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The Voice of the People: Political Rhetoric in the Book of Mormon
In our era of heated political discourse, the Book of Mormon makes a surprisingly serious contribution to understanding our social troubles. David Gore argues that this Latter-day scripture invites readers to cultivate a sober, wakeful approach to political discourse. To eschew self-indulgent politics in favor of a politics oriented toward others. Being with others and being for others is never easy. But by shouldering this work to persuade and be persuaded of the good we can make our political situation more prosperous and more enduring.
229 pages, Paperback
Published September 2, 2019
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December 1, 2019
The Voice of the People is something that we need a lot more of in the Mormon Studies world: a book about the Book of Mormon that does not try to prove anything about its historical nature, or use it to illustrate a particular theological point, but rather makes it the basis for a productive engagement with an academic discipline and a cultural value.
The academic discipline in this case is rhetorical theory–one of the most ancient of all fields of study, dating back well before Plato and Aristotle but counting them both among its most famous practitioners. Rhetoricians study the business of the public–the res publica–with special attention to the way that people should make arguments in the public sphere–something that we don’t do particularly well in our own society in the current historical moment. I recently attempted my own book-length study of some of the same issues that Gore raises (minus the Book of Mormon), and I concur with both his methods and his conclusions in this book.
Though The Voice of the People cites passages from throughout the Book of Mormon, it is really a very close, very productive reading of the three consecutive chapters from Mosiah 29 through Alma 2. Though only a small portion of the overall text, these three chapters pack a lot of political punch. They describe 1) the transition of the Nephite state in Zarahemla from a monarchy to a reign of judges; 2) the appointment of Alma the Younger as both the Chief Judge and the Head of the Church; 3) the rise and execution of Nehor and the founding of a theological-political opposition party; and 4) the Amlicite rebellion and the civil war between the Christian-Judicialists lead by Alma and the Nehorian-Monarchists lead by Amlici.
Gore does a good job of situating these events in both a Book of Mormon and a biblical context. He only discusses them tangentially in a nineteenth-century American context (117-18), and he avoids the al pitfall of trying to wrench the Nephite idea of “the voice of the people” into something like a very early manifestation of Jacksonian democracy.–which, he makes clear, it was not. He is therefore content to draw some important rhetorical principles from the text that all of us could stand to learn and internalize today.
Gore begins with a strong chapter that shows how the transition from monarchy to judges in Mosiah 29 operates as a mirror image of the Old Testament transition from judges to monarchy in 1 Samuel 8-10. These two passages are clearly versions of the same type scene: Samuel, whose sons are not worthy to succeed him as one of the judges, asks the people what they want, and they say they want a king. Samuel unsuccessfully tries to talk them out of it, and they end up with kings. Mosiah, whose very worthy sons don’t want to be kings, asks the people what they want, and they say they want a king. Mosiah actually does talk them out of it, and they end up with judges.
There is an aspect of corrective typology here, with the Book of Mormon, in effect, righting the typological ship. But there is also an important dynamic in which both leaders–Samuel the judge and Mosiah the king–seek the input of the people while, at the same time, trying to use persuasion to steer them towards the right choice. Mosiah (one might argue) succeeds where Samuel fails because he is more persuasive. And, indeed, Mosiah’s discourse in Chapter 29 is a textbook case of a persuasive argument that builds on common values and shared experiences, while Samuel’s argument in 1 Samuel 8:10-19–roughly that kings suck and the Israelites are thickheaded idiots who will rue the day they challenged his authority–is a classic example of the kind of approach that never works.
Of course, Mosiah is working with a very different kind of state. His grandfather’s people came to Zarahemla as refugees and soon became monarchs (a story we don’t really know but could not have been without its own drama). In his own life, the city has accepted another large group of refugees from the Land of Nephi, who have brought with them a religion that has, in just a few short years, become something very close to a State Church. And to top it off, Mosiah has just translated the records of the Jaredites, whose constant tussle between secular and religious authority destroyed their civilization (the topic of Gore’s second chapter).
Gore’s analysis here is thoughtful and theoretically well informed. He does, though, miss what I would consider to be an extremely important opportunity to expand his argument by examining the rhetorical contexts in which these stories were ultimately incorporated into their larger arguments. The story of Samuel and Saul was part of the “Deuteronomistic History,” compiled during the Babylonian captivity to support a very specific rhetorical purpose. Likewise, the story of Mosiah was part of Mormon’s history, compiled during the last great battles of the Book of Mormon to support the narrative that we now call The Book of Mormon. Some attention to these ultimate rhetorical contexts and the objectives of the redactors could substantially deepen his analysis.
After discussing the connection of Mosiah 29 to the Old Testament, and its connection to the story of the Jaredites in the Book of Ether, Gore proceeds to read each of the three chapters in the sequence very closely, with impressive insights throughout.
From Mosiah 29, he draws a series of principles about the role of individuals in a functioning government. Acknowledging that the reign of the Judges was not quite a democracy, Gore credits Mosiah with bringing an “equality of responsibility” to the Zoramite polity (120). This means that people are seen as equal under the law. But it also means that people cannot blame their leaders when the nation goes astray. Unlike the Old Testament, which normally speaks of Israel’s righteousness as a collective evaluation largely dependent on the king, Mosiah insists that, under the judges, the people will have to accept responsibility for their own iniquity, as individuals.
And Mosiah also shifts the Old Testament definition of “iniquity” from “the worship of idols” to “the acceptance of inequalities among the people” (120-21). This becomes an important rhetorical principle in its own right, as it conditions the way that we should talk to each other and can be easily applied to contemporary discourse: we meet in the public sphere as equals, and we begin with the premise that we, and everybody we speak to, has an equal stake in society and responsibility for its success. Differences in education, income, age, and life experience neither increase our stake or decrease our responsibility. We participate in the affairs of the state, or the res publica, fully as equals.
As Gore moves to the first two chapters of Alma his arguments, while still very strong, proceed without naming a really important elephant in the room. And the name of the elephant is “When Alma the Younger Becomes the Head of Both Church and State, Religious Authority Gains a Coercive Authority that Makes Genuine Persuasive Discourse Really Problematic.” That is a long name, of course. But it is essential to the way that we analyze this text rhetorically. It is difficult to say much about the rhetorical contest between Alma and Nehor without acknowledging that the power imbalance–both religiously and politically–was enormously in Alma’s favor.
Bracketing this objection, though, Gore does a good job of showing that Nehor’s rhetorical style, as well as the content of his message, violates the “equality of responsibility” that Mosiah set in place. The two main points that Nehor makes are 1) priests should be supported by the people (which creates a distinct class of people who do not labor); and 2) that everybody is saved in the end (which makes nobody responsible for anything). And even though he holds all of the cards, Alma permits Nehor to express these ideas until he attempts to establish them by violence. By killing Gideon, Nehor takes his arguments out of the realm of rhetoric and persuasion and into the realm of force.
The execution of Nehor becomes the cause of a major civil war between two different political-religious ideas. These ideas were put to a vote–but, since voting itself was a contested principle, the result did not convince the losing side. Gore bravely, and I think quite correctly, places at least some of the blame for the war on the fact that “the judge-led regime did not do a good job of fostering a healthy rhetorical culture” (185). This is another vital insight: rhetoric, in the end, is what people do instead of killing each other–or, as the 20th century rhetorician Kenneth Burke called it, “the purification of war.” When rhetoric ceases to thrive in a society, the less pure forms of war are usually not long in coming. And when rhetoric becomes impossible, violence becomes inevitable.
The Voice of the People contains some of the most concise and powerful a descriptions of the rhetorical responsibility of citizenship–and of what Aristotle called philia politike, or “civic friendship”–as I have ever read. Latter-day Saints should be proud that our signature sacred book contains this kind of practical wisdom about relating to those we share society with, and grateful to David Gore for teasing it out of the text to share with us.
The academic discipline in this case is rhetorical theory–one of the most ancient of all fields of study, dating back well before Plato and Aristotle but counting them both among its most famous practitioners. Rhetoricians study the business of the public–the res publica–with special attention to the way that people should make arguments in the public sphere–something that we don’t do particularly well in our own society in the current historical moment. I recently attempted my own book-length study of some of the same issues that Gore raises (minus the Book of Mormon), and I concur with both his methods and his conclusions in this book.
Though The Voice of the People cites passages from throughout the Book of Mormon, it is really a very close, very productive reading of the three consecutive chapters from Mosiah 29 through Alma 2. Though only a small portion of the overall text, these three chapters pack a lot of political punch. They describe 1) the transition of the Nephite state in Zarahemla from a monarchy to a reign of judges; 2) the appointment of Alma the Younger as both the Chief Judge and the Head of the Church; 3) the rise and execution of Nehor and the founding of a theological-political opposition party; and 4) the Amlicite rebellion and the civil war between the Christian-Judicialists lead by Alma and the Nehorian-Monarchists lead by Amlici.
Gore does a good job of situating these events in both a Book of Mormon and a biblical context. He only discusses them tangentially in a nineteenth-century American context (117-18), and he avoids the al pitfall of trying to wrench the Nephite idea of “the voice of the people” into something like a very early manifestation of Jacksonian democracy.–which, he makes clear, it was not. He is therefore content to draw some important rhetorical principles from the text that all of us could stand to learn and internalize today.
Gore begins with a strong chapter that shows how the transition from monarchy to judges in Mosiah 29 operates as a mirror image of the Old Testament transition from judges to monarchy in 1 Samuel 8-10. These two passages are clearly versions of the same type scene: Samuel, whose sons are not worthy to succeed him as one of the judges, asks the people what they want, and they say they want a king. Samuel unsuccessfully tries to talk them out of it, and they end up with kings. Mosiah, whose very worthy sons don’t want to be kings, asks the people what they want, and they say they want a king. Mosiah actually does talk them out of it, and they end up with judges.
There is an aspect of corrective typology here, with the Book of Mormon, in effect, righting the typological ship. But there is also an important dynamic in which both leaders–Samuel the judge and Mosiah the king–seek the input of the people while, at the same time, trying to use persuasion to steer them towards the right choice. Mosiah (one might argue) succeeds where Samuel fails because he is more persuasive. And, indeed, Mosiah’s discourse in Chapter 29 is a textbook case of a persuasive argument that builds on common values and shared experiences, while Samuel’s argument in 1 Samuel 8:10-19–roughly that kings suck and the Israelites are thickheaded idiots who will rue the day they challenged his authority–is a classic example of the kind of approach that never works.
Of course, Mosiah is working with a very different kind of state. His grandfather’s people came to Zarahemla as refugees and soon became monarchs (a story we don’t really know but could not have been without its own drama). In his own life, the city has accepted another large group of refugees from the Land of Nephi, who have brought with them a religion that has, in just a few short years, become something very close to a State Church. And to top it off, Mosiah has just translated the records of the Jaredites, whose constant tussle between secular and religious authority destroyed their civilization (the topic of Gore’s second chapter).
Gore’s analysis here is thoughtful and theoretically well informed. He does, though, miss what I would consider to be an extremely important opportunity to expand his argument by examining the rhetorical contexts in which these stories were ultimately incorporated into their larger arguments. The story of Samuel and Saul was part of the “Deuteronomistic History,” compiled during the Babylonian captivity to support a very specific rhetorical purpose. Likewise, the story of Mosiah was part of Mormon’s history, compiled during the last great battles of the Book of Mormon to support the narrative that we now call The Book of Mormon. Some attention to these ultimate rhetorical contexts and the objectives of the redactors could substantially deepen his analysis.
After discussing the connection of Mosiah 29 to the Old Testament, and its connection to the story of the Jaredites in the Book of Ether, Gore proceeds to read each of the three chapters in the sequence very closely, with impressive insights throughout.
From Mosiah 29, he draws a series of principles about the role of individuals in a functioning government. Acknowledging that the reign of the Judges was not quite a democracy, Gore credits Mosiah with bringing an “equality of responsibility” to the Zoramite polity (120). This means that people are seen as equal under the law. But it also means that people cannot blame their leaders when the nation goes astray. Unlike the Old Testament, which normally speaks of Israel’s righteousness as a collective evaluation largely dependent on the king, Mosiah insists that, under the judges, the people will have to accept responsibility for their own iniquity, as individuals.
And Mosiah also shifts the Old Testament definition of “iniquity” from “the worship of idols” to “the acceptance of inequalities among the people” (120-21). This becomes an important rhetorical principle in its own right, as it conditions the way that we should talk to each other and can be easily applied to contemporary discourse: we meet in the public sphere as equals, and we begin with the premise that we, and everybody we speak to, has an equal stake in society and responsibility for its success. Differences in education, income, age, and life experience neither increase our stake or decrease our responsibility. We participate in the affairs of the state, or the res publica, fully as equals.
As Gore moves to the first two chapters of Alma his arguments, while still very strong, proceed without naming a really important elephant in the room. And the name of the elephant is “When Alma the Younger Becomes the Head of Both Church and State, Religious Authority Gains a Coercive Authority that Makes Genuine Persuasive Discourse Really Problematic.” That is a long name, of course. But it is essential to the way that we analyze this text rhetorically. It is difficult to say much about the rhetorical contest between Alma and Nehor without acknowledging that the power imbalance–both religiously and politically–was enormously in Alma’s favor.
Bracketing this objection, though, Gore does a good job of showing that Nehor’s rhetorical style, as well as the content of his message, violates the “equality of responsibility” that Mosiah set in place. The two main points that Nehor makes are 1) priests should be supported by the people (which creates a distinct class of people who do not labor); and 2) that everybody is saved in the end (which makes nobody responsible for anything). And even though he holds all of the cards, Alma permits Nehor to express these ideas until he attempts to establish them by violence. By killing Gideon, Nehor takes his arguments out of the realm of rhetoric and persuasion and into the realm of force.
The execution of Nehor becomes the cause of a major civil war between two different political-religious ideas. These ideas were put to a vote–but, since voting itself was a contested principle, the result did not convince the losing side. Gore bravely, and I think quite correctly, places at least some of the blame for the war on the fact that “the judge-led regime did not do a good job of fostering a healthy rhetorical culture” (185). This is another vital insight: rhetoric, in the end, is what people do instead of killing each other–or, as the 20th century rhetorician Kenneth Burke called it, “the purification of war.” When rhetoric ceases to thrive in a society, the less pure forms of war are usually not long in coming. And when rhetoric becomes impossible, violence becomes inevitable.
The Voice of the People contains some of the most concise and powerful a descriptions of the rhetorical responsibility of citizenship–and of what Aristotle called philia politike, or “civic friendship”–as I have ever read. Latter-day Saints should be proud that our signature sacred book contains this kind of practical wisdom about relating to those we share society with, and grateful to David Gore for teasing it out of the text to share with us.
April 16, 2020
My COVID-19 reading has been David Charles Gore's Voice of the People: Political Rhetoric in the Book of Mormon. Reading time, however, has been severely limited due to the fact that my commute time is now nil. I read in chunks of time between screaming children. I hope I can paint something semi-coherent in this review, so here it goes.
Voice of the People I believe was a find in the footnotes. Really, heading to the footnotes can uncover a lot of treasures, and this is one of them. To give a general overview of the book, it's an in-depth analysis of the transition chapters from the book of Mosiah to the book of Alma. Three chapters to be exact: Mosiah 29 (King Mosiah's letter to the people), Alma 1 (Nehor's challenge to Alma), and Alma (Amlici tries to make himself king). In my experience in lay Mormonism, these chapters these have a few traditional interpretations. Mosiah's speech is often interpreted as a defense of modern-day democracy (Gore makes clear in this book: it's not). Nehor's wickedness is broken down into five quick and easy ways to identify priestcraft (paid clergy == bad). And, at least for me, Amlici's rebellion is just a prelude to the long war chapters ahead, for better or for worse.
Gore pulls out a ton here that will help you get beyond the usual ruts you may find yourself in when reading these chapters in your Come Follow Me time. While the book has the title "political" in it and sounds like more scholarly than devotional, I wouldn't say the book is secular. To the contrary, the book tries to show just how much the Book of Mormon and its spiritual message applies to all areas of life. The Book of Mormon has something to say about how we approach politics, how we engage with communal matters and not just personal repentance. These things are actually inter-related, as Gore suggests.
It's hard to summarize this book, because there is so much good in it, so I will pick two aspects to stick to here. The first is Gore's very well-documented account of the inter-textual relationships of Mosiah 20-Alma 2, mostly with the account of King David in the book of Samuel in the Bible and the book of Ether in the Book of Mormon. I must not be an observant reader, because I hadn't ever made the connection between Samuel and King Mosiah. Gore considers them mirror images of each other. Samuel was a proto-king or king-maker who reluctantly ushered in a reign of kings, while King Mosiah was the last in a line of kings who initiated a reign of judges. I had also not made the connection that King Mosiah's translation of the record of the Brother of Jared may have influenced his opinion on kings, when that's what the whole narrative is about-- one unrighteous king after another. Have I even ever read the Book of Mormon? These connections aren't directly spelled out in the text, and do require the reader to be able to connect multiple narratives together. That's probably not something we are trained to do as Latter-Day Saints, because we tend to sit and read in small chunks, say a chapter a day. This pattern makes it very difficult to make connects, as I have usually forgotten everything from the previous chapter the next day.
The other aspect I'll focus on here has to do with Gore's concept of mournfulness. Gore introduces mournfulness so:
I hope to show that the Book of Mormon presents possibilities that rest on a serious-minded, mournful approach to public discourse. The effect, interestingly, is not pessimism or despair... Imagine the possibility of a rhetoric resting in thorough awareness of one's own shortcomings, speakers fully prepared to answer for their own faults, and citizens ready and willing to accept the burden and responsibility of governing.
This idea of mournfulness is rooted in the idea that there are some things that we can't fix:
Samuel was constrained to navigate, as everyone must, immediate political exigencies while striving after what is best... The frustration of trying to set right what can never be fully set right persists in all such stories.
We will always run up against the limits of mortality and human nature. In this regard, I couldn't help but think of Jerry Muller's introduction in Conservatism: An Anthology of Social and Political Thought from David Hume to the Present. Muller argues that conservatism isn't just a reactionary response to the new, but rather has some solid principles on which it is built across time and space. One of those is the acceptance of human imperfection-- and imperfectability:
Conservative thought has typically emphasized the imperfection of the individual, an imperfection at once biological, emotional, and cognitive... Conservatives typically contend that human moral imperfection leads men to act badly when they act upon their uncontrolled impulses, and that they require the constraints imposed by institutions as a limit upon subjective impulse.
If this constitutes conservatism, I would say that Gore's argument would fall under it. Small-c conservatism, mind you, because this by no means matches the contemporary Republican party. There were lines where this perhaps became more obvious. Read this line:
Idolatry is, in rhetorical terms, an oversimplification of problems or an overconfident commitment to failed solutions. Idolatry grows out of and fosters idleness because it is rooted in promises that are simple to make but difficult to fulfill. It shifts the burden of deliverance upon a person, object, or concept that does not have the power to deliver.
I couldn't help but think that, without saying it, Gore was alluding to socialism and Bernie Sanders. Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn't. I'm not saying that Gore is endorsing a political platform. He's not. And Gore also makes clear he isn't all for accepting the status quo, or just dealing with the injustices of the day. Instead, he is arguing that we have to be ready for failure. Just because there are no perfect answers doesn't mean we should stop trying to make the world a better place. We need a humbled optimism. It reminds me of the beautiful story from Judaism shared by Rabbi Jonathan Sacks:
Shevirat ha-kelim ('breaking of vessels') [is a] catastrophe theory of creation. God, in making the world, could not leave it devoid of his presence. He therefore sent rays of light. The light was, however, too intense for its containers, which thereby broke, scattering fragments of light throughout the world. It is our task to gather up these fragments, wherever they are, and restore them to their proper place. Hence, the [final] idea: tikkun, healing a fractured world. Each religious act we do has an effect on the ecology of creation. It restores something of lost harmony to the cosmos.
February 18, 2020
In The Voice of the People, Dr Gore explores the political rhetoric in the Book of Mormon, particularly during a time when the ancient civilization transitioned from a king to a reign of judges. As a lifelong student of the Book of Mormon, I found new gems of insight from Gore’s approach and analysis, particularly in the overlooked political lessons found in its pages.
The Voice of the People caused me to reflect on my own political journey from ignorance to zealous conservatism to disillusionment at the corruption and contention in politics. Dr. Gore iterates what I have long since come to believe--that the governments that cause the most harm include those that believe they can or should solve all human problems. Dr. Gore states that “many of the problems human beings face do not lend themselves to solutions. Our greatest struggle, coming to terms with corruption and mortality, is not an easy one. To go too far in one direction is often to invite new problems rather than results.”
In truth, we live in a fallen world for an eternal purpose and solving all problems is not only impossible but erroneous. History teaches that forcing mortality on any group of people ends in chaos and destruction. Dr. Gore states, “To believe that there are easy solutions to public problems is to misunderstand the soul-sickness at the center of the human condition.” Real solutions are not found in politics but in individual goodness and righteousness.
Yet the author challenges my current detachment from the political scene with this observation: “To do nothing is inexcusable when we have been given so many tools and abilities to address our material and spiritual needs. Our challenge is to make sure that we do not vainly oversimplify the problems we face or vainly pursue solutions that overpromise on what can be accomplished. We work to repair the world while admitting that we cannot fix everything.”
Dr. Gore has inspired me to once again dust off my winter boots, so to speak, pull on my wax jacket, and face the bitterness of an England winter if there are people to save and conditions to improve. I seek to find political balance. To engage without caving to caustic rhetoric. To persuade while fostering agency. To serve instead of criticize.
To always vote for the righteous judge instead of a king.
The Voice of the People caused me to reflect on my own political journey from ignorance to zealous conservatism to disillusionment at the corruption and contention in politics. Dr. Gore iterates what I have long since come to believe--that the governments that cause the most harm include those that believe they can or should solve all human problems. Dr. Gore states that “many of the problems human beings face do not lend themselves to solutions. Our greatest struggle, coming to terms with corruption and mortality, is not an easy one. To go too far in one direction is often to invite new problems rather than results.”
In truth, we live in a fallen world for an eternal purpose and solving all problems is not only impossible but erroneous. History teaches that forcing mortality on any group of people ends in chaos and destruction. Dr. Gore states, “To believe that there are easy solutions to public problems is to misunderstand the soul-sickness at the center of the human condition.” Real solutions are not found in politics but in individual goodness and righteousness.
Yet the author challenges my current detachment from the political scene with this observation: “To do nothing is inexcusable when we have been given so many tools and abilities to address our material and spiritual needs. Our challenge is to make sure that we do not vainly oversimplify the problems we face or vainly pursue solutions that overpromise on what can be accomplished. We work to repair the world while admitting that we cannot fix everything.”
Dr. Gore has inspired me to once again dust off my winter boots, so to speak, pull on my wax jacket, and face the bitterness of an England winter if there are people to save and conditions to improve. I seek to find political balance. To engage without caving to caustic rhetoric. To persuade while fostering agency. To serve instead of criticize.
To always vote for the righteous judge instead of a king.
May 9, 2025
Family got this book for me because it seemed right up my alley, and I thought so too.
Unfortunately, this book is in serious need of a good editor. I struggled to get through the introductory pages as the author repeated themself multiple times in new combinations of words that felt like the kind of thing I would have written if I was trying to stretch out an essay and hit a particular word count. It's ironic to read a book on rhetoric that can't make its point clearly, but that is what happened.
If this book got a serious do-over, I'd give it another shot, but its insights and ideas are seriously diluted by the inefficiency and excessiveness of the writing.
Unfortunately, this book is in serious need of a good editor. I struggled to get through the introductory pages as the author repeated themself multiple times in new combinations of words that felt like the kind of thing I would have written if I was trying to stretch out an essay and hit a particular word count. It's ironic to read a book on rhetoric that can't make its point clearly, but that is what happened.
If this book got a serious do-over, I'd give it another shot, but its insights and ideas are seriously diluted by the inefficiency and excessiveness of the writing.
April 5, 2020
I found this book to be extremely valuable. It helped me not only to understand a very specific moment of political transition in the Book of Mormon but perhaps more importantly it persuaded me that the Book of Mormon offers political wisdom for our time. Gore brings to bear a wealth of understanding about political rhetoric in his reading of the Book of Mormon but the argument doesn't get lost in jargon or in efforts by the author to showcase himself. It simply illuminates the wisdom found in the text in ways that I found original and very inspiring.
January 22, 2021
Thought provoking -- especially in light of recent events.
August 31, 2020
This is a fascinating study of the use of rhetoric in the Book of Mormon. Gore focuses on Mosiah 29, Alma 1, and Alma 2. Which address a tumultuous period in Nephite history, including dissolution of the Nephite monarchy, the establishment of the Reign of the Judges, the antichrist Nehor, and concluding in the Amlicite Civil War. One of the fascinating insights which Gore establishes are the similarities between the prophet Samuel of the Old Testament and King Mosiah.
Gore address the impact of Mosiah’s translation of the Jaredite record had upon him and his decisions on what to do with the Nephite monarchy in the wake of his sons declining the throne. Perhaps witnessing the same weaknesses that had led to the downfall of the ancient Jaredites led Mosiah to undertake to establish a form of government that could endure civil war and avoid the fate of the Jaredites. After seeking the will of his people and finding that they desired a king, Gore shows how Mosiah employs rhetoric to teach the people about the dangers of monarchy, while also offering up a defense of it. The king does this, not to confuse, but to compare just and unjust rulers.
For anyone interested in Book of Mormon studies this is an excellent contribution and well worth the read.
Gore address the impact of Mosiah’s translation of the Jaredite record had upon him and his decisions on what to do with the Nephite monarchy in the wake of his sons declining the throne. Perhaps witnessing the same weaknesses that had led to the downfall of the ancient Jaredites led Mosiah to undertake to establish a form of government that could endure civil war and avoid the fate of the Jaredites. After seeking the will of his people and finding that they desired a king, Gore shows how Mosiah employs rhetoric to teach the people about the dangers of monarchy, while also offering up a defense of it. The king does this, not to confuse, but to compare just and unjust rulers.
For anyone interested in Book of Mormon studies this is an excellent contribution and well worth the read.
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