Millenarianism: Background

The best way to understand Millenarianism is to accept that human nature doesn't change, not fundamentally. 

Millenarianism thrived in the eighteenth to nineteenth centuries in England and America. Once Protestantism opened the door to ordinary citizens determining their own theologies, they did (much to the consternation of Protestant leaders like Luther and Calvin) and what they determined is that all that cut-and-dried God-is-this stuff pushed on them by religious leaders was just not their cup of tea. (See the history of every backlash against a dogmatic ideology ever.)

In sum (from a religious angle), they wanted their saints and angels back. They wanted the culture and rituals and pageantry of Catholicism without Catholicism plus a whole lot of other stuff, like astrology and fortune-telling. That is, it is no mistake that Millenarianism took off around the same time as Gothicism. As the modern world made greater in-roads into people's lives, people began to hanker for what they imagined the past to be. For some, that imagined past was Gothic. For some, it went back even further. 

Millenarianism's hey day was the mid-eighteenth to early nineteenth century but it has lingered. When I was growing up, Millenarianism was somewhat more popular than it is now. Many people at church honestly believed (or spoke as if they honestly believed) that the Second Coming was right around the corner. Food storage was important not as a debt-saving maneuver but as a prelude to building storm shelters from when the Soviet Union invaded.

I found the idea increasingly bizarre--and not one that I encountered at home. Reading about the plague in Europe pretty much cured me of being scared into apocalyptic visions by earnest, middleclass, employed, comfortably-situated people who spent most of their time--when not preaching doom--going to work and paying their taxes and sending their kids to college. 

J.F.C. Harrison's The Second Coming: Popular Millenarianism, 1780-1850 focuses on trying to understand the supposed cognitive dissonance here rather than mocking it. Harrison points out that the adherents and preachers of Millenarianism were not uneducated or slothful or deceitful. They were intelligent, contributing members of society. 

Likewise, many self-styled prophets--such as Joanna Southcott and Richard Brothers--were supported by establishment clergymen, some of whom lost their parishes by providing that support. Others, however, did not get booted out. Their attendees agreed with them enough to sanction that support. In addition, many Millenarian beliefs were shared by reformers and artists. It was a wide-ranging ideological system. 

Harrison sums up the attraction best: "[I]t provided an explanation of the mysteries of life to [those] who were dissatisfied with both the orthodoxies of evangelical religion and the claims of Enlightenment reason" (229).

Some of the beliefs shared by Milleniarians:

1. Prophets and visionaries

God's words were not confined to the labeled prophets of the past and designated interpreters of the present. God did deliver visions. God cared about current problems--such as the French Revolution.

William Blake was one of these visionaries. It wasn't an artistic pose (well, not entirely). He truly believed in his visions, as did many people--about Blake and about themselves. 

As Harrison states, 

Given certain common premises, the claims of millenarian prophets were not easy to refute on logical grounds...Few were prepared to deny absolutely that God might still speak to men through prophecy, so prophets and prophetesses could not be dismissed a priori. [V]isions and voices were validated by a great weight of Christian testimony, and could not be simply put down to hallucination. The strength of the inward witness of the Spirit (inconvenient as it always was for orthodox or majority denominations) means that millenarian claims were assured at least of a hearing in certain quarters. If millenarian visions and visitations were to be discredited they had to be shown to be from the devil...rather than flatly denied as having any existence at all. (227)

2. The Gathering of Israel

For Americans, this gathering meant providing a history/story about and to the Native Americans. As David G. Hackett describes one Millenarian leader--

In seeking to restore the ancient government of the judges, [Noah Ararat] looked to a primordial past for guidance. This impulse resembled that of contemporary Masonic ritualists, Christian primitivists, African American race historians, and Native American members of the Keetoowah Society, who all sought an anchoring in ancient wisdom amid the readily changing present. Moreover, like Joseph Smith's restorationist vision for the Latter-Day Saint, Noah's plan called for the gathering of religiously minded settlers from throughout the world in a theocratic refuge governed by Scripture and the contemporary embodiments of biblical leaders. Both men also called for people of Israelite descent, including tributes of American Indians, to populate the new colonies. (202-203).

3. Last Days

Harrison (kindly) points out that Milleniarians seemed far more fascinated by the drama of the possible destruction of everything than its actual occurrence and fall-out. 

I think this fascination is part of the human condition. With most of us, a desire for upheaval wars with a desire for stability--hence books that dwell with loving detail on the Rapture but fail to mention Jesus Christ; riots during COVID lock downs; paranoid trolls on social media; the exceedingly bourgeois (not a dirty word) church members I knew growing up who liked to trade stories about possible nuclear winter and missionaries being killed in Jerusalem while paying their taxes, etc. And so on. (My mother, who has a vivid imagination, never enjoyed discussions of the Last Days: to her, the fall-out was real or could be real.) 

Consequently, there are amusing yet entirely believable (in terms of human nature) stories of Milleniarians like Ezekiel Hale, who gave up his business to his oldest son when he thought the end was nigh (he didn't simply burn it down); he then wanted to take it back when the final days didn't arrive. Lawsuits ensued.

Harrison suggests the focus on Last Days is about a larger idea or problem:  

[The sub-culture of millenianism] prominent in Millerism...presents a peculiar psychological problem: how to prepare for the Last Day? Familiar as one might become with scenes from romantic painting and with the imagery of the Book of Revelation, it is difficult to take in such a stupendous idea as the sudden appearance of the Divine Being and the complete ending of the world in its present form. Just how to act and speak in the presence of the Lord, whom one is expecting shortly to meet face to face, presents thoughts which could (or should) have enormous implications for each believer. From accounts of the Millerites one is left with the impression that they struggled hard to comprehend their situation and made the appropriate responses in words, but that they were so bogged down the literalness of their interpretation as to be incapable of grasping the full meanings of the End of Time. (196-197)

To be continued with Millenarianism and the Book of Mormon...

Bibliography:

Hackett, David G. That Religion In Which All Men Agree: Freemasonry in American Culture. University of California Press, 2015.

Harrison, J.F.C. The Second Coming: Popular Millenarianism 1780-1850. Rutgers, 1979. 

The Book of Mormon from a Nineteenth-Century Perspective: Introduction

I am increasingly troubled by how little people seem to know--or care--about history and context. Our current social climate encourages partakers of online media to develop stories about other people and about the past without questioning those stories or learning more. Checks against the resulting imposed narratives--"Is that really within your purview?" "Do you have enough information?" "Shouldn't you find out more first?"--are  bypassed to deliver (supposedly caring, well-intentioned, emotionally justified and allegedly righteous) verdicts of others. Those verdicts often include labels, which labels appear to align with what I call "first cause," a modern-day version of original sin:  

Everything has gone wrong due to an inherent flaw in a person, plan, or social order. And one of those inherently flawed components is you!

Due to the spiraling focus on meaning-shorn-of-context, The Book of Mormon steadily seems subjected to a kind of self-help manual approach, which leaves it open to both subjective whimsy and "I'm so appalled" criticism. It is judged, perhaps as useful; perhaps as injurious.

In fairness, for much of history, the "everything is all about us" approach was adopted by believers and doubters as they used the scriptures to talk about other stuff, especially themselves. The approach lends itself to fresh and thought-provoking dialog. It even lends itself to social and religious change!

It also, unfortunately, lends itself to "since everything is relative and nobody can really know anything, you should believe about this passage what the 'expert' or 'proper' leader/authority/scholar/shouting person tells you to believe."

The "believe what you're told" approach doesn't work for me, whatever the identity of the lecturer. I far prefer context because I admire people of the past and believe they deserve to be understood as more than participants in an ideology or springboards to the reader's ego or springboards to the grinding of an axe. 

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

REGARDING COMMENTS

I began to post these entries in April 2024 on my Papers blog (see Thesis & Talks). I am reposting them in chronological order with edits. After all, the more I learn...

Comments on all my blogs are moderated. On this blog specifically, I will not be allowing through any comment that focuses either on my character (Why did you write that? I know why you wrote that! You skunk!) or on contradiction (see Monty-Python's "Argument Clinic"). I have a very low opinion of most social media commentary, precisely because it fails to back claims, resorts to ad hominem attacks, and conflates stances with substance. 

I have zero interest in defending what I believe. My beliefs are a matter between me and God and come down to theology and integrity. If you would like to express your beliefs, create a blog. 

I have zero interest in arguing over whether one should or should not like/be inspired by Joseph Smith. I like him. I also think he was a flawed individual. In fact, I like him because he was flawed. I will not engage in trying to paint him either as a con-man or a paragon. I find both approaches utterly dreary. I believe in neither of them. 

I have zero interest in arguing over whether one should or should not be a member of a particular church (any church). 

I find conspiracy theories so boring, they make my brain melt. 

In sum, comments that do not address the actual points raised within entries, including stated claims and evidence will not be approved. Spiritual exegesis, anthropological insights, and general ponderings will likely be allowed.  

Entries may change--as I learn more and more about the nineteenth century!

 

1 Nephi and Enos: The Wilderness

The original entries on this topic went in Book/Chapter order, starting, naturally, with 1 Nephi. 

However, as I got further into Alma, I found that approach more and more difficult to sustain. The entries on this blog will group certain ideas while still referencing books and chapters.

1 Nephi 4-6: The Wilderness

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

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

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

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

Although indigenous people and trackers and traders saw the wilderness as an approachable and useful setting, the mindset for many North American newcomers--when faced with so much risk--was more medieval than Enlightened, namely: 

One goes into the Wilderness and dies heroically (and/or becomes a hermit--see Saint Anthony--and dies sacrificially) or one goes into the Wilderness and fights off all contenders as part of a social order. 

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

Enos & The Wilderness

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

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

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

Charles G Finney

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

Joseph Smith

Acclaims to nature exist in early Western and Eastern literature. In one of my master’s courses, the professor and some students tried to convince the rest of us that nobody was awestruck by the Grand Canyon until Western civilization told them they should be. So much nonsense! (Academic theories, despite the jargon, are often disturbingly self-centered.) Multiple Native American tribes centered their religious ceremonies in the Grand Canyon. They weren’t exactly doing it in the middle of Kansas.

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

What changes are the tropes, the ways in which those wonders are addressed. Human beings are social animals. Once one person goes into the wilderness not to be challenged or to die but to be inspired and comforted, everybody is going to start going for the same reason, and they will use the language (as both writers and translators) that relates to that trope.

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

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

Nineteenth-century readers would have related to both purposes attached to nature: inspiration/comfort—personal challenge/sacrifice. Both run through both Nephi and Enos’s experiences: sunk deep into my heart, wrestle, hungered, guilt swept away, pour out, struggling, unshaken, labored. The Wilderness is an unfriendly place where one struggles. The Wilderness is a place where one retreats and prays and learns.

1 Nephi: Scripture Reading and the Enlightenment

1 Nephi 3: Scripture Reading

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

Of more interest to me is the definition of the brass plates as "spoken by the mouth of all the holy prophets..delivered unto [the prophets] by the Spirit and power of God” rather than "spoken by God...delivered as incontestable words." 

Bible literalism is a relatively late development in the production, collection, and canonization of scriptures. It popped up throughout the Middle Ages (and earlier), of course, but didn't take off until the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. The phrases in 1 Nephi--"spoken by" and "delivered unto them"--places the translator, at least here, on the non-literal side of the argument with the addition of a possible compromise. 

Nineteenth-century readers would have been as invested in this issue as modern readers, in part due to the Reformation; in part due to the Enlightenment. 

Martin Luther, for one, was

extremely argumentative.

The Reformation

Luther et al. challenged Rome's authority based on the belief that the scriptures were the only reliable source of God's truth. The matter was instantly made more complicated by not everyone understanding what the scriptures actually said (translations into everyday language were being made but not all translators had the same background in Greek, Hebrew, and Latin). Like all human beings everywhere, both Catholic and Protestant theologians also had a tendency to "translate" in terms of their own opinions. 

So Luther took transubstantiation literally while other Protestants pointed out that Christ was probably speaking figuratively. Okay. Sounds consistent. Except some of the pro-figurative Protestants insisted on literalism regarding Christ's whereabouts ("right hand of God") while some of the literalists insisted that the reference was only figurative. 

Nevertheless, almost all Protestants--even when they violently disagreed with each other--concurred that the scriptures were the source, not the traditions coming out of Rome (which traditions included the Pope).

The Enlightenment

In recent years, some writers have blamed the Enlightenment--empiricism, searching for proofs, separating faith from science--for ruining religion while Enlightenment believers have blamed religion for keeping everyone thinking medievally. 

I think the argument is as pointless as atheists arguing with fundamentalists. The Enlightenment—a highly varied movement itself—underscored the concept of a rational and reasonable deity. The associated assumptions have impacted everything from church organization to charity work to scripture reading. Many things we take for granted—such as forensics as evidence—are both older than the Enlightenment and were encouraged by the Enlightenment. Theology, likewise, has always focused on producing a coherent explanation of God and God's acts.

One of the Enlightenment's ideas was “evidential” religion, the idea that the natural world and rational argument could prove philosophical and, if necessary, religious truths. The idea influenced generations of believers, from literalists using the natural world and the Bible to prove the equivalent of Creationism to near-atheists using the natural world and Bible studies (coming out of Germany) to prove the non-existence of miracles. 

Not everyone was a fan since there are obviously non-observable aspects of life. But "evidential" religion fit in with the Protestant Reformation's emphasis on going to the scriptures for proof. 

Back to Scripture Reading

Of course, using Bible passages wasn't a perfect solution in the nineteenth century because (a) the Bible’s clarity was being challenged by aforementioned scholars; (b) not every theologian agreed on the Bible’s meaning. An increasing number of Protestants pointed out that Saint Paul was probably speaking hypothetically or metaphorically or specifically or historically when he spoke about “election.”

There were plenty of people in-between. Many in-between religious believers honestly didn’t want to go in either direction. They didn’t want to discard rationality and evidence from the natural world—but why should that mean getting rid of the unseen, unknowable, and unprovable?

Since quantum mechanics hadn’t yet shown up in the sciences, they had a point.

That is, many nineteenth-century religious communities were perfectly capable of rejecting the logical fallacy of either/or (one must either accept that all scriptural events are metaphors or one must accept that they are meant to mean exactly what a current translation argues, in a one word=one definition sense, without any room for debate or context). 

Nineteenth-century readers were also open to a third possibility: more revelations, more visions, more scriptures, and more to come. 

God may not change. But that doesn't mean that humans fully understand the nature of God. 

1 Nephi: Individuality & The Tree of Life

1 Nephi 8-11: The Tree of Life

1 Nephi 8-11 includes Lehi's version of the Tree of Life followed by Nephi’s personal vision of same.

These chapters would have connected to the intense individualism within American thought in the early nineteenth century. (Although the first image depicts the Norse Yggdrasil, it is doubtful that early ninteenth-century Americans were aware of Norse mythology. Greek and Latin--Greek and Roman--mythology still ruled in Western universities. Norse mythology was not made truly accessible until the mid-1800s and truly popular by Tolkien and others in the mid-twentieth century.)

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

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

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

But even Twitter is the product of individual offerings.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

1 Nephi 12-13: Catholicism

"Great & Abominable"

1 Nephi 12-13 is a kind of historical overview. It references the "Great and Abominable Church" without any other designation. 

However, in Protestantism and in Protestant America, the term was customarily attached to Catholicism. When I was growing up, there were still church members who linked the Catholic Church to the “Great and Abominable Church” (I grew up in upstate New York, so our congregation included ex-Catholics).

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

(2) The Council of Nicaea actually preserved the most orthodox and non-crazy ideas of Christianity. That is, the Council preserved, as best as it was able, the concepts of an invested, non-abstract God and universal grace.

Yet, in truth, many nineteenth-century folks would have associated the “Great and Abominable Church” with Catholicism. Although the Reformation was nearly 300 years old at this point, it was still fresh in the American mind. Puritans left England due to persecution from the remnants of Catholicism, Anglicanism in the form of the Church of England. Europe was still a bastion, in the American Protestant mind, to Catholic influences. Truly radical Protestantism, went the thinking, couldn’t take root until the supposed stain of Catholicism was wiped away. This attitude lingered well into the twentieth century.

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

The narrative of 1 Nephi 13 lends itself to an anti-Catholic interpretation but not entirely. After all, to many Protestants in the nineteenth century, Protestantism itself had faltered and gone down the wrong road--hence, the upsurge in Millennial sects. 

Joseph Smith, for instance, appears to have been entirely disinterested in going after Catholics specifically. It’s unlikely that he knew any anyway. Like Paul with The Law & paganism, Joseph Smith’s overall writing focuses on the analogy. Just as Paul continually used various analogies connected to legalism to go after the concept of propitiation (trying to win God or gods' favor), Joseph Smith used various analogies to attack the underlying causes of pride--such as fancy education and wealth and close-mindedness re: the Congregationalists that he grew up around--rather than a specific denomination.

Posts on Penance, Original Sin, and the Trinity to follow...

1 Nephi & 2 Nephi & Jacob: Grace & Works, an Ongoing Issue

The meaning of Eden is part of the struggle.

1 Nephi 14-22: Grace & Works

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

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

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

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

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

2 Nephi and Jacob: Grace & Works Background Up to the Nineteenth Century

Two problems underscore much religious discourse. Those problems have a long history:

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

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

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

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

We wake up in the morning. We get out of bed, feed the cats, carry out tasks, open mail. Everything is something we do as living people. And during all of that, we ponder stuff, which arguably is also an action in which neurons leap the boundaries between synapses. Faith is, in fact, ongoing agency, a position that The Book of Mormo commits to doctrinally (see 2 Nephi 2:26).

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Do we work our way towards the infinite by a checklist? Or by learning and growing? Or by being loved and accepted?

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

Later entries on this blog will return to the issue of grace & works.