Thorns of Glory, page 32
Clearly, Blumell and Wayment’s paper wasn’t all politic. When they perceive errors as glaring, particularly as viewed by scholars who specialize in areas of expertise that seem related but are fundamentally distinctive, it might be that there is no politic way to put it. Blumell and Wayment are specialists in ancient texts and languages. Dr. Chadwick is an archaeologist. To those in the field of New Testament studies, these disciplines are considered quite distinct. Though it is impossible to ascertain each professor’s motives and intent, it is suspected that Dr. Blumell and Dr. Wayment felt Dr. Chadwick’s errors were notable enough that they ought to have been caught before his article was published.
The onus of discovering a paper’s flaws generally falls on the shoulders of the editors of the publication where the article appears. As discussed in the Note to Chapter 9 in this book, this is accomplished through a careful process of peer review utilizing a reasonable number of colleagues with comparable areas of expertise, as well as scholars who specialize in areas where the author’s expertise may be lacking. As stated earlier, this process of peer review for Latter-day Saint scholarly publications is currently limited, partly because of the limited number of experts available in specialized disciplines and partly because in recent decades the Latter-day Saint scholarly community has devolved into a number of schisms with cliques and coteries who may not work in full cooperation. In short, the left hand is frequently not aware of what the right hand is doing.
My own experience on this topic is limited. However, the few observations I have made as of the date of this writing are not encouraging. Perhaps such all-too-human foibles persist in many academic circles, and it should not be surprising to find them in the environs of Latter-day Saint scholarship. I was concerned when in 2015 Jeffrey R. Chadwick published another article (“Dating the Death of Jesus Christ,” BYU Studies, vol. 54 no. 4 [December 2015], 135–191) with the intent to present new information about the date of the Savior’s Crucifixion but also to vigorously defend his first article, “Dating the Birth of Jesus Christ,” from 2010.
Dr. Chadwick’s postulations in this second article were (if possible) more dogmatic than those in his first article. An emphatic case is presented for why he feels the Savior was likely crucified on Thursday rather than Friday, while a less convincing case is presented for the Last Supper being held as early as Tuesday in accordance with Passover traditions practiced among Essenes at Qumran. This Tuesday timing, according to Dr. Chadwick’s logic, would allow for all the myriad of events—arrests, trials, scourging, etc.—from the time of the prayer in the Garden of Gethsemane to Christ’s final utterance on the cross, which Chadwick suspects could not have taken place in a single day. A standard way he bolsters his argument is to present his logic as follows: “When all the scriptural, historical, and even archaeological evidence is considered (archaeology is included, since that field of study is an aspect of the Qumran discoveries)—that Jesus celebrated his last Passover supper on Tuesday evening is the only realistic solution to the New Testament’s two-Passover conundrum. Tuesday evening is the only option that has both historical and contextual evidence of first-century Judean society to support it. And because it is sound and logical, a Tuesday Last Supper is the model I suggest as reality and also present as a valid consideration to my students” (Chadwick, “Dating the Death of Jesus Christ,” 2015).
As a layman (better read than some but still very much in the layman category), I found this article fraught with data that did not support its conclusions. Most alarming was the personal invective in Dr. Chadwick’s article against fellow scholars Dr. Blumell and Dr. Wayment. Clearly, Dr. Chadwick had taken offense at Dr. Blumell and Dr. Wayment’s review of his 2010 article.
Dr. Chadwick opened his 2015 article reminding readers that his 2010 article “attracted considerable attention; was covered in both print and broadcast news stories as well as by radio shows, blogs, and other forums of discussion; and received positive response in many venues” (Chadwick, “Dating the Death of Jesus Christ,” 135). He offered footnotes to support this media attention, which unfortunately seems to undermine his motives and, potentially, the quality of his research from the outset, immediately making what might have been a worthwhile effort unnecessarily suspect. Herein may be another notable example of the tendency for offense and dissention to crop up among Latter-day Saint researchers. I wished the editors of the periodical where Dr. Chadwick published his article had recognized the unnecessary conflict and defensiveness that pervades this article. A good editor would have reined in the author and perhaps spared him (and, by association, the article’s content) from the ready dismissal of those who perceive the pervasive infighting and conflict and are thereby turned off. The bitter taste produced by this article left armchair enthusiasts like myself disappointed, wondering how deep the rifts between competing factions in Latter-day Saint scholarship actually are.
Latter-day Saints should strive to have their scholarship so thoroughly vetted that it could withstand the scrutiny of non-Latter-day Saint scholars, even if, as in the case of “Dating the Death of Jesus Christ,” it includes Book of Mormon references to buttress its arguments. If vetting is deficient because it wasn’t sufficiently sought or was only sought from allies in a particular scholarly “clique,” its publication ought to be responsibly reconsidered until full and “balanced” vetting is applied. The “human factor” in this equation is, of course, difficult to repress. It’s possibly naïve of me to believe that such a phenomenon can be controlled. As one Book of Mormon scholar recently reminded me, “Advancing apologetic arguments is not a uniform path . . . things jerk forward without any kind of smooth process” (Brant Gardner, personal email to the author, February 2020).
I was subsequently concerned about the ending of this article, wherein Dr. Chadwick bears testimony of the Book of Mormon, the New Testament, and the Savior. Calling attention to this factor may incite zealous disagreement from many well-meaning Latter-day Saints and thereby overwhelm the point I’m trying to make. Most Church members sympathize with the idea that our testimonies shouldn’t be silenced under any circumstances. However, in a professional, scholarly setting, what is not said can be more powerful than what is said. If a scholar references Latter-day Saint scripture, we need not assume readers will miss the point. If an author feels duty-bound to bear spiritual witness of their topic or of related topics, it weakens their argument by implying that even if their research does not support the author’s conclusions, a reader with the same underlying beliefs may be willing—even subconsciously—to overlook inferior data. The power of facts cannot be compromised, even in spiritual matters but especially in the arena of apologetics that may attract a readership of scholars and non-scholars simply interested in the subject matter but with varying perspectives of faith and belief. A logical scaffolding remains the foundation of strong scholarship, and in the case of “Dating the Death of Jesus Christ,” comingling testimony and research might compromise a reader’s tendency to take seriously even valid points the author might propose. Such bias is commonly detected in much of the scholarship prior to the twentieth century, forever tainting its reliability and universality. In my opinion, powerful scholarship bears its own testimony. To reinforce that testimony in context trivializes it. When authors feel compelled to place this cherry atop their research, a reader with the same worldview may miss, ignore, or excuse an article’s flaws because testimony-bearing implies that because the author’s motivations are humble and pure, they may be more reliable. Worse, such a reader may conclude that an article is guided by revelation. This is a wholly inappropriate representation of an author’s authority and keys to summarily add to the canon of Latter-day Saint theology. A personal testimony ought to be reserved for appropriate settings. When mingled with scholarship, it can be interpreted as a crutch. The quality of a scholar’s research and intellectual conclusions must stand on its own.
Another disappointing feature of Chadwick’s 2015 article is its promise from the outset, as well as in footnote 5:
As was the case with “Dating the Birth of Jesus Christ,” it will be necessary in this study to introduce a great deal of data. . . . In fact, much more data must be explored in this study than in my 2010 article. This is due to the fact that, as noted by Blumell and Wayment, fixing the date of Jesus’s death is an extremely complicated task, one that admittedly was approached in only a summary manner in my “Dating the Birth” study. Accordingly, this article strives to address numerous issues raised by Blumell and Wayment that deserve to be treated as comprehensively and as definitively as possible. (Chadwick, “Dating the Death of Jesus Christ,” 136.)
Such an introduction seems straightforward, but as a lay reader, I am left at the mercy of the internet to confirm many of his secondary sources. At the conclusion of Chadwick’s 2015 article, I found that reservations expressed by Blumell and Wayment in “When Was Jesus Born? A Response to a Recent Proposal” (2012) and by Tvedtnes in “When Christ Was Born” (2014) had not been addressed by Chadwick, were not as comprehensive or compelling as promised, and that concerns about his original conclusions in his “Dating the Birth of Jesus Christ” article had not been allayed. Conclusions Dr. Chadwick considered “irrefutable” and “inescapable” were anything but.
The tone of both Chadwick’s articles on the birth and death dates of Christ are undeniably populist. He really does want ordinary, everyday readers, such as me, to be convinced with finality of his point of view. In and of itself, this is not a bad thing, so long as the work can withstand anticipated scrutiny. If even a single point can be shown to be murky or in error, its dogmatic stance may even have the potential of making or breaking a scholar’s reputation. Prudence and dispassion seem more advisable, perennially inviting colleagues to suggest improvements to one’s research. Obviously, such an environment is optimal and should be the objective of all scholars in every field of academics.
A reader’s antenna should be raised when a researcher represents that his opinion is superior because it happens to be the majority opinion. This is how Dr. Chadwick represents his view of the Savior’s spring martyrdom in a.d. 30. He proclaims that this is the “majority opinion” of all scholars, presumably in all fields of related study. Yet he admits there remain a few of his colleagues who refuse to toe the line. This leaves readers with a limited number of conclusions they can draw about these renegade colleagues:
1. They are inept.
2. They are ignorant of sources.
3. They are blinded by pride.
All three shortcomings are not uncommon and can blunt or suffocate a scholar’s ability to advance a particular field of study. In fairness, Blumell and Wayment also imply that Chadwick does not understand his source materials, but their tone is different, not accusatory, far more concerned about rashness, ever advising caution over injudiciousness.
While reading Dr. Chadwick’s 2015 article, I noted a number of internal problems but also several points that are genuinely interesting. Again, I’m merely a well-read layman, but that may provide me with some advantages. I have no dog in the fight based upon any school of thought.
First, I was unconvinced by Chadwick’s theories regarding how the Nephites kept calendrical time. The critical Book of Mormon verse usually referenced when discussing calendar issues is 3 Nephi 8:5, which reads, “And it came to pass in the thirty and fourth year, in the first month, on the fourth day of the month, there arose a great storm.” This verse, if it could be attached to a specific date, would entirely solve the riddle of Christ’s death date, birth date, and other significant events. Unfortunately, Chadwick’s proposals for solving this riddle are not satisfying.
Blumell and Wayment summarize the complexities of this matter in their 2012 article in eight bullet points beneath the subheading “Can the Book of Mormon Provide a Date for Jesus’s Birth?” In their footnotes, they point to several of the most thorough studies yet conducted on Mesoamerican calendrical systems, the Hebrew lunar/solar calendar, and internal scriptures from the Book of Mormon (see Blumell and Wayment, “When Was Jesus Born?,” footnotes 39–46.) Despite Blumell and Wayment’s cautions and warnings, Chadwick rolls over the top of these and states:
That Nephites functioned within the Mesoamerican macroculture of which they presumably were a part is a conclusion shared by many Book of Mormon scholars. That the Nephites would also have concurrently observed the biblical lunar-solar calendar of the Law of Moses is a sound assumption, as noted in the previous study: “To properly observe the Law of Moses, the Nephites would have observed Passover in the ‘first month’ (Ex. 12:2, 18), which their biblical record would have called Aviv, or spring (Ex. 23:15; 34:18; Deut. 16:1). That the first Nephite month did indeed fall in spring, at least at the time of Jesus’s death, seems clear from the account in 3 Nephi 8:5.” And that the Jewish Passover (in Jerusalem) occurred during the Nephite “first month” is a key indicator that the Nephites employed the lunar-solar count to reckon their years in 3 Nephi. (“Dating the Death of Jesus Christ,” BYU Studies, vol. 54 no. 4 [December 2015], 135–191)
Blumell and Wayment make it clear that
the consensus of Mesoamericanists looking at the Book of Mormon (Sorenson, Clark, Gardner) is that the Nephite calendar is in some way related to the Mesoamerican tun year rather than the haab year. Sorenson argues this because the six-hundred-year prophecy works in tun years but does not work in haab years. (John L. Sorenson, An Ancient American Setting for the Book of Mormon [Salt Lake City: Deseret Book; Provo, Utah: FARMS, 1985], 272–73). Clark argues this because four-hundred-year prophecies work out in tun years, but not in haab years. (John E. Clark, “Archaeology, Relics, and Book of Mormon Belief,” Journal of Book of Mormon Studies 14, no. 2 [2005]: 46–47) Chadwick appears confused on this issue. (Chadwick, “Dating the Birth of Jesus Christ,” 35, n. 51, 52)
For any academic scholar who is also “human”—a status that describes them all—it requires substantial humility to consider that a particular avenue of research—one that may have demanded decades of time and sacrifice—ultimately came to naught, producing nothing usable or new. It is fiercely challenging to admit when ideas that initially looked promising turn out to be a misallocation of resources and a waste of time. Years of training in a field in which the object is to expand the catalogue of “truth” are sometimes inextricably tied to faulty paradigms that make a researcher “snow-blind.”
As most are aware, this reality is not unique to scholarship. It can be applied to any field of endeavor. For the sake of those who seek to advance their understanding of sacred topics and thereby benefit their spiritual lives, the hope is that those who seek to advance the fields of Latter-day Saint scholarship, including Biblical scholarship, will approach the subject with a great degree of responsibility, humility, and circumspection.
Chapter 11
Apollus
She had called me “worthy.”
The word would not exit my mind as I used my gladius to cut a path through a pernicious hedge of thorns to reach the place where the Eagle Division of Moroni stood ready for battle in a long and serried line along a spine of Cumorah’s western ridge.
“You are worthy,” she had declared, her voice solid as marble, placid as an alpine lake. Yet it collided with my ears like the tuba blast of my old castrum.
I realized I would traverse the slope and its obstacles for three-quarters of an hour before I reached the first Nephite soldiers. With each step and every swipe of my sword, I could not shake my fiancée’s words.
Meagan Sorenson did not know me. It occurred to me how little I had revealed to her about who I was and the things I’d done. If I did so, I’d always felt certain the truth would repulse her to the core. She’d be forced to concede the impossibility that someone of her nature might love someone like me.
She knew I was a Centurion. She certainly knew, even before we’d met that day in Galilee, that I’d slain men in battle, but she could not know how many. Nor that I’d done so in earnest. With insatiable zeal. A kind of intoxicating joy. Nor had I disclosed that I’d slain not just soldiers but ordinary, unarmed . . .
There was nothing I hadn’t slain. I’d also ordered others—legionaries under my command—to raze entire villages, enter homes of the helpless, and leave no breathing thing. In Ascalon of Galilee, I’d personally entered dozens of dwellings, my mind consumed with this objective. And what I did in Ascalon as compared to what I did in Jotapata . . .
If I’d learned anything in Meagan’s century, it was that none of its inhabitants fully understood the reality of what it meant to be a warrior in the days before gunfire or atmosphere bombs or airborne carriages. I do not wish to overstate this, for pain is pain. Death is death, no matter the era. But how could someone like Meagan grasp that to a soldier of Rome death was not merely an honor—it was a desire? A yearning? A passion? The idea of rotting from some foul disease or withering from “old age” was banished from our thoughts. At the moment of our induction, a destiny of death in combat was branded onto our hearts. To die for Rome. Rome was not a place. Not an Empire. Rome . . . was our God. Yes, there were Jupiter and Juno. Exotic eastern deities who fell in and out of fashion. All these paled beside the supreme being called Rome, whose human form was embodied in its Emperor.
Of course, we know of colonia settlements in which veterans who’d exceeded their quarter century of service retired to tiny plots of land. Death by plow: what a horrific fate! We never spoke of this. We did not daydream of it. Maybe others, who were already in that late season of duty, did. Never a soldier at my age. We would die for Rome. More to the point, we would kill for Rome. To hardened troupers who’d fought and bled in Britannica or Germania, the Jewish War wasn’t even a war. It was a slaughter. Only a figment of a professional army resided in Galilee. We considered it a privilege—a respite from the monotony—if one of our number was fortunate enough to face off with a foe who had received any formal training. Footmen of the fighting 5th Macedonia would encircle such duelists like patrons at the arena. We’d cast lots, not on who would prevail—that was destined—but on how long the Jew survived. I had once lost a month’s wages overestimating a Galilean brute I thought possessed at least a modicum of skill with a pilum, only to see his throat impaled in less than half a minute. How I cursed! It was sport. There were no “battles” in Galilee. We laid sieges to a few hilltop towns, mostly ones fortified by our own Pompey-era earthworks. Many nights we pined for worthy opponents, such as Hadrian, Vercingetorix, or Alexander. Roman casualties in Judea were the consequence of idiocy more than intelligent counter-stratagem. I could not recall losing a single friend in that war. Well, save a fellow Centurion who’d ingested a rotten meal at a Sepphoris bordello and succumbed to dysentery.
