Thank you very much, President Webb.
I am truly grateful for this recognition.
And thanks to all of you for your presence
here today, especially to my family to whom
I owe so much.
I’m glad my brother Jim could play the organ
today.
He and I were roommates in Helaman Halls in
1968.
With great talents, he is a brother I have
always looked up to.
Also, it is fun to be able to address you
here in the de Jong Concert Hall.
I remember ushering here as a freshman in
1964.
My wife, Jeannie, and I have many good memories
of dates and events here in this building.
I’m so glad that she and I have been able
to share such an abundant life together.
Concerning this award, let me note that we
are currently celebrating several 50th jubilee
anniversaries: of BYU Studies, of the BYU
Honors Program, and of the Harold B. Lee Library.
This year is also the King James Version’s
400th anniversary (its eighth jubilee) and
Mormon’s 1,600th birthday (his 32nd jubilee)—all
of these representing huge parts of my life.
So, I count it as a special privilege to be
added as the 50th recipient to the list of
this award’s previous designees, who include
many of my teachers, mentors, role models,
and senior colleagues.
In addition to our family trees, we also have
our intellectual genealogies, made up of people
who have forged the roots and filled out the
branches of our minds, interests, ideals,
and testimonies.
How fortunate we are for such influences in
our lives.
What a challenge it has been to prepare this
talk!
As this talk has developed and changed, it
has also changed me.
At times like this, words simply fail.
Preparing this talk has made me more grateful
than ever for BYU.
This university is a beacon on a hill that
cannot be hid.
Its influence will go forth to bring to pass
much goodness and righteousness.
As I puzzled over what to say, I felt directed
to reread the BYU Mission Statement.
I have read this statement many times over
the years, though probably not often enough.
I now see it as something like a patriarchal
blessing for the university.
As I looked at it and at my 31 years on the
faculty, I felt like the boy in Nathaniel
Hawthorne’s short story of the old man of
the mountain as it dawned on me how closely
my experiences and desires have come to track
the contours of this mission statement.
While that statement is not holy scripture,
I hope it’s okay for a true-blue Cougar
to bear testimony that the BYU Mission Statement
is good and true.
I believe it was inspired.
It was drafted in 1981, in short order, at
a quiet mountain retreat, by the recently
installed BYU president Jeffery R. Holland.
It was tweaked only a little and then approved
without hesitation by the Board of Trustees,
led by President Spencer W. Kimball.
As an overriding take-home message for you
from my remarks today, it would be: “Follow
this mission statement.”
You can find it on the BYU website.
Take any line in it, and it will bless your
intellectual life with perspective and purpose.
My title, “Thy Mind, O Man, Must Stretch,”
comes from the poignant letter dictated by
Joseph Smith from the dungeon of Liberty Jail
(that so-called temple-prison that was more
often prison than temple).
The Prophet revealed these words almost five
months into his miserable and legally unjustifiable
detention there.
After counseling the Church to avoid pride
and trifling conversations, the Prophet burst
beyond the walls of his surroundings with
these expansive words:
"The things of God are of deep import, and
time and experience and careful and ponderous
and solemn thoughts can only find them out.
Thy mind, O Man [and we may add O Woman as
well], if thou wilt lead a soul unto salvation,
must stretch as high as the utmost Heavens,
and search into and contemplate the lowest
considerations of the darkest abyss, and expand
upon the broad considerations of eternal expanse;
he must commune with God.
How much more dignified and noble are the
thoughts of God, than the vain imaginations
of the human heart, none but fools will trifle
with the souls of men."
Altogether, these expansive words reward deep
reflection.
Here is a most compelling mandate for a broad
BYU education and a lifetime of learning.
Joseph’s prophetic words impel, to the nth
degree, all who are not just scholars who
happen to be Mormons, but Mormons who happen
to be scholars.
Being a part of Mormon scholarship at BYU
has been a perpetually rewarding, mind-expanding
experience for me.
There is nothing closed-minded about being
a true Latter-day Saint.
With the Holy Ghost, you will never get a
“disk full” warning.
Every year there have been new and amazing
discoveries.
You might wonder: So, how does this happen?
How does one’s mind expand to see or discover
new things?
In this acceptance speech today, I thought
it would be appropriate to try to explain
how this has worked for me personally, and,
as I know, for many others as well.
Actually, saying how any discovery happens
is a pretty tall order, because most discoveries
are not planned or orchestrated.
They often come as flashes of inspiration
or, as the Doctrine and Covenants says, “as
. . . moved upon by the Holy Ghost.”
But whenever they happen, especially when
they involve seeing some new extension or
application of gospel truth, the moment is
unmistakable, bringing an abiding sense of
joy and satisfaction.
Consider these lines from a Peanuts comic
strip.
Charlie Brown, Lucy, and Linus are lying on
a hillside looking up at the clouds.
Lucy asks, “What do you think you see, Linus?”
Linus says, “Well, those clouds up there
look to me like the map of the British Honduras
on the Caribbean.
That cloud up there looks a little like the
profile of Thomas Eakins, the famous painter
and sculptor.
And that group of clouds over there gives
me the impression of the stoning of Stephen.
I can see the Apostle Paul standing there
to one side.”
Lucy says, “That’s very good,” and asks
Charlie Brown, “What do you see?”
He answers, “Well, I was going to say I
saw a ducky and a horsie, but I changed my
mind!”
What might help us to see like Linus?
The first thing is to be looking, purposefully
and constructively, for something of value.
The mind expands by recognition, or re-cognizing.
Seeing in one thing something that is faintly
reminiscent of something else that is higher,
deeper, or of greater substance is the beginning
of knowing and not just observing.
Connecting and seeing recurring patterns,
such as those with which the gospel is replete,
is the beginning of discernment and the development
of potentially meaningful relationships.
For example, one day as my wife and I were
visiting Chartres Cathedral, we listened to
a guide explain a stained-glass window that
had 12 scenes depicting the parable of the
Good Samaritan on the bottom and 12 scenes
telling the story of Adam and Eve on the top.
This pairing, which struck me at first as
very odd, turned out to spawn meaningful connections
at every point, not with just a single act
of kindness but with the broad pattern of
the eternal plan of salvation.
In this context the man who goes down from
Jerusalem, a holy place, and falls among robbers,
represents the Fall of Adam and Eve and of
all mankind, as we all have come down from
our heavenly home and have fallen among the
forces of evil.
The Good Samaritan, who saves the injured
man, represents the Savior, who comes, has
compassion, and alone is able to save all
who have been left half dead, having suffered
the first but not yet the second death.
He anoints with oil, washes wounds with his
wine, binds us, and promises to return a second
time.
But the initial burst of connective insight
is just the beginning of the discovery process.
Extensive reading, pondering, and lots of
work soon yielded further insights and even
found that this understanding of the gospel
of Jesus Christ was evidenced in this long-lost
line of allegorical Christian interpretation
stretching back at least as far as the second
century A.D.
Indeed, most discoveries require lots of hard
work.
As a tax lawyer in Los Angeles, I repeatedly
saw the value of the Mormon commitment to
hard work.
In one case, I represented movie star Burt
Reynolds.
A tax issue over whether he was a California
or a Florida resident had arisen, and his
case hung in the balance.
People had been over the documents many times.
A couple days before our hearing in Sacramento,
I decided to double-check everything.
I even went back over Burt’s appointment
books to see if any detail might have been
missed.
And there it was: every year Burt was always
in Florida on Christmas Eve and Christmas
Day.
Well, I walked into the hearing humming “I’ll
Be Home for Christmas.”
The legal issue of residency, after all, is
all about where home is.
I introduced this new fact into the record,
and the state asked for a recess.
When they returned, they dropped the case.
The point of this little story is simply that
I was glad to have gone the extra mile.
Indeed, most academic discoveries come after
poring over materials again and again.
The mind expands by hard work over sustained
stretches.
Thus, the first paragraph of the BYU Mission
Statement emphasizes that a BYU education
demands “a period of intensive learning”
with a high “commitment to excellence.”
Our BYU way of doing things enthusiastically
embraces work.
There are no shortcuts to good scholarship.
Brilliant ideas remain mere figments until
they are verbalized, embodied in images, and
brought to life.
In Joseph Smith’s words, this takes “time
and experience and careful and ponderous . . . thoughts.”
We learn best by strenuous effort.
I remember vividly my student days at BYU,
at Oxford, and at Duke, because those experiences
were so intense; they indelibly seared words
and ideas upon my mind.
Think of how much you have learned in accelerated
courses, in the compressed MTC experience,
during intense travel abroad, or by competing
under pressure-packed circumstances.
A Mormon motto is “We do hard things.”
Do not shy away from hard work, from long
course assignments, or from demanding challenges,
for work precedes the aha moment.
But hard work alone is also not enough.
It is possible to exert endless energy spinning
one’s wheels.
To expand our understanding, we must formulate
more precise, potentially answerable questions
and then keep searching, believing that an
answer is out there somewhere, giving the
scriptures credence, suspending judgment,
giving God the benefit of the doubt, praying
every day for His guidance, trusting that
He knows the answer, that it can somehow make
sense, and not presuming that the answer must
necessarily come out your way.
What we are looking for is frequently going
to be found outside of the box.
Sometimes the answer is “none of the above”
or “all of the above.”
Under its second bullet point, the BYU Mission
Statement speaks of “the pursuit” of truth.
It doesn’t speak of “inventing” or “voting
on” truth, but rather of “pursuing”
truth.
We expand our knowledge by looking for things,
pursuing things that exist beyond our current
understanding.
How can one logically pursue something that
one assumes does not exist?
As former BYU academic vice president Robert
K. Thomas said, “Skeptics—by definition—cannot
affirm anything, even their own skepticism.”
Thus, discoveries that have given me the greatest
satisfaction have begun by assuming the correctness
of a text, the truthfulness of a proposition,
or the wisdom of an instruction given by one
in authority.
In a recent e-mail, Terry Warner, one of my
philosophy mentors and the creator of the
Education in Zion exhibit here on campus,
spoke of what he sees as the astonishing momentum
that has been developed in Mormon studies
by many first-rate scholars here at BYU.
He said:
"I have wondered whether the first dislodged
stone, in what is becoming almost an avalanche
of scholarship, was not Nibley’s gutsy determination
to see what could be made of the available
historical evidence by assuming (at least
the possibility of) the truth of LDS claims,
rather than by assuming their falsehood.
. . . It was Leibniz who insisted that one
cannot adequately understand the meaning of
a proposition without assuming its truth."
Of course, the scientific method rightly propounds
a hypothesis and then tries to invalidate
it; but still the hypothesis is not considered
false before it has been found to have failed.
There is something wrong—as much in academic
halls as in courtrooms—about assuming something
or someone to be guilty until proven innocent.
As an example, when I began teaching a course
on ancient laws in the Book of Mormon, I ran
across the case of Seantum, the man who secretly
stabbed his brother seated on the judgment
seat and was detected by Nephi’s prophecy
in Helaman 8–9.
Since there were no witnesses, how could Seantum
be executed under the law of Moses, which
required two or three witnesses in order to
convict?
Rather than sadly conceding that there must
be an embarrassing blunder here, I continued
studying more about ancient Hebrew law, only
to learn quite unexpectedly at a Jewish law
conference that an ancient exception to the
two-witness rule, which was traced in rabbinic
law as far back as Joshua 7, allowed that
the two-witness rule could be satisfied if
the culprit confessed voluntarily outside
of court or if God’s hand was involved in
the detection of the offender and if corroborating
physical evidence (such as blood on the skirts
of his cloak) was found.
As it turns out, the Book of Mormon goes out
of its way to report these very points.
The case against Seantum is not an embarrassment
but remarkably sound.
When we come up against things that seem out
of sorts or nonsensical, our critical instincts
lure us into thinking that there must be something
wrong.
But a special joy attaches to the discovery
of a new insight that began with the thought
that something was wrong but turned out to
be right.
It’s the joy of finally seeing an odd little
puzzle piece snap into place in the bigger
picture.
It’s the joy that comes from the great gospel
principle of reversal: that by small things
come great purposes; that the Lord’s ways
are not always the world’s ways that the
poor are rich; and that those who lose their
lives for Christ’s sake will be the ones
who will ultimately find eternal joy.
So, I go on high alert when I notice interesting
anomalies, which are often clues of something
going on below the surface.
Truth will be found in odd places, as high
and low and broad as the eternal expanse,
as Joseph said.
Moses’ mind was certainly stretched by the
amazing things he saw in unexpected places,
which things he had never supposed.
No one was more surprised by what Joseph Smith
was told in his First Vision than was he himself.
It was not at all what he was expecting.
Recently, reading on a plane to Portland,
Oregon, I noticed something unexpected in
the hardly ever mentioned parable of the two
sons in Matthew 21.
After Jesus’ triumphal entry into Jerusalem,
the chief priests approached Him in the temple
and demanded: “By what authority doest thou
these things? and who gave thee this authority?.”
Jesus answered by telling a story about a
certain man who had two sons.
When asked to go down and work in the vineyard,
the first son initially refused, but then
he went, while the other initially said yes
but then does not go, or so it seems.
This parable may be useful in parenting, and
it can be read at that level; but remember,
that’s not what Jesus was asked about.
With the question of authority in mind, as
I read this parable in the Greek, something
jumped off the page at me.
Think about it: When did a certain father
have two sons, One who went and the other
who did not?
When did the First (the Firstborn) say, “Ou
thelo,” which in Greek means “I will it
not,” or “I’d rather not,” or “it
is not my will.”
As the Greek continues, that Son reconciled
Himself (not repented Himself) and went.
In contrast, the “other” (the heteros)
son simply said, “Ego,” meaning “I.”
But I what?
Readers must fill in this blank.
In this verse, the word go in the King James
Version is italicized, because it has only
been implied there.
One might as well supply other words: “I
. . . will have it my way,” or “I . . . will
get the glory.”
In any event, this egotistic son did not go.
As Latter-day Saints, we can easily but unexpectedly
see at this deeper level how this unassuming
little parable answers the all-important questions
about Jesus’ authority.
He received it from the Father in the Council
in Heaven when He was commissioned to go down
and do, not His will, but the will of the
Father.
Believing that God has revealed and yet will
reveal many great and important things commits
us to approach some things differently from
the rest of the world, and for me that’s
okay.
There will always be worldly things that will
make it difficult to be a Latter-day Saint
by making some Mormon beliefs objectionable,
frustrating, or awkward.
And we won’t always have all the answers
to these difficulties, certainly not the moment
they first arise.
But this too invites further stretching and
expansion.
Our ongoing task as Latter-day Saints is to
locate defensible answers that are also consistent
with our scriptures, doctrines, and assumptions
and to understand how opposing views often
depend principally upon other fundamentally
different assumptions.
For example, the Mormon point of view sees
work differently from the world, because we
know that God Himself has a work, and it is
His glory; and we affirm, by our actions,
that faith without works is dead.
We also see ethics quite differently because,
for us, humans are not disconnected creatures
with whom we selectively enter into social
contracts, but all are related to us, as members
of our premortal family.
That expansive factor transforms the foundations
of ethics and the meaning of ethnicity.
We see moral agency differently.
As President Hinckley taught, false freedom
is freedom to do what one likes; true freedom
is freedom to do what one ought.
We see history differently.
The reality of the Apostasy shows that the
fittest don’t always survive.
We see power differently, because we take
seriously the scriptural curse placed on anyone
who misuses power for glory or gain, and we
know that the greatest must be the servants
of all.
Because of this, we do not share the common
animus against hierarchy and authority.
We see issues of gender equality differently.
The secular world would collapse equality
into sameness.
But equality does not mean identity.
Four plus four and two plus six are different,
but both are equal to eight.
At BYU we have the constant opportunity to
bring many Mormon insights to bear on scholarly
topics and just as much to bring scholarly
perspectives to bear on topics of importance
to Latter-day Saints.
If we think there isn’t a Mormon point of
view on any subject, it may well be that we
haven’t yet looked high or deep or wide
enough.
With stretching the mind comes an openness
to embrace more.
The BYU Mission Statement speaks of the pursuit
of all truth.
Our desire is for further light and understanding,
to circumscribe all truth.
To me, Mormonism thrives because it welcomes
the idea that the world is fundamentally pluralistic
by nature.
Over and over, the Mormon worldview relishes
multiplicity.
Words found traditionally only in the singular
are boldly spoken of as plurals in Mormon
doctrine: we speak of priesthoods, intelligences,
noble and great ones, two creations, worlds
without number, continuing revelations, scriptures,
covenants, degrees of glory, eternal lives,
saviors on Mt. Zion, and even gods.
Joseph Smith spoke of there being many kingdoms
and that “unto every kingdom is given [its
own] law,” and “all truth is independent
in that sphere in which God has placed it.”
To me, such statements of cosmological relativities
unleash and transfigure the concepts of natural
law and eternal truths.
It took a century for the world to even begin
to catch up with this expansive notion revealed
by Joseph Smith.
For example, I am fascinated by the implications
of Gödel’s 1931 incompleteness theorem,
which demonstrates that a system can be either
complete or consistent, but not both.
Thus, systematic theologies or rational philosophies
may well be internally consistent, but they
do so at the expense of completeness.
Sets and abstractions may be helpful, but
they are simply extractions of selected elements
of otherwise messy realities.
Mormon thought, in contrast, privileges fullness,
abundance, completeness, and all that the
Father has, even if that means that Mormon
life becomes joyously overloaded or torn by
competing pressures that pull, stretch, and
expand us in many ways.
This may produce episodes of cognitive dissonance,
social quandaries, mystery, and uncertainty,
but if forced to choose, Mormon thought will
always prefer openness over closedness, boldly
inviting further growth, progression, and—fortunately
for us in academia—further questions.
This dynamic view has certainly influenced
my legal thinking.
Over the years I have taught classes about
corporations, partnerships, and other organizations
that are all managed by various kinds of officers,
trustees, and administrators.
The law holds these people to standards called
fiduciary duties.
Despite thousands of cases, the law hasn’t
addressed the question of what makes one fiduciary
duty high and another low.
But in our complex world, one size does not
fit all.
Thinking more expansively, Professor Brett
Scharffs and I have identified a set of factors
that reveal whether a fiduciary duty is high,
medium, or low and what degree of duty is
required of fiduciaries in all kinds of settings.
Thinking this way may seem obvious enough
to you as a Latter-day Saint, since you already
believe that there will be varying degrees
of treatment and glory for every person according
to their individual deeds and circumstances.
But recent events in the corporate world show
how much in need we are of a more robust legal
approach to the duties owed by people in positions
of greatest trust.
Concerning duties, let me mention one other
part of this subject that has occupied much
of my thought in the last decade.
Because we know that there must be an opposition
in all things, LDS thought often harmonizes
traditional paradoxes.
The world has fought wars over whether we
are saved by faith or by works.
We peacefully say, “Both.”
People argue over whether we come to know
by study or by faith.
We confidently say, “Both.”
“Each of us must accommodate the mixture
of reason and revelation in our lives.
The gospel not only permits but requires it,”
President Boyd K. Packer has said.
In the same way, Mormon thought brings together
both rights and duties.
Rights and duties go hand in glove with each
other, for with all rights come duties.
I think this is because with all rights come
powers and privileges, and with powers and
privileges come duties.
As Latter-day Saints, again, we intuitively
sense this, for we know that all who have
been warned have the duty to warn their neighbors
(D&C 88:81), that with greater knowledge comes
greater stewardship and accountability, and
that “Because I have been given much, I
too must give.”
But this is decidedly not the way people usually
think about rights.
The world usually thinks that, because I have
a right, someone else has a duty, namely to
protect or fulfill my right.
While that is true enough, at the same time,
if I claim a right, power, or privilege, I
also acquire a duty as its necessary flip
side.
I have no doubt that the 20th century will
go down in history as the century of rights:
voting rights, workers’ rights, civil rights,
human rights, privacy rights, disability rights,
and many more.
With these rights in place, I can only hope
that the 21st century will someday go down
in history as the century of duties: civic
duties, human duties, fiduciary duties, religious
duties, environmental duties, and duties to
future generations.
I yearn for the day when we will have a Bill
of Duties to go with our Bill of Rights.
As world resources become scarcer, and as
all nations, tongues, and peoples become more
vulnerably interdependent, the idea of individual
rights will necessarily change.
How many rights can the world support without
all people assuming commensurate duties?
The point is not to take rights away but to
recognize the duties that are inherent in
those very privileges.
Speaking of privileges, we in the academic
world are certainly among the most privileged.
We enjoy the extraordinary blessings of time
to read, think, write, listen, and talk about
things we love.
With those blessings, one would have thought,
would also come a great awareness of our responsibilities.
As Joseph said, “None but fools will trifle
with the souls of [others].”
Yet, as Stanford President Donald Kennedy
wrote in 1997, “The responsibility of the
professoriate is a difficult subject about
which surprisingly little has been said,”
and that serious defect still remains inexcusably
unaddressed.
I am pleased that we at BYU Studies have adopted
a code of academic duties.
This multidisciplinary LDS quarterly journal
is open to all authors and readers.
Its code draws on scriptural mandates, hoping
to encourage among LDS scholars such things
as unity (“if ye are not one ye are not
mine”); charity (for if we have not charity,
we are nothing); edification (the goal is
to be spiritually and intellectually upbuilding);
and honesty and integrity (for accuracy and
reliability are the essence of scholarship).
And, by the way, it’s all right, like Charlie
Brown, to see a ducky and a horsie, if that’s
what you honestly see.
As President Monson has often said, duty basically
means charitably putting other people ahead
of one’s own self-interests.
Our minds stretch the farthest when they are
pure and actively concerned about the welfare
of others.
Unselfishness is what allows the mind to stretch
without snapping.
Thus, for good reason, the BYU Mission Statement
again stretches us to know as much as possible,
not only about our own culture but also about
the cultures of others.
It is rightly said that he who knows only
one culture knows no culture.
I like the way George Handley, an associate
editor of BYU Studies, sees this.
He writes, “My discovery [has been] that
listening carefully to other voices and other
cultures doesn’t have to involve sacrificing
our values,” but rather helps me to understand
better my own “Mormonness.”
As Brigham Young charged the elders going
out into the world, he said: “Whether a
truth be found with professed infidels, . . . or
the Church of Rome, . . . it is the [duty]
of the Elders of this Church . . . to gather
up all the truths in the world pertaining
to life and salvation, to the Gospel we preach,
to mechanism of every kind, to the sciences,
and to philosophy, wherever it may be found
. . . and bring it to Zion.”
Indeed, it was from a Catholic Jesuit that
I first learned about chiasmus and from a
Jewish barrister that I learned about the
ancient legal difference between thieves and
robbers.
And, by the way, both of those scholars were
genuinely glad to see in the Book of Mormon
these things that they had found in Hebraic
settings.
As Latter-day Saints we certainly understand
the benefits of learning from others and reaching
out to collaborate with others.
Our experiences in councils and presidencies
instill in us a sociality that easily carries
over into our way of doing scholarship.
Identify a project, assemble the right team,
and see what you can accomplish.
Team victories magnify the thrill.
Among the best memories of my academic life
are many team efforts, such as Macmillan’s
Encyclopedia of Mormonism with Dan Ludlow’s
team of eight hundred contributors.
I am now thrilled to be working on the legal
team of the vital Joseph Smith Papers Project.
We now know that Joseph was distracted by
over 200 lawsuits in his lifetime, and their
documentary records are astonishingly more
complex than any one person can sort out.
Two or three lawsuits are usually enough to
overwhelm most men, but Joseph succeeded by
working collaboratively and expansively with
numerous associates, including the Holy Ghost
as his regular companion.
Well, our time is nearly gone, and we’ve
only scratched the surface of the BYU Mission
Statement.
I intend no disregard of any word in it.
Equally important to me are its dozens of
other vital elements, upon which we could
equally expand: assisting individuals in realizing
their full human potential; staging a variety
of extracurricular experiences; preparing
people to meet personal and family challenges;
competing with the best in each field; making
scholarly resources available to the Church
when asked; loving God devoutly; following
the living prophets, and teaching the gospel
of Jesus Christ to all—in other words, no
child of God left behind.
If nothing else, I hope my comments today
have opened up some intriguing possibilities
for you to think about.
In the end the BYU Mission Statement calls
on us to “have a strong effect on the course
of higher education” and to “be an influence
in a world we wish to improve.”
In this, our uniqueness can be an asset.
As mediators between competing views, we can
offer alternative solutions.
And we need not be reluctant.
We have all been electrified this season by
Jimmer Fredette’s incredible, dramatic long
shots.
The sign I liked the best was “Jimmer’s
in range when he steps off the bus.”
Mormon thought is also capable of hitting
a stunning array of intellectual long shots,
doing things that traditional Western thinkers
have said cannot be done.
Everywhere you turn, Joseph’s words hit
the mark.
He was in range every time he opened his mouth.
In a book now at press with Oxford, Stephen
Webb, a non-LDS professor of religion, writes
of Mormonism: “No other religious movement
lies so close to traditional Christianity.
. . . Mormon theology is Christology unbound.
. . . Of all the branches of Christianity,
Mormonism is the most imaginative, and if
nothing else, its intellectual audacity should
make it the most exciting conversational partner
for traditional Christians for the twenty-first
century.”
I know that we can accomplish the goals of
the BYU Mission Statement.
Like many other Latter-day Saints, I have
spoken to various academic groups, with their
respect and genuine interest.
After one paper I gave to a meeting of the
Jewish Law Association in Boston, an older
rabbi congratulated me and said, “Very,
very good, but why does a goyyim [a Gentile]
have to show us these things in our own Torah!”
After a paper I presented on ritual theory
and temple themes in the Sermon on the Mount,
of all the comments I received, I was most
gratified by this one: “I have been attending
these conferences for 30 years.
You, for the first time, brought the Spirit
into the room.”
Latter-day Saints can indeed be an influence
in a world we wish to improve.
So, let us rejoice!
Shall we not, each in our own way, go on in
so great a cause?
The point is to come to think more as God
thinks and to see His children and this creation
more as He does.
The more we become like that, the more the
stone face on the mountain of the Lord, that
stone that some builders have refused, can
become the head of the corner and that image
can be received in our countenances.
We need not be ashamed of the gospel of the
Lord Jesus Christ.
Joseph Smith was truly a prophet.
The scriptures are true and in them we find
our way.
The expansiveness of the truth invites us
to venture forward, as high and as deep and
as broad as our minds may go.
Thy mind, O man, must stretch.
Indeed, it can and will stretch, if you will
lead a soul (including your own) unto salvation
and will commune with God, that our joy may
be full and abundant, in time and all eternity.
For your thoughtful attention and goodness,
I thank you very, very much.
