The Presidency’s Mormon Moment

By KENNETH WOODWARD

IN May, Mitt Romney, the
former Massachusetts governor and 2008 Republican presidential hopeful,
will give the commencement address at Pat Robertson’s Regent
University. What better opportunity for Mr. Romney to discuss the issue
of his Mormon faith before an audience of evangelicals?

When John F. Kennedy spoke before Protestant clergymen in Houston in
1960, he sought to dispel the fear that as a Catholic president, he
would be subject to direction from the pope. As a Mormon, Mr. Romney
faces ignorance as well as fear of his church and its political
influence. More Americans, polls show, are willing to accept a woman or
an African-American as president than a member of the Church of Jesus
Christ of Latter-day Saints.

It isn’t just evangelical Christians in the Republican base who find
Mr. Romney’s religion a stumbling block. Among those who identify
themselves as liberal, almost half say they would not support a Mormon
for president. Although with 5.6 million adherents Mormonism is the
nation’s fourth-largest denomination, 57 percent of respondents to a
recent CBS poll said they know little or nothing about Mormon beliefs
and practices. Mr. Romney needs to be their teacher, whether he likes
that role or not.

Among the reasons Americans distrust the Mormon church is Mormon
clannishness. Because every worthy Mormon male is expected to be a lay
priest in voluntary service to the church, the demands on his time
often leave little opportunity to cultivate close friendships with
non-Mormon neighbors. A good Mormon is a busy Mormon. Those — like Mr.
Romney — who serve as bishops (pastors of congregations) often find it
difficult to schedule evenings at home with their own families.

To many Americans, Mormonism is a church with the soul of a
corporation. Successful Mormon males can expect to be called, at some
time in their lives, to assume full-time duties in the church’s
missions, in its vast administrative offices in Salt Lake City or in
one of many church-owned businesses. Mormons like to hire other
Mormons, and those who lose their jobs can count on the church networks
to find them openings elsewhere. Mr. Romney put those same networks to
effective use in raising part of his $23 million in campaign
contributions.

Moreover, Mormons are perceived to be unusually secretive. Temple
ceremonies — even weddings — are closed to non-Mormons, and church
members are told not to disclose what goes on inside them. This
attitude has fed anti-Mormon charges of secret and unholy rites.
Already in his campaign, Mr. Romney has had to defend his church
against beliefs and practices it abandoned a century ago. That some
voters still confuse the Latter-day Saints with fundamentalist Mormon
sects that continue to practice polygamy and child marriage is another
reason the candidate should take the time to set the record straight.

But Mr. Romney must be sure to express himself in a way that will be
properly understood. Any journalist who has covered the church knows
that Mormons speak one way among themselves, another among outsiders.
This is not duplicity but a consequence of the very different meanings
Mormon doctrine attaches to words it shares with historic Christianity.

For example, Mormons speak of God, but they refer to a being who was
once a man of “flesh and bone,” like us. They speak of salvation, but
to them that means admittance to a “celestial kingdom” where a worthy
couple can eventually become “gods” themselves. The Heavenly Father of
whom they speak is married to a Heavenly Mother. And when they
emphasize the importance of the family, they may be referring to their
belief that marriage in a Mormon temple binds families together for all
eternity.

Thus, when Mr. Romney told South Carolina Republicans a few months
ago that Jesus was his “personal savior,” he used Southern Baptist
language to affirm a relationship to Christ that is quite different in
Mormon belief. (For Southern Baptists, “personal savior” implies a
specific born-again experience that is not required or expected of
Mormons.) This is not a winning strategy for Mr. Romney, whose handlers
should be aware that Christian fundamentalists and evangelicals know
Mormon doctrine better than most other Americans do — if only because
they study Mormonism in order to rebut its claims.

Especially at Regent University, Mr. Romney should avoid using
language that blurs fundamental differences among religious traditions.
Rather, he should acknowledge those differences and insist that no
candidate for public office should have to apologize for his or her
religious faith.

Finally, there is the question of authority in the Church of
Latter-day Saints, and of what obligations an office holder like Mr.
Romney must discharge. Like the Catholic Church, the Mormon Church has
a hierarchical structure in which ultimate authority is vested in one
man. But unlike the pope, the church’s president is also regarded as
God’s own “prophet” and “revelator.” Every sitting prophet is free to
proclaim new revelations as God sees fit to send them — a form of
divine direction that Mormon missionaries play as a trump card against
competing faiths.

At Regent University, Mr. Romney will address an audience of
conservative Christians who regard the Bible alone as the ultimate
authority on faith and morals. Some, like Mr. Robertson, will also be
Pentecostals who claim to receive private revelations themselves from
time to time. But these revelations are strictly personal, the fruit of
a wildly unpredictable Holy Spirit, and their recipients have no power
to demand acceptance, much less obedience, from others.

How, then, might Mr. Romney defend himself against the charge that,
as president, he would be vulnerable to direction from the prophet of
his church?

He should invite critics to review the church’s record. The former
Massachusetts governor is neither the first nor even the most prominent
Mormon office holder. The Senate majority leader, Harry Reid of Nevada,
and Senator Orrin Hatch of Utah come immediately to mind — not to
mention Mr. Romney’s father, George, a moderate governor of Michigan
who ran for the Republican nomination for president in 1968.

There is no evidence that church authorities have tried to influence
any of these public servants. On the contrary, the church leadership is
undoubtedly astute enough to realize — as Catholic bishops did with
President Kennedy — that any pressure on a Romney White House would
only harm the church itself. “My church doesn’t dictate to me or anyone
what political policies we should pursue,” Mr. Romney declared in New
Hampshire in February. Voters should accept that declaration unless
there is evidence to prove otherwise.

The issues above are real to many people, and Mr. Romney should take
the opportunity to address them at Regent University. But none of these
popular reservations about the Mormon Church are reasons to vote for or
against Mitt Romney. History was bound to have its Mormon moment in
presidential politics, just as it had its Catholic moment when Kennedy
ran. Now that the moment has arrived, much depends on Mr. Romney.

Kenneth Woodward, a contributing editor at Newsweek, is writing a book about American religion since 1950.