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The Lost World of the Mormons

Two things compelled this suspicion: a tradition of violent fanatacism at the fringe of the bourgeois orderliness of Mormon life in the Western states; and the vulnerability of the Mormon church to historical revision. The Mormon church is at the mercy of history in a way the ancient religions are not. While no one expects at this date to find evidence that Moses really didn’t find any tablets, the pertinent events in Mormon history were so recent that things might easily turn up that could alter or refute cherished beliefs.

The first murder was followed by a second, of the wife of another prominent Mormon, for whom the bomb had probably been intended. Then a third bomb went off accidentally, injuring a man who was soon suspected of having concocted it. This was Mark Hofmann, the Salt Lake City dealer in rare documents who had sold the Salamander letter to the man he later killed. Hofmann would eventually be convicted of the two murders, and it would emerge that he was an unusually accomplished forger.

Hofmann, in an interesting account by Steven Naifeh and Gregory White Smith, and in another by Linda Sillitoe, was a model Mormon boy whose childhood, not unlike Verna Flake’s, was bound up in Church activities, family solidarity, and, in his case, the shadow of polygamy in the form of a polygamous grandmother whose painful secret the family did not like to discuss. Mormons, unlike Australians, who celebrate their convict ancestors, are disapproving of and reticent about this aspect of their history.2

If there are crimes peculiar to the rootless and alienated, perhaps there are crimes peculiar to the apostate deeply enmeshed in his roots. Rewriting history, like writing fiction, requires a liberating skepticism. In fact, credulity is often explicitly punished in imaginative fiction, which is itself generated, perhaps, when reality becomes unacceptable. Verna was lucky to have the privileged insulation of a literary sensibility or, one might say, a less direct and more socially acceptable way of rewriting history than Mark Hofmann had.

It developed that Hofmann had forged hundreds of documents relating to Mormon history, most of them twisting that history, and had sold many of them directly to the Church or to wealthy Utah businessmen who piously donated them to the Church, which in turn placed them beyond reach in its most secret archives. Hofmann, in debt and undoubtedly unbalanced, could be seen as just a crazy criminal, but the pointed direction, the special bitterness, of his crime against the structures of an edifice that had ceased to sustain him, reminds one in a way of Verna Flake’s gentler pain.

Naifeh and Smith cast a cold eye on the paranoid style and autocratic methods of the Mormon church’s upper echelon, which mostly refused to cooperate with the prosecution of Hofmann, claiming immunities usually reserved for national security. Like many other religions the Mormon church appears to be attracted to guns, nationhood, and divinely sanctioned lawbreaking. With a security division run by former FBI agents, it was prepared for enemies. Naifeh and Smith quote the defensive response of a high Church official, Boyd K. Packer, to the bomb incidents: “When you are at war,…and we are, security is crucial.”

So was secrecy. Initially, the manner in which Hofmann’s case was prosecuted reflected the ambivalence the Mormon community felt about the possibility that a good Mormon boy could be irreclaimably evil, its wish to preserve him alive to sort out the errors he had seeded into their theological history, and the embarrassment the Church felt about having been taken in. Was the “Blessing” genuine, wherein Joseph Smith designates his son Joseph Smith III, not Brigham Young, as his true successor? Or the letter that says that Alvin Smith, not Joseph, found the tablets first? Hofmann was allowed to plea bargain and never went on trial, on the understanding that in return for a guilty plea he would be sentenced as though for manslaughter. (In the end, however, a renegade Board of Pardons enforced a life sentence.) Naifeh and Smith quote an observer’s explanation for the relaxed attitude of the prosecution: “Hey…you don’t rise in this state embarrassing the Mormon Church or making them look bad.”

Unlike Naifeh and Smith, Linda Sillitoe, coauthor of another, and in some ways more informed, book on the Hofmann case, Salamander: The Story of the Mormon Forgery Murders, and author of a new collection of short stories, Windows on the Sea, writes from within the Mormon fold. Though she is more indulgent of Church organization and practices (and probably more knowledgeable), Sillitoe too illumines a darker side of Mormonism—the petty tyrannies, rigidity and lack of charity, the rivalries that creep into all hierarchies, the internal spying, and the generally subservient role women are expected to play.

Taken together the stories constitute an interesting report on the state of daily life among the faithful, and especially a glimpse into a world of unreconstructed femininity. The reader will be struck by a sense of anachronism. The concerns of the women characters are perfectly contemporary—they are single parents or career women or disappointed in love—but the context is more like the early 1950s, before they might have read Betty Friedan, or as if they lived somewhere else instead of in a kind of Shangri-La of the Wasatch, from which, upon leaving, Verna Flake aged in a day. Here are characters from small Utah towns who think even Salt Lake City is a drug-ridden sink of vice. They have baby names like Marci or Luci or Janeece, and their anxieties have to do with love or baking. Their many acts of kindness—taking food or offering counsel—are counterbalanced by the implicit female competitiveness that seems to characterize societies in which women’s status depends on men. They constantly and sometimes cruelly assess one another’s hair and figures, and console themselves that their roles as wives and housekeepers are secretly powerful, or as useful as men’s.

Shauna’s streaky hair was perfectly coifed. Gina knew her own auburn curls looked fine, tumbling over the aqua fabric, but she wanted to run to the mirror to check.

Ken could kid her all he wanted about her becoming bishop’s counselor. She’d never hoped to hold that kind of position herself, and had no quarrel with the men and their priesthood. All her life she had watched her mother and other women run what she considered the real priorities in religious life.

Sillitoe’s women characters have not yet been struck with resentment that their lives are in the control of often sanctimonious and unattractive male Church functionaries, or that some local man who by reason of his position within the Church could, as in these stories, excommunicate an unwed mother, or humiliate and criticize working women because they aren’t married. But they have noticed, a necessary preliminary to the questions that will follow, as they did for Verna Flake. It is significant that in the story that comes closest to expressing reservations about the methods and values of the Church, the questions are put into the mind of a male character, as if a female author could not quite attribute these dangerous perceptions to a female character. At the weekly testimonial Marc, who has been having a crisis of confidence about his vocation in the Church, hears his wife anxiously proclaim her domesticity, and it is he who sees her unhappiness and sacrifice:

I love to cook,” Kris was saying tightly. “I love playing with my children. I’m very lucky to have them.”

What is she doing? Marc asked himself. Then he realized she was reciting her credentials, her passport for safe passage. She didn’t mention her college degree or her dancing experience.

But, it is emphasized, Marc is not losing faith itself, just finding a more direct relation to God. A curious detail—in many of the stories, the characters recount their dreams, and discuss them as if these communications from the unconscious had special force in the lives of people trapped in a waking world of social control, peer pressure, and a conformity that limits them while giving them security.

It was the loss of innocent trust in a good world, even more than physical violation, that ruined many lives in Lovell, Wyoming. The people in Sillitoe’s stories show concern for others, charity, politeness, they examine themselves for moral faults—in all a little reminiscent of the Sunday School stories of our childhood, or of the innocence of a Victorian world like Mrs. Gaskell’s Cranford, where having a good character is valued. Though she pokes a little fun at it, Verna Flake is also proud of the good Mormon character. When she and her mother are involved in a car accident with a couple from Wisconsin, Verna’s mother loves the chance “to demonstrate the good qualities of Mormons to some outsiders—qualities like friendliness, for instance, and forgiveness.” Wallace Stegner, raised among Mormons, notes in his essay in Growing up Western3 both the Mormon interest in history and in good character, and the value placed on transmitting moral training—something the rest of society, apparently divided over what constitutes a good character, often seems to have given up trying to do:

We discovered the Mormon Institution known as Mutual, for Mutual Improvement Association, which every Tuesday evening, in every ward house in Zion, provided everything from Boy Scout meetings and Bible classes to basketball leagues and teenage dances. There may have been a covert proselytizing motive in the welcome that the wards extended to strange gentile kids, but there was a lot of plain warmth and goodwill, too. I have never ceased to be grateful for what they gave us when what they gave mattered a great deal, and though I was never tempted to adopt their beliefs, I could never write about them, when it came to that, except as a friend. Their obsession with their history, too, made me aware that I had grown up entirely with-out history, and set me on the trail to construct some for myself.

The writers of the jacket copy both for The Chinchilla Farm and for Freeman’s earlier collection of stories, Family Attractions, use the word “exotic” to refer to Mormon life, but of course Mormonism is not exotic, it is indigenous—is perhaps the only indigenous American religion. Beginning in the burned-over district of upstate New York at a time of general religious fervor, moving with the westward expansion, Mormon history recapitulates American history, only it is a few decades behind and changes more slowly. The opposition of the Mormon church to the ERA, for instance, shows a conservative view of women’s role but not one different from ideas of women’s role defined by the larger society thirty or forty years ago, when many women might have seen their lives as Verna sees the lives of the self-sacrificing women she knows. In a way that should give them pause, Mormons can see in what the rest of American society is becoming what may await them, too. That they have chosen to resist is not therefore very surprising. Whether it is possible is another question.

There are more Mormons in the US than Episcopalians, and the membership in the Church is rapidly growing, with almost seven million in 1988, and more than 200,000 conversions in that year. They are peculiarly situated to profit from the national experience, and moreover possess two advantages—a respect for history that the rest of society seems to lack, and a mechanism for change, for the Prophet/President can receive revelations—that could lead them to make the same mistakes as the rest of society or help to avert them, especially in the case of women. The elderly patriarchs can no doubt slow down the rate of change in women’s attitudes by exhortations to obedience and praise of motherhood, but to judge from these books they are not likely to succeed. Exhortation rarely works very well against human nature. It would be nice if God would reveal to Ezra Taft Benson (now the Prophet) a definition of “moral values” that has not been tarnished by the Reagan/Moral Majority use of the term to confirm exploitation and selfishness, and then a way of preserving them that all of society could benefit from.

Despite Verna Flake’s own partial disaffection (she is still sipping wine at the end of her story), the world she leaves at the beginning is the one she finally affirms. But the tone of the novel, its mournful note of gentle irony, seems to arise from her understanding, based on her look at the world outside Utah, that American history is not on the side of “qualities like friendliness…and forgiveness,” whatever may be the power of conservative institutions like the Mormon Church to preserve these qualities among its membership; while the darker side of Mormonism seems to entangle Mormons in our collective destiny.


Back to Mormonism June 28, 1990

  1. 2

    Many sources, including Naifeh and Smith, confirm that more than thirty thousand people still live in polygamy, mostly in southern Utah and Arizona. Not only is the practice ongoing, it seems to be tolerated by the larger community, perhaps because at one time or another it touched most Mormon families, or perhaps they just don’t see it as that odd. If something can be said for it, one legacy of polygamy seems to be a more straightforward and cheerful, though conservative, attitude to sex among Mormons than one finds in religions dominated by ideas of hellfire or the virtues of celibacy. One wonders whether some of the initial successes of Smith’s cause might be owed to his straightforward appeal to the Sultanic side of his confreres.

    In any case, polygamy may be on the way back. The Supreme Court is agreeing to hear an adoption case to determine whether a polygamous man can adopt the children by another marriage of one of his wives, after her death. The adoption is opposed by relatives of the children, who fear that the man will force the daughter into a polygamous marriage, probably with himself. The ACLU has filed a brief on behalf of the polygamist, on the grounds, according to newspaper accounts, of religious freedom.

    In a country like ours, without widely shared moral traditions, we tend to tolerate almost anything people say is a part of their religion—funny clothes, dope smoking, fishing out of season. Probably a line does exist between constitutionally protected religious beliefs and social customs that are seen as offensive, for instance animal sacrifice in Santeria. But the line seems to change all the time.

  2. 3

    Clarus Backes, ed., Growing Up Western (Knopf, 1989).

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