Minerva's Aviary: Philosophy at Toronto, 1843-2003 9781442677272

Table of contents :
Contents
Preface
Introduction
Part One. The Main Stream
1. The Rise and Fall of King's College
2. The Founding Professor: James Beaven
3. Teacher Extraordinary: George Paxton Young
4. The Battle over Young's Successor
5. The Emergence of Psychology
6. 'A Weakened Echo of Dr Young': James Gibson Hume
7. Gendeman and Scholar: George Sidney Brett
8. Graduate Study in Philosophy
9. The Last Autocrat: Fulton Henry Anderson
10. The First Chairman: Thomas Anderson Goudge
11. The Merging of the Streams
12. A United Department
Part Two. Contributing Streams
13. Philosophy at Victoria College
14. Philosophy at Trinity College
15. Philosophy at St Michael's College
16. Some Reflections on This History
Appendix A. Departmental Heads, Chairmen, and Chairs
Appendix B. Faculty in Philosophy (1843–2005)
References
Illustration Credits
Index

Citation preview

MINERVA'S AVIARY: PHILOSOPHY AT TORONTO, 1843-2003

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Minerva's Aviary Philosophy at Toronto, 1843-2003

John G. Slater

UNIVERSITY OF TORONTO PRESS Toronto Buffalo London

www.utppublishing.com © University of Toronto Press Incorporated 2005 Toronto Buffalo London Printed in Canada ISBN 0-8020-3870-0 (cloth)

Printed on acid-free paper

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication Slater, John G. Minerva's aviary : philosophy at Toronto, 1843-2003 /John G. Slater. Includes bibliographical references and index. ISBN 0-8020-3870-0 1. Philosophy - Study and teaching (Higher) - Ontario - Toronto History. 2. University of Toronto. Dept. of Philosophy - History. I. Title. B52.65.T67S54 2005

107.1'1713'541

C2004-907305-2

University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial assistance to its publishing program of the Canada Council and the Ontario Arts Council. University of Toronto Press acknowledges the financial support for its publishing activities of the Government of Canada through the Book Publishing Industry Development Program (BPIDP).

Contents

Preface vii Introduction xiii

Part One. The Main Stream 1 The Rise and Fall of King's College 3 2 The Founding Professor: James Beaven 35 3 Teacher Extraordinary: George Paxton Young 95 4 The Batde over Young's Successor 138 5 The Emergence of Psychology 168 6 'A Weakened Echo of Dr Young': James Gibson Hume 210 7 Gendeman and Scholar: George Sidney Brett 237 8 Graduate Study in Philosophy 278 9 The Last Autocrat: Fulton Henry Anderson 304 10 The First Chairman: Thomas Anderson Goudge 365 11 The Merging of the Streams 416 12 A United Department 445

vi Contents Part Two. Contributing Streams 13 Philosophy at Victoria College 14 Philosophy at Trinity College

475 511

15 Philosophy at St Michael's College 16 Some Reflections on This History

531 581

Appendix A. Departmental Heads, Chairmen, and Chairs 585 Appendix B. Faculty in Philosophy (1843-2005) 587 References 597 Illustration Credits Index

607

609

Illustrations follow page 272

Preface

I began collecting stories about the Department of Philosophy at the University of Toronto while I was a graduate student at the University of Michigan from 1955 to 1961, where I shared an apartment with Will Crichton, whose first degree had been earned there. He had a fund of interesting and sometimes funny stories about its various professors, all of which had been gained from his own observation and that of his fellow students. Some of these tales were memorable enough for me to recall them decades later. When I first listened to them I never expected to meet any of the people he described, let alone to be their colleague. As I relate in §11.6, John F. Kennedy's assassination was the spark, abetted by Will, that led to my joining the department in 1964. Of the professors that he told tales about, only Fulton Anderson was gone. I met him only once, when he dropped by Will's office on a hot summer afternoon and I happened to be there. That occasion was important for me, because it confirmed beautifully the accuracy of Will's description of him - his physical appearance, his way of gesturing, and his manner of speaking. There was a certain flamboyance about him that made a deep impression on me. Since that time I have heard many remarkable stories about him, some of which are recorded in this history. Anderson is by far its most colourful character. Three years after my arrival in the department Thomas Goudge, then its chairman, asked me to serve as undergraduate secretary. That office and the chairmanship, which I assumed for five years in 1969, gave me the opportunity to know nearly all of the people then teaching philosophy in the university, including most of those in the federated colleges. Holding these offices also required that I learn (at the very least) the recent history of the department in order to avoid creating friction with those who had

viii

Preface

participated in making that history. For me this was not an onerous chore to be shouldered reluctantly. My natural inclination has always been to ferret out the history of any organizations in which I happen to take an interest. Throughout my years in the department I continued to expand my knowledge of its past, but without any thought of writing its history. In the early 1970s Robin Harris was designated the official historian of the university, and he asked each of its units to prepare a short history for him. His plan, which was never completed, was to use these various histories as the basis for a grand synthesis. I asked Goudge if he would write the history of the department from its beginning in 1843 until the end of his own chairmanship in 1969. On my memo he jotted 'Barkis is willin.' To his history I conjoined an account of what had happened during my chairmanship, bringing it up to 1974, and the department made mimeographed copies of the whole available to anyone who asked for one. It was to this 1977 document that Wayne Sumner, then chair, referred when he asked me in the early 1990s to expand and extend it. A request had come from the central administration for all units to consider preparing something to celebrate the sesquicentenary of the University of Toronto in 2000. Thinking it would take me only about half a year, I agreed to do it. I decided to start my research at the beginning, with the fact that instruction in philosophy, then called metaphysics and ethics, was inaugurated in early June 1843 by James Beaven, an Anglican divine who had arrived in Upper Canada only a few months before to join the faculty of King's College. Goudge also had begun with this fact, but I thought it would be interesting to know more about Beaven and how he came to be appointed. This search immediately led me into the convoluted history of the founding of King's College and the contentious religious politics of the early nineteenth century. The more I learned, the better I understood Beaven the man and the role he played, first in King's College and later in the University of Toronto. But I also realized that the task was going to take considerably longer than six months. After deciding that I did not care how long it would take, I committed myself to making a thorough job of the history; for it seemed unlikely that anyone else would want to do it again if I botched it. I have therefore followed every lead to the end, sometimes with pleasant outcomes, as when I discovered the letters of Sir Charles Bagot (§1.5) recruiting the founding faculty, including Beaven, but more often with nothing to show for the effort expended. Whatever I have learned of more than passing interest has found a place within. In writing this history I have received help from many people, some of it witting and some unwitting. The unwitting help came, of course, from

Preface

ix

conversations with my colleagues, and among them I owe the most to Thomas Goudge. Over the years I had very many long conversations with him and with his wife, Helen, on happenings in the department that antedated my membership in it. His contribution to the oral history of the department - several hours of discussions with Douglas Dryer, Robert McRae, and David Savan - has provided additional grist for the mill. His fellow conversationalists also provided important information that can be found nowhere else. I have benefited as well from discussions of departmental affairs with each of them over the years. Goudge left another precious source. Among his papers, now housed in the university archives, are two manuscript volumes, each with the label 'Personal Journal.' Begun on 1 January 1949 and updated (usually) at half-yearly intervals, they contain a rich store of information recorded by one of the department's central figures. His last entry is dated 1 July 1972, three years before he retired from the department. The oral history tapes mentioned above were made under the supervision of Jack Sword, formerly provost of the university, after he retired. During Frank Cunningham's term as chair, he engaged Thomas Mathien, an alumnus in philosophy from St Michael's College who earned a doctorate in the department, to interview as many retired faculty members as possible. These tapes have proved invaluable to me. I am grateful to Mathien and to those he interviewed, some of whom are now dead. I have listened to all the tapes and I have included quotes from David Gallop, John Hunter, Larry Lynch, Geoffrey Payzant, Francis Sparshott, and Edward Synan. I spent many pleasant hours listening to the recollections of my colleagues. The tapes are, indeed, living history. Wayne Sumner has also been a valuable source of information. We both were involved in most of the important changes during the last three decades, and our conversations have helped me to reconstruct them. The staff of the university archives has provided invaluable help. I am especially indebted to Harold Averell for directing me to so many fruitful sources. Harold knows a prodigious amount about the history of this university, and he is most generous in sharing it with visitors to the archives. In the actual archival research I had the good fortune to have the assistance in 1996-7 of a fourth-year undergraduate student, Anthony Vaccaro. Anthony proved to be an excellent researcher; much of the material concerning the teaching of philosophy in Victoria College was discovered by him, but he also did yeoman service in the university archives and in various libraries. Three undergraduates, Erinn Freypons, Adrian Ho, and William Wallace, each of whom assisted me for a year, also did valuable research for this history. I must thank two college archivists, Henri

x Preface

Pilon at Trinity College and Evelyn Collins at St Michael's College, for leading me to documents relating to the teaching of philosophy in their colleges. The staff of the Ontario Archives helped me in many ways, and one of them led me to discover the letters of Sir Charles Bagot, who was governor general of British North America in 1842-3; these letters documented his important role in bringing King's College into existence. On the protracted dispute over the appointment of George Paxton Young's successor in 1889, I owe a deep debt of gratitude to Tory Hoff, whose M.A. thesis, 'The Controversial Appointment of James Mark Baldwin to the University of Toronto in 1889' (1980), is an exceptionally thorough and accurate study of this raucous dispute. I retrieved and examined all of the documents relevant to this dispute, including, of course, the numerous newspaper accounts, and I found only one tiny correction to bring to Tory's attention. My work was greatly facilitated by reading his thesis at the start of my own research on this embarrassing episode. During my work on the history I had the good fortune to meet and become friends with Valerie Argue, George Sidney Brett's granddaughter. At our first meeting, Valerie told me she would be happy to read my history, not as an expert in its subject matter but as an experienced editor. I was delighted with her offer, and I was even happier when I began to get her comments and corrections. The document was improved in countless ways because of her keen eye and sharp intellect. Valerie was also able to confirm some facts about her grandfather that had come to me from Thomas and Helen Goudge. I am very grateful for all her help. David Gallop, who read my script for the University of Toronto Press, has been an enormous help. Gallop served in the department from 1955 until he went to Trent University in 1969. Thus, he experienced at first hand both the top-down government of Anderson's day and the great changes that were wrought in departmental governance during Goudge's chairmanship. This intimate knowledge made him an ideal reader, and I have benefited greatly from his meticulous scrutiny of the book. Many changes have been made for the better because of his careful help. I must also credit him for suggesting the book's title. His evocative version has replaced the very prosaic one with which I was working. I have also enjoyed getting to know Christopher Green during the course of my work on this book. He teaches the history of psychology at York University and has just completed a second doctorate in our department. He has a special interest in the history of the teaching of psychology in Canada. I have benefited greatly from many discussions with him about the early history of what later became the Psychology Department, then a sub-department of Philosophy.

Preface

xi

Edward Jackman (Philosophy and English, 1962) has been a constant source of encouragement on this project. He has also proved to be one of the department's most faithful and generous friends. His substantial financial support for the annual Philosophy News and for the publication of this history is greatly appreciated by me and by all members of the Philosophy Department. All of the recent chairs of the department - Wayne Sumner, Mark Thornton, Cheryl Misak, and Donald Ainslie - have taken a lively interest in the writing of this history and from time to time have provided me with assistance. To all of them I wish to express my gratitude, and especially to Donald Ainslie, the current chair, who arranged for a departmental subsidy to aid in its publication. The assistance I have received from the staff at the University of Toronto Press has been invaluable in making this a better book. Catherine Frost is a meticulous copy editor whose eyes seem never to miss any of those small changes that when made increase the polish of the whole. In going over the text with her I saw for the first time some habits of mine of which I was not conscious and whose modification, and in some cases removal, improved its readability. Frances Mundy shepherded the book through the editorial department. Rebecca Osborne, who took charge of putting the illustrations into final form, did first-rate work and did it cheerfully. Len Husband has long taken an interest in this history and steered it through the various stages required at the Press. To them and all the others at the Press, including the artist who drew the owl of Minerva for the cover, who laboured to enhance the book's value I offer my grateful thanks. The responsibility for the text is, of course, mine. The department's business manager, Suzanne Puckering, has been a constant source of help during the writing. Whatever the problem, whether technical or administrative, she can nearly always come up with a solution to it. Not being technically minded myself, it is a comfort to know that I can go to her with such problems. Finally, I would like to thank posthumously my friend, J. Willison Crichton, who originally introduced me to the department and was also instrumental in my joining it. Will taught in the department for nine years before resigning to pursue the life of an independent author, but he never really left it, continuing to attend many of its functions in later years. I shared a great many memories with Will, and his death on 5 December 2002 left a large void in my life. I would like to dedicate this work to his memory.

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Introduction

The present Department of Philosophy in the University of Toronto is one of the largest, if not the largest, collection of philosophy teachers in the English-speaking world, and in Canada it has long been the pre-eminent department. Its graduates have held or hold positions in nearly every university in the country, and, as a result, its influence on Canadian intellectual life has been of incalculable significance. This book tells the story from its origins in the first half of the nineteenth century to the early years of the twentieth-first century; from the efforts of a very few men lecturing to very small classes of male students to the activities of large numbers of women and men teaching hundreds of male and female students and researching a multitude of problems undreamt of by earlier generations. At times in its history both organized religion and provincial politics attempted to control its direction, but both ultimately failed. Religious influence died out in the late nineteenth century (except in the federated colleges), and the politicians took themselves out of direct control very early in the twentieth century when they turned the power of appointing faculty over to the president of the university. The last remnants of religious influence in the federated colleges gradually faded out after their separate departments were absorbed by the university department in 1975. Since then, this department has resembled those found in any large university in the English-speaking world. Exactly how this came about is the story told here. In the course of studying the history of this department I have often been led to compare what was being taught here with what was being taught in similar British and American universities. James Beaven, its first professor, was a product of Oxford and he brought its curriculum to Toronto and taught a version of it throughout his career. Under this

xiv Introduction

model philosophy was regarded as a sort of handmaiden to Christianity; its task was to reinforce the religious beliefs that the students brought from home and church. Nothing was to be taught that would shake or weaken those beliefs in any way. This was achieved positively by teaching courses in natural religion and Christian evidences, and negatively by correcting any subversive views in the readings in metaphysics and ethics courses. Beaven may have been more zealous in carrying out these tasks than his contemporaries in other colleges and universities, but they all basically agreed with his approach. By the time Beaven left the faculty in 1871, change was in the air. In that year the British Parliament abolished religious tests for degrees and Cambridge University began to offer the moral sciences tripos in a serious way. During the next quarter-century more and more of those appointed to teach philosophy in both Great Britain and the United States were laymen, and the larger universities expanded their departments to several teachers. George Paxton Young continued to carry the burden alone at Toronto, but by resigning his ministry, he too joined the trend towards a secular faculty. He never taught either natural religion or the evidences of Christianity. The courses he did teach were similar to those being taught in the large American institutions, the only difference being that he taught them all instead of sharing them with colleagues. When he died, the premier of Ontario announced that he would not appoint a clergyman to replace him. This announcement accorded with the trend of the times, but it was probably made for the reason that the premier wished to avoid the political consequences of seeming to favour one Protestant sect over all the others. Young's death led to the appointment of two professors, James Mark Baldwin and James Gibson Hume. In his inaugural address Baldwin informed his audience that it was time to expand the number of professors in philosophy. He cited American institutions where upwards of half a dozen specialists divided the instruction between them. The day of the one-man department was, he declared, a thing of the past. For the next four years it looked as if Toronto might move in the direction he had indicated. He demanded and received approval for a director of the psychology laboratory, and he was given permission to hire some assistants to help with the philosophy courses. When Hume returned after two years' further graduate study, there were five or six men teaching philosophy and psychology courses. Baldwin had redesigned the courses in both subjects along the lines of those at Princeton. Unfortunately, his departure after only four years stalled the development of the depart-

Introduction xv

ment. August Kirschmann, originally hired to direct the laboratory, in effect replaced Baldwin, and the dreadful fuss stirred up over the Baldwin and Hume appointments made it impossible to bring in new blood. For the next quarter-century the department limped along by hiring only its own graduates. The curriculum set up by Baldwin continued. Except for Kirschmann, the department had no strong specialists, so it was a pale reflection of its American counterparts. In 1916 the arrival of George Sidney Brett, who like Beaven had been educated at Oxford, signalled a change for the better, but it would be ten years before he would succeed Hume, and he made only two appointments before the Great Depression put a damper on expansion. In the years leading up to and including the Second World War, the department's half-dozen members tended to specialize in their teaching, but the courses they taught were almost exclusively historical in nature. Brett's conception of a proper philosophical education dominated the curriculum: students had to learn what the great philosophers had said before they could be allowed to philosophize for themselves. This conception was something of a carry-over from the earlier era, when the principal concern of a philosophy teacher had been to keep pupils from going astray in religion. Now, however, the intention was to prevent them from straying in philosophy itself. His conception was by this time in conflict with what was happening in both Britain and the United States. In these countries historical works were required reading, but students were also expected to grapple with philosophical problems from the start of their studies. Toronto was to lag behind other institutions until the late 1960s, when, under Goudge's leadership, a restructuring of the curriculum gave problems courses a central role. Since that time, a philosophical education acquired at Toronto is like that gained at any other large university in the English-speaking world, but because of its size Toronto's faculty can offer its students a much richer set of courses than comparable American universities with faculties only about half its size can mount. This is true for both undergraduate and graduate students. The recent spate of appointments, both junior and senior, ensure that this tradition will continue to flourish.

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Part One

THE MAIN STREAM

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1

The Rise and Fall of King's College

1.1 On 24 June 1792 John Graves Simcoe (1752-1806) arrived at Newark (now Niagara-on-the-Lake) to take up his appointment as the first lieutenant governor of the new province of Upper Canada, which had been founded the previous year and had a population of about 65,000. An old Etonian, Simcoe had attended Merton College, Oxford, for one year before he entered military service just in time to fight in the American War for Independence. Although wounded three times, once seriously, and held prisoner for six months, Simcoe had nevertheless enjoyed great personal success in that war, advancing from lieutenant to lieutenant colonel in six years. After returning to England, he continued to interest himself in North American affairs, and when he was offered the governorship, he was happy to accept. In addition to his more practical qualities, Simcoe was both an optimist and a dreamer. In the eighteen months that elapsed between his appointment and his arrival at Newark, he drew up an elaborate set of plans to make 'Upper Canada a model of England overseas' (DCB 5: 755). Included in his ambitious and very expensive blueprints was one for the founding of a provincial universit in the capital, York (now Toronto), with preparatory schools in Kingston and Newark. Confident that the imperial government would agree to finance his proposed institutions of higher learning, which were estimated to cost £1,000 a year, Simcoe asked Richard Cartwright, one of Upper Canada's leading citizens, to find a well-educated young man in Britain willing to found an academy, 'which was afterwards to become a college, under the patronage of the Government of the Province' (Dent 1880, 98). His

4 The Main Stream

request was made in 1794, and Cartwright turned the task over to a Scottish friend, a Dr Hamilton, who certainly took his time in carrying it out. During the next few years he offered the position to four men, all of whom turned him down. Finally, in the spring of 1799 it was offered to John Strachan (1778-1867), a graduate of the University of King's College, Aberdeen, who accepted it: 'At last in the month of March, 1799,1 engaged to go to Upper Canada to teach. The promises were great, I was advised by some of my friends. The prospect of an academy being established and of being made mathematical teacher were great incitements. My expectations are always too sanguine. They were in this as in my other things miserably disappointed when too late. My curiosity to see foreign parts, my ignorance of the country, the small appearance I then had of soon obtaining a church, with many other reasons still more frivolous, determined me to sign a missive engaging to go for the annual salary of £80 and to teach at most fifteen pupils' (Strachan 1969, 12-13). Unfortunately, Cartwright had not kept Dr Hamilton informed of the course of events in Upper Canada. The British government, when petitioned to give formal approval to Simcoe's plan for an academy, had turned it down on the grounds that it was both premature and too costly. No doubt Simcoe would have tried again, but in the summer of 1796 he had fallen ill and was granted home leave to recuperate. He never returned to his post. Much to the relief of the provincial legislators, who had never shown any enthusiasm for it, Simcoe's successor quietly shelved his plan for founding an academy. None of these developments was made known to Strachan until after he arrived at Cartwright's home in Kingston on 31 December 1799, filled with great expectations. Sixty years later he bitterly recalled the shock he felt when he heard the news: 'But a new and still more severe trial awaited me. I was informed that Governor Simcoe had some time before returned to England, but of which I had no information, and that the establishing of the projected University had been postponed. I was deeply moved and cast down, and had I possessed the means I would have instantly returned to Scotland. A more lonely or destitute condition can scarcely be conceived' (Dent 1880, 99). Return passage cost £20 and Strachan had less than a pound to his name. Instead of helping to found a university, he was obliged to take a position as tutor to Richard Cartwright's four sons and several other boys. Strachan was only slightly cheered to learn that two years before his arrival in Upper Canada, the British government, on 4 November 1797, in response to a formal request (passed at Simcoe's behest) of the legis-

The Rise and Fall of King's College 5 lature of Upper Canada, had set aside half a million acres of Crown 'waste' land, officially valued at nine pence Halifax currency (eight pence sterling) per acre, to fund education in the new colony. (Halifax currency was used in both Canadas until 1 July 1858, when decimal currency was introduced.) One half of this land was to be used to set up a public school system; the other half was to furnish the endowment of a university. As might have been expected, these waste lands proved to be just that; they were not inhabited and they were at the time unsaleable. Yet this gesture of support by the imperial government gave Strachan reason to hope that in time he might get his university. During the three years he tutored Cartwright's sons, Strachan made a momentous and very political decision regarding his religious affiliation. When he arrived in Canada he was a member of the Presbyterian Church and had completed the study required for ordination in that Church, but his survey of the scene in Upper Canada led him to conclude that he would advance more quickly if he joined the Anglicans and became a priest. Being ambitious, he followed the latter course; he was ordained a deacon in 1803 and a priest the following year. In the meantime his patron had died and in his will appointed Strachan the guardian of his four sons. Strachan moved from Kingston to Cornwall, taking the boys with him, and opened a preparatory school, which proved very successful. In 1809, to fill a gap in teaching materials, he published A Concise Introduction to Practical Arithmetic for the Use of Schools, an interesting little book intended for students who had already mastered the rules of arithmetic. What Strachan covered in his textbook was the use of arithmetic in business and other practical affairs of life. The book contains a wealth of very obscure information concerning measurements in a wide variety of human activities. Strachan's work in the Cornwall school brought home to him more forcefully than ever the need for a university, where his abler pupils could complete their education. The desire to found a university, which he hoped to model after the great English universities, grew into an obsession. Having by his industry established a reputation as a coming man, Strachan, who was installed as archdeacon of York (now Toronto) in 1818, was awarded two important political offices: he was appointed to a seat on the Legislative Council, the upper house of the legislature, and to membership on its executive committee; and he was installed as president of the Council of Education, which made him head of Upper Canada's public school system. It was natural, therefore, for Lieutenant Governor Sir Peregrine Maitland, when he decided to resuscitate Sim-

6 The Main Stream coe's proposal for a provincial college, to turn to Strachan for help. Strachan's report, commissioned by Maitland and dated 10 March 1826, pressed urgently for the establishment of a university in Upper Canada, whose population had grown to more than 200,000. One of Strachan's principal arguments was that so long as there was no such institution in Upper Canada, many young men would be forced, because of the expense and danger of travelling to England, to seek training in law and in medicine in the United States, and many of them, he feared, would come back infected with the virulent republicanism rampant there: Now, in the United States, a system prevails, unknown to or unpractised by any other nation: in all other countries morals and religion are made the basis of future instruction, and the first books put into the hands of children teach them the domestic, the social, and the religious virtues; but in the United States politics pervade the whole system of instruction. The schoolbooks, from the very first elements, are stuffed with praises of their own institutions, and breathe hatred of everything English. To such a country our youth may go strongly attached to their native land, and to all its establishments, but by hearing them continually depreciated, and those of America praised, these attachments will, in many, be gradually weakened, and some may become fascinated with that liberty which has degenerated into licentiousness, and imbibe, perhaps unconsciously, sentiments unfriendly to things of which Englishmen are proud. It is, indeed, easy to perceive the danger of sending our most prominent youth to a country to finish their education where they hear nothing in praise of their native land, and where every thing bespeaks hatred and defiance; where her merits are considered defects, and all her noblest virtues and glories soiled by the poison of calumny; - nor can it be expected that any of them on their return will give up their hearts and affections to their parent state with the same cordiality that they would have done had they been carefully nurtured within the British dominions. What, indeed, can be more important to the true prosperity of the Province than the careful education of its youth? (Hodgins 1: 212) Strachan went on to note that three-quarters of the medical doctors in the province had acquired some or all of their education in the United States, and he feared 'that many of them are inclined towards that country' (213). In spite of the fact that Strachan began life as a Presbyterian, and that by his own admission he took holy orders in the Church of England only

The Rise and Fall of King's College 7 because he thought it offered superior opportunity for advancement, he had no time for Presbyterianism or for any other dissenting sect. His was the zeal of the convert and his report reflected it. In detailing his idea of the requirements for the new university, he stated: 'The Principal and Professors, except those of Medicine and Law, should be clergymen of the Established Church; and no tutor, teacher, or officer, who is not a member of that Church, should ever be employed in the institution' (Hodgins 1:214). To his mind, one absolutely indispensable requirement of the new university was that it have a Faculty of Divinity to train Anglican (as the Church of England was known in Canada) priests. At the time he was writing, there were only twenty-two Anglican clergymen (213) in all of Upper Canada, the majority of whom had been trained in England, and he wanted a steadier supply. To fill all the pulpits 112 priests were needed. Parts of his report read as if he believed that the university would attract all of the able young men and convert the dissenters among them into Anglicans. Of course he does not say so directly, but in what he does say it seems presupposed. In An Appeal to the Friends of Religion and Literature, in Behalf of the University of Upper Canada, which he published in England early in 1827 during a visit, he came very close to making the claim explicitly: 'When it is considered that the Canadas are capable of maintaining a population of twelve or sixteen millions, it is impossible to set limits to the influence which the University of the Upper Province, if wisely and piously directed, may acquire over this vast population, the greater portion of which may, through the Divine blessing, be brought up in the Communion of the Church of England' (219). He did not disguise from his English readers the reasons for his appeal: 'It is chiefly on religious grounds that this Appeal for the University of Upper Canada is made, which, while it offers its benefits to the population, will, for a century to come, from the peculiar circumstances of the country, be essentially a Missionary College, and the number of clergymen which it will be called upon to furnish will be more than double what any other profession can require' (218). When his Appeal made its way back to Canada, it served to fan the flames of discontent among the large majority - some 80 per cent - of settlers who were not communicants of the Church of England. As a first step Strachan proposed that the Crown be asked to exchange the waste lands for those called 'Crown Reserves' on an acre-for-acre basis. Crown Reserves constituted one-seventh of the surveyed lands; they had been set aside in the expectation that future governments would require funds for special purposes as the colony grew in population. When he accepted the commission to write a report on the need for a uni-

8 The Main Stream

versity, Strachan almost certainly discussed this trade of lands, which had been aired in public since 1823, with the lieutenant governor; Maitland put the proposal to Earl Bathurst, then secretary of state for the colonies, in a letter of 19 December 1825. The exchange was duly made. When he wrote proposing the exchange of lands, Maitland also formally petitioned the British government to grant a royal charter for the proposed university. On 3 January 1828 King George IV, by letters patent, endowed the University of King's College with 225,944 acres of Crown Reserves, scattered over a large area. Some of these lands were already leased; others were arable but uninhabited and so were marketable. Although his report was biased in favour of the Anglicans, Strachan was nevertheless selected by Maitland to go to England with the aim of persuading the Crown both to grant a royal charter for the new university, which Strachan said was required 'to give it dignity and to enable it to confer academical honours and degrees according to the forms established in the English Universities' (Hodgins 1: 214) and also to agree to the exchange of lands. In his inaugural address to the members of King's College on 8 June 1843, Strachan, looking back on this period, explained the reasons for his journey: 'As local information and many explanations might be required, instead of confining himself to writing on the subject, His Excellency committed the duty to me of soliciting, in person, such Royal Charter and land endowment' (Hodgins 4: 280). While he was in England, Strachan also solicited funds from people sympathetic to the aims of the new institution. His mission proved successful in all three ways, but the charter he brought back so accurately reflected his own religious views that an immediate and loud outcry arose from the dissenters. The royal charter, dated 15 March 1827, required that the president of King's College, as it was named 'forever' in the charter, be a clergyman of the Church of England, with Strachan himself, archdeacon of York (now Toronto), named as the first incumbent. To set it even more firmly within the established church, the charter designated the Anglican bishop of Quebec as Visitor, and it required that only men willing to sign the Thirty-Nine Articles of Faith as set forth in the Book of Common Prayer could be seated on the College Council. Since the five senior professors had reserved seats on the council, this requirement meant that all five of them would have to be recruited from among the membership of the established church. In addition, the charter provided for a Faculty of Divinity, whose sole function was to train Anglican priests. Finally, it installed the lieutenant governor of Upper Canada, in those

The Rise and Fall of King's College

9

days almost certainly a member of the established Church, as chancellor of the University of King's College. In a show of liberality, which was often cited by Strachan and other Anglicans in the ensuing controversies, the charter forbade any religious tests for students of the university, either for admission or for degrees, excepting only those who wished to study divinity. Strachan also made a point of stressing that the archbishop of Canterbury himself, after several personal appeals from Strachan, had finally allowed that King's College could award degrees to candidates who refused to subscribe to the ThirtyNine Articles. Strachan told Canadians that the archbishop had repeatedly reminded him of the fact that both Oxford and Cambridge denied degrees to dissenters and Roman Catholics who had otherwise earned them. This prohibition continued in Britain until 1871, when it was removed by an act of Parliament. 1.2

To the vast majority of Upper Canadians, who were not Anglicans, it was plain that a large sum of public money, to wit, the endowment, was being siphoned off to the advantage of one fairly small religious sect. The lower house of the legislature, the Commons House of Assembly of Upper Canada, which had a dissenting majority, immediately took up bills demanding that the Crown be asked to revise the charter, but for some years its actions were thwarted by the upper house, the Legislative Council of Upper Canada, whose members - one of whom was Strachan - were appointed by the lieutenant governor. The House of Assembly also expressed its frustration with the royal charter by writing directly to the king himself. Its letter, signed by the speaker and dated 20 March 1828, after the usual rhetorical flourishes stated the House's objections plainly: We would beg most respectfully to represent, that, as the great body of Your Majesty's subjects in this Province are not members of the Church of England, they have seen, with grief, that the Charter contains provisions which are calculated to render the institution subservient to the particular interests of that Church, and to exclude, from its offices and honours, all who do not belong to it. In consequence of these provisions its benefits will be confined to a favoured few, while others of Your Majesty's subjects, far more numerous, and equally loyal and deserving of Your Majesty's parental care and favour, will be shut out from a participation in them.

10 The Main Stream Having a tendency to build up one particular Church to the prejudice of others, it will naturally be an object of jealousy and disgust. Its influence as a Seminary of Learning, will, upon these accounts, be limited and partial. (Hodgins 1: 242)

The House formally requested that the charter be replaced by one free of the objectionable features. This letter and others, both for and against the charter, found their way to the Colonial Office and in due course action was taken. Lord Goderich, then secretary of state for the colonies, grew tired of the wrangling in Canada and wrote to the lieutenant governor of Upper Canada and chancellor of King's College, Sir John Colborne, on 2 November 1831, demanding the return of the endowment and of the royal charter, in place of which he proposed to issue another charter of a different character. The fate of the endowment was not disclosed. In an urgent meeting on 21 March 1832 the Council of King's College, which had been formed in 1828 to manage the endowment and lay plans for opening the college, refused to yield the charter. Strachan chaired the meeting in the absence of the chancellor. The crux of the council's argument is contained in this passage, almost certainly from the pen of Strachan himself: 'As the Council do not feel, so they cannot profess to feel, a sufficient assurance that, after they should have consented to destroy a College founded by their Sovereign, under as unrestricted and open a Charter as had ever passed the Great Seal of England for a similar purpose, the different Branches of the Legislature would be able to concur in establishing another that would equally secure to the inhabitants of this Colony, through successive generations, the possession of a Seat of Learning, in which sound religious instruction should be dispensed and in which care would be taken to guard against those occasions of instability, dissension and confusion, the foresight of which has led in our Parent State to the making an uniformity of religion in each University throughout the Empire, an indispensable feature of its Constitution' (Hodgins 3: 33). To make its refusal more palatable, the council proposed several changes in the charter, including dropping the requirement that any professor, except the divinity professor, subscribe to the Thirty-Nine Articles. Instead of renewing his demand for its return, Goderich 'authorized the Upper Canada Legislature to modify the Charter at its discretion' (201). For most of the 1830s a solid majority of the membership of the Legislative Council supported the Anglican position. Finally, in 1837 both

The Rise and Fall of King's College

11

houses approved legislation that removed the specific references to the established Church but included the provision that every member of the college council be required to sign this oath: 'I do solemnly and sincerely declare that I believe in the authenticity and divine inspiration of the Old and New Testaments and in the Doctrine of the Holy Trinity.' The act received royal assent on 4 March 1837. Another provision of the act dropped the requirement that the president hold ecclesiastical office, although it did not oblige Strachan to resign to make way for a successor. The bishop of Quebec was replaced as Visitor by the judges of the Court of King's Bench. Four laymen were made ex officio members of the college council, namely, the speakers of the two houses of the legislature, the attorney general, and the solicitor general. The size of the council remained unchanged at twelve members: four lay members, five senior professors, the principal of Upper Canada College, the president, and the chancellor. The chancellor was chairman, with Strachan presiding when he was absent. Except for the oath required of the council members, the act declared that no religious test or qualification should ever be demanded of any student, including students of divinity. Rather surprisingly, the act did not abolish the Faculty of Divinity, so it continued to be a part of the plan for the college. There had been some discussion in earlier years of appointing two divinity professors - one Church of England and one Church of Scotland - but the founding of Queen's College in Kingston by the Presbyterians removed, in the opinion of the Anglicans at least, the necessity for a second divinity professor in King's College.

1.3 While this debate was going on, the Council of King's College, with Strachan nearly always in the chair, husbanded the endowment and discussed from time to time opening the college to students. To fill temporarily the council seats reserved for the professors, the lieutenant governor appointed men who were active in the provincial government, so for the first two years the only member with more than a layman's interest in the prospective college was Strachan. Under Strachan's spirited direction the council, from its first meeting on 8 January 1828, undertook the management of the endowment - rents were collected, lands were leased, and other lands were sold, but extremely poor records were kept. The man who was hired by Strachan, with council's approval, to manage the financial affairs of the college with the title of bursar, Colonel Joseph Wells, did not know the first thing about bookkeeping. As a

12 The Main Stream

result, when a special commission was appointed to investigate the finances of the College twenty years later, it was discovered, too late, that many rents had not been collected, that the records of leases and sales were sporadic at best, and that a large portion of the lands - some 97,000 acres - had been sold at the 'sole discretion' of the bursar, sometimes with mortgages supplied by the college itself. The bursar had failed to maintain full records of the collection of payments, with the consequence that some people who had secured mortgages from the college to buy land owned by the college had made one or two mortgage payments, or perhaps none, and then had neglected to pay any more. It was a colossal mess, and the commission attributed it in large part to the fact that the bursar had been appointed, not because he had the necessary qualifications for the office, but because he was a 'gentleman' in need of an income, and the college council, which should have supervised his actions, treated him as above oversight. The commission did not charge the bursar with any crimes, even though his own records, such as they were, showed that he had taken in some £80,000 in rents, payments, and interest, but had expended only £55,000 of it on the college. They never did get an accurate accounting of the remaining £25,000, a considerable portion of which had been irretrievably lost. When this mess was documented, Wells had been gone from office for over a decade. In his letter of resignation of 8 July 1839 he openly admitted that he had abused the trust placed in him by lending college monies to various people without the sanction of the council: 'It is with feelings of compunction and deep regret, that I have now painfully to announce that the balance of £6,374 14s Id, due from me, is not immediately forthcoming, owing to my self-acknowledged censurable conduct in affording aid to various individuals out of the funds in my possession, without any sanction for doing so.' While admitting to sloppy bookkeeping, he begged understanding of his actions on the ground that 'feelings of compassion for the situation of the applicants for assistance was the sole cause of these reprehensible advances, in order to save their properties from a sheriffs sale, or their persons from confinement' (Hodgins 3:193). Wells had treated the endowment as a public charity. Strachan himself had taken advantage of Wells's willingness to loan money without demanding collateral: on 2January 1836 he received £1,000, which he later claimed he had repaid with interest; then on 7 January 1837, with the approval of the council, which he normally chaired, he borrowed £5,250 from the university funds and again claimed he had repaid the loan with interest (Hodgins 3: 302). Wells, who burned many papers during the rebellion of

The Rise and Fall of King's College 13

1837 to prevent them from falling into the hands of the rebels, was unable to produce any written records of these transactions. Wells's successor, Dr Henry Boys, who assumed office in 1839, was by all accounts a competent accountant and a highly moral man who did his best to bring the books of the college into good order. To a certain extent he succeeded, but many of the records were beyond correction. The college's assets had been severely depleted under Wells. Had the lands been well managed from the start, it is very likely that there would have been, by the time the college opened, a sufficient annual income for it both to prosper and to grow. Instead, during the 1840s, when there was a payroll to meet and a building to maintain, the college was always operating at a deficit and paid its bills by selling more land. The Church party - President Strachan, Vice-President John McCaul, and the professor of divinity, James Beaven - all were in favour of selling the land in this way, but William C. Gwynne, professor of anatomy and physiology, consistently opposed them and sometimes carried a majority of council with him. Often and rightly he reminded its members that if all the land were sold, there would be no endowment left. Unfortunately, his warnings usually fell on deaf ears. In sorting through the financial records, the commissioners found one pearl of great worth. Between 10 December 1828 and 2 December 1829 the Council of King's College bought, in four separate transactions, the land on which both the University of Toronto and the provincial Parliament building are now located. The council paid £4,210, or an average of £25 per acre, for 168 acres of land and three rights of way: what is now University Avenue from Queen Street north to the campus, College Street from Yonge Street west to the campus, and a puzzling one, which was described as access to Yonge Street from Queen Street. 'No investment,' the commissioners wrote, 'ever made by the University authorities can be regarded as equal to this, either in present or prospective value' (Hodgins 2: 221). Regrettably, the college council later sold peripheral parcels of this land, some of which were later bought back by the university at very high prices. By 1850 only about 100 acres remained of the original purchase. In addition to the losses incurred through mismanagement, there was another drain on the income available to King's College from the endowment. When Sir John Colborne was appointed lieutenant governor in 1830 and consequently also became chancellor of King's College, he took the view that all Upper Canada needed in the way of higher education was a good preparatory school. Any of its graduates who desired further

14 The Main Stream

education could be sent to university in England, or, as a last resort, to study in the United States. Given a college council packed with politicians, it was easy for him to secure its approval of his plan. Using proceeds from the university's endowment, the Royal Grammar School in Toronto was upgraded and renamed Upper Canada College; it opened on 27 February 1830. Its principal, Joseph Harris, who was recruited from England, was appointed a member of the Council of King's College and its finances were made the responsibility of the council. With the imposition of this burden, the opening of King's College had to be postponed indefinitely. Lieutenant governors, fortunately, come and go, and in 1836 Sir John went. During the following six years there were three lieutenant governors and consequently three chancellors, none of whom appears to have advocated a change in Colborne's policy, although one, Sir Francis Bond Head, gave royal assent in 1837 to the legislation reforming the charter of King's College. For a short period in 1837, it appeared that King's College would open the following year, but the rebellion of the winter of 1837-8 scotched those plans. The debate that led to the union of the two Canadas in 1841 engaged everyone's attention for the next three years, with the result that no move was made during that period to open King's College. 1.4

On 12 January 1842 Sir Charles Bagot (1771-1843) took office in Kingston, then the seat of government, with the grander title of 'Governor General of British North America,' the provinces of Upper and Lower Canada (now called Canada West and Canada East) having been formally united on 10 February 1841. An Oxford M.A. himself, Bagot proved responsive to Strachan's appeal, made in conversations held during his first month in office, for the immediate opening of King's College. In a letter to Strachan dated 15 February 1842, Bagot committed himself to opening the college as soon as it could be managed: 'I need hardly assure your Lordship that I have given my most attentive consideration to the matter relative to the University of King's College brought before me in the conversations which I have had with your Lordship and that I am most anxious to adopt the course which will be best calculated to bring that Institution into immediate and effective operation.' To facilitate the opening, he approved Strachan's suggestion that the college use the vacant parliamentary building, situated on the north side of Front Street between Simcoe (then called Graves) and John Streets, until a permanent building could be constructed on the campus. Before he could act,

The Rise and Fall of King's College 15

he needed the college council's approval of the plan, so he asked Strachan to secure its sanction as soon as possible. When this matter had been settled, Strachan and Bagot turned their attention to planning a ceremony during which the governor general would lay the foundation stone for the permanent building, and they also began to discuss the recruitment of a faculty. In 1837, when the opening of the college seemed imminent, the college council had settled on the curriculum and had determined that five professors were required to teach it. In the following year John McCaul, who had served as a classical tutor and examiner in Trinity College, Dublin, his alma mater, for a short period after graduation, was persuaded by the archbishop of Canterbury to come to Toronto as principal of Upper Canada College. McCaul, whose office gave him a seat on the college council, was very interested in joining the faculty of the new college, and he made this fact known to Bagot, who was favourably impressed by him. Bagot decided to appoint him vice-president of the college, to manage its day-to-day operation, and also professor of classics when the time came to assemble the faculty for King's College. In the correspondence between Strachan and Bagot1 there is some evidence that Strachan was not pleased with Bagot's decision to appoint McCaul to these offices. As mentioned above, Strachan's ideal of a university was English, not Scottish or Irish. Since his own degree was from Aberdeen University in Scotland and McCaul's from Trinity College Dublin, he urged Bagot to recruit a new president from England and to deny McCaul an appointment altogether. In a letter written on 14 March 1842 Strachan reiterated his wish that King's College open with a completely new set of appointments: 'Your Excellency will excuse me for again pressing on your attention the necessity of sending to England for the President and principal Professors without exception, before the long vacation commences, when the University men scatter, and the difficulty of selection becomes greater. Even that of Divinity, which I at one time desired to except.' Strachan went on to say that he had decided against the local candidate for the divinity chair, because he wanted a strong British faculty at the start: 'if we are to commence King's College in an impos-

1 Photocopies of the letters quoted in this chapter and the next and an annotated transcription of them made by the author are available for inspection in the University of Toronto Archives. The originals are contained in the papers of Sir Charles Bagot (MS24 A13, vols 1-9) in the National Archives of Canada in Ottawa and the papers of Bishop John Strachan (Letterbooks, 1812-67) in the Archives of Ontario in Toronto.

16 The Main Stream

ing, popular, and effective manner, the President and leading Professors must without exception be from England, and this I believe is now generally expected by a vast majority of the intelligent inhabitants of the Province. Hereafter vacancies, as they occur, may be filled up on the spot, if competent persons can be found, and such the University, it is presumed, will soon produce in abundance.' On this occasion Bagot, who had an eye for practicality, let Strachan's point pass without comment. Strachan, however, did not take the hint; he raised the matter again in a conversation with Bagot when the governor general visited Toronto to lay the foundation stone for the King's College building at the end of April, and he pressed his point in a letter to Bagot of 5 May. Part of Strachan's argument concerning McCaul was that he thought Upper Canada College would be harmed if McCaul, whom everyone agreed was an excellent principal, vacated that position. In his letter to Strachan of 4 May, written before he got Strachan's follow-up letter, Bagot turned Strachan's point against him. Since McCaul had acquitted himself so well as principal and since local talent should be looked to first in staffing the university, it would be a blow to both McCaul and Canada if he were not offered a position in the new university, after having proved himself worthy: Your Lordship may possibly feel, as I also should feel, that in our view of the general character and discipline with which we should desire to see the Institution clothed, and conducted, they should be committed to some one, ceteris paribus, educated at one or the other of the old English Universities, but I certainly cannot allow myself to suppose that the appointment of such a person as Dr. McCaul whose classical attainments are of so high an order, who has given proof of his intimate knowledge both of the proper instruction and proper treatment of youth, and who was selected for what has been for years the nearly, if not entirely analogous duty which he now holds, by the most distinguished son of the most distinguished College of Oxford, and the Head of our Church, the Archbishop of Canterbury, can, for a moment, or with any show of reason, be considered as any essential deviation from the spirit which we seek to infuse in the King's College University. In fact I see no other way, in which we could fairly attain the benefit of Dr. McCaul's valuable aid, or sufficiently recompense, as I feel that we are bound to do, his past services, for it certainly would not be fair to say, or, by his exclusion from the University to imply, that those services had been, and continued to be so valuable that they must stand in the way of his deserved advancement. Such an argument could not, in ordinary justice, be addressed to any man, and we must also recollect that, even if it

The Rise and Fall of King's College

17

could be addressed to him, we should in his case, do more than withhold from him the reward of those merits which we acknowledge, as the very situation which he now holds, must, of necessity be more or less overshadowed, and reduced by the very existence of the superior Institution from which he is excluded, and that, while he would be excluded from a position to which he had every reasonable pretension to aspire, that which he retained would no longer be to him what it had previously been, and what under other circumstances it would have continued to be. In this letter Bagot made it perfectly clear to Strachan that he was not prepared to take his advice, and he begged Strachan to continue as president for a few years to provide the infant college with the benefit of his considerable experience as an educator. After this exchange Strachan allowed the matter to drop. John McCaul (1807-87) was to occupy top administrative positions in King's College and its successors, the University of Toronto and University College, for nearly forty years. A revealing portrait of him comes down to us from Daniel Wilson, later his successor as president of University College, in a letter to his wife written in 1853: Dr. McCaul, who has been a subject of curiosity to you, is a shrewd, clever, long-headed Irishman, a Fellow of Trinity College, Dublin, a college tutor and professor of some twenty three years standing, and a bit of a martinet in all matters of College discipline. It is a high crime and misdemeanour to appear in College hours otherwise than in cap and gown. At one of my examinations I learned that I should only have three students present, and so was appearing in surtout and natural wig. Oh dear! that would never do. Back I had to go and don my officials. The College porter solemnly rang the bell for ten minutes, the College beadle then appeared in his gown with the mace over his shoulder to announce to me that the hour had come, and away I marched at his tail into the great hall, where one poor solitary student awaited my arrival! It cost me some difficulty to preserve my gravity under my silk tassel. The Doctor however has better stuff in him and is really an able man and a good scholar. (Langton 1929, 60-1) McCaul was an expert on certain classes of ancient inscriptions. During his tenure as president of University College he published two studies, Britanno-Roman Inscriptions, with Critical Notes (1863) and Christian Epitaphs of the First Six Centuries (1869). In 1880 he resigned from the university for reasons of health; he died seven years later.

18 The Main Stream

While Strachan was busy with his plans for opening King's College, the dissenters decided to have some fun at his expense. On the morning of 27 February 1842, a Sunday, his cathedral was found to be covered with printed handbills; copies of the same handbill were affixed to his residence, and the following day others were sent through the post to several clergymen in the city. Strachan's newspaper, the Church, reproduced the handbill in its issue of 5 March (138) in the course of an editorial contending that the Church of England was still the object of much hatred in Upper Canada. The handbill, which was printed in a variety of type faces of several sizes, reads:

A PUNCH PARTY

will be held at the C A T H E D R A L , On the Evening of Friday next, the 4th of March, the proceeds of which are to be applied to aid in the erection of King's College and University.

The "O! Be joyful, " will be served up HOT: precisely at 7 o'clock. Those who prefer Tea may have it by paying extra, and bringing their ovm. CREAM.

The Bishop will preside and regulate the weakness of the PUNCH. None but respectable people will

be permitted to attend.

Wheelbarrows will be provided for such as may get Groggy!

Oysters may be had behind the Organ by paying for them. Persons will be stationed thro'out the Church to preserve order; and see that they all are comfortably Liquorized. Tickets - One Dollar - dissenters to pay double, hard cases by the GLASS. It was dated Toronto, February 23, 1842.' The editor of the Church felt obliged to make a pained comment: 'Of course we do not think that any

The Rise and Fall of King's College 19

respectable member, of any denomination, committed himself by a personal share in this insult upon the whole Canadian Church, but we strongly believe that the sentiments of hostility which dictated the printing and affixing of the handbill and which betray themselves in its coarse and almost blasphemous language, are far more common than is generally imagined' (138). The handwriting was clearly on the wall, but Strachan and company failed to see that it doomed their enterprise.

1.5 There was general agreement that the other professors, except those in medicine and law, should be recruited from England; in those days there were simply no Canadians with strong enough educational credentials to be entrusted with professorships. Late in the spring of 1842, after the foundation stone of its first building was laid by Bagot in a very elaborate and impressive public ceremony on 23 April, the council informed him, this time in his role as chancellor of King's College with the sole power of appointment, that he should proceed with the recruitment of faculty. In his reply dated 1 June he informed the council, byway of a letter to Strachan, that he had 'already written to England for the Professors of Theology, Mathematics and Chemistry, and that I hope ere very long to receive some satisfactory information in respect of all of them.' It was, he added, his expectation that he would have a full slate ready to begin teaching in January of the new year. To find a qualified candidate willing to take the divinity post, Bagot turned to his younger brother, Richard, who happened to be the bishop of Oxford. It should be noted that everyone involved in this search understood that the divinity professor would also teach metaphysics and ethics. In a remarkable letter of 10 May 1842 Bagot placed the task of finding a divinity professor squarely on his brother's shoulders: 'This person you must find for me. I address myself to you, first because you are the most likely person to bestir yourself zealously in a matter in which my own public credit, as well as my most anxious wishes are concerned - secondly because I think that from your position you are more likely than any one else to know the reputation and personal character of Oxford men, from among whom I should much desire that, ceteris paribus, the Professor should if possible be chosen - and thirdly, because the avocations of the Archbishop, and the Bishop of London are, I know, so overwhelming, that it would be hardly fair to ask them to undertake a very troublesome office which they would feel to be, at the same time much too important to del-

20 The Main Stream

egate to another person.' After apprising his brother of the arrangements already in place regarding Strachan and McCaul and detailing the salary and perquisites of the position on offer, Bagot outlined the qualities that the successful candidate should have: For this I want a man, an Oxford man if possible, of profound knowledge in Divinity and capable of lecturing in a high form. If he should be a good Hebrew scholar too, it will be an immense advantage to us. He should be a man of active habits, in all the vigour of middle life, with such zeal in the cause (it is really a very great one) as shall make him content to cast his lot in this Country, where he may find, at first much that may be distasteful to him, much to contend with in the shape of dissent, consequently he ought to be a man of consummate prudence and a very agreeable temper, capable of pacifying, if not of reconciling the jarring elements which he may expect occasionally to find. He should I think have a Doctor's degree if not from the University, from Lambeth. I need scarcely add that he must be of the soundest, most unpuseyfied, and purest Church of Englandism, and that he should be ready to find himself here, and undertake his charge before the expiration of the year. Now can you find me such a Phoenix as this? I beseech you to make the attempt, and, as you will perceive as necessary, with as little delay as possible. You shall hear from me again upon the subject. In the mean time enquire, look round, consult, and write to me. There must be such men. Many, to be found in England and I should think, in the crowded state of the ecclesiastical profession, some at least whose zeal, whose ambition, or whose poverty would induce them to come and cultivate 'Sweet Sharon's rose on icy plains amid eternal snows.' Do your best for me. The best interest of this colony, and my own credit are at stake.

Bagot's requirement that the man selected be 'unpuseyfied' meant that he was not to be sympathetic to the 'Oxford Movement,' an essentially reactionary faction within the Church of England, then at the height of its influence; its leaders were Edward Pusey, John Henry Newman, and John Keble. The controversy generated by this group caused the bishop of Oxford a great deal of anguish; in 1845 he asked to be translated to the see of Bath and Wells. After his translation he suffered a severe mental breakdown from which, fortunately, he recovered. The bishop set about his commission in earnest, and during the summer of 1842 he offered the professorship to two men, both of whom turned it down. The first, William Jacobson (1803-84), was educated in Lincoln College, Oxford, and ordained in 1831. For seven years he had

The Rise and Fall of King's College 21 taught theology in Exeter College, Oxford, and then had accepted the perpetual curacy of Iffley, near Oxford. In 1848 he was appointed by the prime minister, Lord John Russell, as regius professor of divinity in Oxford, a position he held until 1865, when he was installed as bishop of Chester. His scholarly work consisted in preparing editions of the works of three earlier religious thinkers. There is no evidence to indicate that he was interested in philosophical questions. After Jacobson declined the appointment, Oxford offered it to William Palmer (1803-85), an Irishman who was educated at Trinity College, Dublin, and after ordination at Magdalen College, Oxford, from which he earned the M.A. degree. In 1831 he was appointed to teach in Worcester College, Oxford, and fifteen years later he resigned to take up pastoral duties. His most important scholarly work was a study of church liturgy, which was very well received by his peers. He was a founding member of the Association of Friends of the Church, which later served as Newman's vehicle for circulating the theology of the Oxford Movement, the 'Tracts of the Times,' one of which Palmer wrote. 'Newman remarked that he was the only thoroughly learned man among the initiators of the Oxford Movement' (McGrath 1998, 182). Like Jacobson, Palmer showed no interest in philosophical problems. Both men were very high church in their principles but neither was tempted to follow the more extreme members of the Oxford movement; thus they were unpuseyfied. That the bishop set his sights high is attested by the fact that biographies of both Jacobson and Palmer are included in the Dictionary of National Biography. Unfortunately, since the letters exchanged by the Bagot brothers were presumably considered to be family correspondence, they were not included in the papers given by a member of the family to the National Archives of Canada in 1910. In his correspondence with Bishop Strachan, Sir Charles Bagot mentioned that he was in frequent correspondence with his brother on the matter of a divinity professor, but aside from the mention of Jacobson and Palmer, no other prospects are named. In a letter to Strachan written on the last day of October Bagot reported success on the chemistry chair, but none on Divinity: 'The Bishop of Oxford's difficulties seem to be much greater; but He also is far from despairing. Every mail brings me a letter from Him on the subject; but I see plainly that such men as He would alone consent to recommend for such a station as that of Divinity Professor here, are not to be easily induced to quit the prospects which they may think they have at home - still I can have no doubt of His eventual success.' The successful candidate was James Beaven. By the time he was appointed, Bagot was already fatally ill, so the news of Beaven's appointment came to him from Strachan, who reported

22 The Main Stream

in a letter dated 7 December 1842 that he had received a message from Beaven informing him that the bishop had appointed him to the professorship. 'I think I have heard his name mentioned as a Divine of reputation' was Strachan's only comment. Unless and until Bagot's later correspondence with the bishop comes to light, we shall never know how many others declined the challenge to help to found a new university. There may not, of course, have been others, but the long gap of three months suggests that there were.

1.6 To find a suitable candidate for the chair in mathematics and natural philosophy Bagot turned to the son of one of his oldest friends, George William Lyttelton, who had succeeded his father as 4th Baron Lyttelton in 1837. Lyttelton had been bracketed senior classic at Cambridge in 1838 and was the winner of the Chancellor's Medal, so he knew personally many of those who had studied mathematics during his student days. In a letter of 28 May 1842, Bagot, after providing the necessary background for his request, stressed both the urgency and the importance of the task: I have sent to England for a proper person for the Divinity Professorship and what I am now in want of is a Mathematical Professor. Here it is that I want your assistance. Can you, amongst the wrangling triangling Cantabs of your acquaintance, fix upon some man, eminent for his knowledge of the Mathematics pure and mixed whose prospects in England are not either brilliant or certain or whose zeal for arcs, and sines and cosines amounts to enthusiasm and whom you think can be persuaded to come out to this Country as the Mathematical Professor in this College? As such, his station in Canada will be one of distinction. He will have a salary of 450 or 500 pounds a year with a house and garden, and he will reside in a society of certainly the most accomplished men who are to be found in Upper Canada. The offer you may think inadequate, but you must bear in mind that the value of money in this Country is very far greater than in England - and even if it were not, I cannot help thinking that there must be many - very many superior young men in England, to whom such an income in permanency, and in a very fine Country, would be a tempting offer. You are however to understand that I want a first rate mathematician; and that the question is not who will take my offer, but who is eminently qualified to fill the post.

The Rise and Fall of King's College 23 Now I do beseech you to have the kindness to think over this matter for me very seriously, and with an eye to my credit, and the solid advantage of Canada. If no one should immediately occur to yourself, I think that you must still have acquaintances at Cambridge who are both able and willing to judge conscientiously in such a case, and in whom the spirit of job will not be found. The object is really to me a most important one. Write to me upon the subject as soon as you can conveniently - and such a letter as I may, if necessary, lay before the Council. If you will do this for me, you will indeed be my largest Apollo.

Lyttelton replied on 17th June that he felt sure he could find a suitable candidate, but he was uncertain of his authority in the matter: 'I could have wished that your letter had been more explicit as to the degree of discretion that you intended to give me, but I think upon the whole that you meant to empower me to name it at least to any person whom I might hear of as well qualified for the post; and I accordingly shall do so, though of course I shall say that the appointment will lie entirely with you. I repeat that I have very great hopes of being able to meet your wishes.' Bagot in his reply of 7 July swept aside all of Lyttelton's doubts as to his authority: 'Understand then that I put myself entirely into your hands, and into those of such men at Cambridge as you may deem it fit to consult upon such [an] important matter, giving you full authority to propose, accept, confirm, engage, satisfy and do whatever else may be necessary in England to secure to us the services of the man we want, and being fully persuaded that you and they will really do for me the best that can be done, conscientiously, zealously, and with no view of helping 'a meritorious young man' unless he has all the qualities which the post I offer really requires. The official appointment is a formality which can only be executed here. But I engage to appoint the man whom you tell me I may safely appoint.' In a letter of 16 July, which crossed the one just quoted, Lyttelton told Bagot that he and his Cambridge friends had sounded out, without success, two senior wranglers2 and another ranked third: There is a yearly crop of wranglers in number between thirty and forty; now

2 For those new to it, the term 'wrangler' has been in use at Cambridge since the middle of the eighteenth century to designate graduates with first-class honours in the Mathematical Tripos.

24 The Main Stream we have been hitherto negotiating with nothing under the 'sereni ordines [serene ranks ]' of the first three, namely with two senior wranglers, and one third. I myself should hardly have thought of attempting a senior. You may have heard of the great pomp and circumstance that attend a senior wrangler's degree at Cambridge: there is a much greater difference in prestige and fame between him and the second than there often is in actual mathematical calibre. On this account they are pretty certain of abundant distinction and ease by remaining in England. My friends however, men of the greatest authority and experience, thought there were circumstances which rendered it possible that one of their 'reverend seniors' might accept the offer and thinking the delay not to be set against such a chance as this, it is to obtain an answer to a question from the man now on the cards (a senior wrangler 1841) that I now write to you.

It would be necessary, Lyttelton thought, to consider fifth or sixth wranglers in order to find one willing to accept the position, but he assured Bagot that such a candidate would do nicely, since English schools often appointed wranglers of that rank or even lower to professorships. After he received Bagot's authority to offer the position, Lyttelton continued to search for someone willing to take the job. Whether he offered it to others who declined it is unknown, because his next letter to Bagot on 31 October 1842 announced the appointment of Richard Potter, then professor of natural philosophy and astronomy in University College London. Potter (1799-1886) was largely self-educated in science. By the age of thirty-four he had read eight papers to three annual meetings of the British Association. Favourable audience response to his work led him to prepare himself in the classical languages, then a necessary condition for admission to one of the universities. Queen's College, Cambridge, admitted him in 1835 and he was graduated in 1838 as sixth wrangler. In 1841, while studying medicine, he was awarded the M.A. degree and in October of that year he accepted the professorship in University College London. Potter resigned from King's College at the end of its first year on 4 April 1844 because he found he was to be paid £50 less annually than he had been promised when he accepted the appointment. In the hope of muting some of the criticism being levelled at the college by the dissenters, the position of professor of mathematics was then given to Robert Murray, a Presbyterian minister, whose qualifications for the post were that he had published a book on commercial arithmetic in Scotland before emigrating to Canada (see Hodgins 5: 111-13). Murray served until his death in 1853.

The Rise and Fall of King's College

25

1.7

To fill the chemistry chair, Bagot sought the assistance of Michael Faraday, whom he did not know except by reputation. In a letter of 1 June 1842 Bagot laid out the plans for the college and stated that some professors had to be brought from England: 'Of these I consider the Professor of Chemistry to be among the first; and the object of this letter is to request your kind assistance in endeavouring to ascertain for me, whether there may not be in England, some person of whose knowledge, acquirements, and power of lecturing you entertain such an opinion, as might incline you to recommend him for a situation of such importance in the Institution in question, and who might be tempted to give to this Country the benefit of his services in such a cause.' After detailing the salary and the perquisites of the office, Bagot delegated the task of finding a suitable candidate to Faraday: 'Having stated thus much, I will only add that, if it should be in your power to find a person whom you can confidently recommend as eminently qualified for the discharge of the duties of such a station, and who is at the same time willing to undertake them, you will, by endeavouring to secure for us his services, confer a signal benefit upon this Country and a great obligation upon myself.' Faraday immediately set about finding someone with the requisite qualifications who was willing to remove to Toronto. On 19 July he wrote to Bagot naming four men to whom he had offered the position, but he was sorry to report that all of them had declined his offer. All these men were about forty years of age, held positions in London schools and hospitals, and had built up prospects for advancement. The refusal of so many to consider a proposition which would take them so far from home lessens the list of those whom I should feel inclined to recommend, and indeed takes away the chief: and though I could still find many willing, and perhaps excellent, I cannot find many of whom I know enough personally, to become, as it were, evidence for them. There is a young gentleman, Henry H. Croft, to whom four or five years ago I gave letters to Mitscherlich of Berlin, and he was consequently in his laboratory for two years and studied besides [one and one-half] years more in German laboratories; and having now returned home, he has written a brief paper or two and translated several with good judgment, but I know not that he has lectured. I have spoken generally to his father who resides in Upper Gower Street, London: he would be prepared to go to Canada and I have no doubts the offer would be very acceptable.

26 The Main Stream

In addition to those already approached and Croft, Faraday could think of only one other possible candidate, a Mr Warrington, whom he had not yet been able to contact. If that man declined, 'then I think I can do no more.' In a reply that has been lost, Bagot suggested that perhaps Faraday had set his aims too high, and that in his opinion either Croft or Warrington would fill Toronto's needs adequately. There matters stood for the next two months. On 28 September William Holmes, the godfather of Henry Holmes Croft, wrote to Bagot to enquire about the state of the appointment. Faraday had apparently left Croft with the impression that he was recommending him to Bagot and that he should expect to hear directly from the governor general. The receipt of Holmes's letter led Bagot to act. In a letter to Strachan, written on 18 October, he recounted his efforts to secure a chemistry professor for King's College: When I had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Grasett [a member of the Council of King's College], on his road through Kingston to Toronto, I requested him to tell you that I thought that I had succeeded in obtaining in England, the services of a Mr. Croft, a young man, who according to Mr. Faraday's report of him is capable of filling very advantageously the Chair of Chemistry in King's College. I suspect that it has been my own fault that I did not sooner receive Mr. Croft for the Establishment, and that I ought to have understood from Mr. Faraday's letter that when he named him to me, I should have written directly to him to offer him the Professorship, instead of imagining, as I did, that I had given Mr. Faraday such full powers upon the subject that he would conclude the business with Mr. Croft, or with any one else, who, in his judgment might be competent to fill the post. It was not till I received the enclosed letter by the last mail from Mr. Holmes, who it seems is interested about Mr. Croft, that I discovered that the fault had lain with me, when I immediately wrote authorizing Mr. Holmes to offer the Professorship to Mr. Croft, and to request that, if he accepted it, he would desire him to set out for Canada with the least possible delay.

Faraday, however, had not given up on finding a more suitable candidate. No doubt he thought Croft, who was merely twenty-two, was too young and inexperienced for such an important appointment, so he continued to offer the position to more senior men. On 3 November Faraday wrote to Bagot naming two more who had declined, one of whom, after he had accepted the offer, had been called

The Rise and Fall of King's College

27

in by Sir Robert Peel, the prime minister, and promised a position in England. On his third attempt, Faraday had approached John Joseph Griffin, who was pleased to accept his offer. Bagot, who by this time was very ill, had not kept Faraday informed about the developments regarding Croft, and when Faraday learned of them, he was not pleased. On 3 December he wrote to Bagot and expressed his dismay at this turn of events: 'I was greatly surprised at an interview with Mr. Holmes to hear that Your Excellency had authorised him to nominate Mr. Croft as the Toronto Professor inasmuch as the terms of Your Excellency's last letter to me had led to further inquiries and to joint letters from myself and Mr. Griffin to Your Excellency in which he on my application had accepted the office. The words of Your Excellency's second letter to me are that I should induce either Mr. Croft or Mr. Warrington or any other gentleman, etc. etc. I have not said a word to Mr. Griffin since I saw Mr. Holmes feeling quite satisfied that Your Excellency would under the circumstances confirm his appointment.' Before he got this letter, Bagot, who had recovered sufficiently to resume some of his duties, had answered Faraday's letter of 3 November; his reply is dated 11 December. In it he explained his interpretation of events once he had received Holmes's letter, and he apologized for the embarrassment he had caused Faraday. By this time Croft had already written to Bagot accepting the appointment. With respect to the college's needs, Croft was probably the better choice of the two. Griffin (1802-1877) was a popularizer of chemistry, not a working chemist. Before Faraday offered him the Toronto appointment, he had published three books aimed at the intelligent lay reader. In his later career he was first a bookseller and then a dealer in chemical apparatus. In the course of his second career, he improved many existing instruments and invented a number of others; the firm he established flourished even after his death. Croft, on the other hand, was an experimental chemist, who served Toronto well until he took early retirement in 1880. That Faraday tried his best to secure a top chemist for Toronto is attested to by the fact that all but one of those to whom he offered the position have been honoured by inclusion in the Dictionary of National Biography. 1.8

As recorded earlier, Bagot had decided to offer the professorships in the Faculty of Medicine to physicians already practising in Upper Canada, since he despaired of finding Englishmen of the necessary eminence who would be willing to disrupt their careers by moving to Canada. Dr John

28 The Main Stream King (1806-57) was given his choice of either the Theory and Practice of Medicine or Surgery, and he choose the former, which was a full-time position. Bagot was anxious to have King on the faculty because he was a Roman Catholic and his appointment would help to dilute the charge of exclusiveness being levelled against King's College. Dr William Charles Gwynne (1806-75), an Irish Protestant, was appointed professor of anatomy and physiology. Gwynne, as noted earlier, was destined to play a very important role in the college council. Dr George Herrick (1789-1856), another Irish Protestant, was made the professor of midwifery and the diseases of women and children. Dr William Bulmer Nicol (1812-86), a transplanted Englishman, took the professorship of materia medica, pharmacy and botany. Although Bagot selected all of these men, the actual appointments of the last three were made by his successor, Sir Charles Metcalfe.

1.9 Despite the fact that the act of 1837 had cut nearly all the ties between King's College and the Church of England, the power of appointment still resided with the governor general, who was, of course, a member of that faith, and those to whom he delegated the power of finding professors in England were also Anglicans. The result was that three of the four new professors - the three from England and Gwynne - were professing Anglicans, and one of them, James Beaven, the professor of divinity, metaphysics and ethics, was a priest of the established Church. Since Strachan, by this time bishop of Toronto, and McCaul were also priests in the Church of England, an absolute majority of the college council was of the Anglican faith, given the near certainty that at least one of the governmental appointees, besides the chancellor, was of that faith. In the eyes of many dissenters this state of affairs was intolerable. One of them, John Macara (1813-82), a law student lately arrived from Edinburgh, was moved to write a short book, published anonymously in 1844, documenting the grievances of the dissenters. The Origin, History, and Management of the University of King's College, Toronto helped to keep 'the university question' alive. This passage focused on the actions of the college council between 1837 and 1843: The Council now felt themselves in a position to offer open violence to the principles of the Amended Charter. Every effort was studiously made to impress the public mind at the outset with their determination to defeat

The Rise and Fall of King's College

29

the intentions of the Legislature by imposing an Episcopal character upon the Institution. Under no authority from the Charter, but in flagrant violation of its spirit, a Theological Chair had been established, from which the doctrines of the Church of England were to be taught, by a Professor selected from the University of Oxford - the fountain of orthodox illiberality and prejudice. With one exception, the Professors had been all taken from the bosom of the Episcopal Church, - a circumstance in no respect detracting from their qualifications, but the result of something more than accident, and certainly calculated to have a material influence on an institution, which, in other respects, had been so carefully moulded to Episcopal prejudices. A chapel had been fitted up at great expense for the exclusive accommodation of the Episcopal members, in which every student was compelled, unless favoured by the dispensation of the Vice-President (McCaul), to worship daily according to the ritual of the Church of England. (Macara 1844, 59)

In this passage Macara is referring to the modifications made by the college to the parliamentary building, its temporary quarters, to adapt it for college use. Many citizens were shocked to learn that £4,831 had been spent, most of it being used to fashion the chapel out of solid walnut. Such ostentation and extravagance on the part of the Anglicans was long remembered by many dissenters and fuelled the demand for additional reforms. Beaven, who designed the chapel, found himself right from the start an important focus of public distrust and, what was worse, anger. As we will see in the next chapter this hostility did not seem to faze him. He seemed to be one of those people who from an early age feel certain they have made the right choices in life and that those with whom they disagree have made wrong ones.

1.10 The lead in secularizing King's College was taken by Robert Baldwin (1804-58), who was twice Liberal prime minister of Upper Canada, in 1842-4 and 1848-51. Bishop Strachan, of course, led the opposition. What is ironical about this fight is the fact that Robert Baldwin had been formally educated by Strachan himself. Various alternative charters, differing only slightly from each other, for a successor to King's College were proposed between 1843 and 1849, and each of them was sent to the college council for comment. Since all of them included the complete secularization of the college, all were opposed by the Church party on

30 The Main Stream

the council. Baldwin's 1843 attempt elicited this barbed comment from Strachan to Governor General Metcalfe in a letter written on 6 March 1844 some months after the legislation failed to pass: 'If the hideous Scheme (or as it is described by our Friends in England "a project glaringly opposed to every principle of justice, equity and law") proposed during the last Session had become a Law which seemed at one time to be not impossible it would very soon have been found how vain had been the Sacrifice of the best and most important interests of the Country - in the hope of having a respite from the clamour and violence of Party. The same power which had placed the matter upon so calamitous a footing could as freely change its condition and would no doubt do so, just as caprices or opinion or interests distinct from those of religion might seem to dictate' (AO, MS 35-5). This extravagant statement is typical of Strachan's rhetoric throughout the controversy. His real reason for opposing any change in the charter is revealed in this comment upon legislation proposed by the Conservative Party early in 1844: Above all things, I claim from the Endowment the means of educating my Clergy. This was my chief object in obtaining the Royal Charter and the Endowment of King's College, as appears from my original application: and it was fully recognized by the Imperial Government, as is evident from the tenure of the Royal Charter, and was indeed the most valuable result to be anticipated by the Institution. It was on this account that one of the great Church Societies in England granted us a Divinity Library, and the other promised to increase it when the University was in full operation. To deprive the Church of England here of this benefit, would be to aim a deadly blow at her very foundation, and to cut off the principal advantage we had in view in seeking for the establishment of a Seat of Learning in Upper Canada. This is a point which never can be given up, and to which I believe the faith of Government is unreservedly pledged. (Hodgins 5: 137)

Judging from this statement, issued on 6 March 1844, it appears that Strachan placed little value on higher education as such. The scientific and medical professors took a much more welcoming view of the government's proposals, which earned them the enmity of the church party. Whether any of the petitions sent by the college or its individual members to the government had any influence may be doubted, because it was plain from the start that the legislature, regardless of the party in power, intended to achieve its goal. Finally, in the autumn of 1849, after the Liberal Party had regained power, Baldwin prevailed, and the charter for the

The Rise and Fall of King's College 31 new University of Toronto under the control of the government was passed and given royal assent.

1.11 The University Act of 1849 made a clean sweep of all the religious connections Strachan had managed to retain in King's College despite their doubtful legality. Strachan himself had resigned the presidency in January 1848 when he judged, mistakenly as it turned out, that the government had abandoned its effort to secularize his beloved institution. McCaul succeeded him. The act abolished the Faculty of Divinity and explicitly forbade the teaching of theology, so Beaven was made redundant in his primary capacity. Chapel services were outlawed. Ministers of religion could neither serve as chancellor of the university nor be appointed by the government to a seat on the senate. The governor general, formerly the chancellor, was installed as the Visitor of the university; his principal duty was to give or withhold his assent to senate statutes (Hodgins 11: 156). Every conceivable religious test was prohibited. Even the gift of 600 theological books from the Society for the Propagation of Christian Knowledge, which Strachan mentioned above, was ordered returned to sender. (The books were later donated to Trinity College.) It was a full sweep for Baldwin and his friends and a complete rout for Strachan and company. Beaven was reduced, completely against his will, to a professor of metaphysics and ethics only, but as we will see in the next chapter, he continued to resist with all his might the transformation of King's College into what he and Strachan called a 'Godless' institution. Baldwin's grander idea, which he took over from the recently created University of London,3 was the establishment of one university in which the previously existing institutions in Upper Canada, Queen's University in Kingston and Victoria College at Cobourg, were federated with the new University of Toronto. All examinations would be set and marked by the University of Toronto, which would also award all degrees. Instruc-

3 In his address at the opening of King's College on 8 June 1843 Bishop Strachan had dismissed the University of London as a failure: 'The wise and uniform practice of Christian Nations has ever been, to give a religious character to their literary institutions, nor is there a College or University in Christendom, founded on any other principle: the infidel attempt called the London University has signally failed, as all such godless imitations of Babel ever must" (Strachan 1843, 48).

32 The Main Stream

tion would be decentralized, with each federated institution preparing its own students for the examinations from a common syllabus. Legislative power in the University of Toronto was exercised by the senate, and each federated institution had a seat in it. Then, as now, the powers that be favoured a very complicated constitutional structure: The executive control was vested in a Caput consisting of the President and deans of faculties and one appointed member. The President and Caput governed the students, the Chancellor and Vice-Chancellor controlled the faculties. The Senate, which constituted the legislative body of the university, consisted of the Chancellor, Vice-Chancellor, the President, the Professors, and twelve or more nominated members, - one-half to be named by the Crown and the other half by affiliated colleges conferring degrees in Divinity only. The Government in this way secured complete control of the university as it held the appointment of a large majority both in the Caput and in the Senate' (Burwash 1906, 60-1). The president of the University of Toronto, who continued to be John McCaul, was in reality only the president of the senate; he had no power to act on his own. The heads of Victoria and Queen's were quick to point out that their students would be at a distinct disadvantage compared with the students attending the university, since the university students would be examined by their own teachers, whereas Victoria students, say, would be examined by professors whom they had never heard lecture. The injustice of this arrangement was quickly admitted by the government, and in 1853 the act was amended to create two institutions at the centre: University College, with a president and a college council, which was limited to teaching duties, and the University of Toronto, with a chancellor, vicechancellor, and senate, which was restricted to managing the endowment, to prescribing subjects for degrees, to appointing examiners, to conducting examinations, and to awarding degrees, scholarships, and certificates of honour to those who had earned them. This act, incidentally, also abolished the Faculties of Law and Medicine. In this reorganization University College had the same relationship to the university as any newly federated institution would have. McCaul, ever the survivor, moved over as president of University College. Still, the institutions before whom this model was dangled in the hope they would bite were sceptical, largely because the teachers in University College were routinely appointed the examiners in the University of Toronto. To meet this criticism, the university senate in 1861 affirmed the principle that examiners, as far as practicable, had no connection with University College; often, however, there were not two qualified external examiners available in a given subject, so faculty members were paid £20 to mark the

The Rise and Fall of King's College 33

examinations of their own students. Beaven, for instance, was appointed an examiner in 1863 after S.S. Nelles of Victoria College declined to serve, and Beaven is listed as an examiner in 1868, 1869, 1871, and 1872, the year after he retired. George Paxton Young served as examiner in 1873, 1874, and 1875. Both he and Beaven were joined by former students who had graduated at the top of their class. Such dependence on its own faculty only stiffened the resistance of the religious colleges to subjecting their students to University of Toronto degree examinations. It would be nearly forty years before Victoria College, the first to enter federation, negotiated terms it could accept. It is important to notice that from 1853 until 1892 there was no president of the University of Toronto. The Senate was supreme in university affairs. During those years there was a president of University College first John McCaul and then Daniel Wilson - who was often forced to act as if he were the president of the university, but his powers were strictly limited. Every appointment and every promotion was made by the government, customarily by the minister of education, and usually upon the recommendation of the president of University College. The minister was under no obligation to accept the president's recommendation, although he usually did. The conduct of affairs was further muddied by the fact that there were both a chancellor and a vice-chancellor of the University of Toronto and their duties were not clearly demarcated. As a result, there were times when all three offices were occupied by ambitious men who offered conflicting advice to the minister on some matter before him for decision. Such a time existed when Edward Blake was chancellor, William Mulock was vice-chancellor, and Daniel Wilson was president of University College. All three carried on correspondence with the minister of education and with members of the faculty. Lines of authority were not clear to anyone. This grievous situation was not rectified until the University Act was amended in 1906. These amendments did away with the office of vice-chancellor, circumscribed the duties of the chancellor, and made the president the chief executive officer of the university with the power to appoint the staff of the university. The amended act also created the Board of Governors and restricted the powers of the Senate to strictly academic concerns. All financial matters were placed under the care of the Board of Governors. This system of governance was in place until the University Act was amended in 1972, when the bicameral system was replaced by the current unicameral Governing Council. The present university has a governing structure similar to that of King's College, whose council was responsible for all aspects of its governance. Thus does the wheel of reform turn round.

34 The Main Stream

1.12

Before I close this chapter, it will be instructive to record the numbers of students who passed through King's College and the University of Toronto in the early years. From 1843-4 through 1850-1 (both inclusive) 138 matriculated students were admitted, with a high of 31 in 1843 and a low of 8 in 1849. During the same period 252 occasional students were registered. These part-timers had no intention of pursuing a degree; their aim instead was to improve their status by selective study. In the last seven years of this period, King's College and the University of Toronto awarded 105 degrees, among them 60 bachelors of arts and 18 masters of arts. The source for figures from these early years is the 'Report of the Caput for the Year 1851.' Nathanael Burwash, president of Victoria University at the turn of the century, discussed the enrolment in the first full year of operation of the new university: 'During the first year under the new act, 1851-52, the University of Toronto enrolled sixty-eight students in Arts, of whom thirtythree were matriculated and thirty-five occasional students. Thirty-three of the latter were students of Hebrew, the first fruits of the affiliation of the theological schools. The enrolment of fourteen matriculated students in the first year with two others not fully matriculated gave promise of better things for the future. There was no class in the fourth year, but a class of eleven in the third year, and of eight in the second' (Burwash 1906, 63). I found no enrolment figures for the years 1852-4, which were very difficult ones for the infant University of Toronto, whose very existence was in peril. Trinity College, which Strachan had succeeded in opening in 1852, attracted most of the Anglicans of college age. Indeed, Strachan hoped to force the 'Godless' university to close by denying it students, but in this effort he failed. For the seven years beginning in 18545 the number of students in University College showed steady growth. In the first year of that period the number of matriculated students was only 28, but in the last, 1860-1, it had grown to 129. In addition to the matriculated students, there were during those seven years 159 part-time and 567 occasional students; occasional students were registered in only one course and part-timers in more than one. In 1855, the University's annus horribilis, there was no convocation at all. At the convocation in 1860 the university awarded 43 Bachelor's and 10 Master's degrees, and in the following year the numbers were 39 and 4. The worst period had passed. No one any longer seriously questioned whether the new institution would survive.

2

The Founding Professor: James Beaven

2.1

On 15 February 1843 the Reverend James Beaven, D.D., arrived in Toronto with his wife and seven children, ranging in age from two to fifteen, to take up his position as professor of divinity, metaphysics and moral philosophy in the University of King's College. They had been travelling since 8 December. Beaven was forty-one years of age when he elected to emigrate to Canada; he had been born on 9 July 1801 at Wes bury in Wiltshire. Being the second son in his family, he was probably destined for a career in the Church from birth. In his farewell sermon to his congregation at St Barnabas's Church in July 1869 he made this curi ous remark: 'You truly say that the praise of men has never been made an object by me. Indeed, in my younger days, I wholly rejected it, fearing a snare in it; and if, in later years, I have to confess that it has been a gratification to me to find from time to time that my course had met the approbation of those who were themselves worthily esteemed and respected, I trust it has principally been because, amidst many discouragements and shortcomings, it encouraged one to hope that I may have been favoured in being enabled to do at least a portion of that holy work to which I was dedicated before my birth, and the responsibilities and labours of which I thankfully and cordially accepted when I was honoured to be admitted to Holy Orders in the Church of England' (Globe, 14 July 1869). Literally, he seems to be saying that his parents decided his career for him before birth; he may have meant, however, merely to refer to the deity's intentions for his life and work. No information about his family's circumstances has come down to us, but they must have been moderately well off, because James attended

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school in Bath and early in November 1820 he enrolled in St Edmund Hall, Oxford, where he studied classics, a subject in which he excelled. In 1824 he was awarded the B.A. degree and, like so many in those days, proceeded to take holy orders, being ordained a deacon in 1825 and a priest a year later, the same year in which he married Elizabeth Frowd. In 1827 he visited Oxford in the required fashion and was granted the M.A. degree. Prior to his removal to Canada he held several ministries in England, the longest being at Leigh in Staffordshire; it was during his stint as vicar of Welford in Northamptonshire that he received the call to Toronto. During his last year in England he was awarded both the bachelor of divinity and the doctor of divinity degrees from his old college. The academic work he did for these degrees was published in 1841; it is a long study of the life and work of St Irenaeus (c. 130-c. 200 A.D.), bishop of Lyons and an expert on heresies. Published by subscription, the list of 260 names was headed by 'Her Majesty Adelaide The Queen Dowager' and included the archbishops of Canterbury and York, the primate of Ireland, ten bishops (including Oxford) and John Henry Newman, then still a priest in the Church of England; altogether 316 copies were listed as sold prior to its printing, quite a respectable figure for the time. Another divine had recently published a work on Irenaeus, and Beaven paid it careful respect in his preface: 'It is, perhaps, somewhat presumptuous in a person occupying so humble a station in the sacred ministry to offer to the Church a work which would necessarily induce comparisons between itself and the similar productions of a Prelate of the Church - a Divine of the highest rank and character. The author can, however, at least say, that it was no foolish ambition which led to his employing himself on such a work' (Beaven 1841, v). His intention was not to compete with this eminent scholar; it was rather to render 'a service to his younger brethren' (vi) by presenting 'the substance of the doctrines and opinions' of the saint 'in a more accessible form than that in which he himself had to look for it' (v). A glance through the list of subscribers makes it apparent that Beaven's name was widely known to the Church establishment before he was called to Toronto. Definitely high church in his sympathies, he caused comment in Toronto by preaching in a surplice and intoning the service. Indeed, he always carried a pitch-pipe in his pocket, which he used at services to set the required pitch. Even before Beaven delivered his inaugural lecture in Toronto, the new governor general, Sir Charles Metcalfe (1785-1846), confided to Strachan that Beaven's appointment as divinity professor might have to be revoked. His letter, dated 12 May 1843, must have infuriated Strachan:

James Beaven 37 In this spirit I think it right to warn your Lordship that a disposition exists to attack the Divinity Professorship, on the ground that the University is a general concern, and ought not to be made the Divinity College of a particular Church. I have no doubt that it will be necessary to yield to this feeling, and either to exclude the Divinity Professorship of the Church of England, or to admit Divinity Professorships of the Presbyterian and Wesleyan Persuasions. Under these circumstances, is it most advisable to appoint a Divinity Professorship at present, or to omit it? On the one hand, as there are Divinity Colleges of the Presbyterians and Wesleyans at Kingston and Cobourg, it would not seem really objectionable to have a Divinity College of the Church of England at Toronto. On the other hand, it is not expedient to adopt an arrangement that is likely to be subverted on the meeting of the Legislature. The question appears to me to be so nearly balanced, that I am prepared to adopt either course. I put my own feelings as a member of the Church of England out of the question, as I am not at liberty to indulge them in my capacity of Governor in a community of mixed persuasions. In the event of the exclusion of a Divinity Professorship from the University Dr. Beaven I conclude might be invited to accept the Professorship of Metaphysics and Moral Philosophy. And in the same event would it not be practicable and advisable to have a separate Institution at Toronto for instruction in Divinity according to the doctrines of the Church of England? (See 1.4, fn 1)

Nothing came of this threat at the time, but Metcalfe had shown great prescience. Less than ten years later his suggested plans for meeting the crisis should it arise had come to pass, including the founding of Trinity College. Beaven, it seems, knew nothing of this cloud on his future. Strachan was appalled to read this passage in Metcalfe's letter. A week later he sent him a long reply. The section of it dealing with the charter of King's College opened with these words: T confess I perceive with great concern your Excellency's scruples in regard to the Divinity Professorship. To exclude instruction in Divinity from the College would as it seems to me appear monstrous and at once stamp the Institution with the mark of hopeless inferiority in the eyes of all sound and enlightened men.' Strachan tried his best to convince Metcalfe that he should resist any attempt to amend the charter in any way. This letter rehearsed the arguments that Strachan made in public, but since he was writing to the governor general, the rhetoric is less strident. He reassured Metcalfe that he was mindful of the restrictions that the government had placed upon the practice and teaching of religion in King's College. No dissenting stu-

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dent would be required to attend chapel. The religious teaching of the undergraduates will be confined to a thorough knowledge of the Scriptures in their original languages and to the study of such authors as are read and admired by all denominations of Protestants and therefore are within the terms of the declaration recognized by the Legislature and introduced into the amended Charter, namely, a belief in the authenticity and Divine inspiration of the Old and New Testaments and in the doctrine of the Trinity.' Instruction in the doctrines of the Church of England would be kept quite separate from the ordinary teaching: 'When students have finished their regular University course and proceeded to their degree such as design to study for the ministry of the Church of England will place themselves more especially under the Professor of Theology while the youth of other denominations will depart to prepare themselves for their respective professions.' Strachan was confident that in the fullness of time 'the wise and the good of all denominations,' would come round and would approve the work of King's College. That autumn the first bill to amend the charter was introduced into the House of Assembly, but it did not become law. Strachan, in a letter to Metcalfe of 6 March 1844, called it 'the hideous Scheme (or as it is described by our Friends in England "a project glaringly opposed to every principle of justice, equity and law").' 2.2

Beaven and four colleagues constituted the faculty of King's College when it opened its doors to students on 8 June 1843; the rest of the medical faculty was appointed later that year. Originally, it was intended that all five professors would be appointed during the summer and early autumn of 1842 and would begin their lectures in January 1843, but because of the usual delays and the long and arduous journey from England to Toronto in winter that plan had to be abandoned. Instead, the inaugural lectures were rescheduled for early June, with regular lectures starting on the 12th, so the winter and spring were spent in establishing the rules and regulations of the new institution. The Council of King's College comprised twelve members, but only seven of them were resident in Toronto, of which five were required for a quorum. (The remaining five were members of the Government of Upper Canada, which at that time was located in Kingston.) Of the seven resident members, two - the president of the college and the principal of Upper Can ada College - were ex officio; the other five were the most senior professors of the college.

James Beaven 39

Seniority was taken very seriously in those days; it was determined solely by the date on which a professor's warrant of appointment was signed. At the council meeting of 4 April 1843 Beaven presented his warrant of office, which had been signed by the chancellor, Sir Charles Bagot, on 21 March 1843; this warrant appeared to make him the senior professor, much to the annoyance of John McCaul, who had resigned as principal of Upper Canada College several months earlier to accept an appointment as professor of classics in King's College. McCaul's warran was dated a day later than Beaven's. Nor was Bishop Strachan, the president of King's College, pleased by this turn of events, because at Bagot's insistence he had agreed to McCaul's appointment as vice-president, since his diocesan duties did not allow him the time for the day-to-day administration of the college's affairs. The conflict was referred to the solicitor general of Upper Canada, who was a member of the council and who happened to be present at the meeting, for a ruling. His recommendation for settling the question of precedence was for the professors to surrender their warrants and for the governor general to produce a new set of warrants dated in the proper order. When he signed the warrants for Beaven and McCaul in March, Bagot may have intended to go back on his agreement with Strachan that McCaul be the senior professor. Even when he was near death, Bagot still concerned himself with the question of seniority. On 28 February 1843 he revealed his thinking on the matter to Strachan: My weakness is extreme - and this must be my excuse for not having sooner answered your letter of the 20th announcing the arrival of Dr. Beaven, and especially your wish that the instrument appointing him to the Divinity Chair as well as that appointing him to his seat in the Council should be sent to Toronto as soon as possible. There is nothing to prevent this being done immediately - but, upon consideration, it appeared to me that I might thus violate a principle to which I, and, if I mistake not, you also adhere with well-grounded tenacity, that precedence at the Council Board should be given not to individuals in the order in which they may be appointed, but to the Faculties. It appears to me that it is of the utmost importance that the Divinity Professor should stand the highest, if it had been possible, but that as that is not consistent with the arrangement contemplated in regard to Dr. McCaul, certainly the second. It further appears to me (you will correct me if I am mistaken) that we can only carry this scheme into complete effect by waiting until I shall have the opportunity of nominating simultaneously to their respective Professorships the five persons whom, by the charter, I am empowered to nominate, when I can sever-

40 The Main Stream ally arrange their precedence for ever; whereas if I nominate them separately, and according to separate vacancies as they may occur in the board as it is now constituted, seniority of nomination will become the scale of precedency, and a clinical Professor might be the first at the board and the Divinity the last for one-quarter of a century - a state of things which in my opinion ought under no circumstances to take place.

Bagot was bedridden when he wrote this letter. Perhaps, as his illness worsened, he had unthinkingly signed Heaven's and McCauTs warrants without checking the dates, thus causing the fracas already described. On 30 March Bagot relinquished the office of governor general, but he was too ill to be moved from the official residence; he died there on 19 May 1843. Strachan and McCaul were sufficiently alarmed by what had happened to concoct a plan to prevent Beaven from being installed as the senior professor. In late April 1843 McCaul arranged to visit Sir Charles Metcalfe, the new governor general, in order to inform him of Bagot's oral promise that he, not Beaven, be designated senior professor. While McCaul was preparing for the meeting, Strachan wrote to him on 26 April proposing this plan: 'So far as legal opinions are pronounced by competent authority on the provisions of the Charter the College Council must of necessity submit but it shall remain open to that body supported by the Chancellor to entrust to any Professor the duties of the minute superintendence of the University under the President and to annex such remuneration for the proper discharge of the same as may be deemed equitable. Hence I infer that should the question of precedency be given in Doctor Beaven's favour by the legal authorities, still it is competent for the Council to confer upon you the office of general superintendence and to annex the salary which is provided for in one of the Statutes.' McCaul ultimately got everything he had been promised; he was made vice-president and also designated senior professor, but it took considerable effort on Strachan's part to bring it about. Since the new governor general had more important matters requiring his attention, he delayed taking any decision with regard to professorial seniority. Before he could act, he had to be briefed on the recent history; McCaul accomplished that task on his visit. Still Metcalfe did not act, and more months went by without a resolution of the problem. On 2 August 1843 Strachan informed him that the college council could not get on with its business until the question of seniority was settled: The chief perhaps the only real difficulty is the settlement of precedency between Dr. McCaul the Vice President and Dr. Beaven. The facts appear

James Beaven 41 as follows. In November last Dr. McCaul was appointed by letter Vice President and Professor of Classical Literature by the late Chancellor Sir Charles Bagot. The letter was received at the Council Board and deemed a full appointment. Dr. McCaul took the declaration required by the Charter, resigned his Office as Principal of Upper Canada College and entered upon the duties of Vice President. In December Dr. Beaven was appointed by letter Professor of Divinity. Soon after Dr. Beaven's arrival in the Province it was suggested by some one at Kingston that more formal appointments should be made and in consequence warrants of appointment were issued and Dr. Beaven's warrant is dated 21 March 1843 and Dr. McCaul's the 22nd March 1843. Now I consider this to have been either an inadvertency or ultra vires and that the appointments should in this case be the letters or if any other form be prepared it should bear the same dates as the letters of appointment. Should your Excellency concur with me in this view the signification of your opinion that the dates of the letters of appointment and not the dates of warrants issued in error at a subsequent period is to govern the seniority all will be right.

It seems very likely that Beaven, a stickler for rules and regulations, was creating difficulties for Strachan on this matter. He was certainly capable of doing so. Metcalfe followed neither of Strachan's suggestions to the letter. Instead, he asked all of the professors to surrender their warrants, and he then issued a new set, which he dated over a period of the first six days in September 1843, thus fixing the line of seniority. Because McCaul's warrant was dated a day before Beaven's, Beaven was second in seniority, which meant that when the chancellor and both Strachan and McCaul were absent, Beaven took the chair. This happened only rarely. McCaul was given the title 'Professor of Classics, Belles Lettres, Rhetoric and Logic.' The other professors in order of seniority were Richard Potter, M.A., who, as noted earlier, resigned after one year, professor of mathematics and natural philosophy; Henry Croft, M.B., for whom Croft Chapter House is named, professor of experimental philosophy and chemistry; and William Charles Gwynne, M.D. (a man destined to be a thorn in Strachan's flesh), professor of anatomy and physiology. Both McCaul and Beaven were paid £500 sterling per annum; Croft and Potter, £450; and Gwynne was paid only £200, presumably because he could earn money on the side as a doctor. McCaul was paid an additional £250 as vice-president. Since all the professors except McCaul and Gwynne had come to Toronto from England, they were allowed house

42 The Main Stream

rent not to exceed £65 per annum; Beaven's rent was £62 10s. The minutes show that King's College paid Beaven's salary from 8 December 1842, almost certainly the day he left England. In a letter of 14 March 1842 to Bagot, Strachan had recommended that the professors' salaries 'commence from the day they leave England.' In addition to their salaries professors were entitled to a percentage of the fees paid by the students they taught; payment was calculated according to a formula devised by Beaven and approved by council on 13 December 1845. After 5 per cent had been paid to the junior bursar and registrar, one-quarter went into the Library Fund and the remaining 70 per cent was divided equally between the professors, according to the number of their lectures, and the General Fund of the university. Tutors and unsalaried professors were entitled to the whole fee without deductions. After the demise of King's College, investigators of its financial practices reported that Beaven was paid a total of £5,640 19s. from 8 December 1842 to 30 December 1849. As we will see in the course of this chapter, the desire to increase his income occupied a large region in his consciousness. 2.3

This little band of seven met many times during the first year, and Beaven was one of its most active members, seldom missing a meeting. Even when a meeting failed for lack of a quorum - and there were many such occasions - Beaven was nearly always listed as present. The matters with which the council dealt ranged from the utterly trivial to the vitally important. At the trivial end of the scale is this minute, from the meeting of 17 October 1846: 'Moved by the Principal of Upper Canada College that the boys, in the Upper division of Upper Canada College, be allowed to wear a College Cap. Which motion being seconded by the Dean [Beaven], was put and carried.' At the other end were the degree regulations of the new university. Beaven, Strachan, and McCaul, all Anglican divines, tended to vote as a bloc, and they were sometimes opposed by the three professors of science. If all seven were present, the vote of the principal of Upper Canada College decided the outcome. The crucial tests came over votes on proposals before the legislature to alter the charter of King's College in such a way as to rid the college of the last vestige of its ties with the Church of England and to abolish all religious tests. For a high churchman like Beaven such attempts smacked of apostasy, and he told more than one of his colleagues who supported the secularization of the college that they were flirting with heresy.

James Beaven

43

During none of these meetings was there any discussion of the curriculum. It had been set several years before by the council, then composed mostly of members of the government; it had been necessary to decide on curriculum then in order to inform the chancellor of the required faculty. It fell to Strachan, as the only member of the earlier council with academic credentials, to determine the content of the various degrees. In his report to the council on 26 April 1837, at which he presented 'the whole plan of instruction' Strachan gave this account of his authorities: 'In drawing up the plan of instruction, I have availed myself of a statement of the arrangements for conducting the various Departments of King's College, London, as they appear to agree much better with the requirements of this Country, than those of the more ancient Universities of England.' He allowed, however, that he had consulted the curricula of Scottish and American universities as well and had adopted some suggestions from their practices. In his plan, Strachan 'proposed to make the services of the President [Strachan] responsible for the Professorship of Moral and Intellectual Philosophy, with Christian Ethics and Political Economy; it will likewise be his duty to instruct such students as belong to the United Church (of England), in Christian Theology' (Hodgins 3: 94). Presumably, his elevation to the bishopric of Toronto scotched this part of his plan when King's College finally opened six years later. Degree requirements themselves were set by the council after the professors had been appointed. They are simply stated. A student would be awarded the B.A. degree, if he 'kept nine Terms' and passed 'the previous and final examinations.' By 'keeping term' was meant attending certain designated courses of lectures during each term; for example, Beaven's lectures in metaphysics in second year and his courses in ethics in both second and third year were so designated. However, his courses, 'Evidences of Christianity' and 'Biblical Literature,' were optional, although, as shown by the enrolment figures for 1844-5, the only year for which we have such figures, nearly every student attended them. By 'previous examinations' was meant those at the end of each course of lectures and the annual examinations at the end of first and second year. Decades later this heavy dependence upon examinations was roundly criticized as bad pedagogy; the resulting reform dropped all examinations except those at the end of individual courses. The M.A. degree was granted to those who possessed a B.A. and during the nine terms that had elapsed since the award of the degree had performed 'the appointed exercises' set by 'the Senior Professor of the Faculty' in which they got their B.A. Nowhere are

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these exercises further described, so presumably the actual content of any given M.A. was determined by the professor under whom it was earned. Most commentators have agreed that the likeliest exercise was the writing of a 'thesis' of some sort. Theses in the early days of the university seem to have been extended papers, written under examination conditions in a hall, which were based upon a reading list assigned some months or even years earlier. These degree regulations were adopted at a meeting of the council on 19 October 1844. Entrance requirements had been set on 28 October 1842, before the professors joined the council. After agreeing that the registrar be required to keep a list of students that included 'their age, place of birth and education, and the names, rank and place of residence of their parents, and the religious denomination to which they belong,' the council went on to specify admission requirements. No one was to be admitted without previous examination by the vice-president or president in 'the Greek and Latin languages and in Mathematics.' In addition: 'The subjects for examination will be in Classics, two Greek and two Latin authors (one of the authors - prose; the other - verse) and in Mathematics - the first two books of Euclid's Elements and simple and quadratic equations.' The names of the authors on whose works the examinations would be based in a given year would be published by the college, so that prospective students could prepare themselves. Finally, all applicants must present proof that 'they are of the full age of sixteen.' In 1854, by a Senate statute, the age of admission was lowered to those who had 'completed the fourteenth year of their age' (Hodgins 11: 152). It went without saying, both in 1842 and in 1854, that only males need apply. Beaven was in charge of instruction in four 'departments' in the Faculty of Arts, as the language of the day had it, namely metaphysics, ethics, evidences of Christianity, and biblical literature. The only year for which we have attendance records is 1844-5. In February 1845 the bursar, who doubled as registrar, prepared a 'Return of Students in the University of King's College.' It lists twenty-nine students in the Faculty of Arts by name and gives their religious affiliation (twenty-three were Church of England members), the lectures they were attending, and the fees they paid (twenty-two paid £27, one paid £20, and six paid £12). Beaven lectured on metaphysics once a week and had two auditors. His other courses met three hours each week: in ethics he had an enrolment of sixteen; in evidences of Christianity, there were seventeen (all except two were members of the Church of England; the others were a Roman Catholic and a Presbyterian); and in biblical literature, a roster of twenty-four.

James Beaven

45

McCaul's course in logic, which met once a week, enrolled nine, the very same students who were attending lectures in mathematics four times a week. Judged in one way Beaven's teaching load was the heaviest, with fifty-nine enrolments in his courses; McCaul had forty-seven; Murray (Potter's replacement), twenty-two; and Croft, thirteen. Considered in another way, by student contact hours (lecture hours times class enrolment), McCaul, who met his classics students for thirteen hours each week, had much the heaviest load: 395 to 173 for Beaven. In addition, Beaven, the sole member of the Faculty of Divinity, had an enrolment of one in his two-hour course. On 27 November 1844 Beaven was elected 'dean' by the council. The minutes of 19 October record the creation of the office of dean but they do not specify the duties associated with this office; the minute reads as if everyone knew perfectly well what the duties of a dean were. In King's College the appointment seems in large part a recognition of Beaven's status as junior only to McCaul; the only hint of duties, gleaned from reading later minutes, concerns student discipline outside the classroom. In 1850, in the reconstituted University of Toronto, the title, which Beaven continued to hold, was expanded to dean of the Faculty of Arts. The act establishing the University of Toronto created three faculties - arts, law, and medicine - each 'presided over by a Dean, to be elected annually from among the Professors composing such Faculty, and each of such Faculties shall and may, moreover, make such By-laws as they may think proper for the Government of such Faculty, such Bylaws not being contrary to this Act, or to the Charter, or Statutes of the said University' (Hodgins 9: 150). His duties, then, were similar to those of the current dean, although on a much smaller scale; the honorarium was smaller, too, only £7 15s. 2d. per annum. The office of dean ceased to exist when the act was amended in 1853; teaching became the responsibility of the newly created University College, which had a president; examining remained the responsibility of the University of Toronto. Under the Federation Act of 1887, the office of dean of the Faculty of Arts was re-established. It was not until 1960 that the name 'Faculty of Arts and Science' was adopted. 2.4

The Minute Books of King's College reveal in startling detail Beaven's great concern with money. Their warrants of office promised the professors recruited from England that they would be paid in 'Sterling money

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of the United Kingdom of England and Ireland,' but when they arrived, they found they were to be paid the same number of pounds in the provincial currency, called 'the Halifax pound,' which was worth about 10 per cent less than sterling. (Canadian decimal currency was not introduced until 1 July 1858.) When this discrepancy first came before council it was dealt with by asking council's solicitor for his opinion on the meaning of a certain provincial statute. This statute fixed for 'this Colony, the relative value of sterling money and currency' at one pound four shillings and four pence for each pound sterling (Hodgins 5: 135). In his reply the solicitor gave his opinion that the statute did apply to the professors' contracts, although he expressed a doubt that the statute itself was constitutional. His report was ordered to be tabled after it was read. On 27 March 1844, at a meeting of the council from which Strachan was absent, Potter and Beaven moved, first, to take the solicitor's letter from the table and to read it for a second time and, second, to instruct the bursar to pay the professors from England the strict equivalent in provincial currency of pounds sterling and to reimburse them for the pay already lost. In effect, their pay would now be about 10 per cent more in Halifax pounds than formerly. McCaul, who chaired the meeting, objected to the motion, but it was passed on a vote of five to one. When Strachan learned of the council's action, he was furious, and at a meeting held on 1 April, he made some unfortunate claims, among them that no motion opposed by him could be passed by council in his absence. Professors, he maintained, could not vote on their own salaries, except on a statute introduced by the chancellor. The chancellor, Sir Charles Metcalfe, was enlisted by Strachan to intervene. In a letter of 6 April Metcalfe weighed in against Potter and Beaven, calling their action 'this Evil' and enclosing a draft resolution which he 'anxiously recommends for the consideration of the Council of the College' (Hodgins 5: 140). His statute set the rate of pay in currency at one and oneninth the sterling amount, so each £100 would translate into £111 and change. Although his proposal did not completely rectify the perceived disparity, the majority eventually caved in, but Potter submitted his resignation from the faculty, stating that the terms of his appointment had not been fulfilled. He resumed his professorship in University College London. Strachan's attack on him infuriated Beaven. At a meeting of the college council on 24 April he systematically demolished all of Strachan's arguments. His analysis is worth quoting in full, since it shows Beaven in his best argumentative form:

James Beaven 47 His Lordship the President having entered a Protest against the llth Minute of the proceedings of the College Council, held on the 27th March, 1844, which involves censure of the parties who supported that Minute, I, being one of those parties, beg to make the following statement in reply to that Protest, referring to the several articles of it in the order in which they occur. (1). I conceive that the Minute in question was not irregular, inasmuch as it was brought forward and passed in the usual way, and in strict accordance with the rules and customs of the Council. Nor was it hastily passed, the subject having been taken up, step by step, at several previous meetings. It goes simply to act (according to the usual course in other cases) upon the ascertained meaning of a Statute, arrived at in the ordinary way by consulting the Law Officer of the Council; and it does not (properly speaking) increase the expenditures of the University, but only ascertains it. Moreover the supposed increase is only 10 per cent on the salaries of Professors, and not upon the other Departments. (2). I respectfully but firmly protest against the doctrine that the absence of the President should in any degree invalidate a resolution of the Council; because the reverse is expressly contemplated by the Charter, which provides a deputy to fill his place in his absence; and because such an understanding would prove a serious impediment to the business of the University, and would put it into the power of the President to prevent any business being carried through which he personally disapproved. I beg likewise to say, that, the President having on a former occasion absolutely refused to put a resolution on the subject from the chair, and not having suggested any other method of bringing the matter to a proper determination, it was impossible to know that he would have acceded to any other course. Indeed it was my own impression that he wished to leave the other members of the Council to act as they pleased, having first testified his own dissent from their views, and resolution to take no share in carrying them out. (3). I conceive that the Minute is directly authorised by the Solicitor's opinion, in as much as his doubt was not at all as to the legal meaning of the Statute, but as to the legality of the Statute itself, and if the Statute be illegal, it ought not to have been acted upon at all, a statement of facts, or any interference whatever with the Solicitor was expressly abstained from, in order that he might give an unbiassed opinion. (4). There is no more difficulty in carrying out the Statute, which would not place the collective salaries of the Professors so much as £400 a year currency higher than contemplated by the President, than in carrying on the buildings and other expenses which are now proposed by the President and Vice President, and bare justice requires that promises made to persons, who would never have given up previous appointments in

48 The Main Stream expectation of the salaries now paid to them, should be executed, as long as the College has any means of so doing. (5). According to the reasoning of this article no College in Oxford or Cambridge would manage its own affairs; there being no person in the governing bodies of those Societies, but those who are directly interested, and I beg to repeat, that the question was not of an increase of salaries, but of a simple fulfilment of promises made, according to honour and equity. (6). According to the reasoning of this article, several proceedings brought on and supported by the President himself, ought now to be quashed, having been carried by majorities of one and two. (7). I can make no reply to this article until it has been shown that the cases were similar, as I am informed that they were not. I beg further to say that it is well known that I have all along protested against the rate at which the salaries are now reckoned, as unjust, that I conceive it to be cruel and questionable in a public body to depart from the obvious and literal, as well as legal meaning of promises, upon the strength of which I left England, and that I feel that the imputation (more than once repeated) of a desire to augment my salary by irregular proceedings, is one which cannot be substantiated except by a mistaken view of facts, is at variance with the whole tenor of my habits and character, and is one which the Right Reverend President was not justified in making. (UTA, MCKC)

Beaven's defiance of Strachan in this case was very unusual; there are no other instances in the minutes. When it came to money, Beaven could be very persistent indeed. Beaven's account of the actions of the Council of King's College was correct. Consider, for instance, this minute from the meeting of 19 April 1845: 'Moved by the President [Strachan], That the dues for tuition in Upper Canada College shall be remitted in favour of the sons of the Professors of the University. Which motion, being seconded by the Principal of Upper Canada College, was put and carried' (UTA, MCKC). Here is a clear case of the professors who were members of the Council voting themselves a financial benefit. At least two of Beaven's sons took advantage of this statute. Another important monetary matter concerned the chaplaincy. At the time of his appointment, Beaven had agreed to Bagot's request that he serve as chaplain to the college. This additional appointment suited Beaven perfectly; for he was much more interested in religion than in any other area of human endeavour. In the splendidly outfitted chapel in the temporary quarters that the college occupied on Front Street in its early

James Beaven 49 days, Beaven intoned a sermon to the Anglican students (and dissenters if they chose to come) every day of the week and more than once on Sunday; King's College was no place for those who suffered from homilophobia, as the inordinate fear of sermons is called. Although it appeared that Beaven had undertaken these duties out of the goodness of his heart, that appearance dissolved at a meeting of the council on 30 October 1844. During the course of the meeting Beaven withdrew and Strachan moved 'that a respectful representation be made to His Excellency the Chancellor of the University stating that the Rev. Dr. Beaven has discharged the duties of Chaplain of the Institution since the commencement, and praying the Chancellor's concurrence that an allowance be made to him for his services at the rate of one hundred pounds currency per annum' (UTA, MCKC). Seconded by McCaul, the motion passed, only Gwynne dissenting on the ground that the university was already operating at a deficit. Strachan's first budget, drawn up in November 1843, showed expenses of £11,560 2s. 9d., income of £10,388 17s. 10d., and a deficit of £1,171 4s. lid. (AO, MS 35-5). To the great annoyance of the Anglican party, the chancellor vetoed the proposed honorarium. On 24 March 1846 the council again decided to authorize payment to Beaven for his services as chaplain, but this time they strove to gain the chancellor's approval by adding that Beaven had decided not to claim payment for the first year of his chaplaincy. Again, the chancellor said 'No' and pointed out that the council did not have power to authorize such a payment: a legislative statute was required. This should have been the end of the matter, but when the Final Report of the Commissioners of Inquiry into the Affairs of King's College University, and Upper Canada College was published in 1852, it disclosed that Beaven had been paid as chaplain after all. The commissioners discovered he had been paid £563 6s. 8d. for rendering this service; since the period for which he was paid stretched from 5 October 1843 to 5 August 1849, when it was discovered by the commissioners, he had not donated his services during the first year after all. This under-the-table payment reveals very clearly the contemptuous attitude of the Church party towards secular authority. The professor of ethics was not required to give the money back. Another of Beaven's schemes for making money involved his daughters. In those days there were no facilities for the education of young women beyond the elementary level. Beaven had three daughters, whom he planned to educate at home. Since he would be instructing them as a group, it occurred to him that he could include other young women in his classes. The fees they paid would go towards his own family's

50 The Main Stream

expenses. By 1845 this private tuition was paying him £50 a year. Some of the young women lodged with his family and paid him room and board as well. Very little was recorded about this venture, but we do know that when another opportunity emerged, paying about the same amount, Beaven took it. On 11 June 1845 the minutes record that Beaven was to be provided with living quarters and an additional £55 11s. Id. a year in return for superintending the students living in residence. In addition to all his other titles he was now called 'Resident Professor.' Two days later he presented the council with a list of the changes required in the building, including 'the removal of the present privies to the exterior of the building.' Council obliged him and he moved his family and his female lodgers into the new quarters. The council had a statute on its books requiring every student not living at home to live in residence, but for reasons that remain obscure the rule was not enforced. The maximum number of students Beaven ever had in residence was fifteen. Most students preferred to rent rooms in the town, all of which was then south of Queen Street, in order to be near the building in which their classes met. The residence hall was located where the provincial parliament building now stands; King's College classrooms were in the old parliamentary building on Front Street, so his residents had a long trek to classes. Beaven, however, drove a horse and gig. Perhaps the reason the council's statute requiring students not living with their parents or guardians to take a room in residence was not enforced by Strachan and McCaul was that it was Beaven's own creature. At its meeting of 2 October 1845 the Council of King's College approved a list of ten rules, proposed by Beaven, governing student life in residence. Included among them was the one mentioned. These regulations were designed to keep a close eye on the activities of the students. The college gate would be locked from 9:30 p.m. until 7:00 a.m. in winter and 10:00 p.m. until 5:00 a.m. in summer; any students entering during these times would have their names reported to both Vice-President McCaul and Dean Beaven. Visitors who left after the gate was locked were obliged to give the names of the students they were visiting, and a similar report was made. No visitor could remain after midnight. Most intrusive of all was this draconian measure: That the Vice President, Proctor [Croft], or Dean, shall have access to the room of any student at all times' (Hodgins 5: 209). Any student infringing any of the rules 'shall be liable to reprimand, fine, or such other punishment, as the circumstances may require' (ibid.). Several writers noted the zeal with which Beaven kept his eyes peeled for infractions of the rules. Given his repu-

James Beaven 51

tation, it is perhaps surprising that even as many as fifteen students braved his scrutiny and opted to live in residence. By the summer of 1848 it had become apparent to some members of council that the residence was imposing a considerable financial drain upon King's College. At its meeting on 20 July the council approved, on the motion of two professors of medicine, a resolution requiring Beaven to present the council at its August meeting with 'a statement of the annual expenses incurred in connection with the residence of the students in the new building from the commencement of their residence to the termination of the present term' (UTA, MCKC). In what was to prove typical behaviour when he had to account for his actions, Beaven dragged his feet, and when the council met on 27 September, it still had not received his report. At that meeting a second, sharply worded resolution was passed giving Beaven exactly three days, specifying indeed the exact hour, to produce his report. When members read the report on 30 September, it confirmed the worst fears of those who had demanded it. In global terms it revealed that in the three years of its operation the residence had expended £1,129 8s. 4d. and had taken in £168 7s. lOVkl. for a gross loss of £957 Os. 5Vkl. Beaven attempted to soften the shock by pointing out that the true loss was probably considerably less, since there were supplies on hand that had been paid for but had not yet been used; even so, the loss was bound to be substantial. Beaven begged council to permit the experiment to continue; the loss could be reduced if council would enforce its statute that all students not living at home must reside in residence. They would greatly benefit from it, he argued: 'It gives the Resident Professor, who sits at table with them, the opportunity of exercising an indirect control upon their minds and habits. It accustoms them to regularity of hours, by requiring them who are out beyond a certain hour to be reported to the Dean, and it is found that by an association of this kind a more gentlemanlike tone of mind is produced, which acts favourably upon even less laudable characters. It is likewise beneficent to the students to have a place of amusement of their own, apart from the city and its associations' (UTA, MCKC, 30 Sept. 1848). These benefits, he contended, would be lost if the council decided to close the residence. It seems never to have occurred to Beaven that perhaps one of the principal reasons so few students opted to live in residence was precisely because they had to 'sit at table' with Beaven, who even in those early days had the reputation of being a humourless disciplinarian. After confessing to being a poor manager, he promised to try to do a better job in future.

52 The Main Stream

Beaven concluded his argument - always referring to himself in the third person - with a personal plea to members of council. Closing the residence 'would be an injury and loss to Dr. Beaven himself, which he is satisfied the College Council have no wish to inflict upon him' (UTA, MCKC, 30 Sept. 1848). He opened this part of his defence by recounting his enterprise of educating young women without, however, saying just what the enterprise was. No doubt every member of council knew exactly what Beaven was referring to, but reading his apologia in the minutes alone, it is difficult to imagine what enterprise Beaven was involved in that he refused to name. The report of the commissioners reveals the utter innocence of his scheme to make money. After moving into the residence, he had continued teaching the young women, but 'was told [presumably by Strachan] that his retaining that source of income at all was inadmissible, if he meant to continue to reside in the new building' (ibid.). Faced with this dilemma, Beaven reluctantly decided to abandon the education of the young women, because by the time he was told he could not continue both enterprises, he had already spent a lot of money making his apartments in the new building livable and felt that he could not abandon them after such a short period without considerable sacrifice. His personal loss was increased when so few students opted to live in residence. Presumably, he got a small percentage of their fees in addition to his honorarium. To attract residents, after it became plain that the council would not enforce its own regulation, he was obliged to reduce fees. Then he found himself on a downward spiral, which could be reversed only if council enforced the regulation. Had he stuck to educating young ladies, he would now have been better off financially: 'His Professorship alone does not, with all the economy he can practice, furnish him with an income adequate to the wants of a numerous family, and he requires time to make other arrangements, which will enable him to do so' (ibid.). Council kept him on tenterhooks for nearly a month, and then on 25 October 1848 the same two professors who had raised the matter in the first place moved that the residence be shut at the end of the term, that is, in late December. To allow for the appearance of reflection, the vote on the motion was delayed for three days. At the reconvened meeting McCaul, who by this time was president of the college, and Beaven moved and seconded an amendment to refer the matter to a committee, which amendment was lost and the motion carried. Beaven had to find a new place to live; he was allowed £62 10s. for rent. Later his rent allowance was raised because he could not find 'a suitable house at a lower

James Beaven 53 cost than £75 per annum (UTA, MCKC, 30 Sept. 1848). By the time he moved off campus late in 1849 at the order of council, his living quarters being required for the use of the infant University of Toronto, he faced a new worry, namely, the loss of his professorship.

2.5 During the 1840s succeeding governments kept trying to pass legislation to rid King's College of all vestiges of its ties with the Church of England. Beaven, whose appointment as professor of divinity was seen by many as epitomizing those ties, and his fellow divines, Strachan and McCaul, seized every opportunity they could to sidetrack these proposals, but it proved to be a losing battle. The preposterousness of some of their statements in their petitions to the legislature probably increased the determination of the dissenters to amend the university's charter and be rid of them once and for all. Oddly enough, it was Beaven, newly arrived in Canada, who took the lead in their campaign. In the summer of 1843 the Kingston Trustees, a group of Presbyterians associated with Queen's University, drew up a plan for the reorganization of King's College into a provincial university, modelled on the new University of London. At its core there would be three faculties - arts (represented by a literary and scientific college), law, and medicine. Affiliated with this core would be the various theological faculties, one for each of the larger religious sects in Upper Canada, including the Roman Catholics. Each of these religious faculties would have a seat on the central governing council, but would retain sole charge of its own theological curricula. When Beaven learned of this proposal, he wrote four long letters between 13 October and 10 November 1843 for publication in the Church, Bishop Strachan's official newspaper. His first reaction, he said, upon reading 'the Presbyterian scheme for remodelling our University' was 'to regard so impracticable a plan as only fit to furnish food for laughter,' but he found that it was being taken seriously by people in positions of power and would probably be debated in the legislature (13 Oct. 1843, 54). How could Presbyterians have devised such a 'harebrained proposal,' he demanded to know; one that would 'give Popery (as such) a permanent establishment in the University, and placing it first on the list!' (54). (In the list of council members 'the Bishop of the Roman Catholic Church' was listed ahead of 'the Bishop of the Church of England' and the representatives of the other religious sects.) Most of the remainder of his first letter is given over to a diatribe

54 The Main Stream against both the Roman Catholic Church and the Presbyterians. Beaven may have been high church, but he was certainly not a follower of John Henry Newman: For myself, a more flagrant dereliction of principle I have seldom seen: - a set of men, who profess to remain separate from the Romish communion, because Popery is anti-Christian, - who are continually raising the alarm against the supposed increase of Popery in the Church of England and her sister in the States, - and yet propose the permanent establishment of Popery in the University! Thank God, it is no body of men connected with the ministry of the Church of England, from which such a proposal has emanated, as to give the Romish system, with all its practical idolatry and most pernicious errors, a new footing in the country, and to make it on that new ground perpetual. That honour is reserved for men whose very existence as a religious body stands upon their supposed strong objection to the slightest shade of Popery, - but who are now, by their actions, giving the world to understand that (after all) the differences between themselves and Rome are but trivial, - mere matter of opinion, - innocent mistakes, in which it is of no great importance if generation upon generation are instructed! (54) The Presbyterians who drew up this plan are scorned as 'degenerate sons' of 'the Presbyterians of the times of Charles II and James II,' who were so firmly opposed to the Roman Catholic Church that 'they would not accept from the hand of James the Second the toleration of their own worship, when they found that it was to be accompanied with the toleration of the idolatry of Rome.' Their Canadian successors have no such qualms: 'But what does this Presbyterian scheme propose to do? To encourage the members of the Roman Communion to open NEW ground in which to propagate their errors, and uphold their pernicious system; to give them the public authority of the State for so doing; to enthrone Popery (AS SUCH) in the midst of the institutions of a Protestant country; and by giving it a property in the University to make its place there perpetual.' The italics and block capitals are Beaven's; in a long letter he was anxious to make his central point stand out. In his second letter, published in the Church on 20 October 1843, Beaven accused the Presbyterians of making little of their ties to the Church of Scotland in order to 'mix themselves up with dissenters to do away with the idea of an Established Church': 'But the worst feature of the Presbyterian scheme is its infidel character and tendency. For what is the ground upon which so many opposing bodies are proposed to be intro-

James Beaven 55

duced into the government of the University: first, fairness, secondly, the promotion of harmony (58). The argument from fairness leads directly to the promotion of infidelity: 'Because certain religious bodies comprise a considerable portion of the community, therefore the State is to authorise all these bodies to form permanent establishments in the University to propagate their peculiar sentiments. Let us consider for a moment what such a proposition implies. It declares, publicly, either that all the peculiar doctrines of these discordant bodies are equally well-founded, that is equally true, or that they are so unimportant that it is of but little consequence which of them is taught to our youth' (58). The first alternative leads, almost directly, to the conclusion that all of these doctrines are equally false. Under this interpretation the 'proposal [is] essentially infidel... [because it] destroys the landmarks of truth and falsehood' (58). The second alternative - that religious beliefs are unimportant - is also pernicious in his view, because it trivializes important historical disputes. Those he cited involve the Roman Catholic Church on the one side and dissenting sects, including the Church of England, on the other: 'What a triumph for the infidel! What respect will such a view lead our youth to have for all our great theological writers? Will not their minds naturally conclude that, if such men, of such acquirements and piety, could contend so strenuously for what (after all) is unimportant, all doctrine must be uncertain? And when their minds have made such a step, will they be in a state of faith or in a state of infidelity? And yet this is the conclusion to which the project of the Kingston Trustees naturally and inevitable leads us' (Church, 20 Oct. 1843, 58). Beaven saw further dire consequences from the argument from fairness: 'If fairness is to be the test, do away with all restrictions. Why should not a Socinian, a Universalist, a Mormon, or a Jew, be a Professor of Chemistry or Mathematics? And if so, how unfair to stop him short in the career of honour, by denying him the distinction of sitting at the Council Board! or even of occupying the Chair of the President! Is this what we shall come to?' (58). This argument, of course, was intended as a reductio ad absurdum of the fairness doctrine. His use of it proves, if proof be needed, that Beaven's view of the world was that fixed by Paley: the task of university professors was to accept and defend that view and then to keep its edges, where it came up against crude facts, tidy. Truly there was no new thing under the sun. By the time he wrote his third letter, published in the Church on 27 October 1843, Beaven had learned that the governor general, who was also at that time the chancellor of King's College, had given the Presby-

56 The Main Stream

terian scheme his 'tacit sanction' by allowing it to be considered by Parliament. After considering whether, in the light of this news, he should withdraw his public opposition to the proposed bill, he decided that he had an overriding duty to continue his opposition. Returning to the question of fairness, he advanced a new argument. The origin of King's College was its charter, which he claimed was 'in a manner a contract between those parties, the most prominent and pains-taking being the then Archdeacon of York, and now, additionally, Bishop of Toronto' and the home government: 'One part of that contract undoubtedly was, that the Church of England should have the whole governing control of the University; and can any one suppose that the Bishop and other members of the Church, would have employed the thought and labour they did actually bestow upon the concerns of the Institution from its very commencement, if they had known from the beginning that after all it was to be made an essentially infidel institution? In point of fact, the Charter would not have been accepted upon any such terms' (62). So much for Christian charity. The principle of fairness, he argued, demanded that privileges, once enjoyed, cannot be taken away unless it could be proved that they had been abused: 'Can it be proved that they [the members of King's College Council] have abused any trust? Can it be proved that they have done any thing else than carry out, as far as circumstances permitted, the provisions of a Charter, - to portions of which some of them may well be supposed to feel a decided objection?' (62). Needless to say, he thought there was no evidence of the abuse of these privileges by members of the Council of King's College. We have now reached the nub of the matter: King's College, despite the amendments of 1837, was a creature of the Church of England and must forever remain so. In his final letter, published in the Church on 10 November 1843, he addressed the question of whether harmony would be promoted by the changes advocated by the Presbyterians. His discussion opened by poisoning the well: 'the idea was so purely chimerical, so wild, so quixotic, to any one who had lived in any degree in the world, - that it would scarcely have appeared worthy of exposure, had it not received the countenance of persons in authority' (70). The gist of his argument was that, since the people who served on the governing board from the various religious groups differed, sometimes radically, in their beliefs, there was fertile ground for disharmony, which would, sooner or later, manifest itself and, in the extreme case, render the university ungovernable. Again, he cast his imagined fears in the form of a dilemma: 'it can hardly be supposed that any Christian will be much conciliated by a

James Beaven 57

measure which will be productive either of perpetual bickerings and heart-burnings, or of general and widely-spread infidelity' (70). Only a board composed of like-minded men could avert such a catastrophe: the only basis of real harmony is truth; and the surest means of conciliation is the uniform, temperate, persevering maintenance of what we believe to be truth. As an individual, I have steadily adhered to this plan, although not perhaps always as temperate as I could wish: but I can safely say that wherever I have had opportunities of calm, dispassionate conversation with individuals (even of the most opposite views), I have seldom failed of conciliating their good will both to the views I maintain, and to myself. Conciliation can never be attained by compromise, where any important principle is concerned. Compromise may succeed on the unsteadfast, self-interested, no-principled ground of worldly parties; but not where earnest-minded, sincere-hearted men are at issue upon principles. Nothing but a change of views can bring about harmony. (70)

It is little wonder that dissenters were sceptical of sending their sons to be taught by such a man. As if to underscore his rigidity, he closed his letter by making reference to the changes made by the legislature in 1837, in which the monstrous provision was made that all degrees were to be conferred, without any religious test or qualification whatever. The next step proposed is to abolish every shade of religion in the University, excepting the naked profession of belief in the Bible; a profession which will include Unitarians, and several other classes of unbelievers. I do not regard the proposal to confer degrees in Divinity as a mark of religion; because for one and the same Vice-Chancellor and Convocation to confer the authority to teach in Theology upon persons of every kind of Church and sect, is, to my apprehension, sheer impiety and profaneness, which no conscientious man of any class can take a share in. Well, this is the next step. Surely it is not worth while to stop there. Surely it will be much better to make the harmony complete by throwing the Bible overboard, and giving Divinity to the winds. (70)

Which is exactly what happened in 1849, perhaps pushed along by Beaven's intemperate opposition to any change. The Church of 1 December 1843 printed another letter from Beaven, this time a short one, on the so-called Presbyterian scheme. When he began his series of letters 'on the atrocious principle he was 'singlehanded,' but lately 'our revered Diocesan has presented to the Legisla-

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ture, and through you to the public, a Memorial so full, so forcible, and going so thoroughly into the subject, that he has left very little to any other person but to expand his ideas' (82). The 'revered Diocesan' was, of course, Bishop Strachan, whose submission to the members of the legislature was as intemperate in its language, with one notable exception, as Beaven's published letters were. The exception was that Strachan, probably for political reasons, did not allow himself to mention any other religious group by name. Here is a short sample from Strachan's comments on the Baldwin University Bill of 1843, as it was called after its introduction, which, not so incidentally, was quite similar to the bill finally passed in 1849: First Object of the Bilk The leading object of the Bill is to place all forms of error upon an equality with truth, by patronizing equally, within the same Institution, an unlimited number of Sects, whose doctrines are absolutely irreconcilable, - a principle, in its nature atheistical, and so monstrous in its consequences, that, if successfully carried out, it would utterly destroy all that is pure and holy in morals and religion, and would lead to greater corruption than anything adopted during the madness of the French Revolution, when that unhappy Country abjured the Christian Faith and set up, in its stead, the worship of the Goddess of Reason. Such a departure from all that is good, is without a parallel in the history of the World, unless, indeed, some resemblance to it can be found in Pagan Rome, which, to please the Nations she had conquered, condescended to associate their impure desires with her own. Second Object of the Bill: In accordance with this Godless principle, the second object of the Bill is to destroy the Royal Charter of the University of King's College, to deprive it of its endowment, and to apply that endowment to purposes which His late Majesty, King George the Fourth, never contemplated; much less did those who, in 1827, petitioned successfully for the Charter and the Endowment. Two things were prayed for, First The means of educating young men for the Ministry of the United Church of England and Ireland, - the Church of the Empire, - and of which the Sovereign is temporal Head. Secondly: The power to open the College, or University, for secular learning to the whole Population. Both were most graciously granted by the reigning Sovereign. The University was placed under the Government of a Council, whose Members were all of the United Church of England and Ireland; that, in this, the most important point, namely, Religion, there might be perfect unity. (Hodgins, 5: 27-8)

James Beaven 59

It is plain that Strachan, despite the action of the legislature in 1837, still thought of King's College as belonging to the Church of England. In his submission, he almost certainly did his cause more harm than good, since there was hardly a sentence in his long diatribe that was likely to appeal to dissenters, and it was their votes that had to be changed in order to kill the bill. One of those who read Heaven's letters with care was the Reverend Egerton Ryerson, then principal of Victoria College, as well as its professor of moral philosophy. In a letter dated 28 October 1843, published in the Christian Guardian, Ryerson went straight to the heart of the debate: The original Charter of King's College made it a Church of England Institution. That gave dissatisfaction to the Province. The Charter was therefore amended in 1837. The object of the amended Charter was then, to change King's College from a Church of England to a Provincial Institution. In all good faith, whatever was peculiar to the Church of England in the College ought to have thenceforth ceased in the University of King's College; otherwise the objects of the amended charter had been clearly defeated. The Reverend Doctor Beaven, present Professor of Theology in that University, has proposed to enlighten the public on this subject through the columns of The Church newspaper. The Editor of that paper congratulated the public on their prospective enlightenment from so competent a source. At the end of three Communications of enlightened hits at the Presbyterians, the learned Professor makes one or two observations on the real question before the public. He asks, 'Can it be proved that they (the Council of King's College) have done any thing else than carry out, as far as circumstances permitted, the provisions of a Charter, - to portions of which some of them may well be supposed to feel a decided objection?' In reply I would say, that the very existence of the Reverend Doctor Beaven, as Theological Professor in the University of King's College, appears to me to be a conclusive affirmative to his own questions. The complaint of the original Charter of 1827, was, that it gave the Church of England an advantage over all other Churches in Upper Canada. The Charter was amended in 1837, in order to remove that ground of complaint. What business then has a Theological Professor of the Church of England to be in the University under the amended Charter, in contradistinction to a Theological Professor of any other Church? Could such an appointment have been made, without impinging the spirit, if not the letter, of the amended Charter? (Hodgins 5: 24)

Ryerson went on to demolish other Beaven arguments. He was particu-

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larly devastating on Beaven's failure to understand that, as a member of the Council of King's College, he was a public trustee, not a Church of England trustee: 'Now, I should suppose that a person of far more limited perceptive powers than those of this Theological Professor, might "perceive" that the Council of King's College, like the Executive Council of Canada, and like the Trustees of District Grammar and Common Schools, are Public Trustees, and have no more personal, or "abstract," right, or property, in what is placed under their control, than any other equal number of the inhabitants of Canada' (25). Ryerson concludes his critique of Beaven's arguments with a sweeping judgment: 'The doctrines which Doctor Beaven has put forth in the above quoted passages may be very good Oxford Theology, and his distinctions may be very good Oxford Metaphysics, and his denunciations of laws of the land, as "spoliations," may be very good Oxford loyalty; but I think few will say that they are distinguished for sound Logic, or correct Philosophy of Civil Government' (25). Beaven had referred to the amendments of 1837 as 'spoilations.' Whatever else he might have accomplished by publishing his letters, Beaven had certainly succeeded in provoking a powerful adversary. With Ryerson and his caustic pen on the other side, it would be only a matter of time before the Church of England party was completely routed. In 1848, after the electorate returned him to power, Robert Baldwin set about renewing the attempt to secularize King's College. Among Baldwin's papers housed in the Metropolitan Toronto Reference Library, there are four letters to him from Beaven. In these letters Beaven revealed that he and Baldwin had met on more than one occasion to discuss the future of the college. One of the matters they discussed was the role of public opinion in determining policy. Baldwin thought it should weigh heavily in decision-making, including the question of what changes should be made in the college's charter. Beaven sought to turn his mind away from this view: 'It is not and ought not to be our business to satisfy the public, but to do what is best on the whole, relying that when the effects are seen in course of time, all reasonable men will be satisfied; and if you are determined to introduce the element of satisfying the public into the permanent management of the University, you will ruin it totally and irretrievably' (24 June 1848). Finding that this line of argument did not dissuade Baldwin, Beaven tried another on 17 November: T beg to urge you again that your measure is in its very nature an experiment, and that you are dependent upon others for success; and you may rely upon it that if it is so framed that the Bishop finally decides upon

James Beaven 61

opposing it, it cannot succeed. He will not do so without full conviction, and if he does, your university is doomed. I do not feel even sure that any measure you might choose to press here rejecting religion would be accepted at home [England]. The opinion gains strength every year, that education is not merely gaining so much information; but that it ought, to do real good, to be based upon religion, and to be accompanied by its observances. If you take the other course, you will soon find yourself behind your time.' Here Beaven showed himself out of touch with trends in England, too, where opinion was growing that religious tests for degrees were iniquitous. Parliament abolished them in 1871. In the course of the same letter Beaven outlined his view of the best form of higher education: With regard to the subject on which we last conferred allow me to put before you the answer which I wish to make to a question you then put to me, viz. why it was desirable that the Church of England should retain the power of conferring degrees in other Faculties besides Divinity. We think that, as Christians, instruction in Christian literature and in the elementary doctrines of Christianity ought to be at the foundation of all education; and that the Church ought to have the power of placing it at the foundation for all her sons. (I would equally contend for the same liberty for other Christian bodies.) The degrees will mark that a person has received all the essentials of a liberal education; and we think that, in a Christian country, no one ought to have such degrees, unless he has received the fundamentals of such an education. We do not wish to deny to those who think otherwise the power to confer such academical distinctions on those who have received such an education as they think sufficient; but we claim for the Church and for those Christian bodies who think with her on this subject, the power to carry out their own principles with regard to their own members.

Given this conception of an institution of higher learning, it is easy to see why Beaven abominated the new University of Toronto when it was brought into existence a year later. 2.6

Legislation establishing the University of Toronto as the successor to King's College was passed in 1849 and given royal assent. The bill did away with any religious tests for either faculty members or students, abol-

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ished the Faculty of Divinity, and established the Senate with a membership of twenty-five as the supreme governing body in the university. As a consequence, on the last day of that year the University of King's College, which was supposed to last forever, ceased to exist, and all of its faculty, including Beaven (albeit stripped of divinity) were incorporated into the new university. Beaven was extremely bitter about the treatment accorded him. In April 1849 he had written to the legislature protesting the proposed act on several grounds: 'because some of its provisions appear to me irreligious, and anti-Christian'; 'because it appears intended to place the Church of England in Canada, in a less favourable position than some other Christian communities, in regard to the power of granting degrees'; 'because it makes no provision for the continuance of the Faculty of Theology, and of the office of the present Professor; nor for conferring degrees upon those who have studied in that Faculty'; 'because it makes no provision for the maintenance of a College of the Church of England'; and 'because it sets a new example of the repeal of the Legislature of the provisions of a Royal Charter, without the consent of the Sovereign, and of those to whom it was granted' (Hodgins 8: 193). The legislature ignored all of his concerns other than to make provision for those who were studying divinity before the act was passed to complete their degrees. As is apparent from Beaven's last reason, he, along with Strachan, continued to regard the endowment and charter as royal gifts to those Canadians who were communicants of the Church of England. During the winter and spring of 1850 Beavan continued in his old position with the title 'Professor of Metaphysics and Ethics,' assisting those already in the divinity course to complete their degrees and offering his usual philosophy courses. In late summer he resigned his professorship. When Lord Elgin, the governor general, received his letter of resignation, he refused to accept it; instead, he urged Beaven to seek the advice of others before resubmitting it. Those whom Beaven consulted advised him to withdraw his resignation, which he did. Having no other prospects and a hungry family at home were probably the compelling reasons for his decision. 'The government,' he lamented, 'has not allowed me any adequate compensation on which to retire, and Providence has not opened to me any other sphere of action' (Hodgins 9: 270). By 'Providence' Beaven was probably thinking of Bishop Strachan, who had resigned the presidency of King's College in January 1848 when he thought - mistakenly as it turned out - that the government had given up its attempt to secularize the college. In his farewell speech, 'To the Grad-

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uates and Undergraduates of the University of King's College,' delivered on 11 February, Strachan gave notice that he would continue to resist any change in its status: 'Although my connexion with King's College, may now be considered to have officially terminated, it will still continue to engage my warmest affections, and, if necessary, my best exertions in promoting its true interests, so long as it is permitted to rest on the sound constitutional and religious principles of its Royal Charter; for it has ever been my deep and abiding conviction, that education in a Christian country must be based on pure religion' (AO, MS 35-5). Strachan was true to his word; he fought Baldwin with everything he had, but he lost the battle. Immediately after the government passed the new University Act in late 1849, he set about establishing the University of Trinity College in Toronto, but he did not invite Beaven to join its faculty. Apart from the dispute over salaries early on, Beaven had been a completely loyal follower of Strachan, and doctrinally they were one, so it must have been Beaven's personal qualities, or perhaps his teaching style, or even perhaps his love of money, that led Strachan to fail to rescue him from what Beaven was to say was an institution that T abominate.' Apparently, Strachan had had his fill of Beaven's dogmatic crustiness. In time, McCaul, who succeeded Strachan as president and then accepted the presidency of the new University of Toronto, would also cool to him. If Beaven had any lovable qualities, they were always left at home. In his unpublished memoirs James Loudon, who taught physics in University College and succeeded Sir Daniel Wilson as president of the university in 1892, gave a different account of Beaven's actions at this time. In discussing the faculty during his undergraduate years, he had this to say about Beaven: The Professor of Metaphysics and Ethics was the Rev. James Beaven, D.D., who had occupied the Chair of Divinity in King's College. On the abolition of that College he was given some compensation, with the expectation that he would return to Oxford, whence he had come; but apparently the sum was not sufficient, for, as Dr. McCaul informed me, he not only took the money, but insisted on staying as the incumbent of the new Chair. Not only had he been hostile to the passing of the Baldwin University Act of 1849, but after he became a Professor in the new University, in a letter to Chancellor de Blaquiere, he re-affirmed his attitude in protesting against his name being used 'to sustain the character of an Institution which he abominated.' The passage of arms between him and the Chancellor led to the appointment of a Senate Committee to inquire into this expression of his

64 The Main Stream hostility, but although the Committee, after much delay, brought in a report which was carried, the upshot was that the Doctor stayed on. Dr. Heaven's mode of lecturing was most tedious and unpopular with the students, who were expected to take down, word by word, the notes dictated by him on the various text-books of the course. Naturally this process gave rise to frequent interruptions on the part of the class until finally, in consequence of hostile demonstrations against his teaching, he was retired by the Sandfield-Macdonald Government in 1869, and succeeded by Professor G.P. Young. (UTA, JL, 016 [11], 9-10)

In an earlier draft of his memoirs, Loudon wrote that Beaven 'had a most tedious and painful style of lecturing' (10). Beaven's action of both taking the compensation, which, according to McCaul, was £1,140 currency (Hodgins 15: 253) and staying on at a reduced salary of £450 currency plus £60 for house rent seems entirely in character, as does his continued hostility to the new university. In the Senate, the supreme governing body of the new University of Toronto, Beaven was the senior member. It was twice the size of King's College Council, and Beaven did not cut as important a figure in its minutes as he had in the earlier body; he was nearly always present, but he seldom offered a motion, nor for that matter did he second very many. After the University was reorganized in 1853, Beaven ceased to be a member of the Senate. The restructuring reduced the number of faculty seats and mandated that they be filled by peer selection. His colleagues in University College never chose him as one of their representatives. 2.7

Beaven's low profile in the new Senate was almost certainly due to the fact, mentioned by Loudon, that he found himself in serious trouble almost from the day he joined. The closure of King's College and the establishment of the University of Toronto was viewed by a very vocal segment of the Anglican community as outright theft: the King had given them a charter for a university and provided an endowment for it; it was theirs to have and to hold 'forever.' The jealous majority had snatched their prize away and desanctified it. In a loud chorus they denounced the University of Toronto as 'Godless.' Naturally enough, it fell to the first chancellor of the new university, Peter Boyle de Blaquiere, who served from 1850 to 1852, to reply to this charge, since the president, John McCaul, an Anglican divine, could hardly be expected to carry the cud-

James Beaven 65

gels. The chancellor himself was a prominent layman in the Anglican Church, but he and many other Anglicans had supported the Baldwin Act, with the consequence that Strachan, Beaven, and company treated him as a heretic. Strachan had de Blaquiere in mind, among others, when he wrote: 'But alas! the Church of England here found the chief enemies of King's College among her own professing adherents; and, under the delusion of liberalism and expediency, the twin sisters of infidelity, they betrayed the cause which they were bound by every sacred duty and right feeling to protect' (Hodgins 9: 94). In a letter to the editor of the Globe, published on 14 January 1851, the chancellor discussed Strachan's charge that the university was 'Godless': It is, however, satisfactory to observe that the Bishop does not now insist that the University is 'Godless,' - for, in defending his use of that term, on the ground that it was used previous to the passing of the supplementary University Bill of 1850, he negatively admits, that his complaint on that score, if ever sound, has been removed; indeed he could not, with any propriety, now persist in such an allegation, for the Reverend Doctor Beaven, late Professor of Divinity in King's College, continues to hold office in the University as Professor of Moral Philosophy, although he is well known to hold strong views in regard to the connection of religious and secular teaching. It is to be presumed that Doctor Beaven, as a Minister of the English Church in Canada is satisfied that such instruction can be satisfactorily given, - and there is no doubt whatever upon the subject, as the event will prove. The measures already taken by the Senate with a view to religious instruction are an earnest of what is to follow; they are clear, definite and satisfactory. Amongst these, I may mention that Doctor Beaven has effected the division of the study of Moral Philosophy into Ethics and Metaphysics, and has instituted a separate Medal and Prize for the 'Evidences of the Christian Religion.' He has also announced his intention to introduce a statute into the Senate requiring that lectures shall not be allowed to interfere with the giving of Religious Instruction. Under these circumstances I hope the Bishop of Toronto may be induced to give up his present intentions as to any exclusive Church University, and instead, thereof, will seek an affiliated College in connection with the University of Toronto. (Hodgins 10: 52)

The Chancellor warned Bishop Strachan that if he persisted in his intentions to found Trinity, then de Blaquiere would write to both the

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governor general and Queen Victoria and urge them to withhold from Strachan the documents required to give it a legal basis. Upon reading this letter Beaven was stirred to rash action. On the following day he sent the chancellor a rather intemperate letter of protest: A letter of yours in The Globe has been pointed out to me, in which you make a very unwarrantable use of my name. You argue that the Bishop could not now persist in calling the University 'Godless,' because I continue to hold office in it; whereas, the only reason why I continue now to hold office is, on account of that which I continued at the beginning of last year, namely, that the Government has not allowed me any adequate compensation upon which to retire, and Providence has not opened for me any other sphere of action. I am so far from being satisfied that Religious Instruction 'can be satisfactorily given' in the University of Toronto, that I am quite satisfied it can never be given satisfactorily, so long as all its students are not trained in the system of the Church of England. What bearing the division of Moral Philosophy into Metaphysics and Ethics can have on Religious Instruction, I am really at a loss to understand; certainly it was not made with any such view; and I find it so inconvenient, that I intend to endeavour to have the separation set aside. There is no separate Prize, or Medal, 'instituted' for 'Evidences'; it was only provided for in the past years. The Statute, of which I gave notice, did not intend to provide 'that lectures should not be allowed to interfere with the giving of Religious Instruction,' as you might easily have seen, if you had read the notice carefully; but, whatever was its object, I do not intend to persevere with it. With regard to both this and the preceding business, I think it much to be regretted that you did not make yourself accurately acquainted with the subjects, before you wrote for public information respecting them. And knowing, as you do, that I have repeatedly, in your presence, and that of the Senate, expressed my entire disapproval of the very principles, upon which the University is founded, and that I have, more than once, publicly expressed my sympathy with the Bishop's plan [to found Trinity], I think I have strong ground of complaint against you, for using my name to sustain the character of an Institution which I abominate, and to prevent the establishment of that which I desire to see, although I have no prospect of being connected with it. (Hodgins 9: 269-70)

This letter, which appears to go out of its way to insult the chancellor's intelligence, shows again just how blind Beaven was to the political situa-

James Beaven 67

tion in Canada. If he had his way, every student, regardless of his religious beliefs, would be obliged to learn those held by members of the Church of England. Such arrogance served only to inflame the passions of those in the dissenting community. In his reply to Beaven, written three days later, the chancellor explained his intentions in citing Heaven's name: I am not sensible that I have made any 'unwarrantable use of your name.' It by no means follows, that I rested the character of the Toronto University, (as adapted to, and harmonizing with, Religious Education suitable for Upper Canada), exclusively, or even mainly, upon your continuing as a Professor attached to it. I brought forward as illustrative, and as affording to most minds, my own amongst the number, a conviction, that Religion was not excluded from the Institution, as the Professor of Divinity of King's College still adhered to it, - however strongly he was supposed to feel upon the subject of Religious Education, and introduced measures tending to establish its religious character. My argument might equally have been aided had I referred to the Reverend Doctor McCaul, or to the Reverend Professor Murray as to yourself. But, assuredly, it never for a moment entered my thoughts, that a Minister of Religion, who, it now appears, like you, holds 'the University in abomination,' could, under any circumstances, remain as one of its Professors. (Hodgins 9: 270)

After discussing the Senate's rejection of a statute moved by Beaven 'permitting Professors and students to omit lectures at times appropriated to Religious exercises,' because, in de Blaquiere's opinion, Beaven's speech in its favour was 'so injudicious as to induce the rejection of your "Bye-Law" by those who would, I think, otherwise have readily acceded to it,' the chancellor let Beaven know that he was still opposed to Strachan's plan to found Trinity: 'Of course, you are at perfect liberty to sympathize with, to approve of, or to forward, by any means you think proper to adopt, the measures intended by the Bishop to vest a despotic University, continually without control, under the name of a "Church University." For my part I cannot find language sufficiently strong to reprobate both the attempt and the manner in which that attempt has been so insidiously conducted' (270). This paragraph must have infuriated Beaven, coming as it did from a layman of the hierarchical Church in which he was a priest. After all, laymen were supposed to follow the lead of priests, and especially bishops, in matters of religion.

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Had Beaven not replied to this letter, the issue would probably have faded away, but it was contrary to his character to remain silent in areas touching religion. His reply, dated two days after the chancellor's, allowed no time for him to cool off: I am sorry that you cannot perceive that you have made an unwarrantable use of my name; a fact, which I imagine most persons would see very clearly, and what I know has been seen by many. I fully agree with you that it would have been to a certain extent the same, if you had employed the names of the Reverend Doctor McCaul and of the Reverend Professor Murray; for you would have used their names to bolster up a state of things [of] which they disapprove; and such a use of them would have been unwarrantable. The difference is, that mine is a stronger case, and you ought to have felt that it was stronger; - that you were doing me a greater wrong by such a use of my name; and that you ought to have felt, that such a use of my name was a wrong to me. I am sorry to write to you in this way, for I respected you a good deal before you came amongst us. You have added to the wrong, by casting upon me the blame of the disposition of the Senate to reject the Evidences of Religion by-law, when all I did was to endeavour to make them understand exactly what it was that I proposed to them. You have added to it still further, by insinuating that I do a thing inconsistent with my character as a clergyman, in remaining in the University with my present views. It is fortunate for me that most persons are more candid, and do me the justice of confessing, as I do, that I submit to the greatest mortification of my life only because I cannot see my way clear to acting otherwise. I trust that you may never be placed in so painful a position. You are perhaps not aware that I did actually resign my Professorship in August, or September, last; but, at the instance of Lord Elgin, I took advice on the subject, and, acting on that advice, I remained. Many persons know well that, but for the advice of friends, I should have retired more than a year ago. (Hodgins 9: 271)

Again, there is nothing but hostility shown towards the university and its chancellor. The by-law to which he refers would have established a separate medal for his course, The Evidences of Religion.' After receiving Heaven's second letter, the chancellor decided to inform the members of the Senate of Beaven's 'undisguised hostility' towards the university. An enquiry was demanded in the Senate by James W. Richardson, M.D., professor of practical anatomy; his motion easily

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69

carried. The text of this motion must have struck fear in even such a hardened heart as that of Beaven: 'Whereas in a letter from the Honourable the Chancellor of the University to the Vice-Chancellor, dated January 31st 1851, a distinct and positive charge of "undisguised hostility" is made against the Dean of the Faculty of Arts, and whereas it is expedient and necessary to the well-being of the University that such charge should be at once inquired into, it is resolved that the Vice-Chancellor be directed and he is hereby directed to communicate with the Honourable the Chancellor, to inquire on what grounds his statement of "undisguised hostility" to the University on the part of the Dean of the Faculty of Arts is founded and that he be requested to report thereon to the Senate at as early a meeting as possible' (UTA, MSUT, 22 Feb. 1851). This was a very serious matter, which could easily have led to Beaven's dismissal from the university. At its meeting on 8 March the Senate was presented with the correspondence between the chancellor and Beaven; it was ordered tabled until called up. Prior to the next meeting members had an opportunity to study the correspondence. On 22 March Richardson moved, successfully, to have a committee struck 'to inquire into the conduct of, and expression of feeling towards the University, on the part of the Dean of the Faculty of Arts, particularly as manifested in the late correspondence between him and the Honourable the Chancellor on matters connected with the University' (UTA, MSUT, 22 March 1851). This committee filed its report, no copy of which has survived, prior to the meeting on 14 May, because on that day Richardson gave notice that at its next meeting, scheduled for a fortnight later, he would move a consideration of the Beaven case. Beaven attended that meeting but withdrew just before his case was taken up. Richardson and his seconder moved that the committee's report be adopted. The still faithful McCaul moved an amendment 'that in consequence of the lateness of the hour at which this motion relating to the adoption of the Report has been brought forward and the previous withdrawal of several Members of the Senate, it is not expedient to decide on so important a subject at present, but that it shall be the first item on the Order of business for the first special meeting after that called for Saturday next' (ibid.). The amendment carried by a vote of six to four. Nine special meetings were called during June and July, but none of them mustered a quorum, which was set at fifteen members. Beaven stayed away from all of them. The wording of McCaul's amendment strongly suggests that the report recommended the dismissal of Beaven unless he retracted his

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statements. The long string of adjourned meetings equally strongly suggests that McCaul was having trouble convincing Beaven to retract his remarks. This was entirely in character. Almost certainly, Beaven had not a shred of doubt about the Tightness of his position. Religion was far and away the most important consideration in his life. Without the protection of a wall of religion, men were lost. The principal duty of a university was to assist its students in constructing such a wall, and any university that failed in this respect was, as he put it, an abomination. McCaul had his work cut out for him; it would not be easy to get Beaven to say he was wrong. Probably the only consideration strong enough to move his will would be financial. If he lost his position, his family was bound to suffer. Another succession of meetings passed, nearly all of which failed for want of a quorum, although two regularly scheduled meetings were well enough attended to conduct business; since they were not 'special,' however, they could not take up the Beaven case. The minutes of the Senate meeting of 3 October, from which Beaven was absent, included this item: 'The further consideration of the Rev. Dr. Beaven's case being the first item on the notice the Secretary at the request of several members of the Senate lately appointed, who were not fully aware of the charges preferred against the Rev. Dr. Beaven, read the Report of the Committee appointed to inquire into his conduct and expression of feeling towards the University' (UTA, MSUT). Richardson's motion that the report be brought up for adoption at the meeting set for the first day of November was put and carried. At that meeting the Senate voted, again on a motion by Richardson, to adopt the Beaven committee report, but only after McCaul, still loyal, moved that it be sent back to the committee with instructions to amend it, which amendment failed. As soon as the vote was reported, another member of Senate, the Reverend John Jennings, representing one of the theological colleges, gave notice that at the next meeting he would move 'that a copy of the Report in the Rev. Dr. Beaven's case be sent to him and that he be required to appear in the Senate and make a declaration whether he now holds the sentiments regarding the University which he expressed in his letters to the Chancellor.' Two weeks later the minutes stated: 'The notice of motion relative to the Rev. Dr. Beaven by the Rev. John Jennings having been brought forward and the Rev. Dr. Beaven having spontaneously expressed himself in a satisfactory manner was withdrawn with the unanimous consent of the Senate.' Richardson was not present. Given the protracted nature of this affair, one wonders just how 'spontaneous' Beaven's words were. Very likely they were as deliberate as his attempts to avoid being brought to judgment.

James Beaven 71 After this bruising encounter with his colleagues, Beaven kept a much lower profile. On occasion, however, he still exhibited his headstrong nature. John Langton, the vice-chancellor of the University of Toronto during the 1850s, mentioned one such instance in his fascinating letter to his brother, dated 12 November 1856, published under the title 'The University of Toronto in 1856': 'We have a department of Metaphysics and Ethics under a most learned and excellent man Dr. Beaven. After the first two years we allow students to exercise options and they may under certain conditions drop Classics, but then they must retain Metaphysics, yet Dr. Beaven insists upon examining almost altogether from Aristotle, Cicero, etc., and positively requires them to read more Greek and Latin than Dr. McCaul [Professor of Classics] himself. I argue in vain but I will have my own way in this case, Dr. McCaul assenting and delighted to see me getting into trouble with Dr. Beaven, and the Doctor, who in former days on account of Clergy Reserve heresies had told me he looked upon me as little less than a heathen, now plainly intimates that I am also one of the unlettered' (Langton 1924, 141). The 'Clergy Reserve heresies,' to which Langton referred, concerned a protracted dispute about the use to be made of the land of Upper Canada, amounting to one-seventh of the total land, which had been set aside at the time of surveying to support the Protestant clergy. The established church claimed all of it as its own, but the dissenters had other ideas. It was finally decided in 1854, after decades of controversy, to use it for the public good. Beaven, of course, argued for its transfer to the clergy of the Church of England; any other use savoured of heresy to his way of thinking. Strachan outdid him by calling the legislation that secularized the Reserves 'the most atrocious specimen of oppressive legislation that has appeared since the days of the French Convention' (DCB9: 763). Beaven's determination to have his own way can be glimpsed in Langton's account of his thwarting the Senate's will regarding the classical languages. Another area in which he exerted his will was the content of his first-year course. In King's College he had taught a course for freshmen in which Paley's Evidences of Christianity and Natural Theology were used as texts. Probably because of his seniority and his position as dean of the Faculty of Arts in the new university, he continued teaching the course in that institution, even though it was strictly contrary to the secular nature of the University of Toronto. It is true, as we saw above, that he no longer listed Evidences as a text, but his fuss about a medal for it shows that he still lectured on it; almost certainly the text furnished the content of his lectures in the third term. For fifteen years he offered the

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course, while discontent grew, especially after the publication of Darwin's Origin of Species in 1859. Finally, during the academic year 1864-5, the Senate revised the curriculum and dropped his course. Beaven no longer taught first-year students. In a show of contempt for the majority's opinion, Beaven promptly added Paley's books to the required reading in his third-year course. 2.8

The secularization of the university had another unpleasant consequence for Beaven. In King's College he had regularly taught a course in natural theology, which, as we saw, was well attended. During those years, Beaven turned his lectures in that course into a book, Elements of Natural Theology, which was published in 1850. According to Brian McKillop this is 'the first college textbook written by a professor in English Canada' (McKillop 1994, 115-16). Beaven almost certainly intended to use it as a textbook and thus to make a bit of money from its sale. The changes in the university curriculum, however, dampened those prospects. The book, it must be acknowledged, is very well written; it provides an elementary and succinct introduction to the state of its subject just before Darwin's work rendered most of it obsolete. Beaven expressed only modest claims for his book: 'I make no pretension to originality, but only desire to render the treatment of the subject complete for its own proper ends, and then to pave the way for a better consideration of the evidences of revealed religion, and of the philosophy of morals by whomsoever treated of (Beaven 1850, 51). In addition to drawing freely on the works of Paley and Cicero, which is not surprising given their prominence in his teaching, Beaven made extensive use of the Bridgewater Treatises, especially the one written by William Whewell. 'Dr. Whewell has given the whole argument for the being and unity of God, a higher character than most previous writers, and added that for his moral government; but still even he leaves a considerable portion of the ground entirely untouched' (50-1). Neither Christ nor Christianity was mentioned in Beaven's book. Revealed religion was distinguished from natural religion at the start and then altogether excluded from consideration. His argument centred on establishing two principles: 'These two points, that God exists, and that He rewards those who diligently seek Him, are two doctrines of Natural Theology; and without them there can be no religion' (2). The appeal throughout the book was to experience and to the way Bea ven thought it was naturally interpreted. His typical observer, of course,

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73

was one who has been reared a Christian, so it was not difficult for him to arrive at the conclusions he favoured. Paley's famous watch example was subjected to analysis and was found to involve the notion of natural law; his next step was to argue that natural laws form a unity: The more minutely, therefore, we extend our inquiries, the more clearly we perceive that there is a connexion throughout nature, - no one thing stands by itself. Everything is related or adapted to some other thing; and this relation and adaptation is carried on from the stones in the bowels of the earth, and the scarcely perceptible insects throughout all vegetable and animated nature, - by the air we breathe, and the light by which we see, - up to the planets and stars, and by them to the utmost verge of the universe. Nay, is there not one thing in nature which is connected with them all? Is there not the intelligent spirit of man, united to an animal structure, and capable of perceiving, contemplating, and reasoning, upon whatever exists throughout the universe? Can there remain, therefore, a shadow of a doubt, not only that there are traces of intelligence everywhere, but that everywhere we perceive the operation of ONE governing intelligence, viewing all his work together, and adapting every portion to it, more or less directly, to every other portion? The doctrine of the unity of God is, moreover, in one way or another recognised even by pagans. (Beaven 1850, 126-7)

To have carried out its work, this 'one governing intelligence' must be omniscient and omnipotent. By examining the way human beings cause their material bodies to move, Beaven argued, by analogy, that God who is the cause of movement in matter, is pure spirit. Is God also the creator of matter? This, of course, was an essential concern for a Christian. Beaven was confident that God did create the material universe. As a first step, he argued that 'every human spirit derives its origin from Him.' Having established his major premiss, he immediately advanced this argument: 'If, therefore, every human spirit must have its origin from God, it appears to follow, that as all material substance is acted upon by spirit, and is consequently inferior to it, matter likewise must derive its origin from Him' (Beaven 1850,142). Much depends here on the notion of 'inferior,' which was left unanalysed. Relying again on an appeal to our experience, Beaven claimed to establish both the freedom of the will and the immortality of the soul. His argument for immortality was based on the premiss that human experience nearly always points toward a future state. As evidence for its truth, Kant's view that a future state is required to redress wrongs left over from this life

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was cited with approval. Further evidence was gleaned from our tendency to plan and act for the future and from our belief in progress. What is astonishing is that he adduced the various transformations in an insect's life as evidence of a future state for dead human beings! Each phase of an insect's life, except the last, is a preparation for the next. During its final state, since there is no future state to prepare itself for, the insect, say a butterfly, simply enjoys a time of pleasure and then dies. 'Man, on the contrary, goes on to the end of the present life, improving and developing his mental and moral faculties, and fitting himself for something higher and better. And if nothing higher and better is in store for him, but his existence is absolutely terminated by death, then analogy is broken. The insect which dies with faculties prepared for something higher, passes to a higher state of existence: it is reasonable to expect that the man should do the same' (Beaven 1850, 187). From the many criticisms that can be levelled at this argument it will suffice to mention only two: first, an insect that passes from the maggot stage to the pupal stage does not 'die' in the process; and, second, his claim that people go on improving themselves mentally and morally throughout their lives is mere wishful thinking. Some few may do so, but experience surely teaches us that many do not. The reader will already have anticipated Beaven's next move; he extended his argument to yield the conclusion that the soul of man is immortal. Because of its convoluted structure, his one-sentence argument is worth quoting in full: If our whole state here is progressive, and most of us become, up to the period of quitting this world, more and more capable of improvement, and of high mental and moral action; and if this by itself is a strong argument, that this preparation is not likely to be altogether vain and aimless, but is intended to qualify us to exist in another state after we quit this world; if the fact that the soul does not at death yield up its interest in future events, but naturally and involuntarily frames to itself indirect methods of carrying on its individual existence, be a presumption that its Creator has endued it with (so to speak) an instinct of future existence; if the circumstance that the desire of the soul for enjoyment is never satisfied here, and that it has conceptions which it is not permitted to realize in this world, are arguments to lead us to think that there is another state where this capacity and longing for enjoyment is to be satisfied, and where these bright conceptions are to meet with answering realities; - if these are arguments for a future state at all, they are likewise arguments for an eternal existence in

James Beaven 75 that state, or in states progressively higher, without limit and without end. (Beaven 1850, 191)

Presumably there is to be no rest for the good either. Beaven then described in detail the ways in which the deity shows his benevolence to human kind. Essentially this involved specifying the traits of people - their erect posture, their flexible hands, their minds, and so forth - which make earthly life possible and even comfortable. To these he added the ability to apprehend God's existence and attributes, as well as to grasp our relationship with Him. In this discussion he was simply making explicit some of the wonders in the 'design' of humans. In addition to the traits already cited, there is the great gift of freedom of the will. True, its use sometimes leads to evil, but that is the price required for being able to choose. God, of course, knows in advance the outcome of all our choices, but this does not make Him the cause of them. Beaven offered the standard reply to the ancient problem of divine foreknowledge and human free will. We often know in advance what choice one of our own children, say, will make when offered certain alternatives, but we also know that we are not the cause of the child's choice. The same analysis exempts God from responsibility for our choices. As for evil, we can reduce it in our own lives by learning from past mistakes. Evil will always be with us, however, and we have to learn to live with that fact. In his last chapter he deals with 'the means we possess of ascertaining the will of God' (Beaven 1850, 232). They are four. The first is 'the opinion of others' (233), which is closely linked with the second, 'conscience': 'That, again, exists in all men; and therefore is concluded to be the work of the Creator. It is likewise true of this, that its dictates are not uniform. But still we may observe that its tendency is uniform, like that of opinion, only in a higher degree. It in fact always works in one direction; viz. that of checking and controlling the operation of our passions and affections, and rendering it more agreeable to reason, and to that intuitive perception of right and wrong of which we are all sensible' (235). The other two ways are 'our own observation of the operation of different modes of conduct upon social happiness1 (235) and 'the observation of God's providential government' (236). Having shown to his own satisfaction that it is possible to know the will of God, he claimed to have established the two essential principles of natural religion, which he had set out to prove. The book shows that Beaven was very good at finding plausible, as well as implausible, arguments for what he already believed. Sir Daniel Wilson, who first met Beaven in 1853, judged him to be 'a stupid dry old

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stick' (see §2.12). but as this book makes clear, Beaven was not stupid, although he may very well have been dry. 2.9

When Beaven accepted the professorship in metaphysics and ethics in the new University of Toronto, he felt compelled to study a number of important philosophical works for the first time. These included, among others, works by Descartes, Leibniz, and Kant and his German followers. According to one of his students, the effort to master these works well enough to lecture on them had a deleterious effect on his health, a point also noted in his obituary in the Globe of 10 November 1875. He was not the last person, of course, to suffer ill effects from being obliged to read the darker pages of German philosophy, although usually the damage is not physical. His manner of lecturing, as Loudon mentioned, was to go through a text almost sentence by sentence and comment on each of them in turn. Such a style of teaching does not require instructors to advance any particular philosophical positions of their own. What positions Beaven held on philosophical issues beyond natural theology and Christian cosmology is impossible to determine with any certainty, since he wrote nothing outside his favoured areas. According to some who remembered his lectures, he taught a version of Scottish realism, but the evidence for this assertion seems to be that in later years he included a number of texts by Scottish realists on his required reading lists. After examining everything written about Beaven, I am of the opinion that Beaven had almost no interest in philosophical questions falling outside his theological concerns and, consequently, that he did not defend Scottish realism or any alternative to it. To put the matter most simply, he did not consider himself a philosopher. In the 'Report of the Caput for the Year 1851' the prescribed texts for the following three academic years are listed. Beaven was supposed to teach a course in ethics to the freshmen, but he gave them instead a repeat of his King's College course. In the first two terms they read Paley's Natural Theology and Cicero's de Natura Deorum and heard the 'Professor's Lectures on Natural Theology'; in the third term Beaven delivered a set of lectures. The junior sophisters1 were offered both eth-

1 In King's College and the early University of Toronto, students in first year were called 'freshmen,' those in second year 'junior sophisters,' and those in third year 'senior sophisters.'

James Beaven 77 ics and metaphysics: in ethics they read Paley's Evidences and Cicero's de Divinatione (honoursmen only) and de Officiis & de Amicitia during the first two terms; in the second term candidates for honours were also assigned Cicero's Tusculanae Disputationes; in the third term pass men continued with de Officiis & de Amicitia and honours candidates with Tusculanae Disputationes. In metaphysics, everyone in second year studied Locke's Essay and heard Beaven lecture on it during all three terms; candidates for honours read more Cicero: Quaestiones Academica in the first two terms and de Fato in the last. All the senior sophisters, in their last year of study for the B.A., were taught ethics, but only those attempting a degree with honours were instructed in metaphysics. In ethics everyone read Paley's Moral Philosophy and heard Beaven lecture upon it in all three terms. In addition, honoursmen studied Joseph Butler's Analogy of Religion and Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics during the first two terms and concentrated on Aristotle in the third. The metaphysics course used Thomas Brown's Philosophy of the Mind in the first two terms, with Thomas Reid's Intellectual Powers added in the second; in the third term they listened to the 'Professor's Lectures on History of Metaphysics, specially Aristotle's Metaphysics.' Aspirants for medals in ethics or metaphysics were obliged to write an examination in the subject of their choice, which was based on all of the texts used by Beaven in teaching those subjects. This list of required textbooks clearly establishes that Beaven had not yet mastered the continental tradition. The most recent of Beaven's prescribed texts was that of Brown (1778-1820), which was published in four volumes in 1820. According to the printed schedule, Beaven delivered twelve lectures each week. In 1861 the government, in response to demands by Egerton Ryerson and others, appointed a committee to examine the finances of the University of Toronto and University College. Faculty members were required to provide the details of their work for the previous eight years. Beaven's replies reveal that for the first three years of University College's existence, he lectured fifteen hours in each week; but during the next five years, he lectured thirteen times a week. The academic year, then as now, included twenty-six weeks of instruction. The number of matriculated students Beaven taught climbed from thirty to sixty-two during these eight years, for a grand total of 325. During the same period he taught only sixteen occasional students. In response to a question asking him to state the total amount he had received in student fees, he remarked: 'No account has been kept by Professor Beaven of the fees received by him, and he is therefore unable to give any information as to the amount of them; but the amount in any one year he states to have been very inconsiderable'

78 The Main Stream (Hodgins 5: 115). It appears, from the small number of occasional students he taught, that not very many of the theological students studying in the affiliated colleges wanted to hear Beaven's lectures. Logic in those days was not Beaven's responsibility. From the earliest days of King's College, the teaching of logic had been assigned to John McCaul. His constant choice for a textbook in logic was the one he had used as a student in Trinity College Dublin: Murray's Compendium of Logic, with 'an accurate translation and a familiar commentary' by John Walker, a sometime fellow of the college. Richard Murray was serving as provost of the University of Dublin when he published Artis logicae compendium: in usum juventutis Colkgii Dubliniensis in 1768. Walker's commentary, first published in 1847, is often longer than the chapter to which it is appended. In 1852 G.B. Wheeler provided notes on certain points in the text and a set of examination questions for each chapter. McCaul's freshmen covered the whole of the book, and in the third term they also studied Book I, 'Analytical Outline of the Science,' of Archbishop Richard Whately's Elements of Logic, first published in 1826 and with many later editions. The word logic as used in this tradition encompassed much more than the traditional formal logic; it included psychology - or what today would be called philosophical psychology or philosophy of mind - and epistemology. In his explanatory notes, Wheeler tended to dispose of the non-logical points in a rather summary fashion, as if there were universal agreement on these matters. To cite just one example: 'The distinctions between terms and ideas are the following: Terms are verbal, arbitrary, and the mediate objects of the mind; Ideas are mental, not arbitrary, and the immediate objects of the mind' (Walker 1864, 12). Nothing further is said on this important distinction. The copy from which this quotation is taken was used by William Dale when he studied logic with McCaul in 1868; Dale will make a brief but spectacular appearance in the chapter on James Gibson Hume. Throughout the years that Beaven taught in King's College, 1843-9, the University of Toronto, 1850-3, and University College, 1853-71, the word honours was used in only one way, namely, to indicate that a student had passed certain examinations; those who met this condition were awarded a 'B.A. with Honours.' During his tenure there was no such thing as an honours course of study, which, when successfully completed, was capped by an honours B.A. with a certain standing. In Beaven's time, those who attempted honours mastered certain additional material, mostly on their own, and passed an examination on it. Of course, the honours examinations were above and beyond all the other examinations they had to complete successfully. The existing calendars

James Beaven 79

for University College through 1865-6 list only one 'Course of Study in Arts.' These calendars laid out, year by year, what every matriculated student had to take, and they specified the very few options that were open to them. The philosophy component of this program of study consisted of courses in logic (taught by the professor of classics) and in ethics and metaphysics in second year; one in ethics and metaphysics in third year; and one in ethics and metaphysics in fourth year. In first year, Beaven taught a course in natural theology and evidences of Christianity, a hold-over from King's College. Every student in arts was required to take all of these courses. The calendar for 1866-7 introduced two programs of study: a 'Fixed Course' and a 'Variable Course.' The contents of these courses are listed by 'departments and sub-departments.' There is no philosophy course in first year, and Beaven's first-year course in natural theology is gone. All second-year students, whether enrolled in the fixed or the variable course, were obliged to take logic, metaphysics and ethics. In third year, those in the fixed course attended lectures in metaphysics and in natural theology and evidences of Christianity, and they had to prepare themselves for an examination in civil polity by reading certain prescribed texts. Beaven drew up the reading list and set the examination in civil polity, but he was not required to give lectures in that subject. Third-year students in the variable course were required, in addition, to study ethics. In the fixed course, at the level of fourth year, there was no philosophy; but the variable course required everyone to hear lectures in metaphysics and ethics, and to prepare themselves for another examination in civil polity. Students who gained honours in their second year were exempted from certain requirements both in third year and between the third and the fourth years. Those who achieved first-class honours in second year were exempted from all extra-departmental courses in third year except Beaven's course, 'Natural Religion and Evidences of Christianity.' This meant that a student of philosophy who gained a first on his honours examination in second year could concentrate his studies exclusively, except for Beaven's religion course, on philosophy in third year. And if he performed equally well in the third-year examinations, he was at liberty to concentrate all of his time on philosophy in fourth year. 2.10 Beaven published two philosophical works during his years in Toronto. The first was his Elements of Natural Theology, discussed above; the other was an edition of Cicero's DeFinibus Malorum et Bonorum, which came out

80 The Main Stream in 1853, as one of Arnold's School Classics. In a show of disdain towards the University of Toronto, he signed himself on the title-page, 'Late Professor of Theology in King's College, Toronto.' Despite this disparagement of philosophy, the work itself is philosophical, and his preface is a very well written, short essay on the history of moral philosophy to the time of Cicero. In the course of it, he revealed a key principle of his own ethical position. In giving the reasons why the study of Cicero's writings are still relevant, he remarked: 'And this leads me to say that they recognize distinctly the fact, which it has taken so much controversy to make clear, even in this Christian country, and which the writings of Locke and Paley have done so much to obscure, - that we have an innate feeling of right and wrong, and that the tendency of this feeling is uniform in all men, whether they act upon it or not' (Beaven 1853, vi). Beaven would have attributed this innate feeling to the work of God, as the creator of human beings; his confident claim that it is 'uniform in all men' seems conclusive evidence for this. Still, there is precious little of religion in his essay, and it shows that he probably could have done interesting work in philosophy had he been so inclined. Instead of writing more philosophy, Beaven devoted much of his time and energy to writing religious manuals. His first publication, in 1834, was Questions upon Scripture History: Intended to Lead Young Persons to Read the Scriptures with Care and Attention. Its length, 138 pages, probably accounts for the fact that it seems not to have been widely used. A Manual for Visiting the Sick; for the Use of Young Clergymen (1840), which had a second edition in 1852, is a grim affair. Beaven laid it down that the first thing for the minister to do upon entering the sickroom was to determine whether the patient could answer questions. If the decision was affirmative, a number of questions supplied by Beaven (who also supplied the correct answers) must then be put to the patient. If any of the patient's answers was wrong, it was the duty of the attending minister to give instruction on that point before moving on to the next question. The idea behind this macabre procedure was to put the fear of God into the patient. It seems much more likely that the patient's health would take a sudden turn for the worse! Beaven's little book, A Help to Catechising, for the Use of Clergymen, Schoolmasters and Private Families (1841) was very popular in its day, with two editions in England and a special edition prepared for use in the Protestant Episcopal Church of the United States. In his preface to the American edition, he remarked that it was designed to help those responsible for 'feeding the lambs of Christ's flock with the pure milk of the word,

James Beaven 81 and leading them in the pastures of salvation.' These fanciful phrases are not to be found in the British edition. The second British edition is dedicated to Richard Bagot, bishop of Oxford, who, as discussed earlier (§1.5), was responsible for Beaven's Toronto appointment: 'the great benefit of his advice and example during more than twelve years of official connexion, this second edition of a work begun and completed under his auspices is most respectfully and gratefully inscribed.' The preface to the second edition is dated August 1842, so Beaven brought himself to the notice of the bishop just when Bagot was seeking someone willing to go to Canada. When his son went off to Upper Canada College, Beaven presented him with a pamphlet, Private Devotions for Schoolboys; Together with Some Rules of Conduct Given by a Father to His Son on His Going to School (1845). No copy of this work exists in Toronto, so I have not been able to examine it. In 1850 he published A Catechism on the Thirty-Nine Articles of the Church of England, which he revised for American readers in 1855. A First Catechism for Little Children came out in 1853, and probably at about the same time he published A Brief Catechism on Confirmation, with Prayers to Be Used Before and After Confirmation; a copy from the 'sixth thousand' is dated 1878. All of these publications are now very rare.2

2.11 Beaven made an interesting contribution to Canadian travel literature. In 1846 he published in both London (England) and Toronto, Recreations of a Long Vacation; or, A Visit to Indian Missions in Upper Canada. One gathers that he himself illustrated it: T have interspersed a few sketches, by an untaught and hitherto unpractised hand, supposing that they would add life and interest to the narrations and observations, as being faithful though unartist-like pictures of what they profess to represent' (4). Travel at that time was not easy, but Beaven, driven by missionary zeal, was ready to endure its hardships if there was the slightest chance of increasing the membership of the Church of England. Accompanied by

2 The University of Toronto Library system lacks copies of all of these ephemeral publications; its copies, if it ever had them, would have been destroyed in the great fire of 14 February 1890. A copy of the second British edition of A Help to Catechisingis included in the collection of philosophy books that I donated to the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library.

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his eldest son, then seventeen or eighteen, Beaven went overland, byway of Hamilton and London, to Detroit. From Detroit, the two of them travelled by steamship to Mackinac Island, where they boarded a boat to Sault Ste Marie, their ultimate destination. On the way to Detroit they visited several missions to the Indians, and in Sault Ste Marie they inspected another outpost of the Church. On occasion, Beaven preached to the Indians through an interpreter, an experience he found very dispiriting (48-9). In general, he was disappointed with the state of the Indian missions; they were not thriving, and there was evidence that the Indians had retained many of their old ways. The return trip was almost entirely by ship. In crossing Lake Erie they visited Cleveland and Buffalo. By this date there was a railroad operating between Buffalo and Queenston, which connected with a ferry to Toronto. Altogether they were gone for four weeks. The book is interesting and entertaining. Beaven takes an interest in nearly everything: he has a chapter on Canadian roads, one on Canadian carriages, several on Indians, and a final one on church architecture. In the course of the book he describes the appalling road conditions they encountered, as well as the scenery, which he greatly admired. The trip was begun on 8 August, so there is a good deal of grumbling about the heat and the road dust, neither of which he had experienced in England. On the ship from Detroit to Mackinac he was thrown together with Americans on their way to Chicago; they represented nearly every shade of political opinion and were continually arguing politics. Hearing them dispute among themselves led him to reflect upon various forms of government: 'I was surprised to discover both on this and on future occasions, that the democratic arguer was a churchman, and that some, even of the most thorough republicans, were high churchmen. There is, of course, no real inconsistency in a person's believing at the same time that his church is the only true church, and the ministers of it the only true ministers, - and that republicanism is the best form of civil government. The two things are in fact independent of each other; and it is one advantage resulting from occasional association with persons of various views, that we come to find the true principles on which all views must be made to rest' (Beaven 1846, 101). By 'churchmen' he meant members of either the Church of England or its direct descendant, the American Episcopal Church; to his mind no one else counted as a 'churchman.' Everyone else was either a dissenter, a papist, or worse. Beaven himself did not share the belief that republicanism was the best form of civil government. Nor did he think that high churchmen could really be republicans:

James Beaven 83 But still I think it must be admitted the tfOos [disposition] or habit of mind which is most likely to adopt high-church views is that which is most likely to tend to a love of monarchy; and I could never yet understand how a person whose mind was formed by the Scriptures could be anything else than a lover of monarchy in the abstract, however much he might feel it his duty to acquiesce in that form of civil polity under which Divine Providence had cast his lot. No doubt every Christian man must believe that the form of government which subsists in any nation at any definite period is providentially ordained for that nation at that period; but that does not prove, either that all forms of government are indifferent, or that any particular form is absolutely best for that particular nation. Divine Providence does not always provide for nations that which is absolutely best for them; it often gives them that which is worst, as a punishment for their sins. Although, therefore, if living under a republic, I should feel bound to acquiesce in such a form of government, I should not feel bound to think that, because, providentially ordained, it was best for my country. Independently of every other consideration, I must always think that form of civil, as well as of ecclesiastical polity, to be best, which most directly tends to train the mind to reverence and submit to the one universal monarchy of the Supreme Being, and the limited monarchy which he has ordained in every family. Nor is it one of the least reproaches of American republicanism that, by the confessions of those who live under it, it tends most strongly to weaken that authority which God has revealed as placed in the hands of parents. (Beaven 1846, 101-3)

Beaven certainly did believe in top-down government right across the board. In this respect, he seemed a leftover from the late Middle Ages. For him, to determine one's proper place in the great chain of being was the supreme duty. Beaven's visit to the Indians in northwestern Ontario was long remembered by them. In 1871 when Augustine Shingwauk, chief of the Chippeways, made a visit to southern Ontario to raise funds for founding an industrial school at Garden River, one of the 'black-coats' - his name for clergymen - he visited was Beaven, then near the end of his life: There was also a kind of Black-coat whom I had seen of old at Ketegaune-sebe (Garden City) called Beaven, who greeted me warmly as a friend. His wife also and his daughters were very good, and engaged to ask their people for money to send teachers to our neglected tribes on the Great Lake of the Chippeways [Lake Superior]' (Shingwauk 1992, 9-10). The Shingwauk Indian Residential School was established in 1873.

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2.12

Beaven's insistence on having his own way, which so irritated Langton, also got under the skin of another of his colleagues, Daniel Wilson. Wilson, who joined the faculty as professor of English literature and modern history in 1853, was appointed president of University College in 1880 and, after federation, assumed the presidency of the University of Toronto. Unfortunately, Wilson ordered that his papers be destroyed after his death and his daughter carried out his wishes. We do have his diary, however, which Langton was permitted to use in preparing his biography of Wilson. Two entries in 1853, shortly after Wilson got to know Beaven, record Wilson's abiding opinion of him: on 15 October 1853 he wrote, 'Dr. Bevan [sic], an Oxford M.A. is a dreadful dry stick ... Dr. Bevan, a stupid dry old stick that we would well be rid of (UTA, JLF, 004 [01], 10); and on 25 November 1853, 'I am on friendly terms with all, even dry old Dr. Bevan, though I make my fun of him somewhat more than the old gentleman would at all approve of, did he know it all' (15). In his tribute to George Paxton Young, published in the Varsity on 2 March 1889, Wilson again recalled Beaven: The late Dr. Beaven, who had come to Canada, under the patronage of Sir Charles Bagot, to fill the Chair of Divinity in King's College, at the time when the Provincial University was originated in connection with the Church of England, was transferred to the Chair of Metaphysics, on the secularization of the University. He was a man of sound learning; but formal and precise. The later subject assigned to him was not one of his own choice; and though painstaking and labourious, he failed to excite an interest in its study. When, therefore, on his resignation in 1871, Professor Young was appointed to succeed to him the change was marvellous' (121). These seem to be the only surviving comments on Beaven by his colleagues. Except, perhaps, for McCaul - and even here the evidence is far from clear - Beaven seems not to have been a friend of any other professor. Student opinion of Beaven is mixed, from tepid praise to outright ridicule. The earliest memory of him that I have found was recorded by William Fuller Ayles Boys (1833-1914), the son of the second bursar, whose family lived in the parliament building during King's College occupancy of it. In an excellent piece, 'Early Days of the University,' published in 1901, Boys, who was then senior county judge of the county of Simcoe, mentioned Beaven twice. The first concerned his conduct of chapel services, especially the two on Sunday during which there was a good deal of singing. Beaven, he wrote, was very musical and did, indeed, use a

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85

pitch-pipe to establish the pitch, although later, after a harmonium was acquired, 'Jack' Beaven, his eldest son, accompanied the singing. The second was his recollection of meeting Beaven on the stairs, which were common to the college and to the Boys's residence. One of his amusements when young was to note the various ways in which members of the college, both professors and students, went up and down the stairs: 'Most of the students went up and down with a rush, and Dr. Beaven, who was a deep thinker, and rather deliberate in all his movements, and more or less absent-minded, I have passed on the landing at the turn of the stairs as he stood as still as a statue, apparently oblivious to the world and all his surroundings' (Boys 1901, 31). Boys was never a member of any of Beaven's classes. The longest discussion of Beaven's teaching career was written in 1902 by John Campbell (1840-1904), then professor of Church history and apologetics in the Presbyterian College in Montreal. Campbell first met Beaven in 1861 when he enrolled in his first-year course on Paley. Campbell, who sometimes served as an examiner in metaphysics after the award of his M.A. in 1866, seems to have enjoyed Beaven's confidence; for instance, he stated that when Beaven's chair was restricted in 1850 to philosophy, he had to master, for the first time, 'the works of the Scottish School, of Descartes, Cousin, Jouffroy and Kant,' which proved to be 'a severe trial, and involved an amount of serious study in new fields of learning, such as proved prejudicial to his health' (Campbell 1902, 70). His Oxford training had made him acquainted with the Greek and Roman philosophers, and with the works of Francis Bacon and Locke, but he had read little or no philosophy after Locke except, of course, Paley. Beaven's education was not unusual for his time: both Oxford and Cambridge ignored the continental tradition stemming from Descartes, as well as Berkeley and Hume, for another fifty years after he graduated. Campbell made it very clear that Beaven was first and foremost a student of divinity, and that he had accepted the professorship in King's College in the expectation that theology was what he would teach primarily; his philosophy courses would repeat what he had been taught at Oxford. When he was deprived of his theology courses, he felt obliged to expand his offerings in philosophy, even though he had no real interest in these new works: 'He never professed to be a philosopher, being too conscientious to make any profession he could not justify. His most enthusiastic panegyrist would not call him a brilliant lecturer; but he was labourious, painstaking, indefatigable, and, while his minutely dictated analyses of books helped many a mere memorizer to pass exami-

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nations and think himself a metaphysician, they were of great value to the true student' (Campbell 1902, 70). Sir Daniel Wilson's testimony, already cited, supports Campbell's claim that Beaven taught philosophy under duress. Beaven himself left us a description of his conception of teaching. In the earliest calendar of University College that has survived - for either the academic year 1855-6 or 1856-7 (the calendar itself bears no date) after listing the textbooks the students must read in his courses on metaphysics and ethics, Beaven commented: 'The text-books are illustrated in the Professor's Lectures, in part by analysis, and in part by remarks and discussions, either explanatory, or more frequently in correction of them where they appear to be erroneous, or where further information seems desirable. The Greek and Latin works are so read as not to pass over any material difficulties, whether of construction or of historical allusion.' Owing to changes in design, this statement does not appear in calendars for later years. There exists only one set of a student's notes3 for a course taught by Beaven. Since this is the only set we have, it is indeed fortunate that they were taken by one of Beaven's best pupils, Thomas Dawson Delamere (1846-1911), who graduated as medallist in metaphysics and ethics in 1866. Two years later he was awarded the M.A. degree. In 1869 he was admitted to the bar, having studied law under a practising attorney; he enjoyed a very successful legal career in Toronto and was created a Queen's Counsel in 1889. His notes cover the first half of a year-long, third-year course in metaphysics, in which Reid's Intellectual Powers in Hamilton's edition is given the Beaven treatment. It is clear that the notes were dictated. Reid's argument is given in outline form, and Beaven's comments are indicated as either 'notes,' 'observations,' or 'objections.' 'Notes' appear with regularity; the other two types of intervention are less frequent. When an 'objection' is recorded, it is always followed by an 'answer.' The impression gained from reading these class notes is that philosophy is a settled subject; Beaven seemed to think of it as very like the settled theology of his Church. Beaven's examination questions reflected his teaching style. Those for

3 These notes were found by a dealer in second-hand books in Toronto some twenty-five years ago and were presented to me. I intend to deposit them in the university's archives.

James Beaven 87

the Easter term of 1847 have survived. Here are two of the eleven questions on the natural theology examination: 4. (a) What is the first point which Paley endeavours to establish in his Natural Theology? (b) What more is wanting to establish the existence of one supreme God? (c) In what connexion does Paley introduce the doctrine of appetencies? (d) Shew the absurdity of it. (e) What other absurd theories have been stated with the same end? 5. Prove that the same mind devised the whole of the heavenly bodies.

Most of the other questions involve both physiology and teleology; for instance: 11. (a) State different methods of protection provided for the eyes of different creatures, (b) What is the use of the brine in the human eye? (c) By what means is it prevented from overflowing? (d) What does the existence of that contrivance demonstrate?

The seven questions of the second examination in this subject required the student to spend much more time on theological points: 1. (a) What reason has been assigned for beginning the proof of the existence of God, with the fact of the existence of our own minds? (b) What kind of argument will be more convincing to ordinary minds? and why? (c) What is the defect of the argument for the existence of God, from the fact that we have framed to ourselves an idea of the existence of such a Being? 4. Trace the argument by which, from the growth of plants in the earth, we ascend to the proof that the maker of the soil of the earth is also the moral governor of the world. 6. (a) State the objections to the argument for the existence of God drawn from the consent of mankind, (b) Refute them. (UTAB1988-0002/001 [24])

In contrast to the questions in natural theology, which required the student to reply to certain objections, that is, to repeat what Beaven had said in his lectures, the questions on Locke's Essay made no such demand. None of them demanded that the student do any more than expound Locke's position, which Beaven would have done for them in his lectures. This is a typical question: '4. (a) What does Locke mean by innate ideas? (b) Into what two classes does he divide them? (c) Give a sketch of his argument against them, (d) What religious objection has

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been raised against his views? (e) How does he reply to that objection?' All Beaven's other examinations in philosophy contained a quotation in either Latin or Greek, which the student was required to translate before answering the questions posed. As Langton lamented, Beaven continued this style of examination in the University of Toronto, even after students had been given the option of substituting modern languages for classical. In none of his examinations were students expected to take a position on some contentious issue and defend it by giving their own reasons. This style fits with all the descriptions of his teaching that have come down to us. Cultivating independence of thought was not one of his aims; he would have regarded such an aim as too risky, since it might lead students into heresy. There was safety in the old ways. Once the University of Toronto was well established, the final examinations were set and marked by outsiders and Beaven's more eccentric types of question disappeared. I have examined the complete set for the year 1861, when S.S. Nelles of Victoria College and George Paxton Young of Knox College were the examiners. None of the examinations contained any Greek or Latin words or passages. Nor were students required to show the 'absurdity' of some point. All the questions were closely tied to texts that the students were supposed to have read. No mention was made of lectures. Only very occasionally were the most senior students asked to take a stand and defend it. These examiners would have known that such questions were contrary to Beaven's style of teaching. An exception occurred in the fourth-year metaphysics and ethics examination for those attempting 'Honours and Scholarships.' The last of ten exercises reads: 'Give an exposition, and criticism, of the idealism of Fichte.' Fichte was the most recent philosopher to be named on this set of examinations. The usual type of critical question asked the student to summarize, say, Cousin's critique of Locke on a certain philosophical issue. Other students who recorded their reminiscences of Beaven paint a similar picture. Sir William Mulock, who was a freshman in 1859 and who had a long and distinguished association with the university, had this recollection: 'Dr. Beaven, who had the difficult task of teaching the fundamental principles of Ethics, was as dry as his lectures' (Loudon 1932, 39).John WinslowHolcomb (B.A. 1859; M.A. 1860), who attended Beaven's lectures in 1859, had kinder memories of him: Dr. Beaven, a clergyman of the old school, had the department of Metaphysics and Ethics. Under his direction we 'trekked' from the Pythagoreans. I use that word recently peculiar to the 'Dark Continent,' as it was a

James Beaven 89 dark country through the philosophy of the ancient and modern times in all its philosophical lanes, alleys, sidings and switches, from the main lines which the ingenuity of man had suggested. Through such dark ways of the equal certainty of the doctrines of the Necessity and Free Will; of the Subjective and the Objective; of the Ego and the Non-ego, we came into the days of German philosophy, enlivened by Kant on Pure Reason, and the other fellows, whose teachings can be more easily forgotten because they never were understood. Dr. Beaven was a kind, sedate old gentleman, who drove a white horse and a two-seated carriage painted black. (Holcomb 1902, 24)

Beaven's horse and carriage was well known in what was then northern Toronto. John Campbell recalled that young people used to recite this verse when they saw them coming: 'Dr. Beaven went to Heaven / On his old grey mare, / Dr. Lett made a bet / He would never get there' (1902, 70). I was unable to discover the identity of Dr Lett. Campbell is also the source for an anecdote about Beaven and his horse and buggy that reveals something of the essence of the man: 'The venerable quadruped figures in the story of the Pseudo-Anglican. A synod of the Church of England was in session, and thither went the Doctor in his gig. He overtook what seemed to be a brother parson from the country, and courteously offered him a lift. In subsequent conversation, it turned out that the cleric was a so-called dissenter, whose union or conference was also then meeting in the city. At once the vehicle drew up to the sidewalk, and came to a standstill; the apron was unbuttoned and the driver, pointing with the end of a decayed whip to the planks, icily remarked, as one who had a grievance, "I - ah - mistook you for a Churchman; will you please get down out of my - ah - carriage"' (1902, 71). This story has the ring of truth about it. One suspects that Beaven would have agreed with Mr Thwackum, the pompous divine depicted in Henry Fielding's The History of Tom Jones, when he asserted: 'When I mention religion, I mean the Christian religion; and not only the Christian religion, but the Protestant religion; and not only the Protestant religion, but the Church of England' (BookS, chap. 3). Another student from the 1860s, the Reverend Neil MacNish (B.A. 1863), had more respectful memories: Though it could not be said of Dr. Beaven that he had much speculative ability as a metaphysician, our conviction was that he was one of the most honest, truthful, and conscientious of men' (MacNish 1904, 221). Edmund Murney Bigg (B.A. 1868; M.A. 1870) recalled only a bit of doggerel about his ethics teacher: 'Hur-

90 The Main Stream rah here comes old "Passive Obedience" / Lined in his pate with Ethic ingredients' (1929, 224). The doctrine of passive obedience was much debated in the late seventeenth and early eighteenth centuries and its espousal came to mark a person as a Tory, because the Whigs argued for a limited or conditional loyalty to the Crown, which entailed what was called 'active obedience.' 'Passive obedience' is defined in the Oxford English Dictionary as 'unqualified obedience or submission to authority, whether the commands be reasonable or unreasonable, lawful or unlawful.' In 1712 George Berkeley defended the doctrine in three discourses delivered to students in the chapel of Trinity College Dublin. They were published later that year as Passive Obedience: Or the Christian Doctrine of Not Resisting the Supreme Power, Proved and Vindicated upon the Principles of the Law of Nature. In them he claimed 'to shew that there is an absolute, unlimited, passive obedience due to the supreme power, wherever placed in any nation' (Berkeley 1953, 35). Beaven, whose Tory principles were never in doubt, may have assigned Berkeley's text in his classes in later years. For Berkeley, the authority had to be recognized as 'rightful' before passive obedience was required. No doubt it was this loophole that allowed Beaven the luxury of engaging in active disobedience to the university authorities, whom he regarded as usurpers, when it suited him. The best story about Beaven happens to be true, and the fullest account was written by William Henry van der Smissen (1844-1929), who taught German in the university for forty-seven years. He was appointed to the staff in 1866, the same year he was awarded the M.A., and the incident he related happened shortly thereafter. The professor in question was the Rev. Jas. Beaven, D.D., a graduate of Oxford and Professor of Mental and Moral Philosophy in University College. He had been professor of Divinity in the old King's College. He had been so long a don and clergyman that he was very high and dry, a perfect gentleman with the best manners of the old school, a bit stiff in the neck and in the knees, who never failed to rebuke a breach of good manners in his students for which there was no lack of opportunity. He wore a countenance of portentous solemnity and was never known to smile much less to joke or wink. On one occasion, however, towards the end of his career or shortly before his resignation, he had his revenge on a certain class which had been habitually disorderly. In a glass case in the Natural History museum, in what is now the West Hall, there was a stuffed monkey which, though very handsome for a monkey, wore a countenance of similar solemnity and always reminded the

James Beaven 91 undergraduates of their professor of mental and moral philosophy. One morning on entering his lecture room the professor found this stuffed monkey sitting in his chair. He looked first at the monkey and then at the class. Then he made a low bow to his prospective audience and said: 'Ah, gentlemen, I see that at last you have a professor suited to your capacity. I wish you a very good morning.' Some members of the class, afraid to look at the professor, looked at the monkey and declared that they had seen him wink. Those who had the courage to look at the Professor assert that he winked. It is difficult to say which would have been the greater miracle, (van der Smissen 1930, 348-9)

The University of Toronto Monthly, in which van der Smissen's 'Further Reminiscences' was published, commissioned the distinguished artist, Charles William Jefferys (1869-1951), who taught drawing and painting at the university for nearly thirty years, to illustrate this anecdote. His drawing, reproduced here, captures the episode beautifully. Another prank played on Beaven was far from funny. Some students bored a hole through the wall in his office, and when he went there to read, they 'borrowed' some hydrogen sulfide gas from Croft's chemistry laboratory and released it through the hole. Beaven, of course, quickly vacated his 'retiring room.' These two incidents reveal the discontent that his students felt with his teaching, especially after the publication of Darwin's Origin of Species in 1859. Beaven still taught the argument from design as the best available explanation of the adaptation of plants and animals to their environment. He dismissed Darwin's alternative explanation in the way most churchmen did in the 1860s. In 1864 his colleagues took note of the discontent and eliminated his first-year course on Paley from the curriculum, but those who took his third-year course found Paley firmly ensconced. As the years passed, his students were increasingly displeased with his teaching, and finally they got up a petition, which they presented to the premier, John Sandfield Macdonald, stating that Beaven was 'incompetent for the chair' (Toronto World, 25 September 1889, 1). Great pressure was then put upon him to resign. 2.13

There was no retiring age in those days and no pension except by special act of the Government. Beaven negotiated a pension of $100 a month in exchange for his resignation. His salary during his last full year of teaching was $2,600, the equivalent of £650 currency, with nothing additional

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for house rent. (In 1856 his salary, which had stayed at £450 plus £60 for rent from 1850, had been increased to £570 plus £60 for rent; in 1858, the same year that decimal currency was introduced, the government set £650, inclusive of rent, as the top salary in the university, so Beaven had no increases during his last fifteen years.) His retirement took effect on 1 October 1871, twenty-eight years after his appointment. His last days were furthered saddened by the death of his wife in the middle of September. She had taken an interest in his educational schemes for young women, and in 1845 she had published Private Devotions and Rules of Conduct for Young Ladies, probably for distribution to the young women in his private classes. For the first two years of his retirement, Beaven took charge of a church in Whitby. Then, after suffering a stroke, he went to live in St Catharines and later in Niagara-on-the-Lake, where he died on 8 November 1875; he was buried in St Mark's churchyard. Early in 1876 the government authorized the payment of $300 to Blanche, one of his unmarried daughters, 'as a gratuity for her own benefit and that of her sisters in consideration of the long services of their father as Professor of the Chair of Metaphysics and Ethics in University College.' One of his sons, Robert, served for a short time in 1882-3 as prime minister of British Columbia; another was an Anglican priest long associated with Trinity College. Since it was so important to him, a further word is in order concerning Beaven's services to his Church. T.R. Millman, who prepared the entry on Beaven for the Dictionary of Canadian Biography, described his contribution in this way: The scattered records of his life indicate that his interests lay in his church work rather than in the university, particularly after the secularization of King's College. He aided the building of churches at King and Oak Ridges, both north of Toronto, in the 1850s. From 1850 to 1868 he ministered to a congregation at Berkeley, and later, concurrently, to another at Chester (both of which are now part of the city of Toronto), and he built the first St. John's, Norway, and the first St. Barnabas'. He served the Church Society and the diocesan synod as chairman of the book and tract committee and of the church music committee. As chairman of the committee on canons he produced an important report in 1858. From 1862 to 1873 Beaven was precentor of synod, in charge of music at synod services. In 1867 he was made canon of St. James' Cathedral. He was prolocutor or chairman of the lower house of the first four provincial synods of Canada, meeting in Montreal. Beaven, who favoured retaining the

James Beaven 93 close connection between the Church of England in Canada and the mother church in England, chaired in 1865 a committee of the provincial synod which produced a memorial addressed to the convocations of Canterbury and York urging the calling of a general council of the Anglican communion. (10: 40)

This event took place in 1867 with the assembling of the first Lambeth Conference. In his closing sermon to the congregation of St Barnabas' Church on Ellerbeck Street just north of Danforth Avenue after thirteen years as their pastor, Beaven reflected on his labours for his beloved Church of England: 'Amidst all the errors and sins of my life, I have, I trust, steadily endeavoured, so far as God's providence enabled me, diligently to employ the gift of the sacred Ministry; to keep my motives pure, so far as human frailty allowed, and to find my reward in the privilege of exercising that ministry' (Globe, 14 July 1869, 3). This plaintive confession is reminiscent of a point he made in a sermon during his first year in Toronto. On 31 December 1843 he delivered the opening sermon, 'Ask for the Old Paths,' at the new church of St James in Dundas. At its end he pleaded with his audience to commit themselves to their Church: There is one more point which I desire to urge upon you, my brethren, and then I have done. If we really value the Church of England for its own sake and for our own souls' sake, can we fail to transmit its benefits to our children? As we have received it from our forefathers, how can we show our gratitude so well, as by handing it down to our posterity? As God has been pleased to ordain that his truth should be preserved in the world by natural descent, shall we not fail in our duty to Him if we do not our part in delivering on that which we have received? Nay, will not our offspring themselves have just cause to rise up in judgment against us, if we have had it in our power to convey to them so great a blessing, and have neglected it? In short, how is it possible that one who really values the Church of England should not desire to perpetuate her ministrations to the remotest posterity? (Beaven 1844, 18)

Beaven himself never for a minute shirked this duty, but it did not seem to lift his spirits. There seems to have been little joy in his life. On 12 February 1955 Beaven's 'oldest surviving male great-grandchild of the same name,' Harold F. Beaven of Ottawa, wrote to W. Stewart Wallace, then the university librarian, to comment on a recently published

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remark (quoted from Daniel Wilson) that his great-grandfather was a 'dry old stick.' He was delighted to be able to inform Wallace that this 'dry old stick' 'had sufficient sap in him in his day to father seven children' (DA). Beaven provided biographical facts about each of the children, the last of whom, Blanche, a spinster, died in Toronto in 1927 at the age of ninety-six. After her death, 'all Professor Beaven's private papers were destroyed.'

3

Teacher Extraordinary: George Paxton Young

3.1 George Paxton Young, the son of a Church of Scotland minister, was born in Berwick on Tweed in England near the Scottish border on 9 November 1818. After completing his elementary education locally, he studied at the Royal High School in Edinburgh, then one of the most celebrated preparatory schools in the British Isles. One of his schoolmates was Daniel Wilson, later president of the University of Toronto, with whom he cemented a life-long friendship. Following in the path of Wilson and many others, he enrolled in the University of Edinburgh, from which he was graduated with both bachelor's and master's degrees. Although one cannot be certain of it, he seems to have concentrated his studies in classics, mathematics, and philosophy. John Wilson (1785-1854) was then the professor of moral philosophy, and it is known that Young attended his lectures. The fifth edition of The Oxford Companion to English Literature, after describing Wilson's varied literary career, remarks: 'In 1820 he was appointed, for political reasons, to the chair of moral philosophy at Edinburgh, but his inadequacy was such that for many years a friend wrote his lectures for him.' Wilson's friend must have been very competent, since Young appears to have been well grounded in philosophical discourse. The Dictionary of National Biography details the circumstances of Wilson's election: 'Next year the chair of moral philosophy in Edinburgh University fell vacant, and Wilson, who had no obvious qualifications, was elected by the town council over the greatest philosopher in Britain, Sir William Hamilton, by twenty-one votes to nine, given him on the one sufficient ground that he was a Tory' (21: 580). According to some he was a success; one pro-

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fessor, quoted in the article, offered this judgment of his teaching: 'He made a very excellent professor, never perhaps attaining to any great scientific knowledge in his subject or power of expounding it, but acting on generation after generation of students with a stimulating force that is far more valuable than the most exhaustive knowledge of a particular topic' (580). Perhaps it was this force that stimulated Young. Young also benefited from the teaching of Sir William Hamilton, who was elected professor of logic and metaphysics in 1836. (Hamilton had taught at the university since 1821, but as professor of civil history.) Historians of philosophy are wont to praise Hamilton's great erudition, but they do not consider him an original thinker. His lectures on metaphysics and logic, which were published only after his death, show that he was influenced mainly by Reid and Kant. Young, who heard early versions of these lectures, was influenced in turn by the one and then the other. In logic, Hamilton taught the doctrine of the quantification of the predicate in categorical propositions. It is significant, he argued, to ask of any such predicate whether it is quantified by 'all,' 'some' or 'none.' One advantage of his doctrine, he claimed, was that by its use categorical propositions could be reduced to equations, which facilitated their manipulation in argument. No doubt Young was exposed to this set of ideas as a student, and it may account for his careful study of George Boole's much more important innovations when they were published. For a short period after graduation Young taught mathematics in the Dollar Academy in Clackmannanshire, resigning in 1843 to pursue theological studies in Edinburgh. In the disruption of the Presbyterian Church in Scotland in July 1844, largely occasioned by a disagreement over state patronage and the treatment of factory workers, Young had sided with the reformers, so it was natural for him to enrol in the seminary, Free Church College, where the leader of the disruption, Thomas Chalmers, was principal. Upon completion of his course, he was admitted as a licentiate in the Free Church and took as his first charge, Martyr's Church in Paisley, near Glasgow. No record survives of his reasons for deciding to emigrate to Canada, nor is it known for certain whether he arrived here in 1847 or 1848, but he definitely was in the Toronto area by the latter date. What is known for certain is that he was accompanied to Canada by his widowed mother and a younger brother. (His brother married and had two daughters, one of whom kept house for Young, a bachelor, after his brother's death.) At the start of his life in Canada, Young probably made his living by tutoring and supply preaching. On 22 November 1850 he was installed as minister of

George Paxton Young 97 Knox Church in Hamilton, a position he held for three years, resigning on 14 July 1853 to accept a professorship in theology in Knox's College, Toronto, then, as now, a Presbyterian seminary (the name was changed to Knox College in 1858). During his stay in Hamilton he found the time to build several houses, which are still in use. His congregation, which had increased from 216 to 324 in just three years, was very sorry to lose him; the minutes of a meeting of the Session, held on 27 December 1853, contain this tribute: 'This Session desires to put on record their high appreciation of Mr. Young's labours in the various relations in which he stood to this Congregation, of his prudence and kindness as Moderator of Session, of his gifts as a preacher, of the amiability and edifying character of his intercourse with his flock, and also of the deep interest which he at all times manifested in the welfare and instruction of the young' (Presbyterian Church in Canada Archives). As a further token of their appreciation, they underwrote the publication of a book of his sermons and studies, Miscellaneous Discourses and Expositions of Scripture (1854), the only book he ever published. Members of the congregation still remembered Young at his death thirty-five years later: they ordered that the pulpit be draped in his honour on Sunday, 3 March 1889, two days after his funeral. One of his colleagues in University College, James Frederick McCurdy (1847-1935), professor of oriental languages, in his posthumous tribute to Young, stated that he had been a very accomplished scholar of Hebrew, which he occasionally taught in Knox's College. Young's Miscellaneous Discourses contains the only surviving example of his scholarly work in that language, a commentary upon the Old Testament book 'The Hymn of Habakkuk' accompanied by his own translation into rhymed verse, made in the light of his commentary. McCurdy praised both his commentary and his translation; but for some reason, which he would never divulge to McCurdy, who asked him about this work, Young seemed to be ashamed of it and of his other writings on the Hebrew scriptures and even asked the publisher to recall copies of the book, with the consequence that even at the time of his death it was 'very hard to find a copy' (Varsity, 2 March 1889).

3.2 In those days, Knox's College had a preparatory department - in effect, a high school - in which the general education of prospective divinity students was brought up to admission standards in a three-year course

98 The Main Stream of study. Young taught in both the preparatory school and the Faculty of Theology for a decade. During this time occasional changes to his title were made; his first title, specified by the Synod when it appointed him on 4 July 1853, was 'Second Professor of Divinity in Knox's College' at a salary of 'not less than £300 per annum,' and he was assigned 'the departments of Logic, Mental and Moral Philosophy, and the Evidences of Natural and Revealed Religion.' One of three professors, the title of his chair was later changed to 'Professor of Mental and Moral Philosophy and Exegetics.' In those days the theological colleges always paid their professors considerably less than the university paid for comparable work; Young's salary was £320 Halifax currency during each of the first four years, compared with Beaven's £450 plus £60 for house rent. Young's stipend was then raised to £400. By serving as an examiner in the University of Toronto he made a little extra money; between 1854 and 1862 he was appointed six times as an examiner in metaphysics and ethics and once in mathematics; the honorarium was £20 per year through 1858; at that point decimal currency was introduced, and his fee became $60. The vacancy at Knox's College, which Young was hired to fill, was due to the death of its first professor of mental and moral philosophy, Henry Esson (1793-1853), one of the founders. By 1848 Esson was involved in a public row with the Reverend Robert Burns, a theology professor, about the content of his philosophy courses. Burns thought that Esson's lectures were not practical enough; theology students, in his opinion, did not require an understanding of philosophy; instead, they needed a set of rules to enable them to perform their duties as ministers. Burns wrote an open letter to the members of the Synod detailing his criticisms. Esson replied with a pamphlet entitled Statement Relative to the Educational System of Knox 's College; With Suggestions for Its Extension and Improvement (1848). From a reading of both documents it is clear that Esson had much the better argument. What is most revealing, however, is the disclosure that Burns accused Esson of teaching idealism, instead of Scottish realism, to his students. The Free Church had, so Burns alleged, adopted realism as its official position and idealism was anathema to it. Esson vigorously defended himself against the charge. His row with Burns, however, disillusioned him with the future of the college, and in 1853 he applied for the position of professor of English literature and history in University College then being advertised; after his death it went to Daniel Wilson. When he agreed to go to Knox's College, Young knew of Esson's tribulations there, since they had been discussed at a meeting of the Synod; thus, when his own philosophical investigations

George Paxton Young 99 led him, if indeed they did lead him, first to favour and then to adopt idealism, he knew he was courting opprobrium. Unlike Esson, Young could hold his tongue, so no public dispute arose. 3.3

The Ecclesiastical and Missionary Record for the Presbyterian Church of Canada (EMR) recorded (11:106) that in 1854—5 Young taught three courses at Knox's College, each of which met five days a week for one hour. 'Junior Philosophy' was a second-year course in logic and mental philosophy. Young took his pupils through Whately's Elements of Logic (1826) and then began introducing them to mental philosophy, using Reid's Essays on the Intellectual Powers of Man (1785) and a selection from Sir William Hamilton's writings. Third-year students continued in their 'Senior Philosophy' course to study Reid and then were given 'a rapid survey of Moral Science,' based on Alexander's Lectures and Sir James Macintosh's Dissertation. (The Alexander book is presumably Six Lectures on the Internal Evidences of Christianity (1836) by Disney Alexander; Mackintosh's dissertation is The Progress of Ethical Philosophy' (1830) written for the seventh edition of the Encyclopaedia Britannica.) By 1858 Young was assigning in his ethics course an American work, Francis Wayland's Elements of Moral Science, published in 1835. No other philosophy courses were offered. Young's third course was 'Junior Theology,' in which he introduced his class to the evidences of natural and revealed religion using Joseph Butler's The Analogy of Religion, Natural and Revealed, to the Constitution and Course of Nature (1736) as a textbook. In addition to these formal courses, Young offered a class on the Bible every Sunday morning to which every pupil was invited, although attendance was voluntary. In the following year the same journal published a description of the work done in Young's courses. Knox's total enrolment numbered sixteen theology students plus another twenty in the preparatory years, so his classes were not large. Students in the junior philosophy class had to complete the following assignments: Frequent exercises are prescribed, which are designed partly to train the students in composition, and partly as a means of enabling them to form accurate conceptions of points which have been under discussion in the class. The following are examples of the subjects on which short written papers have been required from all the students. 1. The distinction between Mediate and Immediate Knowledge. 2. The meaning of the maxim 'Cogito ergo sum.'

100 The Main Stream 3. Show that some cognitions must be immediate. 4. Explain DesCartes' theory of perception. 5. On the supposition of External Objects not being perceived, can any valid proof of their existence be given? 6. Explain Reid's Doctrine of Sensation and Perception, and pointing out their mutual connection. 7. On the criteria of First Truths. 8. Are Reid's statements, that perception involves a conception of the object perceived - that the connection between perception and sensation is arbitrary - and that distant objects are perceived - consistent with the doctrine that perception is immediate? (EMR, 12: 64)

This list shows that Young had already extended the study of philosophy beyond the Scottish realists, and that he expected his pupils to do some thinking for themselves. In describing the work done in his senior philosophy class, Young emphasized that, even though he assigned Reid's book as a text, he did not teach its doctrines: 'The Senior Philosophy Class, after finishing the subject of perception, have been occupied with the study of Imagination, Memory, and Generalization; Reid's Essays being the text book used, though the doctrine taught by the Professor is widely different from the views of Dr. Reid.' This admission must have caused some dismay among those who believed that the doctrines of the Free Church were bound up with Scottish realism. 'The members of the Class are requested to write Essays,' he continued, 'which are for the most part longer and more elaborate than the brief compositions of the student in the Junior Department.' His insistence on written work is also evident in his course on evidences: 'The students are required from time to time to give in skeleton sermons which are examined and criticized by the Professor. All the students have given in exercises of this kind on the following subjects: - "I am the vine, ye are the branches" - "Continue ye in my love" "Let the wicked forsake his way," etc.' (EMR, 12: 64-65). As far as I have been able to discover, Beaven, by contrast, favoured a complete reliance on examinations for measuring a student's progress. 3.4

As the years passed, Young found himself doubting certain of the theological doctrines central to Presbyterianism. A man who greatly valued his privacy, Young never stated just what those doubts were, which, given

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the temper of the times, was a prudent course to follow. One contemporary biographer suggested that Young did not articulate his doubts for this reason: 'Mr. Young is singularly shy and retiring in disposition, and to that cause may, no doubt, be attributed the fact that he has never formally stated the doubts which have perplexed him. He is too sensitive not to shrink from unsettling the faith of others' (Rattray 1880, 3: 823). His doubts grew so strong that he could no longer in good conscience subscribe to the Westminster Confession of Faith (1647) which was required of all professors at Knox. This confession embodies pure Calvinism; it speaks, for instance, of 'the elect' and of 'the high mystery of predestination.' We do not know the nature of Young's doubts about the confession - it contains much of a doubtful nature - but whatever they were, they were to affect his religious practices for the rest of his life. Although he attended church faithfully in later years, he refused to teach in Sunday school or to accept any position of responsibility, including that of elder. In 1877 he had his name struck off the roll of ministers of the Presbytery of Toronto, but even after that act of separation he was never seen in public without a clerical collar. The untidiness of his relationship with the church continued to bother him, with the result that, near the end of his career, he asked his old friend Daniel Wilson, then president of University College, to inform the minister of education that he preferred dropping 'Rev.' from his professorial title. In a letter dated 29 March 1888 Wilson passed his request on to the minister; no reason was given beyond Young's statement of preference. In a sermon preached in Young's memory on 3 March 1889, the Rev. D.J. Macdonnell, pastor of St Andrew's Presbyterian Church which Young had joined in 1878 after his resignation from the ministry, was reported to have said about Young's doubts: 'One great characteristic of the man was his intellectual honesty. He was incapable of any sharp practice with forms of speech to bring them into line with his own opinions. It was this that led to his resignation of his chair in Knox College, and subsequently to his asking to have his name removed from the roll of ministers of the Presbyterian Church, because he could not entirely subscribe to the necessary articles of belief. For the same reason he had declined to teach a Bible class in this church as he had been urged to do, because he could not teach from the point of view the church would wish, or to act as an elder, although he was elected by a large vote' (Mail, 4 March 1889, 6). Macdonnell went on to recount the way in which Young had joined his congregation: Tn May, 1878, he wrote to him (Mr. Macdonnell) in substance asking that if the session and himself would

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allow him to come to the Lord's table, putting his own construction on the act, he would be glad to come and profess in this way his purpose to lead a Godly, righteous, and sober life. No question was raised by the session as to his admission' (6). Young seems never to have been obliged to give his fellow ministers an account of his objections to the Westminster Confession. The sheer force of his personality seemed to disarm potential critics. Young's choice of Macdonnell's church as his place of worship indicates something about the nature of his doubts. On 26 September 1875 Macdonnell had delivered a sermon in which, according to a newspaper account, 'he expressed his long-held doubts that the Westminster Confession's statement on eternal punishment was consistent with biblical teaching' (Moir 1987, 172). He repeated his remarks three days later at the opening exercises of Knox College and, predictably, they were criticized by two ministers for their 'unsettling tendency.' A public controversy ensued and Macdonnell was charged with heresy and brought to trial. Offered the option of agreeing to a compromise statement, he refused, and was given a year to reconsider. At its end he still refused, and a new set of statements was drawn up that he was prepared to sign. The controversy surrounding his trial had shown that there were other Presbyterians, both lay and clerical, who placed biblical truth ahead of man-made creeds. George Paxton Young, who had resigned his chair of philosophy in Knox College in 1871, disapproved of the trial of Macdonnell and soon left the Presbyterian ministry because he could not accept the Church's priority for the Westminster Confession. Macdonnell had studied in Germany and Young was an avid student of contemporary German philosophy so that both men had been influenced to a degree by the currents of theological study then active in that country. Macdonnell, who preached Young's funeral sermon in March, 1889, immediately thereafter introduced a resolution to the Toronto Presbytery calling for replacing the Westminister Confession with 'some briefer statement of the truths which are considered vital.' It was indicative of the theological temper of the day that most members refused to vote and the motion was lost by four voices against eight. (174)

The only conclusion one can draw from this trial and Young's reaction to it is that he disapproved of making approval of the Westminister Confession a necessary condition for membership in the Presbyterian Church. Any stronger conclusion, for instance, that he shared Macdonnell's views

George Paxton Young 103 on eternal punishment, would fall victim to the charge of post hoc ergo propter hoc. Some indication of his inner turmoil as a consequence of his dissent from the Westminster Confession can perhaps be gleaned from some stanzas of his favourite poem, 'The Eternal Goodness' by John Greenleaf Whittier. The first three stanzas strike one as speaking to Young's doubts: 0 friends! with whom my feet have trod The quiet aisles of prayer, Glad witness to your zeal for God And love of man I bear. 1 trace your lines of argument; Your logic linked and strong I weigh as one who dreads dissent, And fears a doubt as wrong. But still my human hands are weak To hold your iron creeds, Against the words ye bid me speak My heart within me pleads. And the penultimate verse (of twenty-two) also seems to have special relevance: O brothers! if my faith is vain, If hopes like these betray, Pray for me that my feet may gain The sure and safer way. (Whittier 1878, 318-19) These stanzas, as well as all the others, seem to portray a person tormented by the doubts that accompany the taking of a solitary path after having enjoyed the fellowship of a group united by a common set of beliefs.

3.5 Young submitted his resignation to the Knox College authorities in June 1864. A few weeks earlier Egerton Ryerson, then superintendent of

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schools in Canada West, had offered him the position of inspector of grammar schools, which he had already accepted. The Synod was very reluctant to accept his resignation and sent a committee to try to persuade him to reverse his decision. After hearing them out, Young 'stated that he had carefully and deliberately weighed the matter, and that for reasons which were still to his mind satisfactory, while expressing thanks for all the kindness and support which he had received from the Synod, he yet adhered to his resignation' (Hodgins 18:177). The committee recommended that his resignation be accepted: 'The Synod, in accepting, as they now do, with reluctance, the resignation of Mr. Young of his Chair as Professor of Theology in Knox College, resolve to record their deep sense of the ability and faithfulness, and zeal, with which he has discharged the duties of his office, - their high appreciation of his eminent qualifications and important services in the College, - their sincere regret that he has felt it his duty to withdraw from the Chair, which he has so efficiently filled - their best wishes for his future welfare, and their earnest prayer that, in whatever sphere of labour he may in the Providence of God, be placed, he may be largely honoured in promoting the interests of the cause of Christ' (177). Apparently the members of the Synod did not know that Young no longer regarded himself as one of them. 3.6

Part of the crisis through which Young passed during his years at Knox College was a radical change in his philosophical position. When he left Edinburgh he considered himself a follower of what he called 'the modern Scottish (the Hamiltonian) school' of philosophy, which espoused a kind of realism. A portrait of Young from the pen of John Charles Dent, published in 1881, remarked on Young's relationship to Hamilton: 'During his Professorship in Knox College, Professor Young contributed some remarkable papers on philosophical subjects to the pages of the Canadian Journal. One of these, containing a brief exposition of some points in the Hamiltonian philosophy of matter, reached the hands of Sir William Hamilton himself, the most eminent exponent of Scottish philosophy. The latter was so impressed by the merits of the paper that he addressed to the author a long and very complimentary letter, in which he bore testimony to Professor Young's power of grasping and elucidating the most abstruse points in a philosophical system of which he was not the originator' (Dent 1881, 129-30). Hamilton's letter, along with the rest of Young's papers, has been lost.

George Paxton Young 105 By 1862 Young had broken decisively with this relic of his past. In a closely argued paper 'Lecture on the Philosophical Principles of Natural Religion,' published in the December issue of the Home and Foreign Record of the Canada Presbyterian Church, he informed the public of his break with Sir William Hamilton. In 1988 J.D. Rabb reprinted this essay in his Religion and Science in Early Canada, with a headnote on Young's philosophical position by J.T. Stevenson and Thomas Mathien. Since Rabb's book is readily available in libraries, the following references are keyed to it. At the start of his lecture Young narrowed his topic to this question: 'does unassisted reason warrant the assertion of the being and moral perfection of God?' Tackling the question of existence first, he told his audience that Immanuel Kant had reduced the possible arguments for the existence of God to three. After sketching the cosmological, ideological, and ontological arguments, he offered his judgment of them: 'All these arguments are valuable; the last specially and preeminently so; yet I wish it to be clearly understood, that I do not regard them as by any means demonstrative of the being of God. They are fitted to produce a legitimate conviction -1 go so far as to think, an absolutely valid conviction - of the great truth which they are employed to establish; but not as logical processes. Let us look at them in succession, and mark, as rapidly as possible, the weakness inherent in them as logical processes. This would indeed, had I nothing ulterior in view, be an ungrateful task; but the brief criticism I am to give is intended to lead up to, and terminate in, a statement of what seems to me the proper way of treating the subject' (155-6). The cosmological argument is rejected because its major premiss, 'If anything exists, a necessary Being must exist,' far from being self-evident, itself must be proved. T know of no law of the mind,' Young asserted, 'rendering it imperative on me to deny the possibility of an infinite series of causes, except in view of the truth considered as already established, that, in the beginning God created the heavens and the earth' (156). The argument from design is rejected, because perceived design in natural things can only 'suggest' a designer, it cannot prove the existence of such a being. 'Between nature and the Divine existence there is no logical connection. What nature does, whether considered in its bare reality, or in its marks of design, is simply (as we found the argument from final causes affirming) to stimulate the conception of its Author in the mind' (Rabb 1988, 158). What is more, from a Christian point of view the argument is defective because it does not establish, even if correct logically, that God is a creator. Young thought we could, however,

106 The Main Stream use the suggestion aroused by the contemplation of natural things to press the matter further, 'but it must be [done] reflectively, not logically' (ibid.). On this point, there will be more later. The first two traditional arguments he regarded as mere 'forerunners' of the third, the ontological, because all the first two really succeed in doing is awakening and establishing the idea of God in the mind, the starting point of the third. In his examination of the ontological argument, Young first dismissed 'the notion of its being an argument, in the strict sense of the term ... Its weakness as an argument is sufficiently apparent. For, granting that the conception of the Perfect Being is in the mind, what are the logical forms by which we pass to the conclusion that a Being corresponding to the conception exists? A necessary connection between what we think, and what really is, though it may subsist, assuredly cannot be proved. I believe that such connection does in every case subsist; but I believe also, that, in the case before us, we are assured of this only in actually knowing God; so that it is incompetent to use the fact of the connection as the Premiss of an argument intended to remove doubts regarding the existence of God' (Rabb 1988, 159). All three arguments are logically defective for the same basic reason, to wit, that they make use of the existence of God as a suppressed premiss. Logic alone cannot establish divine existence: The profoundest thinkers, therefore, have been unable to prove the existence of a Divine Creator, just because that truth lies beyond the range of logical proof (160). Young next considered the nature of thoughts. The common view, that they 'are modes of the mind pure and simple' was radically mistaken; for it landed one in pure subjectivity and therefore in the not-sotender hands of the sceptic. The correct view was that 'perception involves two factors in one indivisible relation, namely, Self on the one hand, and Not-self on the other' (161). The same, he argued, is true of conception: 'With Plato, I hold, generally, that all conception is the knowledge of a present reality, and specially, that our conception of God is the knowledge of a present God... Under the very same species of compulsion which obliges me to regard the perception of a material world as the mind in conscious relation to the material world, I feel myself obliged to regard the conception of God as the mind in conscious relation to God, and not a bare circumstance of my own thinking, a mode of Self which might conceivably have existed even had there (as the fool hath said in his heart) been no God' (161-2). Some time is spent explaining that he had proved nothing by these various moves. 'Proof has been proved - I am half afraid ad nauseam - to be impossible.' A little later he remarked: 'I am

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merely seeking reflectively to interpret my own consciousness. I find within me a conception of the Perfect Being. I seek to render an account of it to myself (162). How did Young answer atheists who deny finding the same conception in their minds when they reflect? Argument was no more possible with the atheist than it is with the Pyrrhonist who doubts that there is a material world, Young contended, but other means were available in both cases: You can call upon the Pyrrhonist to open his eyes and look upon nature. You can blow a trumpet in his ear. You can knock his head against the wall. Perhaps thus you can bring him to his senses. If not, you can do nothing more. So with the Atheist. You can point him to the heavens which declare the glory of God, and to the firmament which sheweth His handiwork. You can bid him listen, as day unto day uttereth speech and night unto night teacheth knowledge. You can call upon him to mark how fearfully and wonderfully the members of his own body have been fashioned. You can ask him, as his spirit dances in the contemplation of the ever-changing numberless laughter of the happy billows on a sunlit summer sea - whence all this beauty and delight? You can whisper to him, as the thunder-cloud is bursting overhead: 'He looketh on the earth and it trembleth; He toucheth the hills, and they smoke.' Who sends the springs into the valleys, which run among the hills? Who causes the grass to grow for cattle, and herb for the service of man? Who has clothed the neck of the war horse with thunder, made leviathan to sport in his deeps, tuned the linnet's throat, and given power to the wing of the eagle? Thus you can frame your appeal. Still further, you can send the man with whom you are dealing into the chambers of his own soul. Does he never, it may be in the silent watches of the night, feel himself alone with God? Does no consciousness ever come home to him of his dependence on a Higher Power? Is he really in earnest in supposing that his existence is uncaused? that there is not a creator in whom he lives and moves and has his being? Does he never, in reflecting upon his life, awake to the conviction that he is under the moral government of a Being who is absolutely holy, and who will render to every one according to his deed? By such questionings and representations you may endeavour to stir the Atheist's soul to the apprehension of God; but if you fail, if his intellectual and moral energies still continue dormant, he must be left to his delusions. (Rabb 1988,163)

Young has been quoted at length in order to provide the reader, who is

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unlikely to read his lecture, with a sample of his writing style and, almost certainly, his lecturing style as well. Little wonder there were so many who claimed to be his disciples. Young applied his position with respect to God to Sir William Hamilton's view 'that it is impossible positively to conceive creation, and therefore impossible, by any direct act of the mind, to realise the belief in it' (Rabb 1988, 164). In a remark that was to figure prominently in the fight over his successor in the University of Toronto, Young parted ways with Hamilton: 'Now, adopting the Cartesian argument, I of course reject this doctrine - as indeed I reject the whole Hamiltonian system, root and branch' (164). By 'the Cartesian argument' Young meant, of course, his interpretation of it: 'I think that I find, among the positive conceptions which my mind has in its possession, one to which no adequate interpretation can be given, except such as makes it to be the revelation of what is substantially an exercise of creative energy on the part of the Most High - I mean the conception of cause. Hamilton denies that we have any positive conception of cause' (164). Young emphatically disagreed and believed that by reflecting on it, by considering the thoughts we have of change, we can arrive at the conception of creation. The process, he was again anxious to have us understand, is not a logical one but rather a reflective one. We pass through a set of reflections, from cause to change to power to 'the actual present sustaining power of God. And what is the act of sustaining the world from moment to moment, but substantially a continued act of creation?' (165). That God is a morally perfect being can also be established by his methods. But to get the argument started, he is required to 'lay down the principle, that there is an essential, eternal, immutable distinction between right and wrong' (Rabb 1988, 165). Such a distinction must rest upon a real ground, and the ground itself, like the principle it supports, must be necessary and eternal, and since there is only one being with these properties, God is the ground for the distinction. His faculty of conscience permits him, Young contended, to apprehend the distinction between right and wrong. In answer to those who say that conscience yields only a subjective distinction between right and wrong, Young appealed again to his view that all thoughts have both a subjective and an objective side, but he does it rather dramatically: 'Without dogmatism, in great humility, stretching out lame hands for the truth and groping if haply I may feel after and find it, I suggest the following answer. May not our conception of the Tightness or wrongness of what we are doing - in other words, of the moral state in which we are - be just

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the state of mind revealing itself as in accordance with, or in antagonism to, the nature of God? The nature of God is (as was explained above) the sole ground or basis of the reality of right. Right, therefore, is apprehended by us in its reality, only in so far as a manifestation of the nature of God is made to us' (166). With this point established but not proved, he thought he had placed natural religion on a secure foundation. At its start, natural religion requires a morally perfect God. Previous attempts, including that of Paley, Beaven's favourite, had relied upon logical argument and had, when these arguments were shown defective, brought the whole subject of natural theology into a state of collapse. Young thought his starting point, which avoids logical fallacies, would give natural religion a new and better foundation. Since religions that depend upon revelation also require a conception of God - for revelation is possible only if there is a God - Young thought his conclusions were important for Christians too. The philosopher's work was done: 'Now how does philosophy fulfil the very high functions which thus fall to it. In the following manner: - and with this sentence, summing up the whole, I conclude. Intellectual science teaches, that, in the universal and necessary conception of cause, we have a direct manifestation of God in the exercise of his Almighty sustaining (virtually, creating) power; and Ethical science teaches, that, in our moral conceptions, properly interpreted, we have a direct manifestation of God in the glory of his eternal and unchangeable moral excellence' (Rabb 1988, 166). Because his audience, many of whom were ministers, were very impressed with his 'reflective' process and wanted to study it, they requested that his talk be published. Had they not done so, we would have lost an excellent example by which to form an estimate of Young's philosophical ability and his style of argument. In their introduction to the reprint of this paper, Stevenson and Mathien argue that the received opinion about Young's philosophical position is not well established. Stated baldly, that opinion has it that early in his career Young was a Scottish realist but as a result of his study of Kant came to reject that position. Further reading in the writings of Kant's successors led him to adopt a form of idealism similar to that defended by T.H. Green. Young's pupil, J.G. Hume, who was one of his successors as chair, was especially influential in spreading this opinion. Stevenson and Mathien find little evidence to support this received view in their reading of Young's philosophical works: 'A disinterested reading of Young's own words suggests that he may have been, for the great bulk of his career at least, a kind of direct (or representational) realist, and, as

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such, perhaps a more interesting and independent theorist than he has hitherto been depicted' (Rabb 1988, 144). Their argument is long and detailed and does not lend itself to summary. Curious readers are advised to study it for themselves. Before I read their piece, I had my doubts about Hume's claim, largely because it did not seem to be supported by independent evidence, but I was inclined to accept it because of Hume's status as a favourite pupil of Young. Now I regard these statements by Stevenson and Mathien as nearer the truth: 'That he sought a philosophical system is clear; that he spent time carefully studying the systems of his day is certain. But that he ever found one in which he could repose full and complete confidence is very uncertain' (152). The exact truth, however, we shall never know. 3.7

Young's reasons for resigning his position at Knox's College apparently went beyond his scruples about the Westminster Confession: 'Young ... had quit his teaching post at Knox's College two decades earlier because the rigid conservatism of its principal and other professors had brought Knox's reputation to its lowest ebb' (Moir 1991, 47). His published thoughts on education, in a lecture entitled 'Outline of Sir W. Hamilton's Doctrine of Sensitive Perception,' would hardly have been approved by such men: If there be persons who do not possess minds capable of reflection, or who are too idle to tax their reflective powers with vigorous and sustained effort - who are content to put up with dogmatism, and care nothing about ascertaining what can be known for certain - whom neither curiosity nor ambition prompt to trace the Nile of human thought and knowledge back to its sources - who are so blind to the bearing which the settlement in a particular way, of what are commonly called metaphysical questions, has upon religion and morality, as to be utterly indifferent how such questions are settled - it is only natural that they should turn away from philosophy as uninviting, or cry out against it as useless. But we trust that among the students of Knox's College will be found, from one year to another, not a few of an opposite character of mind, and animated by very different things. (EMR, 51)

It is impossible to read this passage without seeing it as an attack on the educational views of his colleagues, especially when one recalls Esson's

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tribulations. In stating his own views, Young selected a time when they would be certain to be noticed. The above quotation is the last paragraph of his lecture closing the academic year, 1854-5. On such an occasion in the college's life, every member attended - it was the commencement exercise - as well as many guests, including nearly every Presbyterian minister within driving distance. What is surprising is that Young continued to teach at Knox's for nearly another decade before tendering his resignation. Perhaps he thought he could reform the other professors. As has been emphasized, Young had no open breaks with his colleagues at Knox's; he was far too diplomatic to create a rupture. To a man they wished to retain his services. One of them, the Reverend Robert Burns, who had harassed Esson, in a private letter written at the end of term in April 1861 described an interesting lost paper by Young: 'But the charm of the close was Professor Young's expose of the Oxford Essays, a very able and eloquent piece, which I regret to say, he refuses to publish. I lent him the book, and recommended the theme to his attention; and his compliance with my urgent request was to me very gratifying, and the style of its accompaniment still more so. The subject had necessarily engaged much of my own attention in my evidence class. That class I would like Professor Young to take charge of, as the state of my eyesight renders it very difficult for me to peruse fully all I would need to examine on the new phases of Infidelity' (Burns 1871, 255). In declining to publish his lecture, Young may have wanted to avoid becoming embroiled in the controversy then swirling about Essays and Reviews (1860) by Benjamin Jowett and five others; this book, in which the authors argued vigorously for a liberal interpretation of theological doctrines, caused something of a panic in the Church of England when it appeared. Another plausible reason for suppressing his review, of course, is the fact that he was a Presbyterian, and all the authors of the book were Anglicans, five of them divines. His starting point in theology was therefore somewhat remote from that of the book's authors. 3.8

In 1864 Young went to work for Egerton Ryerson as inspector of grammar schools at an annual salary of $1,600. The following year Ryerson added the Roman Catholic common schools to his charge and raised his salary to $2,000. Grammar schools occupied the secondary level of education in the soon-to-be province of Ontario. For the next four years Young visited all of these schools every six months, evaluating both the performance of

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the teachers and the progress of the pupils. In a series of reports for Ryerson, he exposed the deficiencies in both kinds of schools and proposed certain remedies. His work sometimes led him into touchy areas. His report on the grammar schools in 1865 dealt with the question of whether 'grown-up girls' should be taught with 'grown-up boys'; in general, Young was against co-education. He was also obliged, he reported, to interpret for teachers what the Council of Public Instruction had meant by their command that a place be given to Christian morals in the program of study. Young provided Ryerson with a thorough discussion of his thinking on the subject: he believed that pupils could be instructed in the subject without teaching any of the 'the leading Doctrines of Christianity' (Hodgins 19: 100). He suggested that the master of each of the schools schedule 'a pleasant talk' on one of a list of topics, for example, 'Love and Hatred - Their Characteristics' (he supplied a list of twenty-three such topics), every Friday afternoon. His plan was carried out for many years. Ryerson used Young's reports in two ways: first, to persuade legislators that there were serious weaknesses requiring correction; and second, as a source of ideas for reform. The education act of 1871, which replaced the grammar schools with high schools and collegiate institutes, incorporated many of Young's suggestions. Although Young resigned as school inspector in 1868, he continued to have a connection with the provincial school system for most of the rest of his life. In 1871 he was elected president of the Ontario Teachers' Association, and in 1871-2 he was a member of the Council of Public Instruction. In the same year he was appointed to the Committee of Examiners; he was still a member at the time of his death. 3.9

For five years, beginning in 1872, Young participated in a summer educational program, whose 'chief business was healthful recreation for body and mind.' Called 'Lake School,' it counted Young as 'one of its fathers.' Founded and sponsored by the Muskoka Club, the school's sessions were held at its clubhouse on an island in Lake Joseph in the Muskoka region. Five members of the Muskoka Club, one of whom was Young, bought the island in that year for $1 an acre and named it 'Yohocucaba,' using the first two letters of each of their surnames to fashion the outlandish name. We owe the account of Young's role in the school to another of the island's owners, John Campbell (1840-1904), who had earned an M.A. under Beaven in 1866. Each summer Young

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delivered, for the edification of those resident on the island, a set of 'unconventional lectures': 'Sometimes poetry was the theme, Browning and Tennyson, or some German master singer; again it was general literature, or the biology that illustrates psychology, or the harmony of nature and art; but his own questions or those of his intelligent auditors would generally lead into the realm of philosophy proper in which he alone was master' (Campbell 1889, 145). When not lecturing, Young threw himself into the other activities of camp life: 'He joined in all the sports of the Island Home. Did not he and another divine row against Dr. King, of Winnipeg, and myself in the double scull clergy race, and beat us too! Did he not run another race on a level strip of sand beach with his brother elder Mr. William Alexander, in which I think he was worsted; and when the young fellows put on their oldest clothes to walk the swaying pole over an abyss of water, deepening rapidly from twenty feet to something like infinity so far as our trolling lines could fathom it, who but he appeared, similarly arrayed, and insisting on diving with the rest!' In the evening he 'was the life of the camp-fire,' ready to poke fun at himself: 'His was the voice that called for songs, that told short amusing stories, that was quick at repartee. He loved music, and best of all the music of women's voices singing a German lied or an old Scotch ballad. Devoid of musical powers himself, he highly appreciated them in others. On one occasion, there were three other members of the school whose musical gifts were on a par with his own, and a prize for the worst singing was offered among them. The Professor sang and lost the prize; indeed he came out last of the four, and was hailed as a rising musician. It speaks well for his memory and for his generally youthful associates, that this generous and joyous abandon for the sake of the company only served to raise him in their estimation and reverence' (Campbell 1889, 145). After five years, Lake School, which had taken its inspiration from the famous school at Chautauqua, New York, ceased to exist. Campbell does not record the reason for its demise. In the obituary of Campbell, published in the Globe of 1 August 1904, it was noted that Campbell later bought out the other four partners and shortened the name of the island to 'Yoho,' as it is still known (Mason 1957, 28-9). 3.10

In 1868 Young was invited back to Knox College to take charge of the preparatory department, a job that permitted him to try out some of the

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ideas he had recommended to Ryerson. At the time the total enrolment was forty students spread over three years. Young taught them philosophy and elementary Greek and Latin; he also assisted in apologetics in the divinity school. Both Young and the principal of Knox must have recognized that his work in the preparatory school was not making full use of his talents, but a return to teaching theology was out of the question for him. So two years after his return, he was appointed professor of mental and moral philosophy. In his reading Young was indeed more up to date than any other professor of philosophy in Ontario; he even mastered George Boole's work in logic and wrote a long article, 'Remarks on Professor Boole's Mathematical Theory of the Laws of Thought,' for the Canadian Journal (1865), the official magazine of the Canadian Institute, of which he was a loyal and active member. Boole's second book on logic, An Investigation of the Laws of Thought, in which he expounded and developed the important discoveries reported in his first book, The Mathematical Analysis of Logic (1847), had been published in 1854. His death in 1864 aroused fresh interest in his work, so Young decided to outline his system for the benefit of those members of the institute who did not have the time or the inclination to study it for themselves. In addition to providing an excellent introduction to Boole's system, he criticized Boole for charging the Aristotelian logic 'with being incomplete, as well as with being not sufficiently fundamental' (Young 1865, 167). Young claimed that neither charge was justified. Any conclusion relating two terms can be reached, he contended, by use of conversion and syllogism alone, although he admitted that it might take more ingenuity than most people possessed to show it in every case. Nor did he allow that the basic principles of Aristotelian logic are insufficiently fundamental. Boole's system is based upon the Law of Duality which, Young argued, is logically equivalent to Aristotle's starting point - his so-called dictum - which he quoted from Aristotle himself: 'It is manifest that no one can conceive to himself that the same thing can at once be and not be, for thus he would hold repugnant opinions, and subvert the reality of truth. Wherefore, all who attempt to demonstrate, reduce everything to this as the ultimate doctrine; for this is by nature the principle of all other axioms' (166). Boole stated that the Law of Duality is x(l - x) = 0, where the only values x can take are 0 and 1. Young claimed that 'it may be described as the germ out of which Professor Boole's whole system is made to unfold' (163), and he produced an argument to show that 'the equation x(l - x) = 0 is just the law of contradiction symbolically expressed: neither more nor less' (167). Both systems, Young concludes, thus come to rest on the law of

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contradiction; therefore, the charge of being insufficiently basic must be made against both or neither of them. Although he did not think that Boole had shown Aristotle to be defective in any important way, Young was ready to admit that Boole had made an important contribution to the study of inference: 'But, it may be said, is it not desirable to have a method enabling us certainly to determine, in every case, the relation which any of the concepts explicitly or implicitly entering into a group of premises bear to the others? Most desirable. And herein consists the real value of Professor Boole's labours. He has devised a brilliantly original Calculus by which he can, through processes as definite as those which the Algebraist applies to a system of equations, solve the most complicated problems in the science of inference - problems which, without the aid of some such Calculus, persons most thoroughly versed in the ordinary logic might have no idea how to treat' (Young 1865, 172). Young then turned to providing the reader with a succinct account of Boole's calculus, using examples to show its power. In the midst of this section, he is led by the formal beauty of the system he is expounding to exclaim: 'We do not see how it is possible for any one not blinded by prejudice against every thing like an alliance of Logic with formulae and processes of a mathematical aspect to deny that these are very remarkable principles' (179-80). In his concluding paragraph he again praised Boole's calculus: 'This Method depends on a Calculus, original, ingenious, singularly beautiful both in itself and in its relations to the science of Algebra, and capable (in hands like those of its inventor) of striking and important applications' (182). As a philosopher he had his doubts, but as a mathematician he had only admiration for the elegance of Boole's system.

3.11 During his second tenure at Knox College, Young began to publish important mathematical papers on the theory of equations. The authorities at Victoria College, then located at Cobourg, took note of this new direction in his work and offered him a professorship in mathematics in 1871, but he turned it down. There can be little doubt that he preferred to teach philosophy and that he knew he had an excellent chance of succeeding James Beaven, then nearing retirement in University College, given that his old friend, Daniel Wilson, occupied an influential position in the college as professor of English literature and history. Wilson has left us an account of the enormous difference Young brought to the teaching of philosophy in the University of Toronto. The

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Varsity asked him to write the lead article in an issue of tributes to Young published on 2 March 1889, the day after his funeral. Wilson's description of the way the subject was taught by Beaven was quoted earlier (§2.12), the gist of which was that the combination of Heaven's personality and his teaching methods had very nearly killed all interest in philosophy: 'When therefore, on his [Beaven's] resignation in 1871, Professor Young was appointed to succeed to him the change was marvellous. He was, as we all know, an enthusiastic and soul-inspiring lecturer; and the students were astonished to find what they had been accustomed to regard as a dry and arid, if not repulsive subject, transformed into the most popular of all their College studies. The new professor speedily won the esteem and confidence of his colleagues, and the loving regard of his students. He was ready to respond to every appeal for elucidation of difficulties, and spared no pains in adapting his teaching to the aims and capacities of his students' (9: 121). Wilson went on to say that finding a successor of the same calibre would be a daunting task. The task, as we will see in due course, did prove to be daunting, but not exactly for the reason Wilson had in mind. When Young was appointed professor of ethics and metaphysics in University College on 5 October 1871, the beginning salary for a professor was $1,800 per annum, with annual increases of $200 until the ceiling of $2,600 - the salary Beaven was paid during his final years - was reached. From the available records, it appears that Young was paid $2,000 from the start, which was what he had been getting at Knox, but for some unknown reason, he was not awarded the annual increases to which he was entitled by the salary policy. Early in 1875 Young joined another professor in a letter to John McCaul, then president of University College, asking that their salaries be increased to $2,600, which was what all of the other professors were being paid. When their request was transmitted to the government, which determined all salaries in those days, the attorney general replied with the policy statement on salaries just outlined. Young's complaint paid off: his salary was increased by $200 the next year and the year after that it was increased to $2,800, making it equal to what all the other professors, who had just been given a raise, were being paid. During his last year of teaching, 1888-9, he was paid $3,100.

3.12 At the time Young succeeded Beaven there were two programs of study open to students, the 'Fixed Course' and the 'Variable Course.' They had

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been introduced in 1866-7 (§2.9), replacing the old unitary course of study inherited from King's College. Two years after Young began teaching, the variable course was dropped; only the fixed course was listed in the calendar, but with something new, namely, options. 'Fixed' meant 'fixed for everyone' and nothing more. It was, of course, still possible to earn the bachelor's degree with honours, by passing special examinations. This reversion to the King's College model apparently proved unsatisfactory, and in the calendar for 1877-8 another attempt was made to distinguish two levels of degree. A 'Pass Course' and an 'Honor Course' (the spelling 'Honour' comes in much later) were laid out for each department. Both required four years of study. The pass course in mental and moral science and civil polity was described in this way: The subjects of the Second and Final Years must be taken. In the Third Year either this Department or that of Mathematics must be taken.' The prescription for the honor course is more complicated: 'An Undergraduate in the Honor Course must take the Pass and the Honor subjects in one of these Departments, and also additional subjects at the respective times mentioned in the following schedule.' Those attempting honors in mental and moral science and civil polity had to complete successfully this set of courses: pass Greek and Latin in both first and second year, pass mathematics and pass English in first year, pass history in third year, either second-year pass mathematics or else either pass chemistry, pass biology or pass mineralogy, and either first and second year pass French or else the same two subjects in German. Young and his colleagues were intent on producing well-rounded graduates. William James Loudon, who was an undergraduate around 1870, has left us with a description of the students' routine during this period in the university's history: 'The daily routine of the student was simple and monotonous. He rose at seven-thirty. The Residence bell rang at eight o'clock for breakfast. Lectures by the professors from nine to two. Dinner at two when the bell rang again. From three to five lectures on Modern languages by the tutors. Supper at seven. At meals and lectures the students wore gowns. This was compulsory. The gates of Residence were locked at nine when the big bell in the tower was rung. Students out after that were fined' (Loudon 1927, 411). Little had changed since the earliest days of King's College. Except for some minor tinkering with Beaven's reading lists, Young made no changes in the calendar until 1877-8, when the pass-honor distinction was introduced. Beaven's conception of his courses had been expressed by a list of the books to be studied. For instance, in the

118 The Main Stream 1870-1 calendar, the last year in which Beaven taught, he gave prospective students this information about his second-year course: 'Locke, Books II, III, IV; Wayland's Moral Science; *Tennemann's History of Philosophy, to the end of Scholastic Period (Morell's edition); *DesCartes' Method, Meditations, and Principles.' The starred readings were required only of those attempting honors. Beaven lectured to this class three times each week twice to everybody and once to honor students. In the 1877-8 calendar, Young began to shift the emphasis away from the textbooks to the subject matter to be covered, in the way that has since become standard. The information he provided is still rather thin. In his second-year course the students heard lectures on 'Origin of Knowledge: Locke's An Essay concerning Human Understanding and *Cousin's Lectures on Locke; and History of Philosophy from Thales to the Commencement of the Scholastic Period (Schwegler's Hand-book).'1 This class heard four lectures per week, two of which were for those students intending to attempt honors. Third-year students concentrated on the study of the mind and on ethics. Young delivered a set of lectures entitled 'Systematic Exposition of the Phenomena of Mind (Reid's Essays on the Intellectual Powers)'; he also lectured on Calderwood's Handbook of Moral Philosophy. Honorsmen heard him discuss James Mill's Analysis of the Phenomena oftheHu man Mind and John Stuart Mill's On Utilitarianism. Finally, he lectured to honors students only on the history of philosophy from the commencement of the scholastic period to Kant. In their last year, all students attended his lectures on 'The Hamiltonian Philosophy,' 'The Kantian Philosophy,' 'Recent Experiential Philosophy (Bain's Senses and Intellect and his Emotions and Will)' and 'The History of Philosophy from Kant to the Present Time.' Young's division of the study of the history of philosophy into three segments was to develop in the hands of his successors into the backbone of the honors course in philosophy. The student started with Thales in second year and arrived at the end of fourth year at the beginning of the twentieth century. As we will see in chapter 7, George Sidney Brett, who strongly favoured this organization and who for many years taught the third sequence, never managed to get beyond William James (1842-1910) and the early writings of Henri Bergson (1859-1941). Unfortunately, this organizing principle came to dominate departmental thinking to the exclusion of nearly every other consideration. By the time Anderson became head, the honours curriculum had become so ossified that any tinkering with it threatened its total collapse, and collapse it did shortly after he left office. The next major calendar change occurred in 1881-2, when Young was responsible for 'Logic, Metaphysics and Ethics,' instead of only the latter

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two, as was formerly the case. John McCaul, the professor of classics, who had taught logic from 1843 onward, had retired, and logic, probably at Young's insistence, was repatriated to philosophy. The changes he instituted in the calendar descriptions four years earlier were carried further. A major reason for revising the offerings in philosophy was the affiliation of St Michael's College with the university on 14 March 1881. Under the agreement reached, St Michael's was to teach its own philosophy courses, offering to its students the same courses as Young did to his students, but using different textbooks. All modern texts were dropped from the university's calendar descriptions as a consequence of this development. Young's prescriptions for the last three years (no philosophy was offered in first year) were as follows. In second year, two courses were laid on: (1) 'Logic: Names, Notions, Propositions, Syllogisms, judgments'; (2) 'Mental Philosophy: The Senses, The Intellect, The Emotions.' (The asterisk again, indicated that the topic was required for those attempting honors.) To his second-year charges, Young lectured five hours a week, two of which were designated for honors students. Third-year honors students took three courses with him: (1) 'Mental and Moral Philosophy: The Will, Theory of Obligation, Ethical Systems'; (2) *'History of Philosophy, Ancient and Medieval'; (3) 'Cicero, deFinibus, Books I and II in the original.' He assisted his students by delivering four lectures each week, two of which were for those attempting honors. In their final year, those studying philosophy spent nearly all of their time under his tutelage, although he gave them only three lectures a week, one of which was for both levels. Honors candidates were responsible for five courses, pass students for four: (1) 'Logic: Induction and the Subsidiary Operations'; (2) *'Mental and Moral Philosophy'; (3) 'History of Philosophy, Modern'; (4) 'Work of previous years'; (5) 'Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics, Books I to IV, inclusive, in the original.' The prospective student was informed that 'books of reference will be indicated in the course of the Lectures.' From the paucity of lectures in fourth year and the longer list of courses, it is obvious that candidates for a degree were expected to spend the year preparing for their final examinations by mastering the new material and reviewing the old. This curriculum apparently proved too ambitious; for in the following year's calendar, Judgments, Cicero, and Aristotle are jettisoned. Dropping the latter two was a great departure from Beaven's practice. That zealous defender of tradition, as we saw, had required a higher competence in the Greek and Latin languages than McCaul, the professor of classics, did.

120 The Main Stream This revised curriculum remained Young's conception of an undergraduate course in philosophy for the remainder of his career, although he did, in the 1885-6 calendar, specify two textbooks. For the secondyear students he was using James Sully's Outlines of Psychology, with Special Reference to the Theory of Education (1884), and for those in the third year Henry Calderwood's Handbook of Moral Philosophy, first published in 1872. The requirements for an honors degree were made more formidable. In second year, prospective honors students, in addition to completing all the requirements for a pass degree, had to master Locke's An Essay concerning Human Understanding, Berkeley's Principles of Knowledge, and Hume's Treatise, Book I, including T.H. Green's 'Introduction'; in third year they had to read Green's Prolegomena to Ethics (1883) and those parts of Schwegler's and Ueberweg's histories dealing with the Graeco-Roman and mediaeval periods. In his lectures for honors students, Young almost certainly lectured on at least some of this extra reading.

3.13 In addition to being responsible for teaching the whole range of philosophy courses, Young also had charge of the Department of Civil Polity. This burden had been laid on the professor of metaphysics and ethics as early as 1854 (Hodgins 11: 154), and Beaven regularly set examinations in the subject. Neither Beaven nor Young lectured on political economy. Their duties were limited to providing students with a reading list and setting an examination at year's end; the examination was marked by others. In 1886 reformers in the Senate introduced a proposal for a much expanded treatment of civil polity, which led Young to write a letter of protest to the registrar of the university, who sent it along to the Mail for publication: I have seen a scheme of examination in civil polity which it is proposed to substitute for the course at present prescribed under the title of 'Civil Polity' in the arts curriculum by the Senate of the University of Toronto. If it is intended that the proposed new course in civil polity should be required from students in metaphysics and ethics in the place of the course prescribed at present, I would respectfully request the Senate to give the matter full consideration before assenting to the change suggested. The course of study in metaphysics and ethics for honour students of the third and fourth years is a severe one. In the third year, so far, at least, as the students of University College are concerned, the work prescribed

George Paxton Young 121 demands a great deal of profound thinking and patient effort. What I understand to be proposed is, that a very large addition shall be made to what is required from them in civil polity. I am humbly of opinion that this would be unwise. The students have at present all the work they can do well. To ask them to do more would result in their giving a mere superficial attention - which would be useless or worse than useless - to a number of the subjects prescribed. The same is true in a still greater degree of honour students of the fourth year. In metaphysics and ethics the labour of these students, though no books are definitely prescribed by the Senate, must be severe, if the field generally indicated by the Senate is to be covered. I would ask particular attention to the fact that some works in philosophy, which it seems indispensable for them to read, are of such a kind that deep and careful thought must be given to every page. Any temptation to slur over such works, or to 'get them up,' as the phrase is, for mere examination purposes, would be a serious evil. The very heavy course in civil polity which it is now proposed to exact is a temptation of this kind. Though I am less concerned about pass students, I venture to ask the Senate to consider [whether] the pass course in civil polity, proposed to be made imperative on third and fourth year students, is not excessive, taking into account the other work which the students have to do. (23 March 1886, 6) This debate - and it may have been Young's letter alone - led Sir Daniel Wilson to write to the minister of education on 21 April 1887 to beg for the establishment of a chair in this subject: 'You name a Professor of Moral Philosophy; that can very well be delayed; or even dispensed with; and so supply the salary for the Professor of Political Economy' (DA). The minister had included a new chair in moral philosophy in his estimates, because of the way philosophy was split between the university (everything but ethics) and University College (ethics) in the Act of Federation then before the legislature. The minister took his advice. William James Ashley (1860-1927) was appointed professor of political economy in 1888. Four years later he resigned to accept a professorship at Harvard University, but the Department of Political Economy survived his departure.

3.14 The University of Toronto, when it was formed, took over from King's College the whole system of examinations that Beaven and company

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had established. Even after the split between the university and University College, the college, which had no examining authority, continued to set examinations for its students in addition to preparing them to write the university examinations. Thus, the students were required to write double the number of examinations required by the legislation establishing University College. No doubt this system was inspired by that in place at Oxford, and it had the advantage in the eyes of some of giving a direction to the teaching done by the faculty. Its detractors, however, thought it took the very life out of teaching, since in practice it focused the attention of both the students and their professors on the next set of examinations. Young was a bitter foe of the prevailing system, which gave him considerable popularity even among students who did not take his courses. During 1882-3 a movement to reform the examinations arose. Naturally enough, the 'Varsity (as it then styled itself)1 weighed in on the side of reform. To the great delight of its staff members, their campaign elicited a letter from Young: Some views which you have recently expressed in The 'Varsity are, in my opinion, so important, that every one who agrees with you should use his influence, be it great or small, to effect the object you desire. I refer to what you have stated regarding University examinations. I have long been convinced that the interests of education in Ontario are grievously suffering from over examination. The whole tendency of our University and College system is to raise examinations to the first place, and to make teaching quite a subordinate thing. This is a dreadful evil. The greatest advantage that students can have is a teacher of originality and strong individuality of mind; but, if the professors in University College are to be turned into machines to grind up students for University examinations, originality and individuality of mind will be out of place in our College chairs. Having this conviction, I looked on the amendments that Professor Loudon some time ago proposed to introduce into the scheme of University examinations as a step in the right direction; and I have the strongest sympathy with you when you say: 'let there then be two examinations, - for admission and for degree - and no more; and let it be determined that between the slavery of the school and the dull routine of practical life, there shall be at least a few

1 For a short time the newspaper used an apostrophe in its name to emphasize the fact that 'varsity' is a contracted form of 'university' reflecting an archaic pronunciation.

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years of freedom. Intermediate examinations are the burden and curse of University existence!' (3 March 1883, 213)

Young signed himself 'Your obedient servant.' Loudon's motion was less drastic; he proposed to reduce the number of examinations for matriculated students to a limit of four and assign those at the end of second and third year to University College and those at the end of first and fourth year to the university (Langton 1927, 6-7). As might be expected, nothing seems to have changed in the short term. From Beaven to Young there is a clear shift away from the minute mastering of a text to a critical understanding of philosophical problems themselves. This change is reflected in their quite different views of examinations. Beaven was enamoured of the examination system and tailored his teaching to fit it. His lectures were dictated, so that even the dullest student could take them down verbatim. One gathers, from the surviving examinations set by him, that Beaven expected students to give him back what he had given them, including his 'corrections' to the assigned texts. Young, on the other hand, tried to encourage independence of thought. According to his pupil James Gibson Hume and several others, he began each class by writing on the blackboard a short outline of the day's lecture, decorated by the little arrows for which he was famous. The outline was his sole concession to dummies. Turning to the class, he flashed them his beaming smile and proceeded, standing all the while, to deliver a very well-organized lecture. The views of other philosophers were developed with great sympathy, so great on occasion that many students thought Young had adopted them as his own. At the end of the lecture he would announce that the view he had so carefully and sympathetically expounded was so badly flawed that no reasonable defence of it was possible. This startling turn of events led the abler students to try to discover for themselves just what Young found so deficient in the position. By this means he stimulated his best students to do some serious independent philosophical thinking. In his next lecture Young would proceed to expose the weakness of the position, and the less gifted carefully tucked his views into their notebooks against the day of the examination. Those who had taken up his challenge and thought about it could quietly measure their own abilities against that of their master. Only occasionally did Young call upon students in class to recite for him. Rather, he himself preferred to provide both sides of the Socratic dialogue. His examination questions were also designed to elicit some original thinking from his students instead

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of straight regurgitation. On one famous occasion a student who was supposed to divide his time between six questions instead wrote on only one and, what is more, elected to answer it in French. His classmates, when he told them what he had done, were appalled and expressed themselves as certain that he would fail, but when Young announced the results, this student got his honors and a note from his professor praising his French writing style. It is impossible to imagine Beaven doing anything of the sort (Blake 1901, 63). 3.15

In stark contrast to those of Beaven, nearly all of Young's students were devoted to him. Many took the trouble to write up their memories, thus providing us with a very vivid picture of him and the affection he inspired. When he reached seventy years of age on 9 November 1888, his students gave him a large, comfortable chair, which they presented to him in his classroom on the 28th of that month. The Varsity published the two speeches that were made. The presenter was Frederick Tracy, then in his fourth year; he was later appointed to the staff of the department and rose to become professor of ethics in University College. In the course of his remarks Tracy said: 'We render homage to your broad and ripe scholarship, to your keen and discerning criticism. We express our obligations to you for countless subtle influences we can hardly put in words, but, above all, for the constant exemplification in your language and life, of the candid, truth-loving spirit. You have ever set before us the paramount importance of truth; you have urged us to be truth-seekers and truth-lovers in all things, and have been yourself a living embodiment of your precepts' (1 Dec. 1888, 40). Young singled out this point in his few words of thanks: 'I appreciate very highly this mark of your esteem and respect for me. There may be teachers who are indifferent as to what opinion their students may hold with regard to them. I am not one of those. I value highly your good-will. The address has spoken of me as a truth-seeker and such I am. I have sought with all the earnestness of my nature to find truth, both for your sakes and for my own; I have had no other purpose but to know the truth and then to make it known' (40). Nearly every one of the students who wrote about him mentioned this characteristic as the one dominating his work in the classroom. One of the most extensive descriptions of Young as a teacher was written by Archibald MacMechan (1862-1933), who received a B.A. in 1884 and was later for many years professor of English in Dalhousie Univer-

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sity. MacMechan was a student in the Pass Course when he attended Young's lectures on metaphysics, and he was not a favourite of Young: 'The only time Young quizzed me in class, I failed, and he snubbed me, contrary to his custom, in a way I did not wholly deserve. It was a rude awakening, for up to that time I had cherished the delusion that I stood specially well with him, and I believe every man in the class had much the same notion in regard to himself (MacMechan n.d., 10). Still, he remained an enthusiastic fan and he left us the fullest description of Young's teaching style. Every seat was taken at his lectures, and every lecture began in the same way: On the stroke of the hour, there enters hastily an old gentleman in black, with his gown slipping off his shoulders, and his mortar-board in his hand, full of manuscript. Without noticing the applause which always greets his entrance, - for in Canada we have this hearty Scottish custom which so shocks the decorous American visitor in Edinburgh class-rooms, - he swiftly divests himself of his gown, which he bundles up on the top of the high, spindling reading-desk, scrawled all over with 'Hence accordingly.' Swiftly he takes the notes from the trencher, which he plumps down on top of the gown, wheels round to the blackboard and dashes off an outline of the coming lecture. Each head of the discourse is marked with the quaint device of a little bob-tailed arrow flying straight at it. I did not understand the symbolism then; nor, I believe, did Young himself. Those arrows signified that these were winged words, as goads fastened by the masters of assemblies. In a minute or two, the outline is written, and the professor turns to the class with a smile. (8)

MacMechan described the details of Young's habitual dress: 'He always appeared in his "blacks," flapped trousers of a pattern worn early in the century, and an old-fashioned claw-hammer coat, always looking new and carefully brushed. His linen, too, was always immaculate, and, in token of the profession he had abandoned, he sported a clerical tie' (8-9). Although we have photographs of Young, an oil painting and a remarkably fine bust of him, none of them conveys the living man as vividly as words can: In figure he was of middle size, neither short nor tall, markedly sturdy, in spite of a slight stoop. At first sight his face was not inspiring. He had a bald head, a thick nose, a port-wine complexion and the fine, clear white hair and beard which go with it. The brows formed a heavy ridge, 'the bar of

126 The Main Stream Michael Angelo,' from which the rest of the skull retreated; the forehead seemed low; but all that was best of him looked out of his bright eyes. He had a trick of shutting them tight and shading them with his left hand, while he motioned with his right, as he said, 'When I think of a centaurr, I see a centaurr with the horrse's body as here (gesture) and the man's body as here (gesture). And when I think of Socrates I see Socrates with his bald head, - and his snub nose - and his luminous eyes.' Then we held our breath, for it was plain to the meanest understanding that Young did behold a veritable 'centaurr,' trotting along in an ideal world; and as for 'Socrates,' - well, some of us had read Waring and puzzled over the meaning of the last word. (MacMechan n.d., 9)

Everyone who described Young's speech made reference to his Scotch burr: 'As he begins to speak, his voice is harsh, and thin; the Scotch burr grates intolerably. But soon it gathers richness and depth and power; Young is warming to his work, and your only fear is that he will stop' (9). The examples Young used to illustrate points in his lectures were homely ones: 'Chief of these were the watch and the orange and the round red disk, he talked so much about but never produced. They had only an ideal existence. I have, however, a portrait of that red disk, labelled to prevent mistakes, and I believe it to be a good likeness. This simple object "involved (a) A sensation of Redness, (b) A manifold of Sensations under relations of Extension"' (MacMechan n.d., 10). Another example figuring prominently in his lectures was a ribbon that was 'blue at one end and red at the other' (10). A selection of these ideal objects appeared in nearly every lecture and the students came to expect them. When none of them made an appearance, they 'felt the lecture to be rather incomplete' (10). Although he was a bachelor, Young lectured on the infant mind as part of his course in metaphysics. His students knew he was a bachelor: 'The college legend ran that the lady he was to marry perished in the Desjardins Bridge accident'2 (11). MacMechan judged Young's lectures on

2 Just before 6:00 p.m. on 12 March 1857 a Toronto & Hamilton Railway train travelling west derailed just as it reached the bridge crossing the Desjardins Canal, which linked Hamilton harbour to Dundas. The locomotive and two passenger cars plunged into the icy waters of the canal. Fifty-nine people lost their lives. It was one of the worst railway accidents in Canadian history.

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child psychology as 'not... unsatisfactory.' During their course, he would describe a baby as 'a very unattractive, unmoral little animal': '"Gentlemen" - and there was education in the way Young said "Gentlemen" "you will sometimes see a crrowd of ladies about a little infant, and they are saying, 'Oh, the dearr little thing! Oh, the sweet little thing!' Gentlemen, I tell you," here his eyes twinkled and his whole face beamed like a sun, as he added with comic vehemence, "a baaby is, 'a wretch concentered all on self "' (11). Young's beaming smile was a considerable part of his charm as a teacher: 'He had a way of beaming on a roomful of young men, as if each and every one was his particular friend' (10). His lectures brought philosophy alive in a way that gripped the attention of every member of the class. When he introduced the problem of the external world, for example, his students were first of all stunned to hear that there was such a problem and then awed to discover that Young could discuss it in a way they thought they understood. All of the philosophical problems he lectured on were received in the same way: 'At each lecture he seemed to feel that from all eternity he had but this one brief hour to drive home upon the minds of this one set of men, this one set of truths; and he made the most of it. How familiar is the phrase: "And I shall think the hour well spent, gentlemen, if I succeed in making this one point clear to you." He never condescended to classroom tricks, or the freakishness of a carefully cultivated eccentricity; he never attempted to raise a laugh, but there was a good deal of laughing in his class. Sometimes it was the laugh of intellectual superiority as Mill, Reid, Hamilton and Co., were battered about, and we learned that it was paying something too high a compliment to call it wrong, it was nonsense. And the last word came out like a bullet from a gun' (MacMechan n.d., 11-12). MacMechan compared him with all the other lecturers he had heard and concluded that he had 'never heard his equal' (12). MacMechan suggested that some of Young's greatness as a lecturer was a carry-over from his earlier days as a Scottish preacher: Inevitably something of the minister clung to him, a suggestion in the dress, a hint of the pulpit in his perorations, but best of all the true prophet's moral earnestness. He was a preacher of righteousness. His course was not a mere exercise in ingenuity, a necessary part of the curriculum, a prescribed exercise for a degree. As he taught, he saw before him, human souls needing light, needing guidance; the fault was his if he showed no light, or light that led astray ... Though a preacher, he was no partizan of a narrow

128 The Main Stream unlovely orthodoxy. To youths of every shade of belief, from all parts of Puritan Canada, to Protestant and Catholic, to those who wished to live so that they could look their mothers in the face, to those who were using their first freedom to take their first lessons in vice, Young preached the great doctrines by which the pillars of the world stand firm. (14)

Even allowing for poetic licence on MacMechan's part, this is still extraordinary testimony to the effectiveness of Young's work as a teacher. Adulation of Young was not quite universal. Henry Rushton Fairclough (B.A. 1883), in his autobiography, dissented from the general opinion: 'The most popular pass-course I attended in my first year in college was that in Logic, conducted by the venerable George Paxton Young. Professor Young had the reputation of being a profound philosopher. He certainly looked the part. He had snowy hair, a heavy white beard, and a towering forehead. As he lectured he would push his spectacles up to his brow, close his eyes, and pour forth a stream of wisdom in a sort of dramatic soliloquy, which deeply impressed most of his hearers but which often excited my sense of the ridiculous. I suppose he was speaking above my power of comprehension; but I was never able to take Professor Young as seriously as did most of my classmates' (1941, 28). Fairclough (1862-1936) had a distinguished career in classics. I have found no one else who echoed his opinion of Young as a teacher. Young's interest in students was not limited to the classroom. He helped many complete their education by supplying them with funds at crucial times. One young man wrote to Maurice Hutton, then principal of University College, after Young's death, to tell him that, as a result of an interview in his office during which Young had enquired about his financial resources, he had received a cheque from Young for $75 a day or two later. Young had urged him to let him know if he ever needed money, but he had apparently decided during the course of their talk that the young man both needed money and was unlikely to ask him for it. Hutton, in his reminiscences of Young for the Varsity also reported Young's reaction to discipline cases that came before the college council: Here his attitude to the business brought before us gave me continual amusement. It was, as it was bound to be, the attitude of a philosopher who looks upon all sublunary things from a point of view wholly abstract and removed from all considerations of personal convenience or the opposite. Once, for example, - it was, of course, many, many years ago - we had a question of what is euphemistically termed 'discipline.' Professor Young,

George Paxton Young 129 with a smile, dropped the remark of unimpeachably sound Platonism, but of little practical consolation to irritated nerves, that the student who does not make a riot in his college in his youth, will never make a mark in the world in his age: to which there was only one retort possible; that the rioter was, as usual, ever since Socrates' days, a student of Metaphysics. On other occasions, again, when the practical spirit of his colleagues clashed with his own philosophical idealism, Professor Young would shrug his shoulders with a smile and a twinkle in his eyes and be beaten by a large majority. (16 March 1889, 138)

When word of these clashes got around among the students, as no doubt they did, given the gossipy nature of the academy, his fame would have increased. One of his students, William Hume Blake (1861-1924; B.A. 1882), a nephew of the university chancellor, Edward Blake, and later a prominent Toronto lawyer, related an incident that showed the way Young accepted the unexpected in the classroom: 'A member of his class was much companioned by a small dog who came to be a regular attendant at the morning lectures, but, it was imagined, without the Professor's knowledge. The dog's master being somewhat late one morning and the dog himself being detained by affairs of his own, they arrived separately, and the dog found the familiar door closed. It was not his way to wait in patience, and he began to scratch and whine in a very genteel but perfectly audible fashion, to the great distress of mind of his master within. The Professor's eyes twinkled as he glanced towards the door and then towards the owner of the dog. "I think, Mr. -, that you had better let the Cynic philosopher in"' (Blake 1901, 65). Beaven, who loved rules and who loved even more apprehending the malefactors who broke them, would have been appalled at Young's behaviour. Blake's account of Young's teaching confirms that given by others: 'Can any one forget the first reading of Locke under the guidance of that powerful and acute mind, and the radical change of point of view which went with it? After labouring through those appalling pages of Kant where he expounds the "synthetical unity of the manifold in intuition which antecedes a priori all determinate thought" till the brain was dizzy, and the words had lost their meaning, how the light streamed in when "Paxy" stood before the board! What magic it was! That never-to-be-forgotten ribbon, red at one end and blue at the other; those strange little diagrams; - the alephs and beths and gimels and daleths; - the little roundheaded arrows! Surely never was simpler equipment [used] to convey

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and explain involved thought' (64). Blake noted that Young was the only teacher in University College who kept no attendance records; it was not necessary, since 'no member of his class was willingly absent.' When one reads what his contemporaries wrote about him, the impression builds irresistibly that Young must have taught every student in the university. Given that impression, I was pleased to discover that James Mark Baldwin provided an ad hoc committee, appointed by the Senate and the Board of Trustees in 1891 to study revenues and requirements, with enrolment figures in philosophy for the prior decade. Thus, we have class numbers for the last nine years of Young's career. He taught two subjects in the pass course, philosophy and logic. In philosophy his enrolment ranged from twenty-four to thirty-nine with an average of twenty-eight students per year; in logic there was a range of thirtyeight to sixty-four for an average of fifty-two. In the honors course he taught the same two subjects: in philosophy the numbers ranged from fifty-nine to eighty-four for an average of seventy-two; and in logic with a spread of thirty-four to sixty-five the average was fifty. Although the total number of candidates who sat examinations during this period varied from a low of 562 in 1884 to a high of 784 in 1889, only a small percentage of them earned degrees. Fifty-seven were awarded the B.A. in 1881, and by 1889 the number had risen to seventy-eight with an average of seventy-two over the nine years. From these figures we can conclude that the vast majority of students were part-timers, taking only those courses that they believed would advance their employment prospects. The other obvious conclusion we can draw is that Young did teach all of those who were awarded degrees. 3.16

It is not generally known that Young was strongly in favour of the admission of women students to the university. Until the autumn of 1884 female students were debarred from attending lectures in University College. Since 1877, when the Senate had voted to allow it, they could matriculate - that is to say, they could enrol in the university's degree course - and after the first two enrolled in that year, a small but steady stream followed. Matriculation, of course, allowed women to sit for university examinations, since degrees were awarded on the basis of examinations, but they were obliged to write them without the benefit of having heard lectures on the material covered in the tests. Frustrated by this discrimination, women began to petition the college council for a

George Paxton Young 131

change in its policy; in 1883 there were eleven petitions from women who asked to be allowed to attend lectures. President Daniel Wilson favoured higher education for women but was strongly opposed to coeducation, so he was very reluctant to admit women to lectures (see Langton 1929, 110-17). Wilson wanted the government to erect a separate college for women. Young, on the other hand, supported co-education. Nellie Spence, in her excellent account of this controversy, 'Once There Were No Women at Varsity,' acknowledged his support: 'In University College some of the staff were in favour of admitting women; notably Professor Young of the Philosophy Department - George Paxton Young, quite the most outstanding member of the Faculty. If ever there was an inspired teacher, that teacher was Dr. Young, and philosophy, as expounded by him, was certainly divine philosophy. His personal influence was marvellous - we were not merely his students, we were his disciples: we just sat at his feet in reverence and love' (Spence 1933a, 122). Surprisingly, the minister of education, George W. Ross, also favoured the admission of women to university lectures, and he pushed the necessary legislation through the provincial Parliament. Wilson attempted to delay its implementation by raising all sorts of practical objections, chiefly having to do with the need for establishing separate toilet and study facilities, but Ross forced his hand by securing an order-in-council on 2 October 1884 requiring the immediate admission of women, giving Wilson only a few days to arrange for their comfort. Ten women matriculated that year, and ten years later the number of female matriculants had risen to 113 with another 57 non-matriculants or part-time students. By 1893 sixty women had earned bachelor's degrees. Victoria College, which opened its doors to women in 1877, had already graduated its first successful female candidate in 1884. Trinity College began admitting women in 1886, but St Michael's College delayed their admission to lectures until 1952 (see §15.6). In her second article on the admission of women to the university, Spence recorded that Young's support went beyond mere advocacy of the admission of women to lectures. We learn that he was prepared to defy Wilson's order that women be barred from lectures. A plot was hatched in September 1884 whereby Eliza May Balmer, who had already won three scholarships and had passed all of the examinations for the first two years, would attend a lecture in University College. The intent was to show that her presence would not 'interfere with due order and discipline,' as the college council claimed in a resolution it had adopted. William Houston an elected member of the Senate who represented

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graduates of the university, sought legal advice on whether there was an explicit exclusion of women from lectures either in the charter of the university or in its statutes. He was assured that there was none. No doubt because they knew he favoured their cause, the plotters chose Young's lecture as the first to be invaded. Balmer, who wanted to hear his thirdyear lectures in metaphysics, turned to her friend Andrew Stevenson (B.A. 1883), for help: 'She asked me as a personal friend to ask Dr. Young what he would do if she entered his class-room. He told me that he would do nothing but accept her there just as he did the other students. She was highly gratified to hear this and was confirmed in her resolve to go in spite of Dr. Wilson. But, as I said, Dr. Wilson gave way' (Spence 1933b, 148). Wilson gave way on 2 October, when the order-incouncil made his continued opposition untenable. In another letter, published in the University of Toronto Monthly of May 1938, Andrew Stevenson, who as a student had worked on the Varsity, recalled the role it had played in the passage of the legislation by the provincial Parliament: 'One of the editors wrote to the Presidents of several co-education colleges in the United States, Harvard included, and got replies from all of them to the effect that in their case the admission of women had not interfered with due order and discipline. The Varsity printed a whole page of these denials and these were read out in the Legislature by Mr. Harcourt (I heard them!). The result was an unanimous vote in favour of admission' (253). Earlier in his letter he recounted the story about Miss Balmer, and he claimed that Sir Daniel Wilson, when he was told that 'she would enter Dr. Young's classroom and put upon the President the onus of ordering her out,' called her 'an impudent hussy!' The phrase seems a bit strong for Wilson, but there can be no denying that he was very much opposed to the admission of women before proper preparation, especially separate toilet facilities, was made to receive them.

3.17 During the years Young taught philosophy in University College, he published nothing in his subject. What is astonishing, however, is that in 1884, after a hiatus of several years, he resumed publishing articles in mathematics. Mathematics is generally thought to be a young person's subject, but Young proved an exception to that rule. All of his most important discoveries in mathematics - they were praised by no less an authority than Arthur Cayley (1821-95), the first Sadlerian Professor of Pure Mathematics in the University of Cambridge - were published after

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he was sixty-five, the last of them in the year prior to his death. President Wilson, in his Varsity tribute, remarked: The characteristic feature of these researches which specially struck the mathematician was that his methods were wholly his own. He was wont to say that his work had to be original; for he was unacquainted with the ordinary processes of other mathematicians' (2 March 1889, 9: 121). Reports circulated from time to time that he did intend to write up his philosophical views for publication, but when T.H. Green's Prolegomena to Ethics was published posthumously in 1883, Young, according to his student and successor, James Gibson Hume, discovered that he and Green had arrived at the same conclusions, so there was no requirement for him to repeat them. At the time of Young's death, Hume agreed to attempt to piece together a book from his lecture notes, which were written in shorthand. This short book, TheEthics of Freedom, was finally published in 1911, much too late to influence the direction of debate. 3.18

According to the Mail, Young's students learned that he was unwell on 19 February 1889: 'The first intimation that the students had of his indisposition was on Wednesday morning, when he entered his class-room as usual and wrote the headings of his lecture on the board. He had just begun his explanations, when he asked to be excused as he was not feeling well. For a few moments he rested his head on his hands, then arose, and, though evidently suffering intensely, made a great effort to overcome his pain and to continue his address. At last he said: 'We had better not go on with the lecture, but come tomorrow, and bring your Kants.' And then he went to his private room' (27 Feb. 1889, 6). The next morning, shortly after he arrived on campus, Young suffered a cerebral haemorrhage, leaving him partially paralysed and unable to speak. A carriage was summoned to take him home. John Macdonald Duncan, the fellow in mental and moral philosophy and logic, when told what had happened, rushed to the window of the carriage to offer his help, but Young, by a motion of his hand, declined it. Sir Daniel Wilson recorded the event in his diary and noted that Young had been fearful of heart disease, but had recently been reassured by his physician that he did not suffer from it. Still he had not looked well. 'Only yesterday,' Wilson wrote, 'he spoke to me hopefully, and in response to my urging him to take a few days rest, he said he had no difficulty in lecturing, and preferred to go on as usual' (UTA, JLF, 004 [02], 148).

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On 26 February he died. The Mail reported the immediate cause of death as angina pectoris, the usual symptoms of which are recurrent pain in the chest and left arm due to an insufficient supply of blood to the muscles of the heart. Wilson paid him tribute in his diary: 'This morning about 9 a.m. my old friend and colleague, Professor Young, entered into his rest. A fine simple-minded genuine man of acute critical powers in his own hazy region of metaphysics, and a man of sterling uprightness and worth. He was a born teacher, possessed of that capacity for communicating knowledge and the accompanying pleasure in his work which no pedagogic or university training can bestow where it is wanting. We shall be fortunate indeed if we can find a worthy successor to fill the vacant chair. In the Berkeleyan tendencies of his metaphysical speculation the visible world in which he moved and worked was to him altogether relative and subjective. The unseen realities of the higher spiritual life were the objective realities' (UTA, JLF, 004 [02], 148). Toronto newspapers printed many tributes to him and the Varsity published a fine collection of memorials covering all aspects of his career in Canada, from his pastorate in Hamilton to his most recent lectures. For his contemporaries he was a true celebrity. Wilson offered Convocation Hall for his funeral, a gesture that was accepted by Young's nieces. His body lay in state there until the funeral on 1 March. Wilson, who played a prominent role in the funeral, recorded his impressions of it later in the day: 'The funeral day of my old friend and colleague, a public funeral, and a very solemn and appropriate service in the Convocation Hall. A public funeral I greatly dislike, but if such a mark of respect is to be made, it could not have been more reverently and heartily carried out by his colleagues, his students and all concerned. The numerous floral memorial gifts did not seem out of place on such an occasion, and the hall draped with black by the students seemed to harmonize with the genuine grief in which so many shared. Once more that feeling comes over the mind: only now when he is gone do we realize his real worth' (UTA, JLF, 004 [02], 148-9). The Varsity reported the way in which the students paid their final tribute. After the benediction, 'the students filed out and formed in line down the carriage drive while the coffin was being borne forth. The procession, more than a quarter of a mile long, marched slowly along St. Alban Street [now Wellesley Street] and up Yonge Street to the C.P.R. railway crossing, where the students formed in open line and allowed the hearse and carriages to pass through and on to Mount Pleasant Cemetery where the last sad rites were performed' (2 March 1889, 123). Probably no other Toronto professor has ever been paid such homage.

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The city of Toronto later paid him a further tribute. On 2 January 1982 Donald Jones, who wrote a series of articles for the Toronto Star on 'Historical Toronto,' published an essay on Young. It opened with this posthumous fact about the department's second professor: 'On the Memorial Wall in the Necropolis, the oldest cemetery in Toronto, you will find the names of twelve great men in Toronto's past who lie buried there, and among the names of William Lyon Mackenzie, Toronto's firs mayor, and George Brown, a Father of Confederation, and Ned Hanlan, Canada's first world champion in sports, you will discover the name of George Paxton Young who, in the Toronto of one hundred years ago, was one of the giant figures at this city's university' (E6). Given the wealth of evidence, it must be stated that Young was a truly great teacher and one it would be impossible to duplicate in a new appointment. Sir Daniel Wilson, in his Varsity tribute, recorded some personal information about the man. Young cared for his widowed mother until her death many years after they arrived in Canada. His brother married and fathered two girls; he and his wife died while the girls were still children and Young took them into his home and raised them. Both girls married, but one of them was widowed while her son was still young. She moved back in with Young, who took 'unwearied delight' in educating her son. After Young's death, Wilson discovered that this niece and her son, who was not yet grown, were left nearly destitute. Young had invested his savings in Federal Bank Stock, which had failed. To remedy this grievous state of affairs, Wilson wrote to the minister of education on 10 March 1889, reciting these facts and recommending that his niece be paid Young's salary for the rest of the year as well as a gratuity. In the end she received $3,616.66 from the university, including a gratuity of $1,550. Whether she got additional monies from the ministry for Young's work as school inspector is not mentioned in university records. Wilson did ask the minister to consider paying her a second gratuity in recognition of Young's sterling service to the province as Inspector of grammar schools. Young's near destitution at his death brought home to Wilson the necessity of instituting a pension scheme for the university's staff. During the short time remaining to him he succeeded in setting up a 'retiring allowance' plan for permanent members of the university. Administered by the Carnegie Foundation, the plan established for each member a fund into which a small percentage of their salary was deposited at each pay period. The contents of this fund were the property of the individual and could be withdrawn at any time. If they were withdrawn, then those persons forfeited their pensions. When members

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retired, the Carnegie Foundation absorbed the funds and calculated the pension to be paid for the rest of their lives. This plan was in effect by the time James Gibson Hume arrived on the scene in 1891. Hume, who served for thirty-seven years, was paid a pension of $2,660 annually for the last twenty-two years of his life. Had Young retired he would have had no pension by right, but like Beaven, he might have been granted one ad hoc, although there was no guarantee. As word spread of Young's death, colleagues from outside the university recalled his life and work. Henry Calderwood, who was then professor of moral philosophy at the University of Edinburgh, commented on Young's lecture, 'Freedom and Necessity': 'This lecture is a fine example of clear definition, critical acumen, and true appreciation of the difficulties besetting the problem' (1889, 3). On the whole, Calderwood's tribute is disappointing; the reader doubts that he had first-hand knowledge of Young. The principal of Knox College, William Caven, who did know him well, provided a much more informative account of his mind and its workings: His mind was pre-eminently analytic and critical: few have equalled him in his power of subtle thinking. If the constructive was less apparent than the critical in his mental constitution, it was so mainly because the latter quality was extraordinarily high. Plato, Descartes and Kant were the masters of his science to whom he especially loved to refer: but indeed he called no one his master; and though his position seemed nearer on the whole to that of Kant than to any other, his thinking was independent, and on many points he differed much from the Koenigsberg philosopher. He was the uncompromising antagonist of the materialistic philosophy in all its forms: and whilst thoroughly acquainted with the physico-psychological school from Hartley downwards, and interested in their speculations as setting forth conditions under which mental phenomena appear, he utterly rejected their conception of the origin of these phenomena. Right and wrong were to him fundamental ideas: and though he held that the right (in concrete instances) is so because it is the useful, he distinctly taught that we should observe it because it is the right. (1889, 267)

Caven was forced to admit that he could shed no light on Young's reasons for disavowing the Westminster Confession. Immediately after his death a Young Memorial Fund was established by his students and colleagues; it aimed to raise $10,000, a large sum in those days. Money poured in from all over the world as word of his death

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reached his former pupils. The amount collected allowed those in charge of the fund to engage Canada's foremost sculptor, Hamilton MacCarthy (1847-1939), whose bronze statue of John A. Macdonald stands in Queen's Park, to fashion a marble bust of Young. After a somewhat peripatetic career on campus, this imposing bust is now on permanent display in the Department of Philosophy. With the remaining funds, the committee established the George Paxton Young Memorial Fellowship, which in its early days was sufficient to pay for a year's study in Europe. Several men who held appointments in the department, A.H. Abbott, GJ. Blewett, and T.R. Robinson among them, received their advanced training through its generosity. The current calendar of the School of Graduate Studies now lists it as the George Paxton Young Memorial Prize in Philosophy: 'Income from funds for this award, first established in 1894, will be distributed among those students in graduate programs in Philosophy who have read papers at philosophy conferences during the previous year.' A century after it was set up this fund yields over $500 in prize money each year. In 1894 a group of his former students presented Knox College with a portrait of Young, painted by Professor R.Y. Thompson; it hangs now in the board room of the college.

4

The Battle over Young's Successor

4.1

When the shock caused by George Paxton Young's death had subsided somewhat, the question of his successor took centre stage, and a battle royal erupted. First, the matter of a substitute lecturer for the remainder of the school year had to be settled, however, and the minister of education, George W. Ross, let President Daniel Wilson know that he would not appoint a clergyman to the position. This restriction ruled out the likeliest candidate, a former student of Young. When Wilson announced Ross's policy to a meeting of the University College Council and in answer to a question replied that he considered it 'a trivial matter,' his principal opponent on the council, James Loudon, professor of physics, who had put the question, was incensed and wrote a letter to Ross on 5 March 1889 denouncing the new policy. Loudon's stance is not easy to understand, since it came from the one man on the council who was most interested in modernizing the university and raising it to meet international standards. Nor did he seem to understand that Ross's reason for excluding clergymen was that he wanted to avoid the appearance of favouring one federated or affiliated college over the others. In his letter Loudon warned Ross of 'the evil results that may possibly flow from adopting it [the policy of excluding clergymen] and even from announcing it.' There were, he argued, four objections: (1) it was a change of policy, since Beaven and Young and several other ministers had taught in the university. Having disposed of this historical point, he went on to his principal objections: (2). If it is said that the rule is only intended to apply to the chair of Metaphysics, then I reply that Theology is more closely allied to Metaphysics

The Battle over Young's Successor

139

and Ethics than any other department of University study, except possibly Oriental Languages, and as a consequence the majority of leading Metaphysicians (English and American) are or have been Theologians. It would therefore be most unwise, if the object is to get the best man for the chair, to exclude clergymen. (3). So far as our Affiliated Theological Colleges [Knox and Wycliffe] and the public generally are concerned they are more likely to be satisfied as to the orthodoxy of a Professor if he is, or has been, a clergyman. Finally [4] the announcement made yesterday that no clergyman need apply is calculated to bring a train of disasters on the University. Not only will our enemies (and some of them are skilful) use it as a weapon of attack against us, but what is infinitely worse, it may be the means in the hands of the Anti-Federationists of giving a death blow to Confederation. (UTAJL, 13 [57])

Loudon wrote as if he did not know what he manifestly did know, that the rubric 'Metaphysics' included psychology and that important experimental work was being done in Germany and elsewhere in psychology. If the University of Toronto was to be up to date, that new experimental work had to be introduced as soon as possible. To insist on the 'orthodoxy' of candidates as an important consideration in filling the post seemed to cast experimental psychology aside as unimportant. To his credit, President Wilson saw matters differently, although he, too, must have wondered whether federation would come unstuck as a consequence. As we will see, Loudon's ambivalence about experimental psychology led him to advance nearly absurd arguments against the appointment of James Mark Baldwin. Wilson thought Loudon's lapses were due to his 'nativist' beliefs. Whatever the truth of that may be, his protest did not persuade Ross to change his policy, because in the course of winnowing down the list of applicants for Young's position men of the cloth seem to have been struck off en bloc. Perhaps as a consequence of the fuss stirred up by Loudon, Wilson played it safe and appointed three recent graduates to lecture in Young's courses for the remainder of the academic year. In addition to the fellow already in place, John MacDonald Duncan (1886), they were Donald MacKay (1885) who had been awarded the silver medal in metaphysics and ethics and Henry Esson Alexander Reid (1887). None of these men went on to do further work in philosophy. In order to understand Wilson's charge that Loudon was a nativist, some political background is required. During the 1870s and 1880s there had emerged in Ontario a nativist party, a group of mostly young men who wanted their fellow citizens and the world at large to know

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that they were very proud of their Canadian heritage. This movement grew out of a meeting held in Toronto in 1868 of men dissatisfied with the prevailing political climate. The organization they formed at that meeting grew during the next few years into the Canada First Party. By the middle of the following decade it had attracted enough members to make it a viable political force. Although organized under the banner of nationalism, members of this group were ready to tolerate loose ties to Britain, but they no longer looked to the old country for guidance. Nor did they take kindly to influence from the United States. What they most wanted from the world was the recognition of Canada as its own master. By the end of the 1870s the Canada First Party itself was a spent force, but the movement it had crystallized still had the loyalty of many young men, most of whom found a political base in the Liberal Party. 4.2

Among the most influential members of the nativist party were graduates of the University of Toronto, including a number of its faculty members. Both the chancellor of the university, Edward Blake, and the vice-chancellor, William Mulock, had strong ties with the nativists, but the group's most outspoken advocate on campus was James Loudon, who had been appointed professor of physics in 1875 and who was destined to succeed Sir Daniel Wilson as president of the newly restructured University of Toronto in 1892. In 1873 the Liberal government had enacted legislation changing the composition of the Senate of the university, then its ultimate governing body. By this act the graduates of the university, in convocation, were entitled to elect fifteen members to the Senate. It happened that nearly all of these new members had nativist sympathies, with the consequence that those who had composed the majority in the Senate ever since its first meeting in 1853 and grown comfortable in their roles suddenly found themselves in the minority. The 'new guard' (these designators are used for convenience only), led by Loudon and other nativists, were now in the position to reform the curriculum; the 'old guard,' led by President Wilson, could do nothing to stop them. It should be emphasized that Wilson was not opposed to reform, but his position as president and his dislike of Loudon at times forced him into taking positions that he would not have embraced on his own. As we will see, his views on the introduction of the new experimental psychology were considerably more enlightened than Loudon's. In 1874 Loudon's motion 'that in the department of Natural Sciences a

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practical acquaintance with the subjects shall be required and form part of the examination' was passed by the Senate. A year earlier the School of Practical Science had opened; originally a night school for artisans, it developed into the Faculty of Applied Science in 1900. Experimental science was now a permanent part of the university's work. Before 1874 science had been taught from textbooks only. Any experimentation - and Henry Croft did some in chemistry - was done on an informal basis outside classes, and laboratory work done by students whom professors permitted to use their apparatus was not formally examined. In 1907 Loudon, recalling the early 1870s, remarked: The duty of a Science professor began and ended in the lecture room' (1907, 43). Members of the new guard were motivated by what they saw going on in Germany and, despite their anti-American sentiments, at the top United States universities, especially Johns Hopkins and Harvard, both of which had adopted the German way of teaching science. Loudon and friends were determined to turn the eyes of the academic world on the University of Toronto, and hence on Canada, by developing a very strong science program. With considerable justice they charged the old guard with defending an outdated conception of the purpose of a university education. It was quite common in those days for professors in both the arts and the sciences to contend that the role of the university was to turn out gentlemen, a purpose best achieved by having students spend most of their time in studying the intricacies of the Greek and Latin languages. Dissecting frogs or decomposing a chemical compound into its elements were thought too vulgar to command the attention of a gentleman. It was a curious conception, given that just such experimentation had been done by bona fide aristocrats, but these cases were brushed aside as being exhibitions of eccentricity in which some gentlemen would indulge. The study of the ancient languages, on the other hand, improved the memory, cultivated the imagination, and led to the development of a good prose style, all important assets for a gentleman who might, in the course of his life, turn his mind to theological or philosophical speculation, neither of which required any special collection of facts. In addition to the political intrigues, the dispute between the two sides was rooted in a disagreement about the nature of science. Was it a source of new knowledge or was it merely a useful method for discovering facts that fleshed out an accepted view of the world? London's party believed that science yielded important knowledge about the world. They cited Darwin's work; he had made an extremely important discovery about biological species by patiently observing nature and reflecting

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upon what he saw. His results showed that the accepted view of species, derived from Genesis and the Aristotelian philosophy, as being immutably fixed - what Arthur Lovejoy later called 'the great chain of being' was no longer defensible. Since Paley's exposition of the argument from design tacitly presupposed the fixity of species, it was also swept away by Darwin's broom. Moreover, since the fixity of species was a vital part of the old cosmology, it seemed very likely that the whole Judeo-Christian cosmology would suffer a similar fate as science progressed. The old guard viewed this assault on their citadel with great dismay, and they sought to persuade their students that science was merely a method for discovering new facts about the world and nothing more. These new facts would, they strongly believed - or, perhaps, only fervently hoped - after some patient tinkering, find their proper place in the cosmology they had been taught in their youth. This head-in-the-sand reaction is nicely illustrated by Professor Beaven, who simply dismissed Darwin's theory out of hand and went on teaching Paley's argument from design. The adaptation of living things to their environments, which Darwin claimed was in every case the result of a long development with much wastage along the way, was to Beaven's mind more elegantly explained as the work of a Designer incapable of making mistakes. On no account was Beaven prepared to substitute for the tidiness of the Christian world view the messy Darwinian picture of the natural world as ruled by tooth and claw. His students, most of whom accepted Darwin, revolted, and they petitioned the government to dismiss him for incompetence. It must have been a very bitter pill for a man who a quarter-century earlier had arrived from England ready and eager to expound the accepted view of the world as taught at Oxford University. Beaven's successor, George Paxton Young, took care to distance himself from Beaven's world view. Both of Paley's books were dropped from the required reading list, and Young seems never to have lectured on natural theology in University College. After his study of science and philosophy led him to doubt enough of Calvinist doctrine that he could not in good conscience any longer subscribe to the Westminster Confession, he seems to have avoided all mention of his religious beliefs in his lectures. In one of the many memorials by his students an occasion when he lapsed was recalled: 'I recollect a perplexed and distressed Divinity student breaking in upon a lecture to suggest that such and such a line of reasoning would lead at the last to atheism. Young pushed his spectacles up on that majestic dome of a forehead, looked at him in silence for a moment, then stood to his full height while his chest swelled out, and with

The Battle over Young's Successor 143

extended hand and closed eyes he gave this confession of faith: - "I believe in God, the Father Almighty, the Maker of Heaven and Earth." Slowly the hand dropped, the spectacles were replaced, and he turned to the blackboard, perhaps not wotting that in the instant he had for one at least formulated a creed. Though without doubt a profoundly religious man, I know of no other occasion upon which he made reference to his beliefs' (Blake 1901,64-5). This creed established that Young was a theist, but it revealed nothing else about his religious beliefs. His rejection of traditional Christian doctrine may have been rather extensive, for aught we know to the contrary. Metaphysics and ethics, as he taught them, had no particular Christian content. Young appears to have avoided discussing the theory of evolution in his classes until very late in his career. Then he had this to say about it: I have not a single word to say against the theory of evolution, if it is restricted to its proper limits. There is strong evidence that higher organisms have grown up slowly from lower organisms. These statements of scientific men are entitled to consideration. I think they are worthy of acceptance though the Scientists themselves hesitate to claim the theory as absolutely established. But I am willing to regard it as though it were established. At the same time however I refuse most decidedly to admit that the earliest dawn of consciousness may have arisen from the non-conscious elements. Such a theory it seems to me is itself not in accordance with the theory of evolution but a distinct negation of it. And because I am favourably disposed to the theory of evolution I reject this account of the rise of consciousness. I also reject it for other reasons, but the evolutionist should not complain because really I am standing by his theory. And if I accepted this account I would be rejecting evolution. For what is peculiar to the evolutionary theory? This, that it asserts that no changes take place 'per salturri [by a leap] in the organic world. Continuity is the great central principle of Evolution. The organism grows up by degrees. Now if the law of continuity hold, selfconsciousness cannot possibly be a result of a development from unthinking matter. Because at a certain point there would be no consciousness, then suddenly there would arise consciousness. This would be a leap from the unconscious to the conscious. It would be an absolutely new thing. But not a new phenomenon, because consciousness itself is not a phenomenon. It is something above phenomena. To grant that self-consciousness so sprang up would be contrary to evolutionary principles. It is furthermore absurd on other grounds of a deeper character.

144 The Main Stream Material forms whether organic or inorganic can have no possible existence - at any time whatsoever - except in relation to and dependence upon self-consciousness - as Kant has demonstrated. (Young 1911, 75-6)

These remarks, given here in their entirety, are from undated lecture notes translated from Young's shorthand by James Gibson Hume and published more than a score of years after their author's death. According to Hume they were composed for a lecture in his ethics course to prepare the class for a discussion of Section 98 of T.H. Green's Prolegomena to Ethics (1883), which he had begun to use as a textbook in 1885-6.l Despite diligent search, I found no evidence that Young had discussed the theory of evolution in any public way before this time, although he probably had answered his students' questions concerning it when they arose. If he had failed to respond when asked about it, surely someone would have mentioned it in their reminiscences. 4.3

For some years before Young's death, the nativists had been insisting that all vacancies in the teaching staff be filled by Canadians, but even this restriction did not satisfy some of the more vocal among them who wanted only local talent. When the chair of English literature was filled on 2 February 1889 by the appointment of W.J. Alexander, a native-born Canadian teaching at Dalhousie University, an immediate outcry arose from those who thought the appointment should have gone to a Toronto graduate. In the eyes of his detractors Alexander had committed the unforgivable sin of studying for only one year at Toronto before going off to the University of London. The Varsity expressed its disapproval of this turn of events: 'Last fall it was announced that a Professor was to be appointed in English. A great shout was raised of "Canada for Canadians." Dr. Alexander, a Canadian teaching at Dalhousie University, was appointed and immediately the whine arose of "Toronto for Torontonians"' (30 March 1889, 156). Although this comment was pub-

1 It is not easy to understand the connection Young discerned between the theory of evolution and the subject of Green's Section 98, which is concerned with the relative weights to be accorded to Esau's circumstances and to his character in assessing his motivation at the moment he decides to sell his birthright for a mess of pottage. Perhaps Hume got the reference wrong.

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lished after Young's death, it concerned Alexander's appointment, not the forthcoming one in philosophy; it would not be long, however, before a similar cry arose about the philosophy position. Indeed, it was during the month in which Young died that the furore over the appointment in English was at its highest pitch. Sir Daniel Wilson, then president of University College (there was no president of the University of Toronto), with no powers of appointment, was made the focus of the nativists' anger. Wilson, like Young, a Scotsman who had spent most of his adult life in Toronto, was suspected by the nativists of favouring either Englishmen or Scotsmen for every professorship. An anonymous letter, signed 'Torontonensis,' was published in the Mail a week after the Alexander appointment was made public, accusing Wilson of opposing the appointment of Canadians. Among the charges made was that he had nearly scuttled the appointment of Young himself in 1871. After alleging a recent case in which a pass candidate from Oxford was appointed over an honoursman from Toronto, the writer remarked: 'But, to go further back, it is the same policy and the same opposition which at an earlier date almost lost to the University the services of the present professor of mental and moral science - practically a Canadian - and a man whose praises I do not need to sound. It should be generally known that Professor Young at the time of his appointment barely escaped being sacrificed in favour of the claims of some Scotch nobody' (Mail, 9 Feb. 1889, 7). On 11 February the newspaper printed replies from both Young and Wilson. In his letter, the last thing he wrote for publication, Young cleared his old friend of this scurrilous charge: It was with pain that I read in this morning's Mail the letter of 'Torontonensis' regarding the recent appointment to the chair of English Literature. The part of the letter with which I am directly concerned has reference to the course Dr. Wilson pursued when I was a candidate for the chair of Metaphysics and Ethics. What 'Torontonensis' says is fitted to convey the impression that Dr. Wilson was opposed to my appointment, and would have preferred a man from one of the British universities. So far as I am aware, the only foundation for this is that when I asked Dr. Wilson for a testimonial he gave me one, but frankly added that, on general principles, he was in favour of advertising the vacancy, and then selecting the best candidate who might offer himself. I was naturally pleased that Mr. John Sandfield Macdonald, then at the head of the Provincial Government, did not take that view; but the unbroken friendship of more than thirty years'

146 The Main Stream standing which has existed between Dr. Wilson and myself is the best proof that I felt that I had no cause for being offended at his position. I have myself on more than one occasion said to gentlemen who desired my influence for appointments to positions on the University staff, that, if I were the Minister of Education, I should consider it my duty to select the best man I could get to fill a vacancy, giving, however, a preference to Canadians where other things were equal, or nearly so. (5)

Young's views on appointments were conveniently forgotten by the nativist party in the battle over his successor. Wilson in his letter took Torontonensis sharply to task for not signing his own name to so serious a charge, but he replied to it anyway. He noted that, of the four professors and six lecturers appointed during his presidency of University College, seven were Toronto graduates and only one was not a Canadian. By way of clarification, he noted that Young's appointment was made eight years before he assumed the office of president, so he was not in a position to scuttle it even had he wished to do so. On St Valentine's Day Wilson's anonymous critic brushed aside Young's own assurances and charged that Wilson did oppose his appointment and 'Torontonensis No. 2' echoed the charge. Neither man seemed capable of seeing what Young had made clear in his letter, namely, that Wilson favoured a policy of advertising every vacant position, but was still willing to write testimonials for candidates regardless of whether the position was advertised or not. In his reply to both of his anonymous critics published the next day, Wilson had this to say about the charge that he opposed Young's appointment: 'As to Professor Young's appointment, I am asked to give the name of the "Scotch nobody" whom I preferred to him. As I never heard of this imaginary rival to Professor Young till his appearance in the letter of "Torontonensis," nor, indeed, offered the slightest opposition to his appointment to the chair he so ably fills, compliance is here impossible.' After replying to all of their charges in detail, Wilson concluded: 'I have stated sufficient to show the rash and unscrupulous manner in which anonymous assailants can take advantage of their incognito; and aim at transforming the surmises and suspicions of disappointed candidates into facts' (Mail, 14 Feb. 1889, 5). Clearly, he had a point. The practice among Toronto newspapers of publishing letters without disclosing the names of the writers allowed the unscrupulous to libel people like Wilson, whose replies had of necessity to be published under their own names. This exchange of letters continued to 20 February, the

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day of Young's stroke, and then resumed afterward, as the above quotation from the Varsity indicates. But the editors of the Mail announced in their issue of 22 February that they would publish no more letters on the question of university chairs; the discussion, they wrote, 'has, in our opinion, gone far enough, and no benefit can result to the university or its friends by its continuance' (5). In March, after Young's death had opened another chair, the editors published several more letters on the topic, but they also came to Wilson's defence in an editorial on 25 March 1889 in which they deplored the ferocity of the attacks upon him by his anonymous critics. After a spirited defence of both the man and his actions, the editors concluded with these words: Those who are attacking Sir Daniel should remember that the Government claims uncontrolled power in the matter of university patronage, and so long as it does so, it alone should bear whatever blame attaches to the exercise of that patronage. Our correspondents, moreover, should remember that they are attacking from ambush a man who is not at liberty to defend himself, and, above all, that they are doing so in a manner not calculated to impress onlookers with a sense of the justice of their cause' (4). 4.4

How Torontonensis and others came to see Wilson as their enemy is mysterious. As far as I have been able to determine, Wilson's aim in appointments was always to improve, if at all possible, the quality of the faculty. For junior positions, which were reviewed every year, he was willing to take a chance on a candidate, but when it came to appointing chairs, whose tenure was permanent, he wanted to be sure of his man, so he preferred candidates with a proven record in teaching and research to younger ones of promise only. He was seriously hampered by the fact that he had no real powers of appointment; university positions were considered political patronage, and appointments were normally made by the minister of education, although the premier, acting on the advice of his cabinet, had final responsibility. Wilson was usually asked to make recommendations to the minister, and his recommendations were usually, but not always, followed. Others, including the chancellor and the vice-chancellor, were at times consulted by the minister, and their advice could tip the scales away from Wilson's candidate. In 1904 an amendment to the University Act required a nomination from the president before an appointment to the faculty was made, but even though this was the law of the land the minister sometimes appointed faculty without the

148 The Main Stream

president's knowledge. Loudon complained that during his presidency he once learned of a faculty appointment from the newspapers (Langton 1927, 18). This untidy state of affairs persisted until the University Act was amended in 1906. The 1906 act gave the power of appointment to the president, abolished the office of vice-chancellor, and restricted the functions of the chancellor to the largely ceremonial. In addition, it limited the powers of the Senate by creating the Board of Governors and giving it final authority in the affairs of the University of Toronto. When Young died, the Liberals were in power. Besides Oliver Mowat, who was premier and attorney general, the cabinet included A.M. Ross (treasurer), George W. Ross (education), A.S. Hardy (Crown lands), C.F. Fraser (public works), Charles Drury (agriculture), and John M. Gibson (provincial secretary). The premier decided that the appointment of Young's successor was of such importance that the whole cabinet would collectively advise him on the decision. Since none of them was at all expert in metaphysics and ethics, the decision would in the end be political. Gibson was an outspoken nativist, who happened also to be at the time a member of the university Senate, elected by the graduates; thus, he served as a conduit for the views of the new guard. The education minister was also very strongly in favour of appointing only Canadians to academic posts, although he did not go so far as the more extreme nativists and insist upon Toronto graduates for Toronto positions. Given his portfolio, his advice in cabinet would be carefully weighed by the premier. In contrast to its procedure in the case of the English professorship, which was not advertised outside Canada, the cabinet decided to advertise the chair in metaphysics and ethics internationally; notices were published in both England and the United States, as well as in Canada. The advertisements appeared in early June, and 15 August was given as the final date for submission of applications. Since the new professor was to begin teaching in early October, this late deadline did not leave much time for a decision and the subsequent appointment process. As the deadline approached, Ross had received twenty-two responses; some were enquiries and some were complete applications. James Sully, the British idealistic psychologist whose textbook Young had adopted, wrote to express an interest in the job, but he never submitted an application. He was the most prominent person to show an interest. As was to be expected, a number of the applicants were clergymen, but as we saw above, the cabinet had already decided to exclude clergymen from consideration. When Wilson saw the completed applications around 10 August, none of them seemed very promising, but there were two more to come, both submitted on the next to last day.

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The more extreme nativists saw their chance when Young died. Coupled with their demand that a Canadian be appointed to replace him was their insistence that his successor must be committed to teaching Young's philosophy; in effect, they were saying that the only acceptable candidate was a Toronto graduate who had adopted Young's philosophical views as his own - in short, a Young clone. That there was such a man was widely believed. He was James Gibson Hume, who had received his B.A. in 1887 and had left, at Young's urging and with his blessing, for graduate studies in the United States. Hume became the candidate of the nativists long before he applied for the position. Whether this focus of interest on him made Hume reluctant to apply for the post or whether he was simply dilatory, he put off applying until nearly the last possible minute. In the fashion common in Great Britain in the nineteenth century, he paid a printer to produce a brochure, which included his letter of application and what appear to be edited versions of his referees' letters. The British way was for referees to send their letters to the candidate, who then presented them to the appointing authority in the fashion described; this practice allowed for excerpting the letters. In the case of one of his referees, William James, Hume chose not to print his letter, probably because it compared his credentials with those of another and recommended the other applicant as the 'safest' choice. There was no way to excerpt the favourable bits without mentioning his competitor for the job. The Ontario Archives preserved the two letters that William James wrote to the minister. (There were two, because the first, written from London, was temporarily lost, so Hume asked James for another.) Since James was also a referee for George Howison, another candidate for the position, he offered a comparison of their credentials. In his letter of 26 July 1889, James had this to say in support of Hume: 'Mr. Hume is, of course, more of an unknown quantity. He is one of the three most promising students of philosophy whom I have had in fifteen years experience at Harvard College, and I hope and expect a brilliant future for him, especially in the way of writing. Of his other qualities and attributes you can judge from nearer witnesses than F (AO, MS 2633). His second letter was written on 17 September from Cambridge. When discussing Howison's qualifications, he mentioned that 'his philosophical tendencies (like Hume's) are in the line of those of the late Professor Young.' After repeating his judgment that Hume was one of his best three students in his (now eighteen) years at Harvard, he went on: 'He also writes admirably. I have no personal knowledge of his teaching ability. His character so far as known to me is excellent, and he has a human quality which How-

150 The Main Stream

ison lacks. Howison would undoubtedly be the safest appointment to make now. Whether he or Hume would be the better man five or six years hence, I confess I find hard to guess. Hume is a somewhat unknown quantity with in some respects better potentialities than Howison, though at present in a much more crude condition. Were I responsible for the appointment and had to make it off hand, I should (I suppose) put in Howison' (AO, MS 2638). These letters probably did Hume's cause very little good. The other late applicant was James Mark Baldwin, at the time a professor of philosophy at Lake Forest University in Illinois, a small Presbyterian school specializing in the education of ministers and missionaries. (He had let Ross know on 12 June 1889 that he intended to apply; he would submit his application when his testimonials were in hand.) It was his connections with the Presbyterian Church that led him to apply for the job. Young, it will be recalled, was a Presbyterian minister and during the period when he taught at the University of Toronto both Knox College, which trained Presbyterian clergy, and Wycliffe College, which was founded in 1877 to train low-church Anglican ministers, were affiliated with the University of Toronto. Affiliation meant that while these colleges were not subject to the governance of the university in any way, their students were allowed to attend university courses. Both colleges required all of their ministerial students to take metaphysics from Young. They had been pleased with his courses and they wished to see another Presbyterian appointed to the position. Principal William Caven (1830-1904) of Knox put their position to Ross on 2 July: T cannot speak with any certainty; but in any case this matter of philosophical position and tendency is of the utmost consequence from moral and theological standpoints, and I would respectfully advise that in appointing to the Chair it should be regarded as of the utmost importance' (AO, MS 2628). The principals knew, of course, that Hume was a Presbyterian, but they judged him too green for such an important and influential position. Principal James Paterson Sheraton (1841-1906) of Wycliffe College, with Caven's concurrence, informed the minister of education on 24 August that their fear regarding Hume was that 'in the Professor's Chair he would merely give forth a weakened echo of Dr. Young's teaching' (AO, MS 2628). They sought a stronger candidate, so they turned to their contacts in the United States. Those they consulted strongly recommended Baldwin, who seemed an excellent fit for Toronto's requirements. Princeton University, from which Baldwin had earned his doctorate, had strong ties with the Presbyterian Church, and Baldwin

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himself had completed its theological course but had chosen not to collect his degree, since he had given up his earlier ambition of joining the clergy. To the minds of the principals, Baldwin appeared to be an ideal candidate. Accordingly, they urged their American contacts to persuade Baldwin to apply. While his father-in-law, William Henry Green, a Presbyterian minister who was also president of Princeton Seminary, collected testimonials in his favour, Baldwin mulled over the question of whether to apply, finally opting, like Hume, to put in his completed application at nearly the last possible moment. Several of the other candidates were eliminated because they were regarded as too old. President Burwash of Victoria College, since 1887 formally federated with the university, urged the minister on 12 September to consider only the younger candidates: 'Of the Americans several appear to be men who are past or just passing their prime. It is on the whole better not to take such a man. The age of each candidate would be with me an important consideration. Between thirty and forty is I think the best age for such appointment. A graduate of eight or ten years standing who has spent at least three years in post-graduate course and had a few years experience as a teacher would be, natural gifts being equal, the most desirable' (AO, MS 2628). For various other reasons the rest of the candidates were eliminated: some because they were clergymen, some because they never made formal application, and the remainder because, unlike Baldwin and Hume, they had no friends in Toronto to lobby members of the cabinet in their behalf. It remained for the cabinet to await President Wilson's judgment of the relative worth of the two leading candidates. Wilson had no difficulty in deciding that Baldwin was the stronger candidate; he had both teaching experience and publications. As part of his application, he had sent along an advance copy of the first volume of his Handbook of Psychology, whose preface was dated July 1889; Wilson was very favourably impressed by the book. In sharp contrast to Loudon, he was anxious for the university to begin teaching the new psychology as soon as possible and Baldwin seemed the man to do it. Hume, Wilson admitted, had strong letters of support that indicated considerable promise, but there had been no time since his bachelor's degree to realize that promise. To put such a raw, untried youth in such an important position would be folly. Wilson was not impressed with the argument that Young's successor must be a Young clone. Such a requirement seemed to him to require that the new professor not be his own man. Baldwin, Wilson concluded, would immediately strengthen the faculty; Hume might do so in the long run, but at

152 The Main Stream

the moment there was no assurance that he would. For these reasons he recommended to Ross that Baldwin be appointed.

4.5 While Wilson was making up his mind, others were busy making a case for their favourite candidate. Hume's partisans were far more numerous, and they had access to the daily newspapers of a nativist bent. The Toronto World, in particular, took an almost obsessive interest in the appointment. In its columns Baldwin could do no good and Hume could do no wrong; it damned those who supported Baldwin and lavished praise upon those who came out for Hume. Much of what was said and written was mere propaganda with very little substance. One man, however, undertook to present the Senate and the cabinet with what he claimed was a fair and thorough assessment of both candidates. From the surviving documents one gathers that Professor Loudon made oral presentations before both bodies. What has come down to us is the set of notes he prepared as reminders of what he wanted to say. His brief was designed to tip the balance in favour of Hume. At its start he extolled Hume's qualifications for the position. His preparation in philosophy, classical studies, and English literature is described and praised. Loudon had no doubt about Hume's teaching ability: 'Mr. Hume's testimonials go to show that he was a very successful teacher before he entered the university. Since then he has proved that he possesses the additional qualifications required for a Professorship - viz. - a clear English style of composition, fair oratorical powers, a thorough mastery of and unbounded enthusiasm for his subject' (AO, MS 2638, 4). In addition, he quoted Stanley Hall as having said that Hume had 'a fair theoretical knowledge of Experimental Psychology.' Loudon claimed to have weighed the objections that had been made to Hume's appointment, although he did not list them, and to have concluded 'that here is a case where, as in the case of the late Professor, the place should seek the man, and not the man the place' (5). Presumably this meant that Hume's friends should secure the job for him. Having made the positive case for Hume, Loudon turned his attention to a comparison of the relative fitness of Hume and Baldwin for Young's chair. Discussing their letters of reference, he claimed that Hume's were from 'leaders in philosophy,' whereas Baldwin's were 'generally from friends and men who are not metaphysicians' (AO, MS 2638, 6), despite the fact that George Trumbull Ladd, then professor of philosophy at Yale University, and James McCosh and Alexander Ormond, both professors

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of philosophy at Princeton, wrote in support of him. All these men were as well known as any of Hume's referees, with the possible exception of William James, who at that time had published some papers in psychology but nothing in philosophy. Hume's letters were of 'a highly favourable character'; 'Baldwin's published testimonials are on the whole weak, as every unbiassed person must admit' (6). Unfortunately, Baldwin's published testimonials have not survived, so there is no way of assessing Loudon's judgment. Only the reputations of the letter writers seemed to matter to Loudon. In his discussion of 'teachers and courses of study' (6) the same emphasis prevailed. Since Hume's referees belonged to the 'best schools,' that is, to Johns Hopkins and Harvard, their opinions were to be given greater weight than those written by Baldwin's teachers, because 'the Princeton school [is] all weak in metaphysics' (6). Loudon's mode of argument reflected his belief that the two most advanced schools in the United States were Harvard and Johns Hopkins, where Hume's referees taught; Princeton, in his opinion, was definitely secondrate or perhaps even third-rate. On the question of teaching the new psychology, Loudon tried to make the case that Hume was as well-qualified as Baldwin. Hume, however, had not had any laboratory training, since the psychology laboratory at Johns Hopkins was shut during his year there and Harvard had not yet opened a laboratory. By contrast, Baldwin had spent a year in Germany, and he had visited and worked in several of the laboratories in operation there, but Loudon was not impressed that his training was superior to Hume's, claiming that one year of Wundt's teaching was not equivalent to two years under Stanley Hall and James. Finally, he brushed the question aside altogether by claiming that 'Practical Psychology is not, however, required here now; when it is, Hume is able to take it up, as well as Baldwin' (AO, MS 2638, 6). For a physicist whose main aim had been to make the University of Toronto a top scientific school, this is a surprising statement. Wilson interpreted it as showing Loudon so beholden to nativism that his judgment was impaired. Loudon then proceeded to compare the two candidates with respect to their 'Scholarship (philosophical): Hume's judged of by opinions of Young, Stanley Hall, and Harvard Professors already referred to, and also by his competitive examinations at Baltimore and Harvard. There is no such evidence with regard to Baldwin's scholarship' (AO, MS 2638, 7). This dismissal, quoted in its entirety, is nothing short of scandalous, given that Baldwin had submitted a published book and several other published works as proof of his scholarship. How could Loudon, with a

154 The Main Stream

straight face, have made this outrageous claim before the Senate and the cabinet? The fact that he did make it is proof positive of just how politicized the appointment had become. With regard to academic work outside philosophy, his comparison was equally one-sided. For example, Baldwin's work in classical languages was judged as 'not superior - very likely inferior' (7). Why? Because 'the courses at Toronto are superior to those at Princeton' (7). He grudgingly admitted that Baldwin knew German (he had no other choice, since Baldwin had taught German, as well as French, at Princeton), 'but Hume has sufficient knowledge of French and German languages for all practical purposes' (7). Turning to their writings, of which Hume at the time had none, Loudon invented this way of dismissing Baldwin's publications: 'Hume's essays written during the last two years have been subjected to the severest criticism on the part of the leading authorities in the subjects treated of, and were adjudged the highest possible ranking. The only satisfactory way to institute a comparison in this case would be to submit Professor Baldwin's articles and his Psychology to the same judges for their opinions as to their relative value' (AO, MS 2638, 8). This silly suggestion was followed by the phrase, 'Logic's criticism in meantime' (8). This cryptic remark referred to Thomas M. Logic (B.A. 1887), a student of Young, who had held the fellowship under his old teacher in 1887-8. Logic was both a friend of Hume and a nativist. Loudon asked him to read Baldwin's book from a Young point of view, with an eye to exposing its defects. Perhaps it is needless to report that Logic found no merit in Baldwin's book. One sample of his criticisms will suffice to convey the tenor of the whole: 'Compared with several recent English Handbooks there is conspicuous lack of lucidity of exposition and statement of details. Statements of fact and problems quite clear elsewhere are inexcusably confused and obscure here. Frequently there is a meagreness, a scrappiness, a lack of lucid arrangement in details, that render the statements almost "valueless" and often, I am convinced, nearly, if not quite, unintelligible to a beginner for whom Handbooks are intended' (AO, MS 2638, n.p.). Logic's final point was to claim that Baldwin was not a philosopher: 'Professor Baldwin's work has been almost entirely psychological and much apparently physiological. Throughout his writings, especially in his Handbook, there are indications of fundamental misconceptions of the purpose and method of Philosophy and misunderstandings of important philosophical theories' (n.p.). Logic's use of the words 'misconceptions' and 'misunderstandings' were intended to dismiss Baldwin on the ground that he did not understand Young's philosophy.

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On the candidates as teachers, Loudon had to admit something of a draw. 'Hume has satisfied the highest test of a teacher, having taught successfully in elementary classes. He has also given special attention to Pedagogics under Stanley Hall. As to the further qualifications requisite for a lecturer there is abundant evidence that he possesses them in a high degree, for he is a clear writer, a good speaker, has an enthusiasm for his work, and above all knows his subject thoroughly' (AO, MS 2638, 9). Loudon altered 'an accomplished writer' to 'a clear' one (9); perhaps he suffered from an attack of conscience in reading over what he had written. Another of Baldwin's referees was brushed aside by Loudon in his discussion of Baldwin's teaching experience: 'Baldwin's qualifications also appear to be good, but not superior. In placing a value on the testimonial of President Roberts, it should be borne in mind that Lake Forest University is not a University of high standing like Toronto, and that the Metaphysical classes there are small, and the course not a wide one (about one-sixth of the Toronto course)' (9). Loudon must have been shocked when Baldwin arrived and, as we will see, proved himself to be a superb teacher. Finally, on the crucial point, regarding which of the candidates was most likely to carry on teaching Young's philosophy, Loudon and his associates thought there was no contest: 'Hume will continue the teaching of Young with the additional advantage of possessing a good knowledge of Psychology, should it be desirable to add that subject to the course. Young's matured views were in harmony with those of the ablest Philosophers living - in Scotland, England, Germany and France - and in the opinion of those best able to judge, his philosophical system is the best basis for reconciling the conflicts of Religion and Science and for conserving the best interests of the former. Young's system is now thoroughly established here and to replace it by another and weaker one would be disastrous to the interests of the University' (AO, MS 2638, 10). Of course he does not bother to say in what the disaster would consist: 'With regard to Baldwin's philosophical standpoint, I have heard most diverse accounts; but the written evidence points to his being of the School of McCosh, whose pupil he was and whose books he recommends. This school is held in extremely low estimation here; it was ridiculed by Young, is now condemned by our Metaphysical graduates, and I have yet to meet with any one here who is prepared to defend it. The appointment of a disciple of the Princeton school would in my estimation be extremely unpopular here, and would drive men away to other Universities, where they could get something like Young's views pre-

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sented to them' (10). A former student of Young, Herbert E. Irwin, in a letter to the Mail on 10 October, also argued that Baldwin was a follower of McCosh, and he went on to cite the way in which Young had dismissed McCosh: This is the heritage, grander than the millions that endowed, which Professor Young left to his beloved college, and now before a new academical year has well begun it is said to be seriously questioned whether this greatest legacy that the genius of a great man could leave shall be cast aside. And for what? To give place to the so-called school of Dr. McCosh, a school never recognized outside the walls of Princeton as making a serious attempt at philosophy; a system that could never fit a minister of the Gospel or any reasoning man to meet the arguments of an opponent who did not accept its absurd first principles; a system that begins and ends in a maze of materialism from which it affords no escape. By a strange coincidence, as I here call to mind, Professor Young one day concluded a brief reference to one of Dr. McCosh's arguments by this pleasantry, spoken with his genial good-heartedness: - 'Such an opinion, gentlemen, would never be expressed outside Princeton or a lunatic asylum.' (6)

Loudon must have had this quip in mind when he claimed that Young had ridiculed McCosh's position. Loudon's brief was contested, point by point, and not greatly to his advantage, by the principals of Knox and Wycliffe Colleges. About the letters of reference, in addition to supplying the cabinet with information about the eminence of Baldwin's referees, they made the point that 'Baldwin's testimonials are all given in connection with the present application and in attestation of his fitness for the Chair in the University of Toronto,' whereas Hume's attested to his 'good work as a student, and at the most in one or two cases anticipate success for him as a teacher, but have no reference to the present application' (AO, MS 2637, 2-3). With respect to their 'teachers and courses of study,' Caven and Sheraton sharply disagreed with London's comparison of the American professors, but they made the further point that in Europe Baldwin had been exposed to the teaching of Wilhelm Wundt and Christoph Sigwart, 'who have world-wide reputations' (5). With respect to philosophical scholarship, they made the obvious point: London's 'statement that there is no such evidence with regard to Baldwin's scholarship as there is for Hume's, simply overlooks the testimonials to which we have called attention, and the well-established rep-

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utation of Baldwin as a writer and teacher' (AO, MS 2637, 6). On the question of the candidates' contributions to general scholarship, they disputed Loudon's claim about Baldwin's knowledge of the classics - he 'was in the first class in Classics in a very remarkable year' (7) at Princeton - and they emphasized his command of both French and German. Hume, by contrast, 'took neither French nor German throughout his course. Those subjects have recently been added to the Mental Science course on account of its deficiencies' (7-8). Baldwin had also studied both physics and theology 'to qualify himself better for his philosophical work' (8), and he had been chosen valedictorian of his class 'on account of his scholarship and gifts of oratory' (8). Their comparison of the writings of the two candidates was brief: Hume had none and Baldwin many. 'Professor Baldwin has already achieved a reputation as a philosophical writer' (AO, MS 2637, 9). His book, which they had received a few days earlier, was, so far as they had been able to judge, 'able and scholarly, and not deserving of the adverse criticism put in by Professor Loudon' (10). As for teaching ability, Baldwin had been successful as a teacher in philosophy courses at both Princeton and Lake Forest: 'In both institutions his success has been very marked. His control of his class and his power of interesting them are abundantly attested. His manner of speaking is easy and fluent, and his method lucid. In Mr. Hume's case, his experience as a teacher has been much more limited and so far as we know has not extended to philosophy at all' (11). Finally, they too addressed the issue of philosophical standpoint: The statement that Baldwin is of the School of McCosh is absolutely baseless. His published writings are marked by independence of thought and show that he is in many important points akin to Lotze. He is thoroughly conversant with the philosophical systems of the Continent and his mind open to truth from all quarters. Like the late Professor Young he is idealistic and opposed to the school of Herbert Spencer. He gives full value to the recent investigations in physiological psychology. In Professor Loudon's reference to the agreement of Professor Young's views with those of the ablest philosophers of Europe, he seems to forget that there is no one system accepted. There is no such consensus in philosophy as he implies, but the utmost diversity prevails. It is preposterous to assume that the continuation of any particular type of philosophy is essential to the welfare of philosophical studies in Toronto. In the German Universities the most diverse systems are taught side by side.

158 The Main Stream We beg to add that we have no desire to exercise theological censorship over this department in the University, whilst we deem it of the utmost importance that the teaching of Mental Science should not antagonize Revelation. We believe that the utmost freedom of philosophical and scientific research compatible with reverence towards Revealed Truth must be permitted. (12)

It surely must be admitted that the principals had the better of the argument. At some point in their deliberations, the cabinet heard the arguments of both Loudon and the principals. In addition, four members of the cabinet, including the premier, met on 24 September with a large contingent of graduates - the next day in an article entitled 'That Big Vacant Chair' the Toronto World listed thirty-six by name - who pushed Hume's candidacy. Their spokesmen were R.E. Kingsford and Professor Galbraith. Kingsford claimed that it was the 'unanimous position of University men' that 'a graduate of Toronto should be preferred' (25 Sept. 1889, 1). 'If the Ministers doubted it,' he went on to stress, 'he could fill any hall in Toronto on a day's notice with Toronto graduates of that opinion' (1). Galbraith accused the theological colleges of wanting a safe candidate instead of the best one. If they had their way, he warned, Toronto would lose students to Queen's, 'where a first-class professor [John Watson] in this study was teaching' (1). Having disposed of this point, he proceeded to extol Hume's qualities and his qualifications for the position, and he assured the ministers that Hume was committed to teaching Young's system of philosophy. Among those in the delegation was Frederick Tracy, who was shortly to join the staff of the department. Ironically, he soon became something of a protege of Baldwin and, many years later, something of an opponent of Hume. On 27 September Hume himself entered the fray. He wrote to William James, enclosing a clipping of the World article, with an urgent request for James to intervene in the dispute: The enclosed clipping gives a good indication of the state of affairs in the University of Toronto. The affiliated Theological Colleges are much opposed to me because I refuse to subscribe to anything but the promise to teach just what I think right, no matter who gets hurt, and I emphatically protest against their claim of 'infallibility.' The younger men among the Clergy and the Graduates are solid in my favor but the heads of the Theological Schools exert a very wide influence and can at the present time almost intimidate the Government.

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Have you seen a copy of Mr. Baldwin's 'Handbook of Psychology'? The young man who assisted Prof. Young in his teaching received a copy to review. He says that the book contains nothing that is not already more clearly stated in the ordinary textbooks and besides gives indication of an inability to discriminate between Psychology & Philosophy in such a way as to leave any place for the latter. I have not read the book being unable as yet to secure a copy. Mr. Baldwin spent one year under Wundt in Germany he then returned to Princeton and took his Ph.D. from that institution. He has for about a year or more been teaching in Lake Forest University. The whole course in Lake Forest comprises 3 months in Logic 3 months in Psychology & 3 months to cover all the ground of Philosophy Ancient & Modern up to the time of Hegel!!! The heads of the Theological Schools, who know nothing about Psychology, represent to the Government who also know nothing about Psychology, that Mr. Baldwin's work is a masterpiece, entitling him to rank as one of the foremost Psychologists!! Can you procure a copy and review it for the use of my supporters. If the book is, what I have good reason to suspect it is, an inferior one, please TELEGRAPH your criticism at once, at my expense to Professor James Loudon, 83 St. George St., Toronto. And also write me as the appointment may be delayed for another week. If I succeed in securing the appointment it is almost certain that I shall be allowed my petition for a year's absence to continue studies in Harvard. Your criticism will not be published but simply made use of for this special purpose. I wish to counteract the influence of the ' Theologicofisychologists.' Very sincerely, J.G. Hume, 10 Maidand St., Toronto. I am given to understand that my little Essay on 'Sensation' has caused the Theologians 'grave fears' - Fortunately I left my Essay on 'Theism' with Prof. Royce, or doubtless every individual hair on their Theological heads would stand upright in horror and alarm!! Strictly 'entre nous.' JGH. (James 1998, 527-9)

As one would expect, James took no action on Hume's request. He placed five exclamation marks in the margin opposite the line asking him to telegraph his review (if negative) to Loudon, and in the margin of the last page he wrote: This and the newspaper clipping make one glad that Harvard College is not a department of the state.' Much of Loudon's argumentation is little better than shameful and, it must be said, did lasting harm to the Philosophy Department, since it succeeded in placing Hume in a position of authority for the next thirtyseven years. As we will see, the fears of Hume's opponents were unfortunately and amply realized during his years as head of the department.

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Three years after Hume's appointment, Loudon himself succeeded Wilson as president of the university. His behaviour during this episode showed clearly that his judgment was flawed. One wonders just how much regret he experienced when during his time as president he had to deal with the reality of Hume instead of with the romantic conception of the man to be found in his brief. There is some evidence that he later felt embarrassment about his opposition to Baldwin. In his 'Memoirs,' written after his retirement but never published, he tried to put quite a different face on his role: 'My objection to Baldwin was that his testimonials did not show that he knew anything about Ethics which was one of the subjects of the Chair. In this I was quite correct, as Baldwin subsequently told me that he did not profess any knowledge of that branch' (90d). This is surely mere face-saving, for nowhere in his brief is this point made or even hinted. Sir Daniel Wilson, it seems, was right, after all, when he remarked that 'the mole' - his private designator for Loudon - had allowed his reason to be dominated by his passions. 4.6

The premier, who would make the final decision, was not averse to appointing Baldwin to the post, even though he was an American. Mowat did not share the fears of those who thought a foreigner would have a deleterious effect on the university. Towards the end of September, Mowat promised Wilson that he would attempt to get the cabinet to agree to Baldwin's appointment, but only three other ministers came to the meeting at which he planned to put the matter, and, as Wilson recorded in his journal, Mowat failed to convince them that Baldwin was the man for the job. The minister of education, George W. Ross, who still favoured Hume's appointment, confessed himself troubled by Hume's youth and untried teaching ability in philosophy. At one point in the deliberations, Ross proposed that the professorship be left vacant and Hume appointed as a lecturer for a trial period to determine whether he was worthy of the chair. When he mentioned this way out to the president, Wilson was appalled: This would prevent Hume from availing himself of the fellowship [at Harvard], bring his post graduate studies abruptly to an end, and place an inexperienced, untried youth in sole charge of this most important department; with the certainty that, whatever he ultimately turns out, the whole influence of the "native" cry could be used and used successfully with a weak Minister, to secure his succession to the chair' (diary entry, 19 Oct. 1889). Time had

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run out. The new academic year was already under way and one of the most important professorships was still vacant. Wilson, according to his journal, decided on a private meeting with the premier, which he was granted. Mowat, he discovered, was ready to accept some sort of compromise; he asked Wilson whether there was some third candidate whom they might appoint, mentioning as a possibility the Canadian, Jacob Gould Schurman, who had recently been appointed to a professorship at Cornell. When Wilson failed to take the bait, Mowat suggested that Wilson see Provincial Secretary Gibson and try to work out a compromise with him. If Gibson could be brought around, Mowat felt sure the others would follow, since he was the most outspoken nativist in the cabinet. In their subsequent meeting Wilson reminded Gibson of Hume's proposal, in his letter of application, that he be allowed two more years for graduate study before assuming the post. Wilson proposed that the cabinet accept Hume's suggestion and, in order to accommodate it and also meet pressing needs, that the psotion be divided. Both candidates would receive appointments, Baldwin's effective immediately and Hume's in two years' time. To sweeten the offer, Hume would be provided with funds to complete his postgraduate work. Wilson came away thinking that Gibson showed interest in this solution to the problem. Gibson advised Mowat to go ahead with it, but to guard himself against the political repercussions. Mowat called Wilson in and told him that he was in agreement with splitting the position, but 'somebody must stand between the government and public opinion. So the proposition is to refer it to the chancellor [Blake], vice-chancellor [Mulock], and myself. The vice-chancellor goes "native" of course. The chancellor won't go at all; declines responsibility, will see Mr. Mowat, and so matters once more hang fire' (diary entry, 4 Oct. 1889). Wilson's proposal that the position be divided was not exactly a bolt from the blue. Two years earlier the details of federation with Victoria had been settled, and ethics had been hived off from philosophy and made a college subject. Instruction in the rest of philosophy was assigned to the university. Those privy to these negotiations reported that the division was made in this way because George Paxton Young, who could be a very stubborn man where issues of importance to him were concerned, insisted on philosophy's being allocated to the university. No doubt he feared a recurrence of the disputes he had witnessed at Knox College if theologians were again placed in a position of power over the philosophy curriculum. Victoria wanted the whole of philosophy to be designated a college subject, since, by this time, it offered a

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full range of philosophy courses. Young's prestige, however, both inside and outside the university, was such that his view prevailed. Victoria was assigned only ethics, which Young was willing to cede, probably because of its historic ties to the training of preachers. Nathanael Burwash, in his account of the founding of the university, is clear on the reason for the compromise in philosophy: 'Two exceptions were made to this principle of division; one at the request of the University which desired to retain part of the philosophy in the charge of Dr. G. Paxton Young' (Burwash 1906, 79). We can trust this account, since Burwash, who was president of Victoria College from 1887 to 1913, was in charge of negotiations for Victoria, and according to George Ross, the minister of education, was the one who first proposed the division of subjects between the colleges and the university (Ross 1913, 204). For the university, the division meant that ethics would be taught in University College, which from this time forward was to teach only 'college' subjects. Therefore, Wilson's proposal that the position be split made good sense. To bolster his argument, he cited the example of Queen's University, which had just appointed a second professor of philosophy. Surely, the larger University of Toronto could also use two teachers in the subject. Logic and metaphysics, Baldwin's chair, included all of philosophy except ethics and the history of philosophy, which of late had been developed, largely owing to the spread of Hegelianism, as a course of study in American universities. Hume's appointment, then, would be split between University College, where he would teach courses in ethics, and the university, where he would lecture in the history of phi losophy. Wilson had already realized what two of the federated colleges, Trinity and Victoria, later confronted, namely, that there was insufficient demand for courses in ethics to keep a full-time teacher busy; other duties had to be assigned. For University College it was the history of philosophy; for the federated colleges it was theology. The premier took another fortnight to make up his mind. On 19 October he called Wilson in to tell him his final decision. Wilson confessed his relief to his diary: 'The agony is over, and Professor Baldwin of Princeton takes the vacant metaphysics chair ... Baldwin assumes duty forthwith. Two years hence Hume will return - from Germany it is presumed - fit to divide the work with him. The comical feature is that I have to undertake, at the special request of the attorney-general [Mowat], to write articles for the "Globe" and the "Mail" putting in the most popular and praiseworthy aspect, with amplest credit to Minister [Ross] and colleagues, this result won for them in spite of endless intrigue and chicanery. In the whole mat-

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ter, however, the attorney-general has honestly striven to do his best' (19 Oct. 1889). Wilson turned his hand immediately to writing the two accounts; they appeared in the editorial columns of the newspapers two days later. Both recite the facts in a straightforward manner; Wilson was obviously hoping to end the controversy surrounding the appointments. 4.7

There was an uproar from the nativists when the decision was made public. The Toronto Daily News, whose politics were socialistic, recommended the following course of action: 'The native university graduates should form themselves into a union to resist the introduction of foreign professors of learning whose chief recommendations are high-toned credentials and the fact that they have friends in court' (22 Oct. 1889, 2). What greatly annoyed the nativists was the fact that the split of the chair gave Baldwin Metaphysics, the subject for which Young was famous. The Toronto World, which had been particularly unrestrained throughout the whole affair, complained: 'They have in effect given the chair to Baldwin, and Hume they propose to send with a beggar student's wallet strapped across his back off to Germany!' (1). The 'beggar student's wallet,' given Hume to complete his studies, was $500 in the first year to supplement his Harvard Fellowship and $1,000 in the second to defray the costs of studying in Germany. Some full-time lecturers in the university were being paid only $500 at the time. The practice of paying graduate students to acquire advanced degrees elsewhere before taking up a teaching position was in wide use in the United States at the time; it was the only way for some institutions to recruit faculty, because there were very few young people who had the means to pay for graduate study out of their own pockets. Hume's may be the only case in which the University of Toronto adopted the practice. About 100 students and graduates assembled on the night before he departed for Harvard to congratulate him and to urge the government to appoint one of Young's pupils to fill in for him during his absence. Both the government and President Wilson ignored this advice. The Toronto World, later in the same article, furnished proof of just how silly the nativists' argument had become. After claiming that Caven, Sheraton, and Wilson were 'not men competent to pass judgment on a successor to Professor Young' (22 Oct. 1889, 1), the paper went on to accuse the premier of giving in to Caven, who was also the leader of the Equal Rights Association, in order to win the support of his organization

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in the next election: 'Nothing bears this out better than the disposition of the chair as announced by The Mail. Baldwin is to be installed and Hume shipped out of the way. There is nothing like fair play shown. To use the rough but pointed remark of a student yesterday: "If Hume was only given a chance to go in alongside of Baldwin and beat him out of his boots, it would not be so bad." It is not Hume that is to be sent away in order to improve himself as it is that someone else is to be given a chance to avoid exposure as a philosophical fraud. But the fact will yet out' (1). Although he chose to ignore it, the editor knew that Hume himself had requested further time for study, because the newspaper had published numerous excerpts from his printed application only ten days earlier. To have acknowledged this fact would have taken the wind out of his rhetorical sails. The article concluded with the recommendation that the university be closed, since its graduates were not fit to teach in it. 'Oliver Mowat had better get Sir Daniel Wilson to draft a bill for him to nail up the doors of the Provincial University. It's only turning out, in the estimation of these gentlemen, academic weeds' (1). Hume, one suspects, must have been very glad to make his escape from such a charged atmosphere, since he was no gladiator. Of all the many thousands of words published on this controversy during 1889, perhaps the most sensible account appeared in the Week of 1 November, after the appointments had been made. This article reviewed the arguments that had been advanced, mostly 'by a number of self-constituted judges who were evidently in a state of mind which was a bad qualification for forming a calm judgment' (757), and offered an evaluation of them. Agreeing that 'other things being equal,' a Canadian should be preferred for appointment over any other candidate, the writer went on to make the point that it was absurd to suppose that for every vacant position there would be a well-qualified Canadian. Canadian higher education was just getting established, whereas British universities were ancient. Canadians had to accept that in many cases a candidate trained in Britain or elsewhere would prove distinctly better qualified than any Canadian: 'is there any reasonable man who will maintain that an inferior Canadian should be preferred, when a superior outsider can be obtained?' (757). Turning to the claim that any successor to Young must hold his philosophical position, the article called the argument 'absurd,' and proceeded to give its reasons: 'Now, if there is any subject on which the Horatian maxim of not swearing by the words of any master should be observed, it is certainly the study of Philosophy. We are persuaded that

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Professor Young would have been the last man to wish that a successor to him should be chosen merely or mainly because he was his disciple and would carry on the same teaching. He would have known better than most of us that the thing was impossible, and that any one who would profess to do it would either be insincere or altogether incapable of teaching Philosophy' (Week, 1 Nov. 757). After noting that Young himself was supposed to have likened his philosophical position to that of T.H. Green, the writer pointed out that Green's disciples were already abandoning his position: 'And probably the same thing would happen at the University o Toronto, if an ardent believer in Professor Young was appointed; and we believe that the late Professor would rejoice that it should be so. He was not a man to put forth a Confession of Faith on Philosophy and compel subscription to it on the part of all teachers. He knew that unless Philosophy was free it was nothing; and he would rather have had his successors faithful to truth than merely loyal to his memory. As Aristotle said of his great master: "Plato is a friend; but Truth a greater"' (758). Finally, to 'the very curious objection' that, since Baldwin and Hume represent different schools of thought, students who studied under both men would be left bewildered and confused, the paper answered: 'Such a parochial style of argument has a curious sound in connection with the teaching of Philosophy. If men are to be taught to think with scientific accuracy, it is a distinct advantage to be taught by men having different points of view. So far from the authorities being worthy of censure for acting upon this principle, in the opinion of impartial and dispassionate judges, they will deserve commendation' (758). Whoever wrote this admirable piece had a much better grasp of Young's teachings than nearly all of those who advertised themselves as his disciples. 4.8

Baldwin was introduced to his classes in the university on 14 November by Wilson, and he was an immediate success with his students. On 10 January 1890 he delivered his inaugural address, 'Philosophy: Its Relation to Life and Education,' which stirred the dying coals of criticism in the daily newspapers. On some matters, such as his criticism of materialism, scepticism, subjective idealism, positivism, and agnosticism, he showed agreement with Young's position, but on others he revealed differences. One of these was the importance of facts to philosophy: 'Facts are sacred, lead to where they will. Do they interfere with our views of life? Then our views of life are wrong. Do they conflict with authority?

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Then authority must go, be it authority customarily considered even more sacred' (13). Philosophy, he contended, goes farther even than science when it asks: 'how can I interpret these and other facts in a consistent theory?' Young had defended a much more traditional view of facts as subservient to metaphysical truths. Baldwin's conception of 'mental science' also differed sharply from Young's: No university course in mental science is now complete which does not present at least the methods and main results of scientific psychology, and the larger institutions in both worlds are seeking men of proper training for exact and original work. This certainly indicates progress. If the additions which are being made are additions of fact outside the sphere of mind, they are valuable at least for physiology; but if they bear in any way, however remotely, upon the mental, we should be free to enlarge our view of the sphere and aim of mental philosophy. Such study, however, should come after the descriptive and introspective study of the mind, and after the principles of logic, especially inductive logic, have been mastered. We shall then expect students who take philosophy freely to be better observers and reasoners than their fellows when they come to more advanced work either in philosophy or in science. (Baldwin 1890, 18-19)

According to Baldwin, the sort of department in which Young soldiered on alone must be replaced: 'No one man can by any combination of gifts or courses of preparation do justice to this programme and at the same time do justice to himself. Hence many separate chairs are now devoted to this work in the larger institutions, chairs of Psychology, general and experimental, Logic, Ethics, Philosophy of Religion, Metaphysics, History of Philosophy, Pedagogics and Aesthetics' (22). Clearly, the old order was being swept away, to the utter dismay of the nativists who wished to fix it in stone. 4.9

The partial victory of the nativists in this case had a lasting - and bad effect on the University of Toronto. In November 1911 an editorial was published in the University of Toronto Monthly lamenting its consequences. Referring to this battle, the editors remarked: 'Since that time, nativism has had its way' (3-4). Twenty-two years after Baldwin and Hume were

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appointed, there were in the University, University College, and the Fac ulty of Applied Science ninety-one faculty members with permanent appointments: 'Of these seventy-four or over eighty per cent are graduates of the University. In the Faculty of Applied Science, all the members nineteen in number, are home products' (4). In the Arts Faculty the percentage was seventy-five: 'Of the professors, seventeen out of twentyseven, of the associate professors twenty-one out of twenty-four, and of the Lecturers sixteen out of twenty-one are graduates of Toronto' (4). At Yale, by contrast, only 44 per cent of its appointments between 1877 and 1907 were its own products. In very polite language the editors of the Monthly suggested that it was impossible to develop a cosmopolitan university without a cosmopolitan faculty. Philosophy suffered greatly from this short-sighted policy. Only one external appointment was made between 1890 and 1927, that of August Kirschmann in 1893, and, as we will see presently, it was not planned.

5

The Emergence of Psychology

5.1

For the first fifty years of university teaching in Canada every professor of philosophy claimed to teach psychology, although none of them used the word 'psychology' in either their own titles or in the names of their courses. For Egerton Ryerson, psychology was a branch of 'moral science,' which he regarded as 'including mental science' sometimes called 'psychology.' Beaven considered psychology to be a branch of metaphysics. James Gibson Hume contended that Heaven's way of classifying psychology stemmed from the Scottish usage of the word 'metaphysics,' as meaning a course in general psychology and theory of knowledge. George Paxton Young appears to have used the word in Ryerson's sense, since he chose as his title 'Professor of Mental and Moral Science and Civil Polity,' and Hume, who was his pupil, asserted that Young taught psychology. Since Young put an 'and' between 'mental' and 'moral,' it would seem that he did not subscribe to Ryerson's subsumption of the one to the other. Those who chose Young's two successors appear to have favoured the Scottish usage, because they appointed James Mark Baldwin, a trained psychologist, to the chair of metaphysics and logic, with the clear understanding that he would not teach the old psychology but rather the 'new' or 'experimental' psychology. James Mark Baldwin was born in Columbia, South Carolina, on 12 January 1861 and grew up there during the worst days of Reconstruction after the American Civil War. When he was ready for high school, his father, who was a sub-treasurer of the United States during the Grant and Garfield administrations, sent him to the collegiate institute in Salem, New Jersey, to prepare him for entrance into Princeton University. All of

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his higher education was gained at Princeton; he was awarded its doctorate in 1888. One year of his graduate studies was spent in Germany, where he visited, as well as worked in, several psychological laboratories, including the one founded by Wilhelm Wundt at Leipzig in 1879; he then returned to Princeton as instructor in French and German for the academic year 1886-7. At the end of that year he accepted an appointment as professor of logic and philosophy in Lake Forest College in Illinois, which had recently been founded by the Presbyterian Church to train its ministers and missionaries. The annual salary was $1,800, paid over ten months. Although its president was liberal minded, its Board of Trustees, according to Baldwin, was dominated by businessmen with little understanding of the ways of institutions of higher learning: The atmosphere was too narrow and mercantile - even allowing for the training of missionaries - to content progressive professors for long. I was soon brought up before the Board to explain why I was not giving fifteen hours instruction per week; and the explanation being found inadequate, I was assigned supplementary hours in another and completely remote subject. This I flatly refused to accept and presented my resignation. It was only the personal stand of President Roberts that saved the day. He had to meet arguments like this - urged by one of the trustees, a prominent merchant of Chicago - 'Let the professor go, and we will save money; I can get plenty of clerks, in my business, for twelve hundred dollars a year, while he is getting fifteen hundred.' Luckily I did not have to stay long after this, for publishing my first book, as much with the idea of getting a call elsewhere as of reaping glory, I was soon called away. (Baldwin 1926,1: 40)

Clearly, Lake Forest College offered too little scope for an ambitious young man, and the prospect of an appointment at the University of Toronto must have been very welcome. Probably as a consequence of the way its board had treated him, Baldwin seemed to have no compunction about leaving Lake Forest in the lurch six weeks after the start of the academic year. During his first year in Toronto, Baldwin persuaded the Senate to adopt important changes in the department's offerings. The calendar for 1890-1 introduced courses labelled 'psychology' for the first time. The same calendar also announced that a psychological laboratory was being equipped for the use of faculty members and honours students. The laboratory opened in the following academic year, and all honours students in psychology were obliged, as part of their course, to spend

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part of each week during term time in laboratory work. In his report in Science on the new laboratory, which he proudly noted was the 'first in the British Dominion as far as my information goes' (Baldwin 1892, 144n.), Baldwin stated that it had been designed to 'serve two main purposes: First, it is used to illustrate the undergraduate courses in psychology in the university; and, second, it is designed to serve as a centre for advanced research in the new lines of experimental work' (144). Baldwin proved indefatigable in the cause of introducing the new science into the university. As was everyone in those days, he had been appointed by Ontario's minister of education, and he took advantage of his dealings with the Minister to lobby him for funds to set up a laboratory; the money was soon appropriated. James Gibson Hume claimed that Young, who taught only the 'old' psychology of the Scottish philosophers, had made plans before his death for the introduction of the new psychology. Furthermore - again we have only Hume's word for it - Young had chosen him as its vehicle, urging him to go off to the United States to study with G. Stanley Hall at Johns Hopkins and with William James at Harvard. It should be noted that A.H. Abbott, in 'Experimental Psychology and the Laboratory in Toronto' (1900), repeated Hume's claims, but it is virtually certain that he got his information from Hume, since Abbott did not study under Young. Although Hume studied psychology in both of these institutions and in Germany under Hugo Miinsterberg, he apparently had little aptitude for it, given that he spent his entire career teaching ethics and the history of philosophy. To what extent Young had prepared the way for Baldwin it is impossible to say. Whatever letters Young wrote to the president during his tenure in the university were burnt in the disastrous fire that destroyed University College on 14 February 1890. Sir Daniel Wilson, then president of the university, continued to serve for a short period after the fire. Since he vigorously supported Baldwin's ventures in psychology, he may have been primed to do so by discussions with Young. Unfortunately, Wilson gave instructions that his own papers were to be burnt after they had been used in his biography. Only an edited version of his diary survives, and it contains no information concerning the introduction of the new psychology. In discussing Baldwin's work at the University of Toronto, it must be remembered that he was also a trained philosopher and that he regularl taught courses in his half of the philosophy curriculum. Indeed, for the first two years of his tenure he had full responsibility for all philosophy instruction, including, of course, psychology, since Hume was abroad

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pursuing doctoral studies. Baldwin offered the first, albeit supererogatory, 'seminary' courses in the department; they were designed for fourth-year honours students and postgraduate students working toward the master's degree. In his report to his professional colleagues published in the American Journal of Psychology in April 1890, he remarked that the psychology seminary (he also offered one in metaphysics) was 'for reports and discussions of actual researches in hand - meeting weekly. The design is to encourage serious endeavour and stimulate interest in the outlying questions of the sciences, principally among post-graduates' (Baldwin 1890a, 286). All the evidence shows that Baldwin was a superb teacher. Enrolment in philosophy courses jumped after he took charge of them. The extraordinary publicity surrounding his appointment may have played a role in increasing student interest in the subject. In March 1892 he reported to the bursar: 'The work of the Department of Philosophy in the Second year is all in my hands and the classes are among the largest in the University, i.e., Pass Psychology, 165: being an increase since 1890 of 131; Pass Logic, 134: being an increase since 1890 of 47; Honour Psychology, 34: being an increase of 17 (100%) since 1890; Honour Logic (same figures as for Honour Psychology)' (UTA, JL, 001 [21], 2). In addition, he had fifty-two students in his third-year course in psychology, and twenty-two in the fourth year course. Baldwin was both a busy and an ambitious man and, in retrospect, it was probably true from the beginning that he would move on when he got a more attractive offer. Princeton, his alma mater, offered him a named chair and he left after only four years. There can be no doubt that they were four years of real accomplishment; he had established the study of experimental psychology firmly enough to survive his departure. His subsequent career, which was marked by quirky (for the time) behaviour, was not as uniformly distinguished as his time at Toronto. When Baldwin had arrived in Toronto, the only provision for assistance in the department was a fellowship, one of seven or eight in the Faculty of Arts. These fellowships had been introduced on 8 December 1882 by a statute of the Senate: 'The Fellows shall be appointed among the Graduates of the University of Toronto, on the recommendation of the University College Council, and shall be selected with a special view of the aptitude for teaching, along with their acquirements in the work of the Department to which each Fellowship is attached' (UTA, MSUT). From the start, one of these fellowships was assigned to philosophy. The duties were onerous: 'Each fellow is required to assist in the teaching and

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practical work of the Department; to pursue some special line of study therein; and to devote his entire time during the College Terms to the work of the Department, under the direction of the Professor or Lecturer' (ibid.). The pay was $500 for the academic year, and two reappointments were possible. Few fellows stayed for three years, no doubt because they had to work very hard for small pay. It was a way of being paid to earn a master's degree, however, which is what the philosophy fellows tended to do before going on for ministerial training. 5.2

After the psychological laboratory was established, Baldwin urgently required an assistant to monitor the experimental work of his students. What he wanted was a new position with the tide, 'Demonstrator in the Psychological Laboratory.' The beginning salary for such a position was $800, so he made a deal with the president that Philosophy would give up its fellowship in exchange for the new position. This proposal was attractive to the president, since it meant that he had to ask the minister for only $300 in new money, but it left the rest of the department and its students without an important source of funding. Some twenty years were to pass before the philosophy fellowship was reinstated. With the new position established on paper, Baldwin set about finding a suitable candidate. His first choice for the job turned it down, having already accepted a position elsewhere. Baldwin then contacted friends in Germany for the names of likely candidates. They recommended August Kirschmann, who had completed his doctorate under Wilhelm Wundt and was then employed by Wundt as a demonstrator in his laboratory. Despite his junior position with Wundt, Kirschmann was a mature man, having been born on 21 July 1860 in Oberstein in the Rhineland, where he was educated in the public schools. In addition to his graduate work for Wundt, he had taught first in the public schools and high schools for eleven years and then for five years as an assistant professor and demonstrator under his old teacher. By the time Baldwin learned of Kirschmann's candidacy, he was travelling in Europe, visiting psychologica laboratories and shopping for laboratory instruments, so his dealings with Kirschmann, President Wilson, and the minister of education had to be conducted by means of letters. In addition to the difficulties of communication, two new obstacles emerged that threatened to scuttle Kirschmann's candidacy. The first problem concerned the date when Kirschmann could take up the job,

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assuming he accepted it. Baldwin wanted his demonstrator to start work in 1892-3, but Kirschmann had already left on an ocean voyage to California, with stops all around the perimeter of South America. It would take a long time to get a response from him, despite Baldwin's frantic efforts to establish contact. This difficulty was met by hiring a recent graduate to stand in for Kirschmann during 1892-3. The second problem concerned Kirschmann's competence in English. According to his own testimony he was not yet fluent enough in the language to deliver lectures, a situation that distressed Hume, who had by now taken up his professorial appointment. He wrote to the minister of education, and although he did not ask him to decide against appointing Kirschmann, Hume almost certainly hoped he would do so. Baldwin, however, was a very persuasive man and, largely at his urging, the government decided to proceed with the appointment. When he finally got the letter of offer in April 1893, Kirschmann accepted the position of 'Lecturer and Demonstrator in Philosophy' in a letter to Baldwin written from San Francisco on the first day of May and another on the next day to the minister of education. In the months that had passed since the offer had gone out, Baldwin had resigned from Toronto to accept appointment as Stuart Professor of Experimental Psychology in Princeton effective 1 October 1893. One of Kirschmann's primary reasons in applying for the Toronto job was the opportunity of working under Baldwin, whose work he greatly admired. His letter expressed keen disappointment at this turn of events, and he asked Baldwin to do everything he could to ensure that his replacement would be someone Kirschmann could work with. 'I can not be the assistant lecturer to every-one who becomes your successor,' he pleaded, and he asked Baldwin to inform the authorities at Toronto 'I don't like to be considered as a psychologist of an extremely physiological standpoint. I take, more than it seems according to my publications, a great interest in Logic, Theorie of Knowledge and Metaphysics, and should like to lecture in these subjects, as soon as I am versed enough in English language' (DA). Baldwin urged him to apply for the now vacant professorship, but Kirschmann replied that he would rather come to Toronto on probation and, if he proved successful, be considered for the professorship at the end of his probation. This was a grave mistake, since it gave the president, James Loudon, and the minister of education time to learn that Kirschmann could be assigned the work of a professor without being paid a professor's salary. In this state of mind, Kirschmann came to Toronto and took charge of the laboratory and set about learning English

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in earnest. By the following academic year he was able to lecture in English, both in psychology and in philosophy. His principal research interest in psychology was colour contrasts and their role in aesthetics, and during his tenure he made the laboratory, by his own work and through the work of his students, the international centre for the study of colour perception. Despite his language difficulties, he seems to have been very effective as a teacher; enrolment in psychology courses and in his philosophy courses continued to climb. Kirschmann had accepted his appointment on the understanding that he would be an assistant to Baldwin's successor; the professor would be responsible for directing the work of his half of the department, as well as doing some lecturing and most of the supervising. Within a couple of years after his arrival, Kirschmann realized that the university had no intention of replacing Baldwin, and that he would have to do the professor's work, except for some administrative duties that had been taken over by Hume, and also demonstrate in the laboratory. Although he was being paid $800 per annum, while Hume received $3,000, a careful assessment shows that Kirschmann did more work and had stronger qualifications than Hume. Edwin G. Boring, in his History of Experimental Psychology (1929), mentioned Kirschmann's 'classical studies on visual contrast (1890) and on color-blindness (1892)' (337) and, with regard to colour contrast, noted that 'Kirschmann worked out the laws that are still current in the textbooks' (627). Hume's publications were never publicly praised by anyone. The disparity between his circumstances and Hume's got under Kirschmann's skin, and on 1 September 1894 he pleaded his case to the minister of education. Although he did not mention Hume in his letter, it is obvious that the great difference in their positions was on his mind. His complaint centred on the difference between his original job description and his actual duties. When Kirschmann was offered the position of demonstrator, the acting minister of education had asked Baldwin to write to Kirschmann and describe the work expected of the demonstrator; the acting minister then wrote Kirschmann a formal letter offering him the appointment. The catch was that Baldwin had written his letter before he resigned the professorship, so the job described was that of an assistant to him, rather than an independent appointment. Kirschmann had been told he would be required to lecture two hours per week, but when he arrived he was assigned seven hours per week, an enormous difference especially for one still mastering English. Baldwin had also told him that 'we hope, before long, to make you Professor with a salary of $2,500 or

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more.' 'But later I had to learn that there exists even not the intention, to fill the second chair again' (DA). He was candid with the minister about his reasons for not applying for Baldwin's chair at the time of his resignation: 'Professor Baldwin, after his resignation, encouraged me to apply for his position, the full professorship, which I was sure to obtain, as he said, if I pressed my claim. I declined to do this, for the reason, that I did not like to promise, what, as a foreigner, I perhaps could not fulfil. Especially I don't pretend anyway to replace an eloquent and admired teacher, as Baldwin is; but on the other hand, having been called from Europe, out of my former position as demonstrator in the Laboratory of Leipzig, I always expected that I should not have to serve for the smallest salary, with which the youngest lecturer - I am 35 years old - begins' (DA). This poignant and honourable letter did get him a 50 per cent rise in salary, to $1,200, but even this figure was considerably less than half of what Hume was paid. Two years later his pay had risen to $1,725, but in the next year it reached the ceiling for a lecturer, which was then $1,800. On 1 July 1899 he was promoted to the new rank of associate professor, introduced after a great deal of soul-searching by the university and the government, and made director of the psychological laboratory, but with no increase in salary, providing a nice example of what staff members later referred to as 'psychic income,' a practice to which the university frequently resorted until well after the Second World War.1 It is perhaps worthwhile to note here the rationale for introducing the rank of associate professor, since it throws some light on the way in which the University of Toronto was administered in those days. In 1891 the Senate and the Board of Trustees appointed an ad hoc committee to study the revenues and requirements of the university as it entered into federation with Victoria College. This committee was chaired by the chancellor, Edward Blake, and nearly all of its recommendations were implemented over the next several years. One of them concerned the introduction of a rank between lecturer and professor: 'The office of Associate Professor is recommended on various grounds. It provides

1 I recall being informed by a librarian in the late 1960s that an officer in the central administration had told a group of librarians seeking an increase in their salaries that they should not compare their cases with librarians in York University, since there was a certain 'psychic income' that accrued to those working for the University of Toronto, which those at York did not enjoy. Unfortunately, psychic income cannot be used to pay the rent.

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means to meet a case in which a professor, through increasing years, becomes, though still capable of good work and not ripe for retirement, less able for full duty. It affords an opportunity for appointing or promoting to an intermediate grade, in cases in which the interests of the University would be served by such promotion; but when, either from financial or other concerns, it is not thought that an appointment should be made to the office of professor. It provides a greater measure of elasticity, which may from time to time be found very useful in working out the details of management' (UTA, EB, 003 [18], 17). The committee further recommended that associate professors should have a seat on the Council of University College. No mention is made of a point that became contentious during Loudon's presidency, namely, that an associate professor must have an administrative post. The committee seemed to take the modern view that no special duties attach to the rank, but Loudon, who was the first to administer it, thwarted this intention for as long as he could. Kirschmann could be promoted to the new rank because he administered the psychological laboratory, but others in the department, as we will see, were repeatedly denied promotion because there was no sub-department for them to administer. In 1901-2 Kirschmann's salary began to climb by increments of $100 each year. On 1 July 1903 he was promoted to professor and his salary raised to the floor for the rank of $2,500. With increments of $100 per annum over the next seven years he would finally reach Hume's level. It is recorded that he was 'promoted by the Minister of Education.' The immediate cause was an offer of a professorship from a university in Argentina with a salary of $4,800. President Loudon, who had the highest opinion of Kirschmann's work, but did not seem able - probably through the inherent weakness of his office - to act upon his belief, wa finally moved to action. In a letter dated 3 April 1903 to the acting minister of education he made his point: 'The loss of Dr. Kirschmann, let me say, would be irreparable to the department over which he presides. No one here better realizes my ideals of a University Professor; with his students (undergraduate and graduate) he has done an extraordinary amount of research work in the ten years he has been here with the result that the reputation of the University has been enhanced and his students are in constant demand as instructors in leading American universities. I believe we could retain him here if he were given the assurance that he would be promoted next session from the Associate Professor to a Professor' (UTA, JL, 013 [02]). The minister signed off on the promotion.

The Emergence of Psychology 177 5.3

What President Loudon admired about Kirschmann was the fact that he brought to the university a genuine passion for the importance of research. In a letter to Loudon, dated 5 January 1901, Kirschmann expressed himself on the subject with great force: On this occasion I may be allowed to make a few remarks with regard to the place of research in university work. A great national or provincial university should not simply exist for the purpose of teaching a knowledge acquired somewhere else, but it should take an active part in the advancement of knowledge. Research is therefore in our days the very life and soul of a university. Without research, without an active participation in the progress of science, a university necessarily degenerates into a species of mediaeval institution. The efficiency of a university should be measured not merely by the number of students in attendance - for that is subject to many influences - nor by the extent and splendour of popular display, nor the amount of interest taken by the public in university affairs (however helpful the latter may be to the institution), but rather by the amount accomplished in educational work and research work of a positive and lasting value. (DA)

Later in the same letter he criticized a conception of a university widely held in Canada: The disposition in this country appears too general [sic] to look upon the university as a greater high school and to lay too much stress on the teaching side and too little on the research side of university work. The outcome of such views is the one-sided idea of the great teacher, who draws the student up to his own level, and makes him 'almost as perfect' as he is himself. This is, I venture to think, an absolutely inadequate pedagogical idea, which, even when realized, precludes progress, for all real intellectual and moral progress depends on the pupil excelling his master in some respects. We should always try to put our students finally on a somewhat higher level than we ourselves occupy, so that they may go on, where we are obliged to stop. But this can be accomplished only when we cause our advanced and graduate students not only to perform exercises for becoming acquainted with the results and methods of the various branches of learning, but also afford them the opportunity of taking some part in the actual advance of their subject. In this sense research work is not only of a practical, but also of the

178 The Main Stream highest educational, value. It is one of the essential factors in the education of the race. What our University needs most of all is: greater facilities for the prosecution of research work, that is, more money and more time for the members of the staff, who are at present overburdened with lectures. (DA) Loudon was fully in accord with this conception of a university, but one wonders how many others took it as an undisguised criticism of the revered George Paxton Young. One doubts that Young himself would have disavowed it, but many of his admirers must have been shocked to find a foreigner rudely pulling apart their conception of a university. After all, the nativists had demanded that the university appoint a replacement for Young who would teach his philosophy in perpetuity. Hume, who had accepted this task, must have been very uncomfortable when he read Kirschmann's letter, which the president published in his Annual Report to the Council of the University of Toronto in 1901. In an unpublished paper, 'On Culture,' Kirschmann returned to this theme in a more outspoken way. The argument of the paper is summed up in its final sentence: 'Thus we arrive at the conclusion: Culture is Love of and Search after Truth, and the best means to obtain it in its highest degree is through (Scientific) Research' (UTA, JL, 17 {04}, 9). In the course of his argument he outlined his own theory of higher education: 'A University in the first place should not be an educational institution; its chief purpose should be the advancement of the different branches of human study' (1). Professors should be primarily researchers and scholars, never merely teachers of what others had discovered. In a letter to the Globe Kirschmann reminded the nativists that the only way to reach their goal of a home-grown faculty was to support research in the University of Toronto: 'If we want to be a university at all we must not only teach the lessons we have learned, and bring the student up to our level, but we must advance the knowledge of our subjects. And we must allow also our advanced and post-graduate students to share in this research work, in order to qualify them to succeed where we leave off. Post-graduate work and scientific research are not "imitation of other countries" or a "Chinese institution," but they are the very soul and life of true academic study. If an institution contents itself with teaching only without taking an active part in the progress of science, it is not a true university, but a glorified high school, and the nation which it aims to serve has to depend on foreign countries for the highest training of its citizens' (30 March 1901, 8). Kirschmann was replying to an attack that William

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Dale, once an associate professor of Latin and Roman history, had made on the University of Toronto accusing it of wasting taxpayers' money. Dale described the university's expenditure as 'extravagantly large' and claimed that the salaries of its professors were so high as to be open to the charge of the 'abuse' of public funds. Kirschmann, no doubt to President London's great satisfaction, wrote several long and detailed letters to the Globe defending the university's position and arguing that, far from being over-funded, it was seriously underfunded if the aim was to develop a uni versity of international standing. Kirschmann got involved in the contro versy because Dale based his attack on a comparison of the University o Toronto with the universities of Prussia. Kirschmann easily demonstrate that Dale did not know what he was talking about regarding the Prussian universities. Dale, who was at the time an elected member of the Senate, six years earlier had been summarily dismissed from his teaching post in the university for writing to the press. That letter (discussed in §6.8) slated recent university appointments, including, by implication, that of James Gibson Hume. Kirschmann practised what he preached, especially at the graduate level. The Ph.D. degree had been introduced in 1897, the same year in which he was promoted to the rank of associate professor and made director of the psychological laboratory; in effect, this created within the Department of Philosophy a sub-department of psychology. Over the next decade Kirschmann taught many graduate students in his laboratory; his was one of the most successful doctoral programs in the university. Even though psychology was only a sub-department, Kirschmann had stationery printed with a letterhead exactly like that used in the Department of Philosophy except that 'Psychology' replaced 'Philosophy.' There was no Department of Psychology at the time, but he certainly behaved as if there were one by shortening his title to 'director.' Hume, as we will have occasion to see (§6.4), was not pleased. Until 1912 the administration of the Ph.D. degree was in the hands of departments and colleges exclusively; there was, of course, a Senate statute setting out the requirements of the degree, but in practice departments and colleges decided which candidates had earned the doctorate. In the first year of the degree's existence, Kirschmann sent the president a list of twelve graduate students working under him, with descriptive titles of their various projects. Before he left the University of Toronto in 1908, Kirschmann had granted four doctorates and taught many more graduate students for a year or more. At that time, many studied under him for a few terms and then went off to one of the larger departments

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in the United States or to Germany to complete the requirements for the doctorate. During these years there were more graduate students in psychology than there were in philosophy. On 12 February 1906 Kirschmann informed Loudon that there were 'about twenty graduate students in the department, fifteen of whom are doing research in the Psychological laboratory, and about ten are engaged in critical work in Metaphysics and History of Philosophy' (UTA, JL, 014 [36]). Presumably, some were working in both subjects. Several doctoral students, he reported, transferred to other universities to complete their degrees because the equipment at Toronto was inadequate for their research. In philosophy proper, 'the demand on the instructors to meet undergraduate teaching is so great as to leave little time to supervise and direct graduate studies' (ibid.). As part of his duties he had to direct doctoral studies in metaphysics and logic. To his lasting credit Kirschmann did not discriminate against women who wanted to do experimental or any other kind of academic work; his very first doctorate was awarded to a woman. In a 1904 letter to E.B. Titchener, then teaching at Cornell University, Kirschmann protested Cornell's ban on female graduate students in psychology: 'I find it a little hard on ladies who take an interest in Experimental Psychology if we exclude them altogether' (DA). In addition to the series of articles he published in psychology during his Toronto years, Kirschmann also brought out Die Dimensionen des Raumes (1902), a short book in which he 'tried to show that the celebrated problem regarding parallel straight lines, the pivotal point about which the whole dispute concerning Non-Euclidean geometry turns, has not been treated with the necessary thoroughness in so far as the complex nature of the conception of Euclidean parallelism has not been sufficiently realised' (1903, 46). I have found no evidence that his argument was taken up by geometers. In the article from which this quote was taken, 'On Parallel Curves: (and Consequently on the Alaskan Boundary Dispute),' he provided local readers with a short summary of his argument, preparatory to analysing a phrase from the Treaty of 1825 between Great Britain and the United States setting the Alaskan boundary: 'line parallel to the windings of the coast, never exceeding the distance of ten marine leagues therefrom.' Kirschmann argued that under any definition of 'parallel,' and he cited three, it is impossible to draw the boundary, given that the distance must never exceed ten leagues. The simplest way to resolve the dispute, he argued, would be to drop 'parallel' altogether and speak only of 'distance.' This short article shows just how acute a reasoner Kirschmann was and what a master of the English Ian-

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guage he had become. These same qualities are to be found in another short piece, 'The Decimal System of Notation - A Relic of Savagery' (1904), in which he recommended a system of notation based on the number twelve. 5.4

Leaves of absence with pay were nearly non-existent during the period Kirschmann taught in the department, but he managed to be awarded two full years off with pay. The first leave was in 1901-2. His old teacher, Wilhelm Wundt, celebrated his seventieth birthday during that year and extensive celebrations were planned. Two of his 'most intimate pupils,' of whom Kirschmann was one, had been selected by the planning committee to take charge of this event. Only if Kirschmann could go to Germany for the year could he accept this prestigious honour. Loudon supported his petition to the minister, and leave of absence with pay was authorized. One letter to Loudon, dated 18 April 1902, survives from this year. In it he outlined for the president his ideas about freedom for undergraduates: When I recommend great freedom for the individual student I mean freedom with regard to laying out and doing his work. But at the same time I would recommend strictest supervision by the University Authorities of all cooperative action of the students, which does not refer to their study, i.e. student societies, exam meetings, etc. There is in our university too much time wasted with such things. Almost every student is president or vice-president or treasurer or something of some society or committee. This makes the student too much inclined to pay his chief interest to his 'society' affairs and regard studying as a necessary evil through which he goes with the least possible effort. Our students are very industrious, but their industry is very often prompted more by their aspirations with regard to the examinations than by their interest in their subject. Now what I wanted to say was this: The more freedom we give to the student with regard to his studies, the more will he like his work and the less will he be drawn away from it by pleasure in superficial society routine and affairs of what might be called academic politics, which are the death of academic progress. (UTAJL, 012)

German students, he argued, contrasted favourably with Canadian ones in this respect.

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The celebrations for Wundt were a great success, and Kirschmann returned to Toronto and threw himself into his work. His next six years of teaching were as successful as the earlier ones. Four doctorates were awarded in psychology, whereas philosophy produced only one. The study of psychology was expanding very rapidly during these years as new laboratories were opened, and Kirschmann found it very difficult to keep up with all the results that were being published. To bring himself up to date with psychological research in Germany, he requested a leave of absence with pay for 1908-9 - in effect a 'sabbatical' - which he would spend in Germany visiting psychological laboratories. The new President, Sir Robert Falconer, shared Loudon's high opinion of Kirschmann's work and persuaded the new Board of Governors to approve his request. Thus began a long and sad tale. A few months after he returned to Germany, Kirschmann suffered attacks of ill health for which he was prescribed a special cure, which consisted of soaking himself in mineral baths, drinking special water, and following a rather severe diet. Just what was wrong with him is difficult to say; his symptoms included dizziness, a dull headache, paralysis of the left side of his face, sore throat, high blood pressure, and a numbness in his hand whenever he tried to write. Whatever the cause (or causes), his German doctor,2 who diagnosed the facial paralysis as due to a small stroke, judged him too sick to cross the Atlantic and resume his work in October 1909. Falconer, who was in Europe that summer, visited him in Leipzig and saw for himself just how sick Kirschmann was At the meeting of the Board of Governors on 9 September 1909 Falconer reported that Kirschmann was unable to resume his duties on account of illness, and he persuaded the board to approve a second year of leave at full pay. Letters went back and forth between Falconer and Kirschmann organizing the work in psychology for the year. Kirschmann continued to supervise his graduate students by mail. The following year showed no improvement in his health and Falconer had to ask the board to approve a further leave of absence, this time at half-pay.

2 A notarized 'Medical Report' found among Falconer's papers was signed by a Dr Loeherer of Freiburg and dated 6 August 1909. Its translation reads: 'Herr Professor Kirschmann suffers, since February of this year, from paralysis of the left side of the face which has been caused by a small brain haemorrhage. Therefore I recommend that he should rest and not return to his teaching job before the end of the coming winter term' (UTA, RAF).

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Kirschmann continued to supervise some students by mail, but no new graduate students were willing to enter into such an arrangement. In 1911-12 he was also paid half his salary, but in 1912-13 payment was cut to one-third, and in the remaining two years to one-fourth. By this time Canada was at war with Germany. On 8 October 1914 the board ordered that Kirschmann continue to be paid one-fourth of his salary, since he was now domiciled in Switzerland. During that academic year a Toronto newspaper got hold of the story and brought matters to a head. In the Telegram of 9 June 1915 it was alleged that Kirschmann 'crosses over monthly from Germany to Switzerland to get his good Canadian money.' Its reporter bearded Sir Edmund Walker, the chairman of the Board of Governors, who offered this justification for the payments: 'I think Professor Kirschmann is a paralytic. He has not been able to do any work for a number of years. He lives in Switzerland and, I think, as a matter of fact, has absolutely no means of support. We have no system of actually taking care of a man forever. Kirschmann lost his health while in the service of the University, and we paid him a pension in the hope that he would be able to return to work after a year or two of leave of absence. Then came a period of doubt, in which he was kept on a little longer and a little longer, believing that he might get better. As there is now absolutely no chance of him returning, I am confident that his pay has been dropped' (11). This last clause is very curious, for surely Walker knew that payment had been authorized through September, the end of the fiscal year. But he may have put it this way since he intended to make it true. At the Board meeting on 25 June the bursar was ordered to stop payment at the end of June; and at its meeting on 8 July the board cancelled Kirschmann's appointment and ordered that his name be struck off the staff list. It was a sad end to the career of a man who had contributed so much to the study of psychology and philosophy in the University of Toronto. Kirschmann emerges very well from this sequence of events, except for one fact so far unmentioned. By the time of his appointment, the university had established a 'retiring allowance' plan, which everyone of the rank of lecturer and above was required to join. Administered by the Carnegie Foundation, the scheme established for each member of staff an account into which the obligatory donations were entered. The funds in these accounts could be withdrawn by their owners, and this was what happened in Kirschmann's case. Sometime during the academic year 1909-10, he withdrew $3,960.33 from his retiring account, which reduced it to zero. This led some people to speculate that when

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he left Toronto in 1908 he had already decided never to return. If this is true, then his actions over the next several years were fraudulent. In support of this charge, there were, from time to time, reports that he was applying for professorships in Germany. From what I have learned about the man, the charge of fraud does not seem to ring true; if it were true, then a number of German doctors were party to the conspiracy, since Kirschmann regularly produced medical reports detailing his condition. After the war Kirschmann wrote asking whether he qualified for a pension from the university, but the Carnegie Foundation ruled that he had not served long enough to have earned a pension. No mention was made of the fact that he had closed his own retiring account. 5.5

Seven letters written by Kirschmann to Wundt are housed among Wundt's papers in the University Archive Leipzig.3 In one of them Kirschmann recorded his reaction to his dismissal. On 7 October 1915 he discussed it with his old teacher, from whom he had hoped to keep it secret, but Wundt had heard the news from others and had written to him about it: 'My dismissal is dated 1 July of this year. The reason given is that there is no prospect that I will recover and return to work. I wrote immediately to say that I could not accept that reason. For one and onehalf years, no one has asked me about the condition of my health. It apparently has nothing to do with my health; the true reason is that I am German.' (1278). He went on to mention that he had also asked University of Toronto officials about a pension but had received no reply to his letter. Wundt's letter had included an offer of a position as an assistant in his institute, which Kirschmann accepted 'with heartfelt thanks.' His initial assignment was to take charge of the library, which pleased him,

3 Copies of these letters were given to me by Douglas Creelman of the Department of Psychology. They are holograph copies made by David K. Robinson, now at Truman State University in Kirksville, Missouri, during a visit to the Leipzig Archives in 1983. Robinson used them in his doctoral dissertation on Wundt, which he submitted to the University of California at Berkeley in 1987. Christopher Green of York University asked Stefan Majumder and Thomas Teo to translate them, and, with the indispensable assistance of Martin Kramer, a graduate student in the department whose first language is German, I put the translations into their final form. The numbers given after quotations from these letters are to be understood as preceded by 'August Kirschmann to Wilhelm Wundt, [date of letter], University Archive Leipzig, Wundt Nachlass, Nr.'

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since it gave him 'the opportunity to read up on what [he had] missed' during recent years (1278). By 1917 Kirschmann, although far from well, had recovered his health sufficiently to resume working in psychology. Wundt secured for him an appointment at the University of Leipzig, where he and a colleague founded the Psychological Institute and the Seminar for Psychophysiology. Kirschmann served as its assistant director and divisional chairman from 1917 to 1931. Despite his gradually worsening illness, he continued with his researches and published a number of important papers during these years. On his seventieth birthday, 21 July 1930, his friends, colleagues, and pupils paid him tribute: 'At the ceremony which the Leipzig Psychological Institute held at that time - a lovely occasion, and yet solemn in mood owing to his sickness - he was presented with a Festschrift edited by the Director of the Institute, Professor F. Krueger, whose contributors brought before our eyes the numerous problem areas in psychology and philosophy in which our guest of honour had presented valuable papers. The most direct evidence for this was the index of his most important writings, well presented in the Festschrift by the editor himself, that took stock of his completed intellectual work' (Wirth 1933, 321-2). Wirth, who first met Kirschmann while he was teaching at Toronto, described the devastating effects of his illness: 'It was all the sadder to see him after his sickness had begun, when he came to Leipzig for the anniversary of the University in 1909. And yet how admirable was the strength of character by which he was able finally to complete his Psychological Optics nevertheless, though he was near the end of his days, always with other work to be done, and others who required his supervision. Only if we look into the deeper ground of his personality, into his firm faith in God, can we understand what he was able to achieve despite so many obstacles, how he could love his friends so faithfully, and how he could bear the pain to which his tender nature made him so sensitive. We shall always hold his memory in the highest honour!' (322). Given such testimony, there can be no doubt that Kirschmann's illness was real and that it lasted until the end of his life. He died on 24 October 1932 and was buried in the South Cemetery of Leipzig. 5.6

The surviving records reveal nothing about Kirschmann's private life. During his years in Toronto he lived at various addresses - the calendars for those years listed home addresses - almost certainly rented accom-

186 The Main Stream modations. No mention is ever made of any family member. Since he was over thirty when he came to Toronto, his parents may have been dead. There is no mention of any marriage either before, during, or after his residence in Toronto. While his health held and even after it failed, he seems to have practised what he preached, namely, work. Despite a diligent search, only one description of Kirschmann as a person has come to light. It was found, almost by accident, in the chapter entitled 'Academic Jokes' in the seventh volume of WJ. London's Studies in Student Life. When the first attempt was made some forty years ago to establish a department of Psychology in the University on an experimental basis, a young chap was imported from Germany to take charge of the work. He came from the laboratory of the great psychologist Wundt and although he could not speak a word of English when he arrived he soon made himself intelligible to his students under the tutelage of the Dean of Residence and myself. He was strongly built, stout, and a heavy eater. His favourite meal was at night. Before he retired he used to eat a few pickled herrings, some macaroons, sweet biscuits, and washed them down with cocoa. He smoked an occasional cigarette but not a pipe. I never saw him take a glass of beer. He always wore a long-tailed coat of black and, with his hair brushed back from his broad forehead, he was an ideal professor. He liked shakes as he called them either of word or deed: anything which created laughter: but not when the joke was on himself. He never understood the Canadian attitude of mind towards class distinction, and especially towards that sense of privilege often associated with official rank and wealth, chiefly amongst those of alien birth ... As a result of his ignorance of colonial habits and customs many jokes were misunderstood by him or taken in a wrong sense, when he would become much flustered, rub his fingers up through his hair, and declaim against the barbaric manners of Canadian students. (1937, 153-4) Loudon, a nephew of President London, rounded out his account by mentioning a couple of incidents in which Kirschmann was left both flustered and annoyed. Unfortunately, as jokes, they are not worth repeating. In a letter written to Wundt from San Francisco on 17 May 1893 we learn that Kirschmann shared with Wundt's son Max a passion for stamp collecting: 'The two letters from Max ... made me very happy, but I cannot understand why he does not want to show me his stamp collection. I myself am as greedy as possible when it comes to stamp issues. I steal

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what I can and take what I get. In the U.S. and Canada I expect to find many stamps and when I know that Max does not have them, I will get two' (1274). 5.7

His letters to Wundt reveal that Kirschmann was unhappy in Canada. In a long Christmas letter dated 21 December 1905 he confessed that he 'really long[ed] to come back to Germany.' To his list of reasons, which included his uncertain health, the damp climate, and the lack of servants, he added: 'And I add to this list that I am a German and will remain such. I am beginning to hate the English and American newspapers: they constantly report bad things from Germany. The English-American press is Germany's greatest enemy. The people here and in the States are systematically, through schools and the press, encouraged to despise and, yes, hate Germany, as if in our country there is no freedom. What they mean by freedom is this: it is the freedom of the money-hungry and political quacks. Both groups are very successful, because they have very little conscience. A German cannot even imagine how corrupt the American public officers are' (1275). His principal complaint was that the North American economy permitted unjust trade gains: I do not mean profit per person, but rather as a percentage of the natural or produced value. When I lend money at 10 per cent I am a loan shark. But if I sell goods at 100 or 200 per cent profit, without taking any risk or doing any of the dirty work myself, I am considered a smart businessman. That is so obvious on this continent, where half of the population wins their bread from trade, which means that they cheat each other and also the producers and consumers. The laws must be fundamentally changed. One cannot forbid the people, through work and savings to become wealthy or even rich or give the possessions they worked for to their children before or after death. But just as usurious interest rates can be outlawed, exorbitant profits can be prevented through legal penalties and by showing moral contempt. Of course one must start gradually with the abolishment of such evils. (1275)

Those 'German socialists and radicals' who argued that their country should adopt a parliamentary system of government were wrong and should know better: 'One must be blind not to see that Germany's proportionate poverty is based upon the fact that we must feed 66 million

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people in a relatively small area. Germany needs colonies, which means in this case parts of the earth's surface in the most temperate part of the temperate zones, where a German may remain a German. If Germany cannot attain this, in spite of the Monroe Doctrine and in spite of English intrigues, within the next twenty years, then it will hit economic bottom. Only a mighty fleet can rescue Germany. Therefore it should give its last penny, devote its last strength, to building a fleet equal to that of the English. It is a real shame how Germany was manipulated in the last ten years by America and England' (1275). This jingoistic outburst led him to express the wish that he 'had a position in the foreign ministry in Berlin, or some other position in which [he] could, through writings directed to the German people, shed light on American freedom and the danger that our Fatherland is heading towards' (1275). None of these thoughts, he assured Wundt, had interfered with his work at the University of Toronto: 'I take my duty as a Canadian civil servant and teacher of these people very seriously, and I have done all in my power to do something for this country' (1275). Certainly none of these views is to be found in the documents that survive in the University of Toronto Archives. When war broke out Wundt made 'a big, patriotic speech,' which Kirschmann read while resident in Zurich; he was, he told Wundt on 30 November 1914, 'extraordinarily pleased with it' (1276). Given the fervency of his language, it is more than likely that Kirschmann was gratified by the outbreak of war itself; for now Germany seemed determined upon improving its position in the world. But Germany's failure to achieve a 'final victory against our enemies' (1277), for which he expressed hope in a letter of 29 December 1914, must have left him and those who shared his views very bitter and ready to support a patriotic zealot who substituted a demand for 'Lebensraum' in Europe itself for the earlier one of a share of colonies abroad. This is mere speculation, however, since we have no information regarding Kirschmann's political views during the post-war period, and he died before Hitler came to power. 5.8

Kirschmann's long absence left the psychology side of the Philosophy Department in ragged shape for nearly a decade. Its management reverted to Hume, who probably did his best under adverse circumstances. All those who taught psychology during those years had been trained at Toronto. The university attempted to get by on the cheap, since a considerable sum of money was still going to Kirschmann. Recent

The Emergence of Psychology 189 graduates were hired and repeatedly rehired until they had a strong moral claim to a permanent position. The first of them was Frederick Tracy, a student of Young, who held the fellowship in philosophy for the first three years of Baldwin's appointment. Although he had been opposed to hiring Baldwin and had even joined a group to lobby the cabinet to deny him an appointment, Tracy changed his mind soon after Baldwin arrived, and thereafter they worked closely together. During his stay in Toronto Baldwin undertook a detailed study of the mental growth of his two daughters. He kept meticulous records of their development and devised simple experiments designed to test certain hypotheses he had formed. In a series of published articles, he made his discoveries known. Tracy found Baldwin's work fascinating and, at Baldwin's urging, began studying the available literature on child psychology. Baldwin suggested that Tracy could provide a valuable service to psychologists if he were to collect in one book a critical discussion of this literature, and he strongly recommended that Tracy go to Clark University for graduate study with G. Stanley Hall. Tracy acted on both suggestions. In 1893 he was awarded the doctorate in psychology by Clark, after only one year of study there. His first book, The Psychology of Childhood (1893), which grew out of his thesis, was an instant success and was widely adopted as a textbook in the United States. It went through eight printings before being superseded, and it was translated into German and several other languages, the German edition being reprinted three times. Tracy was born on a farm near Claremont, Ontario, in 1862. 'His parents,' Fulton Anderson wrote at the time of his death, 'had character, but not money.' From an early age he was obliged to make his living by doing all sorts of odd jobs, including supply preaching in Baptist churches. Ordained a Baptist minister, he remained a faithful member of that church for the rest of his life, and although he never attended McMaster University, which had been founded by the Baptists, he had strong ties to the school in later years and at one point helped it to solve a difficult matter involving dissension among church members. In recognition of his valuable services, McMaster awarded him an honorary doctorate in 1927. His preparatory schooling was acquired at Pickering College, then administered by Quakers, and, after leaving school, through a selfimposed reading course. While he was preparing himself for matriculation in the University of Toronto he taught in both the Pickering Public School and Pickering College. He began his university studies in January 1886 and graduated with a first-class degree in philosophy and political

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economy in 1889; his other distinctions included a scholarship in philosophy, the prize in psychology, and the University Medal. In June 1889, on the basis of his academic record, he was appointed fellow in philosophy for the coming year. Fellowships, as was noted earlier, were no sinecures; for a great deal of work was demanded of their holders. In a letter of 3 December 1910 written to President Falconer requesting a paid leave of absence, Tracy noted that he had been teaching for twenty-one years without a leave of absence. 'It is true that during the first three years of that period I held only a fellowship, but it was a lecturing fellowship, and I gave almost as many lectures as any of the full professors, and handled some of the largest classes in the university' (DA). For this work he was paid $500, whereas Hume, doing approximately the same work, was being paid $3,000. This disparity was a continuing source of friction between them. When Tracy returned to the University of Toronto from Clark University in the fall of 1893, he was made an 'assistant lecturer' with a salary of $700; in the following year he was reappointed and given a raise of $75. In 1893, despite his low salary, he married; during the next several years three sons were born to the marriage, all of whom went on to very distinguished academic careers as professors at Queen's and the Universities of Saskatchewan and Toronto. Over the next several years Tracy was grievously exploited by the University of Toronto, to which he showed a very stubborn loyalty. His book had made him internationally known and he had several offers of positions in the United States, all of which he turned down. Occasionally, he was able to use the threat of a move to improve his position in Toronto. In 1895 he was promoted to lecturer, with a salary of $950; on 29 April 1901 his appointment was made permanent, but only after he had written to his provincial member of Parliament and minister of education laying out his grievances. He followed up his letter to the minister with a meeting in his office. In 1905-6 he was still a lecturer with a salary of $1,800. Finally, in 1906 - the same year in which he declined the presidency of Acadia University - he was promoted to associate professor, retroactive to 1 July 1905 at his request, with a $100 rise in salary. The reason for the long delay in promoting Tracy is that until about 1906 the University of Toronto recognized no rank between lecturer and professor for ordinary faculty members. The reader will recall (§5.2) that the rank of associate professor had been introduced nearly fifteen years before, but it was used in practice only to distinguish those given administrative control of a sub-department from those - the professors -

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charged with administering departments. President Loudon was especially keen to maintain this distinction. In a letter of 2 January 1903 written to the minister of education he poured cold water on a proposal by Principal Hutton of University College to begin using the rank in the way it subsequently came to be used: 'A second difficulty was Principal Hutton's proposition to confer the rank of Associate-Professor in subjects like Latin and French where no sub-division seemed feasible. The title of Associate-Professor, as you know, has been in the past regularly reserved either for those who were acting heads of Departments or for those who, like Dr. Lash Miller, had charge of a branch of a department of sufficient importance to justify such recognition. The fact that an exception was made in the case of Mr. DeLury should not justify any further departure from this sound principle. The creation of the office of Associate-Professor where no clear line of division exists is extremely likely to give rise to friction and divided authority' (UTA, JL, 13 [3]). Loudon went on to suggest that the university follow the practice, which had become common in the United States, of introducing the rank of assistant professor, but it was some years before the University of Toronto acted on his recommendation. By 1906 Loudon had been obliged to give way on his conception of the associate professorship, and the way was cleared for promoting Tracy. From the time of Tracy's return to the university in 1893 until his promotion to associate professor, Loudon was president. From the surviving correspondence it is clear that Loudon did not think highly of Tracy's teaching. In his letter of 17 July 1906 to the minister recommending Tracy's promotion, Loudon noted that he had 'published a work on Child Psychology which has attracted much attention from teachers, [and] is a fair lecturer.' The next day he wrote again, remarking that Tracy 'as you know, has had many [offers to go elsewhere], I have advised him on several occasions to accept.' Perhaps Loudon was simply tired of dealing with Tracy's complaints about salary and promotion, or perhaps he simply did not like him. Whatever the reason, Tracy paid a high financial price when he elected to stay on at the university. The fact that he was a Baptist preacher may also have affected his treatment. When Baldwin and Hume were appointed, the government had excluded all clergymen from consideration, solely on the grounds of their profession. Loudon entered a strong protest against this policy, but after he assumed the presidency, he may have felt obliged to follow it. The matter is never mentioned, however, in the existing correspondence. During the year 1907-8 Tracy experienced what the Mail of 11 January 1908 reported was 'a temporary nervous breakdown.' This newspa-

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per report shows all too clearly the sort of fishbowl life that members of the faculty had to endure in late Victorian and Edwardian times. Tracy was a very long time recovering from his breakdown. (Hume arranged for the other members of the department to take over his courses.) He returned to teaching in the fall of 1908, even though he was still ailing. In the spring of 1911 he experienced a relapse and was granted sick leave for the year 1911-12. After he resumed his duties in the autumn of 1912 there is no further mention of his illness. In his letter to the president requesting a leave of absence, Tracy stated, without further elaboration, that the pressure of university work had led to his breakdown. By the year 1915-16 Tracy's salary had reached $3,200, the ceiling for one of his rank. Since he was a member of the university department, he could not be promoted to professor, because in those days a department was limited to a single full-time professor (at this time Hume), who served as its head. During the spring of 1916 certain difficulties arose within the Philosophy Department that appear to have involved, to some extent at least, its three senior members, George Sidney Brett, Hume, and Tracy. Just what those difficulties were is unknown, but they were serious enough for Brett, a cautious man, to take them to President Falconer. It may have been that Tracy proposed to Hume that he give up his professorship in University College, so that Tracy could take it and thus be promoted, and Hume rebuffed him. Or it may have been that the difficulties simply concerned the personal relations between Hume and Tracy, neither of whom seems to have been very easy to get along with, and Brett suggested the change in appointments as a way of getting each out of the other's hair. Whatever the substance of the difficulties, Falconer took the proposed solution to the Board of Governors and got its approval. He reported to Brett on 29 June 1916: 'Professor Tracy was appointed on Tuesday as full professor of Ethics in University College. I fancy this meets the difficulties that you suggested in his case. You have also been appointed Professor of Philosophy at $2,100. These re-arrangements, I am confident, will remove many of the difficulties in our Philosophy Department' (UTA, RAF, 38a). Tracy moved over to University College with an additional $100 a year, and Hume confined his work to the university department. University regulations did permit the appointment of Brett as professor in the department since his appointment was only part time, and therefore no administrative post need go with it. Incidentally, Brett was the first person to have the title 'professor of philosophy' in the University of Toronto; all the others before him had more restricted titles.

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After his transfer to University College little was reported about Tracy. In 1921 he published The Psychology of Adolescence, which Brett reviewed favourably in the University of Toronto Monthly, although he noted that Tracy had failed to consider 'a type known to Aristotle and to Milton, namely those who reach an abiding peace by adopting the principle "Evil be thou my good." Yet these also are genuine specimens, psychologically!' (21 Nov. 1921, 73). The next year Tracy funded, out of his own pocket, two $10 prizes to be awarded to the best students in first- and fourth-year ethics courses, an announcement that was considered significant enough for the Globe to report. Otherwise, he faded out of the picture. Philosophically speaking, Tracy had never been a force in the department. Why he chose to devote his teaching to philosophy, instead of psychology, remains a mystery. His transfer to the ethics position, a branch of philosophy in which he had not previously exhibited any interest, surely can only be understood in the way suggested above, namely, that he and Hume had come to the parting of the ways. The only statement describing Tracy's teaching that has come to light is contained in Fulton Anderson's tribute, written after his death in 1951, for the Council of the Faculty of Arts: 'Professor Tracy was a meticulous scholar, well and widely read. His teaching was characterized by simplicity and maturity. His lectures had foundation, structure, finish. Like his published writings, they were faithful and unadorned. He spoke and wrote with care, and never permitted a proposition to outrun a judgment' (UTA, A1969-0003/002). Anderson also remarked that he was a very sensitive man, whose response to any kind of nastiness was to become 'virtually ill,' although he did not forsake those who engaged in it. 'Kindly in disposition and reserved in manner, he did not mistake sentimentality or gregariousness for humanitarianism. He hated sin, befriended sinners, and escaped both cynicism and self-righteousness' (ibid.). This does not tell us a great deal about the man, except perhaps that unlike Anderson himself, whose character will be discussed in a later chapter, Tracy did not cut much of a figure. In 1928 Tracy reached the retiring age of sixty-five, but despite the fact that Loudon had judged him only a fair teacher, he was kept on, year by year, until he was seventy. The students Tracy had taught did not forget him. Three years after his retirement they established the Tracy Scholarship in his honour; Anderson wrote that the scholarship 'perpetuates the memory of an honest scholar, an apt teacher, and a virtuous man' (ibid.). Tracy lived for nearly two decades in retirement, dying on lOJune 1951.

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5.9

The second man exploited as cheap labour was Albert Holden Abbott, who was born in Brockville, Ontario, on 7 December 1871 and received all of his early education there. After graduating from high school at the age of fifteen, he took a job as a court stenographer. Five years later he enrolled in the University of Toronto, graduating in 1895. During his final year, Kirschmann hired him as an assistant in the psychological laboratory for $75 for the academic year of eight months - just $9 and change per month - and he continued to reappoint him to the same position after his graduation. The pay continued to be very low: $150 in 1895-6, then $250 the next year 'for all my time,' and finally $350. In a letter dated 30 May 1899, Abbott informed President Loudon that during those years he was 'compelled to receive substantial help' from his father. On 15 June 1898 Kirschmann wrote to the president recommending a promotion for Abbott: For the past four years Mr. A.H. Abbott, B.A., has filled the position as assistant in the Laboratory for experimental Psychology and at the same time has assisted Professor Hume and me by delivering lectures in History of Philosophy and in Psychology, which were necessary on account of increased work of the philosophical Department (a comparison of the present number of students in Philosophy and Psychology will show this at once). The payment for Mr. Abbott's services has hitherto been in no proportion to the work required of him and the arrangement of last year, according to which he was paid 350 dollars out of the allowance of the Laboratory is unsatisfactory and unacceptable for the future. I hereby ask, therefore, the authorities of the University to appoint Mr. Abbott Instructor in Philosophy and first assistant in the Psychological Laboratory and I recommend to fix his salary at not less than 600 dollars. (UTA,JL, 004 [01])

Loudon did not act on the recommendation, perhaps because he objected to the suggested salary, so Kirschmann, on 6 October, wrote again. He reduced the salary to $500 and requested that Abbott be provided, like other members of the teaching staff, with a private room. Abbott was hired at the reduced salary, which contrasted greatly with the $3,000 being paid to Hume for about the same amount of work. For the next two years Abbott was reappointed with increases in salary; then, in 1901 he was promoted to lecturer and laboratory assistant.

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Two years later he was granted a leave of absence without pay to pursue a doctorate in Germany. In 1904 the University of Wiirzburg awarded him the Ph.D. summa cum laude for his thesis, 'Problems in Psychology and Theory of Knowledge in the Philosophy of Hobbes.' Early in 1904 Abbott wrote to Loudon to tell him that he had the offer of an academic appointment in the United States, but he would much rather stay at Toronto. If he were to stay, he wanted his position clarified: 'Frankly, Mr. President, I am so heartily tired of the way my appointment has been treated for years, that were Toronto not Toronto I should have got out long ago. Every year, for the past four or five years, I've been encouraged to expect what didn't come, while others who, in my eyes at least, have no better rights than I, have been going on with regular advances. No one can say that this is due to the fact that I haven't done my work faithfully, or that my professors didn't want me -just why it has been so I do not know. The explanation that the Minister of Education won't act according to the recommendations of Hume and Kirschmann sent on with your sanction, is to me not at all adequate, because he does act in other cases where the needs are no greater and the men no more competent to fill the positions' (UTA, Al967-0009/002 [18]). Later in the same letter he informed Loudon that he had made up his mind not to return to the university until he was given 'a permanent position and a fair salary.' The urgency behind this letter is explained by the fact that Abbott was planning to marry later that year, and his current salary ($1,100) was not enough to support two people. Loudon did award him a raise of $200, but offered only the promise of a permanent position. Despite having to work very hard for very little monetary reward, Abbott still found time to write. In the autumn of 1900, when he was still a mere assistant, he published an interesting article, 'Experimental Psychology and the Laboratory in Toronto,' describing the state of both at the time. Historically speaking, this is a valuable document because it establishes beyond doubt that there was a good deal of opposition within the university to the new line of study that Baldwin had introduced. Some objected that there was no such science as experimental psychology, and others criticized the choice of 'experimental psychology' as the name for what they were ready to admit was a new line of study. Abbott declined to be drawn into a dispute about the latter criticism; time would tell whether or not the name was well chosen. Instead, he devoted his space to establishing, with the help of many compelling examples, that there are natural phenomena that are not studied by any other science and have been fruitfully studied by experimental psychologists. To cite

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one of his examples: neither physics nor physiology has anything to say about colours as they are experienced by humans, but psychology does offer theories. Indeed, he noted, important discoveries concerning colour perception had already been made in the new psychological laboratory at Toronto. Having answered the critics, Abbott turned to a discussion of the teaching of experimental psychology in the University of Toronto. There were about sixty students taking honours psychology, and all of them were required to engage in laboratory work during all three years of the program. In their final year, students were required to carry out 'actual research work' in order to receive credit for their year's work. As we learned earlier, Kirschmann required participation in research of all his advanced pupils. Student demand had led to a considerable expansion of the space assigned for the use of the psychology staff in University College. The diagrams of these rooms that Abbott reproduced showed nine on the first floor and another six on the second floor of its west wing, a considerable expansion from Baldwin's original four rooms on the second floor. Abbott carefully labelled the rooms and provided an index of their uses. Of considerable interest for the history of the Philosophy Department is his short description of the psychological content of the philosophy course: 'It may not be quite superfluous to refer very briefly to the relation of the work in Experimental Psychology to the Honour course (for B.A.) in Philosophy. The Honour Course in Philosophy includes Psychology, Logic, Theory of Knowledge, Ethics, History of Philosophy and Metaphysics. This work is arranged to cover three years of the Undergraduate course. Psychology, Experimental and General, covers about one third of the work in Philosophy; and in Psychology the Experimental part of the work is about one-third in the first year (Sophomore students) , and two-thirds in the second year, while in the final year all the Psychology takes the form of research work' (Abbott 1900, 112). The education of the graduates of this era was very different from that of a decade earlier, when George Paxton Young was the dominant force. On 17 July 1906 President Loudon wrote to the Board of Trustees recommending Abbott's promotion to associate professor, stating that he 'has published valuable researches on colour saturation and after images, and recently has made a name for himself by his work on the History of English Philosophy, a part of which was published as a Ph.D. thesis at Wiirzburg. The work as a whole is being prepared for the press. Is a good teacher and a most energetic member of the Faculty' (UTA, JL, 014

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[20]). Abbott was promoted and paid a salary of $1,500; thus, he was in a position to take over the more advanced of Kirschmann's courses when the latter went on leave in the autumn of 1908. For some years he covered for Kirschmann, but when it became plain that Kirschmann was unlikely ever to return and new faculty members were being hired, Abbott gradually transferred his teaching to the philosophical side of the department. Even prior to Kirschmann's leave, Abbott had been asked by the president to organize the summer program at the university. This program was designed largely for schoolteachers, who took courses during the summer to add lustre to their credentials. Abbott was paid a small honorarium for this assignment, but he was given no teaching relief. His work with summer courses led later to the larger job of organizing the first extension courses offered by the university. His organizational work in these jobs was so outstanding that President Falconer asked him in 1916 to organize the alumni of the university into an effective body. As inducements to undertake this task, he was given a reduced teaching load and an honorarium of $200 annually. When the First World War broke out, people of Abbott's organizational skills were in great demand. While continuing with his university activities, occasionally hiring substitutes to teach some of his classes, he undertook exhausting volunteer work for a number of patriotic organizations. Three fund drives for the British Red Cross, which he organized, raised over $5 million. For a period he was director of labour in Ontario for the Imperial Munitions Board. This is but a sample of his wartime activities. Not only was he very good at it, but it also seems he found organizational work more to his liking than university teaching. There are also strong hints that he and Hume did not exactly hit it off, although Abbott took great care to avoid an open break. In 1920 an offer from the Canadian Red Cross to serve as its permanent secretary a job he was happy to accept - solved many problems for him. Roger Myers, who was a student in the department in the mid-1920s and many years later served as chairman of the Psychology Department, noted an additional reason for Abbott's resignation from the university: 'In 1919, Abbott appears to have slipped on a spiritualistic "banana peel" called the "Twentieth Plane" when he started to investigate, and later came under the influence of, a local medium by the name of Louis Benjamin, who claimed to have had conversations with several famous, but long-dead, scholars. When Benjamin proved to be a fake, this caused something of a local scandal, and Abbott was promptly dropped

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[resigned] from the staff of the University' (Myers 1982, 95). Unwisely, as it turned out, Abbott had brought his sessions with Benjamin to the notice of the university by giving an interview to the Varsity; it was published on 17 January 1919. Headlined 'Dr. Abbott of Philosophy Department Holds Communication with Spirit World; Investigations into This Subject Were of a Purely Scientific Nature; Claims Conclusions to be Warranted,' it was bound to have a jarring effect on both President Falconer and George Sidney Brett, who was the coming man in both psychology and philosophy. In the course of the interview, Abbott told of having conversations with Coleridge, Spinoza, and Plato: 'During one solid hour I asked questions [of Plato] which involved the deepest kind of logic I know, and they were answered as profoundly as I have ever heard a question answered' (1). The interviewer interrupted to ask, 'Does Plato's mind show a progress?' to which Abbott replied: 'Decidedly. His views, expressed in his works, are changed in several important respects, but one can always detect an attitude which might well suggest the sage who wrote the immortal book' (1). Abbott then admitted that none of the spectators in the room was able to make sense of his 'conversation' with Plato, but he did not seem troubled by this fact. Myers is probably right in saying that Abbott's relationship with Benjamin contributed to his leaving the university. The English version of Abbott's thesis never appeared; nor did he publish anything else in philosophy. Consequently, by the First World War his career as a university teacher was at a dead end. After assuming the secretaryship of the Canadian Red Cross, he worked hard for the organization until 1924, when he suffered what one obituarist called 'a nervous breakdown,' from which apparently he never fully recovered. Although he was obliged to resign his position with the Red Cross in 1926, he continued to work for various charities from his home until his death on 5 August 1934.

5.10 Two others, who had been appointed lecturers in 1905 with the duty of assisting in the psychological laboratory, did yeoman's service for psychology during Kirschmann's absence. They were W.G. Smith and T.R. Robinson, who had been awarded the second doctorate in psychology in 1906 and whose career in the department is described below (§7.9). On these men and Abbott - two of them just out of graduate school and the other, Smith, holding only an undergraduate degree - fell the bur-

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den of the work in psychology, including graduate instruction, after Kirschmann departed in 1908. Is it any wonder that between 1908 and 1927 only one doctorate in psychology is listed? It was awarded in 1912.4 William George Smith was born into a fishing family in Newfoundland on 4 March 1873. As a young man, he worked with his father for a few seasons, but then decided that he wanted to escape the life of a fisherman. Through private study he secured matriculation in the University of London, but decided to enrol in Victoria College instead, probably because he lacked the funds to go to England. In 1899 he graduated with an honours degree in philosophy and was accepted as a probationer in the Methodist Church; he was ordained in 1904. Kirschmann hired him as a laboratory assistant for $200 in 1901 and reappointed him with raises for the next three years. Smith was also doing some supply preaching on the side. In 1905 he began to teach in the classroom, with the rank of lecturer and a salary of $1,000, but his duties still included assisting in the laboratory. On 1 July 1913 he was promoted to the new rank of assistant professor with a salary of $2,100; five years later he was made an associate professor and his salary was increased to $2,850. When the budget of the psychology sub-department was split from that of the Philosophy Department in 1919, Smith was the highest ranking member of the group teaching psychology. Working with him were two lecturers and a few assistants. In the words of Roger Myers, 'Smith tried hard to become the successor to Kirschmann, but, according to [E.A.] Bott, he had no aptitude for laboratory work. He seems to have been a quarrelsome person. As a result of one quarrel, he resigned from the staff at Toronto.' (Myers 1982, 95). No evidence has come to light to support Myers's claim that Smith quar-

4 Almost certainly this thesis has been misclassified. Its very title, 'The Relation of Evolutionary Theory to Ethical Problems with Special Reference to Method,' leads one to suspect it is not in psychology. Its author, Joseph Roy Sanderson, earned a B.A. in philosophy in 1907; for his master's degree (1910) he studied the relationship of accent and pitch to musical rhythm, using the instruments in the psychological laboratory. For his doctorate he worked under the supervision of Abbott, with Brett advising him in ethics. His thesis concerned the impact that Darwin's theory had on the development of associationistic psychology and on ethical theory. An examination of its content and argument strongly supports the conclusion that his thesis should be assigned to philosophy, not to psychology. If this conclusion is correct, there were no doctorates awarded in psychology between 1908 and 1927, when the Psychology Department was formally instituted. For the record, Sanderson spent his entire working life as a high-school teacher and principal in British Columbia.

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relied with his colleagues. He left the university on 30 June 1921. The following academic year he held an appointment as head of the Department of Philosophy in Wesley College in Winnipeg. 'From this position he was dismissed in 1922, presumably as a result of another quarrel' (95). Myers was at least half right regarding Smith. Smith was actively recruited for the staff of the new Wesley College, founded by the Methodist Church. He turned down its first offer of $4,000 and then accepted when the salary was increased by $500. In addition to serving as head of the Philosophy Department, he was named (by his own request) professor of sociology and (at the insistence of the principal) vice-principal of the college. During the course of his first year at Wesley, Smith fell out with the principal, the very man who had recruited him. To make matters worse, Smith complained in a speech to the Methodist conference that the moral tone of the school was very low, and that the principal was to blame. The principal admitted that some students had been caught smoking and drinking but insisted that, after being counselled, they had mended their ways. Some members of the college board were incensed by Smith's speech and moved that he be dismissed for insubordination; the motion carried thirteen to seven. Sent a cheque for $4,600 (including the following year's increment) in lieu of a year's notice, he returned it and brought a lawsuit demanding $50,000 in damages from Wesley College. After a long trial, in which hampers of dirty Methodist linen got aired in public, the judge decided against him, but awarded him a year's salary - the very same amount he had earlier spurned. Smith, the principal and the board all came in for a severe tongue-lashing from the judge. Smith then took the position of principal of Norwood Collegiate Institute in Winnipeg. In 1929 he was appointed director of child welfare for Manitoba, a position he resigned when he requested more money for the office and was denied it. His career ended on a brighter note; he founded and served as the first director of the School of Social Work in affiliation with the University of Manitoba. In retirement he lived in Calgary, where he died in September 1943. In the minutes of the Manitoba Methodist Conference for 1944 is found this carefully worded statement: 'W.G. Smith was a great soul, he carried the heavy load of his family during his student days, overcoming great obstacles in doing so. He possessed a keen mind and a hatred of sham and a deep dislike of any fallacy, the two latter often leading him to be over critical even of those he loved.' Smith published two books at the end of his tenure in the University of Toronto; both of them dealt with problems of immigration. These monographs provide all the evidence one needs to conclude that his principal

The Emergence of Psychology 201 interest had shifted from psychology to sociology during the course of his teaching career. The first study was done, Smith informed the reader, 'at the request of the Canadian National Committee for Mental Hygiene' (Smith 1920, 3). Entitled A Study in Canadian Immigration, it was published in 1920 in the Ryerson Canadian Citizenship Series. C.K. Clarke, then director of psychology, provided a foreword, in which he praised Smith's work: 'While excellent contributions to the history of immigration into Canada have been made, it has remained for Professor W.G. Smith to give a clear and concise story of what actually happened. That he has done his work admirably and painstakingly a perusal of the pages of this book will make plain' (8). In Smith's second study, Building the Nation: A Study of Some Problems Concerning the Churches'Relation to the Immigrants (1922), he discussed the role of organized religion in immigration. In both books he told his readers that problems concerning immigration had engaged his attention for many years. This abiding interest helps to explain why he wanted the professorship of sociology at Wesley College and also why the University of Toronto made no effort to retain his services in psychology.

5.11 The man whom Kirschmann's misfortunes most benefited was George Sidney Brett. Brett had come to Trinity College in 1908 as librarian and lecturer in classics. When teachers had to be found in the autumn of 1909 to fill in for Kirschmann, Brett must have signalled his availability for an additional appointment, because he is listed as 'Temporary Assistant in Philosophy and Logic' in the 1909-10 budget at a salary of $400. From this very modest foothold he quickly made himself indispensable and a decade later moved over full time to the university department. His extraordinary service is discussed at length in chapter 7; he is introduced here because of the central role he played in E.A. Bott's career. The 1914-15 budget for the psychology side of the department listed for the first time the name of a man who was destined to play a central role in the development of the subject at the University of Toronto and indeed in the world at large during the next several decades. Edward Alexander Bott was born near Ingersoll, Ontario, on 11 April 1887 and educated in the local schools. After finishing high school, he took a job as a schoolteacher in order to earn the money needed to enrol in the University of Toronto. One evening he happened to attend an extension lecture given by James Gibson Hume; inspired, he decided to con-

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centrate his studies in philosophy. In 1909 he entered the university as a second-year student,5 and by the time he received his B.A. in 1912 his principal interest had shifted to psychology. The following year he continued as a graduate student in psychology, directed by no one in particular, since the sub-department was leaderless. Most of his time was spent in the psychological laboratory, constructing ingenious experiments to test various ideas he had about vision. By 1914 he had mastered laboratory techniques so thoroughly that he was appointed an assistant to the demonstrator, at that time Edwin John Pratt (1882-1964), who later gained fame in Victoria College. Bott soon proved his worth and was reappointed annually until 1917, when he was promoted to assistant professor and thus made a permanent member of the department. Since he had been rejected for war service in 1915 on account of poor vision, he turned to the problem of re-educating disabled soldiers. In this he proved to be endlessly inventive and did superb work. Although he submitted a dissertation, he was never awarded the Ph.D. degree; nonetheless, as Brett stated in a memorandum to Falconer on 24 March 1917, 'he feels that he has a right to be considered as having for all practical purposes, taken his Ph.D. degree' (DA). Having mentioned the touchy issue of Bott's failure to secure the doctorate, this is perhaps the place to discuss the 'Bott-Brett feud.' I first learned of this bit of departmental history from a remark by Professor David Savan, a long-time member of the Philosophy Department, recorded on the department's oral history tapes (DA, OHT): 'When I first came here -1 had been teaching psychology as well as philosophy at the College of William and Mary where I had been teaching immediately prior to coming here - and so I was interested in the Psychology Department here. I was told that there was a long-standing and bitter feud between Bott, who was then Head of Psychology, and Brett - the "BottBrett feud" - I was told. And I gather, although I have never heard this

5 For many years the University of Toronto recognized two levels of matriculation: junior and senior. The junior matriculation examination tested those who had just graduated from a secondary school, and those who passed it were allowed to enrol in first year. The senior matriculation examination was designed to test those who had done additional work after high school, either in a school or on their own. The senior examination was equivalent in difficulty to the final examinations of first year, so those who passed it were deemed eligible to enter second year. Both Bott and Hume took advantage of the senior examination to start university in second year.

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from either of them, so it is all second or third hand by now, but I was informed that the reason, the origin of this feud, was that Bott was interested in the general theoretical systems of psychologists, people like Titchener and others, and that Brett had, I think, been instrumental in denying him his Ph.D.' Thomas Goudge responded: T think, indeed, he had voted against the acceptance of the document, which Bott submitted as the draft of his Ph.D. thesis. This was while Hume was still chairman of the department.' Robert McRae added his recollections: T think his thesis was on the pre-Socratics, and Brett blocked it because Bott didn't know Greek.' Savan: 'So that was it.' Roger Myers, in his history of the Psychology Department, was not clear on the fate of Bolt's thesis: Bott's doctoral thesis was on the thoroughly philosophical subject of the emergence of Western 'scientific method' in early Greek thought, part of which he published as a journal article. This was a subject in which he continued to be interested for the rest of his life and which later became the basis for his famous seminar in 'Systematic Psychology.' But Bott was never granted a Ph.D. degree at Toronto. The junior members of the psychology staff (Cosgrave, Bernhardt, Wilson and Myers) were told, and believed, the plausible story that Bott's Ph.D. degree had been blocked by Brett on the grounds that no one should be allowed to do a thesis on early Greek thought who could not read Greek in the original. However, Bott, in his reminiscences, says that he never heard of any obstacle of that kind. He claims that his thesis was mislaid while circulating through the philosophy staff, and says that 'It was my own fault that that thing went fallow because I was so diverted into war activities.' (1982, 81)

The Brett hypothesis sounds much more plausible than Bott's rather contrived explanation. Brett would not have approved a thesis on the pre-Socratics written by a candidate with no Greek. The portion of the thesis that Bott published is a discussion of methodological questions as they arise in recent psychology; William James is the earliest figure of whom he treats. An opinion of Parmenides is discussed briefly; no other Greek philosopher is mentioned (see Bott 1923). Throughout his career Bott claimed that his thesis had been mislaid by members of the Philosophy Department and then had simply vanished. The true story is more complicated. Bott may have forgotten about his thesis during the war years, but in the early 1920s he attempted to have a revised and enlarged version published as a volume in the University of

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Toronto Studies series. First, however, he submitted it to J.H. Muirhead for possible inclusion in his Library of Philosophy, then published by George Allen & Unwin in London. Muirhead thought it was 'a very able and original treatment of the Pre-Socratic philosophies from a particular point of view' and suggested that it should be entitled Scientific Method in Early Greek Philosophy. Because of its limited potential readership, he concluded that 'it would be impossible to speak hopefully of it as a business undertaking.' He recommended that Bott should submit it to a university press. Armed with this testimonial and another from F.J.E. Woodbridge, professor of philosophy in Columbia University, who wrote: 'your presentation of Early Greek Philosophy is one of the very best I have ever read,' Bott sent his thesis, whose length he estimated at about 95,000 words, to the secretary of the University of Toronto Studies Committee. In his letter of submission, Bott remarked that 'the manuscript as it stands is the outgrowth of some eight years of work during which time the text has been more than once rewritten.' After the usual deliberations, the committee decided that the book should be published, but it was advised by the press that a subsidy of about $1,000 would be required. As the committee's total budget for the year was only $1,800, reluctantly it turned him down. As a last resort, Bott tried to get the required subsidy from President Falconer, who took his request to the Finance Committee but without success. (See letters in UTA, RAF, 76a and 82). Whether Brett played any part in this sequence of events is not known, but since he was director of psychology at the time, Falconer probably consulted him. Given his earlier reaction, it is certain that Brett would not have approved of the university's putting its name on such a publication. As already noted, Bott extracted a journal article from the thesis; the balance remained unpublished. Obviously, however, it was not lost as he claimed. A nearly complete copy of the version submitted to the Studies Committee was found in 1960 and is now filed with Roger Myers's papers in the University of Toronto Archives (B1988-0048). Even a cursory examination of Bolt's typescript is sufficient to make one understand why Brett would have been opposed to accepting it in partial fulfilment of the requirements for the doctorate. One chapter is entitled 'What is Logos?' and another 'An Interpretation of Logos and of Heraclitean Sources.' In neither of these chapters does Bott discuss what scholars of the Greek language had written about the meaning of 'Logos.' All his sources are English translations of the fragments of the pre-Socratic philosophers, especially those made by John Burnet (1863-1928). In a preface written in 1924 Bott described his intentions in this way:

The Emergence of Psychology 205 The following pages are a study in methods of inquiry based upon preSocratic material. The purpose is not to add one more to the many existing histories of early Greek thought but rather to examine certain principles of analysis which the early Greeks used for prosecuting inquiry and which still influence our modern modes of thinking. That modern thought owes much to pre-Socratic scientists we shall take for granted and in this study emphasis will be given to points which can be learned from these ancients rather than to points which have already been learned from them. From this standpoint our aim will be to study the technique of criticism that they employed in experimenting with various ways of inquiry. This can be done by an inductive procedure, namely, by selecting and comparing certain of their outstanding experiments in methods of inquiry. The Greek views which we believe to be most significant for this purpose are those that pertain particularly to matters of space and of time. (UTA B1988-0048/34)

By the time he wrote this preface Bott had been working on his manuscript for eight years. There is no record of when he submitted an earlier version for the doctorate, but it may have been as early as 1917. Brett's remark, quoted above, that 'he [Bott] feels that he has a right to be considered as having for all practical purposes, taken his Ph.D. degree' strongly suggests that it had been turned down before that memorandum was written on 24 March 1917. Whatever the actual sequence of events may have been, Bott was literally correct in stating that no copy of his thesis survived. It is worth noting that in his preface Bott thanked Abbott and Smith for inspiring him to tackle this topic, but there is no mention of Brett.

5.12 Throughout the First World War there were indications that the psychologists were bridling under Hume's supervision. When assistants were to be appointed, Hume wanted to select persons with the best academic records and then to assign them to work in the psychological laboratory or to mark papers in a psychology or philosophy course without any regard for their previous study. The psychologists, on the other hand, demanded that their assistants have certain laboratory skills. Until Brett was appointed (part-time) professor of philosophy in 1916, Hume had the upper hand. Brett, who had published the first volume of his History of Psychology in 1912, had a solid foot in both camps and was respected by both the psychologists and the philosophers. His memorandum on Bott

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to Falconer began in this way: 'The question of Mr. Bott's appointment has been discussed with Professor Hume. It is understood that Professor Hume desires to have Mr. Bott appointed as an Assistant in the Department of Philosophy. It is not clear that Professor Hume understands Mr. Bott's position or his relation to the Department' (DA). This remark would have conveyed a great deal to Falconer, who, as we will have occasion to see, already held a low opinion of Hume's competence. Matters came to a head in 1919. On 20 June Falconer wrote to Hume: 'As you remember I spoke to you some time ago about the separation of Psychology from Philosophy, and the putting of Professor W.G. Smith and Dr. Bott together under the directorship of Dr. C.K. Clarke. This went through yesterday at a meeting of the Board of Governors when we finally passed the estimates. This will mean that the Psychology people will have to determine their own courses and it will rest with the Department of Philosophy to take as much or as little of their courses as you may determine is wise for your own students' (UTA, RAF, 52b). Apparently Falconer thought Bott had been awarded the doctorate. Hume's control of psychology was finally ended; Clarke replaced him for no additional compensation. Charles Kirk Clarke (1857-1924), after whom the Clarke Institute was named, was the first professor of psychiatry in the University of Toronto. A native of Flora, Ontario, he was graduated in medicine from the University of Toronto in 1878. After obtaining his medical degree, he embarked on a life-long study of mental diseases, while holding positions in asylums for the insane, as they were then called, in Toronto, Hamilton, and Kingston. In Kingston he served for twenty-five years as superintendent of the Rockwood Asylum. In his treatment of the insane, he broke very decisively with the then current practice, showing, as a memorialist put it, a 'profound sympathy for the unfortunate victim of mental illness.' 'He was one of the pioneers in establishing non-restraint in the treatment of such patients, an advocate of occupational therapy for the insane, and of late years he fought hard and persistently for the erection of a Reception Hospital in Toronto where patients could be comfortably housed and cared for in the incipient stages of mental disease, believing that in such a favourable environment they might be saved from hopeless insanity' (Primrose 1924, 223). By 1905 he was back in Toronto as superintendent of the Queen Street Asylum, and two years later he was appointed professor of psychiatry in the University of Toronto where he served until 1921, when he resigned for reasons of ill health. From 1908 until his resignation, he also served as dean of the Faculty of Medicine.

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The calendar for 1920-1 listed 'Psychology' separately for the first time. In addition to its own staff list, it had its own pass course and its own honours course; in the latter the philosophical content was reduced to a single one-hour course in each of the last three years. The honours course for philosophy included only a two-hour introduction to psychology. The split between the two subjects was thus nearly total. In a report to the university published in April 1922 in the University of Toronto Monthly, Brett, who had just succeeded Clarke as director of psychology, remarked on the separation of the subject from its parent, philosophy: 'Until recently Psychology was a sub-division of Philosophy. This was the traditional connection, and so long as the subject remained 'mental philosophy' it was a natural relationship. At the present time there is no advantage in the connection beyond the fact that it keeps alive the tradition; the philosopher of course needs Psychology and psychologists frequently stand in need of some Philosophy, but to that extent every subject needs to be supplemented. The decisive factor is the direction in which growth is to be expected and in the case of Psychology that direction is toward experimental laboratory work, study of individual character, analysis of social and industrial problems, and specific work in the sphere of abnormal Psychology' (1922, 299). This new psychology, Brett went on to point out, was already an important component in the training of social and medical workers of all kinds and was likely to find its way into many other training programs, which would tend to widen the distance between it and philosophy. Already ill when he was appointed director, Clarke did not hold that office for long. In 1921 he resigned and was succeeded by Brett. Shortly before he resigned, Clarke gaveJ.W. Bridges (1885-1980) an appointment as assistant professor of psychology. James Winfred Bridges was born in Prince Edward Island and, after finishing high school, taught for a number of years. In 1911 he earned a B.A. in philosophy from McGill University and then enrolled at Harvard, where he worked under Hugo Miinsterberg. After obtaining the doctorate in 1915, he was appointed a psychological intern in the Psychopathic Hospital in Boston. During the year he worked there, he and Professor R.M. Yerkes developed the 'Yerkes-Bridges Point Scale Examination' for measuring mental ability. After a year as lecturer in the University of Alberta, he moved to Ohio State University, where he taught from 1915 until his Toronto appointment, a term that included a two-year release for war work in Washington, B.C. In 1919 he published An Outline of Abnormal Psychology, one of the earliest books to attempt to systematize this developing subject. Psy-

208 The Main Stream chologists of his training were few in those days, and the University of Toronto was very pleased to appoint him. His work during his first year was outstanding, and Brett recommended his promotion to associate professor with a substantial rise in salary. During 1923-4 Brett began hearing reports that Bridges was misbehaving in the classroom. After an investigation, Brett decided the complaints were serious enough to demand his resignation, which Bridges tendered effective 30 June 1924. President Falconer's papers reveal that the official reason for asking him to resign was that 'his method of expounding his subject was not such as the authorities could officially endorse.' The charges were vague and they were all from women students, one of whom said he was 'vile and disgusting.' Considering that he taught abnormal psychology, itself not a pretty subject, one may question the justice of his treatment. Fortunately for him, McGill University was happy to offer him a position at the same rank and promoted him to professor in 1929. One can only conclude that Brett and Falconer were mistaken in their judgment. Bridges's departure left the division seriously understaffed again. Until 1924 Psychology was housed in University College, in the same rooms that had been assigned to it at the turn of the century. After Kirschmann's departure in 1908, the number of graduate students was so small that there was no demand for additional space. As Bott's work became known, the number of graduates wishing to study with him kept rising until there were twenty or so requiring laboratory space for their experiments. Since expansion in University College was not possible, in 1924 the university assigned Psychology two houses - 69 and 71 St George Street - and staffed them with live-in caretakers. Brett, however, kept his office in University College, and the day-to-day management of the division increasingly fell on Bott's shoulders. Brett was still required to sign all official documents, but he seems to have treated this duty as merely pro forma. The move served to increase the distance between Psychology and its parent department. There is an odd feature of Brett's directorship: his name never appeared in the calendars under 'Psychology,' whereas Clarke's name was listed. Under Brett's directorship Bott's name always headed the list. Nevertheless, Brett was active in its work and defence. In addition to overseeing its affairs, he taught a course, 'Historical Development of Psychology,' in its graduate program for seven years, beginning in 1920-1, and he defended psychology from attacks by religious critics. In December 1924 he published in the Canadian Journal of Religious Thought, a new periodical he had helped to found, an article entitled 'Some Beliefs

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About Psychology' in reply to a piece, 'Some Doubts about Psychology,' published in the same place by Ernest F. Scott, professor of biblical theology in Union Theological Seminary in New York. Brett's examination of Scott's putative arguments was devastating. Scott took the line that the modern vogue for psychology could be likened to that enjoyed by formal logic in the late Middle Ages, which, he asserted, had petered out when its excessive claims proved groundless. The same fate, he predicted, was in store for psychology. He then proceeded to dredge up every fallacious argument going the rounds, all of which Brett exposed for what they were - surprisingly, without sparing Scott's feelings. In the last two sentences of his critique, Brett turned Scott's analogy sharply against him: 'The great mystics of all time have been psychologists in their degree and would not today be found among the doubters. Nor would the great mediaeval logicians have countenanced the fallacy that because charlatans are often called psychologists, psychologists can be called charlatans' (1924,480). During Brett's directorship, Bott's scholarly reputation continued to grow and, for a welcome change, the university paid attention, rewarding him with promotions and increases in salary. Throughout the time he was director, the records show that Brett deferred all new appointments to Bott; he merely signed off on them. In 1926 Bott, who had received offers of professorships at both Yale and Michigan, was promoted to professor of psychology, and in the following year Psychology became a department in the Faculty of Arts, with him as its head. President Falconer had insisted that, until there was a professor to act as its head, there could be no Department of Psychology. Bott was to serve for nearly thirty years in this position; he retired in 1956 and died in 1974.

6

'A Weakened Echo of Dr Young' James Gibson Hume

6.1

James Gibson Hume was born on 12 September 1860, the son ofjames and Marion (Brown) Hume, whose claim to fame was that she was a second cousin of Robert Burns, the Scottish poet, thus making Hume himself a second cousin once removed of Burns. Although born near Toronto, Hume spent his childhood and youth on the family farm located at Shanty Bay near Barrie. His early education was gained in local schools, and he so excelled as a pupil that he was taken on as a teacher after he had learned what those schools had to teach him. In one bit of autobiography, he mentioned having some Normal School training, presumably before his employment as a teacher. After several years of teaching, he had saved enough to resume his education; he studied for a year in St. Catherine's Collegiate Institute and then enrolled as a second-year student in the University of Toronto from which he graduated in 1887 with double honours in classics and philosophy and the Governor General's Gold Medal in Mental Science and Classics, a distinction of which he would boast for the rest of his life.

6.2 During his undergraduate years, Hume helped to found the first Philosophy Club in the University of Toronto: 'The Session of '85-'86 saw the beginning of the Philosophical Society. At that time the students in the Department of Philosophy, who, although there was no Political Science Department, were required to pass certain examinations in Political Economy, organized a Society under the name of'The University College Philosophical and Political Science Association," with William Houston,

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M.A., as President, and T.M. Logic, '86, andJ.G. Hume, '85, as Vice-Presidents. In the following year our honoured Professor, Dr. J.G. Hume, then in his final year, again acted as Vice-President' (Torontonensis 1902, 203). The aim of the society was to provide a forum for discussing the required reading on which the examinations in politics were based. After William James Ashley's appointment as professor of political economy in 1888 that reason no longer existed, so the society was divided into two: 'For three years the Philosophical section of the Society took the form of an Ethical Seminary, under the direction of Professor Hume, until '94'95 when the Society was reorganized as a regular College Society, under the title of "The Philosophical Society of the University of Toronto," with Professor Hume as Honorary President, Dr. Badgley as Honorary VicePresident, and A.H. Abbott, '95, as President. The growing popularity of the Philosophical Department is evidenced by the fact that the number of students this year enrolled in the first year of the Honour Course is no less than thirty-four - the largest class in the history of the present Philosophy Course' (203). As usually happens with such organizations, which depend for their existence upon the eagerness of volunteers, this one petered out when the active members graduated and were not replaced by others equally committed. Between 1909 and 1915 there appears to have been no club. At the beginning of 1915-16, when he wanted a forum for his war views, Hume helped the students to organize a new society: 'Organization of a Philosophical Club among graduates and undergraduates of the University was effected yesterday afternoon at a representative gathering of all the years. The students decided that interest in philosophical problems would be fostered by an organization such as was proposed and that contemporary problems could be taken up with advantage, since they were not part of the regular curriculum. Prof. J.G. Hume, head of the department presided, and after outlining the history of the society that existed in the early nineties, said that sufficient interest had been aroused to warrant the formation of the club' (Varsity, 15 Nov. 1915,1). Hume agreed to speak at its first meeting on the topic of the relationship between German thought and the development of the spirit of militarism in Germany, a topic very much on his mind during the First World War. Twenty years later this reorganized society was still going strong. 6.3

A copy of Hume's printed application for the chair of metaphysics and ethics and logic in the University of Toronto, left vacant by the death of

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his 'revered teacher, the late Professor George Paxton Young,' survives. Dated 14 August 1889, it was submitted to the minister of education for Ontario, who held the power of appointment. In it Hume described his graduate training in the United States: 'On receiving my Degree of B.A., I at once entered upon a post-graduate course of study in Johns Hopkins University. At the mid-year's Examination I obtained the highest rank in Philosophy, and at the close of the session I won the nomination to the Fellowship in Psychology. The following year I continued my studies in Philosophy, Psychology, and Ethics, in Harvard University. At the midyear's Examination I won highest standing, Grade A, over 90%, in each subject, and was awarded the Thayer Scholarship in Philosophy. At the end of the session I successfully passed the Examination for the Degree of M.A., and was appointed Roger's Fellow in Ethics' (UTAJGH, 001 [2]). Among his teachers at Johns Hopkins was G. Stanley Hall, and at Harvard he took courses with Francis Bowen, William James, Francis Greenwood Peabody, andjosiah Royce. In some undated notes, which Hume jotted down for President Loudon on the history of psychology in the Department of Philosophy, he alluded to his own education: 'Although there was no such term as "Psychology" used under Professor Young - and Professor Baldwin never had the term "Psychology" in his official title - yet Psychology was taught by Professor Young and also by Professor Baldwin. Professor Young had furthermore formed plans for an extension of the work in Psychology (misnamed Metaphysics) by the addition or inclusion of the so called "new" "physiological" or "experimental" psychology as it was variously designated. With the view of such an extension in Psychology Professor Young advised his pupil Professor Hume to qualify himself to take charge of this part of the work and on his advice Dr. Hume went to study under Dr. G. Stanley Hall and Dr. Donaldson both specialists in the "new Psychology" atJohns Hopkins University and the succeeding year under Professor William James at Harvard' (UTA, JL, 006 [11]). Judging from this account, Hume was preparing himself to teach psychology when the news came of the death of George Paxton Young. Given what he says about his intentions in going to Johns Hopkins, it is odd to find Hall, in his testimonial, which Hume printed in his application, writing: 'Although experimental Psychology has not been the focus of his philosophical interest, he has a fair theoretical knowledge of it, and has breadth and insight enough to be not lacking in sympathy and appreciation of it.' Despite all of his training in psychology in the United States and in Germany, Hume seems never to have taught the subject at all. Nor, as we will see, did he prove to have much sympathy for it.

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6.4

In the passage just quoted the reader may have been struck by the odd way in which Hume refers to himself. Although he is writing about his own undergraduate experience, he chooses 'Professor Hume' and 'Dr. Hume' as his designators. This was rather typical of the man. He was always alert to the tiniest slight, perhaps thereby indicating all too plainly a sense of insecurity. Another instance is found in a letter he wrote to the Globe on 29 June 1915 commenting on the termination of Professor Kirschmann's contract with the university: In your report of the discontinuance of the pension paid by the University of Toronto to Dr. Kirschmann the statement is made that he occupied for several years the headship of the department of philosophy. This is incorrect. Professor Kirschmann was never at the head of the department of philosophy, but was at the head of a sub-division or sub-department of philosophy - namely, psychology. The department of philosophy in the University of Toronto includes the following sub-divisions: - History of philosophy and metaphysics, logic and psychology in the University of Toronto and ethics in University College. When on the death of Professor Young in 1889 two successors were concurrently appointed, Professor Hume and Professor Baldwin, the department became sub-divided in its headship, but on the resignation of Professor Baldwin in 1893 the department became reunited, with Professor Hume as head of the whole department, a position he has occupied ever since. (UTA, A1973-0026/161[46])

One may doubt whether very many readers of the Globe would have cared about the paper's slip, or indeed about Hume's correction, but his letter makes it clear that it was very important to Hume himself. 6.5

Hume wrote a good deal for Toronto newspapers on current topics and even sent them his poems. 'Get the Habit,' which might have been commissioned by the equivalent of the Toronto Transit Commission of 1896, is typical of his verse: Buy your tickets at your leisure, Get the habit. It will add much to our pleasure, Get the habit.

214 The Main Stream Our conductor, don't delay him, Get the habit. 'Have your tickets ready,' pay him, Get the habit. 'Sit up closer,' squeeze up tighter, Get the habit. Set your mind on getting slighter, Get the habit. 'Move up forward,' pack together, Get the habit. You'll need no straps, we're short of leather, Get the habit. Struggle forward, scrimmaging, fighting, Get the habit. Several streets before alighting, Get the habit. Hobble skirts are good for women, (slight dimension). Hobble overcoats would make men slim in, (we might mention) Get the habit. (UTA, A1973-0026/161 [46])

Hume did have the grace to sign this bit of doggerel with his initials. Throughout his life he continued to write bad verse. Many years after his death his daughter printed several of his religious poems under the title The Life of Jesus in Verse (1973). It was his last hurrah. 6.6

In his letter of application, Hume asserted that he felt ready to assume the duties of the chair for 1889-90, but that he would be more of an asset to the university if his appointment were deferred for two years, while he continued his studies abroad. When it was decided to appoint him to half of Young's chair - to teach the history of philosophy and ethics - and James Mark Baldwin to the other half- to teach metaphysics and logic - his suggestion was taken up, and he was paid $500 in 1889-90 and $1,000 in 1890-1 (both payments from the department's budget) to help to defray his expenses of studying at Harvard and in Germany. In 1891, we are told, he was awarded the doctorate summa cum laude from Albert-Ludwig University in Freiburg, where he was a student

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of Hugo Miinsterberg, a man he was to vilify as untruthful and 'wicked' during the First World War. In October 1891 he took up his duties as professor of the history of philosophy in the University of Toronto and professor of ethics in University College. When Baldwin resigned in 1893, Hume assumed the headship of the entire Department of Philosophy, including its new subdivision, psychology. According to Albert-Ludwig University's records, Hume was awarded the doctorate in 1892, and his 'inaugural dissertation' is listed as Political Economy and Ethics, published in Toronto in 1892. There is no indication within this forty-page pamphlet that it was intended to fulfil the requirements for the Ph.D. degree, which was standard in German dissertations of this period. On its title page Hume listed 'A.M., Ph.D.' after his name, which suggested that he already had the degree when he wrote this essay. In the acknowledgments, he thanked George Paxton Young and all of his graduate teachers, ending the list for philosophy and ethics with 'Professor [Alois] Riehl, of Albert-Ludwig University, Freiburg, Germany, to whose able instruction and friendship I owe many pleasant recollections of the Fatherland.' Two other Freiburg professors are also named - Hugo Miinsterberg in Psychology and Hermann von Hoist in Political Economy and History - but without comment. The list of his teachers was prefaced by this remark: 'Though I have received no direct assistance in the preparation of this little Essay, I avail myself of this opportunity to acknowledge my indebtedness to my teachers.' Hume's silence on the status of this publication is puzzling. Never once in his surviving papers does he list it as his inaugural dissertation. Before I verified its official listing by writing to Albert-Ludwig University, I had assumed this pamphlet was written after Hume had been awarded the degree, for that is the impression gained from his surviving papers. Hume's association with Albert-Ludwig University was brief, only half a year. In awarding him the doctorate, its authorities must have taken into account his three years of graduate study at Johns Hopkins and Harvard. Movement of students between universities was very much easier in those days than it became in later years. 6.7

Even before Hume took up his teaching duties, he gave the minister of education, George W. Ross (who, the reader will recall, had been one of his champions in the fight over his appointment), reason to wonder whether he had made a mistake in putting Hume on the faculty. Early in 1891 Ross sent him a letter laying out the conditions of his appointment.

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Hume's reply, dated 11 February, was sent from an address in Toronto, indicating that he had already returned from Germany: In reply to your communication of February 1st, I beg to state that I cannot see the justice of the proposal to compel me against my wishes to enter the Retirement Fund scheme before I am placed upon the same footing as my colleagues in the Department of Philosophy. The offer explicitly made by the Government and accepted by me was that I should enter the University upon exacdy the same standing as my colleagues in office. Now you will notice that in three important particulars it is proposed to place me on an entirely different footing. In the first place the salaries are to be different, in the second place, although my appointment is really dated 15th November 1889, you say, 'Your full salary as Professor was not due until after the 1st July 1891, and therefore as a matter of fact your appointment must be considered as bearing date subsequent to that time,' thus arbitrarily, as it seems to me, ranking me as a junior appointment, and in the third place it is proposed to compel me to enter the Retirement Fund without allowing me any option in the matter. Is it just to retain some $200.00 of my salary by an Order in Council? I trust you will kindly reconsider my case. (AO, MS 2633)

The tone of this letter was not likely to induce Ross to sympathize with Hume's complaints, and what little evidence we have indicates that he chose to ignore them. The significance of the date, 1 July 1891, was that anyone appointed on or after that date was required to contribute to the newly established retirement fund, administered by the Carnegie Foundation on behalf of the university. The Order-in-Council appointing Hume was dated 15 November 1889, but it clearly stated that 'the said James Gibson Hume [is] to enter on his duties on the first day of October 1891, his salary to be reckoned from that date.' Hume was trying to use the date of the order to avoid having to contribute to the retirement fund. Having failed in his approach to the minister, Hume wrote to the bursar of the university on 15 January 1892 to protest the withholding of money for the retirement fund against his wishes and to demand that a new cheque be issued restoring the amount deducted. As his justification, he repeated the above remarks about the date of his appointment. The bursar, no doubt by this time fed up with listening to Hume's complaints, asked the Board of Trustees for a ruling. On 3 March the board ordered that Hume be informed 'that the retirement scheme is compulsory in his case' since the minister of education had ruled that his appointment was dated after

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1 July 1891. So Hume was finally obliged to accept the conditions Ross had laid down in his earlier letter, although it clearly galled him that anyone, including the man who had appointed him, would regard him as 'a junior appointment.' By creating a fuss where none was called for, Hume succeeded in getting off to a bad start in his teaching career. It is fair to say that his reputation never recovered its former glory. As discussed earlier, the clamour of the nativist party in favour of Hume's appointment made one, and only one, substantial point, namely, that its members wanted a replacement for Young who would carry on teaching Young's philosophy. Hume's strong point in applying for the chair, given his inexperience, was that Young had been his teacher and that he had immersed himself in Young's philosophy and would carry on teaching it. Indeed, in his inaugural lecture, The Value of the Study of Ethics (1891), he declared: 'in endeavouring to fulfil the responsibilities that devolve upon me as a teacher in this University, I shall aim to emulate the example of a noble predecessor' (24). But an important part of the Young tradition was the universally acknowledged brilliance of the man as a teacher. The substance of what Young taught, according to Hume, was a form of idealism closely akin to that expounded by T.H. Green and given to the world in his posthumous Prolegomena to Ethics. Like Green, Young could expound his position to his students with such liveliness and vividness that they hung on every word and at least for a time adopted it as their own. To follow such a teacher and to try to emulate him and achieve similar results was probably a losing gamble from the start, but if a man such as Hume attempts it and lacks a certain charisma of his own, he is instantly found out. One gathers that there was acute disappointment in the university when Hume actually arrived and began to teach; he had been touted by the nativists as the second Young, but he turned out, unfortunately, only to be young. 6.8

Twice during the time he was president, James Loudon had to deal with public criticisms of Hume's work. The first occasion was stirred up by the Varsity in its issue of 7 November 1894, only three years after Hume began to teach. It had not taken very long for the students to decide that Hume had serious deficiencies as a teacher. The boldness of this and subsequent attacks would land the editor in hot water with the administration three months later: 'The University of Toronto never dismisses a member of its staff, no matter how incompetent he may be found. Men whose proper sphere is surely not a university by one means or another get posi-

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tions here. Having worked their way in, it is impossible to dislodge them. They hang on like grim death year after year. We could mention notorious instances in many departments - such, for example, as Philosophy, Political Science, Modern Languages and English. There are men in these departments who don't earn one-tenth of the money they draw annually. Some of them are too indolent to earn it; some are too ignorant of their work; others know their work, but are too slovenly and unsystematic to be able to impart their knowledge' (40). Hume was clearly the intended target in philosophy, because the only other person teaching the subject was August Kirschmann, who was just starting his second year and who was proving to be popular with students. I would hazard a guess that the editor placed Hume in his last category. Others, as we will see later, remarked on his slovenliness and his unsystematic nature, including President Falconer, who, according to Fulton Anderson, thought these characteristics were indicative of 'an untidy mind.' This was the first of a series of articles that the Varsity published during that academic year in an attempt to spur the administration into demanding the resignation of incompetent faculty members: 'But what The Varsity wants to do, is not so much to point out the shortcomings of certain members of the faculty as to call attention to the absurdity of a policy which refuses to ask these men to resign' (40). President Loudon, along with most of the professors, was incensed by these articles, and in January 1895, with the backing of the University Council, he demanded that the newspaper print an apology. When the editor refused, he was replaced by another who did agree to print an apology; when it was put to the members of the editorial board, however, they refused their permission. While this dispute was going on, William Dale (1850-1921), associate professor of Latin, wrote a letter to the editor of the Globe in which he defended the students' position and sharply criticized the quality of recent professorial appointments to the faculty, one of whom was Hume. The newspaper, then as now perceived as being no friend of the university, gave his letter a prominent place on its front page. Dale's principal target was the appointment of George M. Wrong, the son-in-law of Chancellor Edward Blake, to the chair of history, but the language he used in making his charge clearly indicated that in his opinion Hume was also an incompetent appointment: 'For some years past the appointments to the chairs of the University have been of such a nature that at the present moment it is hardly an exaggeration to say that scholarship and ability to teach belong to those who occupy lecturers' positions at, say, $1,100 a year, in as high a degree as, if not higher than, to professors, so that the distribution of work and pay between professors

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and lecturers is grotesquely unfair. This is bad enough. But there is something more serious, in the estimation of those who wish to see the University a great seat of learning. If during the next ten years the character of professorial appointments continues to be what it has been during the last ten years, the professoriate of the University will have lost the respect both of students and public, and the results to learning will be most disastrous' (9 Feb. 1895, 1). For his trouble, Dale, who refused a demand that he resign, was summarily dismissed by the minister of education, George W. Ross, on 14 February, merely five days after his letter appeared. On that day Ross wrote to the lieutenant governor giving his reasons: 'At the request of the undersigned Mr. Dale appeared before the Executive Council to offer such explanations as he might have to give for the letter he had written, but he was utterly unable to justify any of the charges which it contained. Having regard therefore to the honour of those whose standing he has impugned, to the discord which his letter must necessarily produce at the Councils of the University, and to the countenance which it also gives to the dissatisfaction among the undergraduates, I have the honour to recommend that Mr. Dale be forthwith relieved from his duties as an Associate Professor in University College' (UTA, B1972-013/002 [3]). Since Ross was responsible for making all of the appointments being criticized, it was in his interest to conclude the affair quickly and decisively. The appearance of bias is impossible to set aside. Dale's dismissal and the administration's crude attempts to censor the Varsity led to a short-lived student strike, the first in the university's history. In addition to holding mass meetings, the students boycotted lectures. Gradually, as their excitement abated, the strike petered out. With the chief troublemaker banished, Loudon persuaded himself that, although there were problems about some recent appointments, all of them were competent, if only barely so in some cases. Given the limited powers of his office, it is doubtful he could have dismissed anyone even if that person was found to be grossly incompetent. Loudon briefed the minister on his findings. Ross, in a letter of 29 March 1895 to Chancellor Edward Blake, who was then living in England and serving as a member of the House of Commons, stated that 'after a somewhat careful investigation of the real nature of their grievance, the residuum of bona fide complaint is very small.' (UTA, B1972-013/002[03]). Hume's case merited only a single sentence: 'Mr. Hume is not always clear though he appears to know his subject' (ibid.). In this way Hume survived his first attack. In the spring of 1904 three editorials in the Globe renewed the charge that some professors were incompetent and should be terminated. The

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responsibility for acting was laid squarely on the president. Loudon, in a private interview, learned the names of those the editor had in mind. One of them was Hume. 'With regard to Hume,' Loudon wrote in his (unpublished) 'Memoirs,' 'he considered him lacking in power of exposition, without literary skill and slovenly in dress. Dissatisfaction on the part of students was apparently limited to students in Knox College, Professor Ballantyne being his informant' (UTA,JL, 016 [10, 11], 22). Loudon met with Ballantyne: 'I learned that the complaint against Hume was limited to the case of an elementary class of Pass men from Knox College' (ibid.). Loudon considered the source and decided that their opinions were not to be taken seriously. At a meeting of the Senate on 10 February 1905, he assured its members that the result of his investigation into the various charges was that there was no serious cause for concern in any of them. No names were mentioned. His report was accepted, and the controversy ended. What was Hume like as a teacher? From this distance in time it is possible only to guess, since I have been unable to find anyone who has written in detail about his teaching. Except for the general complaints already mentioned, there is no evidence either way, so we probably should conclude that he was merely competent as a teacher and nothing more. The complete absence of testimonials from his students makes it impossible to assert that he was an inspiring teacher, even to a small number of students. There was no article about his service to the university in the Varsity at the time of his retirement, which in itself was unusual for the time, and there is no record of a retirement dinner, which was the usual form of tribute in those days. These facts suggest that there was nothing outstanding about his teaching. In some reports of his public talks there is occasional praise of his style and delivery, especially when he lectured on his second cousin once removed, Robert Burns, and other pet themes, two of which were the reform of English spelling and temperance, by which, of course, he meant abstinence. Speaking in favour of the latter he could be fiery: 'A rum runner, a bootlegger, a dope dispenser, a panderer to dope fiends is about as useful to civilization as a rat is to a farmer, or a skunk to a poultryman' (Telegram, 25 Nov. 1922, 10). He bragged that he had joined the Independent Good Templars at the age of fourteen and had been a prohibitionist ever since. While he was an undergraduate, he organized the University College Temperance League and was installed as its first president, and he induced George Paxton Young to sponsor it with the title of Honorary president. After reading all of the many press cuttings on him, I have concluded that he put more life into his personal causes than he ever did into his teaching.

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6.9

Regarding the curriculum in philosophy, Hume, with one notable exception, proved to be a follower rather than a leader. Hume, it will be remembered, arrived on campus two years after Baldwin. Baldwin's arrival happened to coincide with a general review of the offerings of the Faculty of Arts which had been ordered by the dean in anticipation of Victoria College's move to Toronto. Being the only philosopher on duty at the time, Baldwin reorganized the curriculum along the lines he knew best, namely, that in force at Princeton. Sequences of psychology courses, both in the Pass Course and the Honours Course, were offered for the first time in 1890-1. A noteworthy innovation was the introduction of 'seminaries' in fourth year. In the calendar Baldwin described the seminary in philosophy in this way: 'Seminary, for the study of the History of Philosophy and of advanced philosophical problems. Attendance on the part of honour students is strongly recommended, though the professor in charge reserves the right to limit the membership. The object of the Seminary is instruction in the methods of advanced and original work. Postgraduate and special students are admitted if their qualifications are deemed satisfactory. Subject for 90-91: "The Critical Philosophy."' The University of Toronto had offered the master's degree since its earliest days as King's College, but this was the first time in philosophy that any course at the postgraduate level was offered. Neither graduate nor undergraduate students received credit for these seminaries. It was not until 1912 that graduate courses, as we know them, began to be offered. When Hume assumed his professorship in 1891, he offered a 'seminary, for the study of ethics,' but, unlike Baldwin, he listed no topic. Baldwin offered a different topic in each of the three years he taught seminaries. In 1892-3 and 1893-4 Hume listed as his topic 'The Ethical Systems of Aristotle and Kant,' but the next year he provided this description: 'A Seminary will also be held for the reading and discussion of papers written by the students, on Ethical topics, historical, theoretical and applied.' In this important curricular advancement Hume was clearly a follower. Indeed, his acceptance of the Baldwin curriculum appeared to be complete; it remained in place long after Baldwin had gone to Princeton. The one instance where Hume took the lead in curriculum development is revealed in the last word of the description of his seminary for 1894-5. He was very intent on establishing courses in 'applied' ethics. In the calendar for 1892-3, two proposed new courses were described. The first one is scheduled for third year: 'Course in Applied Ethics: Topics: Temperance, Charity, Penology. Not yet prescribed.' What this last

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phrase meant is that his proposed course had not yet been approved by the Senate and, until it received approval, it could not be taught. Note that heading the list of topics is one of Hume's favourite causes. The second proposed new course was intended for fourth-year students: 'Course in Applied Ethics: Topics: The Family - Marriage and Divorce; Employer and Employee - Socialism; Indian Wards; Missions. Not yet prescribed.' At the time, at least some and possibly all of his topics were very controversial; probably for this reason the courses in applied ethics never were approved by the Senate. Among President Loudon's papers there is an undated manuscript by Hume in which he sketched, very roughly, a 'General Sociological Honour Course' and recommended the establishment of a 'special subdepartment,' presumably under his direction, to administer it. Under his proposal the sociological course would be put together by drawing for the most part upon courses already prescribed in four departments: 'History: general, constitutional, essays; Political Economy: Theoretical, Historical, Seminary work; Ethics: theoretical, historical, applied; Philosophy: general = History of Philosophy, Political Philosophy.' The proposal is not specific enough to enable one to decide upon its feasibility. Another thirty years or more would elapse before a course of study in sociology was offered in the University of Toronto. With regard to both applied ethics and sociology Hume was very much ahead of his time. Hume's interest in social questions had been nourished by a course he took at Harvard under Francis Peabody, Plummer Professor of Christian Morals, who encouraged his students to apply ethical principles to current social problems, such as liquor consumption, labour relations, divorce, and prison life. Two of Hume's papers for that course survive (UTA,JGH [1]); one is entitled 'The Indians: Comparison of Canadian and United States and Suggestions.' Peabody's only comment was 'Aminus. Good subject, excellent treatment.' Hume's argument, which is mainly historical and sociological, aimed to prove that Canada's treatment of its native peoples was better than that of the United States. The other paper, entitled 'Temperance,' has neither a grade nor comments. In both essays, but in the second especially, Hume used the vocabulary of the British Hegelians, which (presumably) he had learned in Young's classes. Among the notions to which he appealed was that of a 'higher self,' which is alleged to be latent within each of us and which, if it can be aroused, will give us a fresh set of motives to stay on the straight and narrow. Hume went beyond Young, however, when he appealed for God's help in reforming the drunkard: 'We speak of a Universal Spirit forever

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in contact with the heart of man, wooing him to a higher life ... While we trust in the God over us and over all, let us remember the God in us and in all' (ibid.). Young, one is quite sure, would have considered this sloppy thinking. In undated notes on the 'Philosophical Course' that Hume prepared for President Loudon, he discussed the importance of philosophy courses in education. After outlining the value of the Toronto philosophy course for students of theology, law, education and science, making the usual points, he turned to its value in morality and religion. Ethics, he wrote, is 'a proper University subject, not sectarian; there is no Methodist or Presbyterian Ethics! Importance as an Arts department in training the mind and in its useful results ... It makes young men reflective and earnest. Brings before their attention the deeper motives that should guide conduct' (UTA, JL, 001 [5]). His abiding interest in applied ethics is then discussed at some length. Under the heading 'Religion,' he had this to say: 'The most important part of the philosophical course of study is its tendency to call attention directly to those deepest problems that must always interest and concern an intelligent and reflective spiritual being. Ampere in his disappointments found relief and comfort in contemplation of those deeper principles, and in attempting to understand them. In the disappointments of life, in our contemplation of death, the mind will turn and should turn to the contemplation of its own possibilities, capabilities, aspirations and destiny. The work of philosophy is to make firm faith take the place of mere credulity. Earnest belief founded on consideration and assurance that can find reason sufficient to justify the faith that is in the heart leading it to hope for the larger fuller realization of what on this earth is but imperfectly shadowed forth' (ibid.). His last sentence fragment, it would seem, is intended to explicate what he means by 'firm faith' in the preceding one, but if so, it fails miserably. This is a fault of some of Hume's writing: when he nears the end of a piece he veers off into near nonsense. In this case we are given to understand that philosophy and religion are related in an important way, but just when we expect to be told the nature of their relationship, we are presented with an ungrammatical muddle. 6.10

Although Hume never worked in experimental psychology, and never even taught courses in the traditional philosophy of mind, he was nevertheless a founding member of American Psychological Association in

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1892 and almost certainly attended its first annual meeting at the University of Pennsylvania in December of that year. On the program of the third annual meeting in 1894 Hume is scheduled to speak on the state of psychological teaching and research at the University of Toronto but another person read his paper in his absence. An abstract was published the following year. The detail it provides with respect to the experimental psychology component of the honours course makes it worth quoting in full: In the University of Toronto we begin the work in Psychology, etc., in the Sophomore year. Up to that time the students are engaged in language studies, mathematics, English history, chemistry, biology, etc. After the Sophomore year they still continue some of this language study as supplemental to the philosophical course. The latter, beginning with psychology, logic and theory of knowledge in the second year, psychology, logic, theory of ethics, history of ethics and history of philosophy in the third year, keep extending until, in the fourth year, those who have selected this course give all their time to the subjects of the course without any supplemental work, taking, in the fourth year, psychology, ethics, history of philosophy, special reading in the original of various selections from the whole period of modern philosophy, giving special attention to Kant and Lotze. In experimental psychology: Second year, 2d part of the year: Demonstrations from the Director, explanation of methods and practice. In the third year, during the whole year, the class, divided into groups, is under the charge of the Director of the laboratory. In the fourth year they are supposed to be able to undertake experiments of an independent character. Some of the inquires started in the fourth year are continued in postgraduate work. In the present fourth year there are sixteen honour students conducting four sets of experiments, that is, in four groups, with four in each group: I. On Time reactions (Mechanical registration instead of the Chronoscope); II. Discrimination of Geometrical Figures and Letters in the Field of Indirect Vision; III. Discrimination of Colour-saturation; IV. Discrimination and Reproduction of Rhythmic Intervals. In post-graduate study there are two enquiries being continued from last year: I. Estimation of Surface-magnitude; II. On Certain Optical Illusions. The Director of the Laboratory, Dr. August Kirschmann, has in the press a recently finished investigation upon the nature of the perception of metallic lustre. (Hume 1895, 172)

One assumes that the last two paragraphs spell out in detail what is

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referred to by the word 'psychology' in the first paragraph. This interpretation has in its favour the fact that it fits the account Abbott gave of the honours course in his 'Experimental Psychology and the Laboratory in Toronto,' which is quoted in §5.9. Hume remained a member of the American Psychological Association for many years. At its annual meeting in 1909 he read a paper entitled The Significance of Suicide.' After that the record is blank. Hume published only one article on the new psychology, and it was not directed to those working in the field. Rather, it was an invited address to the members of the Ontario Teachers' Association, delivered at their annual convention in April 1892, at the end of his first year of teaching. The invitation had specified that he was to speak on physiological psychology, but he managed in the course of his talk to discuss two of his pet themes: temperance and spelling reform. In the first half of the paper he reported in a popular way some of the results that had been obtained by experimental psychologists. In the course of it Hume offered a vigorous defence of introspection as a useful method in psychology. Only through introspection, he argues, can we discover the unity of consciousness. In the new psychology only changes in consciousness - its states - are studied, and since the underlying unity does not change, it is ignored and at times its existence is even denied by the experimentalists. This, he claims, is a direct consequence of 'the limited scientific standpoint,' a point of view that is 'partial and inadequate.' Having levelled the charge, he considers the likely defence: In defence of physiological psychology it may be said that it supplements and completes, what is called the 'old psychology.' It may be granted that just as psychological physiology has made a contribution to general physiology, assisting in making it more complete, so in a similar way physiological psychology has given its contribution and assistance to general psychology. But such an admission would not satisfy many of the partizans of physiological psychology. They claim that it has entirely superseded the 'old psychology' as they disrespectfully term the previous work. They are the representatives of the 'new' psychology, which has entirely supplanted the 'old' which has become obsolete. I think that careful and impartial consideration will pronounce this to be a great mistake though by no means an uncommon one. Not only is the 'old' the parent of the 'new,' but the parent has still to hold the child by the hand. It is the parent because all the chief classifications and distinctions that are appropriated and used by the 'new' were made by the 'old' psychology. In few studies has there been such a carefully

226 The Main Stream considered classification ready to hand for present use. Still further, all the chief problems were started by the 'older psychology,' and more than that it must still assist in every attempt at solution. (Hume 1892a, 96-7)

He went on to challenge the new psychology's claim of objectivity. Psy chologists must interpret the behavioural manifestations that they observe, but interpretation requires them to use their own mental faculties: 'Consciousness and our own experience cannot thus be set aside and altogether got rid of by the "new psychologist," any more than by the "old," who never claimed that he could perform the wonderful feat of swimming without going into the water' (97). Next, he turned his attention to the claim made by physiological psychologists that their theories offer an explanation of how habits are formed, but he expressed serious doubts about this claim. Their theory 'is simply an attempt to explain in organic terms the very familiar facts of the effects of practice. I think, that in the case of the important matter of the formation of habits, what is required is a more careful introspective, reflective and philosophical study of the facts of habit as known in our conscious experience to see their importance and ethical significance' (Hume 1892a, 97-8). (Note the introduction of 'ethical' here.) His chief complaint against this theory is that it classifies habits as either conscious or unconscious and allows no third alternative. When acquiring a habit, conscious control is essential, but once the habit is acquired it was carried out unconsciously. Hume thinks this is wrong; trained pianists, to take his example, are conscious of what they are doing while playing even a well-practised piece; for they are able to respond when something unexpected happens: 'If the acquired habit became absolutely unconscious, it would cease to be under control and could not be improved upon or modified when necessary' (98). Therefore, he concludes, a third way of classifying habits is required. At this stage he abruptly introduces morality into his discussion, perhaps thinking he had prepared the ground for the shift by the introduction of 'ethical,' above: 'To many people the physical consequences of immoral conduct are more obvious and appalling than the deeper evils, the disintegration of the moral character. Take for instance the vice of intemperance.' (Hume 1892a, 98). The drunk is characterized as a person who has given up his or her rationality, and is in effect 'temporarily insane and incapable of regulating and guiding his conduct' (98). The connection, if any, of this topic to his argument is not vouchsafed to the reader. Spelling reform is then discussed, again without revealing its relevance to the new psychology.

James Gibson Hume 227

His last criticism concerns the claim 'that the great lesson taught by physiological psychology was the organic or united character of man's various faculties that ordinary psychology was in the habit of treating as separate faculties' (Hume 1992a, 100). Hume disputes this claim by reiterating his earlier point that the new psychology ignores the unity of consciousness and so is guilty of the very criticism it advances against the old psychology. The fragmentation of the human mind taught by the new psychology, he warns his audience, had certain dire consequences: If we reflect upon some of the consequences of the logical carrying out of this view we shall see some of its imperfections. It is apt to lead to the conclusion that with the destruction of the organism the soul must necessarily cease to exist. Furthermore, even in the life of the individual, the purely mechanical and materialistic conception of the nature of consciousness issues in the result that moral distinctions lose their validity, wrong doing is merely disease and an unavoidable disease, for in consistency a necessarily evolving fatalism - such as the scientific view becomes when it is made all, and when its only unity is its constant reference to the all-absorbing iron rule of the unbroken causal connection - cannot leave any place for taking steps to choose the higher and avoid lower courses of conduct. With the reduction of the conscious states to the effects of material changes governed by a fatalistic view of the law of causation, freedom is denied, and with the abolition of freedom moral distinctions and moral responsibility vanish out of existence. (101)

One can readily imagine the effect of this passage on his audience of teachers. None of them would want to have anything to do with the new psychology if it led down such dangerous roads. No teacher would want to be accused of teaching such doctrines. The only excuse one can offer for Hume's behaviour on this occasion is that he was trying too hard to carry on what he thought to be the tradition of George Paxton Young. This becomes apparent shortly after the quoted passage when he charges the new psychology with having a materialistic bias. Materialism 'fails to explain the facts, and yet like a dog in a manger will not allow any other attempt at explanation' (101). It is clear from his diatribe against materialism that he thought all of science, not only physiological psychology, suffered from it and that scientific findings had to be subjected to a philosophical refurbishment. His principal reason for rejecting materialism was its failure to recognize 'the uniting consciousness that renders experience possible' (Hume 1892a, 104). Those who, like Hume, positioned this doctrine at

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the centre of their philosophy, would avoid the agnosticism or atheism that they believed was the fate of the materialist. In support of his position, Hume offers his auditors this sweeping argument by analogy: This is not a retreat to the unknown and unknowable, because in self-consciousness we can recognize the character of the principle that is implied in all knowledge that we either know or can form any intelligent conception of. Further reflection may lead to the conviction that if we speak of the universe as a system, as in any intelligible sense one and not as a disconnected and unknown chaos, it must be held together by some principle similar in kind to the one we are aware of in knowing the character of our unifying consciousness. This deeper view recognizes that the self is more fundamental and permanent than its experiences of change; that the self may be self-directive, may regulate its experiences and thus have moral character and responsibility. Such a view prepares for and points the way towards a justification of our belief in the existence of a Spirit that is Perfect. Hence I claim that scientific studies and most especially physiological psychology should be carried up into a philosophy. (104-5)

This is the clearest statement I have found of Hume's early philosophical position. His position is perhaps best characterized by saying he espoused a sort of theistic idealism, very probably Christian and not at all Hegelian, a not uncommon philosophical stance in the late nineteenth century.

6.11 The only place where I have found Hume referring to his mature philosophical position is in a short piece, 'Evolution and Personality,' published in 1907, which, he informed his readers, was the outline of a lecture he had delivered earlier in the year at Queen's University. 'Constructive idealism' is the name he used to designate his position, but he did precious little to characterize it. About all we learn about it is that it derived from the Kantian philosophy and that it had 'most resolutely opposed materialism and rationalism.' 'Amidst much diversity of treatment a certain unity of method may be traced among the writers who have more or less consciously adopted the principles of constructive idealism, and in the field of psychology a corresponding movement has arisen, which, while using experimental methods, is gradually becoming

James Gibson Hume 229

aware of a fundamental harmony, in its aims and results, with the philosophical work of constructive idealism' (130). The safest thing to be said about this vague statement is that it was Hume's idea of what he claimed Young taught, namely, a version of the idealism of T.H. Green. Hume finally published this lecture, fifteen years later, as his contribution to the Festschrift for John Watson, long-time professor of philosophy at Queen's University, but a perusal of it threw no additional light on what he meant by 'constructive idealism.' Indeed, if possible, the longer article is even more obscure than the summary. At one point he states: 'But here we need to pause to distinguish very carefully between two tendencies both often called "idealistic" but totally unlike. We need to distinguish carefully between constructive organizing development idealism, and deductive analytic rationalistic idealism' (1922, 318). But he fails to do what he says needs to be done. Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle are labelled 'constructive idealists' because he finds them 'asserting development and referring to a person who possessed regulative reason and deliberative will' (318). The entire article is a tissue of abstract nouns linked together in the most tenuous way. The concern with personality, which dominates the second half of the article, is fairly typical of a number of British writers who had been influenced by Green, although most of them are able to discuss it with greater clarity than Hume seems able to do. An interesting account of Hume's early philosophical position was left us by one of his pupils. In 1896 Albert H. Abbott published an essay called Thoughts on Philosophy' in which he gave an account of Hume's philosophical orientation shortly after he took up his duties. Abbott, who was at the time an assistant in the department, read his paper to a meeting of the undergraduate philosophy club. Hume's conceptions of philosophy and philosophical education are central to his argument: Definitions of philosophy are not rare, though here as elsewhere good, allcomprehensive definitions are. The one found most satisfactory to the writer is given by Professor Hume of our own University. It is as follows: 'Philosophy is a reflective inquiry into the meaning and acquisitions of the thinking self.' It is a search to ascertain what is true and what false in the opinions held, or differently expressed; it is an attempt to bring the conceptions of consciousness into harmony with each other. This definition calls attention to a fact frequently overlooked, viz., that the self is a broader term than the universe; for while from one point of view the universe certainly includes the self, from another, which is equally true, the self includes the universe; for

230 The Main Stream the philosopher as well as the scientist can only deal with the universe as conceived, and if this be not the real universe, we must write forever over the word: 'The Unknown and the Unknowable.' (1896, 136)

In a footnote, Abbott invited his audience to study the first chapter of Kuno Fischer's Descartes and His School to learn more of the relationship between the self and the universe. This reference to the first volume of Fischer's monumental history of philosophy strongly suggests that Hume's definition of philosophy itself, as well as the consequence Abbott will draw from it, is derived from Fischer. A recent biographical entry sums up his philosophical position in this way: 'for Fischer, philosophy, being the evolution of the mind's knowledge of itself, is the history of philosophy' (Walford 1996, 237). What is most interesting about Abbott's paper, aside from confirming that Hume espoused an idealistic view of philosophy in his teaching, is the way he tied this conception of philosophy to the teaching of the history of philosophy: This definition also indicates another point which has not always received the attention it merits, viz., the possibility, or even necessity for thoroughness of a historical treatment of the problem of Philosophy in its various subdivisions. When the full meaning of the definition is grasped it will be seen that the History of Philosophy is the most comprehensive study of Philosophy both as to the subject matter and method. From this historical study we learn more than what men have thought at various times; we get most important suggestions both with regard to the real problem and true method of Philosophy, as we discover the errors made by previous thinkers, and ascertain through a critical examination of their systems why they made these errors. It is only through a most critical historical study that we may hope to get a clear grasp of the problem with which Philosophy deals, and of the method by means of which we may expect to solve this problem. (Abbott 1896, 137)

Whether Abbott was repeating a point he had heard in Hume's lectures or was drawing a consequence from Hume's definition is impossible to say, but his point is of cardinal importance in the history of the department. Hume's conception of philosophy, like Fischer's, provided a justification for organizing the study of the subject on a historical basis. The beginner starts with the pre-Socratic philosophers and over the course of three years finally arrives at some thinker - almost certainly an idealist - who flourished during the latter half of the nineteenth century. In

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the end, if Hume and Abbott were right, the student will have developed 'a clear grasp of the problem with which Philosophy deals, and of the method by means of which we may expect to solve this problem.' This conception of the best philosophical education was to dominate the teaching of the department until well after the Second World War. 6.12

When the First World War erupted, Hume undertook to show Torontonians that despite his German doctorate he harboured absolutely no sympathy for Germany or its cause. In a speech, 'The War, Its Causes, and Its Defence by the German Professors,' delivered on 11 November 1914, he poured out his scorn for those who, like his old teacher Hugo Miinsterberg, defended Germany's position. The reporter for the Globe depicted a man beside himself with rage: 'Instead of the usual calm, dispassionate, professorial survey of an issue, Professor Hume delivered himself of a speech full of passion and almost fiery zeal. So intense were his feelings when referring to the "truculency of Germany and its chief defender in America" - Professor Miinsterberg of Harvard University that he seemed to be consumed with passion, and at times the audience hardly knew whether applause was opportune or not. More significance is added to the remarks of Dr. Hume when it is known that he holds a German degree, and studied under Miinsterberg in Germany' (12 Nov. 1914, 6). The unusual degree of passion in this address was probably due in large part to Hume's desire to let everyone know just how decisively he had shaken off any pro-German sentiments he might have brought back with him in 1891. Anti-German feeling ran very high during the First World War, and anyone suspected of German sympathies could find themselves ostracized or worse. No doubt Hume knew of the case of Richard Burdon Haldane (Viscount Haldane of Cloan), who had also studied philosophy in Germany and who had been secretary of state for war (1905-12) in the British government, during which time he had instituted important reforms in the army, making it a more effective fighting force. When war broke out Haldane wanted to return to government service, but his offer was rejected because he was suspected of being pro-German. As part of his anti-German activity, Hume informed President Falconer that he was replacing the two courses in the curriculum in which German works were read with others. When he wrote to the president on 25 June 1915, he had not yet decided upon the content of the replacement courses. He wanted to discuss the matter with him before making a decision.

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In a letter dated 7 February 1917, Hume informed President Falconer of the war work he had been doing: 'In connection with the enquiry regarding "national service" work for Professors and instructors, enquiry might reveal that already a good deal has been done. I can speak for myself that during the summers of '15 and '16 I spent the whole time, either in writing articles for the papers on the War, or giving addresses at recruiting or patriotic meetings and in July and August also assisting in haying and harvesting and I have made arrangements to continue similar work this summer' (UTA, RAF, 047b). The 'haying and harvesting' were almost certainly done on Hume's own farm. On 18 December 1916 the Globe reported the gist of Hume's argument urging men to join the armed forces: 'He said that lack of knowledge was the real reason why every eligible candidate did not enlist. No man who believed in good and the right could remain out of the struggle once he was possessed of the facts which were so readily obtainable. To know the right and refrain from doing it stamped a man as unworthy of the glorious heritage purchased for him by his forefathers.' It was easy for Hume to make such arguments, since neither he nor his sons were of military age. 6.13

Throughout his long life, Hume was a faithful Christian. For the last fortyone years of his life, he was a member of Bloor Street United Church (at the corner of Bloor and Huron Streets) as it was called after 1 June 1925, when the United Church was formed. His writings on religious topics are not easily understood. Here, for instance, are the concluding sentences of an article, 'The Philosophical Preparation for Christianity,' which was published in the Varsity on 18 December 1900: 'Christ was the Truth as well as the Way and the Life. Christ proclaimed and manifested and provided the At-one-ment and furnished the force needed to transform man's nature by a 'new birth.' Christ was thus the Copernicus and the Newton of the religious and moral universe. He opened up to view the true relation of man to God, refuted the earth-centred Ptolemaic conception and inculcated the Copernican Sun-of-righteousness centred universe. He also disclosed the Newtonian 'law of attraction' that held together the universe, the love of God that descends to the lowest, holds it and provides the means to draw the most degraded unto Himself (158). There may be some sense in this passage, with its appalling puns, but if so, it is well hidden. Perhaps it was writings of this sort, as well as his bizarre dress, that led Sir Robert Falconer to conclude that Hume had an untidy mind (see §6.15).

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233

6.14

Hume had a hobby that provided a boon to the university after his death. For many years, probably dating back to his years in Germany, he had collected German philosophy theses. Called 'inaugural dissertations,' these short monographs constituted an important part of doctoral study in Germany. Every candidate was required to write a thesis, and if it was accepted, he or she had to present the university granting the degree with 100 or more printed copies. These copies were then exchanged with those of other universities and a few of them were given away (or sold) to individuals. Hume had something of a passion for these works. Thomas Goudge recalled, on the department's oral history tapes, the only time he met Hume: I had, in fact, a very brief encounter with him, and I can remember the year because it was the same year that I returned from service in the Navy in 1945, I would say about November. I was then occupying the office that had belonged to the late Professor Brett at the head of the stairs, and was working around five o'clock in the evening, and a knock came on the door, and on my invitation, a rather strange-looking man entered in a long winter overcoat. I thought he was soliciting funds; we had a good many such people around the University in those times. Yet there was something about him that excluded that possibility, so I asked him what I could do for him. He said that his name was Hume, so I suddenly realized that I was talking to the predecessor of Professor Brett in the headship of the department. He explained to me that he had been for a number of years in retirement in the country on a farm, where he was raising various produce, and that, incidentally, he had a number of fine apples which he'd be glad to sell to the staff if any of them were interested. But that was not the main purpose of his coming; the main purpose of his coming was that he wished to see whether he could find out what had happened to a considerable number of German Ph.D. theses, which he had purchased in Germany before World War One. He thought that these might be of some value and he would be glad to collect them and sell them to the library. This, I had to confess, was my first acquaintance with these documents, so I told him that I would enquire from the librarian to see whether they had any information on this. I asked him a few more details, but he was exceedingly vague. I then asked him to give me his address and he did so. Then after a few other comments on the weather and other trivialities and about the university in his day - he didn't seem much inclined to talk about his time as head. I must say that at that time of the day I wasn't

234 The Main Stream much inclined to get into a long conversation either. So he disappeared. That was my single contact with Hume. (UTA, OHT)

After Hume died, his sons found the dissertations in the clutter of their home on Spadina Road and contacted the university library, offering to sell the collection. Two junior members of the department, David Savan and Douglas Dryer, were sent to appraise the collection; their report, dated 19 February 1955, was favourable, especially since the asking price was only $300 for the whole collection. As a result of the purchase, the library acquired over 1,300 German theses, including those of such notable philosophers as Husserl, Lotze, and Windelband. 6.15

Hume got his job at the University of Toronto because the nativist party had its way when the position became vacant on the death of George Paxton Young. Paid the salary of a professor, while others with similar qualifications had salaries of $800 or even less, his appointment almost certainly caused great resentment within the university and especially within his own department. Indeed, even at the time of his retirement nearly forty years later, Sir Robert Falconer, then president of the university, sharply reminded him of the fact that he had been paid more than others throughout his career when Hume had the gall to ask for an increased pension and demanded to know why he had not been paid the extra $300 dollars that some heads of departments were paid. Falconer's letter of 28 March 1927 clearly indicates how others must have felt: I will lay before the Finance Committee at its next meeting your letter in which you ask for further financial consideration on the part of the university in view of your approaching retirement. I submitted it, however, to the Bursar, and he informs me that the reason why $200 was added to other salaries many years ago while yours remained $3000 was that you had been appointed at a very liberal salary, and $200 was added to these other professors so that they might not claim that any injustice was done to them in demanding that amount as a contribution to the retiring fund. As to your not receiving $6000 instead of $5700, the case was simply this, that the Board of Governors limited the number of salaries at $6000 which they would be willing to provide, and they were never willing to include you in the number. You were put at $5700 instead of $5500 along with others owing to a percentage increase which was made you may remember a few years ago. (UTA, A1967-0009/101)

James Gibson Hume 235

A concluding paragraph concerns pension matters, and here, too, Falconer was unsympathetic, telling Hume that he must not have read the regulations that were sent to him earlier. The tone of this letter is one of controlled exasperation, reflecting, one must suppose, feelings in the president that had built up over the years, especially during the years just prior to Hume's retirement. As the time for his retirement approached, Hume tried every stratagem to delay it. In those days the president appointed a small committee to advise him on whether or not to reappoint, on an annual basis, professors who had reached the retiring age of sixty-five; at age seventy everyone was required to retire. This committee, after consulting Brett, who was slated to be Hume's successor as department head, recommended that Hume and one other professor retire at age sixty-five, but it recommended the extension of eleven others. This disparity of treatment rankled with Hume, and he appealed to Falconer to overturn the committee's recommendation in his case. The president, whose mind had long been made up, refused his request. Hume then wrote to Dr. H.J. Cody, the chairman of the Board of Governors. Cody proved sympathetic to his appeal, and upon his recommendation the board granted Hume a year's leave of absence at full salary, but insisted that he retire at its end. His pension was set at $2,660 annually. Even this generous settlement did not satisfy Hume; he demanded that the board reconsider its decision. The minutes of the board meeting of 25 March 1926 contain this brief note in the report of the Finance Committee: 'Your committee has considered carefully the correspondence, referred to it, with regard to the basis of Professor Hume's retirement, but can find nothing to support a recommendation for a change.' None of this correspondence appears to have survived. The sour taste left by these last attempts by Hume to extend his tenure seemed to carry over to the staff of the University of Toronto Monthly, which customarily published a notice, with a photograph, when a professor retired. Hume passed from the university's scene without internal notice, although there were newspaper articles announcing his retirement. His career underscores the wisdom summed up by Irwin Rosen, a long-time Harvard Square book dealer, when he observed that 'it is better to sit in the back row and be discovered than to sit in the front row and be found out' (New York Times, 30 June 1997, D13). Nearly thirty years after Hume's retirement, Fulton Anderson, then head of the department, shed some light on Falconer's opinion of Hume. In an extraordinary letter, addressed to the dean of arts and dated 18 November 1955, Anderson details the history of 'the depressing of the department of Philosophy.' He traces its origin to the bad relationship

236 The Main Stream between Falconer and Hume: The depressing of the department of Philosophy was begun during the administration of Sir Robert Falconer. Initially it was caused in large part by two circumstances. The head of the department before Brett was a man whose person, scholarship, and teaching Sir Robert did not hold in high esteem. It seems that, among his way of doing things, he wore flannelette shirts of his wife's making and detachable fronts and cuffs of linen fabric. This attiring Sir Robert thought indicative of an untidy mind. The second of the causal circumstances was the stir made over Hume's retirement, on which Sir Robert and Brett agreed, at the age of sixty-five, when he had gone with complaints to the Chairman of the Board of Governors - at that time Dr. Cody. Whatever the merits or demerits of Hume's case may have been, his representations were received sympathetically by Dr. Cody and, in consequence, his retirement became more than a passing incident at high administrative levels. After this fuss the department fared badly. (UTA, SES, 147) In an earlier draft of this letter, Anderson had written: 'Among other things, Professor Hume reported to Dr. Cody that he had been under heavy expenses for some years through the illness of members of his family, etc. and the relinquishing of his salary would prove a great hardship' (DA). Hume's final days in the university were in stark contrast to the dawn of his career, when he was hailed by the nativist party as the spitting image of George Paxton Young. Hume lived for twenty-two years in retirement, spending winters in his house on Spadina Road and summers on his farm in Simcoe County. According to an obituary in the Globe and Mail, he worked the land himself: 'Even after he was 80, he plowed with a three-horse team' (31 Jan. 1949, 10). During the last three years of his life, he suffered from ill health. On 28 January 1949 he died in Brantford, while visiting his daughter. Fulton Anderson, who was then head of the department, did not prepare the usual memoir recalling Hume's contribution to the university for the Council of the Faculty of Arts and the Senate. Anderson may have thought there were few left who remembered Hume.

7

Gentleman and Scholar: George Sidney Brett

7.1

George Sidney Brett was born at Britton Ferry in South Wales on 5 August 1879, the son of a Methodist preacher who had been born and raised in England. For this reason, Brett always considered himself an Englishman. Upon completing elementary school, he won a scholarship to Kingswood in Bath, the Methodist preparatory school founded by John Wesley him self, where he spent the next eight years. An outstanding pupil, he won a number of important prizes during these years, and he was named 'Head Boy,' an honour entitling him to have his name inscribed on the walls of the school. The headmaster at Kingswood, W.P. Workman, was a ver able mathematician with an abiding passion for geology. During the period when Brett was under his tutelage, Workman was collecting specimens for a geological museum in the school. Brett got caught up in the search, and in later years traced his interest in the history of science to those heady days of searching for geological specimens around Bath. Another influential teacher was the master of classical languages, for whom Brett did such excellent work that he won a classical scholarship to Oxford when he was only seventeen. His teachers advised him that it would be to his advantage to spend another year at Kingswood; he followed their advice and sat the scholarship examinations a second time. In this competition he won an Open Exhibition in Classics to Christ Church College, which he took up in the autumn of 1898. In his first two years at Oxford he read Classical Moderations and achieved a second class in the examinations; he attributed his disappointing mark to the fact that the examiners had put much more emphasis on linguistics than on literature. During his final two years he

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studied in the School of Literae Humaniores, achieving first-class honours in 1902. It was during this period that he discovered philosophy and was delighted to find that it fitted both his interests and his talents. He had been lucky in his tutors. John Alexander Stewart, the author of The Myths of Plato (1905), taught him classics. In addition to his mastery of the classical languages, Stewart had a deep interest in psychology and gave a course of lectures, which Brett attended, on Aristotle's psychology. These lectures had a profound influence on Brett, and led eventually to his greatest work. His tutor in philosophy was Herbert W. Blunt, whose remaining mark on the subject is a series of reviews of German philosophy books in Mind. Although not an original philosopher himself, Blunt was a first-rate teacher of the subject. Unlike most of his Oxford colleagues, Blunt did not have a philosophical position that he sought to defend against all comers; instead, he was passionately interested in exploring new ideas in an attempt to determine whether or not they were true. He encouraged his pupils to emulate him, and he even went a step further: he advised them to be in no hurry to adopt a philosophical position, because to do so would have a dampening effect on their thinking. His criticism of their work took into account the tentativeness of their thoughts and did not attempt to smother them prematurely. Even late in his life Brett cited Blunt's advice as being of crucial importance in his own philosophical career.

7.2 After Brett left Oxford in 1902, he took temporary teaching positions in London and Cambridge for a year and a half and did some editing and translating for the Macmillan publishing house. Early in 1904 he accepted appointment as professor of philosophy in Government College, Lahore,1 in the Punjab, which was administered by the Indian Educational Service. His duties included giving instruction in both philosophy and English and serving as librarian. He took advantage of his situation to learn to speak Hindustani and taught himself to read Sanskrit and Arabic. During his four years in Lahore he threw himself into all aspects of college life, including a three-year stint as coach of the football team. He was immensely popular with the students. When he

1 Since the partition of India in 1947, Lahore is in Pakistan.

George Sidney Brett 239 resigned to take up a position in Toronto, they presented him with a very handsome printed letter of thanks for his work there. In the first paragraph there is a charming sentence, which, if true, would have meant that the rest of the sheet was blank: 'Feelings must always be too deep to be interpreted in words; and on an occasion like this, when the idea of parting with you has completely unnerved us, we find ourselves totally unable to give expression to our sentiments' (UTA, GSB, 001 [07]). Fortunately, they did find their tongues and spelled out the reasons for their feelings of gratitude. They also mentioned a possible reason for his resignation: 'Your many sided activities which together with the tropical sun have told upon your health - a fact which we so much deplore and which possibly has precipitated your determination to take rest - had rendered you almost a necessity to the students' (ibid.). During his stay in Lahore he had contracted malaria and he was to suffer recurrences throughout his life. His India sojourn gave him a life-long interest in the country's well-being, and he frequently lectured on Indian affairs during his years in Canada. 7.3

Brett came to Trinity College in October 1908 as librarian and lecturer in classics at an annual salary of $1,100; the odd $100 was for his work as librarian. During the year of his arrival, he published two books, The Philosophy of Gassendi and Representative English Poetry, the latter of which he edited for the use of students at Lahore and other Indian colleges, and he had already begun work on his most famous book, The History of Psychology. The Trinity authorities must have recognized right away that they had made an outstanding appointment, since at the end of his first year he was promoted to professor of ethics and ancient philosophy. Trinity had only very recently joined in federation with the university, and Brett's title reflected this fact. No philosophy courses, except those in ethics, could be taught at Trinity, but courses in ancient philosophy could be offered by the Classics Department, so Brett was given both titles. Classics was taught only in the colleges at that time. Judging on the basis of what happened during the next several years, it seems plain that from the start Brett wanted an appointment in the university Department of Philosophy. Fortune favoured him. In 1908 August Kirschmann, the professor of philosophy responsible for logic, metaphysics, and psychology, was granted a leave of absence to visit Germany. When he failed to return in the fall of 1909 (see §5.4), the university department had to

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scramble to cover his courses. Brett must have seen his opportunity and offered to help out. The enrolment in his courses at Trinity was probably very small, since the college had fewer than 100 students at the time. He was also responsible for the library, however, which he apparently found in a state of disarray, because over the next few years he devised a catalogue and supervised the listing of the books in it. Busy as he was, he was still prepared to take on additional work. The hard-pressed university department was anxious to make use of his services and appointed him temporary assistant in philosophy and logic for 1909-10, for the unprincely sum of $400. The money, albeit welcome, perhaps mattered less to him than the fact that he had his foot in the door. His appointment was continued in 1910-11, and in the next year he was made lecturer in Greek philosophy with a salary of $1,500. The appointment was renewed for the next several years with annual increments in salary until, finally, in 1915-16 he was being paid $2,000, well over half a professor's salary. In 1916 the university promoted him to professor of philosophy (part-time) and he began to take a very active part in the management of the department. Brett, by the way, was the first to have the title professor of philosophy; all of his predecessors had been styled more narrowly. President Falconer, as mentioned in chapter 6, fairly despised Hume, then head of department, and often dealt with Brett when sticky matters came up, especially when they concerned the staff in psychology. During these years Brett continued to discharge his duties at Trinity; there he taught ethics, and his lectures on ancient philosophy, wherever they were given, would have been open to all students of Trinity. His major allegiance had shifted, however, and more and more of his time was devoted to the university. Finally, during the summer of 1921, the year in which he published the second and third volumes of his monumental History of Psychology, his contract was shifted to the university. Trinity lamented its loss but was unable to provide the sort of arena in which he preferred to work. The loss to Trinity's philosophy students was slight, since they took all of their philosophy courses except ethics in the university. Another reason that his transfer to the university went smoothly was the fact that he was not ordained. In those days the Trinity authorities preferred to have an Anglican priest teaching ethics, and at the time of Brett's transfer to the university there was a young priest available to take his place. The Reverend G.F. Kingston, who had graduated from Trinity in 1913, was then nearing the end of his doctoral studies at Toronto and

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was a seasoned teacher, having taught philosophy for several years at King's College in Windsor, Nova Scotia. When Brett transferred to the university, Trinity brought Kingston on staff in both ethics and theology; he was to teach there for nearly two decades before his elevation to a bishopric. Monetary considerations probably also helped to ease Brett's transfer. Because of his seniority, he was likely to become more of a financial burden to Trinity in the near future; to keep him in the college, even on half time, would require a considerable increase in his salary. In 1914, when he gave up the librarianship, Trinity had reduced his salary to $1,000, where it remained for the rest of his time there. In 1921 the university offered him a professorship at $5,000 per year; given his family obligations, he could not afford to turn down such an offer unless Trinity was prepared to meet it. To command half of his time the college would have had to come up with an additional $1,500. Thus, the prospect of replacing him with a full-time junior appointment at $2,200, and a priest at that, who could teach both ethics and theology was very attractive to Trinity's board. What Trinity paid Brett over the years is recorded in §14.8. In terms of salary, the college always treated him as if he were a single ordained priest living in accommodations provided by the church, rather than a married man with three children and a house to maintain. Brett's wife, born Marion Grace Kernick, whom he married in England in 1908 on his way through from Lahore to Toronto, was the sister of one of his college friends. Before he left for Lahore they had planned to marry as soon as it was possible. Throughout his years abroad, he wrote to her almost daily, and her family required her to read his letters aloud at the dinner table. Mrs. Brett was to play a very important social role in the department during his headship. Like her husband the daughter of a clergyman, she was a charming and gracious hostess who provided a warm welcome to junior faculty members and their wives. She invited them to superb dinner parties where they were introduced to faculty from other departments with related interests. Nor did she invite them only once. Tom and Helen Goudge were feted at least twice each year, and the invitations kept coming for many years after Brett's death. Marion Brett lived for over thirty years as a widow. She was able to live comfortably and even to travel occasionally after his death, because Brett, in the 1930s, when he was earning $7,000, invested in stocks, then at bargain prices. No doubt the university awarded her a widow's pension, but judging from the one awarded Mrs Robinson (see §7.9), it would not have amounted to much.

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There can be no doubt that Brett was pleased when his final transfer to the university was effected. From the start, it had been clear that he found his teaching interests unduly confined at Trinity. His philosophical interests, as we know from his publications and his later teaching career, were much wider than ethics and ancient philosophy, and they were completely in tune with the university's teaching responsibilities in philosophy. His part-time teaching for the university over the years had satisfied some of his longing for a broader arena, but not all of it. 7.4

Brett's move to the university was facilitated by two more considerations. First was the departure of August Kirschmann, which, after several years of uncertainty, proved to be permanent. Second was the publication, to great acclaim, of the first volume of Brett's History of Psychology in 1912. The university desperately needed to shore up its psychology subdepartment, which had been short staffed ever since Kirschmann's departure in 1908. Hume had shown little interest in the subject and tended to treat its needs as secondary to those of philosophy. All of the teaching in psychology was done by former students in the department, none of whom had shown himself to be an active researcher in either psychology or philosophy. Consequently, there were few graduate students studying psychology, nor, indeed, were there many in philosophy. Hume, who did no research in either subject, was in a position of power over the psychology staff, and there is some evidence that they resented his position. President Falconer wanted a steadier hand at the helm, so he negotiated an agreement with Trinity for half or more of Brett's time in 1916 and then for all of it in 1921. Had the regulations permitted it, Falconer almost certainly would have replaced Hume with Brett as early as 1916. The folly of appointing heads of departments for life was obvious to everyone by this date; the mystery remains why it took the university another half-century to abandon the practice. In 1919 the president had taken the administration of the psychology sub-department away from Hume and appointed C.K. Clarke, for whom the Clarke Institute is named, as director. Clarke was then professor of psychiatry and dean of the Faculty of Medicine. Unfortunately, Clarke's health was already deteriorating, and he was forced to retire in 1921. This turn of events presented Falconer with the opportunity to acquire Brett's services full time and to appoint him director of psychology, a post he held until the Department of Psychology was created in 1927. It is worth

George Sidney Brett 243 repeating that in those days no one could be made a full-time professor unless an administrative post went with the appointment; for this reason Brett's complete transfer to the university had been delayed for five years.

7.5 Brett's influence made itself felt in the university department even before he joined it full time. In the calendar for 1919-20 two honours courses are described, one in philosophy and the other in philosophy, English and history. The latter - and please note the 'and' in its title, presently to be changed to 'or' -was Brett's special creation. Toronto's students, he was persuaded, should have the option of pursuing a course of study similar to the one he had followed at Oxford. The honours course in philosophy was a continuation of the 'Special Course in Philosophy' (sometimes called the 'Honours Course'), which had been offered by the department for decades. Brett's ideal course did not prove viable at Toronto, perhaps because it demanded that students measure up in three sets of honours courses. Whatever the reason for the change, in the calendar for 1924-5 the title was altered to 'Philosophy (English or History Option),' and its prescriptions changed. Both 'Philosophy' and 'Philosophy (English or History Option),' with only minor changes, remained the department's premier offerings until 1969, when the 'New Programme' put an end to the pass-honours distinction. Brett also had a hand in reintroducing the first-year course in philosophy. James Beaven had taught a first-year course in the early years of the university, but it had been abolished in 1866. In the calendar for 1918-19 'Philosophy 1, Introductory Course in Philosophy: Ethics' is listed as available 'in the colleges.' (Brett was still teaching ethics for Trinity.) It was a slight course, meeting for just one hour each week; the prescribed textbook was G. A. Johnston's An Introduction to Ethics for Training Colleges (1915). In its initial year the course was not open to students pursuing the special course in philosophy, but in the next year the department provided its specialists with a choice in their first year. Those who opted for 'Course B' took Philosophy 1; those in 'Course A' did not. In philosophy (English and history), Philosophy 1 was required in first year. The calendar for 1920-1 introduced the distinction between pass courses and honours courses for the first time. Under this scheme, Philosophy 1 wa listed as an honours course, and 'in the colleges' was dropped. Beginning at this time, the special course was renamed the honours course; philos-

244 The Main Stream

ophy (English and history) is also designated as an honours course. In 1923-4 an introductory, one-hour course for pass students was inaugurated. Designated 'Philosophy la, Beginner's Course in Ethics,' its description read: 'outline study of man as moral and social. Moral origins and progress.' Under honours courses, 'Philosophy Ib, Introductory Course' was described in this way: 'This course includes the pass course la above and additional studies in character, conduct and moral values.' Philosophy Ib met for two hours a week and the students read Johnston's book. In this same calendar the choice between 'Course A' and 'Course B' in honours philosophy was scrapped and every student was required to enrol in Ib. In the next year, 1924-5, when 'English and History' became 'English or History,' the pass course, philosophy la, was dropped and the honours introduction was renumbered 'la,' renamed 'Ethics. Introductory Course,' and redescribed as 'studies in character, conduct and moral values.'Johnston's book continued to serve as the required text. After this rapid succession of changes, during the next several years no changes were made in the department's first-year offerings. Then, in 1929-30 St Michael's College broke ranks by introducing its own 'Philosophy la, Introduction to Philosophy' which met for two hours each week. Like the department's la, the St Michael's course was an honours introduction, but it departed from the ethics tradition by prescribing Plato's Republic, Aristotle's Politics, and Cicero's DeFinibus as the required texts. The reason the department had limited its various first-year courses to ethics is perhaps too obvious to require statement: the faculty of Trinity and Victoria could be counted upon to help in the teaching of an introductory ethics course, but not one in philosophy. The next innovation came from the department; in 1931-2 it introduced two new pass courses. 'Philosophy la, Introduction to Ethics' met for one hour a week. Its content was described in this way: 'The basis of morals in human nature; the influence of heredity and environment; standards, motives and sanctions of conduct; application to the problems of personal conduct and social relations.' The second course, 'Philosophy Ib, Introduction to Logic,' appeared to cover everything, including ethics: 'A course on the function, the structure, the methods, and the criteria of rational activity. The following topics will be included: reason as an organic activity; the rational life and the good life; the form and content of judgment; types of rational order - substance, quality, quantity, causation, space, time, value; the conditions of a rational universe; natural law; the relation of the individual to nature and society; the meaning of truth; inductive and deductive proofs.' This extraordinary array of topics had to be covered in just fifty-two hours of class time. The department's honours introduction,

George Sidney Brett 245

renumbered Id, remained unchanged. A new two-hour course, Ic, 'Introduction to Philosophy for Students of Law,' made its debut. St. Michael's also made significant changes in its first-year courses in 1931-2. A new pass course, la, 'Philosophy - Logic and Epistemology,' was inaugurated. Logic included 'types of logical theory,' and the student was expected to read selections from Plato, Aristotle, St Augustine, and St Thomas, as well as parts of John Stuart Mill's Logic and F.H. Bradley's Appearance and Reality. (The next calendar dropped all of these requirements except Augustine and Aquinas.) The epistemology portion concerned 'the faculties of the soul; the intellect and rational knowledge; knowledge and truth,' with readings from Etienne Gilson's Thomism and two Thomistic manuals. The college's honours introduction, Ib, listed only one text, Jacques Maritain's An Introduction to Philosophy. (The next calendar substituted the description of the pass course, la, with an expanded set of readings; Maritain was dropped.) In 1932-3 the university department introduced a new honours course, 'Ic: Philosophy. The principles of logic and scientific method. Lectures on the general principles of logical theory and an enquiry into the nature and methods of various sciences.' The readings were listed as the logical writings of Aristotle, R.M. Eaton's General Logic, H.R. Smart's The Logic of Science and L.S. Stebbing's A Modern Introduction to Logic. Philosophy Ic was clearly a Brett creation, just as the rather fantastic Philosophy Ib was an Anderson concoction; Anderson always favoured the categories as the best way to introduce neophytes to philosophy. By 1932 Brett was having preliminary discussions with the heads of the history and the social science departments about a new first-year honours course to be called 'Social and Philosophical Studies,' which would include the option of a philosophy course. Philosophy Ic was the first version of this new course. 'Soc and Phil,' when it was made available in 1936-7, became the entry into the philosophy honours course, which was limited to the last three years. Philosophy (English or history option) remained unchanged; its students took no philosophy in first year, but instead studied English, either Latin or mathematics, two of French, German, Greek, and history, plus one other course from a prescribed list. Their introduction to philosophy came in second year. 7.6

Late in the autumn of 1921 President Falconer gave money to the Department of Philosophy to hold a special conference. From the surviving correspondence it is clear that Brett organized the conference. Thomas

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Goudge thought that the whole idea was Brett's; he wanted professional philosophers to know that his interests were primarily philosophical, even though his official position was director of psychology. Of the first four philosophers Brett contacted only two accepted, probably because his letter was dated 16 December 1921 and the date of the conference was set for 17-19 January, only one month later. His first choices were James Edwin Creighton (1861-1924) of Cornell, William McDougall (18711938) of Harvard, John Watson (1847-1939) of Queen's, and PrabuDutt Shastri of Calcutta, who was then in New York City. Only Creighton and Shastri accepted the invitation. Substitutes were quickly found, perhaps by telephone, because the conference took place as planned, with William Ernest Hocking (1873-1966) of Harvard, and Frederick James Eugene Woodbridge (1867-1940) of Columbia as the other speakers. The announced intention of the conference was to provide a stimulus for the students in the department, in particular the graduate students. The inclusion of Shastri reflected Brett's abiding interest in eastern systems of philosophy. The idea is to invite a group of speakers who will give public lectures on selected subjects, probably one hour a day for three days; and will, also, be in touch with the Staff, graduates and students during that period, to meet and talk with all who are interested in advanced studies' (DA). In his annual report to the president, Hume called it a 'very profitable week'; staff and students, and even members of the general public with an interest in philosophy, 'had an opportunity to hear some outstanding problems discussed' (ibid.). A few years later, Brett had to rescue Falconer from a promise he had made to Shastri. During the conference, Shastri told Falconer he intended to publish his Toronto lectures as a book and asked the president if he would contribute a foreword. Falconer agreed, and then forgot all about it. In April 1927 Shastri wrote to Brett asking him to secure Falconer's foreword, since the book was ready for press. Falconer, in turn, asked Brett to draft it, which he did. The president was pleased with Brett's work, but he requested that two paragraphs be omitted, since 'if they were to be in I should have credit for much greater learning than I have any right to claim' (DA, 8 June 1927). Brett's foreword was duly published in Shastri's book, The Essentials of Eastern Philosophy (1927), under Falconer's name. 7.7

When Brett met with President Falconer in his capacity as director of psychology, the future of the Philosophy Department was also discussed;

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for it was no secret that Brett would succeed Hume as head of the department when Hume retired. To facilitate their contacts, the Board of Governors, on 26 September 1924, approved Falconer's recommendation that Brett be put on the telephone; the board authorized both the $100 installation charge and the $2.77 monthly payments. (Presumably, Hume was already on the telephone.) One matter Falconer consulted Brett about was the question of when Hume would be obliged to retire. University policy allowed professors who had reached the age of sixty-five to be reappointed on an annual basis up to the age of seventy. Although the practice seems to have been followed in most cases, it was not a right to which professors were entitled. Falconer was convinced that Hume did not deserve reappointment even for one year, and the committee he struck to advise him on pending retirements agreed with him. To complete the process of consultation he asked Brett for his opinion. Brett, who to all appearances seemed to be on cordial terms with Hume, had also concluded that the latter should go when he reached sixty-five. Hume's reaction when Falconer informed him of his decision was reported in the previous chapter. The fracas surrounding Hume's retirement delayed for a year Brett's succession as head, although he served as acting head during 1926-7. One of Brett's first tasks as head was to hire a replacement for Hume. For the first time in over thirty years an advertisement was placed for a position in philosophy. The hullabaloo stirred up by the nativists over Young's successor had had calamitous consequences for hiring in the Philosophy Department. To avoid reigniting the controversy, Hume, with the agreement of Loudon and Falconer, had selected, in both philosophy and psychology, former students of the department. Two of them, A.H. Abbott and Frederick Tracy, had, it is true, taken time off and acquired doctorates elsewhere, and one, T.R. Robinson, had earned his Toronto doctorate while Kirschmann was still teaching. Several others were exploited for a period at low salaries before leaning in disgust. Those who survived gained permanent positions almost by default. After they had been appointed on an annual basis for several years, they demanded that their positions be made permanent, and the appointing authorities, whether the minister before 1906 or the president subsequently, gave in rather than risk another bruising fight. Brett was determined to bring this shoddy way of building a department to an end. His first appointment was Hugh Reid MacCallum, whom Brett judged to be the strongest candidate of those who met his criteria for the job. These criteria were stated very succinctly in his letter to President Falconer of 26 March 1927 recommending MacCallum's appointment: 'You

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will see from the record appended that he satisfies the requirements as to being Canadian, having some War service, being educated and acquainted with more than the local academic centres. I consider these points constitute a fair basis of selection' (UT, RAF, 099). The paralysis that had gripped the Philosophy Department since 1889 was finally broken. Candidates who had earned their Ph.D. degrees from the University of Toronto would have to teach elsewhere for awhile before Brett would consider appointing them. This requirement had already been applied, probably at Brett's insistence, in the case of Fulton Anderson. In 1920 Anderson had been awarded the fourth Ph.D. in philosophy granted by the department and then had taught for four years in the United States before being offered a lectureship at Toronto. Anderson's career, in which Brett played a prominent role, will be treated in chapter 9. Brett's reason for insisting that Toronto graduates get teaching experience elsewhere before becoming candidates was laid out in a letter to the president on 23 April 1926: 'Our students are not easily handled by inexperienced teachers, and Philosophy is not a subject which can be assigned to a young teacher in the way which is possible in languages. The junior classes require too much skilful handling and the senior classes are too mature, for the young instructor. I have come to the conclusion that men who are fitted for work here must get their apprenticeship elsewhere' (DA). It was a policy he was to follow throughout his headship. From a graduate student's point of view it was something of a disaster; for it meant that Brett, who would later be appointed dean of the Graduate School, was opposed to putting them in the classroom; the most they could hope to do during his reign was to mark papers. The defect of his policy, in my considered opinion, is that it failed to take into account the fact that many students will not open their mouths in a class conducted by an older teacher, but these same students are often willing to join in a discussion when it is led by someone nearer their own age. Brett would have swept this objection aside, since, as we will see, he was decidedly opposed to discussion in the classroom. 7.8

Hugh Reid MacCallum was born on 27 May 1897 in Turkey, where his parents, both Canadians, were missionaries in the service of the Congregational Church. At the time of the massacre of the Armenians in 1908, in the village where they lived 2,000 people were murdered. The elder MacCallum, who was visiting another village on the day of the killings, was

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held captive, along with several other missionaries, for several days before order was restored. The MacCallums had family connections in Kingston, and it was there that their son received his education; upon his graduation from Queen's he was awarded a Rhodes Scholarship to Balliol College, Oxford, where he read Modern Greats2 and earned a second B.A. with first-class honours. In 1923 his Canadian alma mater appointed him a member of its Philosophy Department. Three years later he took a year off to pursue graduate studies at Harvard, where he was when Brett hired him. MacCallum proved his worth from the start; he brought to the department a new philosophical interest, namely, aesthetics. Once he had established a reputation within the university as being expert in the subject, the president, then the Reverend H.J. Cody - whom Fulton Anderson later accused of wishing to downgrade the Philosophy Department proposed to Brett that MacCallum do part of his teaching in fine arts, an area in which Cody wanted to create a department, but on the cheap, without having to allocate new funds. Brett took the matter up with MacCallum and on 2 May 1934 responded rather coolly to the proposal: T have discussed with Professor H.R. MacCallum the question of doing some work in the field of Fine Arts. As I suggested, Mr. MacCallum does not feel willing to give up the work in Philosophy entirely, nor is he sufficiently interested in the work which would belong to a Department of Fine Arts to develop it as a career. If the circumstances seem to require a temporary arrangement, involving some lectures and preliminary steps toward organization, he would be prepared to give all the assistance in his power. The Staff of Philosophy is carrying a full load of work at the present time so that, from the point of view of administration, there would be difficulty in providing for any classes which Mr. MacCallum might have to give up without getting additional assistance' (UTA, A1968-0006/007). MacCallum did lend his assistance, and in 1945-6 he served as acting head of the Department of Fine Arts, which in the meantime Cody had managed to establish. MacCallum was a diligent, uncom-

2 'Modern Greats' was an informal term for the program at Oxford, new in the 1920s, officially titled 'Philosophy, Politics, and Economics,' or simply 'PPE.' 'Modern Greats' was designed to invest PPE with something of the cachet of 'Greats,' that is, Literae Humaniores, the official tide of the classics program, or its second part, comprising Greek and Roman history, ancient and modern philosophy. The first part, classical honour moderations, covered Greek and Latin language and literature.

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plaining worker, which somewhat annoyed Fulton Anderson. Anderson, once he became an established figure in the university, believed that Cody was exploiting members of the department and, as we will see later, he complained bitterly about it. MacCallum did not join Anderson in pressing Cody for additional staff. MacCallum's career was cut short when he suffered a fatal heart attack in the spring of 1949, just before his fifty-second birthday. In the memorial prepared for the Senate (UTA, MSUT, 13 May 1949), which Thomas Goudge had had a hand in organizing, emphasis was placed on his 'wide and unusual learning, not only in philosophy but also in the arts.' 'He was himself an artist, with a profound understanding of music, poetry and painting.' In the final years of his life he was 'bringing to completion a systematic work on aesthetic principles.' This work was never published, but a collection of his shorter pieces, Imitation and Design, and Other Essays, was brought out in 1953. One gathers from the memorial that MacCallum was at his best teaching 'mature students,' and less successful with ordinary undergraduates. His 'deep religious faith,' instilled in his youth, is credited with affecting all of his activities and interests. Evidence may be seen in this passage from his essay, 'The Idea of Man,' quoted in the memorial: 'It is unphilosophical to restrict human experience to any one of its ranges. To narrow it down, with the natural sciences, to the experience of external sense; with aestheticism, to the experience of aesthetic form; to confine it to moral experience or economic experience, or religious experience, or social experience or any other single distinctive type of conscious happening, is in the end to lower, impoverish, mutilate, and dehumanize the notion of man. Philosophy holds tenaciously to the variety of experience in the whole wealth of its specific forms, and proceeds on the assumption that the most likely way of achieving a comprehensive and completely relevant answer to its question is to put upon this experience the highest, and not the lowest possible construction.' MacCallum's conception of philosophy was much grander than that of many of his generation. MacCallum's teaching, religious beliefs, and failure to publish elicited some discussion on the department's oral history tapes. Robert McRae, who attended several of his courses, described his teaching: 'It was characteristic of his teaching that he was really thinking it through right there on his feet.' To which Goudge added, 'Yes, exactly.' McRae went on: 'If you wrote down everything he said, just as he said it, it was impeccable prose, when you read it later. He had certain prejudices, I think, for instance, you'd never hear a word about [David] Hume; he might

George Sidney Brett 251

mention Berkeley, but not Hume. I expect the reason was that Hume was a sceptic. He [MacCallum] was, I think, a very religious man.' McRae reported that MacCallum attended church regularly; he was 'an AngloCatholic.' William Blissett, in his introduction to MacCallum's posthumously published book, disclosed the depth of his religious commitment: 'After adopting Catholic belief and practice within the Church of England, the question of receiving Holy Orders arose for him, and he sought the advice of the late Archbishop Owen, who recommended that he continue in his lay calling; this he accepted as a ruling' (MacCallum 1953, xi). Like Bishop Strachan, MacCallum found greater consolation in the Church of England than in the church of his father. In answer to the question of why MacCallum did not publish more, David Savan remarked: 'I would hazard the guess that it was partly temperamental, just as Reid was slow, careful, hesitant in speech, he would have been equally so, I think, about writing. I think this was probably, at least in part, a personality matter' (DA, OHT). We owe to Geoffrey Payzant, who came to the department as a special student in 1948 from Dalhousie, where he had earned a degree in English and history, the fullest description of MacCallum in the classroom. Payzant had chosen to study at Toronto because MacCallum was teaching aesthetics here; he took two courses, one on Leibniz and the other in aesthetics, from MacCallum during his last year of teaching: Blisset characterized MacCallum unimaginably well, with a pun from Pascal: the pun was 'thinking Reid' [MacCallum 1953, xi.]. Very marvellous, because you could go to one of Reid MacCallum's lectures, and, in the course of fifty minutes, he might not utter more than 200 words, and it was not hard to write down verbatim his lecture. But the people who did so missed out on the performance, which was quite remarkable. MacCallum was about six foot four or six foot five, about the same height as his son Hugh MacCallum [professor of English] whom you know, and same slender build and rather grey indoors-looking, and when he was thinking he would walk back and forth with a slow leaning lope with his spectacles, which were heavy horn-rimmed spectacles not at all fashionable in those days, in his right hand, and he would twirl them, and it would be as if they were the propeller that was dragging him. And he'd come to the end, turn around and then the propeller would drag him all the way back to the other end. Sometimes there might be two or three transits of the classroom, what was then U.C. Room 6 - 1 forget what it's called now; but he might make two or three crossings without saying anything, and then half-

252 The Main Stream way back stop and say one word, or perhaps two, and then wind his way back to the wall. This was the 'thinking Reid.' He was thinking, and to think of writing down, to take any time at all to write down what he was saying, was to lose the momentum. It was slow momentum, but was extremely powerful momentum, the way he put these things together, quite unforgettable. (DA, OHT)

Judging from the difference between these accounts by McRae and Payzant, it appears that MacCallum's teaching style became more eccentric during the last fifteen years of his life. Had he lived to reach retirement age, he might have been saying nothing in his lectures. On one memorable occasion MacCallum's deliberate teaching style led to an unexpected, and probably unwelcome consequence. We are indebted to the Reverend David J. Proctor, who received his B.A. in 1938 from Victoria College in honours philosophy, English or history, for this lovely story. In a letter to me, recollecting his teachers, he had this to say of MacCallum: 'Dr. MacCallum, a kind, hesitant man, began his lecture on Descartes' view of the concept of the deity with "By God I understand ... (eyes closed in a concentrated search for the right words) ... By God I understand ..." A voice at the back of the room burst in with "By God, I don't!"' Proctor did not record MacCallum's reaction to this interruption. 7.9

During his first year as head of department, Brett had to deal with the case of T.R. Robinson, who had held the rank of associate professor since 1920 without a single salary increase. Then nearly sixty years of age, Robinson was concerned about his pension, which was calculated in terms of the salary received during the final years of employment. Robinson's salary had remained at $3,875 for nine years. For compassionate reasons, Brett wanted to bring it up to the ceiling for his rank, which was $4,350, before his retirement. In his budget letter to the president, Brett criticized Hume's administration of the department. This is the only document I have come across in which Brett recorded a negative judgment about Hume's work. In such delicate matters Brett's usual preference was to tell the president orally how he judged a colleague's work and to leave no written record. When he sent the president his budget recommendations for 1927-8, however, he felt obliged to suggest, in general terms, that Robinson was not solely responsible for his static situation: T take this opportunity to say that Professor Robinson continues to do his work

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efficiently. He teaches in the Undergraduate Courses, the Social Service Department, and the Graduate School. I have felt this year that some of the defects in this Department have been due to lack of confidence in the management and to a general want of organisation. In this particular case I wish to record the fact that Professor Robinson has shown an increased interest in his work and has responded to suggestions for expansion and improvement in a way that deserves recognition. I should like to see his salary increased up to the limit of his grade before he reaches retiring age' (UTA A1969-0003/003). Four years were to elapse before Robinson's salary rose to $4,200, still short of the ceiling. Subsequently, the Great Depression precluded further increases. Thomas Rutherford Robinson was born at Port Dalhousie, Ontario, on 20 September 1867 and was graduated from the University of Toronto with a first-class honours degree in classics and philosophy in 1895. A year later he enrolled as a seminarian in Knox College, and after serving student pastorates at Muskoka and Manitoulin Island, he was ordained on 21 December 1899. He was assigned to St David's in Scarborough, where he served until he was installed as pastor of St Mark's Presbyterian church at the corner of King and Tecumseth Streets on 17 December 1901, at a yearly salary of $900. By 1904 he had registered as a graduate student in the department, and two years later he was awarded the second Ph.D. in psychology, with a thesis entitled 'Stereoscopic Vision and Its Relation to Intensity and Quality of Light Sensation.' August Kirschmann, who directed his work, had a high regard for Robinson's abilities, and had taken him on as a laboratory assistant two years earlier. A year after his degree was awarded, he was promoted to lecturer, with a salary of $800. His teaching proved satisfactory and he was reappointed, with raises, for the next nine years; his salary gradually increasing to $2,000. When the staffing crisis, brought on by Kirschmann's absence, hit the department in September 1909, Robinson, with four year's experience, was assigned to cover some of Kirschmann's work. Whether Robinson would have been given a permanent appointment without this turn of events is open to question, but the way in which the Kirschmann affair dragged on from year to year settled the matter. The teaching could not be done without Robinson. In the summer of 1913, when it had become fairly certain that Kirschmann would never return, Robinson was promoted to the new rank of assistant professor. Seven years later, as noted above, he was made an associate professor. Robinson's undistinguished career in the department was due in part - perhaps in large part - to the fact that he was originally hired on the

254 The Main Stream

basis of his experimental work in psychology, which was very well received when it was published. Once he joined the department, however, he seemed to lose interest in psychology and gradually moved into exclusively teaching philosophy. Unfortunately, he did not seem to have a strong interest in philosophy either, as Brett's letter, if one reads between the lines, suggested. He soldiered on, however, since no other course, except possibly a return to the pulpit, was open to him. Robinson occasionally expressed his opinions in letters to newspapers. Their contents suggest that he was something of a crank. On 7 April 1920 a letter from him was published in the Toronto Star, recommending that immigration to Canada be limited to those who could be 'Canadianized.' As late as 14 April 1924 he complained to the editor of the Globe that German propaganda was being spread from an unknown local source. After he was elected president of the Social Service Council in 1927, perhaps taking up one of Brett's suggestions to increase his visibility, he used his position to demand, in a meeting covered by the press, that vaudeville shows be censored because they were including what the movie censors had deleted (Globe, 18 May 1928). This council appears to have been an organization of social workers. Its members listened politely but failed to take action on his petition. When Robinson reached retiring age during the 1932-3 academic year, the president, acting on Brett's advice, recommended to the Board of Governors that his position be extended for an additional year, even though his health was poor. Halfway through the year, on 9 January 1934, he died of a heart attack. Two days later the board ordered that, in view of his long service, his widow be paid 'as a compassionate allowance' his salary for the remainder of the year and a widow's pension of $1,000 per annum. The day after Robinson died, the Varsity paid him this extraordinary tribute on its front page: 'The University has lost a man who was highly regarded by his associates as a solid thinker and the possessor of a great judicial mind.' It also published a statement from Brett, which the editor, obviously without having read it, printed under the headline 'Glowing Tribute Paid Professor': By the death of Professor Robinson the University, and especially the Department of Philosophy, has lost a consistent worker and a loyal supporter. Though he had not enjoyed full health and strength for some years and was compelled to avoid the strain of overwork, he had carried a heavy load of routine duties and was responsible for the work of many different

George Sidney Brett 255 classes. For many years he divided with Professor Tracy the work in ethics in University College, and since the retirement of Professor Tracy he had continued in the same field, though his appointment was from the first in the University and not in the College. Professor Robinson began his academic career at Toronto thirty years ago; he was closely associated with a group of men of whom some are in other fields of work and some have retired. For the most part his department was under the direction of Professor Hume. He was precise in his ways and very reliable, a colleague who could be relied upon to accept all his responsibilities and to fulfil them adequately. Though often reticent, he appreciated the opportunity which is offered by the sincere student and many undergraduates and graduates owe him debts of gratitude for careful guidance and conscientious training. Professor Robinson showed the same qualities in the extensive part he took in the work of the Social Welfare Council. Both in the University and outside his death will be mourned by many who appreciated his ability and his devotion to his career.' (10 Jan. 1934, 1)

Brett was a master of tactful language; he would have made a superb diplomat. 7.10

In 1930, in anticipation of the imminent retirements of Tracy and Robinson, the department was granted a junior appointment. The man chosen by Brett was Edward Wilfred Macdonald, who graduated in philosophy and economics from Queen's in 1924. His work for the B.A. must have been outstanding, because he was immediately hired by Western Reserve University in Cleveland as a lecturer. He taught there for two years before going on to the College of the City of New York for a year and then to Columbia for a year at the same rank. In 1929-30, his only period of graduate work, he was a research student at the University of Munich, where he studied the manuscripts of Leibniz. At the time of his application, he told Brett he was editing a book of Leibniz selections for an American textbook publisher and was also writing a monograph based on the Leibniz manuscripts. Neither book was ever published. According to Thomas Goudge, who knew him as both teacher and colleague, Macdonald was charming, handsome, and debonair, with a gift of plausible speech. Given Brett's cautious nature, one is very surprised to find him recommending the appointment of a candidate with no advanced degrees. Perhaps there was no stronger Canadian candidate in that year.

256 The Main Stream

Brett later came to regret hiring Macdonald. During his first year he held the rank of lecturer, with a salary of $2,500. Brett was pleased with his work and recommended him for promotion to assistant professor and a $200 raise. For most of the 1930s Macdonald appeared to Brett to give good service and he was made an associate professor in 1935. Even during these years, however, he neglected his teaching unconscionably. Robert McRae described an ethics course he took with Macdonald in 1934-5: 'Well, I had him in third year as an undergraduate, and he turned up for the first class and got our names; he might have come to the second, but that was the end' (DA, OHT). There was a final examination, so the students had to prepare for it on their own. As far as McRae remembered, no student sought to consult privately with Macdonald. What the students did consult was the file of his past examinations in the course. Macdonald would assign essays, but they were never returned: 'One day we all piled into a car and went to his apartment up on Avenue Road, and asked him about these essays: could we get them back? And he said, "you got a car there? well, let's go down to the Royal York Hotel, there's a beer party going on." That was the end of the essays' (ibid.) Towards the decade's end, Macdonald's playboy tendencies got out of hand. It became public knowledge that he was having an affair with a woman who was the wife of a prominent Torontonian; this intelligence did not sit well with either President Cody, who was a strait-laced moralist, or for that matter with Brett, who had a puritanical streak in his make-up. Macdonald was also drinking heavily. Brett, who was genuinely fond of him, covered for him for a long time, but even his patience wore out. On 24 October 1940 he warned Macdonald to mend his ways or face the consequences. His letter opened by expressing 'regret that it is necessary to return to a subject which I hoped was definitely in the past' (DA). This earlier warning must have been made orally, since there are no existing letters dated before this one. He informed Macdonald that his students had 'prepared a petition to be submitted to the Council of University College requesting that some action should be taken in view of the fact that you omitted many lectures or at best appeared only for a few minutes to give explanations which they regarded as unsatisfactory.' Although the petition had been prepared during the spring, it had not yet been submitted to the council. Brett had hoped that, with a new school year, Mac donald was fulfilling his teaching duties, but to his dismay he learned that there had been no change in Macdonald's behaviour. Brett had recently received complaints from students that Macdonald was not appearing for lectures.

George Sidney Brett 257

After an investigation, Brett was convinced that the facts were as the students had stated them, and he wrote to Macdonald: It would obviously be no kindness on my part to leave you in ignorance of your position at the present time. There are other matters which I do not consider are my business officially, but which clearly contribute to make the students wonder that the authorities are not disturbed about them. I am also personally interested because it is clear that the management of the Department is open to criticism, with the implication that it is useless to expect any effective action on my part. I feel that I have gone as far as possible in the way of benevolent consideration and that to continue that policy is to damage the reputation of the Department for efficiency either in administration or teaching. If you wish to discuss these matters I am quite willing to give you the opportunity. I do not think anything would be gained. I have neither the time nor the disposition to be continually going round to discover whether members of the Staff are giving their lectures. If their interest in their work or their sense of duty cannot be regarded as sufficient guarantee, the obvious course is to find others who can be trusted to fulfil their duties as a simple matter of honour. (DA)

After this gentlemanly warning, Brett assured Macdonald that he was referring only to 'lapses in attention to your duties,' not to the quality of his teaching, on the occasions when he got around to doing it. Macdonald was advised to consider this letter his final warning: 'I have put this in writing so that there may be no misunderstanding or any tendency to consider the question unimportant. If there is any more ground for complaint, a report will be made to the President without further warning. For the present I intend only to make what is a final effort to save you from consequences which in my opinion seem likely to result and which in the opinion of the Staff as a whole would be considered to be justified.' Macdonald was told that in future he must 'report in writing those occasions when you cancel a lecture, with the reason for so doing.' In the copy of his letter sent to President Cody in 1943, Brett noted in the margin: 'not observed. G.S.B.' Matters came to a head in January 1943. Brett felt compelled to bring Macdonald's dereliction of duty to the president's attention. In a letter dated 18 January (DA), Brett reported that Macdonald was unable to teach any of his classes in the second term and that 'some classes were neglected last term more than was known to me.' The other members of the department were filling in for him. One gathers from Brett's final

258 The Main Stream

paragraph that the cause of Macdonald's inability to teach his courses was self-inflicted: T enclose a letter sent to Mr. Macdonald on a previous occasion which will show that the present situation is not entirely new nor wholly accounted for by the present state of Macdonald's health.' On Cody's instruction, Brett informed Macdonald that he must arrange to see the president, which he did on the first day of February. Cody's note on the top of Brett's letter probably reflected the brevity of their interview: 'Professor Macdonald to continue his one course of lectures to end of term: pay him at full salary rate: he will send in his resignation before end of term. H.J. Cody, President.' According to a letter I received from Murdo Mackinnon, who graduated from the philosophy (English or history) program in 1938, Cody had learned of the problem independently of Brett: 'The story I heard was that no one blew the whistle on Macdonald until the grand-daughter of President H.J. Cody (as an undergrad in U.C.) reported that one of her professors did not give his lectures' (27 March 2000). If this is the way it happened, Cody would have been prepared to act as soon as he had confirmation from Brett. Thomas Goudge, who was then on the faculty, recorded his reaction to the end of Macdonald's career: 'The situation was in many respects an unhappy one, since aside from his problems he was a man of ability and charm' (1977, 25). Unfortunately, Macdonald was never able to overcome his personal problems. The last time Goudge saw him was embarrassing for both men: Macdonald delivered telephone directories to the department and they happened to meet in a corridor. Both men were rendered speechless. 7.11

When Frederick Tracy retired in 1932 as professor of ethics in University College, Brett advised the president that it was not necessary to appoint a replacement for him. The demand for ethics courses was not great, although they had to be offered every year. In those days, ethics courses, taught from common syllabuses, were mounted at Trinity, Victoria, and University Colleges. There was a common final examination in each of the courses, which was set and marked by the three instructors but administered by the Faculty of Arts. The duplication of effort, often for a handful of students, was considerable, but no one was yet ready to send their students to another college for instruction in ethics. Tracy's workload had also included philosophy courses and a graduate course. Brett solved the problem of his replacement for University College by

George Sidney Brett 259

having himself appointed professor of ethics in University College, at a salary of $1,000 per annum. The university, of course, reduced his salary by that amount. After Robinson's death in 1934, Brett was allowed an assistant professor to replace him. His choice fell upon Jarvis McCurdy, then in his third year of teaching at McMaster University. William Jarvis McCurdy was born on 12 April 1904 in Quebec, the son of a Presbyterian minister. Following in his father's footsteps, he enrolled in Dalhousie University and graduated with a B.A. in 1926. His brilliant undergraduate record won him admission to Harvard, from which he was graduated M.A. in 1927 and Ph.D. in 1932, with a thesis entitled The Concept of the Object in Positivistic Philosophy.' When he agreed to move to Toronto, the Globe and Mail hailed his appointment as a coup for the university. His subsequent career, it is sad to have to report, was downhill all the way. McCurdy was a very kind and generous man, possibly too kind and too generous, as we will see. Francis Sparshott recalled that when he arrived in Toronto in 1950 it was McCurdy who took him in and showed him the ropes: 'Who was Jarvis McCurdy? is not capable of being described by such talents as mine. A very, very delightful man, he saved my life when I came to Toronto. He took me in, hospitably, took me into his house, showed me what to do, showed me how to live in Toronto, looked after me. He was a really delightful and splendid man' (DA, OHT). Geoffrey Payzant, on the same oral history tape, described McCurdy in quite a different way. T was once asked to compare Jarvis McCurdy with Marcus Long, and what I said was, "Jarvis was the holy fool, Marcus was corrupt."' The interviewer asked Payzant to explain what he meant in calling McCurdy 'a holy fool'; he replied: 'Because he wasn't just kind to Francis Sparshott upon arrival, he was kind to everybody indiscriminately. I mean it wasn't even a matter of principle. His kindness was spread so far and so deep that in the end it was unkindness in many cases, if you understand what I'm saying. He would open his house to some deadbeat he found on a street corner, and bring this guy home and feed him and give him a bed for the night, and this wasn't an exceptional instance. This is really what I mean by "a holy fool." I regret to say much more holy than a fool.' Payzant then went on to describe a graduate course he took from McCurdy: Cam Henry and I took a course called 'Philosophy of Science' from Jarvis, a graduate course. It was offered for years in the calendar but nobody ever put in for it. But for reasons I forget - I think time-table reasons - Cam and

260 The Main Stream I couldn't get a certain course we wanted, but we did have a slot, that was the slot of this thing, so we said to Goudge [then graduate secretary], 'I guess we'll have to take that.' So Goudge compelled Jarvis to give the course. It was one of those things that you put in, like 'Medieval Ethics,' just to keep things going, but you didn't give it. Well, it was really awful as a course. It was a real calamity. Cam Henry and I salvaged it by bringing in interesting people, senior graduate students from physics and mathematics, and a few other things, with Jarvis's enthusiastic approval, and we had discussions. Jarvis, after about two lectures, really couldn't get the thing going and keep it going, and I felt at the time, and I am very sure of this now, that the main problem was sinus; he had a severe sinus condition most of his life. He smoked his pipe and all this, which didn't help it any. I think he was in pain, and sort of stupefied by this condition. He would always be brave, and he would always be smiling and friendly and great, but he could not put any kind of an argument together, any kind of an analysis, couldn't sustain it, couldn't at all. And it was impossible to find out what he was reading. He regarded himself as an expert on Hobbes, but you couldn't ask him questions about anything in a text by Hobbes, because he would just go all scrambled.

Whether Payzant's explanation for McCurdy's inability to do his job is right or wrong, it is true that his early promise never developed. He was to teach for another score of years, but there was no improvement in his work. He retired in 1969 and died on 23 March 1988. Sparshott recalled that once McCurdy had to miss a class and he taped a lecture to be played in his absence. McCurdy played the tape for Sparshott and others: 'It was completely incoherent, you just could not make out what was happening, there was mumbling and repeating, and there was just nothing there. But Jarvis was listening to this apparently without any discomfort whatever. It was very, very strange. He was totally incoherent on philosophy. He really ought not, at that point, to have been kept on staff (DA, OHT). Payzant then recalled the way in which McCurdy go over awkward occasions in the graduate course: 'If he ran into an embarrassing moment in our little seminar, he had a mouse. He was on the ground floor of the cloisters [in University College], and he had a mouse inhabiting some corner. He had little bits of bread, and bits that he brought back from lunch, and, as a diversion, he'd throw something down and the mouse might or might not emerge, so we'd talk about the mouse for twenty minutes, and then try to get back on some kind of a subject. He was an adorable man, but as Francis said he was in the wrong place' (ibid.).

George Sidney Brett 261 7.12

In 1932 Brett was appointed dean of the Graduate School for a threeyear term; he would be reappointed four more times. For this work he was paid an honorarium of $1,000 per annum. His total annual income from the university was $7,000, and he was paid that amount for the rest of his career. As dean, Brett met with any graduate student, or prospective graduate student, who required more than merely administrative help. Emil Fackenheim has told the story of how he came to be admitted to graduate studies in philosophy during the Second World War. All of his formal education had been taken in Germany, where he had also been incarcerated in a concentration camp in the late 1930s. At almost the last moment, before the war broke out, he and his family were permitted to emigrate to Great Britain. After settling his parents and brother, Fackenheim was incarcerated as an enemy alien of military age and later sent to an internment camp in Canada. When he was released, he decided to resume his interrupted studies in philosophy: 'On 15 December 1941 I appeared in the office of the late Dean G.S. Brett, to apply for admission to the Ph.D. program in philosophy. Late in the year as it was, although through no fault of mine, I said that I could not expect credit for the year. He replied never mind, I could show what I could do. There was a further problem, I went on: a refugee from Nazi Germany, I had no academic degree but only a rabbinic diploma; but this had been accepted as equivalent by the University of Aberdeen. "What is good enough for Aberdeen," the dean replied, "is good enough for us." And then, seemingly glad to be done with this stuff and nonsense, he launched into a discussion of Aristotle, making me feel that I had never left home' (Fackenheim 1996a, xv). Fackenheim got his doctorate and, while Anderson was head, a position in the department. Before his retirement he was named a university professor, the first to grace the Philosophy Department. Another who first met Brett when he was a graduate student was Thomas Goudge. In 1932 he enrolled in the Ph.D. program, fresh from an M.A. in philosophy at Dalhousie. When Brett died, Goudge recorded his estimate of the man for publication in the Proceedings of the American Philosophical Association, 1945-46; he remarked on Brett's teaching, his philosophical interests, and his personal qualities: Those who knew Mr. Brett through his major literary work tend to associate him exclusively with the field of psychology. Yet it was philosophy which constituted his dominant interest. He taught it brilliantly for many years, com-

262 The Main Stream bining a wide and minute knowledge of its history with an exceptional skill for discerning essential issues and stating those in clear and illuminating terms. His interest in the history of psychology was a phase of a more general interest in the history of science. Here, as in the field of technical philosophy, his fund of knowledge was awe-inspiring. The thinkers who influenced him most were Aristotle, Lotze, and Bergson. His own philosophical position was a form of dynamic pluralism; and he was unequivocal in rejecting monistic idealism, epistemological dualism, and instrumentalism. As a person, Mr. Brett inspired universal respect and affection, for he had great integrity, open-mindedness, and generosity. His friendliness and sympathy were rather enhanced by a certain personal reserve, which seemed a quality wholly appropriate to him. This was accompanied by a ready and urbane wit that made him an effective raconteur, never lacking the bon mot and the appropriate anecdote. Many students and colleagues will recall having profited from his practical wisdom, as well as from the intellectual stimulus of his presence. His death is a great loss to the life of his own University, and to the world of philosophical learning. (449-50)

I know of no one who dissents from this judgment of the man. In a letter to me, the Reverend David J. Proctor, who received his B.A. in 1938 from Victoria College in honours philosophy (English or history), memorably described Brett's teaching style: 'Dr. Brett had a brilliant mind, flavoured with a sly humour and a slight touch of Mona Lisa smile. For example, in a discussion of Samuel Johnson's distaste for teaching in a boys' residential school, he told of one thirteen-year-old pupil whom he had just whipped for a poor job on a philosophy test. In the midst of his tears, the pupil managed to blurt out. "Indeed, sir, I did try to be a philosopher, but cheerfulness kept breaking through!"' Telling this story got across to the students in his own class that Brett had a balanced view of the importance of philosophy. Other fine examples of his wit have come to light during my researches. One of them appears in an editorial note reporting his transfer to the university, published in the Trinity University Review of October 1921: 'A story is told of an event which occurred recently between Professor Brett and a foreign student. This youthful aspirant after knowledge asked Professor Brett certain questions as to his theological views. The latter probably considered that the young man might better figure the matter out for himself unbiased by what his instructor thought. After several ineffectual attempts to draw a decided answer to his question, Mr. Foreigner exclaimed in exasperation, "Why is it, Sir, that when you ask a student a question he will tell

George Sidney Brett 263

you exactly what he thinks, while if you ask a Professor he will evade the point?" With his usual spontaneousness of thought, Professor Brett replied, "Well, you see, a student needs to tell exactly what he thinks, in order that he may be corrected, but a Professor has no such need"' (13). John A. Irving, who studied under Brett in his prime and who summarized his achievements in 1945, described Brett's way in the classroom when asked directly for his opinion on some philosophical point under study: 'He would sometimes not answer questions directly but would force the student to further thinking, and even treat lightly the antitheses of past and earnest men. On one occasion, after he had been reviewing Green's controversy with the Utilitarians, a hopeful student asked him his opinion of the merits of Green's criticism. He smiled and told the story of the theological student who when asked to discuss the major and minor prophets in an examination and finding himself in complete darkness wrote, "Far be it from me to distinguish between these holy men"' (Irving 1945, 337). Irving himself may have been that 'hopeful' student. The last example of Brett's wit comes from the obituary published in the Toronto Star of 27 October 1944; it shows that the wit sometimes had a sharp bite: 'He recalled that a student told him he didn't want to be bored with French or German. "You see, I'm going in for international affairs," the student said. "Of course, in that case you don't have to worry about education," Professor Brett told him' (DA). 7.13

In his private life Brett adhered to very high standards of conduct. His daughter, Phyllis Brett Young, published a book, Anything Could Happen!, about the summers the family spent at their cottage on a lake in the north. One summer Brett bought a motorboat, and the very first time he took it out, at seven in the evening, he ran it aground. Phyllis was seven years old at the time: My father was not given to idle chit-chat in an emergency. He turned off the ignition, leaned over one side of the launch, and said, 'Hmph!.' He looked over the other side, and said, 'Hmph!.' Then he sat back and said nothing at all. My mother, being a wiser woman than most, also said nothing. I, beset by grave apprehensions, squeaked, 'Are we going to be drowned?' My father looked at me, and the grim lines of his face resolved into a

264 The Main Stream smile. 'No,' he said, 'I foresee nothing as active as that in our immediate future.' Reassured, I leaned across him, and gazed down into the water. 'Oh!' I said, withdrawing quickly, 'I see rocks! Why are there rocks there, Daddy?' After telling me, with some bitterness, that this was a question which only the Almighty could answer, he turned to my mother and they discussed the situation. The Amphitrite, on this her maiden voyage, was entirely devoid of such appendices as paddles and boat-hooks. Therefore, without implements of any kind with which to try and dislodge her, it was decided that the only thing to do was to wait for somebody to come to the rescue. The decision had scarcely been reached when another launch hove into sight some distance away on the darkening lake. Standing up at once, my father put his hands around his mouth and let loose a stentorian 'HELLO,' the while he waved his hat vigorously above his head. It took four hellos to evoke any response from the people in the other boat. Then they waved. Exhibiting a rare courtesy, they were still waving when they passed from sight. 'Why didn't you call "help"?' I asked timidly. Sitting down and taking out his pipe, my father explained that English officers and gentlemen did not call for help in so many words unless they were in extremis, and that 'hello,' delivered with force, was the recognized means of advertising lesser emergencies. The fact that this approach had been of no avail in the present crisis merely reinforced his conviction that Canada was a country principally inhabited by barbarians. This, he said, was not a sufficient excuse for him to lower his own standards. (Young 1961, 94-6)

They were finally rescued, just before night fell, by one of their neighbours. Thomas and Helen Goudge told me the story of this same daughter' wedding. After the couple's engagement was announced, Brett arranged for her to be married from the chapel in Trinity College. Invitations were sent to a large number of people, many of them associated with the university. Brett was then dean of the Graduate School and knew everyone of consequence. Gifts began to pour in as the wedding day approached. A few days before the wedding Phyllis Brett confided to her father that she and her fiance had been secretly married by a justice of the peace shortly after their engagement had been announced. Brett was appalled; his moral indignation knew no bounds. He ordered the wedding called off.

George Sidney Brett 265

His daughter was required to return all the gifts, and she had to write to everyone invited and explain to them why the wedding was cancelled. Needless to say she was humiliated by the experience. In her view, having two marriage ceremonies, one civil and one religious, was neither wrong nor sinful, but her father regarded a second exchange of vows as beyond the pale. On occasions such as this, he seemed to entertain no doubts about the worth of his own moral judgments. 7.14

Everyone who wrote about Brett mentioned, sooner or later, that he was a religious man, although none of them, like the foreign student, was able to say much more about it. According to a newspaper account of a speech he gave in Orilla in 1931, he believed that 'atheism was chiefly a disease of youth, and that it was due essentially to a lack of thinking.' The remedy, of course, was thinking, and most young people did enough of it later in life to reject atheism. In an earlier talk on campus, summarized in the Varsity, he is reported as claiming 'that religion could be considered in two ways, first as a ritual, where it was treated exclusively as a prescribed form of observances with a definite object, such as appeasing the Gods. The other form was the individualistic or the psychological, in which the kingdom of God was within' (18 Nov. 1931, 1). Through the ages, Brett argued, the first form gradually gave way to the second. William James, in his Varieties of Religious Experience (1903), was the first to see that religion could be studied psychologically. James's work put the emphasis on the conscious mind. Later, others established the importance of the unconscious in religious experience. Finally, social psychologists pointed out the way in which the social mind influenced the mind of the individual. For Brett, psychology cast a good deal of light on certain religious phenomena. Because conversion was a form of self-realization, there was nothing miraculous about it. Tn dealing with revivals, he said that mob psychology was brought to bear, producing results not really lasting. There was an accumulation of emotional excitement, such as the picturing of fear-provoking images' (4). Prayer was a way of concentrating attention, but it must be accompanied by belief, otherwise it was mere attention. With respect to immortality, psychology had nothing to say. Although there was no mention of Christian doctrines in his view of religion, he remained a Christian. After coming to Canada, he switched his allegiance to the Anglican Church, because 'he felt that the Canadian Anglicans were more akin to the English Methodists than were

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the Canadian Methodists' (Irving 1945, 333), and he regularly went to services at St Alban's Cathedral, where he was listed as an 'attendant.'

7.15 Brett's philosophical position was equally obscure. Goudge, in a passage already cited, described it as 'dynamic pluralism,' but he characterized it only negatively. Both Goudge and Irving knew what Brett rejected, but they were at a loss to say what he accepted. Irving, in his memoir of Brett, put the matter this way: Nothing intrigued Brett's students more than the secret of his own position in epistemology and metaphysics. Blunt told him not to be in a hurry in working out a philosophical system, and he seems to have followed that advice almost to the end of his life. Shortly before his death he had begun the preparation of both a history of logic and a book on systematic philosophy. He was undoubtedly greatly influenced by his studies in classical philosophy (one always associates him with Aristotle) to which may be attributed his breadth of view and his unusual tolerance ... He strenuously rejected subjective idealism, varieties of realism which interpose ideas or essences between the subject and the object (both were regarded as confessions of agnosticism), and pragmatic or activistic points of view. The excitement of his younger friends as they discussed 'referents' or danced to the highly syncopated pipings of Herr Wittgenstein's flute was observed with a paternal eye. But he did not think that philosophy should be overweighted with logical positivism or symbolic logic: the psychological, historical, and social contexts were more suitable and significant. (1945, 338)3

Irving, who took all of Brett's undergraduate courses and also studied under him for a year as a graduate student, was finally reduced to a negative characterization of his philosophical position. In spite of the fact that Brett recalled Blunt's advice often enough for his students to remember it, in public he sometimes took quite a different tack. The Varsity of 12 December 1924 reported a talk he gave to the

3 Irving cribbed the phrase 'danced to the highly syncopated pipings of Herr Wittgenstein's flute' from the preface of C.D. Broad's The Mind and Its Place in Nature, where it appears verbatim with the same image of the philosopher (Broad himself) looking with a fatherly eye upon the young men who are doing the 'dancing' (Broad 1925, vii).

George Sidney Brett 267

Philosophical Society. Since this was the first meeting of the club that year, Brett opened the meeting by telling his audience, nearly all students of philosophy, of its role in university life. 'He then proceeded to demonstrate the advisability of adopting a system of philosophy, pointing out that it was very doubtful whether one could do anything else. One must have a basis of judgment, even for rejection of systems, and this basis may fairly be termed one's own system. Most undergraduates come to the University with a system in the form of their religion, even if this merely consists in the religion of having no religion' (4). In this talk outside the classroom, Brett appeared to be telling his students that if they really wanted to know his own philosophical position, they had all the information they needed to figure it out for themselves. They had only to reflect upon the reasons he gave for criticizing the views of others in his lectures. As we have seen, both Goudge and Irving sensed this, but, able as they were, neither of them succeeded in discovering the basic premisses on which his rejection of other systems rested. This elusiveness was of cardinal importance in his teaching; the whiff of mystery that lingered about his lectures led his best pupils to begin to think for themselves. In his very interesting address, 'A Century of Philosophy in EnglishSpeaking Canada' (1967), Goudge made a discussion of Brett's philosophical orientation central to his account. Prior to Brett's arrival on the scene, philosophy in Canada was taught almost exclusively as a defence of religion. The true view of the world was provided by Christianity, and it was the duty of philosophers to adopt the philosophical system that provided the strongest defence against Christianity's enemies and teach it in their classes. This conception certainly fits Beaven; it seems less likely in the case of Young, however, although it is not entirely implausible. The task of young instructors was to adopt a philosophical system as their own in the beginning of their careers and ever afterwards defend it. The idealism of Edward Caird and T.H. Green filled this requirement for many in North America in the last quarter of the nineteenth century. Brett rejected this approach. In its stead he introduced a much more modern approach: 'The fact is that Brett saw the philosopher's job as an investigation of particular problems in their historical context, rather than as the construction of an all-inclusive system. Instead of enlisting under one of the traditional "school-banners," and doing battle against opposing schools, he kept himself free to make use in his philosophizing of contributions from various quarters - from Aristotle, Leibniz, Lotze, James, Bosanquet, Bergson, and others. In this respect Brett helped to move English-Canadian philosophy towards maturity' (Goudge 1967,

268 The Main Stream

540). In addition to drawing upon a whole host of philosophers, Brett also made the writings of scientists central to his philosophizing. In sharp contrast to the idealists, he rejected the idea that philosophy was in some way superior to science and could dictate to it. Brett saw scientific enquiry and philosophical enquiry as interacting parts of one basic human endeavour, the attempt to understand ourselves and the world we live in: 'Where the idealists purported to find one, unchanging set of categories, Brett recognized alternative and historically changing sets appropriate to various disciplines. Indeed, "metaphysics" was for him not classical ontology, but "the science of categories" which lie at the roots of all first-order inquiries, and which are reformed in "the process by which knowledge is continually made and re-made"' (541). Brett's conception of philosophical enquiry, according to Goudge, led him into a dead end, especially in his teaching. He was convinced 'that a philosopher was uneducated and incompetent unless he had an exact knowledge of the history of his subject.' Such a knowledge could not be gained from histories of philosophy, but only from a close study of the original texts: 'Although in one sense this emphasis on the study of texts had a maturing influence on English-Canadian philosophy, in another sense it was inhibiting. For it was all too easy to make the study of texts a substitute for thinking independently. Brett was not sufficiently alert to this danger. Hence he often limited himself, and permitted his students to limit themselves, to mere explication de texte. Whether what a philosopher said was true or false, whether his arguments were valid or invalid, whether his conceptual framework was consistent or inconsistent, were questions insufficiently discussed. But it is precisely by coping with such questions that students develop their own philosophical skills and make the study of dead thinkers a living intellectual enterprise. Thus the evolution of English-Canadian philosophy, while it owed a very great deal to Brett, had to go beyond him in important respects' (Goudge 1967, 543). Given his great respect for Brett and his own cautious nature, it is certain that Goudge thought long and hard about this matter before making it public. For these reasons, we can be confident that his critique is just. 7.16

Brett's principal contributions to scholarship were in the history of science, and his magnum opus is A History of Psychology in three volumes, the first of which came out in 1912 and the last two in 1921. His intention, he stated in the preface to the second volume, was to give the new

George Sidney Brett 269

psychology 'the support which may be derived from history' (6). History of science was an almost uncharted field when Brett published his first volume and the criticisms of it led him, in the preface to the next volume, to lay before his readers his conception of the value of this new type of history: A history of a science is a unique species of history. For the content of the science the student may go to the last textbook, where he may learn the established truths without any reference to their genesis or to the men who established them. For those who require no more a history is superfluous: it can add nothing to that knowledge and may be wholly disregarded. But there is another and a different object for which it has a specific function. If the student is not to be left with the idea that knowledge is a fixed quantity of indisputable facts, if on the contrary he is to acquire a real understanding of the process by which knowledge is continually made and remade, he must learn to look at the movement of ideas without prejudice as a separate fact with its own significance and its own meaning for humanity. To despise forgotten theories because they no longer hold good, and refuse on that account to look backward, is in the end to forget that man's highest ambition is to make progress possible, to make the truth of today into the error of yesterday - in short to make history. (6)

Brett was fascinated by 'the movement of ideas,' and this characteristic alone may go some considerable way towards explaining why his own philosophical position is so hard to pin down. In May 1925 Brett read 'The History of Science as a Factor in Modern Education' to the assembled fellows of the Royal Society of Canada. After informing his audience of the recent growth of interest in the subject the History of Science Society had been formed in the United States only a year earlier, and already its membership exceeded 600 - he traced its importance to the education battles of the last half of the nineteenth century: 'The present generation is experiencing the effects of a specialization which began to disrupt education about half a century ago. The MidVictorian age was predominantly literary and classical, but it was also a period of industrial expansion and solid commercial prosperity which could have no more natural end than the growth of an education designed to make the industry still more expansive and the commerce more prosperous. This was the root of the struggle between the "Classics" and the "Moderns," a struggle far more epic than it appeared on the surface, for it was a struggle between two ideals of life and two types of civi-

270 The Main Stream

lization. On such questions there is no judgment except the result: no one can indict the Universe. We are now faced with the outcome, which for the present purposes is briefly stated as the need for "humanizing the Sciences'" (39). Some account of the way this disruption played itself out in the University of Toronto was given in §4.2. Fifty years later the 'Moderns' were so well established that Brett and many others felt that something had to be done to ensure that older and gentler values were not entirely squeezed out of education. What he argued for was a broadening of the teaching of history beyond politics, to include other social forces: 'As history tends to become "past sociology" rather than "past politics," scientists will learn that they are not independent of social forces. It is not to be supposed that science has always been the benefactor of society, rescuing it from political strife or religious mania; nor has it been free from superstitions, bigotry, and the kind of narrow-mindedness which thinks to build without proper foundations. A candid history will deal out blame as well as praise, it will show how often scientific work has suffered from the failure to promote its own interests without obscurantism or rivalry; it may also have to show how excessive vulgarization can produce contempt, and excessive organization produce sterility' (45-6). Earlier in his paper he had criticized existing histories of science on the ground that they focused too exclusively on the successes of science and failed to inform the reader of the negative litter left along the path of discovery. 'The chief lack seems to be due to ignoring the actual logical processes by which the results were reached. The results being out of date there is nothing of interest except the method and process, which are usually omitted' (42). If students were taught the full story of the way scientists made discoveries, they would stand in less awe of their achievements - this seems to constitute an important part of what he meant by 'humanizing the Sciences.' 7.17

The testimonials regarding Brett's teaching rival those for George Paxton Young. Goudge's tribute was cited above. Some of Brett's students have mentioned one of his great assets as a teacher, namely, his 'delightful voice, which might discourse on any subject and make it instructive and entertaining' (Graham 1932, 12). Harcourt Brown, who wrote a biographical sketch for the History of Science Society, was unstinting in his praise of Brett the teacher: 'To the present writer, Brett is remembered chiefly as a teacher, one of the clearest, most eloquent, and generally pro-

George Sidney Brett 271

vocative it has been his pleasure to listen to. His courses were not easy; they often consisted of a lengthy and painstaking explication de texte, in which the class's reading of an English translation of a masterpiece of Greek philosophy was illuminated by Brett's discussion of the original text taught from a much-thumbed German edition' (1946, 111) .John Irving also emphasized the demands Brett made upon his classes: 'In unusual degree Brett's instruction combined austerity and rigour in his demands on his students and patience and industry in meeting their shortcomings and ignorance. He was not appalled by their frequent confusion, and their immature questions were interpreted as signs of a stirring toward light. If his concern for the immediacy and objective importance of what he taught led him sometimes to fail to detect the bluffer or made him neglect the lazy, his method was life-giving to those who wished to understand and who could not readily confine their studies to the preparation of material to be retailed on examinations. He would not merely answer a student's question but illuminate the whole background of experience which had given rise to it; and he had sufficient sense of the stern reality of clear ideas to be more than tolerant of the struggle to achieve them' (1945, 337). Irving's testimony should not perhaps be taken quite at face value; for he held a very inflated opinion of Brett. In a letter dated 30 November 1944 (a month after Brett's death) to A.S.P. Woodhouse, head of the English Department at University Col lege, Irving had the audacity to claim: 'Mr. Brett had as comprehensive a mind as any philosopher in our time. After leaving Toronto I met and studied under some of the greatest philosophers of Britain, France, Germany, and the United States. Brett was easily the equal of such men as Russell, Moore, Meyerson, Carnap, Whitehead, or Dewey.' This astonishing remark could be dismissed as the product of grief, except that in his memoir he repeats the greater part of it: 'anyone who knew his real stature realized that he had as comprehensive a mind as any other philosopher of our time, that he was easily the equal of such men as Whitehead, Dewey, or Meyerson' (360). Brett would have been appalled. Students who came to Brett's classes unprepared were apt to find themselves acutely embarrassed when that fact came to light. In a letter to the Varsity of 26 November 1917 Brett revealed an early personal experience that had taught him an unforgettable lesson: 'A great teacher, whose reputation was European, once gave me a brief but precious lesson; as I entered he asked "Have you read the book I mentioned?" He listened to my excuses and replied simply, "Come back when you can say that you have had the time!" In addition I realized ... to knowing his subject he

272 The Main Stream

knew how to teach it' (3). Brett used this anecdote to underscore the importance of coupling lectures with some individual instruction. Students' knowledge that they had to prepare for such a meeting spurred even the laziest to do some reading. Graduate students under Brett's supervision were required to meet with him on a regular basis. St John Lovatt, who was writing a thesis on some aspect of seventeenth-century philosophy during the Second World War, described these sessions: 'Once a week, post-graduate students reported their progress and their perplexities - mine were a tangled web of many philosophies. In one brief hour the Dean would sort them, and the pattern in the Carpet would emerge' (Lovatt 1944, 6). These mandatory discussions greatly added to Brett's workload. In a 1937 letter to Brett (to be discussed at length in §9.3) Anderson, who was his colleague, commented on Brett's teaching: 'the unbelievable amount of teaching which you yourself do this is said by observers to be about forty hours a week!' Brett, who at first treated this letter as a draft, altered it to read: 'the very large amount of teaching which you yourself do - including many hours of graduate instruction necessitated by the variety of interests and lines of special study' (DA). As mentioned above, Brett was dead set against courses structured around group discussions, which were beginning to become fashionable as early as 1917: For the greater part of his time the undergraduate is in need of nothing so much as adequate knowledge of what has been done in literature and science. To foster the opinion that the average classroom is filled with individuals whose creative genius ought not to be subjected to the discipline of acquisition and sympathetic understanding, is the most dangerous undertaking imaginable. Loose phrases about 'thinking for oneself or 'developing leadership' are not going to compensate any one for going out into the world with crude opinions or for discovering late in life that the art of saying something had been substituted for the science of saying what was right. The amount of mere information which is required in these days for the proper fulfilment of the duties of any position, is too great to allow any squandering of time. By guidance, method and positive instruction, the teacher can and must lighten the task of acquisition. (Varsity, 26 Nov. 1917, 1)

Brett's comments on the 'group' system had been requested by the editor of the Varsity to bring to a close a discussion of the subject. What

James Beaven, an Oxonian, was brought from England in 1842 as the first professor of divinity, metaphysics, and moral philosophy in King's College. In 1850, much against his will, he continued as professor of metaphysics and ethics in what he called the 'Godless' University of Toronto.

Beaven's students were wont to play pranks on their professor. The occasion depicted here shows both their inventiveness and Beaven's cool ability to put them in their place. For the full story, see pages 90-1.

George Paxton Young brought a breath of fresh air to the teaching of philosophy when he succeeded Beaven in 1871. Students adored him and left many testimonials praising his teaching. His funeral from Convocation Hall was probably the grandest ever accorded a Toronto professor.

James Mark Baldwin was appointed to half of Young's position after a great public controversy. Assigned to teach metaphysics and logic, he is best known for establishing at Toronto the first psychological laboratory in the British Empire and for introducing the teaching of the new experimental psychology in his short tenure of four years.

James Gibson Hume was appointed to the other half of Young's position. He taught the history of philosophy in the university and ethics in University College. His thirty-seven years as head of the department represented a holding operation, since the controversy over his appointment made it impossible for the department to appoint any but its own students.

George Sidney Brett came to Toronto as professor of ethics and ancient philosophy and librarian at Trinity College. When the department found itself short-handed in 1909, owing to the absence of August Kirschmann, Brett was hired to teach part time. In 1921 he transferred to the department and served as its head from 1926 to 1944.

Fulton Henry Anderson was awarded the fourth doctorate in the department and, after teaching for four years in the United States, was appointed an assistant professor in 1924. In 1944 he succeeded Brett as head and ruled autocratically until his retirement in 1963. A colourful character with an excellent command of language, Anderson managed to resist attempts by Trinity and Victoria Colleges to break the department into three.

This caricature of Fulton Anderson was published in the Varsity in 1935 on the publication of his first book, The Argument of Plato. Throughout his career he taught a course on Plato's Republic, in the early years by requiring students to take dictation and in later years by having them read the text aloud. See pages 307-9.

Thomas Anderson Goudge joined the

department in 1938, a year after receiving its twenty-first doctorate. During his first year he inaugurated graduate courses in systematic philosophy, symbolic logic, and logical positivism. After wartime service in the navy, he became a central figure in the department, serving as chairman in the 1960s. He is principally responsible for the democratization of the governance of the department.

Robert F. McRae was educated at Toronto and Johns Hopkins University. A member of the Royal Navy at the start of the Second World War, he was imprisoned for four years in Germany. Upon his release he joined the department and taught courses in, and published two books on, the history of modern philosophy.

Douglas Dryer, a Harvard-trained philosopher, joined the department in 1945. He specialized in the philosophy of Immanuel Kant, especially the Critique of Pure Reason, which he taught in the manner introduced by his teacher, C.I. Lewis. In 1966 he published Kant's Solution for Verification in Metaphysics.

David Savan was educated at Harvard and joined the department in 1943. Savan was an excellent teacher, who inspired generations of students. A perfectionist, he published little until late in his career, when he wrote important papers on both Charles Sanders Peirce and Spinoza. He had a knack, which endeared him to both students and colleagues, of developing important points out of most unpromising beginnings.

Marcus Long was, in the 1950s, the bestknown member of the department to the general public. Much in demand as a speaker and panel member, he had a vast repertoire of jokes and anecdotes, many dating back to his youth in Northern Ireland as a Protestant evangelist. He was a popular teacher of first-year students.

Emil Fackenheim grew up in Germany and was interned for a period in a concentration camp. He escaped to Britain, but was sent to Canada for incarceration as an enemy alien. On the day he was released he was admitted to graduate studies at the University of Toronto by Brett, then graduate dean. In 1948 he was taken on the faculty and had a very distinguished career, being the first member of the department raised to the rank of university professor.

David Gallop, a native of England and a specialist in Greek philosophy, was offered a position in the department in 1950, which he declined because his national service was pending. In 1955 he took up the renewed offer, and in 1969 he moved to the fledgling Trent University. He retained close ties with colleagues at Toronto and later collaborated on several projects with Thomas M. Robinson.

Geoffrey Payzant originally came to Toronto as a graduate student to study with Reid MacCallum, whose speciality was aesthetics. After MacCallum's untimely death, Payzant worked with two visitors and completed everything but the dissertation. Discouraged, he accepted a position at Mount Allison University, leaving only when Anderson persuaded him to return as a lecturer and to complete the degree. Payzant's main contribution was in the aesthetics of music.

David Gauthier was educated at Toronto, Harvard, and Oxford. His Oxford thesis on practical reasoning was published by the Clarendon Press. Anderson hired him in 1958, and in 1974 he was appointed chairman of the department. During the next two years, he successfully presided over the merging of the University Department with the Department of Philosophy at St Michael's College and the Departments of Ethics at Trinity College and Victoria College. In 1980 he went to the University of Pittsburgh.

John Hunter was educated at Toronto and Edinburgh and joined the department in 1954. A second reading of Wittgenstein's Philosophical Investigations, and an attempt to show one of its main positions to be wrong, led Hunter to conclude that Wittgenstein was right after all. His subsequent career was devoted to explicating Wittgenstein's philosophy.

Charles Hanly was educated at Toronto and Oxford before returning to Toronto for doctoral studies. His thesis combined two of his enduring interests: psychoanalysis and existentialism. A trained psychoanalyst who treated patients, he developed and taught a program of courses combining philosophy and psychoanalysis.

Fred Wilson graduated from McMaster University and received his graduate education at the University of Iowa, where he was a student of Gustav Bergmann. Wilson is a prolific scholar with many books to his credit; his interests encompass modern philosophy from David Hume to Darwin and beyond. He has also been active in faculty politics, serving as president of both the Faculty Association and the Canadian Association of University Teachers.

Paul Thompson was educated at Toronto and wrote a dissertation on the philosophy of biology under Goudge's supervision. He joined the faculty of Scarborough College in 1976 and taught there until he was appointed chair of the Institute for the History and Philosophy of Science and Technology in 2004. For several years he served as Scarborough's principal. Despite his administrative duties he has continued to work on philosophical problems in biology and published The Structure of Biological Theories in 1989.

John Irving was educated at Toronto under Brett and studied at Cambridge, where he attended Wittgenstein's lectures. He taught for several years at Princeton before moving to the University of British Columbia as head of department. In 1944 he was appointed to the Department of Ethics in Victoria College, where he served as head until his death in 1965. His major contribution to political philosophy is The Social Credit Movement in Alberta.

Mark Thornton, a native of England, holds degrees from both Oxford and Sheffield universities. His doctoral thesis was on the philosophy of mind, a central interest throughout his career. Francis Sparshott appointed him to Victoria's faculty in 1967, and he taught there until he was appointed chair of the department in 1994. When his term ended, he elected to take early retirement.

On 23 November 2000 the University of Toronto awarded Francis Sparshott the doctor of laws, honoris causa. Those present on this happy occasion included, from left to right: (standing) Prof. John G. Slater (carrying a stave), the Rev. Karen Bach, Prof. Cheryl Misak, Ms Wendy Cecil (chair of the Governing Council), Prof. Robert J. Birgeneau (president), Prof. Wayne Sumner (carrying the U of T mace), Prof. Ronald de Sousa, Prof. Michael Marrus (dean of the Graduate School), Prof. Lynd Ferguson (carrying a stave); (seated) Prof. Francis Sparshott, the Hon. Henry N.R.Jackrnan (chancellor).

William Clark was Trinity College's first professor of mental and moral philosophy. Appointed in 1882, he established a very successful honours course in philosophy, which was terminated in 1906 when Trinity federated with the University of Toronto. Clark, a Scotsman who had spent most of his life in England, resigned his positions in the Church of England to educate himself in philosophy. In 1896 he proposed that Trinity institute a doctoral program in philosophy only.

G. George Edison is shown here in his graduation picture from Trinity College in 1938, when his name was George E. Abraham. His doctorate was earned under Brett and he was then taken on as a lecturer at Trinity. During the Second World War he taught in the University Department, but he returned to Trinity at its end, where he taught until he retired in 1981. From 1951 he was head of Trinity's tiny Ethics Department and taught a graduate course on Aristotle.

Kenneth Schmitz, who holds a licentiate in mediaeval studies from the Pontifical Institute and a doctorate from the Department of Philosophy, with a thesis on the problem of the soul in the philosophy of Cardinal Cajetan, was appointed professor in Trinity's Ethics Department in 1971. His special interest is Hegel; an excellent teacher, he trained a whole generation of Hegelian scholars.

Graeme Nicholson was appointed to the faculty while still a graduate student. His thesis, supervised by Fackenheim, dealt with Heidegger's philosophy, an enduring interest throughout his career. After the formation of the united department in 1975, he moved to Trinity, where he taught until his retirement.

Father Henry Carr taught philosophy at St Michael's College for twenty years, and he was the first of its faculty to offer a graduate course. The Institute of Mediaeval Studies, later the Pontifical Institute, was conceived by him and brought into existence when he interested Etienne Gilson in joining it.

Etienne Gilson with a group of faculty members of the Institute of Mediaeval Studies in 1930. From left to right: (seated) Marie Dominique Chenu, Edmund J. McCorkell; (standing) Gerald B. Phelan, Etienne Gilson, Basil F. Sullivan, and Henry S. Bellisle.

Larry Lynch, an alumnus of both the Pontifical Institute and the Philosophy Department, taught at St Michael's from 1946 until 1981. For two decades he headed the department and later served as principal of the college. His teaching and research interests centred on existentialism, to which he was introduced by a fellow sailor during his wartime service in the U.S. navy. His genial guidance smoothed the merger of the departments in 1975.

Anton Pegis was a member of the first class in the Institute of Mediaeval Studies and earned the tenth departmental doctorate in 1931. After teaching at Marquette and Fordham, he returned to Toronto as a professor in the Pontifical Institute and St Michael's College. Fluent in modern Greek and with an excellent command of the classical language, he inspired a host of graduate students to study Greek philosophy. He was president of the Pontifical Institute from 1946 to 1952.

Father Joseph Owens was awarded the doctorate in mediaeval studies summa cum laudein 1948 with a dissertation on the Greek background of mediaeval thought. Later published by the Pontifical Institute, it has never been out of print. A legendary teacher, he inspired his best students to develop the kind of meticulous scholarship required for worthwhile work in the history of ancient and mediaeval philosophy.

Father Armand Maurer received all of his higher education at Toronto, earning the doctorate in 1947 with a thesis on Ockham and Duns Scotus. He joined the Pontifical Institute in 1949 and taught mediaeval philosophy, there and in the graduate department until 1980. At St Michael's College he taught a course in American philosophy that focused on the works of Charles Sanders Peirce, William James, and John Dewey. His many publications are principally in mediaeval philosophy.

Father Edward Synan was educated at Seton Hall College, the Catholic University of Louvain, the Catholic University of America, and the Pontifical Institute and the University of Toronto, where he wrote a dissertation in mediaeval philosophy. After teaching at Seton Hall for several years, he was appointed to the Pontifical Institute and St Michael's College in 1959. All of his scholarly work was in mediaeval philosophy; it included a study of the relationship between the papacy and the Jews in the Middle Ages.

William Dunphy earned all of his degrees at Toronto; his thesis, directed by Maurer, was in mediaeval philosophy. For eleven years he taught at Fordham University, returning to St Michael's College in 1964. His principal contribution to both his college and the university was his work as an administrator. He succeeded Lynch as principal and continued his policy of maintaining good relations between the college and the university.

Abbyann Lynch came to Toronto as a graduate student in both the Pontifical Institute and the university. Maurer directed her thesis in mediaeval philosophy. After her marriage to Larry Lynch, she left academia to raise their family. In 1969 she returned to St Michael's part time and then full time after 1975. Her major contribution to the teaching of philosophy was the introduction of applied ethics courses, both undergraduate and graduate, in the fields of nursing and medicine.

Joseph Boyle joined the department in 1987 as a professor with teaching responsibilities in St Michael's College. After earning a doctorate at George-town University, he had taught at several small colleges in the United States. Applied ethics is his major interest, and he has co-authored or co-edited several books on various problems in this developing area of philosophy.

On 28 November 2001 the Canada Council and the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada awarded Ian Hacking the Molson Prize for 2000 in the Social Sciences and Humanities. At the reception many of his colleagues joined in congratulating him. From left to right: John G. Slater, Jacqueline Brunning, Ronald De Sousa, Robert Gibbs, Margaret Morrison, Lynd Forguson, Thomas M. Robinson, Paul Gooch in front of Frank Cunningham, James R. Brown, Alasdair Urquhart, Arthur Ripstein, David Dysenhaus, Cheryl Misak, Douglas Hutchinson, Ian Hacking, Donald Ainslie, Kathryn Morgan, Martin Lin, Daniel Goldstick, Mark Kingwell, Jennifer Nagel, and Andre Gombay.

George Sidney Brett 273 struck Brett about the previous discussion was that it had 'seemed to me to imply the advantages of a good group-system over a bad lecture-system. But that way of putting it settles the question before it is discovered.' Brett was sternly in favour of the lecture system, which functioned to bring to the notice of the novice 'high standards of work.' Once such criteria had been firmly installed in the undergraduate mind, then individual work of the sort described above would prove profitable. Mere airing of undigested opinions should be left for sessions outside the classroom. Even when he was teaching logic he strictly adhered to lecturing. Murdo Mackinnon, in a letter to me, recalled taking Philosophy 120 from Brett in 1935: 'No class participation. Superb teacher. Encouraged us to go on with philosophy. A rich mind. Wonderful command of language. Warm friendly type. "Mr. Chips."' Not everyone was fulsome in his praise of Brett as a teacher. When David Savan joined the faculty in 1943, he was eager to audit Brett's fourth-year course in modern philosophy: In my first year here I attended a course that he taught in the Honours programme ... a course in nineteenth century and later philosophy. I knew of Brett, I had read, at least browsed through, read portions of, his History of Psychology, because I had taught psychology, as well as philosophy, before I came here. And I was eager to acquaint myself better with him. I had a high opinion of him, so I attended his undergraduate lectures regularly. I was a little bit disappointed. He read from his lecture notes in a somewhat dry manner. They were very well organized, very informative, but, I felt, a little uncritical. That is to say, I am sure Brett had his critical assessments, and perhaps in a graduate course they would have come out. But as an undergraduate lecturer he was primarily interested in laying out the thought of Kant, of Hegel, and of some other nineteenth-century philosophers in the British tradition, without really discussing the strengths and weaknesses of their positions, or the issues they raised. Nevertheless, I found it most informative; I learned a lot about some nineteenth-century philosophers that I did not know anything about. (DA, OHT)

Savan's assessment corroborates an important point made by others, namely, that Brett was almost exclusively interested, in his teaching, in giving students a thorough grounding in the history of philosophy before assigning them any critical tasks. Because of the high standards he set for historical knowledge, very few if any of his undergraduates ever went on to the second task before graduating.

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7.18

After Brett's death, two of his former pupils, Harcourt Brown and John Irving, proposed to the university that a selection of his periodical contributions be published in book form as a memorial. Having made their selection, they submitted it for approval to Sidney Smith, then principal of University College and later president of the university. Smith asked Anderson and MacCallum to read the selections and make a recommendation. On 22 October 1945 Anderson wrote to Smith and told him that he and MacCallum had read the papers proposed for the volume and had concluded, after consulting Goudge, Barker Fairley, Harold Innis, and A.S.P Woodhouse, 'that the proposed volume be not published.' The articles were 'occasional pieces' which generally 'fail to show Brett at his best or near-best as philosopher, thinker, or scholar' (UTA, FHA, 019 [2]). The book was not published. A drive was mounted, however, to raise funds for a graduate scholarship in his memory. Sufficient capital was raised for the 'George Sidney Brett Memorial Fellowship' to provide an income of approximately $2,000 every year for the past halfcentury. Many graduate students in philosophy have been the beneficiaries of this fund. 7.19

What was Brett's style as an administrator? David Savan recalled discussing the courses he had been assigned to teach with Brett on his arrival in the department in 1943: 'And, again, in general, when he was talking to me when I first arrived about the courses I would be teaching he never once said you should do this, improve that, omit the other, do it this way or that, what he did was tell me how it had been taught in the past by others and gave me very subtly, but also very clearly, to understand what he thought, anyhow, was the wise way to teach the course. I appreciated that very much, especially since, when he had died and Anderson succeeded him, Anderson's methods were very different indeed' (DA, OHT). Savan described Brett's way of talking to subordinates as 'a kind of tactful indirection of speech.' He hit upon this happy phrase while recalling his conversations with Brett: 'He was full of dry, and yet very funny, stories. He had a great, what I think of as a very English, type of wit and sense of humour. He was a wonderful man to talk with, as I say, on almost any subject. I learned from him one characteristic at least of one type of English person of his generation, namely, a kind of tactful

George Sidney Brett 275

indirection of speech. I remember walking home with him — he lived on Albany Avenue - and telling him (I knew he had taught in India) I had recently read E.M. Forster's A Passage to India, and I thought it was a wonderful book. And he said, "Yes, I'm not surprised you think so." He said, "Generally, it's a book that very many people like, especially those who have never lived in India." And I knew at once, of course, what his own opinion was; he was not as enthusiastic about it as I was' (ibid.). Although this was a highly civilized way of conveying disagreement, it did leave Savan in an awkward position, with no option but to change the subject. Goudge's recollections of Brett as an administrator were very similar to those of Savan: Brett was a very fair-minded person, and although he himself had very little interest in contemporary philosophy, he had some knowledge of it, and was prepared to allow other people who had some knowledge of the subject, or at any rate some enthusiasm for it, to speak on the subject in the classroom. Perhaps one example here might serve to illustrate this point. Soon after I came on the staff I volunteered to give a graduate course on positivism and pragmatism - logical positivism and pragmatism - introducing these topics that Dave [Savan] has referred to as being untouched here. And Brett said - he didn't say no this couldn't be done - he said we'll consider it, and in the end he did agree to this. But I got a clear sense that my older colleagues other than Brett were, to put it mildly, profoundly unenthusiastic about this, profoundly unimpressed by the project, and, I think, they attributed it to my brashness as a youngster and Brett's leniency. I always found him, as I say, extremely fair-minded, objective, gentlemanly, not given to some strong language, but firm, capable of taking a very firm position, if the issue called for it. I thought that he was admirable, particularly in the way that he treated the staff, fair-minded in every respect that I ever discerned. (DA, OHT)

At another point in their discussion, the interviewer asked Goudge to compare Brett and his successor, Fulton Anderson, as heads of the department. She had gathered from their discussion that, although both men had the same powers, Brett conducted the affairs of the department less autocratically than Anderson did. Goudge agreed: Yes, I think it was partly a temperamental difference between the two men.

276 The Main Stream Brett was just disinclined to be autocratic, but he still did operate the department in accordance with principles which he believed were the best for the department at that stage. It was done in a very gentlemanly way, a very considerate way, but still that's essentially what it was. I remember in my first year being struck by the fact that we had three so-called departmental meetings of one hour's duration, and they consisted of the members of the department who were in University College. There was some general discussion but no decisions, no votes were taken, no democratic procedure was followed; it was simply a ventilation of ideas. That was true of all three meetings, one in the fall and two in the spring term. That was the extent of his external consultation with members of the staff. Anderson, I think, would tend to have two meetings per annum.

In commenting upon departmental meetings, Savan made the interesting point that there was not much to discuss or consult about, since undergraduate courses were already listed in the calendar with their prescribed texts. McRae added that 'Anderson hated change. No change would ever take place on the initiative of Anderson.' Everyone agreed, however, that Brett had the finesse to run a one-man show smoothly, whereas Anderson did not. The abrupt transition from gentleman to autocrat caused much dismay in the department. 7.20

For much of the year 1944 Brett was ill, and late in the summer he took to his bed. Helen Goudge told me that he suffered from cancer, although, in the fashion of the times, this fact was never mentioned in any official way. Even though he was unable to visit campus in the fall term, he did not resign his administrative posts and he continued to make the decisions required of him. Most of his contact with his colleagues was by post, although a few people were invited to his bedside for consultations. Inexorably, his condition worsened, and on 27 October he died. His funeral was held three days later. All classes in philosophy were cancelled on the afternoon of his funeral. Fulton Anderson's meditations during the service will be reported in the next chapter. Anderson was immediately made acting head of the department, since there was much to be done. The demands on the department's teaching staff in that year, because returning veterans had swelled the enrolment, were greater than they had ever been. Anderson's remembrance of Brett, prepared for the Senate, contains

George Sidney Brett 277 this moving description of Brett as colleague: 'It is hard to find words adequate to describe him as a colleague. We were proud of him. His manner of life and work was an example to us all, for he was the ideal university teacher and administrator, hard working, vigorous and fearless in public and private speech yet never irresponsible, modest, unworldly, generous in sharing his scholarship, free from any trace of pettiness, charitable in his judgements, somewhat austere, with his austerity pervaded by a quiet humour which was never unkind, a loved and revered colleague' (DA). For the Council of the Faculty of Arts, Anderson recalled both the man and his work: 'Professor Brett was first and last a university man devoted to study and teaching. He read and mastered texts of wide range. He possessed wisdom in clarity and proportion; and this he taught with authority. He communicated enthusiasm and earnestness by what he was and ideas by what he said. He chose to give his time and energy without stint to the instruction and encouragement of his students, while publishers despaired of receiving new manuscripts or further revisions of his published works. And not least of his pleasures was to see those who had come to learn from him attain scholastic maturity of their own' (DA). Coming from Anderson, this is high praise indeed.

8

Graduate Study in Philosophy

8.1

King's College, which metamorphosed into the University of Toronto, offered an earned master of arts degree from its earliest days. On 19 October 1844 the college council laid down the requirements for the degree: '(1) having been admitted to the Degree of B.A.; (2) being of the standing of nine Terms from admission to that Degree; (3) having performed the appointed exercises.' (UTA, MCKC). In those days there were three terms in an academic year, so a bachelor of arts had to wait three years before he was eligible to attempt a master's degree. The 'appointed exercises' were set by 'the Senior Professor of the Faculty' in which the candidate had earned his bachelor's degree. If taken literally, this meant that John McCaul, the professor of classics, determined the exercises required of all candidates in the Faculty of Arts, although James Heaven's position as dean and second in seniority to McCaul, may have assigned him the task. The surviving documents fail to settle this question. Since there was no residency requirement for the master's degree, historians of the university have taken 'appointed exercises' to mean the writing of a thesis in the candidate's major area of study. These regulations appear not to have been changed when the University of Toronto arose from the ashes of King's College in 1850. At its first session in 1854, however, the newly reconstituted Senate of the University of Toronto amended them. Two paths were opened along which those who held a bachelor's degree could proceed to the master's degree: That they are of the standing of one year from admission to the Degree of B.A., and have passed the appointed Examination in the Subjects prescribed for Candidates for admission to the Degree of M.A., or that they

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are of the standing of three years from admission to the Degree of B.A., and have performed the exercises prescribed for Candidates for admission to the Degree of M.A.' (Hodgins 11: 152). Again, 'the exercises prescribed' seem to have been the production of a thesis, probably on an approved topic. In the calendar for 1859-60, the requirement is made specific: in addition to having held the bachelor's degree for one year, a candidate for the master's 'must have composed an approved thesis upon some subject in one of the departments in the Faculty of Arts.' The minutes of a meeting of the Senate held on 1 May 1871 reveal that in those days the notion of a 'thesis' differed sharply from the present sense. At that session the Senate adopted 'regulations respecting Higher Degrees' which had been recommended by a special committee: 'The Candidate, on giving notice of application for the Degree, shall specify the Department, or Branch of Study, in which the subject of his Thesis is to be assigned to him, - and he shall thereupon compose the required Thesis in the Examination Hall, at the period of the Annual Examinations in the particular Faculty, under the supervision of one, or more, of the Examiners in such special Department, or Branch of Study, without reference to Books, or to other aids; and the Examiners shall specially certify as to the fitness of the Candidate for the proposed degree' (Hodgins 23: 32-3). In these minutes there is no suggestion that this is a new departure, so the Senate was almost certainly codifying current practice. This practice accounts for two otherwise puzzling facts: (1) no Toronto master of arts from this period ever makes reference to the title of his thesis, and (2) no such thesis has survived. 8.2

In the latter half of the nineteenth century, the master of arts was a popular degree in Canada, but elsewhere it was already under siege. Germany took the lead in reducing its attractiveness by introducing the doctor of philosophy degree, also an earned degree, but one requiring extensive independent scholarly work to be published in a dissertation. In addition to submitting and defending a thesis, the German degree required that candidates achieve a certain level of competence in their chosen field, which was shown by passing specific examinations. In college and university circles throughout North America the superiority of the Ph.D. to all other degrees was quickly recognized, and many students sacrificed a good deal to go to Germany and acquire it. Those who succeeded had no difficulty in gaining appointments when they returned home.

280 The Main Stream

Several American universities decided to emulate their German counterparts by starting their own Ph.D. programs. Yale led the way in 1860, soon followed by others, including Harvard in 1872. Unlike the German universities, which admitted only graduate students, the Americans added the doctorate to their existing offerings, and faculty members were assigned to teach both undergraduates and graduates. Some influential (and wealthy) American Quakers decided that there was no good reason why graduate training comparable in quality to that available in Germany could not be instituted in the United States, so they established the Johns Hopkins University in Baltimore, which, in its early years, was restricted to postgraduate studies. When it opened in 1876, most of its faculty held doctorates earned in Germany. The Johns Hopkins model was to prove very influential in the development of graduate studies at institutions in both the United States and Canada, including the University of Toronto. With so many new programs available in the United States, only a small number were able to attract more than a handful of students. Despite its newness, Johns Hopkins proved to be a strong draw. By 1900 it had minted 514 doctors of philosophy in twenty different fields. Having a doctoral program became an important matter of prestige, and by 1900, when the Association of American Universities was formed, forty-six universities had awarded the degree and others were preparing to do so. 8.3

This revolution in higher education did not pass unnoticed at Toronto. James Loudon, professor of physics and a leader of those in the Senate determined to modernize the curriculum - especially the science curriculum - in 1882 proposed a fellowship scheme by which the top graduating students were elected and paid $500 per annum for up to three years; they would work for their department and, in their spare time, pursue their own research under a professor's supervision. His stated intention was to prepare candidates for college and university teaching positions. A year later his proposal was adopted and the first seven fellows were selected, one of whom was Alfred Sidney Johnson in metaphysics and ethics. Unfortunately, the faculty members assigned to supervise these fellows and to allot them work tended to treat them as slave-labour. Fellows soon began to complain that they had almost no time for their own research, since they were required to teach the equivalent of a full load of courses. Many of them refused a second appoint-

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ment. In the light of these facts, Loudon concluded that the fellowship program had failed to achieve the goal he had set for it, but he attributed the failure to the fact that there was no research degree towards which fellows could focus their work. Only the M.A. was available to them, and it was only marginally a research degree. Loudon's next move was to persuade the Senate to approve in principle the establishment of the Ph.D. degree for graduates in arts. On 20 October 1883 the required resolution, 'that it is desirable, in order to encourage the pursuit of special studies amongst the graduates in Arts in this University, to establish the Degree of Ph.D.,' was adopted by the Senate (UTA, MSUT), but it was not until 1897, after Loudon had been president for five years, that the degree was inaugurated. The long delay had at least two causes. In the first place, the degree was approved in principle while Daniel Wilson was president of University College, and he was never in favour of it. His opposition, which was shared by others in the arts faculty, was based upon a conception of the baccalaureate degree as a well-rounded study shared by all students. Thus, Wilson was led to oppose the introduction of an elective system, believing it likely that immature students would choose their courses in such a way as to overdevelop their minds in some ways and underdevelop them in others. He feared that the introduction of the Ph.D. would encourage such students to abandon the ideal of a liberal education, tailoring their studies to fit them for the best chance of earning the doctorate. Supported as he was by many of his colleagues, he saw no pressing need to institute the degree. The other cause was a renewal of 'the university question.' At about the time the doctorate was approved in principle, federation again became a topic of debate. The discussions leading to the Federation Act of 1887 and the practical matters that had to be worked out after its passage, tended to pre-empt the time of the president and the members of the Senate for several years. Until it was known how Victoria College was to fit into the university, it seemed sensible to Wilson, and to Loudon when he succeeded Wilson in 1892, to postpone any new degree programs. Meanwhile, the fellowship scheme continued, and continued to be abused by some. Only the Philosophy, Political Science, Oriental Literature and three Science Departments agreed to admit doctoral candidates when the Ph.D. was inaugurated in 1897. Mathematics, History, Modern Languages and Classics decided not to participate. Except for English, which pleaded overwork, the others did not record the reasons for declining to participate. No doubt for some - those who agreed with Wilson in edu-

282 The Main Stream

cational philosophy - the reason for opting out was an opposition to specialization. As long as he was president, Loudon continued to press the holdout departments to accept candidates, and in 1904 Mathematics agreed to do so. In the following year the remaining arts departments followed its lead, but three years later this last group withdrew from graduate work. The stated reason was that their professors were fully occupied in teaching undergraduates. Since both modern languages (except for Italian and Spanish) and classics were college subjects, the decided reluctance of the authorities at Trinity and Victoria to allow their members to supervise graduate students played an important role in their withdrawal. The History Department's reasons remain obscure. Romance Languages did renew its involvement in 1909-10, but the others continued their boycott until the academic year 1916-17. Regulations governing the Ph.D. degree were published for the first time in the calendar for 1897-8. Candidates for the degree were required to fulfil several conditions: (1) They must hold a B.A. from the University of Toronto, or from a University in Great Britain or Ireland, and they must obtain, from the head of the department or college in which they wished to study, a certificate allowing them to register. The exclusion of graduate students from the United States remained in force for a decade. (2) They must concentrate their study on one subject their 'major' subject - for two years. This residency requirement, one year of which might be waived on the presentation of proof of a year's postgraduate study elsewhere, was later increased to three years. At the end of residency, candidates had to pass an examination in their major subject. (3) They must also pass examinations in two other subjects their 'minor' subjects - one of which was to be selected from the list to which their major subject belonged and the other from an approved list. In philosophy, four major subjects were listed: logic and metaphysics, psychology, history of philosophy, and ethics. Students who selected ethics as their major subject, to take an example, were required by this regulation to pass an examination in one of the other three areas. For their second minor, philosophy students were obliged to select from this list: biology, chemistry, physics, political science or Latin and Greek languages and literatures, in other words, from one of the other departments offering the doctorate. (4) 'The candidate shall present a thesis on some topic in his major subject embodying the results of an original investigation conducted by himself.' (5) The acceptance of the thesis shall be determined upon the report of the professors and heads of that department which includes the major subject.' (6) 'The candidate, after

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the acceptance of the thesis, shall furnish to the Registrar one hundred printed copies of such thesis together with the report thereon, before he receives the degree.' In 1910 the number was increased to 150 copies, but in 1918 it was reduced to about 25. (7) The fees were set at $25 for registration and $50 for the degree itself. An interesting point about these regulations is that they place the administration of the Ph.D. degree in the departments and colleges of the university. There was no central office to ensure a uniform quality to the degrees, although an attempt was made to achieve uniformity. An Advisory board of seven members was created in 1897 to vet and approve Ph.D. applications; this board reported to the Senate. In 1903 the Advisory Board, having proved ineffective, was replaced by the Board of PostGraduate Studies, chaired by the president; six members of the Senate served with him. This new board was charged with overseeing all matters having to do with advanced degrees in the Faculty of Arts, but it was given no powers of enforcement - except persuasion. This state of affairs was in large part due to a reluctance on the part of the Council of the Faculty of Arts to relinquish the power it had been given when the Ph.D. was introduced. Another factor may have contributed to the formation of a very weak board. Graduate students were allowed the option of registering in a college - at the time either University or Victoria - and taking the greater part of their academic work in university departments. In these cases, supervision and certification was the responsibility of the college. Once established, this arrangement was difficult to dislodge. 8.4

After Robert Falconer became president of the university in 1907, the requirements for the Ph.D. degree were amended to bring them into line with those established for United States universities by the Association of American Universities, formed in 1900 to set uniform standards for the degree. Falconer wanted the Toronto degree to reflect these standards. At his request, on 13 December 1907 the Senate required that every candidate pass a written examination in his or her major subject and also in the two minor subjects, unless the examiners, in the light of the student's record, were convinced that the student had clearly mastered the minor subjects. Since examinations were specified in the regulations of 1897, some departments must have been content to examine their candidates orally only, or perhaps not at all. Otherwise there seems no point to this reform. On 11 December 1908 the Senate

284 The Main Stream

added a language requirement: every candidate had to 'present evidence of ability to read ordinary French and German with facility.' At a meeting on 27 June 1910 the required residency was increased to three years, but with the approval of supervisor, a student could spend one year at another university. In addition, a final oral examination on the thesis was instituted, to be chaired by the chairman of the Board of PostGraduate Studies. With these amendments, the requirements for the Toronto doctorate now met all the requirements set by the Association of American Universities. The University of Toronto's administration of graduate studies still differed in one important respect from that current in most United States universities. Nearly every American university offering the doctorate had created a separate graduate school to administer the Ph.D. and other graduate degrees, including the M.A. In effect, these universities had incorporated within themselves the Johns Hopkins model that had proved so successful. President Falconer urged his colleagues at Toronto to agree to establish a graduate school, but he encountered very determined opposition. When the University of Toronto Act was amended in 1906, the legislature had empowered the Council of the Faculty of Arts 'to fix and determine the courses of study in Arts, subject to the approval of the Senate' (quoted in Ross 1972, 261). A majority of that council's members interpreted this statute as meaning that all postgraduate degrees in arts subjects fell under its exclusive jurisdiction; it followed that whatever arrangement the university installed for administering graduate degrees had to be subordinate to the Arts Council. Thus, a graduate school whose head reported to the Senate was alleged to be unconstitutional. By 1911 Falconer was convinced that the Board of Post-Graduate Studies required strengthening if its replacement by a school of graduate studies proved to be impossible. On 12 April 1912, after much careful preparation, he raised the matter for debate in the Senate. After a full airing in the Senate and a public debate on campus, he proposed to the Senate on 5 June a compromise plan for the reform of the board: The organization which he proposed was the continuation of the Board consisting of a representative from each department engaged in graduate instruction and of all teachers similarly employed. This differed from the [Arts] Council's recommendation in that it withheld membership on the Board from the heads of colleges and representatives of departments not involved in graduate teaching; nevertheless, it acknowledged the importance of extending membership to all who supervised graduate students ...

Graduate Study in Philosophy 285 The Board would have to report to the Senate through the Faculty of which a participating department was a member. Chancellor Meredith moved an amendment to modify the method of reporting to Senate. The Board would deliver its report to the Registrar, who would transmit copies to the Faculties concerned. When a Faculty had considered the business and had sent a report to the Registrar, the latter would submit both reports to the Senate; thus the Board would continue to have direct access to the legislative body. The amendment carried, but only after a division. (Ross 1972, 263)

The vote was very close, and it was almost certainly for this reason that Falconer did not implement the changes. The recalcitrant opposition of the Arts Council made it impossible to implement even the modified plan' (264). During the next three years nothing was done and the deficiencies of the Board of Post-Graduate Studies became increasingly manifest. On 9 April 1915 the Senate debated the matter again and members of the Arts Council raised their objections again, but this time it was decided to ask the other faculties of the university for their views, so debate was postponed until 9 June. At that meeting the Senate agreed to establish a Board of Graduate Studies with increased powers over those of its predecessor. In a misguided spirit of accommodation, this new board was made too unwieldy. Each department with a graduate program was entitled to at least one seat on the board, and every faculty member 'engaged in giving instruction to graduate students apart from the regular undergraduate courses' was a member during that year (UTA, MSUT). In fact, it consisted of those faculty members engaged in graduate studies (at the time this included the staff of the Medical School, since the M.D. was then regarded as a research degree) organized as a council, but with only a chairman, assisted by an executive committee, and no full-time executive officer. This board was given definite powers over departments: it was charged with approving graduate courses, which were mentioned officially for the first time, and with overseeing the acceptance and examination of candidates. Departments were given the right to resubmit any matter rejected by the board. If the board rejected the amended version, the department could appeal, through its Faculty Council to the Senate, which had final authority over graduate studies. It was a cumbersome arrangement, but it did effectively clip departmental (and college) wings with respect to graduate studies. George Sidney Brett, later head of the Philosophy Department, was a very active member of both this new board

286 The Main Stream

and its first executive committee. Many years later, when he was dean of the Graduate School, he traced the true beginning of graduate studies to the creation of this board: 'At Toronto a beginning was made in 1915 when the graduate work ceased to be a mere appendage to the undergraduate work and the regulations were taken out of the hands of the Registrar of the University to be given separate status under a Board of Graduate Studies with a chairman' (Brett 1937, 235). According to the first chairman, Archibald Byron Macallum, professor of physiology and physiological chemistry in University College, the board was instituted in 1915 partly as a result of the war then raging in Europe. One of the casualties of the war was bound to be the German universities, which would lose their domination in graduate studies for at least a generation, and possibly permanently, to American universities. If Canada had no university strong enough in graduate studies to compete with the American universities, then Canadian students desiring advanced work would go to the United States: 'The American Universities are prepared to play the role that the German Universities are decreed by fate to resign. Some of them are magnificently endowed and otherwise equipped for the part and to them young Canadians will turn for their higher University studies unless we offer them in Canada those opportunities for developing the qualities of mind which are absolutely necessary for careers in scholarship or research' (Macallum 1916, 223). Macallum argued that the University of Toronto had a duty, which 'patriotism itself exacts,' to develop graduate studies to the point where it could compete with the top United States universities. 8.5

From the time of the establishment of the Board of Graduate Studies, of which he was a charter member, George Sidney Brett had shown an impressive interest in graduate studies. In February 1920 he published 'Graduate Studies, Present and Future' in the University of Toronto Monthly. It was a review of the first five years of the new organization, and he found its work 'extremely encouraging.' As noted above, the M.D. degree was administered by this body, since it was then considered a graduate degree. (The first degree for doctors was the bachelor of medicine.) Seven students were enrolled in M.D. studies, and twentyseven in Ph.D. studies. Another eighty-three were pursuing the M.A. degree, and there were thirty-eight special students - students taking a graduate course without being registered in a degree program - for a

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grand total of 155 students. Although these figures were encouraging, he thought that they were near the limit of what the present organization could manage: The nature of the work undertaken by the University should be clearly understood. Strictly speaking there is no 'Graduate School,' and consequently the University of Toronto cannot compete with institutions possessing the separate endowments and separate equipment (especially in the matter of teaching staff) which a Graduate School requires. This obvious defect may in time be remedied, such things being (where Homer placed them!) on the knees of the gods. Meanwhile criticism, especially the criticism of friends who understand the dangers and the difficulties of the position, will be directed to this point; we not only expect this but desire it, hoping that proper recognition of the trouble may hasten the cure, which (if rumours are correct) will not be the work of physicians but of financiers. But it has always been clear to those who live and work in the University that no progress could be made by merely waiting; the extent and reality of the demand must be demonstrated first, and this is what our statistics really mean. (Brett 1920, 169-70)

Almost certainly Brett wrote and published this article with the full knowledge of the Board of Graduate Studies and probably at its suggestion. Members of the board were very concerned that, unless graduate work was reorganized under a dean, it was going to remain at a static and low level. A School of Graduate Studies was the next logical development, and in 1922 that step was taken. Ten years later Brett was appointed its second dean and served in that office until his death in 1944. In 1927, his first year as head of the Department of Philosophy, Brett wrote another article in which he gave a succinct account of recent progress in graduate studies: 'Fourteen years have passed since the University of Toronto drew up its first announcement of a distinct programme for graduate work. The first organization was a Board of Graduate Studies with a chairman, a secretary and a committee to supervise the enrolment and conduct the examination for the degree of Doctor of Philosophy. Since that date there has been a continuous growth. The organization has developed to keep pace with the demand. The board has been superseded by the School of Graduate Studies: the office of dean has been created: separate committees are required to carry on the routine business connected with enrolment for the degrees of Master of Arts and Doctor of Philosophy: an executive committee is also

288 The Main Stream

appointed to deal with general matters affecting the whole body of students.' (Brett 1927, 126). The School of Graduate Studies had been established by the Board of Governors on 12 May 1922. A year earlier the Senate had started the ball rolling by approving a motion for the immediate founding of such a school 'with the view to the greater encouragement of post-graduate studies.' Apparently, the Board of Graduate Studies had proved disappointing in this respect. The calendar of the School of Graduate Studies for 1927-8 altered substantially the thesis requirement. Instead of being obliged to bring in 150 (or even 25) printed copies, a successful candidate was required to deposit with the school, before he or she could collect the degree, 'two printed or typewritten copies of his complete thesis, and furthermore he must, subject to the approval of the committee administering the regulations governing the degree of Doctor of Philosophy, make such arrangements as will ensure the publication of the thesis either as a whole or in an abstract approved by the committee.' In subsequent years all of the successful candidates in philosophy followed the course of publishing abstracts of their theses. A few also published their dissertations. Graduate studies had grown slowly in the early years. In 1904-5 there were four Ph.D. candidates and the same number in the following year. In 1906-7 the number jumped to twenty-two, and there were nineteen M.A. candidates. For the next two decades the number of doctoral candidates remained relatively stable; in 1918-19, for instance, there were twenty-five Ph.D. candidates and fifty-three studying for the master's degree. During that year the Graduate Students' Union was organized; Fulton Anderson, later head of the Philosophy Department was on its first executive committee. By 1922, when the School of Graduate Studies was founded, enrolment stood at about 150 students, most of whom were working towards a terminal master's degree. Whether because of the new structure or for other reasons, the enrolment in graduate studies began to grow during the 1920s. In 1924-5 the total number of graduate students stood at 297, and three years later there were 380 (260 male and 120 female) registrants, the vast majority of whom (275) were Toronto graduates. In the mid-1930s enrolment levelled out at about 590 students (Brett 1937, 235). 8.6

In 1932 Brett was appointed dean of the Graduate School for a threeyear term; he would be reappointed four more times and serve until his

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death. When he took it over, the school was a very small operation with a single office in the library. In addition to himself, its staff consisted of a full-time secretary and an 'assistant.' Its total budget in 1932-3 was $4,400, which included an honorarium of $1,000 for the dean and $600 for maintenance. With the honorarium, Brett's pay had now reached $7,000 per annum, and the amount remained unchanged for the rest of his career. Five years after his appointment as dean, he offered a review of the school's growth and needs. Enrolment had levelled off at nearly 600 students, who were pursuing eighteen different advanced degrees, not including the doctor of medicine degree, which was no longer administered by the school. During this period in some departments there was no comparable increase in the teaching staff, now stretched to the limit and even beyond. Library funds were insufficient both to buy current publications and to fill in gaps in the collection by purchases from dealers in second-hand books. Money for fellowships, scholarships, and bursaries was in short supply: 'Experience has proved that sacrifices made necessary by poverty may be laudable but are not desirable: learning should not be bought at the price of health.' In addition, the increased enrolment had left many able students without funding: 'The assistance which has been given to the University in the past has been generous. But in the past the graduate work did not occupy a very conspicuous place and its special requirements did not attract much attention: advanced study was regarded as a luxury suitable to those who could afford to defer for a time the serious business of life. That stage of civilization is gone. Science and scholarship alike have advanced to the level at which the demands can only be met by a greatly prolonged period of preparation. The nation which is going to produce men and women capable of meeting the present demands in literature, science or technology will be compelled to pay the cost from its common resources' (Brett 1937, 236). The best way to meet this need, Brett argued, was to expand successful programs rather than create new ones; he advocated putting more money into the graduate programs of McGill and Toronto. Again, he reminded his readers that the large U.S. universities had sufficient money to fund fully the students they admitted. The best Canadian students tended to go to the United States for this reason, since neither McGill nor Toronto could offer them comparable financing. Facilities for the use of graduate students was another pressing need. The university should build 'a graduate club house with adequate space for a common room and some rooms for residence.' 'A place where students can meet frequently and exchange ideas is a real

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need, and to obtain this should be the next progressive step in the development of the Graduate School' (236). He was especially concerned about living facilities for women students whose homes were out of town. A graduate clubhouse of the sort he described was never built, but the university did make an old house available to the Graduate Student's Union for use as a social centre. The first graduate student residence was not built until 2000. By the time Brett died in 1944 the School of Graduate Studies was a well-established fixture in the university. The main lines of its governing structure were set and required only fairly small changes over the next decades. The principal innovation to come was the creation of four divisions within the school in 1965, each of which is headed by an associate dean, who is assisted by an executive committee. Associate deans, who serve for three years, are chosen by a nominating committee composed of the chairs and directors of the departments, centres, and institutes making up the division. All four nominating committees are chaired by the dean of the school. Philosophy belongs to Division I, Humanities. The other three, in numerical order, are Social Sciences, Physical Sciences, and Life Sciences. The school itself is governed by a council, chaired by the president of the university (or the dean in his absence), which reports directly to the Governing Council of the university. The council is small, given the size of the school. Its forty-six members include ten who sit by virtue of their office (one of whom, the president of the Graduate Student Union, is a student) and thirty six - two dozen faculty and a dozen graduate students - who are elected by their peers. Having proved itself during the last forty years, it seems very unlikely that this governing structure will be substantially altered in the foreseeable future. 8.7

Having sketched the history of graduate studies in the university, I turn now to an account of the way doctoral studies fared within the Department of Philosophy, which, as we saw, admitted candidates from 1897 on. The department's first doctorate and the eighth in the university was awarded in 1903 to Emma Sophia Baker, a student of psychology. Baker, whose first degree was earned at Albert College in Belleville, had taught high school for several years before entering the University of Toronto to pursue a bachelor's degree, which she was awarded in 1899. In the last six years before she registered in the university, she had served as 'Lady Prin-

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cipal' of the Presbyterian Ladies' College in Toronto. During her teaching career she had spent two years studying abroad, one in Paris and the other at Newnham College, Cambridge. Her doctoral thesis, written under the direction of August Kirschmann, was published in two parts in the new University of Toronto Studies series; the first part was entitled 'Experiments on the Aesthetic of Light and Colour' and the second 'Spectrally Pure Colours in Binary Combinations.' Baker's next post, to which she was appointed in 1901 while still a graduate student, was at Mount Allison's Ladies' College, where she served as vice-principal and taught French, biblical history, and psychology until 1914, when she accepted what the Allisonia called 'a dignified position' as professor of psychology, ethics and economics in the Maryland College for Women1 in Lutherville, Maryland, where she taught until she retired at the age of seventy-five. During most of her years in Maryland, she also served as principal of the college. In retirement she moved back to Toronto, where she died on 26 October 1943 in her eighty-eighth year. The second Ph.D. in psychology went to T.R. Robinson, who became a long-time member of the department; his career is summarized in §7.9. In 1907 Frank Louis Barber earned Psychology's third doctorate for his thesis, 'Experiments on Colour Aesthetics.' Barber, who was a graduate of Victoria, then enrolled in Emmanuel College to study for the ministry. After ordination, he held pastorates in five Methodist churches, the last one located on St Clair Avenue in Toronto. In 1921 he accepted the position of bursar in Victoria College and three years later was given the additional appointment of librarian. In 1933 he became superintendent of buildings at Victoria, while continuing as its chief librarian. He retired in July 1945 and died three months later, on 4 October. The fourth (and last) candidate supervised by Kirschmann was David Strathy Dix (B.A. 1904; M.A. 1905), who was awarded the doctorate in 1908 for his thesis, 'Complementarism: Physical and Psychical,' a study of some effects of light on human subjects. In the official list of doctoral dissertations, a fifth one in psychology is listed as having been awarded to Joseph Roy Sanderson in 1912. For the reasons given in §5.10, footnote 4, I have concluded that Sanderson's degree should be listed in philosophy, not psychology. If this argument holds, then his degree would be the second one awarded in philosophy.

1 The Maryland College for Women closed around 1936; it is now the College Manor Retirement Home.

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The first doctorate in philosophy and the eleventh in the university was also awarded in 1903; its recipient was William Edington Taylor (B.A. 1901), who wrote a dissertation on The Ethical and Religious Theories of Bishop Butler.' Taylor's thesis was printed as a little book of seventynine pages, bound in paper covers. Two prefatory notes precede the text: the first, a letter fromJ.G. Hume, as professor of ethics, to the registrar, recommended acceptance of the thesis; the second, by the registrar, certified that the Senate had accepted the thesis. Taylor was born in London, England, on 3 May 1877 and emigrated to Canada as a young man. In 1901 he was awarded the B.A. degree with first-class honours in philosophy, and with additional honours in classics and history, from the University of Toronto. In the same year he received the Ph.D., he was ordained an Anglican priest, having completed the theological course at Wycliffe College; he then taught at Wycliffe for two years before going to China as a missionary. In 1916 he returned to Toronto and held positions in several religious organizations before being appointed professor of apologetics and Church history at Wycliffe College, where he taught from 1922 until his retirement in 1941. On 17 July 1967, at the age of ninety, he died in a Toronto nursing home. The second Ph.D. in philosophy, according to the official list, went to Robert Cornell Armstrong in 1914. After receiving a B.A. and a B.D. from Victoria College in 1903, Armstrong was ordained and sent to Japan as a missionary for the Methodist Church. While living there, he gathered material for his thesis; he returned to Japan, again as a missionary, after his residency for the Ph.D. was completed. His thesis, 'Light from the East: Studies in Japanese Confucianism,' which was directed by A.H. Abbott, reflected his life-long interest in things Japanese. Before beginning graduate studies he had published Just Before the Dawn: The Life and Work ofNinomiya Sontoku (1912), with an appreciative foreword by Nathanael Burwash, then president of Victoria College, and an equally laudatory introduction by Abbott. At the time of his death on 26 October 1929 an obituary stated that his was one of the most successful missions ever sent to Japan. The third doctorate was awarded in 1915 to Roy Balmer Liddy, with a thesis on The Relation of Science and Philosophy.' Liddy, who was also ordained, was appointed head of the Department of Philosophy in Mount Allison University immediately upon the award of his doctorate; he served there until 1931 when he moved to the University of Western Ontario as head of its Department of Philosophy and Psychology. By the time of this move, he was working mainly in psychology, especially in its relation to education. He died in Toronto on 2July 1961 at the age of seventy-five. The fourth doctorate went to Fulton Anderson, later

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head of the Department of Philosophy, in 1920; and the fifth, in 1923, was earned by George Frederick Kingston, who taught ethics at Trinity College for many years until he was elevated to a bishopric (§14.9). 8.8

The Philosophy Department had offered graduate courses since James Mark Baldwin introduced his 'seminaries' in 1890. In the beginning his two seminaries - one in psychology and one in metaphysics - and another under Hume were not offered for credit. After the Ph.D. was introduced in 1897, the Philosophy Department increased the number of its seminaries ultimately to five, one for each sub-department: history of philosophy, psychology, logic, metaphysics and ethics. Students attended these courses to prepare themselves to write the examinations required for the doctorate. The calendar for 1912-13 announced new regulations for advanced degrees in philosophy; henceforth, an M.A. candidate was obliged to take two graduate courses in addition to writing a thesis on an approved topic. Ph.D. candidates, who were required to hold an M.A., also had to write their theses under supervision. For the first time graduate courses on restricted topics were described and their instructors named:' (1) A course of lectures and a seminary on Hegel and his successors: Prof. Hume; (2) The relation of logical theories to problems in Epistemology: Prof. Tracy; (3) The philosophy of religion: Prof. Blewett; (4) The Scottish School of Philosophy - a critical consideration of its problems and their history: Prof. Abbott; (5) Leibniz, or, Space and Time, or, Psychology of Religion: Mr. Smith; (6) The history of utilitarianism: Dr. Robinson; (7) Historical development of western philosophy, or, Ancient psychology and religious beliefs, or, The philosophy of the East in its relation to western theories (300 B.C. - 400 A.D.), or, Comparative study of ancient and modern Ethics: Mr. Brett.' One assumes that 'or' in (5) and (7) was intended in the exclusive sense: Brett, say, was prepared to offer exactly one of his alternatives, providing there was sufficient demand in any given year. There was no graduate course offered by a professor from St Michael's College, even though it had entered federation two years earlier, whereas both G.J. Blewett from Victoria and Brett from Trinity are listed. From this rather impressive beginning, given the small size of the teaching staff, the number of graduate offerings grew. In 1916-17, after the Board of Graduate Studies had been inaugurated and had taken charge of graduate courses, the department listed twenty-two courses, taught by seven faculty members, two of whom, W.B. Lane and W.T.

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Brown, were Blewett's successors at Victoria College. St Michael's College still was missing from the list. It seems likely that, at most, one-third of these courses were taught in any given year; for the number of graduate students was very small and the demands of the undergraduate program would allow for only one graduate course per faculty member. The courses were divided into five groups. Under the heading 'General,' nine courses were listed: three in history of philosophy, three in ethics, and one each in psychology, psychology with laboratory work and logic. The general set of courses was designed to fulfil the department's obligations to Ph.D. students in other fields of study who elected to take their second minor in philosophy. Philosophy proper had four major areas, down from five in former years: (1) history of philosophy with five courses; (2) logic and epistemology with four; (3) psychology with two; and (4) ethics with two. The discarded area was metaphysics, which was probably regarded as falling under epistemology. Students in each graduate course met for two hours a week throughout the academic year; instruction was a mixture of 'lectures and seminar work,' and there was a final examination in each course. In the same calendar (1916-17) the regulations for the M.A. in philosophy were revised. Candidates who had completed the 'Special Course in Philosophy' (the honours course) were required to take four graduate courses, selected from three of the four major areas. With the department's approval a thesis could be substituted for one of these courses; those opting for a thesis were required to consult regularly with two members of the department: the head and their supervisor. For other M.A. candidates, two alternatives were open: '(1) By doing the special work and obtaining honours in the Fourth Year undergraduate course in Philosophy (provided he [or she] be a graduate in another Honour Course, or a graduate with standing in General Proficiency) or (2) By writing an approved thesis and taking special work in consultation with the staff in Philosophy. The work may be expected to require two years.' The general requirements for all M.A. degrees specified that the completed thesis had to be approved by two members of the department, and, in addition, the candidate had to 'pass an examination, written or oral, or both written and oral, on the subject of the thesis, conducted by the Department or Departments concerned.' Candidates were required to present their theses in 'printed or typewritten' form two weeks before their examinations. Regulations governing the award of the Ph.D. degree were also modified. Candidates were now required to take one philosophy course after their M.A.; successful completion of the course satisfied their first minor requirement. Their second minor was taken under the regulations of

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another department. In philosophy all of the suggested minors listed for non-philosophy students required the completion of two courses, nearly all of which fell under the 'general' label. The thesis was described in this way in the departmental regulations: 'Candidates for this degree must present a thesis embodying the results of independent investigation, of such a character as to make a distinct contribution to the literature of the subject and to show capacity for original research on the part of the writer.' Again, those writing a Ph.D. dissertation were obliged to report regularly to their supervisor and to the head of the department. After the dissertation had been submitted and accepted by the department, the candidate had to 'undergo written and oral examinations both on his major subject and on his two minor subjects, conducted by the departments in which the major and minor subjects are included.' Examiners could excuse a candidate from the written examinations 'in one or both minor subjects, provided they are satisfied, from the candidate's record, that he has a competent knowledge of such subject or subjects.' Although it is not stated, it seems likely that one way of presenting convincing evidence was to complete a couple of courses in one's minor subjects and pass them with a certain minimum mark. If so, this would have provided a larger pool of students taking graduate courses. Besides the language requirement, there was one more hurdle in the candidate's path, namely, a final oral examination on the thesis. This requirement, which had been introduced in 1912, was tightened to ensure uniformity in the quality of the doctorates being awarded. All orals were conducted 'before the Board of Graduate Studies' with its chairman presiding. With these regulations in place, the Ph.D. degree had been brought under the effective control of the university. 8.9

It was not until the academic year 1922-3 that Professor Henry Carr of St Michael's College joined the Graduate Department of Philosophy; the course he offered was 'The Relation between the Metaphysics of St. Augustine and Plato.' For seven years he was the sole St Michael's professor offering a graduate course, but in 1929-30, the year the Institute of Mediaeval Studies2 was founded at St Michael's, others joined him. In that year, the graduate department listed thirty-five courses, staffed by

2 For an account of the founding of the institute and its transformation in 1939 into the Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, see §15.20.

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thirteen faculty members, five of whom held St Michael's appointments. Almost certainly only a small fraction of these courses was available in any given year, since Brett, for instance, was listed as the instructor in five of them, Tracy and Carr were down for four apiece, and Lane of Victoria had six on offer. The distinguished French historian of mediaeval philosophy, Etienne Gilson, joined the institute and the graduate department in that year. He taught two courses: 'a lecture course on "The ThirteenthCentury Oxford School" and a seminar on "The Psychology of Thomas Aquinas." The lecture course was open to auditors from the graduate school, while the seminar was restricted to candidates proceeding to degrees' (Shook 1984, 193). This ambitious list had been cut to twentynine by 1933-4, still with thirteen instructors, but no professor was listed for more than three courses. During the next decade there were only slight variations in the number of offerings, although the effect of the Second World War was to reduce the total to only twenty-one during its last two years. This decline in the number of graduate courses was partly due to the fact that Gilson was caught in France when war broke out and was forced to remain there until it was over. After the war, the list grew apace, reaching forty-one in 1949-50 and fifty-one in 1957-8. For the next decade the number remained fairly steady, and then it began to climb again, reaching a peak of 115 separate listings in 1974-5, only 40 of which were actually staffed in that year. From that dizzy height, the number gradually decreased to around 80, where it has remained steady, but again only about half of these courses are taught in any given year. 8.10

After the opening of the Institute of Mediaeval Studies in St Michael's College in September 1929, the number of graduate students in philosophy jumped dramatically. For the first ten years of its existence the institute was not authorized to offer degrees, so its students were obliged to register in the School of Graduate Studies if they wished their studies to lead to the award of a degree. In the next four years Philosophy had a total of 264 enrolments, making it by far the largest graduate department. Psychology was second, with 176 enrolments. From the large number studying philosophy during those years, sixty-seven were awarded the M.A., but only six received the Ph.D. degree. Most of those who took graduate courses in philosophy at that time intended to take holy orders, so they left without completing the requirements for a degree. Only in 1931 did the department award its tenth doctorate - to Anton Pegis, later

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a prominent member of the Pontifical Institute and St Michael's College (see §15.27). In 1937 Thomas Goudge, a future chairman of the department, earned Philosophy's twenty-first doctorate. The pace quickened during that year, and three others also received the degree. In the following year there were seven successful candidates, all but one of them in mediaeval philosophy. It had taken forty years for the Toronto Ph.D. in philosophy to become firmly established, and a considerable part of the credit must go to Gilson and his institute. Even after the Institute of Mediaeval Studies was designated 'Pontifical' in 1939 and authorized by the Vatican to award its own graduate degrees - the licentiate and doctorate in mediaeval studies - it still continued to attract a steady stream of graduate students to the Graduate Department of Philosophy. Many of these students earned the licentiate in mediaeval studies as well as the M.A. and Ph.D. in philosophy. The doctorate in mediaeval studies did not prove popular; only eleven have been awarded by the institute since 1939. The drawing power of the institute began to fade in the 1970s. From 1931, when the first institute student earned a Ph.D., through 1975 the department awarded 287 doctorates, including 129 in mediaeval philosophy. Thus, the faculty of St Michael's College supervised 45 per cent of the candidates during those years. Towards the end of that period the number of students applying to study mediaeval philosophy fell dramatically. In the last 27 years, only twenty-seven doctorates out of a total of 242 have been awarded in mediaeval philosophy. The current level of production is still somewhat higher than the demand for assistant professors trained in mediaeval philosophy, but in this respect it is not unlike the situation in nearly every branch of philosophy. During the calendar year 1995 the department awarded its 500th doctorate. It is not possible to name the person who had this distinction, since there is some doubt about three or four names earlier in the list. In every one of these cases, the doubt is not whether the person earned the degree, but whether the degree should be listed in philosophy. Given this uncertainty, all that can be said with confidence is that the landmark was passed within a certain period of time. Members of the department had this landmark very much in mind when they decided to arrange a conference, in the autumn of 1997, to mark the centenary of the institution of the Ph.D. degree. Thirteen distinguished graduates were brought to campus to read papers in their special areas of interest. In selecting those to be invited, the primary concern was to put together a group whose philosophical work reflected the wide range of interests

298 The Main Stream

to be found among the department's graduates. Thus, in some areas mediaeval philosophy is a prime example - many distinguished graduates had to be passed over, since there was room for only one as a representative of this branch of study. 8.11

The growing number of Ph.D. candidates in philosophy led the department in 1939-40 to increase its requirements for the degree. Students admitted that year found this announcement in the calendar: 'Candidates for the degree will be required to pass comprehensive written and oral examinations conducted by the Department.' Brett explained the nature of these examinations to candidates when he interviewed them; the only published information concerned the history of philosophy: students were required to answer questions in two out of three historical periods: ancient, mediaeval, and modern. There were no course requirements for the doctorate, but candidates were no doubt advised, again orally, to increase the comprehensiveness of their grasp of philosophy by taking graduate courses during their residency. As always, they had to satisfy their second, or outside, minor by fulfilling the requirements laid down by their host department. Since 1936-7 the M.A. degree had been accepted as evidence that a candidate's first, or internal, minor had been satisfied. These departmental regulations were to remain essentially unchanged until 1967-8. During the nearly twenty years he was head of the department, Fulton Anderson was content to leave the requirements for graduate degrees undisturbed. The main hurdle, before the writing of the thesis, remained the comprehensives. Anderson, perhaps to emphasize the importance of his position in the department, began to offer a course, 'Metaphysics and Epistemology,' which he advertised as designed to prepare candidates for passing these examinations. When Geoffrey Payzant decided to drop out of this course, Anderson warned him that he would be 'ploughed' on the comprehensives, but Payzant ignored his advice and passed them with flying colours. As nearly every other doctoral student took Anderson's warning seriously, the course was always well attended. Anderson did institute some changes in the committee structure of the graduate department; the fracas surrounding these changes is discussed in §9.9. In 1963, when Thomas Goudge succeeded Anderson in the chair, pent-up desire for change among the faculty members was considerable, but it is fair to say that no one anticipated the extent of the changes that actually came to

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pass. Before turning to a discussion of these changes, the curious tale of a brand new graduate degree must be related.

8.12 In 1964-5 the University of Toronto instituted a new graduate degree, the master of philosophy, or 'Phil. M.' The argument for establishing the degree was the pressing need for teachers in post-secondary institutions. Throughout North America, in response to the 'baby boom' after the Second World War, new colleges and universities were springing up and old colleges were being expanded and upgraded to university status. The demand for faculty members far exceeded the supply. Otherwise sensible people were persuaded that this expansion would go on indefinitely. At the University of Toronto this misreading of the facts resulted in a new 'teaching' degree - the Phil.M. The requirements for the Phil.M., as laid out in the calendar of the School of Graduate Studies, were midway between those for the M.A. and those for the Ph.D. Among its regulations were the following: there were no comprehensive examinations; the required residency was two years; each candidate was required to submit 'a major essay or research paper,' which had to be defended in an oral examination. The school appointed a chair for the examination; the other two members were the candidate's supervisor and an appraiser selected from within the department. Successful candidates were obliged to present the university library with a bound copy of their essay. In the Department of Philosophy the master of philosophy degree was never very popular with students. Throughout the years of its existence only fourteen philosophy students were awarded the degree, the first in 1967 and the last in 1972. Faculty members found it extremely difficult to interpret the intention of the degree's founders with regard to the 'research paper' requirement. They already had trouble assessing the degree of originality to be expected in the M.A. thesis, which was still required of every candidate in those days. (It was made optional in 1967-8. A year-long course in philosophy could be substituted; in effect it was scrapped, because after that date no one ever submitted a thesis for the master's degree.) Now they were faced with deciding what more in the way of originality was required in the Phil. M. essay. The point was a serious one; for it raised an important question of fairness. Clearly, it would be unfair to candidates for the new degree to hold them to the same standard required of doctoral students, but what degree of watering down would allow the Phil.M. degree to represent work of a higher

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standard than the M.A. but lower than the Ph.D.? No one, least of all the candidates for this degree, had an answer that satisfied everyone. After much debate the department decided on the following piece of advice to Phil.M. students: 'Although shorter than a Ph.D. thesis, [the research paper] should be a scholarly, intensive, and independent monograph on a topic which must be approved by the Phil.M. Committee of the Department.' This statement is found in the first Graduate Bulletin, published for 1965-6 (DA, 13). In the following year's calendar a different wording was used: the student was advised that the research paper must show 'independent and critical judgment,' which hardly settled the question. In later calendars no advice at all was given. The Phil.M. soon acquired the reputation of being distinctly second class, and several of those who were awarded the degree in philosophy immediately petitioned to enter the Ph.D. program. To allow them entry defeated the purpose for which the degree was established. Nevertheless, one or two were admitted as Ph.D. candidates. The experience of the department with the Phil.M. degree was not good, and after only ten years the decision was taken not to admit any new Phil.M. students. In the calendar for 1975-6 it was stated bluntly: 'There is no present enrolment in this program.' The Graduate Bulletin for 1976-7 included this warning: The Philosophy Department wants to point out that the job situation is particularly hard on those who hold the Phil.M. degree. The Department would discourage those interested in a teaching career in philosophy from entering the Phil.M. programme, and to enter the Ph.D. programme instead' (7). All mention of the Phil.M. in the department's calendar entry ceased in 1980-1. Until then it had continued to be listed as a courtesy to those who had completed it successfully.

8.13 During Goudge's chairmanship the regulations governing the award of the doctorate were changed substantially. In 1967 the comprehensive examinations were abolished, principally because of their inflexibility. Faculty members were obliged to examine candidates, some of whom were established teachers in other universities who had delayed taking their comprehensives for years.3 For too many of these candidates, their 3 One case, of which I had personal experience, involved a candidate who was at the time chairman of the Philosophy Department in another Ontario university. The examining committee was unanimous in voting to fail him. The encounter proved embarrassing to all concerned.

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comprehensive knowledge of philosophy was insufficient to pass them, but what was to be done? No alternative, such as a conditional pass, in terms of which a candidate could be required to take a course and pass it with a certain mark or sit another examination at a later date to prove competence in some specific area, was available. Candidates could take the comprehensives a second time, if their examining committee so recommended, but in practice this way out proved unattractive. After considerable debate the department decided that the proper time to examine candidates for comprehensiveness was at the beginning of their studies, when remedies were available. Two so-called preliminary examinations - one in the history of philosophy and one in its problems - were laid on for all incoming graduate students. Small committees read the papers and then conducted oral interviews, which functioned partly as an examination and partly as a data-gathering session. Each committee then recommended a set of courses for its candidates that were designed to fill the gaps in their previous education. To carry out the intent of the preliminary examinations, additional course requirements were imposed. Every candidate for the Ph.D. was required to complete six full courses in philosophy - at least two in the history of philosophy and another two in its problems. The first four courses, when successfully completed, constituted the work for the M.A. degree. In these new regulations the outside minor could be satisfied by taking one approved course offered by another department or institute. In exceptional cases, where a student's background proved seriously deficient, the department required that person to take an additional course or courses. The aim was to graduate candidates who were reasonably competent in most philosophical areas. In the discussions leading to the formulation of the new regulations a lot of time was devoted to the problems associated with Ph.D. dissertations. Candidates were having trouble both getting started on a topic and finishing it once they had begun. When the debate ended, the department decided to attempt to help candidates select manageable topics for their theses by instituting 'area examinations.' During their second year of graduate residency candidates were required, in consultation with the graduate secretary, to decide upon the membership of their area committee. Once established, this committee met with the candidate and devised a reading list covering the area in which the student planned to write a thesis. The idea behind the area examination was sometimes described by an appeal to the shape of a doughnut, the hole of which represented the ultimate topic, and the ring the relevant background information. The third year of residency was (ideally)

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devoted to mastering the material on the reading list, and at its end the candidate took a written examination set by the area committee, followed a short time later by an oral examination during which the candidate's mastery of the area was probed. The hope was that this process would issue in a thesis topic, to which the candidate could immediately turn his or her attention. In many cases this hope has proved justified. These regulations, for the most part, continue in force today. The one major change concerns the preliminary examinations. In 1991-2 they were no longer required of every incoming student, but were mandatory for those whose credentials did not provide a clear picture of their previous work in philosophy. Then, in 1994-5 all mention of the preliminary examinations disappeared from the calendar. Lacunae in candidates' undergraduate work are now determined by the graduate coordinator, who scrutinizes their academic records and interviews them and in this way determines the courses they must take to meet the department's standards. Comprensiveness was described in the current Graduate Bulletin: 'A candidate must demonstrate competence in at least seven areas of philosophy: three out of four areas in the history of philosophy (ancient philosophy, medieval philosophy, early modern philosophy, and nineteenth-twentieth century philosophy) and four areas in problems of philosophy (metaphysics, epistemology, ethics, and logic)' (13). Taking courses is the usual way of satisfying these requirements, but in special cases they can be met 'by taking a special examination or by writing a substantial paper' (13).

8.14 Looking back over the history of graduate studies in the department, it is plain that the thesis has gradually come to be the main ingredient in the work for the degree. In the early days the thesis was not much more than an extended essay. Even as late as 1937 Thomas Goudge got the degree with a thesis of ninety-six pages. When he sat for his oral defence on 17 May 1937, he faced a formidable committee: the program listed ten examiners - nine philosophers and one psychologist - plus a neutral chairman. Whether everyone named attended is not known, nor is it known whether all of those who attended participated in the questioning. Nevertheless, it was an impressive occasion. George Edison told me that his examination in 1942 was held in the Senate chamber of Simcoe Hall and that, in addition to the members of the committee, there was a large number of spectators. In those days the oral defence had the aura of a gladiatorial spectacle.

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As the years passed, the dissertation became much more substantial than most of those submitted in the early years. In the Philosophy Department a peak was reached in 1966 when John Quinn submitted a thesis on St Bonaventure consisting of 1,443 pages bound in four stout volumes. Father Edward Synan, who was assigned the thankless task of appraising it, strongly recommended that the department set an upper limit on the length of theses. He proposed that it should be 400 pages, inclusive of notes, and the department in plenary session agreed. But the idea had become widespread among the graduate students that a thesis, to be acceptable, had to be a monumental work. The consequence of this mistaken belief was that candidates spent ever longer on their dissertations, and many quietly gave up the attempt and faded away. Writing a dissertation is a lonely job, and not everyone who can pass graduate courses with their term papers is up to it. If those who find such work difficult in itself are also burdened with the misconception of what is required, then it is hardly surprising that they fritter their time away until it is too late to complete the task. The structure of the final oral examination at the University of Toronto has contributed greatly to making the thesis the formidable obstacle that it is. Having to defend your work before a half-dozen professors, some of whom you may be meeting for the first time, is daunting. Candidates forget that the dissertation is an exercise like all other academic exercises and should be treated accordingly. Instead, it comes to be thought of as something more, but exactly what more is never very clear. Unfortunately, some supervisors, perhaps unwittingly, tend, in their remarks on drafts submitted, to encourage this vague dread. In these circumstances, candidates, like Santayana's fanatic, are inclined to redouble their efforts when they have forgotten their aim, and years pass with little appreciable headway being made. There is probably no solution to this problem, because it is intimately tied to imperfections in human nature, but the frequent reiteration that the thesis is an exercise might save some confused candidates from ruin.

9

The Last Autocrat: Fulton Henry Anderson

9.1

When George Sidney Brett died in October 1944, Fulton Anderson was appointed acting head of the department. The other professor, Reid MacCallum, who was Anderson's junior in rank by nine years, was apparently not immediately considered for the position, but during the next several months, he may have been. In his contribution to the department's oral history, David Savan recalled that during those months there seemed to be considerable uncertainty about the permanent appointment, and that after March 1945, when the announcement was made naming Anderson as the new head, he seemed greatly relieved, as he accepted the congratulations of his colleagues, that the long wait was over. Savan thought his behaviour betrayed a worry, or perhaps even a fear, that he might be passed over in favour of MacCallum. Nothing more definite is known to support this belief, but Thomas Goudge told me that he had been given to understand that the delay was due to serious misgivings, shared by President Cody and his advisers, about Anderson's suitability for the position. From earlier incidents (discussed below), Cody knew that Anderson would be more demanding than Brett had been for increased funding for the Philosophy Department. As we will see, Cody had good reason to be worried about Anderson. With regard to his selection as head, Anderson quipped to Robert McRae some years later that it had been solely due to Mrs Cody; she had noticed just how fervently Anderson was singing the hymns at Brett's funeral! As it was widely believed that she had great influence over her husband, there may be a grain of truth in Anderson's quip. Fulton Henry Anderson was born on 23 May 1895 on a farm located

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near Morell in Prince Edward Island, where he received all of his early schooling. After graduating from Prince of Wales College, he enrolled in Dalhousie University and came under the influence of Herbert Leslie Stewart (1882-1953), a gifted teacher of philosophy, who turned Anderson's thoughts towards a career in philosophy. His outstanding academic record, coupled with Stewart's strong support, earned him a fellowship at the University of Toronto in 1917, which was renewed for the following year. Brett was appointed his supervisor. Since his fellowship required him to do some teaching, Hume and Brett had the opportunity to evaluate his teaching ability. During his second year, he was elected a Proctor Fellow (its top award) for 1919-20 at Princeton, where he was a student of Archibald Allan Bowman (1883-1936), a Scotsman, who defended a form of idealism, and Werner Fite (1867-1955), whose principal work was in ethics. While at Princeton Anderson completed his dissertation, 'The Influence of Contemporary Science on Locke's Method and Results,' for the Ph.D., which the University of Toronto awarded him in 1920. His was Toronto's fourth doctorate in philosophy. Existing files contain a letter from Bowman, who supervised his work at Princeton, recommending Anderson for a teaching position. It is well worth quoting, since it provides a vivid picture of Anderson as a young man: From the first Dr. Anderson impressed me as a man of singular maturity and power. His range of reading in the field of philosophy is remarkable; and, what is more important, it represents a well organized and appropriated store of erudition. There are two qualities of fundamental importance to a philosopher, critical ability and the power to combine abstract thinking with a sense of concrete historical reality. Dr. Anderson possesses both qualities in a striking degree. His thinking has both mass and acumen. Furthermore, he is richly endowed with the gift of felicitous and striking expression, and could be relied on to impart a living interest to the highly abstract problems with which, as a teacher of philosophy, he is compelled to deal. In conclusion I wish to emphasize his training and his breadth of outlook. As a Britisher I have all along been struck by the peculiar quality which can best be described by saying that, directly or indirectly, it is the unmistakable product of the finest traditions of our British Universities. In point of thoroughness, grasp and judgment, Dr. Anderson seems to me to reflect the type and the standard set by the honours schools of Oxford, Edinburgh and Glasgow, and to take his place beside the best honours-

306 The Main Stream men. I believe him to be a man of high integrity and personal worth. (UTA, FHA, [19])

It is impressive that Bowman, on such a short acquaintance, was able to pick out several of Anderson's qualities destined to become prominent in later years. With doctorate in hand, Anderson applied for a position at the University of Manitoba, but, despite some very strong letters, Bowman's among them, he did not get the job. Three positions were offered him that summer: one in business, which he summarily dismissed, and two in academia. With the understanding that in a short time he would be appointed head of the college, he was invited to accept a teaching position in Naparimo College in the British West Indies. The other offer proved more attractive to him; it was the acting headship of the Philosophy Department at the University of Colorado at Boulder. His work there pleased his superiors, and he was made permanent head a year later, when he was only twenty-six. By all indications he was on his way to a successful career in the United States, but he wanted to return to Canada. When the University of Toronto was hiring in 1924, he applied for the job even though it meant a severe drop in status, not a trivial matter for Anderson. Offered a lectureship at a salary of $2,400, he accepted and moved back to Toronto. (In a letter of 12 February 1937 to Brett, Anderson reminded him: 'I turned down a headship at Queen's to accept a lectureship here' (DA). This is the only mention of a Queen's offer that has come to my notice.) Although Hume was still head, it is clear from surviving correspondence that Brett, who was then director of psychology and head of philosophy in waiting, was given supervision of Anderson's early years in the department. Brett followed the policy of giving new junior faculty a reduced teaching load and a carefully selected set of courses, so that they could get used to the student body at the university, which, Brett was firmly convinced, was significantly different from student bodies at other colleges and universities, especially those in the United States. This approach worked to Anderson's advantage; he had time for his research and also time to devote to perfecting his teaching. Brett kept close watch over him and was pleased by what he saw. At the time he was hired, Brett told him that if he did a good job he could expect rapid promotion, since three senior men - Hume, Robinson, and Tracy would be retiring during the next decade. Brett was never a man to forget promises, and in the following year Anderson found himself an assis-

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tant professor with a raise of $300; in the following year his salary was increased to $3,150. In 1928-9 he had reached the ceiling for his rank, and Brett, now head, recommended to the president that he be promoted to associate professor, effective 1 July 1929. His ascent had been meteoric compared with that of some of his older colleagues. 9.2

During his first decade on the Toronto faculty Anderson worked on Plato's philosophy and wrote what is essentially a textbook for undergraduates, laying out the overall structure of his philosophy. The Argument of Plato was published in the spring of 1935 to considerable local acclaim. Its completion in the year before was cited in recommending his promotion to professor on 1 July 1934, with a salary of $4,600, his last increase for several years. Because of the Great Depression salaries had been frozen, and Anderson was lucky to get any increase at the time of his promotion. In a period when seniority still counted heavily, Anderson was now second in rank only to Brett and was his heir apparent. MacCallum, who was next in line, was not promoted to professor until 1943. It should be noted that the university had quietly abandoned its earlier policy of requiring an administrative post for every professor. The Varsity took notice of the publication of Anderson's book by printing a caricature of its author dressed in a toga, holding aloft a book with 'Plato' on the cover. After listing his degrees and his position, the paper described his teaching style: 'Professor Anderson has a strong personal dislike for lectures, and does his best to cultivate this attitude among his students by attempting to establish a new record for rapidfire dictation each week. It would be impossible to keep up with him did he not find it necessary to pause occasionally, while casting about for sufficiently difficult phraseology in which to express the simple idea he has in mind. When not dictating notes, Mr. Anderson devotes his time in class to the caustic condemnation of journalism and its disciples, failing to realize that, in the snugness of their Fourth Estate, journalists are even farther beyond fear of damnation than hope of salvation. He is the author of The Argument of Plato, - a surprisingly interesting treatise containing much fine journalism, and wears a prim little smirk not unlike that of Alexander Woolcott' (15 March 1935, 7), Anderson's 'prim little smirk' was accentuated in the caricature by a small and rather prim moustache. Anderson's colourful use of language was nicely exhibited in another

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Varsity article. From a debate on the motion 'the study of science tends to narrow the mind,' reported on 19 January 1938, Anderson, who spoke against it, is quoted as follows: 'Before I studied science, I thought the earth was flat, like a pancake, then I learned it was egg-shaped, thus broadening the mind by several dimensions. I thought that storks brought babies - then learned that babies came from eggs - thus becoming more broad-minded. The scientific mind may be empty, but it can never be narrow. It is better to have an empty mind waiting for furniture than to have a mind filled with rubbish. The scientist interprets the world coldly, objectively. He has a mind not a muddle' (4). The motion lost by a vote of seventy-four to thirty-four. Thomas Goudge, who took graduate courses from him in the early 1930s, has also left us a description of Anderson in the classroom: 'Professor Anderson's presence in the classroom was unforgettable. He was not one of those who believe that a teacher should be benign and permissive. His students were expected - one might almost say, ordered - to work hard, and most of them did, the superior ones because of the interest he excited in the subject, the rest because of the awesome consequences of any other policy. Particularly notable were the lectures he gave to undergraduates on Plato, the philosopher he admired most - as John Dewey was the one he admired least!' (Goudge 1968, 78). When Goudge was asked whether Anderson was effective as a teacher, he replied: 'Very effective, in his own limited way - as a dialectician. Although there was a tendency to rely more on rhetoric than I cared to use myself (DA, OHT). McRae described Anderson's teaching method in undergraduate courses in greater detail: Anderson was quite a formidable figure. I met him in second year. His method of teaching was quite peculiar to himself. He never lectured. I think he would be incapable of lecturing, actually; his mind didn't work that way. In fact, it was generally impossible for him to finish a sentence, because he considered he would be insulting your intelligence, since you could finish it yourself. What he did with Plato's Republicans open it at page so-and-so. We all opened it at page so-and-so, and he would say, 'Mr Reynolds, you start reading,' and Mr Reynolds would read on for awhile. Then Anderson would stop him, and ask a question, and a discussion would start in that way. It might be nothing more searching than, 'What do you think Socrates means by that?' Then suddenly discussion would be stopped with, 'Mr Manson, go on.' And Manson would go on reading for a while. Nobody ever had any lecture notes. There was nothing to take down. What you did have to know was

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the text when you came to write the examination, and you knew it quite well with this method of teaching. (DA, OHT)

J. Willison Crichton, who took this course some fifteen years later, related in a letter to me that Anderson still taught it in precisely the same way: 'In Anderson's course on the Republiche had us read it in class, taking turns, and he would comment on passages. I don't remember much about the content of the course except the bit about no homosexuality in ancient Greece.' Crichton recalled Anderson's claim, made in a very deliberate and pompous manner, with arm and index finger extended, that 'there was no homosexuality in ancient Greece.' Crichton also took a secondyear course from Anderson on the pre-Socratics: 'Classes consisted of Anderson dictating notes, slowly, to be written down word for word. He wasn't reading them. They were said to be good notes.' Unless the Varsity reporter was spoofing, Anderson appears to have slowed down after he became head. Geoffrey Payzant, when he was a master's student in 1949-50, signed up for Anderson's graduate course: 'I started out on Anderson's course on everything, which is really what it was, and I dropped out of it.' After he had made this confession on the oral history tapes, the interviewer, Thomas Mathien, asked him what the 'course on everything' was called. Payzant replied: 'It was called different things; in some years it was called "Necessity and Contingency" and it had other such labels.' Francis Sparshott interrupted to ask, 'wasn't it called 'Metaphysics and Epistemology?' Payzant agreed: That was its over-arching thing; that's how it figured in the calendar of the School of Graduate Studies, 'Metaphysics and Epistemology,' but it was whatever he was collecting stuff on at the time. I found I couldn't work with him in the seminar setting, I simply couldn't at all, and he was furious when I went to him and said: 'Look, I'm taking a full-time course of study,' and I was, believe it or not, by then teaching some small undergraduate assignment - Religious Knowledge option, or something - and I was organist in a local church. 'Look, I'm spending a great deal more than half of all my time on this course of yours. At this stage it's not the thing for me to be doing.' He was furious, and he said: 'I warn you if you leave my course you will be,' as he put it, 'ploughed at the comprehensives. There's no way you can get through the comprehensives without having taken my course.' And I said: 'I would like to take your course in a later year, but I really am not prepared for it at this time.' I never did, and I did pass the comprehensives. (DA, OHT)

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Anderson gave this course until his retirement. It was expected of all doctoral students that they take it to prepare themselves for the comprehensives. When it came time for me to clear Anderson's old office in University College in the early 1970s, there was a large sea trunk, which had been his property, full to the brim with term papers written for this course; most of them had only a letter grade written at the end. I returned several of them, without comment, to their authors, by then senior members of the Philosophy as well as other departments, in plain brown envelopes. Two other former professors also took this graduate course from Anderson, and they expressed the same opinion of its value to their own education in very different words. John Hunter, who was his student in 1949-50, reported that Anderson taught the students nothing at all; as a result, the students learned a great deal, since they had to find things out for themselves. Emil Fackenheim, on the other hand, who had taken the course in 1942-3, claimed that its great value was that it taught him how to think: 'In those years, undoubtedly, the major figure was F.H. Anderson. The way he conducted a seminar on metaphysics was that after two hours of it we were completely exhausted, thinking. He wanted us to think ... Once the subject was: make a distinction between the mind, the logical mind, the psychological mind, the epistemological mind, and the metaphysical mind. He left it to you; then if somebody came and said "Berkeley says this or Aristotle says that," [Anderson replied] "No, that's not what we're talking about here, you think about it yourself." ... I would say in some ways [he was] by far the best teacher in philosophy I ever had.' (DA, OHT). In their judgments of Anderson and his work, few of those who served under him painted him in shades of grey.

9.3 After his promotion to professor, Anderson's elevated status in the department made it natural for Brett to turn to him for advice. Brett, however, seemed unprepared for the advice Anderson gave him. Anderson was a man who preferred to put his thoughts in writing, probably in the belief that it is harder for the recipient to avoid taking into account written advice than advice delivered orally. Early in 1937 Brett asked him for his opinion on the workloads of members of the department. A few days later Anderson handed him a nine-page letter, which Brett rightly noted implied a strong criticism of his administration of the depart-

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merit.1 Brett, as we have had ample opportunity to observe, was a man who found it easier to add to his own work than to battle the president for funds to hire another body to do the job required. By the 1930s he was head of department, dean of the Graduate School, full-time teacher with a heavy commitment to graduate instruction on a one-to-one basis, founding editor of the University of Toronto Quarterly, and, in 1935-6, acting dean of the Faculty of Arts. Although he did not explicitly require the same level of work from others in the department, his failure to demand and get more staff effectively increased their workload. In fairness to Brett, it must be noted that he had to deal with a president - Rev. and Hon. HJ. Cody, as he always styled himself-who held the view, shared by many divines, that since there was little to philosophy outside ethics and that ethics was better taught by the theological colleges, a large central staff in philosophy was unnecessary. Cody had earned a first-class honours degree in mental and moral philosophy under George Paxton Young in 1889, but it seems that Young's vaunted ability to make philosophers out of his students singularly failed in Cody's case. Still, Brett had become indispensable to Cody, and if he had pressed for more staff, he would probably have got them, although his position in the central administration of the university might have made it appear as favouritism - perhaps the reason Brett did not press his case with Cody. The division of philosophy between the university and the colleges hurt the department during the 1930s, because it led Cody to think that, since Trinity and Victoria employed professors to teach ethics courses, their faculty plus that of the university department gave Philosophy a staff comparable in size to other university departments. This, as Anderson showed in his letter, was very far from being the case. Ethics was only a small part of philosophy; the instruction in the rest of the subject, as well as the ethics courses in University College, was given by the five members of the university department, one of whom was also dean of the Graduate School. Anderson cited numbers to make his point. Mathematics had 989 1 Ernest Sirluck recalled that Anderson criticized Brett's administration of the department in conversations with him when he was a graduate student in English in 1940-2. In describing the University College teas, held every afternoon in Croft Chapter House, he remarked: 'There Reid MacCallum, tall, lean, and shy, would sometimes try out parts of his difficult theory of aesthetics on me; there too his colleague Fulton Anderson, also tall but neither lean not shy, would talk very sparingly about Bacon and copiously about how much better he could run the Philosophy department than Brett did' (1996, 88).

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students in classes taught by 18 faculty, for a ratio of 55 students per faculty member. Philosophy, with an enrolment of 935, had a ratio of 187 students per faculty member, by far the highest in the Faculty of Arts. Next was History, with a ratio of 111 to 1. In honours courses the disparity was even greater. Philosophy's ratio was 85 enrolments for each instructor; History's ratio, the next highest, was 36 to 1; Political Science's ratio was 26 to 1; and Mathematics' ratio was 22 to 1. In his covering letter to Cody, dated 22 February, Brett had to admit that Anderson's figures were 'substantially correct.' In December of 1938, after Goudge's appointment had increased the faculty to 6, Brett himself reported to the president that the average number of students per faculty member was 136, and for honours students the ratio was 75 per instructor. Clearly, more staff were required to bring Philosophy into line with other university departments. Having established that the department was overworked and understaffed Anderson, proposed in his letter that Brett ask the president for 'a lecturer and reader.' Precisely what he meant by a 'reader' is difficult to say. He could not have meant 'assistant,' because that title was in use during this period, and the department was for many years allowed one assistant. Perhaps he meant someone, say, an unemployed Ph.D., hired to mark essays in large courses. This suggestion seems to fit the title he used. Such a person would not require the close supervision that an assistant did, thus providing more relief for faculty members. Anderson then considered what should be done if no such relief was available; he surveyed a number of possible courses of action. The first would be to 'refuse to teach courses, and turn students away,' which he rejected as signing the department's death warrant. The second would be to make courses 'thin' by not assigning essays and relying solely on examinations, but such a plan 'cannot be entertained by persons of any academic integrity.' The third course of action - and here Anderson came out with his guns blazing - would be to stand by and do nothing while Political Economy 'steals its [Philosophy's] content.' At this time, Political Economy had 21 faculty members and a ratio of 54 students to 1, and its head had admitted to Anderson that he was hard pressed to find courses for everyone to teach. Within the last few years, Anderson complained, Political Economy had 'brought philosophic texts from Hobbes to Bosanquet within its ever expanding orbit; and just now it has decided to bring Plato, Aristotle, and Augustine under its utilitarian rubric.' The young faculty members assigned to teach these courses were not trained in philosophy, so the instruction was badly done: 'after the calendar had already gone to press a letter arrived from Political Sci-

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ence informing me that they were now resuming instruction in the ancient philosophers because they had a "specialist" who had no work to do! Between you and me, the youth's qualification for this work is one pass course in ancient philosophy taken in his third year as an undergraduate!' (All quotes in DA). Anderson strongly urged Brett to bring this matter to the president's attention. This is the earliest instance I have found of Anderson's concern to protect Philosophy's turf. In later years this concern would grow even stronger. His fourth possible course of action concerned the federated colleges: 'perhaps one of the Colleges, for example, Victoria may come to realize how the situation stands, and appoint a man in philosophy, as distinct from ethics. This is a possibility which is fraught with too many complications for the department and the higher administration of the university and should be avoided at all costs' (DA). Here is the earliest evidence I have come across for what became another of Anderson's enduring concerns. When he remarked that this alternative 'should be avoided at all costs,' he meant it quite literally. Many faculty members who served under Anderson recalled the meetings he convened to discuss the latest rumours about Victoria, especially, conniving to resume teaching philosophy courses. ('You can't trust these Methodists,' he fumed to Goudge.) Such talk, he would assert, must be nipped in the bud; with their support - and they were glad to back him up, because if Victoria were successful, it could mean that some of them would lose their jobs - Anderson would set out to see the dean of arts and the president and get their renewed commitment that nothing would be done to change the status quo. Anderson was certainly a man to husband his power. In due course we will review an attempt by members of the federated colleges to gain power over the Graduate Department of Philosophy, which sally Anderson effectively squashed. Whether any of the talk allegedly emanating from Victoria College signified an intention to act we shall never know. Victoria (with the support of Trinity College, which at the time was negotiating its entry into federation) had tried to have philosophy reclassified as a college subject, but it failed in its attempt. Evidence is to be found in President Loudon's papers, without any stated reason for the failure. Loudon told members of the Philosophy Department that he could make no appointments until it was decided whether changes were to be made in the division of the subject. After that failed attempt, no evidence has come to light to show that either Victoria or Trinity ever made an official request to change philosophy's status, and if they did, it certainly was denied.

314 The Main Stream

Anderson finally considered the possibility that the faculty would become 'college hacks.' 'You once, Sir, referred to persons living on their "humps." Senior members of the staff have been fortunate in teaching under auspices which made the development of these possible. Alas! economy is now being pushed so far that the beasts of burden will have nothing out of which to create these useful appendages - and this academic economy may defeat itself in the end' (DA). By not explicitly rejecting this course, Anderson appears to have thought it would be the one the department would be forced to take, since all the other alternatives were worse - although it was certainly bad enough. (In a later, even more extraordinary letter, Anderson had occasion to return to the topic of'humps.') Brett received this letter on 12 February 1937, and it must have worried him considerably. His first reaction was to treat it as a draft, requiring revision before being submitted to the president. On one copy there are extensive changes in Brett's hand, most of them toning down the language to make it more palatable to Canon Cody. Anderson must have rejected these proposed revisions orally, because ten days after getting the letter Brett sent it on to the president as received, with this covering letter: I have decided that the best course is to submit these documents to you as received. I think that a member of the Staff with the rank of Professor should have the satisfaction of knowing that his views are presented to the President without obstruction from the Head of Department and I have no doubt that, as President, you would wish to know the opinions expressed in these communications. I cannot agree entirely with the statements made but they are substantially correct. My reason for submitting them is, in part, that they obviously imply a criticism of the policy which I have followed in the affairs of the Department. I do not wish to say anything about that beyond admitting that the result has been an increase in numbers which the staff may now consider involves excessive demands. That is a matter which, I presume, can only be usefully discussed in relation to the estimates for the Department. (DA)

With this letter the correspondence closed, but there was a positive gain for the department. Cody approved the appointment of a lecturer at an annual salary of $1,500. Thus, Anderson's letter was instrumental in bringing Thomas Anderson Goudge into the department.

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9.4

When war broke out in September 1939, all the faculty were beyond the age of active service. Goudge, who had turned thirty in 1940, did enlist in the navy, but as he was not called to active service until August 1943, the department was reasonably intact during the war years. David Savan was appointed a lecturer in 1943, as a replacement in part for both Edward Macdonald, who had been forced to resign for neglecting his duties, and Goudge, who had gone to war. Savan told me that soon after he arrived, Anderson questioned him on his drinking habits, and when Savan confessed that he seldom drank alcoholic beverages, Anderson asked him if he could use Savan's liquor coupons. To avoid violating rationing laws, they worked out this arrangement: Anderson would give Savan a list of what he wanted and the money to buy it, and Savan would then make the purchase while Anderson waited in the street. Savan went on to say that he was fairly sure from remarks Anderson dropped that he had similar arrangements with other faculty members. By this time he was drinking rather heavily, although it was not until the war was over that his drinking began to interfere with his work. In 1943 he had his eye on the department's top job and meant to have it. 9.5

During the summer of 1944 Brett, suffering from cancer, became so ill that he had to take to his bed. When classes resumed in October, he was unable to take up his duties; he died on 27 October. President Cody spoke at his funeral, a circumstance that Anderson, as we will see, bitterly recalled in a letter to the dean of arts in 1955. Anderson, after being confirmed as head of the department, was now in a position to carry out his program, and he set about doing so in earnest. War's end and the demobilization of large numbers of veterans, many of whom flocked to the university to resume their interrupted education, made his task a little easier. Funds suddenly were made available for hiring additional staff to cope with the influx. When the university opened in 1945 the Philosophy Department had three additional members: Marcus Long was a lecturer, Douglas Dryer a special lecturer ('special' only because he was paid more than the ceiling for lecturers), and Robert McRae an instructor. George Edison, then a member of Trinity's Ethics Department, was also teaching for the department during that year. On 1 July 1946 Long was promoted to assistant professor and thus became a permanent member of the faculty.

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On 18 November 1955, in a letter to the dean of arts, Moffat Woodside, Anderson reviewed his dealings with the university's administration from the time he assumed control of the department. Shortly after he was appointed head he went to see Cody, who doubtless recalled his 1937 letter, and the president told him 'he understood the needs of the department, that hitherto he had been hard-pressed for money, and that this was now in greater supply.' Before Cody could act upon his newly found intentions, he resigned the presidency in 1945 and was elected chancellor. Since the new president, Sidney Smith, knew nothing of the past history of staffing in the university and the shortchanging of Philosophy, Anderson set about educating him. His case proved strong enough to get Smith's commitment for two senior appointments, an associate professor in ancient philosophy and a professor in metaphysics. Because nearly every university was understaffed in those days, teaching positions at every level were difficult to fill, and before Anderson could find qualified and willing candidates, Smith decided to delegate budgetary negotiations in the Faculty of Arts to Dean Beatty; his promises of senior appointments disappeared in transit. In his letter to Woodside, Beatty's successor as dean, Anderson described his dealings with Beatty: 'Dean Beatty's attitude to this department was one of kindly solicitude. It has always remained so. In budgetary matters, however, it came to show itself as the disposition of the kindly head of a well-kept family towards a poor relation. I assumed that, through his long and rather full acquaintance with University affairs, he would know this department's history. I was to discover that, in fact, he did not. Understandably, he proceeded on the assumption that only the "usual" budgetary adjustments were called for. I was hesitant, at the beginning, about informing him of earlier dispositions towards the department lest these might seem to reflect on my predecessor and not be assigned to causes which had different roots. When I did begin to tell him of previous happenings and their consequences I surmised that he was regarding the things I said as the exaggerations of a novice in administration' (UTA, Al968-0007/147). Beatty did nothing to correct matters, except to authorize the appointment of a few lecturers for 1946-7. During 1947-8 the department's undergraduate enrolment exceeded 4,000, and the number of its graduate students topped 100. Anderson told Woodside that he had decided he must re-apply to Dean Beatty for help: 'I told him in writing and conversation that, while the department's enrolment had increased twelve-fold over a period of twenty years, the number of its permanent staff had remained stationary; that it

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was now suffering from the cumulative effect of under-sustenance during past years; that every member of the staff was over-worked; that most of our three-hour courses had to be reduced to two for instructional purposes; that the term work of as many as 380 students had to be assigned severally to such assistants as we had, and that other members of the staff had to do interminable reading of essays in compensation for the imposed reduction of lectures in courses' (UTA, A1968-0007/147). On 8 January 1948 Beatty sent a summary of Anderson's oral submission to President Smith with a note stating that these 'matters call for consideration, and I assured Professor Anderson that he could count on this being given' (ibid.)- All Anderson got for his efforts, however, was the promotion of four lecturers - Dryer, McRae, Savan, and Manley Thompson - to assistant professorships, 'which cost the University less than $2,000' (ibid.). Although the word 'tenure' was not used in the university in those days, their promotions did, in fact, grant these men tenure. Manley Thompson had joined the department as a lecturer in 1946; he resigned in 1949 to take a position at the University of Chicago. Other departments were faring much better during these years, as Anderson documented in his letter of 1955. In the three years after the war, Political Economy - to instance his bete noire - had brought in two professors, two associate professors, and five assistant professors, as well as promoting two associate and three assistant professors. Here was undeniable evidence to support Anderson's complaints. Still Beatty did not agree to a remedy. Then disaster struck: MacCallum died suddenly of a heart attack in the spring of 1949 at the age of fifty-one. The department now had only one professor, two associate professors, (Goudge and McCurdy), five assistant professors and four lecturers, hardly an adequate staff for graduate studies. For the next two years the department was allowed a visiting professor from Great Britain: first, John M. Thorburn, a Scot who had recently retired from the University College of South Wales; and then Mario Manlio Rossi, an expatriate Italian who had trained under Croce and Gentile. Geoffrey Payzant, who studied with both men, recalled Thorburn: 'Thorburn was an astrologer, which complicated his standing in the department very considerably. But it had the advantage that he was internationally renowned as an astrologer and could charge a very high price, so he prospered reasonably well' (DA, OHT). When his year finished, Thorburn stayed on for another year in Toronto and he and Payzant, who happened to be neighbours, met regularly to discuss aesthetics. Rossi, who was professor of moral philosophy at the University of Flo-

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rence, had sought asylum in Britain from Mussolini's regime; he was teaching Italian at Edinburgh when Anderson invited him to visit. Anderson learned that Rossi wanted to teach philosophy, and if the visit turned out well, he planned to recommend him for a permanent appointment. Rossi's English, however, proved to be a problem. According to Payzant, Rossi had learned English in a Berlin boardinghouse kept by an Irish couple, with the consequence that he had both an Italian and an Irish accent, which baffled most of his students. Any intention Anderson might have had to recommend an appointment for Rossi ended when Anderson met the dean in early 1952 to discuss the following year's budget and was told that the department was losing the funds for its vacant professorship. Beatty did seem to have it in for either Anderson or the Philosophy Department, or possibly both. 9.6

There may be more to the story than Anderson's letter revealed. Goudge told me that in the early 1950s President Smith invited him to lunch at the York Club. Goudge had known Smith since his student days at Dalhousie, where Smith was on the faculty, and they had remained on friendly terms ever since. When he arrived at the appointed time, Goudge was surprised to find that there were no other guests at the luncheon, so he suspected that Smith had something on his mind. After the waiter had left the table with their orders, Smith opened the subject by saying, 'Tommy, we've got a tiger by the tail.' Never once during the course of the discussion, which lasted for a half-hour or more, did he mention Anderson's name. Smith asked a stream of questions: 'How is the morale of the members of the department?' 'Does he bully them all the time?' and so on. Smith never disclosed what he contemplated doing about Anderson, but it was clear that the reports he had heard of Anderson's behaviour were worrying him. A large part of the problem was alcohol, which Anderson was now using to excess. When he was too inebriated to get to his classes, he would telephone one of the younger members of the department late in the evening and order them to take his class the next day. Savan remembered several occasions when he was summoned, but it was his recollection that McRae and Fackenheim were the principal victims. This problem worsened with passing years. In addition to demanding that his junior colleagues take his classes, Anderson also pressed them to stand in for him at his speaking engagements. On the oral history tapes, McRae recalled

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travelling to Michigan State University in Lansing to read a paper that Anderson had written; by far the worst part of the evening for McRae was the question period, when he had to try to supply answers to questions in line with Anderson's views. Goudge, stimulated by McRae's account, recalled filling in for Anderson on campus: 'A lesser version of this kind of situation occurred when he was scheduled to speak in the University College series. He called me in the morning and what I could gather from what he said was that he was not able to read the lecture. That I was to get hold of Innis, the economist, who was in charge of the meeting, and explain to him that I would read it. That was a very painful experience' (UTA, OHT). During the meetings in Hart House of the eastern division of the American Philosophical Association in December 1950, Anderson was drinking very heavily and urging others to do so. On the oral history tapes, Goudge recalled that when it came time for Anderson to introduce Willard Van Orman Quine he was too drunk to find his spectacles, so instead of reading his prepared remarks, he launched into a rather freewheeling introduction to the reading of one of the most famous philosophical papers of the century, 'Two Dogmas of Empiricism.' Unfortunately, there is no record of what Anderson said. Departmental correspondence with other offices in the university became a sore point. Goudge told me that Anderson would sometimes be away for weeks on end and the mail would pile up. After the department acquired a part-time secretary in 1955, she would ask Goudge, as the next senior member, to instruct her on how to deal with certain urgent matters. When Anderson returned and learned that Goudge had conducted departmental business, he would telephone him and demand, 'Who the hell do you think you are answering the dean's letter?' Goudge said that Anderson never made such remarks to his face, nor did he press the point beyond showing his displeasure; for he was essentially a coward. Goudge went on to say that he had made it clear to Anderson that there were limits beyond which he would challenge him. 9.7

Another problem was Anderson's sexual misconduct. It was widely known in the university that he was homosexual and that he had made advances to junior faculty members, including at least one member of the Philosophy Department. This was a serious abuse of power: he used his position to attempt to gain sexual favours from people who were subject to his authority. David Savan told me of Anderson's attempt to seduce

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him. One evening, shortly after the war, Anderson invited the younger members of the department to his apartment to discuss a rumour he had heard that Victoria College was about to start teaching philosophy courses. During the party, Anderson plied Savan, who was single at the time, with drink. To please his host, Savan, who was almost a teetotaller, drank more than he could handle. When the meeting was breaking up Anderson told him he was in no condition to go home and that he should spend the night in Anderson's apartment. After the others had gone, Anderson almost immediately set about attempting to seduce him. Savan was able to fend him off, and Anderson did not press his advances. Savan lay awake all night and, at the crack of dawn, left the apartment without waking Anderson. A couple of days later Anderson called him into his office and apologized for his behaviour on that night. 'I like you,' he said. 'The trouble is I like you too much.' 'Now not a word about this to anyone,' he added, wagging his finger. Savan took this as a warning, if not a threat. 'You haven't told George, have you?' Savan replied truthfully that he had not told Edison. 'Has George told you anything?' Anderson persisted. Savan said he had not. It was clear that something similar had happened between Anderson and Edison, but Savan never raised the matter with Edison. Plying young men with drink until they were too drunk to resist his advances seemed to be Anderson's favoured method of seduction. Goudge told me of a similar incident, this time involving an honours student in the department, whom I will call 'Doe.' About 9:30 p.m. one evening Anderson rang Goudge, and his voice betrayed that he was very agitated. He wanted to know whether Goudge knew Doe; when Goudge said he did, Anderson asked him if he had heard whether Doe's appointment book had been found by the police. Since Goudge knew nothing of what had happened, Anderson told him that Doe had been found by the police late the night before, passed out in a public park, dead drunk. Goudge immediately surmised that Doe had been visiting Anderson and had been subjected to his favoured treatment. The whereabouts of the appointment book greatly concerned Anderson. 'If you hear who has it, let me know,' he ordered Goudge. 'I want to see it.' To get rid of him, Goudge suggested he telephone George Edison, who knew Doe much better than Goudge did, and Anderson thought that a good idea. Goudge remembered Doe as a very handsome young man. Obviously, Anderson thought Doe's appointment book might compromise him, but the incident passed without further consequence. President Smith may also have heard the rumour that was going around at the time that Anderson had approached a student of the uni-

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versity in Queen's Park. Smith was greatly troubled by all this talk and he wanted Goudge's perspective before making up his mind on what to do about it. Whether Beatty, who was then dean of arts, knew anything about these matters is unknown, but it seems unlikely that he would have been completely ignorant of them. The dean may have felt that Anderson was so compromised he could afford to ignore his entreaties on behalf of the department. Whatever the reasons for his decisions regarding staffing in Philosophy, Beatty did allow the department to remain in a crippled position. Smith, meanwhile, resigned as president in 1957 to accept an appointment as secretary of state for foreign affairs, without having taken any action against Anderson. In fairness to Anderson, it should be said that not all of his generosity to young men had ulterior motives. Robert McRae told me of Anderson's many kindnesses to him. Since he had no definite plans for a career when he graduated from the University of Toronto in 1936, he took a year off to travel abroad. In the summer of 1937 he was in London, as was Anderson. McRae went to see Anderson in his hotel, and at the end of their visit Anderson proposed that he return to Toronto and enrol as a graduate student in philosophy. Anderson invited him to share his apartment, so McRae came back and lived with Anderson for a year. At no time did Anderson make any sexual advances to McRae. In the 1930s Anderson nearly always had a young man living in his apartment. In those days, he had a host of friends, and he socialized a great deal, but he kept his drinking under control. After that year in Toronto, McRae went to Johns Hopkins to work on his Ph.D. By the time war broke out, he had completed all the requirements for the degree except the dissertation. Back in Canada, he joined the navy but had the bad luck to be taken prisoner at Dieppe in 1942. Released after Germany surrendered, he joined the department and soon discovered that Anderson had developed a serious drinking problem and that he had, in effect, 'come out' with regard to his homosexuality. It was only then that McRae heard tales about Anderson's attempts to seduce young men. In a conversation with me, McRae related an amusing story of Anderson and his portrait. Among Anderson's society friends was a wealthy woman who lived in the then elegant apartment building at the corner of Bloor and St George Streets2 and who was known for her splendid parties.

2 This building later became a graduate student residence and was subsequently razed to make room for Woodsworth College's student residence.

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After she got to know Anderson, he was always included on her guest list. Gradually, she became convinced that Anderson was distinguished enough to warrant having his likeness on the walls of University College, so she engaged a well-known artist to paint his portrait. Anderson duly sat for the man, but when the painting was finished, he did not like it at all. The portrait was left in the hands of the woman who had commissioned it, and she planned to present it to University College at an appropriate time. Anderson sent McRae to her apartment with a story that he (Anderson) would present the picture, so she allowed McRae to carry it away. Once he had it in his hands, Anderson destroyed it. Goudge told me another story involving President Smith. One day Goudge received an urgent message to telephone the president. When he got through, Smith came on the line and asked him if he had heard from Anderson, or from anyone else, that Anderson had two young, redheaded sons in the British House of Lords. Goudge replied that Anderson had once told him so on the telephone. 'Do you believe it?' Smith demanded. Goudge replied that, in the ordinary sense of belief, he did not believe it. Goudge then went on to relate that when Anderson told him this story he was very drunk and that he had painted the physical virtues of these sons in striking terms: they were big and tall and strong and husky and handsome, and so on. Helen Goudge, on a different occasion, told me that Anderson had telephoned her and described these mythical sons in the same flamboyant fashion. Neither of the Goudges could understand what would have motivated Anderson to tell such a transparent falsehood. All he seemed to have accomplished was to raise doubts in the president's mind about his veracity. 9.8

Anderson made another attempt to right past wrongs after Moffat Woodside succeeded Beatty as dean of arts. His letter to Woodside, quoted earlier, was dated 18 November 1955. It ran to thirty-two typed pages, the last sixteen devoted to a history of departmental financing since about 1910. The first half of the letter consisted of statistics comparing the size and composition of the staff of the Philosophy Department with several others in the Faculty of Arts. Goudge told me that Anderson assigned him the task of compiling the statistics. The statistics showed conclusively that the department had not received its fair share of the university's resources. Earlier I suggested two possible explanations for this lamentable state of affairs: the first being Brett's tendency to load himself with

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work rather than demand fresh appointments; and the second being the division of philosophy courses between the university and the colleges, which permitted a man like Canon Cody to fantasize that Philosophy had adequate staff, since its faculty included those teaching ethics in Trinity and Victoria. In this letter Anderson claimed that 'the depressing of the Department of Philosophy' began with President Falconer, who concluded that James Gibson Hume, then head of the department, had 'an untidy mind' because of the oddity of his dress. As a consequence, Falconer took little interest in the department as long as Hume was in charge. Hume made matters worse by kicking up a fuss at the time of his retirement, going over Falconer's head to Cody, then chairman of the Board of Governors, and getting an additional year at full pay with no duties. When Brett took over as head, Falconer began to right matters, assigning the department some junior appointments. Before matters could be resolved, however, Falconer was succeeded by Cody. 'His [Cody's] attitude from the beginning towards Brett,' Anderson wrote, 'was that of an archbishop to a junior curate' (UTA, SES, 147). Throughout the 1930s the only appointments Cody allowed the department were those of Jarvis McCurdy, as assistant professor, and Thomas Goudge, as lecturer. 'Year after year Brett returned from interviews with the President on the [budget] estimates in a state of great depression, sometimes sick at heart. He brought reports of "no money," "no additions being made to the faculty," "no promotions," of mention of "principles" like "the general good." In many an October it became evident to Brett, by the presence of new members of staff and the promotions of others, that what was said to him had application to his department and not to others' (ibid.). The origin of the topic of'humps,' alluded to earlier, is related. Cody, it seems, glossed over difficult points in interviews byjoking about them: 'To mention one instance: Brett had been informing the President of the conditions of teaching and scholarship in his department, of his working seven days and evenings a week, and of his lack of time for study and writing. In conclusion, he remarked that like a camel he was reduced to living on his hump. "Ah," said the President in dismissing him, "some departments and persons are fortunate in having such large humps!"' (ibid.). Cody even deprived Brett of his single assistant. 'Thereafter Brett had to travel through the streets to get his departmental typing done - sometimes with funds out of his own pocket - by extra-mural stenographers' (ibid.). Anderson's choice of words accurately describes a dreary state of affairs.

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Anderson then related the story of his 1937 letter, which Brett had sent on to Cody and Anderson now claimed was written after he and Brett had discussed and rejected a joint visit to Cody. Cody, as we have seen, did little towards remedying the situation. In Anderson's opinion, Cody shamelessly exploited Brett's willingness to work: In retrospect, I refuse to believe that Dr. Cody was ever fully aware of the weight of Brett's teaching and administrational load. My opinion is that the President never had or took time to study in detail the pattern of instruction within the Faculty of Arts. I also think that he regarded philosophy in the University as a series of exhortations on a number of topics rather than a field which included highly specialized disciplines and textual studies. Moreover, I do not think that he was cognizant of the tasks which the graduate instruction of large numbers of students imposed. Certainly, when Brett was laid low through a fatal illness, Dr. Cody's humanitarianism was everywhere apparent. At the end, he spoke in glowing terms of Brett's scholarly renown, his writings, and his teaching. He called him 'a great man.' Had he been invited to give a funeral sermon, many of his hearers would have accumulated vicarious merit through the praise - if not the story- of another's sacrifice. (UTA, SES, 147)

Earlier in the letter Anderson had recorded his own thoughts at Brett's funeral: The day Dr. Cody took the service at his grave there were those who reflected gravely on the amount of unpublished learning that went under the ground' (ibid.). At another point in the letter, after describing his own workload, he told the dean: 'I also indicated that my physical system was already overtaxed, with results which could last, and that it was not my desire to give occasion for memorials on sacrifice for the general good, especially since - to speak with great understatement sacrifices were very unequally distributed about the University' (ibid.). Another slighting of the department concerned secretarial support. Other departments of comparable size were provided with such help, but Philosophy still, in 1955, had none. A few years before, Anderson had bought a secondhand typewriter out of his own pocket, and members of the faculty - he mentioned Goudge, Savan, and McRae - were pressed into service as typists. Anderson demanded of Woodside that this stop and that proper support be provided. In the budget for 1955-6 the dean assigned $1,600 for clerical assistance, and Anderson hired a secretary, initially on a part-time basis, to take charge of the office.

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As he neared the end of his very long letter, Anderson laid his demands on the line: We are now making proposals; and we are not now, Sir, employing any indirection, but are speaking straightforwardly and to the point. We are asking earnestly and dutifully for a cessation of the financial depressing of our department. In the matter of senior appointments, we ask for a cessation of the discrimination which has long been exercised against this department. We respectfully ask, Sir, that our department be habilitated, or rehabilitated, so that persons without and within may no longer look upon it as the financial Ishmael of the University. We are asking that our subject be taught under conditions as apt for instruction and scholarship as those found in other departments. We ask recognition of merit and attainment through promotion in the case of members of our permanent staff. We seek comparable seniority in specialization and concentration to that accorded other subjects in other departments. (UTA, SES, 147)

He went on to discuss the specific cases of promotion that he wanted action on, and he demanded another assistant professor. It would be several more years before the distribution of ranks within the department was comparable to that in other departments, but the first steps had been taken. This was probably Anderson's most enduring contribution to the department. Anderson's letter to the dean showed very clearly his fascination with the minutiae of university politics. Goudge, McRae, and Savan all have told me that this was one of his most distinctive characteristics, and that it led him to waste much time on very trivial matters. He kept in touch with a large number of people in order to learn the latest gossip, and he read university reports very carefully to discover the way their authors were thinking. On the oral history tapes, Savan remarked: 'He loved university politics, and loved to get involved in them; I don't know how much power he actually had.' At this point Goudge broke in to say: 'He thought he had much more power than he really had, I think, though, that's a personal opinion.' At another point, McRae noted: 'What he really enjoyed was the politics of being the Head of a department, carrying on fights with other Heads of departments, you know, fighting with Jeanneret [French] ... He always turned up for the Senate, because that was the real gladiatorial forum for autocrats.' These three professors thought that Anderson's flaps about one of the federated colleges' encroaching upon

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his territory were, in nearly every case, fantasies incubated by a brain suffering from an overdose of alcohol. As Savan observed: 'But also I think Anderson was almost, well, I won't say neurotic, but I think he saw dangers where there were none. I think he apprehended conspiracies and plans and plots where in fact there weren't any.' McRae added: 'He could create quite a fuss.' (All quotes DA, OHT.) 9.9

One of Anderson's flaps was based on a real and well-documented threat to the powers of his office. It concerned the governance of the Graduate Department of Philosophy, of which Anderson was also head. The villain was George Edison, head of the Ethics Department in Trinity College and, at the time, vice-provost of Trinity; he was aided and abetted by Anton Pegis, then president of the Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies (PIMS). To what extent John Irving, then head of Ethics at Victoria, participated in the plot is unclear; Irving was far too wily to be caught with his fingers anywhere near the pie. In 1951 Edison drew up a document detailing the constitutional powers of a body called the 'Committee of Graduate Studies in Philosophy.' There were to be seven (really six, since Anderson held two of the offices) members: The Head of the University Department of Philosophy, The President of the [Pontifical] Institute of Mediaeval Studies, The Heads of the Departments of Ethics at Victoria, Trinity and University College, The Head of the Department of Philosophy at St. Michael's College, and a Secretary (permanent) to be appointed by the Head of the University Philosophy Department' (DA). The membership of this committee was clearly stacked against the university department, even if Anderson appointed someone to represent University College in his place, which the 'constitution' permitted. What made matters worse, from Anderson's perspective, was the situation of the chairmanship of the committee: it was to rotate every two years between the Victoria member, the Trinity member, either the PIMS or St Michael's member, and either Anderson or the University College member. Thus, in six years out of every eight, the graduate department would be in the charge of a person who held no university appointment. The committee was given authority over all aspects of the graduate program in philosophy. From any perspective, it was an attempted coup. Anderson was furious when he was presented with Edison's 'constitution.' For nearly a year after he attempted to kill the proposal within the

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department without involving Harold Innis, dean of the Graduate School, but in the end, he went to see him in the spring of 1952. Innis asked him to put his case in writing, and Anderson was glad to oblige. From his twenty-page letter, dated 16 April 1952 (UTA, SES, 107), we learn something of the early ways of organizing the work of the graduate department of Philosophy. Prior to Anderson's regime, there were no standing committees in the Graduate Department. In every case requiring a group decision, an ad hoc committee was struck. Although Anderson did not make it explicit, it appears from his letter that he was referring to cases of students in the Ph.D. program, not to those pursuing the M.A. degree. Master's theses were supervised by one member of the department and, after submission, were marked by that member - a practice followed until the late 1960s, when the requirement of a thesis for the master's degree was abolished. The large influx of graduate students after the war had led Anderson to propose, in 1949, the establishment of the 'Graduate Committee' with administrative powers only - to deal with the cases formerly handled by ad hoc committees. The chair rotated among the senior members of the graduate department. In its first year, John Irving of Victoria chaired the committee and 'carried on its work with efficiency.' Then it was Edison's turn to take the chair. 'Thereupon some extraordinary things, unknown until the following spring to Department and Head, began to happen ... Somehow and at some time - no one seems to know just how and when - undoubtedly Professor Edison could say - this Graduate Committee, which had been assigned jurisdiction over nothing more than the administration of the M.A. and Ph.D. regulations, assumed to itself the right to arrange for the complete administration of the Department. In the spring its Chairman produced a document whose clauses were premissed on that assumption. Written by Professor Edison, it was called "The Constitution of the Graduate Committee"' (UTA, SES, 147). When Edison ordered the graduate secretary to distribute his report to members of the department, Anderson countermanded the order and stripped the report of its preamble, which contained the 'constitution,' before allowing its circulation. In an effort to kill this so-called constitution once and for all, Anderson proposed, at a meeting of the graduate department in the autumn of 1951, a revised organization of that department. Three committees would replace the Graduate Committee: two executive committees, one for each graduate degree; and a small committee of four members called the 'Advisory Committee,' which was intended to advise the head of the

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department on matters brought before it. Its mandate was left vague. (Anderson soon found that this committee was useless and abolished it.) The department accepted the new committee structure. When Anderson said the department 'accepted' his restructuring, he did not mean that the members had voted on it. Voting was not his way. He would propose a solution to a problem or, more deviously, have another member propose it, open it for discussion, answer the objections made until there were no more forthcoming, and then declare the policy in force. His aim was consensus, and the measure of consensus was silence. Edison was present at this meeting and had remained silent at the crucial point. What is more, Edison had been appointed a member of the new Advisory Committee and had attended its single meeting, so he knew the department's intentions. Yet Edison continued to press for a discussion of his 'constitution,' contending that it was unfinished business. He succeeded only in goading Anderson to action. Anderson's two degree committees, it is worth noting, served the graduate department well until 1969, when they were replaced by a single executive committee. Edison, as Anderson learned when he questioned other members of the Graduate Committee, had held several meetings of the old Graduate Committee to discuss revisions to the regulations for the graduate degrees. When the committee had finished its work on these regulations, Edison announced that he would write a 'preamble' to the report before it was presented to the department. Neither Goudge nor McRae, who represented the university department on the committee, were consulted about this preamble. Whether others were could not be proved, but Anderson had his suspicions about Pegis. The preamble turned out to be the 'constitution' of a new standing committee, and the head of the graduate department was reduced to membership on the committee - 'a vestigial appendix,' Anderson told Innis. All of the head's powers were assigned to this committee, and its chair was charged with carrying out the committee's decisions. Since in six out of eight years the chair would be a person not paid by the university, Anderson saw this for what it was, an attempt on the part of members of the federated colleges to assume university powers. No doubt Innis agreed. Five days after receiving Anderson's letter he asked Anderson to send a copy to the president. What is staggering about Anderson's letter was the sheer vitriol he directed against Edison. 'Professor Edison has displayed some skill as a provocateur, if his operations as a negotiator and a maker of constitutions have, so far, brought him little more than disappointment. He praises and he blames; he spreads suspicion. He is for ever telling this one what that one "thinks of him. He would lead others in unconstitutional ways

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and, through "discussion," bring them under a "loyalty" they never intended. "Constitution of the School" and "constitutional practice in the University" are phrases he cannot abide. (Professor Pegis, too, is not fond of these, but he will tolerate them.)' (UTA, SES, 147). Anderson suggested to Innis that he and some at least of his colleagues would welcome the Dean's help in bringing Edison to heel: Just now he is stopped in his tracks. Yet in a way he has members of the University Department on the run. Their meetings have to be largely consigned to the waiting for his noisy, and apparently studied, truculences to subside. Professor Edison has great capacity for displaying surprise, indignation, and whatever attitude he deems useful for the occasion when openly confronted with the design of his schemes, and denied what he had hoped - and bragged - he could get from the University. He is especially annoyed when told that Departmental settlements are not reached by bargaining through an agent but are made on constitutional grounds. When he is present at meetings, no question can be discussed on its academic merit, but only as something which may or may not accord with his current plans. He is a large consumer of the time and energy of hard-worked members of staff. If the senior officers of the School of Graduate Studies can show a way for remedy of this situation - of whose implications Professor Edison can hardly be unaware - persons of very considerable worth in this Department will be grateful and the University benefited, (ibid.)

Two days after he received the copy of Anderson's letter, President Smith responded. His backing of Anderson was complete: 'my first impression is that there is no circumstance to which you refer that cannot be validly and constitutionally controlled by the Graduate Department of Philosophy as established by the Statute respecting the School of Graduate Studies. It is for the Graduate Department to decide whether it should have any sub-committees, whether they be administrative or advisory' (ibid.). He referred Anderson to the Senate statute setting forth the rights and responsibilities of the heads of graduate departments. Smith categorically denied that he had authorized anyone in the federated colleges to bring forward a constitution such as Edison proposed: 'I have no knowledge of the incidents described in your letter; but even if I had been cognizant of the trend of affairs, the truth of the following statement would not be affected. I have not given, I would not give, and I could not give, any commitments that would transgress the duly enacted Statute of the Senate' (UTA, SES, 147). Anderson, in his reply of 26 April, expressed his gratitude to Smith for his support. What he proposed to do,

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he told the president, was to 'assume that the duties of a head in a graduate department are those of a head in an undergraduate department and act accordingly. I have no hesitancy whatsoever about accepting any responsibility that my office imposes, nor, believe me, Sir, shall I attempt to place it on others' (ibid.). The reason he had not acted sooner was: 'I have hesitated to take certain actions heretofore for the reason that Dean Innis has wanted "time" to give his interpretation and has cautioned against "action" until he had done so' (ibid.). Given a free hand, Anderson soon scuttled the Edison proposal. His complete rout in this battle with Anderson and Trinity's decision to pass him over and appoint another provost when the position unexpectedly became vacant through the accidental death of the incumbent killed Edison's spirit. After I assumed the chairmanship of the department in 1969, I went to see Edison for a discussion of issues affecting Trinity. Early in the meeting Edison remarked that this was the first conversation he had had with 'the head of the department' in nearly twenty years. At the time I knew nothing of his battles with Anderson or of Goudge's involvement in them, so I let Edison's enigmatic remark pass without comment. Later, I asked Goudge about Edison's odd statement and heard from him the gist of this dispute. Edison's behaviour had left Goudge, when he succeeded Anderson, wary in his dealings with him, which accounted for Edison's claim that he had been unable to converse with Goudge privately. Edison's later career was not a happy one. Like his old adversary, he turned to the bottle for comfort, and it, in turn, increasingly affected his academic work. Edison may have been emboldened to act when he did because at that time the university was studying the relationship between itself and the federated colleges. Late in 1951 Smith had set up 'The Presidential Committee on the Humanities,' chaired by Dean Innis (and after Innis's death by Dean Woodside), and included among its members the provost of Trinity, the president of Victoria, the superior of St Michael's, and the principal of University College. Goudge, who discussed its meetings in his 'Personal Journal,' represented philosophy on the committee. Anderson warned Goudge that the intent of some members of the committee was ' to formulate some plan whereby the federated colleges, especially Trinity and Victoria, could be "appeased" in their desire to take over the teaching of certain university subjects, chiefly, philosophy and history.' Anderson proved to be right. During 1952-3 the committee met fortnightly: 'These meetings were very wearying, as one had to be on the qui vive throughout, watching for devious ways, especially on the part of Trinity. Our depart-

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merit, being the most vulnerable of all, I had to keep up a constant watchfulness. There is more than just "university politics" in all this, I am convinced. There is also a concealed interest in capturing the teaching of philosophy so as to make it subservient to theological dogma (Anglican or United Church). To this reactionary intention I am more than 100% opposed!' (17 May 1953). To the great relief of the university's faculty in philosophy, the committee emphatically rejected making any changes in the traditional division of subjects. The next time this vexed question came before the university, the shoe was on the other foot: on 1 July 1975 the Ethics Departments of Trinity and Victoria were abolished and their members absorbed into the university Department of Philosophy. 9.10

In the undergraduate department Anderson never felt the need of a committee at all. The curriculum remained fixed throughout his headship, with some slight exceptions. One innovation he allowed was the introduction of a course in logic in 1950, but he insisted that it be called 'Logic: Aristotelian and Modern.' This course met once a week throughout the year, twenty-six meetings in all. The entire first term was devoted to a study of Aristotle's Posterior Analytics, which left only thirteen hours for an introduction to symbolic logic. David Savan was one of the first to teach the course, and he told me that on the first day of classes Anderson called him in and in part advised him: 'now, no dots and dashes'! Being sensible, Savan ignored his advice.3

3 This logic course, without the Aristotelian component, was the only one in the curriculum when I joined the department in 1964, and I was assigned to teach a section of it. Symbolic logic is a subject best learnt with frequent meetings - three times a week is about ideal. Under that schedule, students have time to digest the previous work before going on, but they have not been so long away from it that they must be reminded of its content at the next meeting. One hour a week is by far the worst format I have ever experienced. A three-hour session once a week is manageable, because there is time to develop new material after reviewing the previous work, but in one hour little progress can be made. One year Savan and I each taught a section; when it came time to set the final examination Savan sheepishly confessed that he had not got beyond the truthtables during the course of the year. (He was reading Peter Strawson's book on logical theory at the time, of which Willard Van Orman Quine stated in his review that the pace was 'step by unhurried step,' and had followed Strawson's ordinary-language treatment of the basic prepositional connectives.) I readily understood Savan's failure to cover more material, since there was not enough time to do really significant teaching.

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Anderson boosted philosophy's enrolment by lobbying other departments and faculties to prescribe philosophy courses especially designed for their students. At various times calendars listed courses designed for students in sociology, in anthropology and sociology, in art and archaeology, and in fine art in the Faculty of Arts, as well as courses in other faculties, most notably a two-year sequence in the history of philosophy in the old pre-medical course, which proved to be a popular alternative to two history courses. I taught the second year of the sequence during my early years in the department. For most of Anderson's headship Marcus Long was undergraduate secretary. Long seems to have been a favourite of Anderson; he took a great interest in Long's career and heaped extravagant praise on him in reports to the president and the dean. Long was advanced through the ranks with more dispatch than anyone else during Anderson's term of office. William Marcus Dill Long, who was born on 10 December 1908, was an Irishman with the gift of the gab. On the oral history tapes, Francis Sparshott described him as 'a very painless orator, and wheeler-dealer, and general character.' After he imigrated from Northern Ireland to Toronto in 1925 as 'a sort of wonderful boy evangelist' (as McRae, who was his classmate in the University of Toronto, described him), Long made his living as a preacher and was much in demand as a revivalist in local churches. I once spoke with an elderly woman, who told me of the great stir Long had created in her congregation when he was invited to preach during revival week nearly forty years earlier; she thought he was marvellous and still had vivid memories of his preaching. In 1936 Long earned a B.A. from Toronto, where he continued in graduate work, along with a year of study at Northwestern University; he was awarded the doctorate in 1940 for his thesis, 'The Relation between the Logical Theories of Lotze, Bosanquet and Dewey; A Study in the Morphology of Knowledge.' During his last two years as a graduate student he taught at Brandon College and the University of Manitoba. In 1941 he joined the Canadian army and served in Great Britain and in the Italian Campaign; he was assigned to Personnel Selection and by the time he was discharged he had risen to the rank of major. Anderson hired him in 1945 and assigned him to teach the large introductory course, then being given in Convocation Hall to accommodate the great number of returning veterans. Long, drawing on his preaching experience, proved to be very popular as a lecturer; he taught a section of the first-year course every year thereafter. In time, his lectures for the course were written out, mimeographed, and sold as the text for the

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course. Long revised them for publication as The Spirit of Philosophy (1953), which was used as the text in both the general and honours firstyear courses for the next fourteen years. For nearly two decades Long had a parallel career as a radio and television personality and an after-dinner speaker. I heard him on only one occasion, at the banquet celebrating the opening of the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education. A group from the department shared a table, and in the course of the speeches, Long, much to my surprise, stood up and extended the department's best wishes to the new institution. I remember nothing of the substance of his talk, which by its very nature would have been slight, but I do recall that in the course of it Long told several jokes that were well received by the audience. To the general public, he was the best known member of the department in his heyday. As Geoffrey Payzant stated on the oral history tapes: 'He was the name that the great world knew in philosophy.' Even in recent years I have met people who, when they learn that I am a member of the department, immediately ask, in an awed tone of voice, whether I had known Marcus Long. One woman, upon hearing that I had indeed known him, requested permission to touch my arm! I forbore from asking her what she remembered from his lectures. Not everyone admired Long as a teacher. Geoffrey Payzant, who did a make-up year in 1948-9, took Long's course in modern philosophy. On the oral history tapes he offered thisjudgment: 'Long's course in modern philosophy: I'm afraid I saw right through that. That was a terrible course. Long was extremely glib and had the ability to make complex things sound simple. The trouble is that these simple things weren't what were actually being said by the philosophers in question. We would try to read the text and correlate it with what Long was saying, and there would be no correlation, but he could do this with such certitude, such an air, that we all felt guilty that somehow we had got it wrong.' At this point, Francis Sparshott intervened: 'His diagnostic course, all good students hated it, all bad students loved it, really.' To which Payzant replied, T think that's about it. I started out prepared to love it.' Ernest Sirluck, in his autobiography, First Generation, recorded that he took a course from Long at the University of Manitoba in the late 1930s and found it disappointing: '[Rupert] Lodge, the professor of philosophy, was away on sabbatical and was replaced for the year by Marcus Long, a young man not long out of Ireland and fresh from his PhD at Northwestern. We were taken with his jovial manner and quickly became friendly; our introduction to the study of philosophy under him was extremely relaxed, which was enjoyable at first, but after a while I began

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to think that he was not serious about his subject and grew somewhat discontent. He seemed to evade all hard questions, tried to agree with every view put forward in class, and pursued popularity and publicity by all means available. During the war I ran into him once or twice in London, but the initial attraction had long gone. He later became a professor at the University of Toronto, popular with non-specializing undergraduates and radio audiences' (1996, 50). Sirluck's judgment was one I have heard echoed by many people, both colleagues and former students of Long. There was considerable dazzle but not much substance to his teaching. During the period when Daniel Goldstick was an undergraduate (around 1960) a pass course, Phil 2d, 'Medieval Ethics' (later Phil 203), was included in the offerings of University College. Surprisingly, Long, whose philosophical interests included neither mediaeval philosophy nor ethics, was listed as the instructor in the course. When a couple of students appeared in his office at the time scheduled for the course, he brusquely asked them what they wanted. They indicated their intention to take the course. Long immediately set about scaring them off, telling them that it was a very difficult course, which he very much doubted they could pass. Did they want to risk losing their year? Of course not - so they went away. Goldstick interpreted this incident as evidence of a scam, with Anderson's connivance, to reduce Long's teaching load so that he could have time to prepare for his outside speaking engagements. Long, in his capacity as undergraduate secretary, assigned himself the course in mediaeval ethics and received credit for teaching it without ever having to do so. In the spring of 1967 Long suffered a heart attack and was on sick leave until September. Goudge, who was then chairman, decided to replace him as undergraduate secretary, and he asked me to take over part of the duties; the other part was assigned to James Wheatley. The division, how ever, proved unworkable and in the following year I was assigned all of the duties of the office. Long returned to teach in the autumn of 1967 and wanted his old job back. To his great annoyance, Goudge, who did not want him to have it, refused, on the grounds that his health would be jeopardized with the added responsibility. Long completed the year, but just after marking his last final examination on 12 May 1968, he got to his feet to fetch himself a drink and collapsed from a second and fatal heart attack. Long was one of the few members of the department who consistently got on well with Anderson, who became increasingly difficult over time. In his amiable way Long was prepared to follow Anderson's instructions

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without ever questioning them. In 1968, when I was preparing the enrolment figures for the president's report, I looked up those of the previous year and discovered that they were much higher than they should have been. When I asked Long about the discrepancy, Long laughed and said, 'Professor Anderson told me always to put them up a little each year, since it made the department look better.' His successive additions had led to inflated figures, which I reduced to reflect the real state of affairs. To my knowledge no one thought ill of the department as a consequence. I did learn from conversations with Long that Anderson was the final determiner of the undergraduate curriculum. Ideas for changes came from others and were sometimes discussed at meetings, but final decisions were made by Anderson. This autocratic arrangement would change under Goudge's leadership. Goudge told me of one attempt by the younger members of the department, shortly after the end of the Second World War, to introduce new courses. All of the younger members, of whom there were then several, met regularly in the Gallery Grill of Hart House for lunch. Naturally enough, the department's course offerings often came up for discussion. Once, after several of them had been to the American Philosophical Association meeting in December and had heard Toronto's offerings ridiculed as not being concerned with philosophizing but only with the history of the subject, they decided to hold a meeting among themselves and discuss what could be done to remedy the situation. Jarvis McCurdy, that most hospitable of men, invited them to his home for dinner. The upshot of their discussion was that two new courses should be proposed, one in symbolic logic and the other in epistemology. David Savan was delegated to approach Anderson. Anderson hit the roof, accusing the group of conspiring behind his back. Savan protested that this was not so, but Anderson brushed his protest aside. 'It must stop!' he shouted. 'There will be no boy's parliament in this department.' At the time, no action was taken. The group continued to press the issue, however, and eventually both courses were prescribed. On the oral history tapes, Goudge told of a discovery he had made empirically: when Anderson expressed total opposition to some proposal the first time it was broached, this usually meant he had no good reason for his opposition, and if the same proposal was made later, he would very likely consent to it. Also on these tapes, Goudge was asked whether Brett's attitude had anything to do with the fact that Toronto in the 1930s and 1940s had no courses in modern logic or in logical empiricism. T rather think it may have been more the result of Professor Anderson's attitude. I once heard

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him say in public that he really hadn't the slightest interest in anything that happened after the seventeenth century. This would preclude, I think, a priori, any interest in what was happening in the twentieth century. And he was not only uninterested, he was rather contemptuous of many of these trends of which Dave [Savan] has spoken.' McRae added: 'Very contemptuous of everything he didn't understand, or know about.' At another point in the discussion Goudge returned to the matter: 'In my first year as a youngster on the staff, a lecturer, in 1938-9, I remember attending the first departmental meeting, which was held in Brett's office. Brett, as the head, was the chairman and he sat at his desk. Anderson was present, but two things happened: first of all, Anderson talked more than anybody else and, secondly, spoke more forcefully than other people about any subject that came up having to do with the curriculum. He had very strong views about this historical orientation that Toronto had and its concern with the past history of philosophy.' The structure of the honours courses made defence of this point of view easier than it might otherwise have been. By starting with Greek philosophy in second year and proceeding historically, there was no time for the study of any philosophical movement arising after the First World War. Brett, who taught the fourth year honours course, 'Modern Philosophy,' never lectured on any philosopher later than William James and the early Henri Bergson. The very rigidity of the honours courses led to their complete collapse when change was seriously demanded in the 1960s. Tinkering, even minor tinkering, proved to be impossible; there was no room for any change and the whole structure had to be scrapped. Goudge thought that the orientation of the entire faculty at the University of Toronto was very much in tune with Anderson in ignoring twentieth-century developments: 'There was some suspicion of the trends, such as logical positivism, empiricism, pragmatism, and other movements of that kind, by the people who were generally oriented toward absolute idealism - Hegelian idealism. And along with that was a tendency not to take account of the influence of the natural sciences. So there was perhaps a hidden or implicit anti-scientific view that philosophy was superior to the natural sciences. It had its own super-fine brand of knowledge, which didn't depend on what the scientists were doing. And the scientists here were equally anti-philosophical. I remember hearing a professor of physics over in the faculty dining room - the Gallery dining room - express himself very caustically about the waste of time that the philosophers were involved in, pursuing the subject of space and time, which was not their preserve at all' (DA, OHT). Douglas Dryer asked his

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name; Goudge replied: 'It was the Head of the department [E.F. Burton].' In support of Goudge's position, Dryer noted that when he came to Toronto in 1945, the university was an excellent example of C.P. Snow's 'two cultures': there was a complete absence of communication between literary intellectuals and physical scientists, a state of affairs he had not experienced at Harvard. After further discussion, the two men agreed that Toronto in those days modelled itself on Oxford, not on Cambridge. 9.11

As can be gathered from Anderson's remark that he had no interest in anything that happened after the seventeenth century, his conception of philosophy was centred on its history and on only a few figures in that history. Plato, whose philosophy he taught every year, was high on his list, and he wrote his first book on Plato. His book, for which he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada in 1947, was intended as an undergraduate introduction to Plato's thought, not as an original contribution to Platonic scholarship. According to McRae, he had a low regard for Aristotle's originality: 'Aristotle was just Plato cut up in little pieces of paper.' Despite what he told McRae, he did retain Brett's second-year course on the Nicomachean Ethics in the curriculum after his death, and when he assigned it to David Gallop a decade later, he told Gallop that it was 'a wonderful book.' The study of Locke, on whom Anderson wrote his thesis, occupied a large portion of his working years. He spent many summers in England gathering material for his projected book on Locke; he was one of only two scholars allowed access to the Lovelace collection on the philosopher, then in private hands. After Anderson died, a great many of his files on Locke were deposited in the university archives, but when Graeme Nicholson went through them to see whether there was anything publishable, he came up empty-handed. Anderson's work on Francis Bacon was more productive; he published two books on Bacon's philosophy. David Savan, who read both of them, claimed that there was nothing new in them, that they were a rehash of what others had written about Bacon's philosophy. Anderson's conception of philosophy has an antiquarian ring: the great philosophers have said it all; it is the job of the living to study their writings and comment upon them. Since he exhibited no interest in the work of his contemporaries, it is hardly surprising that he strongly resisted the introduction of systematic courses.

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9.12

Anderson's conception of what a philosophy department ought to teach was central to his quarrels with George Grant. Grant (1918-88) had been educated at Queen's and had gone on to Oxford on a Rhodes Scholarship, where he was awarded the D.Phil, degree for a thesis on the thought of the Scottish theologian John Oman (1860-1939). During his stay in Britain, Grant became a convert to Christianity and throughout the rest of his life he remained a devout and devoted member of the United Church of Canada; his religious beliefs were central both to his private and to his academic life. At the time of their first clash, Grant was the head of the Philosophy Department at Dalhousie University; he had received an appointment there in 1947, despite the fact that he had taken only one philosophy course during all his years of study, the first-year course at Queen's (Christian 1993,128). In 1948 he was appointed acting head; a year later, he became head of the department. Sometime prior to this, according to Grant's biographer, Anderson had made a sexual pass at Grant at a party, which Grant had rebuffed with disgust (200), so there was no love lost between them. In 1950 Grant was chosen by his uncle, Vincent Massey, to write the submission on the state of philosophy in English-speaking Canada for the Royal Commission on National Development in the Arts, Letters and Sciences, of which Massey was chairman. When Anderson heard of his selection, he hit the roof, according to Claude Bissell (1986, 338n). To have passed over himself and many other senior professors at a time when seniority still counted for a great deal was unforgivable in Anderson's eyes. Anderson dreaded reading Grant's essay, and his fears were amply confirmed. Its first sentence was shocking, harking back as it did to a rejected tradition: 'The study of philosophy is the analysis of the traditions of our society and the judgment of those traditions against our varying intuitions of the Perfection of God.' (1951, 119). Grant praised the work of the Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies and other Roman Catholic institutions as his ideal of the way philosophy should be taught, but he had precious little good to say about any other Department of Philosophy in Canada. Since none of them subordinated philosophy to theology, all of them were fatally compromised in his eyes. He made the patently absurd statement that 'the chief schools of thought in Canada among energetic philosophers in the 1920's and 1930's were pragmatism and positivism' (122). A careful reading of his essay shows that he was completely out of touch with the state of Cana-

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dian philosophy departments, yet he was ready to pontificate about them to a royal commission. In case the members of the commission should have missed his central point, he repeated it at the end: 'In closing, the present writer has no alternative but to repeat once again his conviction that the practice of philosophy (and for that matter, all the arts of civilization) will depend on a prior condition - namely the intensity and concentration of our faith in God' (132). Anderson was appalled by Grant's submission, as were many others. Something had to be done to counteract his advice to the commission. Anderson hit upon the idea of publishing in pamphlet form the papers on 'Philosophy in Canada' that had been read at the meeting of the Eastern Division of the American Philosophical Association held at the University of Toronto in December 1950. John A. Irving, head of the Ethics Department at Victoria, and Charles W. Hendel of McGill had contributed studies of philosophy in Canada, and Allison H.Johnson of the University of Western Ontario and Rupert C. Lodge of the University of Manitoba had commented upon them. These four were representative of the established figures in Canadian philosophy. Anderson himself contributed an 'Introduction' to the pamphlet. In it he directly attacked Grant's submission to the royal commission: In his piece Professor Grant contends that through secularization since the time of Luther grave ills have accrued to the Western mind, and that these are to be found in unusual concentration within Canadian university administrations and departments of philosophy. As a means of escape from them he advocates the setting up of colleges in church foundations - he thinks 'secular' universities will not be disposed to follow his advice - in which philosophy is made dependent on theology and other subjects set in an appropriate philosophical framework. Here the practice of philosophy will have as 'a prior condition' 'the intensity of our faith in God,' and for its object the testing and unification of things 'against our varying intuitions of the Perfection of God.' The author, rather shrewdly, refrains from telling ecclesiastics what sort or sorts of theology should be allowed. Less wisely, he neglects to say what he means by 'intuition' and 'faith'; the word 'faith' is employed in some dozen conjunctions and as many senses. With such defects, as well as occasional mis-statements - e.g., 'The chief schools of thought in Canada among energetic philosophers in the 1920s and 1930s were pragmatism and positivism' - Professor Grant's piece on 'philosophy' invites serious attention in an introduction to a discussion of Canadian philosophic learning and teaching only because of the circumstances of its publication. These

340 The Main Stream could occasion its working mischief in the minds of those who might think it a report of academic fact. It is not that, even if the author does say at the beginning 'what follows will be concerned with the teaching and practice of philosophy as it is carried on in our universities.' Here Professor Grant is not defining a subject but employing an enabling device to permit him to take what he pleases in and out of context from the wide domain of Western 'learning' in order to create impressions while avoiding the discipline which particulars impose and ignoring communication by properly specified propositions. (Irving 1952, 4)

Anderson himself may have been out of touch with current trends in the teaching of philosophy, but he was still able to recognize a reactionary proposal when he saw it. Fortunately for philosophy, Grant's ideas were never taken seriously by anyone. Their second encounter ended badly for Grant. In 1959 the Ontario government decided that a second major university was required in Toronto to meet the expected demand of the 'baby-boomers.' York University was to be set up under the wing of the University of Toronto and nurtured there for its first four years, after which it would go its own way. Murray Ross was selected as its first president. Ross, who had always admired Grant, heard that he was unhappy at Dalhousie, so he wrote to him, without consulting Anderson, offering him an associate professorship and the chairmanship of the Philosophy Department. Grant gladly accepted; he would now, he believed, be in a position to implement his ideas for teaching philosophy. To his dismay, however, he learned, from the information sent him after he had accepted York's offer and resigned from Dalhousie, that for the first four years he would be required to teach the Toronto curriculum and, what was worse, that his students would write Toronto examinations and be marked by Toronto examiners during those years. There was no possibility of change until four years had passed. Being in an agitated state of mind, Grant made the cardinal mistake of writing to Anderson asking for a release from the Toronto curriculum. Anderson was offended and brusquely turned him down. In a follow-up letter, Marcus Long laid out the content of the various courses in greater detail than was given in the calendar, listing the texts, including his own Spirit of Philosophy in the first-year course, that Grant would have to teach. Believing that Anderson was being merely vindictive, Grant appealed to Ross for an exemption; but Ross replied that it was not in his power to waive the requirement because, while 'under the jurisdiction of the Senate of the University of Toronto'

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during its first four years, York's 'students will be required to write the regular University of Toronto examinations' and its 'successful candidates will receive a University of Toronto degree' (Christian 1993, 201). Grant, who never found it easy to compromise, decided to force the issue by submitting his resignation. Confident that Ross would find a way around the Toronto restrictions, he was completely unprepared for Ross's reply, by return of post, accepting his resignation. Grant, with a wife and six children to support, was devastated. Fortunately for him, McMaster University was expanding its Religion Department and offered him a position a few months later. On the oral history tapes, Payzant and Sparshott discussed Grant's aborted appointment, and Sparshott recalled the way it was viewed by the younger philosophers in the department: 'May I throw something in? Those of us, from my age group at the University of Toronto, were firmly of the opinion, without having any evidence, that George Grant knew perfectly well what the terms were he'd signed up for, and signed up with the full intention of refusing publicly to teach this dreadful book, and we were all delighted that someone should have had the courage to say the University of Toronto teaches this dreadful Philosophy Id with this dreadful book. So we were all applauding, we were solidly convinced that George Grant had planned this from the start. This probably is not true, but this is the way it seemed to us, the young people at the time.' Sparshott's recollection shows just how deeply Long's stranglehold on the first-year course was resented by those who were forced to teach it using his book. 9.13

All personnel matters were exclusively the prerogative of the head of department in Anderson's time. There was no faculty or university requirement for any departmental committees in this area. Once a year he would meet with the dean of arts - after 1960 the dean of arts and science - to discuss the budget estimates for the following year. During that meeting Anderson would propose the changes he favoured. No committee reports were required for promotions at any level. If the dean and the president concurred, the person was promoted without, apparently, even a curriculum vitae being submitted. Salary increases were negotiated with the dean and approved by the president. New positions were authorized in the same way. There was no requirement that a new position be advertised. Anderson usually had someone in mind

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when he asked the dean for money to expand the department. It was all done tete-a-tete but, as we saw earlier, the dean, if he chose, could skew the budget of the faculty towards favoured departments. With regard to appointments, Anderson sometimes sounded out the senior members of the department in private conversations, but more often he did not. There were no group discussions of the suitability of a particular person to the needs of the department. In Anderson's defence, it should be remembered that for most of the years during which he was head there were fewer candidates than job openings. Quick action was required to secure the best candidates. Anderson's style, which, of course, was also that of the university, was well suited to the times. I once asked Goudge whether he had had any role in the appointments made after he was promoted to professor in 1949, the same year in which MacCallum, the only other professor, died. I had supposed that Goudge, as Anderson's only equal in rank and heir apparent, would have had a central role in recruiting faculty. Goudge said that he was only occasionally asked about the suitability of some candidate, usually a graduate student in the department, but he was almost never asked about those whom Anderson hired from abroad. Goudge did, however, have a central role in Emil Fackenheim's appointment. During the winter term of 1947-8, Anderson's alcoholism got the upper hand. In a lucid moment he telephoned Goudge and told him that he required treatment and would have to be relieved of his graduate course, the only teaching he was doing that year. 'There is a fellow called Fackenheim in Hamilton,' Anderson said. 'Yes,' Goudge replied, 'I know him, he was a graduate student in the department.' 'Could you telephone him and ask him if he could take my course for a month?' Goudge telephoned Fackenheim and explained the situation to him; he also advised him that it was very likely the appointment could be extended beyond the month if Fackenheim played his cards right. Fackenheim secured a release from his rabbinical duties and took charge of the course. When Anderson returned from 'drying out,' he had forgotten all about the month's restriction he had originally proposed, so Fackenheim, whose career in the department is summarized below, completed the year and was rehired for the following year (DA, OHT).

9.14 Whatever one may think of Anderson's methods of recruitment, the fact remains that among the score of new faculty he brought to the depart-

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ment there were several who stayed and became outstanding scholars. The writings of these men - and they were all men - in conjunction with those of the faculty of the Pontifical Institute, earned for Toronto its international reputation as an important centre for studies in the history of philosophy. The earliest of Anderson's permanent additions to the faculty was initially appointed by Brett, although, given Brett's state of health in 1943, Anderson undoubtedly played an important role in securing the services of David Savan, and it was Anderson who promoted him to assistant professor in 1949 and thus gave him a permanent position. Savan, who was born with a club foot, was one of very few junior philosophers available for appointment in wartime. When Brett recruited him, he was teaching as an assistant in both philosophy and psychology in the College of William and Mary in Williamsburg, Virginia. Savan was born on 27 March 1916 in Manchester, New Hampshire, where he received all of his early education. A brilliant student, he was admitted to Harvard at the age of sixteen. In 1936, shortly after his twentieth birthday, he was graduated from Harvard summa cum laude, having majored in philosophy. He continued at Harvard as a graduate student, taking an M.A. in philosophy in 1938 and completing all of the requirements for the doctorate except the dissertation. In later years he sometimes confessed to embarrassment concerning his failure to complete the work for the degree, especially when he served as graduate secretary and had the task of urging delinquent candidates to get on with their theses. But to those who knew Savan well, it was apparent why his own dissertation was never completed: philosophical problems were simply too important to him to be treated as exercises. In the early years, he seldom felt satisfied with his drafts of papers; for he could see clearly, once they were on paper, where improvements should be made. Later, although he could still see the need for revision, he was less reluctant to commit his thoughts to print, largely, as he once confessed to me, because he was convinced that what he had to say in his unfinished drafts was of greater value than what was being published on the same topics by others. Even though Savan produced little written work during his teaching career, what he did publish was both first rate and influential. Spinoza and Peirce were his special interests and he contributed substantially to the study of both of these seminal thinkers. In Peirce studies, he was one of the pioneers, along with his colleague and friend, Thomas Goudge; in 1969 Savan's professional colleagues recognized the importance of his contributions by electing him president of the Charles Sanders

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Peirce Society. Savan was a steady influence on both undergraduate and graduate students through his teaching; most of those who took a class or seminar from him soon recognized that they were being taught by a gifted teacher, who had a knack for taking a student's point, however small it may have seemed initially, and saying something about it that was both interesting and important. His knowledge was encyclopaedic; he seemed to remember everything he had ever read. Unlike some with this sort of memory, he seldom, if ever, felt it was a burden; he was able to select from what he remembered about a topic precisely those points that helped to illuminate the matter under discussion. If he had a fault, it was that he was sometimes too generous, too kind, in his assessments of the abilities of others. Occasionally, his kind words encouraged weak candidates to continue the pursuit of a goal they would have been better advised to abandon. What is perhaps most extraordinary about Savan's career is its last phase. After his retirement in 1981 he found himself in great demand for all sorts of philosophical projects. Peirce studies were flourishing and Savan was invited to address international conferences on his philosophy and to contribute articles to various printed symposia. His own Peirce contributions were subject to study by younger scholars, and he was invited to reply to their criticisms. Two international conferences on Spinoza invited him to address them. Last, but far from least, the new subject of semiotics engaged much of his time and intellectual energy. His initial interest in this subject grew out of his study of Peirce's semeiotic (as Peirce spelled it). After he helped to found the Toronto Semiotic Circle, Savan's interests expanded to encompass the latest ideas, some of them very radical, which were coming from the continent, particularly France, during those years. Savan brought to them the same intelligent, careful, analytical thinking that he applied to every problem; he was never too old to take an interest in the ideas that were moving the young. He was full of plans for future work when he suffered a massive heart attack while dining at home with friends; he died two days later, on 13 May 1992. 9.15

Robert McRae joined the staff in a part-time capacity in 1945, while he was still a graduate student at Johns Hopkins University; he became a permanent member in 1948, when he was promoted to assistant professor. As a child, McRae, who had been born in Winnipeg on 27June 1914, lived for several years in China, where his parents were missionaries. His early edu-

Fulton Henry Anderson 345 cation was acquired in missionary schools. Both his B.A. (1936) and M.A. (1938) were earned at the University of Toronto, where Anderson was one of his teachers. The story of how he came to share a flat with Anderson while studying for his master's degree was noted earlier (§9.7). Mention was made there, too, of his enlistment in the Canadian navy and his subsequent capture by the Germans at Dieppe. During the three years he spent in German prisoner-of-war camps, McRae continued to study philosophy. Through the Red Cross, he was able to get books from England. German censors, of course, had to examine and approve the books before they were delivered to him, and they made a fuss about only one of the philosophy titles he ordered - R.G. Collingwood's The New Leviathan; or Man, Society, Civilization and Barbarism (1942). McRae was amused when he learned of their doubts about the propriety of admitting a copy of this book into Nazi Germany; he felt sure their hesitation was due to the word 'barbarism' in the subtitle. If this was so, and there seems no reason to doubt it, then it showed that Allied propaganda had proved effective even among German censors. McRae's interests in philosophy lay principally in its history, especially the early modern period. In the preface to his first book, The Problem of the Unity of the Sciences: Bacon to Kant (1961), he informed his readers that, although his subject matter was historical, his approach was not that of the historian: Tn this study I am concerned with the unity of the sciences to the extent to which the determination of how this unity is to be conceived presented itself to philosophers as a specifically philosophical or logical problem. It is not, therefore, an essay in the history of ideas, in which the task of the historian would be to show the idea of unity at work in a multitude of different cultural contexts - in the founding of academies and scientific societies, the making of dictionaries and encyclopaedias, the devices for unity of language, and the educational projects such as those of Comenius and the Pansophists or the encyclopaedic curriculum of eighteenth-century German universities. If any of these are mentioned it is only as they bear directly on the different philosophical theories of how the unity of the sciences is to be conceived, (1961, vii). This passage drew the attention of his readers to two ways of studying the history of philosophy. One way is for the historian of philosophy to present readers with an account of the way certain ideas were developed and treated by an earlier author or set of authors. In writings of this sort, the author eschews any personal evaluation of the ideas under discussion. Evaluations of these ideas by later authors in the period under review are, of course, expounded by the historian.

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Thus, the historian of British empiricism will present, say, both Locke's ideas and Berkeley's criticisms of them, but will not take sides in the dispute. That is not the historian's role. Father Frederick Copleston was a master of this type of historical research. Bertrand Russell, on the other hand, even though he entitled his book A History of Western Philosophy (1945), could not resist calling his fellow philosophers to account for the inadequacy of both their theories and their argumentation. His work is not, therefore, a history of philosophy in the way Copleston's masterpiece undoubtedly is. The other way of studying the history of philosophy is - philosophical. Russell's work falls under this heading. McRae conducted this sort of study of the notion of the unity of science in early modern philosophy. In his book, he proposed his own philosophical evaluation of its treatment by earlier authors. Nearly all of the works published by McRae and his colleagues at Toronto fall into this category. These men were not historians of philosophy, but for want of a better name we might call them philosophical scholars. In their research, the writings of earlier philosophers are mined for ideas that still show signs of life. When this kind of work is done well, two important benefits emerge: in the first place, the philosophical position of the historical figure is more fully understood than it was before; and in the second place, a philosophical idea or argument is rescued from obscurity and made ready for use in the present. It is undeniable that the best historical works now being published are significantly better than their predecessors of even a generation ago, largely because contemporary authors have the work of a multitude of philosophical scholars to draw upon. Contemporary discussions of philosophical problems are also richer when they draw on these works. The university took advantage of McRae's talent for administration. Shortly after he was made a permanent member of the department, Anderson appointed him the department's first graduate secretary. Since the department had no clerical help, McRae had to carry on all correspondence and maintain all records in longhand. With over 100 graduate students, the work was time consuming. A decade later, McRae served a term as one of two associate deans of the Faculty of Arts and Science, and in 1964-5 he was acting dean while Dean Bladen was on leave chairing a committee to study the financing of higher education in Canada. When his decanal service ended, Goudge appointed him to the new position of associate chairman of the department, an office whose occupant had no special duties other than to fill in for the chair when he was unable to attend a meeting.

Fulton Henry Anderson 347 In later years McRae focused much of his research on the philosophy of Leibniz, and in 1976 he published Leibniz: Perception, Apperception, and Thought, a study in which he aimed to present Leibniz's theory of knowledge as a coherent whole. After he retired in 1979, McRae agreed to join several younger philosophers, including two of his former graduate students, Graeme Hunter and William Seager, in an ambitious project to compile a dual concordance to the Gerhardt edition of Leibniz's Philosophischen Schriften, which was brought to successful completion in 1988 with the publication of a printed concordance (Finster 1988) and a microfiche Key-Word-In-Context concordance. These valuable research tools will enable Leibniz scholars to find with relative ease all the places where he discussed a particular point. During the years McRae was working to perfect these concordances, his former students were busy compiling a Festschrift in his honour (see Moyal and Tweyman 1985).

9.16 Douglas Dryer joined the department in 1945 as a special lecturer, a nonce title given him because he had demanded and been given a higher salary than the regulations allowed for lecturers. Dryer had been born in Toronto on 27 November 1915, but had grown up and been educated in the United States. At Harvard he had majored in both economics and philosophy, but after receiving the A.B. in 1936, he decided to pursue graduate studies in philosophy. In 1939, the year he was awarded the A.M., he accepted a position in Union College at Schenectady, New York, where he taught for two years before returning to Harvard to continue work on his dissertation and also to teach. In the year before he moved to Toronto, he taught part time at both Harvard and Tufts Universities. When he joined the Toronto department, Dryer had not submitted his dissertation to Harvard. The demands of his job and a shift in his philosophical interests led him to abandon work on it. Many years later, after he read Bruce Kuklick's book, The Rise of American Philosophy: Cambridge, Massachusetts, 1860-1930 (1977), he decided that, after all, he would like to add his name to the distinguished list of graduates who had received the doctorate from Harvard. Since Harvard regulations permitted it, he submitted his book, Kant's Solution for Verification in Metaphysics (1966), to its Philosophy Department and after a pleasant oral examination, conducted by Hilary Putnam and Martha Nussbaum, he was awarded the Ph.D. in 1980, only a year before he retired. In 1978 he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada.

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Dryer, like McRae, was primarily a philosophical historian. In both his teaching and his research he was always the hard-headed philosopher. Soft or fashionable ideas were never to his taste; he concentrated his attention on the central core of problems that Kant had attempted to solve. For many years Dryer and Goudge divided the teaching of the graduate course on Kant between them; each insisted that students devote both their study time and their class time to a close reading of The Critique of Pure Reason. This was the Harvard way of studying Kant, developed by C.I. Lewis, and it had a profound effect on all of those who took the course from him as graduate students; in the 1950s I took a graduate course on Kant at the University of Michigan from Paul Henle, who required each student, week by week, to compose and hand in a detailed outline covering an assigned portion of the book's argument. The outline, which had also been assigned by Lewis, was not always insisted upon at Toronto, but a very close study of the argument was required. Dryer had the reputation among students, especially graduate students, of demanding work of a very high standard.4 The few who rose to meet his standards were forever indebted to him for having brought out the best in them. 9.17

The story of the accidental way in which Emil Fackenheim joined the department was recounted earlier. After Anderson recovered his sobriety and returned to work, he was pleased to hear good reports of Fackenheim's conduct of his class. After securing the dean's approval, Anderson offered Fackenheim a continuing appointment, which he happily accepted. Fackenheim was born on 22 June 1916 in Halle, Germany, where he received all of his early education. After graduating from high school in 1935, he enrolled at the Hochschule fur die Wissenschaft des Judentums in Berlin to study Judaism. In 1937-8, he attended Martin Luther University in Halle, being the last Jewish student permitted to enrol. The next year he resumed his rabbinical studies, but they were rudely interrupted when he was snatched from the street by the

4 Dryer's reputation as a demanding teacher led me, when I was asked to pay tribute at his retirement party, to compose and recite the following limerick: There is a professor named Dryer / Whose time has now come to retire; / While his colleagues feel grieved, / The students are relieved / From standards than which none are higher.

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police soon after Kristallnacht, 9 November 1938; he spent the next three months in Sachsenhausen, a concentration camp. Released on 8 February 1939, he was told to leave Germany within a few weeks. Within three months he had passed his rabbinical examinations and was ordained in Berlin in late April 1939, 'an absurd time and place' he later recalled (Fackenheim 1979, 1). He 'got out of Germany on 12 May one week or so ahead of the Gestapo' (Fackenheim 1996b, 245). His application for graduate studies at Aberdeen University having been approved, he travelled to Scotland, where he arranged for his parents and younger brother to join him. An older brother stubbornly remained behind in Berlin and killed himself as the Gestapo were knocking at his door. Fackenheim pursued doctoral studies at Aberdeen for a year, but his status as an enemy alien of military age in wartime led to his confinement and then deportation to Canada. For some twenty months he was interned, most of the time in a camp near Sherbrooke, Quebec. While a prisoner, he decided that he would try for admission as a graduate student to the University of Toronto when he was released, and he headed there as soon as he was set free: '"I am sorry I am so late," I said to Dean G.S. Brett of the University of Toronto Graduate School when I arrived at his office at noon on 15 December 1941. (Released from Sherbrooke internment camp, I had arrived in Toronto four hours earlier.) "I cannot expect to get credit for this academic year." "You can show what you can do," the dean replied. "There is another problem," I went on. "I have no academic degree, only a rabbinic diploma, but on the basis of that, Aberdeen University admitted me to their Ph.D. program." "What is good enough for Aberdeen is good enough for us," was Brett's reply and, having huffed that he wished to be done with all that stuff and nonsense, he launched on a discussion of Aristotle, and I felt that I had never left home' (245). In 1945 Fackenheim submitted his dissertation, 'Substance and Perseity in Mediaeval Arabic Philosophy with Introductory Chapters on Aristotle, Plotinus and Proclus,' and was awarded the doctorate. While a graduate student, he had supported himself by serving as rabbi to the Congregation Anshe Shalom in Hamilton. Quite early in his teaching career, Fackenheim decided to concentrate on the post-Kantian tradition in German philosophy, especially the works of Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel. It was an important period in the history of philosophy, which had received scant attention at Toronto. Only in the fourth year honours course on modern philosophy were these thinkers mentioned in the undergraduate curriculum, and even then, the vast scope of the course dictated that very little time could be

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accorded them. Long after he retired, Fackenheim recalled going to Anderson with his proposal: Schelling was not exactly popular in English-speaking universities at the time, and when I joined the staff there was no graduate course even on Hegel. One day I took my courage into my hands and told F.H. [Anderson] that I wanted to teach a course on Hegel. (The courage was needed because of two formidable figures, Hegel and F.H. himself.) 'Do you understand Hegel?' he asked. The question was more like an assault. 'Yes,' I lied, and went on to teach Kant, Fichte, Schelling, and Hegel in all the years ahead. Anderson's philosophical principle (by which the department was run) was that, by dint of their greatness, the great philosophers of the past are crucial for the philosophical present, and whatever he may have thought of Schelling, or even Hegel, he never denied their greatness. Many are not at home in a department run on that principle. For me it was perfect. (1996a, xv-xvi)

Fackenheim, whose linguistic skills eminently qualified him to teach what he called 'the golden age in German philosophy' (xx) developed a year-long graduate course, which he gave every year until his retirement in 1981. In addition to two books on German philosophy, Fackenheim published nine books and many articles on various problems in the philosophy of Judaism. Central to his study of Jewish philosophy, since the SixDay War in 1967, are his repeated attempts to come to terms with the Holocaust. Having so narrowly escaped being one of its victims, he was strongly motivated to do all he could to ensure that the Holocaust remained a unique historical occurrence. When he was honoured by the University of Toronto with an appointment as one of only fifteen university professors, he told an interviewer how he thought the Holocaust differed from other mass killings: 'Genocide is horrible yet human when motivated by xenophobia or greed for money, power, or territory. But at least those motivations are intelligible. The killing of the Jews was ideological murder for its own sake. Torture and murder became ends in themselves. Some Germans were even willing to die for their conviction that Jews should be "exterminated" as if they were vermin. I've tried as a philosopher and theologian to understand that but to make it rational is almost impossible. Yet philosophers are committed to a rational investigation of reality so there is a danger of distorting the phenomenon to save the rationality. British philosopher R.M. Hare, for example,

Fulton Henry Anderson 351 constructs a debate with a Nazi about the treatment of the Jews. That's just philosopher's silliness because no Nazi would have considered the subject debatable. (1979, 4). In his attempt to come to grips with the awfulness of the Holocaust, Fackenheim turned to the history of philosophy for whatever assistance it could give him. The ancient Greek philosophers were found wanting because 'they believed in rational verities that are eternal while we have to find truth within history' (4). The philosophers Fackenheim found most helpful in his quest to understand the Holocaust were Kant, Hegel, Kierkegaard, and Heidegger, although he despised the last named for having supported the Nazis and failing to repent of having done so. Nevertheless, he found that some of Heidegger's thoughts threw a little bit of light on his problem. Of the four philosophers, Fackenheim confessed to having learnt most from Hegel: 'I've never been a follower of Hegel's but I learn more from him when he's wrong than I do from others when they're right' (1979, 4). By the time of this interview, Fackenheim had abandoned further work on Hegel's philosophy: 'Pure issues of scholarship can wait. Sooner or later someone else will take them up. But the issues of the Holocaust can't wait. Talking with survivors is vital if we're to test the validity of our philosophical thought against their witness' (4). During his career at Toronto, Fackenheim had several offers from other universities. The most tempting was an offer in 1970 of a professorship with the Committee on Social Thought in the University of Chicago, where both Hannah Arendt and Saul Bellow were teaching. After giving it considerable thought, he declined, partly because his eldest child was institutionalized in Ontario and he wanted to be near him. When he retired from the university in 1981, he was granted an extension of his teaching for three additional years. Thus, it was not until 1984 that Fackenheim left and moved to Israel, where he continued to lecture part time for several years, first in Hebrew University and later in Hebrew Union College. Nor has there been any diminution in his writing: in retirement, he has published four books as well as many articles, and he wrote his autobiography, An Epitaph for German Judaism: from Halle to Jerusalem, to be published by the University of Wisconsin Press. His former graduate student, Michael Morgan, who wrote an introduction to the autobiography, collected some of his scattered papers and reprinted them in two volumes, The Jewish Philosophy of Emil Fackenheim (1987) and Jewish Philosophers and Jewish Philosophy (1996). Others, mostly former students, honoured him with a Festschrift entitled Fackenheim: German Philosophy and Jewish Thought (1992). He was elected a fellow of the

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Royal Society of Canada in 1972. He died in Jerusalem on 19 September 2003 and was buried there two days later. The president of the university ordered the university's flag lowered to half-mast in his honour.

9.18 After Fackenheim, Anderson's next appointments taught for only a few years and then left the university for various reasons - in Doan's case, with a shove from the head himself. The periods of service of James C.S. Wernham, Frank Mellor Doan, and Henryk Mehlberg are recorded in appendix A. Wernham, who left Toronto for Carleton University in Ottawa, recalled for me Anderson's recruiting techniques. Wernham's first degree was earned at the University of Aberdeen, near the place he was born and raised. From there he went to St John's College, Cambridge, and then to Union Theological Seminary in New York. His intention was to prepare himself for ordination as a Presbyterian minister and return to Scotland in the hope of being called to a church. One day a fellow student at Union told him there was a job in ethics open at the University of Toronto, so Wernham, without giving it a great deal of thought, decided to apply. After a brief correspondence, Anderson invited him to campus for an interview. They met in the afternoon in Anderson's office, and at the close of their conversation, which never once touched on philosophical matters, Anderson presented Wernham with a choice: they could have dinner together at a certain named facility, which Anderson said was not very good, or they could go to Anderson's flat and he would cook dinner for them, which he assured Wernham would be a much better meal. The choice was clearly a forced one, so they made their way to the apartment. When they got there Anderson gave Wernham some money and a list of items to buy, including two steaks, and sent him to the store. The necessary purchases having been made, Anderson proceeded to prepare a meal and to serve it, all the while carrying on a conversation about a wide variety of subjects, but again avoiding philosophical topics. Later Wernham asked Anderson why he had not quizzed him about his philosophical ideas; Anderson replied that the purpose of an interview was to find out what a candidate was like as a person and whether he was likely to do well in the classroom. His philosophical credentials were the responsibility of the institutions that had granted him his degrees and Anderson did not propose in an interview to second-guess the candidate's teachers. If they were mistaken and the candidate was incompetent, that would become apparent during his first year on the job and his contract would not be renewed.

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In 1953 Anderson was successful in attracting William Dray back to his alma mater (see §11.2), and the next year he persuaded another former undergraduate, John Hunter, to join the faculty. Hunter was born on 8 September 1924 in Toronto, where he attended public schools until he enrolled as a high-school student in the University of Toronto Schools, which he 'disliked very much' (Hunter 1998, 5), mostly because of the constant pressure to participate in sports. By the time he graduated, Canada was at war. Before joining the merchant navy in 1942, he studied for one year in the University of Toronto. Having no particular educational goal in mind, he chose the pass course. By his own admission, he did not shine during that year; his mind was on the war and the fact that others were making sacrifices while he was living in comfort, so he signed up. After three years of sailing the seas without incident, he returned to the university in 1945 and graduated in 1947, still not knowing what he would do with his life. The only courses that had interested him where those in philosophy. His father was a lawyer and was very anxious that his son join him in his practice, but Hunter failed the first year of law school, 'so I was now really out on a limb. The situation was so desperate that the idea of studying to be a philosopher, which had previously seemed utterly unrealistic, started to look quite sensible' (6). Two years of further study at Toronto led to the M.A. in 1950 and then to admission to the University of Edinburgh for doctoral studies. Under the kindly direction of John Macmurray he continued to develop, but after Anderson hired him in 1955, while he was still at work on his thesis, he realized that he was not quite prepared to teach full time. With Anderson's blessing, he spent 1956-7 at Oxford, where he attended classes given by Philippa Foot, David Pears, Peter Strawson, Gilbert Ryle, and John Austin, 'and after my years of floundering I found I took naturally to the Oxford way of doing things, and soon found that whereas I had seen myself as a nobody, desperately trying to stitch together some kind of a position, I now had become self-propelled and could tackle lots of questions confidently, knowing my way about' (Hunter 1998, 6). The final step in his evolution occurred in 1963, when he came to the conclusion that Ludwig Wittgenstein in his Philosophical Investigations (1953) was on the right track. On his initial reading of Wittgenstein's book as a student at Edinburgh, he had concluded that it was a 'mish-mash' and set it aside. An ardent admirer of the book persuaded him to read it again. Hunter still thought Wittgenstein was wrong, and he set out to demolish his 'views of meaning (as in meaning what you say and saying what you mean). I tried every way to show that meaning in this sense is a mental process or activity, but the harder I worked at this project the more hope-

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less it appeared, and in the end I had to agree that Wittgenstein was right, at least about meaning things. Having got this far, it was not long until I was predisposed to think Wittgenstein was right on most topics, and the hard thing was to make this clear' (6). After making this discovery, he devoted nearly all of his research efforts to this task, publishing four books and over thirty articles on various aspects of Wittgenstein's thought. In response to the challenge of a neighbour, in 1980 he published Thinking about Sex and Love. After retiring in 1990, he continued to work at expounding Wittgenstein's philosophy, despite a long and losing battle with Parkinson's disease. After his death on 23 March 1998, his four children organized a moving and, indeed, joyous celebration of his life, held in Hart House five days later. There can be no doubt that Hunter was one of the slowest and most deliberate speakers ever to teach in the department, but this characteristic was no indication of his mental acuity. On the contrary, as his philosophical writings amply demonstrate, he was blessed with a sharp mind that he had honed to great effectiveness. His polemical skills were nicely exhibited in a controversy with an Anglican bishop who had argued for the institution of religious instruction in schools, on the grounds that the majority favoured it. In a long and witty letter to the Globe and Mail Hunter demolished the bishop's argument: Bishop Wilkinson shows that he is unaware of this question [of civil rights] by making a big thing of the fact that we have not yet become a nation of agnostics, and by citing surveys in the United Kingdom, and other arguments, to show that the majority still support religious education in the schools. The bishop's position here is on a par with holding that, since most Americans are Democrats, there should be political education in the schools to make good Democrats of all young Americans, whether they be the children of Republicans, Democrats or whatever. In this connection, he makes another mistake: he suggests that it is in order to produce a nation of rational agnostics that people campaign for the abolition of religious instruction. But this is very silly. For one thing, the largest body of objectors is the Jewish religious community, and they are not campaigners for agnosticism; and even the agnostics cannot be assumed to want to interfere with the lives of Christians the way Christians seem to want to interfere with their lives. They are not, after all, campaigning for the abolition of churches and Sunday Schools, and the banning of the Bible. Surely the reasonable way to have it is just that every group should be responsible for its own special education and evangelism; and no

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group, however large, should be permitted to enlist the whole school system for this purpose. It is not a very noble thing, to make a Jew pay, in taxes, for the doubtful boon of having his children taught to sing Jesus Loves Me. (5 May 1966, 6)

Predictably, Hunter's letter generated a flurry of responses on the subject, which he answered on 3 June with a positive proposal, designed to satisfy the defensible demands of most of the participants. His ability to cut to the heart of an issue with a witty example or counter-example is a very rare gift. At the memorial meeting, one of his oldest friends recalled that he exhibited this talent at an early age. One day, when the two of them were about fifteen, they got into a discussion about whether there was life beyond the grave, which Hunter brought to an end by remarking, 'Well, either way you won't be disappointed.' 9.19

Anderson's next recruit was Clifford Webb, who was appointed in 1956 while he was still a graduate student in the department. Webb was born on 21 May 1925 in Prescott, Ontario, and served in the Royal Canadian Air Force during the war; he held his first two degrees from the University of Western Ontario. His passage through the Toronto doctoral program was remarkably fast: he started in the autumn of 1953 and on 29 October 1956 defended his dissertation, 'Space and Time in the Philosophies of Kant and Bergson,' which was directed by Goudge. Webb's philosophical interests remained constant through the years. Metaphysical concepts, especially 'time' and 'space,' fascinated him; his articles are closely reasoned analyses of proposed answers to some of the questions raised by these concepts. What set him apart from many who find metaphysical questions captivating was the unsentimental, logical way in which he attempted to answer them; he held no brief for speculative metaphysics. During the 1960s Webb wrote a series of controversial articles for the Globe and Mail on questions of higher education, which led the editors of Maclean's Magazine to invite him to rank the top twenty universities and colleges for a special issue on Canadian higher education. This appears to be the first time Maclean's ranked Canadian institutions of higher learning, and their sole 'expert' was Webb. The issue for November 1967 made public his rankings: at the top, all alone, was the University of Toronto with a halo of five stars. The editors appeared unconcerned that their expert was employed by that institution. Four stars were awarded to

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only three schools, all in Quebec: the University of Montreal, McGill, and Laval; Queen's, the University of British Columbia, the University of Alberta, and Webb's undergraduate alma mater rated three stars; all others had fewer, with York University, then in its infancy, in last place. As the basis for his rankings, he had relied upon five interrelated criteria: graduate offerings, library holdings, science facilities, wealth, and prestige staff, without assuming that any one of them was more important than the others. Unnamed graduate students in education assisted him by gathering the data on which he based his judgments. In his early years on the faculty, Webb appeared to be on the way to becoming one of the stars of the department. His articles were well received, and he developed a reputation as an excellent teacher, especially among graduates and senior undergraduates. Unfortunately for both him and the department, just when his career was taking off he became addicted to alcohol. In his case, as in Anderson's, it was a disease; but whereas Anderson sought treatment from time to time, Webb was unable to bring himself to seek assistance. As a consequence, the disease devastated both his professional and his personal life. In the end he was forced to apply for early retirement in 1987. It was a sad close to a career that had once seemed so bright. In November 1994 he died of heart failure. 9.20

In the same year that Webb joined the department, Anderson brought in David Gallop (see §11.2) from England to replace Francis Sparshott (see §13.19), who had moved over to Victoria College. In the following year, 1957, Anderson turned again to the department's own graduates for his next appointment. James Wheatley was born in Guelph, Ontario, on 29 February 1924. By the time he graduated from high school, his family had moved to New Brunswick. His first degree, the bachelor of science, with concentrations in biology, chemistry, and philosophy, was earned at the University of New Brunswick; he stayed on and was awarded a master's degree in philosophy two years later. After completing his residency for the doctorate at Toronto, he was a scholarship student for a year in the University of London under A.J. Ayer and then taught for a year in both his undergraduate alma mater and the University of Alabama, with another year sandwiched between as a Ford Intern in Philosophy and Biology at Brown University. When Anderson hired him as a lecturer in 1956, he was still working on his dissertation, 'Contemporary British Phe-

Fulton Henry Anderson 357 nomenalism: An Inquiry into Its Meaning and Justification,' which was directed by Goudge with the assistance of Ayer, whose views were discussed in the thesis. During his first year on the faculty he successfully defended his thesis, but it was not until 1961 that Anderson promoted him to assistant professor. Wheatley's principal interests remained, throughout his career, epistemology and the philosophy of mind and, in particular, the philosophy of parapsychology. While still a student, Wheatley had developed an interest in the philosophical problems of psychical research and studied what philosophers such as C.D. Broad, CJ. Ducasse, and H.H. Price had written on these problems. During his year at Brown University, Ducasse urged him to devote some of his time to research in this area. Over the years Wheatley published many articles and reviews dealing with paranormal phenomena and, with Hoyt L. Edge, he edited Philosophical Dimensions of Parapsychology (1976), in which the most important papers in this emerging field of enquiry were collected. Since taking early retirement in 1983, Wheatley has continued to contribute to its literature, concentrating especially on the claims made by psychical researchers for the post-mortal survival of individual persons. His examination of these claims has led him to conclude that such post-mortem survival is extremely unlikely.

9.21 In 1957 Anderson offered a lectureship to Geoffrey Payzant, who was still a graduate student in the department. Payzant, born in Halifax on 7 March 1926, held his first degree from Dalhousie University. The reader will recall that Payzant had come to Toronto in 1948 to study aesthetics with Reid MacCallum. After MacCallum's death he had stayed on, earning the M.A. in 1950 and completing the residency requirements for the Ph.D. in 1952, when he was offered the position of lecturer at Mount Allison University. A year later he was promoted to assistant professor and seemed set for a career there. Anderson's offer persuaded him to return to Toronto and to resume work on his dissertation. David Savan agreed to direct 'Art Invention as Discovery and Elaboration,' even though he claimed no expertise in aesthetics. Payzant received the doctorate in 1960 and in the following year was promoted to assistant professor; five years later he was awarded tenure when the Haist Rules were promulgated. Payzant's interest in aesthetics had been awakened by his study of music, one of his earliest interests. A highly-trained organist, he supported himself in part during his graduate-student days by playing in

358 The Main Stream churches. Performance, however, was not to be his most important contribution to music. From 1956 to 1962 he served as editor of the Canadian Music Journal, and during his career he wrote many articles on various aspects of music. The famous Canadian pianist, Glenn Gould, whose novel interpretations of standard repertory pieces were the subject of wide critical discussion, was for many years a subject of interest to Payzant. Payzant got to know Gould and his interpretations and he undertook a serious study of the man and his music. Glenn Gould: Music and Mind (1978) was the first book-length study of this enigmatic performer. Later, Payzant was drawn to a study of the works of Eduard Hanslick (1825-1904), the great Austrian music critic and aesthetician. Hanslick was the first to have formulated an aesthetics of music, but his theory had been neglected by later generations. Payzant undertook a revival of his views, first by translating his book, On the Musically Beautiful (1986), then by writing several articles expounding his ideas, and finally by publishing Eduard Hanslick and Ritter Berlioz in Prague (1991), an account of Hector Berlioz's visit in 1846 and the important effect it had on the development of Hanslick's aesthetic views. In his later years Payzant became a victim of both tinnitus (ringing in the ears) and hearing loss, which by 1985 had become severe enough for him to be placed on long-term disability. He was never able to return to teaching, but he continued with his study of Hanslick. He formally retired in 1991. Through his unflagging work he has succeeded in injecting new life into the aesthetics of music. In 2002 he published his collected articles as Hanslick on the Musically Beautiful: Sixteen Lectures on the Musical Aesthetics of Edward Hanslick. For the last seven years of his life he fought a losing battle with cancer. He died on 31 August 2004.

9.22 In 1958 the only new addition to the faculty was David Gauthier (see §11.4), who held an honours degree from the department and had gone on to graduate work at Harvard and Oxford. In the next year Anderson resumed his habit of appointing senior doctoral students by giving Charles Hanly an appointment at the new rank of instructor. Hanly was born in western Ontario on 24 May 1930 and was educated in the public schools. His first degree, in honours philosophy and English, was awarded by the University of Toronto in 1953. For the next two years he held a Woodrow Wilson Fellowship at Oxford; he then returned to Toronto to study for the doctorate. After completing his residency, he taught

Fulton Henry Anderson 359 for two years as a lecturer at Huron College in the University of Western Ontario before Anderson enticed him back to Toronto. Advanced to lecturer in 1961, it was another three years before he successfully defended his thesis, 'The Nature of Freedom in the Philosophy of Sartre (A Critical Study by Means of a Comparison with Psychoanalytic Theory),' which combined two of his life-long interests, existentialism and psychoanalysis. Hanly graduated from the Toronto Psychoanalytic Institute in 1974 and immediately started a private, part-time psychoanalytic practice. Four years later he joined the faculty of the institute, and in 1980 he was appointed a training analyst. Psychoanalytic work continued to occupy him until his retirement in 1995 and even beyond. In his many publications he studied the interrelations between philosophy and psychoanalysis from a number of angles. In Existentialism and Psychoanalysis (1979) he revisited his thesis topic and in The Problem of Truth in Applied Psychoanalysis (1991) examined what is perhaps the most important epistemological problem faced by the practising psychoanalyst. Other than the occasional course on existentialism, all of his teaching was centred on psychoanalysis; he instituted courses on psychoanalytic theory, on applied psychoanalysis, and on the history of psychoanalysis. The success of these courses led to the creation of an undergraduate program in 'Humanities and Psychoanalysis,' whose successor, 'Psychoanalytic Thought,' is now offered by Trinity College. His service to the cause of psychoanalysis also included working for several of its organizations, including the International Psychoanalytical Association, for which he served a term as vice-president for North America. During the course of his career, Hanly held a number of other administrative and legislative posts. In 1965 he served as chairman of the International Teach-in held in Toronto. Unlike those being held in the United States at the time, this Teach-in was concerned not only with United States involvement in the Vietnam War - although it did provide an exchange on that topic. Other sessions discussed the relationship of third-world political revolutions to ideological conflict between east and west, to intervention by a superpower, and to the right of a people to self-determination, as well as the citizen's moral responsibility in these conflicts. Donald Evans, who joined the department while Goudge was chairman, worked closely with Hanly and many others in organizing the sessions, which were held on campus in October of 1965. Hanly introduced and edited a selection of the talks, Revolution and Response (1966), and Evans contributed an appendix summarizing the difficulties he encountered in assembling the panel of speakers. Cold-war suspicions were then at their height, and no

360 The Main Stream official-American, Chinese, or Soviet-was willing to speak without knowing who would be representing the other countries. The consequence was, of course, that no official accepted an invitation to speak. Evans was successful in securing speakers, most of whom were academics, who were willing to make the strongest case for their own nation's policies. In 1968 Hanly accepted the position of executive vice-chairman of the Ontario Confederation of University Faculty Associations (OCUFA). For the next four years he was relieved of his teaching duties to conduct the association's day-to-day business. OCUFA was then and is still today a very important organization. Although not a union, it performs many of the functions of a union. Its principal weakness is that, being a fairly loose confederation of faculty associations, it has little or no disciplinary power over its own members. The executive officer therefore must use all of his or her diplomatic skills to keep the unwieldy organization together while lobbying officers of the provincial government. During his term in office Hanly published two books: Mental Health in Ontario (1970), a major study commissioned in June 1967 by the Committee on the Healing Arts (established by the provincial government) and delivered in October 1968; and Who Pays? University Financing in Ontario (1970), an examination of formula-financing, which had been instituted by the Ontario government in 1967 for a three-year trial period, undertaken on behalf of OCUFA. In the latter, Hanly argued that the likely long-term effect of formula-financing would be to encourage uniformity and discourage experimentation. Despite warnings by Hanly and others, the government repeatedly extended formula-financing. When his period of service to OCUFA was coming to an end in 1972, Hanly competed successfully for one of the faculty seats on the new Governing Council of the University of Toronto. The first years of the council's existence were difficult ones, since a whole new governing structure had to be created for the university. For the first two years Hanly was a member of the Executive Committee of the council and vice-chairman of its Planning and Resources Committee. In his third and last year he chaired the Planning and Resources Committee and was a member of the university Budget Committee. It was onerous work, and he was glad to leave administrative duties behind when his term expired.

9.23 With one exception, Anderson's last four appointments left the department after relatively short periods of service. In 1960 he appointed Ber-

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nard Harrison, who was just completing the doctorate at the University of Michigan. Harrison, who was British, wanted to return home and accepted the Toronto job because he had no British offers. In his second year at the University of Toronto, he was hired by the new University of Sussex. Ronald Butler, who was a devoted disciple of David Hume, joined the department in 1960 as an associate professor. Butler, a New Zealander, often complained that his services were not properly rewarded; in 1967 he was offered a professorship by the University of Waterloo, which he accepted when no matching counter-offer was forthcoming from Toronto. Just a few years later he grew disillusioned with Waterloo and very much wanted to return to Toronto, but because the department was no longer in a position to hire senior professors, he searched abroad and was elected professor at the University of Kent in Canterbury, where he served until his retirement. Anderson's next choice was Henry Pietersma, a Toronto doctorate, who moved to Victoria College two years later (see §13.18). Anderson's last appointment was John Woods in 1962. Woods, who was born in Ontario in 1937 and graduated from the University of Toronto, had gone to the University of Michigan for graduate work. As he was completing work on his thesis, he wrote to Anderson enquiring about positions at Toronto and was pleasantly surprised to receive an offer by return of post. After several years as a colleague of his old teachers, Woods, who had ambitions for higher office, seemed to lose interest in continuing at Toronto. His first move was to the University of Victoria in British Columbia in 1971. From there he went on to be dean of humanities at the University of Calgary and then president of the University of Lethbridge. After resigning that position he continued to teach in Lethbridge's Philosophy Department. 9.24

In a conversation with Thomas Mathien on the oral history tapes, David Gallop, who taught in the department from 1955 until 1969 when he joined the faculty of Trent University, painted a vivid word picture of Anderson as he figured in the life of a young faculty member: I think by the time I came he had withdrawn a bit from the department; he was somewhat aloof. He had this large office in University College, which was enormously untidy; he used to sit behind great ramparts of paper piled up on the desk, so you could hardly see him. He was seldom there, and you were very seldom asked to go in and see him. If you were asked, there was a

362 The Main Stream worry that something was wrong, there was some complaint. But I seldom found that. He was very kind to me personally. He had me to stay for several days in his apartment when I first arrived as a complete stranger to Toronto and Canada. And showed me a great deal of personal kindness. So I don't have any kind of anguished memories of him. But he was certainly a very terrifying and formidable figure, and I think some of my older contemporaries, of the next generation, the generation between mine and his, probably had more difficulty with him than I did.

Gallop then went on to describe the relationship between the head and the other faculty members in those days: 'Of course, the relationship between the head of the department and the rest of the department was totally different then, not just because of Anderson being what he was, but because the whole place was governed from the top down. There was no active democracy in those days. The department was run simply. We had one meeting a year, I think, which was a very routine affair, just to appoint the examiners and confirm the examination papers. We did very, very little at the department meeting, and the rest of the time, particularly, the younger people were completely free of administrative chores. We didn't have to worry about that at all. All the decisions were taken over our heads, and we just got on with our work. And while obviously that had its disadvantages, it had some advantages too.' Also on the oral history tapes, Robert McRae recalled an occasion when the topdown form of government was questioned in a meeting that Anderson was chairing. 'Whether you like it or not,' Anderson commented, 'the system we have here of university government is not Presbyterian, it's Episcopal.' It was a system that suited him perfectly. 9.25

Anderson was the last 'head' of department. By the time he retired in 1963, just after his sixty-eighth birthday, the university had decided to designate the chief executive officer of a department by the title 'chairman.' Although the nomenclature was changed, the job description was not. The appointment was still a lifetime one, with mandatory retirement from it at age sixty-five, and the duties were exactly as they had been under the old rubric, except that chairmen were urged to establish a 'senior committee' to advise them on personnel matters. The members of this committee, all professors, were to be chosen by the chairman. Finally, the chairman was held personally responsible for everything that

Fulton Henry Anderson 363

happened in the department. The dean, as we will see, put all of this in a letter to members of the department when Goudge was appointed as Anderson's successor. On the oral history tapes, McRae, who was associate dean of arts and science under Dean Vincent Bladen, gave the reason for the change of title from 'head' to 'chairman.' It originated in the History Department, which had three senior professors at a time when a new head was to be appointed. No agreement could be reached as to which of them was most senior, and therefore the sole candidate for the headship, so they ruled as a triumvirate, with D.G. Creighton as chairman. When Creighton retired, the dean was obliged to appoint a 'chairman' to succeed him; otherwise it would have been a great personal affront to Creighton to have been a mere 'chairman' between two 'Heads.' When Goudge was appointed to succeed Anderson, he too got the title 'chairman' because Bladen felt he had to be consistent. This accounts neatly for both the change in title and the fact that everything else remained the same. 9.26

Both within the university and in the city of Toronto, Anderson was seen as a character, indeed as a personage. From an interview with him published in 1952 we learn that he figured in a novel: 'On inquiry, Professor Anderson admitted that he could be the philosophy professor mentioned by Morley Callaghan in his book The Varsity Story. Callaghan describes a philosophy professor who once left a party because too many guests were asking him questions about immortality. "I have found that at Weddings and so-called sherry parties," Anderson commented, "journalists and members of the Junior League commonly get maudlin about their souls and income tax. Because of their regrettable lack of learning on these subjects, I find it best always to leave a party to escape them."' The interviewer noted that Anderson was 'well-known among his students as a man with awry, sardonic sense of humour' (unidentified newspaper cutting). On the oral history tapes there is an interesting exchange on Anderson, which reveals much about the man and his reputation among those who knew him best. On the topic of Anderson's promotion to head of the department, the interviewer suggested that he was not a popular choice, that no one in the department welcomed the change. Goudge: 'No one would have dared oppose it either.' Dryer: 'No, it was put up with him, as a god from Olympus. You didn't question him.' McRae: 'I

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don't know how Olympian he was. He ran the department from his apartment up on Avenue Road on the telephone. That was it. He gave one graduate class. I think that was all he taught in his later days. And he would come to the university for that.' Goudge: 'He was a very large man, six foot three or four.' McRae: 'He was fond of asking searching personal questions; he loved gossip.' Savan: 'He knew a lot of stories about everybody and everything in the university.' McRae: 'In the common room, you could hear him - everybody in the room could hear him - say to his neighbour, "This is strictly entre nous.'" After his retirement from the headship, Anderson taught as a special lecturer in the department for two years before accepting a position in Laurentian University, where he served during 1966-7 as acting head of the Philosophy Department. At Christmas time in 1967 he returned to Prince Edward Island for a visit with family members and to deliver a set of lectures at his old school, Prince of Wales College in Charlottetown. On 9 January, when he failed to show up for a lecture, his hosts found him in his hotel room stricken with total paralysis; he died in hospital two days later. Even though Anderson was one of those 'larger than life' figures of whom the University of Toronto had a number during his years of service, no meeting was held on campus to mark his passing. Goudge prepared a memorial statement that he read to meetings of the Council of the Faculty of Arts and Science and the Senate, recalling for the assembled members the extraordinary presence Anderson used to bring to their deliberations. At the time of his death the university that he had served so long was in the throes of fundamental change. Topdown governance was being replaced by a governing structure involving not only junior faculty but also students. The Presbyterians were routing the Episcopalians. Anderson, had he still been around, would certainly have been on the losing side.

10

The First Chairman: Thomas Anderson Goudge

10.1 Thomas Anderson Goudge was born on 19 January 1910 in Halifax, Nova Scotia, and received his early education in Halifax Academy. Both his bachelor's and his master's degrees were earned at Dalhousie University. His principal teacher was Herbert Stewart who, by an irony of fate, had been Fulton Anderson's mentor fifteen years earlier. Stewart had been educated at Lincoln College, Oxford, and his approach to philosophy was essentially a literary one. He insisted that his pupils acquire a solid grounding in ancient philosophy and British empiricism and he encouraged them to perfect their writing skills. Goudge responded by publishing several articles in student publications. Another of his talents was displayed in the line drawings with which he illustrated his graduation yearbook. His leadership qualities emerged during his university years; in addition to serving as class president, he held offices in several student organizations. In 1932 Goudge entered the doctoral program at the University of Toronto and immediately came under the influence of George Sidney Brett, whose views dominated the teaching of philosophy at the time. The graduate courses offered by the department were exclusively historical; the most recent books recommended were those written by British idealists. It was from one of these that Goudge first learned of the philosophy of Charles Sanders Peirce. Brett, probably with other intentions in mind, urged him to readJ.H. Muirhead's The Platonic Tradition in Anglo-Saxon Thought (1931). Although his aim was to defend aversion of Hegelianism as growing out of the strain of British philosophy opposed to empiricism, Muirhead, who was a very fair-minded man, felt obliged to discuss the

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writings of some writers critical of British Hegelianism, with the intention of modifying his restatement of the theory to take account of their criticisms. For this reason he included a short chapter on the thought of Peirce in which the seminal nature of his work was presented. Muirhead noted that realists, idealists, and pragmatists all found support in Peirce's philosophy, and he stressed the significance and vigour of its ideas and also the fact that it did not form a neat system. Goudge was intrigued both by the breadth of Peirce's ideas and also by his failure to present it as a system. Was there a coherent system to be found in his scattered writings? For his dissertation, Goudge decided to study Peirce's epistemology, with the aim of laying out its underlying structure. In 1937 he was awarded the doctorate for his thesis, 'The Theory of Knowledge in Charles S. Peirce,' the twenty-first doctorate in philosophy granted by the University of Toronto. While working on his dissertation, he spent the academic year 1936-37 as a special student on a Royal Society of Canada Fellowship at Harvard University, where he was given access to Peirce's unpublished papers. During that year, in addition to the work on his thesis under the joint supervision of C.I. Lewis at Harvard and Brett, Goudge attended two lecture courses - The Function of Reason' and 'Cosmologies' - given by Alfred North Whitehead, Lewis's seminar on meaning, and courses in the new symbolic logic taught by Henry Sheffer and Henry Leonard. When he returned home, Goudge brought with him a much better understanding of current trends in philosophy than he could have acquired anywhere in Canada at that time. 10.2

In 1934, immediately after his residency for the doctorate was completed, Goudge taught for a term at Waterloo Lutheran University (now Wilfrid Laurier University), filling in for a man who was ill. The following year he was appointed a fellow in philosophy at Queen's University, and in 1937-8, after his Harvard studies, he returned there as a lecturer. It was with considerable teaching experience, therefore, that he joined the Toronto department as a lecturer in the autumn of 1938. Without this experience, Brett would probably not have hired him, because, as we saw earlier, he held that 'men who are fitted for work here must get their apprenticeship elsewhere' (§7.7). We owe the following bit of departmental history to Allison H. Johnson, a fellow graduate student of Goudge who also got his doctorate in 1937. At the request of the editors of the Goudge Festschrift, Johnson

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wrote a short piece on 'Goudge as Student,' which the University of Toronto Press insisted on excluding from the published volume on the grounds that Festschriften should contain only scholarly articles. In it Johnson recalled a long-forgotten incident: There is an interesting story about the state of the department in the thirties. Bertrand Russell arrived in the city on a lecture tour. Professor Brett asked him if he thought a course in Symbolic Logic should be provided for graduate students. Russell replied that there should be someone on the staff capable of teaching such a course!' Brett may have had Russell's advice in mind when he offered Goudge a position in the department. During his first three years of teaching Goudge inaugurated, with Brett's blessing, graduate courses in 'Pragmatism and Logical Positivism' and 'Symbolic Logic,' both of which he offered until he went off to war. An important start had been made in bringing the graduate curriculum up to date. When war broke out in September 1939, Goudge was twenty-nine and therefore exempt from military service. Nevertheless, he thought it his duty to volunteer; his choice of services was the navy. After the usual interviews, it was decided that his education and talents fitted him for personnel work. When he was interviewed there was no demand for an officer with his qualifications, so he carried on teaching until August of 1943, when he was called up. For the next two years he was stationed in eastern Canada and assigned the task of matching recruits with jobs. At war's end, he was a lieutenant commander in the naval reserves. President Sidney Smith used his influence to get Goudge (and other faculty members) released from duty in time to resume teaching at the start of the academic year 1945-6. The pressing need for faculty to teach the returning veterans proved a sufficient reason. Goudge had been made an assistant professor in 1940 and thus was a permanent member of the department. Upon his return he was promoted to associate professor and in 1949 to professor.

10.3 The department to which Goudge returned in 1945 had undergone great changes. Brett had died, and Anderson, after some months of delay, had been named head. The immediate task, which occupied everyone's energies to the full, was to provide enough courses to accommodate the swarms of returning veterans as well as the regular student body. There was little or no opportunity for innovation, and in any event Anderson was a man who hated change. In the early post-war years, Goudge, along with everyone else, taught a basic set of courses to large numbers of stu-

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dents. There was almost no time for research. What little time he could manage Goudge spent in turning his thesis on Peirce into a book; he was finally able to complete it in the spring of 1950, and The Thought ofC.S. Peirce was published later that year. Even before Reid MacCallum's death in May of 1949 Goudge was pressed into service by Anderson to perform administrative duties when he (Anderson) was indisposed, which was not infrequent. In his 'Personal Journal' (1949-72), which he kept at half-yearly intervals for twenty-three years, Goudge never mentioned the reason for Anderson's absences, but in conversation he showed no such reticence. By this time Anderson was an alcoholic who would stay drunk for weeks at a time. After a rest in a home run by two women who forbade alcohol, he would be on the water wagon for a period, but then a drink at a party or a glass of wine at lunch would trigger the cycle anew. In early January 1948 Anderson required 'drying out' and Goudge, acting on his instructions, hired Emil Fackenheim to take his classes. 'Then I had to read [Anderson's] public lecture on January 15, to a crowded hall. This was a difficult assignment, but apparently went off very well' These were early instances of Anderson's growing dependence on Goudge to cover for him. More of this sorry story was recounted in the previous chapter. On 2 May 1949, the day after MacCallum's death, Goudge recorded his thoughts and feelings upon learning of it. MacCallum had been on his annual religious retreat, and 'after lunch yesterday he lay down to sleep and never awakened.' Goudge's entry gave the impression that he and MacCallum were close friends. Ten years later he added a corrective note to this entry, denying that they were friends at all and giving his reasons: 'From time to time he could be arrogant (in his humility), and biting, even sarcastic, in comment. He certainly disliked my philosophical views in so far as they were oriented towards naturalism, though I never felt free to discuss them with him. He probably suspected that I had little sympathy with his Anglo-Catholicism. It was difficult to understand his own position which I think was basically an emotional not an intellectual one' (1959). Goudge attended the funeral, which included a full requiem mass: 'I found it difficult to repress my anti-clerical feelings at times.' The 'perfect May morning' outdoors stood in glorious contrast to 'the dark, gloomy recesses of a man-made church' (24 May 1949). MacCallum's death increased Goudge's importance in the department where only Anderson now outranked him. While his book on Peirce was going through the press, he turned his attention to his next big project, 'an investigation of the philosophical

Thomas Anderson Goudge 369

significance of the idea of evolution, as that idea is employed in the biological sciences'; 'What I am really driving at, I suppose, is the question of how far biological evolution sheds any light on the problem of man. The issue is one of "philosophical anthropology" in a wide sense. Two things cannot be properly denied; yet their co-existence is not readily rendered intelligible: (a) man's evolutionary origin, and (b) man's intellectual, esthetic and moral values. It would not be incorrect to say that this is the emotional Urstoffofmy interest in the philosophical meaning of evolution. What will result on the intellectual side remains to be seen' (10 June 1950). Eleven years would pass before he brought this project to completion with the publication of The Ascent of Life (1961). The reason for the delay was his heavy teaching load. On 1 January 1950 he recorded the enrolments in his various courses: If (Pre-meds, 130), 3j (Kant, 25), 4e (Modern Philosophy, 35), 4g (IV Law, 20), Graduate (Kant, 25). In addition to lecturing for twelve hours each week, he was supervising two graduate reading courses, one in British empiricism and the other in pragmatism. A year later he lamented that he had done little research during the past year: There is too much "teaching" and too little "learning" going on in my life to suit me' (1 Jan. 1951). Regrettably for the history of the department, Goudge recorded very little concerning the meetings of the Eastern Division of the American Philosophical Association at the University of Toronto in December 19501 during which Willard Van Orman Quine read his famous paper, Two Dogmas of Empiricism.' Anderson had appointed Goudge chairman of the local arrangements committee, so he spent most of his time solving the many problems that arose during the course of the meetings. Gilbert Ryle flew in for the meetings and stayed on as a visitor for the month of January. After his departure, Goudge recorded his thoughts on Ryle's visit: 'I think he was unimpressed by the philosophizing which goes on around here, with its overemphasis on philosophical history. He is probably right in his reaction. We do worry too much over "back numbers"; and I feel that my own small capacity for doing philosophy has been inhibited by having to expound the ideas of past thinkers too much. One gets to the point where one doesn't have any ideas of one's own - or, what is worse, loses the facility to think independently and con-

1 During these meetings, Francis Sparshott, who had just joined the department as a lecturer in October, found a rusty razor and taped it to the message board with the note, 'For Mr. Ockham.'

370 The Main Stream

centratedly about problems. Quite apart from its other benefits, Ryle's visit had the good effect of bringing home to us the importance of being a philosopher, not a historian of philosophy. This was good for us all' (23 March 1951). Given Anderson's stranglehold on the curriculum, there was little that Goudge and those who thought like him could do except to try, from time to time, to get Anderson's approval for a problems course. Earlier we saw just how difficult it was to do that. For the rest of the 1950s, Goudge continued to carry a heavy teaching load and to devote his research time to the study of evolution. July and August of most years were spent in a cottage at Blind River, Ontario, where he did the background reading for his book. During the school year his teaching and committee work, along with covering for Anderson, occupied nearly all of his time. During the 1956-7 spring term he served as acting head while Anderson was a visitor at the University of Southern California. Honours began to come Goudge's way during this decade. On 15 May 1955 he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada, and at the annual meeting of the Charles Sanders Peirce Society in December 1957 he was elected its president. In 1964-5 he served as the president of the Canadian Philosophical association. This Association was begun during Anderson's headship, but he appears to have played no part in its foundation. Goudge, on the other hand, was a very active supporter of it from its inception until his retirement from teaching in 1976.

10.4 On 19January 1960 Goudge reached an important milestone, his fiftieth birthday, and he made an entry in his journal, which he called 'Cogitata ex vita mea: After 50 years.' The first half is concerned with his marriage and fatherhood, but in the second part he discusses philosophical issues: Sometimes there occurs in me an experience which I can best describe as a feeling of 'the strangeness of being alive.' It is very hard to analyse this feeling. Why does it seem 'strange' or 'odd' to be living? I confess I don't know, unless the experience originates in the sense of the mysteriousness of this T which seems to endure through vicissitudes and changes. Yet I do not think that there is one and the same self which persists through the whole of a person's life. Undeniably, our self changes, becomes even a different self altogether. When I try to remember incidents in my childhood or youth, it usually happens that I recall them as wholly external to the self which I am

Thomas Anderson Goudge 371 now. I can hardly recreate at all how I felt when these events or incidents were actually present to me, 'internal' to my self as it then was. We are through and through temporal and historical beings - but is this fact, perhaps, another ground of the feeling of oddness or strangeness about being alive? There is a further phenomenon in this connection which strikes me as curious. It has to do with the fact of death. Intellectually and rationally I am convinced that human beings do not survive the death of their physical bodies. Immortality is an illusion, and one, moreover, from which I am grateful to be freed. The thought of an 'endless' disembodied continuance of my existence is one which almost strikes me with horror. Death is the price we pay for being biological and physical individuals, and, as Wittgenstein says, 'Der Tod ist kein Ereignis des Lebens. Den Tod erlebt man nicht.' [Death is not an event of life. Death is not lived through. Tractatus 6.4311.] Yet subjectively, I find it impossible to represent imaginatively (or to 'picture') my being dead! When I try to do this, I find that I have inserted myself surreptitiously as an onlooker, watching, say, my own funeral!

This passage is remarkable for the cogent and striking way in which Goudge has put his experience into words. Many others have had similar thoughts and feelings - I certainly have - but I have never found them expressed quite so succinctly as they are in this passage. On 5 September 1961 the Department of Philosophy moved from University College to the east wing of the fifth floor of Sidney Smith Hall. At the time of the move the building was still in the hands of the builders, and Goudge spent a lot of time that autumn ensuring that Philosophy's quarters were properly finished and furnished. It was not until December, to cite the worst example, that locks were installed on the office doors. In rather typical fashion, Anderson 'refused to visit the new departmental quarters until we were settled' (18 Sept. 1961); he insisted that Goudge take all the necessary decisions. Anderson did not condescend to inspect his new office until the new year. Goudge did not record whether or not Anderson approved of the new offices when he did pay them a visit. Anderson, of course, still retained an office in University College by virtue of his position as head of its Ethics Department.

10.5 The highlight of Goudge's literary career occurred on 24 February 1962, when Canadian newspapers carried the announcement that The Ascent of Life had won the Governor General's Literary Award for academic non-

372 The Main Stream

fiction for 1961. Goudge did not know that the University of Toronto Press had entered his book in the competition. The provost was given advance notice of the award, and he telephoned Goudge on 14 February to convey the good news. Goudge and his wife, Helen, were honoured guests at the award ceremony in Ottawa on 2 April. In his journal he described the splendid time they were given. In addition to the honour, there was a cash prize of $1,000, a considerable sum in those days.2

10.6 On 28 September 1962, Vincent Bladen, then the dean of arts and science, invited Goudge to visit him in his office. During the course of their conversation, Bladen remarked that he had the president's approval to appoint Goudge as Anderson's successor. Would he be willing to accept the appointment? Goudge expressed surprise, on two grounds: (1) that it was very early in the school year to be filling the position, and (2) that he had expected a committee to be named to advise the dean on the best choice for the position. Bladen replied to the second of these objections by confiding that 'the President did not deem it necessary to establish a committee of selection, such as was becoming common when a departmental chairman was to be chosen' (Goudge 1949-72, 1 Jan. 1963). Claude Bissell was then president and he was personally acquainted with all of the senior members of the department. Along with every one of them, he regarded Goudge as the obvious, indeed the only, candidate for the job. In his journal Goudge did not record Bladen's answer to his first query, but it seems probable that the dean, like most administrators, took care of his easiest tasks first. Goudge did not ask for time to consider his reply. He had foreseen the offer coming and he told Bladen he was ready to take on the job. Bladen wrote to members of the department and other interested parties within the university on 19 October to announce Goudge's appointment, but he asked that it be treated as confidential until there was a formal announcement in the press on 26 October. In his letter to his colleagues the dean felt obliged to comment upon the new title: 'Lest there

2 It is worth noting that, in 1999, when Jan Zwicky, who received a Ph.D. from the department in 1981, was awarded the Governor General's Award for poetry for Songs for Relinquishing the Earth, the cash award was f 10,000, which probably bought less than $1,000 did in 1961.

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be any misunderstanding, may I explain that the appointment as "Chairman" is in line with a policy initiated by Sidney Smith. I was the first to be named a Chairman under his scheme of nomenclature. He made it clear to me, as I make it clear to you, that the duties and responsibilities are those of a Head. There is a personal responsibility. The chairman is not chairman of a committee. The change of name was thought reasonable as Departments came to comprise many professors of great distinction' (DA). This absurd attempt to alter the customary meaning of the word chairman was bound to fail, and within the period of Goudge's term of office it did just that. By the time his successor was named, the chairman of a department had become what Bladen said it was not, namely, the chairman of the committee of the whole. Of course, there were also executive duties to be performed, but they could not be carried out unilaterally, as had been the case in Anderson's day. Goudge's welcome by the president to the administrative ranks of the university testified to their warm relationship. Bissell informed him on 23 October of the board's unanimous approval of his appointment: 'I have never taken to the Board a recommendation in which I have more confidence and which has given me more personal satisfaction.' (UTA, CB, 059 [18]). In his response three days later Goudge rather misread the future: 'It will be one of my aims to preserve the high tradition which he [Anderson] and Dean Brett established in the Department. Your generous expression of confidence, and the atmosphere of harmony which prevails in our academic community, are a great encouragement to anyone assuming a chairman's office in these times of change' (ibid.). They proved indeed to be 'times of change,' and one prominent casualty was 'the atmosphere of harmony' in the University of Toronto. Goudge was not alone in thinking that peace would prevail. No one else foresaw the extent of the storm coming. Returning to Bladen's possible motives for acting when he did, there may have been another reason for his early move: he may have doubted whether Goudge would accept the office and therefore wanted to allow himself the whole academic year to find another willing to take on the job. Bladen must have known that Goudge had turned down several offers to move into administrative positions. In September 1947 the new president, Sidney Smith, whom Goudge had come to know when he was a student at Dalhousie University and Smith was a professor of law there, asked him to serve as his assistant in the president's office. The decision to say 'no' caused Goudge much anguish, because he was genuinely fond of Smith, but he was fonder still of teaching and research. Then, early in

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1949 Smith recommended to a member of the Board of Governors of the University of Manitoba that Goudge would be an excellent choice for the presidency of that institution, and he arranged for him to be interviewed by the governor. The salary was $9,600 plus $2,000 living expenses plus house and car!' (Goudge 1949-72, 27 Feb. 1949). In money alone this sum was well over twice what he was being paid at Toronto. Goudge promised to let the governor know whether he was willing to be a candidate for the position. 'Having faced this whole question of going into university administration on a previous occasion (September 1947), and having come to the conclusion that I am best suited to make what contribution I can at the level of teaching and research, I could not bring myself to consider the Manitoba proposal very seriously, though I was pleased (and quite surprised) that they had approached me at all' (ibid.). Before writing to decline the offer, Goudge consulted Anderson and the president and of course his wife, Helen. Nothing they had to say changed his mind; Helen Goudge, indeed, strongly supported his inclination to turn it down. To his journal he confided a personal reason: T haven't the temperament which finds fascination in administrative details, or which would prove adept at "pleasing" boards of governors, faculty, students, and general public all at once. But the experience of being led to the edge of the abyss, so that one could peer over the rim and see the presidential cauldron boiling below, was interesting' (27 Feb. 1949). In the following month he was offered the headship of the Philosophy Department at Queen's University at a salary of $6,000. When Toronto was informed of this offer, he was promoted to professor at a salary of $5,620. His principal reason for turning Queen's down was that it had no graduate program in philosophy; but he was also bothered by the small size of the department - only three members. Three years later President Smith tried again to induce him to accept an administrative post. The dean of arts was retiring and a replacement had to be found. On 20 April 1952 Smith called Goudge to his office and asked him whether he wanted to be considered for the job. This time he had a ready answer: 'He said that my name had been mentioned by several senior people as a prospect. But I declined, politely but firmly. I feel quite convinced - as I did when he asked me to become his Assistant in 1947 and when I was approached about the Presidency of Manitoba - that I do not want to be a university administrator. No. My job is to be a teacher and, if possible, a scholar. For no other reason did I decide to enter academic life. Besides I am sure I haven't the toughness of temperament to stand the kind of buffeting and respectful abuse

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to which a university administrator must be perennially subjected. Perhaps I am being a "shirker" in not accepting administrative responsibility. But I don't feel that I am. I do sincerely want to "pull my weight" in the academic community - in the class-room and the study; however, not in the dean's office!' (20 April 1952). In the same mood, in 1956 he declined an offer from Wayne State University in Detroit to be considered for the chairmanship of its Philosophy Department, even though the salary, $10,000, was much larger than the one he was drawing in Toronto. Given this history of rejection, Dean Bladen must have been pleasantly surprised when Goudge so readily agreed to be chairman.

10.7 On New Year's Day 1963 Goudge made a long entry in his journal in which he reviewed the events of the year just ended. After describing the way in which he was appointed as Anderson's successor, he remarked: 'So the die is cast, and I now have to show what I can do in managing, and perhaps improving, the Department in the years ahead. There are bound to be headaches connected with the assignment, but it is to be hoped they will not prove chronic!' It must be noted that, in accepting the appointment, he had agreed to serve as chairman until 30 June 1975, a few months after his sixty-fifth birthday and the date of his scheduled retirement from the university. Five years after his appointment, major changes in university regulations - the adoption of the Haist Rules (see §11.1), which set the first term of a chairman at five years - made it respectable for him to shorten his own term to six years. The months preceding his assumption of the office were not easy, because Anderson was loath to give up power. On 2 June 1963 Goudge noted: 'The presenting of the Philosophy Department's budget for 1963-64 was partly my responsibility this year - that is to say, I had to do all the work but Anderson had always to be consulted. This transitional period of "Chairmanelect" has been a very tricky and trying one. I shall be glad when July first comes. After considerable letter-writing, and several refusals, I was able to obtain two new lecturers ([Robert A.] Imlay and [J. Willison] Crichton, both Canadians).' Finding suitable candidates for the new positions being created within the university was to occupy a large proportion of his time during his term of office. In addition to the expansion of the central department, it was necessary to find staff for both Scarborough and Erindale Colleges. Nowadays, it is almost unheard of for a young person to decline an offer

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of a teaching post, but in the 1960s and early 1970s it was quite common. In those palmy days, many candidates had several offers among which to make a choice. I recall a doctoral candidate, George Carlson, coming to my office in the spring of 1968 with written offers of eight jobs, seven tenure-stream and the other a three-year position at Trinity College. I strongly advised Carlson to take any one of the jobs which had a promise of permanency. I urged him even more strongly not to accept the offer from Trinity, since George Edison, then head of its Ethics Department if his past actions were taken as a guide - was very unlikely to reappoint him. Unfortunately, Carlson decided that he would prove to be the exception to Edison's practice, so he went to Trinity. By the time he was let go, three years later, the market had tightened considerably. The only job he was offered was in South Africa, and much to his distress, he was obliged to take it, since he had a family to support. He continued to teach there for the rest of his career. During Goudge's term in office it was a seller's market in philosophy, so he had to devote a lot of his time to filling the many vacant positions. On 3 July 1966, after noting that he had hired Lorenne Gordon (later Smith, and still later Clark) and Ronald de Sousa to begin teaching in the fall, in his journal he commented upon the recruiting process: The recruiting situation grows ever more difficult, and the demands for staff from new universities are really fantastic. We have placed over fifteen senior Ph.D. students in posts, even though most of them have not even started their theses, and some are far from brilliant. It is a most abnormal state of affairs which one would never have dreamt of twenty years ago. The effects on the teaching of philosophy will surely be baneful, at any rate in short-range terms. But what can one do?' The answer, of course, was nothing. It was only a few years later that the market collapsed and it became very difficult to place even our ablest doctors of philosophy.

10.8 Goudge's 'Personal Journal' documents another attempt to elevate him to higher office. Vincent Bladen was scheduled to complete his term as dean of arts and science on 1 July 1966. In order to have his successor designated well before that date, in the spring of 1965 the president appointed a selection committee, chaired by the provost and with Goudge as a member. It was Goudge's second important committee assignment that year:

Thomas Anderson Goudge 377 The second of these committees put me in a curious dilemma. When names of possible candidates were assembled, I found my own included. I asked that it be deleted, but at the next meeting of the committee on April 30 (which I was unable to attend because I was chairing a Ph.D. examination) my name apparently came up again, and the committee decided to ask the President to withdraw me from membership on it. However, when the chairman, Moffat Woodside, made this request, Claude Bissell declined to grant it, so Moffat called me to explain the dilemma, adding at the same time that in the voting I had received the top score. However, I told him candidly that I was not interested on any terms, and gave three reasons: (1) I was convinced that the next dean should be a scientist, not a humanist; (2) that I have not had my present job long enough to be able to make the sort of contribution I should like, in an area where my general scholarly orientation lies; (3) I do not think my temperament is such that the interminable administrative details and committee-work of the dean's office would suit me, or allow me to make my best contribution to the university. So for the second time in my life at the university I have turned down the chance to be a dean. I feel that my decision has been the right one on both occasions, but I do not know how it may seem to others. (24 May 1965)

Professor Albert D. Allen of the Chemistry Department was appointed dean at this time, and, as it turned out, his tenure in the office was marked by the worst student (and faculty) disruptions that the university has ever experienced. By resolutely turning down the job, Goudge had spared himself a very bad time. 10.9

Demands from students, supported by many of their teachers, for changes in the faculty's offerings led to the appointment of a Presidential Advisory Committee on Undergraduate Instruction in the Faculty of Arts and Science, chaired by Professor Brough Macpherson of Political Economy, which met during 1966-7 to study the curriculum. Chairmen were asked for their advice. Goudge submitted a thoughtful and well-argued brief (UTA B1969-0009/001 [22]), dated 12 October 1966, in which he addressed four main points, one of them unique to Philosophy. Members of the committee were sufficiently impressed by his submission to invite him to meet with them on two occasions. Goudge dealt with the 'Aims of Instruction' first. That 'instruction in the Faculty should be detached from professional and vocational objec-

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tives' was his basic premiss: 'This means that it should not be the aim, or part of the aim, of any courses in the Faculty to train scholarly or scientific specialists. Such training belongs exclusively to graduate courses.' Having disposed of this negative point, he offered three positive goals: '(a) To increase "in depth" each undergraduate's information and understanding of a few areas within the Humanities, Social Sciences, and Physical and Life Sciences. Instruction should build on what the student has learned at school, but what is offered to him at university should be qualitatively different and not just "more of the same." (b) To encourage each undergraduate to develop powers of intellectual analysis, independent thought and effective expression, (c) To encourage each undergraduate to develop critical judgment, taste, and capacity for evaluation, so that when he confronts the items which flood the artistic, literary and political marketplace, he will be able to tell the genuine articles from the bogus.' Anyone who required a justification of these aims was invited to reflect upon 'the conditions which are necessary to enable persons to draw on the human cultural tradition and to participate in the proper functioning of democracy.' In his discussion of 'Learning and Examining in the Faculty,' his second main topic, he deplored the continued reliance on lecturing as the principal form of instruction. Before there were printed books, its use was essential. Its continuance in the modern age, however, was indefensible. Passively listening to a lecture did nothing to hone the skills mentioned in (b) and (c) above. 'I suggest that the Committee consider the desirability of recommending a drastic reduction in the amount of formal lecturing in the Faculty. The ideal would be its complete elimination as a regular method of instruction.' To replace lectures he recommended an assortment of 'seminars, tutorials, and discussion-classes.' While admitting that there were great obstacles in the way of implementing such changes, he still thought the committee should give it serious consideration. In his discussion of examinations, he was equally uncompromising: 'Of even less educational value than the lecturing method is the holding of the annual examinations in the Faculty. The pernicious effects of the mass feed-back and puzzle-solving exercises each Spring are too well known to need rehearsing. However, our system demands some device for assigning numerical and alphabetical grades to students, so that it is Utopian to consider any major changes here, no matter how educationally beneficial they might be.' If the committee were boldly to do away with lectures, there would be little need for final examinations because students could be assessed throughout the year by various meth-

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ods, including tests, and a final mark would be calculated on the basis of these term marks. 10.10

Goudge bravely took on the Tories in discussing his third concern, 'The Structure of Honours Courses': The Honours Courses have been for so long a sacred cow at the University of Toronto that it seems almost blasphemous to criticize them. Yet many people are coming to think that the structure of these courses is far too rigid and circumscribed to meet the educational needs of the times. The matter is arguable; but I have no doubt about the desirability of introducing far more flexibility and range of choice into the honours programmes. Moreover, in their present form these programmes encourage departments to give what amounts to specialist, or quasi-specialist, training, particularly in the upper years. Fourth-year honours students are often treated as if they were all going to become professors of the subject they are studying. This is not a defensible practice, in my opinion, at the undergraduate level. The temptation to pursue it would be reduced if the honours courses were less monolithic and narrow in scope. (UTA B1969-0009/001 [22])

As a remedy he suggested that each department set up an honours 'sequence of courses such that they could be taken by students who were also taking similar sequences in other departments. This would allow a great variety of "combined honours courses" to be established. A student would then be able to combine honours work in, say, English, Sociology and Zoology; or Philosophy, Psychology and Physics; or History, Romance Languages and Mathematics, etc.' Anticipating the sort of criticism his proposal was certain to encounter, he argued: 'Defenders of the present system will no doubt regard such combinations as ludicrous or pernicious. But there is surely nothing educationally absurd about them? What is wrong with studying in some depth the subjects of English, Sociology and Zoology?' Before judging of its feasibility, he urged the committee to study his proposal carefully. After years of trying other solutions, the faculty finally adopted a modified version of his suggestion in the form of joint-specialist programs. In his criticism of the honours courses, Goudge had wide support among the faculty in philosophy. Francis Sparshott, who had been a member of the university department from 1950 to 1955 before moving

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to Victoria College, and Geoffrey Payzant, who had joined the staff in 1957, discussed the honours courses on the oral history tapes. Sparshott was devastating in his criticism: It was an appalling course, in my judgment. [Why?] Well, clearly, because there were innumerable courses in which people had to read a tremendous lot of history and give correct answers, and there was no space for a person to do any thinking for themselves. Really very, very good people ... who would come through, would be marvellous graduate students, they'd get into Chicago and all these places. But they really did no thinking. The course was oppressive, with its vast amounts of just learning, and no depth, no reflection, no air in it. And all the courses were compulsory, or semi-compulsory, so you had people spending, involuntarily, a whole year at one time doing two hours a week on Aristotle's ediics. Not as though they were intellectual people; this was only second year in Greek philosophy. And you can imagine this horror. The honours courses in general, I thought, were appalling. They assumed that there was this body of stuff you had to know, and dial to be civilized was to know this. Northrop Frye thought it marvellous, coming at it from English. I didn't. I thought, coming from philosophy, it was absolutely appalling. I came out of Oxford, which is a very different sort of thing. We did history, but we didn't do all-in-all history; we did other things as well. We talked around things, and through things, and into things. The honours course in philosophy, the way it was taught at the University of Toronto, must have been close to the kind of thing that gave George Grant the horrors. It was as un-Socratic as you could get.

Payzant agreed: 'Exactly. Indeed, the honours course had its great days, and its great days were probably pre-World War Two. But the trouble was they kept tacking bits on to it. No student can come through honours ph losophy without X, and then there would have to be Y, and then there would have to be Z, to satisfy various members of the teaching staff, who had their own particular angles, their own particular turf to defend. And so it got jammed, it really got jammed, with stuff, much of which was repetitive. It hadn't been swept through to see what, really, must we keep and what is the best way to combine this material.' A little later in the discussion Payzant provided an example: There was a fourth-year honours course on modern philosophy which began with Descartes, and most of the year you were doing stuff you had done previously, only under the name of "Descartes" or under the name of "Kant," but here it was all jammed in. But the very last part of the second term included Herbert

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Spencer and Alfred Whitehead. This was in my make-up year that I became exposed to this. Herbert Spencer! Even at the time I thought maybe this shouldn't be included. This is what I meant when I said they hadn't gone through it really to clean it up, and streamline it, and see if they could make it something with a bit of light and air along the line.' This criticism of the honours courses was not unknown among the students themselves. In a letter to me, L.A. Earlston Doe, who received a B.A. from Victoria College in 1938 in honours philosophy (English or history option), recalled his disappointment with the course: At my present stage in life -1 am 84 years of age, and have been retired since 1976 - I do not have very clear or extensive memories of either the courses or the teachers of philosophy. One impression that does stay with me, however, is that the strictly historical approach to teaching philosophy was not the most effective way of introducing the subject, at least to a novice such as I was. It took us four years to work our way from early Greek thinking to the twentieth century. I think that it would have caught my interest more effectively if we had started with consideration, however intuitively, of some contemporary question or a specific problem such as, for example, consciousness, or the ramifications of cogito ergo sum. I remember that such an approach was taken by Mr. McCurdy (I think that was his name) who taught ethics at U.C., a course that I 'audited' through interest alone since I was registered at Vic. (In McCurdy's class we discussed the case of the kidnapping of the Lindbergh baby and execution of the convicted kidnapper.)

A quarter-century later this sort of criticism of the honours courses was still heard among students. My experience tallied with these critics. In my first year at Toronto, 1964-5, I was assigned to teach a third-year tutorial in epistemology, a course that had recently been added to the honours program in an attempt to overcome the sort of deficiency Sparshott mentioned. Epistemology tutorials were limited to three students, and I looked forward to a kind of teaching I had not yet experienced. At our first meeting, I quickly became aware that two of the three students (both male) I was meeting with had no interest in epistemology, or indeed in philosophy itself. After a while I asked them why they were taking the course, and they replied that they had to; it was compulsory in the honours philosophy program. Not yet knowing the rules, I then asked why they did not enrol in some other course of study and learned that in order to do so they would have to repeat second year. They were trapped, and they

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deeply resented their entrapment. We had to plough ahead, but there was no joy in it. It was one of the worst teaching experiences I ever had. At the end of the year, I was firmly convinced that the honours courses, as they were then structured, were in dire need of overhaul. Among my younger colleagues in the department, this was the common opinion. 10.11

Before Goudge submitted his brief to the committee, he had already tried to modify the department's two honours courses, philosophy and philosophy (English or history option). The first had been offered since 1877 and the latter since 1924. By their very composition they offered little latitude for change. It was true that the content of an existing course could be changed, but it was virtually impossible to fit a new course into the intricate timetable. The common first-year honours course, Philosophy 120, was offered as one option in the program called 'Social and Philosophical Studies,' which had been set up by Brett and others in 1935 to allow beginning students to sample several areas of study, nearly all of them social sciences, before selecting one in which to concentrate. The content of this free-standing first-year course could be easily revised to bring it up to date. For many years the textbook used had been Marcus Long's The Spirit of Philosophy (1953), which not only George Grant but many members of the department found unsuitable for one reason or another. The content of some courses, laid on in second, third, and fourth years, could be revised by replacing historical texts with more recent literature, but there was only so much tinkering that could be done without bringing the whole rigid structure crashing down. Goudge appointed a committee, chaired by Douglas Dryer, to study the honours courses and propose improvements. Dryer's committee made its recommendations in 1966, and in the autumn of that year several of them were adopted. These changes, limited as they had to be, did not put an end to complaints about the honours courses. Students had begun to vote with their feet; the enrolment in the once popular Philosophy (English or History option) continued to shrink. The most significant changes resulting from the Dryer report were made in the first-year course, Philosophy 120. From its inception in 1935 one-third had been devoted to the study of logic and the other twothirds to problems of metaphysics and epistemology. That division continued in the revised course. The subject matter of the logic part, however, was expanded beyond the traditional informal logic to include

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symbolic logic. In the remainder of the course, original writings were studied and no textbook was assigned or even recommended. The class heard two lectures each week from a senior member of the department, and they met in small discussion groups for one hour each week, with either a faculty member or a senior graduate student in charge. The sections, each limited to about fifteen students, discussed the reading material, for which the lectures provided background and other relevant information. In the first two or three years in which the new format was used, several members of the department lectured for two or three weeks, with the exception of the first eight weeks, when logic was studied. I delivered all of the logic lectures. In subsequent years the number of lecturers dwindled to two, one for each term. The complicated teaching arrangement in the early years required very careful administration, and problems were bound to arise. The most serious one involved Trinity college. George Edison had insisted that Trinity students be assigned to discussion groups taught by the faculty members of the College, and he promised that the course syllabus would be followed to the letter. As the course was structured, symbolic logic was taught in the discussion groups during the first eight weeks of the first term. Informal logic was the subject of the lectures during the same period. When it came time for the logic examination in November, Goudge discovered that the Trinity students had been taught no formal logic at all. He determined that this lapse should not be allowed to go uncorrected; since Philosophy 120 was, after all, a philosophy course, not an Ethics course, the university department had complete responsibility for it. For several weeks I went to Trinity and taught its students symbolic logic; I then set them a special examination in logic. The following year the department decided to place the responsibility for teaching symbolic logic with the lecturer and assign to the discussion leaders the task of teaching informal logic. Thus the Trinity problem could not arise again. This new first-year course, which was given for the first time in 1967-8, was the only Dryer-inspired change that survived the advent of the New Programme in 1969. In the New Programme, which abolished the two-track system of courses - the general/honours division - the new course was renumbered 'Philosophy 100.' 10.12

The vast majority of those teaching philosophy welcomed the New Programme. All honours courses, as well as the general course, were swept

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away. Students were given the freedom to put together their own programs within the parameters set by certain broad rules, and the teaching staff no longer had to put up with disaffected students who were in the classroom only because the course was a requirement of their programs. When the New Programme was introduced, the philosophy curriculum was completely overhauled and nearly all of the courses were designed to be completed within a single term. This change permitted students to sample many more areas of philosophy than was formerly possible. It also permitted those who found they had little or no interest in a certain branch of the subject to make a fresh choice in the second term. In most cases, an introductory course in a branch of philosophy was followed in the next term by a more advanced course in the same area, with the first listed as a prerequisite of the second. Prerequisites were warnings to students that, before enrolling, they should check with the instructor to determine whether they had the requisite background to take the course. The department did, of course, provide both written and, for the few who sought it, oral advice as to what constituted a wellrounded course of study in philosophy, but students were free to ignore the advice they were given. No doubt some students failed to realize their full potential in the New Programme, but in my opinion, which I have good reason to believe is widely shared within the department, the vast majority, including all of the ablest students, had a richer educational experience than their predecessors. On the oral history tapes, Francis Sparshott remarked on the vital difference between the old and the new programs. The interviewer, Thomas Mathien, had asked him to recall outstanding undergraduates he had taught. After citing David Gauthier as the most brilliant person who had ever taken an undergraduate course from him, he allowed that he had taught many very bright students: 'You didn't meet them so much under the old honours course, which killed everybody. But, nowadays, when students are self-selective, in any fourth-year course you often have half a dozen people who are just brilliant. There is a tremendous improvement in the University of Toronto. People don't often notice it, but it's true.' 10.13

In his brief to the Macpherson committee, Goudge's fourth and final point concerned the division of philosophy between the university and two of the federated colleges, Trinity and Victoria. In raising this topic he knew he was toying with fire:

Thomas Anderson Goudge 385 My final comments have to do with a somewhat thorny question about the instructional pattern in Philosophy. For reasons quite unrelated to the structure of the subject, a separation between teaching in Ethics and teaching in Philosophy was authorized by the terms of federation. Hence one of the more absurd features of 'the Toronto system' is the existence of three College Departments of Ethics and one University Department of Philosophy. If this division were merely a matter of administrative convenience, its absurdity could be overlooked. But in fact it has undesirable academic consequences. Without going into them at length, I will mention three, (i) Since appointments to the staffs of two of the College departments are quite independent of appointments to the University Department, it is not always easy to ensure that the over-all requirements of Philosophy are being met. (ii) Under the present scheme, greater emphasis is given to the teaching of Ethics than is warranted by its place in the parent subject. The effect is to produce an imbalance in the instructional pattern, since far more courses in Ethics are offered than in Logic, Metaphysics, Epistemology, etc. (iii) It is difficult to remove this imbalance by redesigning the courses offered, for the artificial bifurcation prevents a unified view of the subject as material for instruction. The academic answer to this thorny question is quite simple. Ethics should be restored to its proper place within Philosophy and College departments of Ethics should be abolished. But, of course, the question involves far more than academic issues and is not amenable to any simple answer such as the above. Nevertheless, I urge that the Committee give it some attention in the course of its deliberations. (UTA B1969-0009/001 [22]) This was indeed a thorny problem, and Goudge deserves full marks for bringing it to the attention of the university. Anderson, too, favoured the abolition of the Ethics Departments at Trinity and Victoria, but in his day it was politically impossible even to propose it. After Goudge became chairman, a system was worked out for avoiding some of the worst features of this division. Philosophy was the only subject whose teaching staff was divided between a university department and college departments or, more accurately, sub-departments. (St Michael's College is excluded from this discussion because at the time it had its own Philosophy Department.) The staff in all other college subjects, such as English and French, was divided among four college departments; in these subjects there was no university department. A solution to Philosophy's problem could, therefore, be instituted with-

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out disturbing the arrangements in other college subjects. Beginning in 1967, with the approval of the university and Trinity and Victoria Colleges, the faculty of the Ethics Departments in Trinity and Victoria were cross-appointed without salary to the university department. Being officially members of the department, they could then be assigned to teach courses in philosophy. It was owing to this arrangement that George Edison was teaching discussion sections of Philosophy 120. An important consequence of this new policy concerned the recruitment of faculty: if a new appointment was contemplated in an Ethics Department at either Trinity or Victoria, the overall needs of philosophy could legitimately be considered in selecting the best candidate. No longer were the colleges restricted to appointing experts in ethics. It should be noted that Trinity and Victoria did not agree to this new system out of the goodness of their hearts. It was forced upon them because of declining enrolments; fewer students were preparing for the ministry, so there was less demand for courses in ethics. Although this new system solved some of the problems generated by the division of our subject, it did not get to the root of the matter. Since Trinity and Victoria still had separate Ethics Departments, they might at any time go their own ways again with respect to appointments. If they did so, the university department could refuse to cross-appoint that member. A stalemate might then result with consequent hard feelings. It would be another decade before a final solution to the problem - the abolition of the Ethics Departments at Trinity and Victoria - was institutionalized. Goudge had been proved right once again. 10.14 After he stepped down from the chairmanship in 1969, Goudge recorded his own assessment of the job he had done: I think I did do quite a lot to advance the Department's reputation and improve its operation. But, of course, I couldn't please everyone, and I made no attempt to. At least the Department held together through a period of rapid change and innumerable pressures - which is more than can be said of some other departments in the Faculty. Looking at the situation from my personal standpoint, I would say that I engineered the following main 'improvements' in the Department's operations: (1) a senior seminar ('Oasis') for staff and Ph.D. students; (2) a programme of visiting speakers - six to eight per annum - who read papers on

Thomas Anderson Goudge 387 current topics at (1) and gave a public lecture from time to time; (3) set up a staff common room (when we moved to 215 Huron Street) and, by arrangement with the Library, equipped it with current philosophical journals; (4) established several printed bulletins describing graduate studies in the Department, undergraduate studies (to be distributed to High Schools), etc.: (5) appointed a number of younger staff with primary interests in problems rather than history of philosophy; (6) set up an arrangement of committees (Senior Committee, Graduate and Undergraduate Executive Committees, Staff-Student Committee, etc.), to increase participation by members of the staff and students in departmental policy and decision-making. This last development has changed the political set-up of the Department from what was essentially an academic autocracy under F.H. Anderson to a form of 'participatory democracy.' Some may doubt whether such a development marks an 'improvement,' but I do not. Yet I sometimes think that of all jobs in the university the chairman's is the most dismal. I am certainly delighted to be free of it at last. Will I be able to do anything much in the scholarly and academic line now that I am free? Time and my resources, both mental and physical, will tell. (1949-72, 6July 1969)

Each of these accomplishments deserves some comment. The first two may be taken together. Prior to Goudge's term of office, there was no departmentally sponsored club for faculty and graduate students. In the late 1950s John Hunter had started the Owls' Club, a philosophical discussion group that met several times during the year in the home of one or other of the department's younger members; it was limited to faculty members and was active for several years. It was succeeded by Oasis, whose driving force for a period was Ronald Butler. Oasis met on campus in the late afternoon and, as Goudge noted, was sponsored by the department. Graduate students were invited to its meetings. In addition to invited speakers from elsewhere, Oasis scheduled meetings at which members of the faculty read papers. In Anderson's time some speakers were brought in from other universities, but not on a regular basis and then only towards the end of his time in office. The fault was not Anderson's, but was budgetary. I have examined the budgets for those years and have established that there was no discretionary money at all in them. At a time when the department had no secretarial help, it was more important to ask for that than to seek expenses for speakers. Around 1960 budgets started to include funds for luxuries, and by the time Goudge took over, money was plentiful; one of the ways he used these funds was to bring speakers to campus.

388 The Main Stream 10.15

The department's space in Sidney Smith Hall proved unsatisfactory. About half of the offices had no windows; they were small enclosures cut off from the outside by the larger offices, which did have windows, although they could not be opened. The building was not air-conditioned, so in summer the offices with southern exposure were uninhabitable. Finally, the building itself proved too small for the number of departments housed in it. In the spring of 1965 the dean decided that one department had to vacate its space. On offer was the entire ninth floor of a newly constructed, albeit 'temporary,' administration building at 215 Huron Street, and half of its eighth floor. Only two departments in Sidney Smith had complements to fit this space; they were Geography and Philosophy. Geography was given first choice, but it declined to move. Pressure was then put upon Goudge to move the Philosophy Department. The principal drawback of the new space was its remoteness from the other departments of arts and science. In its favour were two properties: nearly all of the offices had windows, and the building was air-conditioned. It is very doubtful that Goudge could have declined to move the department; the dean would have insisted. Before he agreed, Goudge secured from the dean the promise that the department would not be asked to change quarters again. Two shifts in five years were quite enough. The move was made on 3 August 1965. To this point the department had had no common room. Since the new space had movable partitions, Goudge arranged for a large common room to be constructed in the central part of the ninth floor and had it furnished with sofas, chairs, and low tables. The library, at his request, took out duplicate subscriptions to several of the leading philosophical journals and sent them on to the department. Unfortunately, the copies had a tendency to disappear in fairly short order, and when some years later the library asked for the return of the journals, only a few could be found. Later on, when the department traded its half of the eighth floor for all of the tenth floor, the common room was moved to a large room on the tenth floor with a view of Lake Ontario through windows too badly scarred by aluminum salts to allow it to be clearly seen.

10.16 The publications to which Goudge referred (§10.14) included the Bulletin of Graduate Information, later named the Graduate Bulletin, which was

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produced for the first time in 1965-6. (The Undergraduate Bulletin did not make its appearance until 1970-1, when Lorenne Smith was undergraduate secretary and I was chairman.) During Goudge's term a number of brochures describing different programs offered by the department were printed and made available to other Philosophy Departments and to anyone who enquired about our offerings. In addition, the department attempted for the first time to reach high-school students by publishing a brochure that was sent to guidance counsellors in the greater Toronto area. 10.17

Goudge's most profound and lasting contribution to philosophy in Canada was the academic appointments he made in the six years he chaired the department. Those were years of great academic expansion in North America, and the University of Toronto partook fully in the excitement of the times. Two new colleges - Scarborough and Erindale - were started literally from scratch in the eastern and western suburbs, each of them the size of a small university. In addition, the department on the central campus was expanded to more than twice its former size. Many, many academic appointments had to be made. Despite the difficulty in finding able and willing candidates, Goudge has to his credit thirty-four tenured and tenure-stream appointments. His appointments brought the total of fulltime teachers of philosophy in the university, including the two suburban campuses, to well over sixty, making it the largest assemblage of philosophy teachers in the English-speaking world, with the possible exception of the faculty of Oxford University. By contrast, the University of Michigan, with a similar enrolment, had at that time fewer than fifteen permanent teachers of philosophy. Something should be recorded here about the methods of recruiting faculty in the 1960s. Very few, if any, colleges or universities advertised faculty vacancies then, and certainly Toronto did not, even though it had done so earlier in its history. Job-seekers sent letters to the heads or chairmen of departments in a number of colleges and universities, stating their qualifications and asking to be considered for any vacancy for which they were qualified. By following this strategy they hoped an offer would come their way, and in those heady days good fortune sometimes came by return of post. Another method widely used during those years was as follows: heads of departments with openings contacted chairmen of departments with large graduate programs, stated their require-

390 The Main Stream

ments, and asked for the names of senior graduate students whose qualifications fit their needs. If and when they got a reply they would contact the prospective candidates directly. This method of filling positions later came to be derided as 'the old-boy network.' It had grown up during the decades when there were few graduate students in philosophy and even fewer jobs. In the United States, and to a limited extent in Canada, the old-boy network was most active in the autumn, since most hiring departments wished to interview prospective candidates at the annual meeting of the Eastern Division of the American Philosophical Association (APA) held between Christmas and New Year's Day. The APA did not operate a placement service in those days. Its meetings merely provided an opportunity for job seekers and employers to come together. Very few Canadian departments used the APA meetings for recruiting purposes, and the Canadian Philosophical Association, whose annual meetings are held around the first of June, played almost no role in the hiring process. Interviews, if held at all, took place on campus or in a hotel room if the head was visiting England, and the job-seeker was not always reimbursed for travel expenses. In those competitive days many people were hired without an interview. Goudge usually arranged interviews, but there were cases, where the candidate was in Europe, when he waived an interview - after all, the initial contract was for only one year, so mistakes could be rectified. In making appointments Goudge sought out Canadians first and foremost, especially those who had gone abroad for graduate study. All else being equal, he favoured Canadians every time. But however hard he tried, it was not possible to find qualified Canadians for every position he had to fill. In those cases he did not hesitate to fill a position with an outsider; to have delayed would probably have meant, in a seller's market, that the position would have gone unfilled. Many of his appointees had been trained at the top graduate schools in the United States and Great Britain. Given the composition of the faculty in those institutions at that time, most of the new faculty were primarily interested in the problems of philosophy rather than its history. A number of them later developed interests in the history of philosophy, but that is as it should be. Goudge certainly was not opposed to the study and teaching of the history of philosophy, but he did think it had to be balanced by work on contemporary problems. What is impressive about his appointments is the way in which they covered the philosophical spectrum. Making so many in such a short period of time ran the risk, for example, of having too many in logic and too few in ethics, but this imbalance did not happen.

Thomas Anderson Goudge 391 10.18

Four of Goudge's appointees on the St George campus later served as chairs — their biographies will be found in the following two chapters — and many others had long and distinguished departmental careers. One of his first two recruits, Robert Imlay, whose doctorate was earned at Glasgow and whose publications deal with problems arising from the writings of certain historical figures, notably Descartes and Hume, served on the faculty for nearly forty years. He was one of the very few who could teach in both of Canada's official languages, and, in the years when the department had a teaching exchange with York University, he taught courses in French at the bilingual Glendon College. Donald Evans, a Toronto undergraduate and an Oxford graduate, joined the department in 1964. His B.Phil thesis was supervised by Gilbert Ryle, and his D. Phil thesis, a revised version of which was published in 1963, was directed by J.L. Austin and Geoffrey Warnock. Evans also held a bachelor of divinity degree from McGill University and was an ordained minister in the United Church of Canada. During his departmental career, he published four books in the philosophy of religion. In an earlier chapter (§9.21) his central role in organizing the Toronto International Teach-in was recounted. It was only one of the causes, both large and small, in which he was active. James Morrison, whose doctoral thesis at Penn State University dealt with Wittgenstein's Tractatus, developed new interests during his Toronto years. His teaching interests were mainly historical, with Kant as a speciality, and his research interests shifted to the writings of earlier figures, especially those of the Italian philosopher and historian, GiambattistaVico (1668-1744). Fred Wilson, who joined the department in 1965, has been one of its most active members. He was educated at McMaster University and the University of Iowa, where Gustav Bergmann directed his dissertation. Two years after his arrival in Toronto he published Carnap and Goodman: Two Formalists, co-authored with Alan Hausman; Wilson's half is entitled 'The Notion of Logical Necessity in the Later Philosophy of Rudolf Carnap.' The pace of his publications has never slackened, and by century's end he had published six more books and many articles. Much of his indefatigable research energy has been concentrated on the British empiricist tradition, beginning with Francis Bacon and extending through the nineteenth century, with books on Hume, John Stuart Mill, and Darwin. In 1994 he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Can-

392 The Main Stream

ada. Given his impressive publication record, it may surprise the reader to learn that Wilson has also been very active in faculty politics. For a number of years he served as the department's representative on the council of the University of Toronto Faculty Association, and he was selected by his fellow councillors as its president from 1987 to 1990. He served as vice-president of the Canadian Association of University Teachers in 1991-2 and as president the next year. These offices demand much of their occupants, in both time and energy, and Wilson has never been one to shirk his duties. That he was able to continue to write books and articles while holding these demanding positions is eloquent testimony to his ability to parcel his time effectively. Lorenne Gordon (later Smith and still later Clark), who was educated at the University of British Columbia and Oxford, has the distinction of being the first woman to hold a regular appointment in the university department. Both Victoria and Trinity had appointed women to their Ethics Departments much earlier; the careers of Jessie Macpherson at Victoria (§13.15) and Helen Hardy at Trinity (§14.12) are summarized in later chapters. In her earliest years in the department Gordon served as undergraduate secretary and took an active role in the debates in the Council of the Faculty of Arts and Science, but when her interest shifted to the law and she decided to attend law school, she had much less time for departmental work. In addition, she was active in the feminist movement. Within the university she took a leadership role in demanding that the university provide day-care facilities for its employees. On 25 March 1970 the group she helped to organize marched on Simcoe Hall, the seat of the central administration, with her at its head pushing one of her children in a stroller, and demanded to meet with President Claude Bissell. Bissell, perhaps unwisely, refused to meet them. When his refusal was announced, the crowd grew angry and unruly. Smith (as she was then) and the other organizers lost control of it. A large number of militants forced their way into the building and occupied the Senate chamber. The occupation ended after Bissell gave his personal guarantee that he would find the money to rehabilitate a university building to serve as a day-care centre (Sirluck 1996, 292-3). After completing her legal studies - she was by this time teaching half time - she accepted a cross-appointment to the Centre of Criminology and she also taught in the newly established Women's Studies Program at New College. In 1980 she resigned from the university to pursue a legal career. Ronald de Sousa, who joined the department in 1966, was born in Switzerland and educated at Oxford and Princeton, where his doctoral

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dissertation was directed by Paul Benacerraf. With the exception of one book, The Rationality of Emotion (1987), his many contributions to the discipline have taken the form of articles. His book was very favourably reviewed and was translated into German a decade after its first publication. De Sousa has added greatly to the life of the department by his participation in philosophical debate. No matter the topic, he nearly always engages the speaker in an important and interesting exchange of views. . Thomas Langan, then chairman of the Philosophy Department at Indiana University, came first as a visiting professor in 1967. A native of St Louis, Missouri, he had earned his first degree from St Louis University and his doctorate from the Institut Catholique de Paris. He had an earlier connection with Toronto, having a co-authored, with Etienne Gilson, two volumes in Gilson's history of philosophy. Thus, the invitation to spend a year at Toronto was a welcome one. During that year William Dray resigned to go to Trent University; his departure left the department bereft of an expert in the philosophy of history. Langan indicated an interest in moving to Toronto and Goudge arranged his appointment. While at Indiana, he had embarked on an ambitious project of studying the role of tradition in western civilization, and the opportunity of trying his ideas out in graduate seminars was a welcome one. At Toronto he continued to work on his project. In Tradition and Authenticity in the Search for Ecumenic Wisdom he provided this definition of 'traditions': 'Visions of part or all of reality, expressed in a treasure of symbols elaborated over time and passed down through institutions created for this purpose' (Langan 1992, 216). In an appendix to the book he gave his readers an elaborate list of 'major explicit traditions influencing the world system' and the institutions embodying them. In three later volumes he explored various sets of traditions. Only one book remains to complete the series. In 1976 Langan moved to St Michael's College, where, assisted by his wife, Janine, he devised and established an interdisciplinary program, Christianity and Culture, which explores the subject from various perspectives: artistic, historical, literary, philosophical, scientific, social, and theological. Graeme Nicholson was a doctoral student in the department when he was appointed a lecturer in 1967. His first two degrees were earned at Dalhousie University. Between them he studied at Union Theological Seminary in New York, where he was awarded the bachelor of divinity in 1960. He completed the doctorate with a thesis on Heidegger, directed by Emil Fackenheim. For the most part, his philosophical interests are centred on the German tradition stemming from Kant and Hegel and in particular

394 The Main Stream

on the philosophy of Heidegger. In his publications - four books and many articles - he has concentrated on problems of ontology and hermeneutics arising within this tradition. His latest book, Plato's Phaedrus: The Philosophy of Love (1999), is the product of a rekindling of an old and abiding interest in Greek philosophy. Religion has also remained an enduring interest. For many years he has taught a graduate course 'Religion and Philosophy,' which draws upon the writings of Kant and Hegel and other German philosophers to treat important philosophical problems raised by certain religious claims. Lynd Ferguson was born in Paducah, Kentucky, and earned his first degree at Baldwin-Wallace College, a small liberal arts institute in Berea, Ohio. Both of his graduate degrees were awarded by Northwestern University; his last year of study was spent as a Fulbright scholar at Oxford, where most of his thesis was written. In 1964 he was appointed an assistant professor in the State University of New York at Buffalo, where he taught for three years and then was awarded a National Endowment for the Humanities Fellowship for a year's study in Oxford. Forguson was not happy at Buffalo; he decided while in Oxford to write to Fred Wilson, whom he had met at a party in Buffalo, and enquire about openings at Toronto. To his great surprise he got a letter from Goudge offering him a tenure-stream position at Scarborough College, which was, at his request, changed to the St George campus. During the spring of 1971 Archie Hallett, then principal of University College, asked Forguson to take on the onerous job of registrar in the college. Having been an assistant dean at Buffalo, he was reluctant to undertake another administrative position, but he was persuaded to accept and went to University College, where he later served as vice-principal and program director and then as principal, the third-highest office in the university, for seven years. His philosophical interests lie in contemporary analytic philosophy; he has published papers in the philosophy of perception, the philosophy of mind, the philosophy of language, metaphysics, and the history of analytic philosophy. In 1989 he published Common Sense, the very title of which brings to mind G.E. Moore, one of the founding fathers of the analytic philosophy movement. Daniel Goldstick was born and raised in Toronto, and earned his first degree from the University of Toronto in 1962. The next three years were spent at Oxford University, where he was awarded the B.Phil in 1964 and began working on a thesis to satisfy the requirements for the D.Phil degree. His supervisor was A.J. Ayer, and his thesis, which was accepted in 1969, was entitled 'A Practical Refutation of Empiricism.' In 1965 he

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attempted to interest Goudge in giving him a position in the department. Probably because of Goldstick's reputation as a political activist during his undergraduate days, Goudge did not act on his application or even reply to his letter. Goldstick was rightly miffed at Goudge's uncharacteristic lack of courtesy to a former student. Carleton University offered him a lectureship that year and promoted him to assistant professor two years later. In 1967 he applied again to Toronto, and this time Goudge brought his name before the Senior Committee. Some members expressed doubts about hiring him, but their reservations were overcome by the strong support he received from David Savan and David Gauthier, both of whom argued that the department was large enough to include a member with strong political views and the courage to act upon them. Goldstick had joined the Communist Party at a young age and has remained an active member ever since. In several federal elections since returning to Toronto, he has stood for Parliament in the Rosedale riding, where the party has about a hundred supporters. When Goudge made him an offer, he was happy to accept. He has published some seventy-five papers on a wide variety of topics and thinkers. Many of them are critical examinations of theses advanced by others, and those who have come under his scrutiny include Kant, Hume, Marx, Engels, G.E. Moore, Lenin, Carnap, and Althusser. He has also contributed much to the oral tradition of the department. He is indefatigable in his attendance at meetings and colloquia, and he almost always joins in the discussion no matter how esoteric the subject. John (Jack) Stevenson was teaching at the University of Manitoba when Goudge offered him a visiting appointment in the department in 1966-7. He was born in Ottawa and originally had trained as a school teacher, obtaining a Permanent First Class Certificate, Grade A, from the Manitoba Teachers' College in 1952. After teaching for a few years, he enrolled in the University of Manitoba, from which he graduated in 1959 with double honours in philosophy and psychology. From there he went to Brown University, where he completed all of the requirements for the doctorate except the thesis, which he never submitted. In 1962 he was appointed to the faculty of his undergraduate alma mater. After joining this department in 1969, Stevenson took on some of its most difficult teaching assignments, including a graduate introduction to epistemology for students who were deficient in that required area and an undergraduate course for engineering students. The Faculty of Applied Science and Engineering had laid on a mandatory course in ethics for all of its students, and Stevenson, Derek Allen, and Frank Cunningham

396 The Main Stream undertook the development and teaching of it. Stevenson wrote a textbook for the course, Engineering Ethics: Practices and Principles (1987), which was brought out by a local publisher and was twice revised; it is perhaps the first textbook to be published in this area of applied ethics. In 1988 he was honoured with a teaching award by the Ontario Confederation of University Faculty Associations. One of his enduring interests is the history of philosophy in Canada on which he has published articles and delivered lectures. Three of Goudge's senior appointments left after shorter periods of service. Hans Herzberger was born in Jena, Germany, and in 1935, at the age of three, was brought by his parents to the United States, where he became a citizen in 1940. In 1954 he was awarded the B.A. with honors in philosophy by Cornell University; his doctorate was earned at Princeton in 1961, with a thesis directed by Carl Hempel and Hilary Putnam. He was teaching at Case-Western Reserve in Cleveland when Goudge hired him in 1967. Herzberger's arrival in Toronto increased the department's strength in several areas. In the philosophy of language and the history of semantics he studied topics such as the concept of truth, the semantic paradoxes, and canonical super-languages. His knowledge of the philosophy and history of logic was both wide and deep; he contributed to the literature on many-valued logics, supervaluations, and Buddhist logic. Value theory, especially questions concerning ordinal preference and rational choice, was another area of interest. In 1980 he informed the chairman that his wife was making plans to open a school in India, where she intended to live. In order to spend more time with his family he requested that his appointment be reduced to half time, with residence in the fall term only. Two years later, the strong resistance of the dean of arts and science having been overcome, his request was granted. In 1991 he took early retirement. Reginald Allen joined the department in 1969 as a replacement for David Gallop, who had resigned to accept a position at Trent University. Allen earned the A.B. degree from Haverford College in 1953. For the master's degree, he attended Yale; he then went to the University of St Andrews, where he was awarded the B.Phil in 1957. Just a year later he earned the doctorate at Yale with a thesis on Plato's philosophy. At the time of his appointment he was director of the Program of Classics and Philosophy at Purdue University. Earlier Allen had published a number of papers and had edited two books. During his Toronto years he published his first monograph, Plato's Euthyphro and the Earlier Theory of Forms (1970), and with David Furley edited Studies in Presocratic Philosophy,

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which came out in two volumes in 1970 and 1975. It was during these years that he formulated his long-term project of translating all of the Platonic dialogues, each accompanied by an analytical commentary. By 1987 he had published translations of twelve dialogues. In 1978 he resigned to take a position in Northwestern University. Bas van Fraassen's recruitment was a classic case of the old-boy network in operation. In the autumn of 1968 Wilfrid Sellars, then teaching at the University of Pittsburgh, wrote a letter to Goudge bearing no date: 'Bas van Fraassen, a young genius of a logician now getting tenure at Yale and with offers from all over (currently Indiana and Chicago Circle are making bids) is interested in moving to Canada. (He is Canadian by birth.) It is, in my honest opinion, the opportunity of a lifetime to get someone really good. If you are interested move quickly, as the word is getting around. As ever, Wilfrid' (DA). Goudge quickly arranged an interview; van Fraassen visited Toronto on 14 November and two days later was offered an appointment as associate professor with tenure. A native of The Netherlands, van Fraassen had been brought to Canada as a child. His B.A. was awarded by the University of Alberta in 1963; he then enrolled at Pittsburgh, where he earned the doctorate in 1966 with a thesis on the causal theory of time, under Adolf Grunbaum's direction. During his dozen years in Toronto he published three books and co-edited a fourth. In 1971 he founded the Journal of Philosophical Logic, with himself as editor-in chief. This was the first philosophical journal, and to date the only one, started in the department. His services continued to be coveted by many other departments. This department did what it could to try to keep him, including allowing him to go on half time, and succeeded until Princeton University renewed an earlier offer in 1981. He felt he could not refuse a second time. 10.19

Goudge was the last leader of the department to exercise unfettered power of appointment. The adoption of the Haist Rules by the university in 1967 was the first step in formalizing appointments of all kinds. They included the recommendation that chairmen appoint a Senior Committee to offer advice on faculty appointments and other important academic matters. Goudge was happy to spread the onus of selecting candidates for jobs among his senior colleagues. His Senior Committee consisted of five professors in addition to himself as chairman. When he was about to make an appointment, he discussed the various candidates

398 The Main Stream

with the committee and indicated his preference; the other committee members would then offer their opinions. They usually found he had done his job so well that there was no option but to ratify his suggestion. The committee was further charged with discussing promotions to professor. The Haist Rules also established the conditions for tenure in the university and instituted formal tenure proceedings. In the very early days of the new rules, members of a tenure committee were interviewed by the chairman individually and invited to sign a form recording their vote. This loose practice continued for some years; it was only after Goudge had left office that the process was made formal. Since then, it has developed into the elaborate procedure now in use. Subsequent revisions of these rules, now called the Perron Rules, brought the initial appointment of junior faculty within their scope. The process of appointment was further complicated by the federal government's requirement that in initial searches only Canadian citizens and landed immigrants are eligible applicants. All advertisements for such positions must include a statement to this effect. If the initial search fails to find any candidate with the required qualifications, the regulations allow universities to request permission to conduct an international search. For both initial and international searches the internal vetting process is the same. A large search committee is mandated for every appointment. The department chair heads the committee, which includes several members from the department as well as a faculty member appointed to represent the dean of arts and science. In first searches, the applications must be scrutinized to eliminate candidates who are not eligible to work in Canada. The chair's secretary usually performs that task, which can be onerous, since a considerable percentage of candidates fail to mention their citizenship status. In those cases the secretary must contact them before deciding on their eligibility. Members of the committee are prohibited from scrutinizing the applications of ineligible candidates lest they get the idea that there are candidates superior to those in the national pool and then dismiss all of the Canadian candidates as unqualified. Members of the search committee then scrutinize the remaining applications before meeting to compile a list of applicants to be interviewed at the annual December meetings of the American Philosophical Association. Two or three committee members carry out these interviews and report to the search committee, which then selects up to three applicants for campus visits. Campus visits usually take place during January and February. Applicants, especially those being considered for appointments on the subur-

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ban campuses, may be asked to teach an undergraduate class with some members of the search committee in attendance, and every applicant is required to present a paper. All faculty members and graduate students are invited to attend the formal paper-reading, and members of the search committee are obliged to attend. The final hurdle is an interview with the whole search committee, during which the candidate has the opportunity to ask questions too. After the last visitor leaves, the search committee meets to make a final decision. Time is now of the essence, since the best candidates will have offers from other schools. After getting the dean's approval, the chair contacts the successful candidate, with the information that he or she will be receiving a formal written offer. In making the offer, the chair specifies the date by which the candidate must accept; otherwise it will be withdrawn. This point is especially important in cases where there is more than one highly qualified candidate. If the top candidate declines the appointment, the department wants to offer it to its second choice as early as possible. Despite all this effort, there is no guarantee of success. Failure can come in two forms. One kind occurs when no candidate accepts the department's offer; if this happens, no case can be made for an international search, so another national search has to be carried out the following year. The other kind of failure, already alluded to, occurs when no qualified candidate is found among the applicants. Two recent searches in bioethics have ended in this way. In both cases the university's request to conduct an international search was approved. I have described this process as it existed during the last two decades of the twentieth century. Around the turn of the century the university was successful in persuading the immigration authorities to abolish two-tier searches. Now all candidates can be considered, but if a search finds two outstanding candidates, one of whom is Canadian, then the first offer must be made to the Canadian candidate. This elaborate process is clearly the product of lean times. There are now far fewer jobs in academia and many more candidates with the minimum qualifications than there were in the 1960s. In those days it would have been the height of folly to have encumbered chairs with an elaborate set of rules, requiring months to pass before an appointment could be offered. All of the superior candidates would have accepted jobs elsewhere long before the process ran its course. The level of success of the earlier method depended almost exclusively on the personal qualities of the chair of the department. If, like Goudge, a chair had both excellent judgment and the self-confidence to act decisively, then positions were filled with strong candidates who, in their subsequent careers, devel-

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oped into productive scholars and teachers. If a chair lacked these necessary qualities, then the consequences could be very grim indeed. Fortunately for Toronto, Goudge came along at exactly the right time, when there was money for a large number of new appointments. The dean of arts and science in those days used the term 'hunting licences' to refer to newly created positions, and that is exactly what they were in Goudge's hands. 10.20

Scarborough College (now the University of Toronto at Scarborough) and Erindale College (now the University of Toronto at Mississauga) were founded during Goudge's chairmanship, and he recruited the original staff in philosophy at both of them. Scarborough, the first to be established, met its first classes in 1965-6. The plan of its founders was that a large part of the instruction in the college would be done by videotaped lectures, so an elaborate television studio was included in the original construction. Lewis Miller, a Dalhousie University alumnus with a doctorate in philosophy from the University of Edinburgh and extensive experience in television, was given a tenured position in 1964 and assigned the task of developing teaching tapes for philosophy. Television was then and continued to be his primary interest, and when it became clear by 1970 that the college had abandoned its original plan and was reverting to the usual classroom mode of teaching, Miller resigned and moved back into television. Three others taught until their retirement. William Graham, then a graduate student in the department and writing a dissertation under Goudge's supervision, was appointed in 1966. Besides his teaching, Graham's most noteworthy contribution to the university has been his work for the Faculty Association; he has held various important positions in that organization, including its presidency on two occasions. Another valuable service was his three-year stint as president of the Ontario Confederation of University Faculty Associations, an important lobbying organization in the province, and a term as president of the Canadian Association of University Teachers, an equally important federal lobbying group. Paul Gooch was appointed to Scarborough in 1967. His first degree had been earned at Bishop's University, and at the time of his appointment he was a graduate student in the department, writing a thesis on Plato under the direction of David Gallop. For much of his career Gooch has occupied, with distinction, various important administrative posts in the uni-

Thomas Anderson Goudge 401 versity. This phase of his career began when he was appointed chairman of the Humanities Division at Scarborough in 1977, followed in 1986 by his selection as director of the Centre for the Study of Religion, a component of the School of Graduate Studies. His directorship was cut short after only two years by his appointment as associate dean of the Humanities Division of the School of Graduate Studies; this promotion was followed in quick succession by appointments as acting assistant dean, assistant dean, acting dean, and finally as vice-dean of the school. His tenure in this last position was again short-lived: in the next year, 1994, he was selected to serve as one of the vice-provosts of the university-with responsibility for the Faculty of Arts and Science and the Library - a position he held until his appointment as president of Victoria University in 2001. Gooch's principal interests in philosophy are Greek philosophy and the philosophy of religion, both of which were drawn upon in his second book, Reflections onJesus and Socrates: Word and Silence (1996). His first book was entitled Partial Knowledge: Philosophical Studies in Paul (1987). Howard Sobel was the last of Goudge's appointments at Scarborough. Sobel earned his first degree, a B.S. in commerce and law, at the University of Illinois in 1951. After taking some time away from studies, he enrolled in the University of Iowa and earned an M.A. in philosophy in 1954. His doctorate was awarded by the University of Michigan with a dissertation directed by Richard Cartwright and William Frankena. At the time of his appointment to Scarborough he was a visiting associate professor at the University of Massachusetts at Amherst and had previously taught at Wayne State University, Princeton, and the University of California at Los Angeles. Sobel's philosophical interests are wide, but much of his writing tends to be highly technical. At the end of his teaching career he published two books, Taking Chances: Essays on Rational Choice (1994) and Puzzles for the Will: Fatalism, Newcomb and Samarra, Determinism and Omniscience (1998); both are important contributions to the literature on decision theory in the development of which Sobel was a pioneer, and both exhibit his technical skills to a high degree. When the suburban colleges were founded, it was university policy that they would offer only courses leading to the general (three-year) bachelor of arts degree. The dominant and often expressed view among the faculty on the St George campus was that any student capable of doing honours work would be given a place on the central campus, so there was no need for anything but general (or pass, as they were often called) courses on the suburban campuses. When Scarborough College sent proposals for modifying their curriculum to the Faculty Council, a

402 The Main Stream crisis erupted. A minority, with which I sympathized, supported the college's desire to modify its offerings along the lines proposed, but a very vocal majority took the strict line that no deviation from the general course curriculum as taught on the central campus would be tolerated. The dispute was finally brought to the attention of the president, and he appointed a committee (on which I served) to study the relationship between the College and the Faculty of Arts and Science. After many lengthy meetings, during which a long list of grievances was retailed, the committee decided that the relationship between the college and the faculty had become so strained that only a complete severance made sense. The president accepted this recommendation and the divorce was effected in 1972. Individual faculty members at Scarborough were given the option of resigning their membership in the various central departments, and everyone in philosophy with the exception of Howard Sobel tendered their resignations. They were still eligible, of course, for membership in the graduate department. The founding of Erindale College in 1967-8 proved smoother than Scarborough's beginnings, probably because the missteps that plagued the latter's emergence were avoided or at least mitigated during the early years of Erindale's existence. Since no crisis ever developed that required presidential intervention, Erindale remained (until 2003 when it was given the same independence as Scarborough) a constituent part of the Faculty of Arts and Science, and its staff in philosophy have all been members of the central department. Of Goudge's several appointments to Erindale only two stayed the course. William Huggett, who had taught at the University of Manitoba for a decade, was the first to be hired at Erindale College; he joined the university in 1965 and taught courses on the St George campus for the next two years while he helped to plan for the opening of the college. All three of his degrees were earned at Toronto; his doctoral thesis on Peirce was directed by Goudge. Huggett's principal contribution lay in undergraduate teaching; he took a great interest in the college and served it faithfully. John Canfield, who earned his degrees from George Washington University in Washington, B.C., and Brown University, was teaching at Cornell University when Goudge offered him a position at Erindale College in 1967. Canfield's principal teaching and research interest has been the later philosophy of Wittgenstein; both of his books, Wittgenstein: Language and World (1981) and The Looking Glass Self: An Examination of Self-Awareness (1990), take their inspiration from his views. He has edited several

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other books, including a set of fifteen volumes entitled The Philosophy of Wittgenstein (1986), reprinting many important pieces of the secondary literature. For many years Canfield has been acknowledged to be one of the leading authorities on Wittgenstein's later philosophy, and for a long period he and John Hunter, along with Stuart Shanker at York University, made Toronto an important centre for the study of his philosophy. 10.21

The organization of the graduate department that Goudge inherited from Anderson consisted of two standing committees, one for each of the graduate degrees, and a single graduate secretary. In his first change, Goudge decided in 1964 to divide the work and appoint two graduate secretaries, one for each degree; the number of graduate students had been climbing steadily, and he realized, after consulting William Dray, who then held the office, that there were too many for a single graduate secretary to shepherd. The new arrangement worked reasonably well, although it did entail much passing on of information when a master's degree student moved into the doctoral program. In the chapter on graduate studies I recorded the fate of the comprehensive examinations and their replacement by preliminary examinations of a diagnostic nature to be written at the time students first enrolled and area examinations to be attempted at the end of the second year of residency for the doctorate (§8.13). The area examination is based on readings directly related to a candidate's thesis topic. The administration of these new examinations required a more active role on the part of the graduate secretaries; the program of each student had to be constructed in the light of recommendations of the preliminary examiners and the student's interests in philosophy. Ideally, the programs were set at the beginning of the work on the M.A. and completed several years later with the award of the doctorate. An important part of carrying out a student's program was the appointment of an area committee, which prepared the reading list and later set and marked the examination. It made sense, then, that a single committee oversee all graduate students. For this reason, the two degree committees were replaced by a single Graduate Executive Committee, which is still in operation today. When these changes were being discussed, the graduate students began to demand a voice in the governance of the graduate department. 'Parity' was the cry of the day. Goudge turned the question of student representation over to the new Graduate Executive Committee, which met

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for the first time on 9 September 1968. The committee met with the graduate students and heard their views. It was clear that a majority of the members favoured a student voice on the committee and also at plenary meetings of the graduate department. The only remaining question was: how much of a voice? The students wanted parity, but if that idea were to be accepted for the plenary, then a large number of students would be excluded from participating. Robert McRae suggested the committee recommend that every graduate student be made a member of the plenary, with some safeguards built into the voting rules. For the Graduate Executive Committee itself, he proposed parity of membership, with student petitions to be decided by the faculty members sitting in camera. Perhaps surprisingly, but only after long discussion, the committee adopted his suggestions. On 12 December 1968 the committee placed on the agenda of a plenary meeting of the graduate department a motion that all graduate students be admitted to membership of the plenary with 'full voting power, but no policy measure will be carried against the adverse vote of threefifths of the faculty members present' (DA). An amendment was proposed by Thomas Langan and Emil Fackenheim to delete the quoted portion, but it lost by a vote of eight to seventeen; the original motion was then put and passed by a vote of sixteen to eight. Clearly, there was a sizeable minority who had grave doubts about the wisdom of granting graduate students power in departmental governance. At the same meeting, it was decided that no item could be placed on the agenda of a plenary meeting of the Graduate Department except by action of the Graduate Executive Committee. This additional safety measure was intended to prevent an emotional issue being decided emotionally. In practice, this has meant that under the agenda item 'New Business' any member can give notice of motion. The proposed motion is then considered at a meeting of the committee and a decision taken with respect to it. If the committee approves the motion or a modified version of it, it is placed on the agenda of the next plenary meeting for a final decision. As a last safety measure, the chairman was given the power to refer any contentious matter back to the committee for further consideration. It might - or again it might not - appear on the agenda of a later plenary meeting. The reader will have noticed that the momentous decision regarding graduate student membership in the graduate department was decided by a vote, not by 'consensus,' which was the way of doing business that Goudge had inherited from his predecessors and, given Dean Bladen's letter, did not feel free to abandon until after he had resigned the chair-

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manship. In his history of the department, Goudge recorded his thoughts on decision making: One of the strongest and most controversial pressures for change at this time was that which worked towards the democratization of departmental administration. From both younger staff and students came demands for more participation in the policy and decision-making procedures of a department. It was clear that the days of the autocratic head or chairman, exercising 'personal responsibility' for everything, were coming to an end. The direction of this change was one which I personally welcomed. The only problem I faced was how to facilitate it, given the terms of my appointment and my belief that the change-over should not be an over-night revolution but should be made with the greatest possible speed compatible with continuity. Two general strategies suggested themselves. One was to appoint a number of ad hoc departmental committees on which members of the staff would sit. Each committee would concern itself with some area of issues arising from the Department's activities. The other strategy was to have a number of plenary meetings at which the widest discussion could take place. (1977, 33-4)

After describing some of the committees he struck, including one on the general course, another on the Honours Courses, and one to facilitate staff-student relations, he went on to state his conception of plenary meetings: 'The plenary meetings of the Department were conducted by consensus and no formal votes were taken (although an occasional straw vote was). Hence parliamentary procedures were not followed at this stage of affairs. It was apparent, however, that as the process of democratization proceeded, such procedures would inevitably be adopted. They were so in 1969 during the first year of the chairmanship of my successor, Professor Slater' (34). Obviously, democratic procedures would have been adopted much earlier had Dean Bladen not been so uncompromising in his letter announcing Goudge's appointment. 10.22

The Staff-Student Relations Committee that Goudge established was almost certainly the first such committee in the history of the University of Toronto. In an institution that tended to take its students for granted, the mere establishment of such a committee sent a powerful message to

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students that this chairman respected their opinions and was prepared to listen to them. In this respect Goudge was in a tiny minority among the long-established faculty members; the much more usual attitude towards students was that of Marcus Long, who as undergraduate secretary was supposed to minister to their needs. After I succeeded him in this position in 1967, I asked him on one occasion how he had handled students' questions about the department's calendar entries. He brusquely told me that he never bothered to answer such questions, telling any students who dared to approach him: 'if you can't figure out what's in the calendar, you shouldn't be here.' Goudge was also appalled by this remark when I relayed it to him, but said he was not surprised, since Long's attitude was widespread in the Faculty of Arts and Science. That conversation between us may have been the impetus for founding the committee. I served on the Staff-Student Relations Committee with Goudge, who chaired it. Goudge asked some of the more vocal students in the department to sit on it and, when we met, asked them for their suggestions on how conditions might be improved. Some of their suggestions were easily accommodated, but the remedy for others lay beyond the powers of the department. In the latter cases, Goudge would patiently and carefully explain to the members of the committee why the structure of the university made it impossible for a single department to alter certain established practices. During those meetings I learned a great deal about the byzantine structure of the University of Toronto, which Wilfrid Sellars once remarked might work in practice but would never work on paper! This stood me in good stead in later years, and the student members came to understand that many of their proposed reforms could be carried out only at higher levels within the university. The committee meetings provided a release for much of the dissatisfaction felt by many of our students during this period, and when the student protests began in earnest, the department was spared disruption. Our students, it is true, were often at the centre of protests erupting on campus, but the targets of the protests were other units of the university, never the Philosophy Department. Goudge's courage and prescience in establishing this outlet for student grievances paid off handsomely and continues to pay off to this day. 10.23

Goudge was the first leader of the department to recognize clearly and emphatically that it had two duties towards its students - to acquaint them with the history of the subject and to develop whatever talent they had for

Thomas Anderson Goudge 407 philosophizing. George Paxton Young may have shared this conception of his duty, but the evidence is far from clear. The fact that he did not encourage discussion in the classroom leads one to think that he neglected the second responsibility. In his history of the department, Goudge provided a shrewd account of the way the teaching of our subject was viewed at Toronto during its first century. His comments were suggested by a consideration of Beaven's role in the department's history: At this early stage in the history of the subject at Toronto, one can detect features which were to become very characteristic of the Department of Philosophy in its later development. There is first, the emphasis on the close textual study of great philosophical works. This emphasis tended to eclipse any concern with the problems of philosophy as such. Secondly, a strong historical orientation was created by limiting the texts studied to those of past philosophers, especially to works of classical Greek thought. Thirdly, a tradition was begun according to which the proper order for a student to follow in pursuing the subject was to start with the pre-Socratics and proceed sequentially to the master works of Western philosophy. Eventually, if time allowed, thinkers of the recent past or even of the present might loom up distantly. These features undoubtedly helped to establish philosophy as a subject of substance in the new University. They testified that it has a rich ancestry, in which the continuity and clash of ideas and their interaction with social and political forces is worthy of study. Moreover, by focussing on the past, philosophy did not provoke dangerous thoughts about the present. Its pedagogical effect was conservative. Indeed, it assumed, rather than demonstrated, that the conclusions of sound philosophy and the dogmas of Christianity were in complete accord. Yet from a professional point of view all this resulted in a one-sided development which continued well into the twentieth century. Only many decades after its beginning at Toronto was the Department to restore a balance between the textual and critical approaches, between learning the history of philosophy and learning how to philosophize. (1977, 2) Although modesty forbids him mentioning it, Goudge was the central figure in restoring this balance.

10.24 In their contribution to the department's oral history Sparshott and Payzant discussed the changes the department had undergone since the

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Second World War. Payzant was at first inclined to see it as a passage from speculation to analysis: 'I had come in at a time, as a graduate student [in 1948], when speculative philosophy was at least still permissible, but when I returned as a member of the teaching staff, it was almost comical, speculative philosophy was almost comical, scarcely to be permitted.' This, remember, was 1957, when Anderson was still in charge. Once set in motion, the tide of change was inexorable: I can remember when it came to a question of getting a new chairman, Goudge had come to the end of his term, and I believe Slater replaced him and came to the end of that term, and so the question would be, who would be the chairman to succeed Slater? ... I can remember some kind of a memorandum distributed to all the members of the department in which it was proposed to send the following message to the dean of the Graduate School and the dean of arts and science saying that the Department of Philosophy no longer needed administrative leadership because it was running like a clock, everything was in great shape, so it didn't need administrative leadership. What we now need is philosophical leadership. And what is meant by 'philosophical leadership'? I leave you to guess, but what I understood it to be was that we ought to have the kind of purge that some of the greatest philosophy departments in North America had undergone in the preceding decade, when the people who were not entirely comfortable with positivism or with so-called analytical philosophy were frozen out and found themselves jobs in smaller places where they could still practise the kind of philosophical teaching and writing that they were accustomed to, to which they had been attracted in the first place. (DA, OHT)

Fortunately, nothing of the sort happened here, but I recall that a number of people expressed the fear that it was a possibility if certain individuals became chairmen. Payzant cited himself as one who was primarily interested in what he called 'speculative philosophy': 'I came into philosophy expecting it to be a branch of humane letters. I expected to be reading a whole lot of classical works on the subject, and criticisms of those classical works, and evolving my own platform for the criticism of those same works, and that my teaching activities would vary between the historical and the critical, and that is, generally speaking, how it has happened. But I can remember years in which, for example, it was very difficult to find anywhere to put Hegel into a program, and I certainly kept Hegel in my third-year aesthet-

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ics course, although there were objections being made to this. Fackenheim said to me, when I expressed discontent about it, "Just hang on, Geoffrey, it will be all right, sooner or later the graduate students will vote with their feet, and you'll be back in fashion," and that, of course, happened' (DA, OHT). For the record it should be noted that Payzant was educated at Dalhousie University, but his first degree was in English and history and included only a half-year introduction to philosophy, from George Grant. Because of Reid MacCallum's reputation in aesthetics, Payzant was advised to come to the University of Toronto for graduate work. After an arduous make-up year, he was admitted as a graduate student. Unfortunately, because MacCallum died at the end of that make-up year, Payzant received his training in aesthetics from visiting professors. Since his make-up year was taken in 1948-9 and consisted of the fourthyear honours courses, that training was very much influenced by Brett's conception of philosophy, which still dominated the curriculum. At this point in the conversation, Sparshott introduced an important set of distinctions regarding the changes that had occurred during this period: There were two quite distinct transitions actually, and one of them was the transition from predominately speculative to predominately analytic tendencies, and the battle between these in the department. Quite separate from that was the transition from the history of ideas, specifically, which Brett stood for, to a more problem-oriented or topic-oriented kind of philosophy, and this is a quite distinct issue. They got sort of combined in the battles that went on, but they're not really at all the same. When I was being interviewed for my job in London by Anderson in 1950, he asked me if I had any questions, I, being very young and green, said, 'Well, I'm not quite sure I believe in philosophy.' He said, 'Well, do you believe in the history of philosophy?' And I said, 'Well, yes, I believe the history of philosophy exists.' 'That's all right then, that's what we do.' In a certain sense, that was largely true. The honours course in philosophy taught people what had gone on in a way, and the question of the value or the truth about these issues wasn't really raised independently. That was something that was attacked very much by some of the people who came along. I think particularly of de Sousa here, and other people. There were quite vicious things said in department meetings around the time you're talking about, early 1970s I guess. That was different from the analytic-speculative thing, which was present, but I wasn't aware of it as being so much focussed, I suppose because I'd always been analytic, but tolerant of speculation. (DA,

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OHT)

In my opinion, Sparshott has it right: both tensions were present and they tended to blend into one another. In his remarks, quoted above (§10.23), Goudge focused solely on the history-versus-problems approaches to philosophy. Sparshott attributed the history of ideas approach to Brett and to reverence for his memory: 'It was really the aura of Brett that was the history of ideas, and people who operated under this aura rather than doing it themselves. So you got the impression this was going on. Anderson, I think, felt responsible for maintaining this aura. I always thought of him, at least, as a Brett person, the Brett person, whereas the other people were only sort of under the immensely powerful shadow of Anderson, so to speak. As soon as that was removed, then things just changed under Goudge, it was very much all-purpose, sort of history and criticism interwoven. But the analytic thing never really took root at Toronto effectively, for logic never really took root, we were very short of really powerful logicians around here ... High-powered analytic philosophy hasn't been done here really.' Again, in my opinion, Sparshott has hit the nail on the head. Because Goudge's steady benevolence allowed faculty to pursue the work that was most natural for them, both historical and systematic work was produced. The only high-powered logician teaching here at that time, Bas van Fraassen, was not committed to the sort of analysis to which Sparshott refers; indeed, as time has shown, there is a strong speculative bent to his thinking. Nor did Alasdair Urquhart, when he arrived a little later, show any preference for this sort of analysis. Goudge's own position on these various approaches to philosophy came up for discussion by Payzant and Sparshott. Sparshott thought that Goudge 'was extraordinarily neutral, that he was benevolently inclined towards everything, but didn't take positions.' Payzant put the same opinion more dramatically: 'Goudge, dare I whisper it, was a bit of a Vicar of Bray.'3 Sparshott: 'Well, yes.' Payzant: 'Very good at both, but never attempted to juggle them simultaneously. He seemed to shift allegiances once he got The Ascent of Life into print and received very high honours

3 The Vicar of Bray is the central figure in an eighteenth-century song of unknown authorship; its title figure is a clergyman who boasts, in six verses, of his skill at accommodating himself to the religious views of five successive monarchs, from Charles II to George I. The chorus runs: 'And this is law, I will maintain / Unto my dying day, Sir / That whatsoever King may reign / I will be Vicar of Bray, Sir!'

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for it; he seemed to change quite considerably the direction in which he moved, and the key to this may be precisely what Francis says about not having a high-powered logician member.' Payzant went on to mention the appointment of Henryk Mehlberg4 and the influence he had on Goudge, Dryer, and Savan during his short tenure here. Goudge's own testimony shows that his strong sympathies, throughout his career, were with those who thought the problems of philosophy should constitute the core of a philosophical education, but he was not at all inclined to preach. Of course, he did not exclude the teaching of the history of philosophy, but he was not in favour of teaching it as mere learning; its relevance to contemporary concerns should always be brought out. With regard to speculation and analysis, Payzant is right that Goudge did both, although his speculation was always tightly controlled. Grand hypotheses that might be true were not his cup of tea. 10.25

Earlier, Goudge was quoted as saying that he thought himself temperamentally unsuited for administration. In my opinion, truer words were never spoken. The explanation is probably a very simple one: he was a very shy man and consequently found interpersonal relations extremely trying. His shyness showed in his business conversations with his colleagues: he was noticeably uncomfortable and tended to be abrupt in his answers to questions. The fewer such meetings, the better, might have been his motto. When he was chairman, his office door was always closed, and those who wished to see him had to state their business to Mrs Jean Reoch, who functioned as his secretary. Whether he gave her the authority to screen his appointments is not known, but she certainly acted as if he had. She had very rigid ideas about rank and even more fixed ideas about the deserts of the various categories of beings whose right to exist she deigned to recognize. Assistant professors, to cite one of her rules,

4 Mehlberg (1904—83) was a Polish refugee who came to the University of Toronto in 1949 on a Lady Eaton Scholarship and stayed for seven years. Anderson gave him a teaching appointment when his scholarship expired. As Payzant noted, Mehlberg met regularly for philosophical discussions with Goudge, Dryer, and Savan, and all of them acknowledged being influenced by his views. His special area of interest was the philosophy of science, and during his Toronto stay he wrote The Reach of Science, which was published by the University of Toronto Press in 1958. In 1956 he left to take up a position in the United States.

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were not entitled to filing cabinets in their offices. Perhaps because he did not wish to antagonize her, Goudge allowed her to put a protective shield around him. Entering and leaving the department's offices proved a hazardous business for him. I have vivid memories of him waiting for the elevator at 215 Huron Street with head bowed and eyes firmly fixed on the floor. I could not help thinking that by adopting this stance he was hoping that no one would dare to interrupt his thoughts. After Goudge appointed me undergraduate secretary in 1967,1 made a point of seeing him regularly, and he often asked me to conduct some piece of business with a member of the department on his behalf. I found him an ideal boss: he never interfered once he had delegated ajob. Most faculty members, especially the younger ones, were very reluctant to see him about anything. From time to time, I also functioned as a messenger for some of them. I recall one occasion when a large number of the younger members met in the Faculty Club and worked out some proposal for reforming some aspect of the department's structure or offerings. At the end of the meeting, David Gauthier, who was acting as its chair, proposed that I should present the proposal to Goudge. It was clear to me that Gauthier was reluctant to do it himself. I carried out the group's wishes and found Goudge most receptive to its suggestions. These remarks concern only his term as chairman, for after his term was over his office door was always open and he was easily approached. Those who were in the department prior to his chairmanship, report that the same was true of that time. It was only after Goudge retired that I got to know him well. It was his habit to come to the department on Sundays to collect his mail, and since I always came in on Sundays when I was in Toronto, he would invariably stop for a chat during his visits. Quite soon after he retired, he opened up one afternoon on Anderson. It was the longest conversation I ever had with him - it lasted nearly four hours - and it was by far the most memorable. On that day I heard, mostly for the first time, all about Anderson's abuses, not only of Goudge, but also of others; some of them I have recorded earlier in this history. Anderson had been a terrible damper on the lives of some people in the department, and there was nothing they could do about it; they simply had to put up with him. I think Goudge suffered the most. Because he was next in seniority after Anderson, he was the one the others, less favourably placed, looked to for aid, but his basic shyness made it very difficult for him to offer the kind of sympathetic understanding they wanted, which, in turn, made him feel even worse. It was a vicious cycle. One benefit produced by this unhappy period of the department's history was the hardening of

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Goudge's resolve for reform, so that when the academic climate changed, he was ready to lead. To my way of thinking, the decisive move in preparing the way for change was the replacement of Vincent Bladen as dean by Albert Allen, professor of chemistry. Bladen and Anderson were birds of a feather; both were totally committed to top-down government. Both Allen and Goudge, although temperamentally very different, were convinced that the old governing structure was a spent force and that its replacement should allow for democratic institutions and practices. Goudge, because he enjoyed very wide support in the department, was more successful in effecting change than Allen, who had to do battle with a large and powerful and extremely vocal group of senior faculty who, like Anderson, were opposed to any change at all. In his journal, Goudge noted that he was subject to a good deal of abuse from members of this group when it became clear to them that he did not share their values and was prepared to work actively for change. To them, he was a traitor to the very system that had enabled him to reach the top of the departmental ladder. When I succeeded Goudge, their hostility was transferred to me; in meetings at every level of the university they made gratuitous and insulting remarks about the department, its policies, its former chairman, and its current chairman, with the undisguised intention of undermining its position on some contentious issue often before its position was even made known. In elementary logic, it is called 'poisoning the wells.' At the end of the day, however, it was in large part the changes supported by the Philosophy Department that were adopted, to the eternal frustration and utter dismay of the dwindling remnants of the old guard. 10.26

Goudge had a marvellous sense of fun; because of his shyness, very few in the department knew about this quality. He was particularly fond of those delightful sallies we sometimes find in books and articles by and about philosophers. For instance, he knew where Bertrand Russell had remarked that 'Kant was philosophy's greatest misfortune' and also where C.D. Broad had objected to Russell's judgment, on the ground that 'it left no proper superlative for Hegel.' And he remembered where it was recorded that Broad had described Wittgenstein as 'a genius with all the prima facie appearances of a charlatan.' Goudge's books, which were donated to the department's library, contained scores of handwritten notes recording bits and pieces that had struck his fancy. In a book

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by the British idealist philosopher H.W.B. Joseph, I found this wonderful limerick: 'There was an old tutor named Joseph / Whom nobody knows if he knows if / He knows that he knows / Which accounts, I suppose, / For the mental condition of Joseph.' Goudge, who was meticulous on sources, listed none for this verse. I like to think he wrote it himself. On the flyleaf of a logic textbook, he noted this howler from a paper by one of his students: 'The most important principle of logic is the Law of Excluded Muddle.' In a little manual, Foreign Phrases in Daily Use (1916), his vade mecum, he summed up his educational philosophy: 'Charles Beard once summed up the "lesson," which the study of history had taught him, by quoting the following four sayings: (1) Whom the gods would destroy they first make mad; (2) The mills of the gods grind slow, but they grind exceeding small; (3) Walk while ye have light, lest darkness come upon you; (4) When it becomes dark enough, you can see the stars. Similarly, my "philosophy of education" can be summed up in the following sayings: (1) You can take a horse to water, but you can't make him drink; (2) You can't make a silk purse out of a sow'sear; (3) Many are called but few are chosen; (4) Rome wasn't built in a day.' This selection of old saws reveals a man who knew that what he was doing was valuable but who did not take himself too seriously - in short, a man of wisdom. 10.27

For the first decade and a half of his retirement, Goudge functioned much as he had in his last years of teaching: he continued to keep abreast of the new literature in his chosen fields, and he reviewed the occasional book. During term time, he enjoyed wide-ranging discussions at weekly luncheon meetings with Douglas Dryer, Robert McRae, and David Savan, his long-time friends and colleagues. In 1981 Wayne Sumner, Fred Wilson and I brought out Pragmatism and Purpose in his honour. As its title suggests, the first half of this Festschrift was devoted to pragmatism. David Savan was invited by the editors to write the lead essay, in which he offered an appraisal of Goudge's work on Peirce; the other contributors were asked to write on some aspect of pragmatism, making reference to Goudge's work wherever appropriate. The second half had a similar structure, beginning with a commissioned paper by Fred Wilson assessing Goudge's work in the philosophy of biology. In his typical style, Goudge, after he had been presented with the published book, thanked all of the contributors by writing detailed replies to their essays.

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His physical health continued to be good for the rest of his life, but unfortunately for a man with such a precise and disciplined mind, he fell victim to Alzheimer's disease in the mid-1990s. Its course was, as it always is, relentless, and it eventually destroyed his cerebral abilities. It was a truly tragic end for a man whose mental faculties had always been his pride and joy. After five years of decline, he died on 20 June 1999. The department sponsored a meeting to celebrate his life and work on 30 October 1999, at which Wayne Sumner, Paul Thompson, Fred Wilson, and I recalled his achievements in administration, research, and teaching. John H. Sword, who had audited a graduate course with Goudge immediately after the Second World WTar and later served as provost of the university when Goudge chaired the department, contributed recollections of Goudge as a young member of the department. Goudge's son Stephen, a justice on the Ontario Court of Appeal, charmingly recalled what it was like to grow up with a philosopher for a father. Helen Goudge, who is only nine months younger than her husband, was present along with many members of both her family and his. (Helen died on 1 June 2001.) The occasion provided her with an opportunity to renew contact with many members of the department who owed their appointments to her husband. The mood of the meeting was bittersweet: regret that he was no longer with us and even more regret that his last years had been so cruelly taken from him; but there was joy too, since all of those present had been touched in some important way by this remarkable and good man.

11

The Merging of the Streams

11.1 When the news spread, in the fall of 1967, that Thomas Goudge had resigned as chairman effective at the end of the next academic year, his colleagues, without exception, were astonished. Since he had been appointed to serve until he retired, everyone had assumed, given his strong sense of duty, that he would continue in office until the middle of 1975. But the adoption of the Haist Rules by the university in 1967 had ushered in important changes regarding departmental governance, of which Goudge was quick to take advantage. Headships of departments were abolished. Their replacements were chairmen, to be selected by search committees to serve five-year terms; only on the recommendation of a second selection committee, after reviewing the incumbent's first term, could chairmen, if they were willing to serve, be appointed for second (and final) terms. For Goudge, this change of rules made it perfectly respectable to resign at the end of his fifth year in office without appearing to be a shirker. Indeed, it was almost certainly part of the university's intention in changing the rules to hasten the retirement from office of some heads who had failed to keep up with the rapidly changing times, although that was emphatically not true of Goudge. Knowing that he had sprung a surprise on his colleagues as well as on the dean, Goudge agreed to serve an additional year in order to allow sufficient time for the selection of a successor, but he made it crystal clear that he would not accept reappointment under any conditions. 11.2

At about the time that Goudge made his intentions known, the man who

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was considered by many of his colleagues as his most likely successor, William Dray, resigned from the university, again to widespread surprise. Dray was born in Montreal and had served for five years as a navigator in the Royal Canadian Air Force during the Second World War. After his discharge he enrolled at the University of Toronto and earned an honours B.A. in history in 1949; he then went to Oxford, where he was awarded a second bachelor's degree in philosophy, politics and economics two years later, an M.A. in 1955, and the D.Phil the next year. His doctoral thesis, 'Laws and Explanation in History,' was widely acclaimed when it was published by Oxford University Press in 1957. Fulton Anderson appointed him a lecturer in 1953, and a decade later he had risen to the rank of professor, just five years after the award of his doctorate. To many of his younger colleagues, this rapid rise appeared to mark him as the obvious next chairman; a successful term as graduate secretary served to confirm their expectations. Unbeknownst to them, however, other forces were at work. Few members of the department knew that the rapid growth of the University of Toronto had filled Dray with a sense of unease. With growth had come changes in the governance at all levels of the university; the old familiar ways were fast disappearing. Junior faculty and many students were demanding a voice in the way policy was made, with the consequence that administrators at every level were being forced to make very important decisions about the way the university would be organized on very short notice. One fruit of the growth in higher education proved more to Dray's liking. In addition to the expansion of established colleges and universities, new universities were being founded in Ontario. One of them, Trent University, was to be situated in Peterborough, a small city not far from Toronto. For its senior faculty, Trent's authorities had no option but to raid other schools. When they approached Dray, they were pleased to find that he showed an interest. According to reports circulating at the time, two characteristics of their plans especially appealed to him. One concerned size: Trent would never be very large; it was designed to serve the needs of Peterborough and its immediate surrounds. The other was the tutorial system of instruction: the intention was to organize the university along the lines of an Oxford college. Dray had flourished under that method of instruction at Oxford, and he was anxious to see it introduced into Canada. Even with these inducements, it still took him several months to decide to accept Trent's offer. It may have been the fact that Trent would have few, if any, graduate students that caused him to hesitate. Whatever his reasons, and they were bound to be many and to vary in weight, he finally decided to resign from Toronto and to accept the

418 The Main Stream

challenge of being one of the founders of Trent, serving as chairman of its Philosophy Department. After five years in that office, he taught for an additional three years at Trent before accepting a call to the University of Ottawa, where he served until his retirement in 1985. Dray's departure induced another senior member of the department to follow him to Trent. David Gallop was awarded both his bachelor's (1951) and master's (1955) degrees by Oxford University. When Anderson was seeking a specialist in ancient philosophy during the summer of 1950, he offered the position to Gallop, who was obliged to decline it, since he had not yet performed his two years' mandatory national service. In his place, Anderson hired Francis Sparshott, who was free to emigrate. Anderson did not forget Gallop and in 1955, after he had fulfilled his national service obligations, Anderson appointed him a lecturer; eleven years later he was promoted to professor. Like Dray he had also served a term as graduate secretary. Gallop's principal reason for preferring Trent to Toronto was the promised Oxfordian atmosphere, but he also wanted his children to grow up in a smaller city. At Trent, Gallop succeeded Dray as chairman and later served a five-year term as dean of arts and science. During his long teaching career Gallop produced a steady stream of scholarly works in Greek philosophy, including fresh translations of some of Plato's dialogues. 11.3

With Dray no longer a member of the department, the search for a new chairman was suddenly thrown wide open. The byzantine organization of the university ruled out candidates from the outside. Only someone already on staff stood a chance of operating effectively. None of the most senior members of the department showed the slightest interest in the position. The likeliest candidate from that group, Robert McRae, who had served as associate chairman under Goudge, had just completed a term as deputy dean of the Faculty of Arts and Science and had no desire to undertake new administrative responsibilities. Because of my work as undergraduate secretary and my active role in the Goudge reforms, I was urged by several of the younger faculty to become a candidate. I was interested in the position because I believed that, although all these reforms tended in the right direction, there was still a considerable way to go before the department would be truly democratically governed. Therefore, I agreed to stand. I must confess that I did not expect to be selected, since my age, thirty-eight, and rank, associate professor, were likely to

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prove handicaps. In addition, there was the fact that I had arrived in Canada from the United States only in 1964. It seemed likely that the search committee would prefer a Canadian citizen to a landed immigrant. Still, by standing I would have an opportunity to air my ideas for change and perhaps even secure a commitment from the next chairman to institute some of them. Two of the most pressing were the replacement of the Senior Committee by an elected Personnel Committee and the institution of parliamentary procedures and voting at departmental meetings.

11.4 In the months leading up to the appointment of the selection committee another candidate declared himself. With the exception of age, David Gauthier lacked my drawbacks. A Torontonian, he had been educated at the University of Toronto, from which he graduated in 1954 in honours philosophy and English. After a year at Harvard, where he earned the master's degree, he studied at Oxford, where he was awarded both the B.Phil, and the D.Phil. A revised version of his doctoral thesis, 'Practical Reasoning: the Structure and Foundations of Prudential and Moral Arguments and Their Exemplification in Discourse,' was published by the Clarendon Press in 1963. Anderson had formed a high opinion of his abilities during his undergraduate years. On 11 January 1956 he wrote to an Ottawa granting agency, in support of Gauthier's application for an award: 'Mr Gauthier, while an undergraduate, showed extra capacity in every academic regard. I considered him one of the two most satisfactory candidates I had ever taught. I gather that since his graduation he has maintained his zeal for study. We expect of him distinction in scholarship and teaching, and can think of no personal impediment which might stand in his way except perhaps a tendency to inform others about what he knows and they do not. I dare say marriage and other circumstances will modify this!' Anderson, who later referred to him as 'a little snapping turtle,' made him a lecturer in 1958; nine years later he was promoted to professor, and in 1979 he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada. In 1967 Goudge appointed Gauthier graduate secretary for a three-year term. Once in office, it quickly became evident that he had a strong and abiding passion for reducing practice to writing, and in the course of three years he formalized departmental policy for every stage of graduate studies and presented his proposals, which were meticulously drafted, to the Graduate Executive Committee and then, with its endorsement, to the graduate department for final approval. Policies concerning language require-

420 The Main Stream

ments for the doctorate, faculty appointments from the federated colleges to the graduate department, the number of graduate courses from each area of philosophy to be offered in any given year, and the composition and duties of supervisory committees were codified. By the time he left office in 1970 there was no detail of the graduate program that had not been thoroughly analysed and settled, sometimes by sets of rules of great and even bewildering complexity. In the following five years only minor adjustments in policy were required. For the first several months after Goudge announced his resignation, Gauthier disclaimed any interest in succeeding him, but he was prevailed upon to allow his name to stand. He agreed reluctantly, for at that stage of his career he would rather have devoted as much time as possible to his scholarly commitments.

11.5 The Haist Rules governing university appointments laid down the way in which a new chairman was to be chosen. On 9 September 1968 the provost appointed the first selection committee in the department's history. In addition to the dean of arts and science, who served as chairman, it included three deans and six faculty members, three representing the department. This large committee stood in notable contrast to the committee of one, namely, Dean Bladen, which had selected Goudge in 1962. Despite their desirability on other grounds, reforms always seem to compel people to do more work than did the old ways. It was the duty of the departmental members to ensure that the person selected enjoyed broad support within the department. Several open meetings were held at which faculty members expressed their views on the direction the department should take. Discussion at these meetings quickly revealed that the overwhelming majority approved the democratization that had already been introduced and wanted it extended to most areas of departmental business. Both Gauthier and I expressed our intention, if appointed, to conduct as much business as possible by means of elected committees and plenary meetings of both the undergraduate and graduate departments. The respective executive committees would set the agenda for plenary meetings, and the meetings themselves would be conducted by established parliamentary procedures. Indeed, the graduate department, under Goudge, had already committed itself to this constitutional change (§10.21). It remained to introduce similar procedures in the undergraduate department, once the question of student participation was decided.

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On the question of replacing the Senior Committee, there was again widespread agreement. As a first step, I proposed that the department abolish the separate office of associate chairman and designate both the graduate secretary and the undergraduate secretary as associate chairmen. The department would then have three officers, all of whom would sit on the Personnel Committee, the suggested name for the new body. The presence of the secretaries in personnel deliberations is essential, because in its deliberations the committee must be informed of the teaching requirements of both departments. Since the other members of the Personnel Committee were to be elected, voting constituencies had to be defined. The existing divisions in the department provided two sets of constituencies. At the time, all three professorial ranks in the central department had significant populations, so it seemed fair that each rank should have a representative on the committee. Because membership on the Senior Committee was limited to full professors, appointed by the chairman, junior members felt that their interests were unlikely to be given full consideration. My experience in the department had made it plain that junior members were more likely to speak frankly with their peers than they were with most senior members. The other major set of divisions that required recognition were the faculty members at Erindale and Scarborough Colleges. Including representatives from these two groups on the committee provided those teaching on the suburban campuses with access to the committee's deliberations and also ensured that no action would be taken at the unfair expense of either or both colleges. When the Personnel Committee was established, both Trinity and Victoria had Ethics Departments and St Michael's College had a Philosophy Department with its own curriculum. Since faculty members at Trinity and Victoria were cross-appointed to the department, each college was invited to send an observer to meetings of the Personnel Committee. In practice, these observers were treated as committee members. Given the proposed composition of the Personnel Committee, any changes in the status of the federated college departments could easily be accommodated by expanding its membership. In 1975, when these three departments were abolished, the Personnel Committee was duly expanded. While these deliberations were still in progress, Gauthier announced his withdrawal as a candidate for the chairmanship. The tug of unfinished scholarly work - his second book, The Logic of Leviathan: the Moral and Political Theory of Thomas Hobbes (1969), urgently required his attention - and other commitments had proved too strong. By offering to serve and by remaining a candidate through these meetings, he had

422 The Main Stream

provided the department with his ideas for its reorganization, and he was satisfied with the direction in which plans were developing for its further democratization. His withdrawal made the committee's job easier, since there was now only one candidate ready and willing to take on the job. The selection committee advised Dean Allen to offer me the appointment and I accepted the challenge. 11.6

I had joined the department in 1964 as an associate professor. The way in which my hiring came about was sparked by the assassination of President John F. Kennedy in Dallas on 22 November 1963. At that time I was teaching in the University of Houston, and the night before he was killed I had attended a Democratic Party dinner in honour of the local congressman, who was celebrating twenty-five years of service in the House of Representatives. The entire Texas House delegation was there, along with its two senators, Vice-President Lyndon Johnson and his wife, and President Kennedy and his wife. Kennedy was in fine form, teasing the Texans about their failure to accord him their whole-hearted support. The next day I was scheduled to give a talk to a club on campus at midday. When I arrived, I found a young woman in tears, who told me about the disaster in Dallas. Like millions of others I spent many hours that weekend watch ing the television reports. On Saturday evening Will Crichton, then a lecturer in the Toronto department, telephoned me to commiserate. As fellow graduate students, we had shared an apartment in Ann Arbor and during the 1960 election we had worked every weekend for the Kennedy campaign, handing out flyers at the local supermarket and talking with voters. Kennedy carried Michigan by a very narrow margin and we felt that our efforts had contributed, in a very small way, to his success. During our conversation Crichton told me there was a job opening on the St George campus for someone with my qualifications and that he had spoken to Goudge, who was interested in having me apply for the position. The following week I wrote to Goudge and told him that I was planning to visit Crichton in Toronto over the Christmas vacation and that I would welcome an interview. A few weeks after our very cordial meeting, I received a letter from Goudge offering me the position and I accepted it by return of post. I did not like the climate, either meteorological or political, in Houston. There had been parties in Houston to celebrate the assassination of the president, to mention only the worst incidents. Another important consideration was that the

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Houston department had only four members, so one taught mostly bread-and-butter courses, whereas the Toronto department was large and allowed for more interesting teaching assignments. My bachelor's degree was earned at the University of Florida in 1955, and from there I went to the University of Michigan for graduate study as a Woodrow Wilson Fellow. Michigan in those days worked its graduate students hard, especially after the first two years. In several semesters I taught three sections of elementary logic - the equivalent of a full-time position - although mercifully each section was limited to twenty-five students, since one had to do all the marking. By the time I graduated in 19611 had gained much valuable teaching experience. During the spring semester of my last year I taught full time at Wayne State University in Detroit, as a replacement for Alvin Plantinga who was on leave. The Houston job was arranged by William Frankena, then chairman at Michigan, who called me in one day and told me that he had scheduled an interview for me there. The interview proved to be merely pro forma and I was told at its end that I had the job. In my second year at Houston, I served as acting chairman of the department and chaired the Curriculum Committee of the Faculty of Arts and Science. Since coming to Toronto nearly all of my research time has been devoted to a study of Bertrand Russell's works. My interest in Russell was initially aroused in my undergraduate days by one of my teachers, James Oliver, who had written his dissertation at Harvard under Willard Van Orman Quine. In his courses Oliver assigned readings by Russell, and I found them more congenial to my way of thinking than those of most other philosophers. His writings were challenging but at the same time, because of their elegant style and wit, fascinating to read. At Michigan Russell also had a very prominent place in the curriculum. As the years went by I read many more of his works, both philosophical and popular, and I began to try to assemble a complete collection of his books. In 1967 I noticed a short article in the New York Times conveying the news that Russell's papers and books were being trucked to London where they were to be sold to finance his foundations. I went to Goudge and asked whether it would be possible for the University of Toronto to buy his papers. Goudge, who greatly admired Russell, was delighted with the suggestion and immediately took it up with his superiors. They, too, were interested, and they sent Brough Macpherson, a distinguished member of the Political Economy Department, to examine the papers and make a report. Macpherson was very impressed with the high quality of the archives, which included much unpublished material. His favourable

424 The Main Stream

report was used to support an application to the Canada Council for funds to buy the papers. After the university's application had arrived at the Canada Council, we learned that McMaster University in Hamilton had submitted a nearly identical request. The important difference was that William Ready, McMaster's librarian, had already secured half of the purchase price from the Atkinson Charitable Foundation in Toronto. That coup gave McMaster a definite edge and the council asked Toronto to withdraw its application. It would have been pointless to do otherwise, since the council was not going to provide the whole amount when half would do. McMaster's bid was successful and Russell's papers arrived in Hamilton in the spring of 1968. Shortly after they arrived, I met Kenneth Blackwell, a young Canadian with a passionate interest in Russell, who had been hired by Russell to assist in the cataloguing of his archives. Blackwell had moved with the papers from Russell's home in Wales to London and had helped to prepare the sale catalogue, The Archives of Bertrand Russell (1967). When Ready met Blackwell in London he offered him the job of cataloguing the papers at McMaster. Blackwell remained at the McMaster Archive until his retirement. In those early days Blackwell and I discussed various publishing projects, and the one we decided upon was to produce a series of thirty books reprinting or, in the case of manuscripts, publishing for the first time all of Russell's shorter works. Two series were proposed, one philosophical and one popular. Eventually, in 1980, after three more editors had been brought into the project, we received a very generous grant from the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council to begin work on the books. The first volume, Cambridge Essays, 1888-99, by all five editors, came out in 1983. Since that time I have edited five of the ten philosophical volumes, the last of which was published in 1997.

11.7 My most enduring legacy to the University of Toronto is the collection of books and pamphlets I have donated to the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library. One of these gifts is a very large collection of works by and about Bertrand Russell. It includes more than 2,600 books and pamphlets by Russell alone. Given that number, it is obvious that the collection is rich in editions, impressions, and translations. In addition, there are several thousand volumes to which he contributed an essay, preface, or intro-

The Merging of the Streams 425 duction, or whose authors discuss some aspect of his life or work. It is certainly the most comprehensive collection of printed Russelliana in existence. Russell's intimate connection with Cambridge led me to collect the first editions (both British and American) of John Maynard Keynes and Lytton Strachey; they, too, are housed in the Fisher Library. By far the largest collection I have given the Fisher Library consists of the first and other significant editions of philosophy books published in English since about 1870. Philosophy became a profession at about that time. By 2000 this collection included nearly 25,000 books and pamphlets. No other library holds such a complete collection of the publications of the philosophers included in this collection. The British Library is often missing the American titles; the Library of Congress lacks many of the British titles, especially the pamphlets; and Harvard University, which comes closest to matching it, holds many of the titles on microfilm only, the originals having worn out and been discarded. Once this vast collection is fully catalogued, its richness will be available to any user. My friend and fellow collector, Michael Walsh, has donated a complimentary collection to Fisher. His superb collection encompasses the first and other important editions of most of the important works of modern philosophy from Descartes through Schopenhauer and beyond. In June 20041 published Bibliography of Modern British Philosophers in two volumes, in which the books and pamphlets held in the Thomas Fisher Rare Book Library are indicated. A companion bibliography of Canadian and American philosophers will be published in 2005.

11.8 Although the office of chairman had not been redefined by the Haist Rules, the dean did not even mention 'personal responsibility' when he offered me the office. His role on the selection committee had made him aware of the very strong desire of the overwhelming majority of the faculty for full democratization and of my intention to reorganize the department's government in such a way as to realize that desire. In effect, by his and my actions the chairmanship of Philosophy was redefined, while nearly every other department in the faculty continued to conceive of the office as a headship, although modified by the Haist Rules to the extent of being obliged to appoint a Senior Committee. I am convinced that our early action in reforming ourselves saved the department from much turmoil during the next few years. Students of philosophy, as we saw in §3.16, are usually in the forefront of any stu-

426 The Main Stream

dent movement, as they proved to be when student activism erupted at Toronto, but because they did not find very much to object to in the way the department was organized, they directed their cries for reform at the faculty level and lent their support to students of other departments who were agitating for change. This department has never suffered any disruption in its operations due to student unrest. During the first year of my administration of the department the democratization begun under Goudge was carried to completion. Except for ex officio members, those serving on the Personnel, Graduate Executive, and Undergraduate Executive Committees were elected by their constituencies, and the decisions taken by these committees are by majority vote of those present, providing their number constitutes a quorum. The student members on the two executive committees are selected by the Graduate Philosophy Students Union and the Undergraduate Philosophy Students Union, respectively. The principal duty of the executive committees is to set the agenda for plenary meetings of the two departments. Before students were made voting members of the department, a decision was taken to limit the business of a plenary meeting to items on the agenda, which the appropriate executive committee was required to distribute to members at least a week in advance. Two related reasons lay behind this decision: in the first place, members could decide by reading the agenda whether or not they wished to attend the meeting, confident that no business other than the matters listed would come up for decision. As is customary, every agenda provided a line for 'New Business,' but it was understood that only notices of motion were accepted under that heading. Before the next plenary meeting, the appropriate executive committee would decide whether to include the proposed motion in some form on the agenda. In this way members knew that the decisions they were required to take had already been fully discussed by the executive committee and had been judged of sufficient merit to require a vote by the entire department. The second reason had to do with a fear, shared by many faculty members both young and old, that decisions might be taken for less than compelling reasons. When these departmental reforms were being debated, there was great unrest in the university; emotions ran high and very vocal people, many of whom were students, were demanding that the changes they wanted be made now. Equally vocal people were demanding that almost nothing be changed. As the department's faculty wanted to avoid making decisions on emotional grounds, the constitutional devices just outlined were put in place to reduce the likelihood of bad legislation

The Merging of the Streams 427

being enacted because a majority passionately wanted it at the moment. These devices have served the department well for three decades, and it seems likely they will continue to do so for a long time to come. Another device that has been found useful is the appointment of ad hoc committees to study important matters, such as reform of the undergraduate curriculum, which arise from time to time. Such committees report to the chairman, who then turns their reports over to the appropriate executive committee for action. After studying the report, the executive committee prepares a set of motions for the agenda of the next plenary meeting. In this way, proposed changes are examined three times, thus reducing the chances of mistakes being made. Even so, the department sometimes found, to mention the commonest example, that it had to abolish courses it had enthusiastically endorsed only a few years earlier, when experience revealed there was no student demand for them. With democratic procedures in place, it has usually proved easy to correct these errors without creating a fuss. The Philosophy Department was one of the first in the university to admit students to its decision-making process. That it was a wise decision is, I believe, the near-unanimous opinion of both its students and its faculty. As might be expected, the graduate students have exercised their rights and duties more consistently than the undergraduates. The reason is not obscure: in philosophy nearly every graduate student is hoping for a career in teaching and is therefore interested in learning how a department governs itself, and there are always ambitious graduate students ready to assume leadership positions. Undergraduate participation, on the other hand, depends almost solely upon there being leaders willing to organize meetings and do the drudgery. In some years there are none; in other years a small group will come together and work hard to leave its mark on departmental history. This pattern was noted in §6.2 with respect to the Philosophy Club. The level of activity of an undergraduate club is nearly always unpredictable, except when a very energetic student takes charge, and then for the duration of his or her studies the club will function as a club should. Occasionally such a leader has been able to recruit others to carry on the good work after he or she has graduated, but usually the carry-over lasts for only a year or so, and then the club becomes moribund until another leader arises and takes charge. The department has witnessed this same cycle in undergraduate participation in its governance, but the provision for student seats on the Undergraduate Executive Committee and the plenary meeting ensures that when a student leader does arise, or when some matter stirs up more general

428 The Main Stream interest, there is an established way of channelling the energy generated. To put the same point negatively: if there is little or no student interest in taking the places reserved for them, then departmental officers know that students are generally content with the way affairs are being managed. Provision for student participation is thus an important safety valve.

11.9 Funds for new appointments to the faculty almost completely dried up during my term of office. Of the three campuses, only Erindale had money for new tenure-stream positions. Two appointments were to be made in 1970-1, and if all the junior faculty were awarded tenure, Erindale's staff in philosophy would then be complete. Charles Chastain and Alasdair Urquhart were selected by the department for these positions. Chastain resigned four years later to take up an offer from the University of Illinois at Chicago Circle. Urquhart, whose doctorate was awarded by the University of Pittsburgh, has earned an international reputation for his many important contributions to modern logic. In order to make the best use of his talents, he was transferred to the St George campus, where the demand for advanced courses in logic is high. He is the editor of Foundations of Logic, 1903-05 (1994), the fourth volume in The Collected Papers of Bertrand Russell, sponsored by McMaster University. In 1974 another tenure-stream position opened at Erindale, and Gordon Nagel, a Canadian whose doctorate was awarded by Cambridge University for a thesis on Kant, was the successful candidate. At the time of his appointment he was teaching in the central department as a visiting assistant professor, a title used for one year only, in 1973-4. Nagel taught at Erindale, and later at Scarborough College, until he took early retirement in 2000.

11.10 In addition to curtailing new appointments, during my term in office the university decided to reduce the expenditures already being incurred by integrating the teaching of evening extension courses into a department's regular teaching schedule. Up to that time those who taught extension courses, whether in the evening or during the summer, were paid a stipend for each course taught. Younger faculty members, especially, welcomed the opportunity to increase their income by teaching one or more extension courses, since starting salaries in those days were very low. In the early 1970s departments were simply ordered to integrate the teaching of evening courses into the regular teaching assignments.

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The administration even contemplated staffing the summer courses in the same way, and for a while there was talk of instituting a 'trimester' scheme at the university, with faculty members on duty for two of the three semesters. No action was taken with respect to summer courses, and to this day they are taught on a stipendiary basis. The funds saved by integrating the evening courses were absorbed by the central administration. Faculty members who had regularly taught evening courses suffered a significant reduction in their incomes, and departments were obliged to reduce the number of their daytime courses. The central administration devised and implemented another policy for saving money. For the Philosophy Department it arose first with respect to the staffing of Scarborough College. When Scarborough sought authorization in the early 1970s to hire additional faculty in philosophy, the response of the central administration was that Scarborough's teaching needs would have to be met in part by assigning faculty from the St George campus to teach temporarily at the college. Again, this new policy was simply announced. On behalf of the department I protested to the dean, but my protests were brushed aside. Money was tight, I was told, and the department would have to tighten its belt like everyone else. We were required to send two of our members for the following academic year, and those chosen had to be acceptable to the college. This last rider was designed, the dean explained, to prevent departments from taking advantage of the new policy to dump their worst teachers on the college. The Personnel Committee settled on asking David Savan and Frank Cunningham to serve as our first rotatees. To everyone's relief, including the staff at Scarborough, both agreed, and the rotation policy, which was to last for nearly three decades, got off to a smooth start. But it was only a start, and it was not long before rotation was extended to cover shortfalls at Erindale College. The rotation policy had originally been promoted as a temporary measure designed to help the university cope with budget shortages, and the department, believing what it was told, had instituted it in the same spirit. Teaching at one of the suburban campuses for a period was to be voluntary; those asked to do it could refuse. The right of the host college to veto proposed rotatees also complicated the administration of the policy. During Gauthier's term as chairman (1974-9), it became imperative to reconsider the guidelines under which it had been operating. By that time the rotation policy had become a fixed part of university regulations and thus imposed a duty on every member of the department. Gauthier proposed that both restrictions on rotation be abolished: those asked to rotate could not

430 The Main Stream

refuse to go, and the college could not refuse to accept those assigned to it. Faculty members on the St George campus would be eligible for rotation only once in every seven years, namely, in the year following their return from sabbatical leave. The period of rotation was three years, and no one would have to rotate more than once. This policy with regard to Erindale College remained in effect for nearly a score of years. Rotation to Scarborough College ceased in 1976 when Paul Thompson joined its staff. Rotation to Erindale was finally phased out when a series of new appointments, during Wayne Sumner's term as chair (1988-94), led to Erindale's having, (temporarily, as it turned out) a full complement in philosophy. 11.11 There was one new appointment to the staff in philosophy at Scarborough College during my chairmanship: Andre Gombay in 1973. By chance I met Professor Peter Russell of Political Economy on St George Street at this time and he mentioned to me that Gombay, who had been teaching at Makerere University in Uganda, had lost his job because of the turmoil stirred up in that country by Idi Amin's brutal expulsion of the Indians. Russell, who had earlier taught at Makerere, sent me Gombay's curriculum vitae and I forwarded it to Peter Salus, the chairman of the Humanities Division at Scarborough, who would make the appointment. Since Gombay was a prospective member of the Graduate Department, I added a note to the effect that he would make a valuable addition to that faculty. Gombay's philosophical interests were very similar to those of Robert McRae, who was due to retire in a few years, so if he were hired he could help to cover this important area when McRae left. The college was pleased to appoint Gombay to a tenured position. Gombay was born in France and earned a licence from the Sorbonne in 1953 while he was a student in McGill University, where he earned his first two degrees. He then enrolled in Oxford and graduated with a B.Phil in 1958. For most of the next decade he taught at McGill, with a two-year stint at Makerere in 1966-8. In 1969 he returned to Uganda and then lost his job in 1972. When Scarborough hired him, he was a visiting lecturer at the University of Kent. Gombay taught for several years in Scarborough before moving to Erindale College in an exchange of places with Gordon Nagel. Gombay's appointment significantly increased the department's strength in the history of modern philosophy. Descartes is his principal interest. In 1993 he was awarded a Connaught Transformative Grant

The Merging of the Streams 431

worth $219,000 to put the entire Cartesian opus in the original (but modernized) languages into computer-readable form. Brian Baigrie and Calvin Normore also were members of his team. This massive project was completed in 1997 and Intelex has made the results available on a set of CD-ROMs. The brunt of the work on this project, it is only fair to note, fell to Gombay. In addition to this extraordinary contribution to studies on Descartes, Gombay has published a number of articles on his philosophy. 11.12

At the beginning of my last year as chairman (1973), Dean Allen asked me whether I wished to be considered for reappointment, and I told him that I did not want a second term. I explained that five years earlier I had had certain ideas for improving the work of the department and that I had had the opportunity of trying these ideas out on my colleagues. Some of them had found favour and been implemented and others had not. I did not have a fresh set with which to begin a second term. Therefore, he would have to find a successor. This time there was no contest of any kind. David Gauthier emerged as the only candidate seriously considered by the selection committee, and he accepted the position when it was offered him. As an administrator, to return to a point already made, Gauthier is a member of the school that is not satisfied until all policies have been reduced to written form. This style of administration has its good and its bad points. On the positive side is the undisputed fact that written documents serve as valuable guides for those required by their office to enforce rules; this boon proves especially valuable when there is a change in secretaries (or co-ordinators, as they are now called) or, indeed, chairs of departments. When new people assume office they have something to guide them besides oral tradition and the institutional memory of the administrative staff. Written documents are also useful in settling disputes, since they focus discussion on the wording of the rule. This good, however, is closely related to their chief defect, namely, that written documents tend to tie the hands of administrators in ways that unwritten rules do not. Exceptions to prevailing practice are easier to make when there are no written rules. Recall, for instance, Brett's admission of Emil Fackenheim to graduate studies on the basis of a single interview (§7.12). In later years such an action would have been thinkable but impossible. During his chairmanship, Gauthier pursued his bent. Everything wa written down; the chairman's duties were codified in away they had never been before. I will cite only one example, but a very important one. A sal-

432 The Main Stream

ary component called 'progress through the ranks' was introduced during his term of office. Its intention was to give those making orderly progress merit raises designed to reflect that progress. Faculty members making normal progress would - in theory, at least - reach the salary floor of the next highest rank at the time they were due for promotion to that rank. Departmental chairmen were required to make an annual judgment regarding every faculty member's progress by collecting and studying the data provided them. This was the sort of problem that fascinated Gauthier, and he devised an elaborate rating scheme that, when applied to a member's output, yielded a number for each of the three areas of assessment: teaching, research, and service. With these numbers in hand it was easy to calculate a single number for each faculty member and then to rank that member against the rest. A modification of his scheme is still in use today, although most subsequent chairs have not found it as easy to use as Gauthier did. 11.13 Reflecting on Gauthier's administrative style led me to the realization that a similar change was taking place at all levels of the university. Begin ning towards the end of my term of office and continuing to the present day, departmental autonomy has been whittled away until now very little remains. The chair's discretionary powers have nearly vanished. During my term in office, from 1969 to 1974, chairmen had considerable latitude to shape events. It was true, of course, that the dean's approval was often required before some action could be taken, but that approval was usually given during an oral interview of which no minutes were kept. I followed Goudge's example of committing very little to writing; in that way, the next case one encountered could be handled according to its merits. Occasionally, someone would recall that another member of the department had been treated in a certain way, which would lead to a dis cussion of whether the two cases were similar enough to be treated alike. It was a civilized way of running a department. A shrinking university budget gradually put an end to that style of doing business. The central administration, at both the decanal level and higher, began to take an interest in the way departmental decisions were taken and as a consequence imposed more and more rules, which the chair is bound to follow. Gradually, chairs were transformed into the central administration's agents in departments, and increasingly their time is taken up with gathering information to pass on to those above them. Large committees

The Merging of the Streams 433

have to be assembled to decide on appointments, tenure, promotions, and salary increases, and it is the duty of the chair to prepare all the documentation on which these decisions will be based. As a further step, the decisions of these committees must be approved by higher officials before they can be announced. At present, there are few matters that can be decided within the department itself, and few of them are important. I know this trend first hand, since in addition to the five years I served between 1969 and 1974,1 have served on three separate occasions as acting chair, in 1981-2, 1984-5 and 1994-5. 11.14 The most important single set of events during Gauthier's term of office was the merging of all those teaching philosophy on the St George and Erindale campuses into a single department. Since 1967 the members of the Ethics Departments of Trinity and Victoria Colleges had been routinely cross-appointed to the department in every academic year, and the staffing of the curriculum, including courses in ethics, was the responsibility of the undergraduate secretary. Thus, those faculty members originally hired to teach only moral philosophy were free to bid to teach any course offered by the department. This ad hoc arrangement, negotiated by Goudge, solved many of the problems that had arisen during Anderson's headship, but from the university's point of view it was far from satisfactory. The important decisions in the Ethics Departments appointments, tenure, and promotion - remained with the colleges. Rational planning, as Goudge had noted in his submission (§10.13) to the Macpherson Committee, demanded that these powers be centred in one office. Those teaching philosophy in St Michael's College were not affected by these arrangements with the other two federated colleges. St Michael's offered a separate curriculum in philosophy, including courses in ethics, and seemed set upon continuing on its own way into the indefinite future. Philosophy, however, was not the only college subject, and all three federated colleges were beginning to feel the pinch of shrinking budgets. Many people began to question whether it was economically fea sible to continue to have four Departments of Classics, English, French, German, and Religious Studies, and two Departments of Near Eastern Studies, as well as the byzantine structure in Philosophy. Pressure built to rationalize the system. During my chairmanship the department held a few meetings, chaired by Dean Allen, to which all those teaching philosophy at the St George and Erindale campuses were invited, to explore

434 The Main Stream

ways of merging that would retain some desirable features of the old system, but since there was no pressure from higher levels to change, nothing came of these discussions. It gradually became clear to everybody that only a decision at the highest levels of the university would carry weight, because the Ontario legislature would have to be petitioned to amend the University of Toronto Act. During the academic year 1973-4 the president of the university, John R. Evans, who had promised in his installation address that collegerestructuring would be an important goal of his administration, brought together the heads of all the St George colleges, both federated and constituent, and the deans of Arts and Science, Erindale College, and the School of Graduate Studies in a series of discussions to fashion a plan for realizing his goal. On 15 April 1974 the fruit of their labours, the 'Memorandum of Understanding Relating to the Role of the Colleges in the Faculty of Arts and Science, University of Toronto,' was published, and the president announced its implementation as of 1 July 1975 (UTA, A1974-1115, Gov. Council). For Philosophy this meant the creation of a single department, whose membership included all of those with appointments in the university department (including Erindale College) , the Ethics Departments of Trinity and Victoria, and the Philosophy Department of St Michael's College. All future staffing decisions would be made by the department chairman in consultation with the usual committees. The federated colleges retained the right to appoint professors from their own funds, but such appointments would have to receive departmental approval in order to teach its curriculum. In return for what they relinquished, the federated colleges were given increased funding to raise faculty salaries to the level of those in the university, and they acquired certain academic benefits, including the right to establish interdisciplinary programs in areas of special interest to their faculty members, subject, of course, to the approval of the Faculty of Arts and Science. The university also promised to work with the colleges to provide more college-based instruction by scheduling sections of popular courses in college buildings. The single most important consequence of the agreement, however, was the creation of a single Faculty of Arts and Science within the university. At some time early in the twenty-first century - in Philosophy it will come in 2014, with the scheduled retirement of Lloyd Gerson - all of those who held college appointments in 1975 will have retired, and everyone on staff will have been appointed by or have been approved by a university department. For the newly expanded Philosophy Department the most urgent matter was the development of a single curriculum. In §15.13 an account is

The Merging of the Streams

435

given of the origin of the PHI prefix to designate the courses in philosophy offered by the staff of St Michael's College. Since the St Michael's Department of Philosophy no longer existed, a decision had to be made whether to continue with two prefixes or to revert to one. St Michael's had developed a distinctive set of courses, most, but not all, of which duplicated the central department's offerings. After lengthy negotiations it was decided that the department would have a single list of courses, but those courses and sections of courses taught at St Michael's would bear the PHI prefix. The staff of the college were unanimous in their desire to retain it, and the department and the dean of the faculty honoured their collective wish. An expanded Undergraduate Executive Committee, renamed the Undergraduate Steering and Curriculum Committee, with representatives from the three federated colleges, was assigned the task of producing a single list of courses, some of which would be offered only as PHI courses. Thus, the unique features of the St Michael's curriculum were retained. Prefixes on courses served to inform students where a given course would be taught. Tenure decisions for those with college appointments were protected by a grandfather clause. Tenure was to be granted or denied by the original appointing body, unless a candidate requested a university hearing, which no one in philosophy ever did. In §15.38 the requirements for tenure at St Michael's College are compared with those prevailing in the university. It will be clear why no one at St Michael's volunteered to be judged by the university's rules, which were much more stringent. Since those with university appointments had no choice in the matter, there was some grumbling, especially among the junior faculty, about a double standard until all the St Michael's tenure cases and one at Trinity had been decided. Promotions to full professor were not protected by a grandfather clause. The case of every candidate, whether college or university, was treated in exactly the same way. 11.15 Since there had been almost no contact between the junior members of the St Michael's department and the members of the university department before the merger, several meetings of the Undergraduate Department were required before easy working relations developed. This set of meetings closely paralleled those the department had held while Goudge was chairman, except that in that case the two groups that had to learn to work together were those already in the department when Goudge was appointed chairman and his many recruits. I can testify that, in both

436 The Main Stream

cases, it took many hours of plenary meetings, in which every aspect of the department's business was thrashed out, before members of the two groups felt comfortable with each other and could work together harmoniously. There was an important difference, however, between these two historic periods. With respect to the meetings integrating the St Michael's faculty into the university department, the senior members of both groups had worked together for years in the graduate department, so there was already much shared experience between the members of the two groups. Much of the credit for the smooth integration of the St Michael's staff into the department must go to Larry Lynch, who had served as the chairman of the St Michael's Department for many years and who was very much a university man. For a quarter-century he had taught in the graduate department and was on excellent terms with all of its members. Given his goodwill and the fact that he was St Michael's new principal, it was not long before the department was again functioning harmoniously. The start, however, was somewhat bumpy. The first plenary meeting of the expanded undergraduate department was held on 22 September 1975 in the council chamber of the Galbraith Building. The meeting had been preceded by negotiations between the department and the St Michael's group of philosophers, with Dean Robert Greene of the Faculty of Arts and Science serving as chair and occasional mediator. Thomas Lang, who was St Michael's first discipline representative in philosophy, read a formal statement at the beginning of the meeting giving a brief history of these negotiations. Because of its historical importance, it is reproduced here in full: I must first thank you, Mr. Chairman, for so readily consenting to have this item (the status of the St. Michael's College group in the new Department) included in today's Agenda. St. Michael's philosophers are here today as members of the new University of Toronto Department after many, many years of unique independence within this University, and for some of us, I am afraid, it is a somewhat traumatic experience. Nonetheless, I think I can say we are looking forward, with anticipation, to participating more closely with our colleagues outside St. Michael's College in a new arrangement which, we feel confident, will enrich the discipline of Philosophy in the University of Toronto. In the rush to complete the final draft of what has come to be known as the 'Memorandum of Understanding,' the promised discussion with respect to the special problems attending Philosophy in the University of Toronto did not take place. In an attempt to initiate that discussion and to resolve some fundamental

The Merging of the Streams 437 questions posed by the prospective participation of St. Michael's College in the new Department of Philosophy, there followed, during 1974-75, a long exchange of letters and meetings involving Dean Greene, Chairman Gauthier, and Chairman Lynch, which, though valuable, proved inconclusive. Facing the July 1, 1975 implementation date of the single Department provision of the Memorandum, the governing bodies of the University of St. Michael's College (its College Council, Senate, and Collegium) ordered, in April, the preparation of a statement of minimum guarantees, to be incorporated in a draft Memorandum of Agreement between the University of Toronto and the University of St. Michael's College, regarding their respective Undergraduate Departments of Philosophy. A proposal for such a Memorandum of Agreement was forwarded, as a first step, to Dean Greene in early June. (Those who have not seen this document1 and who may be interested in the St. Michael's notion of 'minimum guarantees' may find a copy on file in the Department office or in my office.) Unfortunately, for a variety of reasons, it was not possible for the parties requisite to preparing for such an agreement to meet until August. A meeting was held on August 14, 1975, chaired by Dean Greene and attended by Chairman Gauthier, Associate Chairmen Cunningham and Robinson, Professors Dunphy and Lang, and Principal Kelly. Preparatory to this meeting Professor Gauthier had drafted a counter-proposal. However, in view of the

1 Entitled 'Response of the St. Michael's College Department of Philosophy to the Presidential Work Paper,' in this document the department flatly rejected one of the central points of the president's paper: 'We simply reject the proposal that philosophers throughout the University be re-grouped in a totally centralized University Department.' The St. Michael's philosophers went on, in an appendix - originally prepared in 1969 as a submission to the Commission on University Government — to outline an elaborate organization in place of a centralised department. They proposed that the department be divided into five or six sub-departments, each with its own chairman empowered to appoint, promote, and grant tenure to faculty members. In addition, there would be a chairman of the whole department, whose function would be to coordinate the activities of the various sub-departments, but with few, if any, powers except that of persuasion. 'There ought to be a chairman of the University Department of Philosophy, distinct from the chairmen of the sub-departments, to chair plenary meetings and to represent the department in the overall community of the University.' These suggestions were so at variance with the president's paper that in his proposal for a working agreement Gauthier makes no reference to them, nor does he propose making any changes in the department's governing structure. Instead, he proposed that the group at St Michael's have representation on both the Personnel Committee and the Undergraduate Steering and Curriculum Committee and that all of its members have voting rights in plenary meetings of the department.

438 The Main Stream fact that the July 1 deadline had passed, and a September deadline for getting the new Department in operation loomed just ahead, it was agreed by all present to postpone (but not discontinue) discussions related to a formal Memorandum of Agreement, and to enter into an interim working arrangement which might prove satisfactory to all. A brief preliminary statement to this effect was drafted by Dean Greene and Professor Gauthier, dated August 20. This was discussed at a plenary meeting of the St. Michael's College Philosophy group on September 10. A majority of the group sought further clarification of the working arrangement that had been agreed upon, and requested that a second meeting of Dean Greene and the other participants in the August 14 meeting be arranged to this end. They also requested that a clarified statement expressing the working agreement be included in the Department meeting today (September 22) for the information of all concerned. The meeting of Dean Greene et alii was held only this morning and Professor Gauthier has kindly consented to read the expanded statement (which was agreed upon by all present in the meeting this morning, and accepted by the St. Michael's College Philosophy group earlier this afternoon) concerning the participation of the St. Michael's College group in the new Department. (DA) This formal statement, it is safe to say, indicated that there was considerable apprehension within the St Michael's group regarding their impending absorption into the university department. I think it is also fair to note that within a fairly short period most of that apprehension was dissipated, and there were never disagreements so serious that higher authorities were required to resolve them. The document that Gauthier had agreed to read, which actually was read before Lang's statement at the meeting, is entitled simply 'Chairman's Statement: Department of Philosophy': For the first time, the undergraduate teachers of Philosophy on the St. George and Erindale campuses of the University of Toronto meet as a single Department. The purpose of our meeting this afternoon is to provide ourselves with the structure necessary to carry on our business. It is not to decide the way in which the University of Toronto and the University of St. Michael's College are to relate their respective rights and privileges in the teaching of Philosophy. Rather, the structure that we are to adopt today is to serve as a working arrangement during the period of time, provided by the 'Memorandum of Understanding,' in which we shall develop that body

The Merging of the Streams 439 of experience which can serve as a basis for that decision. To explain the present situation of the Department, I shall ask Professor Lang, Discipline Representative for Philosophy at St. Michael's College, to review the events which have led up to today's meeting. The Department of Philosophy embodies the traditions of the programmes in Philosophy developed both by the University of Toronto, with the participation of Victoria and Trinity Colleges, and by St. Michael's College. These traditions are the basis of the dual commitment, on the one hand of the University of Toronto and the Department, on the other hand to the Colleges and their programmes, which many members of the Department will maintain. The interim structure which we hope to adopt today incorporates the experience of the Department of Philosophy in relating the old University Department to the former Departments of Ethics at Victoria and Trinity Colleges. It begins the development of those measures which will incorporate the former Department of Philosophy at St. Michael's College as the St. Michael's College group within the University Department. Hence it will be subject to continuing review, to meet the ongoing and changing needs of the Department as a whole and each of its parts, and to assist the Universities concerned in whatever disposition they shall agree to make on the status of Philosophy when the 'Memorandum of Understanding' receives formal review. The Department of Philosophy recognises the following guidelines as applicable to the present interim period: (1) The Department of Philosophy shall maintain those programmes, carried on under the rubrics PHL and PHI, which have been developed by its components. In particular, the Department will respect the interest of St. Michael's College and of the Philosophy group at St. Michael's in maintaining a specialist PHI programme. Details of the extent and staffing of the programme in any one year will be worked out in full discussions within the Department in order to preserve essential courses within the PHI programme while taking account of the needs of the Department as a whole. (2) Every attempt will be made to resolve any difficulties of curriculum, staffing, or any other matter, involving the relationship of the PHL and PHI programmes, through the usual Departmental means of informal discussion at the Departmental administrative level, and more formal discussion in the Undergraduate Steering and Curriculum Committee, and at plenary meetings of the Undergraduate Department. Should difficulties arise about the status of Philosophy at St. Michael's College which cannot

440 The Main Stream be resolved within the Department, they will be referred to discussions including representatives of St. Michael's College and the Faculty of Arts and Science. (DA)

The 'Memorandum' stipulated that the Collegiate Board - a new body composed essentially of the same officials who drew up the 'Memorandum' - was charged with making 'a formal review of this Agreement no later than July 1st, 1979.' In neither that nor any subsequent review was there any change that altered the way the department had reorganized itself to incorporate the three college groups. Indeed, in the 18 May 1984 version of the 'Memorandum' 'unitary departments' are characterized in this way: The Departments of the Faculty of Arts and Science shall be organised on a unitary basis and there shall be no distinction between those Departments which were organised on a collegia! basis before 1975 and those which were not' (ibid.). 11.16

At the time of the reformation of the department, there was wide agreement among the faculty that a thorough review of the philosophy curriculum was required in order to integrate the set of courses developed at St Michael's into the expanded department's course offerings. As noted earlier, the newly established procedure for carrying out such a review was for the chairman to appoint an ad hoc committee to study the problem and to make whatever recommendations it saw fit. The chairman announced his intention of appointing such a committee at a plenary meeting held on 27 October 1975 and asked members for their support, which was unanimous. Frank Cunningham, then undergraduate secretary, chaired the review committee, and he appointed 'sixteen special committees on curriculum areas' to prepare recommendations for courses in their areas. With these lists to hand, the committee put together a curriculum and published its first report on 9 March 1976, which was discussed informally by the entire department at a plenary meeting on 22 March. The Steering and Curriculum Committee then revised the proposals for consideration by the department, which gave its approval to the new curriculum on 25 October 1976, effective the next academic year. In the preamble to its final report the ad hoc committee formulated a policy to govern calendar entries: 'This proposed curriculum provides a single pool of courses for the Department. In the Calendar courses will

The Merging of the Streams 441

appear under PHI and PHL headings. The PHI list will include all courses taught in any one year at St. Michael's College. The PHL list will include all courses taught in that year elsewhere. A course taught both at St. Michael's and elsewhere will be listed under both headings. Though it is still a matter to be worked out with the Faculty, it now seems that all courses not offered either with a PHI prefix or with a PHL prefix in a particular year will be listed in the Calendar under a third heading, e.g.: "PHI/PHL Courses Not Offered in 1977-78'" (DA). A separate listing for PHI courses continued through 1981-2, and thereafter a single list of courses appeared in the calendar, each one bearing one of three prefixes: PHI, PHL, or PHI/PHL; the department's Undergraduate Handbook and the St Michael's Philosophy Handbook informed students of the actual course offerings in a given academic year. This way of listing courses continued through the academic year 1999-2000. At a plenary meeting of the department held on 19 October 1999, a motion was unanimously adopted to abolish the PHI prefix, effective the following year. The minutes of that meeting record that the double listing 'was proving to be confusing to students,' and the external assessors appointed by the university to review the department's performance, after noting confusion among undergraduates on the intended meaning of the prefixes, had raised the question of abolishing the PHI designation with the philosophy staff of St Michael's and found them unanimously in favour of it. In their report, the assessors then recommended its abolition. The first year in which the revised curriculum was offered proved something of a disaster; enrolment dropped a staggering 12 per cent from the year before. The besom of reform was sweeping too cleanly. Enrolment in PHL courses was down by 8 per cent, but that in PHI courses had plunged 22 per cent. These grievous declines coincided with shrinking budgets and pressure on departments to take significant cuts. The only convincing argument a department could use to resist cuts was to point to its enrolment figures; if they were dropping instead of rising, however, it seemed likely that there would be a heavy - and permanent - price to be paid, because the cuts were being demanded in the base budget, not in so-called one-time-only funds. The dean had asked departments to indicate how they would take budget cuts ranging from 3 to 6 per cent. There was an air of soul-searching in the undergraduate secretary's report of 6 March 1978; he wondered, for example, whether the renaming of some courses had been a mistake: 'Our Calendar right now has been criticised by various members of the department for not having attractive enough titles and course descriptions and for not having full enough course

442 The Main Stream

descriptions. The reason that it does not have more attractive titles or course descriptions is, in the first place, because many members of the department (including myself at the time) objected to those types of titles and descriptions' (DA). Two changes in names and descriptions were widely debated at this time. In 1976-7 the department had offered 'PHL 216H, Deviance and Abnormality.' Its calendar description, clearly designed to appeal to students' interests, read: 'The notions of "deviance" and "abnormality" in the social sciences raise questions in theory of knowledge and ethics. According to what criteria do we decide that an action is "unnatural," a man is "insane" or "abnormal," a life-style is "deviant" or a political view is "irrational"? Is the application of these labels always arbitrary, subjective and culture-bound, or can it have some objective basis in human nature?' In the new curriculum, this course was renumbered PHL 244H, renamed 'Contemporary Controversies: Human Nature,' and redescribed in this way: 'An application of methods and theory in philosophy to controversies concerning such issues as the criteria of sanity, normality, or rationality; intelligence and intelligence-testing; male-female sex roles; homosexuality; alienation; or other issues.' The other contentious example was 'PHL 270H, Miracles, Mysticism, and the Occult,' which was described in 1976-7 as follows: 'Philosophy looks at the paranormal; such topics will be discussed as the concept of miracle, mysticism, philosophical implications of ESP, and the "occult sciences."' In the new curriculum this description was replaced by 'PHL 234H, Contemporary Controversies: Reality. Issues in metaphysics (the nature of reality) and epistemology (the nature of knowledge) raised by popular claims about ESP, miracles, mysticism, and the occult.' Enrolment in these two courses had plummeted in 1977-8. Departmental opinion was divided on such matters. Some thought we should revert to the earlier titles and descriptions, since high enrolment figures were of such crucial importance to the department; others, probably equally as many, argued that the earlier titles and descriptions pandered to juvenile expectations and should on no account be resurrected. The outcome of the debates appeared in the 1979-80 calendar: PHL 244H was renamed 'Human Nature and Abnormality,' with no change in the description; PHL 234H was renamed 'Miracles, Mysticism, and the Paranormal,' with a revised description: 'Metaphysical and epistemological problems raised by claims about such issues as miracles, mysticism, extrasensory perception, psychokinetic powers, and altered states of consciousness.' Neither side in the debate had clearly prevailed.

The Merging of the Streams 443 Distribution of the undergraduate secretary's report was followed on 15 March 1978 by a letter from Chairman Gauthier to each member of the faculty urging, nay commanding, that they attend the plenary meeting scheduled for 27 March: 'We have a strong interest, individually and collectively, in arresting the decline in Philosophy enrolment. Greater effort, on the part of each member of the department, in such areas as student counselling, liaison with secondary schools, advertising courses and programmes in Philosophy, and redesigning courses to enhance their appeal without sacrificing their academic excellence, will be necessary. The Undergraduate Secretary will be raising these, and other, issues at our plenary meeting, and / consider it of the utmost importance that you attend' (DA). At the meeting a number of proposals were canvassed for increasing student interest in taking courses in philosophy, but the only one that proved enduring was the establishment of an essay clinic in the department to assist students in writing better papers. Happily, the decline in enrolment proved short-lived. At the plenary meeting held on 23 October 1978, the undergraduate secretary reported a 15 per cent increase in course registrations in philosophy, although some of this rise was doubtless due to a 15 per cent increase in the faculty's enrolment. At least the department's numbers were no longer falling. Once the new curriculum had been fine-tuned and became familiar to students, the department's figures began to climb.

11.17 One of Gauthier's public complaints after he stepped down as chairman in 1979 was the failure of the university to provide funds for the renewal of the faculty. In an interview with Robert Matas of the Globe and Mail he is quoted as saying: 'I was chairman of the department from 1974 to 1979 and in five years, I was not able to make one single new appointment' (8 March 1986, All). In making this statement Gauthier had obviously forgotten that he had made one tenure-stream appointment. In 1976 he filled a vacant position at Erindale College by appointing Bernard Katz, a Canadian who had earned his doctorate at Cornell University. Katz is an analytical philosopher whose primary interests lie in metaphysics, philosophical logic, and the philosophy of language, all areas in which he has published papers. In addition to an excellent teaching record - he was awarded an Ontario Confederation of University Faculty Associations Teaching Award in 1998 - he has shown a genuine talent for administration. After a most successful term as graduate

444 The Main Stream coordinator, he was selected by the dean of the School of Graduate Studies in 1999 to serve as associate dean for the Humanities Division. Another addition to the faculty in philosophy during Gauthier's chairmanship was the appointment of Paul Thompson, who wrote his dissertation in the philosophy of biology under Goudge, as a lecturer in Scarborough College. He continued his research in this field and published The Structure of Biological Theories in 1989. Thompson has spent much of his career in administrative posts. In 1987 he was appointed chair of the Division of Humanities in the college, and only two years later he was selected to head the college as principal and dean. On his retirement from that position in 2003, he was appointed Director of the Institute for the History and Philosophy of Science and Technology for a five-year term.

12

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12.1

When Gauthier's term neared its end he made it known that he did not wish to be considered for a second term, and the selection committee settled on Thomas Robinson (who had served as graduate secretary under Gauthier) as his successor. Born in England, Robinson earned his first degree from the University of Durham and his B.Litt in Greek philosophy from Oxford. In 1964, a year before he submitted his thesis at Oxford, he accepted a position as assistant professor of philosophy and classics in the University of Calgary, where he taught until 1967, when he came to the Department of Classics in University College as a visitor, to replace John Rist, who was on leave. In December of that year, Goudge invited him to lunch and to Robinson's surprise offered him an appointment as associate professor in the Philosophy Department with a crossappointment to Classics. Robinson accepted and informed Calgary that he would not be returning. Robinson has published widely in Greek philosophy; his best known book, Plato's Psychology (1970), was honoured with a second and expanded edition in 1995. For eight years he served a the editor of Phoenix, the journal of the Classical Association of Canada. He has also been very active in scholarly societies, serving as president of both the Society for Ancient Greek Philosophy and the International Plato Society. In recognition of his untiring efforts in behalf of Greek philosophy, the government of Greece presented him with the Aristotle medal in 1998; this gold medal is awarded from time to time to foreign scholars who have made significant contributions to our understanding of Greek thought and civilization. As it happened, Robinson's tenure as chairman was short; towards the

446 The Main Stream end of his second year he resigned to take an appointment as vice-dean of the School of Graduate Studies. (Later he was to serve a term as dean of the school.) During his short time as chairman, there were several important changes in the faculty: Bas van Fraassen, Lorenne Clark and David Gauthier resigned and Ian Hackingjoined the department. Gauthier was on administrative leave during 1979-80 and was expected to return to the department, but he was offered a position at the University of Pittsburgh, then and now a top-rated school in philosophy. An effort was made at Toronto to match Pittsburgh's offer, but it was not enough to keep him here. One of his reasons for leaving, as we saw earlier, was the failure of the university to provide funds for the renewal of the faculty; in private conversation he also mentioned the fact that he had been teaching here for over twenty years and the prospect of a fresh environment had proved irresistible. The administration exempted him from his obligation to return to Toronto for a year after his leave was over, and he moved to Pittsburgh in 1980. His departure was a considerable loss to the university, and for a time it fuelled talk of a 'brain drain' to the United States. Gauthier flourished at Pittsburgh, where he was named Distinguished Service Professor of Philosophy in 1986.

12.2 Sometime in 1980 Robinson learned that Ian Hacking, then the holder of the Henry Waldgrave Stuart Professorship at Stanford University, wanted to return to Canada. Hacking, who was born in Vancouver, held two bachelor's degrees - one in mathematics and physics from the University of British Columbia and one in philosophy from Cambridge University. At Cambridge he had continued as a graduate student and earned his doctorate in 1962. After teaching for two years in the United States, he returned to Cambridge as a research fellow for two years. His Canadian alma mater then took him on, and he taught there for three years before being seconded by External Aid Canada to teach at Makerere University College in Uganda. In 1969 he went back to Cambridge as a fellow of Peterhouse and a university lecturer in philosophy; he then moved to Stanford in 1974. By this time he had published two books, Logic of Statistical Inference (1965) and A Concise Introduction to Logic (1972). During his Stanford years he produced Why Does Language Matter to Philosophy? (1975) and The Emergence of Probability (1975). John Leyerle, then dean of the Graduate School, was intent upon replacing Gauthier with someone of international reputation, and Hack-

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ing fit his bill perfectly. Hacking was willing to accept a joint appointment between Philosophy and the Institute for the History and Philosophy of Science and Technology, whose director reported to Leyerle. Thus, Philosophy would have to budget for only part of his salary, an important consideration in gaining the support of the dean of arts and science. Leyerle guided the appointment through the central administration. Hacking agreed to join the university in 1982, after a year's leave in Europe. His appointment has proved very valuable to the department. In his years at Toronto, he has published six books and edited a Festschrift in honour of Casimir Lewy, one of his Cambridge teachers. Until 1995, when he moved to the department, Hacking had an office in the institute and taught most of his classes in Victoria College, where the institute is housed. In 1991 the university recognized the excellence of his work in both teaching and research by naming him a university professor, the highest honour the university can confer upon a member of its faculty. Hacking is the recipient of many honours. He is a fellow of the British Academy, a fellow of the American Academy of Arts and Sciences, and a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada. In 2000 he was elected an honorary fellow of Trinity College, Cambridge. He is the first anglophone to be elected to a chair in the College de France in Paris, France's highest academic honour. Membership in the College is limited to fifty professors in all subjects, about half in the humanities and half in the sciences. After delivering a lefon inaugurate during their first year, professors are obliged to deliver a set of twelve public lectures in that year and every year thereafter. In 2002 Hacking was awarded the Killam Prize in the Humanities, Canada's most distinguished annual honour for outstanding achievement in one or more of the humanities. It includes a monetary award $100,000. On 29 July 2004 he was named a companion of the Order of Canada.

12.3 Robinson made another appointment to the faculty, although in the first instance it was not to a tenure-stream position. In April 1980 the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council announced a grant of $1.6 million to McMaster University for the purpose of editing The Collected Papers of Bertrand Russell I was one of five editors (all the others were from McMaster) awarded this grant, which covered five years and included funds for the department to hire an assistant professor to take over some of the courses I normally taught. James Robert Brown, a

448 The Main Stream

Canadian who was just completing his doctorate at the University of Western Ontario was the successful candidate. Five years later a tenuretrack position tailored to his strengths was advertised and, to no one's surprise, he was appointed to fill it. He is the author of several books, and with Calvin Normore founded Toronto Studies in Philosophy at the University of Toronto Press. By 2000 some forty titles had been published in this series. For many years Brown has been one of the organizers of the Dobrovnik Conferences on the Philosophy of Science. Every spring he and an international group of philosophers converge on Dobrovnik, Croatia, for a week-long discussion of some philosophical problem related to the sciences. These conference continued to be held during the worst years of the Balkan wars, when travel was perilous, since Dobrovnik can be reached by sea from Italy.

12.4 A notable event during Robinson's chairmanship was the establishment of the Jerome S. Simon Memorial Lectureship by his brother, Charles Simon. This is the department's first, and so far only, endowed lectureship. Jerome Stephen Simon (1940-80) earned his first two degrees in the department. In those days - the 1960s - the master's degree required the writing of a thesis and his essay, directed by Emil Fackenheim, was entitled 'Religion in Hegel's Phenomenology of Mind.' For his doctorate, he attended Brown University, where he wrote a dissertation on the coherence theory of truth under Roderick Chisholm. While still working on his dissertation, which he successfully defended in 1969, he was appointed to the faculty of California State University in Los Angeles and taught there for five years. After being tenured, he decided that he wanted to pursue another of his interests, namely, movie-mak ing, so he resigned and returned to Toronto, where for the next seven years he worked to turn a thriller into a major motion picture. When the film was undergoing its final editing, Jerome choked on a piece of food while lunching in a restaurant and, through a bizarre turn of events, was rendered comatose. He died three months later, never having regained consciousness. Charles Simon stipulated that income from his bequest 'be used each year to sponsor a lecture, in my late brother's name, which will be of interest to the Department of Philosophy, its faculty and students.' In consultation with the donor, the department decided instead to schedule the Simon Lectures at irregular intervals and to make each of them a series

A United Department 449 of four lectures, instead of a single one. The first set was delivered in March of 1984 by Panayot Butchvarov of the University of Iowa on the topic 'Scepticism in Ethics.' Subsequent series have been given by Gerald A. Cohen (1985) of All Soul's College, Oxford; Charles Taylor (1987) of McGill University; Richard Sorabji (1990) of King's College, London; Alison Jaggar (1992) of the University of Colorado; David Kaplan (1994) of the University of California at Los Angeles; Michael Friedman (1998) of Indiana University; and Elliott Sober of the University of Wisconsin at Madison (2002).

12.5 When Robinson resigned the chairmanship in May 1981, the department had very little time to find an acting chairman to take office just six weeks later. At a meeting of the Personnel Committee, convened by the associate chairmen, since Robinson was out of the country, I was asked if I would be willing to take on the job, and I said I would if the dean agreed. I served during the year in which Frank Cunningham was selected as chairperson, the title he favoured before the university, during his term of office, adopted 'chair' as its official title for the position. During that year Kathryn Morgan was given a tenure-stream appointment in philosophy and women's studies. She had been teaching in the department on an annual appointment since 1974; after 1977 her services were split between philosophy and women's studies. She holds a master of education degree from the University of Alberta and a doctorate in philosophy from the Johns Hopkins University; her dissertation, 'Merleau-Ponty's Critique of Descartes: An Evaluation,' was directed by Maurice Mandelbaum and Lawrence Davis. Nearly all of her subsequent work has been in feminist philosophy. The selection of Frank Cunningham as chair was uneventful; it seemed to most members of the department that it was his turn to take on the job. Since he had served as undergraduate secretary under Gauthier, he was well acquainted with the duties of the position. Cunningham was born and raised in the United States, where he earned his first two degrees: a B.A. from Indiana University in 1962, and an M.A. from the University of Chicago in 1965. While he was still a fairly junior doctoral candidate in the department, Goudge had appointed him to a lectureship in 1967. Three years later he was awarded the doctorate; his dissertation, 'Objectivity in Social Science,' written under Gauthier's supervision, was published in a slightly revised version by the University of Toronto Press in

450 The Main Stream

1973. Throughout his career his research interests have focused on problems in political and social philosophy, and he has three additional books to his credit as well as many articles. In 1995 he was honoured by being elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada, and in 2001 he was appointed principal of Innis College. In his negotiations with the dean, Cunningham, who was due a leave in two years' time, arranged to take that year off and I agreed to act for him. The only noteworthy happening during that interim year was the appointment of Rebecca Comay, then a graduate student in the department, to a tenure-stream position. Dean Leyerle of the School of Graduate Studies had secured funds from the Mellon Foundation for a number of 'bridging' appointments, one of which was in the department. Kenneth Schmitz, an expert in the philosophy of Hegel, was due to retire in a few years. Since student demand in his area of expertise was growing, it was imperative that he be replaced with someone competent to teach Hegel's philosophy at the graduate level and to direct dissertations on his philosophy. If the University were to wait until Schmitz's retirement to budget for a replacement, the person hired would be too junior to perform both tasks, especially the latter. When this problem (in a generalized form) was brought to the attention of the Mellon Foundation, its staff came up with the idea of granting chosen universities the funds to pay the salary of junior replacements for the five years preceding the retirement of selected senior professors. If the replacement was granted tenure at the end of the five years, then he or she would be ready to fill the shoes of the person retiring. With the granting of tenure, the university would assume responsibility for the person's salary, and if the univer sity denied the incumbent tenure, it undertook to create a tenure-stream position and to fill it. 12.6

Cunningham conducted three searches for Erindale College. The first of these resulted in the appointment of Douglas Hutchinson in 1983, an Oxford graduate whose speciality is Greek philosophy. A few years later Hutchinson transferred to Trinity College. In the next year Calvin Normore, who held a doctorate from Toronto and who had taught at Princeton for six years, was appointed an associate professor. Beginning in 1988, Normore reduced his commitment to half-time, with spring terms spent first at Ohio State University and later at the University of California at Los Angeles. This arrangement was far from ideal from Toronto's

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point of view, and it was finally terminated in the summer of 1999 when he resigned from the university and moved to UCLA. The third Erindale appointment was Arthur Ripstein in 1987. His principal interest is in the philosophy of law; he took a year's leave to study for the master of studies in law degree at Yale, which he was awarded in 1994. This degree, open only to experienced scholars, was designed by the Yale law faculty for those who wish 'to obtain a basic familiarity with legal thought and to explore the relation of law to their disciplines' and 'who do not desire a professional law degree.' This Yale creation exactly suited Ripstein's needs, since his interest lies in the philosophy of law but not in its practice. In 1990 he was cross-appointed to the Faculty of Law, and when he was promoted to professor in 1996, it was in both philosophy and law. Four years later he was appointed half-time in the Faculty of Law and moved to the St George campus. 12.7

During Cunningham's term of office a proposal that the University of Toronto establish a graduate program in bioethics came up for discussion. The impetus came from the Graduate School. In 1984 it was brought to the attention of Dean Thomas M. Robinson that several universities, to which the University of Toronto was wont to compare itself, had recently developed programs in bioethics. He struck a committee to study the feasibility of the University of Toronto's joining this new trend. Obviously, the Philosophy Department would be centrally involved in any such endeavour, but its effectiveness would depend upon support from the faculties of Dentistry, Medicine, Nursing, and Law. The committee made a survey of the programs available in Canada and came to the conclusion that there was a real, indeed pressing, need for the establishment of one at the University of Toronto. The demand for trained people in health services was growing and was already greater than the existing programs were capable of supplying. In addition, the ethical problems arising in medicine were of such complexity that new research was required before defensible solutions could be proposed. Two shortages were uncovered: (1) trained medical ethicists ready to work with health professionals were needed in fairly large numbers, and (2) researchers devoted to increasing our understanding of ethical problems arising in health care were in desperately short supply. It was thought by members of both this preliminary committee and a larger one struck to design a program that Toronto's resources were rich enough to staff a first-rate

452 The Main Stream

graduate program, capable of producing graduates of both sorts. This expanded committee, on which Cunningham served, presented the dean with a detailed proposal for a graduate program in bioethics on 15 January 1986. Despite the urgency of the committee's report, it was not until 1995-6 that the Collaborative Program in Bioethics was listed in the graduate calendar. While these discussions were taking place, the department was already deeply engaged in the teaching of ethics applied to medicine, nearly all of it at the undergraduate level. Several members of the department had been involved in developing and teaching these courses, with the earliest and strongest drive coming from members of St Michael's College, especially from Abbyann Lynch. Her crucial role in this important development is recorded in §15.35. In addition to her pioneering work at the undergraduate level from 1972 on she had also offered the department's first graduate course in this subject, 'Bioethics: Issues of Justice and Paternalism,' in 1980-1. Barry Brown, who was especially interested in ethical questions about informed consent and intensive care, worked with Lynch from the start. Elmar Kremer had studied the moral problems of abortion and artificial reproduction. William Harvey of Victoria, who was trained as both a philosopher and a lawyer, had a special interest in the ethics of suicide and euthanasia; he was also interested in studying the role of the physician and in questions of medical education generally. Eric Meslin, then serving as ethicist in Sunnybrook Hospital and teaching part time in the department, concerned himself with questions of harm in medical experimentation; from the perspective of his job at the hospital, he studied the roles of both ethics committees and the physician in resolving ethical questions. Paul Thompson of Scarborough College had made a study of ethical questions with respect to new reproductive technologies, and he was also researching the relationship between biology and ethics. Wayne Sumner had made studies of a number of areas - abortion, artificial reproduction, experimentation on human subjects, and death and dying - where moral problems arise. At the meta-level, he was concerned with the nature of bioethics itself. Joseph Boyle, who joined the department and St Michael's during these discussions, was interested in the moral questions raised by suicide and artificial reproduction, and he provoked discussion by asking whether human beings have a right to health care. It is doubtful whether in the late 1980s any other university had such resources in place to staff a graduate program in bioethics. The drive to establish a graduate program in bioethics was paralleled

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by one to found a centre for bioethics on campus, to be jointly sponsored by the university, its teaching hospitals, and the Ontario government. This proposed centre would have at its core a staff of a dozen or so senior scholars drawn from all the disciplines with a stake in advancing the field. Philosophers, as a matter of course, would play a central role. In addition to promoting original research, proponents of the centre had ambitious plans: it would sponsor educational opportunities for health professionals; provide expert consultation to persons involved in health care, including patients; make its staff available to government officials, other universities, the media, and the public for consultation and for responding to enquiries; and serve as a clearing house for information in the field. Frederick H. Lowy, a member of the Institute of Medical Science in the Faculty of Medicine, chaired the planning committee, and Wayne Sumner, then chair of the department, was an active member of it. As a first step, the university in 1989 established the Centre for Bioethics. Once the centre was in operation, discussions were opened with the hospitals aimed at bringing them into active participation in its work. As a condition of their involvement in its work, the hospitals would have to contribute to its funding. When an agreement was reached with the hospitals in 1995, the centre was renamed the Joint Centre for Bioethics. The Collaborative Program was its creation. After the Centre for Bioethics was established, funds were secured for a tenure-stream appointment, called the T'Anson Fellowship,' to be shared by the department and the centre. This fellowship, like the Mellon bridging appointments, paid the successful candidate's salary for the first five years. The university agreed, if tenure was granted, to take over the salary in the sixth year; it also agreed, if tenure were denied or the candidate resigned, that the department would be entitled to a tenurestream replacement. The task of searching for a suitable candidate fell to the department. The first search, limited to Canadian citizens and landed immigrants, resulted in no appointment, so the university requested and secured permission to conduct an international search. From the expanded field of applicants, the committee offered the job to a young American, Laura Shanner, who was just finishing her doctorate at Georgetown University and the Kennedy Institute of Ethics in Washington, B.C. She joined the faculty in 1993 and was awarded her doctorate a year later. In 1998, Shanner regretfully tendered her resignation in order to join her husband in Edmonton; they had lived apart since their marriage and now wished to be united. The quest for a replacement was shortened when Donald Ainslie, a tenure-stream assistant professor at Erindale Col-

454 The Main Stream

lege, expressed an interest in the position. When he was hired in 1996 it was principally for his expertise in the history of modern philosophy, especially that of Hume, but he was also highly trained in bioethics and had published in the area. When the search for a bioethicist failed to find a suitable candidate, Ainslie approached the chair of the department and negotiated a transfer to the St George campus, with half his time devoted to bioethics. In 2002 Gopal Sreenivasan joined the department (§12.20) as Canada Research Chair in Bioethics. His appointment made it possible for Ainslie to be selected as departmental chair (§12.21) for a five-year term beginning on 1 July 2003. Bioethics presents something of a dilemma to the department. On the one hand, there is great demand from those in health services for courses in medical ethics, and there is a steady but modest need for people trained in medical ethics to work in hospitals and on ethics committees. These pressures are real and require from some members of the department a commitment to develop and teach courses on a regular basis. Many of these courses are, in fact, service courses, however, and after several repetitions they can come to be regarded as drudgery. In addition, the sort of research projects that arise in medical ethics usually involve the collection and study of empirical data, a task for which philosophers are seldom trained. The theoretical part of bioethics almost always derives from the work of philosophers who think and write about ethics in a fairly abstract way, using examples for purposes of illustration or to stimulate thought, not as data. When ethical theorists publish their work, they only rarely include a section in which they apply their conclusions to actual cases. Because of these rather peculiar characteristics, there are few philosophy graduate students who are willing to devote themselves exclusively to the field of bioethics. The research required to get the degree and to secure and hold a teaching position demands that they gain a kind of expertise not taught in philosophy departments; thus the rationale for centres and institutes devoted to questions of applied ethics. It may be that in the coming decades the subject of bioethics will gain its independence from philosophy and draw upon the writings of ethicists only for fresh ideas. The seeds for separation do seem to be present.

12.8 Cunningham established the annual spring 'Philosophy Book Launch.' The first one was held - anomalously - on 17 November 1987 and honoured eight departmental authors and their books; that launch and

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all of its successors have been jointly sponsored by the University of Toronto Bookroom, which provides a display of the titles and also sells copies of the books. In the next year the event was moved to March and honoured ten authors. By this time its value was widely acknowledged and a tradition was established. Over 125 titles have been on display at these festive events, an average of about nine per year. Perhaps the most important value of the launchings is that members of the department are, with minimal effort on their part, kept abreast of the work of their colleagues. Before 1987 one learned of the publication of a colleague's book almost by chance, and often one did not come across the information until long after the book was out and perhaps out of print. Now that a list is circulated every spring, everyone - including those who do not attend the launch itself- is made aware of the titles of books written by members of the department. 12.9

One of Cunningham's major efforts on behalf of philosophy bore fruit only after he left the chair's office. In 1992 the Ministry of Education announced that it had approved the introduction of a philosophy course into the standard secondary school curriculum. The course would be offered in grade 13 and could be taught by any qualified teacher regardless of departmental affiliation. For the information of his colleagues, Cunningham briefly described the effort that had gone into its creation: 'The initiative successfully concludes forty years of lobbying by Ontario philosophers, who have seen no reason why students in Ontario would not, like peers in many countries, profit from systematic study of philosophical topics and history and from the critical thinking skills that philosophy study imparts. The first effort in the 1950s ran afoul of fear that philosophy might undermine religion. Since leading members of all religious denominations now support the project, this concern has ceased to be an impediment. A second attempt in the late 1960s and 1970s was met with apprehension from within the secondary schools that the plan could detract from established courses and require special training. The third attempt, which began with the formation of the Ontario Secondary School Project in 1986, included the participation of several secondary school teachers' (Toronto Philosophy News 3: 1 (Fall 1992), 6). Cunningham and Ian Winchester, then with the Department of History and Philosophy of Education in the Ontario Institute for Studies in Education, served as co-chairs of the Ontario Secondary Schools Philosophy Project,

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established by the Ontario Philosophy chairs, and the successful outcome is overwhelmingly due to their determined efforts. Both Cunningham and Winchester served on the ministry committee charged with producing a guideline for the course, and Andre Gombay and Amy Mullin were among those who assisted them in this work. It was completed by 31 March 1993, and the ministry finally approved the guideline some nineteen months later. On 14 November 1994 Cunningham informed project members of the content of the approved 110-hour course at the senior level: 'As to content, the course is divided into three segments: an introduction (10% of time allocation), an overview of the areas of philosophy (60%) and exploration of some topic in depth (30%). The exploration component provides latitude for special focuses. The Overview is divided into seven topic areas (each defined): 1. Philos ophy of Human Nature; 2. Ethics; 3. Social and Political Philosophy; 4. Epistemology; 5. Logic and Philosophy of Science; 6. Aesthetics; and 7. Metaphysics. Of these four must be addressed, and among the four must be at least one of the first three areas listed' (DA). The approval of the curriculum guideline meant that the course could be offered in the following academic year at those schools with the resources to mount it. On 15 February 1995 a statement entitled 'Philosophy Program Added to High School Curriculum in Ontario' was released to the news media: This fall, Ontario will become the only province outside of Quebec and the first educational jurisdiction in the English-speaking world to offer Philosophy as a fully accredited course in its secondary schools. The course will be offered at the Ontario Academic Course level at schools where there is sufficient demand and appropriate teaching resources. Students will be introduced to the main historical periods of both Western and non-Western philosophy, and to the main topic areas of philosophy such as ethics and logic. The new program has been in development since 1986 when the Chairs of the Ontario Departments of Philosophy struck a committee of university and secondary school teachers to lobby and plan for it. These teachers advised the Ministry of Education and Training in its preparation of a Curriculum Guideline for the course. University departments of philosophy, aided by the Council of Ontario Universities, will continue to provide support to the new program by making university resources available to the teachers in the form of discussion course materials and teaching methods. Studies of pre-university philosophy teaching done in other countries and in previous non-guideline courses in Ontario schools have shown that

A United Department 457 high school students have a special aptitude for philosophy. Its study helps students to develop critical thinking skills and to broaden their horizons. (DA)

This news bulletin was signed by Cunningham and Gornbay on behalf of the Ontario Secondary School Philosophy Project. Once the course was approved Cunningham undertook to assemble in the department's library a collection of suitable textbooks from which prospective teachers could make a choice. Several of them have used this resource. From its inception the philosophy course has proved a success in the schools where it has been taught. By 1999-2000 it was being offered in 130 schools and had an enrolment of nearly 6,000 pupils. The success of the course led to the formation of the Ontario High School Philosophy Teacher's Association, with some 150 members by 2001. Its first two annual conventions were opened by keynote addresses delivered by Ian Hacking and Ronald De Sousa, respectively. Cunningham and David Jopling of York University, who replaced Ian Winchester as co-chair of the project when the latter moved to the University of Calgary as dean of education, have attended both meetings as consultants. Some philosophers were concerned that the restructuring of the secondary school curriculum occasioned by the demise of Grade 13 in 2003 would threaten the existence of the philosophy course, but that fear proved unfounded. Cunningham and Jopling continued to lobby the ministry, with the happy result that the new curriculum will include not one but two courses in philosophy. Cunningham and Jopling wrote the new guidelines. In a letter to me of 31 May 2001 Cunningham described the new courses: Tn the new curriculum, which starts getting introduced next year in grade 11, there will be two philosophy courses: "Philosophy: Questions and Theories," a grade 12 course for students in the University "stream" (called "destination" in the new jargon), which replaces the Ontario Academic Course (to be phased out along with the other grade 13 courses) and "Philosophy: The Big Questions," a grade 11 course in the "open" destination, which means students taking it will not likely be going on to university.' Having ensured the continuation of the courses, project members now plan to lobby to have philosophy declared a 'teachable subject,' which means that a bachelor's degree in philosophy is sufficient for admission to a school of education. Over the years this will lead to a better-trained set of teachers than exists at present. In 2003 Cunningham and a group of teachers published Philosophy: The Big Questions, as a textbook for the grade 11 course; others will

458 The Main Stream

produce one for the grade 12 course. The courses are now a permanent part of the Ontario high school scene, an outcome almost inconceivable only a decade ago. 12.10

In 1988 Wayne Sumner was installed as chair of the department. Sumner is a native Torontonian who graduated from Victoria College in 1962 with an honours degree in philosophy and English. Both of his graduate degrees were earned at Princeton University, the doctorate in 1965 with a thesis entitled 'Normative Ethics and Metaethics,' directed by Stuart Hampshire and Joel Feinberg. The accidental way in which Sumner was hired is worth recording, since it throws a nice light on the way in which Thomas Goudge staffed the department in the 1960s. During his last year at Princeton Sumner was invited to visit the University of Western Ontario for a job interview. On his way back to Princeton he stopped off in Toronto to visit his mother . To reach her home he had to take a bus from the St Glair subway station. By a happy chance Goudge happened to board the same bus. Their conversation naturally drifted to the reason for Sumner's visit. Upon hearing that he was job-hunting, Goudge invited him to come by his office the next day; at that time he offered him a lectureship in the department beginning in 1965. Sumner's progress through the ranks was steady, and fifteen years later he was made a full professor. In 1990 he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada, and in 2002 he was made a university professor, the highest academic honour the university accords its faculty. When Lorenne Clark resigned as undergraduate secretary in 1970 to pursue legal studies, Sumner, at my request, took over the position and served until 1973. His superb organizational skills were immediately apparent. Clark had produced the first undergraduate handbook, but it was Sumner who gave it its customary appearance. During the course of his term he established, with the very able assistance of Mrs Joan Fox, a yearly calendar of the work of the office, which has benefited all of his successors. Because he showed such talent for administration, it was widely acknowledged among his colleagues that he would be asked to take a turn as chair of the department. In the years between these two administrative jobs, he published two books and several articles in ethics. His first book, Abortion and Moral Theory (1981), was one of the first books in which the problem of abortion was treated philosophically. His second, The Moral Foundation of Rights

A United Department 459

(1987), gave Sumner an international reputation as one of the leading authorities on utilitarianism. In more recent years he has turned his attention to the notion of welfare, and in 1996 he published Welfare, Happiness and Ethics, in which he treats welfare from a utilitarian point of view. In addition to these books, he has co-edited four others, including Philosophical Perspectives on Bioethics (1996) with Joseph Boyle of St Michael's College, which printed a set of invited lectures delivered in the department during 1993-4. 12.11

Sumner took charge of the department in 1988 with some definite ideas for improving its policies and its activities. The most important was the adoption of a deliberate policy for increasing the number of female professors. His proposal stirred controversy in the department, and a small number of professors were strongly opposed to its adoption. To focus discussion Sumner scheduled a meeting at which the opposing sides had their say. Those who opposed the policy were few in number but very vocal; a large majority, some of whom were equally vocal, favoured it. After the policy was adopted, Graeme Nicholson arranged to do all of his graduate teaching at the Centre for the Study of Religion and from then until his retirement in 2002 he had only a strained and tenuous relationship with the department. The Personnel Committee formally adopted the policy on 7 March 1990 and copies of it were distributed the next day. Entitled 'A Ten-Year Hiring Plan,' it reads as follows: The aim of this plan is to effect a significant increase in the Department's complement of female tenure-stream faculty over the next ten years. Our basic objective will be to fill two-thirds of our tenure-stream appointments over that period with women. The ten-year period will cover appointments beginning 1 July 1991 through 1 July 2000 inclusively. In order to achieve this aim we will need to attract the largest possible pool of qualified applicants for each position. With a view to this end, we will adopt the following procedures: 1. Wherever possible, positions will be advertised either as open (possibly with some preferred teaching areas) or with broadly described areas of specialization. 2. We will formulate our job advertisements so as to make it clear that we are particularly interested in attracting qualified female candidates. 3. We will engage in active searching and recruitment of promising

460 The Main Stream women emerging from graduate programmes or holding postdoctoral fellowships or faculty positions. 4. Where no adequately qualified female candidate appears in a given search we will consider postponing the appointment to the following academic year. We will not hire a male candidate instead unless we deem him sufficiently outstanding to take up one of the remaining one-third of positions. In deciding whether to seek authorization for a Tier II (international) search, our need to find qualified female candidates will be taken into consideration as one relevant factor. In no case will we lower our standards in order to fill a position. Since it is also desirable for the Department to avoid a concentration of female faculty at the junior ranks, we will endeavour to fill some senior appointments with women. We will also take into account the fact that the career paths of many women have delayed their progress through graduate school and subsequent employment. Throughout the target period we will need to monitor progress toward meeting our numerical objective. This periodic review will be carried out by the Personnel Committee. Should it become clear at any time that the objective cannot be achieved then we will adopt a new plan for a new target period. At no time will any position be designated as one to be filled only by a woman or by a man. (DA)

The careful detail of this policy statement is characteristic of Sumner's work, both in administration and in scholarship. Every contingency has been considered and dealt with. Anyone else taking over the chair has been provided with a clear guide of the department's intentions. Even before this policy was formally adopted Sumner had used it as a guideline in the searches in which he was involved in 1988-9 and 198990. Although Scarborough College is not part of the Faculty of Arts and Science, its search committees for new faculty include the chair of the appropriate St George department; the reason, of course, is graduate teaching. Thus, Sumner served on the committee that appointed Lynda Lange, a Toronto doctorate who works in social and political philosophy. Sumner chaired the search for a junior appointment to join the Trinity College group as a replacement for Kenneth Schmitz. Margaret Morrison, whose doctorate was earned at the University of Western Ontario, was the successful candidate. In the following year the department was involved in four searches: one at Scarborough, two at Erindale, and a joint one with the Faculty of Law. Sonia Sedivy, a Toronto graduate with a Pittsburgh doctorate, was appointed to the Scarborough position. Both

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Erindale searches resulted in the appointment of women, Amy Mullin, who was educated at Harvard and Yale, and Cheryl Misak. Misak later served as chair of the department (§12.20). The successful candidate for the joint position with law was David Dyzenhaus, who holds an LL.B. (1979) from the University of Witwatersrand in South Africa and a D.Phil, from Oxford. Dyzenhaus and Misak are the first married couple to hold appointments in the department. Both have had meteoric careers since joining the department and are now fellows of the Royal Society of Canada. Sumner's last two appointments were women. The first was Laura Shanner, whose appointment and brief departmental career is reported in §12.7. The other was Ingrid (Leman) Stefanovic, a Toronto graduate with a strong interest in environmental ethics. Her undergraduate degree was earned at St Michael's, and she elected to join its philosophy group. In 2003 she was appointed by the dean of arts and science as director of the Division of the Environment for a five-year term. 12.13

Scarborough College made another addition to its philosophy staff while Sumner was chair, although in the first instance it was only a temporary position. In 1993 Mark Kingwell came to the College as an assistant professor and immediately set about making his presence known to a wide public by writing articles and reviewing books for the local print media, delivering public lectures, and participating in radio and television talk shows. Within a short time he was being written up as a local celebrity. Not since the heyday of Marcus Long has a philosopher gained such popular fame in Toronto, but Kingwell's academic credentials are much stronger than Long's ever were. During his undergraduate years at St Michael's College he volunteered to work on the Varsity, rising through its ranks to editor. This work provided him with invaluable experience and contacts in the press, which he was able to tap when he returned to Toronto. His graduate study was done at Edinburgh and Yale. A revised version of his Yale dissertation, 'A Civil Tongue: Justice, Dialogue, and the Politics of Pluralism,' was published in 1995. His position at Scarborough was precarious until 1998 when he was offered a associate professorship at another Canadian university, which the college then matched. In 2001 he was offered a named chair at McGill University but elected to remain at the University of Toronto after the provost negotiated his transfer to the St George campus and promotion to professor. Since joining the university he has published four books and co-authored a fifth.

462 The Main Stream 12.14

During Sumner's term the university adopted an important new policy regarding appointments, in which the tie between retirements and replacements was greatly modified. No longer would a new appointment depend on the retirement of a professor, however eminent. Under the new policy, future retirements in the Faculty of Arts and Science are pooled, and departments required to submit their requests for new faculty at intervals of five years by presenting a plan that makes a case for each new position. Such plans can and do make reference to a department's traditional strengths and the effect upon them of impending retirements, but that is the extent of the remaining connection between present and future staff. Indeed, this new policy permits a department to shift into new areas of research and teaching, usually at the expense of old ones. In the case of Philosophy the recent development of a program in bioethics and other offerings in applied ethics has shifted some resources away from more traditional areas. It remains a question whether the department will be able to offer as rich a curriculum in the coming years as it did twenty years ago. A consequence of the new policy has been to reduce the importance of the federated colleges in the planning process at the departmental level. The pooling of retirements includes all of those, now few in number, who once held college appointments and were brought into the university's budget in 1975. For the first several years after 1975, since university policy permitted it, the colleges could argue for the replacement of each of their retiring members on the ground that they needed new staff to meet their teaching commitments. As the years went by, however, ever-shrinking budgets meant that fewer of these requests could be granted, and hard feelings were sometimes generated when a college group was told that there would be no replacement for a retiring member. Consequently, the size of these groups began to shrink as the department itself shrank in size. The new policy removed this source of irritation, since every group was treated in the same way. It focused attention on the overall needs of the discipline, and with the passage of time will lead to a better balance of sub-disciplines. As discussed earlier, imbalances in the pre-1975 faculty was one of Thomas Goudge's principal arguments against the division of the subject into a Department of Philosophy and three Departments of Ethics (see §10.13). The new policy, in addition to transferring the planning of new appointments from the geographical sub-groups in the department to

A United Department 463

its central administration, greatly increases the importance of the philosophical sub-disciplines. It is in terms of these groups that cases have to be made to the dean and the provost for new appointments. Exactly where the new faculty member is geographically situated is settled by invitation later. Because this invitation is based in large part on the perceived needs of the various sub-groups, the new member's philosophical interests continue to play a role in the second selection process. Of course, the new member is free to decline any and all invitations and in that case is assigned an office in the central department. It must be stressed that these remarks apply only to those who are recruited for positions on the St George campus. Job advertisements for the suburban campuses specify the home base of the successful applicant. The suburban universities submit their own plans to the provost for new faculty, and chairs of departments have only an advisory role in their creation. The primary consideration in drawing up these plans, in the case of philosophy, is to have a faculty diverse enough to cover the main sub-disciplines - ethics, epistemology, logic, metaphysics, and the history of philosophy - that must be taught every year in any respectable undergraduate program. The role of the department's chair, at both the planning and the search levels, is to ensure as far as possible that the new member will also fill a need or at least strengthen an already existing sub-discipline at the graduate level. 12.15

Another very important innovation made during Sumner's term of office was the formation of 'Friends of Philosophy,' a group of undergraduate and graduate alumni who responded to his invitation to support the department's work, usually by donating money for some specified purpose, such as travel for graduate students who are participating in a conference. Sumner persuaded two graduate alumni, Jay Alan Smith (Ph.D. 1978) and Jon Joseph Kanitz (Ph.D. 1983), to outfit a computer room for the use of graduate students. This generous gift was repeated several years later when new equipment was required. Both men had earned their doctorates at a time when there were very few teaching positions available. Their response to this disappointment was to acquire training leading to jobs in the financial world, and both of them have enjoyed very successful careers in Toronto. The computer room was named in their honour. Fundraising is very time-consuming and not every chair is equally committed to it. When Cheryl Misak assumed the chair in 2000,

464 The Main Stream she asked Lynd Forguson to serve as the department's fundraiser. No doubt this was a wise move, since it relieves the chair of an onerous duty without removing her from the process itself. At some stage every potential donor wants to meet the chair. As a means of keeping contact with the department's friends, Sumner instituted Toronto Philosophy News, an annual newsletter published towards the end of the academic year and sent to all Philosophy alumni. This newsletter, which is also widely distributed within the university, brings together in one place all of the important happenings in the department since the publication of the last issue and is therefore an important contribution to its archives. One feature of the newsletter of more than passing interest to former students is the inclusion of obituaries of faculty members who have died during the course of the year. Toronto Philosophy News grew out of the Philosophy Newsletter, which was initiated by Frank Cunningham, who announced his intention of producing two issues each academic year. Earlier chairs, back to and including Goudge, had brought out a single bulletin, usually in September, providing faculty members with news of promotions, appointments, retirements, and so on, as well as what was available by way of travel money and research assistance. On 6 April 1983 Cunningham produced what he said was 'a NEW IMPROVED Departmental newsletter' which ran to eighteen pages. The last half was devoted to listing publications and invited addresses of departmental members; the first half included reports from all the various geographical units of the department submitted by discipline representatives. This revived newsletter enjoyed two additional issues, but then languished until the appointment of Sumner as chair. In September 1988 he revived the 'moribund' newsletter and promised publication on a monthly schedule during the academic year, a commitment he kept. As a consequence, his term as chair is well documented. Subsequent chairs have maintained the monthly schedule, although their products have in general proved thinner of content than Sumner's. One very useful feature of all these newsletters is their comprehensive lists of coming events, making it easy later to determine dates of conferences and visiting speakers.

12.16 Sumner's fund-raising initiatives were intimately involved with the refurbishment of the department's space in 215 Huron Street. As detailed above (§10.15), the central offices were moved there in 1965; the move,

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like the building itself, was supposed to be temporary. The building's transient character is underscored by the fact that it has never been given a name but is referred to only by its city address. Had the projected home for Arts and Science departments been built on Huron Street opposite Robarts Library, then the department's sojourn in 215 Huron indeed would have been temporary. Budget shortfalls have continued to delay its construction, so nearly forty years later Philosophy is still housed at the top of 215 Huron Street. Originally, it occupied all of the ninth floor and half of the eighth, but after only a few years, the head of Physical Plant, then ensconced with his aides on the tenth floor, proposed trading that floor for Philosophy's space on the eighth floor. The department was happy to oblige him, and the trade was made before the end of my term of office in 1974. In this exchange the department acquired a large common room on the tenth floor with windows overlooking the lake, replacing one on the floor below with no windows. Aside from removing a few unwanted partitions and doing a bit of painting, no other improvements were made to the tenth floor at the time of the exchange. For the next two decades little was done to improve the quality of the department's space; the university always pleaded a lack of funds when requests were submitted. Sumner decided that the time had come to insist upon improvements in both the configuration and the decoration of some parts of the space. The plans he submitted were approved and the changes carried out. The two southeast corner suites, each with an inner office reachable only through the outer one, were designated for general use. The tenth-floor suite and two adjoining rooms were made into one and furnished with carrels for the use of graduate students. The ninth-floor suite was transformed into a departmental library, carpeted and outfitted with custom-made furniture. The library houses recent runs of the most popular philosophical journals, a modest collection of books by prominent figures in the history of philosophy, and a small number of reference books. Its furniture was purchased with money donated to the library or with funds earned by selling donated books. The first large donation of books was the gift of the family of David Savan, for whom the library is named. Later, the family of Thomas Goudge gave his library, and the widow of Joseph May (Ph.D. 1968), whose thesis on Kant's conception of geography led to a tenured position in the Department of Geography, donated his extensive collection. Most of the books in these collections were sold, with the money going into the library's account and the donors receiving income tax receipts for the same

466 The Main Stream amounts. In recent years several others have given smaller collections of books, all of which have been sold. Journal subscriptions and purchases of new reference books are paid for from the library account. Sumner's plan also included the creation of a large meeting room on the ninth floor. Four small windowless offices were transformed into one room; the absence of windows is less noticeable in the large room. Departmental meetings, as well as some colloquia and graduate seminars, are now regularly held there. Having a meeting room is a distinct boon, since they are at a premium on campus. Last, but not least, the common room on the tenth floor was reconfigured and refurnished; departmental receptions, including the annual Book Launch, are held in it.

12.17 When Sumner's term was nearing its end, he, like his predecessors, announced that he would not accept reappointment. The search committee's choice fell on Mark Thornton, who a decade earlier had served a successful term as graduate coordinator. Thornton was scheduled for a leave the following year, so the dean asked me to serve as acting chair in 1994—5, which was also my last year before retirement. Thus, for the third time I acted as chair, making a total of eight years in that office. Two job searches were conducted during that year. The one for a specialist in mediaeval philosophy resulted in no appointment, and the university successfully petitioned for an international search. The second search recommended the appointment of Joseph Heath, who was edu cated at McGill and Northwestern, as an assistant professor in Erindale College. His principal areas of research and teaching are social and political philosophy, moral philosophy, and rational choice theory. In 2001 he published two books, Communicative Action and Rational Choice and The Efficient Society: Why Canada is as Close to Utopia as It Gets. The former was written for his professional colleagues, and the latter was directed at a wider audience. The argument advanced in his popular book is an important contribution to the endless debate on Canada's future. In 2001 Heath moved to the University of Montreal for a twoyear trial period; he returned to Toronto in 2003.

12.18 Mark Thornton was born in England, where he received all of his education, including three degrees from Oxford: the B.A. (1963), the B.Phil, in

A United Department 467 Philosophy (1966) and the M.A. (1967). His thesis for the B.Phil degree, 'The Mind and Mental Events,' was supervised by MichaelJ. Woods. From Oxford he went to Sheffield University, where he earned the Ph.D. in 1970 for 'Thought and Sensation' under W.W. Mellor's direction. All of his work for the doctorate was done while he was a member of the Ethics Department of Victoria College, to which he had been appointed by Francis Sparshott in 1967. Thornton's principal research and teaching interests are philosophy of mind, moral psychology, and legal responsibility. He has published two books, Folk Psychology: An Introduction (1989) and Do We Have Free Will"? (1989), and he and Arthur Ripstein edited a special issue of the Canadian Journal of Law and Jurisprudence on criminal law. In a move that took his colleagues by surprise, Thornton elected to take early retirement effective 30 June 2001, only a year after his term as chair ended. The reason he gave was that he no longer felt the kind of commitment to his work that he believed faculty members should have; it was time to make way for younger people who were so motivated. During his first year Thornton chaired two successful search committees. Donald Ainslie (§12.21) was appointed to Erindale College and Robert Gibbs to the central department. Gibbs, who was educated at Yale and Toronto, taught at St Louis University for four years and then at Princeton for seven. He has published books in both Jewish philosophy and contemporary ethics. In 1997 the delayed appointment in mediaeval philosophy went to an American, Claudia Murphy, who resigned after four years to pursue a non-academic career. Both of Thornton's next two appointments were at Erindale. In 2000 Jennifer Nagel, a Toronto graduate with a Pittsburgh doctorate, joined its staff. Nagel is the daughter of Gordon Nagel, who taught at Erindale during her childhood. The second Erindale appointment went to Anjan Chakravartty, who also received his undergraduate training at Toronto. After work experience in India and China, he completed the requirements of a master's degree at Toronto in 1995 before going to the University of Cambridge, where he was awarded a doctorate in the history and philosophy of science. A research fellowship from Cambridge delayed his taking up the appointment until 2002. At the end of his first year of teaching, he transferred to the Institute for the History and Philosophy of Science and Technology. Vincent Shen was appointed in 2000 to the Lee Chair in Chinese Thought and Culture, a joint appointment with the Department of East Asian Studies. Shen earned his first two degrees from Fu-jen Catholic University before moving to the Universite Catholique de Louvain, where he was awarded the doctorate in 1980. His thesis, 'Action de Creativite:

468 The Main Stream

une etude sur les contrastes genetiques et structured entre 1'action blondelienne et la creativite whiteheadienne,' was directed by Jean Ladriere. He held the European Chair of Chinese Studies at Leiden University in The Netherlands at the time of his appointment to Toronto. 12.19

While Andre Gombay was serving as graduate coordinator, he calculated that the department was about to graduate its 500th Ph.D., and that this happy event would very nearly coincide with the centenary of the founding of the Ph.D. degree. Although its first doctorate was not awarded until 1903, the department had offered the degree from its inception in 1897. Gombay urged the department to mark this occasion in an appropriate and festive way. A conference, 'Looking Back, Looking Forward: The History of Philosophy for the Next Century,' was held on 24 and 25 October 1997. Twelve former doctoral students - all professors of philosophy - presented papers on a wide variety of topics, and current graduate students were invited as commentators. This venture in self-congratulation was followed by a sesquicentennial conference (to celebrate the renaming of the university in 1850) on 28 and 29 April 2000, at which eight distinguished alumni, both graduate and undergraduate, delivered papers, again on a wide variety of topics. The second day of the conference overlapped with one on Hegel's Aesthetics: Lectures on Fine Art, at which seven speakers, all holding Toronto doctorates, dissected that demanding work. The last of these self-reflective events was a series of four colloquia presented by distinguished former undergraduates of the department during the academic year 2000-1. 12.20

The committee appointed to select a successor to Thornton recommended to the dean that Cheryl Misak be offered the position, and she accepted the challenge. She is the first woman to head the department. At the time of her appointment to the department in 1990, with teaching duties at Erindale College, Misak held a tenure-track position at Queen's University. She holds degrees from the University of Lethbridge (where one of her teachers was John Woods), Columbia University, and Balliol College, Oxford, which awarded her the D.Phil, in philosophy in 1988. In her last three years at Balliol, she served as a lecturer and tutor in philosophy. Before coming to Toronto, she had com-

A United Department 469 pleted her first book, Truth and the End of Inquiry: A Peircean Account of Truth, which was published in 1991. Her progress through the ranks has been impressively rapid: she was granted tenure and promoted to associate professor in 1993 and four years later was made a professor. Her second book, Verificationism: Its History and Prospects, came out in 1995. In 1999 she edited Pragmatism, a supplementary volume for the Canadian Journal of Philosophy, and in 2000 she published Truth, Politics, Morality: Pragmatism and Deliberation. In 1998 Thornton appointed her graduate coordinator. Her success in that office, as well as her impressive records in research and teaching, led to her appointment as chair to succeed him. She took office on 1 July 2000. A year later she was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada. Misak's first year on the job was busy, with new appointments to be made on all three campuses. Scarborough's search for an assistant professor specializing in ethics and the history of philosophy resulted in the appointment of Martin Lin, a Spinoza scholar, who earned his doctorate at the University of Chicago. The Erindale search led to the appointment of Sergio Tenenbaum, the husband of Jennifer Nagel. A native of Brazil, he earned his first degree at the Hebrew University of Jerusalem in 1988 and his doctorate from Pittsburgh. His principal research interests lie in ethics and the philosophy of Kant. The department also made its first senior appointments in many years. The chancellor of the university, Haljackman, had donated a considerable sum of money for the creation of Jackman chairs in the humanities. One important intention of these new chairs was to establish connections between departments by seeking candidates who were competent to teach graduate courses in at least two areas of study. Philosophy was linked with political theory, law, and religion in one chair, the Jackman Chair in Philosophical Studies; and with classics in another, the Jackman Chair in Classical and Ancient Studies. The process of selecting and interviewing candidates was very complicated, and in the case of the Chair in Classical and Ancient Studies twice resulted in the chosen candidate declining the appointment after it was offered. The outcome was happier for the other chair. Thomas Hurka, whose entire teaching career has been spent at the University of Calgary, joined the department as a Jackman Professor in 2002. Hurka's first degree, an honours B.A. in philosophy, was earned at Toronto in 1975. For graduate study he went to Oxford, where he was awarded both the B.Phil (1977) and the D.Phil (1980). His doctoral dissertation was entitled 'Perfectionist Ethics' and was directed by R.M. Hare, and in 1993 a version was published under the

470 The Main Stream title Perfectionism. Hurka has written two additional books in ethics, Principles: Short Essays on Ethics (1993) and Virtue, Vice, and Value (2000), and has co-edited Ethics and Climate Change: The Greenhouse Effect (1993). An initiative by the Government of Canada led to the appointment of three new faculty. Of the 300 or so Canada Research Chairs awarded to the University of Toronto, the department secured participation in three at the junior level. Like the Jackman Chairs these research positions are required to straddle disciplines. The department shared in chairs in bioethics, ancient thought (with classics), and philosophy of biology or philosophy of medicine (with the Institute for History and Philosophy of Science and Technology). Two were filled in 2002. Rachel Barney, whose first degree was earned at Toronto, was appointed to the Canada Research Chair in Classical Philosophy. She was awarded a doctorate by Princeton in 1996. The bioethics chair went to Gopal Radu Sreenivasan, a young Canadian, with degrees from McGill, Oxford, and the University of California at Berkeley, who was a staff scientist in the Department of Clinical Bioethics at the National Institutes of Health in Bethesda, Maryland, when he agreed to move. The negotiations that resulted in his appointment included a position for his companion, Jennifer Hawkins, whose doctorate was awarded by Princeton; the university created a tenure-stream position at Scarborough for her. Since Hawkins also specializes in ethics, including bioethics, her arrival, along with that of Hurka and Sreenivasan, will give the department impressive strength in this important area of research and teaching. Marleen Rozemond, a native of Holland, where all of her education through the bachelor's degree took place, was appointed an associate professor in 2002 with duties at the University of Toronto at Mississauga. For the doctorate she studied at the University of California at Los Angeles where her thesis, 'Descartes's Conception of the Mind,' was directed by Robert M. Adams. Before coming to Toronto she had taught for eight years at Stanford University and for five years at Kansas State University. Her book, Descartes's Dualism, was published by Harvard University Press in 1998. Philip M. Clark III, who was educated at Oberlin College and the University of California at Los Angeles, where he was awarded the doctorate in 1992 with a thesis entitled 'The Irrelevance of Desire: An Essay on the Rationality of Action,' directed by Warren Quinn and Philippa Foot, was appointed an assistant professor at the Mississauga campus in 2002 Gurpreet Rattan also joined the faculty at the Mississauga campus in 2002. A native of Canada, he earned his first degree at Simon Fraser

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University and then studied for a year at the University of Western Ontario before moving to Columbia University where he earned three advanced degrees, including the doctorate. His areas of specialization are the philosophy of mind and the philosophy of language. When one reflects on the spate of recent appointments in ethics and political philosophy and the specializations of those retiring during the next few years, the thought comes forcibly to mind that the department's profile begins to resemble that of the 1950s and 1960s, when there were Ethics Departments at Trinity and Victoria Colleges. The only essential difference between the two eras, given that ministerial students are even scarcer now than they were then, is the rise of student interest in various branches of applied ethics. The department must hope that the demand in these areas continues to grow at the undergraduate level and that the younger faculty will develop reputations strong enough to draw significant numbers of graduate students in ethics and politics. The alternative, which is not at all unreasonable or unlikely, is that some of these faculty members will develop strong interests in other branches of our discipline. It has happened before; when it did so in the 1970s, it gave the department, then at its largest, as rich a set of experts as it is possible to assemble in philosophy. In 2003 two full professors joined the faculty, Peter King and Jennifer Whiting. King, whose speciality is mediaeval philosophy, earned his doctorate at Princeton in 1982. Since then he has taught at Fordham, the University of Pittsburgh, and Ohio State University, where he was a professor. His first book, Jean Buridan's Philosophy of Logic, was published in 1985. Jennifer Whiting, Jackman Professor of Philosophical Studies, was educated at Franklin and Marshall College and at Cornell, where she was awarded the doctorate in 1984. She then taught at Harvard, the University of Pittsburgh, and Cornell, where she was an associate professor at the time of her appointment here. Her philosophical interests are analytical philosophy, moral psychology, and the philosophy of Aristotle. The department also welcomed two new associate professors in 2003: Michael Glanzberg and Philip Kremer. Glanzberg came to Toronto from the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, where he had taught for seven years. His first degree was earned at the University of Pennsylvania in 1987; he then attended the University of Michigan, where he earned a master's degree in mathematics. He moved to Harvard for doctoral studies and was awarded the Ph.D. in 1997. His thesis, The Paradox of the Liar and the Problem of Context,' was directed by Charles Parsons and Warren Goldfarb. In addition to several articles on various problems of logic, he has

472 The Main Stream edited a special issue of Synthese, Tarski on Truth: A Centennial Celebration. Glanzberg resigned at the end of his first year to take a post at the University of California at Davis. Kremer, a son of Elmar Kremer, a long-time member of St Michael's College, also works in logic and the philosophy of language. His first degree, a bachelor of science in mathematics, was earned at Toronto. All his advanced work was done at the University of Pittsburgh, where he was awarded the doctorate in 1994. His dissertation, 'Real Properties, Relevance Logic and Identity,' was supervised by Nuel Belnap. Kremer taught at Stanford, Yale, and McMaster Universities before his appointment to the University of Toronto at Scarborough. A junior appointment between Philosophy and the Faculty of Law went to Sophia Reibetanz Moreau, whose first degree and a law degree were earned at Toronto. She also holds a B.Phil, from Oxford and a doctorate from Harvard. In 2002-3 she was a clerk for Beverley McLachlin, the chief justice of the Supreme Court of Canada.

12.21 Early in 2003 Cheryl Misak was offered and accepted the position of vicepresident (academic) in the University of Toronto at Mississauga, her old college, effective the end of March. Joseph Boyle was appointed acting chair for the three months remaining in the academic year. That left very little time for the dean to find someone willing to take on the position on such short notice, but he was determined to conclude the search before he, too, left office. The committee's choice fell upon Donald Ainslie, who had joined the department in 1996. His first degree, an honours B.Sc. in mathematics, was earned at Queen's University in 1988. For graduate studies he attended the University of Pittsburgh, where he was awarded the doctorate in 1996 with a thesis entitled 'Self, Sympathy, and Society in Hume's Treatise of Human Nature,' directed by Annette Baier. In the same year he received a master's degree from the Medical Ethics Program sponsored by Pittsburgh's History and Philosophy of Science Department. His work for the M.A. included a thesis entitled 'Redefining Bioethics in the Age of AIDS.' In the short time he has been in the department, Ainslie has proved himself a valuable asset. In addition to discharging his teaching and scholarly activities in a most commendable way, he has been willing to take on many extra tasks. In 2001 he was granted tenure and promoted to the rank of associate professor. At thirty-six, he is the youngest person to have held the department's top office.

Part Two

CONTRIBUTING STREAMS

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13

Philosophy at Victoria College

13.1

In the years when Bishop Strachan was busy establishing King's College, the Methodists were by far the largest Protestant denomination in Upper Canada. Much of the opposition to the Royal Charter of King's College came from them, in particular from a young preacher named Egerton Ryerson, who had already tangled publicly with Strachan over the question of the Clergy Reserves, that is to say over the question of establishing the Church of England as the official church of Upper Canada. Strachan had a low opinion of Methodist preachers, representing them, in a printed sermon in 1825, 'as American in origin and sentiments, as ignorant and idle folk who had forsaken their proper callings to preach what they did not understand' ('Egerton Ryerson,' 5). His slurs stung Ryerson, whose family was of United Empire Loyalist descent, into writing a devastating critique of Strachan's sermon. Published as a pamphlet and signed simply 'A Methodist Preacher,' it caused something of a sensation among the Methodists, since heretofore they had produced no writer who was a match for Strachan. Its authorship soon became widely known, and Ryerson, at the time a probationary preacher, assumed a leading position in the Methodist Church. By 1830 it seemed to many of the dissenters that Strachan was going to succeed in his efforts to keep King's College and its endowment for the Anglicans, so at the annual conference of the Methodist Episcopal Church of Canada, which at the time had fifty-five ministers and probationers and 11,348 members (Cornish 1881,1: 535), plans were laid for a new educational institution. The conference expressed its intentions as follows: This Academy shall be purely a literary institution. No system of

476 Contributing Streams Divinity shall be taught therein; but all students shall be free to embrace and pursue any religious creed, and attend any place of religious worship which their parents, or guardians, may direct' (Burwash 1927, 7). The Christian Guardian, the official newspaper of the Methodist Episcopal Church, on 23 April 1831 set forth the case for the new college in language of great eloquence, almost certainly the work of its editor, Egerton Ryerson: Of the importance of education generally, we may remark, it is as necessary as the light - it should be as common as water, and as free as air. A young man commencing in the world without education is like a mariner going to sea without any knowledge of navigation. There is a possibility of his getting into some desired port, but it is only a possibility. Education to the mind is like hands to the body - they are essential to most of the pursuits, though they may be sometimes abused to the worst of purposes. Education among the people is the best security of a good government and constitutional liberty; it yields a steady unbending support to the former, and effectually protects the latter. An educated people are always a loyal people to good government - and the first object of a wise government should be the education of the people. An educated people are always enterprising in all kinds of general and local improvements. An ignorant population are equally fit and liable to be the slaves of despots, and the dupes of demagogues; sometimes, like the unsettled ocean, they can be thrown into uncontrollable agitation by every wind that blows; at other times, like the stupid ass, they tamely submit to the most unreasonable burdens. Education, like seeing, is one of the most fruitful sources of public, social and individual happiness. We may see many things that are hurtful and painful, yet the pleasures of observation are inexhaustible - so it is with the pleasures of knowledge. (Sissons 1952, 274) Who could resist signing on to help found such an institution? Church members responded generously to a subscription drive to found Upper Canada Academy. Nearly £8,000 had been pledged from some 15,000 Methodists by the time the building's cornerstone was laid in Cobourg on 7June 1832. Unfortunately, when it came to honouring their pledges, not everyone was in a position to do so. Appeals to the government for help were insultingly rebuffed by the lieutenant governor, Sir John Colbourne: 'The system of education which has produced the best and ablest

Philosophy at Victoria College 477 men in the United Kingdom will not be abandoned here to suit the limited views of the leaders of societies who perhaps have neither experience nor judgment to appreciate the advantages of a liberal education' (Hodgins 2: 11-12). Two years later Colbourne changed his tune and petitioned the British government to lend financial support to the new institution. The Methodists sent Egerton Ryerson to England to lobby the government for funds and a royal charter; he was successful on both counts. With the difficulties over money settled, there arose a difference of opinion among the Methodists - fundamentalists versus the rest - over the intended nature of the school, which delayed its opening until 18 June 1836, just nineteen days after it received its royal charter, the first charter ever given a non-conformist university in the British Empire. One hundred and twenty students were enrolled during its first year. For its first six years Upper Canada Academy functioned as a preparatory school, teaching the classical languages and literatures, English, and mathematics. One of its four masters did offer lectures in moral science, although there seems to have been no examination in the subject. In 1841 the Parliament of the United Canadas extended the academy's original charter and granted it university powers. At the same time, its name was changed to reflect its new status; henceforth it was to be known as Victoria College. Before the change of status and name, Upper Canada Academy admitted both women and men as students, but in its more elevated state it ceased to admit women. Its board approved this minute: 'The Board as a matter of course, has determined that the female department which has heretofore existed in the institution shall be forthwith discontinued.' No reason is given, but one presumes the board's action was based upon the belief, widely held at the time, that baccalaureate work was beyond the capacities of women. Thirty-five years would pass before Victoria again opened its doors to women. As a consequence of the board's action, the Methodists established a new secondary school, the Cobourg Academy for Young Ladies. 13.2

The Reverend Egerton Ryerson, who had been appointed principal of Upper Canada Academy in 1840, continued as the first principal of Victoria College, with the additional office of professor of moral philosophy. The calendar for 1845-6 prescribes a course in 'intellectual philosophy' in third year, and courses in 'logic' and 'moral and political philosophy' in fourth year. Ryerson, it would appear, taught all of these courses, along

478 Contributing Streams with several other subjects; for in a letter written in 1842, the year in which his title was changed to president, he complained to the governor general of Canada 'that in addition to my general duties, I have classes in four different departments, each of which ought to have a distinct professor, namely: (1) Theology, (2) Moral Philosophy, (3) Natural Philosophy, and (4) History' (Burwash 1927, 80). Ryerson's teaching career in Victoria was short; on 28 September 1844 he accepted an appointment as the superintendent of schools for Canada West. However, he did not immediately resign as president of Victoria; for another four years he continued to perform the duties of that office, but his teaching career was over. Ryerson was a prolific author, but none of his writings are contributions to philosophy. As we have already had occasion to see, he did not shrink from controversy, and much of what he wrote was polemical in nature. Adolphus Egerton Ryerson (1803-82) is much better known for his work in reforming the public school system of Upper Canada than he is as its first professor of moral philosophy. He was born in Upper Canada, the son of Joseph Ryerson, a United Empire Loyalist and a staunch member of the Church of England. Joseph's wife, Mehetable, however, was a Methodist, who managed to inspire five of her sons with her piety, to the intense displeasure of their father. When, at the age of eighteen, Egerton announced to his father that he had joined the local Methodist congregation to which his mother and two older brothers belonged, his father told him that either 'you must leave them or leave my house' (DCB, 11: 784). Ryerson left home and did not return until his father recalled him two years later and forgave him his apostasy. The old man, it seems, needed his help on the farm. Ryerson's commitment to the principles of Methodism was to be one of two firm guides in his life. The other, which he took over from his father, was his loyalty to things British. All of Ryerson's education was received in Canadian schools, nearly all of it, after elementary school, in the London District Grammar School located in Vittoria, not far from the farm where he had been born. When he had completed his studies, he served for two years - the two years he was estranged from his father - as an assistant to one of his older brothers, then one of the masters in the grammar school. In 1824 he enrolled in the Gore District Grammar School in Hamilton, apparently with the intention of studying law, but after only two months he fell ill. Sick for the better part of a year, he did not resume his school work after his recovery. Thus, his formal schooling came to an end. His entire preparation for teaching philosophy seems to have been gleaned from Isaac Watts's Log ick (1725), Locke's Essay Concerning Human Understanding, and a close reading of William Paley's Principles of Moral and Political Philosophy, first

Philosophy at Victoria College 479 published in 1785 (Hodgins 2: 230-1). Another book he cited as of cardinal importance in his education was Sir William Blackstone's Commentaries on the Laws of England (1765-9). His reliance on Paley's works was typical of the time; James Beaven, according to some of his critics, never taught anything but Paley's doctrines. After leaving school, Ryerson became a probationer in the Methodist Church, and for three years was assigned to fill the pulpit for established ministers who were absent for one reason or other. In September 1827 he was ordained. In his inaugural lecture as principal of Victoria College, delivered on 21 October 1841, Ryerson laid out his understanding of 'moral science': Another most important and extensive department of a liberal education is Moral Science, embracing Mental Philosophy, Natural Theology, Moral Philosophy, and Logic. The philosophy of mind inquires into the nature of those spirits of which we have any certain knowledge, or which it concerns us to know - the Deity and the soul of man. The former branch of the inquiry is termed Natural Theology; the latter has sometimes been termed Psychology, or the philosophy of the human mind. The latter prepares the way for the former. From the knowledge of ourselves and our Creator arises our duty to both. This is the province of Moral Philosophy - to explain our obligations and duties to ourselves, to our fellow-men, and to our Maker - to elucidate and apply the cardinal principles of the Scriptures to the various relations and circumstances of human life. The manner in which we are to exercise our minds in all our inquiries and duties is taught by Logic, which treats of the improvement and right use of our intellectual powers. To know our Maker and ourselves - to understand and discharge our duties towards both - to employ our intellectual and moral powers according to the principles of reason and truth, is the great end of our existence. It should, therefore, constitute a leading feature in every system of sound education. (Ryerson 1842, 17) The other essentials of a liberal education, besides a knowledge of the English language and its literature, were (1) the ancient languages and literatures, (2) mathematics and the physical sciences, (3) rhetoric and belle-lettres, and (4) theology. What was Ryerson like as a teacher? According to one of his best pupils at Victoria, William Ormiston, he did not shine in the classroom: As a teacher he was earnest and efficient, eloquent and inspiring, but he expected and exacted too much work from the average student. His own ready and affluent mind sympathized keenly with the apt, bright scholar, to

480 Contributing Streams whom his praise was warmly given, but he scarcely made sufficient allowance for the dullness or lack of previous preparation which failed to keep pace with him in his long and rapid strides; hence his censures were occasionally severe. His methods of examination furnished the very best kind of mental discipline, fitted alike to cultivate the memory and to strengthen the judgment. All the students revered him, but the best of the class appreciated him most. His counsels were faithful and judicious; his admonitions paternal and discriminating; his rebukes seldom administered, but scathingly severe. No student ever left his presence, without resolving to do better, to aim higher, and to win his approval. (Hodgins 2: 232) It is probably as well for all concerned that Ryerson decided to devote his considerable energies to administrative work.

13.3 During the time he was chief superintendent of schools Ryerson wrote, at the request of the Council of Public Instruction, a little book entitled First Lessons in Christian Morals; for Canadian Families and Schools (1871) which the council recommended, but did not prescribe, as a textbook for use in the fourth and fifth grades of the common schools. Any parent who objected to such instruction, which involved one hour per week, could have their child excused from the class. The book was something of a committee report, since each chapter was circulated in draft form to every member of the council and revised by Ryerson in the light of the comments made. Nevertheless, a group of seventy-three ministers, fortyone of whom were Baptists, objected that the book 'contains sentiments of a sectarian character, the introduction of which into our public schools involves not only a gross violation of the rights of conscience, but also an entire subversion of the principle of religious equality on which our system of education is founded' (Hodgins, 24: 200). The council, and Ryerson separately, replied to this anonymous memorial in sharp language, the council stating of the passage quoted that it 'can scarcely conceive of any statements more groundless and absurd than such assertions under such circumstances' (204). Although none of them thought the complaint had any merit, Ryerson insisted that the council adopt, as a second textbook, Francis Wayland's First Elements of Moral Science. Those who wished to do so could use it in place of his book. In the preface to his book Ryerson laid out his starting point: 'Instead of entering into any of the speculations with which many works on

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moral science commence, I have, at once, assumed the truth of Christianity and the authority of the Holy Scriptures, and have endeavoured to present the subjects in harmony with the views of all religious persuasions who receive the Bible as the rule of their faith and practice, and Jesus Christ as the only foundation of their hopes of eternal life' (Ryerson 1871, iii). The book is divided into sixteen 'lessons,' only one of which is even remotely philosophical. The penultimate lesson is entitled 'Miracles - Fallacy of Hume's Objection to Them Exposed.' The very introduction of Hume into a book aimed at children of about ten years of age is surprising. Surely they would never have heard of David Hume, and Ryerson did nothing to enlighten them. His argument, if one wants to call it such, seems to be: T have the testimony of both sacred and profane historians to the reality of the former ['my faith in the miracles and works of our Lord and his Apostles'], while I have only the testimony of profane historians as to the history of the latter [his belief 'in the existence and character of the Emperor Julius Caesar']' (71). Since he had taken as his starting point the reliability of biblical authority, the matter was, of course, settled once and for all.

13.4 Even this brief account of Victoria's origins makes it clear that it embodied a very different conception of higher education than did King's College. The founders of King's introduced the British system of education into Upper Canada, a system in which the Church of England had a commanding role. To function in the British manner, King's College required a population that revered tradition and authority, precisely what Upper Canada did not have. Its population was diverse and much more liberal in its thinking on political and religious questions than the British population. The founders of King's College were, in fact, attempting to turn the clock back, and they soon found themselves overwhelmed by opposition. The founders of Victoria, by contrast, could not, even had they wanted to, import professors from England, for the simple reason that there were no Methodist colleges there to train them. There were, of course, Methodist colleges in the United States, but for political reasons their graduates could not be appointed. Victoria's faculty would have to be home-grown. In his Burwash lectures in 1936, President Walter Brown of Victoria took note of this difference: 'Victoria sprang from the life of the country and embodied the Canadian viewpoint and sought early to develop Canadian scholarship' (Star, 24 Nov. 1936, 22). Victoria showed

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itself willing to accept the latest teaching aids; its Calendar for 1840 devoted three-quarters of a page to informing prospective students that Victoria had installed a blackboard, the very first one in Canada.

13.5 Ryerson's successor as president of Victoria, the Reverend Alexander MacNab, professor of theological and moral science, gave all the instruction in philosophy; he assumed office in 1845 and served for four years. MacNab was born in Belleville on 26 January 1812 and was privately educated by a clergyman. Prior to his appointment to succeed Ryerson, he had no contact with organized education at any level. Nothing has come down to us about his philosophical orientation or his way of teaching, but we do have a description of his preaching: 'As a preacher the rev. doctor is clear and logical, with a pleasing address and an impressive manner. The union of much personal dignity with great warmth and kindliness of disposition, has made him peculiarly acceptable as a parish priest' (Rattray 1880, 3: 884). Early in his presidency, dissension concerning certain religious niceties arose between him and the fundamentalists at the college; it reached the breaking point in October of 1849, when MacNab resigned his office and withdrew his membership in the Methodist Church. Shortly afterwards, he joined the Anglicans and was ordained a priest by Bishop Strachan. Assigned as rector of the Darlington parish, he had no further connection with higher education from then until his death in November 1891.

13.6 In 1848 MacNab appointed William Ormiston (1821-99), who had graduated from Victoria that spring, as professor of mental and moral philosophy. Ormiston taught for only one year, resigning because the pay was poor - £100 per annum plus board. After making his living for several years as a preacher and later as a teacher in the Toronto Normal School, founded by Ryerson in 1847 to train teachers, he was appointed by Ryerson in 1855 to the post of inspector of grammar schools in Upper Canada. When Ormiston left that position in 1862, his successor was George Paxton Young, who proved to be a much more innovative inspector. As a Presbyterian preacher, Ormiston enjoyed great success, first in Newtonville and Hamilton, and then, after 1870, in 'the pulpit of the old, wealthy, and influential Dutch Reformed Church in Fifth Ave-

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nue in New York' (Burwash 1927, 113). Ormiston retired to California, where he later died. 13.7

In 1850 two men were appointed with shared responsibility for instruction in philosophy: the Reverend Lachlin Taylor, who held the titles of 'Pastoral Governor' - whatever that office may have been - and profes sor of moral philosophy; and S.S. Nelles, one of Ryerson's pupils, who had transferred for his final year to Wesleyan University in Middletown, Connecticut, to complete his work for the degree of bachelor of arts. Taylor appears to have been appointed to provide a certain cachet to Victoria in its time of troubles. Born in Scotland on 18 June 1815, he had emigrated to Canada with his family when he was sixteen. After teaching school for seven years, he began to study for the ministry; in 1843 he was ordained in the Wesleyan Methodist Church and quickly established himself as one of the leading preachers of the day. All of his education had been received in a classical school before he left Scotland, so he had no special qualifications for the office of professor of moral philosophy. But the fact that such a well-regarded clergyman had accepted an appointment to the college probably helped to tide it over a very rough period. Taylor did give some lectures in Victoria, but he was never committed to the academic life in the way Nelles was. Most of his working life was spent as an agent for various bible societies. He died on 4 September 1881. 13.8

Samuel Sobieski Nelles, who was born on 17 October 1823 near Brantford, Ontario, was in the first class at Victoria College. His earlier education, after the age of sixteen, was gained in New York State, first at Lewiston Academy, then at Fredonia Academy, and finally at Genesee Wesleyan Seminary at Lima. At Victoria, Nelles's intellectual gifts led his teachers, including Ryerson, to urge him to finish his education at Wesleyan University in Middletown, Connecticut, then the most important Methodist institution of higher learning on the continent. Ryerson kept his eye on him, and when Nelles graduated in 1846, he wrote offering him a position on the Victoria faculty. Nelles, however, was convinced he wanted to be a preacher. As a livelihood until he could qualify as a preacher, he accepted the principalship of Newburgh Academy, located

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in Lennox and Addington County, Canada West; he left it at the end of one year to enter the ministry as a probationer. As was usual in the Methodist Church in those days, he was assigned to a circuit, filling in for established preachers as required, first in Port Hope and then in Toronto East where John Ryerson, an older brother of Egerton, was his superintendent. In 1850, having successfully completed his three years of probation, he was ordained and assigned to a congregation in the London circuit; three months later Ryerson renewed his offer of a position in Victoria College and this time Nelles took up the challenge. Ryerson appointed Nelles professor of classics, an office that included responsibility for the teaching of logic. Upon his arrival at Victoria, Nelles was asked to serve as acting principal - MacNab having abruptly resigned - until a fresh appointment could be made. As has happened in so many other similar cases, Nelles proved to be the right man for the job, and in the next year he was installed as principal. It was a doubtful honour. One of those who wrote a memorial of Nelles remarked: 'The appointment to the principalship of Victoria College at that particular time may indeed be considered a distinguished honour, but the honour was like that conferred upon a young soldier when he is chosen to lead a forlorn hope. For some five or six years the college had passed from under the able administration of Dr. Ryerson, and it had just come through a time of storm and stress that had left it but little better than a wreck' (Reynar 1902, 147). Nelles threw himself into the job, and when Ryerson resigned as president four years later, Nelles was appointed to succeed him. Solely responsible for the college's future, he laboured long and hard to put Victoria on a sound financial footing, but it was touch and go for a long time. Finally, the tide turned, and he managed to find the resources to put its finances on solid ground and even to expand its work into new areas. The difficulties he experienced had to do with the seemingly endless dispute over what was called 'the university question,' which dominated much of the last half of the nineteenth century in Ontario. One historian of the college wrote of Nelles that 'he may justly be called the saviour of Victoria College' (Sissons 1952, 87). Sissons was referring to the way in which Nelles was able to steer Victoria through these decades by getting sufficient funds to pay its staff and at the same time establishing it as an important educational institution. His most successful fund drive raised $150,000 in the early 1870s, which set a record for Canada. During his presidency Victoria founded faculties of medicine (1854), law (1862), and theology (1872). By 1880 Victoria had graduated about 850 medical doctors, nearly 100 lawyers, between 30 and 40 ministers,

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and 265 bachelors of arts. In 1874 its name was changed from Victoria College to Victoria University, and shortly thereafter women were again admitted as students. When Lachlin Taylor resigned his professorship, Nelles took over the teaching of philosophy, which he carried on alone until 1882, when he took on the Reverend G.C. Workman as his assistant. From 1856 until 1872 Nelles's title was 'Professor of Mental Philosophy, with Logic, Ethics, and the Evidences of Religion and Homiletics'! As a teacher of philosophy he differed from many of his contemporaries by making the writings of the Scottish 'common sense' philosophers central to the curriculum. He made no contributions to philosophical literature, but he did edit a textbook, Chapters in Logic (1870), which he assigned for many years. The book reprinted all of Sir William Hamilton's lectures on modified logic as well as a chapter on informal fallacies from The Port Royal Logic. Nelles contributed only a preface. 'The design of the publication,' he told his readers, 'is to provide in cheap and convenient form, a Manual or Text-Book, on what Hamilton calls "Modified or Concrete Logic," but what others have variously designated Applied or Practical Logic' (v). The concluding paragraph of his preface reveals something of his own conception of the place of logic in education: We live in times remarkable for the awakening and emancipation of thought. This is matter of rejoicing; but freedom of thought brings corresponding dangers and responsibilities, and we cannot do too much to aid the inquiring multitudes in the proper use of that right of private judgment of which we are so justly proud. Works like the one here presented may serve to show that all intellectual activity has its laws, the violation of which brings invariable and heavy penalties; may teach us to beware of the immoralities of the intellect; may put those who are trying to think, in the way of thinking soundly, by furnishing them with the best rules and cautions known to the world's great thinkers; and may help us forward to that 'good time coming,' when in moral, political, and religious affairs, men shall proceed with something like the steadiness, precision, and certainty, which have already begun to mark the pursuit of mathematical and physical science. (Nelles 1870, viii)

Unlike many Christian divines, he regarded philosophy as unfinished business. On the title page he identified himself 'Professor of Logic in Victoria College,' almost certainly the first person in Canada to claim that title.

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In his philosophy courses, Nelles assigned as required reading the original works of the philosophers being studied. Being a devout Christian, he did encourage the study of theology, which Victoria's original charter had excluded; to facilitate its study, he proposed to the board the establishment of a Faculty of Theology. On the ground that 'a properly conducted inquiry into the world of nature, whether natural or human, would reveal the wondrous handiwork of God' (DCB 11: 641), he strongly urged his pupils to study science. Such a revelation would, in his opinion, serve to reinforce, in a powerful way, the Christian moral principles students had been taught in childhood. To make it possible for his advice to be acted upon, he raised the money to build and equip the most modern science building in Ontario, and he brought from England a professor with the latest qualifications for teaching science. Nelles rejected the position, so common in his day, that all students needed by way of education were strong doses of religious dogma instilled by rote. Many did not want to see science taught because they were convinced that it generated 'doubts,' a dreadful state, to be avoided at almost any cost. In one of his most quotable statements, Nelles stressed: 'we are not called to choose between study and prayer. Study without prayer is arrogance, prayer without study is fanaticism; and neither arrogance nor fanaticism will find true wisdom' (DCB 11: 641). Towards the end of his career a sizeable group developed in Ontario 'who speak slightingly of universities, and seem to regard the elementary schools as the only schools of any value to the people' (641). After reminding these people that there would be no elementary schools if there were no higher schools to train teachers, Nelles gave an eloquent and ringing defence of higher education: All higher learning and scientific discoveries will sooner or later reach the homes of the common people, and add in countless ways to their comfort and refinement. The streams which water the plains have their origin in the mountains, and are fed unceasingly by the showers of heaven. Never should the words of Bacon, that all learning is 'a relief to man's estate,' be forgotten. To plead for science and higher culture is to plead for the people. He who endows a university endows the homes of the whole population. There is a cry in behalf of the workshop; we re-echo the cry, but of all workshops the greatest and best is that college workshop we call the laboratory. The scientist carries all the workingmen in his bosom, and will bring them ere long into regions of good of which they have not yet even dreamed. Let, therefore, our fellow citizens of the shop and the farm not be jealous of money given to colleges. They might as well be jealous of the

Philosophy at Victoria College 487 sunlight, of morning which first gilds the mountain peaks, forgetting that it will soon flood the valleys and the plains. As well be jealous of the clouds which go floating coldly and darkly in the sky, forgetting how soon they will fall upon the earth, bringing 'the splendour of the grass and the glory of the flower.' (Mail, 19Jan. 1884, 2)

The eloquence in this passage matches that of Ryerson, quoted above (§13.1), in laying out the aims of Victoria a half-century earlier. The Methodists did a sterling job for the teaching of science in Canada. Regrettably, Nelles did sometimes speak in a way contrary to his more enlightened utterances. At a public meeting in Kingston in 1861, during one of the principal fights over control of the University of Toronto, Nelles lashed out at University College and its professors with a breathtaking intolerance: Now I do not charge that the Professors of University College are not Religious men, but I do say that the public has no right to ask whether they be Religious men or not, that is, as the College is now constituted. There is an insuperable obstacle in the very basis of the College to any strict, or even legitimate reference to the Religious views of the Professor. The one-college theory can only provide for difference of Religion by Religious indifference. Nor is it any fair reply, that the Professor has no occasion to teach Religion. He may take occasion. The garb of Religious indifference may become the convenient cloak either of bigotry, or of infidelity. You may pervert a young man's faith by a sneer; a sly intimation put in with skill by a Professor of Chemistry, or Natural History, may do the fatal work as effectually as it can be done in any other way. This may not be going on in University College now, but there is no natural, or lawful, remedy for the evil, whenever it may arise! Religiously speaking, the system is utterly irresponsible. Then again, there is the indirect influence of the Teacher. This is, and ought to be, very great; but the greater the worse, if the influence be corrupting. If a Professor be of an irreligious, or heretical, or skeptical, turn of mind, then the more learned he is, the more plausible he is, the more accomplished and eloquent he is, the more he is to be dreaded as an Instructor of youth. I am reminded of the remark of a celebrated German Professor who was wont to spend his Sabbaths in the laboratory, and when asked why he did not attend the house of God, replied, That is Theology, my department is Chemistry!' (Hodgins 16: 253)

In this speech Nelles seems to have taken leave of his senses. If a young man's faith could indeed be killed by a sneer, what on earth was it worth

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to begin with? I would have thought that anyone, including Nelles and his audience, would agree he was better off without it. When dissenters start searching for heretics, it is surely time they were reminded of their own origins. What was Nelles like as a teacher? In 1860 his students presented him with a written address in which they spoke of his teaching: 'But we wish at the present time to speak more particularly of the relation which you have sustained to us as Students. Those of us who have had the benefit of your instruction in the Class-room can Testify to your ability as a Teacher in the wide and difficult field of Metaphysics. You have unfolded to us the mysteries of the mind of man, even more wonderfully constructed than the clay tenement in which it dwells. You have explained the sure Evidences upon which rest our faith in our holy Christianity, and exposed the subtle fallacies by which wicked men have sought to shake the foundations of that exalted system' (Hodgins, 16: 47). Later in their tribute, they noted: 'there has been nothing in your teaching which partook of bigotry, or narrow sectarianism, for it has always been your aim in your official relations not to explain the tenets of any particular sect, but to unfold and enforce the broad principles of the Doctrines of Christianity, which are common to the various Denominations, to which we, as a Body, belong.' One of his students described his teaching in this way: Of his qualities as a lecturer it need only be said that, as with many of the best teachers, his power lay in inspiration even more than in information. Information up to and even beyond the measure of their capacity his students might have found in books. But the book-learning was to the culture gained from their professor as the dry rod to Aaron's rod that budded. And with the living interest of the study, the student was ever led to a sincere desire for the truth, and a frank trust in all truth as come from God and leading up to God again. Another lesson he did not fail to teach, was that our powers of knowing in this life are limited, that here we see through a glass darkly. The truth is always larger than we can fully comprehend, deeper than we can fully fathom, and higher than we can grasp, but, at the same time, the true dignity and worth of human life, and its great aim is to be surely found not in knowing all truth, but in doing the good we know, in loyalty to love and duty. (Reynar 1902, 148)

One may wonder how Nelles knew that the truth had these remarkable properties. Perhaps his appeal would have been to revelation. Reynar

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also mentioned 'the frequent and irrepressible sallies of wit and humour that glowed and sparkled in his speech' (149), a characteristic that William Ormiston, who had known Nelles for over forty years, elaborated on in his unpublished eulogy, now housed in the United Church Archives: 'As a man he was thoroughly manly, inflexibly upright, perfectly sincere, and wholly reliable. Eminently sociable in his disposition, and admirably fitted to shine in any friendly or literary circle, his companionship was eagerly sought and greatly enjoyed. His humour was rich and exuberant, and flashes of wit frequently illumined his conversation. He was not only witty himself, but was the cause of wit in others. It was with great difficulty he could restrain, within due bounds, his fondness for a good pun, a lively play upon words. His reading was so varied, and his memory so ready and retentive, that apt quotation never failed him' (4). The more usual picture of Nelles omits the sparkle: 'Nelles was a quiet and cautious man as well as a succinct speaker and writer whose beliefs and objectives must be distilled from his actions and occasional utterances' (DCB 11: 641). Perhaps he had weathered so much controversy because, unlike Ryerson, he was a man of few words, at least in public. Nelles died of typhoid fever at Cobourg on his sixty-fourth birthday, 17 October 1887.

13.9 The Reverend George Coulson Workman, who joined Victoria in 1882, proved to be an excellent teacher and a valuable assistant to Nelles. Workman, who was born near Cobourg on 28 September 1848, where he received all of his early education, graduated from Victoria in 1875 with honours and firsts in three sub-departments; he was awarded the master's degree in 1878. During his two years of postgraduate study, he worked as an assistant editor of the Christian Guardian; the theological and ethical articles he was assigned to edit demanded continuous and critical study, thus sharpening the skills he would need as a teacher. Immediately after receiving his M.A., he was ordained and served for four years as a Methodist minister. When he joined Victoria he was given the title 'Adjunct Professor of Mental Philosophy and Logic.' By the time Workman arrived on the scene, Nelles had considerably expanded the readings studied in philosophy courses: 'Although the administrative work of the College, especially in its parliamentary relations, had been so onerous, Dr. Nelles had not allowed his department to fall behind. Beginning with the Scottish Philosophy of Reid and Stewart, he carried his work forward on the lines of Sir William Hamilton,

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until his students were now grappling with Kant and the History of Philosophy and Ethics, both ancient and modern. Psychology was receiving special attention, and Ethics was extended practically to the theory of Jurisprudence and Political Ethics. In addition to this, Dr. Nelles was responsible for Apologetics in the Theological Department' (Burwash 1927, 244). With so much material to be covered every year, it is not surprising that Nelles required assistance. Of these courses, Nelles turned over to Workman the classes in mental philosophy and logic, retaining for himself ethics and the evidences of religion. Workman taught philosophy for only two years and then went to Leipzig for a period of study that lasted for nearly five years; he was awarded the Ph.D. by Leipzig University for a thesis on the text of the Book of Jeremiah. Upon his return to Victoria, he was appointed professor of oriental languages and literatures in the Faculty of Arts and professor of Old Testament exegesis and literature in the Faculty of Theology. During his study abroad he became infected with the 'higher criticism' and returned to Victoria eager to spread its word. For his first public lecture, delivered at Victoria in 1891, he chose the topic of messianic prophecy and applied the new criticism to it. Many members of Victoria's board - those with fundamentalist views - and the same contingent in the Methodist establishment were deeply offended by his treatment of this important topic. He was accused of advancing the heretical view that prophecy was not a kind of prediction and of questioning the widely held view that the Old Testament had foretold the coming of Jesus as the messiah. As demands for his dismissal grew louder, Nathanael Burwash, who was then president, suggested that he agree to transfer his entire appointment to the Faculty of Arts and teach philosophy as well as Hebrew. Workman, as stubborn a man as we will meet in this history, refused and tendered his resignation, which was accepted by the board on a vote of ten to eight, even though Burwash gave Workman his very strong endorsement and voted for him. The students and faculty of Victoria held a mass meeting on 20 January 1892 'to bid farewell and to express the universal esteem which is felt for Dr. Workman' (Acta Victoriana 14A: 4, 15). Praise of him as a teacher was unstinted. Years later Workman was appointed to a similar position in Montreal Wesleyan Theological College, but history was repeated and he again resigned. After winning in a lower court, he lost on appeal and was again out in the cold. Back in Toronto, he haunted Victoria for the rest of his life, repeating his tale of woe to any who would listen. In the years after he left Victoria, he published several books, all of them on religious topics. In one of them, Messianic

Philosophy at Victoria College 491 Prophecy Vindicated; or, An Explanation and Defence of the Ethical Theory (1899), he provided his readers with a history of his treatment by the board of Victoria and a defence of his theological views. When he died in 1936, the current powers that be, no doubt reluctantly, gave permission for him to be buried from Victoria's chapel. His obituarist in the Empire and Mail, after noting that be was accused by fundamentalists of 'rank heresy,' recalled his popular reputation: 'Dr. Workman was generally regarded as a reformer of everything, for he ventured into the realm of politics with the same degree of enthusiasm as he did in theology. He was an advocate of free trade and free self-government in all parts of the British Empire, contending that each component part of the Empire should be free to control its own destiny, yet he believed all should co-operate for the welfare of all and for humanity' (23 April 1936, 4).

13.10 Before he went to Germany, Workman had already indicated his shift of interest away from philosophy; the Reverend Erastus Irvine Badgley was appointed in 1885 to assist Nelles in the Department of Philosophy, taking over the third-year course in metaphysics. Badgley's official title was professor of mental philosophy and logic, and adjunct professor of theology. When Nelles died, Badgley became head of the department, although he continued to teach apologetics in the Faculty of Theology. Badgley was born on a farm near Demorestville in Prince Edward County in April 1844; his ancestors were United Empire Loyalists who had come to Canada at the time of the American Revolution. As a teenager, he studied at Belleville Seminary (after 1866 Albert College) and earned the B.A. in 1868, the M.A. in 1872, the LL.B. in 1876, and the LL.D. in 1878; the last three degrees were awarded on the basis of written examinations. During the time he was working on these degrees, he was also studying theology and was awarded the bachelor of divinity degree in 1873. After trying his hand at preaching for three years in Methodist Episcopal churches, he was ready to leave that life behind when he was offered a position as adjunct professor of metaphysics and mathematics by his alma mater. He succeeded to the chair of mental and moral philosophy when it fell vacant in 1874. Albert College had been established by the Episcopal Methodists in 1857 and had been granted a university charter in 1871; in 1884 it was amalgamated with Victoria University, which had been founded by Wesleyan Methodists, but Badgley was the only member of its faculty taken on by Victoria.

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According to Nathanael Burwash, Badgley progressed through changes in his philosophical position not unlike those attributed to George Paxton Young: 'In the earlier days he was a follower of the Scottish school of Reid and Dugald Stewart. Later, McCosh and Hamilton influenced him, and from these he passed readily to the modern revival of sympathy with Kant and the idealists, of which T.H. Green was a conspicuous example in England. His work in later years did not lead him into the modern popular field of psychology and psycho-physics, although he kept himself well informed in this branch of philosophy. His chief and most congenial work was rather in the field of ethics, theistic philosophy, and the philosophy of religion' (1927,422). Towards the end of his life Badgley formed a friendship with Borden Parker Bowne, the American personalist, 'and was very largely in sympathy with his views' (Burwash 1906, 90-1). In his memorial Burwash did not have much to say about Badgley's teaching, leaving the impression that he was at his best with more advanced pupils. In his more general history, however, he painted a rosier picture, writing that Badgley's 'work in Philosophy in Victoria for twenty-one years had been remarkably successful' (1927, 422). Sissons was more critical: 'he was a rather short man, slight of build, and conspicuous by reason of an immense moustache. His abilities as a teacher of philosophy were respectable, but in public addresses he was addicted, like many Methodist preachers, to telling jokes. He served the College faithfully in Cobourg and Toronto till his death in 1906' (Sissons 1952,193). Badgley added nothing to philosophical literature. The Marts obituary described him as 'a valued contributor to the religious publications of the Methodist Church.' He died on 4 January 1906. During Badgley's tenure, on 12 November 1890 Victoria joined in federation with the University of Toronto - the act permitting it had been given royal assent on 23 April 1887 - and work started immediately on a campus in Toronto; two years later Victoria moved from Cobourg to Toronto. Badgley arrived in Toronto with two tides, 'Egerton Ryerson Professor of Mental and Moral Philosophy and Logic' and 'Professor of Practical Theology.' Federation meant that Victoria henceforth could teach only courses in ethics; the rest of philosophy was a university subject. Badgley's title was accordingly changed in 1893 to 'Egerton Ryerson Professor of Ethics and Theistic Philosophy and Professor of Apologetics.' This restriction to ethics created a problem of staffing for the federated colleges because there were too few students in the moral philosophy courses to require a full-time teacher. Victoria, and later Trinity, solved this problem by appointing professors who could also teach in

Philosophy at Victoria College 493

their Faculties of Theology. When graduate studies began to flourish after the First World War professors of ethics could be assigned, if they were qualified, teaching and supervisory duties in the graduate department, but they still had to teach theological courses in order to warrant full-time status. It was an odd system, but it was in large part due to the desire of the religious colleges to control the content of courses in ethics, especially for their prospective seminarians. It seems that each sect, and in some cases each sub-sect, believed its system of ethics superior to all others. 13.11

When Badgley died in 1906, George John Blewett was appointed his replacement with the title 'Ryerson Professor of Ethics and Apologetics.' Blewett was born on 9 December 1873 at Yarmouth, near St Thomas, Ontario, where he received his early education. In 1890 he enrolled in Victoria College, but after two years of study was obliged to go west for reasons of health. For the next three years he was a Methodist missionary to the Stoney tribes in Alberta. When his father died in 1895, he returned to Ontario and resumed his studies. At his graduation in 1897 he stood first in philosophy and was awarded the Governor General's Gold Medal in Philosophy and English and the George Paxton Young Memorial Fellowship. In recommending him for graduate work, August Kirschmann had this to say: 'Mr. Blewett is one of the most scrupulously careful thinkers and workers we have had here as students, and in every respect a man of excellent character. I know of no one who shows more promise and who is worthier of assistance in securing a further academic career' (Paterson 1978, 10). After graduate work in Germany, at Oxford under Edward Caird, and at Harvard, which awarded him the Ph.D. 'with great distinction' in 1900 for his thesis, 'The Metaphysical Basis of Perceptive Ethics' (read by George Herbert Palmer, Josiah Royce, and George Santayana), he accepted a teaching position at Wesley College in Winnipeg in 1901, where he taught Church history and historical theology, whence he was called to Victoria. As his title in Victoria indicates, his appointment was in both Arts and Theology. Although he had accepted ordination in 1898, he 'had not any decided talent for preaching, and is not fond of public appearances of any kind' (DA). A shy and bookish man, Blewett functioned best in one-to-one relationships, although he seems also to have been effective in small groups. A chronic weakness of voice made it impossible for him to lecture to large groups. Despite a diligent search, I have not found anyone praising his teaching.

494 Contributing Streams Morton Paterson, who made a study of Blewett's career, discovered two letters from students that commented on his style and appearance. 'When [he] conducted a brief ceremony [chapel exercises] he revealed such a thin, inaudible voice, that I doubt that I ever heard a word he said. He was a small man, bearded, and always impeccably gowned. At the time he seemed highly regarded by his colleagues and students as a man of attainments, with a great potential in his chosen field.' Evidently the writer of this letter did not hold him in the same high regard. The second letter is similarly restrained: 'Dr. Blewett... was small of stature, dark in complexion, with wiry, straight hair, cropped abruptly - a somewhat bristling aspect. But he was really quite the opposite: shy, retiring, restrained ... He was one of those people who impressed one with their worth, not so much at the time as afterwards' (Paterson 1978, 26). After his death a memorial was composed for the Council of the Faculty of Arts in the University of Toronto. It reads as if its authors found their task difficult, and they strained to present the best portrait they could of a reticent man: 'Both as an earnest and inspiring teacher and as a thoughtful and graceful writer, he contributed to the training of his students and to the reputation of the University. Through all his work, whether as teacher or as author, there was revealed a deeply spiritual nature, a profound realisation of the value and truth of the moral and religious in life, a devotion to the noblest ideals. Always faithful in his attendance at this Council, he too seldom took an active part in its debates, yet when he spoke it was always with tact and insight and persuasiveness' (University of Toronto Monthly 13 (1912-13), 135). One characteristic emerges clearly from written descriptions: he was an intensely private man who did not relish spending time with others. During the six years he taught at Victoria, he published two books, The Study of Nature and the Vision of God, with Other Essays in Philosophy (1907) and The Christian View of the World (1912), which were widely and generally favourably reviewed. One reviewer, James Denney, well known for his caustic pen, filed a minority report: 'The book of which I enclose a notice - The Christian View of the World- is rather a remarkable one in its way, but its volubility is inconceivable. The flood of words is like those Lammas floods - you want a cowl to pull over your head and ears so as not to be drenched and carried away by it. The more philosophy one reads, the more indispensable a sceptical strain appears to give either reality or interest to men's thoughts. It is all very well for God to be omniscient, but a man who affects omniscience or anything akin to it, even in the name of God, is tiresome' (Denney 1920, 205). Blewett's philosophical position

Philosophy at Victoria College 495

was a kind of evolutionary idealism, a blend of Hegelianism with Christianity, with the God of Christianity revealing Himself in history. In his first book, he laid great stress on the 'one great principle, that a divine presence is the reality of the world, and that the consciousness of that presence is the supreme illumination for a man's soul' (1907, 26). Each of the great philosophers, including the heathen Greeks, was a manifestation of this presence and their works contributed to its evolution; the completion of idealism would come when the Christian God completely revealed Himself. Blewett clearly believed he was an instrument in this process. Perhaps that is the reason he seems so forlorn. Blewett's health was always frail, and on 15 August 1912, while bathing in Go Home Bay, he suffered a fatal heart attack. His death had a certain drama about it. Those on the shore reported that he threw up his hands and sank beneath the surface. There was no apparent struggle. Within a few minutes his body was brought ashore and two physicians were summoned, but despite heroic efforts they were unable to revive him. He had married in 1906 and fathered a son in 1910; a daughter was born after his death. His son had a distinguished career as a nuclear physicist; he studied under Einstein at Princeton and later became director of the Brookhaven National Laboratory on Long Island. The Methodists pulled out all the stops in their eulogy: 'Speaking of his mind as a mere instrument of thought it may safely be said that it was one of the finest, one of the rarest, one of the most penetrating that Canada has yet produced. His natural endowment made him profound; his attainments and culture made him catholic and encyclopedic. The saintliness of his character and the treasures of his mind found in his literary style an organ of nobility as yet unsurpassed, if equalled, by any other Canadian. His was a great mind. His was a great Canadian spirit.' This sample, from an obituary that never descends below 'lofty,' was originally printed in the 'Minutes of the Manitoba Conference' for 1914 (UCC/VUA, 11-12). Had the Methodist Church admitted saints, one feels certain that Blewett would have been canonized there and then by voice vote. 13.12

Blewett was replaced by two men. Wilmot Burkemar Lane was appointed the 'Egerton Ryerson Professor of Ethics and Didactics' in 1913, with duties in the Faculty of Theology, even though, unlike all his predecessors, he had no theological degree. Lane was born on 13 December 1872

496 Contributing Streams

at Perth, Ontario. After completing his early education in the Napanee Public School and its Collegiate Institute, he enrolled in the University of Toronto, earning his B.A. in 1893 under James Mark Baldwin; in the following year he was awarded the M.A. degree, for which he wrote a thesis. His connection with Victoria was established during the next two years, when he studied theology there, but he did not complete the course. His remaining graduate studies were taken at the University of Wisconsin, where he earned the Ph.D. degree in 1899 with a thesis in psychology. His M.A. work at Toronto had been mainly in psychology, but at Wisconsin his course work was principally in philosophy. His first position was a fellowship with some teaching duties at Cornell University from 1899 to 1901. For one year he was professor of philosophy and pedagogy at Mount Union College in Alliance, Ohio; in 1902 he was offered and accepted the post of professor of philosophy and pedagogy at RandolphMacon College in Lynchburg, Virginia, where he taught for eleven years. Lane's interest in ethics did not seem to extend beyond teaching. His only publications during his twenty-six years at Victoria were two books of poetry and a play in verse. Before coming to Victoria he had published two psychological monographs (his theses) and another short book with more philosophical content entitled Elemental Consciousness (1907). In philosophy Lane was an absolute idealist of the sort best exemplified by Bernard Bosanquet. According to the testimony of his students, he was not a dogmatic defender of idealism and was particularly troubled by certain realistic criticisms of it: 'He used to emphasize that the Idealist has to do justice to the Realist's emphasis on the importance of the individual and of time. All roads would eventually, Lane believed, lead to the Absolute, but the Absolute is not reached by a single bound nor by any process of mere intellectual construction. He believed, with Hegel, that "All the real is rational," but for Lane this meant that understanding in detail was what ultimately mattered. Thus, with both his undergraduate and graduate students, he freely practiced a kind of analysis on all sorts of accepted traditions and idioms long before analysis became a philosophical fashion' (UCC/WA, Lane). This passage is quoted from his memorial compiled by John A. Irving with contributions from three other former students. One of them, Alison H. Johnson, then teaching at Western Ontario, in a letter to Irving of 11 January 1961 recalled, both his classroom style and the man himself: 'Professor Lane was a stimulating, and, in a quiet fashion, an exacting chairman of the seminar. He had tremendous command of language and on occasion used several long words where one short word would do. He was a colourful person who obviously

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497

enjoyed associating with students and did not hesitate to let them know that he walked miles every day to and from his home to the University and that on his summer farm on the Bay of Quinte he grew the best apples produced in Ontario, if not in the world. Students occasionally had the privilege of verifying this claim ... Professor Lane was deeply interested in the welfare of his students and did everything in his power to further their careers. In a unique fashion he demonstrated the value and possible destiny of a superior individual (ibid.) .Johnson's last sentence, as every student of philosophy should know, alludes to the title of one of Bernard Bosanquet's principal works, The Value andDestiny of the Individual (1913). Johnson went on to record a lovely story about Lane: 'I can not resist telling you, for your own amusement, about an incident which occurred when Professor Lane was conducting Chapel services at Emmanuel College. In the midst of a prayer he said, "Incomprehensible as it may seem to thee O God." After a horrified intake of breath, and a pause, he blurted out, "Oh, I beg Your pardon -1 didn't mean to say that"' (ibid.). This revealing incident, which, alas, Irving did not include in his memorial, fits nicely with the vivid picture of Lane that Sissons drew for his readers: 'During the summer he lived in Prince Edward County, where he acquired considerable farming and business interests, and where he found pleasure in engines and fast motor launches. Rather short and wiry in frame, he kept himself fit during the winter by walking back and forth to the College from his home five miles distant. His public speech was characterized by amazing rapidity and fecundity in words. During the years in Toronto he published two volumes of verse. In 1939 he retired to his country estate' (Sissons 1952, 262). Lane died at his home in Picton, Ontario, on Christmas Day 1960. 13.13

Victoria's other appointment in 1913 was Walter Theodore Brown at the rank of lecturer. Brown was born on 2 January 1883, the son of a canoemaker as he was wont to boast in later years, in Lakefield, Ontario, where he received his elementary education in the public school. After graduating from Peterborough Collegiate in 1903, he entered Victoria. When he graduated in 1907, he was awarded the gold medal in philosophy and the George Paxton Young Fellowship. For the next two years he studied theology at Victoria without taking a degree. Having decided against a career in the church, he went to Harvard as a graduate student in philosophy and earned the doctorate in 1912, with a thesis, 'Studies in Individ-

498 Contributing Streams

ualism,' written under Josiah Royce's supervision. In the following year he taught psychology at Bowdoin College in Maine and then accepted the call to Victoria. Sissons, who knew him, reports that 'he was a man of powerful physique and strong personality and became an impressive public speaker [who] soon established himself as an outstanding teacher' (Sissons 1952, 262). In addition to courses in ethics, he also taught religious knowledge and the philosophy of religion. In 1919 he was made associate professor and in 1924 he was promoted to professor. In the spring of 1926 when the Board of Governors of the University of Toronto unexpectedly granted Professor James Gibson Hume a year's leave at full pay instead of forcing him to retire, George Sidney Brett, then acting head of the department, was faced with the problem of covering Hume's courses with very few resources. In a letter dated 26 April Brett told President Falconer that two of them could be assigned to Fulton Anderson, since he was on a reduced load, having only recently joined the department. If the president was willing, Brown would be glad to teach the third course: 'Professor W.T. Brown is a very able teacher: our students come very largely from Victoria College: and we must look forward to more co-operation as a benefit both to the University and the Colleges. As a student trained by Royce, Professor Brown feels his work as limited to ethics somewhat narrow: his services would be a great advantage, and this recognition would be some reward for the generous help he had given us in graduate work. I might draw attention here to the fact that the status of College appointments in the sphere of Graduate, that is University, work has never been faced by the Administration. In my view Professor Brown must be [allowed] adequate remuneration for his services, the salary given to him being equal to that of a new appointment on part-time basis.' Many years later, when Fulton Anderson had succeeded Brett and Brown was president of Victoria University, Anderson became convinced that Brown intended to start offering philosophy courses (other than ethics) at Victoria. Neither Thomas Goudge nor David Savan, both of whom told me of Anderson's fears, thought there was any foundation for them. Brett's letter, however, leads one to wonder. In those days it was legal for Victoria to lay on philosophy courses, but since they could not count towards a degree in the university, it is very unlikely that there would be many takers. There is no indication in the surviving correspondence of whether Brown did teach for the department in 1926-7. In 1928 Brown accepted an invitation from Yale University to found a Department of Religion. Four years later he returned to Victoria Col-

Philosophy at Victoria College 499

lege as its first principal, Emmanuel and Victoria having become separate colleges in the interval, and he resumed his old post in the Ethics Department, where he taught on a reduced load until he resigned in 1949. In 1941 he was appointed chancellor and president of Victoria University, but in 1944, at his request, 'chancellor' was changed to 'vicechancellor' to allow for the appointment of a chancellor from outside the university. Early in January 1949 Brown suffered a cerebral haemorrhage that so impaired his speech that he was obliged to resign his office. He died on 4 August 1954. As this short summary of his career makes clear, Brown was principally an administrator. Beyond the effect he had upon students through his teaching, he left no other mark on philosophy. Very much in demand as a public speaker, he was often interviewed by the press. His favourite topics were religion, science, and philosophy, in some combination. From these interviews we learn that he had a very odd conception of what constituted good teaching. At the time he was appointed president of Victoria, he was interviewed by Gordon Sinclair for the Star. Sinclair asked him about teaching: 'Preachers, he thinks, make by far the best teachers. In fact, "the man who can't preach simply can't teach." "That seems to rule out women," we suggested. "Do women really belong in the pulpit?" "Their limitation is in the voice. I doubt if a woman, or a man with a squeaky voice, could sway or persuade an audience." "So the primary need of a young man heading toward the ministry is to come here with a deep and convincing voice?" "No, that's a tremendous advantage, but we can add depth to his voice"' (28 Feb. 1941, 36). These responses strongly suggest that he, like Canon Cody, believed philosophy to be merely hortatory; its teachers, all male, should aim, in stentorian tones, to 'sway or persuade,' but presumably not convince, their students to adopt their philosophical position. Given this idea of teaching, it is not surprising to find him asserting, in another interview in the same newspaper: T believe the technical movement in philosophy is a mistake' (8 July 1932, 25). Finally, and most remarkably, in a lecture to the student body on the development of science and the historical criticism of the Bible at Hart House in 1926, when his only job was professor of ethics and he did not have the excuse of being a mere administrator, he offered this advice: 'At the conclusion of his lecture Professor Brown advised all students not to think of details and not to get "over-curious." He urged all to enter into the great truths of religion and to "make them their own." "This alone," he emphasized, "makes for a Catholicity without which no man can be truly great'" (Var-

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sity, 12 Feb. 1926, 1). One is left to wonder what he would have regarded as afirst-classterm paper in philosophy - certainly not one that went into detail or exhibited too much curiosity. 13.14

When Brown accepted the call to Yale, John Line, who had graduated from Victoria in 1913, was brought from Pine Hill College in Halifax to replace him. Line was born in 1885 in England, where he received his elementary education, leaving school at the age of thirteen to become a carpenter's apprentice. When he was eighteen he answered an advertisement for missionaries to work in Newfoundland. Accepted as a Methodist probationer upon his arrival, he served for five years, at the end of which he was ordained. In 1908 he wrote to Victoria College seeking admission, despite his lack of formal schooling. Admitted on probation, he proved to be an excellent student, winning several medals and awards. After graduating, he continued his studies at Wesleyan Theological College in Montreal, from which he earned the bachelor of divinity degree in 1915. He taught philosophy at Mount Allison University for ten years, then at Pine Hill College for two, before being called to Victoria as associate professor of ethics and the history of religion. In 1938 Line transferred his allegiance to Emmanuel College, where he regularly taught a course in the philosophy of religion. During his years of teaching ethics, he published fifteen articles and reviews, but nearly all dealt with theological topics. From his retirement in 1962 to his death on 14 December 1970, he continued with pastoral duties. 13.15

In 1934 Jessie Hall Knox Macpherson (1900-69), who had graduated from the University of Toronto in philosophy, was appointed dean of women at Victoria. In addition to her undergraduate work at the University of Toronto under Hume and Brett, she had done some graduate work in psychology and had worked for some years in an administrative position with the Young Women's Christian Association. Because of her liberal views, she proved to be a very popular dean. According to her obituary in the Telegram (20 March 1969): 'The dean of women and professor of ethics allowed girls at Victoria to have as many late nights out from residence as they wanted and said students should forget obedience and learn ethics' (UCC/VUA, Macpherson). The duties of the deanship permitted her to study part time for the doctorate in philoso-

Philosophy at Victoria College 501

phy and she was awarded the degree in 1944 with a thesis entitled 'The Dilemma of Realism: A Study of the Theory of Knowledge in the Philosophy of G.E. Moore,' not a typical Methodist topic. After Lane's retirement in 1940, Macpherson's duties at Victoria were extended to the teaching of ethics courses. Thus, she was the first woman to hold a position in philosophy. In 1952 she was promoted to associate professor and in 1960 to professor. She retired from the deanship in 1963 and from Victoria in 1967. She died on 17 March 1969 in her seventieth year. At the memorial service in her honour, Northrop Frye paid her high tribute: Tf Victoria today can fairly claim to be not a complacently comfortable place but a civilized place, it owes more of that achievement to Jessie Macpherson than to any other one person, and the formative and liberating power of her influence was felt not only by students and dons, but by her professional colleagues as well' (1969, 12). Francis Sparshott was her colleague at Victoria towards the end of Macpherson's career. His richer description is consistent with Frye's: 'Jessie Macpherson was a tall, rather forbidding, very forbidding lady. She was the dean of women. She got a Ph.D. in philosophy at some point- I'm not sure just what point; her thesis was on G.E. Moore. Not really a philosopher. I don't think she published anything. Not really a good teacher. Some people found her a terrible teacher. Tremendous personality. Very good dean of women. Very great cultural force, artistic force at Vic. And she just taught what had to be taught in the ethics line that I wasn't teaching and Jack [Irving] wasn't teaching ... She put on concerts, painting exhibitions, that sort of thing; she promoted activities ... She was a real wheel, very nice, and very efficient - a great woman, she really was' (DA, OHT). After she died, Thomas Goudge, in conversations with me, recalled her in similar terms. On the night before she died, she threw a party and invited many of her old friends from inside and outside the university. The Goudges were among them. Although she suffered from heart disease, Macpherson was in top form. She may have overexerted herself, however, because the next morning she suffered a fatal heart attack. 13.16

The man who was hired to take over the bulk of Lane's teaching was Charles Whitney Leslie. Unlike his predecessors, Leslie did not initially have a theological appointment, even though he was an ordained minister. Leslie was born on 21 March 1905 on a farm in Middlesex County, Ontario. After graduating from Ingersoll Collegiate Institute, he entered

502 Contributing Streams Victoria in 1924; he dropped out after three months, returned in 1926, and received his B.A. in 1930. At the graduation ceremony, he was presented with the Silver Medal in Philosophy and the Governor General's Silver Medal in Philosophy and English. During the next three years he studied theology at Emmanuel College and was awarded its diploma in 1933, the same year that he was ordained in the United Church of Canada. (The United Church had been formed on 10 June 1925, when the Methodists and Congregationalists and about two-thirds of the Presbyterian congregations united in one organization.) For five years he held pastoral appointments and was in charge, successively, of three congregations. In 1938 Victoria appointed Leslie as successor to Lane, but gave him leave of absence to augment his credentials for the position by entering Harvard to study for the doctorate in philosophy. Victoria may have helped him with expenses, since by this time he was married with small children. In 1940, having completed his required residency, he left Harvard to begin teaching at Victoria; five years later Harvard awarded him the doctorate for his thesis, 'The Religious Philosophy of William James.' Leslie's conception of philosophy has a nineteenth-century ring about it. The Varsity on 3 December 1948 reported that he had said that the role of philosophy is to give meaning to the science of religion. He published two books, both on strictly religious themes: No Graven Images: the Contemporary Relevance of the Ten Commandments (1954) and God is a Spirit (1965). At Victoria Leslie's promotion was rapid: he began as lecturer in 1940 and was promoted to professor in 1949. In 1954 he abruptly resigned. By this time he was also teaching theology in Emmanuel College. His marriage had deteriorated, and after their daughters were grown he and his wife divorced. Being a divorced man was regarded by his superiors as incompatible with his position in Emmanuel, and he made the situation worse, according to Douglas Dryer on the oral history tapes, by making 'certain remarks which indicated that he was rather unsuited for being Professor of Theology at the United Church College.' To further complicate matters, he was accused of making sexual advances of some kind to female students. Their nature or how serious they were was never revealed; they remain mere allegations. His position had become untenable, however, and he was forced to resign from both Emmanuel and Victoria. For the next four years he worked as a probation officer for the attorney general of Ontario. In 1958 he emigrated to the United States, having secured a temporary position at the University of Maryland. From there he went in 1961 to Northern Illinois University at DeKalb, where he later served as chairman of its Philosophy Department. He died in 1986.

Philosophy at Victoria College 503 13.17

John Allen Irving was brought to Victoria in 1945 as professor of ethics and social philosophy and head of the Ethics Department. His title recognized his abiding interest in political philosophy, especially that of the Social Credit movement in Canada, about which he published a book in 1959. Irving was born in Drumbo in Oxford County, Ontario, on 6 May 1903 and received his elementary education there. After graduating from Gait Collegiate Institute, he came to Victoria in 1922 and graduated in 1926 with the Regent's Gold Medal. His course was philosophy and English and he stood first in the group with first-class honours every year. The following year he registered as a graduate student and earned an M.A. in philosophy. For the next three years he was a student at Trinity College, Cambridge, where he attended some of Wittgenstein's sessions. In a letter of 13 June 1929 to George Sidney Brett he described his relationship with Wittgenstein: T have enjoyed a very intimate companionship with Herr Ludwig Wittgenstein, who has been with us this year; he has repeatedly warned me that "nothing correct can be said in philosophy." Eventually he would like to land philosophy in the position of the celebrated Cretan liar, so that nothing could be done but to leave it there; he is able to carry acute analysis to even greater lengths than Russell and Moore' (DA). Trinity awarded Irving a second M.A. for his work there. His first teaching job was at Princeton University, where he was an assistant professor from 1930 to 1938. In 1938 he moved back to Canada as head of the Department of Philosophy and Psychology in the University of British Columbia. Thomas Goudge told me a nice story involving Irving. Irving was notorious for name-dropping, both in lectures and in conversation. One of his favourite names, of course, was that of Wittgenstein, whom he always referred to as 'Vitty,' but he also recollected meetings with 'Bertie' Russell, 'Charlie' Broad, 'Alfie' Whitehead, and so on. The occasion Goudge recalled took place in one of his own classes. On that day Goudge, uncharacteristically, was late for class. As he was hurrying along the corridor to his classroom, he heard someone lecturing in it. Stunned for a moment, he double-checked his memory to make certain he had got the time and place right and then cautiously approached the door, which was open. Apparently, Irving was lecturing; 'Vitty' and 'Bertie' and 'Alfie' were being invoked with great frequency. Oddly, however, the students were laughing at the speaker's sallies. The speaker eventually stopped, and Goudge entered the room to find Mavor Moore, a student in the

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class, just taking his seat. Moore, a gifted mimic, had been amusing his fellow students with a letter-perfect imitation of living's lecturing style. From the oral history tapes, it is evident that Irving was not a favourite with his colleagues in the university department. Douglas Dryer referred to the characteristic already noted: 'I think it should also be mentioned - one dominant feature of Irving's personality- he was much given to selfaggrandizement, would that be the term? How would you describe it?' Goudge: 'Well, I think that applies.' And Dryer went on to make an astonishing suggestion concerning Irving's political sympathies: 'As for Irving's own proclivities, he, as so many others had, had brief contact with Wittgenstein. He regarded himself as the authority on Wittgenstein. He also - but he kept this much more under the hat - he also was a true believer in Leninism. The way he brought this out was: I was mentioning to him on some occasion the novel We [an anti-Utopian satire by the Russian Yevgeny Ivanovich Zamyatin (1884-1937)], which was published around 1922 or 1924, and he quite attacked this, and of course it was evident to me the way he was teaching Marx in the fourth-year course with his own paraphernalia.' The other speakers on the tape are surprised by this observation but do not contest it, one of them noting that Irving had spent time at Cambridge at a time when there was much sympathy among the students for the great social experiment then underway in the Soviet Union. They then discussed Irving's reasons for leaving the University of British Columbia. According to Robert McRae, there was 'a student revolt' against him. Dryer added: 'He had a way of making himself disliked by his colleagues in the University of British Columbia, I gather, by his ways.' The interviewer asked whether this was also true at Victoria and Dryer replied: 'It was just his manner; one had to put up with Irving.' Geoffrey Payzant, on another tape, related a story about Irving and U.B.C., which made the rounds when Payzant was a graduate student at Toronto in the late 1940s. If the tale was true, it certainly explained why Irving wanted to change jobs. The story was that, within a few years of joining U.B.C., Irving developed a reputation as a 'character and eccentric.' Intent on teaching him a lesson a group of student pranksters 'put an ad in the real estate section of the local newspaper offering Irving's house at a ridiculously low price.' As expected, Irving was swamped with enquiries, so many, indeed, 'that he in fact sold the house.' This prank, if it actually happened, is far more vicious than any played upon James Beaven. Francis Sparshott, who taught for several years at Victoria while Irving was head, described him as 'a very complicated man' who was 'hard to pin down':

Philosophy at Victoria College

505

One remembers chiefly, frankly, about him how awful he was and how peculiar he was. He was awful in this way, different from the way other people are awful. He never did me any harm, I have to say, [which is] more than one can say of everyone, I think. I remember him as being a shortish man, certainly a plumpish man, a very pink-faced man. As a conversationalist he was a phenomenal bore, interminable. He put his face very close to yours; he had very bad breath; and he dropped names interminably. These don't tell you about his qualities as a philosopher at all, but these are things that sort of come to mind. He was a schemer, not exactly in the childish way - in a very elementary sort of way: an ineffective schemer. He was the kind of person about whom people used to say, 'He's his own worst enemy,' because his Machiavellianism, such as it was, was so transparent. (DA, OHT)

Sparshott went on to mention one of his schemes. When Sparshott moved to Victoria from University College, Irving installed him in the office next to his own, and it only gradually emerged that he had done so because he could not stand to have anyone use a typewriter in an adjoining office. Obviously, he would have had no power to forbid a colleague in another department to type, but since Sparshott was his subordinate he could and did impose such a prohibition on him. When Sparshott was acting head during Irving's final illness, Irving made his life miserable by making the job as 'embarrassing, awkward, and difficult' as he could: 'So it's a peculiar sort of awfulness, a sort of transparent awfulness, about him' (ibid.). Sparshott found it equally difficult to describe Irving as a philosopher: 'As a philosopher, he is very hard to make out. He was a much subtler and much more sensitive and profound man, I think, than people thought. But as a publisher in philosophy he did nothing except a few book reviews. He was going to do an enormous historical investigation of the history of Canadian philosophy, but there was really nothing in his papers. I went through them after his death. He didn't actually do that. He wrote one tremendously good book on the Social Credit movement in Alberta. It's a splendid book, and still remembered' (DA, OHT). Irving's forte lay in 'the social side, the sociology of philosophy, and generally, sociology.' In addition, he was interested in the mystical side of Wittgenstein, which Sparshott thought appealed to something in Irving. 'He had this mystical side that didn't really come out: he didn't talk about it, but you felt it was there. He was a subtle man, and a very complicated man, and underneath this surface awfulness - he was awful all the way down,

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really, in a funny sort of way. When I look back at Irving I don't hate Irving at all, I think of him with affection' (ibid.). Sparshott knew of only one person who thought highly of Irving as a teacher, and that was Donald Brown, who had been his student at the University of British Columbia. After completing his studies at Oxford, Brown returned to his alma mater, where he had a very distinguished career. 'Irving turned him on to philosophy, and Donald Brown had a very good head indeed, a very un-Irving type head. So obviously Irving was able to penetrate people on that level' (DA, OHT). As a teacher, Irving was particularly well organized. For many years he gave a graduate course on the philosophy of mind, using books by C.D. Broad and Charles Morris. His seminars ran very smoothly, with a succession of class presentations. Sparshott envied his efficiency: 'He was mechanically very good, but people didn't seem to get much out of his courses. I am afraid this is rather useless. He was a hard man to pin down, and philosophically there's just nothing there really that one could detect' (ibid.). John Hunter, when he was a master's student, took Irving's graduate course on the concept of mind, which he recalled as 'the worst course I ever took.' According to Hunter, Irving concentrated exclusively on 'tracing genealogies' of the various notions that were current in the literature at the time; he drew all sorts of maps, with various branches, showing the descent of a given idea. The names of many philosophers appeared in these maps, and some of them many times, but Irving did not provide his class with a critical account of any of the ideas thus pinned down. Hunter judged it 'such an utterly useless thing to know about' (ibid.). During the years he taught at Victoria, Irving was, as Sparshott suggested, considerably overweight, and in 1963 he suffered a severe heart attack. His doctor ordered him to lose weight, and Irving obeyed him, becoming a shadow of his former self. Permanent damage had been done, however, because on 3 February 1965 he suffered a second heart attack while eating lunch with fellow faculty members at high table. Sparshott was present: they were 'having chicken pot pie and creamed corn; he died in the creamed corn. I was sitting next to him. It was a very harrowing experience' (DA, OHT).

13.18 In the last years of his headship, Irving recruited two new faculty members. Henry Pietersma, a native of The Netherlands who grew up in the United States, was awarded the doctorate in this department in 1962 with

Philosophy at Victoria College 507

a thesis on Husserl directed by Emil Fackenheim. In 1961 Anderson had taken Pietersma on staff as a lecturer. Three years later he moved to Victoria as an assistant professor. Pietersma's philosophical interests remained centred on Husserl and his followers, and in 2000, two years after he retired, he published Phenomenological Epistemology. When Jessie Macpherson retired in 1963, Irving replaced her with a lecturer, James Graff, who had earned his doctorate at Brown University. When Sparshott stepped down as chairman in 1970, Graff was appointed to succeed him; he served in that office until it was abolished in 1975 (see §10.13). The number of Victoria students taking ethics courses in 1963 was not sufficient to keep four professors fully occupied; consequently, there was pressure on the university department to come to some arrangement for allowing the faculty at Trinity and Victoria to teach its curriculum. Anderson's retirement and Goudge's appointment, as we saw earlier (§10.13), led to a temporary solution. Professors in these colleges were cross-appointed without salary to the university department, thus making it possible for them to be assigned to teach philosophy courses. In this part of their work, it should go without saying, they were responsible solely to the chairman of the university department. 13.19

At Irving's death the chairmanship of the Ethics Department passed to Francis Sparshott, who had been recruited by Irving from the university department in 1955 after Charles Leslie resigned. Sparshott was born in England and educated at Corpus Christi College, Oxford. When Fulton Anderson contacted him in the summer of 1950 and offered him a job as lecturer at a salary of $2,800, he was working towards a B.Phil, degree. In recommending his appointment, Anderson wrote to the dean on 1 September: 'Mr. Sparshott has done an excellent first in 'Greats' at Oxford, has made a translation of the Bacchae which has had public performance, and has completed except for a thesis all the work required for the graduate degree at Oxford of B.Phil' (DA). Sparshott was not sorry to abandon his work on the degree, which was not as far advanced as Anderson had implied, since he found the writings of Aristotle, his chosen topic, unintelligible. Anyway, he reasoned, one sought the degree to get a job, but if one had a job, one did not need the degree. For the next five years he taught Greek philosophy and aesthetics in the university department, and he was assigned to teach a course in mediaeval ethics - he called it a 'makeweight' - in University College. Except for one year, when two stu-

508 Contributing Streams

dents showed up, he did not have to teach it, although it counted as part of his teaching load. Sparshott was quite content with his life in the department, so when Irving offered him an increased salary and an assistant professorship - a permanent appointment - he went to Anderson, expecting him to match the offer. Instead, he was told that the department could not meet Victoria's offer, and Anderson urged him to accept it, telling him that 'they needed him there.' Sparshott's former colleagues informed him later that Anderson had told them that Sparshott would have been promoted if he had elected to stay with the university department. Anderson's duplicity left Sparshott with a very low opinion of his moral character. To add fuel to the fire, he suspected that Anderson and Irving had agreed to his transfer before Irving even approached him: 'So I went to Victoria, with great resentment, I may say. Where I was also, without being told until the last minute, inducted into the Classics Department, to teach part of the classics in translation. I knew about this because one of my friends in Classics said, 'Oh I hear you're going to teach classics in translation next year.' I hadn't heard about this, but I confirmed that it was true. Without knowing about it I had been attached to the department at Victoria' (DA, OHT). At the time, Sparshott suspected that Anderson's reason for sacrificing him may have had to do with the sudden availability of David Gallop for an appointment. In 1950 Gallop had been Anderson's first choice for the vacant position in Greek philosophy, but Gallop, who had just graduated from Oxford, was obliged to do national service. Anderson then offered the position to Sparshott, who was free to emigrate. In later years Sparshott decided that he had been wrong in thinking that Gallop's availability was the reason for Anderson's behaviour towards him. The dates involved did not match. The real reason was more personal: 'What is true is that I may have been cheeky and impertinent to Fulton H. Anderson. I certainly was, and Anderson may have felt that he'd just as soon not have me there. He did find a replacement, Gallop, who was better in the ancient philosophy field as a general practitioner than I am, I think' (ibid.). During Sparshott's chairmanship the practice, mentioned above, of cross-appointing the members of the Victoria Ethics Department to the university department was instituted. Personally, it meant that he could again teach subjects other than ethics, in particular, aesthetics, which Anderson had assigned to him during his years in the university department: 'In a sense it was one of my chores. It was not something that had interested me philosophically. I came from Oxford, which was a very

Philosophy at Victoria College 509

hidebound place. Aesthetics was just not something one thought about in Oxford at all. In fact, its legitimacy was not acknowledged, even to the point of denying it. So I was quite bewildered when I was told to teach this. But it's not true that I had no interest in this area. I was interested in poetry and in the classical psychology of literature. From that point of view it was congenial to me, the subject matter was. I never thought of it as something you would do philosophy about' (DA, OHT). Sparshott's book, The Structure of Aesthetics (1963), was written to fill a gap in the literature. Having discovered, in teaching the undergraduate course in aesthetics, that there was no book that provided an organized treatment of the subject, he decided to try his hand at providing one. Sparshott's subsequent career has been one of the most distinguished in the department's history. His philosophical interests proved to be wide and his writing style elegant and witty. In addition to aesthetics, he has published books in ancient philosophy and in general philosophy, as well as several books of poetry. He has contributed to new branch of philosophy, namely, the philosophy of dance, by writing two substantial books on the subject. York University took note of his work on the dance by appointing him in 1989 an external professor in its Dance Department. The University of Toronto recognized his extraordinary contribution to the department and to his subject by appointing him a university professor in 1982. This honour permitted him to set his own workload and reduce it if he wished, but he continued to teach a full load until his retirement in 1991. He has continued to publish books in philosophy and in poetry. After a lifetime of study, he finally resolved, to his own satisfaction, part of what Aristotle was trying to say, thus redeeming himself for having abandoned his B.Phil studies four decades earlier. The resulting book, Taking Life Seriously: A Study of the Argument of the Nicomachean Ethics, was published in 1994. Its title is an appropriate motto for Sparshott's life; for he has, indeed, taken life seriously, but never, one is happy to report, too seriously. At a convocation held on 23 November 2000 the University of Toronto awarded Francis Sparshott the doctor of laws, honoris causa. 13.20

During Sparshott's term as chairman, Victoria College, like nearly every other institution of higher learning on the continent, caught the expansion bug. Since ethics professors were no longer confined to teaching their subject but could be assigned, after being cross-appointed, by the

510 Contributing Streams

department to teach courses in their areas of interest, the college, in order to increase its philosophy offerings, authorized three junior appointments, two in 1967 and a third in 1968. All three became permanent members of the department. Both William Harvey and Mark Thornton, later a chair of the department, whose career is summarized in §12.18, were appointed in 1967. Harvey was born in Canada and earned his doctorate at the University of Melbourne in 1970. A few years after joining Victoria, he began studying law part time. In 1977 he was awarded the LL.B. degree by the University of Toronto and three years later he was called to the bar. His principal area of interest has been applied ethics and, more particularly, biomedical ethics. A founding member of the Collaborative Program in Bio-Ethics, he served as its director for five years, beginning in 1995. Peter Hess was the last person to be appointed to the Ethics Department of Victoria College. Hess, a Canadian who earned his doctorate at Brown University, joined Victoria in 1968 as a lecturer and taught there until he took early retirement in 1995. His main publication is Thought and Experience, published in 1988. The Department of Ethics (since 1 July 1971 called the Department of Philosophy) in Victoria College was officially abolished on 30 June 1975; its staff was inducted into the university department on the next day with their rank and seniority intact. They continued to occupy offices in the college and to schedule as many of their courses as possible in its buildings. As they retire, their places will be taken by new faculty (appointed by the department), who will be invited to centre their work in the college.

14

Philosophy at Trinity College

14.1 The University of Trinity College was the second university founded by Bishop Strachan. Early in 1848 he had resigned as president of King's College to devote himself full time to his episcopal duties. He believed that King's College, then in its fifth year of operation, was well enough established to function without his personal direction. He also believed, mistakenly as it turned out, that the provincial government had abandoned its attempt to secularize the college. The passage of the Baldwin Act in 1849, which transformed King's College into the University of Toronto, threw Strachan's life into turmoil. Even before the act took effect on 1 January 1850 he had committed himself to founding another institution. His principal aim had always been to establish in Toronto a seminary for the training of priests for the Anglican Church, as the Church of England was called in Canada, and when King's College was transformed by the government into the University of Toronto, he immediately began laying plans for a replacement embodying his heart's desire. Given his stature in the community, he had no difficulty in attracting other like-minded Anglicans to his cause. As the first salvo in his campaign he published a pamphlet, The History of King's College from 1797 to 1850, which was distributed in England to acquaint potential supporters with the grievances of the Church of England in Canada, as Strachan saw them. The picture he painted of the new University of Toronto, with its affiliated theological colleges (at the time only Knox's College), was black indeed: 'Because the University of Toronto, which proscribes Religion, and treats all its forms as matters of indifference will have no disposition to enforce upon these Pupils, who

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belong not to these affiliated Colleges, any reverence for Holy things. Hence, from the very first, we shall have a corps of Infidels growing up and, like all the wicked, eager to make proselytes, by stirring up strife among the youth attached to the different Colleges, and holding up the Colleges themselves as a proof that there is no difference, as to the comparative goodness, between them; that the opposite opinions which they hold shew that truth and falsehood are the same; that, even the "faith once delivered to the saints" is of no value; that the most pernicious heresy ever broached is harmless; and that every man has a right to interpret the Scripture as he pleases!' (Hodgins, 9: 90). Rather typically, Strachan allowed himself to be carried away by this line of thought: 'Besides every Sect may have its College, or apology for a College, and thus, a public sanction be given to all opinions, however mischievous and contradictory, and we should have Socinian, Mormonite and Swedenborgian Doctors of divinity, - a result which would bring all such Degrees into utter contempt' (90). While reading his diatribes, it is difficult to understand the great influence that he enjoyed in his day. One would have thought his more bizarre pronouncements would have put people off, especially those - and there must have been many even among the Anglicans - who wore their religion more lightly than he professed to do. In all of his many outpourings during this period, Strachan never once acknowledged that King's College, with its endowment, was from the start a provincial institution, not a Church institution. J.G. Hodgins, in presenting the historical documents leading to the founding of Trinity, is constrained to remark: 'In the whole of this Correspondence, it is a notable circumstance, that Doctor Strachan entirely ignored the historical fact, that King's College was established as a Provincial Institution, endowed solely with Provincial Lands, and that the Church of England, to the care of which it was entrusted, never contributed a single dollar for its maintenance; although, through Doctor Strachan, it claimed proprietary ownership of King's College and its Endowment' (Hodgins 9: 92). Strachan, in his appeal to the clergy and laity of his own diocese, raised this question: 'Deprived of her University, what is the Church to do?' a little later he lamented 'the destruction of her University' (93). In a memorandum attached to a letter to Earl Grey, the colonial secretary, Strachan referred to the endowment: 'And here I most respectfully submit, that were Her Majesty aware that we have been deprived of a Royal Gift worth Two Hundred and Seventy thousand pounds consisting of lands under Patent from the Crown, - yielding a Revenue of Eleven Thousand Pounds per annum, and pledged by three

Philosophy at Trinity College 513

Sovereigns, - She would hasten to repair, in as far as may be in Her power, the great loss and injury we have thus sustained' (97). There can be no doubt that those members of the legislature of Upper Canada who had judged King's College to be an appendage of the Church of England were absolutely right. After conducting a fund drive at home, which netted about £25,000, Strachan spent some months in England applying for a royal charter and soliciting donations for a building and other expenses. Neither task presented any serious difficulty, although he was dismayed when Earl Grey told him that he could not grant the charter until he had received the approval of the Canadian government. Strachan tried to dissuade him from this course of action, but Grey brushed his arguments aside and rebuked him for his choice of words: 'I cannot conclude this Letter, without expressing the great regret with which I have observed an expression in the Memorandum of your interview with Sir Robert Peel, which might be understood as implying that you regard a reference of this question to the Governor General of Canada as a reference "to your enemies." Nothing I am persuaded, can be more erroneous than such an idea, nor has there been anything in the conduct of the Earl of Elgin which seems to me to justify the smallest doubt of his entertaining an earnest and conscientious desire to act fairly and impartially towards every Christian Church in Canada, and especially towards that of which he is himself a Member' (Hodgins 9: 102). In his reply Strachan stated that by 'our enemies' he meant not the governor general of Canada, but only members of the provincial legislature. The charter was granted on IGJuly 1852. Strachan returned to Toronto with everything he needed for the new university. To speed construction of the building, he brought back a copy of the architectural plans for a theological college then under construction near Liverpool and proceeded to have them revised by a local architect. The building, located on Queen Street West at Strachan Avenue, was built during 1851 and the college opened its doors to students on 15 January 1852. Its faculty consisted of three professors, all recruited from England; their subjects were divinity, classics, and mathematics. Perhaps it is unnecessary to state that everyone concerned with Trinity had to subscribe in writing to the Thirty-Nine Articles. All of the early Trinity calendars include this solemn announcement: 'The University confers no Degree whatever unless the Candidate has previously taken the oath of allegiance and supremacy and subscribed the following declaration: "I A.B. do willingly and heartily declare that I am truly and sin-

514 Contributing Streams cerely a member of the United Church of England and Ireland."' That is to say, the Anglican Church of Canada. It is of a certain interest that Strachan did not invite James Beaven to join the new institution as professor of divinity. One can only conclude that in the years they had served together on the Council of King's College Strachan had formed a negative opinion of Beaven's qualities as a professor. It could have had nothing to do with loyalty to the Church of England, since Beaven was as zealous in that regard as anyone in Upper Canada, so it must have been personal qualities. Perhaps Strachan's decision was based upon Beaven's lecturing style; nearly everyone who commented on Beaven as a lecturer sooner or later used the adjective 'dry' to describe him. Beaven himself probably expected to follow Strachan to Trinity. He once stated that the only reason he was still teaching in the University of Toronto was 'that the government has not allowed me any adequate compensation on which to retire, and Providence has not opened to me any other sphere of action' (Hodgins, 9: 269). 'Providence,' one feels fairly sure, included in its designation the bishop of Toronto.

14.2 Except for some Plato and Aristotle in the classics course, philosophy was not formally offered to undergraduates in the early years of Trinity. Its calendar for 1855 announced: 'An examination in Moral Science will take place at the end of the Lent Term in each year, open to Bachelors of Arts. There will be a course of lectures on the History of Philosophy, and on portions of the works of standard ancient and modern philosophers. The particular subjects for Examination will be fixed in the Lent Term of the preceding year. Candidates will be arranged in order of merit.' The following year's calendar provided a list of the texts for the examination: Sanderson's De Obligatione Consdentiae; Butler's Three Sermons on Human Nature, in Whewell's edition; Books I, II, and III (to chapter 5) of Aristotle's Nicomachean Ethics; Aristotle's Politics, Book I; and the first four books of Plato's Republic. Except for minor tinkerings with the Aristotle and Plato readings, this list remained stationary until 1861, when two courses were added: the History of Greek Philosophy (using Ritter and Preller's Historid Philosophiae Graecae et Romanae), and the 'History of Moral Philosophy in England.' Subsequently, the list was not altered. Beginning with the calendar of 1876, all mention of this examination was dropped. Apparently, it had not proved popular. Only

Philosophy at Trinity College 515

two prizemen are listed: Edward William Beaven, the second son of James Beaven (1857) andj. D'Arcy Cayley (1860).

14.3 It was not until 1882, with the appointment of the Reverend William Robinson Clark as professor of mental and moral philosophy and lecturer in history, that philosophy was added to the curriculum of Trinity. Clark, who was born in Inverurie, Scotland on 26 March 1829, had spent most of his life in various church positions in England; from 1859 until 1870 he was vicar of St Mary Magdalene Church in Taunton, and from 1870 to 1880 he was prebendary of Wells Cathedral, both in Somerset. Something of a late starter in the Church, he had been ordained a deacon in 1857 and made a priest the following year. His first two degrees were earned at the University of Aberdeen, the M.A. in 1848; he then enrolled in Hertford College, Oxford, from which he was awarded a second B.A. in 1853 and the Oxford M.A. in 1866. After nearly a quartercentury as a preacher, he retired from the ministry in 1880 and set about preparing himself for an academic career, devoting the next two years to private study. During this period he came to North America, where he was associated with Hobart College in Geneva, New York. In 1882 he came to Toronto in a package deal between St George's Church in the Grange, Toronto, and Trinity College. Trinity, it seems, could not afford to pay Clark the salary he demanded, so St George's 'guaranteed the sum of $500 per annum for five years, during which period Professor Clark was the special preacher at that church' (Reed 1952, 93). His first lectures at Trinity were delivered in January 1883. His starting salary was very low compared with salaries for professors in the University of Toronto, probably $1,000 per annum; the first year for which I found the amount specified, 1893-4, he was paid $1,460, but that was ten years after his initial appointment. The most he ever received from the ollege was $1,650, in 1905-6 and 1906-7, his last two years on staff. By contrast, James Gibson Hume was being paid $3,200 in 1906-7 as professor of philosophy in the University of Toronto. In 1901, when Trinity decided that it required a professor of English, Clark received the appointment and an additional $250, while retaining his chair in philosophy but giving up his appointment in history; he was also awarded an honorary doctor of civil laws by Trinity in that year. After his dual appointment, some of his teaching duties in philosophy were assigned to a fellow: 'To the new Fellowship in Philosophy the Corporation ap-

516 Contributing Streams pointed the Reverend Edward Ley King, an honours graduate of the University of Manitoba. In 1903 he became Lecturer in Divinity, a position he held until 1905, when he was appointed Vicar of St. Thomas' Church, Toronto' (119). King, who had been born in Devonshire, England, was killed on 1 July 1906 in a freakish railway accident at Salisbury on a visit to his brother; he was only thirty-six years old. Clark retired in 1908 with the title of professor emeritus; he died on 12 November 1912 after a long illness. In 1904 Sutherland Macklem presented Trinity College with a grand portrait of Clark, painted by Wyly Grier; it now hangs in Seeley Hall.

14.4 Soon after joining Trinity's staff, Clark instituted an honours degree in mental and moral philosophy. In the Trinity calendar for 1884, the prescription for the pass degree included philosophy for the first time; in second year the students were required to pass an examination in Jevons's Lessons in Logzcand Schwegler's History of Philosophy; and in their final year they were offered, as one of five options, an examination in mental and moral philosophy. The examination was based on the following books: Jevons's Studies in Deductive Logic, Whately's Logic, Reid's Intellectual Powers, Bain's Senses and Intellect, Schwegler's History of Philosophy, and Calderwood's Moral Philosophy. Clark kept abreast of the current literature; nearly every year he revised the reading list, replacing a title with another that had recently been published. For instance, in 1885 he dropped Jevons, Whately, and Reid, and substituted Fowler's Logic, Deductive and Inductive and Janet's Theory of Morals. It seems certain that Clark lectured on these texts, but the Trinity calendars for those years did not include a schedule of lectures. Those who wished to be awarded an honours degree in mental and moral philosophy had first to pass the examination for the pass degree, and then to sit another examination on a formidable list of texts. In 1884 the texts were as follows: (1) in logic: Jevons's Studies in Deductive Logic, Whately's Logic, Thomson's Outlines of the Laws of Thought, and Mansel's Prolegomena Logica; (2) in mental philosophy: Reid's Intellectual Powers, Bain's Senses and Intellect, Cousin on Locke, Eraser's Selections from Berkeley, Eraser's Berkeley, Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, and Schwegler's History of Philosophy; (3) in moral philosophy: Aristotle's Ethics (in English translation), Calderwood's Moral Philosophy, Mill's Utilitarianism, Bishop Butler's Sermons (the first three only), Sidgwick's Methods of Ethics, and Bain's Emo-

Philosophy at Trinity College 517 tions and Will; (4) in political economy: Adam Smith's Wealth of Nations. Over the next twenty years Clark added to and deleted from this list as new books became available. In psychology, for example, he prescribed at various times Dewey's Psychology, Hoffding's Outlines of Psychology, Ladd's Outlines of Psychology, Titchener's Outlines of Psychology; in 1892, when James Mark Baldwin joined the university Department of Philosophy, Clark recommended that students read his Handbook of Psychology, which had just been published. Comparable changes were made in the other areas of study. Three years after the honours course was introduced, it was divided into two examinations, one taken at the end of second year and one taken at the end of the third and final year. The reading list was split accordingly. What is most impressive about Clark's honours course is the number of students who took it. Trinity had a very small enrolment during his tenure, but once his course was established, he attracted a considerable percentage of it- eloquent testimony to his excellence as a teacher. The first two candidates graduated in 1887, one of whom was awarded a first. There were no graduates in 1888, but five in the next year, only one of whom received a first. Obviously, students were not flocking to take honours philosophy because it was an easy mark. During the following thirteen years, Trinity awarded forty-five students its honours degree in philosophy: twenty-eight firsts, sixteen seconds, and one third. In reading their names, I was struck by the fact that none of them appears to have gone on to careers, or at least notable careers, in philosophy. Most of them probably became Anglican priests. Trinity had begun admitting women students in 1882, and two of these honours graduates were women. (For a few years St Hilda's College, which enrolled the women students at Trinity, had its own faculty; the Reverend E.G. Cayley gave instruction in philosophy and later taught English in Trinity.) In 1899 Miss E.M. Powley was the top student of a strong class of four firsts and one second. After Trinity's federation in 1904 this honours course ceased to be offered; in Trinity, as in Victoria, the teaching of philosophy was restricted to ethics.

14.5 Clark's success in attracting students led him in 1896 to propose the establishment of the Ph.D. degree in his department. Its description is recorded in the minutes of the Board of Litterae Humaniores for 2 November 1896:

518 Contributing Streams The following scheme was brought forward by Prof. Clark for the establishment of a new degree in Arts. Ph.D. i. The candidate for this degree must be an M.A. and of seven years standing from his B.A. ii. There shall be two examinations, one year apart. iii. At the first examination the candidate shall present an Essay on some standard work on Philosophy, ancient or modern, and shall be examined in ancient philosophy. iv. At the second examination the candidate shall present an Essay on some subject in Philosophy, Psychology or Ethics, and shall be examined in Modern Philosophy. Suggested subject for first examination - Aristotle's Politics. Suggested subject for second examination - The Utilitarian School of Ethics. (TCA, BLH)

There is no record, either at this meeting or at any subsequent meeting, of any action taken on this proposal. Since the University of Toronto instituted the doctorate the following year, and since Trinity was still discussing federation with the university, it seems likely that its board decided it filled no purpose, because any Trinity M.A. could enrol as a Ph.D. student in the university. Clark's proposal involves an interesting conception of the doctorate. Instead of a major study of some problem to be reported in a dissertation, which was central to the German idea of the Ph.D. degree and which was taken over by United States graduate schools, his program substituted two essays to be written before the candidate sat the examinations. His draft regulations do not specify the length of these essays, but since one of them was to be written in a single year, it would seem that they would not have been any longer than a typical M.A. thesis. Another likely difference concerns supervision; German dissertations were written under the supervision of professors, after candidates had passed the required examinations. Clark's proposals, as stated in the minutes, appear to require candidates to show that they were able to write essays of a high quality on their own. Had the degree been instituted, the regulations might have acquired some conditions. His suggested subjects for the examinations indicated that his proposed degree had no breadth requirement, again a significant divergence from the German standard. When Clark made his proposal, a considerable number of his honours graduates with M.A. degrees were seven or more years from their bachelor's degrees; he probably had this group in mind

Philosophy at Trinity College 519 in making his proposal. It is a pity that the minutes contain no discussion of what others at Trinity thought of it.

14.6 It is apparent from his wide reading that Clark was not the typical preacher-philosopher of the latter half of the nineteenth century. Throughout his career he wrote and published books. All of the early ones dealt with theological subjects, for instance, The Redeemer (1863) and The Comforter (1864), but two later ones did not; Pascal and the Port Royalists (1902) and Savonarola: His Life and Times (1890) treated their subjects philosophically. Clark also translated a number of books on Church history from the German. During his years at Trinity, he developed a special relationship with the University of Michigan: in 1887 he delivered the Baldwin lectures there and two years later the Slocum lectures. In recognition of his many contributions to religious and philosophical literature, he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada in 1891, and in 1900-1 he served as its president. Although he must have been high church in his sympathies in order to have received an appointment to Trinity, Clark was not at all strait-laced in the way James Beaven was. In his obituary in the Telegram a remarkable fact was recorded: 'Professor Clark was a man of broad views, and was the only clergyman to take part in the seven years' agitation for Sunday street cars' (13 Nov. 1912, 11). To have stood alone among men of the cloth on such a contentious issue must have required a good deal of courage. It is surprising that no other clergyman in Toronto could see, what Clark must have seen, that the introduction of Sunday street car service would probably increase church attendance, since, after all, nothing else was open on Sunday. Perhaps less popular ministers were fearful lest their captive flocks seek out more charismatic preachers if public transport was available to them. Around Trinity Clark was treated with a certain irreverence; he was familiarly referred to as 'Billy Clark': 'Every college and university, every school, has its instructor with some oddity of manner or expression, some little idiosyncrasy of attire, gesture, gait or voice which wins the regard of students and preserves him in affectionate esteem. Doctor William Clark, more familiarly known as "Billy" Clark, though Clark seemed redundant, was one of these' (Reed 1952, 93). His students also took delight in his repeated use of the phrase 'he's dead now, poor fellow,' which he used at least once in every lecture. Mention of John Ruskin or any of his other

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contemporaries who had recently died was immediately followed by this phrase. When George Paxton Young died in 1889, Clark's was the first name publicly suggested as his successor. In a letter to the Mail, 'M.A.' had this to say in recommending him: Prof. Clark is one of the best read men and ripest of scholars to be found on this side of the Atlantic. Not only is he a man of wide and varied culture, he is also a vigorous and inspiring teacher. In the latter respect his success at Trinity - making allowance for the disparity in the number of students has hardly been less than the success of Prof. Young at Toronto; while he has far outstripped the latter in the intellectual influence he has brought to bear upon the people. Prof. Clark's attainments are of the highest order. Not only is he a fine, all-round scholar, but he is unusually well read in his special and most important department. He is a thorough German scholar, and deeply versed in both the orthodox and rationalistic thought of Germany, which so largely enters into and influences the intellectual life of the modern student. As a Christian minister, of orthodox though broad and tolerant views, he would be acceptable to the denominations in affiliation with the National University, and as there is a close affinity between speculative thought and the religious life of the students, he could hardly fail to exercise a beneficent influence in a chair which to them and their mental and moral outfit is of the first importance. (2 March 1889, 11)

It is safe to conclude that the author of this testimonial, published presumably without its subject's knowledge or consent, knew his subject well. As far as I have been able to discover, Clark was never seriously considered for the chair in the university. The government's announced intention of excluding clergymen from consideration probably killed his chances. It is regrettable, since as his impressive work at Trinity amply demonstrates, he would have been a much stronger appointment than James Gibson Hume.

14.7 Trinity's establishment of the chair in philosophy in 1882 was probably triggered by the prospect that the college, along with other institutions, especially Victoria, might soon enter into federation with the University of Toronto. The initial idea seems to have been that, in the division of subjects between the university and the federated arts colleges, philoso-

Philosophy at Trinity College 521

phy would be designated a college subject. No doubt part of the motivation for so placing it was the perceived centrality of moral philosophy to the training of preachers. Trinity, which had for thirty years managed without formal instruction in philosophy, wanted to be in a position to claim the subject if and when federation was agreed. When the actual division was made, however, philosophy remained a university subject and only one branch, namely, ethics, was assigned to the colleges. It seems universally agreed by historians that this division represented the wishes of George Paxton Young, then a commanding figure in both the university, in which he was frequently an examiner, and University College, in which he lectured. This division created difficulties for the federated colleges during the next several decades, for the simple reason that there was never sufficient demand for ethics courses in either Trinity or Victoria to require a full-time teacher. What these colleges typically did was to appoint a professor of ethics in their arts faculties who was also a trained theologian and to give him a second appointment in their faculties of theology. After the founding of the School of Graduate Studies in 1922, and especially after the Second World War, when the number of graduate students in philosophy increased dramatically, professors of ethics were involved in teaching graduate courses and directing theses, so the necessity for double appointments faded away. In 1887 the act of federation under which Victoria entered the university was negotiated, passed, and given royal assent. Trinity, however, was not ready to accept the conditions that satisfied Victoria. It was not until 1 October 1904 that Trinity entered federation. Among the conditions it had insisted on were duplicate lectures in some university subjects on its Queen Street campus until such time as its new building could be built on Hoskin Avenue. (That building was not opened until 1 October 1925.) To meet its several conditions, the University Act was amended in 1901, and on 18 November 1903 Trinity's board agreed to federation, effective the following year. Trinity had also insisted that all of its students must receive religious instruction as part of their degree work. This demand obliged the university to institute a new set of courses, each of which met for one hour a week; these courses were called 'Religious Knowledge options,' abbreviated to 'RK options.' Every student in the Faculty of Arts was obliged to take one of these courses every year in order to equalize the work for a degree. In Trinity, of course, and also in Victoria, the students took the real thing, not mere options. Every department offered at least one RK option, so the subjects ranged from beginning astronomy to elementary zoology. In the calendar for 1964-5

522 Contributing Streams

the university department listed five RK options, two in third year and three in fourth; the subjects were modern ethics, history of ancient philosophy, social and political ethics, history of modern philosophy, and philosophy of science. RK options remained in the curriculum until the advent of the 'New Programme' in 1969, when they and religious knowledge courses themselves were scrapped. In its negotiations with the university, Trinity, abetted by Victoria, had tried to reopen the question of philosophy's status; they wanted it assigned to the colleges. For some two years the matter hung fire, and then it was resolved by the reaffirmation of the division between philosophy as a university subject and ethics as a college subject.

14.8 In 1908 George Sydney Brett was appointed librarian and lecturer in classics at Trinity at a salary of $1,100, the odd $100 being specified as the librarian's pay. In the following year, in succession to Clark, he was appointed professor of ethics and ancient philosophy with a $200 rise in salary, a position he held until 1921, when he accepted a full-time appointment in the University of Toronto. In 1909, because of the continuing - and unexpected - absence of August Kirschmann (§5.4), Brett was appointed to the Department of Philosophy part time, first as an assistant in logic and then as a lecturer in ancient philosophy. He quickly made himself both indispensable and influential in the university department, and his part-time appointment, after 1916 as professor of philosophy, was continued every year. In making his gradual move into the university, there is no evidence that he had a falling out with anyone in authority at Trinity. The likeliest reason was an academic one: he did not want to be restricted to teaching only ethics courses - but again there is nothing in the written record upon which to confirm this conjecture. Monetary considerations were no doubt also important. In 1911 Trinity had lowered his salary by $200, and in 1914 he gave up the librarianship and its $100 honorarium, which reduced his college salary to $1,000. With a wife and three children to support, Brett would have needed a larger income than Trinity was prepared to pay. His extraordinary career in the university is recorded in chapter 7.

14.9 Brett was succeeded by the Reverend George Frederick Kingston, who was appointed an associate professor of ethics in 1922 at an annual salary of

Philosophy at Trinity College

523

$2,200; in 1926 he was given the additional appointment of dean of residence. By that date his salary had climbed to $3,200. Kingston was born on 26 August 1889 in Prescott, Ontario, where he received all of his early education; in 1909 he came to Trinity, graduating in 1913 with a first-class honours degree in philosophy and the Governor General's silver medal. In the following year he earned the master's degree. For the next two years he studied theology at Trinity; after being awarded the B.D. degree, he was ordained a priest in 1916. For the next several years he taught philosophy at King's College in Windsor, Nova Scotia, and took courses as a special student at both Harvard and Oxford; he used this work to satisfy a part of the residency requirements for the Toronto doctorate. In 1923 he was awarded the fifth Ph.D. in the Department of Philosophy for his dissertation, 'The Foundations of Faith: a Study in Levels of Belief with Suggestions as to Corresponding Stages in Individual and Social Development' - quite a grand topic for a work of only seventy-five pages. Beyond teaching Trinity's ethics courses for nearly twenty years, I have not discovered any contribution that Kingston made to philosophy. His primary interests centred on theological and religious questions; his book, The Foundations of Faith (1928), a revised version of his thesis, reflected those interests. At Trinity he regularly taught apologetics in the Divinity Faculty. In 1940 he was appointed bishop of Algoma and four years later bishop of Nova Scotia; in 1947 he was elected primate of the Church of England in Canada and, at the same time, was elevated to archbishop of Nova Scotia. His involvement in a post-war controversy throws some light on the sort of man Kingston was. During his reign as primate, many in Toronto began to speak derisively of 'Toronto the Good.' Stimulus for this talk came in part from a notorious paragraph in Leopold Infeld's Quest: The Evolution of a Scientist, published in 1941, when he was professor of physics in the University of Toronto: Toronto is a curious mixture of a town in the United States and one in England. Externally it is like the United States. The same drugstores with milk shakes and sodas, the same cars, tourist homes, cabins, advertisements. But it is different if one looks beneath the surface. The silence, the reserve, the slow tempo, are those of an English town. In the evenings streets are empty, and their deadly silence is oppressive. On Saturday afternoons a new spark of life frightens the town, only to die out completely on Sundays. For one day the town becomes lifeless, only to show a slow, scarcely perceptible pulse on Monday. It must be good to die in Toronto. The transition between life and death would be continuous, painless and scarcely noticeable in this silent town. I dreaded the Sundays and prayed to

524 Contributing Streams God that if he chose for me to die in Toronto he would let it be on a Saturday afternoon to save me from one more Toronto Sunday. (324)

Infeld was not the first to offer this criticism of Toronto, nor the last, but once he had expressed it in print, others were emboldened to repeat it. In the years just after the Second World War, when many were returning to Toronto after having lived and served elsewhere, the critics' voices grew to a chorus. Kingston was troubled by this trend and spoke out against it: 'Sometimes this city is called Toronto the Good. Sometimes cynical remarks are made concerning its attitude. I never place [any credence] in these cynical remarks because I realize the contributions that Toronto has made to the welfare of the country. It often has a restraining influence on other cities and I hope Toronto remains firm on the maintenance of its traditional Sunday and on the other things that has helped to gain it the name of "Toronto the Good"' (Globe and Mail, 18 Nov. 1947, 5) Kingston need not have worried; it would be another quarter-century before there was a noticeable change in Toronto's image. His reign as primate was short; he died suddenly of a heart attack on 19 November 1950. 14.10

Trinity appointed two young men to teach ethics when Kingston was elevated to a bishopric: they were George Edison and Derwyn Owen, both of whom were graduates of Trinity and both of whom earned their doctorates in philosophy from the University of Toronto. Indeed, their final oral examinations were held on the same day. As this fact might suggest, throughout their careers there was something of a competition between the two, especially, it seems, on Edison's side. At the time of their appointments they appear to have been rather evenly matched. George E. Abraham was born on 30 September 1915 in Guelph, Ontario, where his father was a Presbyterian minister and where he received all of his early education. In 1934 he entered Trinity College. He was awarded the B.A. in 1938, the same year in which he and his brother adopted 'Edison' as their surname. Torontonensis epitomized him in this way: 'Likes teas at 4 p.m. and Aristotle for a bedfellow. Is seeking a wealthy widow and transcendental unity of apperception' (40 (1938), 38). Edison spent the next year at Columbia University as the Canadian Scholar in Philosophy and earned its master's degree with a thesis entitled 'Causality and Determinism in Modern Physics,' directed by William Pepperell Montague Jr and John Herman Randall Jr. He then returned to Toronto to study for the doctorate, which was awarded him in 1942 for his thesis

Philosophy at Trinity College 525

'Ethic of Means,' directed by George Sidney Brett. For one year during the war, Edison served on the Wartime Information Board in Ottawa. When Thomas Goudge entered the navy in 1943, Brett hired Edison to take his place, and for the next four years he taught in the university department. After the bulge of veterans had passed through their first two years of university study, Edison returned to Trinity as associate professor; two years later he was appointed college registrar and served in that capacity for two years. In 1951 he was promoted to professor and appointed head of the Department of Ethics in Trinity, an office he held until it was abolished in 1975. In 1954 he was honoured with a Commonwealth Fellowship at St John's College, Cambridge, where he spent the year studying the works of Aristotle. For the remainder of his academic career, until he retired in 1981, he told anyone who enquired that he was working on a major study of Aristotle's philosophy, but no part of it ever appeared in print. Whether very much was done on it will never be known. Edison died on 30 August 1992 at his retirement home in Elora, Ontario. Edison's career got a boost when Trinity appointed him vice-provost on 15 February 1952. When the provost, the Reverend R.S.K. Seeley, died as a result of an automobile accident on 4 August 1957, Edison was appointed acting provost until a successor could be selected. To Edison's utter dismay, Trinity's board chose Derwyn Owen as the new provost. For another five years Edison continued to serve as vice-provost, but he never recovered from this perceived slight; in private conversations with me he spoke very bitterly about it, although he did not in any way blame Owen. Rather, it was the members of the board whom he held responsible for first putting him up and then casting him down. Helen Hardy, for many years his colleague at Trinity, remarked in a conversation with Thomas Mathien that the board's decision 'nearly killed him ... it took away his confidence.' She went on to say that the department's introduction of course evaluations, and Edison's rather poor showing on them, also undermined his confidence. 'He had to have confidence, and when he had confidence in himself, he was a magnificent teacher. When the course evaluations came out and he found that, out of twenty-five, two hated him, he couldn't take it. It never occurred to him that he'd be criticized at all by anyone for any reason. So he was never the same after that. It's sad' (DA, OHT). 14.11 Derwyn Owen was a much steadier personality than Edison and not at all given to confrontational tactics, which, as we saw in an earlier chap-

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ter (§9.9), Edison sometimes used in his dealings with Fulton Anderson; this difference would have been reason enough to favour Owen for the position of provost. But there were other reasons. Owen's life had been lived at the very heart of the Anglican establishment in Canada. His father was archbishop of Toronto and primate of the Anglican Church in Canada, and Owen himself was an ordained priest. These strong ties to the world from which Trinity drew its students and into which it sent them were likely to prove very compelling to a board whose members came from that very same world. In the 1950s the fact that Edison was not an ordained priest would have been sufficient reason to cross his name from the list of possible candidates for provost. Derwyn Randulph Grier Owen was born in Toronto on 16 May 1914; he graduated from Trinity with the B.A. in 1936 and then went to Corpus Christi College, Oxford, where he earned a second B.A. in 1938 and the Oxford M.A. in 1942. From Oxford it was back to Trinity in 1939 to study for the priesthood; he was awarded its licentiate in theology in 1940. In the following academic year Owen was a student in Union Theological Seminary in New York City, and in 1941-2 he completed the requirements for the doctorate in philosophy at the University of Toronto with a thesis entitled 'Meaning, Metaphysics, and Symbolism,' directed by George Sidney Brett. Owen taught for one year as lecturer in ethics and the philosophy of religion at Trinity before entering the armed services as a chaplain. Demobilized in 1946, he returned to Trinity as associate professor of ethics and the philosophy of religion, a rank he held until his promotion in 1954, when he transferred to the Religious Knowledge Department as its chairman, although he continued to teach ethics courses until 1957. In 1952 he published Scientism, Man and Religion, a study of the relations between science and religion. Owen never identified with the Philosophy Department in the way Edison did; his participation in the graduate department appears to have been slight. After he stepped down as provost in 1972, he never taught ethics again. He died on 23 April 1997. 14.12

In 1957 Trinity appointed Helen Hardy, at the time a doctoral candidate in the Department of Philosophy, as a part-time lecturer in ethics; in the next year her appointment was made full time. She was the second woman to hold an appointment in philosophy at Toronto. Hardy threw herself into the work of the Ethics Department, spending long hours outside the classroom with her students. She also proved herself a useful

Philosophy at Trinity College 527

citizen at Trinity, serving on many committees, raising funds, and donating her time whenever she was called upon to do so. After completing her thesis, 'Causality in Emergent Evolution,' in 1958 under Goudge's supervision, she abandoned philosophical research. In retirement after 1988, she maintained a keen interest in Trinity, helping out whenever she was asked. She died on 27 September 1993. 14.13 Around 1969 Trinity decided to strengthen its Ethics Department by appointing another senior member. This proposal occasioned serious negotiations with the university for two reasons. The first concerned the proposed area of expertise of the new faculty member. Trinity wanted someone expert in German philosophy, beginning with Kant. Since that area of philosophy was the responsibility of the university department under the articles of federation, it seemed to some, especially those who had heard Fulton Anderson warn against the expansionist policies of the federated colleges, that Trinity was prohibited from making such an appointment. The policy of cross-appointing the professors at Trinity and Victoria to the university department was by this time in place, but as everyone was aware, it did not, indeed could not, alter the terms of federation. If Trinity were allowed to expand into areas of philosophy other than ethics while the articles of federation were still in place, then the university department would lose control over some areas, at least, for which it was responsible and would be in danger of losing all control. This difficulty was overcome by the argument that some German philosophers, especially Kant, had made major contributions to ethics. Still, suspicion lingered in some quarters; for this argument had not been advanced by Trinity when it proposed the new position. Despite lingering doubts, the department, acting through its Personnel Committee, gave Trinity its approval to search for a candidate in German philosophy. Then, quite unexpectedly, another objection arose, this time at the highest levels of the university. Since the new professor, being senior, would expect an immediate appointment to the graduate department, a certain percentage of his or her salary - the going rate was four-ninths, a very considerable sum - would have to be paid by the university. Just at this time the university was facing the beginning of its fiscal restraints after a period of robust expansion, and in March 1970 President Claude Bissell had issued a ban on any new appointments to the School of Graduate Studies from the federated colleges unless a vacancy had been created by the retirement or resignation of a member from the college

528 Contributing Streams

in question. In other words, he imposed a ceiling upon the total amount of the graduate-transfer payment to each of the federated colleges. After much discussion and repeated appeals for reconsideration, Trinity was allowed an exemption from this ban for this appointment only. The university department helped Trinity's case by informing the central administration that Professor Douglas Dryer, who had taught the graduate course on Kant for many years, wished to be relieved of it in order to pursue new interests. This was the factor that finally tipped the scales in Trinity's favour. The advertisement for a senior professor with expertise in German philosophy, including that of Kant, duly appeared in the fall of 1970. From the applicants Trinity selected Kenneth Louis Schmitz, a Canadian who had earned a licentiate in mediaeval studies from the Pontifical Institute in 1952 and a doctorate from the department in 1953; his thesis, directed by Etienne Gilson, examined the problem of the immortality of the soul in the philosophy of Cardinal Cajetan. Since receiving the degree, Schmitz had taught at four universities in the United States - Loyola in Los Angeles, Marquette, Indiana, and the Catholic University of America - and he was anxious to return to Canada. It was Trinity's intention that he join the University of Toronto as a professor, the rank he held at Catholic University, and as a member of the graduate department. His proposed appointment was therefore brought before the Personnel Committee of the department for its approval. After a full airing of the needs of the graduate department and of Schmitz's qualifications, the committee gave its approval to the appointment and he joined the Trinity Ethics Department in 1971. Schmitz's subsequent contribution to the work of the department fully justified Trinity's selection. Students, and graduate students especially, judged him to be an excellent teacher. Over the years many doctoral candidates opted to write dissertations in German philosophy under his direction. His interest in Hegel's philosophy was relatively pure, that is to say he presented it on its own merits, not as an earlier version of some later, and perhaps flashier, development. Schmitz was active in the American Catholic Philosophical Association and was honoured with its presidency in 1977-8. After his retirement in 1988, Schmitz has spent part of each year in the United States, where he teaches courses in a Catholic seminary in Washington, D.C. 14.14

Throughout the period of Edison's headship there was always a third member of the Ethics Department with the rank of lecturer. Bruno

Philosophy at Trinity College 529

Morawetz, William Burns Macomber, Brian D'Argaville, David Neelands, and George Carlson each taught at Trinity for a number of years and was then let go by Edison, who recruited another beginner. In stating the facts in this way I am not necessarily faulting Edison; for the cause may very well have been the budgetary decisions of Trinity's board. In 1979 Trinity finally found someone whom it was willing to make a permanent member. Derek Allen graduated from Trinity in 1969 with an Honours B.A. in philosophy and history. Awarded a Rhodes Scholarship, he studied politics at Oxford and earned the B.Phil, in 1971; he then returned to the University of Toronto to study philosophy, completing the work for the M.A. in 1972. His final period of study was at Oxford from 1975 to 1977, where he began work on his thesis 'Distributive Justice and Utility in Classical Marxism' under the supervision of Anthony Quinton; he was awarded the D.Phil, in 1979. Since Edison had named him a lecturer in 1973, his appointment fell under the old rules and six years later Trinity, with the university department's approval, awarded him tenure.1 Allen, whose special areas of interest are Marxist philosophy and informal logic, has proved to be an outstanding teacher, winning teaching awards from the Faculty of Arts and Science (1993), the Ontario Confederation of University Teaching Associations (1992), and the Society for Teaching and Learning in Higher Education and 3M Canada Inc. (1995). He has taken the lead in giving graduate students in the university, especially those in philosophy, training in teaching skills. For the latter group he developed and has taught several times a graduate course called 'Teaching Philosophy.' Those who have had the privilege of taking it are strong in its praise. Allen is also a talented and accomplished administrator, and Trinity has not been slow to take advantage of this skill. Shortly after he was promoted to professor in 1995, he was appointed dean of arts and vice-provost of the college. From the department's point of view, this was hardly a positive development, since it entails a considerable decrease in his teaching load. Fewer philosophy students now will have the opportunity to learn from a gifted teacher. Allen's was the last appointment made in the Trinity Department of Ethics. On 1 July 1975 all members of that department were absorbed into

1 By 'the old rules' is meant the rules of appointment in effect in Trinity College before the agreement between the University of Toronto and the three federated universities, abolishing college departments, came into effect on 1 July 1975. Therefore, a decision on whether to grant tenure to Allen would be made in accordance with Trinity College's rules.

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the University Department of Philosophy, although they retained their offices in Trinity. Henceforth there would be a subset of members of the university department with offices at Trinity who would teach their undergraduate courses in its rooms. The process of selecting people to join Trinity (or Victoria or St Michael's) is strictly ad hoc: some who were already on staff, such as Graeme Nicholson and Douglas Hutchinson, were invited by the Trinity group to join them and accepted the offer; others - Margaret Morrison is the first since the abolition of Trinity's Ethics Department - were recruited by the department for the group. Faculty members on the St George campus can, of course, request a change in their location and the department is almost certain to accommodate them, since it is in no one's interest to oblige discontented people to stay where they no longer wish to be. The very size of the department and the natural reluctance of people to move increases the likelihood that everyone's desires can be satisfied. Movements between the suburban campuses and the St George campus, on the other hand, encounter budgetary difficulties, so such transfers have been few, although they have taken place, as the case of Hutchinson, whose initial appointment was in Erindale College, testifies. 14.15

Trinity's advice to its students regarding philosophy courses echoes that given during the heyday of the old honours courses; as discussed earlier, the student began in second year with the ancient Greeks and eventually, at the end of fourth year, read some philosophy that had been published at the beginning of the twentieth century. By offering a set of courses in the history of philosophy and urging its students to take their philosophy in the college, Trinity keeps the most important feature of the old honours system alive. When the New Programme came into effect in 1969, George Edison, who had a greater admiration for the department's honours courses than the vast majority of his colleagues, adopted this policy for Trinity, and it has remained in place ever since. In recent planning documents, the policy has been consistently reaffirmed. At present it appears to be a settled tradition at Trinity.

15

Philosophy at St Michael's College

15.1 In awing of St Michael's Palace, his official residence in Toronto, the second Roman Catholic bishop of Toronto, Armand-Francois-Marie, Comte de Charbonnel, founded two schools in September 1852. The preparatory school, St Michael's College, with an enrolment of eight, was staffed by two brothers of the Christian Schools; the other, St Mary's Little Seminary, had a much larger faculty - five Basilian fathers, brought from France by the bishop - and twenty-one students, all aspirants to the priesthood. Two schools proved to be too great a financial drain on the diocese, and after only six months they were merged as St Michael's College, with the Basilians placed in sole charge. To their expressed annoyance, the Christian Brothers were assigned to teach in elementary schools. In its second year the college increased its enrolment to forty-seven pupils, five of whom were sufficiently advanced to be studying philosophy. The college restricted its admissions to students who had successfully completed elementary school. Its entire program took seven years to complete, with each year devoted to a single subject: Latin I, Latin II, Latin III, Belles-Lettres, Rhetoric, Philosophy I and Philosophy II. At the end of their studies students took away an education, but no degree or diploma. The college was incorporated in 1855 but was given no authority to grant degrees. In the same year the cornerstone was laid for its new premises on St Joseph Street, a gift of the Elmsley family, selected for its nearness to the new University of Toronto. A year later the college moved in. Before its relocation, the superior, Father Jean Mathieu Soulerin (1807-79), approached the University of Toronto with a view to affiliation. In the Senate minutes for 18 December 1855, there is this note:

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The letter from the Superior of St. Michael's College, dated the 12th of June, last, expressing the desire of the Authorities of that Institution to be affiliated to the University of Toronto, was again read; and the Registrar was directed to inform the Authorities of that College, that, by a General Statute of the University, Students are admitted to degrees without reference to the Educational Institutions in which they receive their Education' (UTA, MSUT). The Senate's reply was, in fact, a complicated (and polite) way of saying 'no'; it was not until twenty-six years later that affiliation was effected, giving students of St Michael's the right to enrol in the courses taught at University College. 15.2

Early in 1881 the Senate of the university took up St Michael's renewed request for affiliation by appointing a committee to draw up the terms for its formal admission. The committee's report, which was endorsed on 15 March, included this set of conditions: '1. St. Michael's College is to be a college in affiliation with the University of Toronto. 2. In the Sub-Department of History (Mediaeval and Modern) no authors are to be specified in the University Curriculum. The periods of history embraced in the University Curriculum are to be the subjects of examination without necessary reference to any particular authors, and examiners are to be instructed by the Senate to so conduct examinations as to carry out the spirit of this memorandum. 3. In the Department of Mental and Moral Science and Civil Polity no authors are to be specified in the University Curriculum. The questions will have no necessary reference to any one author or school of authors. In matters of opinion answers will be judged according to their accuracy of thought and expression' (Shook 1971, 142). The reasons for singling out these two subjects -which were taught, it should be noted, by two of the university's luminaries, Daniel Wilson and George Paxton Young - were laid out in a letter that John Joseph Lynch, archbishop of Toronto, wrote to Father Charles Vincent, superior of St Michael's College, on 6 October 1884, three years after the event: We learn with sorrow and dismay that the lectures on metaphysics given at present in University College are highly tinged with scepticism. When [Alexander] Bain is taken as a basis for the nature of the soul, and Kant is given in the study of thought - while the standard of morals is the general good, we deem such metaphysics as calculated to undermine and eventually destroy the principles of Christianity itself.

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We also learn from undoubted authority that history, which should be only a true unbiassed statement of facts, is in the very basis upon which it is nowadays placed, used to belittle the work of the Catholic Church and to insinuate the fatality of events, which will be calculated to utterly destroy free will. We consider therefore that we would be completely derelict in our duty, as chief pastor of souls, and accountable before God, if we not only did not exhort our Catholic students, but if we did not also forbid them to expose their eternal salvation by attending lectures upon the subjects of logic, metaphysics and history in any non-Catholic College. There is ample provision made in St. Michael's College, under the tutorship of the learned Reverend Father Teefy, for students to obtain a full and accurate knowledge upon the subjects without at all entrenching upon their holy faith. As the teaching upon the above mentioned studies in non-Catholic Colleges is dangerous to Catholic young men, we only gave our consent to the affiliation of St. Michael's College with the University upon the express condition, generously accepted by the University, that these studies should be specially exempted. The examinations were to be held upon the instructions as given in St. Michael's College, which would entitle the successful candidates to the same rank and honours as students of University College. The Catholic views of philosophy and history as taught in St. Michael's College have an equal value with those upon the same subjects taught at University College. We write to you, as you know the Catholic students, trusting to your zeal to make known to them the contents of this letter. (144-5)

If the content of this grim letter was made known to St Michael's students, as it almost certainly was, it is not surprising that so few of them went across Queen's Park to take advantage of affiliation, since they had been told by their own archbishop that by taking that walk they risked eternal damnation.

15.3 After the passage of the Federation Act in 1887, St Michael's entered into federation with the university, but on different terms from those to which Victoria had agreed: 'It retained for its students the right of access to university lectures and laboratories in "University subjects," so far as suited its convenience; but in practice it continued to provide instruction in philosophy and history, as well as in divinity and the "college subjects." Its fed-

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eration with the University was therefore incomplete. For many years its curriculum differed from that of the University; it had an elementary department and a commercial course of which the University took no cognizance; its philosophical course followed lines of its own; and even in its classical course, students graduated into the University only at the end of the third year' (Wallace 1927, 242). In this passage, Wallace is wrong on two important points. The first concerns history; according to Edmund Joseph McCorkell (1891-1980), who was an undergraduate from 1908 to 1911 and later superior of St Michael's, the college 'exercised its right to teach history for at least one year, but probably for one year only' (McCorkell 1969, 17). That year was 1881-2. The other misstatement is Wallace's claim that the college gave instruction in college subjects. Its students, nearly all of whom were preparing themselves for the priesthood, were taught a great deal of Latin and two years of philosophy, but no other college subjects. Those who wished to earn an arts degree had to enrol in the university. The surprising fact is that between '1881 and 1910 only about nine students availed themselves of the advantages' of first affiliation and then federation with the university (Shook 1971, 143). The vast majority were content to follow the old classics course, outlined in §15.1, at St Michael's and forgo a degree, since none was required for ordination. St Michael's students who wished to get a degree from the university faced a formidable obstacle. The college's curriculum did not prepare them to pass the junior matriculation examination, required for admission to first year; nor did it prepare them for the senior matriculation test, the passing of which allowed entry to second year. These examinations were based upon the curriculum prescribed by the province and included, among other subjects, science and history. Science was not taught at the college, and what history was taught did not meet provincial standards. In January 1905, in anticipation of full federation, Father Henry Carr, the youngest member of the faculty and a university alumnus, with the blessing of his superiors, took sole charge of the students then in Latin II. 'Doing all the teaching himself, Carr looked after the class until it wrote the junior matriculation examinations in early July 1906. This meant that St Michael's had ready for belles lettres 1906-7 a class which was also for the most part eligible for admission to the first year of the general course in the university' (Shook 1971, 149). Instead of sending these students to the university, the faculty of St Michael's devoted the next year to preparing them to sit the senior matriculation examination. The half dozen or so who passed it were now eligible to enrol in second-year honours philosophy. Beginning in 1907, they took

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their philosophy at St Michael's but registered in University College, since St Michael's still had no authority to grant degrees. In 1910 the members of this first class were awarded University of Toronto degrees. In the meantime, the process initiated by Carr continued, producing a steady stream of candidates in honours philosophy.

15.4 As a consequence of the 1906 amendments to the University of Toronto Act, St Michael's was urged by Carr to set its sights on complete federation with the university. When the act was passed, St Michael's had not qualified as an arts college: There was no difficulty in agreeing that St. Michael's would have merely provisional status as an Arts College in the early years of the reorganized University of Toronto. Only colleges like Trinity and Victoria, with a full complement of students including a graduating class, were being admitted to full status with a right to representation on all academic bodies, and especially the senate. Indeed, how could St. Michael's, with only a single class in honour philosophy of the second year, and no graduating class, claim to be a college at all? The dilemma was solved by the courtesy of University College on the initiative of Principal Maurice Hutton, who remembered Henry Carr as one of his favourite students in honour classics ten years earlier. Hutton offered to enrol the students of St. Michael's provisionally with his own University College, and this practice continued until June 1910, when St. Michael's, graduating its first class and with students in all four years, achieved full stature as an Arts college and could enroll students in its own name. (McCorkell 1969, 19)

In 1907 St Michael's committed itself to increasing its teaching staff in order to offer instruction in the college subjects, in the manner of Victoria and Trinity, with the notable exception that it would teach the whole range of philosophy courses (including those in psychology), not only ethics courses as the other two federated colleges did. On 12 December 1910, after its first class graduated through university College, the University's Senate formally declared St Michael's to be an arts college of the university and the legislature of Ontario approved this new designation in 1913. It was not until 1958, however, that St Michael's acquired university status in its own right; since then its full name has been the University of St Michael's College.

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15.5

In his biography of Henry Carr, Father McCorkell, who succeeded Carr as superior of the college in 1925, made it very clear that the long delay in establishing St Michael's as an arts college was due to the fact that its founders, the French Basilians, were adamantly opposed to this move. The French Basilians of that day considered all universities to be anticlerical, as they had found some French universities to be, and on this account were opposed to university education of scholastics. Henry Carr had been allowed to go to the University of Toronto somewhat grudgingly, because he had already begun the course before he became a Basilian. There seemed to be no move to send anybody else, and indeed there were few who were qualified to go' (McCorkell 1969, 22-3). This state of affairs persisted well into the twentieth century, and it began to change only when Canadian-born Basilians, such as John Read Teefy and Carr, assumed positions of leadership in their order. In 1914 the last Frenchborn provincial of the Canadian-American province, Father Victorin Marijon, whose rigid and unenlightened rule had made a bad situation much worse, resigned his office and returned to France. A Canadian was appointed to succeed him. The disagreements between the North Americans and the French were so basic that the French Basilians, fearing governance from abroad, petitioned the Holy See in 1921 to divide the two communities. On 14June 1922 a formal division was effected. (44-6). As part of the final settlement, the French demanded that the Canadians pay them for their sacrifices in founding the Canadian branch and for their financial help in erecting its buildings. The Canadian community turned over every penny in its general treasury, some $12,000, leaving it broke but forever free of French domination.

15.6 When St Michael's achieved the status of an arts college in 1910, its authorities decided that the only honours course it would offer within its own walls was philosophy. A few courses in other college subjects1 would be taught, but to complete the requirements for any honours

1 There were only nine professors in the college in 1909-10, five of whom taught various parts of philosophy. The others taught Latin, French, English, and religious instruction. Carr taught both philosophy and Greek.

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course except philosophy St Michael's students would have to take their courses in University College or the university, depending on where they were offered. This decision to opt for philosophy only was based upon two considerations. The first was financial: the college could not afford a full staff in every college subject. The second had to do with the nature of its student body: since nearly all of its students (only thirtyseven in 1910) were intending to enter the priesthood, there was almost no demand for any honours subject except philosophy, which had, from the inception of the college, been considered to be the crowning part of an aspiring priest's pre-theological education. This careful calculation was upset when Catholic women began to demand entry to the college, much to the dismay of its faculty: The realization that they would have to admit women students to their arts course came at first as a shock to the administration of St. Michael's. The task of integrating women into the college was begun in 1911 but not fully resolved into full co-education until the forties and fifties. The beginning came about as follows. Carr began to teach Greek philosophy during 1910— 11. In about the third week of his lectures (at his seventh lecture to be exact), five girls from University College turned up at his lecture. These were probably all Catholic girls, residents of Toronto or boarders in St. Joseph's or Loretto. So far as is known this was the first time women ever appeared in a regular class at St. Michael's. The girls had begun the course in Greek philosophy at University College and decided to exercise their right to take the course at St. Michael's. Carr was surprised, even embarrassed, by their presence but allowed them to remain until the lecture was over. For the rest of the year he took the five girls twice a week in a special group in the priests' community room. (Shook 1971, 157)

After this incident the heads of St Joseph's and Loretto Colleges were given to understand that their students were not welcome in St Michael's, so they petitioned the university to admit their colleges into federation. In response to their request, President Falconer thought it unlikely that they met the requirements for federation, but he proposed another course of action: 'He suggested as an alternative that St. Michael's be asked to enrol women students and to add the sisters to the college staff, an arrangement quite possible under the terms of the act' (157-8). Falconer's proposal was taken up, and an agreement was reached between the three Catholic colleges in October 1911 to this effect: 'all girls proceeding to a degree in the faculty of arts should be enrolled in St.

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Michael's; lectures in college subjects were to be given in both St. Joseph's and Loretto as they were in St. Michael's; lecturers in religious knowledge, ethics, logic, and psychology were to be supplied by St. Michael's; university subjects were to be taken at the university proper as was the case with the men; degrees should be conferred by the university through St. Michael's' (158). This arrangement of separate lectures for women students continued for the next forty years; in September 1952 co-educational lectures were instituted. Since the interests of the women students, many of whom were training to be teachers, lay in subjects other than philosophy, St Michael's was obliged to continue expanding its faculty in the other arts subjects. Shook is frank about the way in which the arrival of women upset St Michael's plans: The original assumption had been that all or most St. Michael's students would take honour philosophy. The women were not interested in this course nor were they wanted in it' (158). Only eight women were in attendance in 1912, the first year of the new arrangement, but their numbers increased steadily; in 1922 there were 113 women and 129 men taking courses. To provide for their needs, the college's offerings began increasingly to approximate those of the other colleges. 15.7

Father Carr was the driving force behind the St Michael's decision, taken in 1916, to cast off its rather parochial ways and enter more fully into the life of the university. With his council's approval he wrote to President Falconer on 10 May of that year, announcing an important change of course for the college: 'Conditions, present and of the past few years, have convinced the Council of St. Michael's College that the time has come for St. Michael's to place herself in a position in no way inferior to the other Arts Colleges and thus accelerate to the full the development of higher education for Catholics of the province not only in Arts but in the other faculties as well.' To provide itself with the physical means of carrying out its plan, the college sought the university's approval to erect a new building on land owned by the university, under the same conditions as those enjoyed by Victoria, namely, that only a token land rent was payable. Tf this petition is granted, a few years will see St. Michael's College and the University of Toronto the natural and acknowledged centre of university work for all Catholics in this province. This has always been the aim of the university but hitherto it has not been realized. More than this, a fairly careful study in the last few

Philosophy at St Michael's College 539

years of university conditions for Catholics in other parts of the world emboldens me to make what will appear an extravagant statement, that a comparatively short time could make St. Michael's College the greatest Catholic educational centre in the world.' In his next paragraph Carr made it clear that the university would pay a heavy price if it rejected the proposal: 'If any unforseen reason should render impossible the granting of this petition, the delay thereby forced upon us would almost certainly result in the launching of a new scheme, at present under way and with very strong backing, which would have as one of its main objects to prevent, as far as possible any Catholics from attending the University of Toronto' (UTA, RAF, 38a). Presumably, the Basilians were prepared to move St Michael's to a distant location if the petition was denied, but this threat died when the Board of Governors gave its approval. During the next nine years Carr worked hard to raise the profile of the faculty of the college, and he himself inaugurated its participation in graduate teaching.

15.8 Professor Joseph Owens, who made an extensive study of the history of the teaching of philosophy in St Michael's College, discovered that there are no records of what was taught under the designation 'philosophy' during the first three decades of the college's existence. Owens was able to shed some light on the content of the early philosophy courses by examining the background of those who taught them. For nearly three decades all of those who taught philosophy were Basilian fathers who had received their training in France. As was the case prevailing in all Catholic seminaries and colleges, the teaching of these priests 'was geared to handing down an established tradition in philosophy, with little explicit incentive and no professional training for expanding the frontiers of the discipline' (Owens 1979, 10). Owens traced this traditional philosophy back to a textbook, Institutiones Philosophicae, written by clerics under the supervision of the archbishop of Lyons and first published in France in 1782; the philosophical position it detailed thus came to be known as the philosophia Lugdunensis. In this tradition, philosophy was distinguished from theology by the fact that it took its starting point from self-evident first principles, although it did allow appeals to scripture and tradition to bolster its conclusions. Philosophy consisted of four sub-disciplines: logic, metaphysics, natural philosophy, and ethics:

540 Contributing Streams The logic was based on clear and distinct ideas and upheld the Cartesian method. The metaphysics was divided in Wolffian fashion into general and special, though the special metaphysics dealt only with spiritual beings, leaving cosmology as with Aristotle to natural philosophy. In the proofs for the existence of God it gave notable prominence to the moral arguments from universal consent and from conscience. Ethics and natural philosophy were also divided into general and special. The general ethics followed the theological pattern handed down for instance in Suarez and Salmanticensis, with attention given to the eighteenth century theological positions on conscience. Special ethics dealt with the particular duties and obligations, laying emphasis on religious duties, while the special section in natural philosophy aimed to cover the chemical and physical knowledge of the epoch. (13-14; references omitted)

The eclectic nature of Institutiones Philosophicae led Etienne Gilson to exclaim: 'What surprises us most in it today is that such a mixture of Aristotelianism, of Cartesianism, and of ontologism was imposed by the Catholic hierarchy, in more than one French diocese, as the standard work to be used in classes of philosophy' (1966, 208). Perhaps the members of the hierarchy had not bothered to read it. Since this textbook and its edited successors, with notes in the vernacular, were in Latin, they were studied only at the end of a classical course, after students had developed sufficient linguistic proficiency. Philosophy was explicitly intended to round out a student's general education and to prepare him for professional studies if he chose to continue his schooling. When St Michael's entered into affiliation in 1881, it agreed with respect to philosophy to teach the same courses as those offered in University College, but, as noted above (§3.12), it reserved the right to use different textbooks. This agreement accounts for the fact that in the university's calendar for 1881-2 the descriptions of the philosophy courses ceased to list the books to be studied, but instead specified the topics to be covered. A further consequence was that St Michael's students sat different examinations in their second and third years from their peers in the university, a departure from prevailing practice that bothered Sir Daniel Wilson and a number of his colleagues. In the negotiations leading to affiliation, they had insisted that every student be required to write a common final examination for the degree, a practice that continued for several years. How this practice came to an end in philosophy was recorded by Shook:

Philosophy at St Michael's College 541 One advance made under Teefy was the gaining of complete control by the college over its examinations in philosophy (mental and moral science). At first the college certified its students in the second and third years while in the fourth year they wrote the common university examination. Since this examination in philosophy was set alternately by a University College and a St. Michael's professor, and since different text books were followed in the two courses, the St. Michael's text usually being in Latin, there was considerable confusion among students taking this examination, and especially after one examination set by Father Sylvester Dowdall. The matter was raised in senate by University College with the result that on 22 November 1889, the following statute was enacted: 'In the honour department of mental and moral philosophy in the fourth year the senate shall institute two distinct examinations on the two systems of philosophy taught in the confederating arts colleges.' (1971, 146-7)

In conversation Shook confided to Barry Brown, a long-time member of the St Michael's Philosophy Department, that Dowdall2 set his examination exclusively in the Latin language. If so, his action has the ring of deliberate sabotage about it, but it was in line with the views of Archbishop Lynch and, indeed, may have been inspired by his letter. Two years before the affiliation of St Michael's with the university, Pope Leo XIII, in his encyclical, Aeterni Patris, had urged a change in the teaching of philosophy in Catholic schools, with the emphasis in future to be placed on the philosophy of St Thomas Aquinas. The faculty of St Michael's responded to his call by changing textbooks in philosophy. For the study of mental philosophy and natural philosophy, they prescribed the second edition of Gaetano Sanseverino's manual Ekmenta Philosophiae Christianae, published in Naples in 1873, and for moral philosophy, the second edition of a manual entitled Elementa Philosophia Moralia by a Jesuit, Louis Jouin, published in Westchester, New York, in 1874. Both, of course, were in Latin (see Owens 1979, 18, 34-5). Owens seems unpersuaded that the adoption of these manuals went very far towards implementing the papal decree: 'The unspecified questions from St. Thomas seem to indicate a grasp of the encyclical's aim to bring students into

2 Patrick Sylvester Dowdall (1855-1927) graduated from St Michael's in the 1870s and was ordained a diocesan priest in 1883. At the time of this momentous incident he was a parish priest in rural Ontario (Hunt 1929).

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direct contact with the medieval thinker. But how far that laudable directive was implemented is not indicated. The whole philosophy course was adapted, as in the old system, to two years. The mentality continued that philosophy was to be learned from the study of a manual' (18-19). The scholastic terminology used in these manuals was foreign to the language of instruction being used in University College, so it is quite understandable that Dowdall's examination questions were unintelligible even to those of George Paxton Young's students with literacy in Latin.

15.9 By 1914 the philosophy course had undergone profound changes, which were recorded by Father Frederick Meader, professor of cosmology, in an exuberant article, 'Philosophy at St. Michael's College,' published in the St. Michael's College Yearbook for that year. Since it contrasts the new course with the old one, and gives the content of the new course in detail, it is worth quoting in full: Starting with a course of two years, only six hours per week being devoted to class, the Philosophy course proper now extends over three years, and there are thirty-seven hours as compared with twelve devoted to class. This means not only a greater extent of work done but more intense application and consideration. Formerly the student began with logic and studied nought else in philosophy till he had covered the allotted text. History of Philosophy was almost unknown. The physical sciences - physics and chemistry - were studied for a year each and in no way related to philosophy. Biological sciences were unknown. The course today, we venture to say without fear of contradiction, is not equalled anywhere in the world. Only the post graduate courses at the 'Institute of Philosophy' at Louvain University and the 'Angelico' at Rome, attempt what is being done at St. Michael's College in her undergraduate course. Psychology, logic and Ontology or general metaphysics are each studied for three years, as is also History of Philosophy. The teaching of St. Thomas, the angel of the schools, is closely adhered to throughout; following in this the exhortation of Leo XIII, of blessed memory, in the encyclical 'Aeterni Patris' and the command of the present Holy Father, Pius X, in his letter 'Pascendi gregis' against modernism. Applied metaphysics, comprising cosmology and psycho-physiology, are new to the course. As a preparation for these, courses in chemistry and

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biology are insisted upon in the first two years of the Arts course. Each course extends over two years and the treatment of philosophy which underlies scientific problems is thorough and up-to-date. The principles of the Scholastic synthesis are applied to explain scientific results in chemistry and physics, e.g., laws of conservation of mass and energy, constancy of reacting weights. Psycho-physiology or as some call it, experimental psychology or psychophysics, considers the physical and physiological phenomena which accompany psychic phenomena, and by the aid of the scholastic theory of the substantial union of the body and soul interpret the results. Epistemology or theory of knowledge, and natural theology, are each studied for one year. A notable feature is that with the latter, the lectures, discussions and examinations are in Latin, thus forming an immediate preparation for the seminary. The bulk of the work is done in English, though as yet the Latin text the summula of Father Hickey, O.C., is used as the students' manual. In ethics the course is brought up-to-date by a series of lectures on social ethics. Sociological questions so much to the fore today are fully and carefully discussed. The course extends over two years. Moreover, during the four years course English literature is obligatory. The extensive reading in this department and the written essays required throughout the four years gives our graduate a complete equipment in the mother tongue. The course in philosophy is only one of the twenty courses which St. Michael's offers to Catholic young men who seek a higher education. Every Catholic man proceeding to the degree of the bachelor of arts in the University of Toronto should be registered in St. Michael's College. (Meader 1914, 50)

This course, with only minor changes, was the central offering of the college for a score or more years. As we will learn later, by the time Lawrence (Larry) Lynch, later head of the St Michael's Philosophy Department, took the philosophy course in the early 1930s, it had become, for the most part, atrophied and formulaic. 15.10

Meader's description of the psychology portion of the philosophy course reads as if the whole range of psychology, including the new experimental variety, was taught at St Michael's. When President Falconer proposed

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and the Board of Governors approved the separation of the budget of Psychology from that of Philosophy in 1919, the question arose of whether St Michael's would continue to teach courses in psychology. Carr met with C.K. Clarke, the new director of psychology, to resolve the issue. On 6 March 1920 he put the conclusions they had reached in a letter to Clarke: 'As you are aware, from the first days of University Federation, St. Michael's was given special rights in Philosophy and History. St. Michael's could provide alternate courses to parallel and be the equivalent of such courses in these subjects as were taught by the University. Roman Catholic students had the privilege of electing to take these courses at St. Michael's College. Now that Psychology is constituted as a separate department independent of Philosophy, it will not be amiss to ask that no change be made as far as affects our College. I am sure that there is no desire on the part of Psychology staff to curtail the rights of St. Michael's and my object in writing is to try to avoid any mistake through inadvertence. (UTA, RAF, 047b). After stating that St Michael's was not at the time in a position to offer 'the new optional courses in the last five years of the Medical courses and may be unable to do so for years to come,' he mentioned a required course: 'The obligatory course in Third Year in General Psychology is one which we could give now and we would like to offer it for next session' (ibid.). St Michael's continued to offer courses in psychology until the mid-1960s.

15.11 The next revision of the philosophy courses was largely inspired by the leadership of Father Gerald Phelan, who joined the college as professor of psychology in 1925. After establishing himself and earning the fulsome praise of Etienne Gilson for his outstanding work in medieval philosophy, Phelan decided to dispense with neo-scholastic manuals in his courses and to assign Aquinas's own works as his texts and provide the necessary commentary in his lectures. As younger men came on staff, they followed his lead and dispensed with textbooks and manuals in favour of original sources. In a letter to me, Robert C. Fehr, who earned the B.A. degree in 1943, had this to say about the courses he took as a student: 'The only recollection of philosophy professors I have was that of Rev. Wilfrid Dwyer. He taught a metaphysics course that was interesting and entertaining but, by today's standards, out of date. The course was essentially Thomistic, based primarily on Aristotelian sources as interpreted by Aquinas.' Other professors extended this new way of teaching

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545

to the history of philosophy. Over the course of several years it became the standard for instruction in the St Michael's Philosophy Department. 15.12

The next change in the curriculum, like the one it replaced, took place gradually over several years. In 1967 Larry Lynch, then head of the department, informed the graduates of St Michael's of major changes taking place in the Philosophy Department. Throughout his report, he contrasted the present state of affairs with that of ten or fifteen years earlier. The first change concerned the staff: 'Many graduates will only be familiar with philosophy professors at the College who were priests, or, to a later generation, mainly priests with a sparse sprinkling of laymen. Today the undergraduate Department numbers twelve full-time professors, of whom nine are laymen or laywomen' (Lynch 1967, 2). Of these, six, not counting the Pontifical Institute professors, were also members of the Graduate Department of Philosophy. The second set of changes was, in large part, a consequence of the first. 'The program, too, has changed in content, range and methods of instruction' (2). The content had undergone the profoundest change: For over ten years now there has been a slow but steady rethinking and reworking of material. The change could be described in many ways: an increasingly historical approach to courses, a greater emphasis on the history of modern and contemporary philosophy, less stress on problems that had arisen in the centuries of the Christian tradition and greater concern for today's questions. Traditional scholastic philosophy, that had at one time constituted the bulk of our teaching, has been greatly modified or abandoned. Of all the great figures in the history of Christian speculation, St. Thomas still commands the respect of the majority of staff members, but now he is more often than not presented within the market-place of ideas and in competition with others. Those professors who feel that cultural and scientific developments have made St. Thomas's methods and conclusions irrelevant seek to do the work of the Christian philosopher with different philosophical equipment. The result is a far healthier climate of inquiry and a sense of intellectual challenge from which all, student and professor alike, cannot help but benefit. (3)

Similar changes, as discussed earlier (§10.11), were taking place at the same time in the university department, with courses in the problems of

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philosophy gradually assuming a commanding position in the curriculum. During the next several years these two sets of changes led to informal discussions, chaired by the dean of the Faculty of Arts and Science, aimed at exploring the possibility of merging the two departments into one. Had the St Michael's curriculum not changed in the way described, it is unlikely the question of a possible merger would have arisen. Lynch goes on to describe certain changes in teaching methods. The principal one was the use of graduate students as tutors in the first-year course. As we saw in §10.11, this change was introduced in the university department's first-year course at about the same time. The college would have liked to make greater use of tutors, but it lacked the financial resources to hire more. One gathers from Lynch's report that the St Michael's staff was attempting to increase discussion among the students. Straight lecturing was no longer considered the best teaching method. Having noted these changes, Lynch attempted to answer the question, 'Why such changes?' This question, he knew, would have arisen in the minds of many of his readers: 'Well, a great many forces have been at work influencing our thinking and behaviour. It is much too simple - and not really true - to say that it is all in the spirit of renewal in the Church. It is renewal - and we hope it has transpired within the Church! - but it was going on long before Vatican II. At the best the Council gave a powerful impetus to the change' (1967, 3). Another important force for change was the fact that the college was federated with the University of Toronto. Because of its location, 'the teaching of philosophy at St. Michael's simply cannot be a copy of programs given in Catholic colleges with no connection with a secular university' (3). The university and its constituents constantly interact with the world around them, and the world of the 1960s was one of great change. The students coming into the colleges of the university were bearers of change: 'Today's student is a very independent, critical and inquisitive person; he (or she) wants to understand our society and prepare to influence its development to the maximum. He is suspicious of ready-made answers and wants to experience at first hand the intellectual tensions and concerns of his world. He is not so much sceptical as bent on testing himself, his ideas and allegiances. So the Department must work in a changed milieu; its professors have constantly to devise new techniques to blend the traditional with the contemporary, to encourage the acceptance of what is true with the discovery of what is new and worthwhile' (4). Another factor in the equation was the recent changes within St Michael's itself: 'And let us not forget that the College itself has changed radically in fifteen years: from a sem-

Philosophy at St Michael's College 547

inary-like college for men it has become a co-educational Catholic liberal arts college' (4). Finally, Vatican II did play an important if indirect role by the changes it wrought in theology. 'The turmoil let loose on theology by Vatican II could hardly leave a respectable Department of Philosophy in a Catholic institution unaffected' (4). The philosophy faculty of the college welcomed the challenge posed by these changes: Tt is our ambition to have our students grapple with today's philosophical questions; we feel, as a consequence, that it is our task and responsibility not to leave them floundering in a quandary, but to give them the best help that traditional wisdom, coupled with honest inquiry, can provide. Our professors will continue their own efforts to criticize the traditional, preserve the true and evaluate the novel' (4). This document is important for this history, because it establishes that as early as 1967 both the St Michael's and the university departments conceived their roles in a similar fashion. The relative ease of the merger of the two in 1975 is more easily understood in its light. 15.13

Prior to 1971 university and St Michael's philosophy courses bore the same prefix: 'Philosophy' before 1969 and then 'PHL' after the faculty adopted three-letter designators for all its courses. Courses laid on by the university department were assigned numbers in the first half of the hundreds and those given by St Michael's in the latter half; for instance, the university's first-year courses were numbered 'PHL 100' and 'PHL 120,' and St Michael's 'PHL 150.' Before 1969 courses had been labelled by number and letter; for example, Philosophy 4d 'Ethics' and Philosophy 4d (M) 'Philosophy of St. Thomas,' the ' (M)' distinguishing those offered by the college. During 1969-70, while Lorenne Clark was undergraduate secretary, the Undergraduate Executive Committee decided that it would be helpful to students in planning their programs of study if the courses in the various sub-disciplines were grouped together by number. To this way of thinking all courses in logic in second year, to take an actual example, would be assigned numbers from a single decade, say, 250 to 259. An immediate consequence was that all of the decades in the hundred blocks were used, since philosophy consists of more than five sub-disciplines. Thus, the university department was expropriating all of St Michael's designators. No member of the Executive Committee, which of course had no representative from St Michael's, noticed the serious problem this system posed for the college; when this difficulty was brought to its attention,

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the committee reconsidered and reaffirmed its decision that the reform was worth the price of having two prefixes in philosophy - the only possible resolution. When this unilateral action by the university department was communicated to Larry Lynch, then head of the St Michael's Philosophy Department, with a plea for the adoption of a second course-designator, he placed the matter before the members of his department in the expectation that they would resent this territorial invasion. Of course they did, but they graciously acquiesced, and thus the two designators, PHL and PHI, came to be used and first appeared in the calendar for 1971-2. In the meetings held during 1975-6, to negotiate details of the required merger of the four departments teaching philosophy courses into one, the St Michael's faculty insisted on retaining the PHI designator, even though nearly all of the courses taught in the college would bear the same number and title as those offered by the university department. The argument, reminiscent of one advanced in 1881, was made that in most cases the texts used in college sections would differ from those used elsewhere in the department, and the PHI designator would instantly convey that information to anyone reading a student's transcript. This argument carried the day, and the university department agreed to having two designators for its courses. For the rest of the century this policy prevailed; then, on 19 October 1999 (see §11.16), at the urging of external reviewers and with the unanimous agreement of St Michael's faculty, the department decided to revert to a single prefix for all of its courses. 15.14 Until the half-time appointment of Etienne Gilson in 1929, all teachers of philosophy in St Michael's College, with the exception of Maurice De Wulf (§15.17) and Sir Bertram Windle (§15.18), were priests. For its first thirty years the founding priests and their successors probably shared the burden, although there is some indication that Father Soulerin made philosophy his responsibility during his years in Toronto. Since 1881, after the college affiliated with the university, better records are available. The professor of philosophy at the time of affiliation was Father John Read Teefy, who was born in Richmond Hill, Ontario on 21 August 1849. After achieving matriculation at the local grammar school, he entered the University of Toronto in 1867. In addition to mathematics, in which he won the silver medal, Teefy studied French, German, classics, logic (with McCaul), and metaphysics (with Beaven); he graduated in 1871.

Philosophy at St Michael's College 549 Teaching in various high schools occupied him for the next three years. Then, to prepare himself for the priesthood, he enrolled in the Grand Seminary in Montreal. Upon completion of its theological course, he joined the Basilian order and was ordained in 1878. In that autumn he was installed as a professor in St Michael's College, and for the next eleven years, with two leaves of absence, both of which he spent in England, he taught the philosophy courses offered by the college. After 1881 he taught the curriculum set by the university but from a Roman Catholic point of view. Others occasionally assisted him; in 1886-7, for instance, the Reverend Francois Regis Hours (1832-97) was listed as professor of metaphysics, but as was the case with George Paxton Young in the university, the teaching of philosophy at St Michael's was essentially a one-man show. In 1889 Teefy was installed as superior of St Michael's, but he continued to teach. In 1894 he earned an M.A. from the University of Toronto, submitting a biography of Bishop Charbonnel, the founder of St Michael's, as his thesis. In 1903, after his health began to fail, he was forced to relinquish his office. In retirement he served as a parish priest; he died on 10 June 1911. Teefy's successor in the philosophical chair was Father Henry Carr. After graduation from high school in Oshawa, Ontario, where he was born on 8 January 1880, Carr moved to Toronto and went to work for a printer. One of his high school teachers, who held a high opinion of his abilities, arranged for him to attend St Michael's in exchange for teaching a German class in its preparatory school. In his twentieth year he interrupted his studies and entered the St Basil's novitiate; he was professed in 1901. With the reluctant permission of his order, he resumed his studies in University College, graduating from the University of Toronto in honours classics in 1903. After a year and a half on the staff of Assumption College in Windsor, he was recalled to St Michael's at the end of 1904. Ordination followed the next year. For the next twenty years he taught philosophy for the college, and for the last half of that period he also was its superior. Between 1925 and 1930 he served in various offices of the Basilian order and from 1930 until 1942 as its superior general. Between 1942 and his retirement in 1961, he served for seven years as superior and principal of St Thomas More College in Saskatoon and in 1951 was assigned the honour of founding St Mark's College in the University of British Columbia. He died in Vancouver on 28 November 1963. Carr was the first teacher at St Michael's to treat philosophy as a distinct discipline rather than as an appendage to theology. Contrary to

550 Contributing Streams

what one might expect, his principal interest at the beginning of his career was not mediaeval philosophy, of which as a student he had read very little, but ancient philosophy, which had been an important part of his honours classics course in University College. On his own he mastered a considerable portion of the literature of modern philosophy, as well as the writings of some of the leading mediaeval philosophers. In the early years he styled himself 'Professor of the History of Greek Philosophy' but later dropped 'Greek' from his title. Carr published regularly, although nearly all of his writings dealt with religious or social questions. Among them, however, are two papers written for audiences of professional philosophers: an essay on the function of the phantasm in the philosophy of St Thomas, contributed to the Festschrift for John Watson, the long-time professor of philosophy in Queen's University, and another on the philosophy of St Augustine, which he read to the annual meeting of the American Catholic Philosophical Association in 1930. Had Carr not been assigned so many administrative tasks by his order, it seems likely he would have contributed more to philosophical literature. In 1922-3 he was the first professor at St Michael's to offer a graduate course in philosophy; 'The Relation between the Metaphysics of Plato and St. Augustine' combined two of his historical interests. Larry Lynch, who took an undergraduate course with Carr, described his philosophical orientation in this way on the oral history tapes: 'Carr was not a Thomist, he was a Cartesian ... He had a great interest in philosophy, and particularly, I think, in the more theoretical problems of philosophy ... He was a very inquisitive and very challenging sort of person.' In addition to all his other duties, Carr coached the college football team. 15.15

In the calendar for 1910-11, the first year of St Michael's complete federation with the university, there were four others listed as professors in its Philosophy Department. Generally speaking, during the first half of this century St Michael's listed its faculty members as having the title 'professor' with very few exceptions. The exceptions, usually lecturers, were brought in temporarily to fill a gap. Another noteworthy feature of the titles was the way some of them varied over time. Father Daniel Gushing, for instance, was listed at various times under three titles, as professor of metaphysics, of psychology, and of cosmology. As was true of most of his colleagues, he was assigned many administrative tasks throughout his teaching career, including superior of St Michael's College at the time

Philosophy at St Michael's College 551

when Carr was negotiating the terms of federation. Gushing strongly supported Carr's proposals. Father Frederick Daniel Meader was another of Carr's colleagues, who in some years taught cosmology, in others ethics, and in still others both subjects. Found among his papers after his death was the manuscript of an unfinished textbook in metaphysics (see Scollard 1969, 101). The faculty in 1910-11 also included Father Nicholas E. Roche, who taught ethics, and Father Adolphe Arthur Vaschalde, who took responsibility for psychology. Vaschalde, who held a Ph.D. in oriental languages from the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C., taught philosophy and psychology at St Michael's from 1903 until 1911, when he was appointed professor of Semitic languages at the Catholic University of America. Over the years many Basilians were assigned to teach philosophy in the College, but only a few of them stayed with it for any length of time. Examining the lists printed in the calendars and reading the short biographies published in Robert J. Scollard's Dictionary of Basilian Biography (1969) underscores the fact that teaching philosophy at St Michael's was simply one more task a priest might be assigned, and it seemed to be regarded as no more important than many other tasks that had to be done to keep the schools and colleges functioning. For nearly all of these men, teaching philosophy was a job, not a calling. When reading these lists, it must also be borne in mind that those assigned to teach in the college usually also taught classes in St Michael's High School, then located in a building adjoining the college. This was still true in the 1930s; on the oral history tapes, Larry Lynch recalled having some of his high-school teachers show up as his professors when he moved across the street to St Michael's College in 1932. 15.16

Among the few who taught philosophy for an extended period in the college was Father Henry Bellisle, who was born in Georgetown, Ontario, on 12 November 1891 but grew up in Toronto, where he attended Catholic schools. In 1911 he received the B.A. degree from the University of Toronto and from St. Michael's College by means of the complicated arrangement with University College (described in §15.3 above). Bellisle was then admitted to the St Basil's novitiate and was professed on 15 August 1912; after four years study of theology in St Basil's Seminary, he was ordained a priest on 26 September 1915. The next year he earned an M.A. in philosophy from the Catholic University of America and was then assigned to teach at Assumption College in Windsor. His name first

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appears on the staff list at St Michael's in the calendar for 1919-20, where he was the first 'Associate Professor of Philosophy' ever so designated by the college. The next year he was promoted to professor of logic, a title he retained for the rest of his career. In 1929 he joined the Graduate Department of Philosophy; his first graduate course, The Augustinianism of Hugh of St. Victor,' was, to judge from its title, rather narrow in scope. Two years later he was listed as offering three courses, one of which was entitled 'The Logicians of the Nineteenth Century.' Given its intriguing title, it is a pity that we have no description of its content. Illhealth forced Bellisle to resign in 1934. In addition to reading a paper on St Augustine to the American Catholic Philosophical Association, he published four short pamphlets and several articles. He died at Windsor on 28 December 1938. In his Memoirs, Father McCorkell, discussing the first decade after full federation, outlined the program in philosophy and Bellisle's role in it: Bellisle's research studies in philosophy had been devoted to the period of St. Augustine. On arrival at St. Michael's he was able therefore to assist Father Carr in broadening as well as deepening the offerings in philosophy to the growing number of students proceeding to the University of Toronto degree. It is perhaps worthwhile to put on record in some detail the philosophy program as a whole. Greek philosophy was the original specialty of Henry Carr, whose brilliant undergraduate studies in Classics had given him a flying start. It was different, however, with modern philosophy, which he also undertook. He had to break what was for him entirely new ground. With the sure instincts of a scholar, however, he went to the original treatises of Locke, Hume, Descartes, Kant and others. He put himself directly in contact with what these men of genius themselves wrote, disdaining to waste his time on what the historians summarized as their doctrine, and his powerful analytic mind soon made him a master in that field. So challenging to him in fact, were the moderns, and so much did he enjoy discovering the chinks in their philosophical armour, that he persevered in teaching modern philosophy at St. Michael's for more than twenty years. Bellisle, of course, took the Patristic period. He dug deeply into that limited but important sector of the philosophical current in its approach to St. Thomas Aquinas. The latter, admittedly the peak of Christian philosophy, was the special field of Father John Purcell, second only to Henry Carr in philosophical acumen, and whose transfer to Assumption in 1918 was a disaster to the program which Carr had so perseveringly built up. The gap was closed by Frank Powell and Dan Meader until the arrival of Gerald B. Phelan (not a Basilian in fact, but always one in spirit), under whose teach-

Philosophy at St Michael's College 553 ing the prestige of mediaeval philosophy became international in the 1920s. (1975, 92-3)

The transfer of Purcell to Assumption is a striking instance of the way the Basilians operated at that time; priests were treated somewhat like actors in a repertory company. An actor with a leading role in one play might at any time be reassigned to a role, major or minor, in another. About the only sure thing, according to McCorkell, was teaching: 'In these pionee years of University affiliation teaching was to a unique degree the primary job of the Basilian. Administrative duties, even major ones, did not excuse a priest from the classroom, nor did they wish that such duties should' (92). Bellisle proved an exception to the reassignment rule, but he was loaded with administrative duties, including a decade as principal of the High School Department. 15.17

Even before Henry Carr started teaching in the graduate school in 1922, he had conceived the idea of founding an Institute of Mediaeval Studies, to be associated with St Michael's College, as a way of expanding the college's contribution to graduate studies. To stimulate interest in the study of the thought of the Middle Ages, in early 1919 he secured the services of the distinguished historian of mediaeval philosophy, Maurice De Wulf, as professor of philosophy. De Wulf, who held a professorship in the University of Louvain, had suffered heavy personal losses during the First World War and was ready, when the offer came, to take refuge abroad; he taught at St Michael's for three months every year for the next seven years 'until pressure from his own University made his continued stay with us impossible' (Bellisle 1933, 4). According to the announcement of his appointment in the University of Toronto Monthly for February 1919, De Wulf s 'lectures will deal with the origins of modern theories of art, religion, and politics as we find them in medieval times' (100). De Wulf s broad teaching helped to set the stage for the next step. What is odd, however, is that he seems never to have offered a graduate course in philosophy. 15.18

De Wulf s courses were complemented by those taught by Sir Bertram Windle, whom Carr had recruited as professor of cosmology and anthropology in 1918. Windle, a convert to Catholicism, was born in England

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but educated in Dublin; he had a very distinguished career in both countries, with the presidency of University College, Cork, being his last position before coming to Canada. He died on 14 February 1929, just a few months before the Institute of Mediaeval Studies opened its doors. Windle proved to be a great champion of St Michael's and was proud of his association with it. In a private letter, dated 12 June 1922, he reported on the success of the graduating class in philosophy: 'Out of eleven Honours Degrees in Philosophy in the whole University, seven were our (and my, of course) students, and all three First Class students were of this seven - the rest of the University getting none' (Taylor 1932, 329-30). During the years he taught at the college, nearly all of those who earned degrees continued to take honours philosophy. On 14 February 1927 Windle wrote to his old friend, Francis Aidan Cardinal Gasquet, then prefect of the Vatican Archives, to acquaint him with the structure of the University of Toronto, which, he claimed, 'is far and away the best settlement of the difficult question of Catholics in nonCatholic universities that has yet been arrived at' (388). After noting that federated college students were free to take courses in the university in addition to those offered by their colleges, he included some observations on the place of philosophy in the college: 'The Basilian Fathers decided from the first, whilst specializing in teaching other Arts subjects, to specialize in Philosophy, and we have a larger staff in that subject than any other college, I think than all put together, viz., nine, three being lay professors. Three years ago we started a Philosophical Club, which meets during term every fortnight. To these meetings are invited the professors from the other colleges, and (except for Anglicans) these attend in good force, and take an active part in our discussions, which turn on a paper read by a member sometimes from St. Michael's, sometimes not' (388). The three lay professors were De Wulf, W. McDonough, who taught psychology, and Windle himself. Since George Sidney Brett regularly attended the Philosophical Club meetings and read papers before it, he got to know well the staff at St Michael's. When the Institute of Mediaeval Studies opened in 1929, Brett did not hesitate to list its courses as graduate courses in philosophy during its first year. No trial period was required. 15.19

In the 1920s Carr, still planning for his institute, decided to improve the quality of instruction in philosophy (and psychology) by recruiting

Philosophy at St Michael's College 555

young scholars for vacant positions instead of being content to appoint teachers from the available pool of Basilian priests. In 1925 he was able to secure the services of Father Gerald Phelan as professor of psychology. Phelan was born on 26 August 1892 in Halifax, where he received all of his early education, including a B.A. from St Mary's College in 1909, before he turned seventeen. By the time he finished college, he had decided upon the priesthood as his career, so he enrolled in Holy Heart Seminary in Halifax, and upon completion of his course of study in 1914 he was ordained. The next year he earned a bachelor of sacred theology degree from the Catholic University of America in Washington, D.C. Throughout the remaining years of the First World War he was assigned pastoral duties at St Mary's Cathedral in Halifax and in its Bermuda mission, and he taught at St Mary's College. After the war he resumed his graduate studies, entering the Catholic University of Louvain, where he was awarded the Ph.D. degree for his thesis, 'Feeling Experience and Its Modalities,' in 1924 and the Agrege en Philosophie a year later. His reputation as a brilliant student and his Canadian nationality made him a very attractive candidate for a position at St Michael's, and Carr was pleased when Phelan accepted his offer. He was one of the young men who so impressed Etienne Gilson during his first visit to St Michael's in the winter of 1927. Phelan quickly made himself a pillar of the program in medieval philosophy. In 1932 he was appointed president of the Institute of Mediaeval Studies, a post he held until 1946, when he resigned all of his positions in Toronto to go to Notre Dame University as head of the Philosophy Department and founding director of its Mediaeval Institute. His resignation was prompted by his disappointment in the board's action, to which Gilson had reluctantly agreed, of denying him a third term as president. Anton Pegis was picked to succeed him in that office. Phelan had made it very clear that he preferred administration to other forms of academic work, and he was bitterly disappointed when the board chose another. In 1952 his health began to fail, and he resigned from Notre Dame to return as professor of philosophy in the Pontifical Institute and in St Michael's. His health continued to deteriorate, and by 1961 he was on a very reduced teaching load. He died on 30 May 1965. Pegis, in his obituary of Phelan for Mediaeval Studies, reflected on the paradox of Phelan's spending his life working in an historical institute: From a purely external point of view, the most extraordinary thing about Father Phelan was that neither his temperament nor his advanced training

556 Contributing Streams prepared him to engage so intensely in the work of the Institute. He was trained as a philosopher and psychologist, not as a medievalist or a historian, though he had a deep understanding of medieval philosophy ... Moreover, there is no doubt that to the end of his days Father Phelan was absorbed by purely speculative questions and especially by the metaphysics of St. Thomas Aquinas, and even more especially by the mysteries in the Thomistic notion of esse. Few men had his metaphysical penetration and his grasp of the principles of St. Thomas Aquinas. Yet circumstances seemed to divert the pure philosopher so that, soon after completing his graduate studies, he found himself immersed in the establishment and the development of a historically-minded research Institute. By training a psychologist, by interest and talent a gifted metaphysician, Father Phelan yet came to devote the greater part of his academic life to a school of medieval studies and to spend his time unstintingly in dealing with its needs and its purposes. He was, in turn, a willing builder, a tireless promoter, a brilliant teacher, a painstaking director of studies, an exacting president, and (last not least) an endlessly patient guide for perplexed graduate students, young and old. He had a passionate love for the Institute and he yielded to none in his loyalty to the message that the Church wished to teach in making it a Pontifical Institute. Any appreciation of Father Phelan's career must begin with this remarkable fact. (1965, ii-iii) In recognition of his outstanding work in helping to establish the institute, Phelan was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada, and he was awarded an honorary doctor of laws by the University of Toronto in

1952. 15.20 During the 1920s word spread among scholars studying the Middle Ages that the distinguished French historian of philosophy, Professor Etienne Gilson of the Sorbonne, had for some years wanted to found an institute devoted to the study of mediaeval thought, but he had not yet found a setting for it that satisfied his requirements. Harvard University, where Gilson was a regular visitor in the fall semester, was keen to have him establish his institute there, but he thought an institute of the sort he had in mind would be a failure unless it had the support of a strong faculty in Catholic theology, which, of course, Harvard did not have. Carr invited Gilson to come to St Michael's for a long weekend in late January 1927 to discuss the plans that St Michael's and the congregation of St

Philosophy at St Michael's College 557

Basil had developed for an institute. Gilson was so impressed with the college and its faculty and with the University of Toronto generally, that by the end of his visit he had decided that he would establish his institute here. In an exuberant article for the University of Toronto Monthly in December of that year, he sketched, for the information of the university community, the origin and nature of the new institute; he began with its genesis: 'My farewell words, as I left St. Michael's College in the month of February, 1927, were the question, "Why not establish an Institute of Mediaeval Studies at the University of Toronto?" What a pleasure it was to ascertain, on my return in the month of November of the same year, that the question "Why not?" had meanwhile given place to the question, "How can it be done?"! May I be permitted to offer to the public a few suggestions in answer to that question' (Gilson 1927, 119). In his answer, he stated that 'the central and dominant idea of the whole scheme is simply this: The history of mediaeval thought is the key to the history of mediaeval civilization; but, there exists no scientific establishment in the whole world, expressly devoted to the study of mediaeval thought and doctrine; therefore one must be created' (119). The scope of the Institute must embrace all aspects of the writings of the thinkers of the Middle Ages - 'their religious beliefs, their philosophical ideas, their moral convictions, their scientific knowledge and their political programs.' 'Were it possible to gain a full understanding of these great works, we should share in the civilization of the Middle Ages through the deepest sources of their interior life; we should reach the very heart of mediaeval civilization' (119). In his contribution to the oral history of the department, Edward Synan recalled that Gilson was once 'asked what the Institute of Mediaeval Studies was for? And he said, it's to give you the minimal knowledge necessary to read The Divine Comedy (DA, OHT). Gilson then turned to his reasons for founding the Institute in Toronto. Everyone, he allowed, would grant that 'there is nothing to condemn such a choice': Suffice it, then to state summarily the principal reasons in favour of it. First of all, we are in America. Were it a question of organizing in Europe, it would be necessary to name a Commission, appoint investigators to report on the matter - all of whom would be dead and buried before the report could be presented. Here, two or three men of goodwill are all that is required, provided they grasp the importance of the undertaking and make up their minds to see it through. Furthermore, we are in the University of Toronto - an institution whose scientific reputation is beyond all

558 Contributing Streams praise - and that in itself is a powerful attraction. Finally, we are in St. Michael's College. There I have met a group of philosophers whose high value is well known to me today; men brought up in the very mediaeval traditions which they propose to study; eminently qualified, therefore, to find the true meaning of those traditions and to define their interpretation; men ready to devote themselves whole-heartedly to the success of the work which they hold so dear, provided only that they be given the means to undertake it. (Gilson 1927, 119-20)

In choosing Toronto, Gilson declared that he was motivated only by 'the interests of those higher studies to which I have devoted my life ... I trust, therefore, that I shall be believed when I declare, on my honour, that I have never encountered either in Europe or America such a combination of favourable conditions to inspire me with confidence in the success of the undertaking. These are the reasons why, after having nurtured this idea during many long years, and having kept it to myself in more than one illustrious university of both the old world and the new, I declared, as soon as I grasped the spirit of St. Michael's, "There is the spot! the Institute will be there or it will be nowhere!"' (120). Of the three necessary conditions for the founding of his institute, St Michael's met two: zeal and competence, both of which the faculty had in abundance. The third condition was money. 'The money will come if the scheme is worth while' (120). Gilson had no doubt that the scheme was eminently worthwhile. The needs of the institute were simply stated: 'a central library, surrounded by smaller offices for the researchers and classrooms where the teaching can be given' (Gilson 1927,120). Two levels of instruction would take place: courses for beginners, which would equip them with the tools necessary for research, and workshops for those actively engaged in research. In order to be able to decipher mediaeval manuscripts, students would have to know mediaeval Latin and be trained in mediaeval Latin palaeography. Before they could do useful research on their own, they would have to take several courses in the history of the Middle Ages in order to acquire the necessary background knowledge of the philosophy, the theology, the positive science, and the political and social doctrines as they developed during those centuries. With this grounding, they could then take some segment of this history and make a thorough study of it, using primary texts and documents. The required methodology would be taught them as they immersed themselves in their area of research. From these piecemeal studies there would gradually emerge the data for grander and grander syntheses, until finally there would be

Philosophy at St Michael's College 559

developed an understanding of mediaeval civilization. Gilson hoped that his enterprise would inspire others to make similar studies of mediaeval Jewish and Arabic thought, which would provide the means of studying their effects on the mediaeval Christian tradition. Gilson got his institute; it opened for business on 29 September 1929 and was an immediate success. Henry Carr served as its president for the first four years, when he was succeeded by Phelan, but its primary driving force was Gilson himself, who was its director of studies. Sustained efforts were made to enlist the help of Jacques Maritain (1882-1973), who then enjoyed a wide reading public, but for reasons that remain obscure Maritain's commitment to the institute was never wholehearted; he may have had doubts about his ability to lecture in English (McCorkell 1975, 141), or he may have been too much of a public figure to settle down to a fulltime position in a scholarly institute. Maritain was listed for many years as a faculty member of the institute and of St Michael's College, but, according to Father McCorkell (1969, 78), he taught courses only in 1933 and 1934 and, while he was professor of philosophy in Princeton from 1948 to 1952, he made annual visits, during which he delivered a course of lectures compressed into a period of two or three weeks. His topics seem always to have been commentaries on some aspect of the philosophy of Aquinas. 15.21

One of the glories of the institute is its library. Carr had not waited until Gilson made his decision to start assembling the books that would be needed in such an institute. From the time he was appointed superior of the college in 1915, he had channelled as much money as he could scrape together into the purchase of books and journals. He was convinced that the way to build a college was by assembling scholars and a library for their use, instead of buildings; money for buildings would come if the reputation for excellence was already present. As a result, when the institute opened in 1929, it had ready for the use of its faculty and students a fairly large library. In 1933 Bellisle, in his lecture The Institute of Mediaeval Studies,' after stating that book selection was limited to 'Catholic Theology, Philosophy, Literature, and History,' went on to describe the library's state at the time: The library, which has been in the process of building for the past quarter of a century, is now regarded as one of the best of its kind on the Continent. Much remains to be done in this connection, but the nose of the ship

560 Contributing Streams is pointing in the right direction. Professor Gilson and Dr. Phelan are given a free hand to build in accord with our needs. The Library is the College workshop. Hence it is being developed for use and not for ornament. We have already accumulated a total of 7,742 books and bound copies of periodicals relating to the study of mediaeval thought and culture. New books expected before the opening of the Fall term should bring this total to nearly 8,500 volumes. This is an excellent start, making the Library of our Institute already one of the best equipped libraries on the continent for the particular studies to which it is dedicated. Of course the gradual acquisition of further resources must keep pace with the expansion of the work of the Institute. The Library obtained by purchase 882 books between September 1st, 1932, and May 17th, 1933. (1933, 14-15)

This was certainly an impressive number of purchases in such a short period of time, and in the depth of the Great Depression. Gilson used his contacts with booksellers in Paris to keep a steady flow of books and journals coming to Toronto. The heavy commitment of resources to the library was, at the time, something of an act of faith for St Michael's, since in 1933 there were only twenty-one students enrolled in the institute. Fortunately for all concerned, including the University of Toronto, the institute library continued to be supported and it is now one of the best of its kind in the world. 15.22

It must be plainly stated, because so many seem to believe otherwise, that the Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, as it is now known, has never been a constituent of the University of Toronto, nor has it ever had any formal relationship with the university. Because of its physical location, it is closely associated with the University of St Michael's College, but in exactly what that association consists is not easily stated. At the time it was founded in 1929, it was, of course, a department of the college and governed by it. That relationship was nullified by its designation as 'pontifical.' 'On 18 October 1939, Pope Pius XII issued a mandate to the Sacred Congregation of Seminaries and Universities decreeing the canonical erection of the Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies, with the right to confer academic degrees according to its approved statutes' (Williams 1989, 11). In the lengthy negotiations over the wording of its statutes, the Sacred Congregation insisted that, as a pontifical institution, it be freestanding and not subject to the governance of any other local body such

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as St Michael's College or the congregation of St Basil. The archbishop of Toronto was designated its chancellor, a largely ceremonial post. By empowering the institute to grant two degrees - the licentiate and the doctorate in mediaeval studies - the Vatican underscored its independence. In order for faculty members of the Institute to teach in the School of Graduate Studies, they must first be appointed to the faculty of St Michael's College, which is the only part of the University of St Michael's College that is federated with the University of Toronto. In virtue of that appointment, faculty members from the Institute can then hold appointments in the various graduate departments. Another common misconception regarding the institute concerns the source of its funding. In Jubilee 1989, a book of photographs celebrating the institute's sixtieth birthday, the editors had this to say about its finances: 'Given the Institute's pontifical Charter, many people believe that it is financially supported by the Vatican. Unfortunately, we receive no funds from that source, but draw our support from a foundation, a small block grant from the University of Toronto, a subsidy from St. Michael's College, and the contributed services of our staff, both clerical and lay. Fortunately, from its beginnings, the Institute has received gifts from generous benefactors and foundations' (Dimnik 1989, 78). The block grant from the university paid the institute for the graduate courses taught by its faculty members. 15.23

Since the stock market crashed less than two months after the institute opened, its funding for several years was very precarious. In his biography of Henry Carr, McCorkell provides an account of the way it managed to meet its obligations during the early years (1969, 77-80). Gilson's reputation helped to carry it through this trying period. Starting in the late 1930s, there were sufficient resources to maintain a fairly large faculty, nearly all of whom were priests, whose needs were met by their orders or by the college. As these priests retired, their replacements were often lay persons, since there were very few priests available with the necessary qualifications. Several of the retirees were not replaced at all. Philosophy has suffered most from the scarcity of funds. At one point, the institute announced that it planned to phase out its teaching of philosophy altogether; its students would have to rely upon the university for instruction in the subject. During the 1980s that exclusive policy was modified, and two young scholars, Deborah Black and

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Stephen Dumont, were appointed to teach mediaeval philosophy in the institute. Funding shortages continued unabated, however, and in 1995 the university and the Pontifical Institute reached an agreement which transferred their positions, as well as those of several other senior fellows, to the university budget. For the institute, which had brought so much distinction to the university's graduate studies, especially in philosophy, it was not a good day. 15.24

The composition of the teaching staff of St Michael's College remained largely unchanged until after the Second World War. Basilian priests, with little training in philosophy, did most of the teaching. When Larry Lynch was asked, in his oral history interview, to evaluate his undergraduate education in philosophy at St Michael's in the years 1932 to 1936, he contrasted it with the offerings of the post-war years: 'Most of the courses that have been taught after 1950 or 1960, the staff was much better prepared, much better prepared. Most of the people I had teaching me, they were strong in theology, and they were teaching philosophy, I guess, as a kind of second love. I am not saying that it was theological philosophy or anything like that. They were not terribly prepared in the philosophical disciplines. The logic was pretty primitive; it was, I suppose in a way, a kind of long range commentary on Porphyry, that sort of thing.' Lynch went on to describe the logic course, which Bellisle taught, as an 'introduction to an Aristotelian-type logic' with the usual emphasis on the theory of the categories, the theory of definition according to genus and difference, and syllogistic inference. From the tone and content of his remarks, one gathers that instruction in philosophy at St Michael's in the 1930s was, with one exception, hardly better than merely adequate. The exception was Gerald Phelan. Unlike his fellow priests he had specialized in philosophy (as well as psychology) and, according to Lynch, he sought to revitalize the undergraduate curriculum. At his urging several teachers began to assign original works, and students were required to learn the basic principles of textual study. When Phelan himself was in charge of a course, this method of teaching worked wonders for the better students. In the hands of those without much training in philosophy, it fell short of wonderful. In Lynch's case, Phelan undertook to direct his summer reading, assigning two recent books by British philosophers and meeting him regularly throughout the summer for discussions of difficult points in the texts. Lynch found these extracurricular summer ses-

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sions among the most memorable experiences of his undergraduate years. 15.25

The opening of the Institute of Mediaeval Studies gradually brought about a profound transformation in the philosophy faculty at St Michael's. The earlier policy of using priests without any special training in the subject was phased out, and to fill their places the college recruited the most promising scholars, both clerical and lay, produced by the combined efforts of the Pontifical Institute and the Graduate Department of Philosophy. During the years when these young philosophers were being trained, the faculty was strengthened by the services of the regular visits of Gilson and two by Maritain. During the Second World War, when both Gilson and Maritain were absent, another European scholar, Father Ignatius Eschmann, a refugee from Hitler's Germany, became available for appointment. On the oral history tapes, Father Edward Synan put the facts of his coming to Canada on the record: Eschmann was a German Dominican who distributed a papal encyclical critical of Hitler, and they put him on the list. Then one day he preached a sermon in the Cathedral at Cologne and Catholic youths got into a riot with the Hitler Youth, so they arrested Eschmann, because he had excited the riot, so they said, and he was in jail for a year. Finally, he was let out on an amnesty which was in these terms: political prisoners were given their choice of standing trial or leaving Germany. Since standing trial would mean he would be executed, he opted to leave Germany, understandably. So he arrived over here as an enemy alien, so to speak, because the war broke out shortly after this. He started off in Ottawa where he did the famous Ottawa edition of the Summa of Theology of Aquinas, which is characterized by the fact that all the implicit references are identified. This was [done by] Eschmann, who took a year doing it. Eschmann also, while he spent his year in the prison in Cologne, memorized a German-English pocket dictionary. He memorized the whole thing; so his control of English was superb; he was really good. He was a very gentle, shy fellow; he was interested in music and the brotherhood of musicians. He didn't publish much, because he got into one controversy and it made him so gun-shy that he would never publish any more, and he finally died in the late sixties or early seventies. The point is, however, he gave a course called 'Introduction to Aquinas.' It was one of the best courses I took. This was [given] in a

564 Contributing Streams house where Gilson was giving courses, and Pegis was giving courses. Eschmann's was as good as any; he was really a superior man. So we should have him on the record, I think, for philosophy, because he was a veritable philosopher, and he was also a bridge to the undergraduate College - he taught ethics in the undergraduate College - and it was a very stimulating course. He used to pick up The Globe and Mail at breakfast and would read and see something and take it to class, and that was the basis of today's lecture, something that was reported in the newspaper - a statement by a politician, a crime reported, news about a personality - he would use this as basis. Of course the students were awed. Now his stuff: although he did not publish much, he has left us, they tell me, something like twelve feet of unpublished notes, and we've had an expert go through it and make a finding list, and another expert has put together a volume and this didn't get out, but we're hoping to see a volume of Eschmann's papers posthumously published.

Synan, when questioned, said that the controversy in which Eschmann was involved began when Charles de Koninck, then on the Laval faculty, published a piece critical of Jacques Maritain. Eschmann came to Maritain's defence; de Koninck replied, and Eschmann was drawn into a long dispute in print. In 1997 Synan's edition of Eschmann's TheEthics of Saint Thomas Aquinas: Two Courses was published by the Pontifical Institute. Karl Theodore Eschmann was born in Dusseldorf, Germany, on 13 November 1898. Upon completion of his classical education in the Gymnasium in the summer of 1916, he went directly into the trenches, where he served as a machine-gunner until the end of the war. Immediately after his discharge from the army, he entered the Dominican novitiate. When he made his first religious profession in 1920, he adopted the name 'Ignatius' in place of his first given name. Two years later he enrolled in the Angelicum University in Rome, where he studied philosophy and theology; he also served as organist to the university. When he completed the first stage of his studies in 1925, he was ordained a priest; he stayed on as a graduate student and occasional teacher in the Faculty of Philosophy for the next three years. By 1928 he had earned the lectorship in theology, and was appointed to a professorship, but his teaching assignments continued to be in philosophy. Lecturing was done in Latin. After further periods of study in both Vienna and Berlin, he was awarded a doctorate in philosophy by the Angelicum in the early 1930s, and he was appointed professor of philosophy there. In 1936 he was sent by his order to Cologne. When the papal encyclical, Mit brennender Sorge, which Father

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Synan mentioned, was issued on 14 March 1937, he was assigned the task of reading and expounding it in the pulpits of the city, with the unfortunate consequences already described. In late 1938 he emigrated to Canada. Four years later, after his stint in Ottawa and an unhappy interval on the Philosophy Faculty of Laval University, he joined the Pontifical Institute, where he taught until his death. Eschmann, who was never without his pipe, died of lung cancer on 11 April 1968. 15.26

In 1943 St Michael's appointed to its philosophy faculty a man who was destined to play a very central role in the college during the last half of the century. John Michael Kelly was born in Scranton, Pennsylvania, on 27 July 1911 and received all of his early education there. After joining the Basilian order, he studied theology and was ordained a priest in 1936. For several years he taught high school in Rochester, New York, before coming to Toronto for graduate studies in philosophy. In 1948 Kelly was awarded the Ph.D. degree from the University of Toronto for his thesis, 'The Animistic Materialism of William Pepperell Montague,' directed by Fulton Anderson. Kelly's leadership qualities were apparent even before he was appointed to the faculty, and the authorities at St Michael's soon made use of them. In 1951 its Philosophy Department was reorganized along the lines of the departments in the Faculty of Arts, and Kelly, who had been promoted to professor in 1949, was appointed its first head, a position he held until 1960, when Larry Lynch succeeded him. Two years earlier Kelly had been appointed president and principal of the college and, even for a man of his seemingly boundless energy, he found a third post one too many. In his early years on the faculty he taught both undergraduate and graduate courses in philosophy, but with the increase in his administrative duties, he very reluctantly stopped teaching altogether. Subsequently, his contribution to our discipline was exclusively administrative. On the oral history tapes Lynch remarked that Kelly 'did great things for the College, in terms of bringing it into closer relationship with the University.' Kelly, a charming and genial Irishman, had close relationships with a succession of presidents of the university. In 1976 he relinquished the office of principal and two years later he stepped down from the presidency, but his work for his beloved college was not finished. For another decade he continued as director of alumni affairs and development, an office he had held throughout his presidency. In recognition of his outstanding

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work for the college and the university he was awarded honorary doctorates by both institutions, and in 1984 he was honoured by his adopted country as one of forty-six persons invested as an officer of the Order of Canada. Kelly, who was seldom seen without a cigarette, died of emphysema on 26 September 1986. The new library at St Michael's College, which includes the Pontifical Library, bears his name. 15.27

Anton Charles Pegis was the second alumnus appointed to the faculty. Pegis was born on 24 August 1905 in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, into a family whose first language was Greek. As a child his parents provided him with an education in both Greek, which proved to be a great boon in later years, and English. At Marquette University he earned both the B.A. (1928) and M.A. (1929) degrees, and it was probably while he was a student there that he converted to Roman Catholicism from the Greek Orthodox Church of his childhood. Father Owens recalled that he attributed his conversion to the study of the writings of the Greek fathers of the Church. From Marquette, Pegis came to Toronto in 1929 as a member of the first class in the Institute of Mediaeval Studies. In its first decade of operation the institute had no authority to grant degrees - that power, as discussed above, was granted it in 1939 with its designation as a Pontifical Institute - so Pegis also enrolled as a doctoral candidate in the School of Graduate Studies. In 1931 he was awarded the tenth doctorate in the history of the department for his thesis, 'The Problem of the Soul in the Thirteenth Century; the Threefold Gradation.' For the next several years he taught, first at Marquette and then, from 1937 to 1944, at Fordham University. In 1944 he came to Toronto as a professor of the history of philosophy in both St Michael's and the Pontifical Institute. Two years later he was selected by the board of the institute as president over Phelan, who wished to continue in office. As was noted earlier, this rejection caused Phelan to move to Notre Dame. Pegis's presidency was marked by the appointment of professors in history and in theology and by an increased emphasis of the importance of the study of Latin and palaeography for the institute's degrees. In 1950 he was elected a fellow in the Royal Society of Canada. Pegis taught a very popular graduate course on the Greek background to mediaeval philosophy; his facility with the Greek language was extraordinary and inspired many graduate students to attempt a higher standard. According to Father Synan, Pegis was a 'worshipper of

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Aquinas' and devoted much of his energy to making Aquinas's ideas more widely known. Father Armand Maurer, in his obituary of Pegis, remarked: 'He never tired of reminding his students that Thomism is first and foremost a theology, and that the philosophy contained in Thomism is functionally part of a theology. As such it lacks the freedom and independence proper to a philosophy. To excerpt St. Thomas' philosophy from its theological setting and present it as "Thomistic Philosophy" yields not a philosophy but a dead theology. Thus the modern Thomistic philosopher has the task of creating a philosophy true to the philosophical principles of Aquinas, in dialogue with contemporary philosophers and scientists, and open to the light of Christian revelation' (Maurer 1979, xviii-xix). While teaching at Fordham, Pegis met the publisher Bennett Cerf, and a strong friendship developed. In 1952 Pegis resigned as president of the institute to accept appointment as editorial director of the Catholic Textbook Division of Doubleday; he also did editorial work for Cerf at Random House. In 1961 he returned to Toronto and taught full time until his retirement in 1971. For three additional years he continued to teach his graduate course. He died on 13 May 1978.

15.28 The third alumnus to join the Philosophy Department was Lawrence Edward Michael Lynch. Lynch was born in Toronto on 26 September 1915; his parents were United States citizens then living in Canada. As already noted, he received his secondary education at St Michael's High School when it was still located on campus. In 1932 he crossed the street to St Michael's College, and began his studies for the B.A., which was awarded him in 1936. Most of his philosophy teachers, all of them priests, were not highly trained in philosophy. Only Carr, who was still teaching, and Phelan stood out in his memory. Lynch then proceeded to graduate study, taking nearly all of his courses in the Mediaeval Institute, which awarded him its licentiate at its first convocation on 5 June 1940. To complete the requirements for the doctorate, he was required to take two graduate courses in the university department. In Edward Macdonald's modern philosophy course, he recalled, the class read the various texts aloud and paused occasionally for discussion. Jarvis McCurdy's course on Kant was taught in the same way. Only the first Critique was studied, and then only its first two parts. Lynch wrote his dissertation, 'The Doctrine of the Non-Coeternity of Ideas in John the Scot,' under Gilson's supervi-

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sion; he successfully defended it in 1940. On the oral history tapes, from which the preceding information is taken, Lynch had almost nothing to say about Gilson as a supervisor, a teacher, or a person. While he was working on his thesis, Lynch taught part time for St Michael's from 1938 to 1940, and the following year he was assigned to teach two graduate courses in the Pontifical Institute. In 1942 he joined the United States navy; he was lucky in his assignment, for he spent his whole period of service on shore duty at Pearl Harbor in Hawaii, where he worked for naval intelligence. At war's end, he taught for a year at Marianapolis College in Montreal before being invited to join the faculty of St Michael's, where he served from 1946 (the same year Marshall McLuhan joined its faculty) until his retirement. Lynch was never a member of the faculty of the Pontifical Institute, so all of his teaching was done for the college and the university. His appointment itself was a novelty, since he was a layman and, indeed, the first layman to hold a permanent appointment in philosophy at the College, since both Gilson and Pegis held their primary appointments in the institute. From 1961 until 1975 Lynch was first head and after 1967, chairman, of its Philosophy Department in succession to Father John Kelly. When Kelly decided to relinquish the office of principal in 1976, Lynch was selected for the newly defined position; he served in that office until his retirement in 1981. The principal surprise upon Lynch's return in 1946 was his desire to offer a course at the graduate level on existentialism and phenomenology. At Pearl Harbor, one of his navy friends introduced him to the ideas of this school of philosophy, and Lynch, after reading some of its literature, developed a strong and abiding interest in it. Fulton Anderson, he recalled, was somewhat suspicious of his request to offer such a course, since there was a tacit understanding that the St Michael's philosophers would teach mediaeval philosophy and those with offices elsewhere on the campus would teach the rest of the subject. High-level negotiations were therefore called for and in the end proved successful. Anderson gave the course his blessing, and it proved to be one of the most popular of all the graduate offerings in philosophy. In some years Lynch had to divide the class into two seminars and give the course twice in order to accommodate those, from both sides of the campus, who wanted to take it. Thus, it served to bridge the gap between the students of medieval philosophy and all the others. Lynch's publications reflected his dual interests in mediaeval philosophy and twentieth-century phenomenology and existentialism. In addi-

Philosophy at St Michael's College 569 tion to translations of books by Gilson, Maritain, and Joseph Pieper, and several articles, he wrote three books, Christian Philosophy (1963), A Christian Philosophy (1968), and Towards a Phenomenology of Family Life (1968). Had his administrative duties been less onerous, it seems likely he would have written more. Those, like Lynch, with administrative posts in the federated colleges really have two jobs: in addition to making their own college run, they must tend to its relationship with the university and be ready to serve on its governing bodies, including its ad hoc committees and commissions, which can be gruelling work. Lynch's genial disposition and strong loyalty to both his college and the university made him an attractive choice for such assignments. The president and the provost knew that he would work very hard and press for a solution in the best interests of all concerned. Lynch shared with Kelly the conviction that the welfare of St Michael's and the university were so intimately connected that any other policy was a non-starter. What was perhaps his most important assignment came in 1968, when he was appointed a co-chairman of the Commission on University Government (CUG). A parity committee of faculty and students, with the president of the university as a potential tie-breaker, it was charged with proposing reforms in the way the university was to be governed. To everyone's surprise it filed a report after only nine months. Its deliberations took place during a time when emotions ran very high and everyone seemed to have a solution to offer the commissioners; faced with a mountain of submissions, both oral and written, the commissioners had time for little else during those nine months. The CUG report, as it was called, formed the centrepiece for the debate leading up to the reorganization of the university's government in 1972. Lynch also did yeoman's service for his Church, and in January 1981 was honoured by being made a Knight of the Order of St Gregory. His long life came to an end on 16 February 2001.

15.29 Armand Augustine Arthur Maurer was another alumnus who became a mainstay of the Pontifical Institute, which he joined as an assistant professor in 1949, and of the Graduate Department of Philosophy. Father Maurer was born in Rochester, New York, on 21 January 1915 and graduated from Aquinas Institute High School there. In 1933 he entered St Michael's College for a year of pre-university study, and in the next year went on to study for the B.A. degree. In 1938, having completed the honours course in philosophy, he began graduate studies in philosophy

570 Contributing Streams in the University of Toronto, but broke them off two years later to enrol as a novitiate in the Congregation of St Basil. In 1941 he returned to Rochester to teach for a year in his old high school and then came back to Toronto for theological studies in St Basil's Seminary. While he was a student in the seminary, he was also enrolled in the Pontifical Institute as a candidate for the licentiate in mediaeval studies, which he received in 1945, the same year he was ordained. Resuming his graduate studies in philosophy, he successfully defended his thesis, 'Ockham's Interpretation and Criticism of the Formalism of Duns Scotus,' in 1947. Pegis was his supervisor. A year of post-doctoral studies in Paris completed his formal education. When he received his appointment to the Pontifical Institute in 1949 Maurer was also made a lecturer in St Michael's College, with responsibility for teaching the history of mediaeval philosophy. In the early years all of his teaching in the college was in this area, as was his work in the graduate department. Although his graduate courses, throughout his career, were in mediaeval philosophy, his undergraduate teaching shifted to a course in American philosophy, which focused on the works of Peirce, James, and Dewey. Maurer was honoured by the American Catholic Philosophical Association with its presidency for 1978-9; the association held its annual meeting at St Michael's in that year. His retirement in 1980, at about the same time as that of others with an interest in American philosophy, notably Thomas Goudge and David Savan, led to the deletion of that course from the department's offerings. Maurer's scholarly work has centred on the history of mediaeval philosophy. Perhaps his best-known contribution is Medieval Philosophy, a volume of the history of philosophy conceived and edited by Gilson. Now in its second edition, Maurer's volume is one of the most comprehensive histories of the philosophical thought of that important period. In recent years Maurer has returned to a study of the thought of William of Ockham. His last book, The Philosophy of William of Ockham in the Light of Its Principles (1999), is a substantial contribution to Ockham scholarship.

15.30 Father Joseph Owens, a priest of the Congregation of the Most Holy Redeemer, commonly called the Redemptorists, joined the faculty of the institute and St Michael's College as an associate professor in 1954. Owens was born in Saint John, New Brunswick, on 17 April 1908. After graduating from St Peter's School in his home town, he moved to Brock-

Philosophy at St Michael's College 571 ville, Ontario, and enrolled in St Mary's College. Having completed its classical course in 1927, he went to St Anne's in Montreal to study philosophy for two years, and then to St Alphonsus Seminary in Woodstock, Ontario, where he studied theology for four years. While a student there, he was ordained on 18 June 1933, and after completing his studies in 1934, he worked for two years as a parish priest. For the next fifteen years he taught at St Alphonsus, with periods of leave for missionary work and for graduate study in the Pontifical Institute; he was awarded the licentiate in mediaeval studies in 1946 and two years later the doctorate in mediaeval studies summa cum laude, with a dissertation on the Greek background of medieval thought. Owens is one of only eleven candidates who have been awarded the institute's doctorate. In 1952-3 he lectured in the Academia Alfonsiana, Late ran University, in Rome. After his arrival in 1954, Owens soon made himself indispensable to the institute, the college, and the Graduate Department of Philosophy. He proved to be a superb teacher of graduate students, channelling, in the case of many of them, their enthusiasm for philosophy into an appreciation for the sort of meticulous scholarship required for worthwhile work in the history of ancient and mediaeval philosophy. Halfway measures, either in language training or in critical thinking, are fatal obstacles to this kind of work. His gentleness, both of manner and speech, made it easier for those who did not measure up to accept his judgment. His letters of reference for those who did meet his standards are legendary. Never more than three or four sentences long, one had to have read several of them before the significance of his words of praise became apparent. What would have been very muted praise in the hands of another was a rave in his letters. During the years when I served as placement officer in the department I often wondered whether his students paid a price on the job market as a consequence of his very restrained way of evaluating their work. Owens retired in 1973, but he continued to offer graduate courses and to serve on dissertation committees for nearly twenty years thereafter. Owens's reputation as a philosophical scholar was on a par with his fame as a teacher. His very first book, The Doctrine of Being in the Aristotelian Metaphysics: A Study in the Greek Background of Mediaeval Thought (1951), a reworking of his doctoral thesis, brought him to the favourable notice of both classical and mediaeval scholars. Gilson contributed a preface in which he described Owens as an exemplar of the sort of student he and his colleagues had hoped to attract when they founded the institute. He praised Owens as both a historian and a philosopher:

572 Contributing Streams It may seem idle to say that the problem at stake in this book belongs to the history of philosophy, but it is not. To rediscover the thought of Aristotle in its purity is assuredly the work of an historian, using all the resources of modern historical methods, from philology proper to the widest possible critical discussion of the works already devoted to the same subject; but the history of philosophy also requires an historian with the mind of a philosopher, because, in such a case, the very object of history is philosophy, that is, a certain set of philosophical notions to be understood by us in the very same sense which they once had in the mind of a certain philosopher. This is no easy task, but one is sure to miss the point completely if, while availing himself of all the possible sources of historical information, he forgets that the method of methods in the history of philosophy is philosophical reflexion. This is what Father Owens has clearly seen. (Owens 1951, vi) Owens's book, which he revised twice, in 1963 and 1978, has been in print ever since its first appearance. A steady stream of books and articles flowed from his pen over the years, many of them dealing with philosophical problems arising out of the works of Aristotle or Aquinas. Two books, however, were intended for undergraduate students: A History of Ancient Western Philosophy (1959) and An Elementary Christian Metaphysics (1963). The first of these, in addition to providing the reader with full accounts of the views of the principal Greek philosophers, also includes a wealth of information about a large number of minor figures, many of whom receive little or no attention in other histories of philosophy. Owens was careful to provide his readers with the sources from which our knowledge of the lives and opinions of these philosophers, both major and minor, is derived; his meticulous evaluations of these sources greatly increase the value of his book as a reference work, not only for undergraduates. After he retired, his colleagues and former students honoured him with a Festschrift, Graceful Reason: Essays in Ancient and Mediaeval Philosophy Presented to Joseph Owens, CSSR, on the Occasion of His Seventy-fifth Birthday and the Fiftieth Anniversary of His Ordination (1983); it was edited by Lloyd Gerson.

15.31 In 1959 the Pontifical Institute and St Michael's College appointed Edward Aloysius Synan as professor of the history of mediaeval philosophy. Father Synan was born in Fall River, Massachusetts, on 13 April 1918, and grew up in New Jersey, where he earned his first degree from Seton

Philosophy at St Michael's College 573

Hall College in 1938. After deciding on the priesthood as a career, he entered Darlington Seminary in the Newark diocese, where he studied for a year before transferring to the American College at the University of Louvain. With the outbreak of war he returned to the United States and enrolled at the Catholic University of America, which awarded him the licence in sacred theology in 1942. Later that year he was ordained by the bishop of Newark. From 1944 until 1948 he served as a chaplain in the United States army air force. After being discharged, he came to Toronto to study philosophy, earning the doctorate in 1952 with a thesis on the Logica attributed to Richard of Campsall. A year earlier he had been awarded the licentiate in mediaeval studies by the Pontifical Institute. Having completed his studies, he returned to Seton Hall in 1952 as chairman of its Philosophy Department. During his tenure there he worked closely with the Institute forJudaeo-Christian Studies to further the cause of Jewish-Christian understanding. His book, The Popes and Jews in the Middle Ages (1965), helped to foster better relations in this troubled area. Synan proved to be an outstanding addition to the faculty of the institute, St Michael's College, and the Graduate Department of Philosophy. His scholarly work - eight books and over 100 articles - increased our understanding of the works of the great mediaeval thinkers as well as a host of minor ones. Both his undergraduate and his graduate students rated him a superb teacher, demanding but fair. His service, too, was exemplary; for six years, beginning in 1973, he was president of the Pontifical Institute. Dwindling financial resources made this period very difficult, but Synan never succumbed to gloom. Always cheerful, his refreshing stance helped many of his colleagues and students, not to mention the institute itself, through a trying time. In the year he relinquished the presidency, he was named a prelate of honour to His Holiness Pope John Paul II, with the title 'Monsignor.' The next year he was elected a fellow of the Royal Society of Canada. After his retirement in 1983 he continued to teach and even to take on administrative duties: he served as acting president of the Pontifical Institute in 1989-90. The American Catholic Philosophical Association awarded him its Aquinas Medal in 1991, in recognition of his outstanding contribution to philosophy in North America. The words in which the citation is couched tell us much about the influence of this remarkable priest: 'A man who loves truth, and shows it; justice, and practices it; a man of deep faith who loves all others; Professor Synan has touched countless lives with his illumination and beneficence.' Monsignor Synan continued to publish steadily in retirement. Only two weeks before he died, he completed the editing of

574 Contributing Streams The Ethics of Saint Thomas Aquinas: Two Courses (1997) by his former teacher and colleague, Ignatius Eschmann. At the time of his death, which occurred during the early hours of 3 August 1997, he was at work on two new projects: a book and the translation from the French of another book. Among the several causes for which he worked was the Solidarity Movement, which erupted in Poland in 1980; his activities on its behalf extended to Buffalo, New York, where he served as a board member of the Solidarity Human Rights Association.

15.32 When Larry Lynch took over as head of the department from Father Kelly in 1960, all of the professors were priests except two - Anton Pegis and himself. Ralph MacDonald, a Basilian priest who had taught in the department since 1949, held the rank of associate professor. He had earned the doctorate at Toronto in 1946 with a thesis on Gregory of Rimini. Kelly had appointed three laymen, Thomas Lang, Leslie Dewart, and Albert Wingell, but none of them had yet achieved the top rank. Kelly's last appointment in the Philosophy Department was Elmar Kremer, who came as a lecturer in 1964. Kremer, whose Yale dissertation on Malebranche and Arnauld was directed by Wilfrid Sellars, continued to study Arnauld's philosophy and towards the end of his teaching career edited two books on his philosophy. In 1974 he and Father Synan published Death before Birth: Canada and the Abortion Question, whose contributors argued against the practice of abortion. 15.33 To Larry Lynch, as it did to Thomas Goudge and Francis Sparshott, fell the task of recruiting new faculty during the boom times of the 1960s and, in his case only, the early 1970s too. His first appointment, Herbert Hingert, an Oxford D.Phil, with expertise in modern logic, was forced to leave after only four years because of misadventures in his personal life of which the college disapproved. Lynch's second appointment proved more successful. William Dunphy was born in the United States, but received all of his higher education at the University of Toronto; his doctoral dissertation, written under the direction of Armand Maurer and successfully defended in 1953, examined Peter of Auvergne's doctrine of causality as propounded in his Questiones in metaphysicam. Upon its completion, Fordham University made him a member of its faculty and he taught there for eleven years. In 1964

Philosophy at St Michael's College 575 Lynch brought him to St Michael's as an associate professor, and five years later he was advanced to professor. As the topic of his thesis suggests, Dunphy's principal interest in philosophy lay in the history of the mediaeval period, to whose literature he made useful contributions. His graduate teaching was also concentrated on the major philosophers of this great tradition. Dunphy's most important contribution to the college and the university, it is fair to say, lay elsewhere. Like Kelly and Lynch, Dunphy showed both an appetite and a talent for administrative and committee duties, and he was assigned more than his share of them by the college. When Lynch stepped down as principal in 1981, Dunphy was named his successor, and he served in that office for a decade. Dunphy shared with his predecessors a strong interest in university affairs. While he was principal, in any meeting where St Michael's College had an interest it was certain that Dunphy would be there, fully informed on the issues to be discussed and ready to join in the debate. His aim was ever to help to arrive at policies that strengthened the university as a whole; for he believed that in this way St Michael's was bound to benefit. In his installation address as principal, after reviewing the recent history of the relations between the faculty and the federated colleges, he stated his position clearly: 'Permit me to close with a paraphrase of the remark attributed years ago to a chairman of the board of a large U.S. automobile manufacturer, without, I hope, suffering its subsequent misinterpretations. "What's good for St. Michael's is good for the Faculty of Arts and Science" and, as I am convinced, the equally true converse, "What's good for the Faculty of Arts and Science, is good for St. Michael's"' (Dunphy 1982, 2). There were times when he was subjected to sharp criticism from members of his college, including some in his own department, who thought he was not sufficiently militant in advancing the college's interests, but he patiently endured this criticism and continued to pursue what he steadfastly believed to be best for both the college and the university. Those who had opposed him and later changed their minds found him gracious and forgiving when they made this fact known to him. Dunphy retired in 1992; he died on 13 August 1998 after a short bout with liver cancer. In 1967 two men, Barry Brown and Robert Tully, destined to achieve permanent status, joined the St Michael's department for the first time. Brown earned a doctorate from the department with a thesis on St Thomas Aquinas, written under Father Owens. Brown's principal contribution to the work of the department has been in the emerging field of bioethics, especially medical ethics. In 1992 he and William Harvey of Victoria College compiled Law and Public Policy for Bioethics: Canada and

576 Contributing Streams Ontario. Tully, whose Oxford doctorate was supervised by AJ. Ayer, came to Toronto as a research associate in the Pontifical Institute in 1967. Hingert's unplanned departure that summer prompted Lynch to offer Tully a part-time lectureship, which led to a permanent position. His research interests have centred on the early works of Russell and Wittgenstein. With Frederic Portoraro, for many years a graduate student in the department, Tully helped to develop a method of teaching symbolic logic called Symlog which makes extensive use of computers. The software was written by Portoraro, with the assistance in the beginning of his brother, Arthur, also a former graduate student in the department; the accompanying textbook, Logic with Symlog: Learning Symbolic Logic by Computer (1994), is very largely the work of Tully. Lynch's next recruit, in 1968, was John Hartley, who had been awarded the Ph.D. degree in 1970 with a thesis on Merleau-Ponty, directed by Lynch. Hartley taught undergraduate courses until his retirement in 1996.

15.34 In 1969 Lynch secured the agreement of John Kelly, then president of St Michael's, to appoint his wife, Abbyann (Day) Lynch , to a special parttime lectureship in the department. Abbyann Lynch came to Toronto as a graduate student in the late 1940s. In rapid succession she was awarded the M.A. (1951), the licentiate in mediaeval studies (1952), and the Ph.D. in philosophy (1953); her dissertation, directed by Armand Maurer, was devoted to a study of a work attributed to Benedict of Assignano. Her abiding interest, however, proved to lie not in mediaeval philosophy, but in the problems of medical ethics. For several years prior to her appointment in the department she taught nursing ethics in various medical institutions in Toronto. Her appointment to the college provided her with a base for pursuing research in medical ethics, just then beginning to be recognized as necessary to a future doctor's education by the medical profession. In 1972 she began teaching PHI 276 'Morality, Medicine and the Law,' the first course in applied ethics to be taught at Toronto. In 1975 she was given a full-time, tenured position, just at the moment when St Michael's Philosophy Department ceased to exist. The merging of the various departments into one brought together a number of professors who shared her interest in applied ethics. Barry Brown, William Harvey, Wayne Sumner, and others joined with her to develop a strong program in bioethics. A few years later the Collaborative Program in Bio-

Philosophy at St Michael's College 577

ethics (§12.7) was founded. In addition to her teaching duties in philosophy, Abbyann Lynch undertook a great many special assignments from the university, as well as from the provincial and federal governments, some of them very time-consuming. To cite only one example: she chaired the Committee on Mental Health Services in Ontario, which met over a period of two years, and at the end of its study she wrote a very long report entitled Agenda for Action (1979) for the Minister of Health. On 30 December 1985 she resigned from the university and became director of the Westminster Institute for Ethics and Human Values, which was then associated with the University of Western Ontario. After completing her term as its director, she returned to Toronto and served as director of the Department of Bioethics in the Hospital for Sick Children for several years. In retirement she has established a consulting business in medical ethics. In 1997 she was inducted into the Order of Canada in recognition of her outstanding service to this emerging field. Some years earlier, she had been awarded the Order of Ontario. 15.35

In 1971 James Munro Cameron was named the first University of St Michael's College professor. Cameron, who was born in 1910 and graduated from Balliol College, Oxford, in 1931, had taught for thirty-nine years at various universities in England, the last being the University of Kent at Canterbury, where he was professor of philosophy and master of Rutherford College. As a youth he was a Communist, but the pact between Hitler and Stalin caused him to reconsider his principles. In the early 1940s he became a convert to Roman Catholicism, an experience that profoundly altered his life. As his title made clear, his appointment was not attached to any department, but his wide interests made him especially valuable to philosophy, and he contributed to its teaching over the next several years. All of his teaching in philosophy was at the undergraduate level; he declined appointment to the graduate department. In retirement, he continued to live on the St Michael's campus and to maintain an office where he made himself available to anyone who wished to consult him. He died on 14 December 1995. 15.36

Michael Vertin was appointed a lecturer in 1972, a year before he was awarded the doctorate with a thesis on Joseph Marechal, directed by

578 Contributing Streams

Larry Lynch and Father Owens. From the start Vertin's appointment was split between Philosophy and Religious Studies, with two-thirds of it in Philosophy. The focus of his research and publications has been the thought of Bernard Lonergan, the Jesuit theologian and philosopher, who taught for many years at Regis College in Toronto. Lynch's last two appointments were made in 1974, only a year before the St Michael's department was abolished. Both Lloyd Gerson and Zev Friedman were graduate students in the department, and both of them were of the Jewish faith. They were the first non-Catholics in the St Michael's Philosophy Department. Gerson, who wrote a thesis on Plato's Parmenides, has proved to be a prolific scholar in the field of ancient philosophy. An active member of the Faculty Association, he has served its membership in important ways, including that of chair of the committee responsible for negotiating salary and benefits with the university administration. Friedman, whose dissertation on virtue and happiness was directed by Larry Lynch and Father Synan, taught at St Michael's for only a few years before he was rotated to Erindale College for a threeyear stint; at its end he decided to transfer to University College. He has a strong interest in Jewish philosophy. In 2004 Friedman retired and moved to Israel. 15.37

Because any faculty appointments made prior to 1 July 1975 were governed by the prevailing rules of the appointing body, St Michael's College was obliged in 1974 to commit its policies to writing. This document, entitled 'Statement on procedures and criteria at present operating in St. Michael's College with regard to appointments, promotion and tenure' (DA), is an interesting one. Its provisions contrast strikingly with the university's Haist Rules, especially with regard to tenure and promotion, the most important difference being that there is no provision for committees to assess the work of candidates before they are granted tenure or promotion. The rule governing the award of tenure reads in its entirety: 'Before an Assistant Professor is granted tenure, three requirements must normally be fulfilled: (i) he shall have taught full time at University level for six years; (ii) two of these years shall have been spent as a staff member at this University; (iii) three of these years shall have been at professorial level' (DA), Since this statement includes the blessed word 'normally,' it presumably provides guidance without laying down conditions that must be met. The procedures governing

Philosophy at St Michael's College

579

promotions are couched in similar language. This document makes it clear that college authorities were allowed considerable latitude in matters of tenure and promotion. A similar latitude, enjoyed by earlier university administrators, was abolished by the adoption of the Haist Rules. With regard to those members of the department who were untenured on 1 July 1975, those with university appointments faced a much higher hurdle than those appointed by the federated colleges. This disparity of treatment distressed some members of the department, including its chairman, David Gauthier, but neither he nor anyone else could do anything to rectify it. 15.38

In 1986 Thomas Lang's retirement and Abbyann Lynch's resignation left the St Michael's group understaffed, given its teaching commitments. It was imperative that its courses in medical ethics be staffed, because they were now required of students in medicine. To remedy matters, the college struck a deal with the university for a senior appointment, with the college contributing half of the salary. In seeking this upgrade, the college group had a candidate in mind. Joseph Boyle, then an associate professor at the University of St Thomas in Houston, Texas, had let colleagues in philosophy know that he was anxious to move to a more hospitable academic climate. As a preliminary step, Boyle was invited by the college to serve as its first McCorkell-Sullivan Visiting Professor in 1986-7. Joseph Michael Boyle Jr was born in Philadelphia on 30 July 1942, and earned his bachelor's degree from LaSalle College (now LaSalle University) , Philadelphia, in 1965 and his doctorate from Georgetown University in 1970. His dissertation, 'The Argument from Self-Referential Consistency: the Current Discussion,' was directed by Germain G. Grisez. The following year he was a post-doctoral fellow at Brown University working under Roderick Chisholm. For nearly twenty years he taught at a succession of small Catholic colleges in the United States, continuing his research under less than optimal conditions. His research interests centred on various problems in applied ethics, including euthanasia and nuclear deterrence; he has co-authored or co-edited five books on various topics of applied ethics. Thus, he was prepared to take on some of Abbyann Lynch's courses. Everyone, including Boyle himself, was pleased with his work; with the department's agreement, he was offered a permanent position in the college and in the department. Four years after his arrival,

580 Contributing Streams

he was selected to succeed Dunphy as principal of the college, and five years later he was installed for a second term. Philosophers, therefore, have held that post since 1961, when John Kelly became president and principal; in 1976, as already noted, the offices were split between Kelly, who continued as president, and Lynch, who assumed the principal's office. Boyle left office in 2002. 15.39

Since its absorption into the central department in 1975, the group at St Michael's has continued to offer students the option of taking a distinctive set of courses, designated, until it was abolished in 2000 (§11.16), by the prefix PHI. Until the late 1990s the selection of PHI-courses was broad enough to allow students to take nearly all of their philosophy courses in the college and still meet the calendar requirements for a specialist degree. The retirement of three St Michael's faculty members in 1999, however, raised the question of the future of the college's program in philosophy. By 2006 another three of its current faculty members will have retired. Since university policy at present does not provide for the replacement of all retiring faculty, it seems unlikely that the Philosophy Department or any of its subdivisions will ever again be as large as they once were. A smaller group at St Michael's will have to decide just where in the philosophy curriculum it wishes to focus its efforts. One possibility would be to offer distinctive minor programs in areas of philosophy where the group's teaching resources are strong. Students specializing in philosophy who chose to take these minors could satisfy their other degree requirements in the subject elsewhere in the department.

16

Some Reflections on This History

One theme running throughout this history is the role certain churches played in the evolution of the present Department of Philosophy. At the time of the founding of King's College, the precursor of the University of Toronto, the teaching of philosophy was everywhere closely tied to religion. The avowed aim was to eradicate in the young any tendency toward scepticism. The Christian view of the world was assumed to be true, and it was the duty of professors of philosophy to strengthen its hold on their students by marshalling arguments in support of it. 'Evidences for Christianity' and 'Natural Religion' were the standard names for courses usually required of every student before they could graduate. The founding professor, James Beaven, an Anglican priest, zealously discharged this duty. When King's College was secularized as the University of Toronto, he could not contain his fury, and he nearly lost his job as a consequence. His view of the proper education of the young had been simply, and he thought maliciously, cast aside. It was a bitter pill for him to swallow, and he never succeeded in getting it all the way down. His successor, George Paxton Young, had distanced himself from his church by the time he was appointed. During his apprentice years at Knox College he had come to doubt some of the dogmas espoused by the Presbyterian Church, even though he was a minister of that faith, and he never injected Christian doctrine into his teaching at University College. The issue of religion did arise during the protracted dispute over the appointment of his successor, but the provincial government wisely decided that it could not afford to favour one branch of Protestantism over all the others and announced that no clergymen would be considered for the appointment. Since that time, although some appointees have been men of the cloth, no courses of the sort taught by Beaven have been offered by the university department.

582 Contributing Streams The intertwining of religion and philosophy had a longer life in the three federated colleges, all of which had been founded by organized churches. Before Victoria College entered federation in 1890, it had negotiated a division of philosophy into ethics and all the rest. Its students would take their ethics courses from Victoria faculty, all of whom during the next half-century were Methodist ministers. To what extent specifically Christian ethical views were included in these courses is unknown. The fact that students in ethics courses had to sit a common examination ensured that most of the topics covered were taught in both Victoria and University Colleges. The way for teaching Christian doctrine more intensively was opened in 1904 when Trinity College, founded by Anglicans, entered federation and negotiated the right to continue to require of its students every year a one-hour course in 'Religious Knowledge.' Students in Victoria and University Colleges had to take an additional one-hour course to equalize work for the degree. Victoria, of course, opted for its own 'Religious Knowledge' courses, but secular University College and the university departments laid on 'Religious Knowledge Options' in nearly every subject except religion. These courses continued to be required of every student until the advent of the New Programme in 1969. The story at St Michael's, which did not enter federation until 1910, is quite different. One of its conditions for entry was control over all philosophy courses, not only those in ethics. In addition to its own 'Religious Knowledge' courses, it included, by papal direction, a Roman Catholic viewpoint in all of its philosophy courses. Even after the adoption of the New Programme, this continued to be the case in some of its courses for several years. The formation of a single department in 1975, with the power of appointment centred in one office, and the gradual retirement of those who were originally appointed by the federated colleges have further diluted the influence of organized religion on the curriculum. For several years after 1975 a policy of appointing replacements for those retiring was in effect. This policy held out the promise that the former college departments could maintain their size, but it was not long before budgetary constraints began to undermine this policy. Funds were no longer available for one-for-one replacements. A new policy was required, and the one adopted by the dean of arts and science around 1990 was to pool all retirements in the faculty over a five-year period and require departments to present a coherent and well-documented plan for fresh appointments to be made during that period. Since appointments, of course, are fewer, sometimes considerably fewer, than the number of retirements, competition for them is fierce. New appointments go to those depart-

Some Reflections on This History 583

ments making the strongest cases. One important effect of this change in policy was to significantly reduce the influence of the federated colleges on appointments in philosophy. A college can no longer simply argue that it needs a replacement in order to continue to offer its program and expect to succeed for that reason alone. Any such arguments now have to be weighed in the light of the overall requirements of the department. These changes lead one to consider the question of whether there are distinct roles left for the federated colleges. Of the three, Victoria has not adopted any common theme for the teaching done by the philosophers housed there, except to offer as wide a variety of courses in its buildings as is possible. Trinity, whose staff is the smallest, initially decided to concentrate its efforts on teaching the history of philosophy, and it has invited professors to join its staff whose primary interest is the history of the subject. In 1975 St Michael's had a large sub-department, some fifteen members, teaching a curriculum that had been developed over several decades. As its original members retired, overtures were made to some recent appointees to take offices in the college. There are at present seven people teaching philosophy in St Michael's, and they, along with a few retired professors, offer a set of eighteen courses, over half of which are devoted to historical figures. The course descriptions do not mention any religious orientation. It is, I think, safe to conclude that the sections of courses now offered in the federated colleges differ very little, if at all, from those taught in any other part of the department. All faculty are now recruited in exactly the same way, by means of advertisements and large search committees, and it is only after an appointment is made that the question of office location arises. All recent recruits have been educated in large secular institutions, and they bring their experience in those universities with them when they join the department. They regard themselves as members of a profession, and when they are invited to join a group they expect to be treated as equal to everyone else in the group. Given such raw material, it is extremely unlikely that group identities of the sort common a few decades ago will emerge. It could happen, but it would be a rare occurrence. There are other influences working against group identities' forming. One is the greater stress on research and publication than was the case thirty or forty years ago. By its very nature philosophical research is a lonely enterprise. Those engaged in it must have large blocks of time to themselves, which precludes spending much time with colleagues, all of whom are, or should be, similarly pressed by their own projects. In carrying out their projects, faculty members spend much less time in their

584 Contributing Streams

offices than was true in the 1960s and 1970s. This is another factor preventing closer group cohesion; unless people are able to spend an appreciable amount of time together, they cannot develop that sense of belonging that is required in group bonding. When I joined the department in 1964, nearly everyone was in his or her office every day during term, except when teaching. One did not have to make an appointment to see a colleague; one simply dropped by his or her office during working hours after checking the teaching schedule. Starting some time in the late 1970s those habits began to change. Some members of the department began to use their offices only for appointments and posted office hours. Otherwise, their doors were shut. The widespread implementation of electronic communications during the last several years has made it possible for faculty members to conduct nearly all of their departmental business by e-mail, thus greatly reducing the need for personal appearances. It is possible to go for a whole term or even longer without meeting certain colleagues. Attendance at departmental meetings has also fallen drastically. A faithful few continue to attend regularly, which makes it possible for decisions to be taken. This state of affairs seems now to be the norm. The department today is much more like the faculty of a small liberal arts college than it was a few decades ago. Professors occupy offices in many different locations on campus and even on distant campuses. Committee membership brings people together to conduct departmental business, and, as was just noted, a faithful few attend plenary meetings to finalize that business. For many years now there have existed several interest groups - in ethics and political philosophy, the history of philosophy, logic and philosophy of science, analytic philosophy, and continental philosophy - which sponsor talks by faculty members and visiting scholars. These groups also review the curriculum in their areas periodically and suggest any changes required to keep it current. Sub-disciplinary groups now have a much greater importance in the department than the geographical groupings, and membership on the Personnel Committee will almost certainly have to be altered to reflect their importance. When the committee was expanded in 1975, each geographical group, especially those in the federated colleges, had to be assured a voice in personnel decisions. The advent of decanal five-year plans has given sub-disciplines a crucial role in planning for new faculty, and the membership of the committee should reflect this fact. This seems to be the only change required in the department's organization at this time. Otherwise, the governmental structure set up between 1968 and 1970 has stood the test of time.

Appendix A

Departmental Heads, Chairmen, and Chairs

James Beaven George Paxton Young James Mark Baldwin James Gibson Hume George Sidney Brett George Sidney Brett Fulton Henry Anderson Thomas Anderson Goudge John Greer Slater David Peter Gauthier Thomas More Robinson John Greer Slater Frank Arthur Cunningham John Greer Slater Frank Arthur Cunningham Leonard Wayne Sumner Frank Arthur Cunningham Leonard Wayne Sumner John Greer Slater Mark Tristram Thornton Cheryl Jayne Misak Joseph Michael Boyle Jr Donald Cameron Ainslie

1843-71 1871-89 1889-93 1891-93 1926-7 1927-44 1944-63 1963-9 1969-74 1974-9 1979-81 1981-2 1982-4 1984-5 1985-8 1988-91 1991-92 1992-94 1994-95 1995-2000 2000-30.3.2003 1.4-30.6.2003 2003-

Professor Professor Professor Professor; 1893-1927, Head Acting Head Head Head Chairman Chairman Chairman Chairman Acting Chairman Chairperson and then Chair Acting Chair Chair Chair Acting Chair Chair Acting Chair Chair Chair Acting Chair Chair

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Appendix B

Faculty in Philosophy, 1843-2005 (Listed by sub-unit of initial appointment)

Name and Dates

Years of Service

Highest Rank

University Department Abbott, Albert Holden (1871-1934) Allen, Reginald Edgar (1931-) Anderson, Fulton Henry (1895-1968) Apostoli, Peter John (1957-) Baigrie, Brian Scott (1951-) Baldwin, James Mark (1861-1934) Barney, Rachel (1966-) Beaven, James (1801-75) Bott, Edward Alexander (1887-1974) Brodeur, Charles Claude (1931-) Brown, James Robert (1946-) Buchanan, Rupert (1937-84) Butler, Douglas Joel (1957-91) Butler, Ronald Joseph (1929-) Campbell, Charles (c!920-) Caron, James Francis (1938-) Ching, Julia Chia-yi (1934-2001)

1898-1920 1969-78 1924-63 1992-2002 1987-8 1889-93 20021843-71 1914-27 1961-2 19811965-70 1990-1 1960-7 1946-50 1964-8 1995-2000

Churchland, Paul Montgomery (1942-) Clark, Lorenne Margaret (Gordon Burchill Smith) (1936-) Collinsonjohn (1914P-89?) Comay, Rebecca (1955-)

1967-9 1966-80

Associate Professor Professor Professor, F.R.S.C. Associate Professor Assistant Professor Professor Associate Professor Professor Professor Lecturer Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Associate Professor Lecturer Lecturer University Professor, F.R.S.C. Lecturer Associate Professor

1948-9 1985-

Lecturer Associate Professor

588 Appendix B Crichton, John Willison (1928-2002) Cunningham, Frank Arthur (1940-) Dedrick, Donald Paul (1957-) De Sousa, Ronald Bon (1940-) Doan, Frank Mellor (1913-) Dray, William Herbert (1921-) Dryer, Douglas Poole (1915-) Dunbar, Scott (c!930-) Dyzenhaus, David Ludovic (1957-) Evans, Cecil R. (c!930-) Evans, Donald Dwight (1927-) Fackenheim, Emil Ludwig (1916-2003)

1963-72 19671995-6 1966-2005 1949-56 1953-68 1945-81 1962-4 19901955-6 1964-93 1948-82

Fitzgerald, Paul Peter (1937-) Ferguson, Lynd Wilks (1938-) Forster, Paul Dickinson (1957-) Gallop, David (1928-) Gauthier, David Pierre (1932-) Gibbs, Robert Bernard (1958-) Gilbert, Michael Alan (1945-) Gill, Judith Ann (Rochester) (1937-) Gillon, Brendan S. (1950-) Goldstick, Daniel Jeffrey (1940-) Goudge, Thomas Anderson (1910-99) Hacking, Ian McDougall (1936-)

1970-1 1968-2003 1989-90 1955-69 1958-80 19961973-5 1975-6 1989-91 1968-2005 1938-75 1982-2004

Hanly, Charles Mervyn Taylor (1930-) Hanson, Philip Peter (1948-) Harrison, Bernard Joseph (1933-) Herzberger, Hans George (1932-) Hughes, Richard Iwan Garth (1936-) Hume, James Gibson (1860-1949) Hunter, John Fletcher MacGregor (1924-98) Hurka, Thomas Michael (1952-) Hyland, Drew Alan (1939-) Imlay, Robert Angus (1937-) Irvine, Andrew David (1958-) Jamieson, Graham Moffat (1909-) King, Peter (1955-) Kirschmann, Augustus (1860-1932)

1959-95 1974-6 1960-2 1968-98 1976-9 1891-1927 1954-90

Assistant Professor Professor, F.R.S.C. Assistant Professor Professor Lecturer Professor, F.R.S.C. Professor, F.R.S.C. Lecturer Professor, F.R.S.C. Lecturer Professor University Professor, F.R.S.C. Assistant Professor Professor Lecturer Professor Professor, F.R.S.C. Professor Assistant Professor Lecturer Assistant Professor Professor Professor, F.R.S.C. University Professor, F.R.S.C. Professor Assistant Professor Lecturer Professor Assistant Professor Professor Professor

20021964-7 1963-2002 1987-90 1948-9 20031893-1908

Professor Assistant Professor Professor Assistant Professor Lecturer Professor Professor

Faculty in Philosophy

589

Kymlicka, William T. (1962-) Langan, Thomas Donald (1929-) Long, William Marcus Dill (1908-68) MacDonald, Edward Wilfred (c!902-) Matilal, Bimal Krishna (1935-91) McCallum, Hugh Reid (1897-1949) McCaskill, David George (c!938-) McCurdy, William Jarvis (1904-88) McKenna, Terence Patrick (1934-) McRae, Robert Forbes (1914-) Mehlberg, Henryk (1904-83) Meslin, Eric Mark (1961-) Mitchell, James Robert (1949-) Moreau, Stephanie Sophia Reibetanz (1972-) Morgan, Kathryn Ann Pauly (1943-) Morrison, James Carlton (1938-) Mozersky, Joshua Myer (1969-) Nagel, Gordon Paul (1944-) Nicholson, Graeme Alexander (1936-) Payzant, Geoffrey Barss (1926-2004) Perkins, Moreland (1927-) Pietersma, Henry (1932-) Poole, Cyril Francis (1925-) Richardson, Mary Grace (1946-) Robinson, Thomas More (1936-) Robinson, Thomas Rutherford (1867-1934) Russon, John Edward (I960-) Savan, David (1916-92) Schouls, Peter Arthur (1937-) Shanner, Laura Jeanne (1964-) Shen, Tsing-song Vincent Silverberg, Arnold Steven (1953-) Slater, John Greer (1930-) Smith, Lloyd Paul (1950-) Smith, William George (1873-1943) Sparshott, Francis Edward (1926-)

1989-90 1967-94 1945-68 1930-43 1978-81 1927-49 1973-5 1934-69 1967-8 1945-79 1949-56 1989-93 1975-6 2003-

Assistant Professor Professor Professor Associate Professor Professor Professor Assistant Professor Associate Professor Lecturer Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Lecturer Assistant Professor

19741965-2001 2000-1 1973-2000 1967-2002 1957-91 1956-7 1961-98 1956-7 1976-9 1968-2002 1903-34

Professor Professor Assistant Professor Associate professor Professor Professor Lecturer Professor Lecturer Assistant Professor Professor Associate Professor

1992-3 1943-81 1964-7 1993-8 20001991-6 1964-95 1984-5 1901-22 1950-91

Sreenivasan, Gopal Radu de Reineck (1964-)

2002-

Assistant Professor Professor Lecturer Assistant Professor Professor Assistant Professor Professor Assistant Professor Associate Professor University Professor, F.R.S.C. Associate Professor

590 Appendix B Stefanovic, Ingrid Albina (Leman) (1953-) Stevenson, Jack Torrance (1932-) Sumner, Leonard Wayne (1941-)

1993-

Associate Professor

1969-98 1965-

Thompson, Evan Timothy (1962-) Thompson, Manley Hawn (1917-94) Tracy, Frederick (1862-1951) Tully, James Hamilton (1946-) Van Fraassen, Bastiaan Cornelis (1941-) Vise, Gerald Harris (1936-) Vitkin, Marina (1959-) Wand, Bernard (1922-) Weatherston, Martin Barr (1956-) Webb, Clifford Wellington (1925-94) Wernham, James Chrystall Stephen (1921-) Wheatley, James Melville Owen (1924-) Whiting, Jennifer Elaine (1957-) Wilson, Jr., Fred Forster (1937-) Woods, John Hayden (1937-) Yablo, Stephen J. Young, George Paxton (1818-89)

1991-2 1946-9 1889-1932 2001-3 1969-81 1964-9 1999-2003 1951-3 1989-91 1955-87 1947-8, 1949-54 1956-83 20031965-2003 1962-71 1991-2 1871-89

Professor University Professor, F.R.S.C. Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Professor Professor, F.R.S.C. Professor Lecturer Assistant Professor Lecturer Assistant Professor Associate Professor Lecturer Associate Professor Professor Professor, F.R.S.C. Associate Professor Assistant Professor Professor

Visiting Professors

Ardal, Pall Steinthorssen (1924-2003) Braybrooke, David (1924-) Corbett, John Patrick (1916-) Danielson, Peter Andrew (1946-) Day, John Patrick (1919-) Fine, Kit (1946-) Frey, Raymond Gillespie (1944-) Gauthier, Yvon (1941-) Luckenback, Sidney A. (1938-97) Madden, Edward Harry (1925-) Margolis, Joseph Zalman (1924-) Meyer, Robert Kenneth (1932-) Newton-Smith, William H. (1943-) Ricoeur, Jean Paul Gustave (1913-)

1965-6 1966-7 1968-9 1982-3 1965-6 1974-5 1982-3 1972-3 1970-1 1966-7 1967-8 1972-3 1981-2 1972-3

Professor Professor Professor Associate Professor Associate Professor Associate Associate Professor Professor Associate Professor Professor

Professor Professor Professor Professor

Professor

Faculty in Philosophy Rossi, Mario Manlio (c!900-) Shorter, J.M. Spilsbury, RJ. Sprague, Rosamond Kent (1922-) Stevenson, Jack Torrance (1932-) Stroud, Barry Greenwood (1935-) Thorburn,JohnMacCaig (1883-1970) Vlastos, Gregory (1907-91)

591

1950-1 1963-4 1960-1 1972 1966-7 1967-8 1949-50 1978-9

Professor Professor Professor Professor Associate Professor Assistant Professor Professor Professor

1968-73 1972-3 1972-3 1973-98 19671966-2000 1967-73 200219931989-94 2003198920011995-2000 1964-70 1986-8 1968-82 198019901969-95 1976-

Assistant Professor Lecturer Assistant Professor Professor Professor Professor Associate Professor Assistant Professor Professor Assistant Professor Associate Professor Associate Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Associate Professor Assistant Professor Associate Professor Professor Associate Professor Professor Professor

1995-8 19961995-8 1977-9 1981-2

Assistant Assistant Assistant Lecturer Assistant

Scarborough College

Clancy, Bonnie Ruth (Aarons) (1942-) Dehaven, Steven Lee (1943-) Di Norcia, Vincent (1937-) Gombay, Andre Michel David (1933-) Gooch, Paul William (1941-) Graham, William Clarence (1934-) Hartman, James Barclay (1925-) Hawkins, Jennifer Susan (c!969-) Kingwell, Mark Gerald (1963-) Kornegay, Roberta Jo (1954-) Kremer, Philip Alcuin (1962-) Lange, Lynda Mary-Anne (1943-) Lin, Martin Thomas (1971-) Logan, Beryl (1944-) Miller, David Lewis Clark (1922-) Mills, Patricia Jagentowicz (1944-) Mosher, David Lewis (1938-) Seager, William Edward (1952-) Sedivy, Sonia Anne (I960-) Sobel, Jordan Howard (1929-) Thompson, Ronald Paul (1947-) Erindale College

Abou-Rihan, Fadi Fouad (1963-) Ainslie, Donald Cameron (1966-) Allen, Julie Anna (1962-) Barthelemy, William L. (1944-) Bickenbach, Jerome Edmond

Professor Professor Professor Professor

592 Appendix B Brett, Nathan Chandler (1942-) Browne, David Mister (1940-) Brunning, Jacqueline (1934-) Canfleld, John Vincent (1934-) Cassin, Chrystine Elizabeth (1938-) Chakravartty, Anjan (1968-) Chastain, Charles H. (1937-) Clark, Philip Maclean III (1958-) Ehrcke, William Frederick (1946-) Elugardo, Reinaldo (1949-) Eshelman, Lawrence (Larry) J. (1946-) Fargen, Gilbert Bruce (1948-) Glanzberg, Michael John (1967-) Heath, Joseph Mark (1967-) Henwood, Kenneth Alan (1944-) Huggett, William John (1924-) Hunter, Donald Graeme (1951-) Hutchinson, Douglas Stanley (1955-) Katz, Bernard David (1946-) Kelly, Mark Aubrey (1965-) Kusch, Martin (1959-) McKinnon, Frances Christine (1956-) Miles, Murray Lewis (1946-) Misak, Cheryl Jayne (1961-) Mullin, Amy Margaret (1963-) Nagel, Jennifer Ruth (1968-) Normore, Calvin Gerard (1948-) Panagiotou, Spiro (1946-) Porteous, Janice Maureen (1958-) Rattan, Gurpreet Singh (1970-) Ripstein, Arthur Stephen (1958-) Robinson, Don (1955-) Rosenthal, Aaron (1935-) Rozemond, Marleen (1958-) Schiller, Marvin (1940-) Squires, Anthony Craig (1957-) Stratton, William Griffith (1949-) Tenenbaum, Sergio (1964-) Urquhart, Alasdair Ian Fenton (1945-) Vicas, Astrid

1975-9 1975-7 1981-2003 1967-95 1969-81 2002-3 1970-4 20021973-4 1977-8 1974-6 1977-8 2003-4 19961975-81 1965-90 1982-9 198319761999-2000 1991-2 1983-8 1983-5 1990199020001984-99 1977-8 1990-6 200219871990-2 1968-76 20021969-73 1995-6 1983-4 200019701992-3

Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Associate Professor Professor Associate Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Lecturer Assistant Professor Lecturer Associate Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Professor Assistant Professor Professor Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Professor , F.R.S.C. Associate Professor Assistant Professor Professor Assistant Professor Lecturer Assistant Professor Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Associate Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Lecturer Assistant Professor Professor Assistant Professor

Faculty in Philosophy 593 Watkins, Rodney Paul (1966-) Wilks, Ian Leslie (I960-) Wright, John Prentice (1942-)

1998-2000 1995-6 1975-6

Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Assistant Professor

1975-7 1884-1906 1906-12 1913-28, 1932-49 1958-9 1963-2002 1984-5, 1986-90 1967-2004 1968-95 1944-65 1969-70 1913-39 1940-54 1928-38 1845-9 1936-63 1850-87 1846-8 1841-4 1967-2001 1882-4

Assistant Professor Professor Professor Professor

19731908-44 1968-71 1883-1908 1964-7 1940-81 1949-64 1956-88

Professor Professor, F.R.S.C. Assistant Professor Professor, F.R.S.C. Lecturer Professor Associate Professor Associate Professor

Victoria College

Angel, Jay Leonard (1945-) Badgley, Erastus Irving (1844-1906) Blewett, George John (1873-1912) Brown, Walter Theodore (1883-1954) Burbidge, John William (1936-) Graff, James Allen (1937-) Gregory, Elizabeth Anne (Trott) (1943-) Harvey, William Robert Clarence (1939-) Hess, Peter Hans (1934-) Irving, John Allan (1903-65) Krausz, Michael (1942-) Lane, Wilmot Burkeman (1872-1960) Leslie, Charles Whitney (1905-86) Line, John (1885-1970) Mac Nab, Alexander (1811-91) Macpherson, Jessie Hall Knox (1900-69) Nelles, Samuel Sobieski (1823-87) Ormiston, William (1821-99) Ryerson, Adophus Egerton (1803-82) Thornton, Mark Tristram (1942-) Workman, George Coulson (1848-1936)

Lecturer Associate Professor Assistant Professor Professor Associate Professor Professor Lecturer Professor Professor Professor Professor Professor Professor Professor Professor Professor Professor

Trinity College

Allen, Derek Pearson Henderson (1947-) Brett, George Sidney (1879-1944) Carlson, George Radcliffe (1935-) Clark, William Robinson (1829-1912) D'argaville, Brian Thomas (1929-8?) Edison, George (1915-1992) Fairweather, Eugene Rathbone (1920-) Hardy, Helen Lorena McArthur (1923-93)

594 Appendix B King, Edward Ley (1870-1906) Kingston, George Frederick (1889-1950) Macomber, William Burns (1929-) Morawetz, Bruno (1917-99) Morrison, Margaret Catherine (1954-) Neelands, William David (1943-) Owen, Denvyn Randulph Grier (1914-97) Schmitz, Kenneth Louis (1922-)

1900-3 1922-40 1959-62 1952-9 19891969-72 1941-57 1971-88

Fellow Professor Lecturer Assistant Professor Professor Lecturer Professor Professor

1919-34 1995-

Professor Professor

19861943-54 1967-99 1971-8 1905-30 1999-2001 1909-20 1956-67 1919-26

Professor Associate Professor Associate Professor Professor Professor Assistant Professor Professor Associate Professor Professor

St Michael's College

Bellisle, Henry Stanislaus (1891-1938) Black, Deborah Louise (Heffernan) (1958-) Boyle, Jr., Joseph Michael. (1942-) Brezik, Victor Benjamin (1913-) Brown, Barry Francis (1934-) Cameron, James Munro (1910-95) Carr, Henry (1880-1963) Chidwick, Paula Marjorie (c!963-) Gushing, Daniel (1850-1928) Dewart, Leslie Sutherland (1922-) De Wulf , Maurice Marie Charles Joseph (1867-1947) Di lanni, Robert (c!934-) Dore, James Wilfrid (1901-81) Dowdall, Patrick Sylvester (1855-1927) Dumont, Stephen Douglas (1952-) Dumouchel, Albert Pierre (1856-1925)

Lecturer 1961-4 1941-63 Professor 1888-9 Professor Associate Professor 1995-2001 Professor 1901-09, 1910-16 Professor Dunphy, William Berchman (1926-98) 1964-92 Dwyer, John Wilfrid (1898-1991) 1937-46 Assistant Professor Professor Eschmann, Ignatius Theodore (1898-1968) 1941-68 Fehr, Robert Charles (1923-) 1952-4 Lecturer Frachon, Francois Regis (1835-1916) 1866-86, Professor 1891-cl900 Associate Professor Friedman, Ralph Zev (1942-) 1972-2004 Professor Garvey, Edwin Charles (1907-96) 1964-8 Professor Gerson, Lloyd Phillip (1948-) 1974Gilson, Etienne Henri (1884-1978) 1929-60 Professor, F.R.S.C. Gocer, Asli (c!962-) 1998-2000 Assistant Professor

Faculty in Philosophy Grant, John Robert (?-19l7) Hartley, John Joseph Leo (1936-) Hingert, Herbert Bernard (1934-77) Hours, Francois Regis (1832-97) Hurley, Albert Edward Joseph (1874-1966) Kelly, John Michael (1911-86) Kennedy, Leonard Anthony (1922-) Kilcullen, Rupert John (1938-) Kremer, Elmar Joseph (1934—) Lang, Thomas Joseph Francis (1921-2000) Lynch, Abbyann (Day) (1928-) Lynch, Lawrence Edward Michael (1915-2001) MacDonald, Ralph James Joseph (1915-82) Marcia, Sister M. (1903-56) (Smyth, Anastasia Marjorie Mary) Maritain, Jacques (1882-1973) Maurer, Armand Augustine Arthur (1915-) Me Corkell, Edmund Joseph (1891-1980) Me Gahey, Joseph Edward (1902-45) Meader, Frederick Daniel (1880-1924) Miller, Robert Grace (1912-97) Murphy, Claudia Eisen (1970-) Oliver, Michael Joseph (1888-1977) Owens, Joseph (1908-) Pegis, Anton Charles (1905-78) Phelan, Gerald Bernard (1892-1965) Powell, Francis Gerald (1878-1951) Purcell, John Joseph (1878-1918) Reilly, James Patrick (1921-) Roach, William Joseph (1875-1961) Roche, Nicholas E. (1866-1932) Schonleber, Edward John (1931-) Smyth. See Marcia Stokes, Thomas John (1926-) Sullivan, Basil Francis (1894-1983)

595

1907-1910 1968-96 1963-7 1886-90 1907-14 1943-76 1961-3 1966-70 1961-99 1953-86 1966-85 1946-81

Professor Associate Professor Assistant Professor Professor Professor Professor Assistant Professor Lecturer Professor Professor Associate Professor Professor

1946-68 1942-56

Associate Professor Lecturer

1932-49 1949-80

Professor Professor

1917-31 1935-40 1911-19, 1923-24 1939-53 1997-2001 1915-25 1954-73 1944-52, 1961-76 1925-46, 1952-65 1913-21 1910-17 1976-86 1925-32 1909-14 1959-64

Professor Lecturer Professor

1959-60 1921-49, 1955-7

Assistant Professor Assistant Professor Professor Professor, F.R.S.C. Professor, F.R.S.C. Professor, F.R.S.C. Professor Professor Professor Professor Professor Lecturer Lecturer Professor

596 Appendix B Sullivan, Edward John (1918-67) Synan, Edward Aloyius (1918-97) Teefyjohn Read (1848-1911) Tully, Robert Edmund (1940-) Vanierjean (1928-) Vaschalde, Adolphe Arthur (1871-1942) Vertin, Joseph Michael (1939-) Weisheipl, James Athanasius (1923-84) Welty, Emil Jerome (1888-1962) Windle, Bertram Alan Coghill (1858-1929) Wingell, Albert Edward (1934-)

1949-51 1961-83 1878-1903 1967-2004 1963-4 1903-10 1972-2005 1963-84 1936-51 1920-9 1961-99

Lecturer Professor, F.R.S.C. Professor Professor Visiting Professor Professor Professor Professor Lecturer Professor Associate Professor

References

Note. The following sources were consulted in the preparation of this book. Those that are frequently cited are abbreviated as shown. Unless otherwise indicated, all instances of emphasis in extracts are original. Archival Sources Archives of the Department of Philosphy, University of Toronto (DA) Oral history tapes, transcribed by the author (OHT) Graduate Department Bulletin (Graduate Bulletin) Archives of Ontario, Toronto (AO) Bishop John Strachan Papers, MS 35, Letterbooks 1812-67 Department of Education, Office of the Minister Series RG 2-29-1, MS 2628 MS 2633, MS 2638 Archives of the University of Toronto (UTA) Minutes of the Council of King's College, 1828-49 (MCKC) Minutes of the Senate of the University of Toronto, 1850-87, 1890- (MSUT) Fulton Anderson Papers (FHA), B1972-0021 Claude Bissell Papers (CB), B1971-0011 Edward Blake Papers (EB), B1972-0013 George Sidney Brett Papers (GSB), B1974-0036 Henry John Cody Papers (HJC), B1965-0023 Robert Alexander Falconer Papers (RAF), B1967-0007 Group oral history of members of staff of the Philosophy Department: Douglas Poole Dryer, Thomas A. Goudge, Robert F. McRae, David Savan Thomas Anderson Goudge Papers (TAG), B1996-0009

598 References James Gibson Hume Papers (JGH), B1975-0026 John Langdon Family Papers (JLP), B1965-0014 James Loudon Papers (JL), B1972-0031 Sidney Earle Smith Papers (SES), B1968-0007 National Archives of Canada, Ottawa (NAC) Papers of Sir Charles Bagot, MG 24 A13, vols 1-9 Toronto Reference Library Robert Baldwin Papers, James Beaven to Robert Baldwin, 24 June 1848 and 17 November 1848 Trinity College Archives (TCA) Board of Literae Humaniores, 990-0053/0009 (01) United Church of Canada / Victoria University Archives (UCC/VUA) Biographical files: George John Blewett, Wilmot Burkman Lane, Jessie Macpherson Periodicals and Reference Works Acta Victoriana Bulletin: University of Toronto Church (1837-53) Christian Guardian Dictionary of Canadian Biography (DCB) Dictionary of National Biography (DNB) Ecclesiastical and Missionary Record for the Presbyterian Church of Canada (EMR) St. Michael's College Yearbook Torontonensis Trinity University Review University of Toronto Monthly Varsity (1880-) Week

Newspapers Globe (1844-1936) Globe and Mail (1936-) Mail and Empire (1895-1936)

References

599

Toronto Daily Mail (1872-95) Toronto Star(1840-) Toronto Telegram (1876-1971) Toronto World (1880-) Books, Articles, and Theses Abbott, Albert H. 1896. 'Thoughts on Philosophy.' University of Toronto Quarterly 2:2 (Jan.), 133-47. - 'Experimental Psychology and the Laboratory in Toronto.' Two parts. University of Toronto Monthly 1: 3 (Nov.), 85-9; 1:4 (Dec.), 106-12. Alexander W.J., ed. 1906. The University of Toronto and Its Colleges, 1827-1906. Toronto: University of Toronto Library. Armour, Leslie, and Elizabeth Trott. 1981. The Faces of Reason: An Essay on Philosophy and Culture in English Canada, 1850-1950. Waterloo: Wilfrid Laurier University Press. Baldwin, James Mark. 1890a. 'Philosophy: Its Relation to Life and Education.' In Fragments in Philosophy and Science, 3-23. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 1902; London: John C. Nimmo, 1903. - 1890b. 'Psychology at the University of Toronto.' American Journal of Psychology 3: 2 (April), 285-6. - 1892. 'The Psychological Laboratory in the University of Toronto.' Science 19: 475 (11 March), 143-4. — 1926. Between Two Wars, 1861—1921: Being Memories, Opinions and Letters Received. 2 vols. Boston: Stratford. Beaven, James. 1841. An Account of the Life and Writings ofS. Irenaeus, Bishop of Lyons and Martyr: Intended to Illustrate the Doctrine, Discipline, Practices, and History of the Church, and the Tenets and Practices of the Gnostic Heretics, During the Second Century. London: Printed for the author and sold byJ.G.F. & J. Rivington. - 1844. Ask for the Old Paths. Sermon preached at the opening of the new church of St James, at Dundas, Upper Canada, on Sunday, 31 December 1843. Cobourg: Diocesan Press. - 1846. Recreations of a Long Vacation; or, A Visit to Indian Missions in Upper Canada. Illustrated by the author. London: James Burns; Toronto: H. & W. Rowsell. - 1850. Elements of Natural Theology. London: Francis & John Rivington. - 1853. Selections from Cicero. Part IV. DeFinibus Malorum et Bonorum. Of the Supreme Good. Arnold's School Classics. London: Francis & John Rivington. Bellisle, Henry S. 1933. The Institute of Mediaeval Studies. Toronto: Institute of Mediaeval Studies, St Michael's College.

600 References Berkeley, George. 1953. The Works of George Berkeley, Bishop ofCloyne. Vol. 6. Ed. T.E. Jessop. London: Thomas Nelson and Sons. Bigg, E.M. 1929. 'Some Reminiscences of the Sixties.' University of Toronto Monthly 29: 6 (March), 224. Bissell, Claude T., ed. 1953. University College: A Portrait, 1853-1953. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. - 1986. The Imperial Canadian: Vincent Massey in Office. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Blake, W.H. 1901. 'Professor Young in His Lecture-Room.' University of Toronto Monthly 2: 3 (Dec.), 63-5. Blewett, George John. 1907. The Study of Nature and the Vision of God: With Other Essays in Philosophy. Toronto: William Briggs. Boring, Edwin G. 1929. A History of Experimental Psychology. New York: Century. Bott, E.A. 1923. 'Criticism and Ways of Inquiry.' Journal of Philosophy 20, 253-71. Boys, W.F.A. 1901. 'Early Days of the University.' University of Toronto Monthly 2: 3 (Dec.). Supplement to the December 1901 issue: 1-36. Brett George Sidney. 1920. 'Graduate Studies, Present and Future.' University of Toronto Monthly?,®: 5 (Feb.), 169-71. - 1921. A History of Psychology. Vol. 2: Mediaeval and Early Modern Period. London: George Allen & Unwin; New York: Macmillan. - 1922. 'Psychology in the University.' University of'Toronto Monthly 22: 7 (April), 298-300. - 1924. 'Some Beliefs about Psychology.' Canadian Journal of Religious Thought 1: 6 (December), 473-80. - 1925. 'The History of Science as a Factor in Modern Education.' Proceedings and Transactions of The Royal Society of Canada. 3rd series. 19: 39-46. - 1927. 'The Graduate School.' University of'TorontoMonthly 28: 3 (Dec.), 126-8. - 1937. 'The School of Graduate Studies: A Review of Growth and Needs.' University of Toronto Monthly 37: 9 (June), 235-6. - 1941. 'Philosophy Teaching in the University of Toronto.' Culture, Revue Trimestrielle : Sciences Religieuses et Sciences profanes au Canada 2: 434—5. Broad C.D. 1925. The Mind and Its Place in Nature. London: Kegan Paul, Trench, Trubner; New York: Harcourt, Brace. Brown, Harcourt. 1946. 'George Sidney Brett.' /5w36: 104 (Jan.), 110-14. Burns, R.F. 1871. The Life and Times of the Rev. Robert Burns, D.D., F.A.S., F.R.S.E., Toronto; including an unfinished autobiography. Edited by his son, Rev. R.F. Burns. Toronto: James Campbell and Son. Burwash, Nathaneal. 1906. 'A Review of the Founding and Development of the University of Toronto as a Provincial Institution.' Transactions of the Royal Society of Canada. 2nd series, 1905-6. 2: 37-98. - 1927. The History of Victoria College. Toronto: Victoria College Press.

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606 References Strachan, John. 1809. A Concise Introduction to Practical Arithmetic; For the Use of Schools. Montreal: Nahum Mower. - 1843. 'Address at the Opening of King's College.' In University of King's College, Toronto, Upper Canada: Proceedings at the Ceremony of Laying the Foundation Stone, April 23, 1842; and at the Opening of the University, June 8, 1843, 32-55. Toronto: H. & W. Rowsell. - 1969. Documents and Opinions. Ed. J.L.H. Henderson. Toronto: McClelland and Stewart. Taylor, Monica. 1932. Sir Bertram Windle: Bertram CoghittAlan Windle, F.R.S., F.S.A., K.S.G., M.D., M.A., LL.D., Ph.D., Sc.D.: A Memoir. London: Longmans, Green. van der Smissen, W.H. 1930. 'Further Reminiscences.' University of Toronto Monthly 30: 5 (Feb.), 348-9. Walford, David. 1996. 'Kuno Fischer.' In Biographical Dictionary of Twentieth-Century Philosophers. Ed. Stuart Brown, Diane Collinson, and Robert Wilkinson, 236-7. London: Routledge. Walker, John. 1864. Murray's Compendium of Logic: with an Accurate Translation, and a Familiar Commentary. New ed. Dublin: McGlashan & Gill; London: Whittaker; Edinburgh: John Menzies. Wallace, W. Stewart. 1927. A History of the University of Toronto, 1827-1927. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. - 1953. 'Background.' In Bissell 1953, 3-21. Whittier, John Greenleaf. 1878. Poems of John GreenleafWhittier. Rev. ed. Boston: James R. Osgood. Williams, Albert L. 1989. 'Pontifical Charter.' In Dimnik 1989, 10-11. Wilson, Daniel. 'Letters and Journal of Sir Daniel Wilson.' Selected and edited by John Langdon. Typescript. UTAJL, 004 (01) (02). Wirth, W. 1933. 'Zum Gedachtnis August Kirschmanns.' Archive fur die gesamte Psychologic 88: 321-2. Trans. Graeme Nicholson.

Woodhouse, A.S.P. 1953. 'Staff, 1890-1953.' In Bissell 1953, 51-83. Workman, George Coulson. 1899. Messianic Prophecy Vindicated; or, An Explanation and Defence of the Ethical Theory. Toronto: William Briggs. Young, George Paxton. 1862. 'Lecture on the Philosophical Principles of Natural Religion.' The Home andForeign Record of the Canada Presbyterian Church 2: 2 (Dec.), 29-38. Reprinted in Rabb 1988, 155-66. - 1865. 'Remarks on Professor Boole's Mathematical Theory of the Laws of Thought.' Canadian Journal. New series. 57 (May), 161-182. - 1911. The Ethics of Freedom. Ed. James Gibson Hume. Toronto: University of Toronto Press. Young, Phyllis Brett. 1961. Anything Could Happen! Toronto: Longmans Green.

Illustration Credits

Canada Council for the Arts/CP Assignment Services: Reception for Ian Hacking (D. Oliver, photographer) Princeton Yearbook: James Mark Baldwin Trinity College Archives: William Clark; George Edison University of St Michael's College Archives: Father Henry Carr; Faculty of the Institute of Mediaeval Studies in 1930; Larry Lynch; Anton Pegis; Father Edward Synan; William Dunphy; Abbyann Lynch; Joseph Boyle University of Toronto, Department of Philosophy: James Beaven; Beaven cartoon (C.W. Jefferys, artist); George Paxton Young; James Gibson Hume; George Sidney Brett; Henry H. Anderson; Thomas A. Goudge; Robert McRae; Douglas Dryer; David Savan; Marcus Long; Emil Fackenheim; David Gallop; Geoffrey Payzant; David Gauthier; Charles Hanly; Fred Wilson; Paul Thompson; John Irving; Mark Thornton; Kenneth Schmitz; Graeme Nicholson; Father Joseph Owens; Armand Maurer University of Toronto, Office of the President: Reception for Francis Sparshott to celebrate his honorary doctorate University of Toronto, Varsity. Caricature of Fulton Anderson (Jim Kemp, artist)

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Index

Abbott, Albert Holden, 137, 170, 1948, 205, 211, 229-31, 247, 292, 293 abortion, 458, 574 Adams, Robert M., 470 Ainslie, Donald, 453-4, 467; appointed departmental chair, 472 Albert College, 491 Alexander, Disney, 99 Alexander, W.J., 144-5 Allen, Dean Albert D., 377, 413, 431, 433 Allen, Derek, 395, 529-30 Allen, Reginald, 396-7 Althusser, Louis, 395 American Catholic Philosophical Association, 528, 552, 570, 573 American Philosophical Association, 319, 335, 369, 390, 398 American Psychological Association, 223-5 Anderson, Fulton Henry, vii, x, 118, 189, 193, 235-6, 250, 272, 274, 2757, 292-3, 298, 304-64, 365, 367-71, 375, 385, 387, 409-10, 412-13, 41719, 498, 507-8, 526, 565, 568; as a teacher, 307-10; on administration's ill-treatment of the depart-

ment, 310-15, 322-6; fight with Edison over control of graduate studies, 326-31; opposition to change in the curriculum, 331-7; scholarship, 337; relations with George Grant, 338-41; appointments to the faculty, 341-61; applied ethics, 221-3 Aquinas, St Thomas, 245, 541, 544, 550, 552, 556, 563-4, 567, 572, 575 Argue, Valerie, x Aristotle, 77, 119, 229, 238, 244, 245, 262, 267, 337, 471, 514, 516, 525, 571-2 Armstrong, Robert C., 292 Arnauld, Antoine, 574 Ashley, William James, 121, 211 associate professor, office of, 175—6, 190-1 Augustine, St, 245, 550 Austin, John Langshaw, 353, 391 Averell, Harold, ix Ayer, Alfred Jules, 356-7, 394, 576 Bacon, Francis, 337, 391 Badgley, Erastus Irving, 211, 491-3 Bagot, Sir Charles, viii, x, 14-28, 39-

610 Index 40, 48; appoints first professors to King's College, 19-28 Bagot, Richard, Bishop of Oxford, 19-22, 81 Baigrie, Brian, 431 Bain, Alexander, 118, 516 Baker, Emma Sophia, 290-1 Baldwin, James Mark, xiv-v, 130, 139, 150-66, 168-74, 189, 212, 213, 221, 293, 496, 517; introduces psychology courses into the curriculum, 169-70; establishes first psychological laboratory in the British Empire, 170 Baldwin, Robert, 29-31, 60-1 Ballantyne, Professor, 220 Barber, Frank Louis, 291 Barney, Rachel, 470 Basilian order: split between French and Canadian branches, 536 Bathurst, Earl, 8 Beard, Charles, 414 Beatty, Dean, 316-17, 321 Beaven, Edward William, 515 Beaven, Harold F., 93-4 Beaven, James, viii, xiii-xiv, 13, 28, 29, 31, 33, 35-94, 115-16, 120, 123, 142, 168, 278, 514, 548, 581; his great concern with money, 45-53; dispute with Strachan, 46-8; criticizes a Presbyterian plan to reorganize King's College, 53-61; roundly slated by Egerton Ryerson, 59-60; reaction to the establishment of the University of Toronto; 61-4; threatened with dismissal by the Senate, 64-71; publishes a book on natural theology, 72-6; choice of textbooks, 76-7; contributes to Canadian travel literature, 81-3; as

a teacher, 84-91; work for the Anglican Church, 92-3 Bellisle, Henry, 551-3, 559-60, 562 Belnap, Noel, 472 Benacerraf, Paul, 393 Benjamin, Louis, 197-8 Bergmann, Gustav, 391 Bergson, Henri, 118, 262, 267, 336 Berkeley, George, 90, 120 Berlioz, Hector, 358 Bigg, Edmund M., 89-90 bioethics, 451-4 Bissell, President Claude, 338, 372-3, 377, 392, 527 Black, Deborah, 561-2 Blackstone, Sir William, 479 Blackwell, Kenneth, 424 Bladen, Dean Vincent, 346, 372-3, 376, 405, 413, 420 Blake, Edward, 33, 129, 140, 161, 175, 218 Blake, William Hume, 129 Blewett, George John, 137, 293, 493-5 Blissett, William, 251 Blunt, Herbert W., 238, 266 Boole, George, 96, 114-15 Boring, Edwin G., 174 Bosanquet, Bernard, 267, 496-7 Bott-Brett feud, 202-5 Bott, Edward Alexander, 201-9 Bowen, Francis, 212 Bowman, Archibald Allan, 305-6 Bowne, Borden Parker, 492 Boyle, Joseph, 452, 459, 472, 579-80 Boys, Henry, 13 Boys, William Fuller Ayles, 84-5 Bradley, Francis Herbert, 245 Brett, George Sidney, x, xv, 118, 192, 198, 201, 234, 237-77, 293, 304, 305-6, 315, 323-4, 335-6, 343, 349,

Index 611 365-7, 410, 431, 498, 522, 525, 526, 554; relations with Bott, 202-9; years in India, 238-9; appointment to Trinity College and subsequent transfer to the university, 239-42; introduction of new courses, 242-5; appointment as head of department, 247; appointments to the faculty, 247-52, 255-61; philosophical position, 266-8; work in the history of science, 268-70; teaching reputation, 270-3; administrative style, 274—6; work in graduate studies, 286-90; appointed dean, School of Graduate Studies, 288-9; relations with Fulton Anderson, 310-14 Brett, Marion, 241 Bridges, James Winfred, 207-8 Broad, Charlie Dunbar, 266n, 357, 413, 503, 506 Brown, Barry, 452, 541, 575-6 Brown, Donald, 506 Brown, Harcourt, 270-1, 274 Brown, James Robert, 447-8 Brown, Thomas, 77 Brown, Walter Theodore, 293-4, 481, 497-500 Burns, Reverend Robert, 98, 111 Burns, Robert, 210, 220 Burwash, Nathanael, 151, 162, 292, 492 Buder, Joseph, 77, 99, 514, 516 Butler, Ronald, 361 Caird, Edward, 267, 493 Calderwood, Henry, 118, 120, 136, 516 Callaghan, Morley, 363 Cameron, James Munro, 577 Campbell, John, 85-6, 89, 112-13

Canfield, John Vincent, 402-3 Carlson, George, 376, 529 Carnap, Rudolf, 271, 391, 395 Carnegie Foundation, 135-6, 183, 216 Carr, Henry, 295-6, 537-9, 544, 54950, 552, 567; readies St Michael's students for admission to the University of Toronto, 534-5; decides to found an Institute of Mediaeval Studies, 553-61 Cartwright, Richard, 3-4 Cartwright, Professor Richard, 401 Caven, William, 136, 150-1, 156-8, 163 Cayley, Arthur, 132 Cayley, E.G., 517 Cayley, J. D'Arcy, 515 Cerf, Bennett 567 Chakravartty, Anjan, 467 Chalmers, Thomas, 96 chaplaincy in King's College, 48-9 Chastain, Charles, 428 Cicero, 76-7, 79-80, 119, 244 civil polity, 120-1 Clark, Lorenne, 376, 392, 446, 458, 547-8 Clark, Philip M., 470 Clark, William Robinson, 515-20; institutes honours degree in philosophy at Trinity, 516-7; proposes Ph.D. degree for Trinity College, 517-18; recommended to succeed George Paxton Young, 520 Clarke, Charles Kirk, 201, 206-7, 242, 544 Clergy Reserves, 71, 475 Cobourg Academy for Young Ladies, 477 Cody, President H.J., 235, 249, 256-8, 304, 311, 314, 315, 316, 323-4

612 Index Cohen, Gerald A., 449 Colborne, Sir John, 10, 13-14, 476-7 Collingwood, Robin George, 345 Collins, Evelyn, x Comay, Rebecca, 450 Commons House of Assembly of Upper Canada, 9-11 Copleston, Frederick, 346 courses of study, 76-9, 116-20, 196, 224, 243-5, 407; honours courses, 379-83; New Programme, 383-4; at St Michael's College, 542-3, 545-7 Cousin, Victor, 88, 118, 516 Creighton, James Edwin, 246 Crichton, J. Willison, vii, ix, 309, 375, 422 Croft, Henry H., 25-7, 41, 50 Crown Reserves, 7-8 Cunningham, Frank, ix, 395, 429, 437, 464; service as undergraduate secretary, 440-3; term as chair of the department, 449-58; his appointments to the faculty, 450-1; establishes graduate program in bioethics, 451-4; institutes annual 'Philosophy Book Launch,' 454—5; succeeds with others in introducing philosophy courses into the Ontario high school curriculum, 455-8 Gushing, Daniel, 550-1 Dale, William, 78, 178-9, 218-19 D'Argaville, Brian, 529 Darwin, Charles, 72, 91, 141-2, 391 Davis, Lawrence, 449 dean, office of, in King's College, 45 de Blaquiere, Peter Boyle, 63-9 de Charbonnel, Armand-FrancoisMarie, Comte, 531, 549

de Koninck, Charles, 564 Delamere, Thomas Dawson, 86 Dent, John Charles, 104 Denney, James, 494 Descartes, Rene, 118, 391, 431-2, 449, 470, 550, 552 de Sousa, Ronald, 376, 392-3, 409, 457 Dewart, Leslie, 574 Dewey, John, 271, 308, 517, 570 De Wulf, Maurice, 548, 553-4 Dix, David Strathy, 291 Doan, Frank Mellor, 352 Doe, L.A. Earlston, 381 Dowdall, Patrick Sylvester, 541-2 Dray, William Herbert, 353, 393, 41618 Dryer, Douglas Poole, ix, 234, 315, 317, 336-7, 347-8, 348n, 363, 382-3, 411,414,502,504,528 Ducasse, Curt John, 357 Durnont, Stephen, 562 Duncan, John M., 133, 139 Dunphy, William, 437, 574-5, 580 Dwyer, Wilfrid, 544 Dyzenhaus, David, 461 Eaton, Ralph Monroe, 245 Edison, George, 315, 320, 376, 383, 386, 524, 530; quarrel with Anderson, 326-31 Elgin, Lord, 62 Engels, Fredrich, 395 Erindale College (later the University of Toronto at Mississauga, 402-3; rotation policy, 429-30 Eschmann, Ignatius, 563-5, 574 Esson, Henry, 98-9, 110-11 ethics: split from philosophy, 161-2, 311, 323, 492, 517, 520-2; conse-

Index quences for university department, 384—6; reunited with philosophy, 433-40 Evans, Donald Dwight, 359-60, 391 Evans, President John R., 434 evolution, 141-4 examinations, 31-2, 121-3 Fackenheim, Emil Ludwig, 261, 310, 318, 342, 348-52, 368, 393, 408-9, 431, 448, 507 Faculty of Divinity in King's College, 7-8, 11, 36-7, 45, 57, 62; abolished, 31 faculty recruitment, 341-2, 352, 38990,398-400 Fairclough, Henry Rushton, 128 Fairley, Barker, 274 Falconer, Sir Robert, 182, 192, 198, 234-6, 242, 246-7, 323, 537-8, 543 Faraday, Michael, 25-7 Fehr, Robert C., 544 Feinberg, Joel, 458 fellowships, 171-2 Fichte, Johann Gottlieb, 88, 349-50 Fischer, Kuno, 230 Fite, Werner, 305 Foot, Phillipa, 353, 470 Forguson, Lynd, 394 Forster, Edward Morgan, 275 Fowler, Thomas, 516 Fox, Joan, 458 Frankena, William, 400, 423 Fraser, Alexander Campbell, 516 Freypons, Erinn, x Friedman, Michael, 449 Friedman, Zev, 578 Frye, Northrop, 380, 501 Galbraith, Professor, 158

613

Gallop, David, ix, x, 337, 356, 351-2, 396, 400, 418, 508 Gauthier, David, 358, 384, 395, 412, 449, 579; administrative style, 41922, 431-3; 429-30; term as departmental chairman, 431-44; presides over the merger of four departments into one, 433-43; sole appointment to the faculty, 443-4; resigns from university, 446 Gerson, Lloyd, 434, 572, 578 Gibbs, Robert, 467 Gibson, John M., 148, 161 Gilson, Etienne, 245, 296-7, 393, 528, 540, 544, 548, 555, 561, 563-4, 5679, 571-2; founds Institute of Mediaeval Studies at St Michael's, 556-9 Glanzberg, Michael, 471-2 Goderich, Lord, 10 Goldfarb, Warren, 471 Goldstick, Daniel, 334, 394-5 Gombay, Andre, 430-1, 456-7, 468 Gooch, Paul, 400-01 Goudge, Helen, ix, x, 241, 264, 276, 322, 374, 415 Goudge, Thomas Anderson, vii, viii, ix, x, xv, 203, 233-4, 241, 245-6, 250, 255, 258, 261-2, 264, 267-8, 274, 275-6, 297, 298, 304, 308, 312, 314, 315, 317, 318, 319-20, 322, 325, 328, 330-1, 334-7, 342, 346-7, 3556, 363, 365-415, 416-17, 420, 422-3, 426, 432, 444, 449, 458, 462, 465, 498, 501, 503-4, 525, 527, 570, 574; awarded Governor General's Literary Award for academic non-fiction, 371-2; term as departmental chair, 372-412; declines offers of administrative posts, 373-7; submis-

614 Index sion to the Macpherson committee, 377-86; criticizes honours courses and introduces changes in them, 379-84; criticizes as irrational the division between philosophy and ethics, 384-5; introduces cross-appointment of ethics faculty members at Trinity and Victoria, 385-6; offers assessment of his work as chairman, 386-7; appointments to the faculty, 389-97, 400-3; style of faculty recruitment, 397-400; reorganizes the graduate department, 403-5; appoints Staff-Student Relations Committee, 405-6; encourages teaching of history and problems courses, 406-11; sense of fun, 413-4 Gould, Glenn, 358

278-90; 1897 regulations for Ph.D. degree, 282-4; School of Graduate Studies established, 287; master of philosophy degree instituted, 299300 Graff, James, 507 Graham, William, 400 Grant, George, 338-41, 409 Green, Christopher, x-xi Green, Thomas Hill, 109, 120, 133, 144, 217, 229, 267, 492 Green, William H., 151 Greene, Dean Robert, 437-8 Grey, Earl, 513 Grier, Wyly, 516 Griffin, John Joseph, 27 Griinbaum, Adolf, 397 Gwynne, William C., 13, 28, 41, 49

Graduate Bulletin, 388-9

Hacking, Ian, 446-7, 457 Haist Rules, 375, 397-8, 416, 420; Haist tenure rules compared with those of St Michael's College, 578-9 Haldane, Richard Burdon, 231 Halifax currency, 5, 46 Hall, G. Stanley, 152, 153, 170, 189, 212 Hamilton, Sir William, 95-6, 99, 104-5, 108, 485, 489, 492 Hampshire, Stuart, 458 Hanly, Charles M.T., 358-60 Hanslick, Eduard, 358 Hardy, Helen, 392, 525, 526-7 Hare, Richard Mervyn, 469 Harris, Joseph, 14 Harris, Robin, viii Harrison, Bernard, 360-1 Hartley, John, 576 Harvey, William, 452, 510, 575-6

Graduate Department of Philosophy: attempt by professors in the federated colleges to alter its constitution, 326-31; democratic procedures instituted, 403-5; graduate students admitted as voting members, 403-4 graduate studies in philosophy, 290303; seminars first introduced, 221; courses listed for first time, 293; comprehensive examinations introduced, 298; comprehensives abolished, 300-1; preliminary and area examinations introduced, 300-2; preliminary examinations abolished, 302; increased importance of the doctoral thesis, 302-3; students admitted to plenary committee, 403-5 graduate studies in the university,

Index Hawkins, Jennifer, 470 Head, Sir Francis Bond, 14 Heath, Joseph, 466 Hegel, Georg Wilhelm Friedrich, 349-51, 393-4, 408, 450, 468, 496, 528 Heidegger, Martin, 351, 393-4 Hempel, Carl Gustav, 396 Hendel, Charles W., 339 Henle, Paul, 348 Herrick, George, 28 Herzberger, Hans, 396 Hess, Peter, 510 Hingert, Herbert, 574-5 Ho, Adrian, x Hocking, William Ernest, 246 Hodgins,J. George, 512 Hoff, Tory, x Hoffding, Harald, 517 Holcomb, John W., 88-9 Holocaust, 350-1 Hours, Francois Regis, 549 Houston, William, 131-2, 210-11 Howison, George, 149-50 Huggett, William, 402 Hume, David, 120, 391, 395, 454, 481, 552 Hume, James Gibson, xiv-v, 109-10, 123,133,136,144,149-66,168,170, 174,178,192, 201, 205-6, 210-36, 247, 292, 293, 305, 323, 498, 515, 520; appointed professor while still a graduate student, 161-2; proposes courses in applied ethics, 221-3; on the new psychology, 2238; on the First World War, 231-2; the fuss over his retirement, 234-6 Hunter, Graeme, 347 Hunter, John F.M., ix, 310, 353-5, 403, 506

615

Hurka, Thomas, 469-70 Husserl, Edmund, 234, 507 Hutchinson, Douglas, 450, 530 Hutton, Maurice, 128-9, 191 Imlay, Robert, 375, 391 Infeld, Leopold, 523-4 Innis, Harold, 274, 327-30 Institute of Mediaeval Studies; founding, 553-9; library, 559-60; elevation to 'Pontifical Institute,' 560-1; funding, 560-2; independence of University of St Michael's College and University of Toronto, 560-1 Irving, John Allan, 263, 266, 271, 274, 326-7, 339, 496, 501, 503-6, 508 Jackman, Hal, 469 Jacobson, William, 20-1 Jaggar, Alison, 449 James, William, 118, 149-50, 153, 158-9, 170, 212, 265, 267, 336, 502, 570 Janet, Paul, 516 Jefferys, Charles William, 91 Jennings, John, 70 Jevons, William Stanley, 516 Johnson, Alison Heartz, 339, 366-7, 496-7 Johnson, Alfred Sidney, 280 Johnston, George Alexander, 243 Jones, Donald, 135 Jopling, David, 457 Joseph, Horace William Brindley, 413-14 Jouin, Louis, 541 Journal of Philosophical Logic, 397 Jowett, Benjamin, 111 Kanitz,Jon, 463

616 Index Kant, Immanuel, 118, 348, 350-1, 391, 393-4, 395, 413, 428, 465, 469, 490, 492, 516, 527, 552 Kaplan, David, 449 Katz, Bernard, 443-4 Keblejohn, 20 Kelly, John Michael, 437, 568, 574-5, 580; important contributions to St Michael's College, 565-6 Kennedy, President John Fitzgerald, vii, 422 Keynes, John Maynard, 425 Kierkegaard, S0ren, 351 King, Edward Ley, 516 King George IV, 8 King, John, 27-8 King, Peter, 471 King's College; granted royal charter, 8-9; original charter amended, 1011; enrolment figures, 34; problem of seniority among professors, 3942; 475, 481, 512 King's College Council: formation, 10; composition, 11, 38; failure to oversee first bursar, 11-13; purchase of university campus, 13; establishes curriculum, 15, 43; sets degree requirements, 43-4; sets entrance requirements, 44; sets rules for students in residence, 50 Kingsford, R.E., 158 Kingston, George Frederick, 240-1, 293, 522-4 Kingwell, Mark, 461 Kirschmann, Augustus, xv, 167, 17288; important contributions to study of colour perception, 174; stress on the importance of research in the university, 177-9; long absence from the university,

182-4; 194,197, 213, 218, 239, 247, 253, 291, 493, 522 Knox's College (after 1858 Knox College), 97-101, 103-4, 110-11, 11316, 161 Kremer, Elmar, 452, 472, 574 Kremer, Philip, 471-2 Kuklick, Bruce, 347 Ladd, George Trumbull, 152, 517 Lane, Wilmot Burkeman, 293, 296, 495-7 Lang, Thomas, 436-8, 574, 579 Langan, Thomas, 393 Lange, Linda, 460 Langton,John, 71 Legislative Council of Upper Canada, 9-11 Leibniz, Gottfried Wilhelm, 267, 347 Lenin, Vladimir Ilyich, 395, 504 Leo XIII, Pope, 541 Leonard, Henry, 366 Leslie, Charles Whitney, 501-02 Lewis, Clarence Irving, 348, 366 Leyerle, John, 446-7, 450 Liddy, Roy Balmer, 292 Lin, Martin, 469 Line, John, 500 Locke, John, 87-8, 118, 120, 337, 478, 552 Logic, Thomas M., 154, 211 Lodge, Rupert Clendon, 333, 339 Lonergan, Bernard, 578 Long, Marcus, 259, 315, 332-5, 340, 406, 461 Loretto College, 537-8 Lotze, Rudolf Hermann, 234, 262, 267 Loudon, President James, 63-4, 1223, 138-41, 148, 152-60, 173, 176,

Index 617 191,194-7, 212, 217-20, 280-2, 313 Loudon, W.J., 117, 186 Lovatt, St John, 272 Lovejoy, Arthur Oncken, 142 Lowy, Frederick H., 453 Lynch, Abbyann, 452, 576-7, 579 Lynch, Archbishop, 532-3, 541 Lynch, Lawrence (Larry), ix, 436, 437, 543, 545-7, 548, 550-1; compares teaching at St Michael's in the 1930s with that in the 1960s; 565; 567-9, 574-8, 578, 580 Lyttelton, George William, 22-4 Macallum, Archibald B., 286 Macarajohn, 28-9 MacCallum, H. Reid, 247-52, 274, 304, 307, 31 In, 317, 357, 368, 409 MacCarthy, Hamilton, 137 Macomber, William B., 529 Macdonald, Edward W., 255-8, 315, 567 Macdonald, John Sandfield, 91 MacDonald, Ralph, 574 Macdonnell, DJ., 101-2 MacKay, Donald, 139 Mackinnon, Murdo, 273 Mackintosh, Sir James, 99 Maclean's Magazine, 355-6 MacMechan, Archibald, 124-8 Macmurray,John, 353 MacNab, Alexander, 482, 484 MacNish, Neil, 89 Macpherson, Brough, 377, 423-4 Macpherson, Jessie, 392, 500-1, 507 Maitland, Sir Peregrine, 5-6, 8 Mandelbaum, Maurice, 449 Mansel, Henry Longueville, 516 Marijon, Victorin, 536 Maritain, Jacques, 245, 559, 563-4, 569

Marx, Karl, 395, 504, 529 Massey, Vincent, 338 Mathien, Thomas, ix, 105, 109-10, 309, 351, 384 Maurer, Armand, 567, 569-70, 574, 576 May, Joseph, 465 McCaul, John, 13, 28, 46, 49, 50, 6970, 119, 278, 548; appointed vicepresident of King's College, 15-17; named president of King's College 31; named president of University College, 32-3; struggle to be named senior professor in King's College, 39-42; course in logic, 78 McCorkell, Edmund Joseph, 534, 536, 552-3, 559, 561 McCosh, James, 152, 155-6, 492 McCurdy, James Frederick, 97 McCurdy, Jarvis , 259-60, 317, 335, 381, 567 McDonough, W., 554 McDougall, William, 246 McKillop, A. Brian, 72 McLuhan, Marshall, 568 McRae, Robert, ix, 203, 250-2, 256, 276, 304, 308-19, 315, 317, 318-19, 321-2, 325-6, 328, 332, 336-7, 3447, 352, 363-4, 414, 418, 430, 504 Meader, Frederick Daniel, 542-3, 551,552 Mehlberg, Henryk, 352, 411 Mellor, W.W., 467 Merleau-Ponty, Maurice, 449, 576 Meslin, Eric, 452 Metcalfe, Sir Charles, 28, 36-8, 40-1, 46 Meyerson, Emile, 271 Mill, James, 118 Mill, John Stuart, 118, 245, 391, 516

618 Index Miller, David Lewis Clark, 400 Millman, T.R., 92-3 Misak, Cheryl, 461; term as departmental chair, 468-72; appointments to the faculty, 469-72 Montague, William Pepperell, 524 Moore, George Edward, 271, 394, 395, 501, 503 Moore, Mavor, 503-4 Morawetz, Bruno, 528-9 Moreau, Stephanie Reibetanz., 472 Morell, John Reynell, 118 Morgan, Kathryn, 449 Morgan, Michael, 351 Morris, Charles, 506 Morrison, James, 391 Morrison, Margaret, 460, 530 Mowat, Oliver, 148, 160-2 Muirhead, John Henry, 204, 365-6 Mullin, Amy, 456, 451 Mulock, William, 33, 88, 140, 161 Miinsterberg, Hugo, 170, 215, 231 Murphy, Claudia, 467 Murray, Richard, 78 Murray, Robert, 24 Myers, Roger, 197-200, 203 Nagel, Gordon, 428 Nagel, Jennifer, 467, 469 Neelands, David, 529 Nelles, Samuel Sobieski, 33, 88, 4839; view of the study of logic, 485; proposes Faculty of Theology in Victoria University, 486; on importance of higher education, 486-7; indictment of professors in University College, 487-8; as a teacher, 488-9 Newman, John Henry, Cardinal, 20, 21, 36, 54

Nicholson, Graeme, 337, 393-4, 459, 530 Nicol, William B., 28 Normore, Calvin, 431, 448, 450-1 Nussbaum, Martha, 347 Oasis, 387 Ockham, William of, 570 Oliver, James Willard, 423 Ormiston, William, 479, 482-3, 489 Ormond, Alexander, 152 Owen, Derwyn, 525-6 Owens, Joseph: on the history of philosophical teaching at St Michael's, 539-42, 566, 570-2, 575, 578 Owls Club, 387 Paley, William, 71-3, 76-7, 87,91,142, 478-9 Palmer, George Herbert, 493 Palmer, William, 21 Parsons, Charles, 471 Paterson, Morton, 494 Payzant, Geoffrey, ix, 251-2, 259-60, 298, 309-10, 317-18, 333, 341, 3578,380-1,407-11,504 Peabody, Francis Greenwood, 212, 222 Pears, David, 353 Pegis, Anton, 296, 326, 329, 555-6, 564, 566-7, 570 Peirce, Charles Sanders, 343-4, 3656, 368, 370, 402, 414, 469, 570 Pieper, Joseph, 569 Pietersma, Henry, 351, 506-7 Phelan, Gerald Bernard, 544, 552, 555-6, 559, 562, 567 Philosophy Book Launch, 454-5 philosophy courses, calendar prefixes, 434-5, 439-41, 547-8

Index philosophy in secondary schools, 455-8 Philosophy Newsletter, 464 philosophy, split from ethics: see ethics Pilon, Henri, ix Plato, 106, 198, 229, 244, 337, 394, 396, 400, 418, 445, 514, 550, 578 Pontifical Institute of Mediaeval Studies: see Institute of Mediaeval Studies Portoraro, Arthur, 576 Portoraro, Frederic, 576 Port Royal Logic, 485 Potter, Richard, 24, 41, 46 Powell, Frank, 552 Powley, Miss E.M., 517 Pratt, Edwin John, 202 Preller, Ludwig, 514 Price, Henry Habberley, 357 Proctor, DavidJ., 252, 262 psychology, 153,155,168-209; budget separated from philosophy, 206; becomes separate department, 209;

223-8 Puckering, Suzanne, xi Purcell, John Joseph, 552-3 Pusey, Edward, 20 Putnam, Hilary, 347, 396 Queen's University, 31-2, 53 Quine, Willard Van Orman, 319, 331n, 369, 423 Quinn, John, 303 Quinn, Warren, 470 Quinton, Anthony, 529 Randall, John Herman, 524 Rattan, Gurpreet, 470-1 Ready, William, 424

619

Reid, Henry E.A., 139 Reid, Thomas, 77, 99-100, 118, 489, 492,516 Reoch,Jean, 411 Religious Knowledge options, 521-2 Richardson, James W., 68-70 Riehl, Alois, 215 Ripstein, Arthur, 451 Ritter, Eduard, 514 Robinson, Thomas More, 437; term as departmental chairman, 445-9; appointments to the faculty, 446-8; establishes the Jerome Simon Memorial Lecture, 448-9; serves as dean of the School of Graduate Studies, 446, 451 Robinson, Thomas Rutherford, 137, 198, 247, 252-5, 291, 293 Roche, Nicholas E., 551 Rosen, Irwin, 235 Ross, George W., 131,138-9,148,160, 162, 215-16, 219 Ross, Murray, 340-1 Rossi, Mario Manlio, 317-18 Royce, Josiah, 212, 493. 498 Rozemond, Marleen, 470 Russell, Bertrand, 271, 346, 367, 413, 423-5, 428, 447, 503 Russell, Peter, 430 Ryerson, Egerton, 59-60, 103-4, 11112, 168, 475-81; conception of moral science, 479 Ryle, Gilbert, 353, 369-70, 391 St Joseph's College, 537-8 St Michael's College, 119,131, 244-5, 293-4, 295-7, 330-1, 385, 421, 53180, 582-3; Philosophy Department abolished, 433-43; course of study, 531; affiliates with the University of

620 Index Toronto, 532-3; enters federation with University of Toronto, 533-4; achieves full federation, 535; decides to offer philosophy honours course only, 536-7; threatens to move out of Toronto, 538-9; gains control over its examinations in the honours philosophy course, 540-1 Salus, Peter, 430 Sanderson, Joseph Roy, 199n, 291 Sanderson, Robert, 514 Sanseverino, Gaetano, 541 Santayana, George, 493 Savan, David, ix, 202-3, 234, 251, 273, 274-6, 304, 315, 317, 318, 319-20, 325-6, 331, 331n, 335, 337, 343-4, 357, 364, 395, 411, 414, 429, 465, 498, 570 Scarborough College (later the University of Toronto at Scarborough), 400-2; rotation policy, 429-30 Schelling, Friedrich Wilhelm Joseph von, 349-50 Schmitz, Kenneth, 450, 460, 528 Schurman, Jacob Gould, 161 Schwegler, Albert, 118, 120, 516 Scollard, Robert J., 551 Sedivy, Sonia, 460 Seeley, R.S.K., 525 Sellars, Wilfrid, 397, 406, 574 Senate of the University of Toronto: founded, 32; attempts to discipline James Beaven, 64—70 Shanker, Stuart, 403 Shanner, Laura, 453, 461 Shastri, Prabu Dutt, 246 Sheffer, Henry, 366 Shen, Vincent, 467-8 Sheraton, James Paterson, 150-1, 156-8, 163

Shingwauk, Augustine, 83 Shook, Laurence K., 540-1 Sidgwick, Henry, 516 Simcoe, John Graves, 3, 4 Simon, Charles, 448-9 Simon, Jerome S., memorial lectureship, 448-9 Sirluck, Ernest, 31 In, 333-4, 392 Sissons, C.B., 492, 498 Slater, John G., 331n, 334, 348, 381-2, 405, 408, 414-15; term as departmental chairman, 422-31; Russell scholarship, 423-4; contributions to the library, 424-5; carries out departmental reorganization, 4258; appointments to the faculty, 428, 449-50, 466; integrates evening extension courses into department's budget, 429-30; institutes suburban campuses rotation policy, 429-30; serves as acting chair; 449-50, 466 Smart, Harold R., 245 Smith, Adam, 517 Smith, President Sidney Earle, 274, 316, 318, 320, 322, 329-30, 367, 373-4 Smith, Jay, 463 Smith, William George, 199-201, 205, 293 Sobel, Howard, 401 Sober, Elliott, 449 Socrates, 229 Sorabji, Richard, 449 Soulerin, Jean Mathieu, 531, 548 Sparshott, Francis, ix, 259-60, 309, 332-3, 341, 356, 369n, 379-70, 384, 407-11, 418, 467, 501, 504-10, 574 Spence, Nellie, 131 Spencer, Herbert, 380-1

Index Spinoza, Baruch, 343-4 Sreenivasan, Gopal, 454, 470 Staff-Students Relations Committee, 405-6 Stebbing, Lizzie Susan, 245 Stefanovic, Ingrid, 461 Stevenson, Andrew, 132 Stevenson, John Torrance, 105, 10910, 395-6 Stewart, Dugald, 489, 492 Stewart, Herbert Leslie, 305, 365 Stewart, John Alexander, 238 Strachan, John, 4-31; makes political decision to join Anglican Church, 5-7; writes report urging establishment of provincial college, 5-8; sent to London to lobby for royal charter, 8-9; relations with Sir Charles Bagot, 14-17; opposition to R. Baldwin's plan to secularize King's College, 29-31, 58-9; 36-8, 39-43, 46-9, 62-3, 475; decides to found Trinity College, 511-14 Strachey, Lytton, 425 Strawson, Peter, 331n, 353 Sully, James, 120, 148 Sumner, Wayne, viii, ix, 414-15, 430, 452-3, 576; term as departmental chair, 458—66; urges appointment of more women faculty; 459-61; appointments to the faculty, 460-1; forms 'Friends of Philosophy,' 4634; redesigns departmental space, 464-6 Sword, Jack, ix, 415 Symlog, 576 Synan, Edward Aloyius, ix, 303, 557, 566-7, 572-4, 578 Taylor, Charles, 449

621

Taylor, Lachlin, 483, 485 Taylor, William Edington, 292 Teefy, John Read, 548-9 Tenenbaum, Sergio 469 Tennemann, Wilhelm Gottlieb, 118 Thompson, Manley 317 Thompson, Paul, 415, 430, 444, 452 Thompson, R.Y., 137 Thomson, William, 516 Thorburn, John MacCaig, 317 Thornton, Mark: term as departmental chair, 466-8; appointments to the faculty, 467-8 Titchener, Edward Bradford, 180, 517 Toronto Normal School, 482 Toronto Philosophy News, 464 Toronto Studies in Philosophy, 448 Toronto the Good, 523-4 Tracy, Frederick, 124, 158, 189-93, 247, 258, 293, 296 Trinity College, 31, 34, 63, 131, 162, 239-42, 244, 258, 282-3, 293, 311, 313, 315, 323, 326, 330-1, 350, 383, 384-6, 421, 471, 492, 511-30, 535, 582-3; Ethics Department abolished, 433-5; granted royal charter, 513; agrees to federate with University of Toronto, 521-2 Tully, Robert, 575-6 Ueberweg, Friedrich, 120 Undergraduate Bulletin, 389 United Church of Canada, 232, 502 University Act of 1849, 31-2, 61-2, 511 University College, 17; founded, 32-2 University of London, 31 University of Toronto, 492, 535, 5823; founded, 31-3; Beaven abominates it, 61-70

622 Index Upper Canada Academy (later Victoria College), 475-7 Upper Canada College, 13-14, 15, 81 Urquhart, Alasdair, 410, 418 Vaccaro, Anthony, ix van der Smissen, William H., 90-1 van Fraassen, Bas, 397, 410, 446 Vaschalde, Adolphe Arthur, 551 Vatican II: effect on philosophy curriculum of St Michael's College, 546-7 Vertin, Michael, 577-8 Vicar of Bray, 410 Vico, Giovanni, 391 Victoria College, 31-3, 131, 161-2, 175, 244, 258, 281-3, 293-4, 311, 313, 323, 326, 330-1, 384-6, 421, 447, 458, 471, 475-510, 535, 582-3; Ethics Department abolished, 4335; receives royal charter, 477; federates with University of Toronto, 492 von Hoist, Hermann, 215 Walker, Edmund, 183 Walker, John, 78 Wallace, William, x Wallace, W. Stewart, 93-4, 533-4 Walsh, F. Michael, 425 Warnock, Geoffrey, 391 Watson, John, 229, 246, 550 Watts, Isaac, 478 Wayland, Francis, 99, 118, 480 Webb, Clifford, 355-6 Wells, Joseph, 11-13 Wernham, James C.S., 352 Westminster Confession of Faith, 101-3,136 Whately, Richard, 78, 99, 516 Wheatley, James M.O., 334, 356-7

Wheeler, G.B., 78 Whewell, William, 72, 514 Whitehead, Alfred North, 271, 366, 381, 503 Whiting, Jennifer, 471 Whittier, John Greenleaf, 103 Wilson, Sir Daniel, 17, 33, 75, 84, 95, 98, 115-16, 121, 131-5,138-40, 145-52, 160-4,170, 281, 540 Wilson, Fred, 391-2, 394, 414-15 Wilson, John, 95-6 Winchester, Ian, 455-6 Windelband, Wilhelm, 234 Windle, Sir Bertram, 548, 553-4 Wingell, Albert, 574 Wittgenstein, Ludwig, 266n, 353-4, 371, 391, 402-3, 413, 503-4 women faculty in philosophy, 459-61 women students: admission to university, 130-2, 477, 485, 537-8 Woodbridge, Frederick J.E., 204, 246 Woodhouse, Arthur S.P., 274 Woods, John Hayden, 351, 468 Woods, Michael John, 467 Woodside, Dean Moffatt, 316, 322-5, 330, 377 Workman, George Coulson, 485, 489-91 Workman, W.P., 237 Wrong, George M., 218 Wundt, Wilhelm, 153,169,172,181, 184,186-8 Yerkes, Robert M., 207 Young, George Paxton, x, xiv, 33, 84, 88, 95-137,138-40,142-7,156, 161-2,164-5,168, 170, 178, 212, 217, 220, 270, 311, 407, 482, 492, 520-1, 542, 549, 581; teaching at Knox College, 97-100, 113-15; reli-

Index 623 gious doubts, 100-3; work as school inspector, 103-4, 111-12; views on natural religion, 105-10; paper on Boole's logic, 114—15; appointment to University College, 116-20; disdain for examinations, 121-3; leeluring style, 123-4; reputation as a

teacher, 124—30; original work in mathematics, 132-3; death and funeral, 133-7 Young, Phyllis Brett, 263-5 Zamyatin, Yergeny Ivanovich, 504 Zwicky, Jan, 372n