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All things are judged good or bad according to their purpose (or telos, as the classical Greeks called it).
I know a good knife must be sharp, because I understand its purpose is to cut.
And because I know its purpose, I understand that the whetstone is good for the knife while its opposite would be bad.
In sum, because I understand the purpose or telos of the thing, I can know whether the quality of that thing is good or bad—and also what is good or bad for that thing.
So too is it for our intellect.
If the purpose of our intellect is truth, then it is by that standard I judge what is good or bad for my intellect.
Like a whetstone to the knife, a true great book will sharpen my mind’s understanding of reality.
For truth is the conformity of the mind to reality.
It is in obedience to this telos that we judge our study and the study of the great books in particular.
Not all great books meet this standard—as some are guides to the delineations of what is real, while others labor against it.
The Knife, the sharpening!
A knife doesn’t care if you call it pretty; it just wants to cut and such.
Sharp? Good. Dull? Bad. Whetstone? Hero. Sandpaper? Traitor.
The knife’s purpose is its only Yelp review, and it’s written in lunch plans.
Now swap the knife for a brain. Its purpose?
Enter Great Books—the intellectual whetstones.
Some sharpen grip.
If a book leaves your mind more aligned with the world, love it.
If it leaves you arguing with pigeons about quantum ethics, toss it.
The telos of intellect is not a game of accumulating ideas—it’s to cut holes, puncture through the nonsense. Stay sharp.
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