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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.

Fair Issues 37: Ambiguity in Book of Mormon translation

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Ash (newer) PictureAs noted several times in this series, words only have meaning in a context, and documents are written not only from within a context but they are also written to a specific audience as well.

Mike Ash relates how  Dr. William Hamblin, an expert on the ancient Near East, says that there are two primary rules to follow when trying to understand any text that has been translated from a foreign Language.  The first is to accurately understand what the text has to say.  Second, the reader must contextualize the text in its original setting – that is to say, read it in the context of the culture, history, values, science and social norms of it’s day.

 

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.

Archaic Hebrew in the Old Testament (And What It Means for the Book of Mormon)

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One of the Lachish ostraca (7th century BCE), written in paleo-Hebrew script.
One of the Lachish ostraca (7th century BCE), written in paleo-Hebrew script.

Some time ago I posted a blog entry at Interpreter on the atheist polemicist Richard Dawkins’ argument that the Book of Mormon is a fraud because Joseph Smith rendered his translation into Jacobean English. Dawkins’ argument is (and I’m not making this up) that “[the Book of Mormon] was a 19th century book written in 16th century English. That’s not the way people talked in the 19th century – it’s a fake. So it’s not beautiful, it’s a work of charlatanry.” [Read more…] about Archaic Hebrew in the Old Testament (And What It Means for the Book of Mormon)

Isis and Maat in Facsimile 3 of the Book of Abraham: A Horrific Blunder by Joseph Smith?

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A recent post at Mormanity, “Shulem in the Book of Abraham: Possible Plausibility?,” suggested that the name Shulem given by Joseph Smith in Facsimile 3 might be more interesting than just a blunder or random guess. In response, one critic raised a reasonable question, but with a rather dismissive tone:

Wow. I look forward to your equally convoluted explanations of how “Isis, the great god’s mother” (what the characters above figure 2 actually mean) really means “King Pharaoh,” and how “Maat, mistress of the gods” (characters above figure 4) really means “Prince of Pharaoh.” This just goes to show how infinitely facile apologists can be with the facts.

While anything we say regarding any aspect of Mormonism will be dismissed as “infinitely facile” by critics not interested in dialog, the question does deserve a response. In spite of many evidences for the Book of Abraham as an ancient document, there are definitely some trouble spots, and the most problematic in my opinion are the names given in Facsimile 3. Figures 2 and 4 in that drawing are identified by Joseph as Pharaoh and the prince, respectively, but they are obviously female. Is he blind? Further, he dares to refer to the written text above the characters and states that these identities are “given,” “written,” or “represented” there. But now that scholars can read Egyptian, they have pointed out that Joseph wasn’t even close. The characters above those Figures 2 and 4 state that they are “Isis the great, the god’s mother” and “Maat, mistress of the gods,” definitely not “King Pharaoh, whose name is given in the characters above his head” and “Prince of Pharaoh, King of Egypt, as written above the hand.” As the critics say, here we have a simple test of his ability to read Egyptian, and it would have been easy here for God to simply prove to the world that his prophet could read Egyptian by inspiring him to write something like “The goddess Isis” and “The goddess Maat” for these figures. Instead, we have a “translation” that not only misreads the literal text, but also totally misses the obvious gender of the drawings. Any ordinary farmboy could at least have gotten the gender right, but not Joseph. End of story?

If you’re looking for a reason to reject Joseph and the Book of Abraham, this is the perfect place to start. Yes, he failed to render the names Isis and Maat. He even got the genders wrong. Regarding the gender problem, Hugh Nibley has writtenthat ritual dramas in which a man dressed as a female deity are known in Egyptian lore, but even if we accept that a gender-transforming lens can be applied in some kind of Egyptian role playing scenario, is there any reason to believe that Isis could somehow represent Pharaoh and Maat could represent the prince? Joseph gave us specifics that don’t make sense, at least not at a literal level.

Latter-day Saints recognize the possibility of human error whenever mortals are involved, and understand that Joseph and other prophets make mistakes. Is that the case here? Perhaps. But there may be something more interesting. Perhaps Joseph’s exercise was not about the literal representation of these figures, otherwise he surely would have said something about women rather than men. Perhaps he is seeking to understand what Facsimile 3 symbolized rather than its literal meaning.

Isis and Pharaoh: Any Connections?

Could Isis be linked to Pharaoh? Wikipedia’s article on Isis provides our first clue:

The name Isis means “Throne”. Her headdress is a throne. As the personification of the throne, she was an important representation of the pharaoh’s power. The pharaoh was depicted as her child, who sat on the throne she provided.

Suddenly, the guffawing of critics seems a little less embarrassing for Joseph. The word “Isis” written above Figure 2’s head can, without delicate mental gymnastics, be rather directly linked to Pharaoh–rather precisely as stated by Joseph. Again, not literally–obviously not literally, because she is female, of course–but in a rather direct and simple metaphorical link. Isis = throne = symbol of Pharaoh. Not too tricky.

In the Turin Papyrus, Isis learns the secret name of Ra and gains power over him (see R.A. Ritner, “The Legend of Isis and the Name of Re: P. Turin 1993.”) This is a powerful goddess well suited to personify the Pharaoh and his power.

AncientEgyptOnline.co.uk offers this commentary on Isis:

Isis was a member of the Helioploitan Ennead, as the daughter of Geb (Earth) and Nut (Sky) and the sister and wife of Osiris and the sister of Set, Nephthys and (sometimes) Horus the Elder. However, because of her association with the throne Isis was sometimes considered to be the wife of Horus the Elder- the patron of the living Pharaoh. Ra and Horus were closely associated during early Egyptian history, while Isis was closely associated with Hathor (who was described as the mother or the wife of Horus or Ra) and so Isis could also be considered to be the wife of Ra or Horus.

However, when Ra and Atum (the Ennead of Helipolis) merged, Isis became both the daughter of Atum(-Ra) and the wife of (Atum-)Ra. This situation was clarified by crediting Isis as the granddaughter of Ra-Atum, the mother of Horus (the child) and the wife of Osiris.

Here is more about Isis and her complex roles, also from Wikipedia:

During the Old Kingdom period, Isis was represented as the wife or assistant to the deceased pharaoh. Thus she had a funerary association, her name appearing over eighty times in the pharaoh’s funeral texts (the Pyramid Texts). This association with the pharaoh’s wife is consistent with the role of Isis as the spouse of Horus, the god associated with the pharaoh as his protector, and then later as the deification of the pharaoh himself.

But in addition, Isis was also represented as the mother of the “four sons of Horus”, the four deities who protected the canopic jars containing the pharaoh’s internal organs. More specifically, Isis was viewed as the protector of the liver-jar-deity, Imsety. By the Middle Kingdom period, as the funeral texts began to be used by members of Egyptian society other than the royal family, the role of Isis as protector also grew, to include the protection of nobles and even commoners.

By the New Kingdom period, in many places, Isis was more prominent than her spouse. She was seen as the mother of the pharaoh, and was often depicted breastfeeding the pharaoh. It is theorized that this displacement happened through the merging of cults from the various cult centers as Egyptian religion became more standardized. When the cult of Ra rose to prominence, with its cult center at Heliopolis, Ra was identified with the similar deity, Horus. But Hathor had been paired with Ra in some regions, as the mother of the god. Since Isis was paired with Horus, and Horus was identified with Ra, Isis began to be merged with Hathor as Isis-Hathor. By merging with Hathor, Isis became the mother of Horus, as well as his wife. Eventually the mother role displaced the role of spouse. Thus, the role of spouse to Isis was open and in the Heliopolis pantheon, Isis became the wife of Osiris and the mother of Horus/Ra. This reconciliation of themes led to the evolution of the myth of Isis and Osiris.

Her role was complex and shifted over time, but her association with the throne and the Pharaoh, either directly or through her connection to Horus, again points to a plausible symbolic meaning that an Egyptian/Semitic editor could see between the female Isis and Pharaoh. Could it be that Joseph recognized the symbolism here and saw that the deeper meaning of Pharaoh was symbolically given in the characters that mention “She of the Throne,” Isis? I think that possibility needs to be considered.

Maat and the Prince of Pharaoh

If a female deity can represent Pharaoh, can another represent a prince? Does Maat have associations that could make sense of Joseph’s statement? To me, this is not as clearcut and remains a fair question. Here is what Wikipedia says about Maat:

Maat or ma’at … was the ancient Egyptian concept of truth, balance, order, law, morality, and justice. Maat was also personified as a goddess regulating the stars, seasons, and the actions of both mortals and the deities, who set the order of the universe from chaos at the moment of creation. Her (ideological) counterpart was Isfet.

The earliest surviving records indicating Maat is the norm for nature and society, in this world and the next, were recorded during the Old Kingdom, the earliest substantial surviving examples being found in the Pyramid Texts of Unas (ca. 2375 BCE and 2345 BCE).

Later, as a goddess in other traditions of the Egyptian pantheon, where most goddesses were paired with a male aspect, her masculine counterpart was Thoth and their attributes are the same. After the rise of Ra they were depicted together in the Solar Barque.

After her role in creation and continuously preventing the universe from returning to chaos, her primary role in Egyptian mythology dealt with the weighing of souls that took place in the underworld, Duat. Her feather was the measure that determined whether the souls (considered to reside in the heart) of the departed would reach the paradise of afterlife successfully.

Pharaohs are often depicted with the emblems of Maat to emphasise their role in upholding the laws of the Creator….

The sun-god Ra came from the primaeval mound of creation only after he set his daughter Maat in place of Isfet (chaos). Kings inherited the duty to ensure Maat remained in place and they with Ra are said to “live on Maat”, with Akhenaten (r. 1372-1355 BCE) in particular emphasising the concept to a degree that, John D. Ray asserts, the kings contemporaries viewed as intolerance and fanaticism. Some kings incorporated Maat into their names, being referred to as Lords of Maat, or Meri-Maat (Beloved of Maat). When beliefs about Thoth arose in the Egyptian pantheon and started to consume the earlier beliefs at Hermopolis about the Ogdoad, it was said that she was the mother of the Ogdoad and Thoth the father.

Perhaps I’m grasping at straws here, but I find it interesting that Maat is the daughter of the great sun-god Ra and that some kings incorporated Maat into their names. And not just kings: there was also an Egyptian prince, Nefermaat, whose name was based on Maat’s.

What I find more interesting is her role in renewal and preserving cosmic order, a topic that brings us to the issue of coronation of new kings (the former prince). On this issue, Ernst Wurthwein in “Egyptian Wisdom and the Old Testament” inEssential Papers on Israel and the Ancient Near East, ed. Frederick E. Greenspahn (New York: New York University, 1991), p. 134, cites H. Brunner, Handbuch der Oreintalistik I, 2 (1952), pp. 96ff:

As a goddess, Maat belonged to the Heliopolitan religious system, where she appeared as the daughter of the sun-god. She came down to men in the beginning as the proper order of all things. Through the evil assaults of Seth and his comrades, this order was upset, but restored through the victory of Horus. As the embodiment of Horus, each new king renews this right order through his coronation: a new state of Maat, i.e., of peace and righteousness, dawns. [emphasis added]

Maat’s role in coronation to renew the authority of the kingdom naturally points to the man who will serve as successor to Pharaoh, the prince. It is also interesting that the name of Maat was often used in special coronation names given to new kings at their coronation. One reference on this point is Emily Teeter, “Egypt,” inThe Cambridge Companion to Ancient Mediterranean Religions, ed. by Barbette Stanley Spaeth (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2013), pp. 24-25:

One of the king’s main obligations to the god was to rule the land in accordance with maat, the interconnected concept of cosmic balance and truth that was personified by the goddess Maat. The commitment to maat is illustrated by offering scenes where the king presents a figure of the goddess Maat to the deities as a visible affirmation of his just rule and the acknowledgement that he will uphold the tenets inherent inmaat. In the New Kingdom, the king’s coronation name was often compounded with Maat, another indication of the association of the king and principle of truth. Some New Kingdom kings are shown presenting a rebus of their name captioned “presenting Maat,” suggesting that the king himself was imbued with or personified, Truth.

David Leeming, The Oxford Companion to World Mythology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2005), offers this information about Maat (p. 243):

Maat in Egyptian mythology, the goddess Maat (Ua Zit), the wife of Thoth, a god associated with wisdom, and daughter or aspect of the high god Atum, is at once a goddess and an idea, the personification of moral and cosmic order, truth, and justice . . . that was as basic to life as breath itself, which in the Coffin Texts Maat also seems to personify. Pharaohs held small models of Maat to signify their association with her attributes. Maat gives breath itself–life–to the kings, and so is depicted holding the symbol of life, the ankh, to their noses. Maat represents the proper relationship between the cosmic and the earthly, the divine and the human, the earth, the heavens, and the underworld. It is she who personifies the meaningful order of life as opposed to the entropic chaos into which it might easily fall. It some stories it is the sun god Re who displaces Chaos with Maat. . . .

Maat was essentially in all Egyptian gods and goddesses as the principle of divinity itself. The goddess Isis acknowledges the qualities of Maat, as signified by the maat (ostrich feather) she wears behind the crowns of upper and lower Egypt.

Maat might be seen as a principle analogous to the Logos, divine reason and order. As Christians are told “In the beginning was the Word [Logos] already was” (John 1:1). Atum announces that before creation, “when the heavens were asleep, my daughter Maat lived within me and around me.”

If Maat is the daughter of the great god and is a parallel to the Christian Logos and the son of God, then could this child could be considered a princess and thus again a symbol of a prince?

Wikipedia, as quoted above, indicates that Maat is paired with Thoth, having the same attributes. Regarding Thoth, Claas Jouco Bleeker in Hathor and Thoth: Two Key Figures of the Ancient Egyptian Religion (Leiden, Netherlands: E.J. Brill, 1973), p. 119, writes:

There was a close connection between Thoth and Re. In the previous section we became acquainted with him as son of Re. The sun-god placed so much confidence in the capacities of Thoth that he appointed him his deputy, his vizier. The pertinent text relates how Re sent for Thoth and gave him a place of honour next himself. Thereupon Re spoke: “Thou shalt be writer in the nether-world…. Thous shalt take my place as deputy, thou shalt be called Thoth substitute of Re.”

Another text adds that he was even appointed successor to Re. Thoth fulfilled his task so well that he was given the epithet “the one with whose word Atum (the primeval god at Heliopolis who later acquired solar significance) is content.”

In his office Thoth performs invaluable services for the sun-god. He is “the perfect secretary.” is said that his pen protects Re. Just what this expression implies is made clear in a hymn to Re which runs: “Daily Thoth writes Ma-a-t for thee.” [emphasis added]

Thoth, the escort of Maat, may be a symbol of a successor to the throne, again pointing to the role of a prince at a symbolic level.

Regarding Thoth, Maat’s husband, Leeming writes (p. 381):

Thoth was the moon god as well as the god of wisdom in Egypt. . . . In Hermopolis he might sometimes have been seen as a creator god. For some, Thoth was the son of Re, Re in this case being the sun, the right eye of Horus, whose moon eye had been ripped out by Seth. His consort was Maat. . . .

Maat, Thoth, son/daughter of the great god, and successor: if Isis can be a symbol for Pharaoh, could these associations allow an Semitic editor to also use Maat as a symbol for a prince? This doesn’t answer all the questions or objections to the identities offered by Joseph Smith on Facs. 3, but may suggest that there is “something interesting going on” besides random guessing coupled with gross inability to recognize a female in a drawing.

I could be way off and welcome your feedback. I know little about Egyptology and have just relied on easily found sources here that may be inadequate in many ways. It’s still possible to accept that some egregious errors were made, but the theory that Joseph’s comments are based on symbolic meanings would be fairly consistent with some of the more interesting hits in the Book of Abraham, and consistent with the principle of God not removing the need for faith in accepting scripture. God could have provided manuscripts and literal interpretations capable of gaining peer-reviewed acceptance from the scholarly community with no need for faith. But that’s not how He does things. Faith will always be required.

* This entry was also posted at Mormanity.

Fair Issues 36: Co-creative Book of Mormon translation

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Ash (newer) PictureMile Ash shows how a “co-creative” view of revelation explains how and why Joseph Smith updated some of his revelations including some passages in the Book of Mormon and Doctrine and Covenants.  It is possible that Joseph may have added, perhaps unconsciously, divine inspired insights, words or phrases that may not have been on the original plates. The same can be said for Mormon, the Nephite prophet, who compiled and edited the writings of past Nephite prophets.

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.