T-Cubed

This past week Truman G. Madsen died. I have known him for a long time, and like the many other famous people I have known for a long time, he didn’t know me from Adam’s off-ox. When I first started teaching many years ago, Truman was one of those individuals who was frequently asked to address congregations of religious educators in order that they might be benefited from his experience and wisdom. I don’t think that I ever took exception to anything I ever heard him say; I generally took exception when other people took the things that he said out of context and tried to beat me senseless with them.

At the height of his career, Truman was a professor of “Fried Froth” at BYU, as President John Taylor liked to refer to Philosophy. Truman made something more substantial out of the ruminations of self-instructed men. Frequently, those self-interested, meandering thoughts, regurgitated generation after generation by teachers and students alike at universities around the world, became springboards for something of true import and, best of all, even comprehensible when illuminated by his inspiring enthusiasm and clarity.

I am not certain how many books and articles he has written over the years, but he was prolific. I checked the Deseret Book website a few moments ago and he had 14 titles still in print that they were offering to the public. Amazon had 69 books and 6 DVDs in their listing. Brigham Young University has 7 of his addresses at the university available, beginning in 1965 to 2000. The following is a listing of some of the books that have gained some notoriety during the last forty years or so according to one website.

Joseph Smith the Prophet
Eternal Man
Defender of the faith: The B. H. Roberts story
Christ and the inner life
Five Classics by Truman G. Madsen
The highest in us
Four Essays on Love
Reflections on Mormonism: Judaeo-Christian parallels
The Radiant Life
The Life and Teachings of the Prophet Joseph
Presidents Of The Church: Insights Into Their Lives And Teachings
Jesus of Nazareth (Volumes 1-4)
The Sacrament - Feasting At the Lord's Table
The Temple: Where Heaven Meets Earth
The Concordance of the Doctrinal Statements of Joseph Smith
Revelation, Reason, and Faith: Essays in Honor of Truman G. Madsen
How To Stop Forgetting and Start Remembering
How to be Loved and Beloved
B.H. Roberts : the Book of Mormon and the atonement
Philosopher and the Quarterback
The Commanding Image Of Christ
The Temple in antiquity : ancient records and modern perspectives
Joseph Smith among the prophets
House of God: The Promised Blessings of the Temple
BYU Studies Vol. 10 No. 3, 1970 - Institute of Mormon Studies
Joseph Smith - Ein Prophet?
BYU Studies Vol. 13 No. 4, 1973

As I browsed through the Deseret News this morning I came across a tribute to Truman Madsen in which the author referred to Truman as the “Lion of LDS Letters”.

“What a winsome title,” I thought. “Maybe it’s even apt.”

Being of a rather fanciful frame of mind, I wondered what my epitaph composer would come up with when I shuffled off my mortal coil.

There may be some justification for a glorious title of some kind. I have written as much as anyone on the planet about the invented languages of J.R.R. Tolkien. There have been more than twenty books and about fifty articles published during the last 25 years or so that have had my name affixed to them. I have given papers all over the United States and Canada at conferences and conventions on Tolkien’s linguistic genius, and even appeared at Oxford University for another one of my erudite takes on Tolkien’s style of writing. The Tolkien Society of America graced me with one of their Honorary Doctorates several years ago and the Elvish Linguistic Fellowship gave me one of their annual awards for work that I had done on the “Father Christmas Letters”. At one point I was the undisputed authority on the languages of Middle Earth. One day many years ago, I became somewhat flushed with the reception that some of my writings and addresses had generated and effused to Trillium how wonderful it all was. She, the well-grounded soul that she is, carefully, but quickly put all of my hyperbole into perspective.

In reference to a recent article that I had written for “Mythlore” she said, “Zaphod, what is the circulation of ‘Mythlore’?” I said that I supposed that it was in the neighborhood of 1200 to 1300 copies, sent throughout the world to individuals and libraries alike.

“Now,” she continued, “during the next 20 years or so, how many people do you think will sit down with a copy of ‘Mythlore’ and peruse your deathless prose?” Being conservative, but loyal to the journal of the Mythopoeic Society, I said that I would estimate maybe as many as 10,000 people might devote a little time to the subject.

“Okay, I will give that to you, my dear,” as a smile began to play upon her lips. “Can you give me an idea as to the population of this planet?” I estimated the total to be about 6.5 billion.

“So, the relative importance of your wonderful little piece of word-smithery and the readership thereof…?”

Well, this past week also marked another milestone in my sojourn in obscurity. I began reading Christopher Tolkien’s latest addition to his father’s posthumous works, “The Legend of Sigurd & Gudrun”. I had always considered myself to really be quite informed about J.R.R. Tolkien’s life and letters (I can tell you what “J.R.R.” stands for). I had managed to read just about everything available on the man prior to 1982 when I received my PhD on his works and I attenuated that research for the next 25 years. Both my Masters and Doctorate degrees focused on Old and Middle English language and literature in an attempt to understand precisely what Tolkien was about in his creative works. I dabbled in Welsh, Finnish, Gothic, Old Icelandic, and a variety of other languages and bodies of literature because I knew that he had at least a passing interest in them. Reading Christopher’s introduction to the “Legend”, however, revealed to me again how woefully ignorant I have been regarding J.R.R. Tolkien’s career and expertise. I told Trillium after I finished the introductory materials that I felt like I had successfully explored what I thought was Mount Tolkien, only to discover that I had merely taken a few steps out of the Valley and had ventured only a short way into the Foothills.

So, what is the gist of all this?

I have decided to come up with my own epitaph, one that reflects that which has been bestowed upon Truman Madsen. While my long-time acquaintance may indeed be the “Lion of LDS Letters”, I have decided that I have become the “Titmouse of Tolkien Trivia”.

Pure Philology

I woke up this morning at 2:30 with my brain on fire. That happens to me from time to time, particularly if the events of the previous day have been provoking. I went to choir practice in the afternoon and my friend Gordon spent part of the time trying to help the members of the choir comprehend that the words of hymns are not merely sounds to be articulated, but sentiments to be conveyed by the meaning of those words in combination with one another. As we went through the several verses of “Precious Savior, Dear Redeemer”, a hymn that we are going to sing on Easter Sunday, he asked about each noun, verb, adjective, and adverb, soliciting from us the meanings attached to them. Our practice was considerably improved.

Precious Savior, dear Redeemer, Thy sweet message now impart.

May thy Spirit, pure and fervid, Enter ev'ry timid heart;

Carry there the swift conviction, Turning back the sinful tide.

Precious Savior, dear Redeemer, May each soul in thee abide.

Precious Savior, dear Redeemer, We are weak but thou art strong;

In thy infinite compassion, Stay the tide of sin and wrong.

Keep thy loving arms around us; Keep us in the narrow way.

Precious Savior, dear Redeemer, Let us never from thee stray.

Precious Savior, dear Redeemer, Thou wilt bind the broken heart.

Let not sorrow overwhelm us; Dry the bitter tears that start.

Curb the winds and calm the billows; Bid the angry tempest cease.

Precious Savior, dear Redeemer, Grant us everlasting peace.

H.R Palmer

During the latter part of the Third Watch this morning, I began to think about my own response to language. I wondered if I, like J.R.R. Tolkien, could consider myself a pure philologist. “I like history”, he said in a letter to his son Christopher, “and am moved by it, but its finest moments for me are those in which it throws light on words and names.” Tolkien frequently spoke of his “linguistic aesthetic”, his predilection for certain kinds of sounds and rhythms in language that particularly pleased him. I find that I am not particularly satisfied with anything that I have writtn unless it can be read out loud, no matter how long a sentence may be, no matter how lengthy an essay may be; good writing is a joy to read out loud. In conjunction with the sounds and rhythm of any piece of prose or poetry is the flow of ideas that illuminate the mind and heart. This only comes when a writer actually has something to say, when he has felt or understood something profoundly. This, more often than not, is the great stumbling block for most erstwhile writers. Shakespeare’s MacBeth laments something of this meaningless prattle that many writers choose to serve up to their readers.

Life's but a walking shadow, a poor player
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more: it is a tale
Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,
Signifying nothing.

This, of course, is Gordon’s point exactly. To sing without the accompanying intended emotion subverts the whole point of performing.

I wrote earlier of John Denver’s “Perhaps Love”, a piece that was originally performed by Denver and Placido Domingo. Many years after the song first aired, John Denver performed “Perhaps Love” in a live concert somewhere in Southern California. A friend who was at the performance commented afterward that for some reason that particular version, just the singer and his guitar, had moved the audience more deeply than anything that he done that night. Denver smiled and said, “It was something that I learned from Placido. He sang his part with emotion, each word having its own articulation, its own sound, its own emphasis, according to its meaning. ‘Cloud’ and ‘warm’ should be sung differently than ‘storm’ and ‘steel’ and I have tried to do more of that when I perform.” Imagine that! Many people cannot abide the duet and prefer the solo, but the power of Denver’s solo performances derived directly from the collaboration. Domingo helped Denver get inside of his own creations.

There is a point of diminishing returns, however. I write songs to express feelings that I have bubbling up inside of me. Sometimes the feelings are so strong during the composition that I cannot publicly perform the song until I have sung the piece over and over again, pushing the emotions down. Sometimes I get so far inside of a song that I forget what I am doing, even failing to play the chords properly on the guitar. I frequently have to practice a set for months in order to strike a balance between the sentiments and the skills.

When the choir first gathered to practice the three hymns that we are going to sing on Easter, Gordon asked me to talk to the members of the choir about the historical setting for “Peace Be Unto Thy Soul”, a work that he had composed based on a passage of scripture. I did so with some expertise. The effect on the altos, where one of my daughters was performing, was dramatic. Jennifer said afterwards that the women around her could not sing, they were so deeply moved by what I had said. As we rode together to the practice yesterday, Jenny said, “Hey! Gordon didn’t ask you to talk about the hymns this week, did he?” I replied in the negative. “Good,” she said. “I would really like to get through the thing this week.”

Two weeks ago I had no trouble whatsoever singing “Peace Be Unto Thy Soul”. Yesterday, I could not finish the piece at all. My knowledge, my preparation for my little talk two weeks ago, had steeled me somewhat against the power of the lyrics. With that knowledge fading from my mind, my heart unabashedly accepted the significance of what Gordon had written and I was undone. Hopefully I will do better next week and the week after that.

Words mean things. They represent little pieces of who and what we are. They allow us to share the innermost parts of our private sanctuaries with each other. Communication is, in the end, “communion” with all of the power that particular word can convey. We invite others to drink from the living waters of our soul and by so doing we are mutually and eternally bound to each other. If done properly, the union is accompanied by brotherhood and love. I am glad that I know Gordon Jessop.