The Apocalypse of Nephi

This week I read 1 Nephi 11-14, which I think of as the "Apocalypse of Nephi." Reading apocalypses—whether Daniel, Revelation, or D&C 29—tends to put me in a heavy, pessimistic mood. The situation was compounded this week by the fact that I've also been reading a lot of cultural studies and cultural theory in preparation for my doctoral exams, which has aroused my vaguely leftist political inclinations and the guilt I experience periodically about "How can I justify a career in the humanities? Shouldn't I be learning a practical discipline that would prepare me to help fight global poverty?"

So when I read this week about the great and abominable church that sits upon many waters and has dominion over all the earth (14:11), whose desires are gold and silver and silks and precious clothing (13:8), of course I thought: Globalization. Consumer capitalism. Americanization, to bring it that much closer to home. I'm living in Babylon, right here in the heart of the Empire—a fact that depresses me whenever I think about it. I'm one of those 10%, or whatever the figure is, who consume 90% of the world's resources. I enjoy a luxurious, environmentally unsustainable lifestyle that rides on the backs of the working poor—and I'm a poor grad student, mind you. But I live in the global equivalent of a gated community, and the 30-40 extra pounds I keep telling myself I'm going to lose are proof that I'm enjoying the benefits.

I can go on wringing my hands about this until even I'm sick of hearing it. And of course I derive considerable moral satisfaction from wringing my hands about it. ("You see? I'm one of the good guys. I'm fat and privileged—but look how guilty I feel about it.") But what shall we do? I believe—I have to believe—in the promise of a world where there will be no poor, where there will be no -ites, where all things will be held in common and the abundance of creation will be distributed equitably on the basis of need. But how does that world come to be? How do you overcome the impossibly enormous—and complicated—political and economic and social and cultural forces that keep that world from coming into being, that keep people trapped in systems of inequity and exploitation and oppression? There's talk in cultural studies about microresistance, little everyday acts that transgress the dominant order of things and thus affirm agency against powers of domination. I guess that's a place to start—by small and simple things, great things are brought to pass—and there's certainly no end of small things I could do to resist the culture of excess and indifference that I live in. As Nephi sees in his vision, people of covenant can tap into God's power to resist the Empire (14:14).

But I want more than that. And the writers of the apocalypses want more than that. They want to see the Empire overthrown. They want a radical, cataclysmic transformation of the world. The way they envision that happening horrifies me—the fantasies of violence poured out on everyone who doesn't believe the same things you do until finally your people are left alone to inherit the earth; the passivity of just waiting for Jesus to come back and fix things, which can easily become fatalism, as I've seen in conversations among Latter-day Saints about overpopulation and environmental degradation. I try to be empathetic: apocalypses are written by people who feel powerless, who can't imagine any other end to the seemingly unstoppable forces that oppress them except for the warrior God himself to intervene. I'd like to think that in an age of mass democracy, we have new, peaceful possibilities for ending oppression and establishing a reign of justice and equity. On the other hand, I have this nagging feeling that the apocalyptists may be on to something. Nephi has this strangely quasi-Marxist vision in which the evil empire collapses in on itself—falling into the pit of destruction that it itself dug (14:3). I liken that to myself and my generation, and I wonder: Have the systems of exploitation become so powerful that there is no other end possible except environmental, political, economic collapse?

I told you I get heavy and pessimistic when I think about this stuff.

So let me try to turn to a more hopeful vision. Because ultimately, that's what apocalypses are supposed to do: give readers reason to hope for a better future. In chapter 15, Nephi comes down from his vision. He's depressed about the destruction he's foreseen—I can relate. But then as he's talking with his brothers, he introduces an entirely different vision for the future than the vision of wrath and destruction he's just been giving us in the previous chapters. He says that in the last days, God will fulfill the promise he made to Abraham that all the kindreds of the earth will be blessed (15:18). That vision grabs me. A vision of blessing—a blessing for all peoples, all groups. This isn't the apocalyptic vision of God destroying every group except the faithful remnant. This is a vision of God revealing his power to bring about a universal blessing. That's the project I want to sign up for. In D&C 88:79, the Lord tells the Saints they need to prepare themselves for ministry by learning about "things which have been, things which are, things which must shortly come to pass; things which are at home, things which are abroad; the wars and perplexities of the nations, and the judgments which are on the land; and a knowledge also of countries and of kingdoms." In other words: learn history, social science, political science, current events, all for the purpose of preparing yourselves to contribute to the building up of the kingdom. As an academic, that's a project I'm particularly well-positioned to sign onto. In my field, religious studies, that means engaging more closely and conscientiously with cultural studies: figuring out how religion works to reinforce domination and how it can be used as an effective force of resistance, a force that produces equity, justice, and blessing for all kindreds.