart enough, and gosh darn it, people like me.” This approach has always been dishonest at best. Something must be done with the badness; affirmations can only persuade the weak minded.

Some brands of Christianity have celebrated badness. The themes in this tradition are depravity, corruption, perversion, and fundamental evil. Unfortunately advocates of this view (e.g., St. Augustine) have often applied God’s irresistible grace to deliver a select few from eternal torment. This remedy makes agency an immediate casualty—our choices have no impact on our outcome. This is a bad state with an irrational remedy.

Others celebrate meaninglessness. “The dignity of man lies in his ability to face reality in all its meaninglessness” (Martin Esslin). There is no sin because there is no law. Nothing means anything (see 2 Nephi 2:13). We live painfully and greet death with characteristic ambivalence. We live without meaning and die without purpose.

Amusement is another alternative. We distract ourselves from our quandary by dangling before us this bauble and that entertainment. When the novelty wears off, we shop for more toys. We live on the hedonic treadmill. It takes great discipline to keep this approach from collapsing in a heap of meaninglessness.

There is an approach that is especially popular among earnest Latter-day Saints. We emphasize our chosenness and divine nature. We work very hard to keep sin away while we work to be good and serve well. Clearly it is working for Sister So-and-so or President So-and-so. With just the right measure of denial it can provide superficial relief . . . but it leaves a gnawing spiritual desperation at the core. We don’t seem to be able to do as well as the So-and-so’s. And our persistent misdeeds are too real to be ignored.

Most of my life I was the dutiful boy, Aaronic priesthood bearer, missionary, BYU student, husband, and father. Some people may have judged me to be a pretty good Joe. I was aware of my lapses here and faults there but hoped that time and effort might subdue them.

In due course I was called to be a bishop. It seemed that the ward divided into three groups. Those bright-faced earnest strugglers like me who seemed to be making progress. Those wanderers whom we spent our time trying to reactivate. And then there were the sinners.

There was the prison parolee who was not meeting the conditions of the court (that included being current on his bills) and came to me for welfare assistance. There was the woman who had fallen unceremoniously into grim and unsatisfying immorality. There was the couple who quit the Church and began to teach against it.

We tried to rescue these fallen ones but usually had little success. How can we get them to change their courses? How can those driving south ever hope to get north?

Even now I am mining those experiences when I was bishop for new understanding. I remember the woman who confessed such a variety of misdeeds, betrayal, and corruption that I felt absolutely no hope for her soul. After spilling out her tale of woe she got to the dreaded question: “Bishop, what can I do?” Fortunately the Lord took over. He delivered specific counsel, words of encouragement, and clear statements of love to that desperate woman.

I was dumbfounded. I simply had no idea how much the Lord loves His children. How can He cherish such stained and fallen ones? How can He bring order to such spiritual chaos? What had she done to draw such grace?

In the course of my service, my favorite words became: “Bishop, can we talk when you have some time?” I came to know that when people become sick of sin and finally cried out in desperation, God delivered His greatest miracles. I was blessed to be His messenger for some of those miracles.

I wish I could say that in my adulthood I have been only a spectator of sin—using my opera glasses to observe the drama and tragedy from a safe distance. It is not true. I have been guilty of pride, meanness, thoughtlessness, selfishness, dishonesty, and a variety of sins of omission and commission that have hindered and buffeted my soul. The burdens have been too great for my “I’ll-just-try-a-little-harder” optimism. Self-sufficiency was crushed by reality.

I am fallen. No matter how hard I try, I do not measure up. Sometimes I cannot even keep up the veneer of civility. Even decades of trying hard will not transform me into the man I yearn to be.

The fish discover water last. Why did I think that I knew Nephi but had not noted that his self-loathing was transformed into heavenly rejoicing when he acknowledged the One in whom he trusted (2 Nephi 4)? Why was it so late in life when I realized the significance of Alma feeling crushed by sin to being vaulted into the heavenly courts by calling upon Jesus (Alma 36)? Why did the Savior’s definition of righteousness in the sinful publican elude my understanding for decades (Luke 19)? How did I miss Jesus’ frank forgiveness granted to the sinful woman in the house of Simon the Pharisee (Luke 7)?

Suddenly the scriptures are full of surprises. It seems that everything is turned upside down. The first are last. The last are first. Stained sinners are my heroes because they found the humility to throw themselves on the merits, mercy, and grace of him who is mighty to save.

I always thought my objective was to be righteous. Unfortunately I have never been able to do it. Now I see my objective as to follow the only One who is righteous. I still grieve over my faults, sins, and weakness. I still work assiduously to avoid sin. But I do not look to myself as the one who can fix weakness and sin—I am not God. I look to him who is able to do His work. My job is to become humble. His commitment is to perfect the humble.

So my attitude toward sin has changed. My old (and failed) attempts to ignore my weaknesses are gone. I join Corianton in the attempt to let my sins bring me down unto repentance (Alma 42:29). I keep my weaknesses as the backdrop to His remarkable goodness. In fact it is His goodness that awakens me to the soul-deep yearning to be something better. (See Mosiah 4:5.)

When I was young I imagined that the mural of my life was coming along nicely. But now I realize that it was nothing but darkness and confusion unless He was the central character. My life is nothing without Him.

The best I can do is point to Him. To paraphrase Paul, “I now glory in my weakness. It is clear to me and to all observers that any goodness that comes through me is heaven sent” (2 Cor. 12:9–10).

It is not surprising that Corianton—who strayed from righteousness and his mission—should get counsel from his father, Alma, to turn to Christ. But I note that even faithful Shiblon was counseled by their common father not to depend on himself but to turn to the one Source:

And it came to pass that I was three days and three nights in the most bitter pain and anguish of soul; and never, until I did cry out unto the Lord Jesus Christ for mercy, did I receive a remission of my sins. But behold, I did cry unto him and I did find peace to my soul.

And now, my son, I have told you this that ye may learn wisdom, that ye may learn of me that there is no other way or means whereby man can be saved, only in and through Christ. Behold, he is the life and the light of the world. Behold, he is the word of truth and righteousness” (Alma 38:8-9).

Christ is not a decorative touch on our lifetime resolve and finest efforts. He is our only hope. As I have discovered that central fact, everything is new. I comprehend sacred mysteries because He is my light. I accomplish things I can never do because I welcome him as my life. I feel a peace that passeth knowledge because He is my comfort.

So the solution of what to do with my persistent badness is quite different from anything I had expected. I do not conquer it. I do not ignore it. I gather it up and give it to Him. He gladly takes it away. (he has already paid for it!) Then, having cleansed me, He comes in and sups with me.

Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me (Revelation 3:20).

Every time I bring him into my life, I am better for it. It is He who can transform me. It is He who is my only hope. It is He who is the beginning and the end—not merely for the world but for me personally. President Benson described spiritual reality when he said:

Men and women who turn their lives over to God will discover that he can make a lot more out of their lives than they can. He will deepen their joys, expand their vision, quicken their minds, strengthen their muscles, lift their spirits, multiply their blessings, increase their opportunities, comfort their souls, raise up friends, and pour out peace. Whoever will lose his life in the service of God will find eternal life. (“Jesus Christ—Gifts and Expectations,” Christmas Devotional, Salt Lake City, Utah, 7 December 1986; Teachings of Ezra Taft Benson, p.361.)

Nature conspires against us in many ways. In physics the conspiracy of nature means that there are limits to our ability to fully know and control nature and her doings. The law of entropy suggests that everything runs down. In biology, we are stuck with the problem of aging with its aches, pains, and death. In psychology there is the struggle for meaning and, even more fundamental, the problem of memory. We live in a world where everything seems to work against us.

Does this world conspire to blind and thwart us? Is mortality a senseless decline into death and oblivion? Are we set up for failure by our biology? Or is there some meaning and purpose to it all?

As with many big questions, we don’t have all the answers yet. But there are several tantalizing hints—areas where the conspiracy of nature can be seen as a blessing from heaven. In fact, when we learn to filter the perplexities of life through the lens of faith, we see God busily blessing us in every part of mortality.

“Habits hold us hostage.”

All of us have thrashed against one bad habit or another. It might be anger, lust, impatience, or any of myriad bad habits. After decades of resisting habits, we find that we seem to be held hostage to unhelpful ways of thinking and acting.

Yet most habits are just strong enough to make most actions automatic. An experienced driver doesn’t have to fret about every movement. Getting dressed can happen almost automatically. Eating takes almost no thought.

At the other end of habit strength, most habits are just weak enough that they yield to persistent effort. Almost all habits can be changed with the application of earnest and wise effort. Ultimately we will be what we choose to be.

Perhaps habit strength is not some biological accident. Perhaps it was carefully calibrated by a perfect Designer. Rather than being victims of biology, we are fruits of agency. (Of course changing our nature is a different task. It cannot be accomplished by mortal means alone but requires divine intervention.)

“When something doesn’t work, do more of it.”

When our automatic and unwise ways don’t advance our purpose, we do more of what doesn’t work. When anger doesn’t work, we move to rage. When yelling doesn’t work, we yell louder. When rationalization doesn’t work, we rationalize more creatively. As humans we tend to act automatically more than sensibly. We do what comes naturally even when it hurts us.

From the spiritual perspective, “the natural man is an enemy to God.” God invites us to notice when we are acting unwisely. If we strive to change our ways, we will discover over the course of a lifetime that we have many persistent and annoying tendencies. This could be a biological limit on our growth. Or it could be a reminder that we can only be fundamentally changed by Him. It is not necessary to say, “That’s just the way I am.” Instead we can say, “God—and only God—can make me into something Divine.”

“Human mortality is short.”

Many biologists who study aging scratch their heads over the fact that, unlike the rest of the animal kingdom, humans do not mature to reproductive prime and then quickly decline. Humans have extended adulthoods. Why?

The Lord gives a clear answer: “And the days of the children of men were prolonged, according to the will of God, that they might repent while in the flesh” (2 Nephi 2:21). The Lord has perfectly designed the human experience to give us extended opportunities to learn from mistakes and to develop our character.

“Entropy is the norm. Everything falls apart.”

Apparently, change and decay are a part of everything around us. The house decays. The car falls apart. Arthritis cripples. Cholesterol clogs. The mythical fountain of youth mocks our earthly experience.

Yet every new life that enters mortality is a tribute to the One who sustains us from moment to moment by lending us breath and supporting all the functions of living (Mosiah 2:21 and 4:21). Scientists do not have a tidy theory to explain aging. Their best efforts employ a hodgepodge of multiple theories that leave large gaps in understanding the aging process.

Even so, the research by Carol Ryff, a scholar on well being in later life, shows that there are significant gains in later life. In my view, the only way to make sense of aging is to understand it as God’s classroom. He sustains us through a rich and diverse education. Later life is not senseless decline. Aging is advanced training for immortality, teaching us great lessons in patience and humility. One day, when we understand all that God has done to provide this mortal education to us, our knees will bow and our tongues will confess in stunned and grateful astonishment.

“Humans are basically bad, we are at odds with each other, and must keep up our defenses.”

In order to navigate the social world, we all develop implicit personality theories: Why do people do what they do? Tainted by the poisons of mortality, we put what we know of people’s histories together with assumptions about their inner workings and come up with ways of explaining their behavior that are typically quite bleak. We interpret people’s self-serving actions and predict their futures. We evaluate their achievements and scowl at their failings.

If we understand heaven’s purposes, we factor into our formulations the charity factor. We know that each person is much more than the caricatures we create based on mortal data. If we can see past the mortal crust, we know that there is a noble creature inside. In fact one of the challenges for sociobiology is explaining altruism: If self-preservation is the governing principle of human behavior, why do people sacrifice in behalf of others who are not members of their clan? Those who believe that God oversees the doings of mortality know that self-preservation is not the ultimate law in eternity.

So we soften our assessments of others knowing that we see only partially. The most important part of every human is hidden from our view. Because of that, God invites us to avoid the judging that is so automatic for humans: “Man shall not smite, neither shall he judge; for judgment is mine, saith the Lord, and vengeance is mine also” (Mormon 8:20). He enjoins us to love and support each other. “Succor the weak, lift up the hands which hang down, and strengthen the feeble knees” (D&C 81:5).

Since we do not know the souls of our fellow travelers, God invites us to leave judgment in His hands. Rather than fretting about defending ourselves against an enemy world, we are free to encourage and support each other.

“I can’t do it all.”

Most of us have the frustrating experience of being unable to do all we want to do—even all we think we must do. Is that a personal failing? Is it a biological limitation? In my view it is neither. It is a carefully designed reality that assures that we must make choices. If there were no competition for our time and energy, we would never learn to cherish the best and selectively neglect some good.

“Human memory is flawed and weak.”

We bemoan our imperfect memories. We find ourselves quite unable to remember where we put the keys or put a name to that person at the party. It seems that our memories conspire to humiliate us.

But perhaps our partial memories are a blessing. Do we really need to remember where we parked the car when we went shopping two years ago? Do we want the obscenities of passersby to remain bright and present in our memories for years to come? Do we want to retain the recollection of every toenail clipping? Who needs such a jumble of meaningless memory?

The fact is that most of us remember most of what is important enough to rehearse. Most forgotten ideas are forgotten because we did not attend to them or establish them in our memories. Most remembered ideas are those that got planted deeply.

People can cultivate false memories. People can construct and rehearse fragments of events and feelings and create specific (if false) memories. When combined with malice, this can lead to vilification. When combined with charity, this can lead to appreciation.

We all rewrite our histories by the choices we make about what to remember. If we assume the worst, we see ourselves surrounded by foul and selfish people. If we assume the best, we know that God is at work among us. Even memory is the servant of our agency.

“Pleasure seeking is the only way to have any fun in life.”

The spiritually naïve hope to enjoy life through hedonistic pursuits. They chase vanity, wealth, and pleasure. But, at best, these are only distractions. The path of pleasure leaves one with wilted and dried memories but no meaning. Some of the world’s best scholars decry the death march into narrow individualism (see, for example, Cherlin, Baumeister).

The Lord teaches us that wickedness never was happiness. The only way to be happy is to follow His path. He has not hidden happiness from us in a remote place so He can laugh at our searching. The truth is that happiness is the object and design of our existence and will be the end thereof, if we follow his treasure map (see TPJS, pp. 255–256). He knows how to get us there. But there is no other way. He conspires to make us happy. All we must do is follow His instructions, which include large doses of self-forgetfulness.

There are ample reasons to fret in this life. But we have the hints of peace and purpose in our souls that can be tended until they become the core of our lives.

A purposeful conspiracy

When I examine the evidence, I conclude that there is indeed an active conspiracy in nature. Carefully crafted by God, nature conspires to teach us, remind us, challenge us, and measure us. Will we plod along making a cosmic shrug or will we call down the powers of heaven to give meaning and direction to our mortal experiences? Nature conspires against us if we travel alone. Nature conspires to bless us if we travel with God.

Life can be legitimately seen as a painful tragedy or a purposeful triumph. Each of us must choose. I choose to see God at work blessing His children in wise and loving ways. The very fact that God has created a world in which everything can be seen in gloomy or glorious ways seems to be evidence that He honors our agency.

For those who believe, “the heaven declare the glory of God and the firmament is packed with testimonies of his perfectly redemptive purposes” (Paraphrase of Psalms 19:1). In far more ways than we know, God is busily at work preparing us to return to be home with Him.