Nibley on the Infinite Atonement, the Existence of Life, Temples, and the Second Law of Thermodynamics

Hugh Nibley, "The Meaning of the Temple," Temple and Cosmos, Ch. 1:

This post used to contain excerpts from the above article. It has been a popular one over time. However, we'd like to keep this family blog a touch more private while still providing this information to the world. So we have moved it to our public blog. You will find it here. -- DW

Glad to be Alive

And here's one of the people to whom I owe that: Soviet Strategic Rocket Forces lieutenant colonel Stanislav Yevgrafovich Petrov. The full story is here with a hat-tip to economist Brad DeLong who got it from someone else I don't know from tnsgrl64.
To summarize, in 1983 Petrov was filling an extra shift for someone else who couldn't show up at work ... watching over the BIG RED BUTTON for the Soviets. The computer announced that the US had launched a nuclear missile at Moscow. That didn't make strategic sense to him: why only one? He guessed that it was a computer error and, despite protocls that told him to fire first and inform his superiors after, held off.

Then a second, third, fourth, and even a fifth missile showed up. Realizing that it could potentially be millions of Russian lives on the line and knowing it would definitely be millions of American lives if he gave the orders to fire, he held his ground as the rest of the officers present said he had to fire.

Seconds turned into minutes and it became clear that he was right. It turned out to be a computer error from some funky sunspots and satellites. He saved the world.

Bureaucracy being what it is, he was first praised and then censured for his actions. The above link claims he was forcably retired; Wiki indicates he always claimed otherwise. His story apparently broke in 1998 and a documentary is expected later this year.

From Wiki: "Petrov has said he does not regard himself as a hero for what he did that day. In an interview for the documentary film The Red Button and the Man Who Saved the World,^[5] Petrov says, "All that happened didn't matter to me — it was my job. I was simply doing my job, and I was the right person at the right time, that's all. My late wife for 10 years knew nothing about it. 'So what did you do?' she asked me. I did nothing.""

Wow. Another beautiful example of God putting the right person in the right place at the right time.

Life, Death, and Christmas

There has been a lot to think about this Christmas. I hope you'll forgive me for reciting the death toll for a moment before getting to the happier part, but in my more morbid moments it has seemed that Death has been delivering a great many telegrams this semester. If you'd rather skip all that, head on down to the dashed lines separating off Elder Wirthlin's testimony.

As you may remember, my good friend Evan Wade passed away earlier this semester. His death was quite sudden and unexpected. Timed as it was at the cusp of beginning so many wonderful things in life, it has made me feel particularly blessed to have been able to finish my own degree and be sealed to my wife. I commented to Joy the other day that I've been thinking of him regularly. I miss him, far more than I had expected.

Around Thanksgiving, Grammy had multiple strokes and the doctors also found there had been a heart attack at some point. This also was unexpected, and I find myself quite unprepared for the thought of Christmas without Grammy. In the last twenty years, that's been about the only time I've gotten to see her. Thankfully, Dad reports that Grammy is, to all appearances, fully recovered and doing miraculously well. But the realization of the fragility of mortality was hit home again. (This picture from the Ensign is of Grammy, though she doesn't actually need a wheelchair, then or now.)

A few weeks ago, Aunt Elizabeth died. I don't know that I ever met her or my great-uncle who is now left to mourn her loss. Uncle Calvin reported that she was "was released from the prison of her body" in hospice care after weeks of strokes and terrible pain. He is comforted that her death relieves her of the burden of that suffering, bringing her somewhere without the pain.

Last week our stake president succumbed to the battle he's fought with his cancer the last few years now. I didn't know Calvin Gehen well, but he had a powerful spirit with him at each stake meeting. He radiated peace and compassionate service, in part because you would sometimes never know how much he was suffering to be there. Being with him reminded me in many ways of the opportunities I've had to shake the hands of one of our apostles. Joy is hoping to sing in the choir at his funeral on Tuesday.

A couple weeks ago, Elder Joseph B. Wirthlin passed away. This was not particularly surprising since he was the oldest of the apostles. Though I've known a number of people who knew him (my friend Darrell married his granddaughter and my first mission companion was Elder Wirthlin's home teacher - which provided some interesting stories), I never had the privilege myself.

So today, since I'm sick and unable to attend church, I thought I would get around to watching Elder Wirthlin's funeral, which the Church has graciously put on their website. It was a beautiful service. (Other friends of Darrell will see him and his wife walking out of the funeral at 1:11:42-1:11:56. She's in a red sweater.) In my favorite talk that he ever gave, he told of the Savior's suffering in Gethsemane on Good Friday, reminding us that no matter how bleak the Fridays are that must inevitably come to all our lives, "Sunday will come." During the funeral service, I realized that he gave that talk just after his sweetheart had passed away, surely going through his own Friday. How important the testimony of resurrection morning is!

Among the words offered during the funeral, Pres. Boyd K. Packer shared with the family Elder Wirthlin's final testimony (it's about 30 minutes into the video), which he had spoken approximately the week before. Let me share a piece of it with you:
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From time to time if we are living worthily, the Spirit of God touches our hearts, and minds, and our lives, and improves us forever. The warm feeling penetrates our hearts, a silent, still small voice speaks to us, communicating through the burning of our bosom the knowledge given to us from God. It draws us closer to Him, sanctifying us and strengthening our desire to return to His presence. During such unforgettable moments, revelation comes to us and forever alters our view - sharpening our focus on what matters most. We sense more profoundly our eternal relationship with Him as the literal Father of our spirits. We also feel more acutely our complete dependence on the merciful atonement of His Son Jesus Christ.

I had such a revealing experience. It was Christmas time in Bavaria in the Alps in 1937. I have always loved Christmas. There is a special spirit about it. The chill of the winter air is the perfect counterpoint to the warmth that should fill our hearts as we contemplate the message of salvation found in the birth, resurrection of our Lord Jesus Christ.

I experienced that warmth many years ago while serving as a missionary for the church, just prior to the outbreak of WWII. As you might expect, the possibility of armed conflict was very intense, but as Christmas approached, our thoughts were drawn to the Savior. We rejoiced in the privilege of serving Him during that sacred season in the famous city of Salzburg, Austria.

On Christmas Eve, Elder S and I visited the village of Oberdorf, nestled securely in the beautiful Bavarian Alps. It was a clear, crisp winter night. We walked under the canopy of stars across the smooth stillness of newfallen snow to a humble little church where a familiar melody beckoned us with a message of peace and hope. [Pictured is the church to which he refers.]

Inside, a choir was singing in German a carol that brought warmth to our hearts on that cold winter night. Though we were far from our homes and families, we were filled with our Heavenly Father's love and comforted by His Spirit, as we listened to the calming strains of Silent Night, Holy Night.

Perhaps it was like the night that more than a century earlier inspired the assistant pastor in that quaint village to write the words to one of the most beloved hymns in all of Christendom. [He then tells the story of how the words and music came about.] As we listened to the choir's harmony while standing in the very same church where the first rendition of the sacred song was sung, we were spiritually moved. We were filled with the true spirit of Christmas.
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He told of how the Holy Ghost touched him and his companion at that time. As they walked the 15 miles back to their home, they spoke of a strengthened resolve to do what is right, to find a wonderful person with whom to spend eternity as husband and wife, and to keep their lives in focus with the principle and teachings of the Savior. He closed by saying, "I pray that our hearts and home may resonate with His marvelous message of love and peace during the holiday season. Forever with the apostle John, I testify that God so loved the world that He gave His Only Begotten Son...."

I've been looking forward to this Christmas all year. It's the first time I get to play Joseph. I've been a shepherd many times; I'm far too young to be a wise man; I've even been a dumb ox sometimes; but I've always looked forward to being the dad. No, Joseph wasn't the father of Jesus, but he was the man with whom God entrusted His Son, as He has entrusted me with a precious delight named Hyrum.

After all, besides death, this year has brought life. Wonderful, sweet life that has filled and changed our hearts in marvelous, miraculous ways. We are not the only ones so blessed. My dear friend Marcy and her husband have a dear little Emma after years of praying; our dear friends the Petersons just welcomed their third little one into the world; my former home teaching companion and his wife just received their first blessing; and there are countless more Corbins and Daniels and Timothies and Janes and Millies and more.

Each year, their families and friends will celebrate their lives, putting on cone-shaped party hats and singing old songs off key and eating good food and giving presents to each other because they are so thankful that this precious child is still with us. Every year, we also celebrate with funny little red cone-shaped hats, singing old songs off key, eating good food, and giving presents to each other on society's best guess as to His birthday. For behold, a virgin conceived, and she bore a son, and she called His name Emmanuel: God with us. I am so thankful that we all get together as brother and sisters, friends, neighbors, and family to celebrate the birth and resurrection of our Savior as well, whose sacrifice and sacredness conquered death, inaugurated hope, and promised peace. God be praised for the matchless gift of His Son.

How was your weekend?

As I read my scriptures on Friday, one of the songs I listened to was by the BYU Concert Choir: Death Shall Not Destroy My Comfort. Google informs me you can find a copy of them singing it on Youtube. I've always had a thing for glorious songs in minor keys and this has been a favorite. I thought to myself as I heard it Friday that the next time I had to experience someone's passing, I would have to sit in a dark quiet room and listen to that with my headphones on to get a good, healing cry.

And if you imagine I recognized that as foreshadowing at the time, you give me too much credit.....

Death shall not destroy my comfort,
Christ shall guide me thro’ the gloom;
Down he’ll send some heav’nly convoy,
To escort my spirit home.

Joy and I finally made it out to the temple Saturday. I consider it quite an accomplishment since the last few times we've tried to go, something got in the way. This time when something got in the way, we ran over it and just went anyway. We saw a lot of friends from our temple shifts there who loved to meet our prodigy (who is currently engaged in doing his best to climb/fall into the laundry basket and cry for help). The wonderful thing of going to the temple is being able to be of service to people who passed on without the opportunity to receive the full blessings of the gospel for themselves. It is a beautiful testimony of God's love for all of His children and His desire to bring all of us home.

(Refrain):
Oh, hallelujah! How I Love my Savior,
Oh, hallelujah! That I Do.
Oh, Hallelujah! How I love my Savior!
Mourners, you may love him too.

I was very glad for the temple -- it took the edge off of some of the pain I've been feeling the last few days. I don't know why, but I just really haven't felt well. At one point on our drive to the temple, I pulled over to give Joy a turn driving because I was starting to feel unsafe on our heavily rained-upon roads. Today when I got up, I was sick enough that I couldn't make it to church and it's likely I'll be calling in sick tomorrow. Hopefully I can get well before my defense next Monday. If not, well, my "A" exam was also done under an illness induced haze.

Jordan’s stream shall not o’erflow me,
While my Savior’s by my side;
Canaan, Canaan lies before me!
Soon I’ll cross the swelling tide. (Refrain)



Joy kindly suggested I lay down for a nap while she took care of Hyrum when we got home. I hadn't been down long when our branch president (church leader) called. My good friend Evan Wade had "crossed the swelling tide." I still don't know most of the details, but apparently he skidded on the slick roads and crashed into a tree.

Evan "yes, I like putting odd statements in the middle of my name when I sign off an email" Wade came to Cornell the same year I did to major in Engineering. I'm not entirely sure why, but I decided to watch out for him that first year - help him get rides, encourage him in the church, and try to help support him going on a mission. I don't know that there was any real doubt of that happening, but I wanted to look out for him. He went on a mission to Finland and came back here, happy to see me. I still ended up giving him a lot of rides, which I never minded. He was set to graduate this winter, like me.

I home taught him for a year or so before he had met Cassie and I remember very fondly an evening he and I spent together while Joy was out of town, just talking about the gospel and his romantic hopes, and everything. I was so thrilled when he and Cassie announced their engagement!

We were home teachers together over the summer and for this year. The last time I saw him was home teaching the Browns on Wednesday where he praised Cassie, talked about how excited he was to be getting married and looking forward to graduation and life. I dropped him off, oddly enough, at our place where Cassie was waiting for him, gave him the traditionally overfirm handshake we had developed, and waltzed in happy to see my wife without considering I might not see him again. He was in the military and planning on spending a few months getting trained in submarines. He had an appointment to meet with them tomorrow. It seems God has other plans.

He loved jazz, played the sax, and while his voice wasn't the smoothest, he had an impressive range and power. We talked about music a good deal together. As we drove together the last time, I mentioned wanting to rent an accordian or a bagpipe from Cornell sometime soon so I could learn them. I wonder if he ever got the chance to pick up a piece by Hovhaness I recommended to him?

See the happy spirits waiting,
On the banks beyond the stream!
Sweet responses still repeating,
“Jesus! Jesus!” is their theme. (Refrain)

One of the greatest parts of the gospel is the knowledge that my wife, my son, my brother and his wife, and my parents are all sealed to me. That is, even death cannot separate us permanently. We have the promise that if we are faithful to our covenants, we can be together forever. A similar promise extends to our friends: "And that same sociality which exists among us here will exist among us there, only it will be coupled with eternal glory, which glory we do not now enjoy" (Doctrine and Covenants 130:2). Evan may not have been perfect (he was a bit of a flake), but he was a good man who was doing all he could to follow the gospel of Jesus. In addition to my grandfathers - Derrill One and Grandpa Straw - and the generations before them, I have the hope that I will find my good friend Evan "on the banks beyond the stream" to welcome me home.

Our hearts go out to Cassie and Evan's family! Joy and I have talked ever so briefly in hushed tones of what it would have been like for her had I passed on March 05. We pray for you all regularly and are assured that in time the Spirit will speak peace to your hearts, with solace and comfort that only God can bring. That's why His peace surpasses all understanding (Phil 4:7) - it comes despite and during our afflictions. How comforting it is to know that "all things have been done in the wisdom of Him Who knoweth all things" (2nd Nephi 2:24) and that God who knows the end from the beginning has said, "Thy days are known, and thy years shall not be numbered less; therefore, fear not what man can do, for God shall be with you forever and ever" (D&C 122:9).

Oh, hallelujah! How I Love my Savior,
Oh, hallelujah! That I Do.
Oh, Hallelujah! How I love my Savior!
Mourners, you may love him too.

Death in the Family

Brrryanna D. Watson

-- my Friend, Companion, Comfort, Baby, and Schoolmaster to prepare me for Joy --
passed away last week.

Dad let me know (out of nowhere) over dinner on Friday night. When he said, "We said goodbye to Bryana," the look on his face was as if he were starting a story, and I waited for the Not Funny punchline. But he didn't continue to say "as we left her at the vet" or "and she waved back." It took a couple minutes, as he told me about how they had to make the choice to have her put down, for it to sink in. Joy said my eyes looked like something had died inside.

[As you can probably surmise, this is going to be a long one, as much therapy for me as anything else. I haven't had time to properly mourn her yet, and this is part of that. So there's no need to read on if you don't want to ... as if you ever needed to. Anyway.]

We met Bree around the beginning of school in 1992. Mom's cat had just died and we went to the animal shelter to find her a new one (we were down to just two at that time, and that just wasn't right). Dad instructed us in the car, "Now, we are here for your mother to find a cat. We are all here to help, but no one is allowed to fall in love with a cat except your mother." He then proceeded to fall in love with a long haired cat named Princess who became his office cat for many happy years.

Mom and I continued into the kitten home. I was looking along one wall of kittens (hmm, kitten ... kitten ... another kitten....) when one in the far corner I couldn't see reached her paw outside of the cage and batted me on the nose! I turned to look at her ... and was instantly smitten. She was so adorable! I asked if I could please hold her. The lady got her out of the cage and she just leaped into my arms and climbed up onto my shoulder. She began rubbing my face with hers and purring and purring like she had found a long-lost friend. They had named her "Brrryanna" because when she spoke, instead of saying "Meow," she said, "Brrrow?"

Even though she was only 9 months old herself at that point, she had already had a litter of kittens. She had been living on the street when the shelter found her. Years later, an x-ray found that a BB pellet had been shot into her during that time too. I always liked the image of having saved some poor young woman from a really bad situation (Cosette or her mother from Les Mis?) and given her the home and a chance to be loved she had always deserved.

Mom and Dad discussed it with me. They agreed I could have her on condition that I take care of her and pay for everything. I asked them some questions about how much cat food and vet trips cost. I didn't make anything like that. I sadly concluded that I couldn't have her. We went home.

I continued being sad for the next couple weeks, when I came home from school to discover Brrryana there waiting for me. Mom told me, "She is my cat. She will sleep in your room and you will take care of her, but we will pay for it." My best guess is that my parents decided that since I was mature enough to know I couldn't take care of her, I was finally ready to.

Oh, I loved little Bree! She and I would lay on the floor while I did my homework, with her sometimes batting at my pen to get my attention. She loved to chase balled up pieces of paper around the room. She always climbed up onto my shoulder, where she could perch like a parrot, and purr happily, sometimes rubbing my face, sometimes licking my hair (as in the picture).

There was just one problem, really. She never did learn how to use a litter box. She particularly liked school papers. Once when I told my teacher I couldn't turn in an assignment because my cat had peed on it, everyone laughed and said what a bad liar I was. So I brought it in the next day in a plastic baggie and said she could still have it if she wanted. Some few groused that I had probably left it in her box, but I was generally believed after that. She did end up teaching me not to leave anything important on the floor that way, though. She also taught me to make my bed and put a plastic sheet over it to protect that too.

Mom and Dad cared for her for six years while I was at BYU or on my mission in Germany. Once on my mission, I sent her a old sock I had worn out. Mom and Dad pulled it out, wondering what that was for and tossed it on the ground. Bree came right up to it, rubbed her face up against, purring happily and batted it around. Every morning for months Mom would come downstairs to find it in a new place because Bree had been playing with it during the night. She remembered her daddy.

When I moved out here to Ithaca, I finally managed to get an apartment that would allow pets and took full ownership of my little girl. Dad and I drove out here from California, with her slightly drugged. She was a perfect little angel on the trip, staying put in her litterbox most of the trip until we stopped for the night, when she would get out of her box, join us in the hotel room, and use her box in the bathroom. She never tried to escape. You could leave doors and windows wide open and she would never leave.

She really changed a lot in Ithaca. She had always been the kind of cat that would sit on the back of the couch all day, eat and drink, and that's about it. In Ithaca, she came alive. She learned to speak a great deal. One of her favorite activities was to look out the window at the squirrels. She followed me back and forth in our small apartment whenever I paced. She slept with me, laying close up to my chest with her head resting on my hand. She was a good part of the glue that held me together through a few very difficult years until I met Joy. She also got sick a lot, so I would walk with her on my shoulder for an hour to get to the vet to have them tell me they still didn't know what was wrong with her.

Bree happily accepted Joy when she came around, willing to rub against her shoe or sit in her lap when Joy let her, but also willing to give Joy her space. Joy was touched by that. But as our courtship got more and more serious, Bree became a more difficult problem. Joy couldn't stand the thought of living in the same house with an animal that sheds, let alone one with Bree's bathroom problems -- we didn't know Joy was allergic to cats at that time, but she often said she wished she were so she had an excuse for her aversion to them.

I brought Bree home with me to California the Christmas that I proposed to Joy (who was also staying with us). Again, she was a perfectly well-behaved puss on the plane [and no, she wasn't in my luggage]. While there, I made the difficult (heartbreaking) decision to leave Bree with Mom and Dad so Joy could feel comfortable in our home together.

It was the right thing to do, particularly in light of what we know now about Joy's allergies. I got to visit Bree once or twice a year when I came home, and though she had calmed back down to a tired, noisy old cat, she remembered me. By the time she turned 15, she was too old to really climb up onto my shoulder anymore, but if I put her there, she would purr contentedly. Last Christmas she couldn't even manage to hold her balance on me anymore. I just sat with her in the upstairs bathroom to talk to her, pet her, and let her walk around me and mew (then change my clothes and wash up for Joy).

When she went downhill, she went down fast. Mom and Dad got real concerned about her and got her in to the vet immediately. Since her last visit, she had contracted diabetes and her kidneys had failed, so she was seriously dehydrated, and had an infection. There was no way to cure it all, particularly the kidney failure. I know that putting her down had to have been the right decision.

Every time I went home, I knew it could be the last time I would ever see my beloved cat. So every time we left I said a tearful goodbye. Even so, my real regret is that I wasn't there when she was put down. I wanted to be there for her, to let her know she wasn't alone, that I loved her so much even though we had to be apart. I should have been there, I keep feeling, even though it probably makes no real difference. I try to tell myself that's impractical, even if I had been let in on it before it happened: no time, no money. But even though I was hurrying to get my dissertation draft done, I could have kept working on it on the plane and been back in time to meet with my committee. And even though we really don't have much money left over after Hyrum's birth and the mobile home we just bought, I did get a free ticket on my last flight that I was going to use for Joy to visit her family at Thanksgiving that I could have (selfishly) used to be there for Bree.

Dad tells me that she felt loved and purred a bit when she brought her in, so she wasn't alone. I know they've taken very good care of her, given her (as Dad put it) a good retirement. I'm really so very thankful for all they've done, paid for, and particularly put up with! on her/my behalf for some 13 of her 16 years. Mom posted a very nice blog (after I was told) with memories from the other family members about Bree.

I am comforted in knowing that, in one strange sense, it was the right time for her to go. When I was a teenager and then a YSA, her constant love was a sign of hope that someone from outside the family could choose to love me. She had always completely accepted me and taken me in from the first, and I was able to love her too, faults and all. After I met and grew to love Joy, I referred to her more often as my baby. I learned to be gentle, and to give appropriate, loving discipline. And now we have a real baby. My baby.

Hyrum doesn't perch very well on my shoulders. He hasn't learned to purr, and "Brrrow" is a little beyond him too. He doesn't much care for it when I scratch behind his ears. But he feels so right in my arms and will be fun to hug. His smile is just as expressive and as freely given, and someday he'll even learn to talk! And he loves being bounced, which Bree would never have put up with. It's a good trade, and always was. But I will miss her.

There is one other grand comfort, from the "sealed portion" of the scriptures. In the Bible Dictionary under the entry for the Revelation of John, it records among the doctrinal points in that book: "Animals are resurrected from the dead, and there are animals in heaven, redeemed by the blood of Christ (Rev. 5: 11-14; D&C 77: 3, HC 5: 343)." God willing, we'll be together again. And our grand hope is that, in the resurrection, Joy's perfected body won't be allergic to cats anymore, and she can rejoin our family forever. Another reason to be thankful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ!