Neal A. Maxwell published the following in 1979:
“. . . . The traditional ways of service are as much needed as ever. Indeed, the times just ahead will bring mankind to a fresh appreciation of such basics as food, clothing, transportation, and shelter—from which opportunities for service no detraction is intended by noting. . . additional emphases in the realm of service.
Why should we be concerned about service? When we contemplate the consequences of the conditioning of the past two or so decades in America and, alas, elsewhere, we are confronted with a very harsh reality—to which, of course there are some happy exceptions. But the pattern is clear. So many things have combined to underwrite a surging selfishness that presents us with a sobering scene. Many people assert their needs, but where have we lodged the corresponding obligations? Many have become demanders, but where are the providers and deliverers? We have even drawn the carryover selfishness that has been brought forward from better days. The reserves of regard for others are dangerously low. We have raised expectations but lowered collective levels of love, patience and concern. The drives for self-fulfillment, and self-awareness and self-assertion have been heightened—even made militant—but without increasing the available selflessness. There are for instance, many more people with things to say then there are listeners. There are more neglected and aging parents than there are attentive sons and daughters—though numerically it clearly should not be so.
Scoffers may say that the human condition was always so. But ours has been a time of relative affluence in which we have allowed full generations to be nurtured on the notion that they are the center of the universe, and that meeting their needs should be the priority task of others—others who are expected to be very devoted. Some expect to receive—indeed, they demand unilateral love.
The old aristocracy of wealth at least had some sense of noblesse oblige,* but the new aristocracy of appetite has no such sense of obligation to others. Selfishness is a near-religion for some. Its theology is “me,” its here-after is “now,” and its rituals consist of sensation.
Never have so many been schooled so much as to their rights while, at the same time, being taught that there are no wrongs. If we can but realize that Satan is selfishness at the end of its journey, then we can see where our selfish society is headed.
Once there are not enough individuals who believe in and practice the second commandment (loving their neighbor as themselves), then we are short of a most vital commodity: the lubricant of love, which is needed to make society work at all. The precise size of the critical mass of seemingly common people who are possessed of the uncommon capacity of love is a number known to God, not to us. But you and I feel the harsh effects, even though we cannot identify the precise point when things begin to come apart and the fabric of society begins to fray.
The Sermon on the Mount, for instance, clearly requires, for implementation, selfless individuals who have an unusual capacity to love—even if their love is not returned. How many peace makers can there be if too many are too concerned about winning and asserting their rights and their prerogatives?
If selfish confrontation reigns supreme, from where will reconciliation come? How many poor in spirit can there be if inflamed egos constantly seek to enrich and to vindicate themselves at the expense of others? How many pure in heart can there be as many people become sensually selfish and lose their capacity to feel? How much genuine compassion for others can there be if too many people are filled with self-pity?
It is no accident that unlike secular literature, the scriptures are not replete with jargon about self-fulfillment and meeting our needs. The stern emphasis on keeping the commandments is an emphasis on duty and obedience rather than on self-fulfillment. In the chemistry of duty and demanding obedience, there is not much place left for exulting while we are in the act of obeying. By obeying and serving, we are growing, to be sure, but there is little room—and almost no time—in which to notice our growth. We are, in a sense, being fulfilled because we are being emptied.
Jesus did not find pleasure in hanging on the cross; joy came after duty and agony. He went to Gethsemane and Golgotha out of a sense of supreme service, not because it would meet his needs. He fulfilled all things by giving all in that remarkable act and special act of service. He descended below all—taking more than all of us put together have taken—before being lifted up.
But selfish people are forever taking their own temperature, asking themselves, “Am I happy?” (continued. . . )
~ from Neal A. Maxwell’s book ‘All These Things Shall Give Thee Experience’, 1979 Deseret Book p.57-60
* n. privilege entails responsibility (Oxford dictionary)
(Posts with a preamble asterisk * are for a more general audience, and not specific to teachings of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints.)
