Laman, Lemuel, and the Three Spirits that Haunted Ebenezer Scrooge

STAVE 1: The Ghost

Marley was dead: to begin with. There is no doubt whatever, about that. The register of his burial was signed by the clergyman, the clerk, the undertaker, and the chief mourner. Scrooge signed it. And Scrooge's name was good upon 'Change, for anything he chose to put his hand to.

Old Marley was as dead as a door-nail.

Mind! I don't mean to say that I know, of my own knowledge, what there is particularly dead about a door-nail. I might have been inclined, myself, to regard a coffin-nail as the deadest piece of ironmongery in the trade. But the wisdom of our ancestors is in the simile; and my unhallowed hands shall not disturb it, or the Country's done for. You will therefore permit me to repeat, emphatically, that Marley was as dead as a door-nail.

Scrooge knew he was dead? Of course he did. How could it be otherwise? Scrooge and he were partners for I don't know how many years. Scrooge was his sole executor, his sole administrator, his sole assign, his sole residuary legatee, his sole friend, and sole mourner. And even Scrooge was not so dreadfully cut up by the sad event, but that he was an excellent man of business on the very day of the funeral, and solemnised it with an undoubted bargain. The mention of Marley's funeral brings me back to the point I started from. There is no doubt that Marley was dead. This must be distinctly understood, or nothing wonderful can come of the story I am going to relate.

That is, of course, the beginning to Charles Dickens' "A Christmas Carol," that delightful tale of holiday haunting and redemption with which Dickens chose to beat a populace that wanted to ignore the plight of the common man.

Later in the tale, of course, the ghost of Jacob Marley does show up to haunt Scrooge and to warn him of the arrival of three spirits, meant to show Scrooge, possibly, how to avoid the fate Marley suffered: burdened with chains and lock-boxes symbolizing his own guilt of not helping others ease their burdens.

But a close reading, paired with another prophet's description of burdening chains, brought the mission of Marley into new light for me today. Probably old ground for others, but certainly new for me.

The other prophet is Lehi from the Book of Mormon, weary of warning his two sons Laman and Lemuel about the fate they would suffer if they continued the path of ignoring the commandments of God.

From 2 Nephi, Chapter 1:

21 And now that my soul might have joy in you, and that my heart might leave this world with gladness because of you, that I might not be brought down with grief and sorrow to the grave, arise from the dust, my sons, and be men, and be determined in one mind and in one heart, united in all things, that ye may not come down into captivity;

22 That ye may not be cursed with a sore cursing; and also, that ye may not incur the displeasure of a just God upon you, unto the destruction, yea, the eternal destruction of both soul and body.

23 Awake, my sons; put on the armor of righteousness. Shake off the chains with which ye are bound, and come forth out of obscurity, and arise from the dust.

24 Rebel no more against your brother, whose views have been glorious, and who hath kept the commandments from the time that we left Jerusalem; and who hath been an instrument in the hands of God, in bringing us forth into the land of promise; for were it not for him, we must have perished with hunger in the wilderness; nevertheless, ye sought to take away his life; yea, and he hath suffered much sorrow because of you.

Chains, of course, a common symbol in Christianity for the woes of sin. But there's more here. Lehi urges his sons in verse 21 to "be men," to cast aside their pride and their doubts and be united with Nephi, their brother, mentioned in verse 24.

They have their own agency, of course. They can act and think for themselves. But he pleads with them to consdier: You have seen and heard angels. You have seen the fruits of obedience. And yet more than once your pride and your doubt have caused you to put your brother Nephi to harm, even to try to kill him.

Back to Jacob Marley:

"How it is that I appear before you in a shape that you can see, I may not tell." [Marley tells Scrooge.] "I have sat invisible beside you many and many a day." It was not an agreeable idea. Scrooge shivered, and wiped the perspiration from his brow. "That is no light part of my penance," pursued the Ghost," I am here to-night to warn you that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate. A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer."

The emphasis here is mine. Marley knows he cannot escape his fate. He also says that watching Scrooge forge his own chains "is no light part of [his] penance," a fate Marley can no longer escape. But for some reason, he says, he is allowed to appear to Scrooge on that night, in the hope to help Scrooge avoid Marley's fate.

That Scrooge is on the same road as Marley the ghost makes clear:

"I wear the chain I forged in life," replied the Ghost. "I made it link by link, and yard by yard; I girded it on of my own free will, and of my own free will I wore it. Is its pattern strange to you?"

Again, emphasis mine. But Marley, in saying "Is its pattern strange to you," implores Scrooge to consider the length and weight of the chains and Marley's own willingness to forge them and wear them as a sign that Scrooge is indeed doing the same thing.

He goes on to say:

"Or would you know," pursued the Ghost, "the weight and length of the strong coil you bear yourself?  It was full as heavy and as long as this, seven Christmas Eves ago.  You have laboured on it, since. It is a ponderous chain!"

Scrooge glanced about him on the floor, in the expectation of finding himself surrounded by some fifty or sixty fathoms of iron cable: but he could see nothing.

"Jacob," he said, imploringly.  "Old Jacob Marley, tell me more.  Speak comfort to me, Jacob!"

"I have none to give," the Ghost replied.  "It comes from other regions, Ebenezer Scrooge, and is conveyed by other ministers, to other kinds of men.  Nor can I tell you what I would.  A very little more, is all permitted to me.  I cannot rest, I cannot stay, I cannot linger anywhere.  My spirit never walked beyond our counting-house -- mark me! -- in life my spirit never roved beyond the narrow limits of our money-changing hole; and weary journeys lie before me!"

Lehi warns his sons of walking in more than the narrow limits of their "money-changing hole." He wans them to be men:

Again, 2 Nephi 1:

14 Awake! and rise from the dust, and hear the words of a trembling parent, whose limbs ye must soon lay down in the cold and silent grave, from whence no traveler can return . . .

15 But behold, the Lord hath redeemed my sould from hell; I have beheld his glory, and I am encircled about enternally in the arms of his love.

Lehi again and again offers his two oldest sons the hope Scrooge longed to hear from Marley; he was the other ministers which conveyed the comfort to other kinds of men. Marley can't even deliver the full message he had hoped, as his journey of penance has to continue. Even Marley leaves on the hope that his penance need not include the life of his partner Scrooge, if Scrooge can be turned to see the light.

Whether Dickens believed in an afterlife, and in a life lived now where penance could be accomplisehd to break such abominable chains, I don't know. But he certainly understood how to talk to an audience that expressed Christian charity but in the same breath denied help to Ignorance and Want, looked to the workhouses or the prisons to help those in need and not being the "ministers that conveyed the comfort to other kinds of men."

I'll ponder this more, and see where I lack, lest one night a crumb of cheese or a blot of mustard visit me to proclaim "You will be haunted by Three Spirits."

But even then, for Scrooge, there was hope, as with Laman and Lemuel, if they would grasp it:

"That is no light part of my penance," pursued the Ghost.  "I am here to-night to warn you, that you have yet a chance and hope of escaping my fate.  A chance and hope of my procuring, Ebenezer."

"You were always a good friend to me," said Scrooge.  "Thank `ee!"

"You will be haunted," resumed the Ghost, "by Three Spirits."

Scrooge's countenance fell almost as low as the Ghost's had done.

"Is that the chance and hope you mentioned, Jacob?"  he demanded, in a faltering voice.

"It is."

"I -- I think I'd rather not," said Scrooge.

"Without their visits," said the Ghost, "you cannot hope to shun the path I tread.  Expect the first tomorrow, when the bell tolls one."

"Guilty, but Not Guilty"

At first, I was annoyed.

In a book called "The Sonderberg Case," is it right not to get to the case, even almost in passing until almost halfway through the book?

But I kept reading.

The case finally begins.

Then other weird things happen.

An unreliable narrator?

No, not really -- a narrator with an unreliable life.

And the plea: Guilty, but not guilty.

Then this:

"Will you ever come to understand what you did to me and to my generation? Hitler and you, you kept proclaiming it was for the future of Germany's children that you were at war with the rest of the world; for us that you were destroying entire cities; for us that you erased our right to pride, honor, and hope for centuries to come. Before his suicide, Hitler, in his will, expressed his wish to punish the German people by turning Germany into a mountain of rubble. But what you did was worse; you took revenge on us, your descendants. Because of you, all of you, though we were born long after your atrocities, we feel guilty. . . According to a Jewish saying, life is a wheel that never stops turning. Look at your life: what you did to the Jews is what you are living through now. You wanted to isolate them, you're isolated; you wanted to hunt them down, you're hunted; you made it impossible for them to live without anxiety, now you'll never live without anxiety. And you'll share the fate of your master."

I'm reminded of a story from the Book of Mormon, where a people called the Anti-Nephi-Lehies decided thwy would rather bury their weapons of war and be killed by their enemies, rather than defend themselves, as payment for the murders committed by their ancestors.

Their leader says this:

"Oh, how merciful is our God! And now behold, since it has been as much as we could do to get our stains taken away from us, and our swords are made bright, let us hide them away that they may be kept bright, as a testimony to our God at the last day, or at the day that we shall be brought to stand before him to be judged, that we have not stained our swords in the blood of our bretheren sinc he imparted his word unto us and has made us clean thereby.

"And now, my bretheren, if our brethren seek to destroy us, behold, we will hide away our swords, year, even we will bury them deep in the earth, that they may be kept bright, as a testimony that we have never used them, at the last day; and if our brethren destroy us, behold, we shall go to our God and shall be saved."

There are a lot of people out there who say they do what they do "for the children." Elie Wiesel is cautioning us to look at their methods before we consider whether what they do for the children is actually helpful.

And there are some of you reading this who'll be quick to point out the sins of the other. Well, I'm not going to. Let he who is without sin first cast a stone, because there are a lof of people with a lot of different politics out there doing things "for the children" using methods and reasons and talking points that are anything but child-friendly.

This is a powerful book, folks. Read it. Preferably in front of a mirror.

I am Still Mid-Wrestle

And I will tell you of the wrestle which I had before God, before I received a remission of my sins.

Thus opens (almost) the book of Enos, found in the Book of Mormon. And thus begins one of the more touching personal essays ever written in scripture, where we see an ordinary man struggle for the salvation of his own soul and the souls of his bretheren.

"Behold,” Enos tells us, “I went to hunt beasts in the forests; and the words which I had often heard my father speak concerning eternal life, and the joy of the saints, sunk deep into my heart.”

Who is Enos’ father? It is Jacob, son of Lehi.

And what did Jacob teach concerning eternal life and the joy of the saints?

He taught, in Jacob Chapter 4, verse six: “[W]e search the prophets, and we have many revelations and the spirit of prophecy, and having all these witnesses we obtain a hope, and our faith becometh unshaken, insomuch that we truly can command in the name of Jesus and the very trees obey us, or the mountains, or the waves of the sea.

“Nevertheless,” he continues in verse seven, “the Lord God showeth us our weaknesses that we may know that it is by his grace, and his great condescensions unto the children of men, that we have power to do these things.”

Revelation, witnesses, hope and faith; but all this only through humility and the grace of God and His love for us, Jacob taught.

What wonderful things for a son to learn.

But we know the journey we take on the road of faith may be guided by others, but the drive we have to undertake the journey and to observe and appreciate the beauty along the way is ours alone to find. I’m so glad Enos found it, else we would not have these beautiful words of his to read:

[M]y soul hungered; and I kneeled down before my Maker, and I cried unto him in mighty prayer and supplication for mine own soul; and all the day long did I cry unto him; yea, and when the night came I did still raise my voice high that it reached the heavens.

And there came a voice unto me, saying: Enos, thy sins are forgiven thee, and thou shalt be blessed.

And I, Enos, knew that God could not lie; wherefore, my guilt was swept away.

I remember sitting on my bunk in a red brick building near the heart of Toulouse, France, studying my scriptures when I felt the power of that phrase – I knew that God could not lie – shoot through me like a lightning bolt. And I remember, too, asking the same question Enos asked: “Lord, how is it done?”

The Lord responded to me with another bolt as I read his response to Enos: “Because of thy faith in Christ, whom thou has never before heard nor seen.”

I admit to shallowness. Then, as now, I was and am much more interested in the state of my own soul than those I might be called to teach, whether they were the citizens of the city of Toulouse, or those who surround me now. I realize, on my journey, I am not as far along as Enos, who poured out his soul in sincerity for God to preserve his bretheren, the Lamanites, and to preserve the records which he kept in the hope they would help bring the Lamanites back into the covenant. I did in my own way go “about among the people . . . prophesying of things to come, and testifying of the things which I had heard and seen,” as Enos did.

God did not lie, I could say, and say now, with faith and sincerity. I have learned that, just as Enos learned it long ago. Perhaps that would be a start for someone else’s journey along that beautiful road.

But like Enos, I knew the journey would not always be pleasant. Enos saw the stiffneckedness of his own people, the Nephites, and how their behavior inspired the Lamanites not to believe in Christ. Even among his own people, he saw “nothing, save it was exceeding harshness, preaching and prophesying of wars, and contentions, and destructions, and continually reminding them of death, and the duration of eternity, and the judgments and the power of God” that kept the Nephites from “going down speedily to destruction.”

I see that too, in the world we have today. I see that stiffneckedness in myself. When I seek to take the easy way. Or I fail to talk nightly with the God who placed me here, who blesses me daily with the joys and challenges life brings.

But I remind myself, God does not lie.

I must be more like Enos, who declared the word of God all his days, “and have rejoiced in it above that of the world.”

There, too, I could rejoice.

I am still mid-wrestle.

I re-read the words of Enos, and hope anew.

Kill Your Darlings -- Slowly

As I contemplate Round 8 of editing Doleful Creatures, I realize there's yet another subplot in the book that has got to go. I can see clearly it's interfering with the story, not adding to it - yet I can see in my mind certain elements of it that can be repurposed.

So part of Revision 8 will include cutting this subplot.

The thing is, though, as I think about cutting  this subplot I realize it eliminates most of  Doleful Creatures' original plot.

Is that bad? Does that mean the original plot of the book is bad? Does it mean I've wasted a lot of time writing this book, since at Rev. 9, it's essentially a new book?

No. No. And no.

I'm killing my darlings. I'm just a,bit slower at it than most.

As I thought about it, I realized it all sounded familiar to me. Then it came: The allegory of the tame and wild olive trees, as found in Jacob Chapter 5.

To sum up: The lord of a vineyard of olive trees does a lot of fertilizing, digging, and grafting to preserve the roots of his olive trees, while at the same time working to ensure he gets good fruit for all his labors. He discovers at one point, however, that branches grafted into the roots of his favorite tree are producing bad fruit, and have to be culled in order to preserve the roots and to save the good fruit the tree once bore.

And it came to pass that the Lord of the vineyard and the servant went down into the vineyard; and they came to the tree whose natural branches had been broken off, and the wild branches had been grafted in; and behold all sorts of fruit did cumber the tree. 

And it came to pass that the Lord of the vineyard did taste of the fruit, every sort according to its number. And the Lord of the vineyard said: Behold, this long time have we nourished this tree, and I have laid up unto myself against the season much fruit.

 

But behold, this time it hath brought forth much fruit, and there is none of it which is good. And behold, there are all kinds of bad fruit; and it profiteth me nothing, notwithstanding all our labor; and now it grieveth me that I should lose this tree.

And the Lord of the vineyard said unto the servant: What shall we do unto the tree, that I may preserve again good fruit thereof unto mine own self?

And the servant said unto his master: Behold, because thou didst graft in the branches of the wild olive tree they have nourished the roots, that they are alive and they have not perished; wherefore thou beholdest that they are yet good.

 

And it came to pass that the Lord of the vineyard said unto his servant: The tree profiteth me nothing, and the roots thereof profit me nothing so long as it shall bring forth evil fruit.

Nevertheless, I know that the roots are good, and for mine own purpose I have preserved them; and because of their much strength they have hitherto brought forth, from the wild branches, good fruit.

But behold, the wild branches have grown and have overrun the roots thereof; and because that the wild branches have overcome the roots thereof it hath brought forth much evil fruit; and because that it hath brought forth so much evil fruit thou beholdest that it beginneth to perish; and it will soon become ripened, that it may be cast into the fire, except we should do something for it to preserve it.

That's what editing is: Removing the bad from the good, transplanting in the good, and sometimes culling what's been transplanted because it's threatening to overpower the roots. And sometimes the removal is painful because you remember the good fruit the roots or the branches once produced, and you fear that the tree itself is no good and should be dug up and cast into the fire. But there's always something that keeps you going back, remembering that good fruit, and thinking, "There's still something I can do with this tree to bring back that good fruit."

Revision 8 will continue that pruning, and I'm excited for it.

Calamitous Thoughts

Read this in the seventh chapter of Moroni last night, and it seems appropriate to echo here, given recent events:

AP photo by Mike Gullett

Wherefore, all things which are good cometh of God; and that which is evil cometh of the devil; for the devil is an enemy unto God, and fighteth against him continually, and inviteth and enticeth to sin, and to do that which is evil continually.

But behold, that which is of God inviteth and enticeth to do good continually; wherefore, every thing which inviteth and enticeth to do good, and to love God, and to serve him, is inspired of God.

Wherefore, take heed, my beloved brethren, that ye do not judge that which is evil to be of God, or that which is good and of God to be of the devil.

For behold, my brethren, it is given unto you to judge, that ye may know good from evil; and the way to judge is as plain, that ye may know with a perfect knowledge, as the daylight is from the dark night.

For behold, the Spirit of Christ is given to every man, that he may know good from evil; wherefore, I show unto you the way to judge; for every thing which inviteth to do good, and to persuade to believe in Christ, is sent forth by the power and gift of Christ; wherefore ye may know with a perfect knowledge it is of God.

(Mornoni 7:12-16)

It’s been pretty popular as of late, to blame events such as the Japanese earthquake/tsunami and the tornadoes in Tuscaloosa and Joplin on God – even those who don’t believe in God seem bent on placing the blame there, so as to enforce their own stance that if God exists, why does he let such things happen.

Well, here’s my theory, and it goes back to the story – call it a fable if you want – of Job. God allowed the Devil to test and try Job to see if he would remain faithful. As Job went through his trials he saw his friends, even his wife, urge him to curse God and die because a loving God would not allow such terrible things to happen, if he even existed at all. Job, however, remained faithful without anticipation of reward – for he was in sackcloth and ashes, mourning the deaths of his children, speaking to God all the while, wondering why such calamity occurs.

All that is good comes from God. All that is bad comes from the Devil. That God allows bad things to happen does not mean he is evil – for a good fountain cannot bring forth bitter water, as Moroni also writes.

So what good comes out of these calamities?

The way we react to them. The way those who suffer through them react. The way they react in the face of death – which the faithful know is only a temporary separation. The Devil waits to see the pure waters of our faith turn bitter and salty and he laughs when that comes to pass. But as we maintain our faith in the face of calamity and death, we see the good that comes of it. We still mourn, we still remain, for a time, for a long time, in sackcloth and ashes, but we do not turn bitter, those who have the spirit of the Lord to comfort and lift them.

How we react is important – that is how we show our goodness, and that is how God shows his love.

Thomas More's Utopia

It’s hard to believe that Stalinist Russia thought Thomas More’s Utopia was such a shining example of communism’s tenets.

It’s equally as hard to believe that the Catholic Church thinks More’s ideas on religious tolerance are as ideal as they’re made out to be.

More admires communism with the small c, but certainly would not have agreed with Stalinist Russia’s persecution of religion. And any red-blooded communist would find the colonialist attitudes of the Utopians – who hire mercenaries and other lackeys to do their dirty work, certainly a colonialist and capitalist sin; and who expel the natives of lands they settle if they don’t agree to become Utopians – as tolerable. And while More’s religious toleration is admirable, he still shows a people intolerant of atheism or agnosticism and an attitude towards punishment of moral sins (in his case, adultery being punishable by death on the second offense) that would be regarded alongside the harshest tenets of Muslim sharia law today.

Perhaps it’s that I’m looking at the book through modern eyes. Perhaps, as More’s Raphael Nonsenso encountered with the Utopians, it’s because I’m not reading the book in its original Latin, but rather as translated into English by Paul Turner.

Maybe it’s just that I’m taking the book as a whole, while the Stalinists and the Catholics are choosing to pick out parts of the book that agree with their already preconceived notions while they reject or gloss over the things that don’t. And I thought it was only the moderns that do that.

What I found most striking in reading Utopia, however – and here I get to do cherrypicking of my own – is how closely More’s critiques of kings (or any kind of prone-to-despotism leadership) is to the critiques King Mosiah lays out in the Book of Mormon.

Here’s what More has to say (from page 40, for those following along):

In short, it’s a pretty poor doctor who can’t cure one disease without giving you another, and a king who can’t suppress crime without lowering standards of living should admit that he just doesn’t know how to govern free men. He should start by suppressing one of his own vices – either his pride or his laziness, for those are the faults most liable to make a king hated or despised. He should live on his own resources, without being a nuisance to others. He should adapt his expenditure to his income. He should prevent crime by sound administration rather than allow it to develop and then start punishing it.

Here’s what Mosiah has to say (Mosiah Chapter 29, starting with verse 16):

Now I say unto you, that because all men are not just it is not expedient that ye should have a king or kings to rule over you.

For behold, how much iniquity doth one wicked king cause to be committed, yea, and what great destruction!

Yea, remember king Noah, his wickedness and his abominations, and also the wickedness and abominations of his people. Behold what great destruction did come upon them; and also because of their iniquities they were brought into bondage.

And were it not for the interposition of their all-wise Creator, and this because of their sincere repentance, they must unavoidably remain in bondage until now.

But behold, he did deliver them because they did humble themselves before him; and because they cried mightily unto him he did deliver them out of bondage; and thus doth the Lord work with his power in all cases among the children of men, extending the arm of mercy towards them that put their trust in him.

Both More and Mosiah talk about pride as being a principal enemy to righteous rulers. Read a bit further on in the same chapter in Mosiah, and you’ll find mirrored More’s attitudes toward letting the people rule:

Therefore, choose you by the voice of this people, judges, that ye may be judged according to the claws which have been given you by our fathers, which are correct, and which were given them by the hand of the Lord.

Now it is not common that the voice of the people desireth anything contrary to that which is right; but it is common for the lesser part of the people to desire that which is not right; therefore this shall ye observe and make it your law—to do your business by the voice of the people.

Further reading in the Book of Mormon find similar parallels in the Utopia More envisioned and the ruling government that Mosiah’s people and their descendants tried to live (they held goods in common, worked to support the poor and afflicted, and had leaders who worked for their own support rather than being supported by the people).

I’m not sure what these parallels mean, outside of the fact that it’s common to find such parallels when reading various documents that discuss the ideal forms of government.

I could draw similar parallels between More and the world Harry Harrison describes in the novel “The Stainless Steel Rat Gets Drafted,” but then we’d be getting too damned silly and this post would be getting too long. Suffice it to say if I had the opportunity to move to Bellegarrique, I’d do so in a nanosecond.