A Letter on MSH

We must be especially careful in choosing people, and deciding whether they are worth devoting a part of our lives to them . . . - Seneca

When an academic conference opens with a shiny penny who was once a baag-street boy, a seven foot tall Mormon Buddha, and the fleshiness of reason it's off to a great start. Such was the opening of the third annual Mormon Scholars in the Humanities conference held at Aspen Grove, just up the mountain from Robert Redford's Sundance. The conference was one of the most exciting of my academic life, in part because we were led by an environmental Jedi knight in one George Handley. (Don't tell me, George, I'm the first to observe your resemblance to Luke Skywalker.) The other thing I liked about this conference is that the organization is new enough so that even though I missed the first two conferences I felt like I didn't join the conversation too late. What's more, this conference was small, as are all the best, and structured for a maximum amount of discussion.

The first two presentations set us on a promising trajectory. Jonathon Penny invited us to a theology of reading rooted in a hermeneutic of love - to be a reading Christ. Adam Miller gave us a Buddhist aphorism about how often we get caught up in theological questions about the origin and age of the universe, or the extent of our agency or God's, or the afterlife . . . and in the meantime we die. Miller's claim is that we need to bend our efforts toward reading and practicing charity (including in and through our theology). I enjoyed both of these presentations immensely, but I might quibble with the notion of theology as a reading. What I have in mind is Bother Brigham at the tabernacle declaring that the Bible, the Book of Mormon, the Doctrine and Covenants, and the Pearl of Great Price are nothing compared to the living oracles of God. Thus, while it is crucial to concentrate on essential charity, yes, for me this necessitates theology as a map of listening. In particular, a map of listening to the word of God as written on the fleshy tablets of the heart. As soon as we think and talk of the word of God typographically we'd better call the paramedics (Walter Ong, anyone?); the breath and spirit give life. But this is a small quibble which I didn't articulate well last Friday. I'm all for a reading theology, but living speech is all the rage, and I think crucial particularly for any discussion of LDS theology.

Jim Faulconer's presentation on the fleshiness of reason spoke of theology as a divine eros - made for a desiring being - not merely a thinking, reading, or doubting being - but a being who has a tongue and ears and a heart and a brain. Affect comes before effect, rightly, for Jim and Levinas. After Jim was done speaking I wanted to read more Levinas. I should also like to read and hear more Faulconer.

Perhaps my favorite presentation of the weekend was Sam Brown's on the origins of Mormonism in an 18C death culture wherein was manifested a powerful desire to speak from the dead. Joseph Smith Jr.'s milieu was preoccupied with speech from out of the grave. This illuminated my discoveries the day before in the SLC cemetery (see below) as well as my desires to speak well . . . because . . . in the meantime . . . wait for it . . . we die.

A few key points from Sam's discussion (which I may be butchering):

- Grant Hardy's argument that the Book of Mormon is essentially a midrash on Isaiah.
- Hebrews 11:4 - Abel being dead yet speaketh - and how you might ask does Paul know? Joseph said . . . because Abel talked to Paul. Duh! This very same thing is happening to Joseph all the time - he speaks to God; to Paul; to Moses; to Elias; Elijah; John called Baptist; Peter; James; John; &c., &c. It's basic for Joseph that the dead speak.
- The order of the family tree anticipates temporal collapse.
- Paul is supposed to be dead, but Joseph is talking to him. What's that Emerson says? A true teacher . . . shows that God is, not was; God speaketh, not spake.

Letting the dead speak was followed by Alan Goff's insights about the importance of putting history and literature back together as branches on the same tree. This point was illustrated well with a number of scriptural examples showing the persistence and insight of literary themes. He concluded with the claim that we have not been adequate readers of the Book of Mormon and that it is vastly more sophisticated than we are.

Friday evening was topped off with a keynote address by John D. Caputo, "On Making a Covenant with the Impossible: A Postmodern Approach to Religion and Its Place in the University." Two claims of this address were 1. Theology belongs properly to the humanities. 2. Secularism asked us to have more faith in reason. The world had enough of the divine right of kings and of telling Galileo that he can't say what he saw in his telescope. And yet it is clear that the Enlightenment has done all the good it's giong to do.

I pair-a-phrase: For Caputo God is the possibility of the impossible, and religion is a covenant with the impossible. Is not faith, he asks, most important when things start to look unbelievable? Just when we've come up against the unbelievable we put on faith in God - or in something - God knows what. When the experts of the possible have fled the scene the name of God returns. Or rather, we run looking for it. St. Paul's hope against hope is a perfect deconstructive formula. The conclusion was for greater liberty of inquiry in the academy. It is not religion we need less of in schools, but confesssional authority to take certain questions off the table. And, let us not forget, religion always has political consequences. If there is something askew in our politics it is because of skewed assumptions in our theology.

I could go on for hours and hours, but haven't the time or audience. The papers really felt like they kept getting better. Handley's argument about the need for religion in discussions of climate change because religion speaks in imperative terms was thrilling. As were presentations on picturing the vices, Charles Taylor, Hemmingway, Jonathan Edwards' Faithful Narrative, and the believing critic.

After my presentation John Armstrong said to me, "I didn't even know you existed." I took this as his expression of pleasant surprise at their being another interested in political philosophy, Plato, &c. I didn't even know he existed either, but I'm glad I do. Moreover, I'm glad MSH exists. The best things to me about the conference were that so many participants are deeply versed in the Scriptures, were articulate and self-aware in their pursuit of knowledge, and immensely friendly, knowledgable, and kind. I felt like I had found a new scholarly home and I felt ready to devote a part of my life to them . . . even if it takes me awhile to start speaking up.