Mortality and the seeds of greatness

Mortality – with all its pain, suffering, unfairness, and hardship – holds the potential for enormous greatness, glory, goodness, and love – or their opposite. It all depends on how we face it, on how we respond to it. 

Life is unfair. It’s arguable there isn’t a truer phrase in all the English language. Or any other language, for that matter. Life is unfair, and all the efforts of countless men and women over the ages hasn’t changed that fact. Not that we can’t or shouldn’t strive to limit the unfairness, or fight injustice, or be equitable and just in our dealings with each other. But in the end, life is fundamentally unfair – because it was meant to be.

Life is hard, too. It’s full of pain, depression, self-doubt – even self-hatred – suffering, hard work, uncertainty, and loss. Great effort has (rightly so) been expended trying to minimize these things in life as well. But such efforts too will ultimately fail. Such things are a fundamental part of life, and are built into life’s very fabric. 

Much has been said about suffering and evil and hardship and its role in life. The questions surrounding the injustice and pain of life strike such a chord in each of us that they almost inevitably include such other fundamental questions as ‘is there a God?’ and ‘what is the meaning of life?’ Such discussions are complex and have been had for millennia. I won’t even attempt to address them here. I only want to make one point, illustrated by a simple, powerful story of courage in the face of affliction, injustice, and pain.

My point is this: the suffering, unfairness, trials, and hardships of life hold the seeds of greatness, glory, goodness, and love. Without the hard things in life the great and the glorious could not exist. Without pain and trials, we would never have the opportunity to be truly noble, good, and brave. And, depending on how we choose to respond to hard things in life, we can bring sweetness, goodness, love, glory, and greatness into being. 

The goal of God is for his children to be ennobled – for each of us to be filled with light, even as he is. Hence the essential role of this mortal stage of our existence, for it provides us the only opportunity to face down darkness with light. The pain of life we leave behind here in mortality. It remains with our bodies, to moulder into dust, to exist only as a faded memory, a reminder, a counter-point. The good we take with us. It becomes part of us, attaches to our hearts and makes them nobler by association. For good attracts good and light cleaves unto light. We are creatures of light, and when we choose to face darkness with light; when we choose to return good for evil; when we choose to be noble in the teeth of unfairness and pain – then are we enlarged by the very glory we have called into being, by the light that radiates outward from our souls in opposition to the darkness we have defied. The goodness and greatness of our mortal lives stay with us forever and ennoble us.

Without trials or injustice or pain we could not choose nobility and goodness despite opposition. The passing, temporary darkness of life gives an even greater, eternal light the opportunity to shine out from our souls. And this light, should we choose it, we will keep forever. For light cannot, does not perish. The universe is full of – indeed, made of – light, not darkness. The darkness of life is a contrivance – necessary for us to call the light of eternal glory into being in opposition to the dark – a torch which, once lit, will grow only brighter as we voyage through eternity. 

But it all depends on how we respond to the trials of life. Hardship provides the opportunity to call great glory and light into our lives. But we can just as easily squander the chance by merely reacting, by responding in kind. This life is our great chance to choose to be noble in the face of the ignoble; to be great in the face of the petty; to be good in the face of evil. We must not waste it!

I want to tell you the story of someone who didn’t waste it.

In 2009, Zachary Sobiech, aged 14, was diagnosed with a form of bone cancer that occurs in children. He underwent surgeries and chemotherapy, but in 2012 the cancer was found in several organs of his body, and the doctors told him that nothing further could be done. The cancer would spread until it killed him. He had a few months to live. He was about 17 years old when he heard this. 

“Unfair” doesn’t even begin to describe it. How could it be fair in any way, shape, or form, that a good, loving 17 year-old should already have only months to live? How could it be fair when so many of us live out long lives, filled with all sorts of experiences and opportunities, while Zach never had the chance to experience so much of life? The answer is simple: it isn’t fair. Not fair at all.

The point of life isn’t fairness, though. And that’s where so many of us go wrong in analyzing this question. And that’s exactly where Zach went right. Zach taught me that it isn’t the unfairness or pain of life that matters – it’s how you respond to it that counts. 

Zach responded by loving and living each day with hope and joy, and by giving as much love and joy to as many other people as he could. He recorded a farewell song for his family to have something of him to keep, something to provide them with joy and comfort in lonely, painful moments. And he shared it with the world – over 3 million people have viewed it on Youtube. 

Listening to his song, “Clouds”, I was struck with the incongruity of a young man, robbed of a future, wracked by a painful disease, singing sincerely, honestly, sweetly, of going up; of sharing love and joy with others; of moving on, but hoping to meet again. Completely absent was bitterness, anger, resentment, hatred, or despair. Zach had chosen to respond to this soul-crushing news by choosing goodness, happiness, love, giving, and faith. He chose to fill his heart and life with that which is good, to leave no space for the dark. As I listened to his song, I couldn’t help but feel that I was witnessing one of the greatest, most glorious events that has transpired on Earth. And when, years and years from now, Zach looks back with his family and friends on this moment in time on Earth when he faced helplessness, sorrow, despair, and terrible unfairness with hope, faith, and love, he will see it for what it is: the triumph of light over darkness, of good over evil. And he will see that he only had the opportunity to choose greatness – to be great – because of unfairness, pain, and hardship.

Because of the way Zach chose to respond to mortality, great inspiring goodness and glory were brought into the world. And he will take that glory with him forever.

I have been inspired by Zach, and I am personally grateful for his goodness, for his example of light and joy and nobility. It is yet another evidence to me that God does exist, and that his greatness and glory live in each one of us. Listening to Zach sing “Clouds”, it is impossible not to see and feel the glory of God. 

Zach died two days ago. He was 18. 

God speed, Zach. I’ll never forget your example, and I promise to try and respond to all that life throws at me the way you did.

Endure well

There is a world of difference between enduring, and enduring well.

Merely enduring is commonplace. Enduring well is the stuff of greatness.

Life throws trials at all of us. We are all required to pass through difficulty, to endure pain and sorrow, to tackle fear, to suffer heartache. Life is not easy. I’m convinced that it is hard for everyone – each in his or her own way. Even those you think “have it easy” are in fact struggling with life – probably in ways you haven’t yet encountered. Heartache, temptation, injustice, illness, pain, fear, loneliness, longing – they are the common stuff of life. Life wouldn’t be life without them.

As a result, merely enduring trials isn’t remarkable, simply by virtue of the fact that we cannot avoid them. Like it or not me have no choice but to “suffer through them” so to speak. Enduring is industry standard.

So when we’re confronted with what life throws at us, let’s dump the “endurance” mentality for something better. Enduring trials can teach us valuable lessons and bring personal refinement. But enduring well is altogether different.

One of the prime differences hinges on our agency – how we use it. Enduring implies hunkering down, passively weathering the storm. Basically, we let life do its worst, suffering the pain because there’s nothing we can do about it. Those who merely endure are acted upon by the vicissitudes of life. Enduring well means actively responding. It means, as Joseph Smith explained, (in D&C section 123 verse 17) to “cheerfully do all things that lie in our power.” Our agency in life is always curtailed. Our influence is limited; our power pitifully finite; our options constrained. But our agency is never zero. Sometimes, it takes creativity and courage to discover what we can do, even if it’s not much. But shifting from a paradigm of helpless victimhood and passive suffering to one of active response to life’s heartache, unfairness, and misery is a fundamental key to enduring well, and possesses the power to change the way we live our lives.

Another is faith and trust in God. Because merely enduring is passive, it reveals nothing about who we are or what we believe. Enduring well implies a depth of hope, and trust in goodness. We do not know what lies ahead of us, or why we are struggling with the things we are struggling with (or even if there is a reason). But we can take comfort in knowing that God knows us, loves us, and knows our situation too. We are not suffering alone pain that no one can understand. It may not change our circumstances, or the suffering we feel, but it is empowering and encouraging to know that the height and breadth and depth of our mortal experience here on Earth is known and understood by someone.

If you trust God that this life is for our benefit, happiness, and, ultimately, our glory, then we can trust that “everything will work together for the good of those” who endure well. As God told Joseph (while he was in jail unjustly): “hold on thy way, and [I] shall remain with thee… Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not, for God shall be with you forever and ever.”

Patience is another key. And by patience, I don’t merely mean “waiting.” True patience means enduring delay without becoming angry. The man tapping his foot in line, muttering to all who would rather not hear about how busy and important he is, is most definitely not being patient. Patience means suppressing fear. It means resisting the temptation to react to life’s injustice bitterly, or resorting to vengeful feelings. It means not allowing life to tell you who you are, or turn you into someone you don’t want to be.

Lastly – and I warn you, this one is the hardest – enduring well means not letting it affect you. That’s right. The more we allow our trials to drag us down, the more we are merely enduring them. The more we press on, continuing to do good, to be who we are and want to be – then we are enduring well. Ultimately, the secret to enduring well is to remain cheerfully engaged with life. The best way to do this is to focus our thoughts, feelings, and attention outward towards others. The happiness we experience in this life is proportional to the number of people we reach out to, help, and connect with. The glory of our lives will be the quality of that impact, the depth of that connection.

Why should we endure well? It sounds like a lot of work. It sounds like denying ourselves of all our favorite reactions to adversity: self-pity, anger, revenge, bitterness, pouting. All of those help numb the pain, and we feel so justified in reacting that way. And maybe we are.

But if what you want is to be someone; if what you want is to beat life at its own game, then enduring well is what it’s all about. And the cool thing is this: when we endure well, we are immediately strengthened; the powers of right and goodness rush immediately and at one to our side. “In the soul of man there is a justice whose retributions are instant and entire. He who does a good deed is instantly ennobled. … If a man is at heart just, then… the majesty of God enters into that man with justice. … speak the truth, and all nature and all spirits help you with unexpected furtherance.”

At its heart, to endure well is to carry on, living who you are and want to be to the fullest – in the face of fear, in the face of uncertainty, in the teeth of pain and anguish and heartache. If you can revel in the glorious sunset after a stormy, rainy day, and know that the storm has not moved you – but rather, that through your noble endurance, something inside you has moved, has become firmer, has dropped into place – and you know now, better than ever before, who you are – then you will know what it means to endure well.  

Respect and power

As humans, we tend to respect others in proportion to the power they wield. The more powerful the person, the greater the respect we will feel for them and show them.

We respect people who are powerful for a variety of reasons. Most of them are selfish. Some are a result of failing to see through the veil of mortality that blinds us to the things that really matter.

Mostly, we respect the powerful for selfish reasons. Those in power can use that power to either hurt or help us. Whether they do the former or the latter is ultimately up to their personal discretion. So by showing respect to the powerful, we are hoping to increase the likelihood that they will use their power and influence to our benefit and not the opposite.

This is really the core principle at work in what people on the East Coast call “networking.” It's really nothing more than showing deference and respect to those who, by their positions of influence and power, may be able to help you in the future. On the flip side, we hesitate to offend (and rush to please) those whose wrath we want to avoid – a boss at work, for instance; or a government official prior to an inspection or some sort of regulatory approval.

Of course, this phenomenon works both ways. Those who hold no power over us, or who possess no influence that could possibly help or hurt us, we treat with disrespect. But disrespect is harder to define than its opposite, for it takes on many different forms and comes in many different colors. For instance, outright contempt is certainly a form of disrespect, and one might show haughty contempt for the beggar, or the illiterate peasant woman. But more commonly – for less arrogant people, anyway – disrespect is shown in different ways: as condescension; indulgence of “silly behavior”; mere tolerance; or a patronizing attitude.

I saw a man – a well-dressed, young professional – walk into a supermarket today and nearly run into a couple young women – clearly students – on their way out. He pulled up just in time and waited briefly for them to pass. His facial expression clearly read, “Why are these silly girls in my way? They nearly ran right into me.” He clearly felt they were a nuisance to be tolerated at best. “Ah well,” he face seemed to say, as he continued on into the store, “they're just women, after all. More important (read “powerful”) people like myself will just have to be patient with them.”

I contrasted that reaction to what it would have been if he had nearly bumped into a Senator or the CEO of a Fortune 500 company. He would certainly have excused himself, apologizing for nearly causing an accident, and showed great deference.

But there is at least one other factor at play here as well. The tendency to respect the powerful is due to more than human selfishness. It stems also from an inability to see through the veil of mortality and perceive the things that matter most. Most of us have our priorities all out of order and assign value to all the wrong things. Greatness, for instance, we define in terms of power and influence. As a result, we tend to respect and admire the powerful, while we disdain and condescend to the weak.

Yet Jesus clearly taught that the greatest is the least – the most humble, the most kind, the one who serves and gives. Our respect for others ought to stem, first and foremost, from a recognition of their divinity and infinite potential. Of this same Jesus, who turned the world's understanding of greatness and worth on its head, Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “Alone in history he estimated the greatness of man. One man was true to what is in you and me.” As such, our respect for our fellow human beings ought to be universal.

Beyond that, we ought to respect others for their virtues: for moral courage, integrity, compassion, kindness, patience, service, sacrifice, and selflessness. Last of all should be their power and influence – for who knows by what means they obtained it?

This tendency to disdain the weak because we value power is at the core of sexism. It is responsible for why, throughout history, and even to the present day, women have never enjoyed the level of respect they deserve from men. It is also part of why the feminist movement has focused so relentlessly on helping women break into positions of social, economic, and political power. It is also why I remain critical of the feminist movement for exactly this emphasis: making women more powerful won't change the underlying flaw – that only the powerful are respected. It means that individual women will have to choose to pursue power if they want respect. And society will continue to punish those who have their priorities in the right place – in effect, those whose love of goodness exceeds their love of power (or their desire for respect by acquiring power).

Now, I realize I'm being idealistic here. Changing one of the fundamental tendencies of humanity is no mean feat. And I don't blame feminists for trying to gain respect through the easiest channels (i.e. by “playing by the rules of the game”). But still, women ought to be respected whether they wield power or not. A woman without much political power or influence is equally worthy of a man's respect (or that of her fellow women) as any other.

This matters. Because a world where corruption is reigned in, where abuse of power is curtailed, and where people are valued for the things that really matter – their infinite, divine worth and the virtues they cultivate – is within our grasp. But we have to learn to resist the natural human reaction to respect power. And in its place, learn to respect goodness.

Wanting without needing

Your wants correspond to your hopes; your needs are related to your fears.

You know how I said in my recent post on agency that the subject would come up over and over again? Well, here's something I've worked through recently that, no surprise, comes down to the difference between action and reaction. And, also no surprise, it has to do with hope and with fear.

The relationship between wants and needs is one that has intrigued me for a long time, but it wasn't until today that I feel like I have a hook down deep in the fish, so to speak. Now, I realize that there are lots of ways one could potentially define what wants are, and just as many ways to define needs. The difference you will find here has more to do with feel and less with substance, but it was profound when I came across it, so I'm sharing it here in hopes it helps someone else as well.

I've often wondered what it means to be a “needy” person, what constitutes needs vs wants. Don't we all, fundamentally, crave the same things as human beings? We all need to be loved, to love, to build meaningful relationships and connect with others. Sure, every person is unique, but don't we all operate basically the same way, and aren't we all basically searching for the same things?

So what does it mean to call someone “needy”? It seems to imply that the rest of us don't have needs. What's the difference between needing something, and wanting it? Since this article excludes material needs (such as food, water, clothing, etc) to focus on those of a more emotional and spiritual nature, perhaps the question is more precisely framed this way: how can you have emotional and spiritual needs without being needy? Or rather, how can you want without needing?

I know there's a huge difference between wanting and needing, because I've experienced it in my own life. But like I said before, it can be easy to confuse because the difference is more one of feel than of substance. The object of desire, after all, is exactly the same. It's the way we desire it – and above all, the feelings that motivate us to pursue it – that differ. But built into that apparently miniscule difference is a life-changing paradigm shift.

Wanting something is the conscious recognition of a desire; to want is to decide to pursue an objective, whether short-term, long-term, or somewhere in between. Wanting something makes a positive statement about value.

Needing something also indicates desire, but the feeling is fundamentally different. Instead of a positive statement of what we hope will happen, need makes a negative statement of what we fear will not happen. Need is self-centered: the focus is on how the object of desire will help me. Want can be very selfish at times, but it is externally focused, on the object of desire itself.

Here is the fundamental distinction: when we feel and act needy, we are reacting to our fear that our needs will not be met; when we want instead of need, we are hopeful that what we want will be realized, but we are calm inside when contemplating a future where they are not. We don't fear the unfulfillment of our wants; we fear the unfulfillment of our needs. When we act on feelings of need, we allow our fears to dominate our decisions. When we act on our wants, we allow our hopes to direct our choices. Wanting is an outward expression of the hopes that live in our hearts. Needing is an externalization of our fears.

The connection with agency (and much of the reason why this distinction is crucial) is clear: wanting is an action; needing a reaction. Needing is a reaction to fear; wanting is a conscious choice to pursue the realization of our desires. Which now allows us to answer my initial question: What do we mean when we say someone is needy? A needy person is someone who allows himself to be acted upon by his fears. The opposite is someone who consciously acts to realize his hopes.

So why does this really matter? Does it matter? To move from needing to wanting is an internal paradigm shift, a transformation that takes place in the mind and the heart. But does it have a meaningful effect on the individual? On those around him or her?

I think the difference is enormous. There is incredible strength in knowing that you don't need anything in this sense of the word. When we allow feelings of need into our hearts, and those needs aren't met, we immediately begin to self-criticize. For instance, someone craving social acceptance but who doesn't find it will definitely wonder if there isn't something wrong with him. Someone who wants social acceptance (who doesn't?) but who knows that he doesn't need it will have a much easier time accepting himself. This self-acceptance will generate confidence – a very important tool for winning social acceptance. If being accepted is a long-term objective of this person, he will be in a better position to objectively and calmly assess what he can do to make it happen, then go about implementing his plan confidently.

It is important to emphasize that the confidence comes from a willingness to accept with serenity the unfulfillment of hopes. By my definition, on the other hand, no one can accept with serenity the unfulfillment of needs. If you can say, “I really want a group of friends where I feel accepted and included, but I'm still ok without it,” then you have moved from needing to wanting.

In addition to helping you love and accept yourself, transitioning from needing to wanting shifts the focus of attention away from yourself and towards others. Freed from the grip of self worth-threatening fears that occupy your thoughts and sap your energy, you can instead direct your thoughts, attention, and energy onto others.

This isn't necessarily a selfless gesture – after all, it will probably help you get what you want. Paying more attention to others – their feelings, their wants, their needs – doesn't necessarily make you less selfish; but it does make you less self-centered. A needy person is almost always self-absorbed, self-centered, and inwardly focused. Which, tragically, is the biggest reason why their needs often go unmet – which in turn only increases the fear they feel, further occupying their thoughts.

This is a big part of the reason why focusing on others can often be the best solution to depression. Not only does serving others provide a natural source of joy, but focusing on discerning the needs, feelings, and wants of others goes a long way to helping you understand how to meet your own wants. People don't want to be around needy people because they feel the burden of meeting those needs. They feel the desperation, and it can be onerous to feel responsible for saving someone from that fear. People do, however, want to be around people who understand and help them fulfill their own wants and needs. So people who learn to control their fear and turn needs into wants are naturally more popular, more likely to draw people to them.

If nothing else, this principle is important because it reveals yet another instance of a human tendency towards allowing ourselves to be acted upon, rather than acting for ourselves. And learning to maximize our agency is a big part of what life is all about.