A Few Thoughts on Faith and Doubt

There have been two excellent articles recently published about the entrance of doubt into the hearts of Mormons when historical information-- not all of it factual and much of it bereft of its context-- comes to light over the internet. I myself have fought that fight. I know the feeling. For me, that doubt has actually improved my faith, tempered it, made solid my foundation in God and Christ, and not in man.

Dr. Terryl Givens describes these trials of faith, or rather trials of doubt, saying, “Most of the impetus for disaffection does not come from new information per se [...] It comes from feelings of betrayal when church curricular materials are found to have presented an incomplete account of the Mormon past.” Once upon a time I wrote about my trial of faith here on this blog. I described it in this way:

I felt like a canyon had opened up in my heart, I walked like a zombie through church, hearing the same words I had heard before but just letting them all drop into the giant crevice. I am happy to report, though, that, through counselling and a good bishop and sheer force of mind, that rift healed over. It did not disappear. I keep the scar hidden, but I know I will have to show it to others some day who also struggled. I accepted the idea of having a shelf to put my questions on. I found answers or at least balm, little by little, which was most certainly extended to me in answer to sweet prayers uttered on my behalf by loving family members, and maybe a little in response to my own strangled prayers. Most importantly, I stomped down on feelings of guilt about certain choices I had made and refused to ever let them spring up again. I go to church and, the much more effective spiritual act for me, I go to the temple. That is my point of rest. 

And it still is. I go there and speak to God, and he listens. Just this past week he listened.

I found it interesting how closely my experience of doubt mirrored that described by Hans Mattson, a Swedish LDS leader, in the New York Times: “I felt like I had an earthquake under my feet, [...] Everything I’d been taught, everything I’d been proud to preach about and witness about just crumbled under my feet. It was such a terrible psychological and nearly physical disturbance.” A friend of mine posted Mattson's story on facebook with his own thoughts, which eloquently sum up my own feelings about it, too: 

I appreciated this look into some of the more questionable sides of my church. I'm saddened by many cover-ups that my church has performed; but I am uplifted by a more open honesty I see coming out of church leadership. The new introduction to the Second Official Declaration was just the opening of a floodgate. The more honest we are with our history, including the darkest chapters that have been destroyed or glossed over in the archives of the church's history department, the more we truly understand the nature of man, and how to become better followers of Christ.

To me, there is no such thing as blind faith, and we do ourselves and His chosen servants a disservice when we don't personally seek truth. There is not one thing I have faith in that does not have a personal physical manifestation or experience to support it. My faith is founded in my experiences and my personal connection to God, not to anyone else.

Sometimes, men are wrong, and there are countless examples in this dispensation of God's prophets and apostles being wrong. Does that mean we're excused from listening to them? Sustaining them? Does this mean we can pick and choose the commandments we're to obey? Absolutely not. But we are commanded to seek out truth in our own mind, to create a personal testimony. The spirit is the ultimate guide, and if we are truly in line with God's will, we will know for ourselves through the presence of the Holy Spirit.

I am grateful for the opportunity I have had to face doubt and work through it. The pain of that experience was real, and excruciating. But miraculously, I cannot feel it anymore. I believe that my Father in Heaven pushed a giant delete key in my heart, through the Atonement of Jesus Christ, and allowed me to return to peace and faith. Pioneer Day happened recently, and as members retold the many famous, tragic, and beautiful stories of physical hardship that those saints of the 19th century endured for their faith, I felt comforted and proud, knowing that my own way has had rocks thrown up, in the form of historical facts that cause doubt. I am proud to report that I have pushed hard and overcome and am still striving towards Zion, and that God still attends me on my journey.

One last thought: I found it interesting that Dr. Richard L. Bushman, probably the most famous and fair Mormon historian (not employed by the church, but in academia), opined that, “you could [not] prove there is more disaffection from Mormonism now than before.” I've had several friends point to the perceived rise in dissatisfaction among church members, and a concurrent silence from church leadership, as examples of the church's faultiness. To me, the presence of the Mormon blogosphere, the publishing of the Joseph Smith papers, the recent review of the scriptures' introductions and references, Michael Otterson's magnificent columns, the Foundation for Apologetic Information & Research (FAIR) and the Sunstone symposia all point to an active and faith-sustaining conversation rising among members. I also believe we are witnessing an improved and honest effort by church leaders to make bare past leaders' faults and yet affirm that this church, full of flawed members at all times, nevertheless contains God-given principles designed to bring the ultimate peace and happiness to man. 

"Doubt can be the beginning of deeper understanding, as it was for Mormonism’s founder," Terryl Givens reminded us. “It is true that more information has been the cause of the current controversies, but more information is also the answer,” said Richard Bushman. “We need to know everything we can about disturbing events and then put them in a broader perspective. Usually people can see that there is more than one way of understanding what occurred.” In last April's General Conference, Elder Holland asked, “Be kind regarding human frailty — your own as well as that of those who serve with you in a church led by volunteer, mortal men and women. Except in the case of his only perfect Begotten Son, imperfect people are all God has ever had to work with. That must be terribly frustrating to him, but he deals with it. So should we.”

In the words of historian Don Bradley, whose trial of faith took him out of membership of the church and back into it, “The central claim of Mormonism is not that God spoke to a fallible human being in 1820, the central claim is that God can and will talk to fallible human beings today. When we reach out to him, we will find his hand reaching out toward us, waiting.” I know this to be true. I'm headed to church today to affirm my belief in God and to ask for his help navigating the days and years. I love Him, I love His Son, and I am grateful for their patience and kindness, it makes the difference in my life.

iPhoto Blitz

In April, my darling boss gave me her old iPhone 4. I have put its camera to good use. In case you've wanted to know how my spring and summer have gone:

USA. Tailgating with a fuzzy patriot.

Some random lady gave me and three friends her pit passes, so we got to inspect the Richmond Intnl Speedway before the race started!

Turns out NAScars go through a lot of tires in one night.

Cobb gets cheesy in Botswana on Embassy Day.

Cobb refused to eat the Bostswanan grub offered to us (on fork). I had to do the deed myself.
Bleeeeeh!

Kathleen, my triathlon training partner! At the Lake Anna Half-Ironman.

My Half-Ironman relay team. Kirsti run, me swim, Ray bike.

The two Mo relay teams working it out after the race.

Mom and pops flew out for my graduation from GW! I'm finally DONE!!!!

Mom and I @ Chrissy's wedding in Fayetteville, NC.

Duck beach!! Pine Island!!!

Happy birthday Spencie!!

I love Corolla, NC. So much. My home away from home.

Driving back by my lonesome at 5 in the morning.

One Million Bones project out on the Mall.

Nannying baby Andy has devolved my sense of humor. I probably laughed at this for at least 15 minutes and  I'm not exaggerating. Hehe. Ipood!

Finally framed and hung all my art in my room!

I host So You Think You Can Dance parties every week and most the time it's me and a bunch of dudes.

The atrium of the Guggenhemin, as sculpted by artist James Turrell.

Everyone in the Gugg atrium looking up at the light installation.

This is Russell. He came to NYC with me on my birthday. We went on a walk down to the Highline Park in Chelsea.

And we looked good.

Smokeline BBQ on the Highline- possibly the best BBQ I will ever eat. PERFECT golden birthday dinner!!!!

We also saw Spiderman! (I give it a C- though. Lots of opinions to share but not here)

I came home to a beautiful bday surprise from Best Friend!!!!!!!!!!!!

Walking over the 14th St. bridge on the 4th of July. The fleet of boats waiting to watch fireworks was almost as picturesque as the fireworks themselves! 

... Almost.

USA! USA! USA!

I made him do it.

Tiny boyfriend and baby boyfriend and I at lunch. We are a happy group!!

Tiny boyfriend and I swimming at the club, our favorite thing :)

James Bond and the Sublime

I keep waiting for someone with a background in German philosophy to write about the obvious connections made between James Bond and the concept of the aesthetic sublime in Skyfall, but so far the entire internet is failing and so I take it upon myself to do the deed.

*PS There are movie spoilers in this post*

Now, I do need to get the obvious art in the movie out of the way before I go to the non-obvious art. Ahem. All art lovers, including myself, were delighted to see the British National Gallery in Skyfall, and enthralled when James Bond and his new quartermaster hold a hilariously frigid conversation about the 1839 painting The Fighting Temeraire by J. M. W. Turner:

C'est magnifique, non?

The 98-gun Temeraire was one of the most celebrated, vicious warships in the British Navy, playing a preeminent role in the Battle of Trafalgar in 1805. I'm no war historian, but even I found the history of this ship alluring. In Turner's painting, the Temeraire is light and ethereal, a ghostly shell of its former beauty and brute force. It is conspicuously constrained behind the vivid, black, smoke-puffing steam engine--a very modern contraption-- that hauls it away for scrap after fourteen years of lethal service to the crown in 1812.

Throughout Skyfall there are themes of aging and anxiety about modernity, both of which are encapsulated in this painting. James Bond himself displays an ill-tempered longing for past glory and ability. I noticed that the director did lots of visual tricks to demonstrate the ideas of age and clouded vision. Skyfall messes with James Bond's eyesight, and ours, in various ways: light, dark, smoke, water, fire, and human frailty. For the first time, we wonder if James Bond is really as sharp, as righteous, as we have always assumed him to be.

Remember when he totally failed all this tests?

Couldn't get the bad guy that time.

Seeking a killer through a revolving maze of glass and neon.

There is a second entrance of the Temeraire in the movie, perhaps not as highlighted as the first, but just as thematically loaded. In the final scene, after M's death, James Bond chooses to continue his duties and trust his new leader Mallory, played by Ralph Finnes. We see this painting on the wall of Mallory's office:

It's Thomas Buttersworth's oil painting, H.M.S. “Victory” heavily engaged at the battle of Trafalga, from 1825. Sailing alongside Lord Nelson's ship The Victory is, you guessed it, The Temeraire! The past is present again! Ability is eternal! There is a connection to be drawn between M's death and Lord Nelson's death at the Battle of Trafalgar, but that's not really what this post is meant to dwell upon. Ok the obvious art has been mentioned, time for philosophy.

----

The concept of "the sublime" is a storied philosophical one. It's been around since antiquity, first appearing in the writings of Longinus, who used it to describe great and lofty powers of persuasion. It didn't became a lodestar of Western philosophy, however, until the 18th and 19th centuries, where it overtook almost every facet of British and German philosophy. Immanuel Kant is someone no art historian will ever be able to get away from ("Without Kant, you can't!" I believe was our favorite quip in Historiography) because he applied the idea of the sublime to aesthetics. I cannot emphasize this enough: the Sublime kind of ruled supreme in Western thought processes for over a century (I'd liken it to the current mood of secular relativism).

To Kant, there is a profound dichotomy of feeling when we view anything. Either a vision is beautiful,  and thus constrained (we see it, we love it, we take it into ourselves, the end), or it is sublime. A sublime sight is both terrifying and entrancing. It is boundless. We are without power to contain or describe what is before us. "Above all, the sublime [had] come to refer to the 'rush' of intense aesthetic pleasure paradoxically stemming from the displeasure of fear, horror or pain."*** 

The Romantics felt this was the infinitely more interesting experience, and sought a thousand different ways to recreate the sublime through art, particularly landscapes. Often, in German and British Romantic paintings, the sublime is represented by a natural disaster: earthquake, avalanche, stormy sea, etc. Later, when the artist Caspar David Friedrich ruled the German art roost, the sublime was also connoted by Gothic ruins of castles and cathedrals.

C. D. Friedrich. Monk by the Sea. Oil. 1809.

You can see how the ghostly Turner Temeraire painting fits into this schemata.

Often, landscape paintings of the sublime included a small person, back to us, viewing the intense and unfathomable scene. We are meant to symbolically inhabit his or her vision. We enter the experience of the sublime through their eyes:

Friedrich. Wander Above the Sea of Fog. Oil. 1818. Kunsthalle Hamburg, GER.

Myself, I always found the concept of the sublime to be a little self-indulgent. Like today's adrenaline junkies but more nerdy, philosophers of the sublime were captivated by the sensations within themselves as they viewed unstoppable forces outside of themselves. It wasn't REALLY about the sea, or the fog, or the moldering castle, it was about the dandy who viewed them.

One could argue that we are still subject to the powers of sublime today, as we find ourselves motionless before a car crash, or photographs of 9/11, or the Boston Bombings.

Despite my reservations about the writers and promulgators of the philosophy, the more modern interpretation of the sublime object-- something both beautiful and dangerous-- applies, with great ease and value, to the icon James Bond. Blue eyes, magnificent physique, kills without hesitation... he is the sublime personified. Why else would this one spy last 50 years in the cinema spotlight when countless others have been retired? (Val Kilmer's The Saint, we hardly knew thee...). Precisely because he lives out our greatest fantasies of both violence and passion.

In Skyfall, we get to gaze a little longer on the enigma of James Bond; we take a look at his past as he travels to his family's home, where an unknown disaster bereft him of his parents years before. There, the sublime is suggested through even more visual tricks:

Moldering, slightly tragic, stone home.

It's beautifully tragic, and the director had fun capturing its demise  from every possible angle and by every possible source: gunshots, invasion, fire...

This is the scene that first got me thinking about the link between James Bond and the sublime. It has an uncanny resemblance to Friedrich's masterpiece, Abbey in the Oakwood:

Oil on canvas. 1810. Alte Nationalgalerie, Berlin.

And, true to British cinema, they conclude the film with James Bond, acting as a stand in for the viewer, gazing out into the great metropolis of London, the true reincarnation of the sublime, of our present modernity, unfathomable and entrancing:

I love my job!

Daffodils

I run here all the time. :)

As all the Washingtonians know, spring means daffodils. EVERYWHERE! My favorite are the clumps of them growing up the sides of on-ramps along the freeways. Whoever scattered those bulbs once upon a time deserves a medal.

I'm not really a poetry kind of person but I found this here and it resonated.

March Births
by Alice Walker

Many brave souls
who inhabit my heart
entered the brightening
but still chilly door
of earthly Life in the changeable month
of March.

The deep, noble, easily bruised
Pisceans

Flowers
Themselves

Arrived in that part of the month
when hardly one white or lavender
crocus, daring, vulnerable
& sweet
can be found;
except perhaps
in the prescient
South.

And those others:
the late in the month
born
Ariesians—
Dragons
And butterflies—
Who were born
it seems
to set this world
of shyness
and daffodils
stunningly
on fire.

It was my destiny
to behold and to cherish
you all.

What these births
at winter’s end
teach us to believe
is that what looks
frozen or even dead
may burst into bloom
unexpectedly
at any time.

That to love
another,
any other, is to align oneself
with eternal spring.

It is in fact
Loving
any other being
all one ever needs
one’s self
To come to bud
and flower
once more
and be born
Again.


On this same topic: I'm about to be a nanny of two! My boss Kelly will have a little boy here any day, and so my life revolves around my nanny family and my phone and the as-yet-unnamed-tiny-boyfriend #2. I haven't been this involved in the beginning of a new life since my littlest sister was born in 1994! So exciting. So wonderful. I'm blessed to be associated with such a good family. And I'm grateful for rewarding work.

Life Lessons from Katherine Watson and Jenny Curran

I watched two movies I haven't seen in a while this week: Mona Lisa Smile and Forrest Gump. I picked up an ongoing lesson running through both, about not being judgmental.

Do you remember this painting, from Mona Lisa Smile?

Carcass,  1925. Chaim Soutine. Albright-Knox Museum.

It's the first off-the-syllabus painting that Katherine Watson, played by Julia Roberts, introduces to her students in attempt to provoke them into an actual, personal, critical engagement with an unknown artwork. (Here's the scene, thanks youtube):



I remember being slightly annoyed the first time I watched this show (2003ish). Whyyyy did she have to pick the most grotesque and darkly modern canvas possible to rouse her students? It's like, half a degree away from Francis Bacon's triptychs (the only art that has ever made me physically ill)! Stuff like this is exactly what scares people away from modern art!

Lovely.

Fast forward ten years to this week, however, when I watched Mona Lisa Smile from my informed vantage point on the flip side of a master's degree in art history. Surprisingly, I saw the Soutine's value, shock and otherwise. I even see its beauty. Colorifically, it's magnificent. The sparkling, crystallic blues makes the blood red shimmer, the yellows and skeins of white throw it even further into relief. The twisted usage of the primary colors gives the painting a rawness, and life-force. Even the sinewy, almost melting movement downwards from the carcass' two hooked legs puts one in mind of bigger forces: hunger, anger, death, murder, innocence, etc. Yes, Maggie Gyllenhal, it can even be erotic.

No one who has ever purchased a fresh cut of steak fails to see something alluring, entrancing even, in the curling swathes of muscle, and I think that was the mindframe Soutine started out with when he selected this strange but arresting subject.

I get it! I'm growing up! Withhold judgment for two minutes and you learn a lot of things!

Can't get over the blues. Yum.

Withhold judgment, and ask a few questions, and you learn even more!  I dug around a little bit this morning and learned that Chaim Soutine was a Jew who grew up in Minsk then moved to Paris in 1913. Throughout the teens and 20s, he befriended early modernists and expressionists like Modigliani and Marc Chagall, sharing many of their same dealers and patrons. Unlike Chagall, however, his career and life were cut short by the Nazi regime. Soutine was forced into hiding in Paris to escape the Gestapo and died of a perforated ulcer in 1943. After researching his history, even Soutine's most offensive and seemingly grotesque painting suddenly took on a haunting contextual depth.

His 1925 Carcass canvas was actually modeled after a Rembrandt van Rijn painting from three centuries earlier, which he studied in the Louvre:

Carcass of Beef (Flayed Ox), 1655. Rembrandt. The Louvre, Paris. 

Now how the shape Soutine chose-- the two splayed legs suspended above a gaping ribcage-- seems less diabolical, more scholarly, when you realize it has a historical source. It makes me want to see both paintings in person, and then stop by a butcher shop and bring home a little crimson, dead something-something to inspire a still life (and possibly a barbeque).

Thank goodness I have movies, and life, to teach me, year by year, the art of slowing down and withholding judgment for just a second so that I might discover some history, motive, or beauty in the actions of others that I would have passed by in earlier years.

This morning I burned through my snowday by watching Forrest Gump on TV. Now, I know this movie is 19 years old (1994!!!), and my thoughts on it are a little late, but I had a totally different experience watching this movie as an adult that I wanted to share. I got a bunch of its historical jokes that flew over my head as a nine year old, and found myself in more sympathy with Jenny Curran than I ever have before.

I remember being incensed at the movie's portrayal of drugs and nudity throughout Jenny's story. I was raised, as most of you know, in a Mormon home, with loving parents, surrounded by a firm, all-encompassing moral code. I did NOT think most of her story was appropriate to show in a movie. I thought her story was just Hollywood doing what it does best; tantalizing.

Today, though, I was blown away by the illustration of principles such as forgiveness, repentance  courage, and love that mark the end of Jenny's journey through every major mistake possible in the 1960s and 70s. These were all the principles that I thought I knew everything about at 9 years old, but really had yet to experience or understand.

In my 20s, I have learned that promiscuity, drugs and alcohol, physical abuse, and manipulation are not just things I see on TV. I have had to make choices regarding my encounters with most of these things myself, and many of them have entered the lives of those I love. They are an inescapable part of reality, but, like Jenny learns, they can be overcome and resisted, through soul-searching, repentance  forgiveness, and most importantly, love. True, there will be inescapable consequences to wrong choices, and it takes bravery to face one's demons, but that doesn't mean one should stop making choices or withhold love. I liked that the movie ended with a focus on family, and love, which is what Jenny, and everyone, deserves. I'm thankful for the Forrest Gumps of the world who will boldly state, "I'm a simple man, but I know what love is," "He should not be hurting you, Jenny," and "I will take care of you," to their Jennys.

Someone. Please. BUY ME THIS!

HT Lauren, who decided not to put it on her blog:

Modern Art Desserts: Recipes for Cakes, Cookies, Confections, and Frozen Treats Based on Iconic Works of Art, by Caitlin Messer. Coming to Amazon in April.

How AWESOME are those pictures going to be?? Ellsworth Kelly fudge popsicles= GENIUS! Why didn't I think of this first?? Someone who loves me, please buy this for me.