Mountain

When Moses was “caught up into an exceedingly high mountain,” he saw God face to face and talked with him (Moses 1:1⁠–2). The detail is easy to pass over, yet the scriptures return to it so often that the climb itself seems to carry meaning. A mountain is a natural elevation of land rising well above its surroundings. In scripture it is also the place where heaven and earth meet, where prophets go to receive revelation and where covenants are made. The English word comes through the Old French montaigne from the Latin mons. Its Hebrew counterpart, har, names both literal peaks and “the mountain of the Lord’s house.”

The mountain as the first temple

Sinai is the clearest example. Before the Lord came down upon the mountain, the people were told to sanctify themselves and wash their clothes, and bounds were set around its base so that no one would approach unprepared (Exodus 19:10⁠–12). Only Moses went up into the cloud. Read carefully, the account describes a sanctuary: a sacred space divided into zones of increasing holiness, with access granted according to preparation.

Moriah carries the same associations. After the binding of Isaac, Abraham named the place in words that later readers took as a promise: “In the mount of the Lord it shall be seen” (Genesis 22:14). Sacrifice, covenant, and divine presence meet on the summit, and Solomon’s temple would later stand on the same height.

Where no mountain was available, the temple took its place. Isaiah foresaw that “the mountain of the Lord’s house shall be established in the top of the mountains,” and that many people would go up to it to learn of God’s ways (Isaiah 2:2⁠–3). Latter-day Saints have long applied the verse to their own temples. The design of those temples, with its progression from outer rooms to inner ones, preserves the pattern of ascent even on level ground.

Why must we climb?

Of course, God can reveal himself anywhere, and sometimes does. Why, then, do the scriptures so often send prophets uphill? Part of the answer lies in the effort itself. The brother of Jared carried sixteen small stones up Mount Shelem, having already done what he could to solve the problem of light for his people’s vessels, before he asked the Lord to touch them (Ether 3:1⁠–6). The revelation that followed exceeded anything he had asked for. Grace answered his effort and went far beyond it.

There is a practical side to this as well. Mountains are places of separation. Those who climb them leave the noise of the camp below and come into a quieter space where attention can be gathered. The temple serves the same purpose, and so, at their best, do the disciplines of study and prayer. Each sets apart a place and a time where the distractions of ordinary life fall away and the mind can turn toward God.

The same pattern appears at the Mount of Transfiguration, where Jesus took Peter, James, and John “up into an high mountain apart” and was transfigured before them, his face shining as the sun (Matthew 17:1⁠–2). The Mormon Transhumanist Association takes its name from this event. Transfiguration is the change of a human body into a glorified state, and the scriptures place it on a mountain, at the end of a climb.

The stone that became a mountain

Daniel interpreted a dream in which a stone “cut out without hands” struck the great image of the world’s kingdoms, and the stone itself “became a great mountain, and filled the whole earth” (Daniel 2:34⁠–35). Latter-day Saints have read the passage as a prophecy of the kingdom of God in the last days. The mountain in this vision grows. It begins as a small stone and enlarges until it covers the world.

Mormon Transhumanists find in the image a fitting description of how Zion might come. A small community, faithful to its covenants and diligent in its learning, gains capability over time. Its knowledge compounds, its means of healing and providing multiply, and its reach extends until the whole earth benefits. In this reading, the mountain of the Lord’s house becomes a civilization lifted toward God.

Of course, upward building carries risk. The tower of Babel was also an attempt to reach heaven, and it ended in confusion. Its builders sought to make a name for themselves. The mountain of the Lord’s house draws people to learn God’s ways and walk in his paths. Technological ascent belongs on that mountain only when it is joined to covenant and directed toward the good of all.

The invitation to ascend

Said differently, the mountain is an invitation. It asks those who would know God to prepare themselves, to make the effort of the climb, and to trust that what they find at the summit will exceed what they brought. The ascent of individual souls toward God’s presence and the elevation of the whole earth toward Zion are parts of a single work, and the scriptures place both on the heights.