No Man Knows My History (Arkosh History)

by Fawn M. Brodie

But once in this spring of 1844, at the funeral of a certain King Follett, he delivered one of the most profound sermons of his whole career. For the first time he proclaimed in a unified discourse the themes that he had been inculcating in fragments and frequently in secret to his most favored Saints: the glory of knowledge, the multiplicity of gods, the eternal progression of the human soul. And when he was almost finished and the exaltation of spirit that motivates a great sermon was exhausting itself, he paused and in a wanton moment of self-searching said with a kind of wonder: “You don’t know me; you never knew my heart. No man knows my history. I cannot tell it: I shall never undertake it. I don’t blame anyone for not believing my history. If I had not experienced what I have, I could not have believed it myself.”