About that other Parley P. Pratt biography

Note: I found this review of Reva Stanley's long-ago published biography of the Apostle Parley Pratt in Wayback, dated May 29, 2009. I had been looking for it. I examined its value compared with other sources of Pratt's life, mostly the still well-read "The Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt." Of course, several years later, the world was blessed with a better-researched biography, "Parley P. Pratt: The Apostle Paul of Mormonism," by Terryl L. Givens and Matthew J. Grow. (review here)

Few people, even Latter-day Saints today, understand how very popular the early Mormon apostle Parley Parker Pratt was in the first several decades of the LDS Church. His books, such as “Key to the Science of Theology,” were as common in Mormon households as “Jesus the Christ” or “The Articles of Faith” are today.

Pratt, who was murdered in 1857 in Arkansas by a man whose wife he had married and ran away with, still maintains high popularity among Latter-day Saints. That is due largely to his autobiography, which is still published and available from multiple sources, including free on the Internet.

Also, Pratt was a fascinating, charismatic man, and the “Autobiography of Parley P. Pratt” is an important read. However, sections have been edited, particularly his murder and the events leading up to his death, a result of Pratt marrying a woman under her husband’s nose.

Pratt should be a biographer’s dream. His life cries out for in-depth treatment. Although few know this, there is a biography of Parley P. Pratt out there. It’s the obscure 1937 out-of-print “The Archer of Paradise,” written by Pratt’s great-granddaughter, Reva Stanley.

It was published by The Caxton Printers in Caldwell, Idaho. I found a copy several years ago for $100-plus and have read it many times. It’s a mediocre biography, but complements Pratt’s autobiography very well.

“The Archer of Paradise” relies way too much on the autobiography. Large sections of the book, while properly sourced, are rehashes of the autobiography. However, there is historical value in Stanley’s recount of Pratt’s marriage to Elenore McClean and the subsequent murder of Pratt by her estranged husband, Hector McLean.

Stanley’s account supports the belief that McClean was a violent man, who abused Elenore. It was doubtless imprudent, though, of Pratt to marry her without legal sanction. There is an extensive afterward that includes recounts of the events by Ms. McClean.

Author Stanley is quite critical of early Mormon President Brigham Young. She feels Pratt was mistreated by Young and that Young was a lustful, hypoctitical man with a grandiose complex. Here is how Stanley describes Young in “Archer.”. “It was Brigham’s wont to travel with a huge calvacade. He loved pomp and display and the feeling that he was some sort of king.”

Opinions are mixed freely in “Archer.” Example: Stanley says that the early Mormon church was exciting and progressive. She then laments that the church in the 1930s is run by scared old men living in the past.

One must assume author Stanley was estranged from the LDS Church when she wrote “The Archer of Paradise.” The critical comments, especially those about Young, are probably why this historically important biography has not been re-published by the LDS Church.

That’s a pity. One doesn’t have to agree with Stanley’s grudges to find historical value in “The Archer of Paradise.”  We can hope that there is a well-researched biography of Pratt in the future. (Note: And of course there was one published; the aforementioned, Parley P. Pratt: The Apostle Paul of Mormonism.)

-- Doug Gibson

The elder brother to the ‘Prodigal Son’ also had his problems

 

Originally published at now-defunct StandardBlogs in March of 2014

I’m a repeat reader; if I like a novel, I’ll read it five times.  If I really like it, I’ll get around to reading it 10 times.  If it’s among my favorite novels, I never stop re-reading it.  One of the payoffs of repeat reading is catching character or plot insights, or finally recognizing – on reading number seven – a plot device.  That happened to me as I was repeat reading Stephen King’s “It.”  I finally noticed that one of the survivors of the fire at The Black Spot in Derry, Maine (set by racists) was a young black cook named “Hallorann.”  In fact, Hallorann was pretty much a hero in that scene.  Of course, as my brain had missed the previous six readings,  Hallorann is a main character in “The Shining” and is also in the sequel “Doctor Sleep.”

Repeat reading is common in religion; in the LDS church, we’re urged to read and re-read the Scriptures, including “The Bible” and “The Book of Mormon,” particularly the latter.  I’m sure that most other churches urge their members to read “The Bible” more than once.

The reason for this post is that I was thinking about repeat reading, wondering if a “lightbulb” moment could come to me as I was repeat reading the LDS scriptures.  In other words, it was a test.  I was to read scriptures in the manner I am accustomed, sometimes focusing, often not, but trying to keep focused.

I was in Luke, chapter 15, in the New Testament, reading The Prodigal Son parable when the dim bulb brightened, and that was kind of cool.  The story is familiar and even iconic.  Dad has built a good farm.  He has two sons; the elder works hard, the younger takes his inheritance, goes off and blows his money in riotous living.

Destitute, now humble, he goes home and asks his father if he can be a mere servant, so he can eat.  His dad embraces him, and they have a celebration, killing the “fatted calf.”  Meanwhile, the elder son, working in the fields, hears of the celebration for the younger son.  He’s angry and refuses to attend, reminding his dad of his hard work and his brother’s sloth.  His dad tells him that all he has is still his, but that they should rejoice that the son, once lost, has returned.

I’ve read this parable probably a 100-plus times, lots of Sunday Schools, Institutes and seminary lessons, and the principles of “sorrow,” “regret,” “contriteness,” “humility,” “forgiveness,” “love,” “reclamation,” “joy,” “happiness” have all registered.  Until a few days ago, though, I had never thought much of the elder son.  He seemed to have some justifiable outrage but was pacified by the dad in the end.

But does the elder son represent a sinner, also?  Was Christ using the mechanically faithful son to illustrate someone who does good for the wrong reasons, elevating himself in order to put down others, losing humility in the process.  I’m no expert in theology, so I went to, of course, books, to see if my thoughts had any weight.

Because I love old pre-Correlation LDS texts, I grabbed the 1938, approved by LDS President Heber J Grant, “The New Testament Speaks,” a 680-page LDS Sunday School guide, overseen by John A. Widstoe, LDS Commissioner of Education. I bought this tome at Deseret Industries. On page 379, analyzing the parable, it reads:

“Then there was also the son who was lost even though his father saw his face every day. He was the selfish, loveless one, with his contempt for those who had strayed away. Although he never left home, he was far away from his father in spirit. He had no love for his father in his heart, or he would have been glad to see his father rejoice. His years of labor had been done in a hard, mechanical way, with the thought that some day all would belong to him. St. Augustine said that the stay-at-home son was looking toward getting something rather than giving.”

The author prefers the title of “The Two Lost Sons” to “The Prodigal Son.” That was a harsher assessment that I had for the elder son, but it got me wondering if the eldest son’s role in the parable was representative of a faction in Christ’s era. Was Christ reproving someone or something? So, I went to an older, but still popular and contemporary LDS text, James E. Talmage’s “Jesus The Christ,” looking for an answer.

Talmage’s assessment of the elder son is also pointed. He writes: “There is significance in the elder son’s designation of the penitent as ‘this thy son,’ rather than ‘my brother.’ The elder son, deafened by selfish anger, refused to hear aright the affectionate assurance; ‘Son, thou art ever with me, and all that I have is thine,’ and with heart hardened by unbrotherly resentment he stood unmoved by the emotional and loving outburst, ‘this thy brother was dead, and is alive again; and was lost, and is found.’”

And Talmage draws a parallel to the eldest son’s self-righteous anger: He writes: “Pharisees and scribes, to whom this masterpiece of illustrative incident was delivered, must have taken to themselves its personal application. They were typified by the elder son, laboriously attentive to routine, methodically plodding by rule and rote in the multifarious labors of the field, without interest except that of self, and all unwilling to welcome a repentant publican or a returned sinner. From all such they were estranged; such a one might be to the indulgent and forgiving Father, ‘this thy son,’ but never to them, a brother. They cared not who or how many were lost, so long as they were undisturbed in heirship and possession by the return of penitent prodigals. …”

I guess the point of all this, or at least what I learned after my 150^th reading of the parable, is that I don’t have to be the one who sins away comfort and security to be in peril. It was an interesting – and suitable – defense for the practice of repeat reading, secular or non-secular.

-- Doug Gibson