If you have spent time in downtown Salt Lake City in recent years, you likely have noticed scaffolding around the Lion and Beehive Houses on Temple Square. Part of a restoration project that encompasses structural improvements and preservation work, these buildings have undergone some very complicated evaluations and remain a work in progress.

Once the home and offices of Brigham Young—who served as territorial governor and president of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints—these buildings hold general interest. Nearly bulldozed for a parking garage in the 1960s, if not for the church's then-Young Women leader Florence Jacobsen (1913-2017), the Lion and Beehive Houses stand among us today as emblems of a time, of a place and, particularly, of an important historical figure.

They will go on and be treasured by countless people, but the man who once occupied them remains somewhat elusive, which is unfortunate, given his entwined place in our understanding of ourselves as a city and state. Having worked extensively with Young's papers, I have noticed this disconnect especially in our relations with one another—itself a work in progress.

If there's one thing that appears evident from the tenor of conversations regarding Young—whether religious or secular, Latter-day Saint participant or not—I have concluded that there's a single quality that most Utahns share: they know very little about the actual man.

Yes, the bare facts are readily grasped: Born to austere Methodist parents in Vermont; little schooling; labored as an artisan; embraced the teachings of Joseph Smith; devoted his life as a missionary and Apostle; became the face of 19th century Mormonism following his movement's relocation to Mexican territory.

I'm going to stick my neck out here and suggest that neither the sanitized, all-knowing chieftain so extolled by his apologists, nor the monstrous tyrant behind every local ill so reviled by his detractors bear much resemblance to the real man. On the contrary, these two artificial avatars of Brigham Young pertain more to how we treat each other today. On all sides, invoking Young's name is often little more than a cheap ploy to make ourselves feel superior to someone else on cultural, spiritual or political grounds.

Young's discourses were often informal and impromptu, possessing plenty of theatrical thunder for his hearers that hardly translates well on the printed page. But, as historian Ronald Walker has pointed out, "the Saints who listened to him Sunday after Sunday knew what the occasional visitors at the Tabernacle did not: Young's preachings were often upbeat and liberal. Doctrines of depravity and damnation had no appeal for him. Humankind, he believed, was good. He rejected out of hand the idea that his church monopolized good intentions or righteousness."

That being said, Young was not immune to personal blindness or such vices as racism. Despite early Mormonism's open racial vision, as historian W. Paul Reeve has shown, Young established a course that developed—in fits and starts following his death—into a crystallized precedent of segregation that has haunted Latter-day Saint culture even after it was finally repealed in 1978.

Stated generously, then, Young kept his people together as best he could and led them away from a hostile environment for the purpose of building a society on principles gleaned from their religious explorations and historical moment. Stated more searchingly, he and his contemporaries carried their traumas and weaknesses with them, replicating the very ills they so despised elsewhere—like inequality, racism and violence—and remained so entrenched in an "us against them" position that they failed to see those patterns being perpetuated among their neighbors and children.

When one factors in the larger world of the 19th century—with all the attitudes that then carried popular currency—it becomes somewhat problematic to compare that century with our present world. It's similarly foolhardy to presume that everything we consider the norm today is necessarily wiser and better than anything before. Given how easily we humans can take societal steps backwards as much as forwards, we should dispense with that bit of modern arrogance.

What I can tell you is that Young resented the repressive tendencies of his puritanical forebears, who looked down on such joys as dancing and theater.

He mocked the fundamentalist religious creeds that were threatened by scientific discovery. He demonstrated a unique environmental ethic, advocated lifelong education and held little respect for those who extolled blind obedience. He, along with his counselors, particularly feared the reigning power of capitalism, as in this message from 1875:

"One of the great evils with which our own nation is menaced at the present time is the wonderful growth of wealth in the hands of a comparatively few individuals. The very liberties for which our fathers contended so steadfastly and courageously, and which they bequeathed to us as a priceless legacy, are endangered by the monstrous power which this accumulation of wealth gives to a few individuals and a few powerful corporations."

I don't know what Brigham Young would make of today's Beehive State. But he would most likely have despised the worship of wealth that infects both those who loathe his name as well as those who piously take mileage with it.

If he were alive today, he'd be a different person than he was, living in the 19th century, so it's a moot point. For Utahns, regardless of faith or non-faith, why not instead learn from his errors, appreciate his contributions and let that be the basis for a more unified community?

"I am not a stereotyped Latter-day Saint, and do not believe in the doctrine," Young once remarked in 1860. "Away with stereotyped 'Mormons.'"

As we Utahns continue to renovate ourselves while preserving the beauty of our past, I would broaden that statement even further: Away with stereotyped Utahns!

Private Eye is off this week.

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