Word: kant
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This syllabus of culture, or notebook of Durant, lists: ten Greatest Thinkers (Confucius, Plato, Aristotle, St. Thomas Aquinas, Copernicus, Bacon, Newton, Voltaire, Kant, Darwin) ; ten Greatest Poets (Homer, Author of the Psalms, Euripides, Lucretius, Dante, Lipo, Shakespeare, Keats, Shelley, Whitman); 100 Best Books for an education (approximate cost, $300; time required for reading: four years at seven hours per week, ten hours per volume). Syllabuster Durant reviews his favorite modern philosophers (Spengler, Keyserling, Bertrand Russell), his favorite modern literary lights (Gustave Flaubert, Anatole France, John Cowper Powys), fills up the rest of his 426 pages with comments on his trips...
...Vagabond will go to Emerson this morning at 9 to hear a lecture on Kant. He has always been interested in the man, although his knowledge has been limited to shy, experimental puns on the philosopher's name and a rather dim feeling that Fiechte, Schleiermacher and all the others the Vagabond has heard Babbitt talk about must have followed...
...Mary. A. A. Milne is an inveterate romancer and everything he writes he invests with storybook sweetnesses which delight some people, make others feel bilious. The intrusion of severe ethical concerns into Mr. Milne's pink and downy world would be as incongruous as the speculations of Kant in the mouth of a Fauntleroy. Yet that is what occurs in his newest play...
...seems that the customary thing for the undergraduate logician to do who has solved Kant, chuckled at Leibnitz and written an original thesis proving that Nietzsche was an obscurantist with disguised nympholeptic longings is to take up this course by way of easement. The reviewer sat among scholars from the start. The one on the left took notes in French and German. The two on the right giggled over puns in the original Greek. All of them smiled when hour exams were announced. It was a disturbing atmosphere, although here and there were scattered other strays like the reviewer...
...pays dearly for her glitter. And the very inevitability of it all, the irresistability of the awful doom is what strikes you. We all know how much the debs would prefer to be educated, instead of just cultured, how much they'd give for an evening with Spinoza or Kant, or one at a concert or a less stylish but heavier play. Picture the deb, with all these thwarted intellectual desires--dancing, dancing her life away, and all because the omnipotent Moloch makes it clear that she is to do or die. Too few of us accord her the full...