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Philosophical Studies Series

David Keyt
Christopher Shields   Editors

Principles
and Praxis in
Ancient Greek
Philosophy
Essays in Ancient Greek Philosophy in
Honor of Fred D. Miller, Jr.
Philosophical Studies Series

Volume 155

Editor-in-Chief
Mariarosaria Taddeo, Oxford Internet Institute
University of Oxford
Oxford, UK

Advisory Editors
Marian David, Karl-Franzens-Universität
Graz, Austria
John Fischer, University of California, Riverside
Riverside, CA, USA
Keith Lehrer, University Of Arizona
Tucson, AZ, USA
Denise Meyerson, Macquarie University
Sydney, Australia
Francois Recanati, Ecole Normale Supérieure
Institut Jean Nicod
Paris, France
Mark Sainsbury, University of Texas at Austin
Austin, TX, USA
Barry Smith, State University of New York at Buffalo
Buffalo, NY, USA
Linda Zagzebski, Department of Philosophy
University of Oklahoma
Norman, OK, USA
Philosophical Studies Series aims to provide a forum for the best current research in
contemporary philosophy broadly conceived, its methodologies, and applications.
Since Wilfrid Sellars and Keith Lehrer founded the series in 1974, the book series
has welcomed a wide variety of different approaches, and every effort is made to
maintain this pluralism, not for its own sake, but in order to represent the many
fruitful and illuminating ways of addressing philosophical questions and
investigating related applications and disciplines.
The book series is interested in classical topics of all branches of philosophy
including, but not limited to:
• Ethics
• Epistemology
• Logic
• Philosophy of language
• Philosophy of logic
• Philosophy of mind
• Philosophy of religion
• Philosophy of science
Special attention is paid to studies that focus on:
• the interplay of empirical and philosophical viewpoints
• the implications and consequences of conceptual phenomena for research as well
as for society
• philosophies of specific sciences, such as philosophy of biology, philosophy of
chemistry, philosophy of computer science, philosophy of information, philoso-
phy of neuroscience, philosophy of physics, or philosophy of technology; and
• contributions to the formal (logical, set-theoretical, mathematical, information-­
theoretical, decision-theoretical, etc.) methodology of sciences.
Likewise, the applications of conceptual and methodological investigations to
applied sciences as well as social and technological phenomena are strongly
encouraged.
Philosophical Studies Series welcomes historically informed research, but
privileges philosophical theories and the discussion of contemporary issues rather
than purely scholarly investigations into the history of ideas or authors. Besides
monographs, Philosophical Studies Series publishes thematically unified
anthologies, selected papers from relevant conferences, and edited volumes with a
well-defined topical focus inside the aim and scope of the book series. The
contributions in the volumes are expected to be focused and structurally organized
in accordance with the central theme(s), and are tied together by an editorial
introduction. Volumes are completed by extensive bibliographies.
The series discourages the submission of manuscripts that contain reprints of
previous published material and/or manuscripts that are below 160
pages/88,000 words.
For inquiries and submission of proposals authors can contact the editor-in-chief
Mariarosaria Taddeo via: [email protected]
David Keyt • Christopher Shields
Editors

Principles and Praxis in

Ancient Greek Philosophy
Essays in Ancient Greek Philosophy in Honor
of Fred D. Miller, Jr.
Editors
David Keyt Christopher Shields
Center for the Philosophy of Freedom University of California San Diego
University of Arizona San Diego, CA, USA
Tucson, AZ, USA

Editor-in-Chief
Mariarosaria Taddeo

ISSN 0921-8599     ISSN 2542-8349 (electronic)

Philosophical Studies Series
ISBN 978-3-031-51145-5    ISBN 978-3-031-51146-2 (eBook)
https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-51146-2

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Photo of Fred Miller

The contributors to this volume join with one

another in welcoming this opportunity to
express their admiration and affection for
Fred D. Miller, Jr. He has touched our lives:
as a prized student, as a revered teacher and
mentor, as a valued colleague, and as a
cherished friend. Across all these roles, one
thing remains constant: Fred’s unassuming
but unmistakable form of personal dignity.
Fred’s contributions through the decades of
his professional life—as teacher, as scholar,
as administrator, as editor, as founder and
benefactor—serve to remind us what a single
individual can accomplish by dint of diligence,
dedication, and unwavering integrity.
 When we reflect on all that Fred has
managed in the scope of his career, we stand
in awe. As an undergraduate teacher, he
inspires; as a graduate mentor, he pairs his
natural generosity with the demands of his
unfailingly high standards; as editor, he
fosters new dimensions of intellectual
engagement; and as a founder and leader of
new academic programs and intellectual
centers, he seems to challenge Aristotle’s
contention that there can be no generation ex
nihilo. Fred surveys the academic landscape
in which he finds himself, perceives a lack or
a need, and simply sets to work, making,
creating, building, sustaining, beginning with
nothing yet yielding great value. Among his
many notable achievements, which he
modestly but winningly relates in the
professional autobiography offered as the first
chapter of this volume, is his cofounding and
longtime service as Executive Director of the
Social Philosophy and Policy Center, along
with its associated journal, Social Philosophy
& Policy, which has developed in remarkably
short order into the flagship journal in its field.
Although these institutional accomplish-
ments suffice to fill one very busy lifetime,
Fred’s activities in these departments have
proceeded abreast of his vast intellectual
output, which, again remarkably, straddles
two areas of inquiry: Political Philosophy
and Ancient Philosophy, including above all
Aristotle. His two centers of gravity at times
intersect, most obviously in his monumental
Nature, Justice, and Rights in Aristotle’s
Politics (Oxford University Press: 1995), but
at times head down separate pathways,
though, as is characteristic of the man, his
variegated pursuits, even when distinct,
complement and inform one another, bringing
fresh perspectives to well-worn problems,
casting new light into dark corners, and
proceeding always alert to dimensions too
readily missed by those scholars who are
more narrowly focused. As a result, his body
of work will be studied with profit as long as
inquirers remain engaged by the fundamental
issues, both political and philosophical, that
have captivated Fred’s arrestingly fecund
intellect.
All that Fred does he does with humility,
benefiting others with no expectation of
return, walking through life in the manner of
Aristotle’s magnanimous man “asking little
or nothing of others, but rendering service
willingly” (NE IV.3.1124b17-18), displaying
an easy superiority while seeking nothing in
return. We who have benefited from Fred’s
superiority can now offer him only our thanks,
recognizing all the while, as we must, that it is
but an inadequate gesture of gratitude for the
gifts he has given us, first individually and
then also corporately as members of the
communities he has created. We dedicate this
volume, with affection and gratitude, to Fred
D. Miller, Jr.

David Keyt
Christopher Shields
David Schmidtz
Editor-in-Chief
Social Philosophy & Policy
In Memoriam

The editors note with sadness the passing of two cherished colleagues, both con-
tributors to this volume, neither surviving to join us in celebrating its publication.
Gerasimos X. Santas, represented in this volume as a co-author with Georgios
Anagnostopoulos, was a colleague and friend of many years standing. We are grate-
ful for his contribution, the surpassing quality of which brings into sharp relief the
loss we suffer with his passing.
Pamela Phillips, a doctoral student of Fred D. Miller, Jr., and a long-time Editorial
Assistant of Social Philosophy & Policy, had been slated to bring her widely admired
abilities as a copy editor to bear on this volume, but, sadly, she died suddenly after
completing just one chapter. Her work on that chapter serves to remind us of the
uncommon value of her exacting professionalism.

ix
Contents

1  the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career��������������������    1

To
Fred D. Miller
2 Socrates, Athenian Citizen����������������������������������������������������������������������   45
Anthony Preus
3 ‘Childish Frivolity’: Plato’s Socrates on the
Interpretation of Poetry��������������������������������������������������������������������������   61
Nicholas D. Smith
4 
Socrates’ Search for Self-Knowledge ����������������������������������������������������   75
Catherine H. Zuckert
5 
The Guardians and the Law in Plato’s Republic����������������������������������   99
Julia Annas
6 Appetites, Akrasia, and the Appetitive Part of the Soul
in Plato’s Republic������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 115
C. D. C. Reeve
7 
Reason and the Good in Plato’s Republic���������������������������������������������� 135
Allan Silverman
8 Relativization and Explanation: Two Responses
to the Compresence of Opposites������������������������������������������������������������ 159
Rachana Kamtekar
9 From Actuality to Goodness: Aristotle’s Rejection
of Hume’s Law ���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 175
Christopher Shields
10 Is Aristotle’s Prime Mover an Efficient Cause
by Touching Without Being Touched? �������������������������������������������������� 195
Lawrence J. Jost

xi
xii Contents

11 
Aristotle and Huygens on Color and Light������������������������������������������� 213
Mahesh Ananth
12 Aristotle on Artificial Products �������������������������������������������������������������� 227
Errol G. Katayama
13 
Reconciling Opposites: A Study of ὑπεναντίον in Aristotle���������������� 251
Susan H. Prince
14 The Practicality of Aristotle’s Politics: Practical Science’s
Independence from Theory �������������������������������������������������������������������� 273
Ron Polansky and Kelsey Ward
15 
Aristotle, Egoism, and the Common Advantage ���������������������������������� 295
Carrie-Ann Biondi
16 Aristotle and Rawls on Economic (In)equalities
and Ideal Justice�������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 321
Georgios Anagnostopoulos and Gerasimos Santas
17 
Dealing with Aristotle’s Indefensible Ideas ������������������������������������������ 373
David Keyt
18  Revisiting “Epicurus on the Art of Dying”�������������������������������������� 399
On
Phillip Mitsis

Published Works of Fred D. Miller, Jr ���������������������������������������������������������� 419

Collections on Social Philosophy and Policy Coedited

by Fred D. Miller, Jr���������������������������������������������������������������������������������������� 427

Students of the Dissertation Workshop of Fred D. Miller, Jr���������������������� 431

Index������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������������ 433
Contributors

Georgios Anagnostopoulos is Professor Emeritus of Philosophy at the University

of California, San Diego. His recent books include, as editor, A Companion to
Aristotle and, as co-editor, Democracy, Justice, and Equality in Ancient Greece:
Historical and Philosophical Perspectives.

Mahesh Ananth is Associate Professor of Philosophy at Indiana University,

South Bend. His recent scholarship includes In Defense of an Evolutionary Concept
of Health and Bringing Biology to Life: An Introduction to the Philosophy of
Biology.

Julia Annas is Regents Professor Emerita in Philosophy from the University of

Arizona. She has published widely in ancient philosophy, especially ethics, and in
contemporary virtue ethics. Her most recent books are Intelligent Virtue and Virtue
and Law in Plato and Beyond.

Carrie-Ann Biondi is an Independent Scholar, Production Editor for Social

Philosophy & Policy, and Book Review Editor for Reason Papers. She has written
on Aristotle’s Politics and Nicomachean Ethics and coedited A History of the
Philosophy of Law from the Ancient Greeks to the Scholastics.

Lawrence J. Jost is Professor of Philosophy at the University of Cincinnati. He

has co-edited Eudaimonia and Well-Being and Perfecting Virtue: New Essays on
Kantian Ethics and Virtue Ethics and has published a number of articles on
Aristotle’s ethical writings, especially on the relation of the Eudemian to the
Nicomachean Ethics.

Rachana Kamtekar is Professor of Philosophy and Classics at Cornell University

and author of Plato’s Moral Psychology: Intellectualism, the Divided Soul, and the
Desire for Good.

Errol G. Katayama is Professor of Philosophy at Ohio Northern University and

author of Aristotle on Artifacts: A Metaphysical Puzzle.

xiii
xiv Contributors

David Keyt is Professor Emeritus of Philosophy at the University of Washington,

Seattle, and Research Fellow at the University of Arizona. His most recent book is
Nature and Justice: Studies in the Ethical and Political Philosophy of Plato and
Aristotle.

Phillip Mitsis is A.S. Onassis Professor of Hellenic Culture and Civilization at

New York University and Academic Director of the American Institute for Verdi
Studies. His most recent books include Natura et Voluntas and, as editor, The Oxford
Handbook of Epicurus and Epicureanism.

Ron Polansky is Professor Emeritus of Philosophy at Duquesne University and

editor of Ancient Philosophy. He has published Philosophy and Knowledge: A
Commentary on Plato’s Theaetetus and Aristotle’s De anima: A Commentary, and
has forthcoming Aristotle’s Parva Naturalia: A Commentary.

Anthony Preus is Distinguished Teaching Professor of Philosophy at Binghamton

University and Secretary, Society for Ancient Greek Philosophy. His most recent
publications include: “The Techne of Nutrition in Ancient Greek Philosophy,”
Historical Dictionary of Ancient Greek Philosophy 2nd ed., and a translation of
Pierre Pellegrin, Animals in the World. He is also the recipient of D.M. Spitzer, ed.
Studies in Ancient Greek Philosophy in Honor of Professor Anthony Preus.

Susan H. Prince is an Associate Professor of Classics at the University of

Cincinnati. Her research focuses on the Socratic traditions, especially Antisthenes
and the Cynics. She also works on the reception of classical philosophy in various
ancient authors, such as Stobaeus and Philostratus, as well as ancient medicine.

C. D. C. Reeve is Delta Kappa Epsilon Distinguished Professor of Philosophy

and Adjunct Professor of Classics at the University of North Carolina at Chapel
Hill. He is the author most recently of Aristotle’s Theology: The Primary Texts;
Aristotle’s Chemistry: On Coming to Be and Passing Away & Meteorology 1.1–3,
4.1–12; and Aristotle’s Dialectic.

Gerasimos Santas who died before the chapter he was coauthoring was finished,
was Professor Emeritus of Philosophy at the University of California, Irvine. His
recent books include Goodness and Justice: Plato, Aristotle, and the Moderns;
Understanding Plato’s Republic; and, as editor, The Blackwell Guide to the
Republic.

Christopher Shields is Henry B. Allison Chair and UC Distinguished Professor

at the University of California San Diego. His recent works include Aristotle’s De
Anima: Translation and Commentary and Ancient Philosophy: A Contemporary
Introduction.

Allan Silverman is Professor of Philosophy at The Ohio State University and the
author of The Dialectic of Essence: A Study in Plato’s Metaphysics.
Contributors xv

Nicholas D. Smith is James F. Miller Professor of Humanities Emeritus at Lewis

& Clark College. His recent books include Summoning Knowledge in Plato's
Republic, and Socrates on Self-Improvement: Knowledge, Virtue, and Happiness.

Kelsey Ward is an Assistant Professor at Hobart and William Smith Colleges.

She specializes in Ancient Greek and Roman Philosophy, with an emphasis on
Hellenistic ethics and Cicero. She also works on Aristotle’s De anima and has co-
authored an article on Aristotle’s hylomorphism in the De anima.

Catherine H. Zuckert is Nancy Dreux Professor Emerita of Political Science at

the University of Notre Dame. Her books include Plato’s Philosophers: The
Coherence of the Dialogues and Postmodern Platos: Nietzsche, Heidegger,
Gadamer, Strauss, Derrida.
Abbreviations

Aristotle

An On the Soul (de Anima)

An. Post Posterior Analytics (Analytica Posteriora)
An. Pr Prior Analytics (Analytica Priora)
AP Athenian Constitution (Athēnaiōn Politeia)
Cael On the Heavens (de Caelo)
Cat Categories (Categoriae)
EE Eudemian Ethics (Ethica Eudemia)
GA Generation of Animals (de Generatione Animalium)
GC On Generation and Corruption (de Generatione et Corruptione)
HA History of Animals (Historia Animalium)
IA Progression of Animals (de Incessu Animalium)
Insomn On Dreams (de Insomniis)
Int Interpretations (de Interpretatione)
Mem On Memory and Recollection (de Memoria et Reminiscentia)
Met Metaphysics (Metaphysica)
Meteor Meteorology (Meteorologica)
MA On Movement of Animals (de Motu Animalium)
MM Magna Moralia
NE Nicomachean Ethics (Ethica Nicomachea)
PA Parts of Animals (de Partibus Animalium)
Phys Physics (Physica)
Poet Poetics (Poetica)
Pol Politics (Politica)
Prob Problems (Problemata)
Rhet Rhetoric (Rhetorica)
SE Sophistical Refutations (Sophistici Elenchi)
Sens On Perception and Perceptible Objects (de Sensu et Sensibilibus)
Top Topics (Topica)
D.L. Diogenes Laertius, Philosophers’ Lives
xvii
xviii Abbreviations

Epicurus

KD Principle Doctrines (Kuriai Doxai)

Men. Letter to Menoeceus
Pyth. Letter to Pythocles
SV Vatican Sayings (Sententiae Vaticanae)

Plato

Al. Alcibiades I
Ap. Apology
Cra. Cratylus
Cri. Crito
Euthd. Euthydemus
Grg. Gorgias
La. Laches
Lg. Leges (Laws)
Lov. [Rival Lovers]
Phd. Phaedo
Phdr. Phaedrus
Phil. Philebus
Pol. Politicus (Statesman)
Prm. Parmenides
Prt. Protagoras
Rep. Republic
Smp. Symposium
Sph. Sophist
Tht. Theaetetus
Ti. Timaeus
Chapter 1
To the Journey! Recollections
on a Philosophical Career

Fred D. Miller

As I look back, my career seems to have followed two intertwining paths: ancient
Greek philosophy and modern public policy. This may seem puzzling, but I will try
to explain how these diverse intellectual pursuits converged in my case to lead to a
memorable journey. I will conclude with some remembrances of companions and
friends who have helped me on the way.

1 Early Years (1944–1962)

From my early years I had a sense of personal destiny. I listened avidly as my father
described the wonders of ancient civilization. Since I was a talkative and inquisitive
child, he once remarked, “You should be a professor when you grow up.” I asked
him, “What’s a professor?” After telling me, he later recalled watching me line up
and lecture some smaller neighbor children in our front yard. My father grew up in
poverty and received no more than four years of formal schooling. In order to sur-
vive the Great Depression, he joined the army and served until the end of World War
II, during which time he educated himself by reading works of history and litera-
ture. Later I realized how terribly frustrated he must have been because he never had
the opportunity to become a teacher himself. His great aim in life was to see his
children go to college. I was named after my father, and in tribute to his memory, I
always add ‘Jr.’ to my name.
My mother Meta was more down to earth than my father, but she too encouraged
my intellectual advancement. The first time she took me to the local public library

F. D. Miller (*)
Bowling Green State University and the University of West Virginia,
Bowling Green, OH, USA
e-mail: [email protected]

© The Author(s), under exclusive license to Springer Nature Switzerland AG 2024 1

D. Keyt, C. Shields (eds.), Principles and Praxis in Ancient Greek Philosophy,
Philosophical Studies Series 155, https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-031-51146-2_1
2 F. D. Miller

and helped me apply for a library card, the spectacle of so many books that I could
check out and read was like a glimpse of the promised land. Despite their limited
means my parents purchased an encyclopedia which I pored over with fascination.
My mother worked as a secretary and skilled typist, and she typed all of my school
papers for me until I was through college. I can still remember her furiously ham-
mering away on her old manual Royal typewriter as she tried to decipher the
scrawled manuscript which I gave her the night before the deadline (no doubt after
a long tiring day at work).
Our family was loving and nurturing except for occasional acrimony resulting
from the fact that my mother was a devout Christian while my father was a staunch
atheist. But he did not object or interfere when my mother had me and my sister
Sharon baptized and took us to church and Sunday school every week. My religious
upbringing, however, was attended with intellectual and emotional turmoil. I was
torn between my desire to accept religious doctrines on faith and my natural skepti-
cal propensities reinforced by my father’s trenchant criticisms. (Unlike some believ-
ers he had actually studied the Bible.) I was especially troubled by the doctrine of
original sin, which implied that I was born a sinner and doomed to damnation unless
I had unquestioning faith—something I found impossible. This combined with the
intense desires and emotions common to adolescents resulted in waves of guilt and
fear of eternal punishment.
I began my final high-school year angry, confused, alienated, and no doubt
headed for a crackup. In the midst of my crisis, the high school librarian suggested
I read the novels of Ayn Rand,1 which presented me with a host of new ideas. The
insight of hers that influenced me most profoundly was that one should be guided in
life by reason rather than faith or emotion. This led me to question my religious
beliefs. Above all, I concluded that the doctrine of original sin was irrational. If we
human beings unavoidably sin, how can a just God hold us responsible? How can
He hold us responsible unless we have a free will? And if we do, why can’t we
choose not to sin? When I asked our minister these questions, he responded that
there was no problem because Jesus Christ died for our sins. But why, I wondered,
did a just God make his own Son die for sins that humans could not avoid committing?
Although Rand’s views were unconventional and controversial, she embraced
the traditional view that a code of ethics can and must be rationally justified and that
morality as well as the sciences must be grounded in a philosophical system with
metaphysics at its core. She also paid tribute to Aristotle as her primary philosophi-
cal influence. Up to that time I had only the haziest conception of philosophy;
almost all I knew about Aristotle was that he was influential in the Middle Ages and
that his theories were refuted by Galileo and other early modern scientists. My curi-
osity was piqued, and I looked forward to learning about Aristotle’s thought in
college.

1
Rand (1938, 1943, 1957).
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 3

2 Undergraduate (1962–1966)

My college career, however, got off to a rocky start. Still clinging to my religious
upbringing, I decided to attend a distant religious school—a tumultuous year best
forgotten although it did purge me of many lingering superstitions. I completed my
undergraduate education at Portland State, a recently founded college to which I
commuted from my home in Lake Oswego, Oregon. When I took a survey of ancient
philosophy, my introduction to the Stagirite was not what I expected. After perusing
Cornford’s translation of Plato’s Republic, which read like a novel and presented
clear and compelling arguments, we turned to The Basic Works of Aristotle, a hefty
tome packed with over a thousand pages of dense almost impenetrable prose and an
introduction by Richard McKeon which I found equally incomprehensible.2 One
memorable assignment concerned Physics II.8, which deals with whether “nature
acts for the sake of something.” When our instructor asked for exegesis, I ventured
that Aristotle had anticipated Darwin, in describing how the different teeth, canines
for tearing and molars for grinding, sprang up by accident and “survived, being
organized spontaneously in a fitting way.” The instructor tactfully pointed out that
the theory of evolution was precisely what Aristotle was rejecting. Undeterred I
resolved to fathom the depths of Aristotelianism. During the years that followed I
read my Basic Works repeatedly and filled it with underlining and marginal annota-
tion. I still have that copy although it long ago lost its cover and the first and last
twenty or so pages.
As background I read Frederick Copleston’s History of Philosophy and I learned
that these ancient Greek philosophers had created what are now called ‘think tanks’.3
Plato’s was founded about 388 BC and lasted through different incarnations for
about a thousand years. It was located in the Academy, a sacred grove of Athens
where Plato met with his students and colleagues to carry out research and instruc-
tion in philosophy, mathematics, and science. Aristotle (384–322 BC) entered
Plato’s school as a young man and studied there for almost twenty years. Later,
about 355 BC, Aristotle founded his own rival school at the Lyceum in Athens
where he discussed problems of philosophy and science with his colleagues while
strolling along a covered walkway called the Peripatos (whence his followers were
called Peripatetics). In addition to far-flung theoretical speculations, Aristotle per-
sonally carried out empirical research in biology, dabbled in astronomy, and super-
vised the compilation of 158 political constitutions. Other such schools were
established in antiquity, but the most important institution by far was the Museum
and Library of Alexandria founded in the early third century BC in Egypt by King
Ptolemy II. A central mission of the library was to obtain a copy of every book in
existence (a precursor of Google Books in our own era), and it became a major
center for research in philosophy, mathematics, science, and literature. It was emu-
lated by libraries at Pergamon and elsewhere in the ancient world. These institutions

2
Cornford (1955) and McKeon (1941).
3
Copleston (1946), chs. 17 and 27.
4 F. D. Miller

continued to flourish under the Roman Empire but they eventually perished as a
result of barbarian invasions and religious intolerance. In 529 AD Plato’s Academy
in Athens was closed by the Christian emperor Justinian in reaction to its recalci-
trant paganism. In 642 AD when an Arab army conquered Egypt and the general
asked Omar, the caliph in Mecca, what to do with the books in the Library of
Alexandria, the reply was: “Do they agree with the Koran? If so, they are superflu-
ous. If not, they are blasphemous.” The books were summarily burned.
These ancient schools gave their members the opportunity to discuss philosophy
together with the natural sciences, mathematics, practical politics, and so forth—
something it seemed to me that was largely missing in modern universities. The
emergence of specialized disciplines such as physics, chemistry, and biology, which
employed rigorous methodologies dedicated to their specific domains, had resulted
in tremendous advances especially in science, technology, and fields like medicine.
But an unfortunate byproduct had been the balkanization of inquiry, with academic
departments showing indifference (and at times disdain) toward the work of others.
This was especially pronounced in the great divide between the sciences and
humanities. Moreover, many scholars of the humanities made the misguided attempt
to recast their disciplines as scientific, like the Germans who called the classics
‘Altertumwissenschaft’ (‘science of antiquity’) and the humanities generally
‘Geisteswissenschaft’ (literally, ‘science of spirit’). I saw modern philosophers as in
danger of falling into the trap of pigeonholing philosophy as the specialized quasi-­
scientific study of language.
My original plan was to major in history, in which I took a wide range of courses
with some fine teachers, especially Basil Dmytryshyn in Russian history and
Frederick J. Cox in Middle Eastern history. Cox was a superb lecturer, beginning
each session with a list of the topics on the blackboard that he would proceed to
cover with clarity and precision. He was also the first academic entrepreneur I
encountered. He had recently founded the Middle East Studies Center, with a wide
array of programs: interdisciplinary research, instruction in Arabic, Persian, and
Hebrew languages, study abroad for American students, and visitations by foreign
students and scholars. Dr. Cox was a role model of a teacher, scholar, and adminis-
trator combined, and his center stayed fixed in my memory as evidence that an
interdisciplinary institution like Plato’s Academy or Aristotle’s Lyceum might still
be possible.
Meanwhile I continued my study of philosophy. My first course in logic was like
a spiritual revelation. As the scales fell from my eyes, I saw with clarity what I had
only dimly apprehended before—that all knowledge is organized into a system with
theorems derived by deduction from first principles that are ultimately derived by
induction from sense-experience. The study of informal fallacies was also liberating
as I witnessed the unmasking of pseudo-arguments before which I had hitherto felt
helpless and frustrated. Later I learned that the chapter on informal fallacies in my
logic textbook was by and large an updating of Aristotle’s Sophistical Refutations.
Advanced symbolic logic was also offered in the mathematics department, where I
signed up for all the courses on offer.
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 5

In a survey course on medieval philosophy, I discovered Thomas Aquinas, who

impressed me as a clear and perceptive expositor of Aristotle. His Summa Theologiae
offered a systematic interpretation of Aristotle’s philosophical system. Aquinas was
also a profoundly original thinker in his own right, making advances, for example,
in fields such as the theory of action and the philosophy of law. He demonstrated
that a philosopher can combine rational argument with religious belief. Moreover,
Aquinas himself was indebted to a Muslim philosopher, Averroes (Ibn Rushd), who
is known as ‘The Commentator’ on ‘The Philosopher’ (i.e., Aristotle). I gradually
cast off my transitory dogmatic atheism and became more open to the philosophical
insights of religious thinkers from whom I learned much over the years.
Although I enjoyed all of philosophy, especially the works of the great philoso-
phers of the past, Aristotle remained my favorite because he offered a system in
which our world is governed by causal laws discoverable by the sciences relying on
reason and sense-experience; our personal conduct is guided by moral principles
also open to rational inquiry; and the ideal social order is one in which individuals
cooperate according to principles of justice. True, Aristotle made serious mistakes,
for example, in physics, in his geocentric astronomy, and in his defense of slavery.4
But these seemed correctable within his overall system, and his basic viewpoint
seemed to me superior to the ‘dogmas’ widely accepted by many twentieth-century
philosophers, such as the analytic-synthetic distinction, phenomenalism, and the
rejection of the law of causality.
The most serious failing of modern philosophy seemed to me to lie in the field of
ethics, a conclusion I reached after taking a course on existentialism. The two most
famous existentialists were Martin Heidegger and Jean Paul Sartre, the former a
supporter of Adolf Hitler and the latter of Joseph Stalin, tyrants who were each
responsible for the deaths of millions of innocent people. Rather than offering a
rational alternative to such apologists for moral atrocities, I saw analytically inclined
Anglo-American philosophers as retreating into moral skepticism (e.g., there’s no
way of knowing whether it is wrong to kill innocent people) and noncognitivism
(e.g., the statement ‘killing innocent people is wrong’ is meaningless or else has
only ‘emotive’ meaning). Aristotle in contrast offered a system in which moral
claims can be rationally supported through the study of facts of nature. At the same
time, I was impressed by the strides contemporary philosophers were taking in the
fields of logic and linguistic analysis. I expected that these would provide the tools
I needed to interpret and evaluate the difficult arguments of Aristotle that still
remained far beyond my grasp.
While my interest in philosophy waxed, my enthusiasm for academic historiog-
raphy waned. Although history was generally represented as an objective science, I
observed that my teachers and textbooks were often guided (usually implicitly but
sometimes overtly) by the sort of assumptions that philosophers critically examine,
such as the nature of evidence and value judgments about what historical issues,
facts, and explanations should take precedence over others. Moreover, from the

4
For a diagnosis of some of Aristotle’s most flagrant errors, see Chap. 17 of this volume.
6 F. D. Miller

lectern my professors at times proclaimed their personal opinions on political issues.

For example, some of them blamed the United States for the Cold War and asserted
the moral and economic superiority of communism over capitalism. No effort was
made to justify these claims. (I resolved then that I would never try to impose my
own political opinions on my students when I became a professor.)
The one-sided presentations of my social science instructors contrasted with the
approach of most of my philosophy teachers. They would typically present a prob-
lem—for example, whether human beings have free will—by setting out the alter-
native theoretical solutions and stating the arguments for and against each. In the
exams students were expected to critically discuss the solutions and defend which
theory they thought was superior. Even when it wasn’t hard to divine the professor’s
own view, we were generally graded on how well we mastered the subject matter
rather than on which view we favored. I decided that I should supplement my his-
tory major with a second major in philosophy so that I could critically examine the
normative presuppositions of historians.
However, my faculty advisor in history emphatically discouraged me from tak-
ing this route, contending that history was a positive science and what I needed
instead was courses in the social sciences, such as economics, sociology, and geog-
raphy. I took the courses he recommended but stuck to my decision to take a second
major in philosophy. The text for economics was Paul Samuelson’s Principles of
Economics which I found instructive on classical microeconomics but questionable
on macroeconomics. The textbook included a chart purporting to show that the
Soviet Union was rapidly growing and on track to surpass the United States before
long.5 When I told the instructor I had read books by Ludwig von Mises and
Friedrich Hayek on the insuperable epistemological problems faced by central plan-
ners, he dismissed these economists as ‘cranks’.6 (I recalled this remark later when
Hayek received a Nobel Prize in economics). By this time, I was tending to the view
that socialism was impractical as well as morally inferior to the system that is now
called ‘democratic capitalism’. (Footnote: I am however very glad that I followed
the advice to take a course in sociology, however, because I met a lovely young
woman in a sociology study group who was to become my wife.)

5
The textbook in my economics course was Samuelson (1961), the fifth edition. The chart (on
p. 829) and favorable references to the Soviet Union vanished from later editions after the collapse
of the Soviet Union in 1991.
6
von Mises (1951) and Hayek (1948). When Hayek received the Nobel prize in 1974 the awarding
committee called attention to “his theory of business cycles and his conception of the effects of
monetary and credit policies” and his “penetrating studies of the problems of centralized planning”
and “socialistic calculating.” The economist Robert Heilbroner (1990) conceded that “Ludwig von
Mises who doubted whether a Central Planning Board could bring into being a coherent economy”
had been essentially vindicated by history (pp, 96–97).
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 7

3 Graduate Student (1966–1971)

During my senior year in college, after serious deliberation, I decided to pursue

philosophy as a career. When my concerned mother asked, “How will you support
yourself?” I confidently replied that I would become a professor. Since I had taken
barely enough courses to earn a second major in philosophy at a recently minted and
comparatively obscure college, I did not have high hopes for graduate admission
and was relieved when the University of Washington gambled and offered me a
teaching assistantship starting in the fall 1966.
The classes I attended at Washington were crowded with students, many of
whom were enrolled in order to receive deferments from the draft during the
Vietnam War. As the war dragged on, student protests became increasingly violent,
with marches, riots, and even bombings on campus. Once a large-lecture class I was
assisting in was broken up when a band of masked men burst in shouting and wield-
ing clubs. Some of the university faculty were openly sympathetic with the antiwar
movement. Although I had by then become convinced that the war was a mistake, I
steadfastly refrained from political activism and concentrated on my studies.
During my time at Washington the department hired Michael Lerner, an ABD
(all but the dissertation) graduate student at the University of California at Berkeley,
to fill in as an instructor for one year. I heard from other graduate students that he
had been the leader of the Students for a Democratic Society (SDS) and was
involved in protests at San Francisco State before he came to Washington where he
helped to found the Seattle Liberation Front which included members of the Weather
Underground. I was dumfounded that the philosophy department would hire such a
person, and I resolved to keep my distance from him. One day while picking up my
mail in the departmental office I heard Professor Lerner speaking angrily to the
department chairman. The only words of his that I heard were, “They need to be
disciplined.” Later another graduate student explained that at the end of the previous
term Lerner had met with his teaching assistants for a large lecture course and told
them that he had to leave town during finals week and that he planned to sign all the
grade sheets in advance and let the graduate students assign final grades to their sec-
tions based on their own evaluations. There was one exception, however: a list he
provided of students who were to receive the grade of A because they had partici-
pated in an ‘action’. After his departure, however, the T.A.’s collectively decided to
give the students on Lerner’s list failing grades because they had not shown up for
classes or done any course work. When Lerner returned and found out what had
happened, he protested to the department chair, who told him that he regretfully
could do nothing about it, which is about the time I overheard them. (This provided
me with two useful lessons: don’t sign a document before it is filled out, and don’t
assume that subordinates will carry out orders without adequate oversight.) I don’t
know what Lerner’s ‘action’ was, but he was soon after arrested and prosecuted as
one of the Seattle Seven charged with organizing a protest that turned into riot in a
federal courthouse building. He was later remanded to a federal penitentiary for
contempt of court, although ultimately his conviction was overturned. Suffice it to
8 F. D. Miller

say his appointment at Washington was not renewed, and I lost track of him until he
materialized on the national stage in 1993 as a spiritual advisor to First Lady Hillary
Clinton. He espoused a ‘politics of meaning’ based on ‘principles of caring, ethical
and spiritual sensitivity, and communal solidarity’, which he advanced through a
magazine he had founded called Tikkun: A Bimonthly Jewish Critique of Politics,
Culture and Society.
My first two years were devoted to gaining a foothold in the philosophy program,
which at the time was still quite rigorous. During the first term students had to pass
a written entrance examination to prove we were prepared for graduate studies.
Later, after completing our course work we had to write and defend a master’s thesis
followed by a battery of grueling qualifying examinations: four written examina-
tions without notes, each lasting three hours, on logic, metaphysics and epistemol-
ogy, ethics, and a special exam related to our prospective dissertation. In addition
there was a requirement to pass two foreign language exams (mine were in German
and French). Finally, we had to write and defend a dissertation—an original treatise
typically two or three hundred pages in length. Not surprisingly many students
never completed the program, and few completed it in the five years during which
funding was available. During my time many students stumbled while trying to run
this gauntlet and complained vociferously. Eventually these requirements were
largely eliminated or seriously watered down, as they were at many other universi-
ties. Most unfortunate, in my view, was the elimination of the foreign language
requirement in many departments in the United States, which has deprived many
students of unfiltered access to the wisdom and insights of past and foreign cultures.
(The reductio ad absurdum of this trend was the recent decision of Princeton
University to eliminate Greek and Latin language requirements for its major in
classics.)
The events unfolding outside—political upheaval, sexual revolution, and psyche-
delic revolution—had an observable effect on what was unfolding in the classroom.
When I began, standards for undergraduates were high. For example, one of my first
assignments as teaching assistant was in an introduction to philosophy course taught
by Frederick Siegler (specialist in philosophy of law), who always wore a three-­
piece suit and was exceptionally demanding of his students. The course involved ten
weeks of lectures followed by a final exam week. During each two-week segment
the students were required to read some classic work of philosophy—e.g. Locke’s
Second Treatise of Government—and a published critical essay by Siegler—e.g. a
critique of Locke’s theory of tacit consent7—and write an essay explaining and
evaluating Siegler’s critique. This was a substantial amount of work both for the
students and for the TA’s who had to read and grade all of these essays. Toward the
end of the course Siegler opined that the students should be required to take a three-­
hour final exam and that a certain percentage of students who had done all of this
work should receive a failing grade! We teaching assistants protested that this was
unreasonable: a two-hour final was sufficient and students who had read and done

7
Siegler (1968).
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 9

all the work in a respectable manner should pass the course. Siegler conceded and
accepted our counterproposal. I was frankly amazed that the undergraduate students
complied without complaint to such stringent requirements. A couple years later at
a departmental gathering I saw a strange character in hippy-style clothing with long
hair sticking out in all directions as if he had put his finger in a light socket. I was
astounded to hear, “That’s Fred Siegler.” He made it clear to all that he had come to
regard his previous work in philosophy as utterly misguided. Later a graduate stu-
dent recounted to me his experience in assisting Siegler in an introduction to phi-
losophy course. The only textbook was The Aquarian Gospel of Jesus.8 At the first
lecture Siegler announced to the students that he thought it was presumptuous for
professors to think that they could evaluate how much students had learned. In his
course all the students would grade themselves. The next day over a thousand stu-
dents registered for the course. The T.A.’s decided not to bother attending Siegler’s
lectures but to teach their own courses to whoever showed up. The graduate student
told me he decided to visit a lecture toward the end of the quarter. There was a vast
lecture room empty except for a few seated in the front row. Siegler was seated on
the stage, an emaciated Christ-like figure in a white tunic plaintively playing
the flute.
Though I enjoyed my graduate classes, I was not partial to the styles of philoso-
phy then in vogue, namely, linguistic analysis and ordinary language philosophy.
When another graduate student asked me why I was working on Aristotle instead on
contemporary philosophers, I replied that Aristotle’s Metaphysics would still be
studied long after fashionable works like Gilbert Ryle’s The Concept of Mind9 were
forgotten. At the same time, however, I learned how the methods of modern analytic
philosophy could serve to interpret, reconstruct, and evaluate philosophical argu-
ments. A skillful practitioner of this technique was Gerasimos Santas who showed
how the so-called ‘Socratic paradoxes’ in Plato’s dialogues could be interpreted in
such a way that they were clear and plausible. I read two of his essays in a collection
on the philosophy of Socrates edited by Gregory Vlastos. This volume was one in a
series of valuable collections of critical essays on great past and present philoso-
phers was published under the general editorship of A. O. Rorty.10 Especially exem-
plary was a translation and commentary by J. L. Ackrill on Aristotle’s Categories
and De Interpretatione for the new Clarendon Aristotle series.11 The combination of
literal but clear translation with commentary and criticism that took off the kid
gloves and treated Aristotle as if he were a living philosopher provided me with the

8
Dowling (1906). This was widely viewed as a manifesto for ‘the Age of Aquarius’.
9
Ryle (1949).
10
Santas (1964, 1971a, b). The series was published by Doubleday Anchor under the general head-
ing Modern Studies in Philosophy under the general editorship of A. O. Rorty. The series com-
prised 22 volumes in all, each devoted to a great major ancient, modern, or recent philosopher with
critical essays by leading contemporary scholars. These essays continue to be illuminating and set
a high bar for students of the history of philosophy.
11
Ackrill (1963).
10 F. D. Miller

model I wanted to emulate. I decided without reservation to make the critical study
of Aristotle the focus of my future scholarly work.
As I was completing my initial course work, I faced my first major hurdle: the
M.A. thesis. Since I was interested in Greek philosophy, I was advised to work with
David Keyt, whom I had not yet met. My vivid memory of our first meeting is no
doubt distorted through the lens of intervening years. Like a proverbial deer in the
headlights, I found myself fixed in the intense gaze of an imposing figure with a
gleaming bald head behind a large desk who waited with long pregnant silences as
I stammered out some half-baked ideas about Aristotle on predication. When he
finally responded with questions, I quickly exposed my ignorance of the Greek
language. (I should have realized that he knew nothing about me or my background
and was trying to find out whether I was remotely capable of writing on such a sub-
ject.) He told me to show him an outline of my project for a follow-up meeting.
Mortified and too fearful to meet with him again, I submitted a long rambling draft
which met with a deservedly frosty reception. It happened that Professor Keyt was
away on a research leave the following year, during which I completed an M.A. the-
sis on Aristotle on truth directed by another professor with whom I was already on
good terms.
The following fall term I encountered Professor Keyt on campus shortly after his
return. To my surprised relief he greeted me warmly, said he had heard good reports
about my master’s thesis, and welcomed me to discuss my dissertation plans with
him. The next time I ventured into his office, suffice it to say, I presented a very
carefully thought-out proposal to show that Aristotle had a concept of existence
which could be unpacked in terms of his theories of truth and definition. Keyt raised
some tough questions but said the idea sounded promising and he gave me the green
light to proceed. He added, however, that if I was to write on Aristotle, I needed to
study Greek, advice which I was happy to follow by taking courses with the classics
department. I found him to be an expert director, a master craftsman firmly but
patiently showing an apprentice how to plan a work, formulate arguments, write
clearly, and access a wide range of scholarly resources. With his direction I suc-
ceeded in writing and defending the dissertation in slightly over a year, thus fulfill-
ing my original plan to complete the Ph.D. program in five years (1966–1971).
It had seemed reasonable to put off my job search till my final year in graduate
school because my predecessors in the program had no trouble receiving good job
offers, mainly through the still existing ‘old boy network’. But in 1971 there were
dim but ominous warning signs that the job market was drying up. (Only later did
the cause become clear. During the 1960s there had been a rapid expansion of uni-
versities throughout the country creating a great demand for new faculty. But by the
early 1970s the last of these new institutions were established and fully staffed
resulting in a sudden dearth of job openings.) My many letters to prospective
employers were greeted by a deafening silence. As I was finishing up the disserta-
tion Keyt suggested an exciting backup plan: a postdoctoral fellowship at Harvard
University with G. E. L. Owen, a leading authority on Aristotle, whose publications
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 11

I discussed in my dissertation.12 Keyt was personally acquainted with Owen and

recommended me, and I was thrilled when my application was accepted.
Soon after this Keyt received a query about me from the philosophy department
at Bowling Green State University. Along with a strong recommendation he
informed them that I would not be available because I was going to Harvard the next
year. Immediately thereafter I received a call from the Bowling Green philosophy
chairman inviting me to Ohio for a job interview. Bowling Green had started as a
small normal school but then expanded rapidly in the 1960s with the addition of
many new departments and graduate programs. Philosophy had only an M.A. pro-
gram, but during my visit I was told there was a proposal in the works for a joint
Ph.D. with the nearby University of Toledo. I would be expected to teach a graduate
seminar and undergraduate course every year in Greek philosophy as well as other
subjects. The faculty were young, most of them hardly older than I, with few publi-
cations, but they impressed me as collegial and energetic.
What impressed me the most about Bowling Green, however, was the presence
of the Philosopher’s Index edited by Richard Lineback, who was then the depart-
ment head. He had designed the necessary software with a grant from the National
Endowment for the Humanities (NEH) and the backing of the American
Philosophical Association. The Index received gratis copies of every philosophy
journal in the world as well as a large number of books, which Lineback donated to
the University library after indexing them. In turn the library used the budget for
philosophy to fill out its collection of important philosophical books, including the
opera omnia of all the great philosophers. The library thus promised to become a
major repository for philosophy. Lineback assured me that the University was a
place where someone with vision could make things happen. En route back to the
airport he told me the Department had already voted to make me an offer and were
prepared to defer the appointment until after my fellowship. On my return I told
Professor Keyt that I had decided that Bowling Green looked like the ideal place for
me to start my professorial career.

4 Postdoctoral Fellow (1971–1972)

My year at Harvard was spent studying under G. E. L. Owen, who was legendary
for his brilliance, energy, and passion. In addition to a number of graduate students,
he supervised four postdocs (myself along with Norman O. Dahl at University of
Minnesota, James H. Lesher at the University of Maryland, and Terence H. Irwin a
doctoral student at Princeton, all of whom went on to do important work). In Oxford
fashion he met each of us individually almost every week to discuss our writing, and
he also held a weekly tutorial with all four of us to go over some material of com-
mon interest. He devoted several weeks of the group tutorial to my dissertation

12
I was especially influenced by Owen (1960).
12 F. D. Miller

which was rewarded with searching and at times excrutiating criticism. I noticed in
his office a complete set of Commentaria in Aristotelem Graeca, the Greek text of
ancient commentaries on Aristotle. During one of our sessions, he took a volume of
Alexander of Aphrodisias’ commentary on Aristotle’s Metaphysics from the shelf
and proceeded to translate by sight a long passage related to our discussion.13 I
vowed to follow his example, working on my Greek until I could read such texts
with facility and hopefully someday even publish a translation of Alexander’s work.
In conjunction with his seminars, I wrote new papers on Aristotle on time and on the
concept of identity, to which he offered generous encouragement and advice.14
During one of my sessions Owen intimated that he had been invited to become a
permanent fellow of the Institute for Advanced Study in Princeton. But he vowed
that he would never accept such an appointment because he would dry up without
students. Creative men like Einstein who had gone there dried up unable to do origi-
nal work. “It would be like going to the boneyard,” he declared. However, soon after
Owen did accept a chair at Cambridge University.
An unexpected bonus to my fellowship was an invitation to attend a reading
group in New York City. A couple dozen professors of Greek philosophy from lead-
ing universities in the Northeast and Midwest convened about six times during the
academic year to discuss a work of Plato or Aristotle. The text that year was the first
half of Plato’s Parmenides. A member volunteered to translate and lead discussion
on a section of the dialogue, and the other participants seated around a large round
table raised questions about the translation, the critical basis of the Greek text, and
the philosophical issues it raised. I could imagine Plato and Aristotle discussing
issues with their colleagues in this manner. What a wonderful way to do philosophy!
I attended Owen’s undergraduate seminar on Aristotle and two graduate semi-
nars which he conducted with bravura. I had planned to audit courses by other
professors but quickly dropped out because, frankly, the teaching seemed inferior to
much of what I experienced at Washington. The professors seemed more interested
in thinking out loud about their own current work than in whether the students were
learning anything. I have a vivid memory of the first session of a seminar offered by
Hilary Putnam, which I looked forward to because I had read some intriguing arti-
cles by him, including the first discussion I had read on the socio-political implica-
tions of artificial intelligence.15 A half hour passed with no professor, and nervous
students consulted their watches wondering if it was permissible to leave. Finally,
the sound of tramping footsteps echoed down the hallway. A man entered the room
wearing a red-checkered jacket with a red star, accompanied by several African
Americans in paramilitary uniforms who lined up behind him. He identified himself
as Professor Putnam and began, “I shall teach this seminar on truth from the stand-
point of Marxism-Leninism. The textbook is Vladimir Lenin’s Materialism and

13
Hayduck (1881).
14
Miller Jr. (1973, 1974a).
15
Putnam (1964).
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 13

Empirio-criticism.”16 Ηe briefly explained that Lenin had demonstrated that Marx’s

theory of dialectical materialism reveals the true nature of reality and had thereby
refuted the various forms of empiricism espoused by Anglo-American philosophers.
He then turned over the floor to one of his comrades who delivered a harangue about
racism and imperialism. The professor and his entourage thereupon marched out
leaving behind a room full of students with stunned expressions. I wondered if I had
just glimpsed the future of higher education.

5 Professor of Philosophy (1972–1977)

With me and my wife and our infant son crammed into a Volkswagen bug along
with most of our worldly possessions, we headed to Ohio and my new job. My hon-
eymoon with Bowling Green was short lived. Teaching turned out to be more diffi-
cult than expected. I found the students less well prepared and less interested in
learning than my students had been at the University of Washington. Not being a
naturally gifted orator, I had to compensate by careful preparation, selecting appro-
priate subject matter, and finding ways to involve students in their own learning. In
all my teaching I tried to follow the rule I had formed when I was a student myself—
never to proselytize or indoctrinate my students, but to encourage them to think for
themselves and to critically support their own conclusions. At Bowling Green I did
meet some excellent undergraduate students, however, some who became lifelong
friends, including Thomas Banchich, a history major who wanted to apply to a doc-
toral program in classics. He had a wide knowledge of classical scholarship, and I
found our conversations very informative. He had studied Latin, but Greek was not
offered at Bowling Green. When I proposed a tutorial in Greek he eagerly concurred
and found a few other students who were interested. Upon hearing about this one of
my senior colleagues flatly stated, “You can’t teach Greek to Bowling Green stu-
dents!” I offered the tutorial notwithstanding; the students learned to read Greek
texts, and I was able to sharpen my own skills as well. Banchich went on to a first-­
rate doctoral program in classics at SUNY Buffalo and became a professor himself
at Canisius College.
At the first philosophy department meeting our new chair, Peter Facione, seemed
to be visibly shaken by a recent meeting with the Dean. First, we were informed that
the proposed Ph.D. joint-program with the University of Toledo had been rejected
by the Ohio Board of Regents (which was in retrospect a good thing in view of the
collapse of the job market in philosophy in the early 1970s.) Then we learned that
the Regents had decided to adopt the policy of allocating funds to Ohio state univer-
sities on the basis of an enrollment-driven formula, and that our university adminis-
trators decided to apply the same formula internally to every department (which
made little sense to us since Bowling Green as a residential university had a capped

16
Lenin (1964).
14 F. D. Miller

enrollment and could do little to increase its allocation). It transpired that philoso-
phy was overstaffed by four faculty, and there would be budgetary repercussions
unless we increased our class enrollments. (This made us untenured faculty under-
standably nervous.)
I volunteered to serve on the Department’s curriculum committee to devise a
strategy for increasing enrollments. In the course catalogue there was a seldom used
open-topic course which could be given any title the department chose provided it
did not duplicate another department’s regular offering. This was an ideal vehicle to
experiment—and experiment we did—with new courses. My course in business
ethics attracted students from the business college who would not have taken phi-
losophy otherwise. Also, because I had been a devotee of science fiction since my
teenage years, I offered a course on philosophy through science fiction, using lively
stories to introduce philosophical issues such as appearance vs reality, minds and
machines, free will, the nature of time, and political theory. The course attracted
students new to philosophy from majors such as computer science and physics.
They were able to relate philosophical ideas to questions in which they were person-
ally interested. The most successful courses were in applied areas such as environ-
mental ethics, medical ethics, and the philosophy of death and dying. Eyebrows
were raised when we advertised our new courses in the student newspaper—next to
ads for pizza! But the courses consistently filled to capacity, so that we soon secured
approval to add them to the permanent course catalog. Some of our courses became
requirements in other programs such as nursing, premed, prelaw, criminal justice,
and social work. We were perhaps the first philosophy department to develop such
a full panoply of undergraduate courses in applied philosophy, and before long we
were four persons understaffed and lobbying the Dean for new faculty.
The Bowling Green applied-philosophy program was building off of the wide-
spread revival of normative ethics and political theory which was taking off in the
early 1970s. A major impetus for this trend was the publication of two rival treatises
in political philosophy by John Rawls and Robert Nozick.17 As it happened the
authors were colleagues in the Harvard philosophy department (I’m chagrined to
confess that I was oblivious to the philosophical revolution that was brewing while
I was visiting there). These books spawned a new generation of work in founda-
tional political theory and encouraged the study of classics such as Hobbes’
Leviathan and Locke’s Second Treatise of Government. They were also a spur to my
big book on Aristotle’s political philosophy discussed below.
At Bowling Green I found out that the Philosopher’s Index was published by the
Philosophy Documentation Center, a division of the University directed by Richard
Lineback. The Doc Center also published the annual Directory of American
Philosophers (an indispensable reference work before the Internet) and about a
dozen philosophy journals. I eagerly accepted Lineback’s invitation to index arti-
cles. I was assigned not only journals in ancient philosophy and the history of phi-
losophy but also periodicals in French and German, from which I learned a great

17
Rawls (1971) and Nozick (1974).
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 15

deal about the practice of philosophy elsewhere, especially in Eastern European

communist countries. Many articles simply expounded Marxist doctrines, but some
discussed non-Marxist doctrine in a manner, apparently, to pass censorship: the
author would begin by praising local political officials and bemoaning the state of
decadent philosophy in western countries, then the body of the article would discuss
in detail a topic in analytic philosophy, with a brief conclusion piously affirming the
superiority of Marxism-Leninism. After the fall of the Soviet Block in 1989 these
same journals were soon publishing articles not unlike those in the west. Lineback
included me in the annual meetings of his academic advisory board which included
eminent representatives of the main subfields of philosophy, who invariably gave
him sound advice about proposed initiatives. I became well acquainted with several
board members including Jude Dougherty (Catholic University), Nicholas Rescher
(University of Pittsburgh), and Robert Turnbull (Ohio State University). These three
all helped me in my future ventures, especially Bob Turnbull who graciously treated
me as if as if I had been one of his own students.
In 1974 I successfully applied to spend a year at the Institute for Research in the
Humanities at the University of Wisconsin in Madison (on the recommendation of
David Keyt, who had previously visited there). I was just venturing into a research
area that has fascinated me ever since—the development of Greek psychology from
the earliest times through the early philosophers down to Plato and Aristotle. These
philosophers were inspired by, or reacting to, popular ideas of the soul expressed in
poetry and folk religion. I wanted to examine some popular materials more closely
including early grave inscriptions and sculptures which provided hints about how
the ordinary Greek viewed death and the afterlife.18 (My wife and I were deeply
moved by these works when we first saw them during an earlier trip to Europe.) The
Institute included two scholars who promised to be helpful in this regard: Emmett
Bennett, an expert in epigraphy, who played a major role in the deciphering of
Linear B (the alphabet of the Mycenaean Greeks), and Friedrich Solmsen, a
renowned classical scholar with wide-ranging interests in classical philosophy and
literature. The Institute was located in the Old Observatory on a high hill on cam-
pus. There were both permanent scholars (with appointments in teaching depart-
ments) and visiting scholars who had at their disposal a library with basic works in
ancient, medieval, and Renaissance literature. Every weekday the scholars met for
lunch and fascinating conversation. Solmsen shared recollections of what it was like
to be a student of the formidable Prussian philologist, Ulrich von Wilamowitz-­
Moellendorff. For instance, Wilamowitz would greet his students with the question,
“What shall we discuss today?” Regardless of whatever passage by whichever
author they proposed, he was prepared to discuss it with total recall of the exact text
and all the relevant scholarship. While I labored at the Institute my recurring thought
was: Would an interdisciplinary research center like the Institute be possible at
Bowling Green?

18
I later presented the results of this research as Miller Jr. (1999a) at an epigraphical conference
in Rome.
16 F. D. Miller

The summer after Wisconsin I attended a summer seminar on the moral philoso-
phy of Socrates and Plato conducted by Gregory Vlastos at Princeton University.
This was one of a series of seminars funded by the National Endowment for the
Humanities to enable fledgling professors to learn from the leading scholars in their
field. At our first meeting Vlastos recalled that David Keyt was once his student and
joked, “This is like the apostolic succession.” He was a gracious host and took each
of his visitors to dinner. My wife had agreed that she would stay in Madison through
the summer with our young daughter Erika provided I took our son Justin aged six
with me to Princeton, where I learned how demanding it was to be a single parent.
When Vlastos invited me to dinner and I could not find a baby-sitter, he suggested
that I bring Justin with me. Justin soon became bored with the conversation and
spent much of the meal underneath the tablecloth. Vlastos smiled and said, “What a
charming boy.” Vlastos was a skilled and energetic teacher, who took the time to
meet separately with each seminarist at least twice. From this seminar I gained a
much deeper understanding of and appreciation for Plato’s early and middle dia-
logues. I wrote an essay on the parts of the soul in the Republic19 which I saw as
another step in my long-term project on Greek philosophical speculation about the
soul. Vlastos combined a profound respect for Plato with a rigorous analytical treat-
ment. I remember once when he exclaimed testily after presenting some new mate-
rial that elicited no objections, “Don’t just sit there and nod your heads. I expect you
to tear it apart!” (I later related this anecdote to my students when they seemed to
need a kickstart.)
In 1977 I had two more visiting appointments, one at the University of Washington
where I came to know David Keyt much better. In many conversations we found
that our research interests were then converging on Aristotle’s ethics. David was
developing a new and persuasive interpretation of Aristotle’s ‘moderate intellectual-
ist’ conception of happiness, while I was working on Aristotle’s theory of practical
wisdom.20 I found that Aristotle’s discussions of deliberation gave me a better
understanding of social planning and provided insights into how to apply principles
in practice that were to make me a more effective administrator in future years. On
my understanding Aristotle holds that practical deliberation only terminates at the
time of action because the final step involves practical nous, which is a kind of
deliberative perception of the most efficacious means of bringing about a desired
end. Decisions concerning particular actions must be carried out by individual
agents in a position to take into account all the relevant observable facts and circum-
stances. As modern economists such as F. A. Hayek maintain, central planners face
the insuperable problem that the knowledge required for good decisions is dissemi-
nated throughout society often in the form of tacit knowledge. This also explains the
fallacy of ‘micromanaging’. An effective administrator will assign specific respon-
sibilities to subordinates and monitor their performance without trying to do their
job for them.

19
Published after much further reflection as Miller Jr. (1999b).
20
These developed into published articles: Keyt (1978) and Miller Jr. (1984a).
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 17

The second appointment was in the fall of 1977 at Johns Hopkins University,
which needed a course on Aristotle but was also interested in my course on philoso-
phy in science fiction. Peter Achinstein warned me in advance that students at
Hopkins were ‘a rather grim lot’. On the first day of the science fiction class, how-
ever, I was greeted by enthusiastic students wearing fantastic costumes. At the end
of the term one of the students presented me with a beautiful blue wizard’s cape she
had designed for me. Thanks to the smart and lively students at Hopkins I had my
very first direct encounter with a computer monitor, which, I must confess, I found
rather intimidating. In the Aristotle course I met a brilliant student, Peter Seissler,
who has remained a lifelong friend. He later arranged for me to lecture to a group of
students in Cambridge Massachusetts, who had founded an entertaining indepen-
dent newspaper called Ergo, in which they delighted in chronicling the travails of
the philosophy department at MIT. On their account the philosophy department
barely escaped elimination by the university through the intervention of the famous
linguist Noam Chomsky. Philosophy survived by becoming effectively an append-
age of linguistics in what the Ergo group derisively called the new ‘linguosophy’
department.

6 Department Chair (1977–1981)

In 1978 I became Chair of the Bowling Green philosophy department. I had been
hesitant to be a candidate because I knew that such a demanding job would consume
time and energy needed for teaching and research. I consented mainly because our
M.A. program, having suffered a drastic decline in the number and quality of appli-
cants, was in jeopardy. This was a domino effect: the collapse of the philosophy job
market resulted in a decline in applications to Ph.D. programs rendering M.A. ‘feeder’
programs like ours otiose. There was a danger that our graduate program would be
justifiably terminated unless a way could be found to attract more and better quali-
fied students.
Before assuming office, I attended a conference hosted by the Center for Public
Choice at Virginia Tech (the Center later moved to George Mason). This was one of
a series of summer colloquies designed to introduce noneconomics professors from
a variety of disciplines to public choice, a subdiscipline of economics that draws on
legal theory and game theory to explain political decision making. The Director of
the Center was James Buchanan, the coauthor with Gordon Tullock of The Calculus
of Consent, the seminal treatise of the public choice movement.21 I found the confer-
ence informative with explanations of concepts such as social cost, transaction cost,
externalities, and rent-seeking. Buchanan through his comprehensive research

21
Buchanan and Tullock (1962). Buchanan was awarded the Nobel Prize in economics in 1986 for
“development of the contractual and constitutional bases for the theory of economic and political
decision making.”
18 F. D. Miller

center had created a new field of study and was producing a steady stream of new
scholars along with books and a journal dedicated to the subject.
At the public choice conference there were especially illuminating lectures by
William A. Niskanen (then chief economist at Ford Motor Company and former
‘whiz kid’ in Robert S. McNamara’s Defense Department) applying principles of
rational choice and microeconomics to the behavior of public administrators as
set forth in his book Bureaucracy and Representative Government.22 His thesis
was that the basic motivation of bureaucrats was analogous to that of business-
people in profit-making organizations; that is, they were ‘maximizers’ seeking to
advance themselves by increasing the size and budget of their bureaus and hope-
fully becoming heads of bigger bureaus. He also explained that bureau chiefs
motivate their subordinates by means of marginal incentives. (The concept of
marginalism helped explain why I had seen my colleagues almost come to blows
over comparatively small merit raises.) As Niskanen described various techniques
bureau chiefs employ to compete successfully against their peers, I suspected that
he was handing me a blueprint for building a philosophical empire!
At the beginning of my first term as Chair, the Dean of Arts and Sciences held a
retreat for all the department chairs and directors who reported to him. As I became
acquainted with my peers, I saw that they fell into two groups: the Haves (the physi-
cal sciences and some social sciences) and the Have-nots (mainly the humanities).
The latter complained about high teaching loads, inadequate office space, and tight
budgets with scant support for faculty travel, whereas the former boasted of lighter
teaching loads with more facilities, time, and financial support for research. This
enabled Bowling Green departments such as psychology, chemistry, and biology to
become highly ranked in their disciplines. I decided to spend my time with the
Haves. I uncovered their secret in one word: ‘Grants’. They told me that the
University administrators favored programs that obtained grants, not only because
of the prestige they brought but because government agencies such as the National
Science Foundation and the National Institute for Health provided generous ‘indi-
rect cost’ funding to universities. In order to secure large grants, the University was
willing to increase budgets and support staff and even to add permanent faculty
lines. The Haves also remarked that ambitious administrators are desirous of
advancement at another university (e.g., dean to provost, or provost to president),
which requires an impressive resume, including grants obtained on their watch, and
they are happy to leave the problem of paying for their commitments to their suc-
cessors. This gave me a valuable insight into the motivation of university
administrators.
Although grants seemed the promising strategy, I had, like most philosophers, no
experience writing grant proposals except to support my own individual research.
However, I found a very instructive book by Philip Kottler that applied principles of
marketing to nonprofit organizations. It was clear that we could never find support
for our existent program which merely duplicated many others. Rather than trying

22
Niskanen (1971).
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 19

to be all things to all people, the key to successful marketing was offering a unique
product that met the needs of a particular target market. My colleagues and I delib-
erated about what sort of student our M.A. program should serve, and we concluded
that we should build on our success on the undergraduate level by reorienting the
graduate program in an applied direction catering to nontraditional students who
desired advanced philosophical training in support of nonacademic careers, for
example, medical ethics for hospital workers, environmental ethics for employees
of the Environmental Protection Agency, business ethics for managers and human
resource specialists, etc. In addition to regular course work students would enroll in
a one-term supervised internship at a workplace where they would write a report on
the application of philosophy to their practical experience. Because we anticipated
that many students would have only a limited background in philosophy, our pro-
posed curriculum began with foundational courses in metaphysics and epistemol-
ogy as well as ethics and political philosophy. This reflected my own conviction,
based on my study of Aristotle, that the application of philosophy to practical deci-
sion making must be based on solid theoretical foundations. Finally, graduates of
the program would be supported in their efforts to obtain positions outside of the
academy.
Although personally involved throughout the planning process, I saw my main
role as team leader. I tried to apply the general precepts of Aristotle’s theory of
practical reasoning and governance to an academic department by defining a gen-
eral mission, finding the people best suited for specific tasks, giving them clear
objectives and supplying them with the necessary resources, monitoring their per-
formance, and making sure they received recognition commensurate with their
accomplishments. My colleague Louis Katzner volunteered to be the point man in
the search for the additional resources needed to launch the new program.
Fortunately, we already had some credibility because, as mentioned before, Richard
Lineback had secured a startup grant from NEH for the highly successful
Philosopher’s Index. As department head I allocated a part of our budget to fund-
raising so that Katzner had the means to meet with grant officers in Washington DC,
where he found a favorable reception. By serendipity during Jimmy Carter’s presi-
dency (1976–1980) the NEH became strongly committed to finding ways to make
the humanities more accessible to a wider audience. The idea of applied philosophy
struck a responsive chord, and we were encouraged to proceed. We worked closely
with the University grants office which shared with us copies of successful grant
proposals of the science departments. Katzner adroitly drafted a proposal for a
three-year grant consisting of two parts: creation of a pilot program leading to an
M.A. degree in applied philosophy and an outreach program that would publicize
our program to other departments that were similarly inclined. In connection with
the first part we requested additional graduate stipends, faculty lines, and clerical
staff along with a substantial increase in our operating budget. Under the terms of
the grant NEH would cover the costs of all these additions for three years after
which the University agreed to pick them up in perpetuity. When NEH agreed to
fund the entire program, our administrators were delighted to boast about receiving
one of the largest grants awarded to the University up to that time.
20 F. D. Miller

The first part of the applied M.A. program far exceeded our optimistic expecta-
tions. Advertising the program nationwide we attracted a significant increase of
much more capable and motivated students. Although some were majoring in other
fields and others were already graduated and working, they were all eager to learn
more philosophy and apply it to their future careers. They succeeded in finding
venues for internships at such places as the Cleveland Clinic and ultimately in
landing good jobs such as that of a medical ethicist in a hospital. The second part
of the program was to publicize the new program to the profession. We welcomed
faculty from other universities to make site visits, but we decided it would be more
effective to offer a series of nationally advertised annual conferences on applied
philosophy. When one of our faculty members was hired away, we asked the
University to let us to hire senior professors who would visit for a quarter teaching
a seminar and help us organize a conference on a mutually agreeable topic where
they would deliver the keynote address. We found a number of eminent philoso-
phers from the US, Canada, and the UK who were quite interested in participating
in our new program. These included Robert Solomon (University of Texas, confer-
ence on human emotions), Myles Brand from University of Illinois Chicago Circle
(action and responsibility), Kenneth Sayre from Notre Dame (reason and deci-
sion), David Braybrooke from Dalhousie University (social justice), Nicholas
Rescher from the University of Pittsburgh (the applied turn in philosophy),
R. G. Frey from the University of Liverpool (conflict resolution), John Gray from
Oxford (restraint of liberty), and L. W. Sumner from the University of Toronto
(values and moral standing). Each conference featured fifteen or so prominent phi-
losophers, and we edited the papers and published them in a book series, Bowling
Green Studies in Applied Philosophy, with the assistance of the Philosophy
Documentation Center. These enthusiastic visiting professors and conferees played
a crucial role in establishing our department’s place at the forefront of applied
philosophy.
My own contribution to the new program was a seminar in ancient philosophy.
Our core curriculum included core courses in the history of philosophy to ensure
that our students were adequately prepared. I devised a new course on the rise of
Greek philosophical psychology from Homer to Aristotle. This was an ideal topic
because the concept of the soul (psuchē) represented the convergence of metaphys-
ics and epistemology with moral psychology and political issues (viewing the con-
stitution as the political analogue of the soul). Also, the ancient Greeks often
anticipated issues in the modern philosophy of mind such as the relation of mind to
body. Although some students had spotty philosophical backgrounds and others
proved to be not cut out for philosophy, many completed the program with flying
colors and succeeded in finding nonacademic employment or entering professional
programs such as medical school or law school. The strongest were in our view on
a par with Ph.D. students.
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 21

7 Center Director (1981–2012)

During the development of the applied MA program, I began to form a grander

vision of a research center in the venerable tradition of Plato’s Academy and
Aristotle’s Lyceum. Drawing on my experiences of centers elsewhere, I envisaged
an institution in which scholars would carry out theoretical research on normative
principles and apply such principles to issues in public policy and professional eth-
ics. Such a center must be interdisciplinary, including social scientists as well as
philosophers, and would ideally host a mix of permanent and visiting fellows and
support a publication program. The story of how this center came into existence
through a combination of luck and ingenuity is too good to skip, though lack of
space demands the omission of many details.
Since the NEH had no interest in institution building, I explored other sources
and made some promising contacts with local business corporations. In 1980 our
department made a job offer to Jeffrey Paul, who was then a professor at Northern
Kentucky University. I had formed a favorable impression of Jeff when we had
previously presented papers at the same conferences. During his job interview we
discovered that we both wanted to establish a research center. Jeff had already con-
ceived of an archetype for such an institution—a center that would conduct original
research in social philosophy and public policy, publish a journal and books, and
host a visiting scholars’ program. This seemed to me to be the ideal arrangement,
and I was delighted when Jeff accepted our job offer.
We devoted the 1980–81 academic year to obtaining University approval and the
funding required to start the center. This involved three tasks. I took the lead on the
first—securing the support of University administrators from the Dean up to the
Provost and President. Jeff took the lead on the second task, fund raising. Because
we knew our efforts must initially be funded entirely from external sources, we
began with local business contacts. We secured a small ‘seed money’ grant to cover
travel to distant funding sources. Jeff had a remarkable ability to translate abstract
ideas into plain language and paint an appealing picture of the program we wanted
to create. We soon had commitments of sufficient funds to found the Social
Philosophy and Policy Center and to cover operations for the first three years. The
third task was to hire someone qualified to carry out our programs. Fortunately, the
ideal candidate was Ellen Frankel Paul, Jeff’s wife, a brilliant young political scien-
tist with a Ph.D. from Harvard who had just been appointed an associate professor
at the University of Colorado but was on leave to be a National Fellow at Stanford
University’s Hoover Institution. The Bowling Green political science department
had already tried in vain to hire her and eagerly joined the effort to recruit her.
Applying a lesson I learned from the ‘Haves’ in the science departments, we per-
suaded the Provost to agree to fund her position after the grant expired. This gave us
the three directors needed to operate the Center: one for administration and univer-
sity relations (me), one for grant writing and conferences (Jeff), and one for direct-
ing research and editing publications (Ellen). The subsequent success of the center
would not have been possible without this troika of individuals with different but
complementary skills and interests.
22 F. D. Miller

Our first year (1981–1982) was devoted to planning our future programs. We
scoped out the competition (e.g., the Center for Values and Social Policy at Colorado
and the Center for the Study of Values at Delaware) by inviting their directors to
Bowling Green to deliver lectures and by listening afterwards to their highly infor-
mative dinner conversation in which they were encouraged to talk about their pro-
grams (and, perchance, funding sources). I remember one of them despairing, “You
have no idea how hard it is to run a center. It’s a lot of work—a lot of work!” Jeff
Paul also thoroughly researched the histories of the Institute for Advanced Studies
in Princeton, the Hoover Institution at Stanford, and the Institute for Social Research
at Frankfurt University in Germany (which relocated to Columbia during the Nazi
era). These revealed valuable lessons on how to obtain financial support and how to
safeguard the essential mission of a research institution.
Our top priority was to establish a journal to be titled Social Philosophy & Policy.
It would be interdisciplinary (including law, economics, political science, etc.), but,
unlike existing journals that typically reflected a rather narrow political spectrum,
would strive for intellectual diversity representing many points of views: liberalism,
libertarianism, Marxism, neoconservatism, anarchism, and so forth. (An aside: I
find ‘-ism’ labels generally misleading in ordinary political discourse. Unless they
are strictly defined in specific contexts such terms invariably have erroneous con-
notations.) Our strategy was to launch the Journal with a couple of blockbuster
issues by inviting papers for conferences on distributive justice and on human rights.
We found two foundations willing to make grants to cover hotel and travel costs and
honoraria sufficient to attract prominent scholars from the United States and Great
Britain. We originally intended to publish the Journal ourselves with the help of the
Philosophy Documentation Center, but Ellen Paul received an overture from the
head of journals at Blackwell, who had heard that we were planning a new publica-
tion and offered to fly over from England to discuss it. When he met with us, he said
he found our journal exciting because it involved distinctive features that promised
success: Each issue dealt with a cutting-edge topic in political philosophy and pub-
lic policy; the authors included eminent authorities as well as rising stars; the
Journal was interdisciplinary, drawing on political science, law, economics, history,
and the relevant social and natural sciences, as well as ethics and political philoso-
phy; and it aimed at ideological diversity, offering a full spectrum of viewpoints—
left, right, and center—so that it would appeal to a wide audience. Moreover,
because each issue contained a dozen or more articles on a single topic, Blackwell
could also publish it as a separate book to teachers and scholars especially interested
in a particular topic.
After deciding to go with Blackwell we assembled an editorial board comprising
eminent senior scholars from philosophy and related disciplines. Our aim was to
produce material that was clear, elegantly written, and original while accessible to a
general readership across disciplines. We established procedures to ensure that our
essays were rigorously reviewed so as to meet and exceed the standards for ordinary
open-submission blind-refereed journals. We first identified a topic, ranging from
broadly theoretical to policy oriented, that was important, timely, and of interest to
a wide audience. We drew up a list of prospective authors based on a review of the
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 23

literature and on recommendations from our editorial board and other authorities of
promising junior scholars. We invited an optimal mix of authors from the relevant
disciplines who could be expected to represent diverse viewpoints. (For example,
for one early issue we invited well known critics and defenders of Marxism to a
conference which resulted in a remarkably amicable interchange.) The letter of invi-
tation spelled out the sorts of questions that the authors should consider, stipulated
that papers must be original contributions, and cautioned that publication was con-
tingent on final editorial approval and that payment of the full honorarium was
conditional on the author fulfilling all requirements. The authors agreed to prepare
a draft of their paper for a conference where the other attendees would offer criti-
cism and constructive suggestions. Afterward they would receive detailed editorial
comments from the Journal’s editor and would be required to revise the paper
accordingly. (These comments were intended to strengthen the paper not to make
the authors change their positions, since that would defeat the journal’s aim of intel-
lectual diversity.) The authors’ revised manuscripts were edited by a professional
copyeditor before it was submitted to Blackwell, which was responsible for print-
ing, distribution and marketing. The Journal exceeded our optimistic expectations
by becoming one of the top journals, not only in political philosophy but in philoso-
phy as a whole. Later we moved to Cambridge University Press which has done an
excellent job especially in leading the way in electronic publishing so that eventu-
ally the journal’s circulation grew to over 8000, most of which were universities and
other institutions throughout the world. Although Jeff Paul and I were Associate
Editors, the reputation of the Journal was largely due to the tireless work of Editor
Ellen Paul who subjected every submission to exacting critical review, supervised
our editorial staff, and worked closely with the publishers.
Before long, however, the fledgling Policy Center experienced growing pains. In
support of our programs we could only afford a half-time release from teaching for
Jeff and Ellen Paul and a single secretary. I was carrying a heavy overload in addi-
tion to my full-time departmental duties and eventually had to step down as Chair
of the philosophy department in the middle of my second term. (I remembered our
visitor’s warning: running a center is “a lot of work.”) There was no room for addi-
tional staff in our cramped, dank suite of offices in the basement of an antiquated
building from which the former occupants, a family of raccoons, had to be evicted
before we could move in. (In the modern academy the struggle for office space is
governed by the law of the survival of the fittest.) The Policy Center was clearly not
sustainable without a larger facility and more operating money. Fortunately, we
were able to secure another multiyear grant (thanks to Jeff’s fundraising expertise),
which was at the time the largest ever made to Bowling Green. The University in
turn committed to converting the director positions to university-funded administra-
tive lines, which enabled us to devote all our future grants to programs. Bowling
Green’s president, Paul J. Olscamp, who was a philosopher himself, agreed to this
because he viewed the Policy Center as the sine qua non for his own goal, namely,
the creation of a new Ph.D. program in applied philosophy. By another stroke of
luck, we found a vacant space, a free-standing attractive red brick building large
enough to accommodate our future programs, which the University renovated at its
24 F. D. Miller

own expense. Out of the new grant we were able to initiate the visiting scholar pro-
gram and hire additional staff. This included three exceptionally capable and loyal
secretaries: Mary Dilsaver, Terrie Weaver, and Tamara Sharp (who is still with us).
We also found several talented administrative assistants, including John Ahrens
(later a professor at Hamilton College), Nicolas Maloberti (hired away by Liberty
Fund), and Kory Swanson (subsequently president and CEO of the John Locke
Foundation). Later we received additional large grants ensuring that our programs
would continue in perpetuity.
I can only scratch the surface in describing the many programs we offered over
the thirty-year history of the Policy Center. In addition to the journal and conference
series, we offered many other conferences and created several series of books and
original papers. We began our resident scholar program in 1984 under the direction
of Jeffrey Paul, who also raised the money for it. One of our first visiting scholars
was Howard Dickman (University of Michigan Ph.D. in history), who assisted Ellen
Paul when she was invited by the NEH to direct a three-year program of confer-
ences and publications in celebration of the Bicentennial of the United States
Constitution. Howard is an exceptionally skilled editor and has continued to work
with us up to the present as a consultant on important projects. Early on we appointed
John N. Gray (University of Oxford) and Antony G. N. Flew (Reading University)
as Distinguished Research Fellows. The Resident Scholars program was by invita-
tion so that we could always have an optimal mix of established and promising
younger scholars in complementary disciplines. Over the years there were 137 resi-
dent scholars including Norman Barry (University of Buckingham), John Braeman
(University of Nebraska), Allen Buchanan (University of Arizona later Duke
University and currently again at Arizona), Jules Coleman (Yale Law School),
Gerald Gaus (University of Minnesota at Duluth, later University of Arizona), John
Haldane (University of St. Andrews), Jean Hampton (University Arizona), David
Keyt (University of Washington), Eric Mack (Tulane University), Douglas
Rasmussen (St. John’s University), Geoffrey Sayre-McCord (University of North
Carolina, Chapel Hill), Roger Scruton (University of London), Tara Smith
(University of Texas), John Tomasi (Brown University), Andrzej Walicki (University
of Notre Dame), and Keith Whittington (Princeton University). (Others are men-
tioned in the following paragraph.) Our roster of resident scholars, visiting lectur-
ers, and over a thousand contributors to the Journal (including Nobel Laureates)
constituted a veritable ‘who’s who’ in social philosophy and policy.
At any given time we would host up to four resident scholars (the most produc-
tive ones being invited to return), who interacted with each other, with the Center
directors, and with faculty and students in philosophy and other departments, thus
providing the core of a stimulating intellectual community. Many of them chose to
stay at an inexpensive nearby motel called the Buckeye Budget Motor Inn (after
Ohio’s sobriquet ‘the buckeye state’), and they whimsically styled themselves ‘the
Buckeye Kreis’ (after the legendary Vienna Circle). Over the years I received a
marvelously broad education from wide-ranging conversations with these scholars
from philosophy, political science, history, law, and other disciplines.
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 25

Although the Policy Center was an autonomous interdisciplinary unit it actively

supported the Department of Philosophy. Several prominent resident scholars of the
Center became members of the Department including David Copp (from the
University of California, Davis), R. G. Frey (from the University of Liverpool),
Loren Lomasky (from the University of Minnesota at Duluth), Edward F. McClennen
(from Washington University), Christopher Morris (from the University of
California, Riverside), and David Schmidtz (from Yale University). In addition to
benefitting from the Center’s conference and visiting scholar programs, the
Department received entrée to Center funding sources for support of its own pro-
grams. Starting in 1985 the Policy Center secured external funding for additional
philosophy graduate student fellowships, at first one, later two, and ultimately six
each year. Most importantly, with the Center’s enthusiastic support, the Department
(under Thomas Attig, my highly capable successor as chair) gained approval of the
Ohio Board of Regents to establish a new Ph.D. program in applied philosophy
starting in 1988. It was the first new doctoral program to be approved in the United
States after a twenty-year hiatus. One consultant stated flatly that the proposed
Ph.D. program would not have been feasible without the presence of the Policy
Center. Our cause was helped mightily when one of our consultants, Myles Brand,
became Provost at Ohio State University. Subsequently the Policy Center helped the
Department to be the first department outside of the sciences to receive an Eminent
Scholar position, a highly coveted chair endowed by the Ohio Board of Regents.
During this period the Department received substantial budget increases through a
statewide program for excellent departments, one of which was specifically targeted
at the Policy Center. Finally, the Center appointed Bowling Green philosophy fac-
ulty with strong publication records as Senior Research Fellows with generous
allowances for research and travel. This research appointment enabled the
Department to make more competitive offers to prospective faculty. The reputation
of the Department grew rapidly, and for many years it was listed in the Leiter annual
survey and ranking of philosophy graduate programs as the tob graduate program in
applied philosophy.

8 Collapse of the Soviet Union (1989–1991)

The most momentous historical event in my lifetime occurred during these years:
the sudden collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War. Overnight the
threat of nuclear annihilation that had hovered over the world ever since my grade
school days when I was taught to hide under my desk in the event of a missile attack
was dispelled. Unlike many of my fellow academics in the United States, I wasn’t
surprised by the fall of the Soviet Union and communist Eastern Europe. Throughout
the 1980s I had heard of evidence of an impending crisis in the communist block
from our Center’s resident scholars, visiting lecturers, and conferees who shared
anecdotes about serious problems such as housing shortages, long queues for food,
toilet paper and other necessities of life that the population endured by means of
26 F. D. Miller

black humor. There were also reports of political repression, dysfunctional medical
services, and widespread corruption. At one of our public lectures in the 1980’s
Nicholas Eberstadt (demographer at Harvard University) presented evidence of
medical crises in communist countries such as Cuba and the Soviet Union, and the
audience of academics responded with disbelief and derision. On occasion the
Policy Center received guarded requests from scholars in Eastern Europe for litera-
ture on Anglo-American political philosophy and economics, and we shipped pack-
ages of books and journals hoping that they reached the intended destination. In the
mid-1990s Edward McClennen (Philosophy Eminent Scholar and Center Senior
Research Scholar) started a new program through which scholars from formerly
communist Eastern European states could obtain a Ph.D. in philosophy and return
to their homelands as teachers. Most of these became Policy Center graduate fel-
lows, and one of them recounted how books on Western political philosophy and
economics were smuggled into Romania and inspired young people to join the revo-
lution against the Ceauşescu regime.

9 Teaching and Research (1991–2012)

While I was the Center’s Executive Director, I continued to be actively involved in

the philosophy department. Given the option of having a full-time administrative
appointment, I remembered G. E. L. Owen’s sage remark about the importance of
teaching. I requested a one-course load which I usually fulfilled with my seminar on
ancient Greek philosophical psychology (along the lines described earlier). Because
this was one of the first courses the new students took, I used it as a vehicle to train
the students in the basic skills of scholarly research. In keeping with the doctoral
program, I encouraged papers with an applied dimension, e.g., Plato or Aristotle on
punishment, responsibility, moral weakness, well-being or happiness, etc. I contin-
ued to follow Owen’s example, too, in offering numerous tutorials as well as special
courses—in later years a course on ethics and political economy and, when possi-
ble, a course on Greek philosophy. On several occasions I was approached by stu-
dents who wanted to learn Greek, and I was happy to comply. After the founding of
the Ph.D. program, the philosophy department disregarded my recommendation
that it offer a course for dissertation writers, who all too often flounder for lack of
supervision or self-discipline. I offered such a year-round workshop myself pro
bono like a ‘one-room schoolhouse’ in which beginners could learn from those
about to defend finished work. Every week or so one of the students presented mate-
rial which their peers were expected to read and discuss. Any dissertator who wanted
me on their committee (regardless of whether I was the advisor of record) was
required to take the course. Although some students dropped out because they found
it too demanding, those who stayed in the course—twenty-nine dissertators in all—
were able to complete high quality dissertations and find employment.23

These students are listed with their dissertations in “Students of the Dissertation Workshop of
23

Fred D. Miller, Jr.” at the end of this volume.

1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 27

In the early 1980s I had turned my full attention to Aristotle’s political theory.
After extensive study of other works of political theory as well as Aristotle’s general
philosophy, I felt ready to try to develop the germ of an idea I had formed a decade
earlier when I first read Rawls’s Theory of Justice and Nozick’s Anarchy, State, and
Utopia. I found both works lacking for two similar reasons. First of all, both theo-
ries were rather one-sided, with Rawls neglecting individual rights (thus treating
individual talents and traits as a ‘common asset’) and Nozick failing to offer an
adequate account of justice (hence resorting to ad hoc devices such as ‘the Lockean
proviso’). Second, both Rawls and Nozick tended to treat political theory in isola-
tion without foundations in a comprehensive philosophical system. It was my intu-
ition that both problems could be remedied in a more complete political theory such
as Aristotle’s in which the theory of justice and the theory of rights are united in a
political theory that is grounded on a general theory of human nature. These ideas
were reflected in my prospective title Nature, Justice, and Rights in Aristotle’s
Politics. I argued that although Aristotle’s ‘polis of our prayers’ is a creature of his
own worldview and alien to ours, he offers invaluable guidance in how to discover
and apply an ideal that is appropriate for modern politics. It took me over a decade
to write and formed the basis for much of my subsequent scholarly work. Therefore,
I want to pause to sketch the argument and describe its reception.
My project faced initial hurdles. One was expressed by a skeptical philosopher:
“Isn’t the Politics of purely historical interest?” Au contraire, I contended, Aristotle’s
politics relies on concepts of happiness and justice articulated in his ethical works
and a concept of political animals found in his biological works. A second, more
common objection was that the ancient Greeks could not have had the concept of
rights because they did not in fact have a single word corresponding to our term
‘rights’. Thus Alasdair MacIntyre says, “From this [fact] it does not … follow that
there are no natural or human rights; it only follows that no one could have known
that there were.”24 This argument is a version of the ‘lexical argument’. The philolo-
gist Bruno Snell used another version to argue that Homer did not have the concept
of a mind because he did not have a single term corresponding to our term ‘mind’.
Critics pointed out that Snell’s argument is hardly conclusive because Homer had a
network of Greek terms that did the same work as out word ‘mind’.25 I argued on
similar lines that this is precisely the case with rights in Aristotle. My argument
gained traction from the jurist Wesley Hohfeld, who argued persuasively that the
modern term ‘right’ is ambiguous and distinguished four principal legal relations
which he called ‘claims’, ‘privileges’, ‘powers’, and ‘immunities’.26 I provided
­evidence that even though the ancient Greeks did not have a single word for ‘rights’
they had a network of terms (e.g., dikaion, exousia, kurios, adeia) that severally did
the work of Hohfeld’s four legal relations.

24
MacIntyre (1981), 69.
25
Williams (1993), p. 34 and Knox (1993), pp. 33–34 offer an objection along these lines against
the methodology of Snell (1953).
26
Hohfeld (1923).
28 F. D. Miller

I also observed that rights are not the special province of any specific moral
theory. Instead, modern theorists from diverse orientations (e.g., deontological, rule
consequentialist, contractarian) offer opposing accounts of what exactly rights are,
who has rights to what, and how rights claims are justified. It seems reasonable to
view these accounts as competing theories about the same subject, namely, a right
understood along the lines proposed by Alan Gewirth: that is, a rightful claim or
power had by an individual as subject to the rightful claims or powers of others.27 In
interpreting Aristotle my strategy was first to look for evidence of rights claims (as
understood by Gewirth) as expressed by the Greek locutions corresponding to
Hohfeld’s terms and then to examine how Aristotle justified these claims. For the
latter task I was aided by David Keyt’s analysis of Aristotle’s theory of justice,
which shows clearly how the principle of distributive justice implies interpersonal
claims of justice.28 This provided the theoretical foundation for arguing that on the
basis of justice Aristotle derived rights of citizenship, political office, and property.
Further I argued that Aristotle’s theory of political justice was more ‘individualistic’
than Plato’s in that Aristotle maintains that a completely just constitution must pro-
mote the virtue and happiness of each and every citizen. I concluded that Aristotle
offered a comprehensive theory of justice and rights that was grounded on his own
theory of political naturalism.
After the book appeared in 1995 the Review of Metaphysics and Ancient
Philosophy published symposia on it. Most reviewers were respectful and even
when they disagreed with my interpretation recognized that my principal aim was
one of scholarly reconstruction. However, one reviewer, offered an assessment
summed up in the following passage:
Fred D. Miller looks at the Politics from the rather Hobbesian standpoint of a contemporary
libertarian. Miller is a director of a centre for social philosophy and policy (not officially
committed to any specific political position). Many of the publications by present and for-
mer members of this centre evidently support different aspects of a libertarian defence of
capitalism and the minimal state. Miller’s sympathies with this libertarian outlook appear
both in his interpretation and in his evaluation of Aristotle.29

This passage begins with a tacit ad hominem: The author is a head of a libertarian
think tank, so caveat lector! It also insinuates that the Social Philosophy and Policy
Center has a covert agenda. Now, as I have indicated, an important aim of the Center
was to remedy an obvious and serious deficiency with existing philosophy journals:
they represented only a narrow part of the political spectrum. It is true that our jour-
nal published articles defending classical liberal positions. But we also published
many more articles representing other viewpoints, including the reviewer’s. (He
surprisingly fails to mention that his own work was published more than once in
Social Philosophy & Policy.30) Finally, it is alleged that my treatment of Aristotle

27
Gewirth (1978), pp. 98–102.
28
Keyt (1991).
29
Irwin (1996).
30
Irwin (1987) and Irwin (1989).
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 29

reflects libertarian sympathies. However, rather than quote any passage from my
book that describes Aristotle as a proto-libertarian (there are none), the review calls
attention to my thesis that Aristotle’s theory of justice supports claims of individual
rights. But, as I made clear in the book, the libertarian theory of rights is only one
among many theories of rights, and furthermore rights for Aristotle belong to human
beings qua political animals, which is very different from any libertarian view.
Moreover, the review never mentions my interpretation of Aristotle’s theory of jus-
tice, which is not Hobbesian extreme individualism but moderate individualism
according to which justice is concerned with the good of individuals understood to
include the Aristotelian ethical virtues. Most grievously, the review misrepresents
the overall aim of my book: which was not “to reduce the distance between Aristotle
and the modern libertarian” (his words) but to “argue that Aristotle is a precursor of
modern theorists of justice, that it is not anachronistic to understand him as con-
cerned with individual rights, and that he makes an important contribution to our
understandings of these concepts” (my words31).
I should add that as I was writing the acknowledgments for Nature, Justice, and
Rights, I was struck by how much I had learned from the Policy Center’s many
scholars and conferees in law, economics, and other disciplines.
A few years later I received an invitation from Professor Enrico Pattaro at the
University of Bologna Law School to edit a volume on the history of legal philoso-
phy for his multivolume A Treatise of Legal Philosophy and General Jurisprudence.
I saw this as a timely opportunity to study the evolution of rights and other legal
concepts from the classical Greeks, through the Roman and medieval canon law,
down to the early modern era. With the infrastructure of our Policy Center, I
recruited fifteen leading scholars in law, history, and philosophy and directed two
conferences, one on ancient and another on medieval philosophy. One very interest-
ing finding was that the Hohfeldian fourfold distinction among legal relations can
be traced from the Greek through Roman and medieval canon law. For example, to
dikaion the Greek word for a just claim corresponds to the Latin ius (related to iusti-
tia or justice) which evolved into the modern term ius, used for a right by Occam
and later writers. This is an example of a term that gradually evolves over time
retaining a general meaning while adapting to new theoretical frameworks. The
book (coedited with Carrie-Ann Biondi), entitled The Philosophy of Law from the
Ancient Greeks to the Scholastics, was published in 2007 as volume 6 of the
Treatise.32
I was quite pleased with this volume until I received an email alerting me that
one of the articles (Chap. 14) in the volume was plagiarized. The author had been
highly recommended to me by several scholars; but on inspection of a dozen differ-
ent original sources to which the email sender referred me, it was evident that his
article had been copied. I subsequently received a letter from the author’s own uni-
versity disavowing his scholarly work, and I later read a journal article charging him
with plagiarism in scores of publications. That I had unwittingly permitted such
egregious intellectual theft was horrifying and humiliating. I promptly notified both

31
Miller Jr. (1995), vii (first paragraph of preface).
32
Miller Jr. and Biondi (2007).
30 F. D. Miller

the general editor and the publisher, and the volume was withdrawn with the expla-
nation posted online. I also wrote letters of apology to those whose work had been
misappropriated (thankfully, those still living were all quite forgiving). Fortunately,
Annabel Brett (Cambridge University) graciously agreed to write a substitute chap-
ter, which was, needless to say, inestimably superior, and the volume was repub-
lished in 2015.
My research efforts were greatly assisted by visiting appointments in 1989 at
Jesus College, Oxford University (facilitated by John Gray), in 2004 at the Centre
for Public Affairs, St. Andrews University (directed by John Haldane), and in 2012
at the Center for the Philosophy of Freedom, University of Arizona (directed by
David Schmidtz). I am grateful to these hosts and to my fellow directors at the
Social Philosophy and Policy Center for taking my place as director during
these times.

10 Emeritus and Beyond (2013–)

The Social Philosophy and Center flourished for forty years before my fellow direc-
tors and I decided it was time to retire from Bowling Green State University at the
end of 2012. Over the years the University had undergone changes. New administra-
tors with new priorities and no interest in the philosophy programs had been
appointed. The outstanding philosophy faculty hired away by other universities
were not replaced, and past commitments were no longer honored. The Philosopher’s
Index had departed, and it was evident that the University would not continue the
Policy Center after we left. The future of the Journal was secured when David
Schmidtz accepted our invitation to become editor in chief. Having the skill and the
imagination to lead the Journal down new paths, as well as the infrastructure to carry
out the conference/journal format, he was perfectly suited for this role. Dave had
been a Resident Scholar of the Center twice and had also been a Professor at Bowling
Green before being hired away by the University of Arizona. At Arizona he had
established the Center for the Philosophy of Freedom with extensive faculty, admin-
istrative and clerical personnel, and graduate assistants, who could support the
Journal. Jeff Paul and I became Research Professors in the Social Philosophy and
Policy Center when it moved to Arizona, where I enjoyed interactions with the
excellent faculty and graduate students. The Journal has continued to prosper as
Dave Schmidtz has carried on the traditional mission and made substantial improve-
ments in operations. We still maintain an off-campus office in Bowling Green where
we manage the business affairs of the Journal and where I can carry out research.
(Tammi Sharp is still with us, the most loyal and efficient of all administrative assis-
tants.) I still personally support the Bowling Green philosophy department, which
went on to establish a successful Philosophy, Politics, Economics, and Law program
with Kevin Vallier, a University of Arizona Ph.D. I also have continued to make
good use of Bowling Green’s excellent library and affiliated OhioLink system. In
2023, Schmidtz became a Professor at West Virginia University continuing as the
Journal’s Editor. Since the Social Philosophy and Policy Center has relocated there,
Jeff Paul and I became Research Professors at West Virginia. We both continue to
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 31

play an active role as Executive Editors of the journal dealing with Cambridge
University Press and working with the Editor in Chief to plan forthcoming issues.
I recall once meeting a science professor at Bowling Green who told me how her
research had blossomed after her retirement. I too have found it possible to devote
much more time to my work on ancient Greek philosophy. In the decade since retir-
ing, I have finished three books: a translation of Aristotle’s De Anima and Parva
Naturalia, entitled On the Soul and Other Psychological Works, a translation of
Pseudo-Alexander’s commentary on Aristotle’s Metaphysics Book XII (Lambda),
and a collection of revised essays entitled Aristotelian Statecraft: Studies of
Aristotle’s Political Philosophy.33 The latter volume reflects the evolution of own
my political philosophy over the past fifty years. A society in which free and equal
individuals can cooperate on the basis of reason rather than force has remained my
fixed star, but I have learned how this ideal might be realized more effectively, due
to many conversations with scholars associated with the Policy Center. Above all,
from my study of Aristotle’s writings I have come to appreciate his method of
‘approximism’ whereby one can cooperate with political adversaries without com-
promising one’s principles and reform defective systems while avoiding the
extremes of utopianism and Machiavellian pragmatism. I now look forward to a
project I have waited to undertake since early in my career: a history of the develop-
ment of the idea of the soul from Homer to Aristotle.
I hope that this narrative will offer future readers evidence that people with a
vision can indeed ‘make things happen’. When I began my career, I wished to com-
bine my search for knowledge with the aspiration to help make the world a better
place and to find a way to achieve these two goals in an academy that was domi-
nated by ideologies generally intolerant toward genuine intellectual diversity. Young
people contemplating or just embarking on an academic career in the twenty-first
century will encounter similar challenges and many others. To overcome them,
however, they will have access to new discoveries and technologies scarcely imag-
ined even by the science fiction writers of the last century. In the field of manufac-
turing, the smart phone is an example of a product that consumers had no inkling of
and yet now cannot live without. In the academic arena, similarly, we may be con-
fident that revolutionary ideas and innovations are waiting for creative scholars to
discover and utilize for the benefit of their own future generations.

11 Postscript with Thanks to My Contributors

Aristotle in the Nicomachean Ethics argues that people with theoretical wisdom are
self-sufficient because they can theorize by themselves. But he adds, “Perhaps one
can do so better if he has fellow-workers (sunergoi)” (X.7.1177a32-3). Although
this concession weakens his overall argument, I suspect Aristotle felt the need to

33
Miller Jr. (2018a, 2021, 2023).
32 F. D. Miller

acknowledge his own intellectual debts to colleagues and friends. In any case his
observation is confirmed by my own life which has been enriched immeasurably by
others. I am fortunate indeed. In all honesty I never expected a Festschrift, let alone
two volumes in my honor. For in addition to this volume, edited by David Keyt and
Christopher Shields, there is another edited by Carrie-Ann Biondi, entitled Reason,
Rights, and the Rule of Law.,34 a special issue of Reason Papers (Volume 43 Issue
1, Spring 2023). The former is concerned with ancient philosophy, while the latter
deals to a greater extent with political philosophy and public policy. Because these
two interests were so closely interconnected it was not feasible to write two separate
memoirs. Therefore, with the indulgence of the editors of this volume I would like
to share some warm recollections of those who contributed to both volumes. I begin
with the editors of the two volumes.
One editor was my former teacher and dissertation director, David Keyt, who
toiled to cultivate scholarly habits in the soul of an uncouth apprentice ‘like earth
which is to nourish the seed’, firmly but patiently showing me how to plan a work,
to construct arguments, to write clearly, and to access a wide range of scholarly
resources. I learned to write by studying his published papers, which are justly
admired gems of lucid and concise philosophical analysis, including even papers on
Wittgenstein’s Tractatus Logico-Philosophicus, which revealed the meaning of a
text I had hitherto found inscrutable.35 He was also an exemplary teacher after whom
I modeled my own future teaching. He was my first instructor who met separately
with students individually to help them plan their writing projects, a practice I have
followed in all my own seminars. He served as a mentor over the years helping me
secure my position at Bowling Green and also a series of research fellowships. By
serendipity David and I developed similar interests in Aristotle’s ethics and politics
and have collaborated on a number of projects over the years beginning with A
Companion to Aristotle’s Politics.36 A decade after that he was a visiting scholar at
the Center in the fateful fall of 2001, when we coauthored an article on ancient
political thought37 while reflecting on the attack of September 11 and its political
aftermath. Later still we coedited an issue of Social Philosophy & Policy devoted to
ancient Greek political philosophy.38 We both retired on the same day: December
31, 2012, I from Bowling Green after forty years, David from the University of
Washington after fifty-five. When he and his wife, Christine, built a house in Tucson
for their retirement he became, like me, a research professor of the Center for the
Philosophy of Freedom. In that capacity we collaborated in a study of the concept
of freedom in Plato and Aristotle, the results of which were published as separate

34
Biondi (2023).
35
Keyt (1963, 1964).
36
Keyt and Miller Jr. (1991).
37
Keyt and Miller Jr. (2004).
38
Social Philosophy and Policy 24.2 (Fall 2007). Simultaneously published with an introduction as
Keyt and Miller Jr. (2007).
1 To the Journey! Recollections on a Philosophical Career 33

articles, one on Plato under my name39 and one on Aristotle under his,40 though both
were coauthored.
The other two editors are former students. One I met in 1976 in an experimental
program called the Humanities Cluster College, in which instructors from six differ-
ent disciplines taught sixty students collectively for an entire term. My first chal-
lenge was to learn the names of sixty students within the first two days. One name
alone I still remember, that of Christopher Shields, who became quite interested in
philosophy and later excelled in my undergraduate survey of ancient philosophy.
After graduating as an English major, he entered our M.A. program. In addition to
exceptional philosophical aptitude he had a flair for languages: he picked up Greek
quickly and later became fluent in spoken German while on a Humboldt fellowship
in Germany. Working with such a talented student with interests so closely aligned
with my own was one of the highlights of my teaching career. After Bowling Green
he entered the Ph.D. program at Cornell and went on to a distinguished academic
career. We have had many productive encounters over the years but the most enjoy-
able have been two recent ones. In 2013 Christopher helped me obtain a fellowship
at his college, Lady Margaret Hall at Oxford University. It so happened that we were
both working on translations of the De Anima, and it was great fun to compare our
different takes on this difficult text.41 Soon after that Christopher moved to Notre
Dame, and in 2020 we taught a graduate seminar there together on Metaphysics
Book XII, using as one of our texts my draft translation of Ps.-Alexander’s com-
mentary on Metaphysics XII. It happens that my age is half way between that of
Christopher and David, and it has been my rare fortune to be able to work closely
with both of them, and even with both of them together at the same time, over
the years.
The editor of the other Festschrift, Carrie-Ann Biondi, is another former student.
When she finished an M.A. degree in American studies at Bowling Green and
entered the philosophy Ph.D. program in the early 1990s, my colleagues and I were
smitten by her infectious enthusiasm combined with high intelligence. She studied
Greek philosophy as well as the Greek language with me, although her interests lay
primarily in modern political philosophy. After defending her dissertation on citi-
zenship and immigration policy,42 she continued as a postdoctoral fellow at the
Policy Center for several years. She served as editorial assistant for Social Philosophy
& Policy and as assistant instructor in my seminar on Greek philosophy. She was my
coeditor for the aforementioned volume on the history of the philosophy of law,43
and assisted me with the conferences for that volume. I was especially indebted to
her for leaping into the breach and taking over as director of one of the conferences
when I suddenly fell ill. When she became editor in chief of Reason Papers (where

39
Miller Jr. (2018b).
40
Keyt (2018).
41
The published works were Shields (2016) and Miller Jr. (2021).
42
Biondi (2002).
43
Miller Jr. and Biondi (2007), 2ed. (2015).
34 F. D. Miller

in its very first issue fifty years ago I published my first paper on Aristotle’s
Politics44), I knew that journal would be in excellent hands. Carrie-Ann joined the
staff of Social Philosophy & Policy as Production Editor in 2023. As evidence of her
boundless energy and generous spirit, Carrie-Ann contributed a paper to each
Festschrift.
Pamela Phillips, another former student, volunteered to copyedit the present vol-
ume. Entering the Ph.D. program in the early 1990s, she lived up to the strong rec-
ommendation of her former teacher, Allan Gotthelf, and wrote a dissertation on the
concept of well-being. When she attended my Greek language tutorial I was so
impressed with her mastery of grammar and style that I recommended her to assist
Harry Dolan, the managing editor for Social Philosophy & Policy. She did such an
exemplary job that we invited her to replace Harry when he retired in order to fulfil
his dream of becoming a successful author of mystery novels. She became Assistant
Editor of our Journal, and she gave me invaluable help with many publications over
the years, including the copyediting of the Festschrift for David Keyt.45 When she
had barely begun to copyedit this volume, she fell seriously ill and suddenly died.
She was a dear friend and I will miss her sorely, as will all her friends, family, and
colleagues.
The papers for the present Festschrift were originally presented at a conference
in Tucson in December 2021. I want to thank everyone who participated in the con-
ference and especially David Schmidtz and Cathleen Johnson, who managed the
conference, and Christopher Shields, who provided substantial funding through the
Center for the Aristotelian Tradition of which he was Director at Notre Dame.
I have already described a workshop for dissertation students which I conducted
for about twenty years. I am delighted that several of my former dissertators in addi-
tion to Carrie-Ann were able to write articles for these volumes. The first is Mahesh
Ananth, who was highly recommended to the Department by David Depew (then
California State at Fullerton, later University of Iowa). Mahesh planned to pursue a
degree in bioethics, but he also wanted to study Greek philosophy and learn the
Greek language. He was always a pleasure to work with: diligent, organized, serious
about his work but also of good cheer. He was an excellent member of the disserta-
tion seminar always ready to help his peers with constructive suggestions. In his
own very fine dissertation he defended a naturalistic concept of health.46 He was
also a resident scholar at the Policy Center during his last year at Bowling Green
and is presently an associate professor at the University of Indiana at South Bend.
Another former advisee is Christoph Hanisch, who entered our program after
earning a degree at the University of Vienna. I agreed to become his dissertation
advisor after two more appropriate advisors were hired away by other universities.
This turned out to be my gain, because from working with him I learned a great deal

44
Miller Jr. (1974b).
45
Miller Jr. and Anagnostopoulos (2015).
46
Ananth (2003).
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 chambers, showing the form of their original sarcode-contents. The minute tubuli
are found also to have been filled with a substance insoluble in the acid, so that
casts of these also remain in great perfection, and allow their general distribution to
be much better seen than in the transparent slices previously prepared. These
interesting preparations establish the following additional structural points:—
“1. That the whole mass of sarcode throughout the organism was continuous;
the apparently detached secondary chambers being, as I had previously suspected,
connected with the larger chambers by canals filled with sarcode.
“2. That some of the irregular portions without lamination are not fragmentary,
but due to the acervuline growth of the animal; and that this irregularity has been
produced in part by the formation of projecting patches of supplementary skeleton,
penetrated by beautiful systems of tubuli. These groups of tubuli are in some places
very regular, and have in their axes cylinders of compact calcareous matter. Some
parts of the specimens present arrangements of this kind as symmetrical as in any
modern Foraminiferal shell.
“3. That all except the very thinnest portions of the walls of the chambers
present traces, more or less distinct, of a tubular structure.
“4. These facts place in more strong contrast the structure of the regularly
laminated species from Burgess, which do not show tubuli, and that of the Grenville
specimens, less regularly laminated and tubulous throughout. I hesitated however
to regard these two as distinct species, in consequence of the intermediate
characters presented by specimens from the Calumet, which are regularly
laminated like those of Burgess, and tubulous like those of Grenville. It is possible
that in the Burgess specimens, tubuli, originally present, have been obliterated, and
in organisms of this grade, more or less altered by the processes of fossilisation,
large series of specimens should be compared before attempting to establish
specific distinctions.”
(B.) Original Description of the Specimens added by Dr. Carpenter to the above—in
a Letter to Sir W. E. Logan.
[Journal of Geological Society, February, 1865.]
"The careful examination which I have made, in accordance with the request
you were good enough to convey to me from Dr. Dawson and to second on your
own part, with the structure of the very extraordinary fossil which you have brought
from the Laurentian rocks of Canada,[Q] enables me most unhesitatingly to confirm
the sagacious determination of Dr. Dawson as to its Rhizopod characters and
Foraminiferal affinities, and at the same time furnishes new evidence of no small
value in support of that determination. In this examination I have had the
advantage of a series of sections of the fossil much superior to those submitted to
Dr. Dawson; and also of a large series of decalcified specimens, of which Dr.
Dawson had only the opportunity of seeing a few examples after his memoir had
been written. These last are peculiarly instructive; since in consequence of the
complete infiltration of the chambers and canals, originally occupied by the
sarcode-body of the animal, by mineral matter insoluble in dilute nitric acid, the
removal of the calcareous shell brings into view, not only the internal casts of the
chambers, but also casts of the interior of the ‘canal system’ of the ‘intermediate’ or
‘supplemental skeleton,’ and even casts of the interior of the very fine parallel tubuli
which traverse the proper walls of the chambers. And, as I have remarked
elsewhere,[R] ‘such casts place before us far more exact representations of the
configuration of the animal body, and of the connections of its different parts, than
we could obtain even from living specimens by dissolving away their shells with
acid; its several portions being disposed to heap themselves together in a mass
when they lose the support of the calcareous skeleton.’
[Q] The specimens submitted to Dr. Carpenter were taken from a block
of Eozoon rock, obtained in the Petite Nation seigniory, too late to afford
Dr. Dawson an opportunity of examination. They are from the same
horizon as the Grenville specimens.—W. E. L.
[R] Introduction to the Study of the Foraminifera, p. 10.

"The additional opportunities I have thus enjoyed will be found, I believe, to

account satisfactorily for the differences to be observed between Dr. Dawson’s
account of the Eozoon and my own. Had I been obliged to form my conclusions
respecting its structure only from the specimens submitted to Dr. Dawson, I should
very probably have seen no reason for any but the most complete accordance with
his description: while if Dr. Dawson had enjoyed the advantage of examining the
entire series of preparations which have come under my own observation, I feel
confident that he would have anticipated the corrections and additions which I now
offer.
"Although the general plan of growth described by Dr. Dawson, and exhibited in
his photographs of vertical sections of the fossil, is undoubtedly that which is typical
of Eozoon, yet I find that the acervuline mode of growth, also mentioned by Dr.
Dawson, very frequently takes its place in the more superficial parts, where the
chambers, which are arranged in regular tiers in the laminated portions, are heaped
one upon another without any regularity, as is particularly well shown in some
decalcified specimens which I have myself prepared from the slices last put into my
hands. I see no indication that this departure from the normal type of structure has
resulted from an injury; the transition from the regular to the irregular mode of
increase not being abrupt but gradual. Nor shall I be disposed to regard it as a
monstrosity; since there are many other Foraminifera in which an originally definite
plan of growth gives place, in a later stage, to a like acervuline piling-up of
chambers.
"In regard to the form and relations of the chambers, I have little to add to Dr.
Dawson’s description. The evidence afforded by their internal casts concurs with
that of sections, in showing that the segments of the sarcode-body, by whose
aggregation each layer was constituted, were but very incompletely divided by
shelly partitions; this incomplete separation (as Dr. Dawson has pointed out) having
its parallel in that of the secondary chambers in Carpenteria. But I have
occasionally met with instances in which the separation of the chambers has been
as complete as it is in Foraminifera generally; and the communication between
them is then established by several narrow passages exactly corresponding with
those which I have described and figured in Cycloclypeus.[S]
[S] Op. cit., p. 294.
"The mode in which each successive layer originates from the one which had
preceded it, is a question to which my attention has been a good deal directed; but
I do not as yet feel confident that I have been able to elucidate it completely. There
is certainly no regular system of apertures for the passage of stolons giving origin
to new segments, such as are found in all ordinary Polythalamous Foraminifera,
whether their type of growth be rectilinear, spiral, or cyclical; and I am disposed to
believe that where one layer is separated from another by nothing else than the
proper walls of the chambers,—which, as I shall presently show, are traversed by
multitudes of minute tubuli giving passage to pseudopodia,—the coalescence of
these pseudopodia on the external surface would suffice to lay the foundation of a
new layer of sarcodic segments. But where an intermediate or supplemental
skeleton, consisting of a thick layer of solid calcareous shell, has been deposited
between two successive layers, it is obvious that the animal body contained in the
lower layer of chambers must be completely cut off from that which occupies the
upper, unless some special provision exist for their mutual communication. Such a
provision I believe to have been made by the extension of bands of sarcode,
through canals left in the intermediate skeleton, from the lower to the upper tier of
chambers. For in such sections as happen to have traversed thick deposits of the
intermediate skeleton, there are generally found passages distinguished from those
of the ordinary canal-system by their broad flat form, their great transverse
diameter, and their non-ramification. One of these passages I have distinctly traced
to a chamber, with the cavity of which it communicated through two or three
apertures in its proper wall; and I think it likely that I should have been able to
trace it at its other extremity into a chamber of the superjacent tier, had not the
plane of the section passed out of its course. Riband-like casts of these passages
are often to be seen in decalcified specimens, traversing the void spaces left by the
removal of the thickest layers of the intermediate skeleton.
"But the organization of a new layer seems to have not unfrequently taken place
in a much more considerable extension of the sarcode-body of the pre-formed
layer; which either folded back its margin over the surface already consolidated, in
a manner somewhat like that in which the mantle of a Cyprœa doubles back to
deposit the final surface-layer of its shell, or sent upwards wall-like lamellæ,
sometimes of very limited extent, but not unfrequently of considerable length,
which, after traversing the substance of the shell, like trap-dykes in a bed of
sandstone, spread themselves out over its surface. Such, at least, are the only
interpretations I can put upon the appearances presented by decalcified specimens.
For on the one hand, it is frequently to be observed that two bands of serpentine
(or other infiltrated mineral), which represent two layers of the original sarcode-
body of the animal, approximate to each other in some part of their course, and
come into complete continuity; so that the upper layer would seem at that part to
have had its origin in the lower. Again, even where these bands are most widely
separated, we find that they are commonly held together by vertical lamellæ of the
same material, sometimes forming mere tongues, but often running to a
considerable length. That these lamellæ have not been formed by mineral
infiltration into accidental fissures in the shell, but represent corresponding
extensions of the sarcode-body, seems to me to be indicated not merely by the
characters of their surface, but also by the fact that portions of the canal-system
may be occasionally traced into connection with them.
"Although Dr. Dawson has noticed that some parts of the sections which he
examined present the fine tubulation characteristic of the shells of the Nummuline
Foraminifera, he does not seem to have recognised the fact, which the sections
placed in my hands have enabled me most satisfactorily to determine,—that the
proper walls of the chambers everywhere present the fine tubulation of the
Nummuline shell; a point of the highest importance in the determination of the
affinities of Eozoon. This tubulation, although not seen with the clearness with
which it is to be discerned in recent examples of the Nummuline type, is here far
better displayed than it is in the majority of fossil Nummulites, in which the tubuli
have been filled up by the infiltration of calcareous matter, rendering the shell-
substance nearly homogeneous. In Eozoon these tubuli have been filled up by the
infiltration of a mineral different from that of which the shell is composed, and
therefore not coalescing with it; and the tubular structure is consequently much
more satisfactorily distinguishable. In decalcified specimens, the free margins of the
casts of the chambers are often seen to be bordered with a delicate white
glistening fringe; and when this fringe is examined with a sufficient magnifying
power, it is seen to be made up of a multitude of extremely delicate aciculi,
standing side by side like the fibres of asbestos. These, it is obvious, are the
internal casts of the fine tubuli which perforated the proper wall of the chambers,
passing directly from its inner to its outer surface; and their presence in this
situation affords the most satisfactory confirmation of the evidence of that
tubulation afforded by thin sections of the shell-wall.
"The successive layers, each having its own proper wall, are often superposed
one upon another without the intervention of any supplemental or intermediate
skeleton such as presents itself in all the more massive forms of the Nummuline
series; but a deposit of this form of shell-substance, readily distinguishable by its
homogeneousness from the finely tubular shell immediately investing the segments
of the sarcode-body, is the source of the great thickening which the calcareous
zones often present in vertical sections of Eozoon. The presence of this
intermediate skeleton has been correctly indicated by Dr. Dawson; but he does not
seem to have clearly differentiated it from the proper wall of the chambers. All the
tubuli which he has described belong to that canal system which, as I have shown,
[T]
is limited in its distribution to the intermediate skeleton, and is expressly
designed to supply a channel for its nutrition and augmentation. Of this canal
system, which presents most remarkable varieties in dimensions and distribution,
we learn more from the casts presented by decalcified specimens, than from
sections, which only exhibit such parts of it as their plane may happen to traverse.
Illustrations from both sources, giving a more complete representation of it than Dr.
Dawson’s figures afford, have been prepared from the additional specimens placed
in my hands.
[T] Op. cit., pp. 50, 51.
 "It does not appear to me that the canal system takes its origin directly from the
cavity of the chambers. On the contrary, I believe that, as in Calcarina (which Dr.
Dawson has correctly referred to as presenting the nearest parallel to it among
recent Foraminifera), they originate in lacunar spaces on the outside of the proper
walls of the chambers, into which the tubuli of those walls open externally; and that
the extensions of the sarcode-body which occupied them were formed by the
coalescence of the pseudopodia issuing from those tubuli.[U]
[U] Op. cit., p. 221.
"It seems to me worthy of special notice, that the canal system, wherever
displayed in transparent sections, is distinguished by a yellowish brown coloration,
so exactly resembling that which I have observed in the canal system of recent
Foraminifera (as Polystomella and Calcarina) in which there were remains of the
sarcode-body, that I cannot but believe the infiltrating mineral to have been dyed
by the remains of sarcode still existing in the canals of Eozoon at the time of its
consolidation. If this be the case, the preservation of this colour seems to indicate
that no considerable metamorphic action has been exerted upon the rock in which
this fossil occurs. And I should draw the same inference from the fact that the
organic structure of the shell is in many instances even more completely preserved
than it usually is in the Nummulites and other Foraminifera of the Nummulitic
limestone of the early Tertiaries.
"To sum up,—That the Eozoon finds its proper place in the Foraminiferal series, I
conceive to be conclusively proved by its accordance with the great types of that
series, in all the essential characters of organization;—namely, the structure of the
shell forming the proper wall of the chambers, in which it agrees precisely with
Nummulina and its allies; the presence of an intermediate skeleton and an
elaborate canal system, the disposition of which reminds us most of Calcarina; a
mode of communication of the chambers when they are most completely
separated, which has its exact parallel in Cycloclypeus; and an ordinary want of
completeness of separation between the chambers, corresponding with that which
is characteristic of Carpenteria.
"There is no other group of the animal kingdom to which Eozoon presents the
slightest structural resemblance; and to the suggestion that it may have been of kin
to Nullipore, I can offer the most distinct negative reply, having many years ago
carefully studied the structure of that stony Alga, with which that of Eozoon has
nothing whatever in common.
"The objections which not unnaturally occur to those familiar with only the
ordinary forms of Foraminifera, as to the admission of Eozoon into the series, do
not appear to me of any force. These have reference in the first place to the great
size of the organism; and in the second, to its exceptional mode of growth.
"1. It must be borne in mind that all the Foraminifera normally increase by the
continuous gemmation of new segments from those previously formed; and that we
have, in the existing types, the greatest diversities in the extent to which this
gemmation may proceed. Thus in the Globigerinæ, whose shells cover to an
unknown thickness the sea bottom of all that portion of the Atlantic Ocean which is
traversed by the Gulf Stream, only eight or ten segments are ordinarily produced by
continuous gemmation; and if new segments are developed from the last of these,
they detach themselves so as to lay the foundation of independent Globigerinæ. On
the other hand in Cycloclypeus, which is a discoidal structure attaining two and a
quarter inches in diameter, the number of segments formed by continuous
gemmation must be many thousand. Again, the Receptaculites of the Canadian
Silurian rocks, shown by Mr. Salter’s drawings[V] to be a gigantic Orbitolite, attains a
diameter of twelve inches; and if this were to increase by vertical as well as by
horizontal gemmation (after the manner of Tinoporus or Orbitoides) so that one
discoidal layer would be piled on another, it would form a mass equalling Eozoon in
its ordinary dimensions. To say, therefore, that Eozoon cannot belong to the
Foraminifera on account of its gigantic size, is much as if a botanist who had only
studied plants and shrubs were to refuse to admit a tree into the same category.
The very same continuous gemmation which has produced an Eozoon would
produce an equal mass of independent Globigerinæ, if after eight or ten repetitions
of the process, the new segments were to detach themselves.
[V] First Decade of Canadian Fossils, pl. x.

"It is to be remembered, moreover, that the largest masses of sponges are

formed by continuous gemmation from an original Rhizopod segment; and that
there is no á priori reason why a Foraminiferal organism should not attain the same
dimensions as a Poriferal one,—the intimate relationship of the two groups,
notwithstanding the difference between their skeletons, being unquestionable.
"2. The difficulty arising from the zoophytic plan of growth of Eozoon is at once
disposed of by the fact that we have in the recent Polytrema (as I have shown, op.
cit., p. 235) an organism nearly allied in all essential points of structure to Rotalia,
yet no less aberrant in its plan of growth, having been ranked by Lamarck among
the Millepores. And it appears to me that Eozoon takes its place quite as naturally in
the Nummuline series as Polytrema in the Rotaline. As we are led from the typical
Rotalia, through the less regular Planorbulina, to Tinoporus, in which the chambers
are piled up vertically, as well as multiplied horizontally, and thence pass by an easy
gradation to Polytrema, in which all regularity of external form is lost; so may we
pass from the typical Operculina or Nummulina, through Heterostegina and
Cycloclypeus to Orbitoides, in which, as in Tinoporus, the chambers multiply both
by horizontal and by vertical gemmation; and from Orbitoides to Eozoon the
transition is scarcely more abrupt than from Tinoporus to Polytrema.
"The general acceptance, by the most competent judges, of my views
respecting the primary value of the characters furnished by the intimate structure of
the shell, and the very subordinate value of plan of growth, in the determination of
the affinities of Foraminifera, renders it unnecessary that I should dwell further on
my reasons for unhesitatingly affirming the Nummuline affinities of Eozoon from the
microscopic appearances presented by the proper wall of its chambers,
notwithstanding its very aberrant peculiarities; and I cannot but feel it to be a
feature of peculiar interest in geological inquiry, that the true relations of by far the
earliest fossil yet known should be determinable by the comparison of a portion
which the smallest pin’s head would cover, with organisms at present existing."
 (C.) Note on Specimens From Long Lake and Wentworth.
[Journal of Geological Society, August, 1867.]
"Specimens from Long Lake, in the collection of the Geological Survey of
Canada, exhibit white crystalline limestone with light green compact or
septariiform[W] serpentine, and much resemble some of the serpentine limestones
of Grenville. Under the microscope the calcareous matter presents a delicate
areolated appearance, without lamination; but it is not an example of acervuline
Eozoon, but rather of fragments of such a structure, confusedly aggregated
together, and having the interstices and cell-cavities filled with serpentine. I have
not found in any of these fragments a canal system similar to that of Eozoon
Canadense, though there are casts of large stolons, and, under a high power, the
calcareous matter shows in many places the peculiar granular or cellular
appearance which is one of the characters of the supplemental skeleton of that
species. In a few places a tubulated cell-wall is preserved, with structure similar to
that of Eozoon Canadense.
[W] I use the term “septariiform” to denote the curdled appearance so
often presented by the Laurentian serpentine.

“Specimens of Laurentian limestone from Wentworth, in the collection of the

Geological Survey, exhibit many rounded silicious bodies, some of which are
apparently grains of sand, or small pebbles; but others, especially when freed from
the calcareous matter by a dilute acid, appear as rounded bodies, with rough
surfaces, either separate or aggregated in lines or groups, and having minute
vermicular processes projecting from their surfaces. At first sight these suggest the
idea of spicules; but I think it on the whole more likely that they are casts of
cavities and tubes belonging to some calcareous Foraminiferal organism which has
disappeared. Similar bodies, found in the limestone of Bavaria, have been described
by Gümbel, who interprets them in the same way. They may also be compared with
the silicious bodies mentioned in a former paper as occurring in the loganite filling
the chambers of specimens of Eozoon from Burgess.”
These specimens will be more fully referred to under Chapter VI.

(D.) Additional Structural Facts.

I may mention here a peculiar and interesting structure which has been
detected in one of my specimens while these sheets were passing through the
press. It is an abnormal thickening of the calcareous wall, extending across several
layers, and perforated with large parallel cylindrical canals, filled with dolomite, and
running in the direction of the laminæ; the intervening calcite being traversed by a
very fine and delicate canal system. It makes a nearer approach to some of the
Stromatoporæ mentioned in Chapter VI. than any other Laurentian structure
hitherto observed, and may be either an abnormal growth of Eozoon, consequent
on some injury, or a parasitic mass of some Stromatoporoid organism overgrown by
the laminæ of the fossil. The structure of the dolomite in this specimen indicates
that it first lined the canals, and afterward filled them; an appearance which I have
also observed recently in the larger canals filled with serpentine (Plate VIII., fig. 5).
The cut below is an attempt, only partially successful, to show the Amœba-like
appearance, when magnified, of the casts of the chambers of Eozoon, as seen on
the decalcified surface of a specimen broken parallel to the laminæ.

Fig. 21a.

Plate V.

Nature-print of Eozoon, showing laminated, acervuline,

and fragmental portions.
This is printed from an electrotype taken from an etched slab of
Eozoon, and not touched with a graver except to remedy some
accidental flaws in the plate. The diagonal white line marks the
course of a calcite vein.
 CHAPTER V.
THE PRESERVATION OF EOZOON.
Perhaps nothing excites more scepticism as to this ancient fossil than the
prejudice existing among geologists that no organism can be preserved in
rocks so highly metamorphic as those of the Laurentian series. I call this a
prejudice, because any one who makes the microscopic structure of rocks
and fossils a special study, soon learns that fossils undergo the most
remarkable and complete chemical changes without losing their minute
structure, and that calcareous rocks if once fossiliferous are hardly ever so
much altered as to lose all trace of the organisms which they contained,
while it is a most common occurrence to find highly crystalline rocks of this
kind abounding in fossils preserved as to their minute structure.
Let us, however, look at the precise conditions under which this takes
place.
When calcareous fossils of irregular surface and porous or cellular texture,
such as Eozoon was or corals were and are, become imbedded in clay, marl,
or other soft sediment, they can be washed out and recovered in a condition
similar to that of recent specimens, except that their pores or cells if open
may be filled with the material of the matrix, or if not so open that they can
be thus filled, they may be more or less incrusted with mineral deposits
introduced by water, or may even be completely filled up in this way. But if
such fossils are contained in hard rocks, they usually fail, when these are
broken, to show their external surfaces, and, breaking across with the
containing rock, they exhibit their internal structure merely,—and this more
or less distinctly, according to the manner in which their cells or cavities have
been filled. Here the microscope becomes of essential service, especially
when the structures are minute. A fragment of fossil wood which to the
naked eye is nothing but a dark stone, or a coral which is merely a piece of
gray or coloured marble, or a specimen of common crystalline limestone
made up originally of coral fragments, presents, when sliced and magnified,
the most perfect and beautiful structure. In such cases it will be found that
ordinarily the original substance of the fossil remains, in a more or less
altered state. Wood may be represented by dark lines of coaly matter, or
coral by its white or transparent calcareous laminæ; while the material which
has been introduced and which fills the cavities may so differ in colour,
transparency, or crystalline structure, as to act differently on light, and so
reveal the structure. These fillings are very curious. Sometimes they are
mere earthy or muddy matter. Sometimes they are pure and transparent and
crystalline. Often they are stained with oxide of iron or coaly matter. They
may consist of carbonate of lime, silica or silicates, sulphate of baryta, oxides
of iron, carbonate of iron, iron pyrite, or sulphides of copper or lead, all of
which are common materials. They are sometimes so complicated that I have
seen even the minute cells of woody structures, each with several bands of
differently coloured materials deposited in succession, like the coats of an
onyx agate.
A further stage of mineralization occurs when the substance of the
organism is altogether removed and replaced by foreign matter, either little
by little, or by being entirely dissolved or decomposed, leaving a cavity to be
filled by infiltration. In this state are some silicified woods, and those corals
which have been not filled with but converted into silica, and can thus
sometimes be obtained entire and perfect by the solution in an acid of the
containing limestone, or by its removal in weathering. In this state are the
beautiful silicified corals obtained from the corniferous limestone of Lake Erie.
It may be well to present to the eye these different stages of fossilization. I
have attempted to do this in fig. 22, taking a tabulate coral of the genus
Favosites for an example, and supposing the materials employed to be calcite
and silica. Precisely the same illustration would apply to a piece of wood,
except that the cell-wall would be carbonaceous matter instead of carbonate
of lime. In this figure the dotted parts represent carbonate of lime, the
diagonally shaded parts silica or a silicate. Thus we have, in the natural state,
the walls of carbonate of lime and the cavities empty. When fossilized the
cavities may be merely filled with carbonate of lime, or they may be filled
with silica; or the walls themselves may be replaced by silica and the cavities
may remain filled with carbonate of lime; or both the walls and cavities may
be represented by or filled with silica or silicates. The ordinary specimens of
Eozoon are in the third of these stages, though some exist in the second,
and I have reason to believe that some have reached to the fifth. I have not
met with any in the fourth stage, though this is not uncommon in Silurian
and Devonian fossils.
 Fig. 22. Diagram showing different
States of Fossilization of a Cell of a
Tabulate Coral.
(a.) Natural condition—walls calcite,
cell empty. (b.) Walls calcite, cell filled
with the same. (c.) Walls calcite, cell
filled with silica or silicate. (d.) Walls
silicified, cell filled with calcite. (e.)
Walls silicified, cell filled with silica or
silicate.
With regard to the calcareous organisms with which we have now to do,
when these are imbedded in pure limestone and filled with the same, so that
the whole rock, fossils and all, is identical in composition, and when
metamorphic action has caused the whole to become crystalline, and
perhaps removed the remains of carbonaceous matter, it may be very
difficult to detect any traces of fossils. But even in this case careful
management of light may reveal indications of structure, as in some
specimens of Eozoon described by the writer and Dr. Carpenter. In many
cases, however, even where the limestones have become perfectly
crystalline, and the cleavage planes cut freely across the fossils, these exhibit
their forms and minute structure in great perfection. This is the case in many
of the Lower Silurian limestones of Canada, as I have elsewhere shown.[X]
The gray crystalline Trenton limestone of Montreal, used as a building stone,
is an excellent illustration of this. To the naked eye it is a gray marble
composed of cleavable crystals; but when examined in thin slices, it shows its
organic fragments in the greatest perfection, and all the minute structures
are perfectly marked out by delicate carbonaceous lines. The only exception
in this limestone is in the case of the Crinoids, in which the cellular structure
is filled with transparent calc-spar, perfectly identical with the original solid
matter, so that they appear solid and homogeneous, and can be recognised
only by their external forms. The specimen represented in fig. 23, is a mass
of Corals, Bryozoa, and Crinoids, and shows these under a low power, as
represented in the figure; but to the naked eye it is merely a gray crystalline
limestone. The specimen represented in fig. 24 shows the Laurentian Eozoon
in a similar state of preservation. It is from a sketch by Dr. Carpenter, and
shows the delicate canals partly filled with calcite as clear and colourless as
that of the shell itself, and distinguishable only by careful management of the
light.
 [X] Canadian Naturalist, 1859; Microscopic Structure of Canadian
Limestones.

Fig. 23. Slice of Crystalline Lower

Silurian Limestone; showing
Crinoids, Bryozoa, and Corals in
fragments.

Fig. 24. Wall of Eozoon

penetrated with Canals. The
unshaded portions filled with
Calcite. (After Carpenter.)
In the case of recent and fossil Foraminifers, these—when not so little
mineralized that their chambers are empty, or only partially filled, which is
sometimes the case even with Eocene Nummulites and Cretaceous forms of
smaller size,—are very frequently filled solid with calcareous matter, and as
Dr. Carpenter well remarks, even well preserved Tertiary Nummulites in this
state often fail greatly in showing their structures, though in the same
condition they occasionally show these in great perfection. Among the finest
I have seen are specimens from the Mount of Olives (fig. 19), and Dr.
Carpenter mentions as equally good those of the London clay of
Bracklesham. But in no condition do modern Foraminifera or those of the
Tertiary and Mesozoic rocks appear in greater perfection than when filled
with the hydrous silicate of iron and potash called glauconite, and which
gives by the abundance of its little bottle-green concretions the name of
“green-sand” to formations of this age both in Europe and America. In some
beds of green-sand every grain seems to have been moulded into the interior
of a microscopic shell, and has retained its form after the frail envelope has
been removed. In some cases the glauconite has not only filled the chambers
but has penetrated the fine tubulation, and when the shell is removed, either
naturally or by the action of an acid, these project in minute needles or
bundles of threads from the surface of the cast. It is in the warmer seas, and
especially in the bed of the Ægean and of the Gulf Stream, that such
specimens are now most usually found. If we ask why this mineral glauconite
should be associated with Foraminiferal shells, the answer is that they are
both products of one kind of locality. The same sea bottoms in which
Foraminifera most abound are also those in which for some unknown
chemical reason glauconite is deposited. Hence no doubt the association of
this mineral with the great Foraminiferal formation of the chalk. It is indeed
by no means unlikely that the selection by these creatures of the pure
carbonate of lime from the sea-water or its minute plants, may be the means
of setting free the silica, iron, and potash, in a state suitable for their
combination. Similar silicates are found associated with marine limestones, as
far back as the Silurian age; and Dr. Sterry Hunt, than whom no one can be a
better authority on chemical geology, has argued on chemical grounds that
the occurrence of serpentine with the remains of Eozoon is an association of
the same character.
However this may be, the infiltration of the pores of Eozoon with
serpentine and other silicates has evidently been one main means of the
preservation of its structure. When so infiltrated no metamorphism short of
the complete fusion of the containing rock could obliterate the minutest
points of structure; and that such fusion has not occurred, the preservation
in the Laurentian rocks of the most delicate lamination of the beds shows
conclusively; while, as already stated, it can be shown that the alteration
which has occurred might have taken place at a temperature far short of that
necessary to fuse limestone. Thus has it happened that these most ancient
fossils have been handed down to our time in a state of preservation
comparable, as Dr. Carpenter states, to that of the best preserved fossil
Foraminifera from the more recent formations that have come under his
observation in the course of all his long experience.
Let us now look more minutely at the nature of the typical specimens of
Eozoon as originally observed and described, and then turn to those
preserved in other ways, or more or less destroyed and defaced. Taking a
polished specimen from Petite Nation, like that delineated in Plate. V., we find
the shell represented by white limestone, and the chambers by light green
serpentine. By acting on the surface with a dilute acid we etch out the
calcareous part, leaving a cast in serpentine of the cavities occupied by the
soft parts; and when this is done in polished slices these may be made to
print their own characters on paper, as has actually been done in the case of
Plate. V., which is an electrotype taken from an actual specimen, and shows
both the laminated and acervuline parts of the fossil. If the process of
decalcification has been carefully executed, we find in the excavated spaces
delicate ramifying processes of opaque serpentine or transparent dolomite,
which were originally imbedded in the calcareous substance, and which are
often of extreme fineness and complexity. (Plate VI. and fig. 10.) These are
casts of the canals which traversed the shell when still inhabited by the
animal. In some well preserved specimens we find the original cell-wall
represented by a delicate white film, which under the microscope shows
minute needle-like parallel processes representing its still finer tubuli. It is
evident that to have filled these tubuli the serpentine must have been
introduced in a state of actual solution, and must have carried with it no
foreign impurities. Consequently we find that in the chambers themselves the
serpentine is pure; and if we examine it under polarized light, we see that it
presents a singularly curdled or irregularly laminated appearance, which I
have designated under the name septariiform, as if it had an imperfectly
crystalline structure, and had been deposited in irregular laminæ, beginning
at the sides of the chambers, and filling them toward the middle, and had
afterward been cracked by shrinkage, and the cracks filled with a second
deposit of serpentine. Now, serpentine is a hydrous silicate of magnesia, and
all that we need to suppose is that in the deposits of the Laurentian sea
magnesia was present instead of iron and potash, and we can understand
that the Laurentian fossil has been petrified by infiltration with serpentine, as
more modern Foraminifera have been with glauconite, which, though it
usually has little magnesia, often has a considerable percentage of alumina.
Further, in specimens of Eozoon from Burgess, the filling mineral is loganite,
a compound of silica, alumina, magnesia and iron, with water, and in certain
Silurian limestones from New Brunswick and Wales, in which the delicate
microscopic pores of the skeletons of stalked star-fishes or Crinoids have
been filled with mineral deposits, so that when decalcified these are most
beautifully represented by their casts, Dr. Hunt has proved the filling mineral
to be a silicate of alumina, iron, magnesia and potash, intermediate between
serpentine and glauconite. We have, therefore, ample warrant for adhering
to Dr. Hunt’s conclusion that the Laurentian serpentine was deposited under
conditions similar to those of the modern green-sand. Indeed, independently
of Eozoon, it is impossible that any geologist who has studied the manner in
which this mineral is associated with the Laurentian limestones could believe
it to have been formed in any other way. Nor need we be astonished at the
1
fineness of the infiltration by which these minute tubes, perhaps of an
10000
inch in diameter, are filled with mineral matter. The micro-geologist well
knows how, in more modern deposits, the finest pores of fossils are filled,
and that mineral matter in solution can penetrate the smallest openings that
the microscope can detect. Wherever the fluids of the living body can
penetrate, there also mineral substances can be carried, and this natural
injection, effected under great pressure and with the advantage of ample
time, can surpass any of the feats of the anatomical manipulator. Fig. 25
represents a microscopic joint of a Crinoid from the Upper Silurian of New
Brunswick, injected with the hydrous silicate already referred to, and fig. 26
shows a microscopic chambered or spiral shell, from a Welsh Silurian
limestone, with its cavities filled with a similar substance.
It is only necessary to refer to
the attempts which have been
made to explain by merely
mineral deposits the occurrence of
the serpentine in the canals and
chambers of Eozoon, and its
presenting the form it does, to
see that this is the case. Prof.
Rowney, for example, to avoid the
force of the argument from the
canal system, is constrained to
imagine that the whole mass has
at one time been serpentine, and Fig. 26. Shell
that this has been partially from a Silurian
washed away, and replaced by Limestone, Wales;
calcite. If so, whence the its cavity filled
Fig. 25. Joint of deposition of the supposed mass with a Hydrous
a Crinoid, having its of serpentine, which has to be Silicate.
pores injected with accounted for in this way as well
a Hydrous Silicate. Magnified 25
as in the other? How did it diameters.
Upper Silurian happen to be eroded into so
Limestone, Pole Hill,
 New Brunswick. regular chambers, leaving intermediate floors and
Magnified 25 diameters. partitions. And, more wonderful still, how did the
regular dendritic bundles, so delicate that they are
removed by a breath, remain perfect, and endure until
they were imbedded in calcareous spar? Further, how does it happen that in
some specimens serpentine and pyroxene seem to have encroached upon
the structure, as if they and not calcite were the eroding minerals? How any
one who has looked at the structures can for a moment imagine such a
possibility, it is difficult to understand. If we could suppose the serpentine to
have been originally deposited as a cellular or laminated mass, and its
cavities filled with calcite in a gelatinous or semi-fluid state, we might
suppose the fine processes of serpentine to have grown outward into these
cavities in the mass, as fibres of oxide of iron or manganese have grown in
the silica of moss-agate; but this theory would be encompassed with nearly
as great mechanical and chemical difficulties. The only rational view that any
one can take of the process is, that the calcareous matter was the original
substance, and that it had delicate tubes traversing it which became injected
with serpentine. The same explanation, and no other, will suffice for those
delicate cell-walls, penetrated by innumerable threads of serpentine, which
must have been injected into pores. It is true that there are in some of the
specimens cracks filled with fibrous serpentine or chrysotile, but these
traverse the mass in irregular directions, and they consist of closely packed
angular prisms, instead of a matrix of limestone penetrated by cylindrical
threads of serpentine. (Fig. 27.) Here I must once for all protest against the
tendency of some opponents of Eozoon to confound these structures and the
canal system of Eozoon with the acicular crystals, and dendritic or coralloidal
forms, observed in some minerals. It is easy to make such comparisons
appear plausible to the uninitiated, but practised observers cannot be so
deceived, the differences are too marked and essential. In illustration of this,
I may refer to the highly magnified canals in figs. 28 and 29. Further, it is
evident from the examination of the specimens, that the chrysotile veins,
penetrating as they often do diagonally or transversely across both chambers
and walls, must have originated subsequently to the origin and hardening of
the rock and its fossils, and result from aqueous deposition of fibrous
serpentine in cracks which traverse alike the fossils and their matrix. In
specimens now before me, nothing can be more plain than this entire
independence of the shining silky veins of fibrous serpentine, and the fact of
their having been formed subsequently to the fossilization of the Eozoon;
since they can be seen to run across the lamination, and to branch off
irregularly in lines altogether distinct from the structure. This, while it shows
that these veins have no connection with the fossil, shows also that the latter
was an original ingredient of the beds when deposited, and not a product of
subsequent concretionary action.

Fig. 27. Diagram

showing the different
appearances of the cell-
wall of Eozoon and of a
vein of Chrysotile, when
highly magnified.

Fig. 28. Casts of Canals of Eozoon in

Serpentine, decalcified and highly
magnified.
Taking the specimens preserved by serpentine as
typical, we now turn to certain other and, in some
respects, less characteristic specimens, which are
nevertheless very instructive. At the Calumet some of
the masses are partly filled with serpentine and partly
with white pyroxene, an anhydrous silicate of lime and
magnesia. The two minerals can readily be distinguished
when viewed with polarized light; and in some slices I
have seen part of a chamber or group of canals filled Fig. 29. Canals
with serpentine and part with pyroxene. In this case the of Eozoon.
pyroxene or the materials which now compose it, must
Highly magnified.
have been introduced by infiltration, as well as the
serpentine. This is the more remarkable as pyroxene is
most usually found as an ingredient of igneous rocks;
but Dr. Hunt has shown that in the Laurentian limestones and also in veins
traversing them, it occurs under conditions which imply its deposition from
water, either cold or warm. Gümbel remarks on this:—"Hunt, in a very
ingenious manner, compares this formation and deposition of serpentine,
pyroxene, and loganite, with that of glauconite, whose formation has gone
on uninterruptedly from the Silurian to the Tertiary period, and is even now
taking place in the depths of the sea; it being well known that Ehrenberg and
others have already shown that many of the grains of glauconite are casts of
the interior of foraminiferal shells. In the light of this comparison, the notion
that the serpentine and such like minerals of the primitive limestones have
been formed, in a similar manner, in the chambers of Eozoic Foraminifera,
loses any traces of improbability which it might at first seem to possess."
In many parts of the skeleton of Eozoon, and even in the best infiltrated
serpentine specimens, there are portions of the cell-wall and canal system
which have been filled with calcareous spar or with dolomite, so similar to
the skeleton that it can be detected only under the most favourable lights
and with great care. (Fig. 24, supra.) The same phenomena may be observed
in joints of Crinoids from the Palæozoic rocks, and they constitute proofs of
organic origin even more irrefragable than the filling with serpentine. Dr.
Carpenter has recently, in replying to the objections of Mr. Carter, made
excellent use of this feature of the preservation of Eozoon. It is further to be
remarked that in all the specimens of true Eozoon, as well as in many other
calcareous fossils preserved in ancient rocks, the calcareous matter, even
when its minute structures are not preserved or are obscured, presents a
minutely granular or curdled appearance, arising no doubt from the original
presence of organic matter, and not recognised in purely inorganic calcite.
Another style of these remarkable fossils is that of the Burgess
specimens. In these the walls have been changed into dolomite or
magnesian limestone, and the canals seem to have been wholly obliterated,
so that only the laminated structure remains. The material filling the
chambers is also an aluminous silicate named loganite; and this seems to
have been introduced, not so much in solution, as in the state of muddy
slime, since it contains foreign bodies, as grains of sand and little groups of
silicious concretions, some of which are not unlikely casts of the interior of
minute foraminiferal shells contemporary with Eozoon, and will be noticed in
the sequel.
 Fig. 30. Eozoon from Tudor.
Two-thirds natural size. (a.) Tubuli. (b.)
Canals. Magnified. a and b from another
specimen.

Still another mode of occurrence is presented by a remarkable specimen

from Tudor in Ontario, and from beds probably on the horizon of the Upper
Laurentian or Huronian.[Y] It occurs in a rock scarcely at all metamorphic,
and the fossil is represented by white carbonate of lime, while the containing
matrix is a dark-coloured coarse limestone. In this specimen the material
filling the chambers has not penetrated the canals except in a few places,
where they appear filled with dark carbonaceous matter. In mode of
preservation these Tudor specimens much resemble the ordinary fossils of
the Silurian rocks. One of the specimens in the collection of the Geological
Survey (fig. 30) presents a clavate form, as if it had been a detached
individual supported on one end at the bottom of the sea. It shows, as does
also the original Calumet specimen, the septa approaching each other and
coalescing at the margin of the form, where there were probably orifices
communicating with the exterior. Other specimens of fragmental Eozoon from
the Petite Nation localities have their canals filled with dolomite, which
probably penetrated them after they were broken up and imbedded in the
rock. I have ascertained with respect to these fragments of Eozoon, that they
occur abundantly in certain layers of the Laurentian limestone, beds of some
thickness being in great part made up of them, and coarse and fine
fragments occur in alternate layers, like the broken corals in some Silurian
limestones.
[Y] See Note B, Chap. III.

Finally, on this part of the subject, careful observation of many specimens

of Laurentian limestone which present no trace of Eozoon when viewed by
the naked eye, and no evidence of structure when acted on with acids, are
nevertheless organic, and consist of fragments of Eozoon, and possibly of
other organisms, not infiltrated with silicates, but only with carbonate of lime,
and consequently revealing only obscure indications of their minute
structure. I have satisfied myself of this by long and patient investigations,
which scarcely admit of any adequate representation, either by words or
figures.
Every worker in those applications of the microscope to geological
specimens which have been termed micro-geology, is familiar with the fact
that crystalline forces and mechanical movements of material often play the
most fantastic tricks with fossilized organic matter. In fossil woods, for
example, we often have the tissues disorganized, with radiating
crystallizations of calcite and little spherical concretions of quartz, or
disseminated cubes and grains of pyrite, or little veins filled with sulphate of
barium or other minerals. We need not, therefore, be surprised to find that in
the venerable rocks containing Eozoon, such things occur in the more highly
crystalline parts of the limestones, and even in some still showing traces of
the fossil. We find many disseminated crystals of magnetite, pyrite, spinel,
mica, and other minerals, curiously curved prisms of vermicular mica,
bundles of aciculi of tremolite and similar substances, veins of calcite and
crysolite or fibrous serpentine, which often traverse the best specimens.
Where these occur abundantly we usually find no organic structures
remaining, or if they exist they are in a very defective state of preservation.
Even in specimens presenting the lamination of Eozoon to the naked eye,
these crystalline actions have often destroyed the minute structure; and I
fear that some microscopists have been victimised by having under their
consideration only specimens in which the actual characters had been too
much defaced to be discernible. I must here state that I have found some of
the specimens sold under the name of Eozoon Canadense by dealers in
microscopical objects to be almost or quite worthless, being destitute of any
good structure, and often merely pieces of Laurentian limestone with
serpentine grains only. I fear that the circulation of such specimens has done
much to cause scepticism as to the Foraminiferal nature of Eozoon. No
mistake can be greater than to suppose that any and every specimen of
Laurentian limestone must contain Eozoon. More especially have I hitherto
failed to detect traces of it in those carbonaceous or graphitic limestones
which are so very abundant in the Laurentian country. Perhaps where
vegetable matter was very abundant Eozoon did not thrive, or on the other
hand the growth of Eozoon may have diminished the quantity of vegetable
matter. It is also to be observed that much compression and distortion have
occurred in the beds of Laurentian limestone and their contained fossils, and
also that the specimens are often broken by faults, some of which are so
small as to appear only on microscopic examination, and to shift the plates of
the fossil just as if they were beds of rock. This, though it sometimes
produces puzzling appearances, is an evidence that the fossils were hard and
brittle when this faulting took place, and is consequently an additional proof
of their extraneous origin. In some specimens it would seem that the lower
and older part of the fossil had been wholly converted into serpentine or
pyroxene, or had so nearly experienced this change that only small parts of
the calcareous wall can be recognised. These portions correspond with fossil
woods altogether silicified, not only by the filling of the cells, but also by the
conversion of the walls into silica. I have specimens which manifestly show
the transition from the ordinary condition of filling with serpentine to one in
which the cell-walls are represented obscurely by one shade of this mineral
and the cavities by another.
The above considerations as to mode of preservation of Eozoon concur
with those in previous chapters in showing its oceanic character; but the
ocean of the Eozoic period may not have been so deep as at present, and its
waters were probably warm and well stocked with mineral matters derived
from the newly formed land, or from hot springs in its own bottom. On this
point the interesting investigations of Dr. Hunt with reference to the chemical
conditions of the Silurian seas, allow us to suppose that the Laurentian ocean
may have been much more richly stored, more especially with salts of lime
and magnesia, than that of subsequent times. Hence the conditions of
warmth, light, and nutriment, required by such gigantic Protozoans would all
be present, and hence, also no doubt, some of the peculiarities of its
mineralization.

NOTES TO CHAPTER V.
(A.) Dr. Sterry Hunt on the Mineralogy of Eozoon and the containing Rocks.
It was fortunate for the recognition of Eozoon that Dr. Hunt had, before its
discovery, made so thorough researches into the chemistry of the Laurentian series,
and was prepared to show the chemical possibilities of the preservation of fossils in
these ancient deposits. The following able summary of his views was appended to
the original description of the fossil in the Journal of the Geological Society.
"The details of structure have been preserved by the introduction of certain
mineral silicates, which have not only filled up the chambers, cells, and canals left
vacant by the disappearance of the animal matter, but have in very many cases
been injected into the tubuli, filling even their smallest ramifications. These silicates
have thus taken the place of the original sarcode, while the calcareous septa
remain. It will then be understood that when the replacement of the Eozoon by
silicates is spoken of, this is to be understood of the soft parts only; since the
calcareous skeleton is preserved, in most cases, without any alteration. The vacant
spaces left by the decay of the sarcode may be supposed to have been filled by a
process of infiltration, in which the silicates were deposited from solution in water,
like the silica which fills up the pores of wood in the process of silicification. The
replacing silicates, so far as yet observed, are a white pyroxene, a pale green
serpentine, and a dark green alumino-magnesian mineral, which is allied in
composition to chlorite and to pyrosclerite, and which I have referred to loganite.
The calcareous septa in the last case are found to be dolomitic, but in the other
instances are nearly pure carbonate of lime. The relations of the carbonate and the
silicates are well seen in thin sections under the microscope, especially by polarized
light. The calcite, dolomite, and pyroxene exhibit their crystalline structure to the
unaided eye; and the serpentine and loganite are also seen to be crystalline when
examined with the microscope. When portions of the fossil are submitted to the
action of an acid, the carbonate of lime is dissolved, and a coherent mass of
serpentine is obtained, which is a perfect cast of the soft parts of the Eozoon. The
form of the sarcode which filled the chambers and cells is beautifully shown, as well
as the connecting canals and the groups of tubuli; these latter are seen in great
perfection upon surfaces from which the carbonate of lime has been partially
dissolved. Their preservation is generally most complete when the replacing mineral
is serpentine, although very perfect specimens are sometimes found in pyroxene.
The crystallization of the latter mineral appears, however, in most cases to have
disturbed the calcareous septa.
"Serpentine and pyroxene are generally associated in these specimens, as if
their disposition had marked different stages of a continuous process. At the
Calumet, one specimen of the fossil exhibits the whole of the sarcode replaced by
serpentine; while, in another one from the same locality, a layer of pale green
translucent serpentine occurs in immediate contact with the white pyroxene. The
calcareous septa in this specimen are very thin, and are transverse to the plane of
contact of the two minerals; yet they are seen to traverse both the pyroxene and
the serpentine without any interruption or change. Some sections exhibit these two
minerals filling adjacent cells, or even portions of the same cell, a clear line of
division being visible between them. In the specimens from Grenville on the other
hand, it would seem as if the development of the Eozoon (considerable masses of
which were replaced by pyroxene) had been interrupted, and that a second growth
of the animal, which was replaced by serpentine, had taken place upon the older
masses, filling up their interstices."
[Details of chemical composition are then given.]
"When examined under the microscope, the loganite which replaces the Eozoon
of Burgess shows traces of cleavage-lines, which indicate a crystalline structure.
The grains of insoluble matter found in the analysis, chiefly of quartz-sand, are
distinctly seen as foreign bodies imbedded in the mass, which is moreover marked
by lines apparently due to cracks formed by a shrinking of the silicate, and
subsequently filled by a further infiltration of the same material. This arrangement
resembles on a minute scale that of septaria. Similar appearances are also observed
in the serpentine which replaces the Eozoon of Grenville, and also in a massive
serpentine from Burgess, resembling this, and enclosing fragments of the fossil. In
both of these specimens also grains of mechanical impurities are detected by the
microscope; they are however, rarer than in the loganite of Burgess.
"From the above facts it may be concluded that the various silicates which now
constitute pyroxene, serpentine, and loganite were directly deposited in waters in
the midst of which the Eozoon was still growing, or had only recently perished; and
that these silicates penetrated, enclosed, and preserved the calcareous structure
precisely as carbonate of lime might have done. The association of the silicates with
the Eozoon is only accidental; and large quantities of them, deposited at the same
time, include no organic remains. Thus, for example, there are found associated
with the Eozoon limestones of Grenville, massive layers and concretions of pure
serpentine; and a serpentine from Burgess has already been mentioned as
containing only small broken fragments of the fossil. In like manner large masses of
white pyroxene, often surrounded by serpentine, both of which are destitute of
traces of organic structure, are found in the limestone at the Calumet. In some
cases, however, the crystallization of the pyroxene has given rise to considerable
cleavage-planes, and has thus obliterated the organic structures from masses
which, judging from portions visible here and there, appear to have been at one
time penetrated by the calcareous plates of Eozoon. Small irregular veins of
crystalline calcite, and of serpentine, are found to traverse such pyroxene masses in
the Eozoon limestone of Grenville.
"It appears that great beds of the Laurentian limestones are composed of the
ruins of the Eozoon. These rocks, which are white, crystalline, and mingled with
pale green serpentine, are similar in aspect to many of the so-called primary
limestones of other regions. In most cases the limestones are non-magnesian, but
one of them from Grenville was found to be dolomitic. The accompanying strata
often present finely crystallized pyroxene, hornblende, phlogopite, apatite, and
other minerals. These observations bring the formation of silicious minerals face to
face with life, and show that their generation was not incompatible with the
contemporaneous existence and the preservation of organic forms. They confirm,
moreover, the view which I some years since put forward, that these silicated
minerals have been formed, not by subsequent metamorphism in deeply buried
sediments, but by reactions going on at the earth’s surface.[Z] In support of this
view, I have elsewhere referred to the deposition of silicates of lime, magnesia, and
iron from natural waters, to the great beds of sepiolite in the unaltered Tertiary
strata of Europe; to the contemporaneous formation of neolite (an aluimino-
magnesian silicate related to loganite and chlorite in composition); and to
glauconite, which occurs not only in Secondary, Tertiary, and Recent deposits, but
also, as I have shown, in Lower Silurian strata.[AA] This hydrous silicate of protoxide
of iron and potash, which sometimes includes a considerable proportion of alumina
in its composition, has been observed by Ehrenberg, Mantell, and Bailey, associated
with organic forms in a manner which seems identical with that in which pyroxene,
serpentine, and loganite occur with the Eozoon in the Laurentian limestones.
According to the first of these observers, the grains of green-sand, or glauconite,
from the Tertiary limestone of Alabama, are casts of the interior of Polythalamia,
the glauconite having filled them by ‘a species of natural injection, which is often so
perfect that not only the large and coarse cells, but also the very finest canals of
the cell-walls and all their connecting tubes, are thus petrified and separately
exhibited.’ Bailey confirmed these observations, and extended them. He found in
various Cretaceous and Tertiary limestones of the United States, casts in glauconite,
not only of Foraminifera, but of spines of Echinus, and of the cavities of corals.
Besides, there were numerous red, green, and white casts of minute anastomosing
tubuli, which, according to Bailey, resemble the casts of the holes made by
burrowing sponges (Cliona) and worms. These forms are seen after the dissolving
of the carbonate of lime by a dilute acid. He found, moreover, similar casts of
Foraminifera, of minute mollusks, and of branching tubuli, in mud obtained from
soundings in the Gulf Stream, and concluded that the deposition of glauconite is
still going on in the depths of the sea.[AB] Pourtales has followed up these
investigations on the recent formation of glauconite in the Gulf Stream waters. He
has observed its deposition also in the cavities of Millepores, and in the canals in
the shells of Balanus. According to him, the glauconite grains formed in
Foraminifera lose after a time their calcareous envelopes, and finally become
‘conglomerated into small black pebbles,’ sections of which still show under a
microscope the characteristic spiral arrangement of the cells.[AC]
[Z] Silliman’s Journal [2], xxix., p. 284; xxxii., p. 286. Geology of
Canada, p. 577.
[AA] Silliman’s Journal [2], xxxiii., p. 277. Geology of Canada, p. 487.
[AB] Silliman’s Journal [2], xxii., p. 280.
[AC] Report of United States Coast-Survey, 1858, p. 248.
“It appears probable from these observations that glauconite is formed by
chemical reactions in the ooze at the bottom of the sea, where dissolved silica
comes in contact with iron oxide rendered soluble by organic matter; the resulting
silicate deposits itself in the cavities of shells and other vacant spaces. A process
analogous to this in its results, has filled the chambers and canals of the Laurentian
Foraminifera with other silicates; from the comparative rarity of mechanical
impurities in these silicates, however, it would appear that they were deposited in
clear water. Alumina and oxide of iron enter into the composition of loganite as well
as of glauconite; but in the other replacing minerals, pyroxene and serpentine, we
have only silicates of lime and magnesia, which were probably formed by the direct
action of alkaline silicates, either dissolved in surface-waters, or in those of
submarine springs, upon the calcareous and magnesian salts of the sea-water.”
[As stated in the text, the canals of Eozoon are sometimes filled with dolomite,
or in part with serpentine and in part with dolomite.]
(B.) Silurian Limestones holding Fossils infiltrated with Hydrous Silicate.
Since my attention has been directed to this subject, many illustrations have
come under my notice of Silurian limestones in which the pores of fossils are
infiltrated with hydrous silicates akin to glauconite and serpentine. A limestone of
this kind, collected by Mr. Robb, at Pole Hill, in New Brunswick, afforded not only
beautiful specimens of portions of Crinoids preserved in this way, but a sufficient
quantity of the material was collected for an exact analysis, a note on which was
published in the Proceedings of the Royal Irish Academy, 1871.
The limestone of Pole Hill is composed almost wholly of organic fragments,
cemented by crystalline carbonate of lime, and traversed by slender veins of the
same mineral. Among the fragments may be recognised under the microscope
portions of Trilobites, and of brachiopod and gastropod shells, and numerous joints
and plates of Crinoids. The latter are remarkable for the manner in which their
reticulated structure, which is similar to that of modern Crinoids, has been injected
with a silicious substance, which is seen distinctly in slices, and still more plainly in
decalcified specimens. This filling is precisely similar in appearance to the
serpentine filling the canals of Eozoon, the only apparent difference being in the
forms of the cells and tubes of the Crinoids, as compared with those of the
Laurentian fossil; the same silicious substance also occupies the cavities of some of
the small shells, and occurs in mere amorphous pieces, apparently filling interstices.
From its mode of occurrence, I have not the slightest doubt that it occupied the
cavities of the crinoidal fragments while still recent, and before they had been
cemented together by the calcareous paste. This silicious filling is therefore similar
on the one hand to that effected by the ancient serpentine of the Laurentian, and
on the other to that which results from the depositions of modern glauconite. The
analysis of Dr. Hunt, which I give below, fully confirms these analogies.
I may add that I have examined under the microscope portions of the substance
prepared by Dr. Hunt for analysis, and find it to retain its form, showing that it is
the actual filling of the cavities. I have also examined the small amount of insoluble
silica remaining after his treatment with acid and alkaline solvents, and find it to
consist of angular and rounded grains of quartzose sand.
The following are Dr. Hunt’s notes:—
"The fossiliferous limestone from Pole Hill, New Brunswick, probably of Upper
Silurian age, is light gray and coarsely granular. When treated with dilute
hydrochloric acid, it leaves a residue of 5·9 per cent., and the solution gives 1·8 per
cent. of alumina and oxide of iron, and magnesia equal to 1·35 of carbonate—the
remainder being carbonate of lime. The insoluble matter separated by dilute acid,
after washing by decantation from a small amount of fine flocculent matter,
consists, apart from an admixture of quartz grains, entirely of casts and moulded
forms of a peculiar silicate, which Dr. Dawson has observed in decalcified specimens
filling the pores of crinoidal stems; and which when separated by an acid,
resembles closely under the microscope the coralloidal forms of arragonite known
as flos ferri, the surfaces being somewhat rugose and glistening with crystalline
faces. This silicate is sub-translucent, and of a pale green colour, but immediately
becomes of a light reddish brown when heated to redness in the air, and gives off
water when heated in a tube, without however, changing its form. It is partially
decomposed by strong hydrochloric acid, yielding a considerable amount of
protosalt of iron. Strong hot sulphuric acid readily and completely decomposes it,
showing it to be a silicate of alumina and ferrous oxide, with some magnesia and
alkalies, but with no trace of lime. The separated silica, which remains after the
action of the acid, is readily dissolved by a dilute solution of soda, leaving behind
nothing but angular and partially rounded grains of sand, chiefly of colourless
vitreous quartz. An analysis effected in the way just described on 1·187 grammes
gave the following results, which give, by calculation, the centesimal composition of
the mineral:—
Silica ·3290 38·93 = 20·77 oxygen.
Alumina ·2440 28·88 = 13·46 "
Protoxyd of iron ·1593 18·86 "
Magnesia ·0360 4·25
= 6·29
Potash ·0140 1·69
Soda ·0042 ·48
Water ·0584 6·91 = 6·14 "
Insoluble, quartz ·3420
1·1869 100·00
"A previous analysis of a portion of the mixture by fusion with carbonate of soda
gave, by calculation, 18·80 p. c. of protoxide of iron, and amounts of alumina and
combined silica closely agreeing with those just given.
"The oxygen ratios, as above calculated, are nearly as 3 : 2 : 1 : 1. This mineral
approaches in composition to the jollyte of Von Kobell, from which it differs in
containing a portion of alkalies, and only one half as much water. In these respects
it agrees nearly with the silicate found by Robert Hoffman, at Raspenau, in
Bohemia, where it occurs in thin layers alternating with picrosmine, and
surrounding masses of Eozoon in the Laurentian limestones of that region;[AD] the
Eozoon itself being there injected with a hydrous silicate which may be described as
intermediate between glauconite and chlorite in composition. The mineral first
mentioned is compared by Hoffman to fahlunite, to which jollyte is also related in
physical characters as well as in composition. Under the names of fahlunite,
gigantolite, pinite, etc., are included a great class of hydrous silicates, which from
their imperfectly crystalline condition, have generally been regarded, like
serpentine, as results of the alteration of other silicates. It is, however, difficult to
admit that the silicate found in the condition described by Hoffman, and still more
the present mineral, which injects the pores of palæozoic Crinoids, can be any
other than an original deposition, allied in the mode of its formation, to the
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