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“Taking the Stories of Primeval History Seriously”: A Review of In God’s Image and Likeness 2

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giml2
You’re just a few clicks away from owning this excellent book! So what are you waiting for?

[Cross posted from Ploni Almoni: Mr. So-and-So’s Mormon Blog.]

The Book of Moses in the Pearl of Great Price has been the attention of considerable Latter-day Saint scholarship. Beginning with the pioneering work of Hugh Nibley, much work has been done on understanding the history, nature, and teachings of the Book of Moses.[1] Next to Nibley, Jeffrey M. Bradshaw stands out as one of the giants among Latter-day Saint scholars who have looked carefully at the Book of Moses. In his excellent 2010 commentary In God’s Image and Likeness Bradshaw delved deep into the text of the first half of the Book of Moses to unlock fresh insights and provide intriguing links between the Book of Moses with the temple and other ancient Near Eastern texts and traditions.[2]

However, Bradshaw’s first book only covered up to Moses 6. So then what about the rest of the Book of Moses, including the accounts of Enoch and Noah? With David J. Larsen as a co-author, Bradshaw has now completed his commentary on the Book of Moses with In God’s Image and Likeness 2: Enoch, Noah, and the Tower of Babel, co-published by the Interpreter Foundation and Eborn Books.

If one could summarize the purpose of this sequel, it would have to be that Bradshaw and Larsen are “taking the stories of the primeval history seriously” (p. 4) and attempting to show the richness, beauty, and power of these accounts.

Given their status as targets of humor and caricature, the well-worn stories of Adam, Eve, and Noah are sometimes difficult to take seriously. However, a thoughtful examination of the scriptural record of these characters will reveal not simply tales of “piety or inspiring adventures” but rather carefully crafted narratives from a highly sophisticated culture that preserve “deep memories” of revealed understanding. We do an injustice both to these marvelous records and to ourselves when we fail to pursue an appreciation of scripture beyond the initial level of cartoon cut-outs inculcated upon the minds of young children. (pp. 4–5, internal notes removed)

Bradshaw and Larsen pick up exactly where In God’s Image and Likeness finished. They begin by discussing how the Book of Moses presents the prophet Enoch, and compare the Book of Moses’ depiction of Enoch with the depiction of him found in a corpus of pseudepigraphal Enochic literature. Their discussion of Enoch both compares and contrasts the Book of Moses with the pseudepigraphal texts that bear Enoch’s name, and Bradshaw and Larsen are careful not to engage in the sort of parallelomania that one could easily fall into when comparing the Book of Moses with this literature.[3] 

After their discussion of Enoch, Bradshaw and Larsen then comment on Noah, the ark, and the flood. They discuss the events preceding and following the flood, in addition to the flood itself. Besides doctrinal discussions, their commentary on the flood also tactfully includes a brief discussion of how to reconcile the flood account with evidence from geological science that strongly contradicts belief in a global catastrophic flood. Instead, Bradshaw and Larsen posit the likelihood of a local flood that was possibly mythologized in the Genesis account to carry specific theological significance and symbolism (esp. pp. 267–271). This symbolism is actually quite interesting, as Bradshaw and Larsen point out that the Genesis flood symbolically throws the earth back into its pre-created chaotic state, when the waters of chaos reigned before the formation of the earth (see Genesis 1:1–3; cf. Abraham 4:1–2). With the emergence of a new earth from out of the waters of the flood, the account presents Noah as a type of Adam (pp. 256–259, 267, 277–279).

Finally, Bradshaw and Larsen include a discussion of the Tower of Babel. Bradshaw and Larsen begin by helpfully providing the Mesopotamian background to the Tower of Babel pericope (pp. 382–388). They also (rightly) urge caution about reading too much into the account of the confounding of languages that contradicts scriptural and scientific evidence (pp. 398–402).

Of course, as might be expected in a tome covering the Book of Moses and Genesis, Bradshaw and Larsen make no small effort to draw our attention to the many links between these stories and the temple. There are simply too many wonderful insights concerning the temple in this book for me to fully describe in this review. Suffice it to say that nobody can walk away from reading this book without coming to more fully appreciate the importance and centrality of the temple and temple symbolism in the scriptures, including in the stories of Enoch, Noah, and the Tower of Babel.

In addition to their commentary on the text, Bradshaw and Larsen include what they term “Gleanings,” or reproductions of quotes by various General Authorities or scholars on topics relating to the subject being discussed in each chapter. Bradshaw and Larsen also provide numerous paintings, photos, and charts to help the reader visualize the stories they’re reading. In this regard, In God’s Image and Likeness 2 follows in the steps of its predecessor, which also stands out for its wonderful artistic reproductions.

There wasn’t much that I found in this book to criticize, and there was only one part that I really disagreed with. In their commentary on the story involving Noah and his sons in Genesis 9, Bradshaw and Larsen speculate that Noah didn’t actually get drunk from the wine that he made from a vineyard he had planted (Genesis 9:20–21), but had participated in “a ritual drinking of wine” that preceded a vision (p. 300). They base this argument on a statement attributed to Joseph Smith and an excerpt from the Genesis Apocryphon. The evidence presented by Bradshaw and Larsen is, however, tenuous. First, the statement attributed to Joseph Smith that Noah “was not drunk, but in a vision” is late and thirdhand.[4] A contemporary (and preferably firsthand) statement on this by the Prophet would be stronger evidence for their claim. Second, their appeal to the Genesis Apocryphon, while interesting, doesn’t do much to mitigate against the plain reading of the text in Genesis–––Noah got a little too carried away with his wine. It would seem that the author of the Genesis Apocryphon was trying to do the same thing that Bradshaw and Larsen are doing, that is, exonerate Noah from any wrongdoing.

Likewise, Bradshaw and Larsen’s speculation that the “sin of Ham” was that Noah’s son “was neither qualified nor authorized to enter a place of divine glory” (p. 305) is also tenuous. Their evidence, while also interesting, is not definitive, and is also derived in part from their reading of later biblical and pseudepigraphal texts and drawing parallels with the pericope in Genesis 9. While they’re reading of Genesis 9 is plausible, it is far from certain.

But my hesitancy to agree with Bradshaw and Larsen on this point doesn’t severely detract from my overall appreciation for the effort and thoughtfulness that they put into this marvelous book. In the end, I wholeheartedly agree with this statement made by Bradshaw and Larsen at the beginning of their impressive volume.

The acceptance of the book of Moses as part of the LDS scriptural canon and, more generally, the premise that the Joseph Smith Translation of the Bible may contain something more than naïve personal speculations on passages that perplexed the Prophet has not only been grounds for amusement for many non-Mormons but also has drawn criticism from some within the tradition of the Restoration. . . . It is our firm witness that the book of Moses is a priceless prophetic reworking of the book of Genesis, made with painstaking effort under divine direction. Although neither “complete” nor “inerrant,” it is a text of inestimable value that should be one of the centerpieces of our gospel study. (pp. 17–18)

To that end, any Latter-day Saint interested in an informative and engaging scriptural commentary on the Book of Moses would greatly benefit from both volumes 1 and 2 of In God’s Image and Likeness.

[The book can be purchased at the FairMormon Bookstore or amazon.com.]

Addendum: Jeffrey Bradshaw has responded to my brief comments on Genesis 9. My review here was meant to be quick and limited, so I may not have done justice to Bradshaw and Larsen’s argument. Below are Bradshaw’s comments.

David and I qualify our explorations of an alternative interpretation of Genesis 9 as an “admittedly tentative” effort to “account for its many anomalies.” Many other respected scholars have remarked on the odd inconsistency of the Noah portrayed in Genesis 8 and Genesis 9, leading to conclusions such as that of Gordon Wenham that “the two traditions are completely incompatible and must be of independent origin.” In addition, it might be helpful to readers if you could note that the purported statement of Joseph Smith is not a completely isolated phenomenon. For example, drawing their conclusions from the Hebrew text of Genesis 9 alone (i.e., not considering the Genesis Apocryphon), Koler and Greenspahn concur with the opinion that Noah was enwrapped in a vision while in the tent, and that Ham’s sin was looking at Noah while the latter was in the course of revelation.[5]

Notes

[1]: See Hugh Nibley, Enoch the Prophet, The Collected Works of Hugh Nibley: Volume 2 (Provo, Utah: Foundation for Ancient Research and Mormon Studies, 1986).

[2]: Jeffrey M. Bradshaw, In God’s Image and Likeness: Ancient and Modern Perspectives on the Book of Moses (Salt Lake City, Utah: Eborn Books, 2010). See also Jeffrey M. Bradshaw, Temple Themes in the Book of Moses (Salt Lake City, Utah: Eborn Books, 2010); Temple Themes in the Oath and Covenant of the Priesthood (Salt Lake City, Utah: Eborn Books, 2012). Bradshaw has published numerous articles and has presented at a number of symposia on various Latter-day Saint scriptural topics. For a complete look at his publications and presentations, see here.

[3]: For those unaware of or otherwise unfamiliar with the corpus of Enochic pseudepigrapha, my good friend Colby Townsend provides an overview of this literature in an appendix.

[4]: Bradshaw and Larsen (p. 300, n. 35) cite Charles Walker’s 1881 diary entry of a conversation he had with William Allen where Allen attributed the quote to Joseph Smith.

[5]: E-mail from Jeffrey Bradshaw to Stephen Smoot, sent on January 27, 2014.

Books to Build Faith

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DanPetersonI’m sometimes contacted by people who’re experiencing doubts about the claims of Mormonism or whose spouse or father or daughter has lost faith.  I always ask what the specific issues might be, and I then try to address those or to locate colleagues or printed resources that might help resolve their concerns.

I think that such efforts are extraordinarily important.  Elder Neal A. Maxwell, for whom the Maxwell Institute was named, was fond of Austin Farrer’s praise of the great C. S. Lewis: “Though argument does not create conviction,” Farrer wrote, “lack of it destroys belief. What seems to be proved may not be embraced; but what no one shows the ability to defend is quickly abandoned. Rational argument does not create belief, but it maintains a climate in which belief may flourish.”  (See Austin Farrer, “Grete Clerk,” in Jocelyn Gibb, comp., Light on C. S. Lewis [New York: Harcourt and Brace, 1965], 26.)  

Farrer’s words  long served as a kind of unofficial motto for several of those who were associated with the Foundation for Ancient Research and Mormon Studies (FARMS), which later became the Neal A. Maxwell Institute for Religious Scholarship.  I think that motto was entirely appropriate.

I don’t, however, like to play only defense.  I don’t want to spend all my time putting out brushfires, playing catch-up, responding to crises. To use a very popular modern buzzword, I much prefer to be proactive.  I want to build faith to such a strength that crises will be less common, to create conditions under which such brushfires will be much more difficult to kindle.  Back to the sports metaphor:  If the defense is always out on the field, it may be able to keep the opposing team from scoring.  But if the offense doesn’t eventually come out to play, the prospects of victory will be very low.  A single error by the defense, one moment of inattention or poor execution, will be enough to lose the game.

One way that I choose to be proactive is to suggest a basic packet of books that I would like as many Latter-day Saints to read as possible, a set that I especially wish faltering members to be familiar with. I offer a few nominations here:

Richard Lloyd Anderson, Investigating the Book of Mormon Witnesses (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1981).  I was once, I confess, sitting at the back of a rather unexciting church class, rereading Investigating the Book of Mormon Witnesses, when an academic colleague of mine from BYU sat down beside me. “Next to the scriptures,” he commented, “that’s the most faith-promoting book I’ve ever read.”

I’m inclined to agree with him. Richard Anderson, who earned a law degree from Harvard before receiving a doctorate in ancient history from the University of California at Berkeley, is one of the finest scholars the church has ever produced.  In this book, he subjects the Book of Mormon witnesses to meticulous examination.  They emerge from the process as sane, lucid, honest, reliable men—a fact of perfectly enormous importance because of the way their testimony directly corroborates central claims of Joseph Smith and Mormonism.

Brother Anderson has written many other very important articles on the witnesses—and on other relevant topics—since his book was published.  These are available online at the Maxwell Institute website, including but not limited to “Attempts to Redefine the Experience of the Eight Witnesses,” Journal of Book of Mormon Studies 14/1 (2005): 18–31; “Personal Writings of the Book of Mormon Witnesses,” in Book of Mormon Authorship Revisited: The Evidence for Ancient Origins, ed. Noel B. Reynolds (Provo, UT: FARMS, 1997), 39–60; and “The Credibility of the Book of the Mormon Translators,” in Book of Mormon Authorship: New Light on Ancient Origins, ed. Noel B. Reynolds and Charles D. Tate (Provo, UT: BYU Religious Studies Center, 1982), 213–37.  But Investigating the Book of Mormon Witnesses remains, I think, the place to start on this vital subject.

John W. Welch, ed., Opening the Heavens: Accounts of Divine Manifestations, 1820–1844 (Provo, UT: Brigham Young University Press, 2005).  In this book, the prolific polymath John W. Welch has assembled an impressive collection of original documents relating to six foundational topics in Mormon history: (1) the first vision, (2) the coming forth of the Book of Mormon, (3) the restoration of the priesthood, (4) Joseph Smith’s visionary experiences generally, (5) the restoration of temple keys, and (6) succession in the presidency (specifically the “transfiguration” of Brigham Young in Nauvoo).

Mark McConkie, ed., Remembering Joseph: Personal Recollections of Those Who Knew the Prophet Joseph Smith (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 2003).  Mark McConkie, a professor in the School of Public Affairs at the University of Colorado at Colorado Springs, has created a vast treasury in this book and in the accompanying bonus CD of intimate views of the Prophet Joseph Smith.  The sheer volume of material is deeply impressive. (The CD includes 2,000 pages of primary-source testimonials. The book alone includes statements from many scores of Joseph Smith’s contemporaries.)  Most of the accounts included—from Joseph’s family, friends, and acquaintances, and even from his enemies—have never been published before or are, practically speaking, inaccessible to ordinary people.  But they’re very much worth the time.  Joseph Smith, as described by those who knew him, comes across as an honest, good, and sincere man.  And once again, because of the nature of his claims, that’s something very important to know and understand.

Grant Hardy, Understanding the Book of Mormon: A Reader’s Guide (New York: Oxford University Press, 2010).  This is a somewhat more difficult book than the others I’ve recommended above, but, in my opinion, it’s a book that will abundantly reward the effort invested in it.

Grant Hardy, who holds an undergraduate degree from Brigham Young University in classical Greek and a PhD from Yale University in Chinese history, has published impressively on the history of historical writing from his perch at the University of North Carolina at Asheville, where he’s served as the chairman of the History Department.

In Understanding the Book of Mormon, he turns his highly trained eye on the historical writings of Nephi, Mormon, and Moroni, treating them as distinct personalities with very different approaches to their material.  Although he himself is an active and committed member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, for the purposes of this study he “brackets” the question of whether or not they were real individuals.  Nevertheless, the extraordinarily fruitful results of his study demonstrate that the writings of Nephi, Mormon, and Moroni are indeed quite distinct—and by far the most reasonable explanation for this, in my opinion, is that they represent three real, historically different men.

I believe that serious and fair-minded engagement with the four books I’ve recommended is virtually certain to strengthen faith in readers who’re even slightly open to the possibility that Mormonism is true.  Mark McConkie’s compilation will build confidence in the character of Joseph Smith.  Richard Anderson’s book and John Welch’s anthology provide powerful corroboration of Joseph’s claims to revelation.  Grant Hardy’s book demonstrates, at least in one area, how very complex, rich, and internally consistent the Book of Mormon is.

When people contact me with doubts and problems, I don’t want merely to try to allay their concerns.  I want to build their faith so that their areas of uncertainty will shrink relative to their areas of confidence. These books—and, of course, there are others—are well suited to do just that.

Fair Issues 40: Two points about Book of Mormon geography

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Ash (newer) PictureIn this article brother Ash examines possible locations for the Book of Mormon geography. First point.  In the quasi-official Encyclopedia of Mormonism, the production of which was overseen by Elders Dallin H. Oaks and Neal A. Maxwell of the Quorum of the Twelve. we find the following: “The church has not taken an official position with regard to location of geographical places (in the Book of Mormon).”  Second point.  Joseph Smith’s comments should not be construed as revelatory.

The full text of this article can be found at Deseret News online.

Brother Ash is author of the book Shaken Faith Syndrome: Strengthening One’s Testimony in the Face of Criticism and Doubt, as well as the book, of Faith and Reason: 80 Evidences Supporting the Prophet Joseph Smith. Both books are available for purchase online through the FairMormon Bookstore.

Tell your friends about the Mormon Fair-Cast. Share a link on your Facebook page and help increase the popularity of the Mormon Fair-Cast by subscribing to this podcast in iTunes, and by rating it and writing a review.

 

Fair Issues 39: Countering subversive attacks

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Ash (newer) PictureIn this article, brother Michael R. Ash counters subversive attacks on Mormon scholarship.  Critics frequently state, or imply that 1.  LDS scholars are not real scholars; 2.  “Real” scholars (by which they mean, “non-LDS” scholars) reject LDS scholarship; and 3.  LDS scholarship is biased.  By casting doubt on Mormon scholarship from the start, critics hope to dissuade people from listening to LDS scholars or giving credence to their arguments  This appears to be effective among critics themselves , many of whom totally dismiss LDS scholarship without giving it a fair hearing.

The full text of this article can be found at Deseret News online.

Brother Ash is author of the book Shaken Faith Syndrome: Strengthening One’s Testimony in the Face of Criticism and Doubt, as well as the book, of Faith and Reason: 80 Evidences Supporting the Prophet Joseph Smith. Both books are available for purchase online through the FairMormon Bookstore.

Tell your friends about the Mormon Fair-Cast. Share a link on your Facebook page and help increase the popularity of the Mormon Fair-Cast by subscribing to this podcast in iTunes, and by rating it and writing a review.

Exclusive Book Excerpt: Letters to a Young Mormon, Chapter 3

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Excerpt from Adam S. Miller, Letters to a Young Mormon (Provo, UT: Neal A. Maxwell for Religious Scholarship, 2014), 17-23.

Used by Permission of the Neal A. Maxwell Institute. For FairMormon blog only. Not to be redistributed or copied.

3. Sin

Dear S.,

Being a good person doesn’t mean you’re not a sinner. Sin goes deeper. Being good will save you a lot of trouble, but it won’t solve the problem of sin. Only God can do this. Fill your basket with good apples rather than bad ones, but, in the end, sin has as much to do with the basket as with the apples. Sin depends not just on your actions but on the story you use those actions to tell.

Like everyone, you have a story you want your life to tell. You have your own way of doing things and your own way of thinking about things. But “my thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways, saith the Lord. For as the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts” (Isaiah 55:8–9). As the heavens are higher than the earth, God’s work in your life is bigger than the story you’d like that life to tell. His life is bigger than your plans, goals, or fears. To save your life, you’ll have to lay down your stories and, minute by minute, day by day, give your life back to him. Preferring your stories to his life is sin.

Sin is endemic to the story you’re always telling yourself about yourself. This story shows up in that spool of judgmental chitchat—sometimes fair, sometimes foul—that, like an off-stage voice-over, endlessly loops in your head. This narration follows you around like a shadow. It mimes you, measures you, sometimes mocks you, and pretends, in its flat, black simplicity, to be the truth about you. This story is seductive. It seems so weightless and bulletproof and ideal. But as a shadow it hides as much as it reveals. You are not your shadow. No matter how carefully you line up the light, your body will never fit that profile. Sin is what happens when we choose our shadows over the lives that cast them. Life is full of stories, but life is not a story. God doesn’t love your story, he loves you.

Your story, like everyone’s, is a bit of a Frankenstein. Without your hardly noticing or choosing, it gets sewn together, on the fly, out of whatever borrowed scraps are at hand. You may have borrowed a bit from your mother, a bit from a movie you liked, and a bit from a lesson at church. You may have stitched these pieces together with a comment overheard at lunch, a glossy image from a magazine, and a second-grade test score. Whatever sticks. More stuff is always getting added as other stuff is discarded. Your story’s projection of what you should be is always getting adjusted. Your idea of your shadow’s optimal shape gets tailored and tailored again.

Like most people, you’ll lavish attention on this story until, almost unwittingly, it becomes your blueprint for how things ought to be. As you persist in measuring life against it, this Franken-bible of the self will become a substitute for God, an idol. This is sin. And this idolatrous story is all the more ironic when, as a true believer, you religiously assign God a starring role in your story as the one who, with some cajoling and obedience, can make things go the way you’ve plotted. But faith isn’t about getting God to play a more and more central part in your story. Faith is about sacrificing your story on his altar.

Everyone knows that little blush of pleasure that comes when you feel like your life and your story match. And I’m sure you know the pinch of disappointment that follows when you feel like your life hasn’t measured up. These blushes and pinches tend to rule our daily lives. They push and pull and bully us from one plot point to the next. “Now I should be this,” we say, “now I should have this, now I should do this. . . .” Meanwhile, the pedestrian substance of life gets shuffled offstage in favor of epic shadows.

Think about what it’s like when you buy a new shirt. You slip, hopeful, into the dressing room. Backed by doubled mirrors, you model it and ask, “Does this fit my story, does this match my shadow?” As a teenager, I never had much luck with this. In junior high, I grew fast, we didn’t have much money, and my clothes never seemed to fit. My sleeves were short and my pants were flooded. I was always yanking at my cuffs, trying to make them longer. Late one fall, my mother took me to buy a new coat. I picked a kind of knockoff ski jacket, bright blue and trimmed with red and green. We even bought it a size too big. When we got home, I put it on and went out for a long, cold walk along our empty country road. For a long time I walked back and forth, back and forth, on a half-mile stretch, imagining with great pleasure what a stranger might say if they saw me, what they might imagine about who I was or were I was going in that new jacket. I was buttoned up safe. The coat seemed like exactly the kind of prop I needed to tell myself a more convincing story. And a more convincing story seemed like exactly what I needed to better protect me. That coat was just one of the many, many stories in which I’ve tried to hide.

But even if you can get a story to work for a while, you’ll still be afraid. And when it fails to meet the measure of life, as all stories do, you’ll feel ashamed and your shame and guilt will manifest once again in that familiar pinch of disappointment.

Shame and guilt are life’s way of protesting against the constriction of the too-tight story you’re busy telling about it. The twist is that shame and guilt, manifest in this pinch, end up siding with your story and blaming life. Guilt doubles down on the self-important story you’re telling about yourself. Guilt is sin seen from the perspective of your sinfulness. Even if you feel guilty about how you’ve hurt others, that guilt remains problematic because your guilt is about you and about how you didn’t measure up to your story. Guilt recognizes your story’s poor fit and then still demands that life measure up. It recognizes that your shoes are too small and too tight and then blames your feet for their size. Repentance is not about shaving down your toes, it’s about taking off your shoes.

Jesus is not asking you to tell a better story or live your story more successfully, he’s asking you to lose that story. “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 10:39). Hell is when your story succeeds, not when it fails. Your suffocating story is the problem, not the solution. Surrender it and find your life. Your story is heavy and hard to bear. “Come to me,” Jesus says, “all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28–30). Put down the millstone of your story and take up the yoke of life instead. You will find Jesus’ rest only in the work of caring for life. Let his life manifest itself in yours rather than trying to impose your story on the life he gives.

Obedience is important but this isn’t just about obedience. For sinners like us, the problem is not just that sin follows when we break the law. The problem is that sin severs God’s law from life and then, rather than discarding it, cleverly repurposes it. In sin, the law, rather than rooting us in life, gets pressed into playing a leading role in the story you’re trying to tell. Maybe in your story the law plays the role of an accuser: “You can’t measure up, you’re worthless!” Or, maybe in your story the law plays the role of an admirer: “You’re so great, you keep the law, you do measure up!” But either way, reduced to the role of an extra in your story, the law kills you because it abets your preference for tidy stories over living bodies.

Keeping the law doesn’t earn you heavenly merits and breaking the law doesn’t earn you hellish demerits. Both merits and demerits are about you. The purpose of the law is to point you away from yourself, free you from the self-obsessed burden of your own story, and center you on Christ. You don’t need to generate merit in order to be saved, you need instead to come unto Christ and “rely wholly upon the merits of him who is mighty to save” (2 Nephi 31:19). The law points wholly to Christ and his grace. Keeping the law is the work of relying on Christ’s merit, not the work of generating your own. This is still hard work, but it is work of an entirely different kind.

When you sin, you sin not because you’ve failed to measure up to your story but because you’ve privileged your story in the first place. Privileging your story, you don’t treat others or yourself with the care life requires. By freeing you from your story, Christ frees you from your guilt. He saves you by revealing that even your own life was never about you. Bought-back and story-poor, Christ frees space in your head to pay attention to someone other than yourself. You don’t need rigid rules and expectations, you need Spirit. You need to be sensitive and responsive. Rather than filtering other people’s voices through the shame-making screen of your story, you must learn to be responsible for the work of caring for what you share with them.

Jesus doesn’t want you to feel guilty, he wants you to be responsible. Your stories aren’t the truth, life is. And only the truth can set you free.

Love,

A.

“Until the Heart Betrays”: Life, Letters, and the Stories We Tell

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Review of Adam S. Miller. Letters to a Young Mormon. Provo, Utah: Neal A. Maxwell Institute for Religious Scholarship, 2014. 78 pp. $9.95.

An exclusive excerpt from Letters to a Young Mormon is posted here on the FairMormon Blog.

On their 1993 album Edge of Thorns, hard rock group Savatage included a piano ballad about a person and a letter:

Someone got themselves a letter, in the mail the other day

It’s already worn and tattered, and I guess it gives away

All the things we keep inside, all the things that really matter

The face puts on its best disguise, and all is well… until the heart betrays[1]

 

Adam S. Miller’s new book is composed of a series of “letters” which, like the one in the song, contain both “the things we [tend to] keep inside,” and “the things that really matter.” Like the song, Miller talks about the disguises we wear—though he calls them our “stories,” which is his way of labeling self-justifications or self-deceptions for our deeds and hence way of living. And he talks about how our hearts should “betray” our rationalizing stories and turn to God, who sees us and loves us for what we can be or who we potentially really are all along.

“Like everyone,” he writes to his young “friend,” “you have a story you want your life to tell” (p. 17). This “story” becomes a self-imposed standard that one feels one must live up to, and as such, it haunts us. “This narration follows you around like a shadow. It mimes you, measures you, sometimes mocks you, and pretends, in its flat, black simplicity, to be the truth about you” (p. 18). We tend to think, or at least we try to convince ourselves, that this is the same story everyone else sees us living. As such, we often live in fear of what happens when we fail to live up to this “story” we have fashioned. Miller talks about how we may even give God “a starring role” as the one who can make our story come true, “with some cajoling and obedience” on our part (p. 19).

Of course, life isn’t a story, and so we naturally fail to measure up. When this happens, an unhealthy guilt and shame try to force us into making life fit the story anyway; we rationalize, justify and engage in self-deception. Miller tells us that with God it is different: “As the heavens are higher than the earth, God’s work in your life is bigger than the story you’d like that life to tell” (p. 17). Miller lectures his young and troubled Mormon in the following way:

Jesus is not asking you to tell a better story or live your story more successfully, he’s asking you to lose that story. “Those who find their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will find it” (Matthew 10:39 NRSV). Hell is when your story succeeds, not when it fails. Your suffocating story is the problem, not the solution. Surrender it and find your life. Your story is heavy and hard to bear. “Come to me,” Jesus says, “all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light” (Matthew 11:28–30 NRSV). Put down the millstone of your story and take up the yoke of life instead…. Let his life manifest itself in yours rather than trying to impose your story on the life he gives. (p. 21.)

But how do we abandon our deceptive, rationalizing stories, including our visions of grandeur or our narratives of self-deprecation, and let God into our lives? This is a question that Miller never explicitly asks, but it seems to me it is one that is constantly being probed throughout the book, which consists of chapters on faith (pp. 25–29), scripture (pp. 31–35), prayer (pp. 37–41), history (pp. 43–49), science (p. 51–56) and so on, all of which explore, in some way or any other, how to stay true to the life and work God has for us, rather than fabricate and then capitulate to the stories that we try to impose upon ourselves.

One “story” that can be told—we can tell it to ourselves, or others may try to convince us of it—pits science and religion against each other. But Miller urges young Latter-day Saints to embrace what is found in the sciences as “revelations.” He suggests that they “are among the most commanding God has ever given” (pp. 55–56).[2]

Miller holds that another false “story” we tell ourselves might be that the Mormon past is filled with heroes of epic proportion, veritable giants among men, “quasi-angels” (p. 46) who did no wrong and always accomplished great things with an eye single to the glory of God. As with the story we might tell about our own lives, this is a story that eventually fails, and when it does it can generate a crisis. But, also like the stories we tell about our lives, God’s work is bigger than our stories. Miller argues that

It’s a false dilemma to claim that either God works through practically flawless people or God doesn’t work at all. The gospel isn’t a celebration of God’s power to work with flawless people. The gospel is a celebration of God’s willingness to work today, in our world, in our lives, with people who clearly aren’t [flawless?]. To demand that church leaders, past and present, show us only a mask of angelic pseudo-perfection is to deny the gospel’s most basic claim: that God’s grace works through our weakness. We need prophets, not idols. (p. 47, brackets mine.)

Miller argues that, if we are going to reject the stories we and others tell about ourselves and about the world, then we are going to need to know something of the stories God has told us about ourselves and his relationship to us. This is where Miller believes that our scriptures come in. How can this happen? Careful study of our scriptures makes it possible for us to “put down our stories and take up theirs” (p. 32). Miller urges his young correspondent to “Get close to the scriptures. … God is in there” (p. 31). Our scriptures tell us about such things as the restoration, and the revelation of new scripture. As Miller explains it, Joseph Smith “always expected more revelations, and ‘translation’ was one vital name for the hard work of receiving them” (p. 32).  But “translation” is for Miller not merely the task of the prophet or scholar, nor is it merely the transferring of the text from one language to another. Translation is for Miller “a way, day by day, of holding life open for God’s word” (p. 32), which is his way of adopting and modifying the metaphor used by Joseph Smith to identify the process of reading, and then interpreting what we have read in ways most applicable to our lives, and as such it is pictured as a crucial task for everyone. Miller can be read as saying that we must make our own stories match the stories found in our scriptures. He argues that

Joseph produced, as God required, the first public translations of the scriptures we now share. But that work, open-ended all along, is unfinished. Now the task is ours. When you read the scriptures, don’t just lay your eyes like stones on the pages. Roll up your sleeves and translate them again…. Word by word, line by line, verse by verse, chapter by chapter, God wants the whole thing translated once more, and this time he wants it translated into your native tongue, inflected by your native concerns, and written in your native flesh. (pp. 32–33.)

Miller’s “translation” is something like Nephi’s “likening” (see 1 Nephi 19:23; 2 Nephi 6:5; 11:8). In this sense it involves, among other things, prayer, study, meditation, and also consultation of the “best books.” These are all part of what is necessary to successfully re-translate the scriptures by making them the ground for our own stories. It is something that will require faith, “You’ll have to trust that the books can withstand your scrutiny and you’ll have to trust that God, despite their antiquity, can be contemporary in them” (p. 34). What Miller means by “faith” is to “practice faithfully attending to the difficult, disturbing, and resistant truths God sets knocking at your door” (p. 27) and to trust “that the life God offers you doesn’t need your stories to dress it up,” (p. 25), hence “trust[ing] God enough to let your stories die.”

Miller explains that, like all translation, this will not be an easy task. It will take work, and, drawing on D&C 88:118, he stresses the importance of using the “best books” to help us in our efforts to believe and understand, and thereby be able to “translate” the scriptures anew so that we have the life offered by God. He tells his young Mormon that

Your ability to translate with power will depend on your faith and it will be amplified by your familiarity with the world’s best books. … The more familiar you are with Israelite histories, Near Eastern [and also, I believe, Mesoamerican] archaeologies, and secular biblical scholarship, the richer your translations will be rendered. Don’t be afraid for scripture and don’t be afraid of these other books. … Doubtless, the world’s best books have their flaws, but this just means that they too must be translated. You’ll need to translate them so that they can contribute to your own translations. (p. 34, brackets mine)

But in this process, there are inherent dangers: how can we be sure that when we “translate” the scriptures, we don’t read our false, rationalizing story into them? How can we be sure we are not fooling ourselves, or soothing our conscience by making the scriptures say what we want them to say? Miller answers:

You’ll know you’ve done it right if, as a result of the work, you repent. “Say nothing but repentance unto this generation,” the Lord told Oliver Cowdery when he came to help Joseph translate the Book of Mormon (D&C 6:9). This is your charge too: translate nothing but repentance. When you’re reading them right, the scriptures will bring you up short. They’ll call you into question. They’ll challenge your stories and deflate your pretensions. They’ll show you how you’ve been wrong and they’ll show you how to make things right. (pp. 33–34)

The proper scripture study will not reinforce the old self-deceptive stories you have been telling. Instead, it will assist you to “lay down your stories and, minute by minute, day by day, give your life back to him [i.e., God]” (pp. 17–18).

Miller’s book is not perfect. The chapter on “hunger,” for example (pp. 57–60), is confusing. He works with clever metaphors, but sometimes they are unclear. He carries his “hunger” metaphor over into the chapter on sex (pp. 61–66), creating some ambiguity where most parents of “young Mormons” would insist that blunt clarity is preferable. For parents who have open and frank discussions with their adolescent children, such ambiguity is easily remedied, but books like Miller’s cannot do the talking for them. Nonetheless, concerned parents may want to find a different book to help them deal with this particular issue.

Another point where the ambiguity is a concern is the chapter on eternal life (pp. 73–78). While I liked the idea that eternal life is “a certain way of being alive” (p.75), it is never clear in the chapter whether Miller genuinely believes in a life after death. While this might not be a concern for most readers, for any “young Mormon” struggling to believe, the lack of explicit reaffirmation in a hereafter could be disconcerting.

A recent press release from the Maxwell Institute indicates that a new Living Faith series, of which this is the initial book, “will commend and defend the faith more explicitly than our other [current Maxwell Institute] publications, while still maintaining the highest academic standards.”[3] Defending the faith is an admirable aim, part of our temple covenants, and something our leaders have admonished us to do. We sometimes call doing this “apologetics,” and Miller’s little book can be read as his effort to do such.

At the beginning of the first “letter,” he makes a straightforward declaration: “I don’t know” (p. 9). Presumably, young S., as Miller refers to his hypothetical correspondent, has asked him some tough questions. Miller then makes an  important point: “But it’s also true that even if I knew what to say and how to say it, you’d still have to work out the answers yourself” (p. 9). In defending the faith, we often provide answers to questions that are frankly quite peripheral and tangential to the gospel of Jesus Christ. This is not to suggest that scholars should cease seeking to provide answers to all the tough questions people are bound to ask—such endeavors are both necessary and important. In so doing, however, we are generally treating symptoms, and not the problem itself. But what more can we really do? A Latter-day Saint must come to his or her own faith. Miller points out that the working out of answers is ultimately a personal journey, and only the individual (along with God) can do it. The well-worked-out answers of others can be a valuable aid in that process, which justifies Miller’s effort to provide a little guidance to the “working out” process. Others, such as Mike Ash,[4] have provided some guidance for this often difficult process of sorting out issues that arise, and Miller’s book makes for an excellent addition to such tools and resources.

Overall, Miller’s book is quite good; it is an easy, subtle and an enjoyable read, which is ideal for a book targeting youth. Miller is also very articulate; some passages are quite “quotable.” For those interested, it could provide good fodder for sacrament meeting talks, devotional addresses, Family Home Evening lessons, and so on.

The “letters” in this book do not, of course, contain “all the things that really matter,” but those who want a little extra guidance (which can be all of us, at times) may find their copy “already worn and tattered” as they frequently read and reflect on Miller’s words while they endeavor to figure out, with God’s help, “what it means to live in a way that refuses to abandon either life or Mormonism” (unnumbered page in front matter, would be p. 7).


[1] Savatage, “All That I Bleed,” Edge of Thorns (New York: Atlantic Records, 1993), track 10; ellipses included to represent the dramatic pause in the song, not the omission of material.

[2] Certainly Latter-day Saints struggle with the current findings of several sciences. The Interpreter Foundation’s recent symposium on Science, Earth, and Man, held on November 9, 2013 in Provo, Utah, provided answers to those who feel a need to see a harmony between faith and scientific endeavors. The proceedings of this conference are being prepared for publication. The videos are available online at http://www.mormoninterpreter.com/events/2013-symposium-science-mormonism-cosmos-earth-man/conference-videos/ (accessed January 3, 2014).

[3] “Announcing the ‘Living Faith’ book series,” Maxwell Institute Blog, January 3, 2014, http://maxwellinstitute.byu.edu/living-faith-books/ (accessed January 3, 2014), brackets mine.

[4] Michael R. Ash, Shaken Faith Syndrome: Strengthening One’s Testimony in the Face of Criticism and Doubt, 2nd edition (Redding: FairMormon, 2013). Part 1 offers useful guidance for navigating a faith crisis, while Part 2 then provides some answers to difficult issues.

Fair Issues 38: The meaning of “true” and “correct”

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Ash (newer) PictureIn this article brother, Ash discusses the meaning of “true,” “correct,” “historicity” and “verisimilitude” in relation to the Book of Mormon translation. In light of our discussion on language translations, Joseph Smith obviously understood that the book could contain errors because (a) he corrected errors in later editions, and (b) the Book of Mormon prophets themselves expressly state the likelihood of errors (see Title Page and Mormon 9:31-32). “Correct,” in the context used by Joseph is related to “true.”  The Book of Mormon teaches those “correct” principles that can lead us to God.

The full text of this article can be found at Deseret News online.

Brother Ash is author of the book Shaken Faith Syndrome: Strengthening One’s Testimony in the Face of Criticism and Doubt, as well as the book, of Faith and Reason: 80 Evidences Supporting the Prophet Joseph Smith. Both books are available for purchase online through the FairMormon Bookstore.

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The Ordeal of the Three Nephites and the Popol Vuh (Mesoamerican Perspectives)

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The Book of Mormon tells of three Nephite disciples who, like the Apostle John were blessed by Jesus that they should “never taste death” and “never endure the pains of death” (3 Nephi 28:6-8). As they went forth to preach, these chosen representatives of the resurrected Lord were persecuted by those who “denied the Christ” and his gospel and “did despise them because of the many miracles which were wrought among them. Therefore they did exercise power and authority over the disciples of Jesus” (4 Nephi1:29-30), According to Mormon, “they were cast into prison by them who did not belong to the church. And the prisons could not hold them, for they were rent in twain, And they were cast down into the earth: but they did smite the earth with the word of God, insomuch that by his power they were delivered out of the depths of the earth; and therefore they could not dig pits sufficient to hold them. And thrice they were cast into a furnace and received no harm. And twice were they cast into a den of wild beasts; and behold they did play with the beasts as a child with a suckling lamb, and received no harm” (3 Nephi 28:19-22; see also 4 Nephi 1:30-33). (1) To the modern reader the behavior of the disciples’ enemies may seem curious. There being no shortage of ways in which one might kill or attempt to kill one’s opponents, why, we might ask, were these methods chosen by the disciples’ persecutors, and what may have been their significance to those who observed them? (2) While definitive answers to these questions are elusive, it may be useful to consider Mormon’s account in light of Pre-Columbian Mesoamerican myths found in the Mayan Popol Vuh.

Chief and oldest among these tales are the exploits of the two Hero Twins Hunahpu and Xbalanque, and their triumph over various proud and powerful opponents (3). The brothers’ exploits are represented on Mesoamerican monuments, painted murals and vases dating back to Pre-Classic times evidencing the antiquity of the story. “The Twins were the very model of what ruling princes should be. They were eternally youthful and therefore immortal. Their father the Maize God had suffered death in the Underworld, but thanks to their efforts he was reborn on the surface of the earth; in a like manner, so were the temporal lords of the Maya realm responsible for the seasonal planting, germination, and harvest of the great staple food, maize.” (4)  From an early time down to the European arrival, “Maya kings seem to have emulated the Hero Twins and their exploits.” (5) In fact, “Maya Rulers exploited their myth known as the Popol Vuh, to prove their right to rule . . . They portrayed themselves in the images of their gods and demigods. The most powerful and popular of the characters they cloaked themselves with were the famous Hero Twins, Hunahpu and Xbalanque.”(6)

While the ordeals repeatedly inflicted on the three disciples by those seeking power may seem curious to the modern reader, it is noteworthy that similar ordeals are associated with Hunahpu and Xbalanque in the Popol Vuh. The Popol Vuh tells of the monster Cabracan who had the power to cause earthquakes. At the direction of the god Huracan, the precocious brothers outwitted their dangerous enemy by tricking him to eat, thereby causing him to lose his power. “Then the boys tied him up. They tied his hands behind his back. The boys were mindful to make sure that his hands were well bound. They also tied his ankles together. Then they hurled him down into the earth and buried him.” (7) Contemporary traditions in highland Guatemala seem to reflect this story. In the town of Chichicastenango: “They say of the earthquake that there is a giant under the earth, bound by his hands and feet, and when there is a slight tremor, it is because he has moved his hands and feet a little; and when he turns over on the other side is when there are strong earthquakes.” (8) In the ancient Maya story, the troublesome monster was restrained by hurling him down into the earth and burying him. Perhaps by casting the three disciples into the earth, the disciples’ enemies may have hoped to bolster their claims to rulership and authority by emulating the exploits of Hunahpu and Xbalanque, but their actions seemingly backfired for when the disciples were “cast down into the earth,” this failed to restrain them as it had Cabracan, “but they did smite the earth with the word of God, insomuch that they were delivered out of the depths of the earth; and therefore they could not dig pits sufficient to hold them” (3 Nephi 28:20). Consequently, “the powers of the earth could not hold them” (3 Nephi 28:39). (9)

The Popol Vuh also tells of the Hero twins’ encounter and eventual triumph in Xibalba where they outwitted the lords of death. During their visit, the hero twins were confined in various rooms where the evil lords of death hoped that they would be overcome and killed, as others had been. In one of these ordeals they were confined in a house full of hungry jaguars, but were not killed. They outwitted the Lords of death by speaking to the beasts and giving them bones to eat. (10) “What they had planned to do, they had done despite all their afflictions and misfortunes. Thus they did not die in the trials of Xibalba. Neither were they defeated by all the ravenous beasts that lived there.” (11) In another later, but possibly related tale found among the Popoluca of Veracruz, the corn-god hero Homshuk fills the same role as the Hero Twins and undergoes a similar ordeal. “In the land of Hurricane, there were different kinds of jails: one in which there were hungry tigers, another in which there were famished serpents . . . Then Homshuk was ordered placed in the jail where there were serpents. `You are a nagual,’ Hurricane said. `Here you are going to be eaten.’ But in the morning when they appeared, he was seated on a serpent. He had not been eaten. . . .  The next night he was placed in the jail with the tigers, and he told them the same thing that he had told the serpents, keeping only the largest to serve as his chair. . . . On the following day, Hurricane saw that the boy was not dead, and he said, `That is a nagual.’ Then he pondered, and finally said, `We won’t be able to kill him this way, but since he is a nagual, he can’t continue to live amongst us.’” (12) The tale of Homshuk, like that of Hunahpu and Xbalanque reminds us of the ordeal of the three Nephites who played with the dangerous beasts and receive no harm (3 Nephi 28:22; 4 Nephi 1:33).

In another ordeal, the Hero Twins were confined in a house of fire. “There was nothing but fire inside. But they were not burned. They were to have been roasted and set aflame. Instead they were just fine when the dawn came. It had been desired that they would straightway die when they passed through there, but it was not so. Thus all Xibalba lost heart as a result.”  (13) Similarly, the three Nephites were cast into a furnace of fire on several occasions, but “received no harm” (3 Nephi 28:21; 4 Nephi 1:32). While the persecutors may have thought that these ordeals would have strengthened their own authority in the eyes of the people, the miraculous deliverance of the disciples could be seen as a testament to the power of Jesus who had bestowed this blessing upon his three chosen representatives.

In the Popol Vuh, the two brothers definitively demonstrated their divine power in a voluntary act of immolation. After being consumed in the flame, they were then transformed, disguised and tricked the lords of death into sacrificing themselves. After humbling their proud enemies, the two heroes ascended into heaven where they became the sun and the moon. By besting the lords of Xibalba at the various ordeals, the Hero Twins demonstrated their power over death and exposed the illegitimacy of their enemies. “Surely, they were not true gods. Their names merely inspired fear, for their faces were evil. They were strife makers, traitors, and tempters to sin and violence . . . . Thus their greatness and their glory were destroyed.” (14) While speculative, it is tempting to view the confrontation between the three disciples and their opponents in a setting where the exploits of the Hero Twins were known and tied to claims of authority and rulership by those who rejected the gospel of Christ. The implications of the unexpected outcome could not have been lost on those who witnessed it. In triumphing over these efforts to slay them, the disciples effectively turned the tables, exposing the folly of their power seeking enemies and validating the teachings and authority of their Master, the rightful Lord who had truly triumphed over death.

* This entry also appeared at Ether’s Cave.

(1) Mormon provides two descriptions of the miraculous deeds of the three disciples (3 Nephi 28:18-23; 4 Nephi 1:29-34), but it is unclear if these descriptions refer only to the events in 4 Nephi or to two separate episodes (one shortly after the visitation of Jesus associated with the conversion of the people in that generation and to another two hundred years later, during which the disciples were rejected). While I prefer the later, either reading is possible.

(2) Moroni alludes to the faith of the Pre-Columbian saints. “For in his name could they remove mountains; and in his name could they cause the earth to shake; and by the power of his word did they cause prisons to tumble to the earth; yea, even the fiery furnace could not harm them, neither wild beasts nor poisonous serpents, because of the power of his word” (Mormon 8:24). These miracles attributed to the three Nephites and other Book of Mormon prophets may have become a point of persecution inflicted on the disciples of Jesus by those who saw them as a threat to their own power and opposed the teachings of Christ.

(3) Allen J. Christenson, Popol Vuh: The Sacred Book of the Maya (New York: Winchester, 2003).

(4) Michael D. Coe, “The Hero Twins: Myth and Image,” in Justin Kerr, ed.,The Maya Vase Book: A Corpus of Rollout Photographs of Maya Vases(New York: Kerr Associates, 1989),1:182.

(5) Mary Miller and Karl Taube, The God’s and Symbols of Ancient Mexico and the Maya (London: Thames and Hudson, 1993), 134.

(6) Justin Kerr, “The Myth of the Popol Vuh as an Instrument of Power,” in Elin C. Danien and Robert Sharer, eds., New Theories on the Ancient Maya(University Museum, University of Pennsylvania, 1992),  109.

(7) Christenson, Popol Vuh, 110.

(8) Christenson, Popol Vuh, 111, note 219.

(9) One wonders if a similar motivation may lie behind to murder of Jaredite prophets during th reign of King Heth (Ether 9:29).

(10) Christenson, Popol Vuh, 170.

(11) Christenson, Popol Vuh, 177.

(12) George M. Foster, Sierra Popoluca Folklore and Beliefs (Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1945), 193.

(13) Christenson, The Popol Vuh, 171.

(14) Christenson, The Popol Vuh, 188.

Book Review: Letters to a Young Mormon

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Title: Letters to a Young Mormon
Author: Adam S. Miller
Publisher: Neal A. Maxwell Institute for Religious Scholarship
Genre: Religion – Faith
Year Published: 2014
Number of Pages: 78 pages
Binding: Paperback
ISBN-10: 0842528563
ISBN-13: 978-0842528566
Price: $9.95

Reviewed by Trevor Holyoak

This is the first book in a new “Living Faith” series from the Maxwell Institute. While reading it, I struggled to determine just who the “young Mormon” is that the book is aimed at. Is it for teenagers, or perhaps for 20-somethings? I think I actually understand it much better as a 40 year old father than I would have at a younger age, mostly due to the knowledge and experience I have since gained. Then I discovered, thanks to Amazon, that there has been a whole crop recently of books entitled “Letters to a Young XXXXX” (for example, Letters to a Young Contrarian by the late atheist Christopher Hitchens). Briefly looking at some of them, it appears that this book may have been loosely modeled after them. However I still question exactly who the intended audience is.

The book covers a wide range of topics of interest to Mormons, including agency, work, sin, faith, scripture, prayer, history, science, hunger, sex, temples, and eternal life. While I did find some new insights in some of these letters, much of what is contained is vague enough that any parent who shares the book with their teenage child may want to read it themselves so they can discuss it together. The chapter on sex, in particular, warrants this, as the only thing really clear in it is an admonition to avoid pornography, and then only for some of what I consider to be the right reasons.

I asked my two teenage daughters to read a couple chapters each. My 17 year old chose the chapters on history and hunger and thought they were too vague and wished the author had connected the dots. She is probably more familiar with some of the things mentioned (but not explained) in the history letter – such as “Joseph Smith’s clandestine practice of polygamy, Brigham Young’s strong-armed experiments in theocracy, or George Albert Smith’s mental illness” (page 48) – than many young LDS people her age because I have tried to teach her about some of the more difficult topics, yet she had questions about the usage of the word “clandestine” and about George Albert Smith. In fact, with that kind of loaded wording, someone picking it up off the shelf and glancing casually at the page might get the initial impression that it is anti-Mormon material. This chapter may provide an opportunity for a parent to teach their child how to find trustworthy answers for any questions that are raised.

On the other hand, my 16 year old (who doesn’t like to read and appreciated the shortness of the sections) read the prayer and the temple sections, and found she could actually relate to some of it. I think the temple chapter is one of the better ones in the book, and it was particularly timely for her because the material in it complemented what I told her in a discussion we recently had after she stumbled upon a critical video on YouTube.

There are a few other places in the book where I feel good answers are given to common issues. One example is an explanation for the seemingly unscientific account of the creation found in Genesis. The author begins by explaining that the Hebrews “thought the world was basically a giant snow globe. When God wanted to reveal his hand in the creation of their world, he borrowed and repurposed the commonsense cosmology they already had. He wasn’t worried about its inaccuracies, he was worried about showing his hand at work in shaping their world as they knew it” (page 53). Miller continues through the creation sequence as the Hebrews would have understood it, and then follows up by relating his experience in changing his point of view from a literal one that he retained beyond his mission to one that allows more for the scientific explanations of today.

In regard to some of the struggles we might have when learning about church history, he points out that “it’s a false dilemma to claim that either God works through practically flawless people or God doesn’t work at all…. To demand that church leaders, past and present, show us only a mask of angelic pseudo-perfection is to deny the gospel’s most basic claim: that God’s grace works through our weakness. We need prophets, not idols” (page 47).

Where Miller is clear on things, he excels by providing much food for thought and discussion. And in spite of its weaknesses, the bright spots in this book make it a worthwhile read for people who will not be troubled by its overwhelming vagueness, although I do believe a parental advisory may be in order.