The Forgotten History: Father Crespi and the True Legacy of the Americas
My father’s office was a treasure trove of knowledge. The
shelves were filled with books on Central and South America—works by the big
names in North and Central American theories, but also obscure records and
firsthand accounts that most researchers overlooked. Among his prized
possessions were his carefully compiled books on the Spanish chroniclers. These
were the men who gave us glimpses of a history that was otherwise lost—the
unwritten story of the Americas from the end of the Book of Mormon to the
arrival of the Spanish conquistadors.
For the Lamanites, record-keeping in written form was not
their strength, and what little remained of Nephite history was annihilated in
their final destruction. The Spanish brought with them the ability to record
history in ways that modern readers could understand. But the irony is
inescapable: the very conquerors who documented the marvels of the New World
were also the ones who destroyed those marvels, burning records, melting down
sacred artifacts, destroying and looting sacred sites and erasing entire cultures in their lust for conquest and
wealth.
The 1500s had no photographs, no videos—only the written
word and the art left behind. The Spanish chroniclers, often working under the
shadow of destruction, became the last witnesses to a history that was
vanishing before their eyes. Their accounts give us invaluable insights into
what was once there—temples, treasures, and traditions—but always filtered
through the lens of their own biases and agendas.
This is the lesson we must learn: the true history of the
Americas has been stolen, repurposed, plundered, hidden, and distorted. And few
examples illustrate this better than the story of the Father Crespi collection.
Tragically, the Crespi story is not unique but is one of many accounts of
powers conspiring to keep the true history of these lands hidden. Allegedly the
artifacts in Father Crespi’s collection threatened established narratives—those
of Ecuadorian history, South American history, and even the Catholic Church
itself. These are formidable forces, united in their shared interest to
suppress or control history that doesn’t align with their preferred version of
events.
This suppression is not limited to South and Central America. In North
America, allegedly similar forces have worked to hide inconvenient truths.
There are persistent theories about institutions like the Smithsonian actively
suppressing evidence that challenges mainstream narratives. Researchers like
Graham Hancock and Brien Foerster—though not LDS—have spent their entire
careers exposing the hidden histories of ancient civilizations, much of which
aligns with the descriptions in the Book of Mormon.
Take, for example, the gold in the Father Crespi collection.
A significant portion of the collection was composed of intricately worked gold
artifacts. Critics dismiss these items as forgeries, claiming they were created
by local natives to extract money from Father Crespi. The rebuttal to this
theory often hinges on a single claim: that in the 1920s–1950s, gold was of
little value to indigenous peoples. This argument is so absurd it collapses
under even the slightest scrutiny.
Consider the time, effort, and expertise required to gather
gold and process it. Some of the projects processed into sheets as thin as
tinfoil, with edges so precise they resemble the work of a modern machine. Some
of these sheets were 36 inches tall and over 50+ inches long—an astonishing
feat of craftsmanship. And the artistry? I hold a BFA in Graphic Design, and
while I’m no master artisan, I have studied great works and know enough to recognize the skill in these
pieces. These weren’t crude imitations but the work of master artisans, people
who had honed their craft over years, if not decades.
And here’s the kicker: many of these artifacts are adorned
with artwork unmistakably almost direct copy’s of Assyrian designs. Let me
repeat that—Assyrian designs. To believe the critics, you’d have to accept that
Ecuadorian natives not only mastered the skills to process and shape gold into
intricate sheets, plates, and statues, but also studied ancient Assyrian art
styles—without the internet, mind you—and flawlessly replicated them. All of
this, just to get a few coins from a kindly priest? The idea is laughable.
This brings me to the Spanish chroniclers. Among my father’s
notes, I found this account from one of the first chroniclers to enter Cusco,
Peru in the year 1533:
“The wonderfully carved granite walls of the temple were
covered with more than 700 sheets of pure gold, weighing around 4.5 pounds
each.”
The word “sheets” immediately caught my attention. Sheets of
gold, weighing approximately 4.5 pounds each. Now compare that to a story from
the 1975 Church-sponsored expedition to Ecuador. In a personal account, J.
Golden Barton described the moment when a large piece of gold sheet metal,
hammered and inscribed with intricate designs, was presented to inspect, touch and hold:
“They reappeared with a large piece of metal that had been
molded and hammered into a long sheet. It appeared to be gold. The metal was
inscribed with curious forms of artwork. I asked our good-natured leader to
pose for a photo holding the plaque. Now Paul was not one to do a lot of
clowning, but I treasure this picture.”
Later, when asked about its origins, Barton recounted that
Father Crespi had inquired about the sheet’s source. The native who brought it
replied that it had adorned the walls of a temple deep in Ecuador jungle—pulled
from its place and brought to Crespi as a relic of a lost time.
Do you see the pattern? The Spanish chroniclers described
sheets of gold in the temples of Cusco, sheets that disappeared with the
arrival of the conquistadors. Centuries later, similar sheets of gold, appeared
in Father Crespi’s collection. Are these coincidences, or are they fragments of
a larger story—one that ties the ancient civilizations of the Americas to their
Old World roots, just as the Book of Mormon describes?
The Father Crespi collection stands as both a witness and a warning. It tells us that there is more to the history of the Americas than we’ve been told, but it also reminds us how easily that history can be stolen, hidden, or destroyed. For those willing to dig deeper, the truth is there, waiting to be uncovered... If uncovered, will it ever see the light of day?
