Educating Zion - A School in Zion

Late last winter I was feeling pretty blue about something or other that didn't seem quite right at the university and found myself wondering if all the effort was really worth it. As is so often the case with such monumental matters, I don't even remember now what it was--but whatever it was, it made those winter days a bit darker than usual.

That led to a question I found myself asking late one night in the darkened study of the President's Home: "Should the Church even have a university at all?" Did it justify the effort, the expense, the toil, the tithing--and was it worth the pain? After all, the Church had disengaged from a number of operations, which included not only hospitals and hotels, but of far more interest to us, schools. Should the Church, I wondered, continue to fund BYU if resources are limited, an increasing number of students cannot attend, and individuals at the university--or in any way the university collectively--could not measure up to the expectations that so many generations have had for us?

I sat there that night thinking of what I said on August 26, 1980, when you were kind enough to sit through the very first of these nine messages from me. I said then that I was trusting everything I had, in whatever the Holland administrative years would be, on one single and preeminent principle. That cardinal supposition, that consuming vision, was that we could be an excellent university, indeed a truly great university, an "educational Mt. Everest," if you will, and still be absolutely, unequivocally, forever faithful to the gospel of Jesus Christ and to His restored Church that sponsors us. In fact, we would accomplish the one because of the other, never in spite of it. My presidential belief, the only one that seemed to me to justify BYU's existence, was that we could have it both ways, that superb scholarship and rock-solid faith were as inextricable in our future as they were essential to it. I spoke that day of "scholar-saints" who could make this university one of the latter-day wonders of the world.¹

From that first meeting to this very hour, I have believed that such idealism, such passion for the ultimate possibility, was incumbent upon us all. "'Tis but a base ignoble mind/That mounts no higher than a bird can soar," Gloucester reminded Suffolk.² I believed we could somehow, in some way, mount higher, and I was certain God expected our minds to soar. Henry Thoreau had mused by the side of his woodland pond that "in the long run, men hit only what they aim at."³ So not failure, but low aim would be the most severe indictment of a Latter-day Saint fortunate enough to be at BYU.

Surely we of all people are moved by that "indomitable urge"--that's Ortéga y Gasset's phrase--to expand life, to enlarge it, to improve it. That is our hope, our heritage, our theology. From the beginning, ours has been a soul-stretching belief. "Thy mind, O man!" said the Prophet Joseph Smith, "if thou wilt lead a soul unto salvation, must stretch as high as the utmost heavens, and search into and contemplate the darkest abyss, and the broad expanse of eternity."⁴ Only then, he said, could we "contemplate the mighty acts of Jehovah in all their variety and glory."⁵

With such aspirations for us all, I suppose it isn't surprising that sometimes in the dark of the night I feel we are not measuring up. Soaring is, after all, difficult work. And yes, I did remember that Nauvoo, the city of Zion, had been laid out to feature two Latter-day Saint monuments: a temple and a university. But I also knew that scholastic tension between the sacred and profane had marked most of this world's history, and if the dream weren't really attainable, then why have a BYU at all? The fraction of the Church's youth we can serve decreases dramatically each year; we have a fixed BYU student numerator and an exploding Church membership denominator. So the only challenge we can ever address is the qualitative one. And if we can't win that war--if Jerusalem really can't find and fellowship Athens and seal her firmly into the family group sheet--then let's stop holding all these cottage meetings in Provo.⁶

Would it not, I wondered, be better to use the tithing resources of the Church in a more fundamental way--missionary work or temple building or humanitarian aid, say--and let our students attend any one of a thousand other universities that don't pretend to such millennial aspirations? If BYU were ever to look and act just like any other university, who needs it? Not, I was certain, the tithe payers of the Church.

Thanks to my wife, I long ago established the habit of reading at least some scripture every night before retiring, however late it might be. So after such dark thoughts, I turned a lamp back on and reached for my scriptures. For whatever reason, I decided not to pursue the sequential reading that I do most nights. I simply felt inspired to open the scriptures at random and find something fresh and unfamiliar. This night I opened the book without prejudice and with, I think, a special measure of hope in my heart. Literally and truly the first words on which my eyes fell were these in section 97 of the Doctrine and Covenants: "Behold, I say unto you, concerning the school in Zion, I, the Lord, am well pleased that there should be a school in Zion" (D&C 97:3; italics added).

The words hit me like a jackhammer. I chilled and blushed and chilled again. I stood up and walked around the room. I'm not embarrassed to tell you I was emotional--you know me well enough to have assumed that; I blubber if the sun comes up. And there across the street, just a few yards from our home, I thought I saw the statue of Karl G. Maeser smile. (Karl wears a pretty stern look all day there atop his pedestal, so perhaps he smiles every morning at about 1:30 just to relax, but I hadn't seen him do it before!)

So I took something of a lightning strike that night, and I almost felt required to apologize. "Lord, I really don't harbor doubts about why we have BYU, even on the bad days. Think of it as a joke, a kind of bad joke, I was playing on my neighbor over there, President Maeser. Please don't garnish my wages or my salvation. And please don't send me with President Cluff to search on horseback for Zarahemla."⁷ I even considered singing the school song. "There has to be a 'school in Zion,'"
I thought, "because perhaps there can be no Zion without it!" By this time, I suspected that the Brigham Young statue was smiling, too.

Now I know the school referred to in section 97 is technically not BYU. But BYU is, nevertheless, a legitimate academic descendant of the School of the Prophets, and I got a pat on the backside that night which suggested I stop whining and go to work; there was an inheritance to be claimed.

So today I stand before you a repentant man and now presume to answer in some detail my own dark and fleeting question. I would like to suggest why I think the Lord is well pleased that there be a "school in Zion" and why his servants have kept a Brigham Young University when almost all other Church academies are gone, why I think we need it yet, and why I am committed more than ever to its rightful destiny, a university worthy to place before the all-searching eye of God.

As I have already said, the most conspicuous and fundamental reason for a "school in Zion" is plainly and simply because it is our theology. You know the verses: "Do the work of printing, and of selecting and writing books for schools in this church, that little children also may receive instruction before me as is pleasing unto me" (D&C 55:4). "Teach ye diligently and my grace shall attend you, that you may be instructed more perfectly in . . . things both in heaven and in the earth, and under the earth; things which have been, things which are, things which must shortly come to pass; . . . a knowledge also of countries and of kingdoms" (D&C 88:7879). "Seek ye out of the best books words of wisdom; seek learning, even by study and also by faith" (D&C 88:118). "Study and learn, and become acquainted with all good books, and with languages, tongues, and people" (D&C 90:15). Such knowledge will rise with us in the Resurrection, we are told, and most sobering of all is the warning "It is impossible for a man to be saved in ignorance" (D&C 131:6), for "the glory of God is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth" (D&C 93:36), and "light and truth forsake that evil one" (D&C 93:37). So part of the message of that restored gospel of Jesus Christ, part of the light now shining into what had been dark ages indeed, is the divine counsel that "to be learned is good if [we] hearken unto the counsels of God" (2 Ne. 9:29).

Surely the most powerful and compelling of all the glorious principles to reenter the world by way of Palmyra was the doctrine of inherent deity. Dare we think it? Could we say it? Would we be labeled blasphemers and heretics for believing it--that we are all literally the spiritual offspring of God, his rightful daughters and sons, who through a kind of divine DNA and the atoning mediation of that greatest of all heirs, the Lord Jesus Christ, have been given the chance to somewhere, someday by "diligence and obedience" (D&C 130:19) know what God knows and do what God does? From those most humble beginnings in Fayette to the magnificence of the final Follett sermon, the Prophet Joseph kept rolling back the firmament, kept letting us glimpse, however myopically, into the vast expanse of our own eternity.

"God has created man with a mind capable of instruction," he wrote, "and a faculty which may be enlarged in proportion to the heed and diligence given to the light communicated from heaven to the intellect."⁸ No wonder we would be "ardent friends of learning," as President George Q. Cannon described the Latter-day Saints. No wonder we would be "true seekers after knowledge."⁹ No wonder Joseph would leave warning, "A man is saved no faster than he gets knowledge."¹⁰

It would be axiomatic that some truths matter much more than others, but an educated LDS mind would know that, and having gathered all truth into one great whole, it would order and integrate and prioritize truth, using knowledge to emphasize virtue, love, and the saving ordinances of God. In reflecting on the atrocities of the Holocaust, George Steiner observed, "We know now that a man can read Goethe or Rilke in the evening, that he can play Bach and Schubert, and go to his day's work at Auschwitz in the morning. . . . [What grows] up inside literate civilization [that seems to lead to] barbarism?"¹¹

"The Lord requireth the heart and a willing mind," Joseph taught (D&C 64:34; italics added). Your mind and heart must expand together. "You must enlarge your souls towards each other," he pled. "Let your hearts expand [as you learn], let them be enlarged towards others."¹³ The heart and a willing mind.

And what of Brigham Young? The longer I live and the more I read, the more fitting I find it that this largest and nearly last remnant of the academies established under his pioneer leadership still bears and perpetuates his name. As his advocate Hugh Nibley says, "There never was a man more undeviatingly consistent and rational in thought and utterance."¹⁴

Brigham Young's metaphor for life was the academy, and the principal schoolmaster was his beloved Joseph Smith. Of Joseph he said, "He took heaven, figuratively speaking, and brought it down to earth; and he took the earth, brought it up, and opened up, in plainness and simplicity, the things of God; and that is the beauty of his mission."¹⁵ How plain was that view of life? How simple? To Brigham Young, quite simple. "What are we here for?" Brigham asks, then answers, "To learn to enjoy more, and to increase in knowledge and in experience."¹⁶ "The object of this existence is to learn," he taught.

Hugh Nibley says, "The treasures of the earth are merely to provide us with room and board while we are here at school."¹⁸ And Brigham Young, speaking of property and possessions, said, "They are made for the comfort of the creature, and not for his adoration. They are made to sustain and preserve the body while procuring the knowledge and wisdom that pertain to God and his kingdom, in order that we may preserve ourselves, and live for ever in his presence."¹⁹ "And when we have lived millions of years in the presence of God and angels, . . . shall we then cease learning? No, or eternity ceases."²⁰
"We shall never cease to learn, unless we apostatize. . . . Can you understand that?"²¹

Obviously that kind of effort would be a struggle, but it was a struggle Brigham was always willing to ask for. He must have anticipated all the demands on our time at BYU. Stay anxiously engaged, he said. Actually, what he said is this: "After suitable rest and relaxation there is not a day, hour or minute that we should spend in idleness, but every minute of every day of our lives we should strive to improve our minds and to increase [our] faith [in] the holy Gospel."²² "The more knowledge the Elders have the better."²³

And, of course, for him knowledge meant knowledge of everything. "This is the belief and doctrine of the Latter-day Saints. Learn everything that the children of men know."²⁴ "Every true principle, every true science, every art, and all the knowledge that men possess, or that they ever did or ever will possess is from God. We should take pains and pride to . . . rear our children so that the learning and education of the world may be theirs."²⁵ "Teach the children, give them the learning of the world and the things of God."²⁶ "Mothers, . . . we will appoint you a mission to teach your children their duty; and instead of ruffles and fine dresses to adorn the body, teach them that which will adorn their minds."²⁷

"We are trying to teach this people to use their brains," he said.²⁸ "Whatever duty you are called to perform, take your minds with you, and apply them to what is to be done."²⁹ Apparently Brigham had an experience or two when someone must have forgotten that. "In things pertaining to this life, the lack of knowledge manifested by us as a people is disgraceful."³⁰ "I have seen months and months in this city when I could have wept like a whipt child to see the awful stupidity of the people."³¹

But that pain was the pain of a prophet, not merely a pedagogue. He knew why we needed to be intelligent. "All our educational pursuits are in the service of God, for all these labors are to establish truth on the earth, . . . that we may increase in knowledge, wisdom, understanding in the power of faith and in the wisdom of God, that we may become fit subjects to dwell in a higher state of existence and intelligence than we now enjoy."³² "If men would be great in goodness, they must be intelligent," he would say.³³

So it was theology. But surely one need not have a school to learn. No, and many didn't, including Joseph and Brigham themselves, but they knew that made it harder and maybe a lot less likely. They wanted structure and synergism for their young scholars. They needed, in short, a place in which to assemble and intensify their education; ergo, reason number two: they needed a "school in Zion"--as we need BYU. It may be too much to call ourselves Zion in our day, but we can be not only a place of gathering for an academic family five times the population of the southern Utah city in which I was born, but a gathering place for the knowledge and "treasures surviving in the earth from every age and culture."³⁴

Immediately after arriving in the valley, President Young initiated such a gathering. "[Secure] at least [one] copy of every valuable treatise on education," he told the Saints, "every book, map, chart, or diagram that may contain interesting, useful, and attractive matter, to gain the attention of children, and cause them to love to learn to read." This would include, he said, "every historical, mathematical, philosophical, geographical, geological, astronomical, scientific, practical, and all other . . . useful and interesting writings."³⁵

And of course, gathering the stuff of learning, the things of learning, or even the students of learning was not enough. So reason number three. What any true Zion would need--and the present world needs even more--is those educated and spiritual and wise who will sort, sift, prioritize, integrate, and give some sense of wholeness, some spirit of connectedness to great eternal truths. At the turn of the twentieth century, Josiah Royce, writing about the great intellectual achievements of our time, observed that man has, "through the richness of the intellectual quest, become more knowing, more clever and more skeptical." But we have not, Royce warned, "become more profound or more reverent. Nor have we found a way to put our learning in the context of the eternal."

Everyone in this room knows as well as I that from Royce's day to this, the problem with higher education has been the perpetuation of dividedness, separateness, departmentalization, specialties, subspecialties, and subspecies of subspecialties. Universities in this nation are disasters, informational Nagasakis, higher educational Hiroshimas. The "watchmen on the tower" cry out for those who will integrate, coalesce, clarify, and give both order and rank to important human knowledge. This generation has students who may not dare to ask the great human questions because their answers appear to be somewhere in the bottom of an academic dumpster, one nearly exploding at the seams from curricular cramming. "The connectedness of things is what the educator [must pursue]," said Mark Van Doren. "No human capacity is great enough to permit a vision of the world as simple, but if the educator does not aim at the vision no one else will, and the consequences are dire when no one does."³⁹

So I am convinced that the Lord needs a "school in Zion" now, even more than a century ago, to help a generation, indeed to help an entire Church membership, sort through much intellectual nonsense that is inevitably in an inert swamp of facts. More than any time in human history our students need--as Matthew Arnold needed--a Latter-day Saint Sophocles to teach them, to whom they would gladly give "special thanks [for an] even-balanced soul, / . . . Who saw life steadily, and saw it whole."⁴⁰

Is not BYU the restored gospel's designated place to "see life steadily and see it whole"? Shouldn't it be here that no less an intellect than Albert Einstein could find what he called that "vivid sense of the [truly] beautiful, [that vivid sense of the] morally good"?⁴¹ Could that not be one of the functions of "the Zion of the mind," as Professor Allen Bergin referred to the university in light of his own conversion to the Church and decision to come to BYU? A place not only to love the truth and gather it, but to organize and integrate it as well. A place for connectedness, for true community. A place for "even-balanced souls."

But even as I make this appeal for us to help our students and ultimately our church, I fear that we often can hardly help ourselves toward such wholeness and integration. Whether we are plumbers or professors, clerks or clinicians, we find it very hard to transcend our departments and specialties. Heaven only knows we find it hard to transcend the trivia of administration. Let me use a homely example.

Last year in this setting, I referred to a book on education by Allan Bloom, The Closing of the American Mind, which has since been on the New York Times best-seller list, hard cover and paperback, for some sixty weeks. I said then that it was perhaps the most unlikely best-selling book of modern times--filled with philosophy and erudite allusions, written on a dull subject like the responsibility of university presidents and professors. Whoever else might be interested in such matters (and apparently a surprising number were), the provocative title The Closing of the American Mind and the even more provocative subtitle How Higher Education Has Failed Democracy and Impoverished the Souls of Today's Students could not, I think, be more compelling or insistent to the eye of a university population.

On the basis of the title alone, would not our professional loyalties, or just the immensely heated discussion the book has stimulated for more than a year, almost force us to read it--at least a chapter or two? Without being either patronizing or prescriptive, may I just wonder aloud how many in our community have sampled it. I realize it is not required reading. I also realize that its scope doesn't fall neatly into a department. Indeed, the writer may have a background and behavior that do not square with ours. Best of all, I realize that one might argue against the book at least as vigorously as one would argue for it, but how are we supposed to know?

We are, you and I, accused in a runaway best seller of closing minds, of failing democracy, and of impoverishing souls! Those are terrible indictments. People have been pouring into bookstores in unprecedented numbers to watch one man slap, for all intents and purposes, every university in the nation with a gigantic slab of tuna. What are we to do? Hunker down deeper into our departments? I wonder.

But I think how wonderful it would be if, as a true community, we all read something together and talked about it, something broad and provocative and fun. If Bloom is too far down the alphabet, I'd settle for Aeschylus. I think it would be delightful if every person in this room would read tonight Prometheus Bound, Agamemnon, and The Seven against Thebes. That's about forty-two pages. And then over a paintbrush or pizza or pair of pinking shears, wherever we gather together, we could discuss them, gospel insights and all.

How might we cultivate the larger sense of connectedness and community here? I do worry about faculty, staff, and administrative segmentation that keeps us from being a full-fledged "school in Zion." Fortunately, those aspirations I spoke of earlier work in our favor. The ennobling climb toward an Everest allows us--indeed requires us--to take the high ground, gives us a place to view the broader, more liberating, more eternal "general" education, if you will, that is so fundamental to the growth of the human mind and development of the human soul.

That is the real merging we someday have to do here--not only organizing and pruning and prioritizing the world's knowledge all about us, but also fusing gospel insights and gospel perspectives into every field and discipline of study. One faculty member recently wrote me saying, "We need--without arrogance but with energy and daring--to try [to] integrate faith and scholarship in our writing and in our teaching and improve it until it stands on its own merit. . . . We especially need to get over merely trying to imitate others or win their approval. Too many [here] are still worrying whether what they write or say will pass the judgment of [a particular university] (of all places!)."

"We ought," he concludes, "to more fully find a way, a unique way, to combine the best of traditional scholarship with the religious and moral questions and perspectives intrinsic to that scholarship and to the restored gospel. That ought to be not an avocation, but a central part of our scholarly work."⁴³

I would quickly note that some disciplines probably lend themselves a little more directly to gospel insights and influence than others, so please spare me the sardonic questions whether there is a Mormon mathematics or a consecrated chemistry. There probably isn't, but I would say there are Mormon mathematicians and consecrated chemists and endowed engineers and historians who are high priests or Church auxiliary leaders. That should be an advantage in our integration of truth.

I do not want my next statement to be misunderstood. Please, do not misunderstand. I do not believe that Brigham Young University, at least with current policies on both funding and mission, will or should ever aspire to be a great research university as the nation defines research universities. I do believe with all my heart, however, that we should aspire to become the finest undergraduate university on the face of the planet. The misunderstanding I don't want is a knee-jerk, unwarranted assumption that we will therefore have no serious scholarship required of us nor have a significant, albeit careful selection of graduate and professional programs. I did not say we would be a four-year college. I said we would be a university.

But we will never, I think, be an MIT or a Cal Tech, nor should we. However, to be a world-class undergraduate teaching university, we have to be a lot smarter and a lot better than we are now. For the purposes of an absolutely unequaled liberal arts general and religious education, we must have teachers who investigate and integrate and know something, who are ambitious about godly growth--what Joseph Smith would call "enlargement." We must have teachers who are growing in precisely the same manner we expect students to grow--and that means significant scholarship.

In this day and age when books like those of Bloom and Boyer and Hirsch and a score of others lament the state of public education, and lay the blame squarely at the feet of the universities and their colleges of education who train and place teachers in those public schools, isn't there something that BYU can uniquely do, some way in which we not only can but should "stand and shine," to use John Masefield's description of a true university?⁴⁵

Don't we have both the advantage and the duty to step forward and rally the whole country in this time of national challenge? If BYU is to lend something unique to The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints in this last dispensation, something we can do that makes us a city set on a hill, a light that cannot be hid, wouldn't it be to produce just such an unequaled--and unfragmented and undivided--"school in Zion"? To be known as the place where one can obtain a grand, consummate, unparalleled, and integrated undergraduate education, with whatever other graduate and professional programs we can afford, is a reputation I confess to coveting. That is the mission we wrote for BYU eight years ago, and it is our mission still.

Then why aren't we doing better than we are? Well, in many ways we are doing superbly. I am thrilled, for example, with the increasingly vigorous contributions in Religious Education. Our colleagues there have developed a strong core curriculum founded on the standard works, have been very diligent in not letting it get watered down, offer a truly dramatic array of symposia and publications from the Religious Studies Center, and perhaps most gratifying of all have designed a scintillating Book of Mormon seminar for transfer faculty who teach that course. Some of our finest faculty on campus have told me that this seminar ranks among the most stimulating and rewarding faculty experiences they have ever had. That is wonderful news to me, to Religious Education, to the students who take those classes, and to the integrating general education climate on our campus. Indeed, our fourteen hours of religious education ought to be seen as the very heart of our general education experience. I have viewed it that way in the years I have been an administrator at BYU. I commend and applaud all those who help make that happen.

As for the Honors and General Education programs themselves, I consider them crown jewels at the very heart of the most important contributions BYU can make to the world of higher education. A great deal that excites me is happening in these university-wide programs, and more will happen. Our sisterhood and brotherhood and gospel-based goodwill give us a distinct GE advantage at BYU in our ability to cross disciplinary and departmental lines. We simply have a very muscular leg up on the rest of the academic world. We must seize that advantage. Having focused for several years primarily on structural arrangements, curricular issues, and winning faculty support, we should be free to pursue informed, inspired, liberating education.

To do so, we must organize, encourage, evaluate, and reward good teaching. You will have noted that in addition to our Alcuin awards, we have recently awarded professorships to strong scholar-teachers who have made a major commitment to undergraduate education. I have announced today the creation of a Distinguished Teacher Award, as one of the university's two highest faculty honors. Exciting, demanding, stretching, challenging, well-organized, and well-taught courses are at the heart of what we do here. No amount of structural fussing or regulatory tinkering will compensate for stale, sterile lectures.

In the curriculum, we must constantly resist the centrifugal force that habitually plagues GE programs and target our limited resources on a relatively small number of very significant offerings. Furthermore, we need to guard carefully against the tendency to let general education offerings become mere introductory courses to a discipline. They simply must remain more universal than that.

May I suggest that we also must do a better job of communicating the very practical value of general education--to our students and to the public. I think it is very important for us not to create an unnecessary cleavage between the world of the academy and the world of work, especially not in the minds of tuition-paying parents and higher education's increasing number of critics. We need to do a better job of showing the crucial link between general education and vocation.

Lastly, across the breadth of our university effort we must respect and elevate the status of the students themselves. They must be seen as more than what Henry Rosovsky called at Harvard "the lumpenproletariat." She is someone's perfect daughter, he is someone's precious son, and they are certainly brothers and sisters to us all. Furthermore, they are coming to us better prepared than ever before, so we need to expect more of them and of ourselves while they are here.

Missionary-like, we need to make this the best four years of their lives. We need to give them personal attention and treat them with great respect, not only in class but in administrative and staff contacts as well. We need to advise them thoughtfully and mentor them professionally as an earlier generation of educators used to do. That may be difficult with some of our larger classes and challenging student-teacher ratios, but a good experience in a large class surely beats a bad experience in a small one. I speak from personal experience.

I have always loved Elder Marion D. Hanks's telling of the John Trebonious story. John Trebonious used to take off his hat on entering the classroom when it was the Germanic custom of the day for professors to keep them on. When asked why he was so needlessly kind to his pupils, he replied, "'These little boys will some day be men, and I do not know but that there sits among them one who will change the destiny of mankind.
I take off my hat in deference to what they may become.'" Sitting in his classroom, watching the ways of that gentle man, was the young and future Martin Luther.⁴⁷

That is a stunning affirmation of our earlier comments about the LDS doctrine of learning. But what happens when the true church grows so large and has such call upon its resources that it can perhaps support only the idea, only the concept of education rather than actual schools in which to provide it?

In such a time of growth and need, could not the one true Church profit magnificently from at least one gleaming evidence of the Church's "support of education," one university sparkling, however distantly, for those Saints who now cluster in their localities with a somewhat altered sense of gathering than Zion once had? Could not BYU, both symbolically and substantially, be an unparalleled, incomparable blessing to every one of those Saints, from Nigeria to Newfoundland, who may never set foot on BYU soil, let alone dream of having one of their own? Could it not be a house of hope and glory to every member of the Church everywhere who is trying to grow, trying to learn, trying to be strong and safe and spiritual in a very secular world? I should surely think so. We could, for the whole church, provide what the doughboys called "pride in the outfit." And we could provide for them in the process an increasing array of leadership, example, service, and protection.

Without deifying him prematurely, consider what our own Hugh Nibley has done to strengthen faith for people far, far away from Provo--a place from which he almost never travels. And consider, if you will, his fairly biting indictment of some of the rest of us as he praises the university's namesake.

And defending the faith intelligently is only one kind of aid we might offer our far-flung brothers and sisters, albeit surely the most important one. There are, it seems to me, scores of other kinds as well, in virtually every discipline of the university. And it will not require our physically going to them or bringing them physically here to us. We cannot do much of that. No, in most cases it means writing--good writing, strong writing, in all of our disciplines. Please let us never separate "skillful writing" from "good teaching" at BYU.

As part of the strengthening preparation the Savior provided for his Apostles, Apostles who did not and could not comprehend what lay immediately ahead of them, Christ rose from that paschal meal and, girding himself with a towel, poured water into a basin. He then knelt, alone, and washed the feet of the Twelve.

There is a profound gesture of humility and love in this act. During what would be the most anguished evening in human history, when someone might well have attended a bit more to him, the Prince of Peace knelt serving others, leaving an unforgettable lesson on the real meaning of "Master."

Peter tried to resist the Lord's selflessness. "Thou shalt never wash my feet," he recoiled--to which Jesus simply replied, "If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me." And of course, marvelous Peter then pled, "Lord, not [then] my feet only, but also my hands and my head" (John 13:89). "If I wash thee not, thou hast no part with me." What could that possibly have to do with schools and education and learning? Maybe everything.

As the Lord issued the commandment to organize the School of the Prophets, he prefaced it all with what must have been the first of these worthiness interviews still a part of the BYU tradition for faculty, staff, administrators, and students. You must "sanctify yourselves," the Lord said, "yea, purify your hearts, and cleanse your hands and your feet before me, that I may make you clean" (D&C 88:74).

Why have the gospel of Jesus Christ at the heart of BYU? I will tell you why: "So that Satan cannot overthrow us, nor have any power over us here."⁵⁰ Remember: "The glory of God is intelligence, or, in other words, light and truth. [And] light and truth forsake that evil one" (D&C 93:3637).

May it be so for us this year and always.

This address was given at the Annual University Conference Address on August 22, 1988. Jeffrey R. Holland served as president of Brigham Young University from 1980 to 1989.

¹Jeffrey R. Holland, "The Bond of Charity," Annual University Conference, August 1980, 212.

²William Shakespeare, King Henry VI, Part 2, act 2, scene 1, lines 1314.

³Henry David Thoreau, Walden, reprint ed. (New York: Viking Penguin, 1983), 69.

⁴Joseph Fielding Smith, comp., Teachings of the Prophet Joseph Smith (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1938), 137.

⁶See James Nuechterlein, "Athens and Jerusalem in Indiana," American Scholar 57 (summer 1988): 35368, for a more thorough treatment of the Athens-Jerusalem metaphor.

⁷See Ernest L. Wilkinson and W. Cleon Skousen, Brigham Young University: A School of Destiny (Provo, Utah: Brigham Young University Press, 1976), 15162.

⁹George Q. Cannon, Gospel Truth: Discourses and Writings of George Q. Cannon, comp. Jerreld L. Newquist (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1987), 461.

¹¹George Steiner, Language and Silence (New York: Atheneum, 1967), ix, x.

¹²Ernest Boyer, quoting Steiner in an address to BYU General Education Workshop, June 1988.

¹⁴Hugh Nibley, "Educating the Saints--a Brigham Young Mosaic," BYU Studies 11, no. 1 (1970): 62; reprinted in Brother Brigham Challenges the Saints, vol. 13 of The Collected Works of Hugh Nibley (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1994), 30645.

¹⁵Brigham Young, in Journal of Discourses, 26 vols. (Liverpool: F. D. Richards, 185586), 5:332, October 7, 1857 (hereafter cited as JD).

¹⁶Young, in JD, 14:228, September 16, 1871; italics added.

¹⁷Young, in JD, 9:167, January 26, 1862; italics added.

¹⁹Young, in JD, 8:135, July 29, 1860.

²⁰Young, in JD, 6:344, July 31, 1859.

²¹Young, in JD, 3:203, February 17, 1856.

²²Young, in JD, 13:310, April 17, 1870.

²³Young, in JD, 8:54, April 25, 1860.

²⁴Young, in JD, 16:77, May 25, 1873.

²⁵Young, in JD, 12:326, January 10, 1869.

²⁶Young, in JD, 14:210, August 13, 1871; italics added.

²⁷Young, in JD, 14:22021, August 27, 1871.

²⁸Young, in JD, 11:328, February 10, 1867.

²⁹Young, in JD, 8:137, July 29, 1860.

³⁰Young, in JD, 11:105, May 15, 1865.

³¹Young, in JD, 2:280, May 27, 1855.

³²Young, in JD, 13:260, October 6, 1870.

³³Manuscript History of the Church, September 22, 1851, vol. 21, Archives Division, Historical Department, The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, Salt Lake City, 88.

³⁵Millennial Star 10 (March 15, 1848): 85.

³⁶Young, in JD, 7:28384, October 9, 1859; italics added.

³⁷Young, in JD, 10:224, April and May 1863.

³⁸Young, in JD, 8:279, June 3, 1860; italics added.

³⁹Mark Van Doren, Liberal Education (Boston: Beacon Press, 1943), 115.

⁴¹See Otto Nathan and Heinz Norden, eds., Einstein on Peace (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1960).

⁴²See Allan Bloom, The Closing of the American Mind (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1987).

⁴⁴Spencer W. Kimball, "Installation of and Charge to the President," Inaugural Addresses, November 14, 1980, Special Collections and Manuscripts, Harold B. Lee Library, Brigham Young University, Provo, Utah, 9.

⁴⁵See John Masefield, "The University," a speech delivered at the University of Sheffield on June 25, 1946.

⁴⁶Steven M. Cahn, Education and the Democratic Ideal (Chicago: Nelson-Hall, 1979), 11.

⁴⁷Marion D. Hanks, The Gift of Self (Salt Lake City: Bookcraft, 1974), 126.

⁴⁸John A. Widtsoe, A Rational Theology (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1937), 176.

⁴⁹Nibley, "Educating the Saints," 8687.

⁵⁰Joseph Smith Jr., History of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints, ed. B. H. Roberts, 2d ed., rev., 7 vols. (Salt Lake City: Deseret Book, 1971), 2:309.