Humanities for Humanity’s Sake 3:

the Arts of Choice

D.M.R. Bentley

“One of these cloths is heaven, and one is hell,
Now choose one cloth for ever, which they be,
I will not tell you, you must somehow tell

“Of your own strength and mightiness; here, see!”

– William Morris, “The Defence of Guenevere”1

What, today, is the purpose of an education in the Humanities?  What does a student gain from an Arts programme?  Are those gains worth the time and the cost that they entail?  In recent years, these and similar questions have frequently been answered by defenders and advocates of the Arts or Humanities in terms of the skills and abilities that can be gained or enhanced through a study of literature, history, philosophy, classical and modern languages, and the visual arts–critical thinking and knowledge-building skills, for example, and the ability to conduct research, organize information, and communicate effectively.  Such skills and abilities, students and their parents have been assured, can be readily transferred to a wide variety of professions and vocations and are highly desired by employers in business, industry, and “high-tech.”  “Give a man a fish and you feed him for a day.  Teach him how to fish and you feed him for a lifetime” runs the favoured saying: in an Arts or Humanities programme, students acquire or hone the  “tools” that will make them not only desirable as employees, but also continuously capable of adapting to the new situations that they encounter as they move through the sequence of jobs that is to be their lot in a world of accelerating change and uncertainty.  In short, a degree in the Arts or Humanities is a superb qualification for the new “knowledge economy.”

Of course, there is a great deal of truth to this argument and a considerable body of testimony from employers and graduates alike that the skills and abilities associated with an education in the Arts or Humanities are indeed–and are likely to continue to be–both valued and remunerative in the “real” world beyond (and now quite often within) the universities’ gates.  But is the acquisition or enhancement of transportable “know-how” the primary purpose and benefit of an Arts or Humanities education?  Or, for that matter, is it a purpose or benefit that programmes in the Arts or Humanities are uniquely, or even best, equipped to fulfil?  Merely to ask these questions is to cast doubt on the proposition that the goal and competency of Arts or Humanities programmes and their instructors lies in the inculcation of so-called “employability” skills and abilities, for surely most professors and students in, say, a department of Philosophy or Visual Arts are primarily engaged in teaching and learning a discipline, and Philosophy and Visual Arts are not necessarily better arenas for acquiring or enhancing “employability” skills and abilities than, say, a department of Political Science or a Faculty of Engineering.  To be sure, departments of English, French, and Modern Languages frequently (and often out of economic necessity) mount courses in written and oral communication, but “communication skills” are (or should be) a component of all university courses, and to centre them in a few departments in faculties of Arts or Humanities is to risk transforming those departments in whole or in part into service units.  Nevertheless, even as they train students in their particular disciplines Arts or Humanities instructors  are engaged directly and/or indirectly in activities through which students do acquire or enhance skills and abilities that are attractive to employers.  To the very extent that “employability” skills and abilities are among the benefits of Arts or Humanities programmes they should not be ignored but, on the contrary, emphasized and, if necessary, explained whenever and wherever those programmes need to be defended against the charge that they are less worthwhile because less obviously practical than programmes in business, the sciences, and other areas that now enjoy political and, hence, financial favour.

And there can be no doubt that in the corridors of power in most capital cities and on many university campuses less favour has been accorded in recent years to sectors of the university whose primary focus is on culture and mental cultivation than to those that are directly concerned with human physical and social needs and those that are widely assumed to be incubators of innovation and productivity.   As these trends have become more pronounced and apparent, numerous efforts have been made to align the Arts or Humanities with the financial beneficiaries of current assumptions and policies, for example, by emphasizing the importance of culture to people’s overall sense of wellness and by calling for greater recognition of such factors as artistic creativity, cultural diversity, and disciplinary interaction in the fostering of innovation.2 These efforts, too, must continue and for much the same reason as the arguments pertaining to “employability” skills and abilities:  they have validity; they have met with success; and they are a means of at least stemming the tide that has in many places and for some time been flowing against the Arts or Humanities.

That both these lines of defense and attack might be joined by a third that is entirely consonant with the foundational commitment of the Arts or Humanities to culture and mental cultivation became vividly apparent to me on September 12, 2002 when I listened to President George W. Bush address the United Nations on the need to disarm or remove Saddam Hussein.  More specifically, it became apparent in the closing moments of the speech when Mr. Bush confronted his audience with a stark choice.  “Events can turn in one of two ways,” he argued,

If we fail to act in the face of danger, the people of Iraq will continue to live in brutal submission.  The regime will have new power to bully, dominate and conquer its neighbours....  The region will remain unstable....
            If we meet our responsibilities, if we overcome this danger, we can arrive at a very different future....
            Neither of these outcomes is certain.  Both have been set before us.  We must choose between a world of fear and a world of progress.  We cannot stand by and do nothing while dangers gather.  We must stand up for our security, and for the permanent rights and hopes of mankind.

            By heritage and by choice, the United States of America will make that stand.  Delegates to the United Nations, you have the power to make that stand as well.3 

These were powerful and portentous words whose author was almost certainly familiar with one of the great themes or topoi of Western culture: the Choice of Hercules.  Beneath the surface of Mr. Bush’s Churchillian rhetoric of gathering “dangers” to be “overcome” lies a pattern traceable to Xenophon’s Memorabilia Socratis (circa 380 BC), elaborated by the Earl of Shaftesbury in his Characteristiks of Men, Manners, Opinions, Times (1711), and deployed in different ways by Raphael, William Hogarth, Susanna Moodie, Archibald Lampman, and countless other artists and writers4–the pattern whereby the young Hercules is confronted by a choice between, on the one hand, heroic virtue (virtus), and, on the other, sensual pleasure (voluptas), chooses the former, and thus embarks on a course of action that leads him to an excruciating death and entry into heaven.  The recognition of this pattern was startling and illuminating, it clarified, contextualized, and complicated the “choice” that Mr. Bush was placing before the United Nations, and it was a result of studying art, literature, and the scholarship surrounding them–the “heritage,” it might be said, of the Arts or Humanities.

            Mr. Straw [the British Foreign Minister] used part of his speech [to the United Nations] to attack the French Foreign Minister’s reasoning for giving Saddam more time in the face of less-than-full co-operation.

               “Dominique [de Villepin] . . . said the choice before us was disarmament by peace or disarmament by war. That’s a false choice,” he said. “The choice, the choice, Dominique, is not ours as to how this disarmament takes place. The choice is Saddam Hussein’s. It’s his choice.” (“Saddam” A18)

Less than a week after Mr. Bush’s speech to the United Nations, an article in The Financial Post reinforced for me the value of the Arts or Humanities as a framework for understanding and, by extension, making the sorts of choices that seem to be the staple of these interesting times.  It was an article entitled “Weighing the Cost of a Canadian MBA: What’s It Really Worth?”  that concerned itself with what Michael Bloom, an Associate Director at the Conference Board of Canada, described somewhat clumsily as the “‘trends devaluating the degrees’” offered by Canada’s numerous business schools (McNamara 10).  In it, Mr. Bloom expressed the view that, “‘[w]ith [the] emphasis now placed on corporate governance’” in the business world, “‘it is critical that managers have a broader understanding of issues around management and not just technical skills’” and intimated that such “‘understanding’” is less common in MBAs than in the graduates of “‘other disciplines’” in which “‘[t]here is a much stronger tradition...of thinking critically and reflecting on choices, on judgement.’” Later in the article an unnamed spokeswoman for a “[h]igh-end management consultancy” firm confirmed that “‘fewer MBAs and more lawyers, doctors, engineers, English lit grads...people from a wide range of disciplines’” are now being hired by Canadian businesses and a “recruiter who asked not to be named” observed that the desirable employee in today’s corporate world is not “‘the kid with a spreadsheet’” but “‘someone who can lead one of [a business’s] divisions in 10 years.  And that includes putting your hand up when you see something wrong; [w]here were those people at Anderson Consulting?’” A few years ago, articles like “Weighing the Cost of an MBA” offered defenders and advocates of the Arts or Humanities little comfort beyond their welcoming gestures towards critical thinking and other “employability” skills,5 but in the wake of the scandals surrounding Enron and other American corporations, their emphasis on choice, judgement, and moral discernment is bringing to the fore capacities and qualities whose development and refinement was for centuries one of the highest goals of the humanistic programme  in which lie the roots of today’s study of the Arts or Humanities.  On the evidence of “Weighing the Cost of a Canadian MBA” and, indeed, Mr. Bush’s address to the United Nations, the time may well be ripe to revitalize those roots and draw more succour from them than has recently been the case in many if not most universities.

Body and mind in balance, a sound frame,
A solid intellect: the wit to seek,
Wisdom to choose, and courage wherewithal
To deal in whatsoever circumstance
Should minister to man, make life succeed.

                             ·            ·            ·

Never again elude the choice of tints!
White shall not neutralize the black, nor good
Compensate bad in man, absolve him so:
’s business being just the terrible choice.
                                         (Browning, 557-564)

A week or two after hearing Mr. Bush’s address and reading “Weighing the Cost of a Canadian MBA,” these lessons were again brought home to me in the September 2002 issue of my daughter’s Glamour magazine, where the question advanced in the “glamour debate” was “Is it ethical for a couple to choose to create a deaf baby?” (Bollinger).  The couple at the centre of the debate were deaf lesbians and the four women chosen to represent the “pros” and “cons” of the question were the author of a book about the deaf, a “fourth-generation deaf” graduate student, the vice president of a company that manufactures hearing devices who had received a “cochlear implant” after gradually losing her hearing, and a paralegal intern in a law firm specializing in “cases for the deaf”  who was born deaf.  The responses of the four women were placed in two perfectly balanced columns headed “Yes” and “No,” but when read in sequence they told a story of gradually dawning awareness, beginning with the first “Yes” response (“I know that being deaf is not a medical misfortune” from the author, who, interestingly was not deaf herself) and ending with the second “No” response (“If a baby is born deaf, OK, but let’s not create deaf children” from the paralegal intern).  A sidebar recorded the responses of readers, 57% of whom agreed with the statement that “in light of increasing scientific advances...the government [should] restrict a person’s right to genetically engineer a child.”  At the foot of the page readers were invited to participate further in the debate by logging on to the magazine’s website and casting their vote.  In short, the article was a brief but concerted assault on the shallow relativism whose stock reply to any awkward dilemma–“Whatever”–can be heard all-too-frequently on university campuses.  Not only did it effectively position itself within the feminist tradition of choice to confront its target audience with a complex moral and definitional issue (deafness was variously called a “handicap” and a “challenge” as well as “not a medical misfortune”), but it did so using generic, spatial, and narrative elements in a quite subtle way that demanded both analytical skill and cultural experience if its design(s) and agenda were to be fully discerned and understood.

To be born is both to be born of the world and to be born into the world. The world is already constituted; but also never completely constituted; in the first case  we are acted upon, in the second we are open to an infinite number of possibilities. But this analysis is still abstract, for we exist in both ways at once. There is, therefore, never determinism and never absolute choice, I am never a thing and never bare consciousness. In fact, even our own pieces of initiative, even the situations which we have chosen, bear us on, once they have been entered upon by virtue of a state rather than an act. (Merleau-Ponty 527)

Different as they are in almost every respect, the “glamour debate” and Mr. Bush’s address to the United Nations both illustrate the way in which patterns and procedures made available through studying the Arts or Humanities can enable and encourage a sophisticated understanding of a wide variety of texts and issues.  They also make plain the fact that, whatever their nature and whatever their context, choices involve a reflective process that includes the dilemma (or problem) at hand, an analysis of its components and implications, and a referral of these to as much pertinent knowledge and cultural experience as possible.  Needless to say, this process is not restricted to the realms of addresses and articles but occurs continually in the sphere of personal decision-making, where the dual nature of a choice as something that we make at a particular moment in time and something with which we must thereafter live is, if anything, even more starkly clear: to opt for the road less travelled is to exercise individual agency and to accept irreversible consequences and responsibilities.  Here, too, someone exposed to the Arts or Humanities will be at an advantage by virtue of having, not merely a personal context of desires, motives, goals, and capabilities upon which to base choices, but also a culturally rich understanding of choices and their consequences gleaned from art, history, literature, and philosophy.

CREON:             Did you know [my] order forbidding such an act?
ANTIGONE:      I knew it, naturally.  It was plain enough.
CREON:             And yet you dared to contravene it?
ANTIGONE:      Yes.
                            That order did not come from God.  Justice
                            That dwells with the gods below, knows no such Law.
                             I did not think your edicts strong enough
                            To overrule the unwritten unalterable laws
                            Of God and heaven, you being only a man.

                                                                                        (Sophocles 138)

It is probably unnecessary but nevertheless important to observe that what I am advocating is not an ideologically driven approach to pedagogy thaιt uses the Arts or Humanities as the pretext for political suasion. As an aid in the process of sharpening students' moral awareness and ethical intelligence, an office door plastered with insights into current events from one's favourite newspapers, magazines, and websites may be a thought provoking as well as cathartic, but it should not be confused with the real work of drawing out from the texts that students are studying the issues that will help them come to their own moral, ethical, and, yes, political conclusions. In fact, there may even be sound reasons both pedagogical and perceptual for not advertising one's political orientation so crassly. Alerted by the evidence of his or her instructor's ideological position, a student may decide for pragmatic reasons that are quite legitimate to refrain from offering different, let alone opposing, opinions during class discussion, in a piece of written work, or on a term test or final examination. Less important but also worth consideration in these highly polarized and culturally diverse times, an office door plastered with caricatures and critiques of whatever political figures or positions the occupant of the office finds reprehensible can scarcely appeal to all students or, on open-house days, to all parents and other visitors. If doors must be plastered, then in the interests of encouraging moral awareness and ethical intelligence, the should record, not one, but several ideological and political positions and arguments. It was in this spirit that in the period that in the period leading up to the recent war the office door of a colleague of mine at the University of Western Ontario carried articles containing the views of Noam Chomsky, Jean Chrιtien, David Frum, Michael Ignatieff, and Jeffrey Simpson – by no means the full spectrum of available views but enough bands of it to provide a good sense of the various arguments that the imminent war was generating on an almost daily basis.

“Buridan’s ass,” an ass starving to death between two equidistant and tempting piles of hay . . . may . . . [have] originated as a caricature of Buridan’s theory of action, which attempts to find a middle ground between Aristotelian intellectualism and Franciscan voluntarism by arguing that the will’s freedom to act consists primarily in its ability to defer choice in the absence of any compelling reason to act one way or the other. (Zupco)

No very deep or detailed knowledge of the history of Western culture is necessary to recognize that choices and their consequences tend to come to artistic, historical, literary, and, indeed, linguistic prominence during periods of turmoil and change such as those surrounding the Copernican Revolution (which, of course, marked the transition from the Middle Ages to the Renaissance) and the Kantian Revolution (which marked the next stage in the emergence of modern, subjective individualism).  The strong evidence that for some three decades Western culture has been moving through another period of turbulence, one characterized by the transference of many human capabilities to the computer and other mechanisms (the Turing Revolution)6, suggests that there may be merit to examining a couple of texts from the Renaissance and post-Romantic periods that focus directly on choices, their procedures, and their consequences to see what lessons they might hold for a culture that is saturated in the rhetoric of choice but nevertheless leaves many people with the sense that the political and economic system for which the right to choose has become almost an article of faith has also reduced choice to little more than a matter of likes and dislikes within a seemingly diverse but actually very narrow band of options (as in “I like Gap jeans,” “I don’t like Britney Spears,” and “He likes me”).

            Finlay said when he came in that the heat for May was extraordinary; and Advena reminded him that he was in a country where everything was accomplished quickly, even summer.
Except perhaps civilization,” she added. They were both young enough to be pleased with cleverness for its specious self.
Oh, that is slow everywhere,” he observed: “but how you can say so, with every modern improvement staring you in the face–”
            “Electric cars and telephones! Oh, I didn’t say we hadn’t the products,” and she laughed. “But the thing itself, the precious thing, that never comes just by wishing, does it? The art of indifference, the art of choice–”. (Duncan 105-06)

In Paradise Lost (1667), Milton gives first to Eve and then to Adam a choice whose outcome–the future of all humanity–could not be greater or, as it turns out, more grave.  What makes them, in God’s words (and, surely, the finest use of the comma in English literature), “Sufficient to have stood, though free to fall” (3:99) is a combination of unblemished human reason and complete personal freedom, for, as Milton explains in Areopagitica (1644), “[w]hen God gave [Adam] reason, he gave him freedom to choose, for reason is but choosing” (732).  To Milton, reason and choosing are aspects of a procedure whereby knowledge and analysis are brought to bear on an issue or problem to achieve clarity, come to a judgement, and make a decision.  Of course, Milton’s “reason” is not mere ratiocination, but “right reason” (ratio recta), a faculty that consists of intellect informed by moral and spiritual values and thus capable of referring a specific issue or problem to patterns found in the Bible and in the Divinely authored Book of Nature.  With the Fall of Adam and Eve, right reason was compromised, but it remains the best tool that human beings possess for making choices in accordance with moral and spiritual values and, therefore, for the good of both the individual and the community.  Moreover, in the fallen world, right reason can and should be strengthened (re-righted) through intellectual discipline and the acquisition of knowledge.  If he were to read “Weighing the Cost of a Canadian MBA” Milton would doubtless disapprove of that shy recruiter’s decision to remain anonymous and thus to avoid responsibility for his statements, but he would surely agree with the same recruiter’s point that accounting practices are no more exempt from moral judgement than any other human activity.  He would also agree, I am fairly certain, that disciplined exposure to the Arts and Humanities is a valuable means of providing reason with the moral, spiritual, and cultural frameworks that are essential for making right choices in complex situations.

“Lord Jesus, pity your poor maid!
For in such wise they hem me in,
I cannot choose but sin and sin,
Whatever happens: yet I think
They could not make me eat or drink,
And so should I just reach my rest.
(Morris 1: 126-27)

As Milton tells the story in Book 9 of Paradise Lost, Eve makes the wrong choice because she is overwhelmed by the sensual appeal of the forbidden fruit and by Satan’s specious argument that it will make her god-like.  In contrast, Adam eats the forbidden fruit because he cannot bear the thought of living without Eve.  Although her decision is the dramatic climax of the poem, Adam’s is the theological culmination of the tragedy of the Fall and it dramatizes a dilemma that few people will fail to face at least once in the course of their lives: the choice of either doing what they know to be right and, as a result, losing a person about whom they care deeply or doing what they know to be wrong and retaining that person’s affection.  That Adam does not call upon God for help in making his decision (as he most certainly could have) merely serves to reinforce the sense that he was facing a dilemma as lonely as it is profoundly human, a dilemma also faced by Huck Finn when he has to decide whether to obey the laws of the land in which he finds himself or remain loyal to his friend Jim.  Students and teachers of  Paradise Lost, Huckleberry Finn, and other works are doing much more than analysing texts and acquiring or enhancing “employability” skills.  They are also, among many other things, strengthening and refining their ability to appreciate how difficult and complex a matter choosing can be, to identify the components and ramifications of choices, and to understand that it is in the nature of human life that some decisions are both right and wrong.

[A]nd then I [Huck] happened to look around, and see that paper [the letter he had written revealing Jim’s whereabouts]....  I took it up, and held it in my hand.  I was a trembling, because I’d got to decide, forever, betwixt two things, and I knowed it.   I studied a minute, sort of holding my breath, and then says to myself:
            “All right, then, I’ll go to hell–and tore it up.” (Clemens 167-68)

“Close thy Byron; open thy Goethe” (Carlyle 192).  Delivered several decades after the Kantian Revolution had prepared the way for Romantic individualism and the strutting egotism to which it perhaps inevitably gave rise, Thomas Carlyle’s imperious injunction that in “The Everlasting Yea” section of Sartor Resartus (1833) was a timely rejection of self-indulgence (voluptas) in favour of duty to God and community (virtus).  Like Milton and numerous subsequent writers and thinkers (not least the Swift of A Modest Proposal [1729]), Carlyle recognized that reason decoupled from moral and spiritual values can become the destructive madness for which the twentieth century will forever live in infamy.  (Eerily, the projector of A Modest Proposal suggests that human skin would make “admirable Gloves for Ladies, and Summer Boots for Fine Gentlemen” [112].)  Like Goethe and numerous other Romantic and Victorian writers (not least the Dickens of Bleak House [1853]), Carlyle  believed that duty and responsibility must begin with family and friends but must also radiate outwards like ripples in a pond to encompass at its furthest limits the rest of humanity and the earth itself.  “The Situation that has not its Duty, its Ideal was never yet occupied” by a human being, he asserts later in “The Everlasting Yea”: “[y]es, here, in this poor, miserable, hampered, dispicable Actual, wherein thou even now standest, here or nowhere is thy Ideal: work it out therefrom, and working, believe, live, be free” (196).  To analyse a “Situation,” to establish an “Ideal,” to recognize and act upon a “Duty”: these were, are, and never will be simple or easy undertakings, which is exactly why the Arts or Humanities will remain essential components of human existence.

[A] lively and lasting sense of filial duty is more effectually impressed on the mind of a son or daughter by reading King Lear, than by all the dry volumes of ethics and divinity that were written. (Jefferson 1:77)

In the distant background of Carlyle and the more immediate background of Milton lies the extraordinary work from which I would like to draw by way of conclusion, Pico della Mirandola’s Dignita’ dell’uomo  or De hominis dignitate–the Oration on the Dignity of Man that he delivered at Rome in 1486, when he was only twenty-four years old.  Envisaging the moment when God created Man and “set him in the middle of the world” beneath the angels and above the animals, Pico imagines God explaining to Adam that by virtue of his “intermediary” (3) position he has unique abilities:

“...whatever place, whatever form, whatever gifts you may, with premeditation, select,  these same you may have and possess through your own judgement and decision....   We have made you a creature neither of heaven nor of earth, neither mortal nor immortal, in order that you may, as the free and proud shaper of your own being, fashion yourself in the form you may prefer.  It will be in your power to descend to the lower, brutish forms of life; you will be able, through your own decision, to rise again to the superior orders whose life is divine.” (7-8)

Surely one of the highest purposes and goals of the Arts or Humanities today is to assist in the process of “premeditation,” “select[ion],” “judgement,” and “decision” through which people “fashion” their higher and better selves–selves capable of properly responding to the moral, social, political, and personal choices of today’s and tomorrow’s world. During the Renaissance and in the classical tradition from which it drew so much of its inspiration, one of the ideals of the educational activity known as philosophia  was to enable the student to live a good life. As the twenty-first century dawns, the cultivation of an ethical sensibility alongside cultural and other forms of competency is surely no less important than it ever was; indeed, there may never have been a greater need for the Arts or Humanities to reclaim and proclaim their high calling as schools for the moral arts upon which society and humanity depend.



  1. See “Humanities for Humanity’s Sake 2: the Other Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure”  for a further discussion of the “strange choosing cloths” scene in “The Defence of Guenevere” (1: 2-3). [back]

  2. See, for example, Richard I.  Doyle, ed.  Renaissance II: Canadian Creativity and Innovation in the New Millennium. [back]

  3. The full text of the speech is widely available in both printed and electronic form.  It is quoted above from the text printed in The National Post on September 13, 2002 and thereafter available on the newspaper’s website. [back]

  4. For Raphael’s use of the topos, see The Dream of Scipio in the National Library, London, England and for Hogarth’s see Ronald Paulson’s  Emblem and Expression: Meaning in English Art of the Eighteenth Century.  For the use of the topos by Moodie and Lampman, see, respectively, D.M.R. Bentley, “Breaking the ‘Cake of Custom’: the Atlantic Crossing as a Rubicon for Female Emigrants to Canada?” 114-15  and Lampman’s Essays and Reviews 191-96 and 360-62. [back]

  5. The article quotes “one Bay Street veteran” as saying that “one of the best degrees to have...on the investing side is engineering” because “[i]t teaches very strong math skills and the ability to solve complex problems” (McNamara10). [back]

  6. Despite some American claims to the contrary, the inventor of the computer was Alan Turing, whose “Turing Machine” was instrumental in deciphering messages encoded by the Enigma device at Bletchley Park during the Second World War. [back]

Works Cited


Bentley, D.M.R.  “Breaking the ‘Cake of Custom’: the Atlantic Crossing as a Rubicon for Female Emigrants to Canada?”  In Re(Dis)Covering Our Foremothers: Nineteenth-Century Women Writers.  Ed.  Lorraine McMullen.  Reappraisals: Canadian Writers 15.  Ottawa: U of Ottawa P, 1990.  91-122.   

__________.  “Humanities for Humanity’s Sake 2: the Other Bill and Ted’s Excellent Adventure: Creativity, Innovation, Critique, and the Humanities”  (Rpt from Journal of Pre-Raphaelite Studies 10 [Spring 2001]: 43-57.)   

Bollinger, Caroline.  “Is it ethical for a couple to choose to create a deaf baby?”  Glamour (Sept 2002): 211. 

Bush, George W.  “Address to the United Nations, September 12, 2002.”  National Post (Toronto) 13 Sep 2002.   

Carlyle, Thomas.  Sartor Resartus: the Life and Opinions of Herr Teufelsdrφckh.  1833.  Ed. Charles Frederick Harrold.  Indianapolis: Odyssey Press, 1937.   

Clemens, Samuel Langhorne.  Adventures of Huckleberry Finn.  Ed. Sculley Bradley, Richmond Croom Beatty, and E. Hudson Long.  New York: W.W. Norton, 1961.   

Doyle, Richard I.  Renaissance II: Canadian Creativity and Innovation in the New Millenium.  Ottawa: National Research Council of Canada, 2001.   

Duncan, Sara Jeannette. The Imperialist. 1903. Ed. Thomas E. Tausky. Ottawa: Tecumseh Press, 1988.   

Jefferson, Thomas.  Papers.  Vol. 1: 1760-1776.  Ed.  Julian F. Boyd.  Princeton: Princeton UP, 1950.   

Lampman, Archibald.  Essays and Reviews.  Ed. D.M.R. Bentley.  London, ON: Canadian Poetry Press, 1996.   

MacNamara, Kate.  “Weighing the Cost of a Canadian MBA: What’s It Really Worth?”              Financial Post (Toronto) 20 Sep 2002.  FP1, FP10.   

Merleau-Ponty, Maurice. Phenomenology of Perception. Trans. Colin Smith. 1958. London and New York: Routledge, 2002.   

Milton, John.  Complete Poems and Major Prose.  Ed.  Merritt Y. Hughes.  New York: Odyssey, 1957.   

Morris, William.  Collected Works.  Ed. May Morris.  24 vols.  London: Longman Green, 1945.   

Paulson, Ronald.  Emblem and Expression: Meaning in English Art of the Eighteenth Century.  Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard UP, 1975.     

Pico della Mirandola, Giovanni.  Oration on the Dignity of Man.  Trans. A. Robert Caponigri.  Washington: Regnery Publishing, 1956.   

Sophocles.  The Theban Plays.  Trans. E.F. Watling. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1947.   

Swift, Jonathan.  Irish Tracks, 1728-1733.  Ed. Herbert Davis.  Oxford: Basil Blackwell, nd.  

Zupco, Jack A.  “Buridan.”  Cambridge Dictionary of Philosophy.  2nd ed.  Ed. Robert Audi.  Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1999.