The Power of And

Brothers and sisters, aloha.

Actually, let me try that again: brothers and sisters . . . boo! That is my acknowledgement of today’s date, October 31st, a beloved pagan holiday that many refer to as Halloween. The irony of today, for me, is that I am somewhat of a Halloween curmudgeon, an October grinch, if you will, partly because I like to get a rise out of my students, who are always asking me, “Do we still have class on Halloween?” (and are SO disappointed when I say yes), and partly because I’m 46 years old, don’t like horror movies, and shouldn’t be eating any more candy. (The irony, of course, is that on this Halloween I have had to cancel my classes.)

Still, I know many of you love Halloween so much you can hardly contain your excitement. Whatever you have planned, have fun and stay safe. Fittingly for today, I am a little bit scared. And I can only hope that what I have to say today will be, maybe, just a little bit scary.

I come from very goodly parents (to one-up Nephi), Joe and Sally Plicka, who both were both baptized into the Church as teenagers in northern California. I am what you could call a mixed-breed haole, lots of Czech—where the Plicka name comes from—as well as Norwegian, German, English, Welsh, Danish, Swedish, Irish, Scottish, and Finnish ancestry. My family is like a Walmart of Caucasian bloodlines: we’ve got it all.

And I am awed and grateful to be here with you, now, on this sacred land, in this sacred spot. I only wish to share with you today a piece of my heart. I have titled my remarks, “The Power of AND,” and I would like to begin by playing a little video clip of a conversation from long ago—some might call it an argument—between my daughter, Ruby, and my son, Joey.

[HOME VIDEO]

To recap: Ruby, 6, and Joey, 3, are talking about ponies. Joey expounds: ponies are awesome. But Ruby disagrees. She says ponies are fancy. Joey tries to compromise by adding the word AND. Ruby digs her heels in: they’re fancy and nothing else. Joey persists. Ponies are awesome AND fancy, he repeats. For Ruby, however, it’s a non-starter. She will hear no counterarguments, no attempt to reconcile these two, from my perspective, reasonable positions.

My message to you, my friends, is that like my sweet daughter Ruby in this story, sometimes we put unnecessary limits on ourselves and, even more critically, we may inadvertently put limits on God, by seeing the world in terms of extremes and allowing ourselves only the choice between two seemingly opposed options, when in fact there may be many good and less extreme alternatives that bring with them greater potential and opportunities for joy, hope, connection, and growth.

In rhetoric and logic this is called the “false dilemma fallacy”—only two options as opposed to many. [1]

In psychology, you may hear therapists talk about the danger of “either/or” thinking—it’s either this or that, but never both. From the APA Dictionary of Psychology: An either-or fallacy “implies the necessity of choosing one of only two alternatives. This ignores the possibility that (a) the alternatives may not be mutually exclusive and (b) there may be other equally viable alternatives.

The appeal of such thinking is summed up in a word: certainty. In a vastly complex and ever-shifting world we crave certainty, simplicity and efficiency. And in many ways that you are very aware of, Christ’s gospel provides us with exactly that.

But even still, sometimes the size and scope of life’s challenges can leave us feeling paralyzed, afraid, even angry and confused. Either-or thinking is a way, when life does get complicated, of making sense of things and giving our minds a break from the constant evaluations and negotiations we have to engage in when faced with difficult decisions, as we respond to our challenges, our circumstances, and other people.

The risk of such thinking is that we become increasingly rigid in our beliefs and opinions, seeing the world and ourselves mainly in terms of absolutes. Such absolutism can make us susceptible to fundamentalism (in our faith), and even authoritarianism (in our families and governments). It can drain us of compassion for ourselves and others, and even lead us to unnecessarily condemn ourselves and others for failing to conform to our absolute views. It can turn life into an exhausting, never-ending battle of us against them, or me against everyone.

And, crucially, it can blind us to paradox, the source of much wisdom as well as the vehicle for many of Jesus’s teachings and the essence of His very life. If we are to harness the power of AND, then we must learn to live in paradox.

Simply defined, a paradox is a statement, idea, or even a person, thing, or situation, that appears to be contradictory in nature.

In the context of the gospel and Christ’s teachings, often these statements or situations that seem absurd or contradictory on the surface are harboring some kind of deeper truth.

You’re already familiar with many of them. But, before I share, a brief note about the scriptural language you are about to hear. All of the Bible quotations in my talk today are from alternate English translations, specifically the New International Version and the Christian Standard Bible. While I love the King James translation and acknowledge it as the official Bible of the Church, I believe that using the KJV AND other excellent, more contemporary translations can be inspiring and instructive, as well as a way of connecting with a wide variety of other Christians and denominations. Okay, here we go:

“For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for me and for the gospel will save it.” [2] How can you lose your life AND save it at the same time?

“[…] Anyone who wants to be the first must be the very last, and the servant of all.” [3] How can you be the first AND also be the last, a leader AND a servant?

Furthermore, in Jesus’ parables and commentary, a Samaritan (a heathen, an enemy even) is singled out for his righteousness, a lavish party is thrown to celebrate a selfish and wayward son, a group of laborers working for one hour are paid the same amount as those working all day, a woman who gives the least is praised for giving the most, the immeasurable glory of God’s kingdom is contained in a tiny mustard seed, and tax collectors and prostitutes enter heaven before religious officials.

Across the New Testament Gospels, Jesus says:
“Blessed are those who hunger,” [4] AND “No one who comes to me will ever be hungry.” [5]
He says, “My yoke is easy,” [6] AND “How [. . .] difficult the road that leads to life.” [7]
He says, “Let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works,” [8] AND “Be careful not to practice your righteousness in front of others to be seen by them.” [9]
He says, “Give to the one who asks you,” [10] AND “Don’t... toss your pearls before pigs.” [11]
He both proclaims peace AND says, “Don’t assume that I came to bring peace.” [12]

And, of course, much has been said about the paradox of Jesus Christ himself. A Creator God who appeared as a vulnerable, defenseless human baby, born into poverty, into obscurity. A rightful King who was also a refugee, a laborer, and homeless. A long-awaited Messiah who had no apparent interest in liberating his people from Roman occupation and oppression. A Holy One who spent His time with the marginalized, the outcast, and the unclean. A divine being with power over death, but who also spoke Aramaic, wore a prayer shawl, ate plain fish and bread, slept on the ground, blinked in the dawn and sneezed and spat and felt sore after walking twenty miles.

I imagine that in your study of Jesus’s life and teachings, you have already spent time contemplating some of these paradoxes, how to reconcile the apparent contradictions, and have found the resulting truths to be beautiful and instructive.

But what about the paradoxes in our own lives? Not to mention the apparent contradictions that we will continue to encounter as we acquire more years, more experiences, more knowledge, and more responsibilities.

Let’s start with some either/or statements that you, like me, may be familiar with:
Either I’m a success, or I’m a failure.
Either I’m righteous, or I’m sinful.
Either I’m liked, or I’m disliked.
Either I’m blameless, or I’m guilty.

Do we find ourselves calculating which one of these categories we fit into? After doing the math, do we feel relieved, maybe even prideful, when we place ourselves on the positive end of the spectrum? And do we feel frustration, even despair, when we put ourselves on the negative end?

Now, let’s try taking out “either/or” and inserting the word “and” into each of these statements:

I’m a success and a failure.
In a way, our failures are intertwined with our successes and cannot be separated from them. I’m an English professor at the greatest university in the world, but I haven’t published a book. Yet. (I’ve published plenty of stuff in journals, but often success feels more like a book.) I’m a kind and loving father to my kids but I wish I was better at being active with them. I own a home but I carry a lot of debt. I am a good friend to many, but I’ve also let many people down. I have a pretty full beard (when I’m allowed to grow it out), but I also have no hair on my head.

I’m righteous and sinful.
I am a child of heaven and have inherited righteousness through Christ’s Atonement and Resurrection. Also, through Adam and Eve I have inherited a fallen state and understand, as Jesus said, no one is good, except for God alone. In concrete terms, I try to do good and be good for my family and everyone I meet. But, I am also at times selfish, greedy, and angry. I bless and curse with the same mouth. I love Bach but I also love AC/DC (not that that’s really sinful). If I were a haircut, I would be a mullet: business in the front and party in the back.

I’m liked and disliked.
Look, I try pretty hard to get people to like me, and it works a lot of the time, but I’ve read enough of my teaching evaluations, and said enough stupid things to Emily, to know that just can’t always be the case.

I’m blameless and guilty.
Obviously, at the literal level of car accidents and crimes or abuses committed, guilt and innocence can often be an either-or proposition. But on the level of difficulties in personal relationships, societal and environmental degradation, and the general suffering of humanity, I have come to accept that I can be both technically blameless and essentially responsible. As the great Russian Orthodox novelist, Fyodor Dostoevsky, wrote, “Everyone is really responsible to all men for all men and for everything.” [13] A ripple in one end of the pond will radiate out until it reaches the other side. We can never be fully aware of the way our actions may positively or negatively affect another. We can be blameless in our intentions and still implicated in the messy, chaotic, sometimes horrific scenes of this life. Rather than hiding behind innocence and blaming others, even blaming God, we can choose to embrace our dual nature and simply work tirelessly to relieve suffering and reduce injustice whenever and wherever we can.

So. Now we are the paradox. How can both things be true about us at the same time? This is math on a different order, more difficult to be sure, but more refined, and more enlivening.

Paradox can be uncomfortable. If you’re like me, you’re a little discomfited by these statements. Failure, sin, being disliked, feeling guilty—we spend much time and energy actively avoiding these things. Am I suggesting we do otherwise? Well, of course I’m not suggesting that we give up trying to succeed, or eagerly increase our sinfulness, or actively try to get people to dislike us.

But we can acknowledge the paradox at the heart of our own very existence, and stop breaking ourselves in an attempt to escape it. Instead of swinging to one extreme or the other, and selectively ignoring all evidence to the contrary, let us ask what we can learn about ourselves, our lives, and about God, by contemplating how both statements might be true. As we do, the power of AND can move us from a state of scarcity and fear to a state of abundance and hope.

Anciently, in 2 Nephi, father Lehi talked about the need for “opposition in all things,” [14] which we sometimes forget was followed by the statement that “all things must needs be a compound in one.” The word “compound,” when used as a noun as it is here, means something formed by combining multiple parts or elements into a single whole. Something that has been increased or added to. I see here a description of the power of AND. I see an emphasis on the act of adding and combining elements rather than trying to isolate or eliminate them.

Today, the notion that paradox is a useful concept for living in the modern world and sorting through a tangle of religious principles continues to draw attention. In the Church, it has been the subject of articles and speeches and general conference talks. One of the best and brightest LDS thinkers of our day, Terryl Givens, wrote an entire book called People of Paradox: A History of Mormon Culture.

Jared Halverson, a professor of religion at BYU in Provo, has spoken helpfully about how the idea of paradox, and what he calls proving polarities, is about finding balance. [15] When one profound truth is positioned opposite another profound truth, we are invited to notice when we may be getting hung up on one at the expense of the other.

One classic example is the idea of justice versus mercy. Justice, Halverson points out, when left unchecked can look a lot like harsh, unbending judgment. Mercy, when taken to the extreme, can become codependence.

The power of AND, for me, is yet another name for paradox, with an emphasis on recognizing when there could be imbalance, ignorance, or a lack of proportion in my life, and then finding new and useful ways of thinking and acting in order to achieve stability and harmony.

I’d like to share with you a just a couple of ways in which the power of AND has profoundly changed my life, enlarged my faith, deepened my connections to God and others, and filled me with gratitude and awe.

I’ll start with a more detailed example, and then share a less detailed example.

My first example: Life is a test AND a gift.
In the Book of Mormon, the word probation—which people most often use these days to talk about a type of legal discipline, or a critical period of being watched and evaluated when you start a new job—is used at least nine times, by prophets from Nephi to Moroni, [16] to describe life on earth, and this becomes a primary framework for how we talk about our experiences.

We often speak in our meetings and lessons about how life is a test, a time of trial. As God said in a premortal council: “And we will prove them herewith, to see if they will do all things whatsoever the Lord their God shall command them.” [17] Certainly, this is a useful and familiar idea. It can keep us alert to error and motivated to get things right. It lends us strength and purpose during hard times, as we desire to pass the test and prove our faith, our strength, our resolve. One thing you know all too well about tests, though: they can be really stressful!

When I was at BYU in Provo as an undergraduate, my friend, Ryan, now an English professor at Southern Utah University, had put off taking a required math class until his very last semester before graduating. He was not looking forward to it. On the first day of class, as his professor introduced the course, she excitedly told the students, quite earnestly, “In this class, there are no exams, only celebrations!” Sounds fun, right? But, despite the enthusiasm of Ryan’s math professor, it soon became clear that the so-called celebrations looked and felt a lot like exams. If the teacher’s intention was to reduce the dread and anxiety that students felt about their upcoming math tests, the students weren’t buying it.

I think sometimes, like Ryan’s well-meaning math professor, we try very hard to convince ourselves that the exam is the celebration, or at least that we should feel that way. The test is the gift. An opportunity for learning and growth! A way to prove how hard we’ve been working. In fact, we sometimes reason, if trials are a gift and a sign of God’s love for us, then the harder the trial the greater the love, and we should be grateful that we are deemed worthy and ready for such challenges.

As mentioned, this is true and can be helpful and consoling at times. But, for myself, this is not what I mean when I say life is a test AND a gift.

What I mean is that, at some point, I found myself very worn down by the overwhelming feeling that, if life is a test, it is so long, so tricky, and so comprehensive as to be essentially impossible. It was no longer very helpful or hopeful to think of life only as a test. After some searching, and through the power of AND, I came to the understanding that I don’t have to stay in “test mode” all the time, but am allowed to also just be still and know God, my source, finding comfort and peace not in my estimated score or status on the exam, but in my profoundly eternal connection to the Light, the divine Christ-light given to every man. Such a connection cannot be severed, ever.

It has been vital, for me, to simply contemplate what it is to be, like a sparrow or a lily of the field, as opposed to what I need to do. To remember, as Lehi said, that “[we] are, that [we] might have joy,” [18] and that God’s stated aim, “[his] work and [his] glory,” is to bring about my “immortality and eternal life,” [19] and though it may not be easy for either of us, God will inevitably succeed. To try thinking of the resurrection of the dead not as some sort of consolation prize for the most minimal effort, but evidence of a priceless inheritance for every soul. To see our brief mortal experiences less as scripted classroom assignments and more as a wild miracles, epic journeys, holy mysteries.

Maybe we are allowed to see ourselves not just as test-takers, but as explorers, as pilgrims, seekers, rightful heirs, stargazers, and, to use a scriptural image, guests of honor—even the poor, the crippled, the lame and the blind—at a marvelous banquet.

Many years ago in Boise, Idaho, I attended a testimony meeting with Emily. We were young and newly married and I remember a somewhat shriveled old man, a revered and respected long-time member of the ward, got up to speak. He was hunched over the podium, but he spoke slowly and clearly. He said, “Brothers and sisters, when I was young I used to think I knew quite a bit. I thought that by the time I got to be the age I am now, I’d probably know pretty much everything. Well, now I’m old, and I feel like I know even less. But one thing I do know, more than I ever have, is that God loves us and we cannot be separated from that love.”

He sat down, and I remember feeling kind of strange. A little uneasy. Looking back now, I think it was the feeling of paradox. How could this old man who had seen so much claim to know so little? Wasn’t a benefit of growing old becoming more confident in your knowledge, more certain of everything? Nowadays, I am beginning to understand more what this old man meant. In the days of our probation, as we seek to answer life’s questions, often what we find on the other side of those answers are more questions. Some questions seem to have no answers. Some questions we get wrong when we’re sure we’re right. And sometimes other people are right when we’re sure they’re wrong. At times like this, when answers seem to be missing or beyond reach, it is worth remembering that life is not only a test, but a gift. And the most important thing about a gift is that it is given with love.

Once, when our children were younger, we saved up some money and planned a trip to Disneyland. It was a surprise for the kids and when it came time to let them know, we gathered around the TV and Emily put up a screenshot of our tickets to the park. As it dawned on them what they were looking at, they started to get excited. However, Theo, our youngest, was having a hard time believing his luck. In fact, he was skeptical. “It’s a fake!” he exclaimed. As if we would do anything so cruel as creating fake Disneyland tickets to trick our kids with.

I wonder if sometimes we are like Theo, unable to quite believe that someone would just give us something so potentially wonderful, to enjoy, for free, with no strings attached. Not possible, we think. It must be a test.

Okay, one more example:
We can have the fulness of the gospel restored AND be in the midst of an ongoing restoration. Many Church leaders, including President Russell M. Nelson [20], and Elders Gary E. Stevenson [21], and Dieter F. Uchtdorf [22] have made mention of ongoing restoration in recent years.

Here’s a related, more personal version of that statement: I can be firmly planted in my own faith tradition AND be inspired to seek out all that is divine, and true, and beautiful in other faith traditions.

Many of the most sacred and spiritual experiences of my life spring directly from my membership in Christ’s Church. The restored gospel is my home, my heritage, my native tongue. And. Other sacred and spiritual experiences have come as I discover and explore the scriptures, beliefs, and practices of other religious-philosophical traditions.

As a young man, I used to worry that this was somehow heretical. I have come to feel strongly that it is not. Broadly speaking, learning about and from other faiths has consistently deepened my own.

When I was a freshman at BYU, I was assigned to read “The Grand Inquisitor” by—who else?—Dostoyevsky. It’s an excerpt from his famous novel, The Brothers Karamazov. I can still remember sitting at my desk in my dorm room at Helaman Halls, listening to Weezer, eyes riveted to the page, astonished not only at what I was reading, but at what I was feeling. Like my chair was levitating six inches off the ground. Not a thought about the time or my surroundings, only the transcendent assurance that I was being taught, my eyes opened to new ways of understanding the life and teachings of Jesus, the scriptures, and what English professors love to call “the human condition.”

In The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, we have a long tradition of recognizing and appreciating the beauty and goodness of all those who “[worship] Almighty God according to the dictates of [their] own conscience.” [23] And a charge to seek after all that is “virtuous, lovely, [...] of good report, [and] praiseworthy.” [24]

I love this line from the 1978 Statement of the First Presidency regarding God’s Love for All Mankind: The great religious leaders of the world such as Mohammed, Confucius, and the Reformers, as well as philosophers including Socrates, Plato, and others, received a portion of God’s light. Moral truths were given to them by God to enlighten whole nations and to bring a higher level of understanding to individuals. [25]

Sometimes, when I find myself feeling stuck in spiritual ruts, stagnating or uninspired in my faith and the performance of my ecclesiastical duties, I find great inspiration and comfort in seeing myself as not just one of a relatively small group of Latter-day Saints, but one of billions of believers and seekers across the world.

As a great proselyting faith, we canvas the earth in an effort to share and teach. I spent two years asking people to listen to me talk about my spiritual beliefs. But am I also ready to listen and learn, from Catholics and Jews and Muslims and Buddhists and Hindus and others? As I have, what I’ve found is that light and truth and beauty and goodness, or “virtuous, lovely, ...of good report, [and] praiseworthy,” simply cannot be confined to one particular group of God’s children.

Before I close, my brothers and sisters, one more thing, this time a warning about the power of AND: As with any power, it can be used wisely and it can be used destructively. Another paradox, I suppose. Two things:

One, beware of those who would twist the power of AND, and use the idea of paradox to manipulate or abuse or shame others. Rebuff those who would effectively say something like, “You, or I, can act in a way that would seriously dishonor covenants or break the law AND it’s okay because I’m a powerful or well-respected boss/teacher/spiritual leader,” or, “because God told me this is an exception.” And do not accept the craven falsehoods of someone who would claim to truly love you AND intentionally or repeatedly hurt you, belittle you, or deny you your agency or dignity.

Two, while the power of AND can teach us to be patient, humble, curious, hopeful, and receptive, it is not a simplified method for reconciling all issues, doubts and questions. Real, intractable contradictions do and will continue to exist. Sometimes we really are faced with a difficult choice between two options, each of which will bring vastly different consequences into our life. When this is the case, I have found it most helpful to err on the side of charity, the greatest of all, both for ourselves and for others. Whatever it may cost us to love, accept, and forgive the way our God and Creator loves, accepts, and forgives, it is certainly less than the cost of resentment, despair, hardness, ignorance, or turning our backs on those who need us to offer not dogma, not even doctrine or constant correction, but warmth, friendship, understanding, and the dignity of knowing that we see them as whole individuals, equals with us before God, not broken vessels or second-class citizens in the kingdom.

Finally, my young friends, if I may take off my devotional speaker hat, my professor hat, my wise guy hat for just a moment, and speak to you like I would speak to my own daughter or son if we were at home on the couch:

First, forget everything I just said and go listen to some beautiful music. It doesn’t matter what it is, could be Weezer, could be Bach, just as long as it slaps because, to paraphrase a wise storyteller, where words fail, music speaks. [26]

And lastly, in light of recent world events, I am reminded that maybe the most difficult “AND” of all is that we live in a marvelous world infused with the love and presence of our heavenly parents AND a world in which unspeakable evil exists. Where acts of cruelty and violence are perpetrated even against the young and the innocent. Many have attempted to explain or reconcile this paradox. I am convinced that we cannot fully understand it, not until we have left these flimsy, dusty bodies behind and journeyed on.

But I hold on to the promise of understanding. The promise of perfect justice, and mercy, and peace. And another word for this promise is Atonement. The power through which many things become one. On the cross, all suffering became one suffering. All death became one death. AND, the restoration of One became the restoration of all. I stand in awe of the day when all will be revealed, when the promise of God through the Son, even Jesus Christ, is fulfilled. When “He will wipe every tear from their eyes, [and] there will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.” [27] In the meantime, may we be partakers of this promise by laboring in love, today, to deliver all beings from suffering, however and whenever we can.

My friends, I love you, and I testify of the majesty, mystery, and grace of God, our Source, our Home, and our Salvation. In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Notes:
[1] APA Dictionary of Psychology. American Psychological Association, dictionary.apa.org/either-or-fallacy. Accessed Oct. 2023.
[2] Mark 8:35, New International Version
[3] Mark 9:35, New International Version
[4] Matthew 5:6, Christian Standard Bible
[5] John 6:35, Christian Standard Bible
[6] Matthew 11:30, Christian Standard Bible
[7] Matthew 7:14, Christian Standard Bible
[8] Matthew 5:16, Christian Standard Bible
[9] Matthew 6:1, Christian Standard Bible
[10] Matthew 5:42, Christian Standard Bible
[11] Matthew 7:6, Christian Standard Bible
[12] Matthew 10:34, Christian Standard Bible
[13] Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, 2nd Ed., Norton: 2011.
[14] 2 Nephi 2:11
[15] “Proving Polarities – A Conversation with Jared Halverson.” Faith Matters from Faith Matters Foundation, July 2022,
[16] See Topical Guide for “Probation, Probationary”
[17] Abraham 3:25
[18] 2 Nephi 2:25
[19] Moses 1:39
[20] Russell M. Nelson, "The Temple and Your Spiritual Foundation," Liahona, November 2021
[21] Gary E. Stevenson, “The Ongoing Restoration” BYU Devotional, August 20, 2019
[22] Dieter F. Utchdorf, “Are You Sleeping Through the Restoration?” Liahona, May 2014
[23] Articles of Faith 11
[24] Articles of Faith 13
[25] “Statement of the First Presidency Regarding God’s Love for All Mankind,” 15 February, 1978. BYU-Idaho Special Collections
[26] Hans Christian Andersen, “What the Moon Saw.” What the Moon Saw: and Other Tales, Routledge, London: 1866
[27] Revelation 21:4, New International Version