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BoM 8: First Book of Nephi, Chapters 2-4

God comes to Lehi, Nephi’s father, in a dream and tells him to take his family to the wilderness. He doesn’t really give a reason, and Lehi complies: “he left his house, and the land of his inheritance, and his gold, and his silver, and his precious things, and took nothing with him, save it were his family, and provisions, and tents, and departed into the wilderness,” setting up camp near the Red Sea.

Here we learn a little about Nephi’s family. His mother is Sariah, and he has three elder brothers: Laman, Lemuel, and Sam.

They come across a river, which Lehi names after Laman, then says to him, “O that thou mightest be like unto this river, continually running into the fountain of all righteousness!” To Lemuel he says, ” O that thou mightest be like unto this valley, afirm and bsteadfast, and immovable in keeping the commandments of the Lord!” Nephi explains that Lehi says this because of the “stiffneckedness” of Laman and Lameul. Much like the first family, there’s some tension, with two of the brothers murmuring against their father and complain about having to follow father into the wilderness and leave behind their inheritance. Lehi puts the fear of God in them and they shape up.

At this point, God comes to Nephi and tells him something, but we don’t immediately know what. Nephi goes to Sam and tells him what God told him; Sam believes — yet we still don’t know what that was. All the same, Lamuel and Laman hear it and don’t believe, at which point God speaks to Nephi again. He tells him that, because he keeps his commandments, he shall prosper, while his brothers shall be cut off. God promises that Nephi will be made a ruler and a teacher.

Chapter three begins with a new command from God, which Nephi explains to his father:

Behold I have dreamed a dream, in the which the Lord hath commanded me that thou and thy brethren shall return to Jerusalem. For behold, Laban hath the record of the Jews and also a genealogy of my forefathers, and they are engraven upon plates of brass. Wherefore, the Lord hath commanded me that thou and thy brothers should go unto the house of Laban, and seek the records, and bring them down hither into the wilderness.

Nephi and his brothers return to Jerusalem, then cast lots to see who exactly is going to go into the house to get the records. Laman gets the short straw and goes to get the plates. Laban refuses, and the boys grow despondent.

Laban, according the the Biblical account (Genesis 24-31), was Jacob’s father-in-law. It was for Laban that Jacob worked seven years for Rachel’s hand in marriage, only to be fooled at the last minute and given Leah instead. Jacob worked another seven years and took Rachel as a second wife.Of course, this can’t be the same Laban, for Jacob is a patriarch: there was not Jewish Jerusalem at that point. It seems, though, that Smith is incorporating Biblical names to further legitimize his book — to give it a more authentic feel.

Then Nephi remembers all the gold they’d left in Jerusalem and they head off to get it. They offer to buy the plates, but Laban, seeing the treasure, decides simply to kill the brothers and take the money. The brothers run off, leaving the treasure behind. They hide in a cave, where the older brothers begin beating Nephi. An angel appears and asks them why they’re beating the one who will rule over them in the future. The angel assures the brothers that God will deliver Laban into their hands. The brothers don’t believe, despite the message having a clearly supernatural source.

The brothers return to Jerusalem at the beginning of chapter four, after Nephi points out that it was an angel that promised them all this — he must have inside knowledge. As they approach Laban’s house, who should appear but Laban himself, drunk and stumbling. He passes out at the feet of Nephi, who takes Laban’s sword and feels the Spirit telling him to slay Laban. But Nephi is a young man; he’s never killed anyone; he’s nervous. God speaks to him, stiffening his resolve:

Behold the Lord hath delivered him into thy hands. Yea, and I also knew that he had sought to take away mine own life; yea, and he would not hearken unto the commandments of the Lord; and he also had taken away our property. And it came to pass that the Spirit said unto me again: Slay him, for the Lord hath delivered him into thy hands; Behold the Lord slayeth the wicked to bring forth his righteous purposes. It is better that one man should perish than that a nation should dwindle and perish in unbelief.

So Nephi pulls Laban up by his hair and decapitates him with Laban’s own sword. He then takes Laban’s armor for his own. He heads to Laban’s house and, predictably, everyone thinks he’s Laban. He gets the plates and much of Laban’s treasure, then convinces Zoram, Laban’s servant, to head back with the now-rich brothers.

It’s striking how similar the actions of Nephi and the others are to the characters of the Old Testament. In a word, barbaric. There are two ways to explain this: the first is that the Book of Mormon is as genuine as the Bible, and thus is a fairly accurate reflection of life in those times. The second is that Smith deliberately chose to pattern his book after the Old Testament — a wise move, considering the claims he makes about it. However, there seems to be a third option, combining the other options: Smith was himself convinced that he was transmitting the word of God, but in fact was deluding himself. This might work if Smith claimed, as Mohammad did, that a supernatural being dictated the words to him. However, Smith claims that he translated plates — in other words, it would be possible to have physical proof of the divine inspiration of the Book of Mormon, if only the plates were still here. That backs Smith into a corner: either he’s telling the truth, or he’s deliberately lying. And if he’s lying, then that means a whole religion was created on one man’s lies.

How many times has that happened?

Swimming

We bought a small "pool" to put on the back deck for the Girl. She took to it hesitantly at first.

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And it's really not that she took to it--she likes splashing at the edges, but that's about it right now.

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And she likes building towers:

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Christian Evolutionist

Year’s End

I'm sitting on the back porch with a bit of scotch and a cigar, reflecting on the day-the last day of school. It ended on a positive note, with a few very positive emails from parents and relatively peaceful final classes. It's fairly amazing how all perceived animosity burns itself out in those final days and students and teachers alike seem more able to see the positive side of school -- not to mention each other -- than they have for weeks, or even months.

It being my first year teaching in the States, I did a lot of experimenting. I used in-class journals, Moodle, various writing workshops; I tried different forms of classroom management: some experiments were frustratingly unsuccessful, while others were more effective than I'd ever dreamed they'd be.

It was a year of relearning how to be a classroom teacher. It was a year of relearning all the wonderful things from adolescent psych about what thirteen-year-olds can, can't, will, and won't do. It was a year of fighting bureaucracy that I didn't know existed in American schools. It was a year of relearning content-area knowledge, like how to spell "onomatopoeia."

In trying to determine whether it was a successful year, I'm left wondering what "successful" means. How do I as a teacher measure success? My MAP test scores were higher in all classes in the spring than they were in the fall. Does that constitute success? NCLB says it does. I had a student who was brilliant and brilliantly troubled, and I never managed to make a chink in her armor so that we could string together more than two consecutive learning-filled days. Does that constitute failure? I taught some vocabulary well enough that some students were referring to other students' disruptive behavior as "superfluous." Does that constitute success?

This year I realized again what I'd learned years ago in Poland: the immediate, clear successes are few and far between. But there's no way to know what seeds were planted. Teaching in a small village in Poland afforded me the opportunity to see what seeds I'd planted, because students would often come back years later and tell me what they were using their English for. Some got jobs abroad because of their English; some fell in love with foreigners because of English; several became English teachers. So I simply have to trust that I did accomplish good, that I did teach the 90+ young men and women in my charge for 180 days something, and maybe even something more than English.

In Thought

The Girl looks more and more like a young lady and less and less like a baby every day.

Father Knows Best

Free will is overrated, at least as framed by Christianity. It's not that I want to feel compelled to do this or that, but I'm willing to give up certain "freedoms" for the betterment of humanity.

Take the freedom to kill or torture children, for example. According to the Christian notion of free will, we must have the ability to do such an awful thing else we'd be robots.

This ability to torture the innocent wouldn't really be a theological/philosophical problem were it not for the insistence that the Christian God is, among other things,

  1. completely good,
  2. all knowing, and
  3. all powerful.

Put those three together with the world's suffering and we have a problem. In order to explain the suffering, we have to compromise. Maybe God isn't all knowing, and isn't aware of the suffering. Maybe God isn't completely benevolent and doesn't want to do something about the suffering. Or perhaps God knows about the suffering and wants to alleviate it, but being limited, there's nothing he can do about it.

Since none of these alternatives are acceptable to most believers, Christians explain suffering by invoking free will and saying that it couldn't be any other way if humans are to be more than robots.

But free will doesn't fly, especially considering the patriarchal God we see in the Bible.

God is seen, among other things, as the perfect father. "Our Father who art in heaven" pray Christians every Sunday; Jesus, in the Gospel narratives, cries out to "Abba" -- "Papa" -- while being crucified. God is the ultimate father.

This post was inspired by Thud's "The Org Chart God."

I too am a father, and if I imagine treating my child (eventually children) like the Christian God treats his children, I shudder.

A thought experiment: in the future, my wife and I have a second child. At some point, our first-born daughter gets the notion that it would be a pretty good idea to see if rocks can bounce off little brother's head. If I'm standing by and do nothing about it, what kind of father am I? That kind of behavior would rightly be labeled child abuse.

"But, Your Honor," I protest before the judge, "I was just giving my daughter the ability to practice her free will."

In the real world, "free will" doesn't cut it. We might have the Twinkie legal defense and any number of other, bizarre explanations/excuses for behavior, but I don't know that any lawyer has ever tried the "free will" defense, and for good reason: it's absurd.

And yet Christians use the free will defense daily to get their God acquitted.

A correlative defense is the "God's ways are not our ways" defense. This raises just as many questions as it is supposed to answer, but suffice it to say that any being whose ways include non-intervention when children are suffering is not a being I have much respect for.

The bottom line is that there really is no adequate answer for the problem of evil. Indeed, some of the more traditional answers seem quite outdated, as John Hagee discovered recently when he suggested that God allowed, even directed, the Holocaust through Hitler. Yet this was nothing new. Jewish theologians have been saying similar things for centuries.

Pastor Hagee's view that an omnipotent God must sanction the evil in our world actually has deep roots in Jewish thought. To cite just one example, the Talmud teaches us that the Temple in Jerusalem was destroyed because of "sinat hinam," or baseless hatred. In other words, our own Talmud teaches that God used the Romans to perpetrate the greatest tragedy in the history of the Jewish people (until the Holocaust) because of Jewish sins. (haaretz.com)

The defense of God's actions -- or apparent lack thereof -- is a distasteful activity to begin with, so it's not surprising that we can so mangle ideas that they come out sounding offensive to casual listeners. Then again, why should finite humans get stuck defending an infinite being?

The problem of evil is what ultimately led me away from theism, but that's somewhat surprising considering how theists frame the question in relation to their faith: there is no answer, but I have faith that there is a reason, that it will all make sense. Yet it seldom does make sense during our Earthly lives.

Cleaning Up Others’ Messes

I now fully understand why plumbers charge the fees they do. I mean, if you had to go into strangers' homes and deal with this stuff, wouldn't you?

And this drain was only for our kitchen sink, dishwasher, and washing machine. Forty years' of grime -- not to mention what appears to be straight-out mud.

How do drains get this nasty?

Suffice it to say, it's a good thing there is no way to digitize odors, because ladies and gentlemen, you would almost literally be up a particular creek...

In and Out of the Closet

We’re in the midst of re-doing (I hesitate to use the term “remodeling” since it’s such a small job) our closet.

Before:
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After:
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After — well, sort of after. The door frame width is a wonderfully-irregular 40 1/8 inches, so we’ll have to buy custom doors for it.

Forty and an eighth?! Where do they come up with sizes like that?

Fair and Balanced

BoM 7: First Book of Nephi, Chapter 1

The Book of Mormon opens with something called “The First Book of Nephi.” I sit down to begin reading, and I feel I’m reading Tolkien: I’m wondering when all these names will be explained. People? Places? Creatures? If only Gandolf were here to explain.

Nephi is, obviously enough, the author, and he begins his book by explaining his lineage:

  • “born of goodly parents”
  • “taught the learning of [his] father”
  • lived a life filled with its fair share of trouble but still close to God, and
  • “having had a great knowledge of the goodness and the mysteries of God.”

He is something of a Gandolf: keeper of long-lost knowledge.

Nephi goes on to explain that his chronicle, written in “the language of my father, which consists of the learning of the Jews and the language of the Egyptians,” is true: “I make it with mine own hand; and I make it according to my knowledge.” Evidently it has never cross Nephi’s mind that his knowledge could be flawed.

It’s a strange statement, though, because this is supposed to be a book divinely inspired. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to argue that the book is true because it comes from God? I suppose he’s simply stating here that this is firsthand knowledge, but we immediately see it’s not, for he starts talking about his father’s experiences:

For it came to pass in the commencement of the first year of the reign of Zedekiah, king of Judah, (my father, Lehi, having dwelt at Jerusalem in all his days); and in that same year there came many prophets, prophesying unto the people that they must repent, or the great city Jerusalem must be destroyed.

Finally, we get a known name: Zedekiah. Zedekiah was the successor to Jehoiachin, and the prophet Jeremiah was his adviser.

2 Kings 24.18 explains, “Zedekiah was twenty-one years old when he became king, and he reigned in Jerusalem eleven years. His mother’s name was Hamutal daughter of Jeremiah; she was from Libnah.”

In Jeremiah we read

He did evil in the eyes of the LORD, just as Jehoiakim had done. It was because of the LORD’s anger that all this happened to Jerusalem and Judah, and in the end he thrust them from his presence. Now Zedekiah rebelled against the king of Babylon.

Zedekiah basically stood up to Nebuchadnezzar, who then came down to Jerusalem and destroyed it. With this mention of Zedekiah, we get more than a known name; we get a possible date: between 597 and 586 BCE. This means we get a time frame for the events of the Book of Mormon, a time frame we could use to get archaeological verification.

The first chapter concludes with Lehi, Nephi’s father, getting a visit from God, in the familiar pillar of fire. God warns Lehi what’s coming by giving him a book of prophecy. There is an obvious parallel with Smith here, and if the Book of Mormon is not of divine origin, it’s a smart stroke on Smith’s part to start legitimizing his book within the book itself.

Suddenly, Nephi stops discussing his father’s story:

And now I, Nephi, do not make a full account of the things which my father hath written, for he hath written many things which he saw in visions and in dreams; and he also hath written many things which he prophesied and spake unto his children, of which I shall not make a full account.

It seems like more legitimizing: “this is not the first time we’ve seen books that are critical aspects of God’s revelation to humanity simply disappear,” Smith can argue.

The first chapter concludes by explaining that, after God’s revelations, Lehi did what Smith himself would do later: prophecy. And the result was the same:

And when the Jews heard these things they were angry with him; yea, even as with the prophets of old, whom they had cast out, and stoned, and slain; and they also sought his life, that they might take it away. But behold, I, Nephi, will show unto you that the tender mercies of the Lord are over all those whom he hath chosen, because of their faith, to make them mighty even unto the power of deliverance.

A cliffhanger! Brilliant — I can’t wait to see how Lehi got out of this pickle…