The forty-sixth annual conference of the Mormon History Association will be held May 26-29, 2011, at the Dixie Center in St. George, Utah. The 2011 theme, “From Cotton to Cosmopolitan: Local, National, and Global Transformations in Mormon History,” evokes both the specific history of St. George and environs, and Mormonism as a religious tradition more generally.

Once a sparsely populated corner of what became the American Southwest, St. George was founded as part of the LDS Church’s Cotton Mission in 1861. This year’s conference marks the sesquicentennial of the community’s settlement and seeks to highlight the remarkable transformation of the city and the region from isolated outpost to recreation destination. The theme also refers to the transformations of the Mormon tradition, in all of its varieties, from its frontier American origins in the early nineteenth century to its contemporary global presence at the dawn of the new millennium. The conference also aims to further the transformation of Mormon history and historiography from its provincial origins to greater consideration of broader trends, themes, and connections, as well as new interpretations. It is emblematic that St. George, its region, and college were for decades the residence and intellectual home of one of the great change agents of Mormon historiography, Juanita Leavitt Pulsipher Brooks.

The program committee welcomes papers and panels on all aspects of the transformations in the history of the Mormon-Restoration tradition. Studies focusing on the conference location and its environs (from Las Vegas to Colorado City), region-related themes, and/or notable anniversaries, are particularly encouraged. Accordingly, the following topics are of interest: the founding and history of the Cotton Mission (1861); the development of St. George and southern Utah; Mormon perspectives on and involvement in the American Civil War (1861-1865); the history and impact of Dixie College (1911); the environmental and agricultural history of the region, including the use and conflict over resources (particularly water and timber), the founding of national parks, the impact of nearby nuclear testing, and the development of nature-related tourism; and Mormon relationships with Native Americans.

While we encourage presentations related to the conference theme, we also welcome high-quality proposals related to any aspect of Mormon history. The Program Committee will give preference to complete two- or three-paper session proposals, but individual paper proposals and innovative formats will also be considered. Please send an abstract of each paper (no more than 300 words) outlining your argument and sources, plus a short CV (no longer than 2 pages) for each speaker; complete panel proposals should also include a short abstract describing the rationale and contribution of the overall panel, as well as suggestions for session chairs and respondents. Previously published papers will not be considered. Since MHA is particularly interested in fostering a new generation of scholars, generous donors have offered to pay the travel expenses for some undergraduate and graduate students whose proposals are accepted. Students’ proposals should include estimated expenses if applying for a travel grant.

The deadline for proposals is October 1, 2010. Proposals should be sent by e-mail to mhameeting2011@gmail.com. Hard copies of proposals can also be sent to Matthew Grow, Center for Communal Studies, 8600 University Blvd., Evansville, IN 47712. Notification of acceptance or rejection will be made by January 1, 2011. Additional instructions and information are available on the MHA website at http://www.mhahome.org.

MHA ST. GEORGE PROGRAM COMMITTEE
Co-Chair: Matthew J. Grow, Assistant Professor of History, University of Southern Indiana, Evansville, IN
Co-Chair: Patrick Q. Mason, Research Associate Professor, University of Notre Dame, Notre Dame, IN

Gregory A. Prince, Independent Historian, Potomac, MD
David Pulsipher, Professor of History, Brigham Young University-Idaho, Rexburg, ID
Polly Aird, Independent Historian, Seattle, WA
Wayne K. Hinton, retired History Professor, Southern Utah University, Cedar City, UT
W. Paul Reeve, Associate Professor of History, University of Utah, Salt Lake City, UT
Lisa Olsen Tait, Ph.D. candidate in English, University of Houston, Houston, TX

This issue came front and center to the blog, again, when one of our bloggers emailed the rest of us about the facebook group, “Mormons Who Support a Mosque Near Ground Zero,” and asked us whether it would be appropriate for us to write a post commending the group to our readers in the same we that we often publicize conferences on the scholarly study of Mormonism or whether we should simply link to the group on our sidebar.  A lengthy discussion of at least twenty-five responses ensued. The crux of the argument did not involve whether the majority of our bloggers politically supported the cause; but instead, whether such outright political statements coincided with the overall mission of the Juvenile Instructor blog. Someone pointed out that we have run several politically-minded posts in the past such as my report on the TA strike at the University of Illinois, David’s classic “BYU Religion Made Me Puke,” and Elizabeth’s call for signatures of support for the Women’s Research Institute at BYU. In response, another colleague argued that in each of these cases the issue in question directly affected those interested in the academic study of History. If we decided to run a post simply supporting the facebook group, would it set a precedent of political activism for the blog that might distract it from its original mission and drag it into the mud-slinging world of political polemics?

As the discussion continued, it became evident that our email debate on whether the blog should post support for a facebook group was touching similar questions floating around the academy regarding the political responsibilities of historians. As political pundits such as Glenn Beck and Keith Obermann bend and stretch the realms of historical credulity both to entertain and to push forward their own political agendas, what is our responsibility as historians and historically informed persons to push back and correct these half-truths and de-contextualizations? Why do we study the past? Should historians utilize their craft to advance personal politics and benefit the communities in which they live? What good is historical inquiry if it cannot inform action in the present? Do we do our students a disservice by bringing politics into the classroom?

Almost any historian will agree that knowledge about the past powerfully influences the present and the future. Take the example of Islam and the way it is perceived. If historians ignore the centuries of peace and prosperity fostered by Islamic peoples and regimes throughout the Middle East and India during the Middle Ages when inequality, hunger, and fear reigned throughout much of Europe, then it is much easier to paint Islam as a pathogenic faith. In many ways the European Renaissance emerged as contact with Islamic powers reconnected the Christian world with classical traditions that Muslim philosophers, doctors, and scientists had guarded and advanced. I would argue that current strains of radical Islam actually gained power as means to resist the violence and dehumanization of Western imperialism. It seems sad that such a noble history should be whitewashed through current demonized portrayals of devoted Muslims. It should not matter whether Barack Obama is a Muslim or not—the Constitution guarantees that there will be no religious test for holding office, but the cultural label of “Muslim” through the trauma of September 11 and subsequent wars has become a code for an enemy of the United States. As a label, it has been divorced from any real religious connotation in the minds of many. This has happened before to the Japanese, the Vietnamese, the Germans, the Chinese, Catholics, Jews, Mormons, and African Americans.

Whether we visualize the past as a foreign place, a source of comfort, an uncontrollable fascination, or a tutorial for the present, we must decide what to do with the knowledge we hold about the past. The stakes are high since the stories we tell about ourselves often define us as a people. Here at the Juvenile Instructor blog we encourage all to learn about the past and act politically as your conscience might lead you.

Notice that this post uses the example of the Mosque in Manhattan merely as an entrance point for examining the relationship between historical inquiry and activism. My thoughts on the history of the Islam are only given as an example of the power that narrative holds for helping us understand the world in which we live. We have already held a rather lengthy debate about the nature of the Islamic religion and the historical precedents for possible Mormon support of a mosque and community center near the former site of the September 11, 2001 attack. I, and the rest of the bloggers here at JI, reserve the right to moderate and/or delete any comments that do not deal specifically with the connection between history and political activism.

Microhistory has been an emerging field as of late, especially with the diversification of cultural and social history. In its most basic sense, it is the study of a rather narrow topic as a way to explore broader themes. These studies could include an isolated town, a limited timeframe, or a single individual. Leading microhistorians include John Demos, Carlo Ginzburg, Laurel Ulrich, as well as BYU’s (and Times and Seasons’) own Craig Harline. Using the methodology of biography as a comparative lens, Lepore outlines the benefits of microhistory while at the same time trying to better define the broader approach. At the risk of simplifying Lepore’s engaging exploration of the methodology, I will just list her four “propositions” of the difference between biography and microhistory:

1. “If biography is largely founded on a belief in the singularity and significance of an individual’s contribution to history, microhistory is founded upon almost the opposite assumption: however singular a person’s life may be, the value of examining it lies in how it serves as an allegory for the culture as a whole.”
2. “Biographers seek to profile an individual and recapitulate a life story, but microhistorians, tracing their elusive characters through slender records, tend to address themselves to solving small mysteries about a person’s life as a means to exploring the culture.”
3. “Biographers generally worry about becoming too intimate with their subjects and later betraying them; microhistorians, typically denied any such intimacy, tend to betray people who have left abundant records in order to resurrect those who did not.”
4. “A biographer’s alter ego is usually the subject of the biography, while a microhistorian’s alter ego may be a figure who investigates or judges the subject. For this reason, a microhistorian may be a character in his own book.” (141)

Though Lepore devotes much of her article to the methodology of biography, that is not my focus here. (Which is a shame, because biography is such a popular approach in Mormon history and deserves attention—perhaps a future post.) I wish to rather explore the benefits of microhistory, and hopefully start a discussion on its potential, progress, virtues, or vices of such an approach.

One of the obvious benefits is the ability to sidestep some of the common snares of Mormon historiography. With microhistory, one does not have to take a stand on if Joseph Smith was a prophet or a fraud, whether Brigham Young’s teachings were necessarily racist or not, of whether Joseph Fielding Smith’s views were a shift or continuation of traditional Mormon theology. The historian does not have to fully divulge their personal stance—or “declare one’s allegiance,” as I’ve previously discussed. While many examples could be mentioned, what comes directly to my mind is D Michael Quinn’s struggle to be fair with J Reuben Clark, an individual who was directly opposite intellectually than Quinn himself.

The second benefit I’d like to highlight is it forces one to engage larger themes. Rather than just focusing on a specific Mormon event or individual for their own sake, microhistory enables one to broaden both the implications and the relevancy of that topic. This requires a better understanding of the broader context—a virtue traditionally missing in Mormon historiography—and is an important step in the development of Mormon history. Jan Shipps commented how such a step is necessary for the field to emerge from the “provinciality” of the past into a “new sort of Mormon history.”[2] One of the great achievements of New Mormon History was using broader contexts to better illuminate Mormonism—now it is time to use Mormonism to further illuminate the broader context.

Before I open up the discussion, I should highlight a couple of the best examples of microhistory in Mormon studies. Kathleen Flake, in her book on Reed Smoot, uses the isolated event of the Mormon apostle’s senatorial seating as a way to engage broader issues of American religious identity in the progressive age. More recently, Laurel Ulrich has utilized a single Mormon quilt from 1857 while exploring the broader issues of faith, family, and national tensions. I’m sure other examples could be easily identified.[3]

Now, what advantages do you see such an approach can offer Mormon history? What are some of the potential pitfalls? What authors and texts do you feel do the best at utilizing microhistory?

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[1] Jill Lepore, “Historians Who Love Too Much: Reflections on Microhistory and Biography,” Journal of American History 88 (June 2001): 129-144. See also here.

[2] Jan Shipps, “Richard Bushman, the Story of Joseph Smith and Mormonism, and the New Mormon History,” Journal of American History 94 (September 2007): 516.

[3] Kathleen Flake, The Politics of American Religious Identity: The Seating of Senator Reed Smoot, Mormon Apostle (Chapel Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press, 2003); Laurel Thatcher Ulrich, “An American Album, 1857,” American Historical Review 115 (February 2010): 1-25, summarized here.

At the time, I considered this practice a historical rarity in the Mormon tradition, one Latter-day Saints located in geographically peripheral regions like the American South outgrew as the institutional church shifted away from its practice of physically gathering to a central locale and congregations in these areas became more established.

And then my wife called me this morning. Work has taken her out of town to Charleston, South Carolina. She excitedly told me that she had attended a Methodist worship service. When I enquired as to the reason why, she explained that she awoke this morning unsure what her schedule would look like, and when her employer (who is well aware of our religious affiliation and activity) suggested she take the morning off to attend church, my wife took advantage. But being in an unknown place with limited transportation options (and even more limited time), my wife decided that instead of trying to locate the local Mormon meetinghouse, she would walk down the street to the United Methodist Church and sit in on their service. This is in part, I think, because I study Methodists, and my wife has heard enough of their history and theology that she felt some level of comfort (or at least an amount of intrigue). But my wife did not just attend the service as an interested observer. She worshipped with the Methodists there this morning, singing hymns, repeating aloud the Apostle’s Creed, and attentively listening to the sermon. (She did not, I should note, partake of the Lord’s Supper, nor did she donate to the collection plate being passed around (though she wanted to do the latter but carried no cash on her)).

As I reflected on her telling me of her experience, two questions emerged in my mind. First, I wondered to what extent those Latter-day Saints of yesteryear who attended other services participated. Did they partake of the Lord’s Supper at Baptist meetings? Donate funds supporting interdenominational camp meetings? And if so (or if not), what does that say about this “supplemental worship”?

The second question I considered was to what extent Latter-day Saints today do indeed supplement their Mormon worship with that of other religions. I have, on occasion, attended another denomination’s Sunday services. Sometimes this is at the invitation of a friend, and other times it has been more of a cultural act, as when Stan, Matt B., and I attended mass at a beautiful Catholic cathedral in Montreal two years ago while there for a conference. I have not, to my knowledge, ever attended with the express intent to stand in for or supplement my weekly worship in Mormon chapels. But I do know of Latter-day Saints who have done so when faced with situations similar to that of my wife today. Similarly, there are Mormons who take advantage of worship services offered during Holy Week and around Christmas at nearby Christian churches because they feel Mormonism largely ignores what they see as important days and events on the liturgical calendar. And I have still other Mormon friends who intentionally attend another service every other month or so in an effort to expose their children to a variety of religious communities and worship styles and because they fundamentally believe that truth can (and is) found in religious traditions outside their own.

But I don’t know how widespread any of this is. And while recognizing that the bloggernacle is not necessarily representative of the larger Mormon population, I’m interested in anyone’s personal stories and feelings in an effort to flesh out some of these ideas in my mind.

Call for Papers

War and Peace in Our Time:

Mormon Perspectives

A conference sponsored by the Latter-day Saint Council on Mormon Studies, and

the Joan B. Kroc Institute for International Peace Studies at the University of Notre Dame

Held at Claremont Graduate University, Claremont, CA

March 18-19, 2011

In a world pervaded with religious fervor and seemingly perpetual war, it has become essential for religious believers to consider the realities of violent conflict and the possibilities for a more peaceful world.  Adherents and scholars of the world’s largest religious bodies have had long and often contentious debates over what their sacred sources and traditions teach them about how and when, if ever, it is justifiable and even righteous to engage in violence.  While some contend that religion is inherently violent, others maintain that the core message of all religions is peaceful coexistence and compassion for one’s neighbor; meanwhile, nuanced scholarly treatments suggest that in fact “the ambivalence of the sacred” on questions of war and peace is common to all faith traditions.

As a relatively young religion, Mormonism has not yet fully grappled with the many complicated questions of peace and war in the modern world, with all of their theological, social, and political ramifications, but the time is ripe to do so.  Accordingly, this conference seeks to examine not only Mormonism’s history in relation to issues of war and peace, but also the resources within the tradition that provide a foundation for constructive discussion and dialogue about how individual Latter-day Saints and the broader church orient themselves in a world of violence.

We are soliciting papers reflecting on all aspects of Mormon perspectives on war and peace, from historical-social scientific, theological, and normative standpoints.  Professional scholars, students, and members of the community at large, both LDS and non-LDS, are welcome to submit papers and to attend the conference; all sessions will be open to the public.  The conference aims to be exploratory and deliberative, seeking to include and represent voices from across the spectrum and engage multiple perspectives in respectful dialogue.

The deadline for proposals, which should include a paper abstract of no more than 500 words and a brief CV of the presenter, is September 1, 2010.  Proposals should be submitted by e-mail to ldswarpeace@gmail.com.  Questions may be directed to one of the conference co-chairs, Richard Bushman (rlb7@columbia.edu) or Patrick Mason (pmason1@nd.edu).

This post begins with a seemingly unrelated starting point: the debate over the legacy of Kantian philosophy in 1790s Germany. Philosopher Johann Gottlieb Fichte, in defense of his interpretation of Kantian idealism, argued for a distinction between “the inventor” of an ideological system, and “his commentators and disciples.” Fichte explained,

The inventor of a system is one thing, and his commentators and disciples are another…The reason is this: The followers do not yet have the idea of the whole; for if they had it, they would not require to study the new system; they are obliged first to piece together this idea out of the parts that the inventor provides for them; [but] all these parts are in fact not wholly determined, rounded and polished in their minds…

Fichte continued by explaining “the inventor proceeds from the idea of the whole, in which all the parts are united, and sets for these parts individually…The business of the followers,” on the other hand, “is to synthesize what they still by no means possess, but are only to obtain by the synthesis.”[1]

The specifics of Kantian philosophy that Fichte was debating hold little importance to us, but the tension he outlines between an “inventor” and “disciple” plays an important correlating role in the development of early Mormon thought, just as it does with any movement that boasts an innovative founder. Students of the development of Mormon theology have long focused on Joseph Smith, with good reason. As prophet and founder of the LDS Church, his revelations and teachings laid the foundations for the movement, and his voice is considered the most authoritative one when considering early Mormon beliefs. However, Smith’s theology is difficult to determine on two grounds. First, his premature death at the age of 39; though he had been the recognized prophet and leader for nearly a decade and a half, the explosive theological development during his last three years showed no signs of relenting, and it can only be assumed that much of his religious vision was left inchoate and unfulfilled. Indeed, it wasn’t until the last three months of his life that Smith’s sermons began piecing together what had previously been only theological fragments.

The second reason for this difficulty is the very nature of Smith’s prophet persona, and relates to the Kantian dynamic outlined above. Smith was by nature eclectic, rather than syncretistic, and his teachings were emblematic of that approach. His teachings were never presented in a systematic order, but rather, as Richard Bushman aptly put it, in “flashes and bursts.”[2] This collection of fragments has left many historians bewildered at the difficulty of presenting a coherent picture of his beliefs.[3] Further, Smith’s eclecticism has made it difficult to position him among his antebellum contemporaries, because his teachings are malleable enough to be considered emblematic of numerous—and sometimes competing—cultural tensions.[4] Thus, just as Smith’s religious successors inherited a dynamic theology with countless possibilities, modern historians are left with a mesh of innovative fragments from which to make a distorted picture.

While attempts to articulate Joseph Smith’s vision will—and should—continue, it might serve fruitful to look in other directions for ways to contextualize early Mormonism. First, it should be remembered that Joseph Smith’s was not the only voice of the early LDS church. Indeed, the vast majority of Mormon print came from the disciples who were still trying to understand Smith’s theology even as they were explicating it. Just as Fichte worked from the bits and pieces of idealism he inherited from Kant, Mormon thinkers like Parley Pratt, John Taylor, and William Phelps sought to synthesize the prophet’s revelations into an intelligible dogma. Pratt summarized this process in a proclamation written only months after Smith’s death: “The chaos of materials prepared by [Joseph Smith] must now be placed in order in the building. The laws revealed by him must now be administered in all their strictness and beauty. The measure commenced by him must now be carried into successful operation.”[5] Indeed, especially after the Quorum of the Twelve took control of the church, there was an acute anxiety to complete and expand Smith’s vision, even if ambiguity remained. The diversity in these synthesizing attempts reveals not only the pliable nature of early Mormon thought, but the difficulty in correlating eclectic ideas into a theological whole.

Sociologists Rodney Stark and William Bainbridge, who in turn were building off of the religious theory of Max Weber, have argued that this very process of correlation is an important moment in the development of a religious movement. “Cult formation,” they argued, is “a two-stage process of innovation.” The first is “the invention of new religious ideas,” while the second is “gaining social acceptance of these ideas” through adaptation and expansion.[6] The latter stage is accomplished primarily by drawing from cultural tensions and expectations in order to further accommodate the movement’s religious goals. In other words, those correlating the innovative ideas have a specific culture in mind as their audience, and a distinct set of cultural preconceptions as their tools. With regard to the theologians of early Mormonism, their doctrinal formulations not only bare the footprint of the religious innovator—in this case, Joseph Smith—but also of the culture in which they interpreted the innovator—in this case, antebellum America.

Therefore, I argue that an important step in the scholarly interpretation of early Mormon thought will entail a decreased focus on Joseph Smith. Besides being able to sidestep the issue of revelatory validity, it also provides an opportunity to analyze more systematic theologies and better engage cultural trends. Sam Brown’s work on William Phelps offers a great example of this, as will the forthcoming biography of Parley Pratt by Matthew Grow and Terryl Givens. I hope to see the trend continue and blossom.

___________________________________________________

[1] Johann Gottlieb Fichte, “Second Introduction to the Science of Knowledge,” in J. G. Fichte, Science of Knowledge, translated by Peter Heath and John Lachs (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1982), 57.

[2] Richard Lyman Bushman, Joseph Smith: Rough Stone Rolling (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 2005), xxi.

[3] For example, one recent writer waived the metaphoric white flag when he described Smith as “simultaneously an eminent Jacksonian, a scion of the Yankee exodus, a creature and critic of the Second Great Awakening, a Romantic reformer, a charismatic utopian, a mystic nationalist, and a hustler in the manner of Barnum.” Or, in summation, a “prophet, genus, con man, crackpot, or all four in some proportion.” Walter A. McDourgall, Throes of Democracy: The American Civil War Era (New York: HarperCollins, 2008), 180.

[4] Gordon S. Wood wrote that the principles that Smith laid out contained elements “mystical and secular; restorationist and progressive; communitarian and individualistic; hierarchical and congregational; authoritarian and democratic; antimonian and arminian; anti-clerical and priestly; revelatory and empirical; utopian and practical; ecumenical and nationalist.” Wood, “Evangelical America and Early Mormonism,” New York History 61 (October 1980): 380.

[5] Parley Pratt, “Proclamation. To the Church of Jesus Christ of latter-Day Saints: Greeting,” Millennial Star 5 (March 1845): 152.

[6] Rodney Stark and William Sims Bainbridge, A Theory of Religion (New York: Peter Lang, 1987), 156. For more on this formation, see their chapter 8.

As we well know, from the point of view of its detractors, Mormonism has been linked to Islam since at least E. D. Howe’s 1834 Mormonism Unvailed, in which the Ohio newspaperman declared that Joseph Smith cited his own “extreme ignorance and apparent stupidity” as proof of the authentic prophethood, just as Mohammed had claimed his own illiteracy as proof of the divinity of the Quran.

Since this controversy over the mosque in Manhattan began a few months ago, I couldn’t help but see the historical comparisons we could make between this type of insidious religious persecution and the types Mormons have faced in the past and as of late (as I’m typing this in my Somerville apartment, I can see through the foliage the Belmont Temple, the construction of which faced its own challenges by non-Mormon locals who cloaked what I believe to be anti-Mormonism in language of parking lot run-off and traffic congestion).
No doubt, Harry Reid’s decision to weigh in on the side of the anti-mosquers is a political move, intended to win him a few votes among the anti-Obama set in his hotly contested reelection bid, and in my view also pick up a nomination in the category of most ironic political decision for 2010 category.
Perhaps I go too far. The area around Ground Zero is certainly hallowed ground and sensitivity (the buzz word misused in my interpretation by those opposed to the mosque) should be respected. Yet (what I’m sure is obvious from this post) I feel that on constitutional grounds made clear by President Obama, and perhaps more importantly on moral grounds, I believe the mosque should be allowed to be built as a symbol to the world that America takes seriously its principle of freedom of religion. My opinion is that there is no better place than to build this mosque than close to Ground Zero, especially since according to the plans it will serve not only the Manhattan Muslim community but provide theater and athletic spaces for all New Yorkers.
As a historian, I would believe that saints would be natural allies with these Muslims hoping to construct a house of worship (and social center), as Mormons have fought similar battles for decades, and did so often citing the Constitution. Even more poignantly, as the most persecuted religious community in American history, saints observing the tide of American sentiment moves clearly against the construction of this mosque would find, I would imagine, parallels in their recent and more distant past.
Perhaps my personal feelings on this issue have gotten in the way of cogent analysis. Perhaps I should understand Harry Reid’s decision to condemn the mosque’s construction as I understand Mormons’ participation in the Proposition Eight fight—that these political decisions actually mark the degree to which Mormonism has integrated into the (conservative) American experience. Mormons no longer feel the need to, even implicitly, defend the history of plural marriage and instead can join their one-time persecutors in their fight against legal recognition of unconventional love-partnerships (without the Wendy Doniger dog barking at the gate). And in terms of the mosque, Mormons like Reid can practice American civil religion (as it was revamped after 9/11) and not side with religious outsiders, of which his adopted faith was a part, in the defense of religious freedom.

So let me put my question to the JI community more directly. Am I right about Reid’s decision? Are there in fact historical parallels to be drawn between the Mormon and Muslim American Experiences? How does the LDS community at large feel about this issue? Is it an issue of religious freedom for saints? Or am I missing something profound about the claim to “sensitivity”?

Hemingses of Monticello is a family biography that follows the descendents of Elizabeth Hemings for nearly a century. Though a slave family, complexity and unique circumstances made their experiences difficult to simplify or categorize. Gordon-Reed deftly follows several family members through multiple environments, utilizing a deep understanding of the surrounding context in order to fill in numerous details. And when I say that there were details that needed to be filled in, that is an understatement. Gordon-Reed wrote about a family that left almost no records themselves. In a way, she became so immersed in the context that she was painting a portrait by filling in all the surroundings first, or creating a picture from a negative. She was successful, too. The book received almost every major award, both in scholarly and popular circles. It is a must-read for understanding many themes of the 18th and early 19th century: slave culture, race relations, Parisian life, and even the contradictory mind of Thomas Jefferson. It opened my eyes to new avenues of historical methodology, encouraged me to be a better historian, and validated my belief that historical works are worthwhile and provide insights into the human experience.

I wonder, though, whether Mormon history is collectively conditioned to embrace such a book—at least not yet—for two reasons.

The first reason is Gordon-Reed’s refusal to be mired down with some of the controversial aspects that have bogged down previous works on the Hemings family. Most significantly, she takes as fact the sexual relationship between Sally Hemings and Thomas Jefferson. (It should be noted that Gordon-Reed had previously devoted a book to the issue.) While a majority of scholars have accepted as much for at least a decade, the issue is still hotly debated—especially by some factions of the Thomas Jefferson Family Association. By sidestepping this issue—the only time she really addresses the controversy is in a footnote—she is able to move forward in her narrative and answer more pertinent questions.

I have some doubts whether such an approach would fly with many within Mormon history circles. We often become obsessed with controversies that, when viewed from a larger perspective, don’t really matter. We feel obligated to settle the debates over when the First Vision occurred, what year the Melchezidek Priesthood was restored, or the exact amount of wives Joseph Smith had, just to name a few examples. These can be important questions, of course, but they can become a red herring that distracts us from other issues and forbids us from moving on to more intriguing topics. Though some progress has been made of late, it will be interesting to see if the trend continues.

The second aspect of Hemingses of Monticello that could be tough to incorporate is one of the key aspects of Gordon-Reed’s methodology itself, as outlined in her introduction:

Historians often warn against the danger of “essentializing” when making statements about people of the past—positing an elemental human nature that can be discerned and relied upon at all times and in all places. Warnings notwithstanding, there are, in fact, some elements of the human condition that have existed forever, transcending time and place. If there were none, and if historians did not try to connect to those elements (consciously or unconsciously), historical writing would be simply incomprehensible…Therefore, we should not be afraid to call upon what we know in general about mothers, fathers, families, male-female relationships, power relationships, the contours of life in small closely knit communities, as we try to see the Hemingses in the context of their own time and place. (31-32)

Anyone who has read the book knows that Gordon-Reed wasn’t shy about essentializing throughout the text. While I was somewhat hesitant at first, worried that a presentist misstep would appear at any moment, I actually found this approach quite liberating. By using her sources to not only answer questions about historical context but also to explore issues of the human psyche, the story became not only fascinating but also profoundly relevant. This was the type of work that reaffirmed my belief that history mattered.

Again, I have reservations aboout whether Mormon historians would be accepting of such an approach. Mormon historians love focusing on facts, sticking to details, proving (often in tedious detail) minute data, and eschewing generalizations. Perhaps due to the significance of the events to believing members—or perhaps to the sometimes novice-nature of Mormon history—LDS historians want everything proven, and anything that is not bedrock solid is dismissed as “speculative.” This is, of course, an important perspective to remember, because history should not stray too far from the documents—our only solid connection to the past. However, when the stakes are so high, and the battle lines often so firmly drawn, it is difficult to make interpretive and imaginative leaps, even for a scholar so entrenched in the historical context and details as Annette Gordon-Reed. As a result, we are often left debating the same points, rarely broadening our interpretive frameworks, missing out on important insights, and running around the same historiographical circles.

What I am left wondering is whether these are existential problems inherent in Mormon history (since Mormonism is believed by many, it is too potent a topic for these kind of approaches), or whether it is a reflection on the developing nature of Mormon studies, and that it will improve once the field matures (the current research of Laurel Ulrich and Kathleen Flake, among others, gives hope that the latter is the case).

Or, perhaps I am just being pessimistic.

While not knowing exactly what the one paying the compliment had in mind, a reasonable inference can be made. Jan Shipps, of course, is “generally regarded as the foremost non-Mormon scholar of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.” She has been actively involved in researching and writing about Latter Day Saints and their history for decades now, and is held in high esteem by both believing Mormons and by many in the larger academy. Richard Bushman thus praised her first book, Mormonism: The Story of a New Religious Tradition, as possibly being “the most brilliant book ever written” on the subject, in part because it “offer[s] a perspective that both Mormons and others can accept” (blurb on back cover). Mormons are so comfortable with her, in fact, that she has addressed not only Mormon historical societies like MHA and JWHA, but also fireside-like gatherings at LDS Stakes and Wards, speaking to Latter-day Saints not well versed in history and historiography alongside those who are. She has been the go-to person for media types writing on various aspects of Mormonism, being regularly featured in documentaries and quoted in newspaper articles.

Shipps, of course, is not alone. In recent years, others have stepped in alongside her, including Sarah Barringer Gordon and Laurie Maffly-Kipp. Still younger scholars and students of Mormonism who come from outside the Mormon faith have begun taking an active role in Mormon studies as it has expanded and matured. Which makes me wonder whether those of us with an active interest in the success of Mormon studies as a legitimate academic subfield want someone else to emerge as “the next Jan Shipps.” Shipps’s success is no doubt a result of her training and abilities as a scholar of religions. But her notoriety among Mormons, as I see it, is also a result of not only “offering a perspective that both Mormons and other can accept” but also her once unique status of being one of very, very few individuals from outside the faith tradition who offered such a perspective.

It seems to me that as Mormon studies continues to mature, one measure of its success will be in attracting a significantly larger number of researchers and commentators from outside of the Latter Day Saint tradition. The result, as I see it, would be an environment where such individuals are not anomalies. As noted, this is already becoming the case. But in order for Mormon Studies to reach its potential in this regard, it seems that two things need to happen. First, believing Latter-day Saint scholars need not feel so personally attacked when a scholar from outside the tradition offers an interpretation of Mormonism which does not implicitly reaffirm testimony and may even appear to challenge certain truth claims Mormons hold close. I would hope, for example, that John Brooke’s The Refiner’s Fire would be met with a more nuanced reception if it were published today. Don’t misunderstand—there are plenty of legitimate critiques of Brooke’s work from a scholarly perspective, many of which I share. But it seems to me also that some of the negative reaction the book received from Mormon historians was because its provocative thesis was too radical for believing Latter-day Saints and challenged the standard story of Latter-day Saint beginnings. It’s my own opinion that whatever the reasons for the negative reaction, it has resulted in historians of Mormonism missing out on and/or ignoring many interpretive insights Brooke suggested. Secondly, and this point is related, I think: historians of Mormonism—both those from within and without the faith tradition—need to continue working towards Mormon Studies being a field defined as something more than “gigantic and sometimes polemical“ (see the conversation, especially the comments, linked there for discussion on how to go about doing so).

They make their first appearance in the very first sentence of the first lesson (“Columbus, the Great Discoverer”):

As we look at America today, we see it owned by the white people who have filled it with cities, railroads, autos, and flying machines. But it was not like this three hundred years ago. At that time the Pilgrims had just landed among the savages, called Indians, who owned everything—the rivers, the lakes, the mountains. America had been theirs for over two thousand years. Six hundred years before Christ the Lord led their fathers to this Promised Land, under the direction of the great Prophets Lehi and Nephi. The Lord promised them, “You can have this beautiful country forever if you will serve me, but if you don’t, it will be given to the Gentiles.” After hundreds of years, the Nephites grew wicked and were cursed with a dark skin. It was in this condition that Columbus found them (p. 1).

The lesson goes onto explain that “the Lord wanted to send his True Church to the Promised Land” but was unable to because He “couldn’t send it to these savages who roamed the land in idleness.” Luckily, Nephi “saw white people coming, sailing over the many waters, coming to find the Red Men and to get things ready for the True Church.” Using 1 Nephi 13 as a guide, the manual identifies Columbus as the first of these “white people.” His arrival in the New World, the first lesson concludes, was evidence that “The Lord was making ready for Joseph Smith” (pp. 1-3).

American Indians make only a brief appearance in the second lesson (“Martin Luther”), in the form of a transition sentence in the opening paragraph. But they are again featured in the third (“How the Pilgrims Helped”). The Pilgrims are portrayed as sincere, honest, and meek devotees of Christ striving for true religion. They can do no wrong in the author’s mind; in a passage reflecting the historiographical picture of the Pilgrims then in vogue, we learn that the Pilgrims not only settled New England, but also initiated the basis of what would become American democracy and religious freedom. And no one, we are assured, was kinder to the Natives whom they encountered upon their arrival. “Every writer who tells about these noble Pilgrims, says they were ‘a religious body of freedom seekers, ruling with such reason and mercy for themselves and the Red Man, that they soon became the pattern for all future colonies’” (p. 6).

The central message of the first three lessons then (as it relates to American Indians) is that through God’s great providence and mercy, these poor, benighted, and racially-cursed souls were treated with kindness and justice by those blessed white people God led to the Promised Land. The concern, though, is not at all with the salvation of the Natives through the paternalistic care and  preaching of the European settlers (as one might expect from the author’s use of 1 Nephi 13 as a guiding text (see 1 Nephi 13:30-31)). Rather, the sole concern is with the Promised Land being prepared for the Restoration of the True Church through Joseph Smith. This is made explicitly clear in the fourth lesson (“How Washington Aided”). Readers are informed that “at Washington’s time, there remained four big things to do, getting America ready for the true church. As soon as these were done, the Lord would be ready.” So what were those “four big things”?

First: The Indians must be conquered.

Second: The rule of the French broken.

Third: America must be taken from the grip of England.

Fourth: Religious Freedom given to the Promised Land. (p. 8).

Hence Washington’s important role in this particular narrative of the Restoration’s prehistory. These “savage Indians” were no match for “the power of the Lord [resting] upon Washington,” nor were the Indians’ supposed allies, the French. “When he was nineteen, fighting with unusual courage against the French and Indians, he was chosen captain in the army.” Escaping near death because “his mission had only begun, he was saved in a marvelous manner. After many years of fighting, the Indians were driven far beyond the Hill Cumorah where Moroni hid the golden records, and where Joseph Smith was to live.” The French, meanwhile, were similarly driven from the lands “where the Kirtland and Nauvoo Temples were to be built,” as well as from “the Rocky Mountains … where fifty years later the pioneers were to come.” This was, of course, all providential, because “had the Indians or French known that the valuable Book of Mormon records were hid in one of their hills, they would have searched carefully for it. We now see these tow big events finished” (p. 8). Upon taking care of these ethnic and racial foes, Washington then proceeded to win the Revolutionary War and institute the laws necessary for the Restoration of the gospel in the United States. “Six years after Washington died,” the lesson concludes, “Joseph Smith came, getting things ready for the restoration” (p. 9).

There’s a lot that could be discussed in this material, from the antiquated notions of “advanced” European cultures systematically defeating the lesser “primitive” cultures they encountered (and being backed by Deity in their conquest, no less) to the selective reading and interpretation of scripture offered. In addition to recognizing “that the land and cultural birthright Indians once possessed in the Great Basin were taken from them” (as Elder Jensen recently encouraged Latter-day Saints to do), I think that it’s important to recognize the subsequent ways in which Latter-day Saints treated those whose land they assumed control and ownership over. In narratives of church history like the one presented above, these “savage” “Red Men” are not only poor, idle, and spiritually lost souls racially marked for their disobedience, but their “conquering” is to be recognized as a necessary precursor to the restoration of God’s true church. Thankfully, such narratives have largely disappeared from official church publications, but I’m afraid that in the minds of some (several?) Latter-day Saints, the underlying assumptions and attitudes toward Native Americans persist.