Notes on The Book of Mormon from a Nineteenth Century Perspective: Paid Clergy and Leadership

Alma

Paid clergy come in for a great deal of criticism in The Book of Mormon. When I was growing up—again in upstate New York—this criticism was often leveled at Catholicism. Nineteenth-century New Englanders would have associated such criticisms with Congregationalists and religious leaders in well-to-do churches on the East coast. The issue of paid clergy was wrapped up in the separation (or non-separation) of church and state. Various states supported specific churches for a number of years after the Revolutionary War.

In addition, established East Coast religious leaders defended the need for educated clergy against “populist” ideas. These leaders were rapidly losing adherents with the growth of Methodism and circuit riders—circuit riders were also paid but it was generally recognized that their efforts far outstripped their salaries.


And established religious churches were losing adherents due to the Second Great Awakening and attendant revivals. However, these revivals came with their own concerns. Nineteenth-century readers would have responded to criticisms in The Book of Mormon not only of educated paid clergy but of popular clergy:

[Nehor came] declaring unto the people that every priest and teacher ought to become popular; and they ought not to labor with their hands, but that they ought to be supported by the people. (Alma 1:3)

Well-off sects and revivalists who achieved followers through charismatic sermons would have come in for criticism.

In sum, a “minister” has gone down the wrong path when that role becomes its own excuse, not something done in one’s spare time.

The issue will come up again later with Korihor. False doctrines are open to debate but “priestcraft”—preaching for the sake of riches—is entirely condemned.

Paid clergy is also linked to issues about leadership. King Benjamin spends several verses in Mosiah 2 defending his leadership: “And even I, myself, have labored with mine own hands that I might serve you, and that ye should not be laden with taxes” (verse 14).

The Book of Mormon is full of ideas about leadership: the dictatorial approach versus the magnanimous approach; the authoritarian approach versus the communal approach; the buddy approach; the charismatic approach; the mystic’s approach.

Joseph Smith, Jr. struggled with all these approaches. Unlike the problem of grace and works, which The Book of Mormon appears to have solved to his satisfaction (he takes the ideas and runs with them), it never fully resolved for him the problem of leadership. When he left Nauvoo to escape capture by Federal agents, he chose to return as a man of his people (not a coward). It was not a choice Brigham Young would have made (“Yeah, right, come and get me”) but it is indicative of the former man’s inner conflict over his role, so much so that he turned to his second self, his brother Hyrum, to make the ultimate decision.

“Let us go back and give ourselves up, and see the thing out,” said Hyrum.

“If you go back, I shall go with you,” Joseph said, “but we shall be butchered.”

“If we live or have to die,” Hyrum said, “we will be reconciled to our fate.”

“I am going like a lamb to the slaughter,” Joseph Smith later stated, “but I am calm as a summer’s morning. I have a conscience void of offense towards God and towards all men.”

Martyrdom shall be addressed in a later post.

Mosiah 12 & 13

In Mosiah 12 & 13, Abinadi quotes the Ten Commandments.

In nineteenth-century America, the Decalogue was a link to the Lost Tribes of Israel, a popular topic of the time that I will discuss in a later post. By the 1980s, when I was growing up in the LDS church, speculation about the Lost Tribes of Israel had veered to the polar ice caps (Mormons, after all, had specific beliefs about which tribes made it to America and which did not). But many scholars and religious leaders and archaeologists in the nineteenth century maintained that some or all tribes had made their way to America, bringing with them important wisdom, most specifically the Ten Commandments.

Quite typically, The Book of Mormon focuses more on the theological argument than the Ten Commandments' material existence. That is, Abinadi uses the Ten Commandments to make a larger argument as when he accuses wicked priests of claiming adherence to a set of behaviors they don’t actually practice: “I perceive that they are not written in your hearts” (Mosiah 13:11).

The argument bears resemblance to an interpretation of ancient texts, Jesus’s words, and King Benjamin’s speech, the latter also from The Book of Mormon:
  • Michael Coogan argues that the Ten Commandments are likely extremely old. Documentary evidence indicates that they preceded the various versions that appear in the first five Books of Moses. The classically numbered third commandment—commonly presented as “Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord in vain”—is more accurately rendered as “You should not use the name of Yahweh, your god, for nothing.” 

Both books are worth checking out. Joselit
discusses monuments--see below.
Coogan goes on to discuss how ancient religions customarily paired magic with theology. Speaking the name of one’s god was often part of a spell. Coupled with the classically numbered second commandment about idols, the third commandment of the Decalogue tosses out the idea of propitiation through such appeals: “The Israelites’ new god with the mysterious name was not a god who could be controlled by invoking his name in incantations or magic, any more than he could be localized in a statue” (Coogan). Paul, who knew his scriptures, built on this idea.

  • Jesus uses the Ten Commandments to make a series of rather sarcastic points. (There is far more sarcasm in the Gospels than may make some religious commentators comfortable—it is a touching indicator that Jesus had a singular personality, though one can’t help but wonder if Heavenly Father turned to Jesus upon the Ascension and said, “You do realize many humans have absolutely no sense of humor. They are going to take a bunch of that stuff you said very, very literally.”)

Don’t commit adultery becomes If your right eye offend thee (with lustful gazes), pluck it out.

Although some scholars perceive Jesus as increasing the rules, I agree with those scholars who argue that Jesus is actually driving home a point that comes up with the Rich Young Man: If you truly think you are already completely righteous for keeping all the commandments, fine—now, try this on. Are you as good as you say? Are you honestly dedicated to what you claim to follow? If you keep pushing the envelope here, you might find that the essence of the law is better than a checklist. Because cutting out your eye is a dumb idea. Instead, try to use thoughtfulness and commonsense to be a decent human being. It’ll be easier.

As David Mitchell states about the eye of the needle directive, “Jesus was being sarky and going, ‘It’s about as easy for a rich man to get into heaven as it is to get a planet into a shoe.’”  Trying to bargain will get a believer absolutely nowhere.

  • King Benjamin’s speech early in Mosiah presents a series of if…then statements. The “then” statements are often treated as commandments by readers. They are not. They are “fruits” of adhering to the first commandment:

Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that man doth not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend.

Believe that ye must repent of your sins and forsake them, and humble yourselves before God…(Mosiah 4:9, 10)

If you believe—

You will not have a mind to injure others.

You will treat your children well.

You will help others and have a magnanimous attitude. (Mosiah 4)

From the late nineteenth century in to the twentieth century, the Ten Commandments were presented as common cultural beliefs in the United States, products of what was referred to as "natural law," the idea that humans are born with an innate sense that certain things are right or wrong (though Coogan argues that the Decalogue specifically references ancient Israelite culture, I think there is something rather impressive here about what C.S. Lewis referred to as the Tao; throughout history, people have considered certain things acceptable and non-acceptable; slavery has sometimes been acceptable but nobody has ever advocated it as a lifestyle; violence was often far more acceptable but few cultures have ever supported violence/betrayal against a friend...and so on). 

As the United States began to recover from the Civil War and become home to more immigrants, the Ten Commandments were presented--along with other archetypes and legends, such as the Founding of Our Country--as a common tradition that could bring various religions and sects (and states) together. Hence, the erection of numerous monuments before and after DeMille/Heston's The Ten Commandments

However, the first readers of the Book of Mormon (early nineteenth century) would have perceived the Ten Commandments more in terms of their biblical meaning/importance than their cultural purpose. Like many other issues within The Book of Mormon, they become an argument in the ongoing issue of universal versus selective grace. Abinadi chastises the learned because they fail to practice what they claim to know/embrace. He goes on to state that a lack of knowledge does not preclude salvation, declaring without qualification, “Little children also have eternal life” (Mosiah 15:25).

Such a statement may seem a given to readers now—but a gauntlet is being thrown down.

Mosiah 4

The opening of Mosiah, Chapter 4 extols grace. Yet verse 24—"I would that ye say in your hearts that: I give not because I have not, but if I had I would give”—returns to what people do with their beliefs.

I have been in Sunday School classes where verse 24 was used to discuss whether or not people should give money to panhandlers. People in favor of the loose change theory of charity spoke up and darted judgmental glances at others. They could glare at me all they wanted--I rarely have cash on me--but I happened to know that one of the recipients of those judgmental glances has, over his lifetime, donated considerable amounts of money to charitable programs in America and other countries. At the time, I was considerably irritated.

Such judgmental members clearly missed the point. The verse rests on a state of mind as much as an act. Previous verses address assumptions made about those in need, concluding, "Are we not all beggars?" (Mosiah 4:19). The one-road-to-charity folks are actually guilty of the very thing the speaker, King Benjamin, is preaching against. You can’t judge someone else’s circumstances based on what you see or assume.

In our social media-obsessed world of labels and insta-judgments, I think this lesson often gets lost.

More importantly, for the purpose of these posts, the world has changed

In the early nineteenth century, the number of aid organizations to which one could contribute was far less, by a magnitude of a thousand+. Charity organizations in the urban environment flourished as the urban environment took hold. The YMCA began in the mid-1800s, the Salvation Army also in the mid-1800s. Soup kitchens came and went but weren’t going strong as regular city institutions until the mid-1800s.

Most charity for most of history was local and church-based. And brought about almost entirely by face-to-face/door-to-door requests. Such efforts did great work! But the fail-safes that modern people take for granted—something as basic as not being sent to jail for debt—didn’t exist. Most people were one harvest away from not being able to feed their families. There is a reason that Pa Ingalls spent a large amount of Laura’s childhood not at home (no, the reality wasn’t like the television show). When a bunch of locusts eat your wheat, you have to go work on the railroad instead.

A descendant of the original soup kitchens.
The middleclass—and the educated middleclass—was growing in the 1800s. But in the 1830s, most people were still laborers or farmers, which means that most people were poor laborers or farmers. Even the “wealthy” people who helped out Joseph Smith were not what we moderns would necessarily deem wealthy.

Nearly all of history is the history of people trying not to starve to death. Big Brother’s game-based control over the refrigerator is more accurate to the human condition than perhaps appreciated. Historical exceptions such as Ancient Egypt (trustworthy harvests; major works projects) are the exceptions that prove the rule.  

It is notable and touching that even in poverty-stricken circumstances, human beings are capable of great nobility and compassion. An examination of Anglo-Saxon skeletons indicates that elderly peasants who could no longer work were still cared for by somebody.

However, being a member of a functional social community, such as a religious community, was and is a huge personal gain in terms of survival. See King Benjamin's citizens, nineteenth-century experimental communities like Oneida, and, eventually, Joseph Smith’s Nauvoo.

Nineteenth-century readers were well-aware of the benefits of such communities. And well-aware of the daily risks they otherwise faced. The reminder to hold one’s fire regarding another person’s circumstances would have hit home.

Enos 

Heading into the wilderness to gain insight is not merely a product of modern life and Sondheim’s Into the Woods. The ancient world is full of gurus stepping away from agricultural and urban centers to find themselves and effect contact with deity.

However, one major difference exists between then and now. For much of history, that stepping away was a risk, challenge, and sacrifice. The praying petitioner was stripped of day-to-day concerns and self-protection. It is possible that hunter-gatherers included iconoclastic members who traveled alone for the fun of traveling alone. It is also possible that such members were considered practically pathological and usually ended up dead.

When Saint Anthony the Great made his way into the “wilderness”—as numerous gurus had done before him—what mattered was the sacrificial nature of the experience. Nature was not one’s friend. Nature was, quite literally, the thing that would end your life.

Charles G Finney
In All the Trouble in the World, P.J. O’Rourke writes about Petrarch’s hike up Mount Ventoux, “During his brief sojourn upon the Ventoux peak, the poet stood astride the medieval and modern ages—the first European to climb a mountain for the heck of it, and the last to feel like a jerk for doing so.”

Joseph Smith
Acclaims to nature exist in early Western and Eastern literature (though O’Rourke points out that many such acclaims were created by city folk). In one of my master’s courses, the professor and some students tried to convince the rest of us that nobody was awestruck by the Grand Canyon until Western civilization told them they should be. So much nonsense! (And the reason academic theories like CRT are fundamentally bigoted.) Multiple Native American tribes centered their religious ceremonies in the Grand Canyon. They weren’t exactly doing it in the middle of Kansas.

Okay, maybe they did—but my point stands: a remarkable natural occurrence is a remarkable natural occurrence, from waterfalls to the aurora borealis. Observant humans have always commented on nature’s awe-inspiring products—just look at cave paintings.

What changes are the tropes, the ways in which those wonders are addressed. Human beings are social animals. Once one person goes into the wilderness not to be challenged or be put to death but to be inspired and comforted, everybody is going to start going for the same reason.

Both patterns run through the nineteenth century. Jonathan Edwards—despite terrifying a generation of Congregationalists with “Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God”—was a big believer in nature’s spiritual influence. A Puritan’s goal was to undergo a personal conversion and/or reckoning. Nature could help that individual comprehend God’s glory and God’s love.

The connection between contemplation and nature would take off with the Transcendentalists. Though he likely would have disapproved of some of their notions, they are Edwards’ philosophical heirs.

Nineteenth century readers would have related to both purposes attached to nature: inspiration/comfort—personal challenge/sacrifice. Both run through Enos’s experience: sunk deep into my heart, wrestle, hungered, guilt swept away, pour out, struggling, unshaken, labored.

2 Nephi and Jacob

2 Nephi and Jacob delve into grace and works.

Two problems underscore much religious discourse. Nineteenth-century Christians in America grappled with them directly:

  1. The problem of grace versus works—that is, the problem of a deity's mercy versus human merit.
  2. The problem of the elect or elite, those who supposedly deserve God’s mercy, intervention.

At this point, I will turn to etymology—then I will return to the nineteenth century.

In James’s statement, “Faith without works is dead” the word “works” is based on a Greek word, ergon, which refers to “energy.” The word is connected to the business of agriculture and trade—that is, it is connected to multiple roles that people may take in a community. (I did not know this background information for myself: see this site here.)

That is, faith without energy is meaningless because faith without energy means a person is dead.

We wake up in the morning. We get out of bed, feed the cats, carry out jobs, open mail. Everything is something we do as living people. And during all of that, we ponder stuff, which arguably is also an action in which neurons leap the boundaries between synapses. Faith is, in fact, ongoing agency, a position that The Book of Mormon has already committed to doctrinally.

However, by the time the Protestant Reformation was in full force, “works” no longer meant “the decisions I make everyday about my life” or, even, “charity” (which is the context for James). It meant what John McWhorter references when he talks about “performance” by so-called protesters. Since they aren’t protesting anybody who dares to disagree with them—and the so-called authorities applaud them—and their protests rarely, if ever, end with an actual sacrifice of privilege (no higher educator is giving up an actual office or job), much less the adoption of a differing lifestyle, they are, in essence, showing off.

That is, “works” as defined for Martin Luther et al. became actions that by themselves don’t appear to have a moral component but have been turned into a moral necessity: good people jump through these hoops; use these phrases; perform these routines; makes these mea culpas.

The issue becomes complicated because not all rituals are meant to be works. Sometimes, they are meant to be reminders of faith or inductions into cultural belonging. A signal of commitment. 

And Protestants rapidly split into those who despised all rituals, including any custom that took place in any church or within any religious group, and those who said, “Uh, you folks are kind of throwing out everything at once.” (Forensic anthropologists are not very happy with Protestant zealots in England who threw out Anglo-Saxon saints’ bones that can now not be tested.)

See the posts Why Choosing the Supposedly Correct Side is Difficult.

To nineteenth-century American readers, “works”—on the one hand—smacked of Catholicism and the corrupt Old World and stuff like worshiping saints. On the other hand, early Protestantism fairly rapidly created its own sets of “works.” Good religious people embrace the following lifestyle and use the following language and support the following celebrities/political causes…

And, the truth is, every culture, by the nature of being composed of non-dead and human people, is going to have “performances,” stuff that people do because that’s part of being a member of a community. (We even create “performances” in our personal lives/routines.) If we decide that only “meaningful” actions should be carried out, we run the risk of ending up as humorless as, well, a bunch of Woke Puritans who burn Maypoles, close down theaters, get offended over single words and phrases, and lecture others on supposedly bad thoughts.

Joseph Smith was not a guy who lacked a sense of humor.

In opposition to “works” is the principle of grace. Saint Paul argues that we are saved by grace. Full stop. Not “after all we can do.” We are saved by grace. Propitiation is off the table. God doesn’t bargain. And humans aren’t meant to be grifters. Give it up.

Yet even Paul struggled with the reality of communal living and the irritation of people doing petty things like, say, suing each other. And he also had a sense of humor.

In sum, if one sets aside the "performance" side of works, the issue of grace v. works/action/energy still remains: Do humans earn God's attention? Or does God offer attention? Does God react based on merit? Or is merit human wishful thinking?

God is bigger than us and can do what He wishes, so we are saved. But sometimes people are jerks. And sometimes they walk away from God. And sometimes they think they have walked away but they haven’t. And sometimes they think they haven’t but they have. And how fair is it really for a jerk to be saved? (According to Jesus Christ and the parable of the workers, Entirely fair and so not your business.) And since we do get up every morning and do stuff, shouldn’t that stuff be moral? And if we claim to love God, shouldn’t there be a connection between that love and the moral stuff we do?

I consider Christianity one of the most fascinating religions on record simply because it hauls this problem to the surface and doesn’t fully answer it. The Book of Mormon and its translator, for instance, will return to the problem over and over again. Why not? The Book of Mormon’s initial readers were struggling with it as much as Paul’s audience and modern believers.

To be continued…

2 Nephi 1

2 Nephi 1 raises the idea that people will thrive in the promised land—the Americas—if they keep the commandments; they will perish if they sin.

It is a difficult idea, in part because it has, to an enormous degree, been disproved by historians. The fall of Ancient Rome, for instance, was classically blamed on the sinful decadence of the later emperors (see Gibbon). A monk in England’s Early Medieval Age, Gildas, likewise blamed the conquest of England by Anglo-Saxons on the sins of the residents left behind when Rome withdrew its military protection.

But Rome actually survived (as in, continued to last longer than the United States has currently been around) appalling behavior by appalling emperors who were degeneracy personified. There were many more factors involved in Rome’s decline, including plague and, oh yes, “barbarians.” (It’s not as if Asterix et al. changed their minds about self-governance one morning because “Oh, now, the Romans are behaving righteously.”) And Rome is arguably still limping on today. The Anglo-Saxons did not in fact invade. They more likely arrived in England slowly over time as settlers. And since the Anglo-Saxons had pretty much all converted to Christianity by the tenth century, it is hard to see (now) what Gildas was complaining about.

On the other hand, unrighteous behavior makes it harder for a group to cohere—trust—build a coalition (see C.S. Lewis’s hell in The Great Divorce, in which residents move further and further apart), making it harder for that group to come together to stave off invaders. Likewise, in a merit-based culture, the argument “sin=bad results” makes some sense. People earn their positions in life.

But a merit-based culture focuses on the individual as opposed to the group: what the individual has stupidly done—like drugs or embezzlement—can explain where that individual ended up. So sure, bad things happen to bad people. But bad things also happen to good people. And good people do dumb things. And good things happen to bad people.

And…I could keep going.

From a nineteenth-century perspective, 2 Nephi 1 is an explanation rather than a condemnation (though the premise of the explanation can lead to circular, begging the question condemnation). The Native Americans were obviously struggling as they were increasingly pushed to the margins of the American landscape. Why? A common explanation in Protestant America for anybody’s struggle/demise, which still exists in religious and non-religious discourse today: somebody must have sinned in the past!

The more interesting point, to me, is that this explanation/perspective is almost instantly qualified—and will continue to be qualified—in The Book of Mormon: “for if iniquity shall abound, cursed shall be the land for their sakes, but unto the righteous, it shall be blessed forever” (2 Nephi 2:7, my emphasis).

The central idea here—people are drawn to what they themselves create and desire and pursue—will come up again and again and again. This point of view is blessedly uncommitted to the idea that God uses nastiness to further His aims. People make out of the world their own heavens and hells.

The implications of the argument, I would argue, were not lost on the translator.

More on grace and works to come...

2 Nephi 2

As mentioned earlier, The Book of Mormon continually tackles the problem of hell, grace, works, and damnation. More on grace & works will follow. However, 2 Nephi 2 deserves to be mentioned upfront. 

In 2 Nephi 2, an answer to the grace-works problem is proposed with startling clarity. From a nineteenth-century perspective, it would have been both familiar (innocence and rebirth were common tropes in American discourse) and highly unusual:

  • "Salvation is free" (2 Nephi 2:4).
  • Agency is defined as "to act for themselves and not to be acted upon" (2 Nephi 2:26)—the purpose of the Atonement to preserve agency is introduced.
  • "Adam fell that men might be, and men are that they might have joy" (2 Nephi 2:25).

In the 1800s, the last line was a direct contradiction to the classic view of Eden and Adam’s fall as linked to original sin. With the Book of Moses, Joseph Smith would directly tackle the Garden of Eden and entirely remake its purpose and consequence. The fundamental change here is one of the doctrines that will make Mormonism a “restorationist” religion rather than a religion in the classical Christian tradition.  

1 Nephi 14-22

The Book of Nephi begins a struggle over hell and grace and punishment that continues throughout The Book of Mormon. It was an ongoing struggle in the nineteenth century as well as today! That struggle is arguably part of the human condition. 

Nineteenth-century readers would have had personal contact with this struggle, being familiar with Arminianism—God’s grace is universal—and Calvinism—pre-ordination of salvation. In America, the struggle came down to Methodism versus what had become by that time Congregationalism (the latter term now has a broader use).

On the one hand, hell as punishment is a given. However, in Nephi’s interpretation of Lehi’s dream, the quality or character of hell is defined: “And I said unto them that the water which my father saw was filthiness; and so much was his mind swallowed up in other things that he beheld not the filthiness of the water” (1 Nephi 15:27, my emphasis). 

Although the passage about hell may seem rather harsh—and a bit skimpy on the grace side—nineteenth-century readers would have seen it as bolstering the idea of universal grace: hell is not the place where people who didn’t complete all the correct rituals or joined the right congregation go (it isn’t group-identity hell). It isn’t a place where people go whether or not they worked hard not to go there. It is the place where individual “filthy” people go.

Religious designation is not a qualifier. Neither is race. Neither is birthright. This perspective would have been perceived in the nineteenth century as unique. (Readers are being prepared for a complete rejection of infant baptism.)

 1 Nephi 12-13

When I was growing up, there were still church members who saw the Catholic Church as the “Great and Abominable Church” (I grew up in upstate New York, so our congregation included ex-Catholics).

That is a far less palatable idea now, of course, and I got tired of it early on. Although some members liked to blame the Great Apostasy on the Council of Nicaea, it was obvious from reading the scriptures and history that (1) any apostasy within the early church occurred within that early church well before the end of the first century C.E. (See all of Paul's letters.)

(2) The Council of Nicaea actually preserved the most orthodox and non-crazy ideas, which later became springboards for Protestantism (in fact, Protestantism was around long before Martin Luther made it popular).

What would nineteenth-century folks have thought about the phrase?

Well, actually, they would have associated the “Great and Abominable Church” with Catholicism. And the narrative of Chapter 13 lends itself to that interpretation (though not entirely).

Although the Reformation was nearly 300 years old at this point, it was still fresh in the American mind. Puritans left England due to persecution from the remnants of Catholicism, high Protestantism or Anglicanism in the form of the Church of England. Europe was still a bastion, in the American mind, to Catholic influences. Truly radical Protestantism, went the thinking, couldn’t take root until the supposed stain of Catholicism was wiped away. This attitude lingered well into the twentieth century.

In fact, New Englanders got extremely nervous when Catholics, including the Catholic Irish, began to settle in Boston. Joseph Smith and his family left New England before the furor really ramped up but there is overlap. The Awful Disclosures of Maria Monk, a fictitious tale of scandal in a Catholic nunnery (rape, dead babies, secrets, catacombs) came out in 1836 (and was presented as non-fiction).

It is to Joseph Smith’s credit that he didn’t get caught up in going after Catholics specifically, which a number of pundits and muckrakers of the time did (see Awful Disclosures above). It’s unlikely that he knew any Catholics anyway. But the man also thought in analogical terms. Like Paul with paganism, Joseph Smith’s overall writing is more focused on underlying causes of pride, such as fancy education and wealth and close-mindedness re: the Congregationalists that he grew up around, than specific doctrines or history.

1 Nephi 7-11

Lehi’s vision of the Tree of Life followed by Nephi’s personal vision of same.

More than anything else, these chapters would have connected to the intense individualism of American thought in the nineteenth century.

This is the era of de Tocqueville, who arrived in the United States and observed separation of church and state in action. “Good golly,” he exclaimed (I am summarizing), “when religion is not imposed by the state, people are, what do you know, more religious!”

The American Revolutionary was also a lingering narrative of intense individualism—rebellion against the corruptness of the Old World (see below entry regarding “exodus”). Even Puritan thought, which now strikes modern people as rather dictatorial, was about individual salvation, a single person coming to understand God’s grace through lifelong, intense personal analysis.

It is difficult to entirely capture—we are products of the early C.E. era, after all—the break here from communal sin and suffering that encapsulates social orders in antiquity. That urge remains, of course, what with Witch Trials and their modern equivalents: one bad apple rots the entire barrel! Twitter appears to be the ultimate expression of badgering everyone everywhere into some kind of compliant order.

But even Twitter is the product of individual offerings.

Individualism existed in antiquity and forms the basis of most narratives, but the social order—and therefore the social role—of populations was entirely presupposed. Kings were not scribes. Scribes were not peasants. Peasants weren’t anybody. If the king is saved, you are all saved. Might as well get on-board.

The Common Era concept of the individual as agent, who works out an individual salvation, is something that nineteenth-century readers would have entirely comprehended and embraced and that modern folks rather take for granted, even when they criticize the ideology.

Lehi’s Tree of Life rests on the premise of the individual agent. Although the “strait and narrow” path connotatively gives rise to images of intolerance and exclusivity, in Lehi’s dream, it is a path that each person must walk alone, even if there are others ahead and behind: each of Lehi’s children and even his wife are referenced separately. The path is a person’s integrity or personal path in life—choice of profession, artistic endeavor, prophetic calling (see Joseph Smith)—whatever self-definition a person embraces and endures and sacrifices for.

The “great and spacious building”—on the other hand—is the ultimate collective. People get there individually but they stay in the “safe” Borg-like “in-group” that mocks individuals and scorns the difficult pathway that each individual treads.

Consequently, the “great and spacious building” houses detractors, sneerers, people who love labels, mockers, revilers, obnoxious cliques—those who prefer to watch others drown rather than make a life for themselves. (All members of the great and spacious building point in the same direction, as a mob would.)

There are other possible interpretations, of course, including the search for a single path to God’s grace, a search that was also dear to the Smith family. Although communal living was all the rage, nineteenth-century readers still would have perceived such a search in individual terms, one that this group, this community carries out for the sake of each member. (Despite the Donner party haunting American mythology, most successful pioneers moved west within specific groups—religious groups, town groups, family groups.)

And few nineteenth-century readers would have balked at the fruit of the tree being happiness, love, and joy (as opposed to discipline, humiliation, and subjugation). Gotta love those Americans and their life, liberty, and pursuit of happiness mindsets! (Even the Puritans perceived the happiness and beauty of nature as the key to comprehending God’s grace.)

1 Nephi 4-6

Nineteenth-century readers would have reacted positively to the idea of wilderness as freedom. This perspective is often applied only to white settlers in North America--and Manifest Destiny, articulated in 1845, was used to justify the practice of white settlers steadily moving west. However, lots and lots of people—including escaped ex-slaves—also moved west. Irish immigrants, Blacks, and displaced Native Americans occupied the fringes of society. 

It helps to realize that those “fringes”--what was labeled “the West”--kept moving. At one point in the 1800s, “the West” was western New York and Ohio. It then became the Mississippi River and then what we now refer to as the Mid-West. (California became a self-described utopia and sophisticated “other” coast fairly early on—though it was also perceived as part of “the West.”) 

The Gold Rush, naturally, contributed to the idea that going to the West equaled a new start, but that metaphor impacted American pioneering early on. It links back to the Puritan idea of “exodus” from a corrupt society. Methodist preachers, circuit riders, were immensely popular in the nineteenth century while their stable, elite, (well) paid, stationary counterparts on the east coast were perceived as missing the plot. 

Consequently, nineteenth-century readers would have reacted positively to Lehi’s decision to move his family away from perceived urban corruption into a potentially dangerous wilderness. And the thread of violence that inhabits these chapters would have made more sense to nineteenth-century readers than it often does to modern readers. The “Wild” West was truly “Wild” in some cases and the attitude “better left alone so take care of yourselves” from many governments, including the Federal government (pre-Civil War), was prevalent. 

Although indigenous people and trackers and traders saw the wilderness as an approachable and useful setting, the underlying mindset for newcomers was: 

One goes into the Wilderness and dies heroically (or becomes a hermit--see Saint Anthony--and dies sacrifically) or one goes into the Wilderness and fights off all contenders. 

The tensions here between freedom and organized leadership, pacifism and violence continue through The Book of Mormon. Nineteenth-century readers could relate.

1 Nephi 1-3

Like Lehi, Joseph Smith, Sr. was perceived by his family as prophetic man, before his youngest son took on that role. Whatever his role with The Book of Mormon, Joseph Smith would have been invested in Lehi and Nephi's story. The issue of obedience is raised since Nephi--like Joseph Smith--is rebelling against traditional lines of authority. He is not only stepping outside the family hierarchy but outside acceptable social hierarchies. Consequently, he takes pains to distinguish social rebellion from spiritual rebellion. He may commit the first by necessity—he never, he claims, commits the second. (Joseph Smith, of course, committed both, but his family, at least, mostly didn't mind.)

The struggle with wealth versus inspiration over the brass plates would also have struck home with Joseph Smith, who participated in the popular early nineteenth-century search for treasures and understood the survivalist's need for cold, hard cash. The history behind this trend is covered more than adequately elsewhere

Of more interest to me is the definition of the brass plates as "spoken by the mouth of all the holy prophets..delivered unto [the prophets] by the Spirit and power of God” rather than "spoken by God...delivered as incontestable words." Bible literalism is a relatively late development in the production, collection, and canonization of scriptures. It popped up throughout the Middle Ages (and earlier), of course, but didn't take off until the eighteenth and nineteenth century. The phrases "spoken by" and "delivered unto them" places the translator, at least here, on the non-literal side of the argument with the addition of a possible compromise. 

Nineteenth-century readers would have been as invested in this issue as modern readers. In many cases, nineteenth-century religious communities were clearly searching for a compromise, an interpretation that could resolve difficult theological queries. Unfortunately, the issue of Bible meaning was and is often presented within the logical fallacy of either/or: One must either accept that all scriptural events are metaphors or one must accept that they are meant to mean exactly what a current translation argues, in a one word=one definition sense, without any room for debate or context (there is that word again). 

An attempt to present the scriptures as being more than merely figurative or proscriptive and within a context is refreshing. 

Introduction

I am increasingly troubled by how little people seem to know--or care--about history and context. Our current social climate encourages partakers of social media to develop stories about other people and about the past without questioning those stories or (even, sometimes) collecting information. Checks against such imposed narratives--"Is that really within your purview?" "Do you have enough information?" "Shouldn't you leave others alone?"--are often bypassed to deliver (supposedly caring, well-intentioned, emotionally justified) verdicts, including labels, which verdicts often go back to what I call "first cause," a kind of nineteenth-century version of original sin: everything has gone wrong because everything goes back to an inherent flaw in a person, plan, or social order.

And I ponder if the nineteenth-century version of original sin--though medieval in origin, the Immaculate Conception became dogma in 1854--was influenced by a growing interest in psychoanalysis and scientific endeavors: the search for first cause at the root of all things. (Adam Smith--1700s--observed human behavior in the marketplace; Karl Marx--1800s--tried to explain all of it as originating in a single conflict.)

Which just proves that the nineteenth century was a very interesting time! And deserves more attention. Which brings me to The Book of Mormon.

Due to the spiraling focus on meaning-shorn-of-context, The Book of Mormon steadily seems subjected to a kind of self-help manual approach. This approach works for some people, and, in fairness, for much of history was a recognized approach by believers and doubters as they used the scriptures to talk about other stuff, including themselves.The approach lends itself to fresh and thought-provoking dialog. It also, unfortunately, lends itself to "since everything is relative and nobody can really know anything, you should believe about this passage what the 'expert' or 'proper' leader/authority/scholar tells you to believe."

That approach doesn't work for me. I far prefer context because I admire people of the past and believe they deserve to be understood as more than participants in an ideology or springboards to my own ego (and yes, my bias is showing here). 

The context for The Book of Mormon, of course, is difficult and controversial. This post will not address the issue of The Book of Mormon's translation. I have no investment in that argument in any direction. The primary question behind this post is, rather, What religious climate existed at the publication of The Book of Mormon that made it such a fascinating book to its readers

The entries preserve the perspective that The Book of Mormon was translated by Joseph Smith; they also take into account that a translator influences a translation. (See Interview with the Translator on Votaries.)

 

The Nature of God: Church Talk on May 21, 2023

This talk arose from a worry--that applies to any organization: namely, I fear sometimes that basic doctrines are getting lost in the pursuit of jargon. That is, people within an organization know what to say or what to object to or what to tell other people to think or do, not necessarily what they actually believe, their organization/church's belief system/theology. 

I didn't start my talk with the above passage. Rather, my talk was an attempt to address basic doctrines regarding beliefs about God. The more I worked on the talk, the more I appreciated why any theology basically starts here. The nature of God determines to a degree--though not absolutely--the nature of worship and belief. 

The statements in the talk are ones that I converted to in my early twenties--and my beliefs on that score haven't changed much, though, in truth, I slightly toned them down. And I didn't quote from C.S. Lewis this time around though I included the quote below. 

Talks in my church are typically 10-20 minutes. I was the final speaker, what my father calls the "accordion" speaker: the speaker who has to expand or contract to meet the time. In this role, I often have to either slow way down when I talk or desperately add in remarks. This time, I cut a great deal, including extra examples and the "Practical How" section (it is after all another talk). 

* * *

Introduction

The first Article of Faith states, “We believe in God, the Eternal Father and in his Son, Jesus Christ, and in the Holy Ghost.”

This talk will address God, the Eternal Father.

Human beings have thought and spoken and written about God for millennia. Two common approaches are to turn God into an abstract theory or to turn God into a series of rules. Neither approach is correct.

LDS doctrine teaches 4 truths about God.

Nature of God

  1. God is a person.

Moses and Abraham both spoke to the Lord face-to-face. In Doctrine & Covenants 130, Joseph Smith states emphatically that both the Father and the Son can make personal appearances. In addition, “The Father has a [tangible] body of flesh and bone” (22), which the vision of Joseph Smith confirms. Joseph Smith saw the Father and the Son as two separate entities.

  1. God loves us.

 Moses 1:39 states that God’s “work and glory is to bring to pass the immortality and eternal life of [humans].”

 God’s work and glory is accomplished through the Plan of Salvation.

Overview—

    1. In the pre-mortal existence, we were intelligences whom God organized to be spirits.
    2. We wanted to be like God—that goal required a physical body.
    3. God created the world through Jesus Christ, so we could become mortal and gain a physical form.
    4. God also made possible an Atonement through Jesus Christ. The Atonement provides grace, and it provides for a universal resurrection. Grace gives us the ability to start over when we make mistakes. Resurrection reunites our spirits with our bodies. Everyone will be resurrected.
    5. At death, we separate temporarily from our bodies and enter the spirit world.
    6. Many will be resurrected, reunited with their bodies, at the first resurrection, which occurs before the Millennium at the time of Christ’s Second Coming.
    7. The final resurrection takes place before the Final Judgment, which is God’s Judgment.
    8. We then enter one of three kingdoms of glory.

We are not told anything beyond this point because it is not necessary for us to know. Mortal life is a time of preparation, specifically preparation for the Second Coming. But we should remember—

  1. God is eternal.

In Doctrine & Covenants 19, Joseph Smith reveals that God’s justice is endless and eternal because Endless and Eternal are God’s names. 

Truth #3 leads to Truth #4—

  1. God is more intelligent than us.

Isaiah 55:8-9 states, “For my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways. As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (also Abraham 3:19).

The passage refers to intelligence. Intelligence in the scriptures is not learning or IQ—it is the “light of truth.” In Doctrine & Covenants 88, we are told this light “quickens our understanding.” It comes to us through God’s presence (88:11,12).

Doctrine & Covenants 88 also tells us that “God comprehendeth all things and…is above all things and in all things and is through all things” (41).

In mortality, we can only comprehend God in part. Moses saw the Lord face to face but stated, “[None] can behold all [His] glory [in mortality]” (Moses 4:5, my emphasis).

The hymn “If You Could Hie to Kolob” includes the following lines in verses 4 and 5 regarding the home of God: “There is no end to virtue/there is no end to might/there is no end to light/there is no end to union/there is no end to youth/there is no end to priesthood/there is no end to truth/there is no end to love/there is no end to being/there is no end to glory.”

God, Heavenly Father, is more than us. My favorite example of God’s majesty comes from the Book of Job. Job is irritated at the unfairness of his life and calls to the Lord for aid. In the end, the Lord arrives. He says to Job, “Where were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?” (Job 38:4). After a few more verses in which the Lord speaks of “things too wonderful…to know,” Job says, in sum, “Okay, okay. Sorry. I am unworthy. I beg pardon. Please listen to me” (Job 42:1-6). And the Lord listens and blesses him.

So how do we reach God, who is so far beyond us?

Reaching God through Love

Reaching God is a lifelong journey that can only be accomplished through the exercise of faith. In 1 Corinthians chapters 11-14, Paul warns against imagining that the gap between us and God can be bridged by a checklist. (As C.S. Lewis would say, “God is not a tamed lion.”)

Paul writes, “Whether there be prophecies, they shall fail. Whether there be tongues, they shall cease. Whether there be knowledge, it shall vanish away…and now abideth faith, hope, charity but the greatest of these is charity” (13:8,13).

The word “charity” is a translation of the word agape, which is the highest love, specifically God’s love for us and our reciprocal love for Him.

Jesus stated, “And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart and with all thy soul and with all thy mind and with all thy strength: this is the first commandment” (Mark 12:29-30).

In the Book of Mormon, this love flows outwards from God through parents to their offspring: “Believe in God; believe that he is, and that he created all things, both in heaven and in earth; believe that he has all wisdom, and all power, both in heaven and in earth; believe that [humans] do not comprehend all the things which the Lord can comprehend…if ye have known of his goodness and have tasted of his love…if ye do this, ye shall always rejoice, and be filled with the love of God…And ye will not have a mind to injure one another, but to live peaceably, and to render to [all people] according to that which is their due” (Mosiah 4: 9-13).

So the best way to grow closer to God is to love God!

We can learn HOW to love God through Jesus Christ.

Jesus Christ, the Bridge

In the New Testament, the letters of Paul continually remind us that God loves us so much, he sent his Son, who is our bridge to God. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians, “For now, we see through a glass darkly, but then face to face. Now I know in part, but then, shall I know even as I also am known” (13:12).

I am known is the powerful message of the gospel. It is possible for God to know us and for us to grow closer to God—to love God more—because of Jesus Christ.

Understanding God Better Through the Example of Jesus Christ

First, Jesus Christ instructs us to pray. The template for prayer that he provides starts, “Our Father who art in Heaven.” The prayer expresses respect for God and forgiveness of others. It also includes petitions.

Remember Job. He continued to petition despite his awe of the Lord. Likewise, there are several parables that refer to people never giving up on their desires, such as the woman who searches for a coin and the widow who pleads with a judge. They cared so much, they didn’t give up. Likewise, we can demonstrate to God how much we care through continual prayer.

Jesus also models for us God’s character—after all, we came to Earth to learn to be like Him.

What Jesus models most is the value God gives each person.  

The New Testament is full of examples of Jesus Christ caring for an individual. One great example is Zacchaeus. Zacchaeus was a tax collector, not everyone’s favorite person. He was a short guy—I can relate!—who climbed into a tree to watch Jesus Christ pass. Jesus looked up into the tree and called, “Come down. I’m eating at your house today.”

Zacchaeus was thrilled. He climbed down and took Jesus and his apostles to his home. After feeding them, he promised to pay back any money he had collected improperly.

Jesus didn’t listen to what we moderns would refer to as Twittering. There were people at the time who muttered about Jesus eating with Zacchaeus because of who Zacchaeus was (his role or identity). They were very critical. He paid no heed. He reached out to Zacchaeus for Zacchaeus’s sake.

Other examples of Jesus focusing on the individual: The woman with health problems who touched Jesus’s robe in a crowded street. He immediately turned, spoke to her, and healed her. He also spoke to the woman at the well about her life circumstances and her beliefs. Many parables told by Jesus emphasize the rescue of an individual: individual sheep, the individual prodigal son, the individual saved by the Good Samaritan.

Practical “How”

At the day to day level, we can grow closer to God through prayer and valuing others. Both practices are more basic and more complex than they sound. Finding time to pray involves deliberately setting aside time and pondering what one needs to communicate. Valuing others involves patience and tolerance and many qualities that take time to master.

A good starting point is gratitude. Remembering what we have, the benefits that enhance our lives, the beauties that surround us can help us appreciate God’s blessings, the wonder of God, and God’s perspective [Note: I considered but would likely not have included recent studies that indicate that when people’s mental health improves, they are less likely to look at others in terms of “identity” but rather as layered individuals--the insight straddles the line between doctrine and my personal libertarian politics].

A great hymn about gratitude is “How Great Thou Art” (Hymn 86 in the LDS Hymnal, [the linked version falls into the category of "Go big or go home!!"]).   

Final Thoughts

Jesus Christ represents his Father. Like Jesus Christ, God cares for each of us individually. We can become closer to God by praying to Him in Christ’s name and by following Christ’s example to value the individual.

As we make the effort to grow closer to God, our souls will cleave to the light that emanates from (through) God and blessings will follow.

Well-Worth Reading

No matter my personal politics, I fully agree with William Dereiewicz's essay about "the right side of history" and why it is such an unbearable phrase. I also utterly agree with his points about the disgusting use of apocalyptic language to try to motivate people and justify actions: "There is No Right Side of History."

And his book about Jane Austen is really good. 

* * *  

David French again! His five points in the following article are right on the mark: "Against the Extremism of the American Masculinity Debate".

I love when someone says succinctly and directly what I've been trying to say. 

My comment on "toxic masculinity"--

"Toxic masculinity" is such a vile phrase. Imagine if "toxic" was attached to any other generalized noun, such as "femininity" or "animal lovers" or "ballet dancers" or "crossing guards" or "classical music listeners."

* * *

What I love about Andrew Doyle is how generous he is with other people's motives--he is truly balanced and reasonable!


* * * 

 

I am not a fan of mixing my religion with politics. I don't make decisions about God based on politics--never have, never will. 

On occasion, this refusal has put me at odds with both sides of the political aisle. The message, "You're supposed to hate the world! You're supposed to embrace the appropriate political doomsdaying!" is intensely powerful from both sides

I read too much history--with all its mess and complications--to buy into the argument. Streamlined narratives continually miss the point.

So I don't make decisions about God based on what I suspect any deity worth worshiping perceives as so much dross. 

Consequently, I have been wary of reading David French, even though I very much enjoy his writing. 

This essay is well-worth passing on:

Commitment to Kindness

As Sharon says to Rusty, "Be kind and be safe." 

It's harder than it sounds. Honor may be an old-fashioned word. It still matters.