6.13.10

What is fear? So many scriptural and secular references have described it, but what is it really? Is it a power unto itself, a temptation, the opposite of the spiritual promptings of the Holy Ghost? No, I think not: fear, perhaps like faith, is an axis of agency. And perhaps, as it is actually said to be the opposite of faith, it is the desire and choice not to act. For it is written that there are both things acting and things being acted upon (see 2 Nephi 2: 14), and so perhaps this distinction is best defined by the words here mentioned: faith being manifest in the positive actions of people desiring to act--and actually, to briefly amend, perhaps it is indeed the most base desire of our heart that best denotes the dichotomy between fear and faith--things acting and things being acted upon. This would place faith as the desire to act, to improve, to define life by what we put into it, by the service we render, by the selfless attitude we perpetuate; to work because we want to and, in so doing, become a creature continuously moving forward, not in hope of a reward, but based on an unconditional motivation that is the understanding, achieving, and becoming of truth.

And this would place fear at the opposite of the spectrum: as the desire not to act, to only receive, to define life by what we get out of it, by the status quo we fight to protect, by the comfort and control we maintain; to work only with the hope of retirement and, by so doing, become a creature obsessed with itself, but simultaneously hating itself for its ability to act and thereby to disrupt its fleeting hold on a stationary existence. In fact, at this point we would rather not exist at all if it meant that we would no more have to burden ourselves with actions and dreaded responsibility. This is the meaning of fear: the soul-defining desire to ease into nonexistence, to decay, to pine away, to eternally be acted upon.

Even righteous actions, if done because of fear, can impede our development. For they will not last long: as fear is a desire, it will eventually push its bearer toward actions that are best suited for the corrupted spread of its disease. Slowly, righteous actions will lose their meanings, they will not make sense, they will start to feel fruitless and unnatural, and they will soon be lost in the dangerously rational structure of a decision-making mechanism ruled by inaction. And this is a desire and mentality of which we are all capable; one that we are constantly tempted to adopt. Even the Lord himself was faced with the human possibility of fear, especially when faced with the choice of an action that would cause Him incredible pain. But, as in everything, He showed us the perfect example of faith: His desire, no matter the terrible anticipation of the unearthly pain with which He was faced, was proved to be of an unshakable faith. Therefore, his choice was the natural exemplification of who He was and is: He chose the ultimate action instead of the ultimate inaction.

So we, I believe, can choose to be--this is the mighty change of heart described so often in scripture--this is the conversion that is so frequently emphasized--this is the essence of repentance and the covenant steps of the Gospel--the literal transformation of desire from fear to faith. And how do we accomplish it? I think we start with the desire to believe, the desire to act, the willingness to internalize the Lord's will (see Alma 32: 27). And, as is taught, this desire will begin to work in us as we nurture it, as we allow it to grow--always through action, through a complete willingness, through a pure desire (see Alma 32: 28-30, 37, 41-42). Fear can be hard to let go of, because it's easier, more controllable, supposedly more predictable; because not acting seems so much safer. But as our most inner desire changes, so our thoughts and actions change--our fears literally melt away as they are replaced with an eternal purpose. A purpose by which we bear a glorious fruit, one that envies not, that seeks not her own, that suffers long, that thinks of no evil, that does not rejoice in iniquity, but in truth--a purpose if in which we are lost, we can be truly found. A purpose that we not only complete, but, as has been shown us so perfectly, that we come to exemplify: one that we wholly become.