A Few Unanswered Questions

I recently finished reading The Plague by the existentialist Albert Camus and it got me thinking. The basic premise of the book is that a plague breaks out in the French town of Oran in North Africa in the 40s. The government orders the gates to be closed, so the inhabitants of the town are trapped inside until the plague is over. The book follows the efforts of Dr. Rieux and several other men as they deal with the plague. Now, I was expecting the novel to be a horror-filled tale of death and despondancy, but it was totally the opposite and actually pretty good. The sanitary squads take care of most of the disease and everything is dealt with in an orderly way, so a lot of the prose is devoted to how people react to the plague instead of gruesome details.

Anyway, one of the main questions the novel asks is "What's the point of trying to survive in such an absurd and hopeless world?" One character attempts suicide, one gives in to illness, one tries to escape the town. At the same time, however, some men give their all, risking their own lives and fighting the disease, in an effort to show compassion even though they can't do anything about the disease once it infects a person. Why even try?

Flash forward to 2009 and something that's been on my mind lately: why stay in the "world" when it would be so much easier to not deal with that. I know it's not actually possible to go live in a cave somewhere and exist free from money and societal worries, but what if it were? What if, like those people who escaped Oran, there was a way to escape life? Would it be reprehensible to run away? We're told that service is the only way that we can become like our Heavenly Father and be happy (which I strongly believe), but why is that?

Taking my answer from Camus, the reason we fight evil is because that is how we protest evil's existence; just standing aside and watching evil happen does not make us good - it makes us neutral at best. There are two main categories of people, Camus' character Tarrou says: pestilences and victims. Those who do evil and those who are hurt by evil. To this Tarrou adds a third category: that of the healer, the one who refuses to do evil while at the same time refusing to stand by while the evil happens. He says, "This, and only this, can bring relief to men and... at least do them the least harm possible and even, sometimes, a little good." Is that why we serve? Since good cannot exist without evil, is fighting against evil the only way for us as human beings to be righteous? I guess that makes missonaries like uber-heros as they battle for righteousness. Pretty cool, eh?

Anyhow, I really enjoyed this book, or at least the last 100 pages or so and I recommend it to everyone.

Munchkin Wrangling by Divine Decree

In the horribly-cliched pattern that college students weave through every day, I was called to restrain teach the 7-going-on-8-year-old Primary class, which is great. You don't really have to plan much; the lesson manual tells you everything to do and half of the lesson time is spent telling the kids to be quiet. But deep down, I'm ashamed to say, I have a confession to make about my calling:

I'm a horrible primary teacher.

It's not that my lessons are poorly prepared. I don't feed the kids on Fast Sunday, nor do I tell the adorable little nuisances to either shut the heck up or learn what it's like to breathe through one's skin because someone happened to tie their tie too tightly. It's just that I'm a terrible disciplinarian. Sure, I guess it's bad that Jose and Daniel are poking each other incessantly during Sharing Time, but it's not like that part of the lesson is really worth listening to anyway. I'm bored; why should I force the same fate upon them?

Of course, not all (or any) of the higher-up Primary workers agree with me on this point. One in particular, Sister Dictatornazi (name has obviously been changed) has expressed her annoyance at my lack of iron-fisted authority through several disapproving looks and interventions. Okay, so she was really just trying to save Daniel's left arm from internal bleeding caused by continuted finger pressure, but I know that deep down inside we two are sworn enemies.

Luckily, the good sister is often off busy restricting the freedom of others, so there are good times in it all. One cute little girl in my class named Colette will, without fail, return to telling a story about Jeanine in her first-grade class who hurt her feelings. Mitchell knows all the answers and is very excited about everything - especially singing. He can definitely be the loudest kid in the room. Wilver's attention will sometimes wander to some far-off locale when he's asked a question, leaving the rest of us staring at him in silence while he sits staring at the upper left-hand corner of the room in silence.

In all, it's a great experience. The bishopric says that it'll be a good experience for me to simplify the basic points of the gospel to a point where children and others can understand it. I'm just hoping I'll never have to sing about how far pioneer children walked again after this summer.