Phelps' Miscalculation

An obscure tidbit that you as a member of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints may have heard is that "Joseph Smith said that an eternity is 2.555 billion years long." I heard this again the other day, so I instigated an investigation. Christopher C. Smith, he exposes the origins of this idea in a 2008 blog post. Apparently the number comes from Times and Seasons, the Church's periodical at the time (1844). W. W. Phelps sent a letter to William Smith that was reproduced in the January 1st edition. The paragraph of concern is

[E]ternity, agreeably to the records found in the catacombs of Egypt, has been going on in this system, (not this world) almost two thousand five hundred and fifty five millions of years: and to know at the same time, that deists, geologists and others are trying to prove that matter must have existed hundreds of thousands of years;-it almost tempts the flesh to fly to God, or muster faith like Enoch to be translated and see and know as we are seen and known! (empasis added)

 Bruce R. McConkie quoted this figure in a 1987 speech given at BYU. It was written about in the Mormon Interpreter. So where did this number come from, and does it even make sense?

Look at the universe.

All analysts seem to agree that W. W. Phelps took the statements in Peter and Abraham that 1000 years on Earth is but a day to the Lord, the statement in D&C 77 that the Earth has 7000 years of temporal existence, and the fact that a terrestrial year consists of approximately 365 days, and derived a value from these. 1000*7000*365 = 2.555E9, precisely the number Phelps states. But let's perform unit analysis on this.

1000 Earth years	x 7000 Kolob years x	365 Kolob days	= 2.555E9 Earth years
1 Kolob day		1 Kolob year

Seems kosher, right? Not. There are a few grievous assumptions made in this calculation. First, there is no way of know how many years are in a Kolob year. Even in our own solar system you have planets whose years range from 0.24 to 248.1 Earth years (if you include Pluto). A planet that orbits our sun called Sedna has a year of around 12,000 Earth years. At is aphelion, it's over 900 times father from the sun than Earth is. So assuming a 365-day Kolob year is erroneous when most planets in existence vary from this.

Second false assumption, 7000 Kolob years. First, the 7000 number comes from D&C 77:6 where it's said that the 7 seals on the book that John the Beloved saw are the seven thousand years of the Earth's temporal existence. It further states that only about 6000 of those years have passed, so even if the calculation was accurate, you'd have to replace 7000 Kolob years with 6000. Reading the actual revelation of John reveals characteristics of each of the seals that are identifiable with historical events. The 7000 years are clearly referring to Earth years. It's silly to start assuming every period of time given in the scriptures are not what it appears. That would imply that the Millennium is going to be 365 million Earth years long, the same length as each of the seals.

Another issue. The creation story begins with the Earth; it doesn't touch upon previous events. In Moses 1:35 God says, "There are many worlds that have passed away by the word of my power." He's made countless worlds like Earth that have already passed through existence. If this universe is about 14 billion years old and the Earth 4.5, God's been around a lot longer than Phelp's calculation proposes. And He hasn't done anything that disagrees with what we observe. If we find proof that the Earth is 4.5E9 years old, then goshdarnit, that's when God made it. 

But proof is hard to find. Evidence is easier. You can draw multiple conclusions from evidence. You can only draw one (sound) conclusion from proof. People will debate how to interpret collected data. I am currently quite convinced on the dating of the Earth and universe.

To Letchera: A Nonsense Poem

I started this a while ago but just finished it last night. It's inspired by Lewis Carroll's Jaberwocky. I don't know whether I'll rework it at some point in the future. Hope you like it!

I sopped a bit of bintle in my ebolestic broth,
Though frettled at the farlow that the spintel fellow quoth,
"'Tis lomesy and bewretched whence we letcherants do roam,
The meanest apocarthy wouldn't dare our crembous home.
The alkaline distincture and the lepazani tare
Categorize and extincture proseletics do beware.
Curcudgeon though a phalanx might through frome and slaken dust,
The legion’s mallegoric crow would pitter in the crust."

I tarrowed as I heard the laird escape the fellow's jaw,
Proposity seized and I abbreaved the challenge he laid askraw.
"To haunt an eng toward the same ascriptions you've applayed
Has always been surriliquous, a passion that abade.
So if you chantly danter and consent to be my guide,
To morrow neath a curbid dawn, to Letchera we ride."
Thus two hands struck a crimping twee that eve in Coelath Bray.
We nestled then in giltered dreams as darkness crept astray.

To aft a fortnight of a sudden lingered rife with prints,
And there astride the edgelands skriggled out my frame a wince.
The beasts that bear our burdens tarrowed treadless at the frome;
We lighted of and sauntered in whence letcherants do roam.
“Beware,” said he, “the craddleswee.” And motioned to the dirt.
A flint of fang betrayed the same, a grithing beast alert.
“And fear,” he said, “the straffoged. ‘Twill nay but feed ye death.”
I spied it gripping fast a branch and twithered out a breath.

Of time diurnal or nocturnal no sign I apprehended,
‘Twas a fortnight out from Coelath Bray the sun had last ascended.
The lomesy dank enthronged us so, it leckered in my skin,
And nigh a corpse, with fainting pulse, the destert cough began.
I hearkened half-hearted ‘tween haken hacks to hear the howl of Harn,
The echos embearing a promise that my passing would be warm.
‘Twas all for vain, my eared strains, the yowl not once arose—
Least from the throat of Harn—but me, I howled whilst in remose.

Through hacks and twithering, porous yowls, bemoaned I every second,
Adjuring time to wander back then fail at being reckoned.
“O, currish day in Coelath Bray,” I was so wont to groan.
My sevid guide of Letchera would gander me and done,
“Ye fromey, stanched Gevatheran, ‘twas ye what forced me here!
Ye’ll swiftly feed the craddleswee, and dust shall be yer bier.
I’m brisling o’er with all yer fuss, so twain a choice I lay,
Ye kinter tight yer lips anon, or skraw straight back to Bray!”

So on we strode, our pace unlenting, driven by depravity,
Body ‘long with thoughts yon deeper into obfuscavity.
The bractle waste disumed my flesh and dribbled on my soul;
A baling knell in the hintermind, droned death at each a toll.
The anguish tore me straight and savage, hope was but remote,
I teetered off the brink and wailed a blade out of my throat.
A grisled hand clamped o’er my mouth, and harshly spat my guide,
“You’ve sentenced us, Gevatheran. We’ve functerally died!”

He conjured strength from realms unknown to Gevaths such as I,
And darting ‘tween great palls of gloom, defined the verb ‘to fly.’
I stippled off in idle chase, dread heelnips from from a foe,
To my request for motion rejured back my body, “No.”
My drasted yelp of agony belied our dire state,
‘Twas answered by the craddleswee and teeth preclined to sate.
So there I lay, my folly oozing, pining after home,
My final breath a twithered sigh with lips upon the frome.

Making the Cut and Fictional Hormesis

Book lengths, who doesn't complain about them? I sure do. Sometimes they're too short, but I mostly find myself labeling them as too long. How useful and valid are such statements?

I thought of addressing this topic when I came across this statement in a two-star review of the Mistborn trilogy by Brandon Sanderson:

At around 700 pages per book, Sanderson (or his editors) got really bad at separating what's necessary for storytelling from pointless drivel. In book 2, for example, the first 500 pages could be summed up as city under siege, Eland is a philosopher and not a ruler, gets overthrown.

First off, I'm always interested in reading the contrary side of things. If I liked a book, it helps me understand people better by learning why they didn't. Same for any political of religious issue. I think a certain way, so what is it that convinces you to think otherwise? But sentence 2 quoted above clearly shows the reviewer's lack of understanding of prose.

You see, every single book that you read can be summarized. But that's not the point. No one doing leisure reading just wants the summary. It's all about engrossing yourself in the plot and going through experiences with the characters. When I read the line city under siege, I really don't give a hoot about it. But when I read the book and I know the characters, it comes alive and I feel a portion of what they (theoretically) went through. That's the power of prose.

But certainly there's a point where it becomes too much. I found myself thinking this as I read Name of the Wind by Partick Rothfuss. I definitely enjoyed the book, but I felt as if a little too much time was spent on unnecessary description. I think I would have enjoyed the book a fair amount more had it been 100 or so pages shorter. It would still be over 600 pages long, but the story would move just a bit faster.

In the end, it's up to the writer to decide when the story is far too pregnant or barren. That's a good way to think of it. I've read some stories that were so pregnant I got morning sickness. I'm just sitting there thinking give birth already! But at the same time, you can strip any story down until it's just a plot summary. There are things that I write that don't straightway contribute to the plot, but they contribute to the overall experience. A good author knows when the threshold is crossed where these ancillary anecdotes start detracting. This is called hormesis, or the too much of a good thing model. Figure out how it works.