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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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Roochnik, David
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Teleology as Death Wish : A Nietzschean Critique of Aristotle
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2014-02-07
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on February 7, 2014, by David Roochnik as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Aristotle. Nicomachean ethics
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Friday night lecture
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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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Schulman, Adam
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The Anger of Achilles, and Its Source: A Reading of Book One of the Iliad
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2012-09-07
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on September 7, 2012, by Adam Schulman as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Homer. Illiad
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English
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Bib # 80677
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<a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/54">Typescript</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
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The Anger of Achilles, and its Source: A Reading of Book One of the Iliad
Adam Schulman
St. John’s College, Annapolis
September 7, 2012
Anger—sing goddess the anger of Peleus’ son Achilles. Why is it that “anger” is the first
word of the first great book of Western civilization, and of the St. John’s College
curriculum? Why did Homer choose to write an epic poem of some 15,000 lines about
the anger of Achilles? Why should anger be an important theme, if not the central theme,
of all of classical literature? How might reflection on anger form at least the startingpoint, if not also the core, of a liberal education? These are questions I hope to illuminate,
and perhaps to answer, through a reading of the first book of the Iliad, with some
passages from later books.
Let me first summarize the events depicted in Book One of the Iliad. After invoking
the muse and announcing his theme—the anger of Achilles—Homer tells the story of the
quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon, a quarrel he says was set in motion by Apollo.
Chryses, a priest of Apollo, comes to the swift ships of the Achaians bearing an immense
fortune, to ransom back his daughter, evidently captured in a previous raid on a Trojan
town and taken by Agamemnon as his personal prize. Despite the enthusiastic approval of
the army, Agamemnon refuses to give up the girl, and the priest, fleeing, prays to Apollo
for vengeance, which comes in the form of a deadly plague afflicting the entire army. On
the tenth day of the sickness, with no end in sight, Achilles calls an assembly, where
Calchas the seer reveals that the plague is Apollo’s punishment for dishonoring his priest.
Only the return of the girl, now for no ransom, together with a huge sacrifice, will
propitiate the angry god. Agamemnon, infuriated, is willing to free her, but demands that
some other girl be given to him in her place, lest he be the only Achaian left without a
prize. Achilles is outraged by this demand and insists that there are no spare girls around
to hand over to Agamemnon as a prize. After an exchange of bitter insults, Achilles
�threatens to withdraw from the fight and go home, and Agamemnon announces that he
will take Achilles’ own prize, the beautiful Briseis, to compensate him for the loss of
Chryseis, the daughter of the priest. Achilles, in his anger, is tempted to kill Agamemnon
right then and there, but the goddess Athena restrains him. Instead, Achilles returns to his
tent, Agamemnon sends his men there to seize Briseis, and the Achaians bring Chryseis
back to her father and make the required sacrifice. Apollo is appeased, the plague comes
to an end, and the Achaians, now without Achilles, are ready to resume the fight against
Troy. Meanwhile, Achilles prays to his mother, the sea-nymph Thetis, to persuade Zeus
to give aid to the Trojans in the fight, so that many Achaians will be killed, and
Agamemnon will rue the day he dishonored Achilles, the best of the Achaians. The rest
of Book One shows how Thetis journeyed to Olympus to supplicate Zeus, how Zeus
considered and granted her son’s request, and how Hera and Zeus quarreled with each
other after the visit by Thetis.
Now perhaps it will seem obvious that the main reason Achilles gets angry is that,
after all, Agamemnon has just threatened to take away his girlfriend, his beloved Briseis,
presumably intending to have his way with her in his tent. It is, in fact, right after
Agamemnon utters this threat that Achilles feels a strong urge to draw his sword and kill
Agamemnon on the spot (188). On the other hand, Achilles himself speaks very
provokingly throughout the exchange and seems intent on escalating the quarrel with
Agamemnon at every turn. That is especially evident when old Nestor intervenes with
soothing words, encouraging Agamemnon not to take away Briseis and Achilles not to
struggle against a sceptered king, to whom Zeus has given glory (274-279). When
Agamemnon appears ready to accept Nestor’s sensible advice and back down, Achilles
interrupts him and insists that Agamemnon can go ahead and take the girl but warns that
he will kill him if he tries to take away anything else. So we are inclined to suspect that
Achilles harbored grievances against Agamemnon well before the quarrel over Briseis.
Reading a little more carefully, we can see other grounds for Achilles’ anger that, it
seems, were already present even before Agamemnon threatened to take away Briseis.
Achilles accuses Agamemnon of being a greedy coward, who during the sacking of cities
hangs back from the dangerous fighting while allowing others to win spoils for him.
According to Achilles, Agamemnon has “never dared in [his] spirit to put on [his] armor
2
�with the troops for war, nor to go on an ambush with the best of the Achaians” (225-227).
And yet, while Achilles considers himself to be the best of the Achaians (244, 412) he
says at the start of the quarrel that Agamemnon now boasts that he himself is “by far the
best of the Achaians” (91).
What is at stake in this dispute about which warrior is “the best of the Achaians”? No
doubt that title would involve a variety of excellences, including strength, and swiftness,
and skill, but it seems clear that the core of Achilles’ claim to excellence lies in his arete,
that is, his manly virtue, manifested above all as courage in the face of violent death. In
Achilles’ view, the Achaians show their virtue—or lack of it—especially in ambushes,
where a handful of troops sit in silence, eyeing each other tensely, and awaiting the
sudden onslaught of ferocious man-to-man combat. Much later, in Book Thirteen of the
Iliad, the Cretan hero Idomeneus gives us a vivid account of how such ambushes show
who is a coward and who is not:
If now beside the ships all the best men were to assemble
for an ambush where most of all the virtue of men is discerned,
there the cowardly man and the courageous are shown forth clearly,
for the skin of the coward changes color one way and another,
and the spirit in his midriff cannot restrain him to sit untrembling,
but he squats shifting from ham to ham, and shifts from one foot to the other,
and the heart inside his chest pounds greatly
as he thinks about Death, and a chattering of the teeth commences.
But the good man’s skin does not change color nor is he overly frightened,
Once he has taken his place in the ambush of men,
But he prays to be mixed as fast as possible in baneful war. (13.276-286)
Among other things, this passage makes clear that, for Idomeneus, the man who displays
courage and steadfastness in the face of death is the good man simply, while the coward,
whose heart pounds, and whose skin changes color, and who squats and shifts nervously
from one foot to the other, is the bad man simply. For Achilles as well, it seems, the
habitual absence of Agamemnon from such ambushes is a sure sign that he is not a man
of virtue in the primary sense of the word. Perhaps, then, the underlying reason for
Achilles’ anger is the thought that he, a man of virtue and the best of the Achaians, is
under the authority of a king who has proved himself to be an inferior man, a greedy,
selfish coward, who does not deserve to have heroes like Achilles risking their lives for
him in battle day after day. On this reading, Achilles’ anger is an expression of righteous
3
�indignation at the manifest injustice of his situation at Troy. It is not surprising, then, that
Achilles is seething with resentment even before Apollo’s plague strikes the army, and
the quarrel over Briseis is merely the occasion for that smoldering indignation to burst
into open flame.
But even this more careful account of the anger of Achilles does not seem to me to go
deep enough. One clue that there is more to be said about the source of the quarrel
between Achilles and Agamemnon can be found in the odd way Homer introduces us to
that subject. He asks, rhetorically, “Which one of the gods set these two together to fight
in strife?” and his answer is Apollo, who, “in his anger at the king, sent an evil sickness
throughout the army, and the troops were dying” (9-10). And, in fact, it is on the tenth
day of that unrelenting and deadly plague that Achilles feels moved to make his first
speech in the Iliad. It seems to me that Homer asks his rhetorical question precisely in
order to indicate to us that the origin of the quarrel between Achilles and Agamemnon is
questionable—not obvious as it might seem—and that, in fact, the plague sent by Apollo
might have a great deal to do with the anger of Achilles. Let me explain. When the priest
Chryses first prayed to Apollo for vengeance, he addressed the god as Smintheus, that is
“mouse god” (39). In the Iliad, Apollo, the far-shooter, seems to be a god responsible for
disease rather than for health, perhaps in this instance for a plague borne by rodents. In
Homer’s description of the start of the plague, Apollo “came like the night” (47); first to
die were the mules and the dogs, and then the men, and the funeral pyres of the dead were
burning continuously (50-52). Achilles, calling the assembly on the tenth day of the
plague, seems particularly horrified by the thought that he and the other Achaians might
die not gloriously in battle but ignominiously from this pestilence, carried into the camp
by mice, that kills anonymously and indiscriminately, striking dogs and mules as well as
men. Achilles even suggests in his first speech that they should all go home, if they can
escape death, since war and plague together are now subduing the Achaians (61).
It is striking that Achilles is the one to raise the possibility of abandoning the war and
returning home, for later in Book One he tells his mother, “you bore me to be short-lived”
(352), implying that he believed he was destined to die young. And Thetis appears to
confirm this, saying, “indeed your allotted span is short, not very long at all, but as it is,
you are quick to die and miserable beyond all men” (416). It is only in Book Nine that we
4
�learn from Achilles himself that his mother had in fact offered him a choice:
My mother the goddess Thetis of the silver feet tells me
I carry two sorts of doom towards the end of death.
If I stay here and fight beside the city of the Trojans,
my return home is lost, but my fame shall be everlasting;
But if I go home to the dear land of my fathers,
my excellent fame is lost, but there will be a long time for me,
Nor will the end of death reach me quickly. (9.410-416)
In light of this fuller account of Achilles’ dual destinies, I think we have to read the Book
One passages about his fate to mean that, to a man like Achilles, the choice between a
long dull life at home without fame and a brief but glorious life at Troy ending with death
in battle seemed no choice at all, that he felt all but compelled to take the path that will
shortly cost him his life but will win him imperishable glory. And, far from making him
the most miserable of mortals, Achilles might have thought that the choice of fates
offered to him was a supremely noble one. After all, to be truly the best of the Achaians
and worthy of imperishable glory—perhaps the only form of immortality available to a
human being—it would not suffice to be a great and effective fighter; one would also
have to show the supreme virtue of courage, above all by facing death unflinchingly. And
what better way to show such courage than to accept the certainty of death at a young age
as the price one is willing to pay for an imperishable and glorious name?
This is not to suggest that Achilles had a clear-sighted understanding of his own selfinterested motives in choosing to risk his life for the sake of glory. In the quarrel with
Agamemnon he insists (152-162) that he is fighting at Troy not for his own good but only
to please Agamemnon and to win honor for him and his brother. We see in this claim the
essential paradox of manly virtue, that it is pursued for the sake of glory—a selfish
good—and yet it must be pursued unselfishly, for its own sake or for the good of another,
if it is to be deemed worthy of the highest honor. In his confusion, Achilles believes both
that his virtue is selfless and that it is best for him.
Now a warrior of Achilles’ rank might reasonably expect that his manly virtue and
other excellences would, most of the time if not all the time, make him victorious in
battle, regularly defeating and even killing his foes, and not being defeated or killed by
them. That is, he would expect his virtue to offer him considerable protection against
defeat and death rather than lead inevitably, let alone quickly, to his demise. Nonetheless,
5
�there would be something troubling about a kind of virtue so overwhelmingly superior
that it simply guaranteed a warrior’s safety and success in battle, so that the prospect of
an ambush would be no more terrible and frightening to him than, say, the task of ridding
his house of ants or cockroaches. There has to be a genuine risk of death, it seems, if
manly virtue is to be truly deserving of immortal glory. On the other hand, it would be
absurd if this risk of death were so great that Achilles got himself killed, and his life cut
short, in his very first battle at Troy. Perhaps, then, it would be more reasonable to say
that what the best of the Achaians expects of his manly virtue is that it will protect him
from death for a time but that, if he should perish splendidly in battle, his virtue in life
and in death will be remembered and admired forever. But even then, the choice to risk or
sacrifice his life for glory would seem to be the exchange of a lesser good for a greater
good, hence not really a sacrifice at all, but rather a choice that any prudent selfinterested man would make if he could.
In any event, ten days of unrelenting plague sent by the mouse-god Apollo, with men
and animals dying all around him, have perhaps shaken Achilles’ confidence in the
choice he made, reminding him forcefully that nothing in life is certain, that the gods may
have their own plans to which we are not privy, and that it is not at all impossible that
Achilles himself will end up one of the multitude of mules, dogs, and men randomly
brought down by this dreadful and indiscriminate disease. That is, the plague raises for
Achilles the suspicion that he might himself perish at Troy ignominiously and
anonymously, rather than in a noble and distinguished display of manly arete. It might
turn out that the gods in the end are indifferent to our fate, and even to our virtue, that
they hold us in no higher regard than dogs and mules, and that it is of little concern to
them whose body ends up piled on the burning heaps of disease-ravaged corpses. A hero
who died in that way, no more valiantly than a mule or a dog, would be a thing arousing
horror and pity, surely not a fit subject for imperishable glory, even if the gods somehow
contrived for that to be his destiny. It would therefore not be surprising if at this moment
Achilles is beginning to wonder whether the short violent life at Troy was so obviously
superior to a long dull life at home.
Later, in Book Nine, during the embassy of Odysseus, Ajax, and Phoenix, we will see
even more evidence of Achilles’ ambivalence regarding the wisdom of his choice. It is
6
�here that Achilles expresses his most serious doubts as to whether the life of the warrior
is worthwhile. An equal fate, he tells Odysseus, awaits the man who holds back and the
one who fights hard. “The bad man and the good man are both held in the same honor. A
man who has done nothing dies just like one who has done much” (318-320). And he
declares that all the possessions that can be won by fighting are not worth risking one’s
life for. (405-409) Yet he cannot make up his mind whether to stay at Troy and return to
the fighting or to go home to Phthia. He first tells Odysseus that he and all his men will
be sailing away from Troy the next morning, hoping to reach Phthia on the third day
(359-363). He speaks of his plans to take a wife in marriage and enjoy with her the
possessions won by his father (398-400). He then tells Phoenix that he hasn’t made up his
mind but will decide tomorrow whether to go back home or remain at Troy (618-619).
And finally he tells Ajax to inform Agamemnon that he will return to the fighting, but
only when Hector and the Trojans have come all the way to the ships and tents of the
Myrmidons, slaughtering the Argives as they come (648-653).
So suppose that Achilles is having doubts about the wisdom of the choice he made to
stay at Troy and fight, doubts either first raised by the plague sent by Apollo or at any
rate brought vividly to mind on that occasion. What has all this to do with Achilles’ anger
at Agamemnon? Let us look once more at that quarrel, in light of the suggestion that
Achilles is just now calling into question whether the choice he has made, to die young in
battle in return for the promise of immortal fame, is a sound and reasonable one.
When the seer Calchas tells him that he must return Chryses to her father, a bitter
Agamemnon complains that he had wanted to take her home with him, preferring her in
fact to his own wife Clytemnestra, to whom she is not inferior in body and stature and
wits and work (113-115). Agamemnon, it is clear, is not one of those warriors who is
planning to die gloriously in battle; instead, he never loses sight of his eventual goal, to
return to Argos and live out his life as a happy, rich, and celebrated king. Achilles
responds by addressing him as “most famous son of Atreus, most possession-loving of all
men” (122). He goes on to accuse Agamemnon of always taking the biggest prizes for
himself, heaping up abundance and wealth while leaving the most dangerous fighting to
others (165-167; 171). As his anger burns hotly, Achilles even declares, as we noted
above, that Agamemnon has “never dared in [his] spirit to put on [his] armor with the
7
�troops for war or to go on an ambush with the best of the Achaians” (225-227). Perhaps,
in his anger, Achilles exaggerates the charges, as angry people are prone to do. But
suppose it is true that Agamemnon fights as little as possible, prefers the lucrative raiding
of villages to dangerous combat with the Trojans, takes care to avoid endangering his life,
and carefully heaps up piles of treasure and beautiful women to take home with him to
enjoy for the rest of his life. Why should that make Achilles angry? It would seem, after
all, that all the warriors at Troy face a choice something like that which Achilles was
given, even if the two alternative destinies are not laid out for them as starkly as they
were for him. That is, they can either conduct themselves primarily with a view to
displaying utmost valor in combat, at great personal risk to life and limb, or they can
make it their paramount aim to survive the war and flourish afterward, even at the cost of
some diminished reputation; or, more likely, they will pursue some muddled, middling
course in between these extremes. But it ought not to surprise a proud hero like Achilles
that few men would have the courage to make the choice he made, and it should even be
a source of satisfaction to him, and a confirmation that he is truly the best of the Achaians,
that most of his fellow soldiers, and even some of their illustrious leaders, cannot face
their deaths as fearlessly as he does. Why should it trouble Achilles that the short brilliant
life, and the promise of eternal glory, are a blessed destiny reserved for only the best of
the Achaians? One might even say that a man confident in his virtue, and assured of the
power of virtue to win him the only kind of destiny that can truly overcome death, would
feel pity rather than anger at those inferior men who are not able to face their death with
the same courage and steadfastness. When Achilles, who considers himself a man of
virtue, gets angry at those who are not virtuous, his anger reveals the unclarity of his
thinking about virtue itself: if virtue is good for us, then the unvirtuous deserve our pity;
if it is bad for us, why pursue it in the first place? In either case, there would be no basis
for anger.
But Achilles’ anger at the unmanly Agamemnon has now been further inflamed by
the suspicion that he himself may have been wrong all along about the power of virtue to
overcome death, i.e., to grant imperishable glory, a species of immortality, in
compensation for our death. Achilles’ choice would then be a mistake, and men like
Agamemnon might turn out to be right. The coward, the bad man, who conducts himself
8
�in battle so as to maximize his chances of surviving and flourishing afterward, might turn
out to be the good man after all, or at least the man most likely to experience happiness in
the all-too-brief span of a human life. Whereas the courageous man, who risks and even
sacrifices his life with no guarantee of compensation, would turn out to be a deluded fool.
Achilles, in his anger, calls Agamemnon “clothed in shamelessness, thinking only of
gain” (148), a man who has “the eyes of a dog and the heart of a deer” (225). The heart of
a deer is the heart of a cowardly man, who would flinch in combat from fear of death, and
whose lack of manly virtue would be manifest to his comrades as soon as he was
compelled to take his place on an ambush with the best of the Achaians. But what are the
eyes of a dog? A dog is a slave to his desires, especially for food, and every dog owner is
familiar with that shameless look in the eyes of a begging dog, a look that says, “I am
mastered by my overpowering desire and I will do anything to satisfy it.” According to
Achilles, Agamemnon is not only a greedy coward who shrinks from death and cares
only about gain, he even does those things publicly without any shame. But if Achilles
is wrong about virtue and its power vis-à-vis death, then it might turn out that human
excellence—or at any rate, the most serviceable way of comporting oneself in this
world—does not require courage but rather something like cowardice in the face of death
and shamelessness in satisfying one’s appetites—in short, the heart of a deer and the eyes
of a dog. It is this half-formed suspicion, I suggest—the vague fear that he might be
utterly wrong about virtue, that those who care about virtue are deluding themselves, and
that the best of the Achaians might not be a man of virtue at all but a shameless, selfish
pursuer of material goods in the mold of Agamemnon—that fills Achilles with rage.
But why should such a fear—the fear that virtue does not truly have the power to
protect us from death—lead to anger? What accounts for the anger in the soul of a man
who is assailed by doubts about the power of his virtue to protect him? Here too Homer
has much to teach us through the example of Achilles. What he shows us is first, that
anger is, or at least can be, a supremely talkative passion. The angry man is full of
arguments, which he is eager to share with others, arguments that serve to justify his
shaken convictions and restore his confidence in his own virtue and in the power of that
virtue. In the case of Achilles, his anger seems to give him the hope, however fleeting,
that by killing the miscreant Agamemnon he can prove that virtue is after all effective,
9
�that shameless cowards get the death they deserve, and that good men are vindicated and
bad men punished, thus restoring the moral order of the world that seemed to be
threatened. Anger, more than any other passion, can at times make us feel godlike,
confident that our will will be accomplished, and even perhaps that we are the
embodiment of a divine nemesis, inexorably insuring that justice will be done. Consider
Achilles’ words to Athena when she comes down to stay his anger and stop him from
stabbing Agamemnon to death:
Why have you come this time, o child of aegis-bearing Zeus?
Or is it to see the hubris of Atreus’ son Agamemnon?
But I will tell you this, and I think it shall be accomplished.
By such acts of insolence he may soon lose his life. (202-205)
These are imperious words that a god might address to a mortal, as Athena gently
suggests when she says, in answer,
But I will tell you thus, and it also will be accomplished. (212)
Achilles gives in to Athena on this occasion, but it must have come as a shock and a
disappointment to him that a god would come down to prevent him from administering to
the vicious Agamemnon the death that he so clearly deserved. It must have been even
more shocking to Achilles when Athena tells him that she was sent down to stay his hand
by the goddess Hera herself, who “in her spirit loves and cares for both of you alike.”
(209). First Apollo, and now Athena and Hera, have given Achilles cause to wonder if the
gods really care whether human beings get what they truly deserve. And that question, if
followed up in a thoughtful and tough-minded way, might have led Achilles to the deeper
and more troubling question of whether human beings really deserve anything.
Anger, Homer shows us, is not so much a rational as a pseudo-rational passion.
Angry words tend to be boastful and exaggerated. Consider, for example, Achilles’
improbable accusation, quoted above, that Agamemnon has never once dared to put on
his armor to fight alongside the troops (225-227). Even more revealing is Achilles’
insistence, noted above, that he is here fighting at Troy only for the sake of Agamemnon
and his brother, with no thought of personal benefit (152-162)—when actually, as we
have seen, he is fighting primarily in order to achieve glory for himself. His anger lets
him hide from himself the realization that in practicing manly virtue, and even in risking
his life, he is not devoting himself selflessly to the good of others but is instead pursuing
10
�what he implicitly believes to be his own highest good.
Judging by Achilles’ example, anger is not per se a dishonest passion; or at least the
angry man thinks he his telling the simple truth. Indeed, anger often feels not so much
like a passion as a perception, that is a perception of one’s own righteousness and of the
injustice of others, and it is not surprising that the angry often feel as though they have
attained, and are expressing in their speech, perfect clarity about their situation. But, as
Homer shows us, anger does allow us, and perhaps even requires us, to lie to ourselves.
In Book Nine, at the start of the embassy, Achilles declares to Odysseus, “Hateful to me
as the gates of Hades is that man who conceals one thing in his heart and says another”
(9.312-313). But at that very moment Achilles is speaking to his old friends with apparent
sympathy while concealing in his heart the fact that he has arranged through his mother
and Zeus for Hector and the Trojans to slaughter the Achaians and set fire to their ships.
Yet, I am convinced, at that moment Achilles does not think of himself as a deceitful
man; his anger protects him from such self-awareness.
Surprisingly, however painful are the experiences that give rise to anger, anger itself
turns out to be a sweet pleasure only masquerading as a pain, as Achilles himself comes
to realize after the death of Patroklos. In Book Eighteen, in a moment of rare clarity and
introspection, Achilles comments,
If only strife might vanish from among gods and human beings,
and anger, which makes even a very thoughtful man harsh
and, much sweeter than honey that drips down,
rises up like smoke in the hearts of men. (18.107-110)
In this powerful image, the honey signifies the sweet pleasure of our experience of anger;
the smoke points up the way anger clouds our rational judgment. Of course, only four
lines after offering this remarkably thoughtful insight about anger, Achilles reverts to his
old passion, vowing to hunt down and kill Hector in revenge for Patroklos. Had he been
able to sustain that insight, and to follow through on its implications, he might have come
to see that his anger, rather than a simple and healthy reaction to the injustice and
wickedness of others, was instead a self-indulgent and self-deceiving pleasure, and that
by wallowing in anger and self-pity, he was preventing himself from facing up to his
fears about manly virtue and death.
Achilles is indeed a paradoxical figure, at once the angriest man in the Iliad—if not in
11
�all of western literature—and at the same time capable on more than one occasion of the
most thoughtful reflections about anger, mortality, and the contradictions of the heroic
life. Somehow, no matter how clearly he sees that his anger is self-serving and
destructive, no matter how penetrating are his insights into the incoherence of the life
pursued by “the best of the Achaians,” Achilles always finds himself seduced once more
by the honey and smoke. As we have seen, Achilles several times raises the possibility of
leaving Troy, abandoning the life of the hero and the quest for immortal glory, and
returning home to Phthia to find a more modest but more attainable felicity in (to quote
Moby Dick) “the wife, and hearth, the bed, the table, the saddle, the fire-side, the country.”
And yet, despite all his talk and all his doubts, Achilles never manages to summon the
nerve to get up and leave. When Achilles first raised the possibility of leaving for Phthia,
Agamemnon had answered, with contempt, “Flee, then, if your spirit urges you to” (173),
and perhaps Achilles could not stand the thought of Agamemnon and the others speaking
of him derisively as a coward after he and the Myrmidons had packed up and left. Maybe
what kept him from acting on his convictions and leaving Troy was a lack of true courage,
if there is such a thing. Courage so conceived would be a kind toughness or strength of
soul that would enable the truly courageous man to follow through on his critical insights
and pursue what is genuinely good no matter how painful he finds it to give up what is
spuriously good. In any case, we learn from the story of Achilles that anger is perhaps the
most un-philosophic of the passions and poses the gravest obstacle to genuine selfknowledge. It is in this sense that the Iliad shows us how the question of anger might
form, if not the core, at any rate the starting point, of a liberal education.
*
To advance the discussion, let me remind you of the main points of my interpretation:
First, that the claim to be the best of the Achaians is at its core a claim to possess manly
virtue, arete, that is, courage in the face of death, to the highest degree; second, that the
supremely virtuous man thinks himself worthy of everlasting glory, and believes that his
virtue has the power, if not to protect him fully from death, at least to mitigate the sting of
his mortality by rewarding him with such glory; third, that the anger of Achilles has as its
12
�ultimate source the fear that virtue does not in fact have such a power to overcome death;
that the gods may in fact not care whether people get what they deserve; fourth, that
together with this fear arises the painful thought that virtue itself might be not only
impotent but incoherent, that there is nothing that we “deserve,” that human nobility
might be an illusion, so that the only sensible way to go through life is to shamelessly
pursue what we desire while avoiding death at all cost; it might turn out that the good
man is the one with the eyes of a dog and the heart of a deer; and finally, that as long as
we are prone to anger we will never be able to think through the problem of virtue, as
anger is the most un-philosophic of passions, a pleasure masquerading as a pain, posing
in itself the most serious impediment to self-knowledge.
13
�
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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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Schulman, Adam
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The anger of Achilles, and its source : a reading of book one of the Iliad
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2012-09-07
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pdf
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Typescript of a lecture delivered on September 07, 2012 by Adam Schulman as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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St. John's College
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Annapolis, MD
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Homer. Iliad
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Bib # 80678
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<a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/53">Audio recording</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
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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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00:55:21
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Scott, John T., 1963-
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Resentment, Injustice, and the Appeal to Providence in Adam Smith's Theory of Moral Sentiments
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2014-01-10
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on January 10, 2014, by John Scott as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Annapolis, MD
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sound
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Smith, Adam, 1723-1790. Theory of moral sentiments.
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LEC_Scott_John_T_2014-01-10_ac
Friday night lecture
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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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01:07:25
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Selcer, Daniel
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Thought, Image, and the Printed Page in Early Modern Europe
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2012-10-26
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on October 26, 2012, by Daniel Selcer as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Annapolis, MD
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sound
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LEC_Selcer_Daniel_2012-10-26_ac
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Materialism--History
Friday night lecture
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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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Stephenson, David Hanford
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Melodies and faces : a Meno meditation
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2012-11-02
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mp3
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on November 2, 2012 by David Stephenson as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Annapolis, MD
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sound
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Plato, Meno
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English
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Bib # 80765
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<a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/58">Typescript</a>
Friday night lecture
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PDF Text
Text
Melodies and Faces: A Meno Meditation*
Mr. David Stephenson
St. John’s College
Annapolis, MD
November 2, 2012
�Lecture on Meno
Argus, Odysseus's old hound dog, wags his tail once before he dies. His master has
returned after twenty years. Odysseus hides a tear. He has to conceal who he is, until he
can take back his house and win the respect of everyone in his household, including
Penelope. Hardly anyone can be expected to recognize him or acknowledge him without
a challenge. "Move the bed into the hall," says his wife, fully aware that the tree from
which he carved it is still anchored to the earth. Why test him like that unless his welcome
is in doubt?
Because, I suppose, memory always needs testing: we're never entirely sure that what
we recall mightn't deceive us. That friend I ran into at an alumni meeting--so much has
changed in appearance--hair longer or shorter than I remember, a few strands of gray or
white, furrows now line the face, the voice more grainy or gravelly. Is the new suit needed
to broadcast prosperity? Or just a larger appetite? Above all, how has life changed us?
Either the friend or me, the observer? Is either one of us the same person?
Yes and no. Tout ca change, tout c'est la meme chose. But some sameness is
important--not rigid identity, but an underlying kinship. Recognition has a way of restoring
us to ourselves and grasping something new as well.
Recognition
Literature and scripture are full of such scenes. Joseph conceals himself from his brothers
as long as he can. Thomas doubts the presence of Jesus Christ until he can feel the
wounds. Abraham pretends his wife Is his sister. Elektra is prompted to identify her
brother, Orestes, by a lock of his hair; Rosalind adopts a disguise for protection, then
finds other uses for it; Edgar, too, needs to hide behind a false identity, until he can reveal
himself to his blind Lear. Hardest to recognize are characters like Iago, because he
conceals his motives, not just appearance.
But a play is where you might expect to find disguise. That's what actors are good at. It's
what they do best. So when the playwright notifies the audience of a false identity we
always take notice. It's a special event when the imposter is unmasked, the spy
discovered, the intentions of the secret enemy or secret lover are exposed.
Most famous example of all, perhaps is Proust's "Madeleine:" dipped in lime blossom tea,
tasted in a moment of sad repose, the taste of that cookie and that tea slowly, almost
reluctantly, opens the door of memory to Marcel's childhood, and then to volume after
volume of reminiscences. The whole town of Combray wakes up, centered around his
mother, his father, friends and relatives, above all Schwann, whose tragic love affair with
Odette provides the source for most of the developments in the first book of
Remembrances of Things Past.
We can't limit examples to literature, or to what has been described in print. The need to
�recognize and identify reaches all levels of our life, from primitive cells that form our
bodies up to national, familiar, racial, tribal, political and even aesthetic characteristics.
Why should Socrates ascribe learning to a kind of recognition in philosophy, to where
truth and not just motive is at stake? Because, I think, Meno has found a serious objection
to Socrates's whole endeavor, one that threatens philosophy at its core. It is what
Socrates calls a "trick argument,"an "ëristikos logos,"--a debating ploy, if you will--but one
that must be confronted and refuted.
Otherwise no philosophy is possible.
Here is the argument: if you don't know the truth, how can you ever discover it? For you
must know it already if you are to recognize it when you meet it, even the very first time.
Otherwise you are dependent on others to give you the criterion for truth, and rely on their
authority, for which there is no absolute assurance.
One has to take this challenge seriously. The very possibility of philosophical inquiry
hinges on our ability to defeat it.
Meno
Meno holds this weapon in reserve until Socrates backs him into a corner. His first
address to Socrates is bold and confident: "Are you able to tell me, O Socrates, whether
virtue can be taught..." This sounds like little more than an attempt to make fun of
Socrates: "Do you have in you what it takes to beat me in debate...," or, maybe a bit less
aggressively: "Please, Socrates, give me an argument that will defeat others and gain
admiration." For that is the extent of Meno's interest: winning. He couldn't care less about
the truth.
He is not alone. Athens is at a crossroads.
Is Meno serious? Cynical, to be sure. He admires Gorgias and the Sophists, who have
captured the attention of the youth of Athens, with their boast of superiority in speech,
their ability to answer any question and persuade multitudes. The examples that remain
of their orations are smooth and pleasant to listen to, full of half-rhymes and rhetorical
flair: flashy and showy. Just the kind of speech that would attract an audience lacking
principles. Rhetoric is king, and oratory a show. Meno is perhaps a typical admirer, and
wants to go into business on his own, He's committed to winning debate by any means. In
such circumstances, it is not hard to see how a true cynic like Meno assumes that the
only judgment worth heeding is popular acclaim. There is no goal but verbal conquest, no
authority but opinion.
How did such a market place of ideas arise in Athens at that time? Not only is it a
symptom of Athen's decline; it signals the end of the greatest era of Athenian hegemony.
She has sunk low since she and Sparta together defeated the Persians fifty years ago.
�The subsequent split from Sparta and the protracted feud that followed sapped Athens's
strength and resources. The plague devastated its population, the Sicilian expedition
killed off the flower of her army. The crushing blow: almost all Athenian ships--the fleet
that had been her strength--were destroyed by the Spartans under command of Lysander,
cutting off Athens's source of grain and tribute.
Fortunately, despite defeat, the puppet government installed by Sparta was soon replaced
by a democracy again. But democracy has its dangers: in a free market place of ideas,
who is to say which are worthwhile and which merely the flavor of the moment? Perhaps,
the most encouraging result of Athens's loss of political power in the region, one might
say, is that it prepared the way for triumphs in philosophy, much more lasting and
significant in the eyes of the world than her earlier military conquests. We've inherited her
ideas, not her colonies.
Together, these defeats and catastrophes forced her to an ultimate surrender only two
years before this conversation is supposed to have taken place between Socrates and
Meno. Plato had turned thirty at the time of this dialog, and Aristotle was to be born thirty
years hence. So, despite Athens's losses on the battlefield and ocean, her most lasting
effect on the world was just beginning.
Not without cost: Socrates will be condemned to die in three years by a nervous jury of
Athenians, egged on by accusers like Anytus, whose threat to Socrates in this dialog
prefigures the vendetta that will accuse him of impiety and immorality. It is some
compensation that Plato survives to preserve his memory and ideas, and Aristotle to
develop them further and challenge those that need challenging, Without them the loss
would be great. As he states in the Phaedrus, Socrates is chary of the written word. He
never wrote down anything himself. So maybe he had to die to live on in print at the
hands of his friends and disciples.
Judging by the testimony of the dialogs, Athens now becomes the world's free theater of
ideas, with the drawbacks and advantages of that freedom. Its marketplace is the
marketplace of words, where sophist, philosopher and statesman compete for attention
and favor. And so Meno's address to Socrates with which this dialog begins--"Can you tell
me, Socrates (the Greek could be rendered even more forcefully--"do you have proof..."),
whether or not virtue can be taught...?"--may well have the air of hostility, or at least of
challenge and bravado. It soon becomes clear that Meno is at best merely looking for
ammunition, for arguments that will help him win the verbal contest with others. When
Socrates punctures his balloon--gets him to admit that he himself has "spoken about
virtue hundreds of times, held forth often on the subject in front of large audiences...[but]
now I can't even say what it is"--Meno hauls out the crucial, if cliched, argument--the
"eristikos logos"--that prompts Socrates to invoke Pindar and engage the slave boy as
witness. Yet, even in the face of this evidence, Meno disclaims any interest in the essence
of virtue: what he needs is some lines he can steal from Socrates, lines that will help him
in debate, not in the search for knowledge. Winning is all that matters to him (and to much
of his audience). It's all show. A contest. Whoever gains the audience's favor may get
some disciples as well--money for his lectures, even fame--join the ranks of Gorgias and
�Protagoras, travel Greece, Italy, Asia minor, selling rhetoric.
If you doubt the ugly mood at Athens at this time, consider Aristophanes's play, "The
Clouds," produced during the Peloponnesian War twenty years prior to the time of the
Meno dialog. The litigious propensities of the populace in general become the butt of
rather vicious parody: an old man enrolls his son in what Aristophanes takes to be a
school of sophistry led by Socrates, thereby hoping to escape his creditors in the law
courts. But, the joke is, that as soon as he argues his father out of debt, the son decides
he is also justified in beating him up.
Not so hard to see how, in such a climate, Socrates could be indicted for "impiety," and, in
fact, in the defense recorded at his trial, he himself mentions the play as one of his silent
accusers.
The "trick argument"
We have to take Meno's trick argument seriously, and weigh Socrates's response. If
Meno is right, then knowledge is futile. It doesn't exist unless we can recognize it, and we
can't recognize it without prior knowledge. A dilemma!
On the face of it, Socrates does defeat Meno's objection, by introducing the assumption
that we are born with all knowledge implicit in us. We have merely forgotten what we
knew and need reminding. But, consider the cost of this assumption: nothing ever new;
never an advance in knowledge, just rediscovery of what we learned in a previous life.
And how did we learn that?
No, we have to think twice before we embrace the theory of recollection in its entirety,
even if we can reconcile ourselves to the possibility of a conscious life before we were
born, and the loss of that memory at birth. A permanent, changeless universe is the result,
though it does remove the objection on which Meno's argument depends, since the truth
already resides in us forever, only hidden. All we need to do is bring it to consciousness.
On any given topic we both know and don't know the truth. What will remind us? An
image, a word, a shift in point of view? There lies the skill of the teacher.
For we must remember that a teacher cannot just tell us the answer. If we merely repeat a
sentence without fully understanding it, it isn't really our own sentence. Even if correct, it's
what Socrates calls "true opinion." To become knowledge, it must be "tethered,"as he
says. We must be able to "give an account," explain its connection with other things we
are confident of, use logic to explain how this opinion participates in our common
understanding and derives its conclusions from proper inference and argument deduced
from shared principles.
So, despite Socrates's repeated attempts to split Meno's opening question into two--to
consider the definition of virtue before determining how and whether it can be taught--we
end up with the latter question as the central one: can anything be taught? Now, there's a
�question in which we have a special interest. Virtue may require special means, since it
must include a pragmatic element, but the question of what teaching in general may be,
that demands our full attention. How is any learning possible?
Go to the experts, is the obvious answer. Ask them for the truth and memorize their
answers. Yes, but, of course, we have to be sure their wisdom is wisdom, and reputation
alone for wisdom is not enough.
That is, if a passive grasp of what you are told is all you want, then, yes: ask those who
say they know the truth. You don't even need a teacher. Information is available to
everyone--on the Internet, in books. Learn the current vocabulary, and you can fool a lot
of people about what you know. If, however, you want to own that bit of information, if you
want to be able to say why it earns your conviction and respect, then you need more than
the presumption of authority. You must be able to "give an account"" of the reasons why it
persuades you beyond doubt. At that point, you become your own authority.
There is a price to pay for such knowledge, but it is the only kind truly worthy of its name.
The price is inefficiency. How much simpler and quicker to take the assurance of one
who broadcasts his superiority, who has a reputation, one that has cost years of effort and
study to acquire and maintain. Much easier to trust the reputation, join the disciples of
Gorgias, whose persuasive powers, at least, have gained him a flock of acolytes. A few
rhetorical tricks can persuade the casual listener. But, if we want to be secure in our
knowledge, we have to trace every major argument to its roots ourselves, or, even better,
in the company of honest like-minded seekers after the truth.
"Dead Books"
To repeat Meno's question, but with honest intent: how do we look for new knowledge?
Galileo imagines three seekers after truth: one a disciple of Aristotle called Simplicio; one
a proponent of some new ideas about Nature--Salviati; the third a wise and critical thinker
named Sagredo. The last has advice we might all take to heart: "Pray let us enjoy the
advantages and privileges which come from conversation between friends, especially
upon subjects freely chosen and not forced upon us, a matter vastly different from dealing
with dead books which give rise to many doubts but resolve none."
Is he talking about us?
He could be, perhaps. St. John's is a strange school, and misunderstood more often than
not. We take a devious route. If you want to find out something, one might expect to
consult those who claim they know the truth. That's not us. You'll have a hard time finding
an expert here. You won't find another school so full of amateurs. But "amateurs" ought to
mean "lovers of wisdom"--philosophers, that is, true students.
That's why our school is so often misrepresented: Because our name and our reputation
�paint us the opposite of what we are. We're not a religious institution dedicated to
promulgation of the Gospel, and we have no intention of limiting wisdom to the teachings
of "the Great Books." We read those books because they are worthy partners or even
opponents. There's no book we don't argue with and about. It's a tough fight debating with
Aristotle or Descartes, but what doesn't kill you makes you stronger.
Most people don't know who we are. Our name and our reputation deceive many. "St.
John's," seems to be a declaration of allegiance to the fourth gospel of the New
Testament, does it not? As for our other best known description as "the great books
school," that inevitably makes many people--like Sagredo--think that we base our
teaching on outdated manuscripts, that the Iliad, Almagest and Principia are our
textbooks, and Plato, Aristotle and Newton our teachers. This all depends on what you
mean by "textbooks" and "teachers."
Teachers and their texts are usually regarded as sources of information, of vocabulary
and method, rather than a voice asking us to think for ourselves. But Plato only teaches
us if we argue with him, and with others who defend him. And Aristotle doesn't seem quite
so old fashioned once you sort the wheat from the chaff; if you take care to distinguish his
mistakes from his insights, you might well learn how to do that for yourself when the latest
best seller or political debate captures your attention for a moment.
As to our religious connection, all of you know that we try to read and talk about the Bible
with no more and no less reverence than we read and discuss any other book. Faith
imbues that book with special meaning for some, so we have to learn how to define and
communicate across the bounds of faith. That's another version of how seriously to judge
a claim to authority.
In retrospect Sagredo's critique turns into a question: "What kind of reading and teaching
promotes learning?" And if the authors of the books we read are not authorities, how can
they teach us anything? Whose authority can we trust?
Recognition--the backbone
At Homecoming and on parents' weekend it is not unusual to run into former students and
friends without being sure who they are, Such encounters prompt an unusual state of
mind: one of simultaneous knowledge and ignorance, of familiarity and strangeness. I
remember the face, and yet the hair has grown gray or disappeared or changed so
radically in style that it is hard to see how anything remains to recognize. The face may
well have darkened or broadened, acquired new lines and furrows, added or subtracted a
beard, glasses, jewelry. How can we possibly identify an acquaintance after so long an
absence and so many changes in shape and color?
There may be a gene for such recognition, but I don't have it. My wife does. Despite the
forgetfulness of time, she identifies a chum from high school or even elementary school
that she hasn't seen since childhood. I'm usually left with no more than a nagging
�impression of familiarity without any apparent reason for it, no single feature prompts a
name or the memory of an action or of some feature that will help me identify the
stranger.
Recognition plays a part in music as well, especially where the tune does not rely on text.
And our ability to recall a tune when transposed to a different key, or even when
decorated with trills and other ornaments proves the existence of a profound access to
the essence of melody. How else can we explain the delight we take with theme and
variation, with jazz and improvisation of all kinds? (Play examples, e.g. First variation of
Beethoven's riff on "God Save the King"). Our ability to identify melodic similarities
reaches deep, and can form the basis of theoretical analysis. (Consider 3 tunes--one from
Borodin quartet, Rusalka's aria; "Somewhere Over the Rainbow"). A descending scale
forms the backbone of each of these, and despite their obvious differences, they also
cannot conceal the kinship this skeleton provides.
What connects and what distinguishes different melodies is the basis of enormous
insights into musical theory. Bach discovered that you can stretch out a melody or
compress it, even turn it upside down: we still recognize it. The one transformation that
escapes us is reverse order of tones. Play a tune backwards and few if any of us will
recall its original. (Example, maybe: first phrase backwards of "God save the king..."
i.e., "My country, 'tis of thee...") Unlike faces, music belongs to time and time belongs to
music. The Beatles and Led Zeppelin experimented with such retrograde melodies in the
Eighties, and generated controversy as a result of what came to be called "backmasking."
What were they hiding? Did there songs contain a covert message? Were they spies?
Delivering coded reports? They meant all in fun, but some people saw a potential threat in
their games. For us this proves only, that music advances forward in time, never the
reverse.
So symmetry plays little part in a melody as it does in a face, since we don't hear it as
such. Spoken or sung, words fall in between these extremes: time and tone inhere in
poetry; less so or not at all in prose. And forced verbal symmetry only becomes a riddle, a
palindrome. Contrast this with melody: Whatever identifies it belongs to time--not just to
succession in time, as does speech--but to measured time, to rhythm. Faces, on the other
hand, belong to spaces, though they do need orientation to be recognized. Not
temporally: What turns out to be essential to our perception of a face is uprightness:
vertical orientation. A face upside down somehow loses its identity, much as does a
melody played backwards. Where Melodies display their profiles bit by bit and only in
time; faces sound all their notes and tones in space, and all at once.
What about thought embodied in words? Like melodies in time or faces in space, words
may actually obscure the truth if their orientation doesn't suit us. Rhetorical manipulations
can distort the message intentionally or unintentionally. Does the form of myth that
Socrates favors or his mode of questioning distort or amplify the truth? I suspect that his
images make clearer his ideas--for example, maybe we do often sit in some kind of cave
of our own heritage and custom until someone helps us rise, turn and escape. Such a
myth may reveal the truth of our condition better than a more traditional depiction in terms
�of politics and education. Or perhaps the dialectical method is what brings us face to face
with the truth most immediately by circumventing our prejudices. It is worthwhile hunting
down the forms of discourse that clarify meaning and distinguish them from others that
may distort or obscure the text.
The powers of recognition affect our lives in all kinds of crucial ways. Even our cells--the
very elements of our bodies--need to identify one another. And sometimes such kinship is
misleading, as when a cancer cell pretends benign kinship rather than danger and
hostility to the body it inhabits. The cells we see growing out of control: they are our own
cells, aren't they? Could they possibly be harmful? In a Darwinian world, it is important to
distinguish true friends from enemies as soon as possible.
Back to the Meno.
The Meno--how is learning possible?
Is the struggle to identify aging faces similar to what goes on when try to learn
something? In the dialog in which Meno is his principal interlocutor, Socrates says 'yes:' it
is just a matter of recollecting what we have forgotten, since, before we were born we met
all knowledge, and merely need to recall it.
Now, it is true that the effect of arriving at the truth may resemble the pleasure we feel at
meeting an old friend whom we may have forgotten in his or her absence. But, if the only
way we discover anything is by recalling it, then we never learn anything new. We know
everything knowable already; it just slips our minds until someone or something reminds
us. Mired in the past, we never advance, always playing "catch-up."
Such seems to be the consequence of embracing Socrates's suggestion that learning is
just recollection. Moreover, this theory doesn't really explain how, even in a previous
state, our soul ever found out anything. Were we told the truth, and just accepted this
passively? What kind of experience unavailable to us in this life on Earth discovers the
truth to us before we are born? And why is it no longer open to us? And if not confronted
during our lifetime, how can we ever understand it outside our mortal existence.
The stultifying consequences of relying on a literal reading of Socrates's tale of
recollection must have given him at least some doubts. It is Meno's attack on learning in
general that prompts Socrates to respond in this way. For Meno has delivered a nasty
blow to education: how, indeed, can we learn anything worth knowing if we don't already
know it well enough to recognize its truth? Does truth prevail upon us with reliable signs
of its validity? And why are they reliable? No, one might well follow Meno blindly into the
abyss that ascribes all knowledge to authority, to the force of rhetoric or politics, to belief,
not knowledge. Knowledge, according people like him, is just information. We "learn" by
dictation. Someone in authority tells the "truth," and we adopt it until another contradicts
with greater force, that is, one might be tempted to say: with greater truth.
�But even if Socrates's myths and demonstrations are his means of combatting defeatist
formulas like the one Meno dredges up at this point, how are we to take them? If literal,
the myth of recollection leaves us in a static world of fixed and finite knowledge: we never
discover anything new, just recover what we already knew but forgot. Is there a less
restrictive way of understanding "recollection?" Some way that encourages us to explore
and find out for ourselves?
One thing we must agree on: any assertion must acquire a verbal form for us to be
capable of weighing and examining its truth.
In the Theatetus, Socrates speaks of himself as a "midwife," someone who merely assists
at a birth, someone who helps decide whether the birth of an idea that produces real
offspring or just a "wind egg." Here arises the possibility of a real advance in knowledge,
for whatever idea this verbal "child" represents inherits nothing from the "midwife," but
solely from the "parent," the one who first puts the idea into words. So, Theatetus does not
have to rely on previous existence or experience to articulate the truth. His definition of
knowledge, for example, may be evaluated independent of its "parentage," as soon as it
is born into verbal form.
Here is one way out of the dilemma presented by the theory of recollection: learning is not
just recognition of something already known, but can be the birth of something new in the
soul. Thus also the slave boy in the Meno dialog: once he has been shown a line upon
which to build the double square, he must examine it and test it to make it knowledge and
not just true opinion--"tether it" so that it won't run away, as Socrates says. You don't
really know anything unless you can account for it with a logical argument that ties it down
and makes it yours.
How important is it that the slave boy received help to discover the proper line? It doesn't
detract from Socrates's refusal to claim ownership of this line as long as the boy accepts
the diagonal as a mere candidate for what is sought, one that ignores any influence of the
teacher, of Socrates. The line is like a hypothesis--it gains acceptance with testing. The
more we wrestle with a hypothesis, the more it persuades us.
There is another advantage to be gained from this "maieutic theory" expounded in the
Theatetus: one discovery can prompt others. Thus, the diagonal that solves the problem
posed by Socrates in the Meno has properties interesting to explore. Were the slave boy
encouraged to examine this line in relation to the sides of the square he might possibly
notice that they are not commensurable: no line, however small, can measure both side
and diagonal precisely. Here could begin a whole new science, one which makes clear
the essential mathematical difference between arithmetic and geometry. Surely it is no
accident that we discover Theatetus at the start of his dialog eagerly exploring the nature
of incommensurability as expressed by surds: what we would call square roots and their
relations: the incommensurables.
The recollection myth (I think at this point I can call it a myth) recurs in the Phaedo. But
there it is the face of death, not ignorance that inspires the tale. It is the day assigned to
�Socrates's execution, and Socrates realizes that he must find a way to comfort the friends
and disciples he will leave behind when he swallows the poison. So he must convince
them that he will survive death: the soul lives not only before birth, as the theory of
recollection requires, but after death as well. Immortality!
But forgetfulness as well. The same dilemma confronts us as in the Meno. Our mortal life
never teaches us anything, says that dialog, at best recalling what we learned before we
were born. The world of ideas fixes us forever the same, nothing new ever greets us.
One more dialog comes to mind, when we search for the answer to the question of how
learning is possible: the Phaedrus. An indirect answer, perhaps, but a compelling one:
"Beauty alone has this privilege," says Socrates, "to be most manifest to sense and most
lovely of them all" (i.e. of the forms of the virtues, like temperance, justice and wisdom-c.f. 250d). That is, we fall in love because we see the form itself of beauty, and by this
passion can recognize the fact that we have come face to face with an ideal, with a
platonic "eidos," or form, something usually obscured by our bodies, by failures to
describe it in language, by the conflict of needs and desires, by the distractions and
exigencies of everyday life.
Now, Socrates maintains that sight is the clearest sense, and the faculty that affords us
the best glimpse of beauty. But I wonder what music has to contribute to the longing for
virtue, knowledge and wisdom. What appeals to the eye and what appeals to the ear
should have something in common, if we call both the sight and the sound "beautiful,"
even if that common thread of beauty eludes words. Socrates does not mention it, so
focused is he on dialectic and discourse, but experience can sometimes be better shared
without relying on textual explication. Try to tell someone who has never been in the water
how it feels to dive or to swim. No, you have to get your feet wet to know what swimming
is.
Many of us think of music as song. The latest hit is almost always identified with its text.
But the marriage of words and melody is always uneasy. It is tempting to consider the
music as derivative: first came lyrics, then we "set them to music," much as we might add
illustrations to a story. Hardly ever does the music come first.
If we go back a few hundred years, however, we find a different story. The seventeenth,
eighteenth and nineteenth centuries of our own millennium brought about a revolution.
Instrumental music freed itself from text, made it clear that words could get in the way. In
prior centuries, a band might decorate a dance or a dinner, but I doubt anyone thought of
celebrating the music for its own sake, other than to provide a pleasant background.
We've come a long way since then. A symphony or a sonata doesn't sound incomplete
because lacking text. In fact, words would interfere and distract from the purely musical
experience. Think how silly it would be to add words to a Beethoven symphony, e.g.
"Beethoven's Fifth...Gives you a lift." An advertising jingle at best!
Opera? Well, yes. It evolved during the same time that instrumental music branched out
on its own. But there's always a shaky marriage between text and music, and in practice
�almost inevitably we regard the words as primary, the music as at best commentary and
illustration. We do associate musical gestures with energy and passion, but with little
precision. Is an aria delivered with love or anger? To find out for sure, we consult the plot,
character and lyrics rather than the melody or rhythm.
The music can, of course, compliment the passions called for by the drama, and raise the
level of enjoyment far above cliche or awkwardness in the words sung. In which case we
might well choose to ignore the textual details, retaining only its general sentiment. But to
omit all reference to the character's role and the immediate circumstances of plot would
defeat the purpose of the opera. As for listening to music without words, much of the
richness of that experience depends on transformation and recognition: on our
extraordinary ability to detect similarities in a melody even when transposed to a different
key or mode, decorated with trills and other musical flourishes, stretched out or
compressed in time, altered rhythmically: in short, to recognize a melodic profile.
So song writing or musical drama must always present a struggle between two very
different arts: a fruitful struggle, perhaps, but always a rivalry. Whatever can be expressed
in words will almost inevitably capture our attention first, since that can prompt debate in
words. But something immediately displays its absence if we eliminate the music and
read a libretto like a drama. Can the same thing be said were we to hear an opera without
words, or even sung in a language we don't understand? As is true of most operas we're
likely to hear.
An article in the July issue of "New Scientist" (?) talks about new technology to help
identify nuances in facial and vocal expression that convey subtle but significant
information about emotions, nuances that we are aware of perhaps only half the time but
are reliable indicators. Companies have already invested in instruments--e.g. special
glasses--to amplify and interpret such cues in order to increase sales. Scary!
Not quite so frightening, perhaps, if we recall (from the tale of Odysseus's dog, Argus)
that animals are quite adept at simple recognition of that kind: of mood and attitude as
well as physical identity. Peculiar to mankind is a much deeper and more subtle kind of
recognition. We at least try to glimpse the face of truth and the melody of justice! (Or the
face of justice and the melody of understanding.)
Our powers of recognition extend all the way from cell to sensation to thought.
Socrates would be suspicious of the claim to musical recognition, if for no other reason
than the difficulty we have talking about pure music without relying on cumbersome
technical jargon.
The problem is more acute with the printed word than with sheet music, for words can
signify silently, music can not. It is not necessary to translate a sentence into speech-spoken speech, that is--for it to mean something, whereas silent music is no music at all.
Except in the case of poetry, it is not the experience of hearing speech that is important,
whereas it is precisely perception of the pitch, timbre, dynamics and rhythmic profile that
makes music what it is, Thus, our pleasure in listening to a concert may be complete
�simply in listening to it, but there is always something missing when we read a dialog.
Reading it aloud wouldn't help much. We can't share thoughts in the same way as we
share music. Music comes alive with performance. A dialog must be generated anew from
principles and ideas, melted in the cauldron of conversation before it comes to life again.
None of this denigrates the power of music, but it does make a spoken dialog a more
precarious mode of communication, in which the reader or auditor must participate as an
act-er not as an act-or. That is, one can only play a genuine part in a Platonic dialog by
confronting its ideas directly, seriously, honestly, refuting them where possible; adopting
them where necessary, and always with another person to respond, argue and speculate
on his or her own behalf. Perception of a dialog alone is not enough. One must join in,
and not just pretend to. Everyone's knowledge and understanding are at stake.
Immortality
So, as far as the Meno is concerned (or any other Platonic dialog, for that matter) we
have to interpret, not swallow whole. It's not gospel. Indeed, when I'm listening to Plato,
the gospel itself isn't "gospel," for that requires a faculty of judgment none of us are born
with, and hence has to be granted us by divine dispensation. As Kierkegaard says, when
Plato speaks no special monitor provides the condition necessary to understand what is
said. We can discover his meaning for ourselves, and without Plato's help. My own
attempt to wrestle with the dialog is for my benefit, no one else's. I harvest what I can
from that struggle, taking care not to fall too easily under the spell of Socrates (who does
indeed perhaps resemble the torpedo fish to which Meno compares him--I have to be
careful not to be numbed by his wonderful myths and images). Reading the gospel as
"gospel," however, requires privileged access.
Many of the dialogs, including the Meno, refer to a kind of immortality, insofar as they
focus on the soul and its being and existence and fate. Our bodies grow, age and perish;
the elements of memory, passion and reason that we want to identify with soul evolve in a
different way, for, although some faculties may weaken with age, knowledge accumulates,
and to some extent makes up for losses in speed and power. So, one is tempted to follow
Socrates's lead in ascribing a life to the soul distinct from the body.
But what kind of life? Do we survive as ourselves after death? With all the personality and
memories we call our own exclusively? Could we have existed preformed and preinformed
even before we were born, as Socrates claims in the Meno, Republic and other
dialogs? And, if we are not to take either of both of these hypotheses literally, how are we
to interpret them?
We have already mentioned the disadvantages that accompany an assumption of all
knowledge preexisting in us before birth: the rigidity involved in permanence, the lack of
possibility of growth, of true discovery and learning. If, with Aristotle, you assume the
existence of an omniscient mind of some kind, then we are perpetually groping towards
something that always exists, however elusively, out of our reach. The truth does not
�grow; it is we who grow towards it (if we are lucky and persistent).
Plato's intellectual cosmos seems to take a similar stance: "the soul has learned all
things." But, to corroborate this myth, Socrates engages Meno's slave in a demonstration
that leads further than the myth itself. For it looks as if the boy really learns something,
something we don't have to assume he already knew but forgot, despite Socrates's
insistence. The one part of the demonstration we must hold on to is the birth of the new
geometric notion in his head, and, consequently, the curiosity and insight that birth must
invoke. It is even possible, that, were he not a slave, the boy might have pursued some of
the thoughts that inevitably spiral out from this discovery of the square's diagonal, in the
way that Theatetus must have done under the tutelage of Theodorus: new thoughts about
incommensurability and number and geometry. And so knowledge can grow and advance
without the memory inherited from a prior existence, which could well turn out to be more
an impediment than a help.
Of course, such new knowledge must be evaluated and tested. That is how it crystallizes
into true knowledge. To begin with, it threatens to run away, like the statues of Daedulus
(which were so lifelike, they could escape without warning.) It must be '"tethered,"as
Socrates explains in the latter part of the dialog, it must be supported by argument, by a
"logos," an account that answers potential objections or misunderstandings, that links one
bit of knowledge to another to build a coherent whole. Just presenting the argument as a
whole doesn't work. Each individual must make the connections himself or herself for it to
advance from opinion to knowledge.
So, the Socratic myth that best introduces the possibility of a true advance in knowledge
is rather the one that makes the teacher a "midwife" rather than a lecturer. Or maybe I
could suggest another myth to supplement this one: a gymnast. Socrates is your
opponent, a worthy opponent. Don't let him distract you or flatter you with his charming
tales and images. You must wrestle with him and his ideas if you want to discover your
own. No. He's not present? Then, let someone else take his part.
Gymnastics and music: some of you may recall how these two disciplines played a major
role in the education of the young in Socrates's republic. There they were intended to
balance the soul at an early stage of learning, before our full skill in verbalization has
developed. But even after we have developed the ability to speak and argue, gymnastics
and music continue to support the advance of understanding, each in its own way.
Gymnastics becomes more a struggle with words and ideas than with bodies,
transforming itself into dialectic. Music evolves into the participation in what I have to call
the spiritual legacy of mankind, in an experience that transcends the separateness of
individuals to share the best of imagination, thought and perception we all inherit from a
universal past: universal because it has no specific interest in physical desire and
necessity. The musical world cannot be measured nor limited by scientific tools, but only
enjoyed by the human being as a whole. To relish the full experience, you have to listen
and think at the same time.
But for us to take part in this artistic resource in music--as in the legacy of argument and
�discussion--we need notation, we need to capture and preserve the experience in some
symbolic form that can inspire performance. For music, this requires a notation; for
philosophy we need the printed word.
Socrates himself doubts the efficacy of print. Too dumb and inflexible. Lysias's speech, for
example (in the Phaedrus) gets torn to shreds by the subsequent dialog. But it also
spawns competition on the part of Socrates to elevate the discussion with image and
argument: e.g., by introducing the charioteer, Thoth, the Egyptian god of hieroglyphics,
and Typhon, the windy abductor, who may still haunt the grove where he and Phaedrus
find shade and conversation. In the end we have to question Socrates's own concern for
privacy. After all, he refused to write anything down, and, as he seems to assert at the
conclusion of the Phaedrus, warned others against the soullessness of print. Without a
speaker, speech becomes a fossil. Don't freeze your speech. It will be misread and
misunderstood and won't be able to defend itself. It always needs an advocate.
So, had Plato not dared to disobey his mentor, we would all be at a loss, not only for the
opinions expressed in the dialogs, but for the chance to challenge and modify and
develop them, make them our own, take a step forward in philosophy, progress beyond
where we were. The danger of misstep and mistake is always there, yes, but that's what
friends (and even enemies!) are for: to help us when we stumble.
There's another reason we have to be grateful for print and paper. Over the centuries
we have accumulated a great legacy of literary, philosophical and musical works. We can
participate in our inheritance whenever we choose--actively in the case of philosophy;
passively for most of us in the case of music. Philosophy is in its nature never complete,
always searching. Music, on the other hand asks for performance, yes, but not for
substantial changes. It is enough just to become a part of that world created by gifted
composers in the past, and we do so whenever we listen attentively. We have no interest
in changing or developing an argument in music, as we do in discussing prose. Sharing in
the musical experience is our aim, not improving it. Participating in our artistic inheritance
is a form of immortality, one accessible to all of us.
Conclusion
There are several different ways in which we can learn, then. We can adopt the
vocabulary of another person, naming things and ideas with sounds and groups of letters
that have been accepted as common reference to those things and ideas. That is the
level of simple information. If we don't know the name of an animal we saw, we can
describe it until our description recalls a picture to our interlocutor, and prompts a name:
"large, heavy, gray, with a nose hanging down in front like a hose..." "Oh, you mean an
elephant"
For such recognition all you need is someone who speaks the same language. But with a
concept like "justice," you need an especially thoughtful correspondent, one who can
develop the idea both in opposition and in agreement. That's part of the "tethering"
�process. It's clear that the latter approach is the one that might expand the bounds of
knowledge, building but not dependent on a common vocabulary through which we can
conduct the dialog. So, yes, we need both types of learning and teaching, and the right
balance between the two kinds of knowledge isn't always easy. If I am drawn more the
latter, that is because it alone includes the possibility of advance in our human desire to
grow, to find new planets to visit and new ideas to explore. The other kind--information-becomes easier to find every day. But it's borrowed knowledge at best: a "statue of
Daedulus, if you will, that we can admire at a distance. To dwell with it long enough for it
to become part of ourselves, to become "second nature," so that we can explain and
demonstrate well enough to engage and convince others: that requires more effort than
we may be willing to give it. But if we don't tie them down well, these "statues" will run
away. We'll be left with mere information, with hearsay, not knowledge. The serious
pursuit of music and gymnastics--of their mature form in art and dialogue--can achieve
the balance of thought and experience which was what Socrates sought to create in both
child and adult.
The prescription of both gymnastics and music for education does not cease when we
move into adulthood and acquire skill at putting our thoughts into words. I may disagree
with Socrates here to some extant, because he seems to be all too quick to discard what
our eyes and ears can contribute to the well-being of us as sensitive as well as rational
creatures, capable of perception as well as thought. Dialectic can embody elements of the
both disciplines in a mature form: let gymnastics graduate into the art of wrestling with
words rather than bodies; let music become the search for harmony in general, for the
reconciliation of differences. But gymnastics should continue to exercise our bodies in its
original form as well, and music to delight and lead our sentient selves into the
participation in the beauty and truth which our most talented and ingenious predecessors
have made accessible to all of us whenever we want. Human wisdom, the creations of the
human mind and spirit, belongs to all of us; we take nourishment from it when we will.**
* The title page was added by the catalog librarian at the Greenfield Library. The title of the lecture was taken from the
St. John’s College 2012/2013 lecture schedule.
** The last line was transcribed from the recording of this lecture.
�
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Description
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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
Text
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paper
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16 pages
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Stephenson, David Hanford
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Melodies and faces : a Meno meditation
Date
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2012-11-02
Format
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pdf
Description
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Typescript of a lecture delivered on November 02, 2012 by David Stephenson as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Publisher
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St. John's College
Coverage
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Annapolis, MD
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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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text
Subject
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Plato, Meno
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English
Identifier
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Bib # 80766
Relation
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<a title="Audio recording" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/57">Audio recording</a>
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/dc3b74af041e0df8574f11049a1c06b0.MP3
1897c9ec32131e3b216e3b75b292058d
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
Title
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St. John's College Formal Lecture Series—Annapolis
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formallectureseriesannapolis
Sound
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Original Format
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CD
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00:42:57
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Wells, Jonathan
Title
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Poetry reading from "Train Dance"
Date
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2012-01-27
Format
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mp3
Description
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on January 27, 2012 by Jonathan Wells as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
Publisher
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St. John's College
Coverage
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Annapolis, MD
Rights
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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. To make an audio recording of my lecture available on the St. John's College web site."
Type
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sound
Language
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English
Identifier
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Bib # 80190
Friday night lecture
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/b5562b510a3c8b9abe85507676a7f7c5.mp3
f27f132b272bfd29851a3c3ccd518644
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
Sound
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Original Format
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CD
Duration
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01:00:40
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Lucretius on the Nature of Things
Description
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Audio recording of a lecture delivered on April 13, 2012, by Margaret Kirby as part of the Formal Lecture Series.
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Kirby, Margaret Anne, 1956-
Publisher
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St. John's College
Date
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2012-04-13
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Annapolis, MD
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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. To make a typescript copy of my lecture available for circulation and archival preservation in the St. John's College Greenfield Library. To make an audio recording of my lecture available on the St. John's College web site. To make a copy of my typescript available online."
Type
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sound
Format
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mp3
Subject
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Lucretius Carus, Titus. De rerum natura
Language
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English
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LEC_Kirby_Margaret_2012-04-13_ac
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<a title="Typescript" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/show/38">Typescript</a>
Friday night lecture
Tutors
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https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/20ad6c6955ced9bd6e718d0e0964ca33.pdf
982565d1972cd458c1077a4e13a81939
PDF Text
Text
ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE,
ANNAPOLIS, MARYLAND.
D. D., Pi·esident and Prefessor of .Moral Science.
M. D., Prqfessor ef Jlncient Languages.
DAVID J. CAPRON, A. M., Prefessor ef .Mathematics and Civil Engineering.
Rev. E. J. STEARNS, A. M., Professor ef .Modern Languages.
WILLIAM H. THOMPSON, A. M., Prqfessor ef Gram;mar.
NICHOLAS B. WoRTHINGTON, A. M., Libmrian and Steward.
Rev.
HECTOR HUMPHREYS,
EDWARD SPARKS,
ST. JoHN's COLLEGE has a pleasant location on the Severn.; and by Rail Road and Steamboats, has daily communication
with Washington and Baltimore, and with the Eastern Shore of Maryland. An experience of sixty years has shown the situation to be
eminently healthful.
Society here is highly respectable and refined, and maintains a wholesome and efficient public opinion, which
necessarily restrains the conduct of young men who are amenable to it.
There are four Churches for a population of about 4000; and
few cities can' be found where the Lord's Day is more generally observed and revered; or where the Ordinances of the Gospel are
more regularly and faithfully administered .
.The General Government has placed its Naval .academy here, on account of the healthiness of the place, as well as for its convenience; and has on active duty a corps of more than a dozen Professors and .Teachers, besides .its Execu,tive Officers; who form an
interesting portion of om· community.
�St. John's has a competent Faculty of experienced Professors; whose lives have been devoted to teaching; who keep the·
classes in their respective rooms, during the College hours., and each study is pursued, without intermission, to its completion, before a
class is permitted to pass to another; the object being to give a thorough knowledge of all the branches of education, instead of a mere
superficial acquaintance, which could be obtained by substituting different lessons for the several days of the week.
Chcmisti·y, Geology, and .Mineralogy are .taught by complete Cabinets of Specimens, both American and European; by Text
Books and Lectures; and by analysis.
A Cabinet of Soils, already analysed, is arranged for examination; and the processes of the
Laboratory are performed before the Students; and make a part of their course of study.
Rocks from all parts of the world, belong tn
the collection; and they are arranged in geological order, accompanied by characteristic fossils; so that every facility is afforded, not
only for understanding the deposition of the strata, but their chemical composition, and the agents concerned in their formation.
It is not needful to enumerate the articles ot apparatus for .Natural Philosophy, and .dstronomy.
Every branch of the former is
folly illustrated by experiments in Mechanics, Hydrostaticks, Pneumatics, Optics, Electricity, and Magnetism; and in the latter,.
besides the theoretical science, the students are taught the practical art of making and reducing observations for Latitude, Longitude,.
~nd '.11ime.
Theodolites, Sextants, Compasses and Levels, of the most approved construction, are used in practice with the Classes;.
and the whole art of Surveying and Levelling is communicated by exercises in the field.
The course in the Latin and Greek Languages is quite equal to that of any American College; and the French and Spanish are
taught, without extra charge, in the most thorough manner, in daily recitations and during the entire period.
One student from each county of the State may be received free of all bills of tuition or for Lectures, through the whole
course; and ten students, besides tuition, are furnished with Books and Stationery, under provisions of an act of Assembly.
A Scale of Merit and .Demerit marks is kept; and after each public examination an abstract of the scholar's standing in the
room of each Professor, and on the general roll of the classes, is sent to each Parent and Guardian.
A Committee of Gentlemen of the alumni and others, are invited to attend the Examinations, with the Committee of the
Board; and original and selected declamations are delivered, on these occasions, to show the proficiency of the Students in this, as in
other Exercises.
Premiums and distinctions, conferred during the sessions, are announced at the public examinations; and the names
of the first and second students in the order of merit, in the respective branches, are recorded in the President's Book; and a statement thereof is communicated to the Parent or Guardian in the Circular.
The names of the Valedictory and Salutatory Orators are
also enrolled on a permanent record.
The Evidences of Revealed Religion are fully taught to the regular classes, from the most approved Text Books, after the course
in Ethics; and Christianity, without Sectarianism, is inculcated in the religious exercises of the College.
A Voluntary Class is
instructed on Sunday by the President, by reading the Holy Scriptures in Greek, and illustrating them by approved Commentaries.
At the close of the Examination for Degrees the students are dismissed, with appropriate exercises, after the Honors are
awarded; and an address is delivered by one of the Professors.
The Alumni are earnestly solicited to make known the claims of St. John's to such as are seeking an education; more especially since no sectarian zeal can be invoked to induce parents to place their sons here.
The ComiJtons, under the charge of JV". B.
Worthington, Esq., a Graduate of the College, can be cordially recommended as deserving the most unreserved confidence.
PAYABLE
QUARTERLY
IN
ADVANCE.
$120
24
32
40
50
The charge per annum, for Board, is
Tuition, in the Grammar School,
"
Preparatory Class,
"
Freshman and Sophomore Classes,
"
Juhior and Senior Classes,
"
"
Fuel, lights and washing are estimated at $35;-if two occupy the same apartment the expense will be about $25 each,
Students' apartments will be furnished, if required, for which an extra charge will be made.
for damage to college property.
This is the only extra charge except
Money for the student's use must be placed in the hands of the President, one of the professors, or
of the steward :-who will disburse it in accordance with written instructions of the parent or guardian.
under severe penalties, any person giving credit to students of St. John's College, except for medical aid.
A law of the State forbids,
�There are three sessions in the college year; commencing on the first Monday in September, and on the Mondays following
the Christmas and Easter holidays respectively.
The .J.lnnual Commencement is held on the 22d of February; when the alumni meet, to revive their associations, and to concert
measures for the welfure of their Alma Mater.
It is contemplated to build a new edifice for the Grammar School, which shall exhibit all the modern improvements in school
architecture, as soon as the funds shall be obtained.
There has been a large accession of late to the number of students, from different parts of the State, and from other colleges.
The population of Annapolis has increased from 2792 to 4200 during the period of the last census; and the unfounded prejudice,
in regard to the character of the place for health and morals, must be rapidly dispelled, by the united testimony of the fumilies who
have taken their residence in the Naval Academy, from different States of the Union. It is well known that both Army and Navy
officers who have resided here, have uniformly regarded this as one of the healthiest stations belonging to the Government.
The broad Chesapeake Bay spreads out in front of Annapolis; and from the Optical Room of St. John's the view is one of
peculiar beauty and grandeur.
There are few spots where the sons of Maryland should feel higher or more powerful incentives c<r
patriotism, or acknowledge more deeply their duty to study her welfare, by a zealous pursuit of the paths of learning and virtue;
and gentlemen who receive this Circular are solicited to diffuse as widely as possible th~ information it contains, which is believed to
be of importance to the best interests and true economy of the State.
SCALE
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ST. JOHN'S COLLEGE, Jctniiary 1st, 1852.
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Dublin Core
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College Catalogs and Statements of the Program
Creator
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St. John's College
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St. John's College
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St. John's College Greenfield Library
Description
An account of the resource
Statements of the Program are published each Academic Year. They provide an overview of the program and historical information about the college. <br /><br />The titles of these publications have changed over the course of the College's history. From the 19th century through 1971 they were titled Catalogue. During this period, some Catalogues were distributed as issues of <em>The Bulletin of St. John's College</em>. The title changed from Catalogues to Statement of the Program with the 1972-1973 publication. <br /><br />Also included in this collection are Graduate Institute catalogs and promotional publications about the St. John's program. <br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="College Catalogues" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=10">Items in the College Catalogs and Statements of the Program Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
collegecatalogs
Text
A resource consisting primarily of words for reading. Examples include books, letters, dissertations, poems, newspapers, articles, archives of mailing lists. Note that facsimiles or images of texts are still of the genre Text.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
paper
Page numeration
Number of pages in the original item.
3 pages
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
St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland.
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
St. John's College
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Date
A point or period of time associated with an event in the lifecycle of the resource
1852-01-01
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
pdf
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
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
Humphreys, Rev. Hector.
Sparks, Edward.
Capron, David J.
Stearns, Edward Josiah, 1810-1890.
Thompson, William H.
Worthington, Nicholas B.
Description
An account of the resource
College catalog for the year 1852.
Catalog
Catalogue
-
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208469ce3496d676f3f16943ad366f5f
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
Photographic Archive—Annapolis
Description
An account of the resource
<p>The Greenfield Library photographic archive houses over 5,000 photographs. The photographs in the collection document the history, academic, and community life of St. John’s College. The Library’s mission is to organize and preserve these unique visual materials, and to provide access to this collection. </p>
To learn more about our photographic use policy or to obtain high resolution images, please see the <strong><a title="Photographic Archive Use Policy" href="http://www.sjc.edu/academic-programs/libraries/greenfield-library/policies/#photographicarchivepolicy" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Library’s Photographic Archive Use Policy</a></strong>.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Photographic Archives" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=7">Items in the Photographic Archive—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
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
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
photographicarchiveannapolis
Still Image
A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials.
Physical Dimensions
The actual physical size of the original image
11.5 x 15.5 cm.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
photograph
Resolution
Resolution of the image in dpi.
600 dpi
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/.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SJC-P-0346
Title
A name given to the resource
Interior of The Great Hall in McDowell Hall, St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland
Description
An account of the resource
1 photographic print : b&w
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Unknown
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
1933 [circa]
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College owns the rights to this photograph.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
still image
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
jpeg
Subject
The topic of the resource
St. John's College (Annapolis, Md.). -- McDowell Hall -- Great Hall -- 1930-1940.
McDowell Hall
-
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6c8917451f9b5d2d990b1854311aae5e
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
Photographic Archive—Annapolis
Description
An account of the resource
<p>The Greenfield Library photographic archive houses over 5,000 photographs. The photographs in the collection document the history, academic, and community life of St. John’s College. The Library’s mission is to organize and preserve these unique visual materials, and to provide access to this collection. </p>
To learn more about our photographic use policy or to obtain high resolution images, please see the <strong><a title="Photographic Archive Use Policy" href="http://www.sjc.edu/academic-programs/libraries/greenfield-library/policies/#photographicarchivepolicy" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Library’s Photographic Archive Use Policy</a></strong>.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Photographic Archives" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=7">Items in the Photographic Archive—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
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
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
photographicarchiveannapolis
Still Image
A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials.
Physical Dimensions
The actual physical size of the original image
25.5 x 20.5 cm.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
photograph
Resolution
Resolution of the image in dpi.
600 dpi
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/.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SJC-P-0350
Title
A name given to the resource
Interior of The Great Hall in McDowell Hall, St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland
Description
An account of the resource
1 photographic print : b&w
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Unknown
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
1930-1950 [circa]
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College owns the rights to this photograph.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
still image
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
jpeg
Subject
The topic of the resource
St. John's College (Annapolis, Md.). -- McDowell Hall -- Great Hall.
McDowell Hall
-
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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
Photographic Archive—Annapolis
Description
An account of the resource
<p>The Greenfield Library photographic archive houses over 5,000 photographs. The photographs in the collection document the history, academic, and community life of St. John’s College. The Library’s mission is to organize and preserve these unique visual materials, and to provide access to this collection. </p>
To learn more about our photographic use policy or to obtain high resolution images, please see the <strong><a title="Photographic Archive Use Policy" href="http://www.sjc.edu/academic-programs/libraries/greenfield-library/policies/#photographicarchivepolicy" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Library’s Photographic Archive Use Policy</a></strong>.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Photographic Archives" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=7">Items in the Photographic Archive—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
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
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
photographicarchiveannapolis
Still Image
A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials.
Physical Dimensions
The actual physical size of the original image
mount 12.5 x 7.5 cm., image 5.5 x 5.5 cm.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
photograph
Resolution
Resolution of the image in dpi.
600 dpi
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/.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SJC-P-0365
Title
A name given to the resource
Side View of McDowell Hall with Cupola, St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland
Description
An account of the resource
1 photographic print : b&w
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Unknown
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
1930-1940 (circa)
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College owns the rights to this photograph.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
still image
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
jpeg
Subject
The topic of the resource
St. John's College (Annapolis, Md.). -- McDowell Hall -- 1930-1940.
McDowell Hall
-
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452abc8b14dc9fe8265df326673c3340
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
Photographic Archive—Annapolis
Description
An account of the resource
<p>The Greenfield Library photographic archive houses over 5,000 photographs. The photographs in the collection document the history, academic, and community life of St. John’s College. The Library’s mission is to organize and preserve these unique visual materials, and to provide access to this collection. </p>
To learn more about our photographic use policy or to obtain high resolution images, please see the <strong><a title="Photographic Archive Use Policy" href="http://www.sjc.edu/academic-programs/libraries/greenfield-library/policies/#photographicarchivepolicy" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Library’s Photographic Archive Use Policy</a></strong>.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Photographic Archives" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=7">Items in the Photographic Archive—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
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
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
photographicarchiveannapolis
Still Image
A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials.
Physical Dimensions
The actual physical size of the original image
19.5 x 16 cm.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
photograph
Resolution
Resolution of the image in dpi.
600 dpi
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/.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SJC-P-0391
Title
A name given to the resource
Side View of McDowell Hall with Cupola in the Snow, St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland
Description
An account of the resource
1 photographic print : b&w
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Unknown
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
1960-1970 [circa]
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College owns the rights to this photograph.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
still image
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
jpeg
Subject
The topic of the resource
McDowell Hall (St. John's College, Annapolis, MD) 1960-1970.
McDowell Hall
-
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8a869929dbd91900e4381f5d172f724b
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
Photographic Archive—Annapolis
Description
An account of the resource
<p>The Greenfield Library photographic archive houses over 5,000 photographs. The photographs in the collection document the history, academic, and community life of St. John’s College. The Library’s mission is to organize and preserve these unique visual materials, and to provide access to this collection. </p>
To learn more about our photographic use policy or to obtain high resolution images, please see the <strong><a title="Photographic Archive Use Policy" href="http://www.sjc.edu/academic-programs/libraries/greenfield-library/policies/#photographicarchivepolicy" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Library’s Photographic Archive Use Policy</a></strong>.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Photographic Archives" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=7">Items in the Photographic Archive—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
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
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
photographicarchiveannapolis
Still Image
A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials.
Physical Dimensions
The actual physical size of the original image
18.5 x 12.5 cm.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
photograph
Resolution
Resolution of the image in dpi.
600 dpi
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/.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SJC-P-0395
Title
A name given to the resource
The Beneficial-Hodson Boathouse with View of College Creek, St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland
Description
An account of the resource
1 photographic print : b&w
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Unknown
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
1940-1950 [circa]
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College owns the rights to this photograph.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
still image
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
jpeg
Subject
The topic of the resource
Beneficial-Hodson Boathouse (St. John's College, Annapolis, MD) 1940-1950.
College Creek (Annapolis, MD).
Hodson Boathouse
-
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fb085e782b581fba784b2c9f5aa146c8
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
Photographic Archive—Annapolis
Description
An account of the resource
<p>The Greenfield Library photographic archive houses over 5,000 photographs. The photographs in the collection document the history, academic, and community life of St. John’s College. The Library’s mission is to organize and preserve these unique visual materials, and to provide access to this collection. </p>
To learn more about our photographic use policy or to obtain high resolution images, please see the <strong><a title="Photographic Archive Use Policy" href="http://www.sjc.edu/academic-programs/libraries/greenfield-library/policies/#photographicarchivepolicy" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Library’s Photographic Archive Use Policy</a></strong>.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Photographic Archives" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=7">Items in the Photographic Archive—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
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
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
photographicarchiveannapolis
Still Image
A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials.
Physical Dimensions
The actual physical size of the original image
25.5 x 20.5 cm.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
photograph
Resolution
Resolution of the image in dpi.
600 dpi
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/.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SJC-P-0411
Title
A name given to the resource
Female Student Typing on a Typewriter in her Dormitory Room
Exterior View of Campbell Hall
Campbell Hall Dormitory Room and Bed, St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland
Contact sheet of Students Studying in a Common Room in Campbell Hall
Description
An account of the resource
1 sheet : 4 proof prints : b&w
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Warren, M. E.
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
1954-12
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
still image
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
jpeg
Subject
The topic of the resource
Campbell Hall (St. John's College, Annapolis, MD) 1954.
Campbell Hall
-
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61b0e31c409d08d1409ba1e2aaf6e45f
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
Photographic Archive—Annapolis
Description
An account of the resource
<p>The Greenfield Library photographic archive houses over 5,000 photographs. The photographs in the collection document the history, academic, and community life of St. John’s College. The Library’s mission is to organize and preserve these unique visual materials, and to provide access to this collection. </p>
To learn more about our photographic use policy or to obtain high resolution images, please see the <strong><a title="Photographic Archive Use Policy" href="http://www.sjc.edu/academic-programs/libraries/greenfield-library/policies/#photographicarchivepolicy" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Library’s Photographic Archive Use Policy</a></strong>.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Photographic Archives" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=7">Items in the Photographic Archive—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
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
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
photographicarchiveannapolis
Still Image
A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials.
Physical Dimensions
The actual physical size of the original image
12.5 x 20.5 cm.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
photograph
Resolution
Resolution of the image in dpi.
600 dpi
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/.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SJC-P-0435
Title
A name given to the resource
Ceremony in front of the French Monument with United States Naval Officers Placing a Wreath on the Monument, St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland
Description
An account of the resource
1 photographic print : b&w
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Unknown
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
1931 (circa)
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College owns the rights to this photograph.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
still image
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
jpeg
Subject
The topic of the resource
French Monument (St. John's College, Annapolis, MD) 1931.
St. John's College (Annapolis, Md.).
United States. Navy Officers.
-
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9bcceac218e991f33a9c0ed8aa8f3b6e
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
Photographic Archive—Annapolis
Description
An account of the resource
<p>The Greenfield Library photographic archive houses over 5,000 photographs. The photographs in the collection document the history, academic, and community life of St. John’s College. The Library’s mission is to organize and preserve these unique visual materials, and to provide access to this collection. </p>
To learn more about our photographic use policy or to obtain high resolution images, please see the <strong><a title="Photographic Archive Use Policy" href="http://www.sjc.edu/academic-programs/libraries/greenfield-library/policies/#photographicarchivepolicy" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Library’s Photographic Archive Use Policy</a></strong>.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Photographic Archives" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=7">Items in the Photographic Archive—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
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
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
photographicarchiveannapolis
Still Image
A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials.
Physical Dimensions
The actual physical size of the original image
12.5 x 20.5 cm.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
photograph
Resolution
Resolution of the image in dpi.
600 dpi
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/.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SJC-P-0436
Title
A name given to the resource
Ceremony and Speech Given in front of the French Monument with Naval Officers and Men in Revolutionary War Military Uniforms, St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland
Description
An account of the resource
1 photographic print : b&w
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Unknown
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
1931 [circa]
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College owns the rights to this photograph.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
still image
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
jpeg
Subject
The topic of the resource
French Monument (St. John's College, Annapolis, MD) 1931.
St. John's College (Annapolis, Md.).
United States. Navy Officers.
Baccalaureate addresses
-
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030b6daaefde4563ccb2b01c3a8cff7a
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
Photographic Archive—Annapolis
Description
An account of the resource
<p>The Greenfield Library photographic archive houses over 5,000 photographs. The photographs in the collection document the history, academic, and community life of St. John’s College. The Library’s mission is to organize and preserve these unique visual materials, and to provide access to this collection. </p>
To learn more about our photographic use policy or to obtain high resolution images, please see the <strong><a title="Photographic Archive Use Policy" href="http://www.sjc.edu/academic-programs/libraries/greenfield-library/policies/#photographicarchivepolicy" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Library’s Photographic Archive Use Policy</a></strong>.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Photographic Archives" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=7">Items in the Photographic Archive—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
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
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
photographicarchiveannapolis
Still Image
A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials.
Physical Dimensions
The actual physical size of the original image
12.5 x 7.5 cm
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
photograph
Resolution
Resolution of the image in dpi.
600 dpi
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/.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SJC-P-0439
Title
A name given to the resource
Humphreys Hall after the renovation in 1958, St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland
Description
An account of the resource
1 photographic print : b&w
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Unknown
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
circa 1958
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College owns the rights to this photograph.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
still image
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
jpeg
Subject
The topic of the resource
Brick buildings
Humphreys Hall
-
https://s3.us-east-1.amazonaws.com/sjcdigitalarchives/original/c9ba3111c0c0794f6d130f477831117e.jpg
6b65ded143881b5d941bd3955fc152ea
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
Photographic Archive—Annapolis
Description
An account of the resource
<p>The Greenfield Library photographic archive houses over 5,000 photographs. The photographs in the collection document the history, academic, and community life of St. John’s College. The Library’s mission is to organize and preserve these unique visual materials, and to provide access to this collection. </p>
To learn more about our photographic use policy or to obtain high resolution images, please see the <strong><a title="Photographic Archive Use Policy" href="http://www.sjc.edu/academic-programs/libraries/greenfield-library/policies/#photographicarchivepolicy" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Library’s Photographic Archive Use Policy</a></strong>.<br /><br />Click on <strong><a title="Photographic Archives" href="http://digitalarchives.sjc.edu/items/browse?collection=7">Items in the Photographic Archive—Annapolis Collection</a></strong> to view and sort all items in the collection.
Publisher
An entity responsible for making the resource available
St. John's College
Contributor
An entity responsible for making contributions to the resource
St. John's College Greenfield Library
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
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
photographicarchiveannapolis
Still Image
A static visual representation. Examples include paintings, drawings, graphic designs, plans and maps. Recommended best practice is to assign the type Text to images of textual materials.
Physical Dimensions
The actual physical size of the original image
25.5 x 20.5 cm.
Original Format
The type of object, such as painting, sculpture, paper, photo, and additional data
photograph
Resolution
Resolution of the image in dpi.
600 dpi
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/.
Identifier
An unambiguous reference to the resource within a given context
SJC-P-0444
Title
A name given to the resource
Courtyard View of Paca-Carroll House, St. John's College, Annapolis, Maryland
Description
An account of the resource
1 photographic print : b&w
Creator
An entity primarily responsible for making the resource
Parran, Tom
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
1981 (circa)
Rights
Information about rights held in and over the resource
St. John's College owns the rights to this photograph.
Type
The nature or genre of the resource
still image
Format
The file format, physical medium, or dimensions of the resource
jpeg
Subject
The topic of the resource
Paca-Carroll House (St. John's College, Annapolis, MD) 1980-1990.
Paca-Carroll House
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