In the Land of Invented Languages

been working with her brother on making up her own invented language when she discovered Loglan and, deciding she liked the clarity of expression it offered, put her own project aside. She also ordered a subscription to the Loglanist, a journal edited by a philosophy professor in St. Louis, and was soon actively involved in the development of the language.

The Loglanist was a place where the correspondents that Brown had attracted could propose new words, hash out problems that came up in trying to use the language, and, as Brown particularly encouraged, build up a corpus of examples “to which the hungry learner of the language can sit down for his nightly repast.” These Loglan texts, submitted by subscribers and vetted for accuracy by Brown himself, could be translations, such as the biblical story of Babel, of which the first line retranslates as “And point-all of the Earth was languaged by one something x and talked x” (And the whole earth was of one language and of one speech). Or they might be original compositions, such as this little dialogue about a tourist’s visit to “Loglandia”:

I uu no mi djano lepo ba sitfa be

“And I’m-sorry-that it-is-not-the-case-that I know the-event-of something-x being-the-location-of something-y.”

(I’m afraid I don’t know where anything is.)

Tu danza lepo gotso ie da “You wish the-event-of going-to what x?” (Where would you like to go?)

Mi cnida lepo sivdu la Tare Kotl “I need the-event-of location-discover the Star Hotel.” (I need to find the Star Hotel.)

 

Nora became the first paying member of the Loglan Institute when she sent a five-hundred-dollar donation of support to the institute in 1979. This gave Brown the idea to turn the Loglan Institute into a membership- supported organization. Some money was coming in from book orders and journal subscriptions, but not enough to hire the secretaries and programmers who were needed to move the project forward. Brown was still drawing income from Careers, but much less than before, and not enough for him to personally support Loglan development at the level he desired.

Nora’s check arrived at a moment of financial crisis for the institute. Brown’s third and last-chance proposal for a grant from the National Science Foundation (NSF) had just been rejected, an outcome that shocked and surprised him. He felt he had been treated unfairly by reviewers who showed “unmistakable signs of total ignorance of the project,” and he asked that it be “done over again.” His appeal, which included a point-by-point rebuttal of the reviewers' misgivings, burned his bridges to the science-funding academic establishment all the way to the top.

It also betrayed a damning lack of sophistication about how these things work. Brown had submitted almost two thousand pages of supporting documents with his proposal—grammar books, textbooks, dictionaries, and every copy of the Loglanist that had been printed so far—and was outraged that the reviewers had not made themselves intimately familiar with all this material. The terse, carefully worded reply that Brown received to his initial appeal emphasized that the scientific community cannot judge the value of a project by reading every single thing the author has to say about it. The usual yardstick by which merit is measured is a body of scientific results and reviews published in peer-reviewed journals (and journals published by the author himself generally do not count as such).

Because Brown had received an initial minor grant shortly after his first article on Loglan was published, he fully expected that the fifteen-plus years of work he had put into the language since that time would secure him a major grant. But when he left his job at the university, he also cut himself off from the normal channels through which a fundable reputation is established. Though he did seek advice and criticism as he worked on Loglan (he loved nothing better than a good, lively argument), he tended to surround himself with admirers. Those who could not submit to his powerful, stubborn temperament did not last very long in his circle. Those who excused the insults, the accusations, and the occasional angry blowup in order to remain in the orbit of this often intensely charming, always intellectually exciting man became his lifelong friends and collaborators.

After spending the early 1960s devoting his full attention to Loglan, Brown put out some materials on microfilm, intending to make them available to the scientific community for review. He did receive one review in a top-tier linguistics journal, but it was not something he would have wanted to emphasize to the grant committee. Though the reviewer praised the project for its ambition and ingenuity, he threw serious doubt on its usefulness as any kind of scientific tool. The general verdict on Loglan was that it was an interesting, fascinating, and diligently executed … hobby.

Shortly after that, Brown left the country, losing contact with many of the people who were working on the language with him. He had divorced his third wife, a former student of his at the university who had done much of the work calculating the “learn-ability scores” for his Loglan vocabulary, and, in order to evade a custody dispute, took their toddler daughter to Europe and didn’t return for a few years (his ex-wife wouldn’t see their daughter again until she was a teenager). Loglan took a backseat to other projects—he wrote a Utopian science fiction novel and worked on something he referred to as a “statistical study of interpersonal relationships.” He got married again, this time to a woman who was one of his (openly acknowledged) mistresses during his previous marriage (his “progressive” politics carried over into the realm of sexual relationships, though in a rather one-sided way). When that marriage fell apart, he came back to the States and published a revised version of his Loglan grammar and dictionary, this time in book form, and purchased an advertisement for it in Scientific American.

The book stirred up interest again (many readers had been waiting for it since the 1960 article), and soon Brown had a group of followers who were willing to devote their time and skills to developing and promoting Loglan. Most of these volunteers were “computer guys” (Nora being the rare non-guy among them) who were excited about the possibility of the language serving as a human-computer interface. Brown also became excited about such a possibility and, after his first NSF grant proposal was rejected, put together “A Proposal for the Establishment of a Service/Support Relationship Between the Loglan Institute and the U.S. Computer Industry,” in which he asked “the industry” to provide the institute with “approximately $275,000 per year.” He expected them to fork over the money for the general good of the industry (surely, he emphasized, having a human-machine-interface system made available would benefit them all); exclusive rights to use any “proprietary information” would remain with the institute. Apparently, there were no takers.

So in 1979, Brown turned the institute into a “membership-controlled corporation,” and most of the Loglan volunteers, around a hundred people, paid the fifty-dollar fee gladly. This would allow them to at least hire a permanent secretary while they worked on what Brown called “the Commercial Success Project,” from which, he declared, all the members would eventually benefit.

There had never been any question among the Loglan volunteers that Brown was in charge. It was his language and he had the last word. But when they became paying members of his ostensibly membership- controlled corporation, they naturally expected more of a say in the development of the language. Under Brown’s direction, they began an overhaul of the rules of Loglan word formation (something still referred to in Loglan lore as the Great Morphological Revolution) and developed their own opinions on the best way to proceed. However, Brown proved unable to relinquish any control, even going so far as to prohibit the members from discussing (in their newsletter) any issues he had not personally approved for discussion. In 1984 his mounting ledger of perceived slights and disloyalties drove him to make belittling personal attacks on the very members who had donated the most time to the Loglan cause. When the board objected, he fired the board, ordering them to have nothing to do with Loglan for one full year, after which time, if they made suitable apologies, they would be allowed back.

In the newsletter, a member named Birrell Walsh expressed sadness that Brown was “driving away ALL those who appreciate the magnificent thing he had built,” and asked, “Do we owe it to Jim to give him a chance to wake up before he empties Log-landia?” His answer, like that of everyone else, was no. He concluded with a striking example of Loglan in action, an original poem: