"We seldom get into trouble when we speak softly. It is only when we raise our voices that the sparks fly and tiny molehills become great mountains of contention."
More than once, I have met with religious people from outside the LDS
tradition who assume certain things about me.
They assume that because I am an active participant in a church, or because I
am an avowed believer in God, in Christ, in revelation, in a purposed creation, I
must therefore be a "spiritual" person.
To them, this means that I seek mystical experiences, profound emotions, deep
insights that are too powerful to put into words. They think my life is spent in
search of Truth and Beauty, for this is how they think one goes about seeking
to know God.
I try to be polite to them, but as they try to put words into my mouth or find
attitudes in me that I do not have, I invariably have to disappoint them by
explaining the profound materialism of Latter-day Saints.
"Materialism" has two positive meanings, and I think both of them apply to us.
The more common meaning is practical materialism; materialism in action. We
focus our lives on things of this world.
I am not referring to the way we call a person who seeks wealth and
possessions a "materialist" -- though that is, alas, a frequent affliction of
Latter-day Saints at some stages of life.
Our practical materialism is that we don't measure our lives in feelings, in deep
private insights. We do not value most the person who makes gnomic
comments. We are impatient with transcendental God-talk.
We value most the people who show up to help arrange chairs and tables for
the ward supper, or go out of their way to give someone a ride, or take time to
listen to someone who is lonely and needy.
It is as if we read a second meaning into the parable of the Good Samaritan.
The priest and the Levite who passed the suffering stranger on the road might
not even have noticed him, because their minds were so centered upon lofty
ideas and spiritual feelings.
The Samaritan, however, not only saw the wounded man, but also knew
himself to be responsible for the outcome of his situation. A wounded person
could not be left behind. Something must be done, and the Samaritan saw
that he was the only person who could do it now.
In short, his eyes were open to things of this world, and the action needed now
took precedence over all other plans and appointments. He lived an
interruptible life.
We, also, lead interruptible lives. We set aside education for a mission; we set
aside pure focus on our studies in order to start a family. We work hard at our
jobs, for the sake of a job well done and in order to provide for our family -- but
we also accept callings at church that almost invariably require that we devote
markedly less attention to our careers than our colleagues and rivals might be
giving.
So it might seem that, because we sacrifice money-earning potential or career-advancing opportunities, we are not materialistic.
But our practical materialism is obvious in the things we are actually doing in
our church service.
We do not retreat from the world. On the contrary, our callings require that we
prepare lessons, teach classes, do service projects, put on events, help people
in need. When Mormons are being Mormon, we are doing something material,
something observable.
Our revelations rarely come because we work ourselves into a fervor of seeking.
They rather come to us when we are in the midst of practical, material service.
Someone needs something and so the Lord gives us the knowledge that will
allow their need to be met through us.
This is not a surprise to anyone who has read the Gospels and taken Christ at
his word. I am the Way, he said. What manner of man ought you to be? Even
as I am.
What manner of man was he? He went about doing good. People needed
things. He gave them the help they needed. He taught them the principles
which, if they followed them, would lead to happiness.
He did not gather his disciples together to have deep metaphysical discussions.
His instructions told them what to do. And where would they do it? In the
material world, among living people.
The second meaning of "materialism" is from the realm of philosophy, and here
our materialism is radical indeed. "There is no such thing as immaterial
matter. All spirit is matter, but it is more fine or pure, and can only be
discerned by purer eyes" (D&C 131:7).
To anyone familiar with the history of philosophy, this statement tears us
completely out of the Platonic tradition, in which the material world is regarded
as an illusion, while the only reality is the "ideal" or "form" of which any object
or experience is merely a weak shadow.
The Neoplatonic God cannot exist in any one place, because that limitation
would imply incompleteness and imperfection. But we know that the real God
exists in space and time, and progresses and grows, creates and learns.
Instead of our physical bodies being a temporary limitation on our perfect
spirits, we believe our spirits are tragically incomplete without the wholeness
that comes from being eternally united with flesh and bone.
That is why, even when we use words like "spiritual" and "revelation" and
"vision" and "immortal" and "eternal," we cannot have a meaningful
conversation with people outside the LDS community until we can teach them
what we mean by these words.
To us, a religious life, a spiritual life, is not one of contemplation but of action
in the material world. If we would have revelation, then we must be actively
engaged in a good cause, for we will not be given revelations until we have a
practical need for them in order to bless the lives of others.
The revelations we receive are to tell us what to do. Not to tell us what to think
or how to feel.
When King Benjamin describes the life of righteousness, he speaks materially:
"I, myself, have labored with mine own hands that I might serve you" (Mosiah
2:14). "When ye are in the service of your fellow beings ye are only in the
service of your God" (2:17). "Ought not ye to labor to serve one another?"
(2:18).
What is the good life? Get along with each other and avoid conflict (4:13).
Provide for your children and teach them to live righteous lives (4:14-15). Help
any who ask you for help, as far as you are able, without judging them for their
misfortunes (4:16-25).
This is the philosophy underlying almost all the work we do in the Church.
Live in peace, teach the children, be open-handed with the needy.
When leaders have a calling that needs to be filled, they pray, of course, and
sometimes the Spirit will give them a name they would never have thought of.
But most of the time, they come to the Lord with names already in mind, and
whose are those names?
They are all taken from list of those who, when they say they will do a
job, show up and do it. They do more than is required. They help other
people without criticism or credit-seeking. They give up a calling when they are
released and support and encourage their successor. They are as reliable in an
obscure or humble calling as in a prominent or prestigious one.
They go about doing good.
That is the Christlike life. It is not monastic. It is not ascetic. We study and
pray, but even our study and prayer are interruptible when someone needs us.
Just as Christ stopped what he was doing when a woman silently touched his
robe, or when people brought little children to him, or when a man with palsy
was lowered through the roof, we also drop everything to minister in his name
to people in need.
When we Mormons admire and praise a fellow-Saint, we rarely say that he or
she is "spiritual."
(Usually when a Mormon is known as "spiritual" it's because they claim
authority they do not have by saying that they got a "feeling" or "impression"
which coincides with their private will. In my experience, at least, those who
actually have revelations do not make any such claims. They simply do what
the Spirit instructed.)
In fact, we don't usually spend much time thinking about which Mormons we
admire or who is praiseworthy.
Rather, our judgment is about whom we can trust, whom we can rely on, who
has shown us by material action the interruptibility of his or her life.
When Jesus tells us the standard by which he will judge us at the last day,
there is not a breath about our spirituality, our feelings, our contemplations,
our mystical experiences, the revelations or deep thoughts we have had, our
search for Truth and Beauty.
His standard is: How did you treat the people entrusted to your care?
What did you do in the material world? (Matt. 25:31-46; Luke 12:42-48).
It is not that we Mormons are not spiritual. It is that we recognize that the
goodness of our spirit is revealed, to others and to ourselves, by the actions we
take in relation to the people around us.
We are spiritual to the extent that we master our bodies and turn them into
instruments to carry out the good works of Christ in that portion of the world
where we live.
But if we withdraw from the world and seek to live a "spiritual" or "non-materialistic" life, have we not buried the talent entrusted to us?
Latter-day Saints seek to know God by rolling up our sleeves and doing his
work. We start in our homes and then move outward to our Mormon village
and the non-Mormon community around us.
We believe that if we wish to emulate Christ or become perfect like our Father
in heaven (Matt. 5:48), then we must do as they do, and take action to help
others find happiness. It is no paradox to say that the only way we can find
happiness is to bless the lives of others. We bless their lives by helping them
learn how to serve others as we have served them, as Christ has served us.
Only thus can the villages we live in become Zion. For our eyes are only single
to the glory of God when we turn them outward to see how we might do his
work in the world.
Orson Scott Card is the author of the novels Ender's Game, Ender's
Shadow, and Speaker for the Dead, which are widely read by adults and
younger readers, and are increasingly used in schools.
Besides these and other science fiction novels, Card writes contemporary
fantasy (Magic Street,Enchantment,Lost Boys), biblical novels (Stone Tables,Rachel and Leah), the American frontier fantasy series The Tales of Alvin Maker
(beginning with Seventh Son), poetry (An Open Book), and many plays and
scripts.
Card was born in Washington and grew up in California, Arizona, and
Utah. He served a mission for the LDS Church in Brazil in the early 1970s.
Besides his writing, he teaches occasional classes and workshops and directs
plays. He also teaches writing and literature at Southern Virginia University.
Card currently lives in Greensboro, North Carolina, with his wife,
Kristine Allen Card, and their youngest child, Zina Margaret.