1
20
387
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An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
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wav
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01:07:10
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On Parts and Wholes in Living Things: Harvey, Descartes, and the Heartbeat
Description
An account of the resource
Video recording of a lecture delivered on August 25, 2023, by Suzy Paalman as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Ms. Paalman describes her lecture: "William Harvey and René Descartes famously disagreed in their accounts of what the heart is doing as it gives its characteristic beat. Both authors recognize that the heart alternates between squeezing and opening up. Harvey posits that the beat occurs as the heart squeezes closed while Descartes believes the beat happens as the heart opens up. Both have access to similar observations. How is it that they come to opposite conclusions? I’ll discuss how their differing views of how to think about living things likely play a role in this disagreement. I'll examine what we have learned since their time about how the heart beats. Finally, given what we’ve learned, I'll ask the question: What can we say about the nature of living things?"
Ms. Paalman's lecture is the first formal lecture of the academic year. Previously referred to as the Dean's Lecture, this lecture is now called the Christopher B. Nelson Lecture.
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Paalman, Susan R.
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St. John's College
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Annapolis, MD
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2023-09-25
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Permission has been given to make this available online.
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sound
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mp3
Subject
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Heart beat
Descartes, René, 1596-1650
Harvey, William, 1578-1657
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English
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LEC_Paalman_Susan_2023-08-25_ac
Christopher B. Nelson Lecture
Deans
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/c3e6a7bbb9255c371202a702448fb48f.mp3
ec289b819046893bf146fcf4f143b196
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
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wav
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00:56:38
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Frederick Douglass on Force and Persuasion
Description
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on November 21, 1997, by Steven Crockett as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Crockett, Steven
Publisher
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St. John's College
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Annapolis, MD
Date
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1997-11-21
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A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online. Make typescript copies of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online."
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sound
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mp3
Subject
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Douglass, Frederick, 1818-1895
Lincoln, Abraham, 1809-1865
Oratory
Antislavery movements
Language
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English
Identifier
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LEC_Crocket_Steven_1997-11-21_ac
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/537f96923e9a47ca5c1400553c5bd447.mp3
ccee2ab93cf46890b51fb849e4f85c31
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
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wav
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00:55:34
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Finding Perspective and Staying in One’s Room: Thoughts on Several of Pascal’s <em>Pensées</em> and Latour’s <em>Repentant Magdalene</em>
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on September 9, 2005, by Thomas May as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
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May, Thomas
Publisher
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St. John's College
Coverage
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Annapolis, MD
Date
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2005-09-09
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A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online. Make typescript copies of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online."
Type
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sound
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mp3
Subject
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Pascal, Blaise, 1623-1662. Pensées
La Tour, Georges du Mesnil de, 1593-1652. Repentant Magdalene.
Language
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English
Identifier
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May_Thomas_2005-09-09_ac
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/04be00ccb2c249ddf71040dad58d2320.pdf
6326f830d605aa03fd1d5b7fafddb5e5
PDF Text
Text
Being a Book
I
A book is a small, hard, rectangular object, whose pages are bound
along one edge into fixed covers and numbered consecutively.
This description of a book is not mine. I borrow it from a lecture by tutor Eva
Brann, who borrowed it from an essay by the novelist Paul Scott, who borrowed
it from a talk on the BBC.1
It is better borrowed, I think, than improved upon, at least in clarity. Once
Scott is done with it, this hard rectangular object has become “a canvass that
doesn’t exist.” In other words, “a formless, almost indefinable area of consciousness.” In still other words, “the area of contact for the meeting of minds, the
clash, the confrontation of wills and visions, and of physical and intellectual impressions of reality—the writer’s and the reader’s.”2 Miss Brann is briefer but no
less extravagant about the book’s metamorphosis. In her words it becomes “a
special kind of body made to be inhabited by a curious kind of frozen but fusible
soul, a body fit to mediate its own peculiar life.”3
I will not attempt my own metaphysics of a book tonight. But I do want
to ask why a book admits of metaphysics, and perhaps even requires it. What
makes the being of a book elusive when the book itself is so easy to grasp? We
can pull one off a shelf, as if it belonged to the furniture of the world; yet when
we open it up and begin to read we are carried somewhere else, as if the book
were otherworldly. In one sense it may have remained a small, hard, rectangular
object, with pages bound into covers and numbered consecutively. But all this
has vanished in another sense. And what has taken its place, as the book being
held is now being read, is difficult to describe.
Nor is this the only difficulty. Consider what becomes of the book being read
if read, say, for seminar. Just before the seminar begins there seem to be many
books on the table. Yet once the opening question is asked it is as if there is only
1
Scott’s borrowing of the description appears in “The Architecture of the Arts: The Novel
(1967)” in My Appointment with the Muse: Essays, 1961–75, ed. Shelly C. Reese (Heinemann: London, 1986), 78. Scott credits the description to Bernard Bergonzi. Brann’s borrowing appears in
“What is a Book?” St. John’s Review XLI, no. 1 (1991–2): 78. (Note: the Review sources this to a
lecture given in September 1991, but a reprint of the lecture itself dates it August 30 of that year.)
A version of it is also currently available on the website of the Imaginative Conservative.
2
Scott, 80
3
Brann, 88.
1
�one book on the table. And in the conversation that follows, with a movement
of its own that yet involves the text, perhaps the very idea of a book on the table
is best given up. But given up for what? What happens to a book at this college
every Monday and Thursday night?
Behind this question I have both a hunch and a hypothesis. The hunch is that
St. John’s is less committed to books, even the greatest books, than to the being
of a book—any book. Put a different way: there is no Canon of Great Books at the
College that we read each in turn; there is only the book in front of us, whatever
it may be and wherever it may lead. I will come back to this hunch later in the
lecture. But I begin with the hypothesis: The being of a book becomes elusive
once the book contains words and in some sense is composed of them.
I say “in some sense” because how words compose a book will become the
question of the lecture. But that there are words in a book at all seems already a
source of elusiveness. If we could erase its words, making the book blank, then it
might be but a kind of rectangle. We could count the number of books in seminar
the way we might count the number of chairs and leave it at that. The trouble
starts when the words go unerased: the book’s pages left full of print, giving a
reader something to do. Even the words on its cover, announcing the title and
author, are enough to complicate what a book is. No longer just a book, it is now
the copy of a book, in something like the way the chairs in seminar are copies of
a model. We are all sitting in a Johnnie chair, with Homer’s Iliad in front of us,
even before the opening question is asked.
Yet it would seem strange to say we were all sitting in the same Johnnie chair,
as if there were only one chair in the room. So why is it not so strange to say we
all have Homer’s Iliad in front of us, as if there were only one book in the room?
Especially once the opening question is asked and more words from inside the
book are read out loud? The answer, again, seems to be the words, making one
book out of every copy in the room. And at least this much happens to a book
every seminar night: a rectangle made of pages becomes a more elusive thing
made of words.
II
How elusive is exemplified by the Iliad. Once upon a time the work existed
only in song, and was first written down not in pages but on a scroll. In ironic
recollection of this perhaps some of us prepared for seminar using an e-book or
audiobook on the sly, getting through the work without turning a single actual
page.
2
�Then there is the question of translation. All of us, even tutors, likely read the
Iliad for seminar in translation. The copies in the seminar room are mostly translations, each made of its own words throughout. In one the Iliad begins: “Sing,
goddess, the anger of Peleus’ son Achilleus and its devastation. . . .” In another:
“Rage—Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles, murderous, doomed. . . .” In
still another: “Goddess, sing of the cataclysmic wrath of Peleus’ son Achilles. . . .”4
These three beginnings, three of many, proceed word-by-word to their respective
ends; yet they are all taken up in our conversation about the Iliad as if they were
the Iliad. But what in that case is the Iliad? Or any book in translation? It
would seem to be certain words in a certain order, without having to be only
these words in this order. The same book might be made of different words in a
different order. But how? How can a book be made of words in more than one
way?
Perhaps we should insist, against this question, that translations of a book
are merely translations. They are translations, that is, of some original text, composed of those words in that order. The first word of Homer’s Iliad, then, is not
“sing” or “rage” or “Goddess,” nor indeed any word in English, no matter how
well-chosen. The first word is μῆνιν, as we learn soon enough in the language
tutorial. We also likely learn how some translations of a text are more literal than
others—translations that sound like translations—and even learn to prefer them
when the language of the original is out of reach. A good translation puts the
original in reach, which is a different thing from replacing it. And translations,
then, can be made of words in many ways, but the original only in one.
Even so, is this original what we mean, what we ought to mean, by the book?
Or can a book still exist, and even thrive, in translation? The question put this
way can sound almost rhetorical, as if books flourished in translation as a matter
of course—across our Program’s reading list. Where would we be if the translation of a book could never become the book? And in calling it a “translation”
we distinguish it not simply from some original text, but from any paraphrase
of that text. We distinguish it, that is, from any series of words merely about
the text. The series we deem a translation, even if it differs from the text, has
somehow become the text. Or at least become as close to the text, as joined to
the text, as “at one” with the text, as words that differ from the text allow.
In translations, then, we confront just how elusive the being of a book can be.
We also encounter one way—to recall my hunch—that St. John’s is committed to
4
The first is from the Lattimore translation, the second from the Fagles, and the third from
the recent Emily Wilson translation.
3
�this being, in its commitment to translations as books. Our copy of the Iliad can
have the name of a translator on its cover; yet the author, we believe, remains
Homer. The word “μῆνιν” can be replaced by “sing”; yet the book, we believe, is
still Homer’s Iliad rather than becoming Lattimore’s. A book, so our Program
claims, can be made of words in many ways, even if first made in one.
The word “first” in this formulation could also be questioned if we take a
different view of good translations. On this view, translations should not sound
like translations, lest they put the original forever out of reach. For the original
presumably sounds original. Not that we could know what words in what order
would compose the Iliad, say, in English, if this were Homer’s native tongue. But
we could guess, I think, that this Iliad would not sound like a literal translation
from the Greek. And this suggests that good translations sound original. If so,
then it seems a book can be made of words in many ways, where every such way
is like the first.
III
Yet even this much elusiveness in a book can seem a special matter of translation.
Consider the seminar night in several weeks, just after spring vacation, when
juniors will walk in the room and put their copies of Jane Austen on the table.
It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
These words in this order will begin the book in every copy, followed by the same
words in the same order until the end. What could be elusive about that? The
pagination might differ from copy to copy, but there seems nothing to trouble us
in the words. And the words are enough to make every copy identical. In this
case, where none of the copies are translations, it seems that a book is made of
words in only one way.
But I think we can question even this. We can ask how a book is made of
words even in one way, given something that just happened in my lecture. I
quoted the first sentence of Pride and Prejudice. The quotation, too, is made of
those words in that order. So what is the one way the sentence in the book
is made of them? Or if this sentence depends on the rest of the book, let the
quotation be as long as the book, made of all those words in just that order. What
is the one way the book is made of them, to distinguish it from its quotation?
Why is a quotation of the book not the book?
4
�There are two reasons, I think, to consider this question more significant
than it might seem at first. One harks back to my hunch about St. John’s, and
its commitment to the being of a book. The commitment, in this context, is to
the way that any book escapes its own quotation. For where would we be if the
quotation of a book could ever become the book? For us, the difference between
unquoted words and quoted ones is the difference between the texts we read and
the texts we don’t. In the latter texts—call them secondary texts—the books we
might read are merely quoted. So read them we do, to see for ourselves what
they say. For us, therefore, the quotation of a book is definitively not the book.
Yet why this is so is also hard to say—a second reason to think the question
significant. The question even becomes paradoxical if we frame it in light of our
commitment to books in translation. For what is it about a book that allows it
to become its translation but never its quotation? What prevents the book from
being made of the same words in the same order, if it can be made of different
words in a different order?
To make this question easier on myself, I revert to the form it took at first:
why is a quotation of the book not the book? Even in this form I find the question
hard to answer; I make three attempts in the rest of this lecture before giving up.
Attempt number one. A quotation of the book is not the book because the words
in the quotation are borrowed from the book, while the words of the book belong
to it. So much do they belong that if words are taken from the book without
quotation we consider it an act of theft. This is another way we credit the book
with being original: a source for the quotation like the source for any translation.
Yet unlike translations, and the way they can seem original, quotations seem
derivative. Quotation marks announce as much, as do the other ways we have—
like indentation—to frame the quotation as derivative. Erase the frame and let
the words go unquoted; it is now as if we have a copy of the text itself. And
perhaps in this we find the one way a book is made of its words. The words can
go unquoted in the book because they are original to the book. They have their
origin in the book. They come from the book.
But something in this answer has gone awry. For how can words come from a
book if it is made of them, and therefore comes from them? The words in a book
must come from somewhere else if the book is to be made at all. And in one
respect this somewhere else is prosaic. A book is made of words that separately
come from the dictionary and together from the rules of grammar. In another
5
�respect—at least for books that transcend the prosaic—the somewhere else is a
mystery. If we believe the first line of the Iliad, the words in such books come
from a goddess—and only after pleading. Even the greatest book has to beg for
its words when none are good enough to borrow or steal. To seem original is to
be inspired.
And while it might take a muse to write such a book, to print the book only
takes a typesetter. The somewhere else in this direction is less a mystery and
more a certainty. A series of words becomes a sequence of symbols: the letters
of the alphabet and a handful of punctuation marks. What is possible in a book
is thus reduced from something uncountable in words to thirty symbols or so.
And this reduction effectively determines what the book can be in advance. If
we count the symbols, assigning to each a different number, we have a way of
counting their sequence in the book; and can translate the book into a number.
There is no printable book that is not, in this sense, already a number. And one
of them is a copy of Pride and Prejudice. So while in another direction its words
come from who knows where, in this direction its words come from a counting
number. There is nothing original left for the book to be, despite how it seems.
But what then explains how it seems? The quotation of a book still looks
made of borrowed words and the book made of words that belong. And this
sense of belonging, again, is especially strong at St. John’s. Let the words in all
our books come from somewhere else; they still go into the books unquoted, as if
there the words had found their home, and could only pay visits to other books
in quotation. In this sense, we might say that the quotation of a book always
belongs to a different book. But why? Or again: what makes the quotation of a
book not the book?
Here is my second attempt to answer the question. If we read a book to see
for ourselves what it says, perhaps what it says can never be quoted. There is
another use of quotation to suggest as much. To begin with a simple example,
compare the following sentences:
1. Annapolis is the capital of Maryland.
2. Annapolis is nine letters long.
In the second sentence, a copy-editor would want me to put quotation marks
around “Annapolis,”
2. “Annapolis” is nine letters long,
6
�to distinguish the name of the city, which is nine letters long, from the city, which
is not nine letters long. But quoting a word, in that case, is not a way of saying
the word; it is rather a way to speak of the word.
This use of quotation is not limited to single words. We can, for example, put
all the words from the first sentence between quotation marks,
“Annapolis is the capital of Maryland”
and now speak of the sentence rather than say it. Since the sentence is six words
long, we can say that of it:
3. “Annapolis is the capital of Maryland” is six words long.
Or in a less contrived example, I might speak of the sentence as something that
amused me when I heard one of my daughters say it:
4. “Annapolis is the capital of Maryland,” my five-year old explained, as if she
were a tour-guide during our walk downtown.
Or to move from the invented to the actual in a last example, consider the first
use of quotation in Pride and Prejudice:
5. “My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard that
Netherfield Park is let at last?”
Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.
Austen quotes the question but not the reply, artfully turning the reply into a
kind of comment on the question, leaving the impression of a knowing husband
and unknowing wife.
None of these examples involves the quotation of one text in another text, but
the abstraction from speech in textual quotation is arguably the same. The quoted
words are never said, only spoken of. Perhaps the clearest example of the effect
at St. John’s is in a seminar paper too full of quotations. The quoted passages
start to look like filler, saying nothing, even when the unquoted passages are
central to the book, saying everything. Another example of the effect is in the
typical Friday Night lecture that includes quotations. It is tempting to put the
quotations on a handout, or even on a screen—as if a quotation were meant to
be seen rather than said.
In light of this account, we can revisit Pride and Prejudice and distinguish the
book from its quotation definitively. Consider the first sentence again.
7
�It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.
In the book, those words in that order are not just a sentence but an utterance.
In quotation, however, the sentence is separated from the utterance, allowing
us to carry the sentence out of the book. There is no difference, then, between
quoting the first sentence and calling it the first sentence: in neither case is the
sentence said; it is only spoken of. Similarly, there is no difference between
quoting every sentence in the book and calling the book by its title: the title is
another way, if briefer way, to speak of every sentence in turn. Only in the book
is every sentence in turn not spoken of but said, in an act of narration rather than
quotation.
We can generalize this difference to encompass any book. The quotation of
a book is not the book in the same way the title of a book is not the book. In
both, the book has yet to speak. This is why we have to read the book to see
what it says. This is also why a book can become its translation but never its
quotation. The one way a book is made of its words is in being made of words
that can speak. These might become different words that can speak—the goal of
any good translation—but quotation renders the words speechless.
Yet something in this answer too has gone awry. For one thing, it is hard not
to read quoted words as spoken words, especially in a narrative like the novel.
Consider again the first use of quotation from Pride and Prejudice, but lengthened
to include the quoted words of Mr. Bennet—as if he were finally forced to speak
in reply to his importunate wife:
“My dear Mr. Bennet,” said his lady to him one day, “have you heard
that Netherfield Park is let at last?”
Mr. Bennet replied that he had not.
“But it is,” returned she; “for Mrs. Long has just been here, and she
told me all about it.”
Mr. Bennet made no answer.
“Do not you want to know who has taken it?” cried his wife, impatiently.
“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.”
This was invitation enough.
Not only do the quoted words seem to speak, they seem to speak in the voices of
Mr. and Mrs. Bennet. It is as if quotation made speech possible in a written text.
8
�This is underlined by the final line of narration—“this was invitation enough.”
For this is an invitation to speak but in the form of quotation: wife replying to
husband as husband has replied to wife. To speak in reply, moreover, is to speak
of what was said. At least in conversation, then, to speak of what was said is not
an abstraction from speech; it is a condition of speech.
The abstraction from speech in this example rather lies in the unquoted words
of narration. For in what sense is the narrator invited to speak? Who is the
narrator, and where, to speak of what either spouse has said? At what place or
time, for that matter, and by whom, are the unquoted words in a book ever said?
It seems they need no speaker to say them; they need only be written down and
read. But in that case perhaps the unquoted words in a book are never said. A
book would then be made of words that can never speak, in being liberated, once
inside the book, from every circumstance of speech.
Consider, too, how if the words in a book could speak—literally speak—there
would be no point in learning to read. Every book would be an audiobook as soon
as we opened it. It is because the opened book is silent that reading becomes a
need. And learning it, for most of us, is not like learning to speak. The task is
difficult enough to need schooling and important enough to seem liberating. In
these respects, learning to read is arguably the first form a liberal education takes.
It may even be the only form, if a liberal education is made of books. But books,
in turn, are made of words that have to be read to be heard. In this sense, at least,
a book does seem made of unspoken words.
We might identify these words with the silence on the St. John’s campus
as a seminar book is being read, before it can be discussed. In discussion, by
contrast, the book is not read but quoted. This again suggests something gone
awry, even backwards, in my second attempt to distinguish quotation from book.
For quotation now looks like a kind of speech, leaving the book in a kind of
silence. But what kind of silence? And distinguished from what kind of speech?
Or again: what makes the quotation of a book not the book?
We come to my third attempt to answer the question. This time I return to where
I began the lecture:
A book is a small, hard, rectangular object, whose pages are bound
along one edge into fixed covers and numbered consecutively.
Words go unmentioned in this description of a book, as if it were blank. Yet the
book is not blank: its pages are numbered consecutively. It is as if a book were
9
�made of numbers rather than words. But is it not made of words—my hypothesis
all along?
Perhaps not. Consider what a book can become in the act of quotation:
“Reason is, and ought only to be, the slave of the passions, and can
never pretend to any other office than to serve and obey them.”
Mr. Harrell, where are you quoting from?
Oh. This is Hume. His Treatise. Page 266.
Mr. Harrell, I don’t have your edition.
Oh. Let’s see. I’m quoting from Book 2, Part 3, Section 3; the secondto-last sentence of paragraph . . . 4.
Something like this happens every time we quote from a book in seminar. We
take words out of the book to form the quotation, and what is left in the book
is their location. In this sense, a book does seem made of numbers. The quotation, in turn, is not made of numbers. It is made of only words—the words that
quotation has dislocated from the book. Could this be why the quotation of a
book is not the book? The quotation is made of words, while the book is made
of numbers.
This answer to the question is more plausible, I think, than it might sound
at first. For one thing, it makes sense of a book’s silence, in the unspoken but
countable order of its words. For another thing, reading is arguably an act of
counting. What else explains the puzzling thing that happens in every seminar?
Sooner or later someone will read words from the book out loud. And while the
rest of us could just look up and listen, many of us do not. We try to find the
words in the book and read them for ourselves, even as they are being read to
us by someone else. And the numbers in a book get us only so far. Page 266;
or for those with a different edition: Book 2, Part 3, Section 3, Paragraph 4—the
numbers allow us to reach the page of the words, even the paragraph. But to get
any closer, we have to stop counting by number and start counting by letter. Yet
what is counting by letter but reading the words the letters form? And once we
reach the words being quoted, counting by letter means reading those words for
ourselves. A book would then be made of numbers even when made of words.
Could this be the one way a book is made of its words? It is made of words we
count—those words in that order, from a first word to a last.
As much as I like this answer, it too arguably goes awry by having lost the
plot. True, the letters printed in a book may come in countable order to form
the words, just as the words come in countable order to form the sentences; as
10
�do the sentences to form the paragraphs, the sections, the chapters—and finally,
the book. Nonetheless, when we read all those words in just that order, it is not
to count them but to understand them. Or at least try to understand them; for it
is possible not to understand them, or to misunderstand them, prompting us to
read them again. But we read them again to understand them better.
We even have a word—interpretation—for the act of understanding that reading involves. The two are so close that “reading” has become almost a synonym
for “interpretation.” In this sense, reading a book elicits a reading of the book.
And reading a book at St. John’s means having a reading of the book to talk about.
Or even readings, plural—the one way, perhaps, there remain many books on the
seminar table. Here is how we put it in our Statement of the Program:
The books speak to us in more than one way. In raising the persisting questions, they lend themselves to different interpretations that
reveal a variety of independent yet complementary meanings.5
Notice too, on this account, how the books are able to speak. A speaking
book, even if we take it metaphorically, suggests something else gone awry in
my answer, where it was the quotation that speaks, leaving the book in a kind
of silence. But is there any difference between silence and speech when it comes
to understanding the book? Those words in that order remain the same, written
or spoken. And our understanding of them might well be improved if someone
else is doing the reading, allowing us to close the book and truly listen to what
it says. What else explains why we call the audiobook a book, and even use it
to get our seminar readings done? Or how we fell in love with certain books as
children, even before we learned to read?
But where does this leave us, then, with the book’s quotation? Perhaps it is
not really different from the book, after all. At least if by “quotation,” we mean
anything in the book that can be read out loud, and more or less understood. Let
our act of quotation remove all of this from the book. What is left for the book
to be? Perhaps nothing.
IV
Even if there were something, I am not, given the time, about to make a fourth
attempt to distinguish the quotation of a book from the book. It is also true that
5
Statement of the St. John’s College Program, 2. The current statement is available on the
St. John’s College website.
11
�the quotation of a book, like its translation, can seem like a special case. What
could be elusive about a book if we leave it unquoted, as well as untranslated?
Think again of those copies of Jane Austen that juniors will put on their seminar
table in several weeks, every copy having the same words in the same order. In
this identity, it seems we can tell the one way a book is made of its words, from
a first word to a last, before this way gets obscured by the book’s translation or
quotation.
Even so, there is also the book’s interpretation, which is not a special case. It
happens as soon as we read the book, and make any sense of what it says. And
we can ask what reading does to the book. In one sense, clearly nothing; the
words remain unchanged. This is why we can predict that every copy of Austen
will be identical, and why we can call it a copy of Austen, as if the words of Pride
and Prejudice belonged to the writer of the book.
But in another sense, reading the book does something to it—something so
radical that Pride and Prejudice will soon belong to its readers among the juniors. And copies on the seminar table—at least the copies not borrowed from
the library—will likely bear the marks of this ownership, even before the conversation starts. Certain sentences underlined; a whole paragraph bracketed; a
page-number circled; the page itself bookmarked. Then the marks in the margins:
a question mark, a check mark, an exclamation point; even a word or phrase written out, a whole sentence crowded in, possibly several at the page’s top or bottom.
On a blank page in the front or back, we might even find an outline.
To this legible extent, we could say that reading the book thickens the book,
at least by every reader with a pen in hand. But this is only prelude to how
reading the book lengthens the book, once the opening question is asked. For
at that point, we each put our reading of the book into words of our own. And
unlike the words of the writer, which come in order from first to last, there is
no such order from first to last in the words of the reader. Not that the outcome
is chaos; the outcome is conversation. And after that, perhaps an essay on the
book, followed by more conversation in the oral.
But this, then, is another way that the reader’s words differ from the writer’s:
for the writer has the last word in a way that the reader never will. The book
is lengthened by the reader to some indefinite point. We could even call it an
infinite point—at least for any book about which there is always more to write,
more to say, more to think. And with a book like Pride and Prejudice, we can
make the difference in length precise. The words of the writer make this book
about twelve hours long, using the average running time of an audiobook. But
the book has been lengthened, since its publication date, by the words of every
12
�reader, to make it two hundred and ten years long—and counting.
If we accept this difference in length as real—and I only have time enough
left in the lecture to run with it—then it looks as if a book is always made of its
words in two ways rather than one. One way is by the writer, whose words make
the book a finite thing. But the other way is by the reader, whose words make
the book an infinite thing.
This difference seems to hold even if the reader remains silent. For what
happens, exactly, when we pull the book off a shelf, open it up, and begin to read?
Are we carried somewhere else—my earlier way of putting it? Or are we glued
to a chair with our nose in the book—which is how it would look to anyone else?
And what of the book itself? Does it remain a small, hard, rectangular object,
with pages bound into covers? Or does it become like a canvass that doesn’t
exist? The dichotomy in these questions is essentially between the finite and
the infinite. Or if you prefer: between the bound and the unbound. And the
difference is made by the words. Do they bind the book to its pages, and the
reader in turn? Or do they free the book from its pages, and the reader in turn?
Suppose the answer is “yes” to both. Could this be how the words of a book
make its being elusive—to recall my hypothesis? The elusive, in this case, would
involve a contradiction in the words, and the way they limit the book at the same
time they liberate the book. My hypothesis, put this way, also allows me to recast
my hunch. Perhaps St. John’s is committed to the contradiction in a book—the
contradiction, more exactly, that is a book. If so, there ought to be signs of how
we live in the contradiction.
Here are two, I think. One is the conversation of a seminar, which at our
college replaces the lecture given by a professor nearly everywhere else. What
makes this kind of conversation possible? What is it about a book that can
prompt a discussion of what it means, in place of any account? One thing—to
recall a claim I quoted from our Statement—is that the books speak to us in more
than one way. We seem to rely on this in seminar. For what if a book could only
say the same thing to every reader in the room? The conversation would be at
best a quoting of the book back and forth.
But consider a second claim we make in our Statement—a claim that seems
to contradict the first—to explain the point of seminar:
The books can only repeat what they have to say, without furnishing
the clarifications that we desire. To overcome this limitation is the
goal of the St. John’s seminar.6
6
Statement, 2.
13
�We also seem to rely on this in seminar. For what if a book could only say a
different thing to every reader in the room? The conversation would be at best
a trading of translations by sight. It can only be a conversation, then, if the
book says the same thing to every reader in the room at the same time it says
a different thing to every reader in the room. And we live in this contradiction
every Monday and Thursday night.
But not only those nights. For a second sign of our life in contradiction comes
from the book itself. This replaces the lecture of a professor even before the
conversation begins. We read the book to see for ourselves what it says, with no
need to hear it from anyone else. So peculiar is our commitment to the book in
this respect that there exists in nearly every book we read an introduction we
skip. But what makes this kind of reading possible? What is it about a book that
can prompt a discovery of what it means, in place of any account? If we are not
to read such an account, then it seems the book has to answer the question of
what it means—completely. Yet if we are not to write such an account, then it
seems the book has to raise the question of what it means—perpetually. Perhaps
this explains the difference between the writer’s words and the reader’s. In the
answer of what is meant, there is a last word in the writing of the book. But in
the question of what is meant, there is no last word in the reading of the book.
And when we are not living in this contradiction through conversation about the
book, we are living in it through the book itself.
V
Or so the idea I have been running with would suggest of our commitment, if a
book is always made of its words in two ways at once. There is no time left for me
to question this final part of my lecture. But I do have time, I think, to question
the whole of it—by way of conclusion. For have I really said anything about the
being of a book? A book, that is, rather than a text? What is the difference, for
example, between the books we read for seminar and the manuals we use for
tutorial or laboratory? One answer is that the books are great—great in a way
that our manuals, being manuals, will never attain. But if my hunch is right,
calling our books “great” is no real answer. What then is the answer?
There is perhaps only one place in my lecture where I address books in their
being as books: at the beginning, in fourth-hand words.
A book is a small, hard, rectangular object, whose pages are bound
along one edge into fixed covers and numbered consecutively.
14
�Much of this description could apply a manual—or for that matter a senior essay.
They are somewhat small and rectangular; and they can be at least as hard as
a book in paperback. The pages are numbered consecutively; and we can bind
them along one edge with rings, or a spiral, or staples.
But the pages, thus bound, are not fixed in covers. In this respect, one page
remains separated from the next. In particular, the last page is separated from
the first, by all the pages in between. Not so with a book. The last page forms a
cover with the first, to contain all the words in between. In this respect, the first
and last page are one rather than two. In practice, from the use of signatures, this
only holds for the front and back cover of a book. But we can use these covers to
imagine the perfectly-bound book, where the first page forms a cover with the
last, the second with the second-to-last, the third with the third-to-last, and so
on.
Perhaps you can see where I am going. The book is like any text insofar as
the first page leads to the last; and this makes it finite. But in a book, and only a
book, the last page leads to the first; and this makes it infinite. It starts to look
as if the binding of a book allows the being of a book to be embodied. This being
may remain elusive, even contradictory, if the book is finite and infinite at once.
But the way a book is bound seems to allow the infinite to emerge from the finite.
When we read the book once, as if it were finite, we are invited by the book to
read it again, making the finite infinite. It is as if books were built to be read
again, bound to be unbound.
In one sense, “books to be read again” can sound like a platitude, especially if
we think the books in question are great. Those books are obviously built to be
read again. But even here I think the platitude is really a paradox. Let the books
be great—at a school where books are not simply what we read, but how we learn
and come to know. It may still make sense that we can read a book once, then
read it again. But what could it mean to learn something once, and then—as if we
unlearned it—learn it again? Or know something once, and then—as if we forgot
it—know it again? Even the greatest book we read on this question, Plato’s Meno,
leaves the answer—recollection—at the level of myth. Could being a book make
it the truth?
Daniel Harrell
St. John’s College, Annapolis
Friday Night Lecture
February 23, 2024.
15
�
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Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
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pdf
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15 pages
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Being a Book
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Typescript of a lecture delivered on February 23, 2024, by Daniel Harrell as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Mr. Harrell describes his lecture: "When the so-called New Program was established at St. John’s College in 1937, conversation was to play no essential role—at least if you believe the first statement of the program, written by Scott Buchanan. Where you would expect the word 'conversation' you find 'instruction' instead, as in this brief description of the seminar:
Meetings of seminar groups will occur twice a week with any additional meetings that special circumstances or difficulties may indicate. There will be two instructors in charge, and the instruction will make use of a wide range of devices from explication de texte to analysis of intellectual content and the dialectical treatment of critical opinion.
When I read this description, I like to think that the importance of conversation to our endeavor emerged over time: a matter of discovery rather than dictate.
Has something similar happened with the importance of books to our endeavor? We have always stated this importance in terms of what makes certain books great; but what makes them books, I have come to think, is even more central to our experience of reading them, discussing them, and learning from them. Perhaps there is no way to dictate by 'great' how we come to find ourselves in these books, just as there was no way to dictate by 'instruction' how we came to find ourselves in a conversation about these books.
But what makes books books? What does it mean to be a book? This is the question of my lecture. And my hope—despite the St. John’s frame I use here—is that the lecture will be of interest to any reader of books, even if it fails, by my lights, to make full sense of a book."
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Harrell, Daniel
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Annapolis, MD
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2024-02-23
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A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to: Make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online. Make a typescript copy of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online."
Type
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text
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pdf
Subject
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Books
Definition (Philosophy)
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St. John's College (Annapolis, Md.)
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English
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LEC_Harrell_Daniel_2024-02-23
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/918955aa969820ba91330685ca00088a.mp3
da58b213e69eeab5c7b5a8b7e1ecc7c3
Dublin Core
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Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
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01:02:44
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The Discovery of Entropy, 1824-1865
Description
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on August 31, 2001, by Adam Schulman as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Schulman, Adam
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St. John's College
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Annapolis, MD
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2001-08-31
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A signed permission form has been received stating, "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to: Make an audio recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audio recording of my lecture available online. Make a typescript copy of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a copy of my typescript available online."
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sound
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Carnot, Sadi, 1796-1832. Réflexions sur la puissance motrice du feu.
Clausius, R. (Rudolf), 1822-1888. Ueber die bewegende Kraft der Wärme.
Entropy
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LEC_Schulman_Adam_2001-08-31_ac
Friday night lecture
Tutors
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https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/8b0eba4bd35d8dacf11dfeae6cb34143.pdf
966a18c6d1654b00b9ce9da7682bebc3
PDF Text
Text
CELLS AND GENES ARE PARTS OF ANIMALS: ARISTOTLE IN THE LATE 2QTH CENTURY
James N. Jarvis, M.D., SJC '75 (Annapolis)
Assistant Professor of Pediatrics
Wayne State University School of Medicine
Detroit, MI
1
�ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE LEC1'URE 09/16/M
CELLS AND GENES ARE PARTS OF ANIMALS: ARISTOTLE IN THE LATE 20TH CENTURY
Ms. Braun, members of the St. John's faculty, fellow-members of the St. John's community. It is a
pleasure to be your guest this evening and to return to the campus where my intellectual and spiritual
life was nurtured for four years. I must begin by reassuring Mr. Michael Dink that I really do have a
talk planned this evening and that this is not just an elaborately-organized scheme for me to get a
bully-pulpit to regale yet. another generation of St. Johnnies about events that occurred on a nearby
softball field just under 20 years ago. Let me also assure those who think that the words •... mental
lapse .. ." and "Michael Dink" can't be spoken in the same sentence that the full telling of this story will
occur (yet again) during my class's 20th reunion a little more than a year from now.
This lecture has been incubating for more than eight years, since, in fact, my first introduction to
biomedical science in Paul Levine's laboratory at Washington University in St. Louis. Until then, my
exposure to medical research, even in medical school, had been more bookish than practical and my
own view of how hypotheses are generated and tested was, I think, limited. Since that time, I have had
the great privilege of participating in a first-hand way in the investigation of living matter and how it
works. My primary interest in this activity has been a practical one: I have accepted the Baconian
premise that understanding how the body functions or operates under normal conditions is the key to
understanding what happens when it doesn't function or doesn't function well. I have, in effect, taken
a rather narrow and what might otherwise be called mechanistic approach to living matter. More
precisely, I have become interested in how cells, genes, and proteins work (this distinction between the
understanding the whole and the parts, and understanding how something works versus other kinds
of understanding, will be explored further in this lecture). Thus, this lecture will have something of a
narrow focus. Please don't expect insights of a profound nature, either about living matter or about
Aristotle. I am fully aware that there are individuals in this audience (probably sophomores, who have
read just enough Aristotle to be menacing) who may even be expecting me to finish this lecture by
telling you what "life", or living matter is. Please accept my humble apologies for not providing this and
offering, instead, some thoughts about the study of living things and Aristotle's contributions to that
study. During the course of this lecture I will share some of my insights into Aristotle's The Parts of
Animals, and I will also tell you a little bit about how to clone a gene. In the process of doing so, it is
my intention to awaken you to the incredible beauty and complexity of living things and enhance your
respect for Aristotle's understanding of them.
While engaged in this wonderful challenge of understanding the working of nature and its relation to
health and disease, I have been struck by the vocabulary of biological scientists, my friends and
colleagues. Although they themselves may not recognize it, it seems to me that the language of biology
is different from the language of other sciences, certainly different from the languages of geology,
physics, and chemistry, three disciplines I follow at a distance as an interested amateur (largely through
my perusal of the weekly journal, Science). What is more, that language, the language of modem
biological science, reminds me of an older scientific language, a language of a discipline that my friend
and mentor Leon Kass calls natural philosophy as a reminder of its pre·Baconian origins. This language
of biology, I submit, still uses important concepts which have been central to the study of biology since
they were articulated in The Parts of Animals. What I will try to point out to you this evening is how
those concepts articulated by Aristotle more than 2,000 years ago are still used in modem cell and
molecular biology, and I will try to convince you (as I continue to try to convince my colleagues) that
the use of these concepts is appropriate and, I think, necessary. I will this evening argue that not only
is the language of modern biology still essentially "Aristotelian," but that our approach to understanding
2
�living matter and how it works differs little from the paradigm presented in the opening paragraphs
of Parts of Animals. I will, furthermore, try to convince you that "good" and "bad" biological science
rests, to a large extent, upon the investigator's ability to see .the world of living things through
Aristotle's eyes.
a
should point out that I am not using the words "good" and "bad" here in a moral sense. What I mean
by "good science" is a shorthand for investigation that would be publishable in peer-reviewed medical
or scientific journals: experiments and conclusions that would be accepted by other knowledgeable
people in the investigator's field. Whether there is morally "good" and "bad" science, and whether
Aristotle's system of the investigation would recognize such, is a question I will not address here but
might be raised in the question period when I am finished these remarks).
I clearly cannot talk about all of The Parts of Animals this evening, so I have and will restrict my
observations to the opening chapter of the first book, in which Aristotle presents the terms and format
for the ensuing discussion. I think that this is really the richest part of the book, because, at risk of
stealing my own thunder, I believe that the genius of Aristotle is not his own particular observations
about animals and the functions of their parts. Many or most of his observations have not subsequently
been found either verifiable or generalizable. Rather, Aristotle's brilliance, at least in the field of
biology, rests in his having provided the framework for all future discussions about living matter.
I will share an anecdote that introduces some of the points that I will be making in the rest of this talk.
I was visiting a colleague at the University of Michigan Medical Center in nearby Ann Arbor last
winter, and, like a polite and interested scientist, I asked her how her work was going. She beamed and
proudly answered, "Great! I think I've found a function for my gene." This is a response that perhaps
only another cell or molecular biologist could understand or appreciate. Suffice it to say that, while the
modern revolution in molecular biology and medicine has given us tremendous power to clone and
sequence genes from every species of living matter, including human beings, those of us engaged in this
sort of endeavor are actually looking for something more than a genomic or complementary DNA library
and a gene sequence. What my colleague was telling me, I think, was that she had finished the 20th
century part of her work (discovering; cloning, and sequencing a gene), but that her work was seriously
deficient until she had done the Aristotelian part. She understood that a gene sequence in itself is a
rather paltry contribution to science and very unlikely to be published in a prestigious journal or by
itself provide the basis for a grant application to the National Institutes of Health without a context for
that gene sequence. That is, even after having intimate knowledge of the structure of a gene and the
related DNA sequences that control its transcription to RNA and protein, there is something more that
needs to be explored and considered before even one's fellow-scientists will consider the work either
compelling or complete. Let us look in more detail at the type of work that my friend had done and
try to define, in Aristotle's terms, what more needed to be done.
Anyone who has taken a high-school level biology course or is reasonably well-versed with the lay press
is aware that living things possess within their cells the information required to replicate either identical
copies of themselves or semi-allogenic copies which contain genetic material from another member of
the same or a nearly-related species (we call these copies "offspring", and, for the human species, they
are called "children"). However, although the discovery of deoxyribonucleic acid (DNA) as the source
of genetic information and the unravelling of its marvelous code has assuredly contributed in an
enormous way to our understanding of genetics and reproductive physiology, an equal impact bas come
in our ability to explore in a detailed fashion the functioning of cells and how the expression of
particular genes is controlled in particular cell types. Thus, specific cells in specific tissues are capable
of being studied in intricate detail and this, in turn, has allowed us tremendous insight into how these
cells and tissues function. It is this level of study, sometimes subsumed under the heading, •eeu and
Molecular Biology," that provides the core for much of modem medical research.
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�If you examine appropriately-stained human tissue under a light microscope, it is very clear that what
you are viewing consists of an ordered arrangement, and that different-appearing cell types contribute
to this pattern. In fact, the absence of pattern and the appearance or predominance of a single cell type,
the pattern observed in tissue sections of malignant tumors, appears obviously pathological. Similarly,
within these cells, a semblance of pattern emerges, different for each cell type, with some common
patterns for all cells. DNA is largely confined to the nucleus, while RNA and the structures for protein
biosynthesis can be found in the cytoplasm. These observations, which have been accepted for many
years, suggest that, although every cell of a given organism contains the same genetic material as every
other cell, in multicellular organisms (and especially complex organisms like vertebrates), every gene
is not expressed in every cell of every tissue. That is, the different cell types and specialized functions
of specific cells (for example, insulin secretion by what are know as islet cells of the pancreas)
demonstrate or indicate that the transcription of encoded DNA into a messenger RNA template and
subsequently into protein occurs differently in the cell types, and sometimes differently depending upon
the tissue in which a given cell type might be found. This has lead to the hypothesis that certain cells
and tissues express genes that are not expressed in other cells or tissues, and that our understanding
of the functioning of such cells or tissues in health and disease might be aided considerably by our
knowledge of the genes expressed exclusively in these tissues and the factors that control their
expression.
The discovery of gene sequences expressed only in specific tissues is undertaken by the construction by
what are called gene libraries. This was the process that my colleague in Ann Arbor was engaged in
when I visited her last winter, and because the process by which this is accomplished is relevant to the
discussion that follows, I will share some of that with you. I apologize in advance for the somewhat
technical nature of this exposition, realizing that I am about to provide you with something that is
almost certain to squelch fruitful discussion at St. John's: factual information. Please bear with me,
however, because I believe your understanding of the process through which data is generated in the
modem biological sciences will help you to understand what I have to say about understanding this data
from Aristotle's point of view. I should also say that I believe the process itself would have been
interesting to Aristotle, and that I believe that it's the sort of thing he himself would have delighted
in had he had the means to do it.
The construction of gene libraries from specific cell or tissue types begins again with the "First Law"
of modern biology: that DNA contains information that encodes specific protein sequences, and that the
protein is synthesized from a template molecule of RNA, whose synthesis serves as the intermediary
step. You will recall (again, please forgive my pedantry) that proteins are composed of smaller building
blocks called amino acids. Each amino acid is specified within the DNA molecule by a three base-pair
sequence called a codon. The DNA code is somewhat "degenerate", as the currently-used jargon has
it, in that some of the amino acids are specified by more than one codon. In the normal sequence, a
gene is activated by the binding of certain proteins to a region of DNA called the promotor, which
results in the transcription of an RNA molecule whose sequence is complementary to that of the DNA
template (remembering the Second Law of modem biological science: adenine pairs with thymine [or,
in an RNA molecule, with uracil] and guanine with cytosine ). The newly-synthesized RNA molecule
is processed further in the cell cytoplasm and used as a template for the biosynthesis of a new protein.
Because of the complementarity of DNA or RNA, gene libraries can be constructed from either, those
using DNA referred to as genomic libraries (containing all the genes of the specific species from which
they were obtained and therefore identical whether the starting tissue was brain or skin) and those
starting with RNA being designated "complementary DNA libraries," as they begin with a RNA which
is then synthesized in vitro to a complementary strand of DNA Complementary DNA libraries contain
only the gene sequences are expressed in the tissue or cells from which they were obtained
The next steps in cloning involve the digestion of the DNA into smaller fragments that can be analyzed
4
�in a practical way, and the insertion of the fragments into a host (usually a virus) that will allow its
insertion into a cell (at this stage, usually, a bacterium) that will propagate and produce multiple copies
of the gene fragments. This is. necessary in order to have an adequate amount of DNA to manipulate
and analyze. After millions of copies of each gene are produced, the gene fragments can be isolated from
the bacteria, which grow as colonies on agar plates. Selection of the specific colonies which contain the
genes or genes of interest can be accomplished by examining products secreted by the bacteria or by
techniques which rely upon the binding of related DNA sequences to the DNA within the bacterial
plasmids. The bacteria containing the genes of interest can then be selectively grown, the plasmids
containing the cloned DNA isolated from the rest of the bacterial DNA, and the sequence and structure
of the cloned genes ascertained (the techniques used to sequence DNA are in themselves rather
interesting but not within the purview of a talk like this one). Using complementary DNA libraries,
unique genes expressed in specific tissues in response to specific stimuli or at specific times in
development can be identified, isolated, and their sequence determined
I want you to note that up to this point all we have is a gene sequence, a structure, a very minute part
of an animal (or plant). Furthermore, although there is some marvelous technical wizardry involved in
obtaining this sequence, the process through which the sequence is obtained is more or less mechanical
and, with some exceptions, more or less the same no matter what cell type, tissue, or even species the
scientist is working with. This is the equivalent, more or less, of doing what Aristotle describes in
lines 15-18 of the first chapter: taking a lion, or ox, or human being and describing the parts in infinite
detail. No attempt is made (yet) of relating the minute DNA sequences to commonly-expressed cell,
tissue, or organism functions. The reason for this relates, in part, to the method through which genes
are isolated and cloned. It should be clear from how I have described the method of cloning and
sequencing that the manipulation of DNA required for this process involves the almost complete
separation of that particular gene or DNA sequence from the context in which it is normally found
However, it is just that context that is crucial to our understanding of the role of that gene within the
cell and, subsequently, its role in the function of that particular tissue or organism. The rest of the
process, the activity that makes cloning and sequencing truly interesting, involves the understanding
of how the protein encoded by that gene functions or what it does (which is why my colleague was so
excited about having a function for her gene). To put it another way, one seeks the telos for that gene.
Until that is found, the mere gene or protein, sequence is singularly uninteresting to either the natural
philosopher or the molecular biologist. To put it in language that my peers might understand, it would
be very difficult to publish a gene sequence by itself without a context for that sequence which suggests
a functional. role for that gene in a cell or tissue or in a particular biological process. My knowledge of
that function might be limited or vague, but publishable molecular work invariably contains and
requires a context without which the gene sequence is neither useful nor enlightening.
So what does all this have to do with Aristotle? Because this is early in the year, I think I should say
a few things about the reading of Aristotle to the freshman, who should be engrossed in and captivated
by Homer at this time and have probably had little no exposure to Aristotle's scientific books. In this
way I will also reveal some of the prejudices that I have brought to this book as I read and reread it
over the past 8 years. I was once told that a key to reading Aristotle is the understanding that many
of his books seem to be written as answers for which the reader must supply the question. I have found
this insight very useful. Furthermore when reading The Parts of Animal.s, I have found it helpful to
pause after every sentence or two and ask, "As opposed to what?" We are fortunate that Aristotle
sometimes gives us alternative explanations or possibilities, but I think that one appreciates the genius
of Aristotle only after considering the explanations or alternative ideas that he has rejected without his
having belabored the point in writing Oest the freshmen should be misguided, let me quickly point out
that Aristotle is not above belaboring points).
To begin this discussion, we have to confront, first and foremost, our archnemesis. I believe that
understanding The Parts of Animal.a requires some insight into the alternative point of view about
5
�living things, which Aristotle attributes to Empedocles. I feel unfortunate that most of what I know
about Empedocles comes from Aristotle, and I think that we at St. John's, especially, have to be
cautious in judging a philosopher's thought simply on the basis of what somewhat else says about him.
I certainly would not want to judge Aristotle's system of natural science on the basis of what is said
about him in modern science textbooks, for example. However, be that as it may, whether fairly or
unfairly, Empedocles is used as representative of a school of thought that suggests that the coming·
to-be of living things has occurred by chance, that their formation has occurred haphazardly, and that
the compelling force in this process is necessity, in Greek, anangke. For example, the process of the
formation of the backbone, Empedocles is said to argue, occurs by necessity, a consequence of the fetus
becoming twisted in the uterus.
This approach is one that, on the surface, seems attractive to modern scientists. It is certainly consistent
with classical physics and mechanics and the so-called scientific ideal exemplified in Newtonian physics.
When I was a junior here at St. John's, I remember reading a quote by French biologist Andre Lwoff
attempting to support a role for Empedoclean necessity in biological science:
"The machine is built for doing precisely what it does. We may admire it, but we should
not lose our heads. If the living system did not perform its task, it would not exist. We
simply have to learn how it performs its task. "1
This same mechanistic approach seems to have been what Claude Bernard had in mind when he stated
that:
"...a created organism is a machine that necessarily2 works by virtue of the physico-chemical
properties of its constituent elements. "3
At a certain level, this seems to remain a deeply-cherished belief or prejudice of modern scientists, who,
even after the demise of classical physics in the early 20th century seem to yearn for a world more like
Newton's than Einstein's. However, when I confront this belief, as I often do when I encounter other
colleagues, particularly those who work exclusively in the laboratory rather than at the bedside, I recall
the words of Marcel Proust:
"Error is more obstinate than faith and does not examine the grounds of its belief."
I do believe that in biology and experimental medicine, the Newtonian/Cartesian model is erroneous,
or at least incomplete. The ·problem with this approach, is, ironically, a practical one: it simply doesn't
work. It may very well be. true that the coming-to-be of living matter occurred as an accident in the
"primordial soup" billions of years ago, requiring neither the direction of a beneficent deity or even
directedness from the impersonal forces of nature. It may very well be that what transpired was
1
Quoted from The Cell Carl Swanson. Prentice-Hall, Inc., Englewood Cliffs, NJ, 3rd Ed., 1969, p.7.
2
My italics
3
Claude Bernard, An Introducti.on to the Study of Experimental Medicine, trans. Henry Copley
Green. New York: Dover Books, 1957, p. 93.
6
�inevitable based on the laws that govern large molecules that we now call "organic" and the chemistry
of carbon and nitrogen. That does not negate the fact that what has come to be is organized matter,
and that our understanding of that matter requires our understanding of that organization and the
relationship between structure and function. As Aristotle points out, the Empedoclean view falls short
because of its lack of logos. It does not provide a framework which makes the phenomena
understandable. Aristotle follows this by gleefully pointing out that Empedocles, too "... being led and
guided by Truth itself, stumbles upon this.. ."' and is required to recant and retract, admitting, for
example that bone is more than its elements per se, but that there is a logos (which, in this context,
I believe might be translated "understandable feature" or "... understandable features ... ") that requires
several layers of explanation for us to discern.
Thus, while the mechanistic language borrowed by modern biologists from classical physics might
sometimes be used in the biological sciences, that is not the common language and certainly not the
language used in published research. Let me add that this is not because, in their heart of hearts,
modern biologists don't wish to have a language reminiscent of classical physics. Indeed, one of the
prejudices common among biological researchers is that the laws of biological science (dealing, as they
do, with the macroscopic world) are or will be shown to be more like classical mechanics, with orderly
phenomena of cause and affect occurring in ti.me, than like the topsy-turvy world of quantum physics
and relativity. They have learned however, that the language of classical physics and mechanics has
limited practical usefulness in modern biological research.
I will here therefore submit that there are several critical concepts in Aristotle's biology that remain
in common use in modern biological science (although in a somewhat disguised form), that remain
crucial to how we understand living matter. I will spend the rest of my time examining two of these
concepts in more detail. They are telos and anangke. My list is intentionally limited to these two, but
before I proceed I should state that a complete understanding of Aristotle's biological works and their
relevance to modern biology should also include a deeper discussion of cause and all its layers of
meaning. Similarly, eidos is clearly a unifying concept in Aristotle's physics and metaphysics and any
discussion of his natural works that does not address this concept is incomplete. However, both of these
topics are by themselves suitable lecture material and I have decided to avoid them in this discussion.
I envy the sophomores, however, who will able to immerse themselves in Aristotle's Physics later this
year and will have, therefore, a rich and ample opportunity to think about these issues.
There is, among modern scientists, perhaps no more greatly-misunderstood concept that of telos as
Aristotle understood it. Indeed, "teleologic" thinking is often apologized for in "serious" research seminars
and can subject its user to a measure of skepticism (if not scorn) by other investigators. This is, of
course, due to a misunderstanding of the concept of telos. We are, in this instance, partly at the mercy
of St. Thomas Aquinas, who brilliantly engrafted Aristotelian thought (physical and metaphysical) into
Christian theology. Thus, the Christian view of a beneficent Deity ordering Nature to His own
(sometimes inscrutable 5 but unquestionably _beneficent) ends has clearly influenced, or tainted, the
reading of Aristotle ever since. No such world view informs the Parts of Animals or the concept of
telos as used in Aristotle's works in the natural sciences. As used in the Parts of Animals, telos is
intended to describe the predictable culmination of natural processes. A robin's egg predictably hatches
a robin. A seed predictably grows into a plant. Thus, the end of the egg is the mature robin; the end
of the seed is either growth or the mature plant. These ends exist without either striving on the part
of the organisms or intervention from the deity. They do, however, provide the foundation for our
4
Aristotle, Parts of Animals, trans. AL Peck. Cambridge, MA; Harvard University Press, 1983.
5
" ••• where
were you when I laid the foundations of the earth?" Job
7
�understanding of the egg or the seed, their logos, as Aristotle says. 6 Furthermore, while they c8n be
thought of separately, telos and necessity (anangke) are clearly co-existent and inter-related, just as
matter and form are. If an egg is to grow into a mature robin (its telos) it must, of necessity, have
certain characteristics which will protect it during gestation (e.g., a hard shell). None of this sort of
thinking, which is central to Aristotle's way of looking at living things, is completely foreign to cell
biology or experimental medicine. In the example of our gene sequence, the telos of the gene is twofold: the transmission of genetic information to progeny and the encoding of information required to
synthesize a protein, which, in turn, has its own its own telos. The second part of the molecular biology
in which my friend in Ann Arbor was engaged required that she put her gene back into context, both
literally and mentally, to discern the function of the protein encoded by the gene and factors regulating
its expression in different cells.
In my own career I was blessed to work with an outstanding molecular scientist (Dr. John Atkinson,
now chair of the Department of Medicine at Washington University in St. Louis) who was singularly
unapologetic for his use of teleologic language and thinking. From Dr. Atkinson I learned how serious
scientific problems can be approached in a practical and illuminating way if the Aristotelian concept of
telos is applied creatively. Indeed, posing questions in cell biology that start with telos is often the best
way to start an inquiry into structure and mechanism, form and function. In this sense, telos remains
the prior or primary concept in much of cell biology, just as in Aristotle's biology. 7 Let me provide
some examples.
In both cell and molecular biology, the discovery of new genes and/or structures, or the finding that
a certain gene or protein is unexpectedly expressed in a certain cell or tissue, is one of the exciting and
rewarding events in the life of any investigator. However, insight into the significance of such a finding
is often provided only by an understanding of its telos. Scientists refer to this work and thoughtprocess as the elucidation of the function of the new gene or protein. This is nothing more or less than
an understanding of its telos and it is considered to be an essential part of the understanding of new
genes and proteins. They provide, I submit, the only means by which their biological significance can
be discerned, or, if I may speak in Aristotle's terms, the telos provides rational ground, or logos, for
the subsequent inquiry. That other scientists agree with my assessment of the importance of this
process is measured by my friend's excitement at finding a "...function for her gene." What my colleague
was asserting was the importance of the Aristotelian concept of telos in modern biology.
A question that Dr. Atkinson often used to ask at the beginning of his work was, ''Why would this cell
express this protein (or gene)?" Or, "Why would this cell express this protein (or gene) under these
conditions?". I learned by watching an experienced scientist begin his work this way that a tremendous
amount of experimental biology can be undertaken if such questions are asked and allowed to provide
the rationale for a series of well-designed experiments. Thus, the concept of telos provides not only a
theoretical framework which allows a scientist to understand the meaning of certain phenomena
produced in the laboratory, but it also provides a valuable starting point for further investigations. In
this very real sense, telos is the practical and logical starting point for the investigation, as Aristotle has
pointed out. 8
Necessity (anangke), is another concept that is used in modern biological research with some of the
same breadth of meaning as in Aristotle's biological works. Christianized Aristotelianism has attempted
6
Parts of Animals I, i, 639b 15-17.
7
Parts of Animals I, ~ 639b, 15.
8
Parts of Animals II (1) 646a25 - 646b5
8
�to elevate telos above necessity, maintaining that God's will and the mechanisms by which His world
operates are separable in fact and in thought. This allows, among other things, provision for Jaws of
nature to be suspended for the benefit of the Church, as Edward Gibbon stated. While this is a
convenient world view for the structuring of a politically-powerful church on earth, it had devastating
effects on the understanding of living creatures, and allowed the evolution of the concept of vitalism that
so seriously stymied biological thinking in Europe into the nineteenth century should also point out
that it made theology tough, too. The distinction between God's foreknowledge versus foreordination,
Grace versus Free Will, etc. are innate, I believe, in this dualistic approach to Nature and Nature's
God). This distinct separation of telos from anangke is clearly excluded from Aristotle's natural works,
and The Parts of Animal.sin particular. Rather, anangke and telos go hand in hand, and provide a basis
for the understanding of one-another. Thus, while telos is primary for Aristotle, in that it provides the
framework through which biological processes are understood (again, the logos), it is also clear that
both the coming-to-be and the maintenance of living things obeys the laws of anangke in the physical
and logical way that Aristotle understood this term.
a
I have mentioned before the wistful engagement of classical (Newtonian) physics and modem biology,
an engagement that is ever-prolonged while the wedding is continually postponed. I believe that there
is still a yearning among many biologists to believe that, because living things adhere to the Jaws of
chemistry and physics (or, more correctly, that novel laws of chemistry and physics are not required
to understand either the coming-to-be or the functioning of living matter), that all of the biological
sciences will be eventually be focused on understanding laws of absolute necessity which are the direct
descendants and consequences of the original Big Bang. However, in many cases, this concept of
absolute necessity (because "A" happened, "B" absolutely must happen) is only one of the ways in which
the concept of necessity is used in biological science and medicine. Furthermore, such logical thinking
is seldom the starting point in the practical world of modern medical research. Rather, modem
biologists, working with concepts of structure and function (telos, if you will), are more often fruitful
when they operate in the world of what may called "...conditional necessity." That is, the argument
that if "A" is to be formed, then other things must also occur. For example, if health is to be produced,
then certain actions are necessi~ted by the physician or the healer. This may still seem somewhat
abstract, so let me use an example from my own experiences at Washington University.
The complement system is a series of proteins that provide one of the important defenses of higher
organisms against invading micro-organisms. However, unlike other parts of the immune system,
complement proteins do not, in themselves, discriminate "self' from "non-self." Once activated, there
is nothing in the biochemistry of these proteins that precludes their amplifying on and destroying host
cell or tissues instead of the invading viruses or bacteria. This discovery that the complement system
is non-specific was made simultaneously in St. Louis and San Diego and much of this early work was
done by my mentor, Paul Levine. These discoveries led to the hypothesis that if the biochemistry of
the complement proteins is such that they can activate even on host cells, then by necessity there must
be some mechanism through which host cells can deactivate them. This is a very Aristotelian approach,
and it was the beginning of a series of investigations, carried out in St. Louis, Baltimore, and Cleveland,
that elucidated a new family of cell-surface proteins with a common genetic structure. These proteins
were shown on mammalian cells but not on bacteria or viruses (at least not under normal
circumstances) and were shown to deactivate complement on host cells exactly as would be predicted.
An understanding of these proteins and how they function has provided new insight into rheumatic
diseases such as rheumatoid arthritis and systemic lupus, as well as some understanding of how cells
of the immune system are destroyed during the course of HIV infection (the latter is work from my
oWn laboratory). Thus, the concept of necessity, as used in its broader, "Aristotelian" sense, provided
the foundation not just for a theoretical approach to mammalian cells but for practical advances in the
science of immunology.
This is not to say that so-called "absolute" necessity is not used in modern biology. We know, for
9
�example, that if the pH or hydrogen ion concentration of the intracellular fluid drops below a certain
"physiologic" range, that certain predictable consequences will occur to in the efficiency with which
intracellular enzymes will function. We know that, eventually, prolonged lowering of intracellular pH
will eventually have profound disturbance of cellular energy metabolism and eventually lead to cell
death. However, in these cases, the concept of absolute necessity is still informed by the concept that
the enzymes in question do, in fact, have functions that relate to their roles in cellular processes. The
dysfunction of the enzymes is made more intelligible by the understanding that they are involved in
a process that we call intracellular metabolism. In the absence of this understanding, we have hydrogen
ions and a denatured polypeptide that can no longer catalyze the transfer of electrons. Even the most
ardent Newtonian would concede that such an understanding is incomplete.
These two concepts, telos and anangke, are ubiquitous in modern biology and appear to be tmavoidable.
They provide the core of work appearing in peer-reviewed journals as well as an important aspect of
any grant application to agencies such as the National Institutes of Health. They remain in use, as I
have said, not because, in the deepest hearts, modern experimental biologists are enamored of Aristotle,
but because they are unavoidable. Furthermore, they have been shown to be practically useful,
especially when linked to the modern techniques of cell and molecular biology. The admission that these
concepts are essential to the biological sciences is different from saying that unusual laws of chemistry
and physics are required to understand living things. What I am saying, and what Aristotle has said,
is that these concepts provide the framework through which the laws of chemistry and physics can be
understood in living matter.
I hope I have provided you, in this very brief way, with some insight into how certain ideas articulated
in Aristotle's Parts of Animals remain in use in modern experimental medicine. Furthermore, I hope
that I have convinced you that these ideas are not just part of a theoretical framework, but that they
provide a very practical starting point for the process of modern biological research. Let me also say
that I believe that if Aristotle were alive today, he would find very little in modern laboratory research
that is in direct conflict with his approach to living things as articulated in the Parts of Animals.
Let me close by saying a word about what modern experimental medicine has not borrowed from
Aristotle and something about how this may limit, or at least define, our understanding of living
things. Of all the concepts in modern biology, evolution is the one most clearly foreign to Aristotle's
biology. To Aristotle, the species were permanent, more or less immutable, and eternal. To the modern
biologist, species are what's left. over aft.er a process called natural selection. In its most extreme case,
evolution is so totally lacking in either direction or permanence that, ultimately, the theory of natural
selection is just as appropriately described as "... survival of the survivors... " rather than "... survival of
the fittest." Eidos (species) and telos are conspicuously absent from modern evolutionary theory. It is
thus hard to fmd common ground between evolutionary biologists and Aristotle. The two world views
are clearly not compatible.
However, in modern experimental medicine, the concept of evolution is, ironically, partly-informed by
the concept of telos. For example, the existence of certain structures or proteins in lower animals (for
example, fish) and humans is oft.en used an argument for their physiological importance. That is,
structures or proteins highly-conserved through evolution are considered significant. For example, the
fact that fish have complement proteins is used as an argument for the importance of this primordial
wing of the immune system. To put it another way, the telos of a structure is considered vital to the
extent that it is conserved in evolution. Thus, even with modem evolutionary theory as an overlay,
experimental medicine still derives tremendous power from essentially-Aristotelian ideas.
Another aspect of Aristotle's biology that is lacking in modem experimental medicine is its scope. By
this I mean that Aristotle's physics and metaphysics are essentially inseparable, and that they are part
of a system of thought that addresses human beings and their relationship to the world around them.
10
�While the world of clinical medicine may t.ake a person into many parts of the world of man and
display some of the best and worst of human life, the world of experimental medicine is, in the end,
neatly circwnscribed. People engaged in medical research are, in the end, focused on understanding how
things work. The final goal of this is, of course, to fmd out what's happening when something doesn't
work (that is, when someone is ill) so that remedies can be found. The answers given to the questions
raised by modern biologists will, therefore, reflect the form in which the question was asked. That is,
our answers will always only tell us how something works, not what it is or what our relationship to
it should be. We are, in essence, like the Lilliputians, who could dismantle Gulliver's watch and could
understood its mechanism perfectly, but were unaware of its purpose (believing, as they did, that it was
the god that he worshipped).
I will close as I began, with an anecdote, or actually, two anecdotes. Let me t.ake you, on a cool sunny
November afternoon, into the delivery room of an upstate New York hospital, where I, a third-year
medical student, am spending my first afternoon in labor and delivery. I want you to see a wet, blue
infant who t.akes her first gasp, utters her first cry, and begins to wiggle and squirm, her cries
becoming more vigorous with each passing second I want to see the beaming father and mother as they
hold their first-born daughter, call her by her name, and put their cheeks against her soft pink skin.
I also want to t.ake you into the pediatric intensive care unit on a frosty November evening. I will t.ake
you to the bed of an eight-year-old boy dying of infectious complications of AIDS. I will tell you that
this boy was the only child, the adopted son of an otherwise childless couple, and that I had come to
respect this couple's sorrow and struggle as one of the most profoundly sad and noble chapters I had
witnessed in my career. When the time came to accept that we had nothing left to offer but the
prolongation of suffering, when decisions were made to remove noxious tubes and hardware, when I
watched this child gasp his last breaths in the arms of his tearful parents, I understood the profound
ignorance of doctors, biologists, philosophers, and clergy. My experiences at the bedside, and with
birth and death in particular, have taught me that there is a great deal about life that I cannot explain.
I fully understand that the method of inquiry that I have inherited by Bernard, Bacon, and Descartes
was not designed to probe into the more compelling questions that raised by my experiences as a
physician. Thus, while my own career remains focussed in the understanding of the human body and
how it works, I remain profoundly humbled at how inadequate even a complete understanding at that
level would be. For all of our knowledge and our attempts at knowledge, we...
"...are here as on a darkling plain
Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight,
Where ignorant armies clash by night."
11
�
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Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
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Cells and Genes are Parts of Animals: Aristotle in the Late 20th Century
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Typescript of a lecture delivered on September 16, 1994, by James N. Jarvis as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Jarvis, James N.
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St. John's College
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Annapolis, MD
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1994-09-16
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text
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Aristotle. De partibus animalium
Cytology
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English
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lec Jarvis 1994
Alumni
Friday night lecture
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https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/d29e9c045e69232e417d175ef3c2ae97.mp3
16b4f5a1c38055e7818b841ad72ee3cc
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Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
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wav
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01:10:07
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Argument Not Less But More Heroic: Milton's Advent'rous Song in <em>Paradise Lost</em>
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on February 11, 2005, by Thomas May as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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May, Thomas
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St. John's College
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Annapolis, MD
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2005-02-11
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Milton, John, 1608-1674. Paradise lost
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English
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LEC_May_Thomas_2005-02-11_ac
Friday night lecture
Tutors
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https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/9015330832e8d67aa65f26afc82cee15.mp3
4f0325be5b889c1623f2e5be8e5249f5
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Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
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01:09:39
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Hegel's <em>Phenomenology of Spirit</em> and the Great Tradition
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on October 15, 2004, by Henry Higuera as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Higuera, Henry, 1954-
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St. John's College
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Annapolis, MD
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2004-10-15
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Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 1770-1831. Phänomenologie des Geistes
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English
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LEC_Higuera_Henry_2004-10-15_ac
Friday night lecture
Tutors
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https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/d51774e56db52a6741f3349cbec6061f.mp3
e35eddd5e905b19402b69708a47f80c4
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Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
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00:52:34
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Song and Dance and Faith and Prayer: The Case of J. S. Bach's Magnificat
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on February 9, 1996 by Beate Ruhm von Oppen as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Ruhm von Oppen, Beate
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St. John's College
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Annapolis, MD
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1996-02-09
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Bach, Johann Sebastian, 1685-1750
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English
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LEC_Ruhm_von_Oppen_Beate_1996-02-09_ac
Friday night lecture
Tutors
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35a39324dd02691d7a1242b60140c7b7
PDF Text
Text
Must Eudai.monism Mean the Euthanasia of AJ..1. ...._....... __ _
Kant's Rigorism and the Mora1ity of Happiness
by Daniel Kolb
St. John's Col1ege, Annapolis
In the Metaphysics of Morals, the last of Kant's major ethical
works, he offers the following estimation eudaimonian ethics.
"If
eudaimonism (the principle of happiness) is set up as the basic
principle [of ethics] ... , the result is the euthanasia (easy death)
of all morals." [MM 378/183) 1 An ethical doctrine is eudaimonian,
in Kant's terms, if it treats acting virtuously as source of
happiness or contentment. This special kind of happiness, which
Kant also calls 'moral happiness' and opposes to 'empirical
happiness,' is, he tells us, a "self-contradictory absurdity." [:MM
377/182) Kant's use of the Greek term 'eudaimonian' to characterize
this mistake is not accidental.
He means to direct our attention
to the doctrines of certain ancient philosophers closely associated
with it, most notably Aristotle and the Stoics.
At first blush, Kant's rejection eudaimonism seems strange.
He begins his first mature work on ethics with the unambiguous
endorsement of the idea of a virtuous will is the central, indeed
the only, concern of the ethical life. "There is no possibility of
thinking of anything at all in the world, or even out of it, which
The key to references to Kant's works is found at the end
of the text.
1
1
�2
can be regarded as good without qualification [that is, as morally
good,] except a good will." [G 393/7] In the midst of the growing
tribes of utilitarians, sentimentalists, and rational egoists who
populate the landscape of modern ethical thought, Kant's call to
focus on virtue for virtue's sake seems to belong to a different
time.
Indeed one might easily suspect that Kant will encourage us
to look to the doctrines of those ancient philosophers who share
his view that moral virtue perfects the person who possesses it.
Like Kant, the ancient eudaimonists insist that virtue is only
virtue if it is exercised for its own sake, not as a means to some
other goal.
Yet, it is precisely these philosophers Kant
conderr~s.
In tonight's lecture I will explore Kant's ethics with a view
to understanding why Kant thinks he must reject any form of
eudaimonism. I shall begin by examining an aspect of Kant's ethics
that is usually ignored and which is generally disparged when it is
noticed.
This is what Kant calls 'rigorism.' I shall argue that
rigorism, p r operly understood, is an essential aspect of Kant's
ethics.
By exploring the roots of Kant's rigorism, I hope to make
clear that Kant's ethics is deeply teleological in its orientation,
and that his treatment of duty cannot be understood apart from his
doctrine of virtue.
It is in his doctrine of virtue that we find
his reasons for rejecting eudaimonian ethics.
Virtue requires
purity of motivation, and philosophers such as the Stoics and
Aristotle who teach us to think that virtue is essentially related
�3
to happiness threaten the purity of the motives of the virtuous
agent and thereby undermine the practice of virtue itself.
RI GORI SM
Kant's clearest endorsement of rigorism is found in the
opening sections of Religion within the Limits of Reason Alone.
It is of the greatest consequence to ethics in general to avoid
admitting, so long as possible, of anything morally intermediate,
whether in action ... or in human characters; for with such ambiguity
all maxims are in danger of forfeiting their precision and
stability. Those who are partial to this strict mode of thinking
are called rigorists (a name which is intended to carry reproach,
but which actually praises) . . . [R 22/18]
The rigorist is not someone who adheres unwaveringly to principles
of duty, e.g., someone who tells the truth even when doing so will
cause a great sacrifice of non-moral goods.
Rather, rigorists are
persons inclined to view every action or state of character as
morally significant, that is, as either good or evil with no moral
middle ground.
The scope of Kant's rigorism is not limited only to actions
and traits of character.
It also applies to the moral evaluation
of the entire character of a person.
Neither can a man be morally good in some ways and at the same time
morally evil in others. His being good in one way means he has
incorporated the moral law into his maxim; were he, therefore at
the same time evil in another way, while his maxim would be
universal as based on the moral law of obedience to duty, which is
essentially single and universal, it would be at the same time only
particular; but this is a contradiction. [R 24-25/20]
�4
Persons are either good or evil in the foundation of their moral
character.
Opposed to rigorists are what Kant calls latitudinarians.
Latitudinarians threaten to undermine morality by marking off
categories of action or traits of character as intermediate between
good and evil and as therefore falling outside of the scope of
morality.
Kant identifies two types of latitudinarians:
indifferentists and syncretists. Indifferentists are philosophers
who maintain that human beings are by nature indifferent to virtue
and vice.
No ancients fall into this category. [R 25/20 note] Kant
seems to have in mind here modern advocates of natural rights such
as Hobbes, Pufendorf, Grotius, and Locke.
According to Hobbes,
there is no justice or injustice in the natural condition of men.
Morality consists of a set of human agreements which we make and
keep because it is in our interest to do so.
Locke differs from
Hobbes in that he believes that there are eternal moral laws which
ought to guide our behavior.
But lacking human agreements to
enforce these laws, and, ultimately, a divine judge to assure their
perfect application, we do not have a sufficient motive to obey
them. A marginal note of Locke's expresses this well.
Men have a natural tendency to what delights and from what pains
them. This universal observation has been established beyond
doubt. But that the soul has such a tendency to what is morally
�5
good and from what is morally evil has not fallen under my
observation, and therefore I deny it. 2
For the indifferentists, moral activity has nothing to do
with the perfection of the agent. Rather, the guiding light in our
adherence to any moral principle is self-interest which leads us to
avoid conflicts which would and render our own individual, private
pursuit of pleasure impossible. Without constraints on selfinterest, individuals would not have any reasonable assurance of
their ability to survive and pursue even part of their private
agenda. Thus even agents who are completely motivated by selfinterest will be led to conform to a moral principles because by
doing so they can carve out a space in which they are able to
pursue their own private interest without restraint. 3
By syncretists, on the other hand, Kant seems to have in mind
primarily, advocates of moral sense, Shaftesbury, Hutcheson, and
2 Cited by John Passmore,
Duckworth, 1972), p.159
The Perfectibility of Man (London:
Leibniz is sharply critical of this idea the compatibility
of what he calls 'internal corruption' and 'external virtue'.
"While it is possible that someone, by hope or fear, will repress
wicked thoughts, so that they do not harm ... nevertheless he will
never succeed in making them useful. Therefore, whoever is not
well intentioned will often sin, at least by omission .... Thus
[Pufendorf's] hypothesis about a soul which is internally corrupt
and outwardly innocent is not very safe and not very probable."
Political Writings (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1988),
p.69 Those of you who have read Dostoyevsky's Brothers Karamazov
will remember Ivan's claim that he would protect his father's
li fe whil e re t a ining the 'right' to wis h f or h is murde r.
He ends
up not only wishing for his father's murder but also acting to
facilitate it.
3
�6
Hume. {Kant lectured with enthusiasm on the these moral theories of
these philosophers in the mid 1760's - about 20 years before he
finally formulated his mature ethical views. He was still trying to
incorporate major elements of moral sense theory in his ethics as
late as 1775.} These philosophers maintain that virtuous behavior
is motivated by a unique set of feelings which direct us to goals
different from those of immediate self-interest. I quote here from
Francis Hutcheson's The Original of Our Ideas of Beauty and Virtue.
The author of nature has much better furnished us for a virtuous
conduct than our moralists seem to imagine, by almost as quick and
powerful instructions as we have for the preservation of our
bodies. He has given us strong affections to be the springs of
each virtuous action and made virtue a lovely form that we might
easily distinguish it from its contrary, and be happy in the
pursuit of it. 4
The beauty of virtuous actions stems from the fact that they are
be neficent, that is, they tend to the public good or the goods of
other individuals even when they conflict with self-interest.
However, these motives are often competing with other interested
motives, and there can be no assurance that the motive of virtue
will be sufficiently strong to win out over other motives opposing
it.
Moral sense theorists, at least Hume and Hutcheson, endorse
the practice of finding ways to combine appeals to the moral sense
with appeals to self-interest.
From Mor al Philosophy from Montaign e to Kant, J.B.
Schneewind editor (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1990),
Vol. II, p.506.
4
�7
Beneficent actions tend to the public good; it is therefore good
and kind to give all possible additional motives to them, and to
excite men who have some weak degrees of good affection to promote
the public good more vigorously by motives of self-interest ... 5
In the end, we have a we cannot tell and perhaps do not care which
motive, love of virtue or self-interest is primary. In the Critique
of Practical Reason Kant expresses his distaste for this kind of
theory.
(W]e find ourselves in a syncretistic age, when a certain shallow
and dishonest coalition between contradictory principles is devised
because it is more acceptable to a public which is satisfied to
know a little about everything and at bottom nothing ... (CprV 24/23]
MORAL WORTH
In order to see why Kant objects to the morality of actions in
which self-interest or natural feelings of beneficence lead us to
do the right thing, let us turn to Kant's argument from the
Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals.
In the much discussed
examples from the first section of the Groundwork Kant contrasts
actions that are simply in accord with duty with actions that are
performed out of a sense of duty.
A shopkeeper acts from the
motive of his own calculated self-interest. He performs the morally
required action and charges his customer an honest price.
But he
acts for a ''selfish purpose" rather than from a sense of duty.
his second example a naturally beneficent man, one whom Kant
5
Schneewind, Vol. II, p.512.
In
�8
characterizes as a 'friend of mankind', acts in accord with his
duty to help those less fortunate than himself.
Even though he
acts without vanity or selfish purpose and is motivated by a
genuine concern for the happiness of another, his act does not
spring from a sense of duty and, therefore, according to Kant, it
lacks moral worth.
Kant identifies three problems with motives of the selfinterested shopkeeper and the friend of humanity. First, their
motives do not lead to moral actions in a universal manner, that
is, under all conditions and in all circumstances.
If his
calculations of market forces and social pressures no longer
constrain him, the shopkeeper who acts out of self-interest will
fail to act in accordance with his duty.
There is no necessary
connection between his self-interest and honesty.
In the case of
the friend of humanity, feelings such as beneficence may lead him
to perform actions which are even contrary to those morally
prescribed. The beneficent person may, out of sympathetic feelings,
protect the guilty from punishment, supply drugs to a suffering
drug addict, kill someone to end suffering, or help a terrified
criminal escape legal detection.
If you have read Crime and
Punishment place yourself behind the pawnbrokress' door with
Raskolnikov when he is on the brink of being discovered after his
murders and s ee where your sympa thy lies .
Or read the concluding
scenes of Of Mice and Men in which George kills Lennie and then
�9
lies about his act and its motives. Sympathy is with the escaping
criminal and the beneficent lying murderer.
The second problem Kant finds with motives of self-interest
and beneficence is that it is a matter of chance that we find
ourselves endowed with these motives.
They are subject to
arbitrary alteration. The sympathetic person's feelings may change.
He is affected by the ingratitude of his beneficiaries or by a
change in his circumstances and the feelings of sympathy weaken to
the point where they are no longer sufficient to move him.
Shakespeare's Timon of Athens presents us with just such a man.
Timon's generous benevolence is transformed into raging misanthropy
by the ingratitude of those around him.
These problems point to Kant's third, and deeper, reason for
thinking that motives other than duty for duty's sake have no true
moral worth.
Persons acting from self-interest or beneficence
really have different ends in view from those acting from a sense
of duty.
The shopkeeper motivated only by self-interest, or the
sympathetic person motivated only by feelings of benevolence, act
without regard for duty.
The person who acts from a sense of duty
acts out of respect for the moral law.
His end includes, at a
minimum, the component that he will not violate the moral law.
For Kant, human being are more than natural beings governed by
sentiments.
In so far as we are parts of nature, we find ourselves
subject to various feelings and inclinations that are caused in us
�10
independently of our wills.
As rational . beings, however, we find
ourselves set apart from nature.
Everything in nature acts according to laws.
Only a rational being
has the power to act according to the idea of laws, that is
according to principles; that is to say only a rational being has a
will. [G 412, my translation]
Human agents are able to distance themselves from the immediate
promptings of nature, consider other possibilities, order and rank
incentives.
That is, they can think about how they are going to
act and give reasons for their choices.
In calling our motives
'maxims' or 'ideas of laws' Kant means to emphasize the fact that
human action contains rational reflection on both the ends of
action and the motives for pursuing .them.
Actions which appear the
same externally can be motivated by very different maxims. A
shopkeeper must rank self-interest and honesty in his maxim.
If he
ranks self-interest above honesty, his honest dealing with his
customers depends on his perception that it will promote his selfinterest.
His motive is very different from the shopkeeper whose
honesty is not dependent entirely his self-interest.
The
shopkeeper who values honesty more highly than self-interest will
act honestly from a principle, that is the idea of the good of
honesty, even when he can see no benefit for himself from honest
dealing.
A rational agent whose reason is not just instrumental, but is
pract i c a l i n t h e Ka nti a n sens e c a n as k why h e is d o ing what he is
doing; that is, he capable of conscious self-examination of his
�11
motives.
For Kant, practical reason does not just deliberate about
means; it is also active in evaluating ends. Kant's forbiddingly
titled "Categorical Imperative," in its initial formulation, really
commands no more of rational agents than that they choose ends for
good reasons, that is, reasons which command the assent of any
rational being.
For example, for the self-interested shopkeeper to
say that his action is a good one, he must be able to say that it
is good for people to value self-interest over honesty.
The
enterprise of shop keeping, however, depends on customers and
suppliers keeping their promises, honoring contracts, and
respecting ownership.
These conditions of shop keeping would be
impossible if everyone was to value self-interest over honesty.
Hence it is inconsistent for the shop keeper to will self-interest
over honesty.
In willing his self-interest over honesty he is
inconsistent in the same way a thief who wants others to respect
his ill gotten gain is inconsistent.
"That's my money; I stole
it."
The moral agent who respects his reason giving capacity
refuses to allow his reason to be reduced to the status of a mere
instrument serving for the procurement of ends prompted by his
desires.
Retaining rational control of the ends of his action is
the goal that a self-respecting rational agent sets for himself.
Kant summarizes this line of argument in discussing the 'respect
humanity' version of the categorical imperative.
�12
Rational nature is distinguished from the rest of nature by the
fact that it sets itself an end. This end would be the matter of
every good will.
But in the idea of an absolutely good
will ... complete abstraction must be made from every end that has
come about as an effect .... And so the end must be conceived not as
an end to be effected, but as an independently existing end. Hence
it must be conceived only negatively, i.e., as an end which should
never be acted against and therefore as one which in all willing
must never be regarded merely as means but must always be esteemed
at the same time as an end.
[G 437/42)
We act against humanity when we treat the rational capacity that
makes us persons, as a mere means to be used in procuring any
goals. This amounts to no more than saying that the ultimate end of
any rational being's mode of action must respect its integrity as a
rational being. It is neither possible nor desirable to eliminate
pathologically conditioned incentives directed towards an
indefinite variety of ends - food, drink, friends, knowledge, etc.;
but these can be tested for permissibility and overridden if they
fail the test.
It is a consequence of this account that Kant's rigorism holds
fo r act i on .
No actions can be morally neutral. Consider an agent
whose maxim ranks self-interest or immediate inclination of
benevolence above respect for duty.
The agent is then treating the
satisfaction of these incentives as unconditional goods.
While
this might produce permissible actions occasionally, or even in
particularly fortuitous circumstances, throughout a lifetime, the
maxim of the agent lacks recognition of the primacy o f the moral
law a nd expresses a willingness even to violat e the moral law
should it be necessary in the pursuit of its object.
While such an
�13
action may be legally permissible, it has a morally unacceptable
motive. [CprR 62/64] In their maxims agents either recognize
respect for the moral law as a necessary condition for the
permissibility of actions, or they do not.
If acts include this
recognition as part of their motive, they are morally good and can
be willed universally.
If motives do not include respect for the
moral law, they cannot be willed universally and the actions they
prompt are morally evil.
An action which is not one or the other
is impossible.
A morally indifferent action ... would be one resulting from natural
laws, and hence standing in no relation whatsoever to the moral
law, which is the law of freedom; for such action is not a morally
significant fact at all. . . [R 23/18, note)
In other words, an 'action' which is morally indifferent is not
really an action at all.
It is rather a natural event governed by
natural necessity.
HAPPINESS AND MORAL LIFE
As so far characterized, Kant's rigorism might seem fairly
benign.
While it recognizes an overriding duty to adopt a certain
point of view when evaluating actions, it might turn out that most
actions considered by most agents are in the permissible category.
It need not be not an overly onerous intrusion into most lives.
Furthermore, it is not yet clear why Kant's rigoristic exclusion of
a moral middle ground between good and evil applies to character of
�14
the agent considered as a whole.
Why could it not be the case that
one is respectful of the moral law in areas of life dealing with
property and honesty but falls short when it comes to sensual
pleasures such as food and drink?
Why does Kant think that we
cannot be good in some ways and bad in others, virtuous at some
times and vicious at others?
In order to begin answering these questions let us turn to
Kant's account of the place of the pursuit of happiness in a moral
life.
This is, perhaps, best illustrated in the genetic account of
the development of moral consciousness found in a number of works short essays on history and the Critique of Judgment - written in
the period between the Groundwork the Religion.
The story Kant tells about the development of moral
consciousness in human agents (and for which he acknowledges his
debt to Rousseau [SBHH 116/54]) goes something like this. As
animals human beings find themselves wi th a host of natural
inclinations.
The rational capacity of human beings complicates
the way in which we respond to these inclinations. The technical
rationality of human beings enables them to develop arts and
sciences.
Competition and jealousy among people leads to greater
reliance on craft and less on nature in the satisfaction of desire.
As a consequence people are able to pursue a wider variety of ends
than could be prompted by mere instinct. They f ind themselves
confronted with a range of options which are not mutually
�15
compatible and must make choices requiring rational consideration.
This in turn requires the discipline of desires, freeing them from
their immediate responses to the impulses of nature.
It is a characteristic of reason that it will with the aid of
imagination cook up desires for things for which there is not only
no natural urge, but even an urge to avoid; at the outset these
desires go by the name of greediness, and from them arise a whole
swarm of unnecessary, indeed even unnatural, propensities that go
by the name of voluptuousness. [SBHH 111/51]
Worry about the future satisfaction of as yet unfelt desires,
desire for honor and esteem of others, and the corresponding vices
of avarice and envy as well as a taste for beauty and higher
learning are the result of this expanding circle of desires.
The agent must now use his reason to impose order on the mess
it has helped to create.
Reason does not yet function morally.
does not dictate what ends ought to be pursued.
It
Rather, it
attempts to form a coherent idea of order out of the ends suggested
by desire.
The object of this idea is what we mean by 'happiness.'
The concep t of happiness is not one that man abstracts (s ay ) from
his instincts and hence gets from himself as an animal. Rather, it
is a mere idea: the idea of a state of his, an idea to which he
tries to make that state adequate under merely empirical
conditions. (J 430/317. See also, SBHH 113-4/52.]
The idea of happiness, "the greatest sum of what is agreeable in
life," [J 208/50] represents a good, but one which is merely
subjective, since its organizing principle is dictated by arbitrary
individual preference.
�16
When happiness is pursued as an unconditioned good it leads to
incoherence.
This is because happiness pursued as an unconditioned
end is unattainable.
Even if we restricted the concept of happiness to the true natural
needs shared by our entire species, or if instead we maximized
man's skill for accomplishing the purposes he imagines, he would
still never reach what he means by happiness, and reach what is in
fact his own ultimate natural purpose ... : for it is not his nature
to stop possessing and enjoying at some point and be satisfied. [J
430/318]
In more realistic circumstances where we do have unnatural desires
and have only moderate skill in satisfying them, the pursuit of
happiness results in a condition even less adequate to the idea of
happiness.
If the value that life has for us is assessed merely in terms of
what we enjoy (i.e. happiness, the natural purpose of the sum of
our inclinations), then the answer is easy: the value falls below
zero. [J 434 note/321)
When happiness is pursued as an unconditioned good it also leads to
conflict with others because it fails to harmonize efforts of
different individuals. Given the subjective nature of the idea of
happiness, such conflict is inevitable.
[CprR 28/27-28) The
conflict among individuals leads to greater disorder, fears,
frustrations, and new desires for power .. The pursuit of happiness
as an unconditioned good leads to its opposite of its goal.
[IUH
20-21/32]
I want to emphasize two points that emerge from Kant's story
about the sad fate of human agency dominated by the idea of
unconditioned happiness.
First, Kant illustrates the the
�17
systematic function of reason in its practical affairs.
All human
end setting is mediated by rational conceptions of ends and selfawareness of the agent. In human agents reason transforms what Kant
calls our ''crude'' predispositions from an animal-like instinctual
form of end setting into a distinctly human capacity.
All human
end setting involves the use of 'ideas.' Even in the pursuit of
non-moral ends, reason has more than a purely instrumental role to
play. Second, in pursuing happiness unconditionally we are driven
to recognize the futility of happiness as the final goal of human
action\
In this recognition, however, we discover our independence
from the desire for happiness.
This in turn leads to the idea of
an end which can successfully introduce systematic order into our
practical pursuits and successfully harmonize them with those of
others. [SBHH 114/52)
This is the idea of the moral
law~
In his genetic accounts of the development of hurnan moral
capacities Kant does little more than hint at how a systematic
moral idea of life might emerge from the failure of the idea of
happiness to provide a coherent guide to action.
[SBHH 114-5/52-53]
His formal account of the relationship between happiness and the
moral law, however, fits exactly as the end of this process. By
subjecting the desire for happiness to the condition that it be
pursued in accordance with the moral law, happiness first becomes a
true good and not just an object of arbitrary preference.
love cannot be rejected.
Self-
According to Kant, it is "natural and
�18
active in us even prior to the moral law." [CprR 73/76]
When self-
love allows its claims to be mediated by the moral law, however,
they can be willed universally; and it is then called "rational
self-love." [CprR 73/76]
By recognizing the necessity of
considering the happiness of others and willing my happiness only
when it harmonizes with that of humanity in general, willing my own
happiness has the form of law and is objectively good.
Let the material content [of my maxim] be ... my own happiness. If I
attribute this to everyone, as in fact I may attribute it to all
finite beings, it can become an objective practical law only if I
include within it the happiness of others. Therefore, the law that
we should further the happiness of others arises not from the
presupposition that this law is an object of everyone's choice, but
from the fact that the form of universality which reason requires
as a condition for giving the maxim of self-love the objective
validity of law, is itself the determining ground of the will.
[CprR 34/35)
If I am willing to subject the claims of self-love to the form of
the moral law, I have a virtuous disposition and my happiness
becomes a legitimate goal. If I limit the requirements of the moral
law in order to accommodate my pursuit of happiness, theD I have a
vicious disposition.
MORAL LAW AND FUNDAMENTAL DISPOSITIONS
As a agent endowed with practical reason, then, each of us is
confronted with two competing principles of systematic order and
must choose between them.
The whole of each agent's moral life can
be ordered e i t he r by the demands of self-love or by respect f or the
moral law.
�19
The disposition, i.e., the ultimate subjective ground for the
adoption of maxims, can be one and only one and applies to the
whole use of freedom. [R 25/20; see also MM 410/210-11]
Both principles, happiness and obedience to the moral law, are
original and indispensable.
The choice of what Kant calls a
''supreme maxim" (R 31/26] determines which principle will be
subordinate to which.
Either the pursuit of happiness is
subordinated to the moral law or the moral law is acknowledged only
when it does not interfere with the pursuit of happiness.
Kant's argument for the claim that the whole agency of a moral
agent must be governed by a single maxim or principle is based on
his insistence that human actors do have systematic conceptions of
themselves as agents, and these conceptions include an estimation
of the relative merits an agent assigns to moral incentives.
We
have the capacity to think about our lives as wholes, rather than
as random sequences of unconnected actions.
We do not shift
arbitrarily from one set of motives and values to another.
If such
a shift does occur, it needs to be explained either by means of a
deeper continuous value, or by means of a change in the basic
disposition of the agent and the adoption or rejection of a basic
maxim.
In either case there is a basic maxim at work.
If an agent
refuses to relate his maxims to each other and is willing to allow
a high degree of incoherence in his agency, he has adopted a maxim
of moral indifference.
The only other possibility, Kant notes,
ZL/17-18, note] is that he acts on natural impulse.
But Kant
[R
�20
rejects this because he assumes that human agents are free,
rational beings and can take an interest the coherence of their
maxims if they choose to do so.
What is lacking in the morally
shiftless agent is not a systematic conception of his own agency.
Rather it is the disposition to respect the moral law in his
systematic conception of his agency.
Kant's argument concerning the 'supreme principle' of virtue
in the Metaphysics of Morals reflects this argument.
The supreme
principle of virtue is that one should adopt the moral law and the
promotion of humanity as the basic principle of all agency; this
amounts to the same thing as adopting a fundamentally good
disposition.
Kant notes that this principle can be deduced from
its possibility.
The basic principle of the doctrine of virtue ... cannot be proved,
but it can be given a deduction from pure practical .reason. What,
in relation to himself and others, can be an end is an end for pure
practical reason. For practical reason is the capacity for ends
generally and for it to be indifferent to ends, that is, to take no
interest in them, would be a contradiction ... [~ll~ 395/198, emphasis
Kant's]
Since reason can take an interest in the content of our maxims and
the fundamental disposition of our character, it must take such an
interest.
Failure to do so reflects a culpable lack of virtue.
RIGORISM AND MORAL PERFECTION
The a dopt ion of the f undament a l ma xim of moral goodness is
only the beginning of the story of what is required of the virtuous
�21
agent. But the adoption of a fundamentally good maxim is, however,
always the beginning.
Moral regeneration for Kant must always stem
first from the choice of fundamental maxim and only secondarily
from the reformation of habits. [R 48; MM 409] The original choice
of a
fundamental disposition reforms the "cast of mind and the
grounding of the character." [R 43]
In doing so, it orients the
character toward the ideal of moral perfection in which all aspects
of the agent's character and actions are in complete harmony with
the commitment to the supremacy of the moral law.
Now it is our duty as men to elevate ourselves to this ideal of
moral perfection, that is, to the archetype of the moral disposition in all of its purity. [R 61/54]
The duty to moral perfection follows from the basic maxim of moral
goodness.
To choose the end is also to will the means.
The
individual who is good in his fundamental disposition must also
will that the elements of his character and passions do not present
obstacles which tempt him away from or make him inattentive to
duty.
The duty to moral perfection does not allow any accommodation
to inclination.
Kant calls the duty to elevate oneself to moral
perfection "narrow and perfect" in its quality. [MM 446/241]
In
non-Kantian terms, this means that it is a duty which, like
repaying a debt, has only a single path to its completion, and it
should be completely accomplished.
In practice the duty to moral
perfection must be treated as "wide and imperfect" because of the
�22
overwhelmingly imperfect condition of human beings.
There is
simply so much work to do in bringing our empirical natures into
harmony with the idea of moral perfection that we cannot do it all
at once.
The choice to adopt the basic maxim of moral goodness is
made in the context of a will which also has what Kant calls the
'propensity to evil in human nature' and which has already made
claims on our characters. [R 29-32/23-29]
[I]n the moral development of the predisposition to good implanted
in us, we cannot start from an innocence natural to us but must
begin with the assumption of a wickedness of will in adopting
maxims contrary to the original moral predisposition; and since
this propensity [to evil] is inexstirpable, we must begin with
incessant counter action against it. [R 46]
We can never eliminate the propensity to evil.
No matter
successful one is in reforming his character, there is always the
possibility of slipping into a fundamentally evil disposition.
The best we can hope for in the struggle against evil in us is that
we make continual progress.
The person who has adopted the basic disposition of moral
goodness confronts two major obstacles to its realization in
practice. Much like the characters at the bottom of the mountain in
Dante's Purgatory, their souls have the·right fundamental
orientation, but they need to undergo a cleansing.
According to
Kant what needs to be cleansed are conditions he identifies as
'frailty' and 'impurity'.
when
Frailty is the condition that results
�23
I adopt the good into the maxim of my will, but this good which
objectively in its ideal conception ... is an irresistible incentive, is subjectively ... when the maxim is followed the weaker. [R
29/25]
The frail agent does not incorporate an immoral maxim into his
fundamental disposition.
Rather, he is overwhelmed by impulses,
such as when a generally well disposed individual is momentarily
overcome by anger or by passion, e.g. when an alcoholic who has
sworn off drunkenness, has no idea how to resist the passion for
drink.
The will is frail when it has adopted the fundamental maxim
of moral goodness, but confronts irresistible obstacles to its
achievement.
Kant's initial description of frailty makes it seem not so
much a quality of a human will failing as a case of the will
encountering the limits of its capabilities.
If the incentives
that lead us to act against the moral law are truly irresistible,
the acts are really beyond our control and should more properly be
considered events than actions. A disposition which requires moral
self-condemnation for events beyond the agent's control seems more
like pathological psychosis than a moral imperative.
Looked at more closely, however, Kant is concerned here with
barriers to moral perfection which originate in the will itself.
Virtue is ... the moral strength of a man's will in fulfilling his
duty ... but because this constraint is to be irresistible, strength
is required, in a degree that we can assess only by the magnitude
of the obstacles that a man himself furnishes through his
inclinations. The vices, the brood of dispositions opposing the
law, are the monsters he has to fight. [MM 405/206]
�24
We 'furnish' ourselves with incentives that lead us to act contrary
to the moral law, and these are to some degree alterable.
Likewise, our defenses against these
or weakened by our own practice.
inc~ntives
can be strengthened
The will which is overcome by
incentives contrary to duty may have virtue in its fundamental
orientation, but it lacks virtue in the narrow sense in which it is
opposed to specific vices.
The struggle against frailty requires a wide range of
strategies.
We must avoid adversity, pain, and want to the degree
to which that is possible if these present us with overwhelming
temptations.
[MM 388/192-3)
We must also, however, seek out
adversity when it will strengthen the will against immoral
incentives.
With regard to the principle of a vigorous, spirited and valiant
practice of virtue, the cultivation of virtue, that is moral
ascetics, takes as its motto the Stoic saying: Accustom yourself
to put up with the misfortunes of life and to do without its
superfluous pleasures .... This is a kind of reqimen ... for keeping a
man healthy.
[rvIM 485/273, emphasis Kant's]
Kant calls this 'ethical gymnastics'.
Ethical gymnastics ... consists only in combatting natural impulses
sufficiently to be able to master them when a situation comes up in
which they threaten morality ... [MM 485/274]
In assessing progress against frailty Kant's rigorism requires
that we accept nothing less than perfection.
This means that we
must measure ourselves not against our own past performance, our
pr e sent abilit i e s, or t he condition o f othe r people.
Rather i t
must be measured only by perfect conformity with the moral law.
�25
Ethical duties [that is, duties of virtue] must not be determined
in accordance with the capacity to fulfill the law ... On the
contrary, man's moral capacity must be estimated by the law, which
commands categorically and so in accordance with our rational
knowledge of what man ought to be in keeping with the idea of
humanity, not in accordance with the empirical knowledge we have of
men as they are. [MM 404-5/205/6)
Since the struggle against human frailty is never over, at least
not in this life, the basic moral disposition of the agent must be
estimated in terms of effort to make progress against weakness
rather than in absolute terms of moral strength. [MM 409/209]
The condition of impurity, like frailty, is a condition of the
will which is compatible with a fundamentally good disposition.
The impure will allows incentives other than pure respect for the
moral law to be incorporated into its basic maxim.
Rather than
treating the moral law as the fundamental incentive to permissible
action, the impure will incorporates other incentives such as selfinterest, pride, or hope for eternal salvation into his basic
maxim.
In condemning impurity, Kant cannot mean to conderrw the
presence of incentives other than respect for the moral law.
Many
incentives other than respect for the moral law are compatible with
a fundamentally good disposition.
The problem with the impure will
is that it places these incentives on an equal footing with the
moral law.
Since these motives will conflict, at least in
principle, with the moral law, the person with an impure will
becomes confused and corrupted.
[G 411/22] This corruption is a
large part natural propensity to evil.
By this Kant does not mean
�26
that incentives other than the moral law are intrinsically evil.
Rather it is the tendency of the will to confuse the proper
ordering of the incentives in its maxims.
This tendency cannot be
completely overcome, it can only be combated.
corrupted condition.
We begin in a
The fundamental disposition of the agent must
be judged not in terms of its purity or impurity in absolute terms,
but rather in terms of its willingness to combat the condition of
impurity which is always present to some degree.
The method Kant recommends for fighting impurity is
scrupulous examination of conscience.
Indeed the "First Command of
All Duties to Oneself" is to gain moral self-knowledge.
Impartiality in appraising oneself in comparison with the law, and
sincerity in acknowledging to oneself one's inner moral worth or
lack of worth are duties to oneself that follow directly from this
first command of self-knowledge. [MM 441-442/236]
Sincere pursuit of self-knowledge helps to undermine a number of
vices, not the least of which is egotistical self-esteem of the
person convinced of the goodness of his own heart.
The b as ic
disposition of the will is never immediately manifest in our
experience of even ourselves as agents.
It can only be inferred
from the more limited intentions we have in particular actions and
projects.
Yet even with regard to these, Kant notoriously
maintains, we are never certain and are subject to a great deal of
self-deception in interpreting the moral worth of our acts.
The depths of the human heart are unfathomable. Who knows himse lf
well enough to say, when he feels the incentive to fulfill his
duty, whether it proceeds entirely from the representation of th~
�27
law or whether there are not many other sensible impulses
contributing to it that look to one's advantage ... and that in other
circumstances, could just as well serve vice. [MM 447/241)
Examination of conscience must, therefore, always recognize the
possibility that lawful actions are motivated by an impure will and
work to guard against it.
Persons lacking self-knowledge may
frequently mistake impure motives for virtue.
Very often he mistakes his own weakness, which counsels him against
the venture of a misdeed, for virtue .. . ; and how many people who
have lived long and guiltless lives may not be merely fortunate in
having escaped so many temptations? In the case of any deed it
remains hidden from the agent himself how much pure moral content
there has been in his disposition.
[MM 392-3/196]
To the outside observer, and perhaps even to the agent himself, an
impure will may seem no different than that of the purely dutiful
agent.
The greedy shopkeeper may always act in accord with duty
and may be smugly self-satisfied on account of his conformity to
the law.
By contrast the frail individual who often acts against
duty may have a much greater purity of will.
He may feel the full
force of his transgres sions , have a firm re solve to reform, and
take steps for his improvement.
Yet, to the external observer he
seems much worse than the agent with the impure will who happens to
act in legal conformi ty with duty. The agent with an impure will
is, ne ve rthe l e ss, in the more da ngerous condition because he is
much closer to slipping over into a fundamentally evil disposition.
Ka nt's rigoristic approach to character, then, allows him to
make subt l e and nuanced judgments about va riations in and types of
vice and virtue.
By distinguishi ng between the fundamental
�28
disposition of the agent and his state of progress .in incorporating
the ideal of moral perfection into his character, Kant is led to
some rather surprising conclusions for a rigorist, who, it seems
should divide everyone into sheep and goats.
For example, he
maintains that one should never attempt to make a final estimation
of the basic moral worth of oneself or others. A tendency to moral
self-condemnation and disgust with the evil state of one's
character suggests a degree of respect for the moral law and may
indicate a fundamentally good disposition.
In judging others we
can never acquire enough information to determine the true state of
their basic disposition.
Another surprising conclusion is his
recognition that the frail character who acts against prescribed
duties may have a fundamentally good disposition, while the impure
age nt may act in accord with duty but be fundamentally evil in his
disposition.
KANT'S CRITICISM OF EUDAIMONISM
How does all of this help us understand Kant's condemnation
of eudaimonian ethics?
Let us put his c r iticism before us .
I
quote here from the Metaphysics of Morals.
When a thoughtful man has overcome incentives to vice and is aware
of having done his often bitter duty, he finds himself in a state
that could well be called happiness, a state of contentment and
peace of soul in which virtue is its own reward. Now a eudaimonist
says: This de light, this ha ppi ness is r e ally the mot i ve for acting
virt uously. The concept of dut y does not de t e rmine his will
directly.
He is moved to do his duty only by means of the
happiness he anticipates .... [T]here is a contradiction in this
�29
reasoning. For on the one hand he ought to fulfill his duty
without asking what effect this will have on his happiness, and so
on moral grounds; but on the other hand he can recognize that
something is his duty only when he can count on gaining happiness
by doing it, and so in accordance with a sensibly dependent
principle, which is the direct opposite of the moral principle. [MM
377-378/183)
While the eudaimonist pursues a course of action that is in accord
with virtue, as here characterized he is moved primarily by the
happiness he anticipates will result from his action.
He
understands the nature of duty for its own sake; but his motive is
so mixed with consequent satisfaction that he cannot even recognize
his dUty unless he can count on it.
He will act in accord with
duty, but his motive is fundamentally impure.
Kant's condemnation of eudaimonian ethics certainly does flow
from the core of his moral theory. If we see his criticism as
directed at modern eudaimonians, the people who we earlier saw Kant
characterizes as latitudinarians, it also seems well considered.
These philosophers do base morality on sensibly conditioned motives
and argue that without such motives we would be unable to recognize
or do our duty. Hume, in the closing pages of the Treatise,
certainly sounds like just the sort of eudaimonist Kant has in
mind.
[W]ho can think any advantages of fortune a sufficient compensation
for the least breach of the social virtues, when he considers not
only his character with regard to others, but also his peace and
inward satisfaction entirely dependent upon his strict observance
�30
of them; and a mind will never be able to bear its own survey, that
has been wanting in its part to mankind and society. 6
It is not difficult to understand Kant's negative reaction to the
kind of duplicity he sees here.
For Hurne, as for any moral sense
advocate, ethics is based on an empirical impulse of benevolence
that may or may not be stronger than conflicting motives of selfinterest.
Trying to bolster this tenuous basis for ethical life
with appeals to contentment and self-satisfaction merely adds one
more empirical and contingent motive to the mix.
Yet, Kant's condemnation of eudaimonian ethics does not does not
seem fair or accurate when applied to the ancient philosophers whom
he also seems to have in mind, namely, Aristotle and the Stoics.
For both Aristotle and the Stoics, virtuous activity must be
undertaken for the sake of the virtuous activity itself without
regard to external goods the individual might acquire by being
virtuous.
One need not look far in their works to find passages
asserting the necessity of being virtuous even at the expense of
the sacrifice of all goods Kant associates with happiness.
I quote
here from the Nichomachean Ethics, Book III.
[In] the case of courage ... death and wounds will be painful to the
brave man and against his will, but he will face them because it is
noble to do so and base not to do so . And the more he is
possessed of virtue in its entirety and the happier he is, the more
he will be pained at the thought of death; for life is best worth
living for such a man, and he is knowingly losing the greatest
goods, and this is painful. But he is none the less brave, and
6
Treatise of Human Nature, L.A. Selby-Bigge, ed., p.620.
�31
perhaps all the more so, because he chooses noble deeds of war at
that cost. 7
The virtuous activity that Aristotle considers essential to
eudaimonia is not motivated by a desire for happiness as a
consequence of virtuous actions. The virtuous man must choose
virtue for its own sake. He is possessed of eudaimonia to a higher
degree precisely because he is able to sacrifice goods external to
the exercise of his virtue in order to exercise that virtue more
perfectly.
The Stoics, likewise, consider concern for anything
external to the exercise of virtue for is own sake to be an
impediment to virtue.
Only one who has achieved a state of
complete apathy to goods external to virtue is really acting
virtuously. Indeed, the Stoics do maintain that this leads to a
state of tranquillity, but the state of tranquillity is a result of
living in harmony with one's true rational nature. Although stoic
rhetoric on this point is at times confusing, desire for
tranquility cannot be the primary motive for virtuous action if the
action is really virtuous.
Hence, it seems that what Aristotle and the Stoics mean by
'eudaimonia' is very different from what· Kant means by 'happiness.'
Eudaimonia essentially involves the pursuit of virtue.
For
Aristotle, practicing moral virtue for its own sake is an intrinsic
part of eudaimonia.
7
For the Stoics, it is the whole of eudaimonia.
Nichomachean Ethics,
David Ross tr., Book III ch. 9.
�32
The happiness Kant speaks of is distinct from and consequent upon
the exercise of virtue.
For Kant, there is no intrinsic happiness
in the exercise of virtue and there is no necessary connection
between happiness we might have and the exercise of virtue.
Is Kant then just wrong in his blanket condemnation of
eudaimonian ethics?
Does his criticism, at least in the case of
the ancients, simply rest on a linguistic confusion, taking the
ancient idea of eudaimonia for his own idea of happiness?
not.
I think
I believe Kant is right to be suspicious of ancient doctrines
of eudaimonia, if not quite for the same reason he rejects the
modern eudaimonists.
Central to the idea of ancient eudaimonian ethics is the
belief that desire can be cultivated in such a way that reason and
desire really share the same goals.
In the man of perfect virtue,
reason and desire are in perfect harmony with each other.
Kant
rejects this not only because he thinks it is a false conception of
desire, but he also sees in it a threat to his rigoristic account
of moral virtue.
The mixture of reason and desire in the
eudaimonist's ideal of virtue Kant perceives as a threat to the
purity of virtue.
It is useful in this light to consider Kant's criticism from
the Metaphysics of Morals of Aristotle's account of virtue as a
mean between extremes.
[T)he well known principle (Aristotle's) that locates virtue in the
[Note)* ... What distinguishes
mean between two vices is false.*
�33
avarice (as a vice) from thrift (as a virtue) is not that avarice
carries thrift too far but that avarice has an entirely different
principle (maxim), that of putting the end of economizing not in
enjoyment of one's means, but merely in the possession of them,
while denying oneself any enjoyment from them. In the same way,
the vice of prodigality is not to be sought in excessive enjoyment
of one's means but in the bad maxim which makes the use of one's
means the sole end, without regard for preserving them.
[MM 404/205, text and note]
As Kant puts it elsewhere, if proper thrift is a mean between
avarice and prodigality, one would pass through the virtue in
moving from one vice to the other.
being. a little less vicious.
One could be virtuous by simply
[MM 432/228]
While Kant's
condemnation of Aristotle's doctrine of the mean is certainly hasty
in that he ignores the role of practical wisdom in the choice of
the mean, the point he is making is clear enough.
either vicious or they are not.
Maxims are
The path from vice to virtue
requires first and foremost the conversion of the character from an
evil maxim to a good one.
Habituation of desires is valuable in
enabling an agent to overcome his frailty and build strength that
is necessary for consistently acting on a moral maxim.
If his
actions are not based on the proper maxim, however no amount of
habituation to the mean will make the action virtuous.
Thi s criticism of the doctrine of the mean suggests a deep and
unbridgeable chasm between Kant and Aristotle.
For Kant, the end
that Aristotle proposes for moral life, the perfect harmonization
of inclination and reason, is neither possible nor desirable.
For
Aristotle desire is a fundamentally different animal than it is for
�34
Kant.
Desires points us at a something good.
That something is
desirable tells us something about its intrinsic value.
Untutored
desire my attach to a good in the wrong context or to the wrong
degree, but desire itself has an affinity with reason in that it
indicates something about the true value of objects to which it
attaches.
Thus Aristotle can say
[W]e must none the less suppose that in the soul too there is
something beside the rational principle, resisting and opposing
it ... Now even this seems to have a share in the rational
principle ... ; at any rate in the continent man it obeys the
rational principle-and presumably in the temperate and brave man it
is still more obedient; for in him it speaks, on all matters, with
the same voice as the rational principle. [NE I.13]
Desire is capable of education in the Aristotelian scheme of
things; it makes sense to talk of "those who desire and act in
accordance with a rational principle ... " [NE I.3] In the case of
the virtuous man, the good is indicated to him both by his desires
and by his reason.
The completeness of his virtue is indicated by
the pleasure he takes in virtuous actions.
[N]ot only is a horse pleasant to the lover of horses, and a
spectacle pleasant to the lover of sights, but also in the same way
just acts are pleasant to the lover of justice and in general
virtuous acts are pleasant to the lover of virtue. Now for most
men their pleasures are in conflict with one another because they
are not by nature pleasant, but the lovers of the noble find
pleasant things that are by nature pleasant; and virtuous actions
are such, so that these are pleasant for such men as well as in
their own nature. [NE I.8]
Because desire participates in the rational principle the two
faculties can come to share the same goals, take pleasure in the
same things, and speak with one voice.
�35
Like Aristotle, the Stoics find a strong natural affinity
between reason and desire.
The Stoics, of course, reject
Aristotle's doctrine of the mean. They opt instead for the extremes
of complete elimination of desires directed at goods external to
the will and complete attachment of desire to the one true good
internal to the will itself, namely correct willing and rational
control of life.
But the Stoics share with Aristotle the beliefs
that desire is always directed at what is good and aversion at what
is bad and that desires participate in the rational faculty.
Inde$d, they often speak as if desire is nothing more than a
confused way of thinking and as if desires are really judgments
concerning the value of objects.
Epictetus tells us,
Remember that what is insulting is not the person who abuses you or
hits you, but the judgment about them that they are insulting. So
when someone irritates you be aware that what irritates you is your
own belief. Most importantly, therefore, try not to be carried
away by appearance, since if you gain time and delay you will
control yourself more easily. [Encheiridion, Aphorism 20; see also
Seneca, On Anger, II.1-3}
To desire something is to judge it good.
something is to judge it bad.
To have an aversion to
Since they are really forms of
judgment, desires can be educated by philosophical moral guidance
which reveals the true value of the object of desire.
If
reflection reveals an object of desire not to be a true good, the
will is naturally led to detach itself from the desired object.
The true good for the Stoic is to be found in the perfection of the
act of willing itself and his virtue is an inner attitude that is
�36
indifferent to the consequences of actions.
It is, however,
passionately attached to the good of the will itself, that is,
maintaining control over the faculty of choice and acting in
harmony with the agents true rational nature. 8
Kant will have none of this. For him reason and desire have
very different objects.
A desire to be dutiful is a contradiction
in terms. The main task of moral development is the separation and
purification of reason from desires. As his reflection on ethics
develops Kant does devote a great deal of attention to the need to
habituate the empirical components of our characters to strengthen
emotions and feelings that can assist and to weaken desires and
emotions that can hinder the performance of duty.
But he rejects
the idea that desires can have a share in or participate in the
rational faculty.
Desire is always subject to arbitrary factors of
individual preference and is always empirically conditioned.
The Stoics were notorious for their doctrine that
'externals' can add nothing to the happiness of the virtuous
person. 11 ' But look you, ' 11 it is objected, 'is not the wise man
happier if he has lived longer, if no pain has distracted him,
than if he had always had to wrestle with misfortune?' 'Tell me
[,' responds Seneca,] 'is he better or more honorable? If not,
then neither is happier.'
[ Seneca, "On the Happy Life, 11 The
Stoic Philosophy of Seneca, Moses Hadas, ed., p.244; see also
Epictetus, Discourses, 3.11, or Cicero, De Finibus, III.17-21]
For extensive treatments of the relationship between reason and
desire in the Stoics, see Nancy Sherman, Making a Necessity of
Virtue, (New York: Cambridge Univ. Press, 1997), Ch. 3; J.B.
Schneewind , "Kant and Stoic Ethics ," in Aris totle , Kant, and th e
Stoics, S. Engstrom and J. Whiting editors, (New York: Cambridge
Univ. Press, 1996), pp.285-301.
8
�37
Only experience can teach us what brings joy. Only the natural
drives for food, drink, sex, rest, and movement, and (as our
natural predispositions develop) for honor, for enlarging our
knowledge, and so forth can tell each of us, and each only in his
particular way, in what he will find these joys .... [MM 215/43)
The arbitrary and personal nature of desire means that it can never
tell us anything about the true value of the objects to which it is
attached.
Desire can never be educated.
It can only be
controlled. While Kant does admit that the cultivation of the taste
for the arts and sciences may heighten sensitivity to our higher
moral purpose, he views it as just as likely to corrupt the will by
engendering false pride and vanity incompatible with duty.
If duty and desire cannot have the same objects as their
goals, the very idea of loving virtue is an impossibility. True
virtue requires complete separation of motives of duty from motives
based in the desires.
The process of the acquisition of virtue
requires distillation of the motive of duty, separating it from
impurities.
It is a process that requires no unique philosophical
knowledge or special learning.
[W]e do not in the
make it attend, as
do we show neither
honest and good or
least try to teach reason anything new but only
Socrates did, to its own principle - and thereby
science nor philosophy is needed in order to be
even wise and virtuous. [G 404/16)
Rather than pointing us toward the simple unadorned principle of
moral duty, eudaimonists direct us to ideals which mix duty for
duty's sake with other elements.
The problem with the ancient eudaimonist, then, is not that
he advocates a goal that is completely wrong or directly opposed to
�38
duty.
Rather, he places before us a moral ideal which cannot but
foster an impure will.
The impurity in question, however, is not a
simple garden variety impurity in which the will is led to hedge
and trim adherence to duty for duty's sake to accommodate easily
understood passions and desires.
It is rather an intellectual's
perversion of . duty in which impurity is painted in a deceptively
attractive light.
The product of this deception Kant terms 'moral
fanaticism,' a vice engendered, he tells us by novelists and
sentimental educators as well as the strictest of all philosophers,
the Stoics. [CprV 86/88-89) In the following passage Kant contrasts
the disposition of the moral fanatic with that of the dutiful
agent.
The moral condition which he (the dutiful agent] can always be in
is virtue, that is, moral disposition in conflict [with desire],
and not holiness in the supposed possession of perfect purity of
the intentions of the will. The mind is disposed to nothing but
blatant moral fanaticism and e xaggerated self-conceit by
exhortation to action as noble, sublime, magnanimous. By it people
are led to the illusion that the determining ground of action is
not duty, i.e., respect for the moral law whose yoke must be borne
whether it is liked or not (though it is only a mild yoke, as
imposed by reason) . This law always humbles them when they follow
(obey) it , but by this kind of exhortation they come to think
those actions are e xpected of them not because of duty but only
because of their own bare merit. [CprR 84-5/87)
The moral f anatic is like ly to forget the condition of moral
degeneracy from which he has progressed, he will probably fail to
correctly examine his own moral condition, and neglect to guard
aga ins t the r eal threats to his virtue . One of the fe w us eful
things that the moral philosopher can do for the ordinary moral
�39
agent is warn him about the temptations of moral fanaticism.
Because it is an intellectual's pipe dream, it needs a philosopher
to diagnose it correctly.
[I]t is indeed an important article for morality to warn us
emphatically against such empty and fanciful desires, which are
of ten nourished by novels and sometimes also by mystical
presentations, similar to novels, of superhuman perfections and
fanatical bliss. But such empty desires and longings, which expand
the heart and make it weak, have an effect on the mind. They make
it languish by depleting its powers, showing well enough how the
mind is repeatedly strained by [these] ideas in trying to bring
their objects into being. With each effort the mind sinks back
into consciousness of its own impotence. 9
If a moral agent is seduced into believing he possesses the virtue
advocated by the moral fanatic he will inevitably overestimate his
own virtue.
On the other hand, if he accepts the ideal of the
fanatic, but honestly evaluates his own inability to make progress
towards it, he will be discouraged.
The goal he has adopted is not
just stern and difficult; it cannot even begin to be approximated.
Finding no way to it, he is liable to despair about the efficacy of
moral effort.
What then would Kant have us do?
Other than avoiding
novelists, sentimental educators, and eupaimonists, (and we do seem
to spend a lot of time in the company of these characters here at
St. John's) Kant would have us see that the conflict between duty
and inclination is not just insurmountable, it is providential.
9
First Introduction to the Critique of Judgment, Academy
edition of Kant's work, Vol. 20, p.231 note, my translation.
It
�40
is a creative tension without which we could not come to understand
the nature of our moral purpose. Consciousness of duty is born of
the awareness of the tension between duty and desire.
Finite moral
agents like us with one foot in the world of the sense and the
other in the intelligible world of reason can flourish only with
the recognition of the tension between the two and the claims of
each. The aesthetic character of virtue is not that of beauty or
harmony.
Virtuous acts are not beautiful; they are sublime.
They
contain the subjugation of the finite and conditioned value of
desire and its objects to the unconditional and infinite value of
respect for the moral law. If Kant is right in this, then he is
also right to see attempts to bridge the gap between reason and
desire as destructive of the very core of moral agency.
The
illusion that better life awaits us in the happy land beyond our
present divided moral condition is not only mistaken, it is
potentially lethal to morality itself.
In closing let me suggest that what I have done here is no
more than scratch the surface to expose some of the major
differences between Kant and the ancients. In order to adequately
evaluate Kant's criticism much more needs to be done.
At minimum
the differences between Kant, Aristotle, and the Stoics on the
nature of practical reason and its relation to desires will have to
explored.
Thorny issues such as why Arist otle says that practical
reason is primarily involved in deliberation about means not ends
�41
and while Kant holds exactly the reverse to be the case need to be
explored.
This will have, however, to wait until a later ocassion.
Key to Citations
References to Kant's works embedded in the text are as follows:
CPR
Critique of Pure Reason, Norman Kemp Smith translator.
London: St. Martin's Press, 1929 . References are given
in the standard 'A', first edition and 'B', second edition.
CprR
Critique of Practical Reason, Lewis White Beck translator.
Indianapolis: Bobbs Merrill Press, 1956. First number of
the citation is from Volume V of the Academy edition of
Kant's work, second number is from English translation.
G
Grounding of the Metaphysics of Morals, James Ellington
translator. Indianapolis: Hackett Press, 1981.
[Volume IV of Academy edition/English translation.)
IUH
The Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan
Intent, in Perpetual Peace and other Essays. [Volume
VIII of the Academy edition/ English translation.)
J
Critiaue of Judgment, Werner Pluhar translator.
Indianapolis: Hackett Press, 1987. [Volume V of the
Academy edition/English translation.]
MM
The Metaphysics of Morals, Mary Gregor translator. New
York: Cambridge University Press, 1991.
[Volume VI of
the Academy edition/English translation.]
SBHH
Speculative Beginning of Human History, in Perpetual Peace
and Other Essays, Ted Humphrey translator. Indianapolis:
Hackett Press, 1983.
(Volume VIII of the Academy
edition/English translation.]
R
~R=e=l=i~o~i~o~n"'--w~1=·=t=h=i=n~t=h=e""-'L=1=·m==i~t~s--"o~f=-=R~e=a==s=o=n-"-'A=l~o~n~e,
Theodore
Greene and Hoyt Hudson translators. New York: Harper
Torchbooks, 1960. [Volume VI of the Academy edition/
English translation.)
�41
and while Kant holds exactly the reverse to be the case need to be
explored.
This will have, however, to wait until a later ocassion.
Key to Citations
References to Kant's works embedded in the text are as follows:
CPR
Critique of Pure Reason, Norman Kemp Smith translator.
London: St. Martin's Press, 1929. References are given
in the standard 'A', first edition and 'B', second edition.
CprR
Critique of Practical Reason, Lewis White Beck translator.
Indianapolis: Bobbs Merrill Press, 1956. First number of
the citation is from Volume V of the Academy edition of
Kant's work, second number is from English translation.
G
Grounding of the Metaphysics of Morals, James Ellington
translator. Indianapolis: Hackett Press, 1981.
[Volume IV of Academy edition/English translation.]
IUH
The Idea for a Universal History with a Cosmopolitan
Intent, in Perpetual Peace and other Essays. [Volume
VIII of the Academy edition/ English translation.]
J
Critique of Judgment, Werner Pluhar translator.
Indianapolis: Hackett Press, 1987.
[Volume V of the
Academy edition/English translation.]
MM
The Metaphysics of Morals, Mary Gregor translator. New
York: Cambridge University Press, 1991.
[Volume VI of
the Academy edition/English translation.]
SBHH
Speculative Beginning of Human History, in Peroetual Peace
and Other Essays, Ted Humphrey translator. Indianapolis:
Hackett Press, 1983. [Volume VIII of the Academy
edition/English translation.]
R
"'"R=e=l=i...,g...,i,,_,o..,,n~w:.:..1=·=t=h=i..,,n...._..t.....h=e=--L=i=·rn=i=t=s-""'oC::f'--"-R"""'e=a=s""'o""'n:..:....:A:..::.=l=o=n=e,
Theodore
Greene and Hoyt Hudson translators. New York: Harper
Torchbooks, 1960. [Volume VI of the Academy edition/
English translation.]
�
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Must Eudaimonism Mean the Euthanasia of All Morals: Kant's Rigorism and the Morality of Happiness
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Typescript of a lecture delivered on April 20, 2001, by Daniel Kolb as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Kolb, Daniel
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2001-04-20
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
text
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
pdf
Subject
The topic of the resource
Kant, Immanuel, 1724-1804. Ethics
Aristotle. Ethics
Happiness--Moral and ethical aspects
Stoics
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
lec Kolb 2001
Relation
A related resource
<a href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/7871">Audio recording</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/25ac0c7d0e280df2121eeb5dc8f3407c.mp3
c61fdfd42819b6ffefffbe83bf2a204a
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
A name given to the resource
St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
audiocassette
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
01:01:39
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Must Eudaimonism Mean the Euthanasia of All Morals: Kant's Rigorism and the Morality of Happiness
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on April 20, 2001, by Daniel Kolb as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Kolb, Daniel
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2001-04-20
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Subject
The topic of the resource
Kant, Immanuel, 1724-1804. Ethics
Aristotle. Ethics
Happiness--Moral and ethical aspects
Stoics
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LEC_Kolb_Daniel_2001-04-20_ac
Relation
A related resource
<a href="https://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/7871">Typescript</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/fe597e28a2e9110e99fe1c2edc8fc89e.mp3
c7449405b8bda4e595eacfa15ceba1be
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
A name given to the resource
St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
audiocassette
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
01:04:34
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
In Defense of Cicero
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on October 31, 2008, by Walter Nicgorski as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Dr. Nicgorski describes his lecture: "The tradition of criticism of Cicero as a thinker consists in charges that his rhetorical interests and oratorical excellence intrude on his philosophical work, that he is more the patriot than the philosopher, that a busy life of political activism led him to be philosophically eclectic and superficial, and that his character, especially his ambition and pride, make him unworthy to be a philosophical guide in a search for a life-directing wisdom. This lecture, by attending to certain topics and passages in the writings of Cicero, looks to him to provide his own defense. The body of the lecture explores his Socratic orientation reaching to his very skepticism, his regard for Plato including his remarkable way of reading The Republic, his apparent elevation of political action and statesmanship over the life of philosophy, and his teaching on the virtues and natural law. What emerges from this partial and selective examination of his philosophical writings is, at the least, a prima facie case for a further, more careful and fuller engagement with his thinking."
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Nicgorski, Walter
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2008-10-31
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College has been given permission to make this item available online.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Subject
The topic of the resource
Cicero, Marcus Tullius
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LEC_Nicgorski_Walter_2008-10-31_ac
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/f1114f00c3e173aea36cfe4a34eb7b7e.mp3
d64e9ee49393593a8fa8f17160f69aa8
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
A name given to the resource
St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
audio cassette
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:54:00
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Circles of Sorrow: Dialectic and Grief in <em>Go Down Moses</em>
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on November 16, 2001, by Lael Gold as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Gold, Lael
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2001-11-16
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
A signed permission form has been received stating: "I hereby grant St. John’s College permission to: make a recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John’s College Greenfield Library; make typescript copies of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John’s College Greenfield Library; make a recording of my lecture available online; make a copy of my typescript available online."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Subject
The topic of the resource
Faulkner, William, 1897-1962. Go down, Moses.
Keats, John, 1795-1821. Ode on a Grecian urn.
Bible--In literature
Allusion in literature
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LEC_Gold_Lael_2001-11-16_ac
Alumni
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/f17e4f20f425949e5b4ffcc1d20a1486.mp3
d74da9008d28c6909397207f5a92e6c7
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
A name given to the resource
St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
audio cassette
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
01:03:30
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The First Amendment: Freedoms, Civil Peace, and the Quest for Truth
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on November 3, 2000, by Murray Dry as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Dry, Murray
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2000-11-03
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
A signed permission form has been received stating: "I hereby grant St. John’s College permission to: make a recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John’s College Greenfield Library; make typescript copies of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John’s College Greenfield Library; make a recording of my lecture available online; make a copy of my typescript available online."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Subject
The topic of the resource
United States. Constitution. 1st Amendment
Freedom of speech--United States
Freedom of religion--United States
Church and state--United States
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LEC_Dry_Murray_2000-11-03_ac
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/c62ab191968537f04250610967030b86.mp3
47ec8f58590b737d42a8612efdcd987b
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
A name given to the resource
St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
audio cassette
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
01:07:48
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The Place of Astrology in the Classical Tradition
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on September 8, 2000, by Anthony Grafton as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Grafton, Anthony
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2000-09-08
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
A signed permission form has been received stating: "I hereby grant St. John’s College permission to: make a recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John’s College Greenfield Library; make a recording of my lecture available online; make a copy of my typescript available online."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Subject
The topic of the resource
Astrology--History
Civilization, Classical
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LEC_Grafton_Anthony_2000-09-08_ac
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/c9d4f2c699fd8002f4d7b534659665a9.mp3
64eb566be0e4b07189a22aa5bffd87aa
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
A name given to the resource
St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
audio cassette
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:58:57
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
The Metaphysics of Practical Reason
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on April 9, 1999, by Richard L. Velkley as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Velkley, Richard L.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1999-04-09
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
A signed permission form has been received stating: "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to: Make an audiovisual recording of my lecture available online."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Subject
The topic of the resource
Kant, Immanuel, 1724-1804
Metaphysics
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LEC_Velkley_Richard_1999-04-09_ac
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/ccaf85bbc849a11c19bafe30415d64a8.mp4
cba4aca55433950ec2ca0c7fcc03970a
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
A name given to the resource
St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
formallectureseriesannapolis
Moving Image
A series of visual representations imparting an impression of motion when shown in succession. Examples include animations, movies, television programs, videos, zoetropes, or visual output from a simulation.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
mp4
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:59:25
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
What the Heck is Hell? Divine Judgment in the Gospel of Matthew
Description
An account of the resource
Video recording of a lecture delivered on October 27, 2023, by Ron Haflidson as part of the Formal Lecture Series.<br /><br />Mr. Haflidson describes his lecture: "In this lecture, I explore the largely neglected and perhaps totally wrong possibility that when Jesus spoke about 'hell,' he wasn’t talking about the afterlife. The inquiry proceeds by focusing on Jesus’ words in the Gospel of Matthew (the New Testament text with by far the most references to hell). I will pursue the case that for Matthew’s Jesus, hell was an impending event within history, not a place some people go after they die. The lecture is divided into two parts: in the first, we consider the various ways that lead to hell; in the second, we examine the nature of hell itself.<br /><br />Mr. Haflidson is a tutor in Annapolis.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Haflidson, Ron
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2023-10-27
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
A signed permission form has been received stating: "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to: make a recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John’s College Greenfield Library; make a recording of my lecture available online; make typescript copies of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John’s College Greenfield Library; make a copy of my typescript available online."
Type
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moving image
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp4
Subject
The topic of the resource
Bible. Matthew
Hell--Christianity
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
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LEC_Haflidson_Ron_2023-10-27_ac
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/3b41cfbf62d68f1a596b3f708d327378.mp3
8111fb336f11259d06d9464fe91bd715
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
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formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
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audio cassette
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:47:43
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
How Shall I Live? Plutarch's Timoleon and Aemilius
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on October 13, 2000, by Keith Whitaker as part of the Formal Lecture Series. Recording is not complete.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Whitaker, Albert Keith
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2000-10-13
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
A signed permission form has been received stating: "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to: Make an audiovisual recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make an audiovisual recording of my lecture available online. Make a typescript copy of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. Make a typescript of my lecture available online."
Type
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sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Subject
The topic of the resource
Plutarch. Timoleon
Plutarch. Aemilius Paullus
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
AB010
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/bb5852b4995f70c1fcb4e8f8589e7acd.mp3
664f549e919a6c23e42ab33bfaa94ea4
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
A name given to the resource
St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
A resource primarily intended to be heard. Examples include a music playback file format, an audio compact disc, and recorded speech or sounds.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
wav
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:58:39
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Speech: Its Strength and Its Weaknesses
Description
An account of the resource
Audio recording of a lecture delivered on February 23, 1973, by Jacob Klein as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Klein, Jacob, 1899-1978
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1973-02-23
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
The Greenfield Library holds the literary rights to Jacob Klein's work.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
sound
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp3
Subject
The topic of the resource
Oral interpretation
Language and languages
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
Tape_100
Friday night lecture
Tutors
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/785cbc59f7ea97ccf71c972147cdefd2.mp4
9e136c955992d09c6c2954de8e62da68
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Description
An account of the resource
Items in this collection are part of a series of lectures given every year at St. John's College. During the Fall and Spring semesters, lectures are given on Friday nights. Items include audio and video recordings and typescripts.<br /><br />For more information, and for a schedule of upcoming lectures, please visit the <strong><a href="http://www.sjc.edu/programs-and-events/annapolis/formal-lecture-series/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">St. John's College website</a></strong>. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Formal Lecture Series" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=5">Items in the St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.<br /><br />A growing number of lecture recordings are also available on the St. John's College (Annapolis) Lectures podcast. Visit <a href="https://anchor.fm/greenfieldlibrary" title="Anchor.fm">Anchor.fm</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.apple.com/us/podcast/st-johns-college-annapolis-lectures/id1695157772">Apple Podcasts</a>, <a href="https://podcasts.google.com/feed/aHR0cHM6Ly9hbmNob3IuZm0vcy84Yzk5MzdhYy9wb2RjYXN0L3Jzcw" title="Google Podcasts">Google Podcasts</a>, or <a href="https://open.spotify.com/show/6GDsIRqC8SWZ28AY72BsYM?si=f2ecfa9e247a456f" title="Spotify">Spotify</a> to listen and subscribe.
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
Title
A name given to the resource
St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
formallectureseriesannapolis
Moving Image
A series of visual representations imparting an impression of motion when shown in succession. Examples include animations, movies, television programs, videos, zoetropes, or visual output from a simulation.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
mp4
Duration
Length of time involved (seconds, minutes, hours, days, class periods, etc.)
00:58:49
Dublin Core
The Dublin Core metadata element set is common to all Omeka records, including items, files, and collections. For more information see, http://dublincore.org/documents/dces/.
Title
A name given to the resource
Vital Exuberance: Goethe on What Plants Want
Description
An account of the resource
Video recording of a lecture delivered on September 15, 2023, by Daniel Carranza as part of the Formal Lecture Series.<br /><br />The lecture conducts a close reading of Goethe's poem on the "Metamorphosis of Plants" by situating it within Goethe's larger scientific endeavor to understand what it means for a being to be a specifically living being, in particular what the kind of wholeness exhibited by the organism, whether plant, animal, or human, looks like. Particular attention will be paid to the philosophical resources upon which Goethe draws in his scientific investigation of nature, in particular Aristotle's four causes, the fourth, formal one of which is decisive for Goethe's morphology or study of living forms, and Spinoza's conatus, which Goethe understood as the organism's own endeavor to persevere in and more fully realize its own being.<br /><br />Professor Carranza is an assistant professor and Director of Graduate Studies in the Department of Germanic Languages & Literatures at Harvard University.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Carranza, Daniel
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Coverage
The spatial or temporal topic of the resource, the spatial applicability of the resource, or the jurisdiction under which the resource is relevant
Annapolis, MD
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
2023-09-15
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
A signed permission form has been received stating: "I hereby grant St. John's College permission to: make a recording of my lecture, and retain copies for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John’s College Greenfield Library; make a recording of my lecture available online; make typescript copies of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation at the St. John’s College Greenfield Library; make a copy of my typescript available online."
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
moving image
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
mp4
Subject
The topic of the resource
Goethe, Johann Wolfgang von, 1749-1832--Knowledge--Botany
Plant morphology
Spinoza, Benedictus de, 1632-1677
Aristotle
Language
A language of the resource
English
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
LEC_Carranza_Daniel_2023-09-15_ac
Friday night lecture
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