Today in Gospel Doctrine I played the role of Devil’s advocate. I spent the last 10 or 15 minutes leading a discussion about the children who died when God destroyed Sodom and Gomorrah, when God sent the Flood, when Christ died on the cross and Nephite cities were burned, buried, and sunk, and when Alma and Amulek watched as women and children were burned to death before their eyes.
Several of the commenters sought to defend God’s justice using familiar arguments (like the idea that there are some things worse than death) or evasions (like the idea that maybe there were no children in Sodom who were not already engaged in or tainted by sin). Some of these arguments make more sense than others to me, but for me no combination makes the problem go away entirely. The whole idea of using modern reasoning to try and justify these stories seems futile given the existence of ancient explanations that are, themselves, just as bad.
10 And when Amulek saw the pains of the women and children who were consuming in the fire, he also was pained; and he said unto Alma: How can we witness this awful scene? Therefore let us stretch forth our hands, and exercise the power of God which is in us, and save them from the flames.
11 But Alma said unto him: The Spirit constraineth me that I must not stretch forth mine hand; for behold the Lord receiveth them up unto himself, in glory; and he doth suffer that they may do this thing, or that the people may do this thing unto them, according to the hardness of their hearts, that the judgments which he shall exercise upon them in his wrath may be just; and the blood of the innocent shall stand as a witness against them, yea, and cry mightily against them at the last day. (Alma 14:10-11)
The idea that women and children had to die an agonizing death—and that Alma and Amulek had to witness it—so that God’s subsequent additional violence would be justified seems like a fairly horrific chain of logic. Amulek’s next statement was, “Behold, perhaps they will burn us also.” I imagine he may have said it with longing in his voice. I’m not even sure how to read Alma’s response: “Be it according to the will of the Lord. But, behold, our work is not finished; therefore they burn us not.” I hope I’m never in a position to understand it.
Perhaps Alma’s rationalization is correct, and then we have to doubt our own moral compass. Perhaps Alma’s rationalization was wrong, but he sincerely believed it. Then we have to wonder at the cultural distance between ourselves and the Book of Mormon and—once again—wonder where our own cultural blind spots lie. Or maybe Alma’s rationalization as wrong, and even he didn’t believe it. He was just doing the best he could, like we do. Which of these options is supposed to be comforting?
My first ethics professor taught me that we should read every argument twice. One with maximum skepticism, to find all the flaws. Once with maximum generosity, so that we do not miss anything that is beautiful or true, even in a flawed argument.
So yes: I disagreed with some of the impromptu theodicies I heard today. The justifications for violent commission and heartbreaking omission did not satisfy me. But at the same time, I want to honor the righteous willingness of people to speak up publicly in defense of their Father.
We are children. In all probability, the logic of our arguments is silly to God’s perspective. Just as silly as the heated debates my 5 and 7 year old get into about everything from natural disasters to homonyms. More often than not, neither one of them makes enough sense to qualify as wrong. But even children can reflect true nobility. The dogged willingness to be thought a fool rather to stay silent and leave Heavenly Father undefended exhibits childlike discipleship. When the Lord taught hard things, after all, His apostles could do no better:
67 Then said Jesus unto the twelve, Will ye also go away?
68 Then Simon Peter answered him, Lord, to whom shall we go? thou hast the words of eternal life. (John 6:67-68)
Peter didn’t have the answer. He also didn’t have any other place to go. Sometimes that’s the best we can do. In Christ’s mercy it is enough.
I tried to speak politely and encouragingly to the respondents during the lesson while at the same time making the point that their explanations were not sufficient for everyone. Obviously I didn’t want to shake testimonies or attack faith, and so I bore my testimony sincerely that I had frequently felt the love of a Heavenly Father, and believed that He does love us all. But at the same time, I wanted to demystify the experience of mystery. Confusion should not be a novelty. Perplexity should not be something we feel ashamed about and seek to hide. The same Gospel that comforts us in our darkest hours of need is also a painful goad when we feel complacent. We are consoled on the one hand and challenged on the other. I wanted to create a sense of safety for those who wrestle secretly with doubt, and call those who are more secure to a sense of compassion. We all experience both sides of that coin at various points during our lives.
I think these are important goals. I hope I achieved them, or at least made some progress in that direction. But as I closed the lesson I had that feeling of having left something undone or unsaid. I tried to figure it out before the clock ran down, but it was only after the closing prayer had been said and the class dismissed that I was able to put my finger on it. I hadn’t said thank you.
I hadn’t expressed my gratitude and respect for the folks who played God’s advocate to my Devil’s advocate. It’s become something of a fashion these days to talk about doubt, and I believe that recognition of our uncertainties and limitations is of vital importance. But so is a willingness to risk being wrong in the interests of trying to say or do or believe something true. Doubt is a part of the larger experience of faith, but it is not the whole experience. Someone needs to play the role of promoter of the cause.
Those who are deeply troubled by the stories of pain and suffering in the scriptures or in the news may see the insufficiency of the answers God’s advocates can provide, and assume that the answers must be glib and cheap if the people who offer them really accept them. There’s a dangerous kind of smugness to that attitude. After all, which of us who have not seen what Alma has seen has any right to judge his heart?
It’s a mistake to assume only those of us who wrestle with doubt outwardly wrestle with doubt.
*This post also appeared at Times & Seasons.
Why do you label Alma’s response to Amulek a rationalization? Rationalization is something we do to obscure our real motives.
Alma clearly stated “The Spirit constraineth me that…” with the strong implication that what comes next is the explanation he received from the Spirit. Unless you are postulating that the Spirit just told him not to stop the murders, and he made up his own reason?
We may be uncomfortable with a God who lets the innocent suffer, but that is what we have. Usually He gives no explanation. In this case we have one. I don’t think it should be dismissed as a “rationalization.”
For some interesting non-LDS Christian perspectives on similar problems in the Old Testament see “Is God a Moral Monster?” by Paul Copan, and “God Behaving Badly” by David T. Lamb
sprsprt-
So, two things. First of all, there is a pretty clear break between the first part of Alma’s statement (“the Spirit constraineth me…”) and the second part. That break is the phrase “for behold”. It’s possible that both the first and the second parts are inspired, but it’s also possible that Alma was only inspired in the first part. I don’t know.
The second thing is that I find your definition of rationalize too narrow. It’s not always about self-deceit. Sometimes it’s just about trying to come up with a logical explanation when you don’t actually know for sure what that explanation is. I don’t think there was anything dishonest or insincere in Alma’s behavior.
You can rationalize to try and justify sinful behavior, but you can also rationalize to try and understand something that is beyond your grasp. We all do that sometimes, and it’s not necessarily a bad thing.
I respect your reading of Alma, but I just don’t think the text is as clear as you believe it is.
Thanks for the reading recs. 🙂
Re the uncomfortable feeling after the lesson, I think I may be able to “put my finger on it”. If someone in my ward departed from the lesson material so radically, they would have received some very direct and pointed counsel – and not just from their priesthood leader either.
Recently I read of a man (now apostate) who let his HP group discussion well “off piste”, into areas where a lot of very uninformed and unhelpful opinion was expressed. He seemed to be delighted that he had managed to create such a lively “discussion”. Someone afterwards said (and I agree) that in Sunday School and PH, teachers should stick closely to the manual lesson material and the intended spirit of the lesson – and not try demonstrate how smart or intellectual or able they are.
There is nothing at all wrong with having “off piste discussions” and probably for all of us, these are very necessary at times. But IMHO there is a proper time and place for these – and SSchool & PH time is not it.
Thanks Nathaniel, I enjoyed reading your blog.
I am uncomfortable about the idea that Alma’s statements might be part inspired and part his personal, uninspired ‘ take’ on the event. If we had to read the scriptures and decide which bits are inspired and which bits are just the authors opinion, then where would we be? I am happy to trust that what Alma said he said under the influence of the spirit. As I do with all other prophetic teachings in the scriptures.
Your class discussion about Heavenly Father commanding or allowing the death of His children here on earth is definitely a difficult one. Every day there are countless numbers of people innocently dying of the results of war, famine etc, which a loving Heavenly Father, by omission, allows to happen. I can only think that His view about the quality of life and the purpose of souls passing from this world to next, is completely different to some of our views. At least I think our knowledge of Gods eternal plan for us gives us a degree of understanding, but certainly not the whole picture.
Lastly I do agree with alexlds about keeping our Sunday classes orthodox. We have members at all levels in their faith, and our lessons should always be faith building and spirit inviting, not faith challenging. I love to discuss the many issues around the gospel where we don’t have clear understanding, but church isn’t the place.
I appreciated these thoughts Nathaniel. I’d love to have you teach my Gospel Doctrine class. I’m afraid that in trying to “stick to the manual,” too many people neglect the frequent counsel, some of which appears in the front of the manual, that lessons should not be lectures so much as discussions. The manual states: “You normally should not give lectures but should try to help class members participate meaningfully in discussing the scriptures.” I think it is great how you started a meaningful discussion, centered on the scriptures. I’m sure the discussion you started, and now this blog post, has helped many people to consider these important issues more carefully.
Thanks, Steve. I believe that my job includes (but is not limited to) encouraging everyone present to engage meaningfully with the scriptures an also inviting the Spirit into the discussion. I certainly don’t think I do my job perfectly, but I believe that if we refuse to even countenance sincere questions then we are essentially telling people who have questions: “You are not welcome here.” I don’t want to do that, and I don’t want those who happen to feel perfectly comfortable to feel at all unwelcome either. It’s a balancing act, but I do the best I can.
It may not be enough to rescue me in the eyes of those who suspect my motives, but the rule of thumb I have is never to take the lesson to a place where I feel at all uncomfortable bearing my testimony at the end of it, which I try to do at every single lesson.
Mormon Sunday School takes a devotional approach to the scriptures. (This is true of most Christian approaches to the written Word.) A devotional approach is where a spiritual, moral, or ethical principle is extracted from an ancient story or text and applied to modern living. This is perhaps the only way a worldwide church can broadly share gospel principles from different texts across a very diverse membership.
The downside to this approach is people begin believing their devotional interpretation of the text is the historical interpretation of the text; or, that their moral principles as applied to a very literalist reading of the text is the true origin of the story. This is wrong. Oft times, our devotional approach to the scriptures, helpful for guiding us in modern day living, has little and sometimes nothing to do with the historical context of the text.
This is how people believe that the world was literally created in seven days; or that Noah really did place two of every animal on a boat slightly larger than a football field; or that Jonah lived three days in the belly of a whale. To suggest that these things did not literally happen as described in the text is often viewed as heretical. This is also wrong. We have forgotten how people living in a largely oral age transcribed their most sacred and important information; their histories are not like ours, and we are often confusing the two. Hugh Nibley would often say of ancient texts that there was no such thing as pure history and no such thing as pure myth. There is often a mixing of the two. This statement makes literalists and fundamentalists very uncomfortable.
In my Sunday School class I was again told about the righteousness of Abraham and the less faithfulness of Lot. After all, Lot pitched his tent towards Sodom. Devotionally, much can be made from this interpretation. Historically, such an interpretation is idiosyncratic. A close reading of the text shows that the Creation account, the Flood story, and the story of Sodom were written together and have parallel themes. These themes do not indict Lot and his tent, but address creation and destruction by water and fire (a very popular belief in the ancient world; see Plato’s Timaeus 22c-d). The Flood and Fire (Sodom) story also present an etiological explanation of the enemies of Israel. They also show the central presence of God in the life of Noah and Abraham.
If one examines the text for the kind of moral consistency you might be looking for, you will find it absent. Richard Dawkins makes much of this. While not a fan, I cannot blame him too much when too many faithful saints blur the moral ambiguities out of existence of times through platitudes rooted in their devotional approach. In the end, we should be very cautious with either a devotional or historical approach, noting that all interpretation have their limitations.
I must admit the idea of anyone being a “Devil’s Advocate” in a Gospel Doctrine class seems odd to me. I think he advocates for himself quite well enough with our help. But I will say there is one scripture I have found helpful to me when dealing with the horrible death of children. After a personal experience with that circumstance, I was guided by the Spirit to D&C 42: 46 “And it shall come to pass that those that die in me shall not taste of death, for it shall be sweet unto them”
Does that mean little children won’t undergo suffering before they die? Obviously we know that is not so. But it reassured me that the moment of death becomes, in ways I may not totally understand, sweet for them. If innocent children do not “die in me [the Savior]” who then would qualify?
That answer, which came through quiet inspiration, was sufficient for me. I leave it to others to find their answers as they will.
I meant to say he advocates for himself WITHOUT our help. And seems to be very successful at doing so, even among those who should know better.