Brian, the historian would look for corroborating testimony — you would be the best and most obvious corroboration, but if your testimony were not available, perhaps other missionaries serving with you heard you tell the story at the time, or you might have written to your parents or spoken about it at your homecoming (you’ve already said you didn’t write home, but assuming the historian didn’t know that or was being extremely thorough, it’s still a potential source).

The historian would verify as many details as possible to check the credibility of the available testimony — discovering from contemporary mission records, for instance, that your office position was remembered incorrectly would raise a red flag about accuracy, but confirming from those same records that you were in that mission at the time and had been Elder Ortega’s companion would support the probability of accuracy.

Because of the occasional awkward wording of Elder Ortega’s writing, the historian would recognize that English was not his first language and would allow for the possibility of communication difficulties. That might not play too big a role here, but if there were some very crucial point that would either confirm or disprove the story, the historian might consult a Spanish speaker, especially one familiar with Elder Ortega’s region, to find out whether the critical point could possibly be a literal translation of a colloquialism, or have some other linguistic explanation.

If there were a written record — if either of you had recorded this incident in a diary or a letter home — the contemporary record would generally be considered more reliable than one recorded 15 years later. However, even that rule isn’t absolute — if you had written home about it, you might have softened some of the details to spare your parents worry, and the historian would have to consider that possibility.

Even if you didn’t record this incident in your journal, there still might be relevant clues in your journal. If, for instance, you had recorded each day which scriptural chapters you and your companion studied, and your journal indicated that you and Elder Ortega had been studying specific Book of Mormon chapters instead of D&C sections that week, the record would cast doubt on that part of the story.

The writer’s motive for telling the story where and when and how he did would also be evaluated. Elder Ortega published this on a faithful mission website — could he have been (even subconsciously) exaggerating the critical points to strengthen the story’s appeal to that audience? If he had written about the experience as an apostate on an anti-Mormon website and had written in a mocking tone, that bias would also be important to note. If telling his story worked against his obvious self interest (if he spoke of divine protection, for instance, after he had become a bitter opponent of Mormonism), that would tend to add to his credibility.

The historian might also consider the story’s elements to see how closely they fit known folkloric patterns. He would consider how this missionary behavior fits what he knows of human nature. He might visit the site to see whether such a hill and cave exist, and how accurately they are described.

In short, there’s no way to “prove” the story in the sense of scientific or even legal proof. How much effort goes into verifying the story depends on the story’s importance in the historian’s work. The more sources available, the better the historian’s evaluation is apt to be.

Some of these techniques — looking for the hill and cave — seem laughable in this particular instance. Yet those are exactly the kinds of techniques used to verify or disprove details of Joseph Smith’s story, where the stakes are so high.

Memory is such as elusive thing – this is why the first vision stories are so varied after the fact. The scary part is that I wonder how many of my memories are actually accurate or have they been twisted?

Btw- Did you know an Elder David Porter from Mesa, Arizona? I believe he served in your mission from 1989-1991.

BTW, the layout of this page is messed up in Firefox.

Brian, I do remember an Elder Porter. I think he was the AP when I arrived.

Ardis, thank you for every word of your response. I found it fascinating. I’m going to comment at greater length when I get home from work.

A wonderful story, and the questions it raises are more interesting. Mark Twain said, “A man that can spell a word in only one way shows a serious lack of imagination.”
As for story-telling, Twain would go even further. No two people ever see the same event the same way, and in fact, there really can be no “same event,” no purely objective set of facts. Even the sober physicists now tell us the same thing–watching a specific phenomenon actually changes the behavior of that phenom. It’s great fun to ask brothers and sisters in the same family to recount an event they all experienced. The differences in accounts often tell us as much about the teller as about the event.

You know, I have an idea. I think I’ll write down about something that happened and then look up and see what I wrote about it in my journal. I think it’s completely feasible that Joseph Smith remembered different details of the First Vision.

In case anyone’s wondering, Rosalynde has not changed.

I think she’s glad I survived so she could kill me again and again. Why can’t she grasp how two simple words like “to death” improve any sentence?

For example: Some people annoy me…TO DEATH!

Thanks for the back up, Mark IV.

Thanks for reading, Elouise. I love that Mark Twain quote.

My personal favorite recording of “history” is from Zebedee Coltrin, who–perhaps more than anyone–was responsible for the Church solidifying the priesthood restriction. (I don’t consider that it was fully solidified until 1908.) Coltrin, in 1879, was present at an important meeting to determine whether Elijah Abel, a bi-racial man, could receive his endowment. Abel had already been ordained to the priesthood and had been washed and anointed in the Kirtland Temple. With Brigham Young (who had strong racialist views) dead, John Taylor was left to decide the issue when Able petitioned to receive his endowment. Pres. Tayler had Abraham Smoot and Coltrin tell what they knew regarding Joseph Smith’s views on the matter. Smoot said he was told not to ordain any slave to the priesthood (no surprise). Coltrin got more specific and said that back in 1839 or so, he had been arguing with a Brother Green, and that they approached Joseph Smith to resolve the question of whether or not Blacks could hold the priesthood. According to Coltrin–forty years after the event supposedly occurred–Joseph Smith bowed his head and said, “No, the spirit says the black man hath no right to the priesthood.” Coltrin further claimed that Elijah Abel’s priesthood was revoked when his “race was discovered” and that he was removed from the quorum–a charge which was almost immediately countered by Joseph F. Smith, who produced two certificates verifying Abel’s status in the priesthood, including a RE-certification in 1841 and another issued in Salt Lake City. Coltrin didn’t remember a few other details quite right either. But the effect of his statement was profound. We still live with the consequences.

I like your last paragraph, Ardis. The older I get, the more I look at things in that frame of mind. Memory is so tricky.

I think interpretation is part of recording experiences as well, because we all see things differently based on our own frame of reference.

I was a witness to a car accident once and I thought it had happened in a way that it couldn’t possibly have happened based on the facts of the way each driver was headed. I looked right at it and thought I saw something I didn’t.

That was a blow :). Boy did I feel stupid.

I’m still going to write something and look it up in my journal and see what I wrote. I’ve kept a journal since 1973, not a great one, but fairly consistent. I’m going to go back a ways.

I have a second or third cousin (also known as an Elder Bartholomew) who drowned in Lago Atitlan (Guatemala).

The story I heard was that he was on a boat on the lake, because he and his companion were going to a site to get some data that was needed for baptismal papers.

Coincidentally, the date he drowned happened to be my 19th birthday. I was called to serve in Guatemala, but not in the same mission.

That’s a tragic story, danithew. It makes me feel even more lucky, and it makes me think about all the stories about the Destroyer Riding on the Waters. I personally have always dismissed such stories, and have always figured the reasons missionaries have such stringent rules about avoiding the water to be a simple issue of safety, and common sense.

I’m glad I didn’t die, for the obvious reasons, of course, and also because the last thing I would have wanted is for my family to spend years questioning my obedience, or whether there was some supernatural element to my death.

Ardis,

Sorry it took so long to respond to your great comments. Some weird technical glitch.

It’s interesting. This story first came to my attention when a former companion sent me the link and told me that he had heard a different version, so that at least makes me feel that if this was a historically significant event than discrepancies might spur further investigation.

To me personally, revisiting the site of my near-demise doesn’t sound the least bit crazy. If I ever make it back to Chaiten I’m sure I could find it, and that it would be unchanged. I’d have to go at the right time of day though because I’m sure half the time it is underwater.

The more I think about it, and after reading your responses, my trust in history and historians has increased. Most of the crucial facts, that Elder Ortega and I served together, that we nearly drowned, that we felt lucky that we didn’t, are all easily recoverable and verifiable, and this is without any contemporary records that I know of, and no useful journal entries or letters home on my part.

I wanted to ask you some questions.

First, even though you insist storytelling and history are not synonymous, and I agree, don’t you have to admit that historians are storytellers, and that they place great signifigance on the stories they tell? To me that’s not much different from pointing out meaning.

I also wanted to ask you how much historians account for the desire to entertain when examining oral accounts and written texts? I know when I tell people the story that’s typically my motivation, and I think that was also Elder Ortega’s motivation here too, but also ending the story like a testimony would suggest to me that he also wants to inspire.

Also do historians just naturally assume authors will try to make themselves look good? If I want to be more credible should I make myself look bad? When I consider what I might write down and compare it with what Elder Ortega has already written I have to smile. I think we’ll both be more heroic than our counterparts in our respective accounts. I guess that shouldn’t be too surprising, but at the same time I think we’d both spare some details to protect each others’ reputations as well. It’s got to be hard for historians to detect if someone wants to impugn or protect another individual.

Finally, I’m really intrigued by what you said about the folkloric patterns you bring up. My mission was steeped in stories about missionaries dying in freak accidents for even just getting close to water. I loved these stories, even though I didn’t believe them, and I find it ironic that something very similar nearly happened to me. From a historian’s perspective does the pervasiveness of such stories diminish the credibilty of the story?

And let’s say, for example, that Elder Ortega and I both came out of the water convinced that we had been surrounded by an evil presence, and that it wasn’t until we prayed in the waves that we felt physically lifted out of the water by a being we assumed was an angel. Imagine that our separate stories were surprisingly consistent. Would your typical historian use mission-drowning folklore, D&C 61, and LDS beliefs in angels in an effort to discredit our story?

See, you’re not the only one who can write a long comment.

I brought home a pile of books from the library on the Mountain Meadow Massacre and the history of this valley (Cedar City, Parowan) and I’ve quite enjoyed browsing through them.

I find it incredibly coincidental that my research is happening at the same time that we’re having this discussion. I’ve always thought “historian” sounded like a rather boring job, almost insignificant, but I can see the importance now.

In light of what we’re talking about here, it’s even more important. Juanita Brooks’ reasonable tone is drastically different from Sally Denton. Both wrote about the massacre, but Sally’s is full of small negative inaccuracies about the church–her bias is glaring, while Brooks’ radiate unflinching honesty without disrespect.

I don’t think I have a clue what makes a historian different than somebody who just writes a book on a historical event. I’m thinking of your questions, Brian, and I’d like to know the answers as well.

Brian — This kind of conversation is exactly what I hoped for when I stumbled across the blogs. Thanks!

First, even though you insist storytelling and history are not synonymous, and I agree, don’t you have to admit that historians are storytellers, and that they place great signifigance on the stories they tell? To me that’s not much different from pointing out meaning.

Good historians, or at least historians who want people to read their work, are also good storytellers, that’s true. While no historian anymore claims that his work is “objective,” historians do try to stay as close to that ideal as possible, in that they try to stick to demonstrable facts. History is naturalistic (we can’t demonstrate facts about God, including His existence) and amoral (we don’t claim something is intrinsically righteous or evil). History can’t say that Elders Gibson and Ortega were rescued by an angel – although, if you said you were, history could record that Elders Gibson and Ortega made that claim. History can’t say that it’s good or bad for elders to obey mission instructions about not swimming – although history could record that Elder X drowned while swimming, which was against mission rules.

Storytelling, on the other hand, can use history to make a point that is beyond the power of history. Your story of near-drowning can be used by a storyteller (which doesn’t mean “fiction” teller) to make the point that God is intimately involved with the lives of his children. Annegb’s beautifully written “Family Secrets” post goes beyond what history alone can do: “It’s possible that as I sang ‘A Balm in Gilead’ I was doing so as a family member of both the murdered and the murderers” is, on the surface, a purely factual statement – yet it stirs a thrill in the reader who recognizes the irony and whose mind and emotions immediately leap to the possibilities of what it would mean in a person’s life and in a family’s dynamics. On that level, it doesn’t matter whether or not it is objectively true that she is genealogically in both camps.

I also wanted to ask you how much historians account for the desire to entertain when examining oral accounts and written texts? … also ending the story like a testimony would suggest to me that he also wants to inspire.

In my opinion, motives for writing and identifying the intended audience are always important considerations in evaluating accuracy, because in my experience it’s human nature to color our memories and our stories according to what we deeply want to believe and the effect we want to have.

Also do historians just naturally assume authors will try to make themselves look good? If I want to be more credible should I make myself look bad?

I don’t think historians automatically assume that – it’s just one of the considerations that might help a historian evaluate the evidence. I don’t think Elder Ortega tries to make himself look either particularly good or bad in his version of events, so this isn’t much of a consideration in this case. If he had made himself fully the hero of the story – you insisted on going into the water while he warned you of the danger; he saved your life when you gave up; he powerfully rebuked the destroyer through priesthood power while you stood by too terrified to help – then there would be a reason to look more closely. And don’t try to manipulate your credibility – that will come through whether you manipulate up or down! Some people, like Arthur Henry King, have noted that it is Joseph Smith’s very simplicity in relating his incredible story that first convinced them of its credibility. Tell the truth as well as you can.

Finally, I’m really intrigued by what you said about the folkloric patterns you bring up. … From a historian’s perspective does the pervasiveness of such stories diminish the credibilty of the story?

It doesn’t automatically diminish credibility, but demands a very close look. Your story breaks the folkloric pattern in an important way: We have names and a place and at least an approximate date, rather than the usual “This happened to an elder in a district down south just before I came to a mission – I heard it from a guy who was in the same district with him.” With your story, we have the possibility of verifying or correcting objective details. As for the subjective details, an historian more familiar than I am with folklore studies would probably consider whether folklore could have shaped how you perceived or remembered events – e.g., if you identified one of the Three Nephites as coming to your rescue before suddenly vanishing, it wouldn’t necessarily diminish the possibility that you had had an unusual experience, but it might signal some other forces at work beyond pure memory.

And let’s say, for example, that Elder Ortega and I both came out of the water convinced that we had been surrounded by an evil presence, and that it wasn’t until we prayed in the waves that we felt physically lifted out of the water by a being we assumed was an angel. Imagine that our separate stories were surprisingly consistent. Would your typical historian use mission-drowning folklore, D&C 61, and LDS beliefs in angels in an effort to discredit our story?

Historians aren’t always trying to discredit stories, really! All the historian wants to do is weigh the likelihood of accuracy in the observable facts – date, place, personnel, observable actions, reported claims. Those evaluations could as likely support the accuracy of the account as to discredit it. An historian who takes notice of mission folklore, scripture, and folk belief would do so only to consider how such things might have shaped your perceptions or the way you structured your memory. The more accurate the details the historian can verify, the more likely it is that you are recalling events as you actually experienced them, even if they follow folklore patterns. The more inaccuracies in objective, demonstrable facts, the more likely the possibility that your memory is playing tricks on you in the unverifiable details, too.

See, you’re not the only one who can write a long comment.

Yeah but I think I’m the champion THIS time! :-)