Happiness

The other day I picked up a new book at the library, and I'm finding some interesting connections to my recent emphasis on using Preach My Gospel in my scripture study. The book is called Happiness, and the author, Daniel Nettles, reviews and analyzes psychological research into what makes people happy. At times a bit dry, it is nevertheless an intriguing look into something about which Mormonism has a fair amount to say.

The basic question the book grapples with in the opening chapters is how happy people are, and how we can tell. The crux of the matter is this: people are horribly inaccurate and inconsistent in terms of rating their own happiness, and even worse at analyzing the causes of that happiness. So we are left to extrapolate from the data conclusions that are not grounded in much solid science.

In dissecting this issue, the author makes an interesting claim about the fact that most people rate their overall level of happiness higher than average, resulting in a pretty skewed bell curve. So, he comes to the conclusion that life is a messy mix of happiness and sorrow, and that things are generally better than they could be, but worse than could be hoped for. Here, then, is the part that gets me: “Far from being a disappointment, this conclusion is strangely liberating. It relieves us from the anxiety that someone else's life is a paradise and ours somehow is not” (64).

Compare this then with the doctrine we teach from Lehi: “men are, that they might have joy.” This is often oversimplified to mean something life “smile, and if you can't smile you're clearly being iniquitous.” No wonder anti-depressants are so widely-prescribed in Utah; if you feel bad about not feeling good, you get in a pretty vicious cycle pretty quickly.

But I parse this verse differently, in light of the introduction to PMG, which explains what we preach when we share the gospel: our potential as children of God to find joy in our relationships with each other and Deity. To me, the key word in the above verse is “might.” There's no guarantee implied, but happiness is possible. And, what's more, that potential happiness is an inherent part of the human condition; we're hard-wired to strive for happiness. Nettles makes a similar point in tracing the evolutionary value of a happiness gene, which gives us a way of seeking conditions that make us more likely to survive and reproduce.

Knowing this, we can--and, I think, should--be aware of what brings us happiness. With that awareness, we are more likely to make choices that lead to happiness. To that end, I have been conducting a brief experiment on my work blog, noting each day what brought me joy in my work from the previous day.

It's been quite enlightening. Most of what I have noted has related to the success my students have had; to me this is a good sign that I'm in the right line of work. And I can similarly note that in my personal life, the things that bring me joy are quality time with my children, good conversations with my wife, and chances to do things for others that are meaningful and use my skills.

Doing these things more frequently and deliberately then should result in more joy in my life. Interestingly, these same things build relationships and bless the lives of others, all things that, in the long run, with a lot of patience and faith, result in the godlike characteristics we ought to be focusing on in this life.

Duty to God

One week into this new use of the blog, I'm ready to deviate slightly from the explicit stated purpose of exploring my daily scripture study. This is partially a reaction to the practical issue: I'm not posting every day, so claiming to share my daily insights is inherently inaccurate. But reflecting on spiritual thoughts is a more natural approach, and this is what today's entry is meant to do.

During General Conference this past April, several speakers alluded to and discussed the Church's new Duty to God program for young men, and, as the father of three boys, I have been eagerly awaiting the new materials. I've spent some time speculating about how this new program might fit with the Church's Scouting program (I'm convinced that within my lifetime the Church will have to or choose to abandon Scouting, and the revised DtG program will serve as a basis for a post-BSA era), but more than that, I've been interested to see how these materials might correlate with the young women's new Personal Progress materials.

Last Wednesday our ward's shipment arrived, and I've spent this past week looking over the booklet each boy will have, and I am very impressed. First, I find the booklet to be simple, clear, well-organized, and attractive. Having the materials for Deacons, Teachers, and Priests all in one booklet is a marked improvement over the old program, and the basic structure for each age group (spiritual strength, administering ordinances, a project based on a principle from For the Strength of Youth, etc.) is excellent.

But the thing that interests me the most about the new materials, and that I find the most intriguing, is the basic model it presents for each endeavor. The approach is to first learn basic principles, then to act on that new understanding, and then to share the results of a project with family members and peers. There's nothing earth-shattering in this model, but I find in its simplicity some powerful truths.

As I reflect on this model, I realize that this is precisely what happens in any effective teaching setting, be it formal or ad hoc. When my students are learning well, it's because they are learning an idea, using that idea, and sharing their work with each other and with me. The same is true with my children; when they understand something and then act on it, they learn it, and when they teach each other something—whether it's math or the new game one of them has invented—they find joy and fulfillment.

And I think this ought to be the way we approach anything we do—learn it, do it, and share it with others. The social networks we use are actually very conducive to this—I read an article or book or blog, I do something with that by reading or trying something out, and I post the link or blog about it. In fact, in a sort of meta-way, that's what this is, as I read and studies the new DtG materials, mulled it over and wrote, and then posted my musings here for you to read. Now get off the computer and do something. Then, tell me about it.

Ezekiel 47

Another riff based on our recent stake conference. But first, a peek into my youth. As a high school student, I lived in a rural area of south-central Pennsylvania, where our ward was a strange mix of diasporic Mormons from the mountain west and local converts, some with several generations of membership in the Church, and others being the first in their families to be baptized. There were other elements of diversity, including education (from college professors to high-school dropouts), profession (a lot of blue-collar workers and some doctors and lawyers). Somehow it all worked, and great things happened in that ward.

But, as is the case with any ward, there were issues, especially when it came to gospel instruction. To put it plainly, I was presented with a lot of false and outdated doctrine in Sunday School, seminary, and priesthood quorums. And it has taken much of my adult life to sort through that and determine both what is true and why good, well-meaning Latter-day Saints would so adamantly believe things that are patently untrue.

I say this because on the Saturday of stake conference, our temple president (who I'm still trying to figure out—he is clearly a spiritual man with a deep testimony of the Savior and His church, but his tendency to name-drop and seem rather self-centered rubs me the wrong way, especially when I contrast him with the exceptionally humble temple president who preceded him) clarified a chapter from the Old Testament that had long bothered me. This will likely seem a simple insight, but for nearly two decades the false interpretation I got as a youth has deeply affected me, and the correct version presented at conference has been enlightening.

The chapter is Ezekiel 47, in which the great Old Testament prophet is shown in vision the holy temple. The first few verses of the chapter are beautiful, as we see, as the temple president put it, the healing and life-giving power of the temple represented by the flowing water. And the symbolic meaning of verses 1-5, that the farther we go, the deeper that healing becomes, is especially encouraging for me as I look for motivation to attend the temple more frequently and consistently.

But it's verses 7-9, where Ezekiel tells of the river flowing to the sea and healing it that we get to the false doctrine. Or rather, the shallow and overly-literal interpretation of scripture that we tend to sometimes in the church. I distinctly remember a class setting as a teenager in which our teacher—a good, honest, decent person who, unfortunately for the youth in the class, always read scripture on a very literal, simplistic, and conservative level—explained that this clearly meant that at the Second Coming, Christ would set foot on the Mount of Olives, which would then break asunder and bring fresh water to the Dead Sea.

Ignoring for the moment the science of it all (a highly salty body of water is not caused by what comes in, but by the fact that nothing comes out—itself a wonderful analogy), there's something in this reading of these verses that I find very troubling. For lack of a better term I”ll call it the CNN Syndrome, and I saw a lot of it in my growing up years. It goes something like this: members of the church who are highly focused on the impending Millenium see it as the solution to all their woes, both real and imagined. Combining this with the habit of watching too much TV, especially cable news (in the early '90s this meant CNN), and you get a worldview in which the end of the world is right around the corner (a lot of these folks were the Y2K crowd who expected the Second Coming in 2000) and will be heralded with live TV coverage.

What I find most disturbing about this approach to Mormon theology is not the political aspect of it (how many Mormons saw Bill Clinton as the anti-Christ and a sure sign of the end of the world?), but rather the way in which it blinds us to the profound and life-changing truths of the gospel. The healing of Ezekiel's vision is not about a body of water half a world away; it's about my own soul and the need I have to be refreshed, renewed, and reborn on a regular basis. It's about how striving to worship in sincerity and commitment leads me to deeper happiness and spiritual fulfillment. It's about how the Second Coming is less about the dramatic and spectacular version imagined by pop culture Christianity than it is about how I can—if I am worthy and faithful—both feel Christ's presence in my life and see Him, in this life or the next. (I have more to say on this topic another time.)

And so I am left at the end of this rant with two emotions. First, a sense of sadness for the tendency we have to miss the boat in our exegesis and to read things—especiaally the writings of Old Testament prophets—on an overly-literal level, sometimes completely misleading others (this same teacher once explained that Isaiah clearly meant that the moon would fall to the earth, creating a land bridge between Hawaii and the continental US). And second, immense joy for the truths of the gospel and the power of temple worship in particular in mending our broken lives. In particular, I am impressed by the power of temple worship, and reflecting on Ezekiel's words, I am committed to further tapping into that power in my life and in the lives of my children.

A New Way of Ranting

For some time I have felt that my personal scripture study has been stagnant, and none of my efforts have made a significant difference. At our ward conference in January, our bishop specifically asked us to make daily scripture study a priority in our lives, and he promised that doing so would have positive effects in our lives and families. So, when my brother-in-law emailed me last week with some thoughts on 2 Nephi chapters 31 and 32. After some back and forth discussion via email, Stew proposed that we move the conversation to the blogosphere, and, since I'm not ranting very much these days, this seemed a good venue for the dialogue.

So here's an opening salvo, drawn directly from this past weekend's stake conference. The one message from the six hours of meetings I attended over the weekend that stands out to me the most was the first one, from our stake president. He emphasized the importance of each member of the stake making a concerted effort to share the gospel with others, and he reminded us of the challenge he gave at the last stake conference for each family to share the Book of Mormon with a friend or neighbor.

Then he spoke of how using Preach My Gospel as part of daily scripture study will help us be more capable of and committed to sharing the gospel. In particular, he promised us that studying chapter 6, which focuses on developing Christlike attributes, will help us be more holy, more prone to receiving promptings that will bless the lives of others.

(As a sidenote, last week a member of our ward sent me the network access key to the wireless network in our stake center, so as our stake president spoke, I accessed PMG online, saved a PDF version of the book, and began to download audio files of the missionary manual (I'm listening to chapter 1 while I write this).)

So, in reading through chapter 6, I found a scripture reference that has great meaning for me, and which takes on a new significance to me as I think of it in terms of becoming more like Christ and thereby being more able to share the gospel. Moroni 8:25-26 come at the end of Mormon's epistle to Moroni regarding infant baptism. Here's the text:

"25 And the first fruits of repentance is baptism; and baptism cometh by faith unto the fulfilling the commandments; and the fulfilling the commandments bringeth remission of sins; 26 And the remission of sins bringeth meekness, and lowliness of heart; and because of meekness and lowliness of heart cometh the visitation of the Holy Ghost, which Comforter filleth with hope and perfect love, which love endureth by diligence unto prayer, until the end shall come, when all the saints shall dwell with God."

As I came to the end of my mission, I had a profound experience with this scripture. Elder Neil Anderson, then of the seventy, was touring our mission, and at a zone conference in Verona, he ran us through an exegesis of this chapter. His argument went something like this: Moroni 8 is not just about one particular doctrinal issue (baptism and accountability--does a child need baptism?), but the more broad principles of repentance and salvation.

These two verses form the core of this argument: baptism is a result of faith and repentance, and through it, we begin the process of becoming meek, which ultimately allows us to learn and develop Christlike attributes. As we develop faith and desire to change, we come to the moment of truth, when we must decide to act on that new-found faith; baptism becomes the key choice, and through baptism we become eligible to receive the gift of the Holy Ghost, whose guidance gives us hope, an assurance of the truth.

But even more meaningful to me, both as a result of where I am in my life and building on the email dialogue with Stew last week (I'd like to see you post a continuation of your insights into Nephi's discussion of enduring to the end), is the very end of verse 26. Our hope fills us with divine love—for God and for His children—and it is this love that allows us to overcome the challenges of life. Enduring through the power of prayer—a reliance on the higher power that first filled our souls as we began the process of conversion—is therefore the key element of our long-term efforts to become more like the Savior.

As I sat there that June day in 1997, I was feeling a turbulent mix of emotions. I knew that within weeks I would return home, take off the name tag, go back to college, and have to reinvent myself. I was grateful for the great experiences I had been privileged to have as a missionary, and I felt unworthy of those blessings. More poignantly, I felt a sense of sorrow, questioning if I had done enough with the two years I had been given. My mission was not wildly successful by most of our criteria—baptisms, growth of wards and branches—and a sense of regret, mingled with the joyful feelings I had in light of the life-alteringly good experiences I had enjoyed, left me feeling confused.

And then Elder Anderson read the final words of the passage: “ until the end shall come, when all the saints shall dwell with God.” In the margins of my English-language scriptures I wrote “even little old me.” In that moment I saw something of my place in the great plan; in the world of the mission I was a mid-level manager, a career district leader who never served in the upper echelon of zone leader or assistant to the mission president, but this passage spoke to me. I do not expect a life of fame, wealth, or renown, and in that moment, I realized that doesn't matter. If I am to endure, to work through the struggles of life, finding joy in the work I do and in the relationships I form (I had no idea on that day 13 years ago that less than one year later I would married, let alone to a woman as wonderful as Summer), I am just as eligible of the great gift of eternal life as any other.

Looking back on this experience, I recognize how the promise given by Mormon has been fulfilled in my life: I have been blessed with a happy marriage, wonderful children, and a life that, while not easy, is full of joy. I have learned to love my wife and children and those I serve in ways that I would not have expected in 1997. And the realization of that promise gives me greater faith that the ultimate promise,a surety that even I can “dwell with God.”

On Hate and Ignorance

Recently I did something very out of the ordinary: I joined a Facebook group. And not just any group, but a petition group with a political bent to it. Last week I started to see friends joining a Facebook group that not-so-subtly hinted that the death of the President of the United States would be an answer to their prayers. Beside the absolute lack of class this demonstrates, the fact that this would make Joe Biden the leader of the free world ought to trouble anyone.

So I joined a group petitioning to have this removed. I don't really want it removed; I really don't care what foolish and hateful things exist online, as long as I am seeking out and finding things that make my life better. Nor am I unfriending the people who joined the aforementioned tasteless group; petty and childish behavior is best left to the kinds of people who join these groups. But I found joining the petition group a good way to voice my disapproval and disgust. (Ranting, I have found, also helps.)

In addition to the hypocrisy of folks who a few years back were saying that calling into question the judgment and executive power of the President is tantamount to treason now praying for the death of the Commander in Chief, I find the idea of thinking you're clever for following the lead of someone who formed a group of hateful people disturbing. The herd mentality at its worst, really.

But it's not at all out of character among the hate-mongers and demagogues who rally against government spending, taxation, and regulation. I read the other day a spot-on analysis of the historical illiteracy and dangerous rhetoric of the Tea Party protesters who shout out epithets and threats aimed at anyone they consider to be too liberal. We're in a historical moment in which the shrillness of one's crying is equated with the quality of one's argument, the hyperbole of mislabeling one's foes is considered clever and intelligent.

It's especially disgusting to see people with whom I worship getting caught up in this. Elder Cook's message from General Conference--"We can disagree without being disagreeable"--and President Uchtdorf's--with the emphasis on compassion, love, and mercy--seem completely at odds with the loud and caustic voices that would render illegitimate an administration that won a hefty majority of the popular vote and an overwhelming majority of the electoral vote. To call President Obama or a democratically elected Congress "dangerous" or "rouge" is to fundamentally misunderstand what the Constitution puts forth as the means of establishing a government.

It also shows an utter lack of faith, hope, or charity. If you believe, as the Church clearly teaches, that this nation has a divine mandate and role, that the founding documents thereof are divinely inspired, and that freedom is a central part of God's plan for humanity, then demonizing, dehumanizing, and disrespecting that government carte blanche demonstrates a lack of vision, a perspective so clouded by the talking heads on television, talk radio, and the web that reason and discourse have no place in your heart or mind. And that's a truly sad state. If the current administration is in the wrong, then time will right those wrongs--exactly the thought that kept my head held high from late 2000 until November 4, 2008.

One final note to hopefully show that this is not just a bleeding heart liberal getting his feelings hurt. This is something I believe deeply. On a sunny Tuesday morning nearly nine years ago I watched, at the end of a terrible day for our country, as the President--a man I did not vote for, did not like, and never did think highly of--returned to the White House. I sat in front of the television with my wife and two young children, praying for his safety. None of us truly understood what had happened that day, but we knew we couldn't stand another tragedy, and it was a relief to see the leader of the nation safe. And even when that administration engaged in policies and acts that I considered wrong and wrong-headed, I still insisted on saying "amen" when prayers for the leaders of our nation were offered. I don't think it's too much to ask even the most politically conservative among us to give an elected leader who has sworn to protect and defend the Constitution that kind of prayerful support, regardless of who that person is.

On Being Messy

As part of my new gig as department chair I am required to participate in a year-long training, a portion of which entails setting a series of goals for developing my leadership skills. As anyone who has known me for longer than a few minutes is aware, I despise this sort of thing--setting goals as part of a tightly-crafted system for self-improvement is a chief reason why I dropped out of Boy Scouts.

So I really struggled to set some good goals, winding up with vague things like “improve my conflict-resolution skills” and “raise my QDLRS scores”--rubbish all of it. But after getting some feedback on these ideas, I was convinced that the best thing I could do was to study, to read some leadership books and get some ideas.

This appealed to me because a) I wouldn’t have to do anything, just read about people who do things, and b) it would be a great excuse to read more books.

After looking through some suggested reading lists, I decided to hit the library and browse. I found myself wandering more or less aimlessly through the 600s, where I picked up a handful of volumes. One of these--easily the most interesting--is my current read: A Perfect Mess.

The basic idea of the book is that people and organizations have a tendency to overemphasize order and structure, when, in reality, randomness and certain degree of messiness are much more fruitful.

This is a fascinating--if dangerous--idea (Summer has a habit of looking at me sideways when I’m reading as if to say that 12 years of work may be going down the drain). I am an inherently sloppy man, and if anything, assuming a new responsibility would require that I get my act together more, not less.

But that’s the whole point of the book. We have been trained to believe that the only way to accomplish anything meaningful is to be more organized, to spend more time and energy scheduling, planning, sorting, and controlling. The reality, however, is often the opposite: in accepting and even fostering a moderate amount of randomness in our lives, we can be more efficient and effective.

There are some interesting applications of this theory to organizational leadership and everyday life (my favorite, from the chapter on accepting messiness in our homes: “Making a bed after getting up in the morning is a bit like tying your shoes after you take them off.”), but here’s one I did not expect: church administration.

This seems incredibly counterintuitive; we typically laud the church for its administrative organization. Wards run smoothly even with a lay--or as I like to put it, amateur--clergy, General Conference is a tightly-orchestrated affair, humanitarian aid is shipped off in a matter of hours after a crisis occurs.

However, at our stake conference this pat weekend, I was reminded of something that resonated all the louder because of reading A Perfect Mess. In the priesthood leadership session, our stake president made the distinction between being ministers and administers. His point was this: priesthood leaders are not called simply to deal with paperwork and processes, but also--and more importantly--to serve people individually.

To me this means we have to be willing to let go of the agenda, to drop the schedule. In the end, the most important form of messiness we can accept--and perhaps seek out--it to listen to the Spirit and be willing to heed inspiration when it comes.

To me this speaks volumes of the need to allow some messiness in our meetings and into our organizations. I am reminded that the most precious experiences I have had in my life have come when I have dropped my plans and improvised. It has been true of my church service, my teaching, my parenting. It’s a hard truth to accept, as I have fought to be more structured, but nevertheless, it’s a truth, one that I really need to remember.

Bibliophilia

I'm about halfway through my winter break, and I'm really enjoy the unadulterated sloth in which I currently exist. I wake up when I hear Evan yelling that he needs to use the bathroom, I play tons of games throughout the day, I cook and clean as needed, and I read. I've gotten some serious reading done these past few weeks, and it's made me a bit contemplative. So, here is a review of some of my 2009 reading accomplishments:

• I've read several dry tomes related to my dissertations--titles like Mixing Race, Mixing Culture: Inter-American Literary Dialogues. And I suppose "read" is a bit inaccurate and should be replaced by "skimmed as quickly as possible while taking notes and eating Doritos."
• I'm reading Notes from a Small Island by Bill Bryson, a Christmas gift from Summer, who, realizing how excited I get about what I'm reading, hopes this will convince me to go to England. This comes on the heels of reading A Walk in the Woods, in which Bryson recounts his summer along the Appalachian Trail (I spent several days picturing myself strolling along some lonely trail). I also read The Mother Tongue and In a Sunburned Country by Bryson. I've decided that I like this man for several reasons: he's wry and witty, he writes in an erudite style that is nonetheless accessible and self-deprecating, he travels widely and thoughtfully (both in space and in themes), and, as I just learned in chapter 2 of Small Island, he's left-handed, all of which is meant to say that he's me.
• Late last winter I read Barbara Kingsolver's Animal, Vegetable, Miracle, which I discussed here. It was inspiring, but it didn't make me much of a gardener. Maybe I'll read it again soon. I'd also like to dive into some Michael Pollan this year (Summer's reading In Defense of Food right now).
• I also read Jack Turner's Travels in the Greater Yellowstone last winter, an experience I reviewed here. He's also got a book on the history of spices, which I somehow haven't gotten to yet.
• Toward spring I read The Hobbit again, followed by working through The Lord of the Rings over my May break. For what it's worth, I also watched the movies a few times. (I had vowed to wait until finishing my dissertation to read the latter, but I decided that if I put off living for my PhD I might be pretty miserable.)
• In early March I finally tackled In the Name of the Rose, by Umberto Eco. I've read several collections of Eco's essays, so this was fun, even if the unraveling of the plot was a bit clumsy. I also got to lend this to Dad, which is always nice.
• Over the first few months of the year I read a few pieces of non-fiction: Speaking of Faith by Krista Tippett, a volume each of The Best American Travel Writing and The Best American Non-Required Reading (I thoroughly enjoy the Best American series). These are good volumes that I can readily pick up again at a moment's notice.
• This fall-winter, I read The New Kings of Non-Fiction, edited by Ira Glass, and two Malcolm Gladwell titles: Blink and The Tipping Point. I also read Freakonomics. The last three were interesting--thought-provoking and well-written, but after each one I couldn't quite decide what the point was. Perhaps my expectations were too high, but I couldn't help shaking the notion that these were more style than substance.

I'm sure there's more, but this is enough to make me feel good about myself. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have a book to get to...