COPYRIGHT

BY

LUCILE WOLFS GREEN

1956 ETHICS IN THE "NEW KEY"

DISSERTATION Presented in Partial Fulfillment of the Requirements for the Degree Doctor of Philosophy in the Graduate School of The Ohio State University

By

Lucile Wolfe Green, B. A., M. A

*******

The Ohio State University 1957

Approved by

Department of Educati TABLE OF CONTENTS

CHAPTER PAGE Prologue ill I Ethics in the "New Key" 1 II Genealogy of Ethics 1*+ III "Scientific Ethics"* Moore's Princinia Ethics 35 IV Promethean Ethics 55 V Resolution in Aesthetic Form 75 VI Ethics as Feeling in Form 86 VII Formal Patterns in Thought and Feeling 102 A. Logic and Language 106 B. Language and Art 111 C. Art and Ethics 128 VIII Teaching Ethics in the "New Key" 1^6 Epilogue 165 Bibliography 167 Autobiography 177

ii PROLOGUE

The world is full of people who are searching for a myth— a myth for those who "hunger and thirst after right­ eousness*” The old myths no longer satisfy this hanger, which is made acute by the modern pace of living* They have richly nourished in the past, but now they have lost their vigor, worn thin and weak with usage. They are not enough for the acute yearning of today’s people. Falling to find a myth, many people turn to magic, and here they find— if not food— at least power. The magic of machines, the magic of propaganda, the magic of the atom— all these provide power and a temporary illusion of control. But like the Sorcerer's apprentice, these people fear the magic getting out of hand, and have nightmares of being beset by a monster of their own creation. I am one of these people. Frightened by our magic, I too am looking for a myth about righteousness. For I believe the troubles of our time have their roots in good and evil. The dislocations of divorce, the tragedy of delinquency, the stupid brutalities of prejudice, and the neuroses of nationalism are at bottom moral problems, and I believe morality is in man, not in nature. As a teacher I am multiply concerned. I am concerned about my role in other people's search for a myth. I am con­ cerned also about the role of the college in guiding the im­

iii iv pressionable years of those who are best equipped for the search. The vacuum in vigorous young lives, made at the col­ lege age by the dissolution of family ties, was formerly filled by religious institutions. These are now low-pres- sured, if not extinct, in most colleges. The teaching of values, original purpose in the founding of most institu­ tions of higher learning, has been virtually disavowed by them. They have forsaken their own creation myths and have not found new ones virile enough to replace them. Instead, colleges too have turned to magic. Science and vocational studies promise the practical things* security, wealth, and power, while the liberal arts coyly beckon to a vague, imaginary realm of "the finer things in life." For moral standards the student is left largely to his own devices. The only intellectually respectable stand­ ard, consistent with the scientific method, is expedience. The best interest of the group, as determined by majority rul£, is defensible on rational (scientific) grounds. On the other hand, in the many personal choices of those four years, the student is allowed to flounder his way, with counseling to be sure, but little ipore in the way of ethical awareness than the trite notion that right and wrong are matters of personal opinion. This amounts to an admission that ethical values are biases to be tolerated but hardly respectable enough to be a part of the college curriculum. Instead, the mind is trained to follow the facts (any facts) V and to give evidence (any evidence) for its conclusions (any conclusions). Intelligence is substituted for righteousness. That it is a poor substitute is attested in the dislocations of our educated and enlightened society. And so, as a teacher as well as a person, I am search­ ing for a myth. It must be a cosmic myth, one which will fit the universe to rightenusness--not a little myth for a single class, or race, or creed. It mptst be a vital myth, rich and strong enough to satisfy the hunger and the thirst. It must be an intellectual myth for intellectual people. In addition, I would have heroes who are incarnations of the truth of my myth. Finally, I would find fellowship with other believers like me so that I would not be lonely. Nearly twenty years ago I began my myth in a poetic essay I wrote in connection with my Master*s Degree in Aesthetics. It was titled "Art the Higher Ethic,** and while the "poetry" left something to be desired, the ideas were potent. They began to relate my undergraduate work in art to my graduate work in philosophy. The relationships have un­ folded through years of study and teaching art, philosophy, Bagllsh and the Humanities. They have also expanded into the growing affinity which I have for oriental thought, one that rooted itself in eighteen years of living in China and is reviving with my interest in aesthetics and mysticism. I have struggled with the hope that ethical principles could be made more systematic and therefore objective if they could be related to systematic thought in other fields. Art seemed to have the closest relationship, and I found much support for this idea among philosophers, though not among artists. My own experiments with the idea in teaching these subjects were stimulating but not conclusive. Art was too amorphous a medium in which to anchor ethics. The principles of order in language seemed more solid, and those in logic inflexible. If ethical rules could be made like logical rules, how firm they would bel But Kant did this, and his rules be­ came so inflexible that they were, by his own admission, im­ practical and unrealistic in application. The solution seemed still to be somewhere in the arts where sensitivity and design meet— where feelings of hunger and thirst are given form in a process that creates order in the self and communication among persons.

Then I read Cassirer’s Essay on Man. with his theory of symbolic forms as the basis of culture, and Susanne Langer's

Philosophy in a New Key, with her reinterpretation of the mean­ ing of all thought in terms of the creation of symbols for the expression of feeling. This theory of Symbolism, with its order based on need for meaning, was for me the "key" that opened the door. Through it I could see all significance as creation, whether by the inflexible rules of logic or the amorphous prin­ ciples of art. Miss Langer's later book, Feeling and Form,

elaborated the relation of "virtual" forms to "actual" life in

the various arts: painting, architecture, music, dance, and vli literature* Each one was shown to present a "semblance” of reality, making experiences clear and ideas about them "negotiable.” Here at last was the vista that offered me hope. X had found the level at which my search made sense. What re­ mained for me to do was to abstract from various arts the pattern which made for clarity and significance, to view this design as a universal system, and then to relate ethics to it. Thus my myth began to take shape. CHAPTER I

ETHICS IN THE "NEW KEY"

The redefinition of man as "animal symbolicum" opened up a new world in philosoohy. Ernst Cassirer, in An Essay On

Man,'*" declared that man's distinctive quality is not his ra­

tionality so much as his capacity to invent symbols. Other

studies have been exploring the implications of the definition.

New sciences, like semantics and semiotic, are now pioneering

in the logic and psychology of symbols. Old familiar fields of

science are being surveyed from a new perspective. Experiments

in perception have brought about reinterpretation of sense data p as the transaction of sttmulae with formulated experience.

These experiments prove that the senses are not primary, accu­

rate sources of knowledge about "reality," as often assumed by

the sciences, but highly selective instruments, reflecting

previous symbolic orientations of the mind. The problem of

observation which was the crux of empirical philosophy has, by

such studies as these, been overlaid with the problem of inter­

pretation, for there has been discovered, in the words of

Suzanne Langer, "the surprising truth that our sense-data are

primarily symbols." -*-Ernst Cassirer, An Essav on Man. New York: Doubleday & Co., Inc., 1953 (originally published in 19l+1+ by the Yale University Press). ^See experiments at the Visual Demonstration Center of the Institute for Research in Vision, the Ohio State University. 2 Here, suddenly, It becomes apparent that the age of science has begotten a new philosoph­ ical issue, inestimably more profound than its original empiricism;...and all at once, the edifice of human knowledge stands before us, not as a vast collection of sense reports, but as a structure of facts that are symbols and laws which are their meanings. A new philosophical theme has been set forth to a coming ages an epistomologlcal theme, the comprehension of science. The power of symbolism is its cue, as the finality of sense-data was the cue of a former epoch. 3 The new philosophical theme, the concept of symbolism, has and is continuing to produce far-reaching changes in the whole realm of modern thought. Especially is it revolutionizing the study of man. The human response as a constructive rather than passive thing is profoundly significant for psychology and other humanistic studies. In the fundamental notion of symbolization- mystical, practical, or mathematical, it makes no difference— we have the keynote of all humanistic problems. In It lies a new conception of "mentality,” that may illumine questions of life and consciousness, instead of obscuring them as traditional "scientific methods" have done. h As long as the senses were considered the chief sources of knowledge and the mind a kind of recorder and combiner, psy­ chologists devoted their energies to the sense organs. But the new conception of mentality involves the use of symbols to attain as well as organize perceptions. This alters our

^Suzanne Langer, Philosophy in a New Key. New York* Penguin Books, Inc., 19^8, p. 16.

^Ibid., p. 19. 3 idea of intelligence at a stroke, says Miss Langer* Not higher sensitivity, not longer memory or even quicker association sets man so far above other animals that he can regard them as denizens of a lower world* no, it is the power of using symbols— *the power of speech— that makes him lord of the earth. So our interest in mind has shifted more and more from the acquisition of experience, the domain of sense, to the uses of sense data, the realm of conception and expression. 5 The mind becomes an instrument of power which creates the world in which it lives— creates according to its own needs, which needs, unlike animals, are more than biological— they are symbolic. This idea of mind accounts for factors in the human construct which science has failed to explain satisfactorily, for example magic, myth, religion, and art. Suzanne Langer calls these “symbolic transformations." Genetic psychology has usually considered art as a kind of play, a harmless re­ lease of surplus energy after the essential needs are satis­ fied. However, this did not explain why great artists so rarely come from the leisure class, but more commonly sacrifice biological needs for the sake of art. Nor did it explain the seriousness with which we condemn as barbarous people who destroy works of art, even in wartime, when the destruction of homes and factories are callously accepted. Nor can such things as magic, myth, and religion be explained away by theories of biological survival or social utility.

p. 20. They are not practiced in a practical mood hat in one of extraordinary, emotional excitement, "It is not ignorance of causal relations, hut the supervention of an interest stronger than practical interest, that hold him (man) to magical rites. This stronger interest concerns the expressive value of such mystic acts."** These things are not methods of surviving or knowing hut means of embodying experiences which cannot he otherwise preserved or communicated. Furthermore, they are natural and spontaneous, without any conscious ulterior purpose, for they themselves serve a primary need. Miss Langer, speaking specifically of magic as part of ritual, the language of religion, says, Because it springs from a primary human need, it is a spontaneous activity— that is to say, it arises without intention, without adapta­ tion to a conscious purpose; its growth is un­ designed, its pattern purely natural, however intricate it may he. It was never "imposed" on people; they acted thus quite of themselves, exactly as bees swarmed and birds built nests, squirrels hoarded food, and cats washed faces. No one made up ritual, any more than anyone made up Hebrew or Sanskrit and Latin. The forms of expressive acts— speech and gesture, song and sacrifice— are the symbolic transformations which minds of certain species, at certain stages of their development ana communication, naturally produce. 7 The symbol-making mind is not only expressive and spontaneous hut logical. Even a simple perception is not

6Ibid.. p. 39. ?Ibid.. p. *K>. a passive process but a formulation, according to categories, of our understanding of the world. This would seem to indicate the existence of symbolic material at a level usually considered pre-rational. The recordings of the ear and eye are "geniune symbolic materials, media of understand­ ing, by whose office we apprehend a world of things, and of events that are the histories of things."** ^he visual arts, as well as literary ones, are controlled by the need for articulation. The relationship of space, color, and shapes, or figure to ground, of part to whole, involve a complex of formal abstract principles which make emotions significant and intelligible. Similarly, rituals follow abstract forms which universalize and make sense out of individual religious experiences. In this larger sense, therefore, the symbolizing mind is rational. It carries the intellectual process far beyond the limits of verbal language, within which it has traditionally been confined. Miss Langer says, The recognition of presentational symbol­ ism as a normal and prevalent vehicle of meaning widens our conception of rationality far beyond the traditional boundaries, yet never breaks faith with logic in the strictest sense. Wher­ ever a symbol operates, there is a meaning; and conversely, different classes of experience~»s#y, reason, intuition, appreciation— correspond to different types or symbolic mediation. No symbol is exempt from the office of logical formulation, of conceptualizing what it conveys; however simple its import, or however great, this import is a meaning, and therefore an element for under­ standing. 9

P- 75. 9ibia., p. 79. 6

Peelings therefore, like thoughts, are given definite forms. Language is only one type of symbolic form among many others, and while it is used quite naturally for certain thought processes, is less employed in the expression of feel­ ings than other forms like music or dance. In the latter one may perform the same feat, namely order, clarify, and communicate experience.

Symbolic forms, both intellectual and emotional, become more articulate and complex as an individual or society matures. In a highly developed culture they are woven together in an elaborate tapestry of symbols and meaning. The "modern mind"...

...is an incredible complex of impressions and transformations; and its product is a fabric of meanings that would make the most elaborate dream of the most ambitious tapestry-weaver look like a mat. The warp of that fabric consists of what we call "data," the signs to which experi­ ence has conditioned us to attend, and upon which we act often without any conscious ideation. The woof is symbolism. Out of signs and symbols we weave our tissue of "reality." 10

Whether in the simplest patterns of primitive art or the elaborate tapestries of the "modern mind," the formulation of experience is a basic human need--a need not for the body to

survive, but for the mind to make sense. For such a creature is "Animal Symbolicum."

In the context of the new and more inclusive definition of man— and especially mind--what is to be the function of

1QIbid.. p. 227. 7 philosophy? This problem injects a new element into the

controversy which has been raging among philosophers them­

selves since the impact of pragmatism and positivism. There

have been three distinct points of view in this controversy.

Still held by some is the ancient Greek ideal that

philosophy is "love of wisdom" or "disinterested prusuit of

all knowledge." To them philosophy is "queen of the sciences,"

an aristocrat of culture and understanding, Wisdom is valued

for its own sake, and even considered by some of the highest

of all intrinsic values. Brand Blanshard might be said to

illustrate this point of view in Philosophy in American Edu­

cation. Here he argues that philosophy should be the core of

liberal arts education for, "...it is really not so much a sub­

ject alongside other subjects as a kind of reflective activity

that may inform them all, and it is only through such activity

that order and perspective in knowledge are to be achieved. "H

Another point of view is held by pragmatists who be­

lieve that philosophy derives its value, like everything else,

from whatever service it performs in promoting human welfare.

Max Otto, reflecting Dewey's point of view, says, "Wisdom is

not an intellectual term. It is a moral term. It does not

denote profound, systematic knowledge of the ultimate pattern

of things, but an active preference for the best ends and means

of life."-1-^ This preference is expressed in the "techniaue of 11-Brand Blanchard, Philosophy in American Education. Its Task and Opportunities. New York: Harper & Bros., 19*+7, p. 91+. 12Ibid., p. l?6. 8 creative bargaining," philosophy's alternative to the role of might. It is a social fine art— to yield the largest return of good for all concerned. Still another definition of the function of philosophy is made by the logical positivists who, believing the methods of science and mathematics to be the only means by which one can attain reliable knowledge, assign to philosophy a sub­ ordinate position to these other theoretical disciplines. In­ stead of the "queen of the sciences" philosophy is called by them the "handmaiden of the sciences." It is defined as logi­ cal or linguistic analysis, whose main function is clarifi­ cation of the meaning of scientific statements. "Viewed as analysis, philosophy deals with the language used in speaking about objects, and not with the objects themselves: it oper­

ates on the level of language rather than experience.1'^

Metaphysical speculation and normative statements, tradition­ ally associated with philosophy, are excluded because they have no factual content. They have only imaginative or "emotive" meanings which cannot be verified by logical an­ alysis and are therefore "meaningless" or "pseudo-statements." From the point of view of the new theory of symbolism— the theory Miss Langer calls the "New Key" in philosophy— all three definitions are inadequate. In the traditional view philosophy pursues "knowledge" without sufficiently taking into account the symbolic process by which it works. In the

!3Ethel Albert. Theodore Denise, and Shelflon Peterfreund, Great Traditions in Ethics. New York: American Book Co., 1953, p. 325-6 . 9 pragmatist view, it becomes engrossed in the pursuit of goals, equally unconscious of their symbolic origin. From the point of view of Logical Positivism, on the other hand, philosophy is

so narrowly concerned with clarification of meaning that it

eliminates the vast realm of symbolic expressions whi ch have

significance beyond their "truth value." Suzanne Langer says

of the latter,

A philosophy that knows only deductive or inductive logic as reason, and classes all other human functions as "emotive," irrational, and animalian, can see only regression to a prelogical state in the present passionate and unscientific ideologies. All it can show us as the approach to Parnassus is the way of factual data, hypothesis, trial, judgment, and general­ ization. All other thinrs our minds do are dismissed as irrelevant to intellectual progress; they are residues, emotional disturbances, or throwbacks to animal estate. 1*+

Philosophy in the "New Key" is broader than this last,

and deeper than the first two definitions. Continuing from

above, Miss langer affirms:

But a theory of mind whose keynote is the symbolic function, whose problem is the morphology of significance, is not obliged to draw that bifurcating line between science and folly. It can see these ructions and upheavals of the modern mind not as lapses of rational interest, caused by animal impulse, but as the exact contrary— as a new phase of savagedom, indeed, but inspired by the rational need of envisagement and under­ standing. 15

The new philosophy must have an idea of mind and rationality

large enough to include the symbolic function in all its -^Langer. Philosophy in a New Key, p. 238. 1^Ibid. 10 aspects, not merely denotative, or merely normative, or merely aesthetic. It must encompass all these in the more basic con­ sideration of how symbols are created, ordered and maninulated.

The continual pursuit of meaning— wider, clearer, more negotiable, more articulate, mean- ings--is ohilosophy. It permeates all mental life; sometimes in a conscious fnrm of meta­ physical thought, sometimes in the free, con­ fident manipulation of established ideas... and sometimes--in the greatest creative periods --in the form of passionate mythical, ritual and devotional expression. 16

Philosophy in the "New Key," then, is the study of meaning in all symbolic forms, from the most intellectual to the most emotive. More specifically, its office is pursuit of the under­ lying rationality in all forms--of the laws which are the mean­ ings of all symbols.

Within this larger, deeper view of philosophy which surveys meaning in all its forms--language, ritual, painting, music, da.nce--what is ethics? This aspect has dealt in the past with the meaning of human good. It has used the psycho­ logical approach (Aristotle), the metaphysical approach (Kant), and more recently the semantic approach (Stevenson and other positivists). Its medium has been strictly verbal and its logic rational--inductive or deductive--wi th few exceptions

(Nietzsche and Kierkegaard). Traditional ethics has produced a variety of systems to define and elaborate the meaning of human goodness. Some of these are architectural masterpieces

(Spinoza and Kant); others are simple monuments (Epicurus and

l6Ibid.. p. 239. 11 Jesus). Many have profoundly affected the course of history (Plato, Aristotle, St. Augustine, Machiavelli, Rousseau, Hegel, and Locke). How does the "Hew Key" change this tradition? The original theme of ethics might he said to ask and answer the question, "What is good?" The "New Kby" transposes the question to "What does it mean to say, *This is good’?" The answers to the first become data for the second. At least they become part of the data, for also included are ideas of human good which preceded the verbal ones in ritual and art, out of which those sophisticated and abstract systems of ethics were generated. Collective experience shows evidence that ideas of what is good have more in common than not. Happiness, pleasure, performance of duty, benevolence, prudence, self-expression, self-control, knowledge— nearly all people would agree that these are good. Few would seriously defend their opposites, at least as intrinsic goods. Cultures which differ greatly in other things such as customs, social structure, and world view would be substantially in accord on values like the above. Tribes which cannot communicate in words understand and appreciate acts of generosity, hospitality, sympathy. Mission­ aries win friends by their acts where words are vain. Strangers in a foreign land enjoy the fun and dancing of a native festival. Acts of bravery, filial piety, self-sacrifice are admired even in an enemy. 12 Philosophers as different as Aristotle, Nietzsche, and Lao Tzu would agree that pleasure, self-control, and wisdom are good, although they would give different reasons. Aristotle would say that they are means to a happier, more balanced life and better society for men here and now. Nietzsche would say they contribute to a superior breed of men in the future. Lao Tzu would say they are symptoms of adjustment to a cosmic way of life. The three would differ somewhat in their definitions of these goods, and considerably in their order of preference, but (in spite of the likelihood that they would quarrel bitterly if they ever met) their ranges of agreement would be greater than their differences. There remains a possibility that two ideas of human good could have more in conflict than in common. The contrast of Nletzschean and Christian ethics approaches this, though a deep understanding of both shows much in common* Whether the extreme deviant in ethics— assuming the position is sincerely taken— is merely an exception to the general rule or a perversion can only be answered when more is known of the rule— the structure of ethics. It is sufficient here to point to the fact— easily over­ looked— that in the collective experience of man ideas of the good are, by and large, cumulative rather than contradictory. What strange pattern of unity and variety accounts for this? The answer is in the underlying pattern of emotive commit­ ment, in the order of feeling and of thought. To examine the 13 system behind affirmed values, accounting for both the general similarities and particular differences, ia the new task of ethics. It should produce a more universal and coherent sphere of knowledge than in the past. For the "data” of ethics is not a vast collection of opinion, but a body of symbolic facts whose relationships are waiting to be discovered and codified into laws. These laws would become a system of the meaning of human good. This system would be a part of the constellation of knowledge, its laws articulating perhaps, in some universal design, with those which make the meaning of truth and beauty. There is much to be done. This dissertation is an attempt to discover for the writer and her students some of the principles of design. It is, in Miss Langer's metaphor, an effort to develop the theme of ethics in the "New Key." CHAPTER II

THE GENEALOGY OF ETHICS

In the context of the new theory of symbolism, ethics is made out of facts which are symbols,and relationships which are their meanings. Bat the facts are not necessarily full-fledged ideas nor the symbols verbal. Their ancestry goes farther back than the definition of the word good. What, then are the "facts" and how are they formed by symbols into the material of ethics? How are these data inter-related in the family tree of ethics? How Is ethics related to other branches of the tree of knowledge? The last two questions will be discussed in later chapters. The present chapter will deal with the origin and genealogy of ethics. Inscribed on the back of an image of Buddha in the Yun Kan caves are the words, "The supreme is incorporeal, but by images is made comprehensible to man." So the spirit is put into symbols— be they idols, rituals, or words— and these symbols become the currency of human understanding. Basic ideas of what things are good are created, like perceptions, out of experience and the organizing faculties of the mind. not They are/"given" and passively received as some "scientific" thinkers believe. All that is given is the flow of conscious­ ness. The rest Is made by capturing moments of it and embody-

l*f 15 Ing them in form, thereby making experience intelligible, communicable, and, as Miss Langer puts it, "negotiable." In this process there grows, whether by trial and error or by some eosmic harmony, a design which orders the use of these symbols in the most economical way. This makes the laws by which symbols operate. In visual media such laws are called design; in language they are called grammar; in more abstract form they are called logic or mathematical principles. Basically all are of the same origin and per­ form the same function--to bring understanding out of con­ fusion. The order by which this is achieved is the form— or structure— of thought. It is also that distinctively human feature of thought from which intellectual and moral values are derived. As Cassirer says, "Human culture derives its specific character and its intellectual and moral values, not from the material of which it consists, but from its form, its architectural structure. And this form may be expressed in any sense material."1?

Another way of saying this is that all symbols are, to some extent, formal. They are selective according to an inner design, unconscious at first, but which can be made explicit. Out of the flux something is grasped, frozen in time, and labeled for a purpose. That purpose is the cause of the symbol, and at least part of the fact. It determines

17Cassirer, An Essay on Man. p. 56. 16 what of the shadowy maze is brought into the light of con­ scious form, made clear and thereby useful to man. Whether it be the biological needs, or curiosity, or affection that is man’s purpose, it makes the value and significance that is part of the symbol wrought out of the aimless matter of consciousness. The initiative, according to the new theory, comes from man’s creative imagination rather than from nature’s efficiency. Since their very existence signifies value, all symbols are to some extent values. These values may be largely un­ conscious at first, but can themselves be brought into con­ sciousness and made explicit and orderly. This is the task of value theory. It seeks to discover the principles which distinguish "good” and "bad" in varied aspects. The study of value has become increasingly abstract until, in contemporary thought, it has reached a systematic analysis of the language of value. The aspect of value theory which deals with the "goodness" or "badness" of people and their actions is called ethics. Ethics is concerned with all the forms of thought and feeling which indicate value of this kind. Unfortunately, it has usually dealt exclusively in linguistic forms, and the modern trend is to intensify and even narrow this to a study of the meaning of words. However, language is the most differentiated and precise of the symbolic forms, and tends to fragment the idea of good 17 into many parts* This leads to attempts to define good in terms of various aspects of human nature or experience, and these attempts, as G. E. Moore convincingly argues, cannot give the meaning of a word which is so primary and elemental 18 as good. Definitions of the whole in terms of a part, like whether it be biological, psychological or even aesthetic, are distorting. For example, Spencer's definition of good in terms of survival value or Rousseau's in terms of the natural may prescribe what is necessary or desirable for the preservation of life, but this is a bare minimum, and need not be condoned as good, and certainly is not the highest good. It gives at best the boundaries of possible action, and even that is questionable. Spencer equates the "more evolved" with the "higher"— improved a thesis still open to debate, for, as Moore says, "The survival of the fittest does not mean, as one might suppose, the survival of what is fittest to fulfil a good purpose— best adapted to* a good ends at the last, it merely means the survival of the fittest to survive."-*’9

VJhat, after all, is good still remains to be determined. Spencer makes a further attempt by equating the "higher” life with that which is conducive to a surplus of "agreeable 18 George E. Moore, Principle Ethlca. Cambridge, Englandt The Syndics of the Cambridge University Press, 195*+» Chapter II. 19Ibld.. p. kQ. feeling” or pleasure. Like other hedonists, he proceeds to expand the meaning of the term for "pleasurable11 to include all things which are good— i.e. agreeable, desired, admired, stood in awe of, or the means, however indirect, to these ends. Clearly, this distorts the concept of pleasure out of all proportion to its accepted usage, which normally has the connotation of sensual satisfaction. The feeling of satis­ faction which generally--but not necessarily— accompanies goodness is more joy than pleasure, like the joy an artist feels in accomplishment or the feeling of well-being one has on achieving a new level of understanding. These feelings are more complete than pleasure; to claim otherwise is to argue by definition. The circular logic (that good— is pleasure— is good) results in a meaningless tautology, and commits both the naturalistic fallacy and the fallacy of reductionism. The part which sensual pleasure plays in the whole of goodness is no greater than what the senses are in relation to the whole man. Hedonism therefore cannot be thought of as a complete ethics, and its contribution is only to remind us that some of sense pleasure is a part of the whole we call the good. Similar reasoning could be applied— perhaps less obviously— to definitions of good in terms of other aspects: like rationality in the scheme of Aristotle, irrational drives in the schemes of Nietzsche and Hegel, disembodied 19 will in the scheme of Kant. Each is an attempt to compress the large, complex whole into a small, simple part, and compensates for the redaction by enlarging the part to fit the whole. Of course this is a creative enterprise, and each system mentioned is itself a work of art, the product of ethical activity. They fall short of completness or uni­ versality due to inadequate understanding of the symbolic process which created them. They were partial developments of the theme in the old key. In the "New Key" the partial themes can at last be woven together in a rich pattern of harmony and counterpoint revealing the relationship of the many varied parts within the whole. It has been said that man thinks in words, not thoughts. This is only part of the truth. Man thinks in symbols, whether they be words or other forms. Long before good became a word and dwelt among the philosophers, the idea was expressed in other forms like art, magic, and myth. These did not have the tendency, which is part of language, to fragment the idea by verbal intricacies. Being more synthetic, they expressed larger units of experience in a simpler way. These primitive forms of thought provided nan with artifacts Indicating that man has created meaningful ethical concepts long before he talked about them. In a brief*— and admittedly unprofessional— excursion into the field of anthropology, the writer has found some 20 noteworthy facts and competent generalizations which indicate foundations in primitive society for the linguistic super­ structure of ethics. They have been detected, by professional anthropologists, on three levels of increasingly abstract phenomena: (1) man’s evolution from animal nature, (2) the structure of his society, and (3) his systems of thought and belief. The tendencies which cause man to create symbolic forms of an ethical nature can be traced as far back as his evolution from animal life. L. T. Hobhouse, in a comparatively early but comprehensive study of the subject, Morals in Evolution, A Study in Comparative Ethics.s a y s that the basis for a social organization of life had already been laid in the animal nature of man. He was gregarious. His interests were in his relations to his fellows, his family, his companions. wHis loves and hates, his joys and sorrows, his pride, his wrath, his gentleness, his boldness, his timidity— all these permanent qualities, which run through humanity and vary only in degree, belong to his inherited structure.**21 Broadly

speaking such qualities are like instincts but have become highly plastic in their mode of expression. They play a vital role in determining the concerns around which man orders his energies.

20l . T. Hobhouse, Morals in Evolution. A Study in Comparative Ethics. *ftn edition. New York: Henry Holt & Co., 1923 21Ibid.. p. 10. 21

From the mechanical methods of reaction, so prominent further dovm in the animal scale, these "instincts" find expression in more and more abstract form until, as Hobhouse puts it, "Instinct." becoming vague and more general­ ized, has evolved into "character." while Intel­ ligence finds itself confronted with customs, to which it has to accommodate conduct.•.The formation of such rules, resting as it does on the power of framing and applying general conceptions, is the prime differential of human morality from animal behavior. 22 This implies all the growth involved in the formation of gen­ eral rules out of memories or anticipations of particular events, of will out of desire, and of objects of permanent interest or "relatively stable sources of happiness" out of objects of temporary pleasure— in short, it implies the forma­ tion of symbols out of experience. Character grows up under the conditions of heredity, and it is with its faults as well as virtues that moral concepts are created. Selfish considerations exist and are embodied in moral concepts down to the psychological hedonisih of the 20th century. But to say that the primary human motive is selfish is to mistake the origin of ethical concepts, according to Hobhouse. Primitive man is not merely negative in his morality. He "Is free in giving, ready to sharetteslittle he has with his friend and neighbolr, while of hospitality he makes a super­

stition."2^ He is selfish but also generous, harsh but also

22lbid.. p. 12. 23ibid.. p. 29. 22 kind, fickle but also loyal. If there is ethical progress it is not to be found in the development of new instincts or im­ pulses, but rather in the rationalization of the moral code into something more thought-out, more consistently and com­ prehensively applied. The psychological equipment of human beings on the one side and the actual needs of social life on the other are the underlying factors determining rules of conduct from the lowest stage upwards, but only at the highest grade of reflection does their operation enter fully into consciousness so that the mind can understand the grounds and value of the laws which it has itself laid down. 21* Ralph Linton, in a recent and distinguished book, The Tree of Culture, presents a similar view of the basic socia­ bility, plasticity and cognitive ability of humans. Pr&gress cannot be explained in terms of mere survival or self- interest, however “enlightened," because, he says, “Every culture is elaborated far beyond the point which would suf­ fice to insure the survival of the society. Moreover, one is constantly impressed by the disharmony resulting from such 25 elaborations..." Both men agree that the human species

emerged from animal with strong social tendencies and a cogni­ tive capacity whose development has created more varied and inclusiiBfe interests, and these he attempts to integrate into increasingly larger conceptual frameworks for his actions.

2tbl<3., p. 29. ^Ralph Linton, The Tree of Culture. New York* Alfred A. Knopf, 1955» P« 36. Turning to the foundations for ethics in the structure of society, an immense quantity of material could be drawn from, as this is at the very heart of anthropology. There is no question that an individuals values, representing the inte­ gration of his experiences, can be explained to a great extent in terms of the society to which he belongs. Thus the fact that one is born into a military or agricultural, dictatorial or democratic, competitive or cooperative society determines largely his system of values. Some anthropologists are pessimistic about the achievement of any individuality and creative initiative within society, including our own. Linton predtCis acidly that "those scientists who are not interested in human studies will go the way of the Greek philosophers, 26 that they will be among the first victims of regimentation." Such a comment may be more of a dramatic gesture than a considered judgment, but he also says, "We are, in fact, anthropoid apes trying to live like termites, and, as any 27 philosophical observer can attest, not doing too well at it."

On the other hand, Linton, Hobhouse, and most anthropologists are far from being complete determinists. They portray a balance between the conditioning power of society and the inventive power of mind. The latter accounts for variety and change in the social structure, and even occasionally

26lbld., p. 7*. g7lbld.T p. 11. 21+ defiance or rebellion against it. Out of the mass of material that could be collected on this subject, the writer has selected one which indicates the kind of findings being made* It is Cooperation and Conflict Among Primitive Peoples, containing studies of thirteen cul- 28 ture groups and edited by Margaret Mead. In her inter­ pretive statement, Miss Mead presents such conclusions as the following. The diversification of individual goals was greater in the cooperative societies examined, where there was a degree of security within the group. Competitive societies, on the other hand, measured achievement on a common scale, such as physical power, wealth, initiative, or success in warfare. Internecine warfare was characteristic of the competitive societies, even where food was plentiful and danger from out­ side nonexistent. The strong ego, a high valuation of pro­ perty, and belief in arbitrary supernatural powers occured in 29 all the competitive societies studied. Will to power over persons did not occur in the cooperative societies, where all individuals worked toward shared ends and there was a high degree of security, but it was obviously developed where there was a low degree of security for the individual.^0 in all competitive societies children were hurried toward adulthood, while in the other cooperative societies they were permitted to

^ M a r g a r e t Mead, Cooperation and Conflict Among Primitive Peonies. New Yorkt McGraw-Hill, 1937* 29ibia.. p. 509. 3Qibia.. pp. V96-7. 25 grow up slowly*3^ it would seem from this limited evidence that the cooperative societies are, in primitive life at least, more conducive to individual values, while the competitive ones demand conformity. The most significant generalization from this study, for us, is that there is found an almost complete correlation between the cooperative societies and an ordered view of the universe. '‘They conceive of a supernatural system which operates on its own rules and which man may propitiate and influence in an orderly w a y . " 3 2 Qn the other hand, the super­ naturals of the competitive societies are ancestors or spirits which may be controlled by bribery, spiritual attack, or by subduing the lusts of the flesh. Thus, it was found in all three competitive societies, Ifugao, Kwakiutl, and Manus, "man's relationship to the supernatural is prevailingly antag­ onistic ; a tug of war with a competitor, not trust in and submission to a higher p o w e r . " 3 3 indicates forcibly that the structure of society correlates with the system of thought and belief. It points to a further examination of the latter's position in the foundation of ethics. It has been suggested in this brief survey in anthro­ pology that there are certain tendencies which man inherits from his animal ancestry, that these are more than selfish—

3*Ibid.. p. **95. 32ibid.. p. **92. 3 3 i b i d . 26 they are social, that they direct his interests and therefore his values, that these go beyond the necessities of survival, that they shape and in turn are shaped by the structure of society. From the emergence of the species, "Animal Symbol!cum," thoughts and beliefs have been expressed in symbols. The first attempts were vague, undifferentiated sounds and gestures. They expressed totalities of experience out of which the separate elements were not yet separately given. The parts "have to be originally and gradually derived from the whole; the process of culling and sorting out individual forms has ■all. yet to be gone through."”* Mana and taboo, the oldest Symbolic forms of value which ethnologists have been able to trace, are so generalized that they are almost prelinguistic, like exclamations of wonder or fear. These words do not fit into any grammatical part of speech; they are not adjective, verb, or noun. Cassirer says, If we would have a verbal analogue.,.we must, apparently go back to the most primitive level of interjections. The manitu of the Algonquins, the mulungu of the Bantus is used in this way— as an exclamation which indicates not so much a thing as a certain Impression, and which is used to greet anything unusual, wonderful, marvelous or terrifying." 35 A later development in symbolizing belief is the "mo­ mentary god" of animisn, in which the mana or taboo potency is

3**l5rnst Cassirer, Language and Myth. New Yorks Dover Publications, Inc., 19*+o» p. 13* 35ij2ia., p. 71 . 27 associated with specific objects and is called by the name— or nouns— of the objects of special Interest or fear like a waterfall, mountain, or wild animal. Later, names of gods are identified with activities— or verbs— like hunting, fight­ ing, harvesting, and qualities— or adjectives— like beauty, strength, intelligence. The Roman gods are examples of these types. Stories then grew up about these gods from emotion- charged experiences, real and imagined. Attempts were made to influence and control the gods. And so myth and magic were born, primitive symbolic forms of value. In his book, Magic% Science, and Religion. ^ Malinowski distinguished magic as a rite carried out as a means to an end, with a practical purpose known to all who participate, as for example to prevent death in childbirth. It is both a social necessity and an individual phenomenon. It owes its success partly to its utility in support of the traditions and per­ formance of sanctions, but also partly, according to Malinowski, to the men of genius who conceived and formulated the magical rituals from their own experience, and to the men of intelligence, energy, and enterprise who Inherited, developed, and wielded the magic after them. These would be successful men in any circum­ stances, and their prestige added to the effectiveness of the faith in magic. "It is an empirical fact that in all savage societies magic and outstanding personality go hand in hand.

^Bronislaw Malinowski, MagicT Science, and Religion. Boston: Beacon Press, 19^8. 28

Thus magic also coincides with personal success, skill, courage, and mental power. No wonder that it is considered a source of success."^

An increasing respect for primitive magic arts is being reflected in some current periodical literature. For example the debt of medical science to the "witch doctor" is openly admitted in an article in The Los Angeles Times. May 20, 1957, called, "Witch Doctor Magic Used by Scientists." The author tells of witch doctors of Africa and South America being "called into consultation to make their contributions to modern medicine." He quotes Dr. Saleem A. Farag of the College of Medical Evangelists saying, "Some of the magic herbs and plant potions may make important additions to oufc healing arts — as have digitalis, morphine, quinine, atropine, and rauwolfla, all of this came from folklore." The School of Tropical and Preventive Medicine of the College of Medical Evangelists has collected eighty varieties of plants used by the Ha and other primitive tribes in Tanganyika, East Africa, fifty species of toxic trees and shrubs'from Colombia*s grass­ land or Llanos country in South America. American physicians have seen witch doctors use these plants to cure many things, as for example the mental ailment schizophrenia, malaria and worms, "Incidentally," it is pointed out, "while Bauwolfia has been used in this country as a wonder drug for high blood

3?Ibid.. p. 63. 29 pressure for only about three years, It has been available in native markets in India for the past 2500 years as a tranquilizer1" The function of magic as an instrument of realizing man’s values is explained by Malinowski when he says that magic helps man

...to maintain his poise and his mental integrity in fits of anger, in the throes of hate, of unrequited love, of despair and anxiety. The function of magic is to ritualize man's optim­ ism, to enhance his faith in the victory of hope over fear. Magic expresses the greater value fdr man of confidence over doubt, of steadfastness over vacillation, of optimism over pessimism... without its power and guidance early man could not have mastered his practical difficulties as he has done, nor could man have advanced to the higher stages of culture. Hence the universal occurrence of magic in primitive societies and its enormous sway. Hence do we find magic an invariable adjunct of all important activities. I think we must see in it the embodiment of the sublime folly of hope, which has yet been the best school of man’s character. 38 Magic, then, is the formulation of means to desired ends. It is systematized way of realizing one’s goals, individually or collectively. It is, according to Malinowski’s definition, primarily practical and instrumental. Myth, on the other hand, is an abstraction of value, developing tenets of belief into cosmogonies, tales of culture heroes and of the doings of the gods. In his essay entitled, "Myth in Primitive Psychology," Malinowski develops the idea

38Ibid.. p. 70. 30 that myth is not a poetic or scientific interpretation of nature, as the German school believed, nor a historical record of the past, but "a hard-working, extremely Important cultural force.”39 it is intimately connected with ritual acts, moral deeds, social organization, and even practical activities. In contrast to the folk tale or legend, the myth “comes into play when rite, ceremony, or a social or moral rule demands justification, warrant of antiquity, |i A reality, and sanctity.” w Thus a myth warranting belief in immortality is an act of faith “born from the innermost instinctive and emotional reaction of the most formidable and haunting idea.,,1+1 It presents "a primeval*greater, and li-2 more relevant reality" by which every-day life is determined. A myth of origin explains to a native the distinctiveness of his tribe, the source of its industry or magic or ruling class, and the reason for his performance of particular tasks in it. It may embody an attitude toward the worth of human beings both of the in-group and out-group. One can, for example, by reading the creation myths of the Japanese Sun- God, the Chinese Pan Ku, and the Hebrew story of Genesis under­ stand a great deal of these societies* operating values.

39Ibld.,p. 75. ^ I b i d .. p. 85. Ifllbid.. p. 88. ^ Ibid., p. 86. 31 Suzanne Langer distinguishes myths like these from fairy tales. The latter are irresponsible, frankly imagi­ nary, and their happy endings are wish-fulfillment s. A myth, on the other hand, Mis taken with religious seriousness, either as historic fact or as a *mystic* truth. Its typical theme is tragic, not utopian; *,lf3 and,

Myth...at least at its best, is a recog­ nition of natural conflicts, of human desire frustrated by non-human powers, hostile oppres­ sion, or contrary desires; it is a story of the birth, passion, and defeat by death which is man*s common fate. Its ultimate end is not wishful distortion of the world, but serious envisagement of its fundamental truths; moral orientation, not escape...Because it presents, however metaphorically, a world-picture, an insight into life generally, not a personal imaginary biography, myth tends to become systematized; figures with the same poetic meaning are blended into one, and characters of quite separate origin enter into definite relations with each other. Mf Expressed in myth are social forces like persons, duties, customs, laws; and also cosmic forces in terms of human re­ lations. The Greek myths abound in this dual relationship, most of their gods being symbols of natural forces like earth, sea, the sun or the seasons, and at the same time enbodylng social relationships and moral— or immoral— traits. Taking the two separate but related functions of magic and myth as described, it is possible to see them continued

^Langer, Philosophy in a New_Key. p. 1^2. pp. into the sophisticated systems of rational verbalized ethics. For example, the hedonistic, utilitarian, pragmatic and instrumental schools of ethics— the empirical and "scientific” type— carry on the function of magic in devising means to give desired ends. Like magic they are systematized ways of real­ izing individual and collective goals. Like magic they owe their success to their utility in support of accepted values and performance of. sanctions1*^ as wen as to the intelligence

and enterprise of the men who profess and develop them (Jeremy Bentham and J. S. Mill designed legal and social re­ forms on the principle of utilitarianism, and John Dewey built an educational system on the principle of pragmatism). Like magic, empirical ethics helps man "to maintain his poise and his mental integrity." It "expresses the greater value for man of confidence over doubt, of steadfastness over vacillation, of optimism over pessimism..." On the other hand, the metaphysical schools, where good­ ness is derived from cosmic sources like Number, Idea, or Will, carry on the function of myth in abstracting and universalizing values, developing tenets of belief into cosmogonies and pre­ senting a background of "greater and more relevant reality" for every-day life. The tales of heroes and gods givey way to

^ S e e for example Moore’s scientific ethics. These points are discussed further in the next chapter. ^Malinowski, M.vth, Science, and Religion, p. 70. 33 comognonias of mathematical relationships (Pythagorus) or ideals (Plato) or psychological factors like reascn, will, and judgment (Kant). Like myths these systems are "hard­ working cultural forces" which come into play when social or moral rules demand the warrant of reality, sanctity, and rationality. Like myths they are taken with religious seriousness as "mystic truth." Like myths they recognize the conflict of human and non-human powers. And like myths their theme is typically tragic rather than utopian. The ethics of Plato, Epictetus, Augustine, Kant, Nietzsche, Shopenhauer— all have tragic overtones which contrast sharp­ ly with the practical tenor of empiricists like Mill and Dewey. Furthermore, it is remarkable that the personi­ fication of cosmic factors is often continued in meta­ physical ethics. For example, there is Nietzsche*s Zarathustra, as well as many allusions to God, angels, and other spiritual "beings." The similarity in form and function of these modes of thought— ancient to modern— is profound. The difference is mainly in the degree of abstraction. The genealogy of ethics shows how these two branches of the family tree developed from earlier forms of value. They originated in symbols created out of man*s inner purposes. The mode of thought which carries the practical pur­ poses is magic, and its descendant is empirical scientific ethics* A modern example of this mode, G. E. Moore*s Frincinia Ethica. will be discussed in detail in the next chapter* The mode which bears the imaginative, effective aspect is myth, which with its descendant, metaphysical ethics, will be discussed in Chapter IV. CHAPTER III

"SCIENTIFIC ETHICS": MOORE'S PRINCIPIA ETHICA

Much is being said of this century's preoccupation with practical concerns. Science is channeled into techn©~ logy, the arts are made "functional" and philosophy "prag­ matic." Even where physical needs are more than amply met, there is feverish pursuit of better means to meet them.

As a result vast improvements are rapidly being made in health, working conditions and living conveniences. On the other hahd, it is observed by many people that obsession with "practical" things is, indirectly, a cause of the ten­ sion and insecurity of modern man and even a threat to his survival. Thoughtful people are confronted with a paradox of the practical, namely that abundant satisfaction of need appears to produce dissatisfaction and insecurity on a large scale.

Attempts to build out of this paradox a consistent ideological structure have been made by that branch of ethics which has grown in the heritage of practical magic.

From its ancestors it has acquired the characteristics of using empirical evidence to determine what is valued and the scientific method to construct a system of knowledge 36 about it. One of the foremost thinkers in this enterprise is John Dewey. In his lecture devoted to ’’Reconstruction in Moral Conception," he indicates that the impact of the scien­ tific method on moral ideas is to replace fixed ethical principles by a method of understanding. Prom the position here taken, reconstruc­ tion cay be nothing less than the work of developing, of forming, of producing (in the literal sense of that word) the Intellectual instrumentalities which will progressively direct inquiry into the deeply and inclusively human — that is to say. moral— facts of the present scene and situation. *+7 Goods and ends are multiplied and rules are subjected to the test of scientific evidence. Each concrete moral situation is unique and ultimate, which transfers the burden of morality from systems of rules to intelligence. The right action in a given situation is not self-evident, he says. Rather, it has to be searched for among conflicting desires and alternative goods. Hence, inquiry is exacted* observation of the detailed makeup of the situation; analy­ sis into its diverse factors; clarification of what is obscure; discounting the more insistent and vivid modes of action that suggest them­ selves; regarding the decision reached as hypothetical and tentative until the antici­ pated or supposed consequences which led to its adoption have been squared with actual consequences. This inquiry is intelligence. H8

1+7John Dewey, Reconstruction in,Philosophy. New York* The New American Library of World Literature, Inc., 1950, p. 20. 1+8Ibid.. p. 133. 37 "Higher” goods are not distinguishable from "lower" or instrumental goods, nor moral values (honesty, benevolence) from natural values (health, economic security), but the experimental logic applied to morals makes every quality good "according as it contributed to amelioration of exist­ ing ills."1*9 As the natural sciences are descriptive in terms of what is normal or typical or "healthy," ethics is descrip­ tive in terms of what is useful or desired or valued in the natural process of "growth." It is prescriptive only in the sense that it clarifies the meanings of the terms and deter­ mines the process through which one goes when making moral decisions. The springboard for most of the modern "scientific ethics" is G. S. Moore*s Princinia Bthlca. It was originally published in 1903, and not reprinted until 1922. However, it has been published with increasing frequency Since then (1929, 19^8, 1951, 195*0 and has had a growing influence on contem­ porary thought. Moore himself claimed in this work to be writing the "Prolegomena to any future Ethics that can claim to be scientific." He says, "I have endeavored to discover what are the fundamental principles of ethical reasoning; and the establishment of these principles, rather than of any conclusions which may be attained by their use, may be re­ garded as my main object."^0 He does, also, present ccn-

^Ibid., p. 138. ^^Moore, Principia Ethics, p. ix. elusions for practical ethics in Chapter V, entitled "Ethics in Relation to Conduct*" Both his theory and its application will he presented, the former being a theoretical analysis, and the latter being the implications of this analysis when applied into action. A summary of these aspects of Moore's Princinia Ethica will show the foundations of the scientific type of ethics and provide a taking off place for the thesis to be developed in this dissertation. Moore, in trying to define the classes within which all great goods and evils fall, comes to the conclusion that "very many different things are good and evil in themselves, and that neither class of things possess any other property which is both common to all its membeis and peculiar to them." The core of his theory is that good is an irreducible quality like yellow, which can be predicated of many things but cannot itself be defined in terms of other predicates. It is not itself a substance or noun— but an adjective— and eannot be used as the subject of a verb. This changes the inquiry from "what" good is to "how" the word is predicated. The study is more general, more formal, and more systematic. For this reason it is considered superior to other theories which attempt to define good.'*2

Since good is a primary quality which can only be

^Robert s. Hartman, "Levels of Value Language," Manuscript, p. 39 defined In terms of Itself, all propositions about it are synthetic rather than analytic. Good is an adjective which is predicated of other things, but cannot itself have a predicate. There is, however, a highly formal sense in which the word may be used as a noun, ‘'The Good” refers to the totality of things which always have the predicate good. This Moore believes can eventually be defined but does not himself attempt it . ^ The defining process would be on a still higher level of abstraction giving system to the whole of that company of things of which good is predicated. In the past philosophers have made the mistake of taking specific things empirically described as good and identified them with "The Good"---a mistake which Moore calls "the naturalistic fallacy." They isolate a part, such as pleasure or will, and substitute it for the whole. This over-simplification blinds them to the organic nature of the whole. "The Good" is not an element, but an organic com­ pound of all things which are good. Therefore a part bears, no direct relation to the whole, and a natural object, while it may possess the quality, cannot be the essence of the good. Another way of saying this is that the naturalistic fallacy is committed by trying to assume on the level of

Co -’Moore, Princinia Ethica. p. 9* empirical experience a whole which can only be achieved on a very formal level of abstract analysis.

In terms of the naturalistic fallacy, Moore criticises both naturalistic and metaphysical schools of ethics. In the

first group he places theories in which the good is equated with something admittedly an object of experience like nature

(Rousseau), evolution (Spencer), pleasure and utility (Mill and Sidgwick). For example, he says that hedonism commits

the naturalistic fallacy by failing to distinguish between

that which we approve and that which we are pleased with. It

asserts that nothin? is good but pleasure. Moore points out,

among other things, that pleasure is not as good as conscious­

ness of pleasure, and that there is a complex of consciousness

of other thin?s which are much better than that of pleasure

alone.

In the second or metaphysical group, Moore places the

type of theory which equated the good with something which

is inferred to exist in a supersensible real world. Such

ethical theories have the merit that they recognize that good­

ness is more than any quantity which exists in time, but they

commit the naturalistic fallacy when they assert that good

is derived from the nature of reality. Kant committed the

fallacy by relating the good to the autonomous will in the

same way that truth is related to cognition. Moore says that

the actual relation is causal--that willing is a necessary

condition for the cognition of goodness— but that does not

prove the identity. To prove this one would first have to hi establish what is good anyway, and it would be as easy and safer to prove a thing good on its own account than so by reference to its cause or criterion. Moore himself has said that things which are good have no other property both common and peculiar to them, besides their goodness, and therefore no other criterion than goodness itself.

So much for Moore's criticism of traditional theories of ethics in terms of his principle of a primary, unde- finable good. It would be well to see how his theory of good works when itself applied to the level of practical ethics. Hence his Chapter V, "Ethics in Relation to Conduct," will be presented in somewhat more detail, as an illustration of scientific ethics. The numbers in parentheses refer to numbered paragraphs in Principia Ethica.

Moore devoted this part of his book to the question of "Practical Ethics," namely, "What ought we to do?" This, he says, involves a study of causal relations, or what actions will bring about results which are considered good.

The method is one of empirical investigation as in the other sciences (#88).

All moral laws, he says, are merely statements that certain kinds of actions will have good effects. "The right" is therefore identical, with "the useful." Duty is defined as that action which will cause more good to exist in the

Universe than any possible alternative, and right as that 1+2 which will not cause less good than any possible alternative.

It follows that no moral law is self-evident, as held by Intuitionists. (#91) , and that it would be impossible to know all the results of all the possible alternatives in a given situation, so all that Ethics can accomplish is to dis­ cover which is the best of possible alternatives likely to occur. By best possible is meant any action which no other circumstances would prevent, provided the idea of it occurred to us. That one, among such actions, which will produce the greatest total good is what is meant by duty (#92).

Even this is immensely difficult, because (a) the

total results would carry into an infinite future, (We must assume that no results in the infinite future will reverse

the balance of good in the immediate future.) and (b) even

generalizations about the comparative amount of good in the

immediate future can only te general, not even as sure as

the hypothetical universal laws of science. An ethical law has the nature, not of a scientific law, but of a scientific

prediction (#93 & #9*+)*

In this sense, Ethics does confirm the general truth

of the rules most universally recognized by Common Sense. For

example, Moore "proves" the general disutility of murder, and

the value of respect of property, industry, temperance, and

the keeping of promises. The condition upon which their

utility depends is "the tendency to preserve and propagate *+3 life and the desire for property." They are only a nec­ essary condition for the existence of any ?reat good. Such rules, therefore, can be defended independently of correct views on the primary ethical question of what is good in

itself (#95).

Other rules, such as Chastity, can only be shown to

be useful under more or less temporary conditions, and there­

fore require for their basis a knowledge of what is good in

itself. Among the results of actions of this limited kind

should be computed the sanctions, public and private, where

these exist. "The fact that an action will be punished is

a condition of exactly the same kind as others of more or

less permanence, which must be taken into account in dis­

cussing the general utility or disutility of an action in

a particular state of society." (#97)

Thus--and what is especially significant to this in-

quiry--it seems possible to prove a definite utility for

most of the rules in a given society which are both recog­

nized and practiced, but it is doubtful that any proposed

changes in social custom could be so defended. Such pro­

posed rules suffer from three main defects: (1) they are

often impossible for most individuals, by reason of temper-

ment, to perform by an effort of volition; (2) the conditions

^ I b i d .. p. 157 ^^Tbid., p. 159. Mf necessary for them to produce their good effects are not sufficiently general in society at the given time, and (3) the usefulness of the rule may depend upon conditions likely to change, and the change of conditions might be easier and more desirable than observance of the rule. seems doubtful whether Ethics can establish the utility of any rules other than those generally practised.”56 The inabil­ ity to do so cannot, however, affect much the question how an individual ought to act; since, on the one hand, he probably will not be able to bring about its general observance, and on the other, the absence of its general observance makes it questionable whether he himself ought to observe it. In summary, with regard to actions classed as duties, crimes, or sins in Ethics, Moore makes the following points: (1) they are actions which it should be possible for every­ body to perform or avoid, (2) of them we can prove only general truths with regard to their utility, and (3) utility can be proved only for those actions generally practiced among us. (#98) Duty and expediency are the same, ethi­ cally speaking, for both are means to the best possible re­ sult. (#101) Likewise are duty and Interest if each Is properly understood. (#102) Finally, Moore makes the point that even virtue itself, the disposition to perform actions generally good as means, i.e. to act according to duty, is not necessarily of intrinsic value. To judge whether a disposition is or is not “virtuous” requires a difficult causal investigation of all the actions performed, and what is thereby found “virtuous" in one time and place would not likely hold for another time and place, particularly for a different society. (#103) While a virtuous motive might have some intrinsic value, Moore vigorously denies Kant's claim that it has more value than other motives, that it is the sole good, or even that it is always good regardless of consequences. "It is aa certain as anything can be that very harmful actions may be done from conscientious motives and that Conscience does not always tell us the truth about tin what actions are right. Moore's theory and its application have been pre­ sented. They are the warp and the woof which, when woven together, make the fabric of meaning which Moore has called "Ethics.” He has by no means finished the tapestry; rather as he insists, he has laid out the pattern for others who follow to fill in. Moore himself said, in his concluding remarks, It is obvious that for a proper answer­ ing of this, the fundamental question of Ethics, (I.e. "What Is good in Itself?" ed) there re­ mains a field of investigation as wide and as difficult, as was assigned to Practical Ethics in my last chapter* There is as much to be said concerning what results are intrinsically good, and in what degrees, as concerning what results it is possible for us to bring about* both questions demand, and will repay, an equally patient enquiry." 5®

?7 Ibld.. p. 1 8 0 . P- 222- b6 This enquiry he speaks of is primarily a scientific one into causal relationships and the empirical use of the term, good. It is a science about good* What can be expected of it is clarification of the meaning of the term as it is used and perhaps an increase in the predictability of results from actions. This kind of knowledge is normative to the extent that it prevents making certain mistakes and gives tools for achieving desired ends. It would help to eliminate the mistakes of hasty generalization, over-simplification, and bigotry and would also give valuable data on causes and effects of actions which would make striving after good easier and more effective within the context of generally accepted goods of society. Thus it is a continuation of the function of magic, as discussed in the previous chapter. One great difference, however, is its claim (like that of other scientific ethics) to be the exclusive form of ethics. For this claim, however, there are a number of theo­ retical problems and practical limitations in Moore*s ethics from the perspective of the "New Key.” For example, if good is (indefinable, what is the meaning of "better"and “best"? Are these terms applicable only to means and not to ends? Can they be used only to signify more or most success­ ful in anticipating an intrinsic good? Or are there different degrees of intrinsic good? In either casa what, other than goodness, defines the difference between goodT "better," and "best"? Is it quantity? quality? existence? But these contradict undefinability of good. If there is no comparative or superlative for intrin­ sic good, what difference is there between the value of a

"good spider," a"good man," a "good crime"? Value theories since Moore have developed the distinction on the basis of definition, but then good must be defined as fulfillment of the definition. It is difficult to see how a distinction could be made between non-ethical value systems and ethics on the basis of an undefinable good.

Moore, Stevenson, and other theorists of this type do not posit a higher--or even necessarily an intrinsic--value for personality which could be a basis for distinguishing ethical values. Moore says that "even the value of human existence never has been proved or refuted conclusively.

That universal murder would not be a good thing at this 59 moment can therefore not be proved.Preservation of life can only be defended as "a necessary condition for the existence of any great good."^ Even the virtuous dis­ position, according to Moore, may not have intrinsic value, for "a virtue, if it is really a virtue, must be good as a means. in the sense that it fulfils the above conditions; but it is not better as a means than nonvirtuous dispositions

It generally has no value in itself; and, where it has, it is far from being the sole good or the best of goods.Is 59Ibid., p . 156. 6°Ibid., p. 158. 61Ibid., p. 182. 1+8 there no difference in kind between the virtue of a man and the virtue of a uranium deposit, provided both are equally successful a means of promoting "the general good"? It is difficult to see that Moore's theory makes any distinction possible. Furthermore, Moore, a realist, believes that existence of an object of value increases tfeear&^yits value and that the whole is more good if the belief about a beautiful or good thing is a true belief, (i.e. that the thing actually exists) than if the thing is purely imaginary— even if the first thing is otherwise less v&luable than the second. ...the presence of true belief may, in spite of a great inferiority in the value or the emotion and the beauty of its object, constitute with them a whole equal or superior in value to wholes, in which the emotion and beauty are superior, but in which a true belief is wanting or a false belief present. In this way we may justify the attribution of equal or superior value to an appreciation of an inferior real object, as compared with the appreciation of a greatly superior object which is a mere creature of the imagination. Thus a just appreciation of nature and of real persons may maintain its equality with an equally just appreciation of the products of artistic imagination, in spite of much greater beauty in the latter. And similarly though God may be admitted to be a more perfect object than any actual human being, the love of God may yet be inferior to human love, does not exist. 62 If this be true then the values of intelligent real­ ism are superior to those of myth, art, and especially tragedy. For these hold that value is beyond and somehow

62Ibid.. p. 200 1+9 independent of* existence, and that the death, or failure, or misfortune of a good man makes him no less noble— if anything more so because he defies the natural laws of cause and effect, the very laws which are fundamental to Moore's "Scientific" ethics. The ethics of tragedy will be considered further in Chapter IV. It is sufficient here to point out that if existence enhances the value of a good thing, as is the belief in ethics based on the metaphysics of realism, then the arts are to be valued primarily as means of social reform or individual realization. This coincides with 63 Dewey's belief that ideals are methods rather than goals. The intrinsic value of art is considerably lessened, replaced by its effectiveness in producing such things as pleasure or welfare. Although the power of ideas to create tangible good is not to be underestimated, their value is not to be judged by this, according to most philosophers. Perhaps the most serious limitation from the standpoint of the "New Key" is the fact that the tangible good of Moore and Dewey is one which is already recognized by the majority of people and reinforced by custom. Innovations in the form of ideas cannot be recognized as Good until they can be verified as producing affects that are approved. The scien­ tific method operates only on what is "given" in the way of values; it offers little help in creating them, even reducing

63see "Changed Conceptions of the Ideal and the Real," Chapter V of Reconstruction in Philosophy; also 4&t .,§§ Experience (especially Chapter XIV, "Art and Civilization"). 50 creative arts to the bondage of custom* This brings up the practical limitations of "scien­ tific ethics" as exemplified by Moore, In his own admission Moore says, "...it seems doubtful whether Ethics can estab­ lish the utility of any rules other than those generally 6L. practiced." They must be already in existence and in successful operation, preferably fortified by social sanc­ tions, to be found by Moore to promote a net amount of good. This puts ethical theory always behind the ufait accompli'1 — an analytic rather than a creative enterprise. In a sense this is to be expected of a science about ethics, but science need not be uncreative, and its effect should be progressive rather than conservative. The limitation, it seems to me, is in an empirical method which is unable to identify its own subject matter until the latter has reached maturity and been recognized by society. This method denies the historical function of ethics in fathering and nourishing principles of right and wrong from their infancy. Like children, these principles have to be believed in before they can be successful. Freedom, equality, fraternity would have had little support from "scientific ethics" at the time of the French Revolution, nor would it have been possible to "prove" the "utility? of abolishing slaves at the time when the decision £L. Moore, Principle Bthlca. p. 161. 51 was in the making in America. People— Including "un­ scientific philosophers like Valtaire, Rousseau, Locke, Emerson— had to be strongly committed to these principles or they would never have been established as "data" for the "scientific" ethicist. Nor would Moore*s type of theory recognize at the crutial time those moral innovators who, going contrary to accepted standards, ended their lives in disappointment, apparent failure, or martyrdom. Is the value of such men as Socrates or Woodrow Wilson to be determined only by history? Has ethics nothing to say until it is "all over"? Does it sit on the sidelines until the issues of right and wrong are settled? Is ethics merely to result in a socially conditioned "morality," which, according to the dictionary, "implies conformity with the generally accepted standards of good- 65 ness or rightness in conduct or character." y is ethics

finally a conservative— possibly reactionary— force in society? What of the tragic heroes who for new principles threw their lives in the face of the "generally accepted standards"? The creation and succour of such principles, the motivating force behind the enterprise of ethics, can­ not in the "New Key" be stripped from the function of the philosopher, as members of the scientific school would prescribe.

6?Webster*s New World Dictionary of the American Language. College Edition. New York: The World Publishing Company, 195*+, p. 956* 52 The empirical method would seem to produce the kind of "morality” defined above. The meaning of good is taken in the context of what is already thought to be good (i.e. desired, approved, valued, etc.) It is not creative of ends, although it may be prolific (like the Deweyan branch) in devising means to given ends. There is no objection to this as an important contributing aspect of ethics. However, to replace all of ethics by this practical aspect would result in a decadent morality. The role which the ethics of people like Plato and Kant played has been creative, not descriptive; the role of art, not science. It has been rational systematic and disinterested to be sure, but it has been inventive. The philosophers whom Moore takes to task for committing the "naturalistic fallacy" may have been guilty of over­ simplifications and hasty generalizations, but they had this virtues they were creative. They took the warp and woof of experience and wove it into a fabric of meaning whose designs were original and communicable and had significance— if not universally— at least for a very great number of people. Thus both Mill's Hedonistic Utilitarianism and Kant's Ethics of Duty are artistic creations In themselves and tremendously creative forces In Western culture. Even the most fastideously reasoned schemes of Spinoza, Kant, and Hegel are architectural masterpieces whose foundations were made, not given. As such 53 they Influenced the course of thought and history. (Of course each believed he was building on something "given0 in the nature of things— and thereby committed the naturalistic fallacy, as Moore rightly pointed out. But Moore himself started with what was "given" by others and ended with an average composite morality.) Etymologically, "ethics" has been traced to the Indo- European base, "swedh" or "swedh" meaning essential, quality,

6< own character; akin to Gothic word, "swes" meaning one*s own. This could explain the further fact that the word "ethics" has connotations in usage of individuality and positive standards, while "morals" has social connotations especially of things prohibited by custom. The distinction is made explicit in Webster*s comparison of the adjective synonyms where "moral implies conformity with the generally accepted standards of goodness or rightness in conduct or character," while "ethical implies conformity with an elaborated, ideal code of moral principles.”^ Ethics cannot be limited to a science about morals without distorting its usage and its tradition. At any rate, in this dissertation the term "ethics" shall be used to denote the art of formulating principles of right and wrong as well as the art of tracing relationships among such principles. Thus it is both a creative and an analytical

66Ibld. f p. **99. 67ibid.r p. 956. 51* enterprise. This seems to be in tune with the "Hew Key*' in philosophy as well as with the underlying theme and mood of the old. In brief, while a science about ethics has value as a Science, it is dubious as an ethics. In formulating prin­ ciples of right and wrong it proves restrictive and conservative, with a disposition to conform rather than invent. It lacks the vitality of original, creative thought. The categories of scientific method may have truth value and utility value, but they are too restrictive to formulate or explain the manifold activity of the creative mind. Moore failed, it seems, to discover “the fundamental principles of ethical reasoning." His prolegonema is not to ethics but to a branch of it. That branch is what grew out of magic from which it inherits its function as well as its empirical method. However, much the method has been refined, the function remains practical and social. This cannot overtake the function of the creative and aesthetic. That belongs to another branch of the family tree— the one which grew out of myth into metaphysical or “Hromethean" ethics. CHAPTER IV

PROMETHEAN ETHICS

Prometheus was one of the Titans, a gigantic race, who inhabited the earth before the creation of man. To him and his brother Epimetheus was committed the office of making man, and providing him and all other animals with the faculties necessary for their pres­ ervation. Epimetheus undertook to do this, and Prometheus was to overlook his work, when it was done. Epimetheus accordingly proceeded to bestow upon the different animals the various gifts of courage, strength, swiftness, sagacity; wings to one, claws to another, a shelly covering to a third, etc. But when man came to be provided for, who was to be superior to all other animals, Epimetheus had been so prodigal of his resources that he had nothing left to bestow upon him. In his per­ plexity he resorted to his brother Prometheus, who, with the aid of Minerva, went up to heaven, and lighted his torch at the chariot of the sun, and brought down fire to man. With this gift man was more than a match for all other animals. It enabled him to make weapons wherewith to subdue them; tools with which to cultivate the earth; to warm his dwelling, so as to be comparatively independent of climate; and finally to introduce the arts and to coin money, the means of trade and commerce.

(Prometheus) is represented as the friend of mankind, who interposed in their behalf when Jove was incensed against them, and who taught them civilization and the arts. But as, in so doing, he transgressed the will of Jupiter, he drew down on himself the anger of the ruler of gods and men. Jupiter had him chained to a rock on Mount Caucasus, where a vulture preyed on his liver, which was re­ newed as fast as devoured. This state of tor­ ment might have been brought to an end at any time by Prometheus, if he had been willing to

5? 56 submit to his oppressor; for he possessed a secret Which involved the stability of Jove's throne, and if he would have revealed it, he might have been at once taken into favour. But this he disdained to do. He has therefore become the symbol of magnanimous endurance of unmerited suffering, and strength of will resisting oppression. 68 This is the myth of Prometheus and Epimetheus as told by Thomas Bulfinch in The Age of Fable. The Greek version of the origin of man, it is symbolic of the ethical values of the Greeks. The distinction between the two brothers, whose names signify fore-thinker and after-thinker is basic though often overlooked. Epimetheus, whose office it was to produce animate nature, was supervised by his brother. The former was able to create the animal kingdom, but was incap­ able, due his short-sightedness, of making man. That task took the superior genius of Prometheus which was imagina­ tion. Another edition of Bulfinch reads, "But Prometheus himself made a nobler animal than these. Taking some earth and kneading it with water, he made man in the image of the gods. He gave him an upright stature, so that while other animals turn their faces toward the earth, man gazes on the stars From this point Epimetheus virtually disappears

^®Thomas Bulfinch, The Age of Fable, ed. W. H. Klapp. New Yorks The Heritage Press, 19*+2, pp. 1^-15 & 19-20. 69 Thomas Bulfinch, The Classic Mvt^s in English Literature and in Art. ed. Charles M. Gaylny* New Yorks Ginn & Co., 1939, p. 9* from Greek mythology. The only other story about him is that he unsuspectingly accepts from Jupiter the gift of Pandora for his bride (in spite of his brother’s warning). Thereby all the evils of the world are let loose on man­ kind, for Pandora’s curiosity drove her to open the for­ bidden box, containing a multitude of plagues, and by the time she had closed it again only one thing remained in the casket, and that was "hope." Epimetheus, though he created the animal kingdom, was in the human realm, as far as the Greeks were concerned, a square. While modern man might look upon him more kindly, especially for his last offense, and find in him the symbol of natural order, "preservation of the species" or "satisfaction of desire," he is still the symbol of an inadequate view of man. He represents human beings as an after-thought of the animal kingdom, differing in complexity but not in kind. For all his efficiency and intelligence, Epimetheus lacks the qualities which make his brother the man-maker, and is consigned to early oblivion. Prometheus, on the other hand, is a recurring theme in mythology, literature, and art. Aeschylus wrote "Pro­ metheus Bound" and a sequel, "Prometheus Unbound" which has been lost. One of Shelley’s best known works is the poetic drama, "Prometheus Uhbound," in which the Zeus of tyranny and superstition is overthrown by Reason, the gift of Pro­ metheus to mankind. Byron’s "Prometheus" contains these lines: 58 Thy godlike crime was to be kind, To render with thy precepts less The sum of human wretchedness, And strengthen man with his own mind. But, baffled as thou wert from high, Still, in thy patient energy, In the endurance and repulse Of thine impenetrable spirit, Which earth and heaven could not convulse, A mighty lesson we inherit. 70 Longfellow wrote in ’’Prometheus, or the Poet’s Forethought”i Ah, Prometheus! heaven-scaling! In such hours of exultation Even the faintest heart, unqua£l&$g, Might behold the vulture sailing Round the cloudy crags Caucasian! Though to all there is not given Strength for such sublime endeavor, Thus to scale the walls of heaven, And to leaven with fiery leaven All the hearts of men forever; Yet all bards, whose hearts unblighted Honor and believe the presage, Hold aloft their torches lighted, Gleaming through the realms benighted, As they onward bear the message! 71 From the time of the myth, Prometheus has symbolized the nobility of defiance against nature and fate. When ”Afterthought," creator of nature, was stymied "Forethought" invented man. Human beings are thereby distinguished in kind from animals. Man is even further endowed with the stolen gift which represents industry, reason or insight as the interpretation may be.

?°George Gordon Byron, "Prometheus," in C. H. Page and Sith Thompson ed., British Poets of the Ninteenth Century. New York* B. H. Sanborn & Co., 1929, P« iffjfT 7-*-Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, "Prometheus, or the Poet's Forethought," in The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wads­ worth Longfellow. London* George Routledge & Sons, 1871, p. 250. 59 This gift, bestowed by Prometheus in defiance of the gods, has brought considerable advantages to mankind. But the gods— or fate— could not be counted on to be friendly, or even Just, and so man's benefactor is rewarded for his kindness by suffering. Thus, while Epimetheus is a more-or- less comic figure, Prometheus embodies not only the superior kind of intelligence, but with it selfless action, which makes him a tragic hero. The Promethean Myth is an early expression of the ideal of man whose purpose is beyond the natural laws of survival and satisfaction. It continues to have an emotion­ al appeal which profoundly affects the shaping of values. The emotional appeal of tragic heroism is used more delib­ erately to affect people's values in the tragic drama. This later art form stands between myth and rationalized meta­ physical ethics. It differs from myth in that it is con­ scious of the illusion, its authorship is fixed, and its values are therefore more explicit. It is not as objective as philosophy, but it is more responsible than art. More deliberately than myth, it reexamines accepted values, creates new perspectives and Influences profoundly the value concepts of many people, including these philosophers who developed its concepts into systems. A tragedy, in literary form, is the account of some­ thing good which is destroyed. The first of its essential 60 ingredients, therefore, is belief in the valae of something.

At least there is belief in the value of the human individual.

(This is enough to make Death of a Salesman by Arthur

Miller a tragedy, even though Willie Lowman has little more than his humanness to recommend him.) The values may be per­ sonal or family loyalties (as in Electra and Antimony) or social principles (as in Winterset and All Our Sons) or re­ ligious principles (as in Murder in the Cathedral and The

Prisoner). There must be something considered worthy of 72 devotion. Nietzsche called it a mythical world-view and

Joseph Wood Krutch said that tragedy is possible only in an 73 age when man believes in something.

The second ingredient in tragedy is that it comes to terms with the basic fact of existence, the destructability of the good. Human values are pitted against forces for which the hero is not responsible and over which he has little or no control. In the Greek plays these forces were symbol­ ized by the gods, whose inscrutable ways made sport of man's noblest aims. In some later tragedies the fate theme was a social factor, like the family feud in Romeo and Juliet, race prejudice in Winterset. or the Communist Party in The

Prisoner. The individual's freedom and moral choice is put 72Friedrich Nietzsche, Birth of Tragedy. London: T. & N. Foulis, 1909. 73Joseph Wood Krutch, The Modern Temper. New York: Harcourt Brace & Co., 1929* 61 in the setting of indifferent or hostile reality. This prevents the easy optimism that natural law, intelligence, or even goodness can solve man’s problems. For good men are brought low, and even goodness itself is seen to be vulnerable. The heroic Agamemnon, unconquerable in war, is easy prey to a woman's revenge. The passion for justice kills Mio, and his cause dies with him in Winterset. and the whole structure of a great and good personality, the Cardinal, is demolished by psychological warfare in The Prisoner.

Walpole once said, "The world is a comedy for those 71+ who think and a tragedy for those who feel."' The tragedy appeals to the emotions. Identification with the hero sweeps one up into commitment to the values involved as it does in mythical stories. But in drama, the abstractions of belief become existential realities which determine the actions of the hero and, vicariously, the audience. Dis­ illusionment over conventionally accepted ideals and super­ ficial beliefs is produced. Traditions and myths of the past are subjected to the refining fire of personal anguish.

At last, the viewer finds himself forced to transcend

the tragic situation. He has faced the awful limitations of his existence, undergone what Aristotle called "the proper

7 1- 4 purification of the emotions," and from this point begun anew to reconstruct his universe. ^Aristotle, "Poetics" in On Man in the Universe, ed. Louise R. Loomis. New York: D. Van Nostrand, Inc., 19^3, P. ^26. 62

The new configuration may be a revitalized concept of the old myth, or it may be quite new. In either case it transcends the tragic situation and reaffirms values be­ yond their measure of wordly rewards. It is the "myth” which makes men noble. It is not practical. But it is creative. And somehow, as one views Prometheus chained to the cliff, with vultures picking at his flesh, one Is trans­ ported by his faith, not dissuaded by his fate. Some of the most systematic of philosophers are Pro*, methean in their ethics, heirs of the mythical mode of thought. Plato's ethics begins with the tragedy of Socrates' death in which Plato learns values beyond those of mere living. Socrates says in the Apology. "The difficulty, my friends, Is not to avoid death, but to avoid unrighteousness; for that runs faster than death,"75 "...the unexamined life is not worth living,"7^ and in the Crito, "...not life but a good life is to be chiefly valued."77 The futility of Socrates' defense in the face of ignorance and prejudice, the unj&st sentence and execution, the temptations to escape from it which Crito had arranged, did not deter Socrates in performing what he thought for the best of the state, both as

75piato, trans. B. J«wett, ed. Louise R. Loomis. New Yorks D. Van Nostrand Co., Inc., 19^2, p. 57. 76ibid.. p. 56. 77Ibid.. p. 71. 63 a “gadfly1* in life, persuading all “first and chiefly to care about the greatest improvement of the soul,*'?® and as a victim in death “not of the laws but of m e n * ”79 Q f the envy and detraction of the world, which has been the death of many good men, and will probably be the death of many more.”®0

The last statement suggests another tragic theme in Plato, of the “few” who are able to make men wise and the “many” who do whatever they do as the result of chance.®1

This situation led Plato, in the Republic, to construct an ideal state in which the “few” would rule the "many.” Phil­ osophers were to be kings, “painters of constitutions” men of "magnificence of mind and the spectators of all time and existence."®2 These great leaders were to keep order in the state, assigning, through a system of universal education, every individual to the class of work for which he was best suited. Justice, peace and piety were to be maintained in the harmonious state by the philosopher-ruler, who had to sacrifice his own personal satisfactions of family and possessions. However, like other tragic heroes, these men

7®lbid. P- bS. 79ibid. P* 78. ®°Jbid. P* ®1Ibid. P« 67. 82I£J4. P* 371. 6k were likely to have flaws of character which, even though slight, would be fatal to the good state. The philosopher "is a rare plant which is seldom seen among men" and "what numberless and powerful causes tend to destroy these rare natures!"®3 Even his own virtues, courage and temperance, not ho mention "the ordinary goods of life— beauty, wealth, strength, rank, and great connections in the state,"®1* the inevitable censure of the world, and "friends and fellow 8 citizens who will want to use him for their own purposes," y all conspire to undo him. Thus, my excellent friend, is brought about all that ruin and failure which I have been describing of the natures best adapted to the best of all pursuits...which we main­ tained to be rare at any time. And so philosophy is left desolate, with her marriage rite incomplete* for her own have fallen away and forsaken her, and while they are leading a false and unbecoming life, other unworthy persons seeing that she has no kinsmen to be Jier protector enter in and di shonor her...

Books VIII and IX of the Republic describe the dete­ rioration of the state as it passes into more and more inferior hands, until the worst of all possible states is

83Ibld.. p. 376. 8**Ibid. 85Ibld.? p. 380. 86Ibid. 65 reached— tyranny, a dictatorship of "the most unjust and miserable of men#"®? Plato witnessed in his lifetime the collapse of what he hoped would be his ideal republic in Syracuse, and in his later life devoted his mind to writing Statesman and Laws, more practical and more conservative treatises on government. Still, it is his utopian Republic which has influenced western thought most deeply and played its part in bringing about such things as universal edu­ cation, eugenics,and the equality of women. In his metaphysics Plato believed the sensible world of change and imperfection to be unreal. Reality is else­ where, in the realm of the Immaterial and permanent, the per­ fect* the world of ideas, true source of all being and all knowledge. Ideas of truth and beauty are more perfect than any corporeal representation of them. They are also stand­ ards by which representations are measured, ideals toward which changing matter aspires. They are both ontological and teleological concepts. The crowning glory of Plato’s doctrine of Ideas is his concept of the Good. This he com­ pares to the sun, author of all things, of generation, and nourishment, and growth. Now, that whieh imparts truth to the known and the power of knowing to the knower is what I would have you term the idea of good, and this you will deem to be the cause of

8?Ibid.. p. **60. 66 science, and of truth In so far as the latter becomes the subject of knowledge; beautiful too, as are both trutfc and knowldggq,you willjbe right in esteeming this other nature as more beautiful than either; and, as in the previous instance, light and sight may be truly said to be like the sun, and yet not to be the sun, so in this other sphere, science and truth may be deemed to be like the good, but not the good; the good has a place of honor yet higher. 87 This world of ideas is like the mythical world of the gods, each idea being a prototype of something which is valued, as the gods were symbols of value. Plato*s three- storied universe, consisting of the sensible world, the world of ideas, and the Idea of Good, corresponds readily to mythical cosmologies containing the world of man, of demi-gods, and of God. The analogy of the sun is quite pagan, and differs only in a degree of abstraction by which it symbolizes man's highest value, like myth, Plato abstracted and universalized values, developing his tenets of belief into a cosmogony peopled with prototypes whose ontological existence he (seemingly) affirmed. He thus presented a "greater and more relevant reality by which everyday life is determined." Like myth, he had his culture hero, an intellectual Prometheus who was caught and sacri­ ficed in the act of bringing "light" to man. Like myth, Plato's philosophy is not a science or history, but "a hard­ working, extremely important cultural force."®9 profound-

88Ibid.f pp. 396-7. 89 Malinowski, see footnote #39. 67 ly shaped Christian ethics and metaphysical doctrine (i.e. the Trinity, the soul, and immortality) and continues to influence western thought. A few centuries later, the Hebrew culture, also rich in mythical symbols, merged with Greek culture. Together they incorporated under the Roman Empire. Thus was produced the Christian church which dominated that period in philos­ ophy characterized by belief in a supernatural realm. Jewish angels were substituted for Greek demigods on a lower level of abstraction than Plato’s Ideas. The three-storied universe remained in tact (to which was added a basement). Jesus, the Promethean hero, unlike Socrates was given the status of a divinity and thus acquired not only power to stir the imagination but power to control as well. This power was institutionalized in the church and transmitted through a hierarchy to the priests who performed rites "in the name of Jesus Christ." In this way the powers of two symbolic forms, magic and myth, combined to make what was probably the strongest force in western culture. Conceptually, the Christian era produced little which was above the level of abstraction which Plato had reached, and much which was below it. For most thinkers intellectual activity was subservient to faith in a more-or-less anthro­ pomorphic God and his visible body, the Church. P&otinus, however, was one who conceived God as the infinite, all- 68 inclusive One, beyond time and space. The One is, in truth, beyond all statement; whatever you say would limit It; and All-Trans­ cending, transcending even the most august Mind, which alone of all things has true being, has no name. We can but try to indicate, if possible, something concerning It. 90 With this mystical cnhfcept (which is beyond conception) the Idea of God breaks the word barrier, so-to-speak, and goes beyond the power of symbolic forms to contain it. This is where, Cassirer says, ”as myth and religion seek to trans­ cend the bourne of language, they arrive therewith at fche 91 limits of their own creative and formulative power.” While

a number of mystics reach this stage in the Christian era, other thinkers, like St. Augustine, concerned themselves with the more communicative realm of ethics. The keystone of Augustine's ethics was the belief that Adam's sin had infected all mankind. According to the myth, Adam's spirit and body were originally good, but through his pride fell from innocence and gave up the divine inheritance. To Augustine this original sin was so great that a man could not be saved from it, no matter how virtuous his life. The sacrifice of Jesus was in partial atonement, and faith in Him and his Church were a requisite (though not a guarantee) of salvation. All men deserved damnation, but through the mercy of God some were predestined for salvation, a number

9°Turnbull, "The Essence of Plotinus" from Frederick Mayer, History of Ancient and Medieval Philosophy. New York* American Book Co., 1951* p. 323. 91casslrer, Language and Myth, p. 79. 69 equal to the number of fallen angels. For most men life both in this world and the next was a tragedy to be born by subduing the flesh, improving the mind by prayer, and avoiding any type of heresy. Here the tragic myth is made the center of an ethic which became the morality of Christendom for a thousand years. It portrays all men bound, like Prometheus, by an angry God because Adam stole from the Tree of Knowledge. The fate of Adam and all his descendants is made more pathetic than heroic by the belief that they had no free will. How­ ever, the myth did serve to make its believers lead sober and pious lives and be obedient to the Church. The most sytematic development of Promethean ethics came in the 18th century with the writings of Immanuel Kant. In contrast to Augustine, Kant believed that virtue was in direct proportion to autonomy of the will. This meant not only freedom from outside forces but from one's own natural inclinations as well. Kant's Promethean revolt was agAInst "human nature," rather than gods. For virtue, he said, is not measured by happiness or success or even "salvation" but by being worthy of them, and to be worthy one's motives must be pure. An autonomous will is obedient only to moral^2 principles laid down by reason. Happiness cannot be the goal of a being equipped with reason, for, he argued, natural in-

^2Kant uses the term "moral" instead of "ethical" throughout his work. 70 stinct would have been much, more direct and efficient than reason in attaining it. The reasoning creature has a higher purpose to act according to principles. This is his duty, and Kant goes to lengths to distinguish it from doing good out of selfish or practical motives, or even out of "an amiable disposition." ...there are, moreover, many persons so sympathetically constituted that without any motive of vanity or selfishness they find an inner satisfaction in spreading joy and rejoice in the contentment of others which they have made possible. But I say that, however dutiful and amiable it may be, that kind of action has no true moral worth...for the maxim lacks the moral im­ port of an action done not from inclination but from duty. 93 Thus the first proposition of morality is* to have moral worth an action must be done from duty. The second is* "An action done from duty does not have its moral worth in the purpose which is to be achieved througiit but in the Qlf maxim by which it is determined."7

The maxim functions as the myth in primitive ethics, or the thing greatly valued in tragic drama. It i's^that "greater, more relevant reality by which everyday life is determined." With Kant it has reached such a level of abstraction as to be a completely rational principle, or "law as such." This he calls "the categorical imperative."

93immanuel Kant, "Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals," from A. I. Melden, Ethical Theories. New York* Prentice Hall, Inc., 1959, p. 210. 9^-Ibid.. p. 211. 71 •..nothing remains to serve as a principle of the will except universal conformity of its action to law as such. That is, I should never act in such a way that I could not will that my maxim should be a universal law. 95 Kant recognizes this as a pure abstraction to which specific empirical acts might not be able to conform. Like the gods and Plato's Ideas, it is a teleological concept trhose onto­ logical existence is in a world of its own. For Kant this world is ; "a priori" or previous to the deductive and inductive functionings of the mind. In this realm is the idea of moral perfection, inseparably connected with the concept of a free will. Kant illustrates this in an inter­ esting passage in which he warns against deriving moral principles from empirical evidence, even from the example of Christ. Nor could one give poorer counsel to morality than to attempt to derive it from examples. For each example of morality which is exhibited to me must itself have been previously judged according to principles of morality to see whether it is worthy to serve as an original example, i.e., as a model. By no means could it authoritatively furnish the concept of morality. Even the Holy One of the Gospel must be compared with our ideal of moral perfection before He is recognized as such; even He says of Himself, "Why call ye Me (Whom you see) good? None is good (the archetype of the good) except God only (Whom you do not see)." But whence do we have the

p. 212. 72 concept of God as the highest good? Solely from the idea of moral perfection which reason formulates a priori and which it inseparably connects with the concept of a free will. 96 Here we find in Kant the beginning of an awareness of the symbolizing process. The idea of God as the highest good is a formulation of reason (and, as he says elsewhere, a necessary postulate of morals). The Critique of Pure Reason and its Prolegomena are an exposition of the way in which reason applies its a priori categories to experiences, thereby producing knowledge of phenomena or "science.11 This is to be separated from "noumena" or the things-in- themselves which cannot be known apart from the symbolic process. Kant thus took a long stride from the mythical mode in which the symbol was not separated from ontological existence. He paved the way for the studies in symbolism by Cassirer and Langer. However, like Plato, he held to the metaphysical existence of forms both for science and for morality, and also for art. The categories for truth, goodness, and beauty together with Reason and Judgment, their "author and generator" make Kant's metaphysical cosmos. Kant went so far in his analysis of the forms of value in his Critique of Judgment as to show relationships between those for beauty and those for goodness. He thereby made a beginning toward the study of the logic of forms and

96Ibid.. p. 215. 73 the relationships between systems of forms, a study which was anticipated in Chapter I of this dissertation. Beauty, he says, is the harmonious interplay of the imagination with the understanding and, like goodness, is within man rather than in the consequences of his acts. "...I am concerned, not with that in which I depend on the existence of the object, but with that which I make out of this representation in myself.”^ Beauty is between the pleasant and the good, being both rational and irrational. Whereas pleasure concerns animals as well as men, "beauty only concerns men, i.e., animal, but still rational, beings— not merely qua rational (e.g., spirits) but qua animal also— and the good concerns very rational being in 08 general."7 Beauty of the three is the only "free" satis­ faction, because it is neither bound by the laws of nature, as is pleasure, or the laws of reason, as is morality. It is therefore more like play. The ideal of beauty— the only thing which contains within itself the idea of its own per­ fection— is moral man. The concept of man's purposiveness unites with the rational idea of the morally good, requiring a union of imaginative powers with pure ideas of reason. One could almost say that Kant was describing the symbolic process of myth-making where the imagination combines with ideas of morality to produce gods and heroes, the "ideals

97lmmanuel Kant, Critique of Judgment, trans. J. H. Bernard. New Yorki Hafner Publishing Co., 1951, P» 39- 98ibid.. p. Mf. 7^ of beauty." Morality itself, according to Kant, is not beautiful but, rather, sublime. Instead of a harmonious interplay of the faculties as in beauty, morality requires a denial of natural inclinations, as we have seen. The feeling of awe in the sublime is caused by the contrast between man's weak­ ness and his awareness of the tremendous powers around him. The feeling of satisfaction in the sublime Is his knowledge that by reason he is able to encompass these powers. And so morality (Promethean morality) lies in the overcoming, by reason and will, the smallness of man's self-centered nature. The contributions of the Critique of Judgment to ethical thought have not yet been fully realized, and per­ haps were not recognized by Kant himself. In drawing the relationships between his aesthetics and ethics, Kant set the example for many who follow. More than that, however, his work suggested that these systems of knowledge are apistemologically related, a suggestion which led into the science of symbolism and "the New Key in Philosophy" and ethics. The development in current thought of the aesthetic nature of ethics and some attempts to relate a few of the historical forms of ethics to aesthetic principles will consume the next two chapters. CHAPTER V

RESOLUTION IN AESTHETIC FORM

The difference between Epimethean and Promethean thought is basically that the former has its origin in human nature and the latter in human reason (or faith).

The methods therefore are also different, the former being

inductive, beginning with observation of nature’s ways

even as far back as the primitive, magic stage and culminat­

ing in the modern scientific method. The method of reason

and faith, on the other hand, is deductive, beginning with

a general principle or belief (myth) and drawing out its

implications. This method has also been progressively re­

fined from arbitrary tribal ways to almost geometric pre­

cision in Kant, Spinoz^, and Whitehead.

A dialectic between these two approaches to ethics

has persisted through the history of thought. It has been

termed the "dialectic of happiness and virtue," and more

recently, "the is and the ought" or "the good and the right."

The resolution of the dilemma is one of the chief problems

of modern ethics.

The theory of symbolism raises the discussion to a

new level of abstraction, in which both types of ethics are

75 76 manifestations of the human art of symbol-making. From this perspective ethics does not correspond to a science about the good, but creates it. Both naturalistic and rational ethics are symbolic art forms, the one being creative by generalizing from experience, the other by inventing and applying general principles. Whether it be the principle of "greatest good for the greatest number" arrived at by gener­ alization, or the categorical imperative of reason, both put value into the context of general principles or, inversely, apply general principles to value. This is the aesthetic process of symbolizing, the origin of which was discussed in Chapter II. It is, more specifically, art. Suzanne Langer's definition of art is "the creation of forms symbolic of human f e e l i n g . "99 Symbolic forms are objectified and intellectualized images— whether in sound, visual materials, or words— which represent ideas about feeling. The purpose of abstracting is to make the meaning clearer, and to put it into a "negotiable" form in which it can be discussed and examined in a way which would be im­ possible if actual emotions were involved. "All forms of art, then, are abstracted forms; their content is only a semblance, a pure appearance, whose function is to make them,

■^Langer. Feeling and Form, p. *+0.

100Ibid.r p . 50. 77 too, apparent— more freely and wholly apparent than they could be if they were exemplified in a context of real circumstance and anxious interest."*0^

In ethics the ’’feeling1' is, specifically, of the worth of human beings and their acts. That such values originate in the vital energy Miss Langer calls "feeling" is, of coarse, unnecessary to argue with the naturalists in ethics, for they believe values are expressions of desire. But the same vital­ ity also produces ’’objective" values apart from, or even con­ trary to natural desire. It does not necessarily follow laws of nature or of survival, as the naturalists assume, but may follow its own aesthetic ones, it may even dictate laws to nature which are not "practical;" for example, "love thine enemy." On the other hand such laws, being purely formal, still must operate through the will; and that they appeal to us emotionally even Kant had to admit, although he could not explain how. ...an explanation of how and why the uni­ versality of the maxim as law (and hence morality) interest us is completely im­ possible for us men. Only this much is certain* that it is valid for us not be­ cause it interests us...but that it interests us because it is valid for us as men, in­ asmuch as it has arisen from our will as intelligence and hence from our proper self. 101

lQ0Ibid.. p. 50. 101Kant, Critique of Judgment, p. 2*+5* 78 To the writer it seems that the “interest" is aesthetic emotion rather than practical* It is aesthetic feeling, the emotional satisfaction in pure formal order. Suzanne Langer describes it as the feeling which encourages the process of abstracting life, activity, suffering, so that these reali­ ties may be objectively conceived rather than blindly under­ gone. The assumption has been in the past that the task of ethics, like science, was to describe or correspond to phen­ omena— that it did or should have "truth value." In this context "happiness" and virtue cannot both be “true" good­ ness; they are contradictories. However, studies of the sym­ bolic process indicate that all formulation is, in part, valuation, even in science that is supposed to be objective about objective phenomena. To be objective about subjective phenomena, as in ethics, is even less possible; and, in fact, all systems of ethics start with a strong feeling and a definite point of view. They do not describe or correspond to values so much as it puts them into a formal order. In this context "happiness" and "virtue" are not contradictory but complementary. Both have the effect, like art, of educating the emotions. They are therefore a public possession for, as Miss Langer says of art, "the formulation of 'felt life* is the heart of any culture, and molds the objective world for 79 the people. It is their school of feeling, and their defense against outer and inner chaos.**102

A synthesis in the dialectic of happiness and virtue is, then, possible in the concept of ethics as a part of the creative process of symbolizing. Concern over the ontological nature of good, which Moore called a ’’Naturalistic Fallacy," (and in our own scheme is a semi-mythical level of symbolizing) gives way to concern over the creative process or the relation­ ship between feeling and form. Contributions on this subject of some modern thinkers, both empiricists and rationalists, will show how the way was paved in both schools of thought for the concept of ethics as an aesthetic form. 10^ Henri Bergson in his writings J placed the emphasis on "feeling." The creative process is rooted in immediate intutition of vitality. He thought classifications, words, categories, (in contrast to Kant) have a deadening effect, tending to make us "read the labels" rather than experience the thing itself. "Art," like metaphysics, "aims at the indi­ vidual," which is the only place "reality" is to be found. Bergson believed that form is embedded In the nature of this reality. It begins with the idea of self, intuited as a process of movement in time— constantly in the making by a

102Langer, Feeling and Form, p. *+09. 1Q3lntroduction to Metaphysics. 1903? Creative Evolu­ tion. 1907; LftugMSE, 1911; and Two Sources of Morality and Religion. 1932. 80 process described as "unity of advancing movement and multi­ plicity of expanding states*” It reveals perceptions of the material world which tend to arrange themselves into objects and relationships. The form (Unity and Multiplicity) is in the flux. Like Kant, Bergson believes "form" begins in the self and is then projected into nature, but Bergson warns against overdoing this process at the expense of feeling. The satisfaction in art is due to the common subjectivity of man, who responds naturally (if not too encrusted by analytical, utilitarian or generalizing habits) to that most vital of all — the creative process. In this activity he is constantly transcending himself, expanding both forward and outward in a continuous process of growth. IQlf In The Two Sources of Morality and Religion. Berg­

son describes the creative process as one of the sources of morality, the other being social obligation. That a substantial half of our morality includes duties whose obligatory character is to be explained fundamentally by the pressure of society on the individual will be readily granted...But that the rest of morality ex­ presses a certain emotional state, that actu­ ally we yield not to a pressure but to an attraction, many people will hesitate to acknowledge. 105 While the feeling that characterizes the first or social source Is "a state of individual and social well-being simi­ lar to that which accompanies the normal working of life,"

lO^enri Bergson, The Two Sources of Morality and Religion. New Yorks Doubleday and Co., Inc., 195^* 1Q?Ibid.. p. If9. 81 The morality of aspiration, on the con­ trary, implicitly contains the feeling of progress. The emotion of which we were speak­ ing is the enthusiasm of a forward movement, enthusiasm by means of which this morality has won over a few and has then, through them, spread over the world. 106 Later, he says, "By going deeply into this new aspect of mor­ ality, we should find an impression of coincidence, real or imaginary, with the generative effort of life."10? jn summary,

Thus, morality comprises two different parts, one of which follows from the original structure of human society, while the other finds its explanation in the principle which explains this structure. In the former, Obli­ gation stands for the pressure exerted by the elements of society on one another in order to maintain the shape of the whole ;...In the second, there is still obligation, if you will, but that obligation is the force of an aspira­ tion or an impetus, of the very impetus which culminated in the human species, in social life, in a system of habits which bears a resemblance more or less to instinct. 108 Like Kant, Bergson believes that the subjective element embodies a certain sense of direction which conditions the self to strive for purposes (forms of order). Human life in its purposive (or moral) acts is essentially self-making; each man fashions himself by fitting his actions to his ideas. This view is not exclusive with metaphysical philos­ ophers. John Dewey, in Art as Experienced ^ is if anything

1 3 106Ibid.. p. 52. 1Q7lbid.. p. 5V. 108Ibid., p. 55. ^■®9john Dewey, Art As Experience. New Yorks Minton, Balch & Co., 1931** 82 more explicit in referring to the creative factors for making life ’’satisfying* and *significant.” Experience is meaning­ ful only as it is integrated into the warp and woof of past experience or, in Dewey's own words, has "aesthetic quality." Otherwise it is incbbate, distracted, dispersed, leaving little or no permanent effect on the Individual. In what we spontaneously refer to as "real experiences," he says, ...every successive part flows freely, without seam and without unfilled blanks, into what ensues. At the same time there is no sacrifice of the self-identity of the parts. A river, as distinct from a pond, flows. But its flow gives a definiteness and interest to its successive portions of a pond. In an experience, flow is from something to something. As one part leads into another and as one part carries on what went before, each gains distinctness In itself. The enduring whole is diversified by successive phases that are emphases of its varied colors. 110 Even intellectual experience (knowing) "must bear an aesthetic stamp to be itself complete."111 And, Dewey goes on, "The same statement holds good of a course of action...," for, Between the poles of aimlessness and mechanical efficiency, there lie those courses of action in whieh through successive deeds there runs a sense of growing meaning conserved and accumulated toward an end that is felt as accomplishment of a process. 112

110lbM., p. 36. llllbld.. p. 38. 112lbld.. p. 39. 83 True morality Is wholehearted action moved by Its own urge to fulfillment rather than— what passes for morality— grudging piecemeal concessions to the demands of duty* The non- aesthetic experiences, whether intellectual or moral, lie within two limits. At one pole is the loose succession that does not begin at any particular place and that ends — in the sense of ceasing— at no particular place (content without form). At the other pole is arrest, constriction, proceeding from part having only a mechanical connection with one another (form without content). 113 The enemies of the aesthetic are not so much the practical but "the humdrum, submission to convention, or coercion” on the one side; and "dissipation, incoherence, and aimless Indulgence" on the other. Like the idealist's then, Dewey believes the creative process of combining content with form, which we have called art, to be the essential ingredient of significant action. Santayana in The Sense of Beauty1111' goes further to say that the formation of conscience, the obedience to principles, and the satisfactions derived therefrom, are In the last analysis aesthetic. Absence of these virtues causes disgust in well-bred people not because of their reason (Kant) but their aesthetic sensitiveness— which "is more powerful for good in society than laborious virtue, because it is more

-l-^ibid.t p. i*o. parentheses are mine. ilk George Santayana, The Sense of Beauty. New Yorks Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1896. 8b constant and catching. It is the aesthetic demand for the morally good and perhaps the finest flower of human nature."3-!?

Further, morality separated from its aesthetic roots is some­ times mischievous. It is the foundation of the conflicts between sentiment (feeling without form) and justice (form without feeling) between in­ tuitive (Promethean) and utilitarian (Epi- methean) morals. Every human reform is the reassertion of the primary interest of man against the authority of general principles which have ceased to represent those interests fairly but which still obtain the idolatrous veneration of a kind. 118 Santayana calls this "moral superstition"— the sub­ stitute of an abstract good for its concrete equivalent (a hangover of the early mythical characteristic of believing in the ontological existence of the gods). When it is driven by emotional and passionate force it becomes fanatic— "enemy of the aesthetic." Whenever this comparison and balancing of ultimate benefits of every kind is angrily dismissed in favor of some absolute principle, laid down in contempt of human misery and happi­ ness, we have a personal and fantastic system of ethics, without practical sanctions. It is an evidence that the superstitious imagination Ywm invaded the sober and practical domain of morals. 117 Thus, empiricists and rationalists alike reassert the classical insight into the place of form in human life, adding

!!?Ibld.. p. 206. ^^Ibid. Parentheses are mine. !17lbid.. p. 209. 85 to it the insistence of romanticism on the individual and immediate (content) and showing "reason" and "will*1 to toe as complementary parts of a creative process. The theme recurs with slight variations in Maritain's "Intelligence," Croce's "Aesthetic Intuition," Bosenquet's "Esthetic Attitude," Whitehead's "Aesthetic Growth," and Royce’s "Meaning Embodied." The words of Josiah Royce are especially apt in summarizing the idea. It is then in essence a realm of fact fulfilling purpose, of life embodying idea, of meaning won toy means of the experience of its own content. The now present tout passing form of our human consciousness is fragmen­ tary. We wait, wonder, pass from fact to fact, from fragment to fragment. What a study of the concept of Being reveals to us is precisely that the whole has a meaning, and is real only as a Meaning Knbodied. 118 Further quotations, however tempting, would be super­ fluous in establishing the realization by thinkers of both schools of the creative process and its essential role in the good life.

Josiah Royce, "The Fourth Conception of Being," Lecture VIII in The World and the Individuals Gifford Lectures. First Seriest The Four Historical Conceptions of Being. New York* The Macmillan Co., 1920. CHAPTER VI

ETHICS AS FEELING IN FORM

With the support of such distinguished and varied philosophers, the thesis may be more boldly stated that the enterprise of ethics is aesthetic. It is neither an in­ ductive nor deductive but a creative process.

The argument over methodology has obscured the fact that pursuit of the meaning of good is not a specialized, professional, or technical matter, but a generalized human activity. The man who thinks about the good— from witch doctor to philosopher--is not the Inductive Man nor the

Deductive Man, but the Whole Man in the process of growing through experience and intelligence into a larger more comprehensive Whole.

The patterns of ethics which have found a place in the history of thought must be shown to create forms symbolic of feeling about human values. The philosophers may be more or less aware of their own processes of thought as creative, but their thought will embody a vital sense of value ("feeling" or content) and a structuring of it into principles of good and evil (form). The difference between schools of thought is largely a difference in emphasis on

86 87 one or the other of the components. Thus emphasis on con­ tent distinguishes romantic ethics, while emphasis on form distinguishes classical. Within each school, however, philosophers resolve the dualism of content and form into their personal aesthetic forms, which combine the two. In western philosophy the stage was set for the two schools of emphasis by r'v; Pythagoras and Heraclitus in the Sixth Century B.C. Pythagoras believed that all things good are wrested from the “Uniimitedchaos and disorder by the process of defining and arranging according to principles of order. The result of this process is the "limited," representing finite harmonies in cosmic cycless mathematics, music and ethics. Pythagoreans spoke of the "music of the spheres" and the "harmony of the body," believing that by the practice of mathematics and art man could imitate in his actions the orderly patterns visible in the "good" aspects of nature. Number was to them a principle of reality as well as virtue, for by number (in the broadest sense) one achieves measure and proportion, which are necessary to intelligibility. The opposite of order is chaos or the "Unlimited," which manifests itself intellectually in vagueness and con­ fusion, morally in sensuous passion, aggression and aggrand­ izement, and cosmicly in darkness and disorder. Evil Is associated with violence, conflict, and "sickness" and is 88 resolved only by the infusion of intelligence (number), without which the body is in confusion. The essence of man is the soul, which is superior to the body because it is the seat of intelligence, reason, and "the heart," all of which are immortal while the body and its passions are purely ephemeral.

The concept of goodness as form, fathered by the

Pythagoreans, generated a pedigree of ethical principles:

Plato’s Justice as harmony in the individual and the state,

Aristotle's moral virtue as proportion. Epictetus' Duty measured by relations, Kant's Categorical Imperative as

the form of morality, and John Stuart Mill's Greatest

Happiness for the Greatest Number as the measure of eood- ness. In short, where there is an ethic based primarily

on principle, it is related to a formal aesthetic principle

in the manner of the Pythagoreans.

Heraclitus, on the other hand, fathered the concepts

of vital energy, flux, and conflict in ethics. Peace and

harmony are simply conditions of indifference and lethargy.

All things change, and reality is the energy of that chanee

rather than the measured proportions of ideal existence.

War is the father of all things in a dynamic universe which

is itself amoral. Conflict rages between opposites such as

darkness and light, birth and death, evil and goodness;

the friction generated (symbolized by fire) is the energy 89 of which the universe is made. Fire, while beyond good and evil, is reality, whereas symmetry and peace are illusions. The more heat and light the greater change. Change is, however, governed by Logos or “divine Wisdom," which sees to it that conflict is kept within bounds and chaos does not prevail. The good life is one of rigorous discipline which produces the superior man, dis­ tinguished from the vulgar masses especially by his vitality and wisdom. The philosopher M ieb a kind of "superman" in relation to other men, though still an infant in relation to the gods. The logos has a moral meaning as well as a cosmic one, for the world of nature and the world of morality are identical, with the result that nature obeys the dictates of justice, and obedience to nature is human justice. The Logos is "the measure of perfection and the criterion of human legislation."11^

Thus while emphasizing the dynamic of changing exper­ ience which is "feeling" (or in a more general sense, content) Heraclitus recognizes a form for that change^and the com­ bination of the two as the good life. Here in embryo is the concept of ethics as art. Where there is an ethic based on vital energy, it is in the Heraclitean manner, beginning with "the flux," which

11Frederick Mayer, A History of Ancient and Medieval Philosophy. New York* American Book Co., 1950, p. 38. relates to feeling in aesthetics. The philosophies of this line emphasize content over form, but admit the necessity of some degree of order. In this tradition are the ethics of Pauline Christianity based on love, of Hegel based on freedom, of Nietzsche and Schopenhauer based on will, of Freud based on the "Id," and Sartre based on freedom. The thinkers of this type have, by and large, been closer to the concept of ethics as art than those of the formal tradition. This is possibly due to the fact that feeling without some degree of form is almost inconceivable and would at any rate reduce human life below the level at which there would be any ethics at all.120

There are, however, different degrees to which content may be subjected to form. Thus, to Paul,while deeds without 121 love are empty, love was to be expressed through the institution or “body of Christ.'1 "For just as the body is one and yet has many members, and all the members of that one body, being many, are one body: so also is Christ. For by one Spirit are we all baptized into one body, whether we be

120a s in deterministic Interpretations of Freud, Be­ haviorism and the so-called "New Irrationalism." These have epistemological contradictions at their bases, which can only be resolved by admitting forms of reason at least in the first person. 121The "Love Chapter," 1st Corinthians, XIII, Is one of the best discussions of content in ethics. Without it all actions are empty form. 91 Jews or Gentiles, whether we he bond or free; and have been all made to drink into one Spirit.’1*22 While at the core of Nietzsche’s ethic is the "mag­ nificent bonde brute" beast of prey, rampant for spoil and victory, the incarnation of the "Will to J>ower," yet he described this exuberant and playful Will taking pure aesthetic delight in, ...an ebb and flow of its forms, producing the most complicated things out of the most simple structures; producing the most ardent, most savage, ana most contradictory things out of the quietest, most rigid, and most frozen material, and then returning from multifarious­ ness to uniformity, from the play of contra­ dictions back into the delight of consonance, saying yes unto itself, even in this homogeneity of its courses and ages...this, my "Beyond Good and Evil," without aim, un­ less there is an aim in the bliss of the circle, without will, unless a ring must by nature keep goodwill to itself. 123 To Schopenhauer the Will is still the dominating force, but instead of being a boisterous power to be delighted in, it is a brooding force to be escaped from. The only escape is through the arts, which subject the Will to form (or Idea), and this "World as idea, if we regard it in isolation, and freeing ourselves from all polution, allow it alone to take possession of our consciousness, is the most joy-giving

122Paul, "First Letter to the Corinthians," Chapter XII, verses 12-13, in The Holy Bible. New York* Thomas Nelson and sons, 1898, p. 181. 12^Friederic Nietzsch, The Will to Power, trans. A. M. Ludovici in 0. Levy, Complete Works of Nietzsche. Edinburgh* Foulis, 1923, p * 10o7. 92 and the only innocent side of life.”121* To Sigmund Freud the vital energy, "Id," is likewise a force of almost cosmic proportions, dominating in devious ways the actions of men. It exists without form, even those of space and time, in the regions of the subconscious. Con­ sciousness, however, imposes the forms of space, time, and the synthesizing processes of thought. What, however, especially marks the ago out in contradistinction to the id, is a ten­ dency to synthesize its content, to bring to­ gether and unify its mental processes which is entirely absent from the id...It Is this alone that produces that high degree of organization which the ego needs for its highest achieve­ ments. 12^ A third level of the psychic anatomy is the super-ego. This is a conscience, not inborn like the other parts of the anatomy, but learned first from parents and then society, becoming in time so habitual as to be largely unconscious in its operation. In Freud's own words, “the super-ego takes the place of the parental function, and thenceforward ob­ serves, guides, and threatens the ego in just the same way as the parents acted to the child before."12^ thig level of externally imposed forms of action has been given the name

*,2*fArthur Schopenhauer, The World as Will and Idea, trans. R. B. Haldane and J. Kemp. London: Triibner & Co., 1883-86, Book III. 12^Sigmund Freud, New Introductory Lectures on Psycho*-) analysis, trans. W. J. H. Sprott. New York: W. N. Norton & Co., Inc., 1933, p. 100. 126Ibid. 93 morality, whereas the internally evident forms of the ego are 127 referred to in this paper as ethics.)

To Fraud, then, content without form exists in the sub­ conscious "id*' where there is no space, no time, no order beyond the given flux of existence. Form is introduced by the ego, first as space-and-time, then as their measurements and relationships. Conflict ensues between the id, ego, and superego (like that between “Unlimited and Limited”), result­ ing in various mechanism for their interrelations: repression, displacement, sublimation, transference, etc. In a healthy situation the id and ego interact in the normal, dynamic process of growth. This is the creative process. Ideally both art and ethics are part of this process. They put us in a position in which we are enabled to objectify and enjoy our feelings. They provide channels of outlet for energy

127jt is quite possible that social forms may ultimate­ ly be reduced to categories of the mind. Totem, for instance, which plays a large part In the anthropoligical background of Freud’s theories, can easily be seen to derive its power from the unifying function which it performs as a focus, even where survival of a bribe is not seriously threatened. Exogamy, which invariably accompanies totemism, indicates a realization, surely more "given" than learned, of the need for variety within an otherwise rigid unity. Such topics are beyond the scope of this paper, but if the thesis is correct it might help to explain the persistence of certain forms of social behavior in primitive societies and their growth toward abstraction in more sophisticated cultures. The two examples of such development would be from totemism to monotheism to monism, and from chieftain to monarch to law to principle. 9^ from the "seething cauldron" of the id, releasing its tensions and directing its force into harmless, satisfying, and even useful activity. They combine content with form so that there is no excess or defect of either. A "work of art" and an "integrated personality" are the products of the same process. Sartre attempts to go farther than Freud in postu­ lating nothing but content. Existence alone is "given." Being-in-itself exists by virtue of its awareness of itself. The subjective "cogito" is the starting point. All else, including Freud's "ego," is made. Furthermore, Sartre does not "give" us anything to make it with. We are "thrust" into existence and whether we will or no, we make— by our action or our inaction— the essence (or form) which we take on. There is no form apart from action. "Man is nothing else than his plan; he exists only to the extent that he ful­ fills himself; he is therefore nothing else than the ensemble of his acts, nothing else than his life."-*-2^ Later Satre elaborates, "What we mean is that a man is nothing else than a series of undertakings, that he is the sum, the organiza­ tion, the ensemble of the relationships which make up these undertakings.organization appears only after action, as its result and not its cause. What then is the cause of action? Sartre's answer is existence itself which involves

Jean-Paul Sartre, Existentialism, trans. Bernard Freehtman. New York* Philosophical Library, 19*+7, p. 3S. 129lbld.. p. 39- 95 us in the flux of time. But why should existence produce organization? Sartre does not give a satisfactory answer to this question in “Existentialism.'1 He refuses to admit priori forms (except the ,Iform,, of freedom), but he says that involvement in pursuit of freedom commits one to free­ dom for all men— or “total involvement.” His every act, his every choice involves a decision for all mankind. This might be ealled a “universal perspective,” an aesthetic form like that of Kant*s Categorical Imperative. For Sartre it is not a priori but is perpetually being made. He says: In this sense we may say that there is a universality of man; but it is not given, it is perpetually being made. I build the universal in choosing myself; build it in understanding the configuration of every other man; whatever age he might have lived In...At heart, what existentialism shows is the connection between the absolute character of free involvement..., and the relativeness of the cultural ensemble which may result from such a choice. 130 Later he says, Therefore though the content of ethics is variable, a certain form of it is universal. Kant says that freedom desires both itself and the freedom of others. Granted. But he believes that the formal and the universal are enough to constitute an ethics. We, on the other hand, think that principles which are too abstract run aground in trying to decide action. 131 So Sartre, beginning with content alone, finds in the postulate of freedom and total involvement the form neces-

130ibld.. p. 1.7 . 131Ibld.. p. 55. 96 sary for the establishment of an ethic. Whether this form is legitimately derived, or whether there is really an a priori category in the structure of the mind— which Sartre does not admit— need not be argued here. The point is that like Paul, Nietzsche, Shopenhauer and Freud, Sartre finds that ethics requires the combination of content with form. From Kant to Sartre a new idea of good seems to have been in the making; one which is not implicit in nature as empirical ethics have assumed nor in a system as meta­ physical ethics have declared. It is one which does not exist implicit or explicit in anything but may be created by man if he so chooses. This idea of good presupposes at least two things concerning the nature of man, namely, that he is "unfinished" and that he is free to make himself. These assumptions contradict the naturalists, who assume that man finished or that his progress is determined by natural forces and that the business of ethics is to study him as he is* to catalogue his desires, his needs, his talents, and find the most efficient way to be "himself." They contradict also those aspects of systematic ethics which assume that the organization is already determined, whether by society, or history, or God. These systems are themselves, the creations of the minds of men, say the creativists— works of art which affect for better or worse the character of those who conceive or reproduce them. Both Kant and Sartre compare moral choice to the making of a work of art. "What art and ethics have in common is that we have creation and invention in both cases, says Sartre, and again, "Man makes himself. He isn't ready made at the start. In choosing his ethics, he makes himself and the force of circumstances is such that he can not abstain from choosing one."132 Kant says that an action derives its worth from the maxim by which it is determined, or by the law which one gives to oneself. The ideal of beauty is the good man, for "The only being which has the purpose of its existence in itself is man, who can determine his purposes by reason."133 Furthermore, both Kant and

Sartre agree that the very capacity of man to create him­ self is the ground of his dignity and worth. He becomes through the creative act "a legislating member in the kind- dom of ends. Thus morality and humanity as capable of it, is that which alone has dignity."131* Sartre says, "This theory is the only one which gives man dignity, the only one which does not reduce him to an object."13^ The starting point for creative ethics is subjectiv­ ity* the "cogito ergo sum." The mind is aware of itself

132ISid., p. 53. 133Kant, Critique of Judgment, p. 69. 13^fnimanuel Kant. Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals, trans. T. K. Abbott. New York* The Liberal Arts Press, 19^9, p« 52. 135sartre, Existentialism, p. *+3. 98 (existence) before it defines itself (essence). For Sartre this is the full extent of existence. There is no human nature, no environment, no heredity to take into account. For Kant there is more to start with. Man has reason, and reason has a priori properties which produce categories for the organizing of his thought. Since this is presupposed of all men, there is a ’’human nature” which gives universal­ ity to the moral imperative. Objectivity is gained through a subjectivity common to all men. This common subjectivity is antecedent to experience and logical, rather than psycho­ logical as in the naturalist ideas of human nature. Sartre, on the other hand, denies even logical commonality. He objects to Kant, saying that as a result ”the wild-man, the natural man, as well as the bourgeois, are circumscribed by the same definition and have the same basic qualities. Thus, here too the essence of man pre­ cedes the historical existence that we find in n a t u r e . **^86

Universality is found in the condition of man, not his es* sence, and by condition Sartre means the fundamental situ­ ation of man who must "exist in the world, be at work there, be there in the midst of other people, and be mortal."1^ Another kind of universality is not given, but is constantly being made by configurations which man gives to himself and

x36n;id.. p. 1 8 . 137^^., p. 1+5 . 99 his fellow man. The Chinese, the Indian, the Negro, in so far as they are understood by a western mind, build a univer- lifl sality of man. J In the new ethics, although man begins with the subjective, he does not end there. He may trans­ cend himself and his environment. The medium in which the process must take place is the autonomy of the will, or freedom. For Kant, "Freedom is the property of the rational will, in which it can be efficient, independently of foreign causes determining it."1^

Since logical necessity, however, is part of reason, ...that freedom is by no means lawless even though it is not a property of the will accord­ ing to laws of nature. Rather, it must be a causality according to immutable laws, but of a peculiar kind. Otherwise a free will would be an absurdity...What else, then, can the freedom of the will be but autonomy, i.e., the property of the will to be a law to itself? The proposition that the will is a law to itself in all its actions, however, only expresses the principle that we should act according to no other maxim than that which can also have itself as a universal law for its object. And this is Just the formula of the categorical imperative and the principle of morality. Therefore, a free will and a will under moral laws are Identical. l'+O For Sartre freedom is in every particular of action, not only in the rational will. Man is "condemned to be free." There is no a priori good, and not even any £ priori

138ibjd.. pp. >+6-7. ^39Kant, Critiques of Judgment, p. 63* llf0Kant, "Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals,"in A. I. Meldon, Ethical Theories, p. 237. necessity to be rational or consistent. All these things may be made, but are not "given.11 Freedom itself is the only absolute, and is its own •'form." Nothing is determined. Everything is possible. Action alone produces morality, and every act is chosen. There are no "excuses." This is the meaning of "forlornness." Man is on his own. All his values, 1 L.-i and even his feelings are created by his own actions. A

The awful responsibility with nothing to turn to and no placi to hide make "anguish" a part of every act. "There: is no reality except in action...Man is nothing else than his plan; he exists only to the extent that he fulfills himself; he is therefore nothing else than the ensemble of his acts, i Ilo nothing else than his life." These limitations, hard and realistic as they are, lead man to "despair." He is not an "end in himslef" unless he makes himself one. Coward and hero alike are made, not born, and only in so far as one makes himself worthy, does he have worth. Both Kant and Sartre agree, then, that man is free to make himself "good," but for Kant there is a pattern, for Sartre only a predicament. Between these two positions range the other ethical theories discussed in this chapter, differ­ ing according to the temperament of their creators in the degree to which content is subject to form, but agreeing

l^Sartre.Existentialism, p. 31. ^ 2Ibid.. pp. 37-8. 101 basically that goodness is made in the creative process of combining the two. This chapter has shown a groping development toward the new idea in ethics, largely unconscious at first, then tentative, growing more and more insistent— a theme strug­ gling to be born. Not until the modulation to a New Key does this theme come into its own as a commanding issue in philosophy. The problemsnow to be solved are not whether ethics is aesthetic rather than scientific or metaphysical, but how the aesthetics of ethics is patterned, both within its own subject-matter and in relation to other subject- matter. The next chapter will be devoted to these problems. CHAPTER VII

FORMAL PATTERNS OF THOUGHT AND FEELING

It is a curious fact that man, in his search for knowledge, has begun by studying things quite remote from himself, and moved very gradually--as if reluctantly--closer and closer to the source and condition of his experience— himself. The first objects of systematic study were the stars; then came inanimate objects; then plants and animals.

The study of man is an infant science compared to astronomy, chemistry, physics, biology and zoology; and of the aspects of this study, those which concern remote or external features of man's existence are the most established. Archeology and anthropology, although young sciences, have recognized classifications and methods, and their knowledge is unques­ tionably cumulative. Sociology and economics are not so clearly organized, and psychology contains differences of opinion concerning methods and even principles.

So it is with the search for forms of knowledge. The most impersonal, like mathematics, have been the most studied

and manipulated. The science of numbers developed in Egypt,

Greece, and the Orient, along with astronomy. The forms of

deductive reasoning came next— a kind of mathematics of

102 103 abstract thought. Aristotle was able to formulate the categories of thought, to classify propositions and to develop a syllogistic method which is still a central part of deductive logic. Kant was able to take Aristotle*s categories, with minor revisions, as the basis of a complete system of pure and practical reason. Modern logicians, while opening the way for the addition of new categories as thought becomes more complex, still rely on those of Aristotle and Kant as starting points. The work in deductive logic can be said to be, by and large, cululative, resulting in in­ creasing refinement of a very ancient science. Inductive logic, more closely related to man*s sense faculties, did not develop until the late Renaissance. With Sir Francis Bacon's Novum Organurn, scientific method began as a science. It has grown progressively more systematic with the contributions of John Locke, Auguste Comte, John Stuart Mill, down to the modern statistical calculators. While the value of these developments is great, it can be over-estimated. What has been systematized is only a very small fraction of man's thought and feeling. As Irving M. Copi points out in the Introduction to his Intro­ duction to Logie, logic is not, as is often thought, the science of the laws of thought, nor even the science of reasoning. There are laws of thought in psychology, and there are reasoning processes, such as trial and error pro­ ICh cedures and illuminative insight, which are out of bounds to the logician. He is concerned only with the correctness of the inference once the mind’s work is done, but not with the actual "how” and ’’why" which constitute the main part llf-a of the process, J

The forms of knowledge are concerned with the validity of thought; they are a Judgment upon it on a level once- removed from the process itself. They are extremely im­ portant in making possible man’s progress in understanding and controlling nature and, to some extent, the overt activities of men. However, objective thinking according to rules of truth and validity is only one of the ways in which man orders his experience. For a greater part of his life he struggles to make sense out of that vast and in­ timate realm of feeling which is his inner ’’self.” The difficulty of obeying the ancient command, "know thyself,” has been due in part to the categories of know­ ledge which applied readily to external and verifyable things, but were too coarse to catch the ephemeral qualities of feeling. The young sciences like psychology, psychoanalysis and psychosomatics are setting up some categories of the conscious and subconscious self, and these are proving fecund especially in the understanding of abnormal conditions.

1^3Irving M. Copi, Introduction to Logic. New York: The Macmillan Co., 1953, pp. k—o. 105 Increasing the understanding of normal conditions of thinking and feeling Is promised by other new sciences like semantics and semiotic which attempt to get at the pro­ blem through the study of symbols. For the use of symbols is universal with man, and their articulation in ordered patterns is as natural and necessary as his consciousness. For language not only invents symbols but rules for relating the symbols to one another. The symbol itself is a "form" of thought or feeling. Then a relationship is made between this symbol and another. As the relationship be­ comes clear it acquires a name and becomes another "form" on a higher level of abstraction. As ’’animal symbolicum" becomes more complex he invents whole systems of relation­ ships, and thus with civilized man we find a meticulous com­ plex of rules for mathmatics and logic, a fairly well-defined organization of rules for language which we call ’’grammar," a more-or-less defined order of rules for the arts which we call "principles of design" and a vaguely sensed pattern in the most important realm of human relations which we call "principles of right and wrong." Miss Langer describes the phenomenon of significant form on various levels in this ways An artistic symbol— which may be a pro­ duct of human craftsmanship, or (on a purely personal level) something in nature seen as "significant form"— has more than discursive or presentational meaning* its form as such, as a sensory phenomenon, has what I have called "implicit" meaning, like rite and myth, 106 but of a more catholic sort. It has what L. A. Reid called "tertiary subject-matter," beyond the reach of "primary imagination" (as Coleridge would say) and even the "secondary imagination" that sees metaphori­ cally. "Tertiary subject matter is subject- matter imaginatively experienced in the work of art..., something which cannot be apprehended apart from the work, though theoretically distinguishable from its ex­ pressiveness." lU^f Relationships between the systems described above suggest a basic order in thought and feeling, and these relationships suggest a more universal pattern on a still higher level of abstraction. As a step forward in the exploration of this cosmos, this chapter will be devoted to pointing up relationships between the rules of the various systems, from the most defined to the least. This will be done in steps* A. from logic to language, B. from language to art, C. from art to ethics. It is hoped that, as a result of finding its proper place within the universe of symbolic forms, ethics can be made more systematic than it now is.

A. LOGIC AND LANGUAGE Logic and language are, of course, not separate media. Logic is language in its most nearly mathematical aspect, containing the forms of objective thought. Language itself, being a vehicle of both thought and feeling, encompases the

llflfLanger, Philosophy in a New Key, p. 213. 107 wide range from formal propositions in logic to emotional outpourings in poetry. Its capacity to include both makes it an important indicator of the formal patterns through which human beings organize the vast area of their lives from objective thought to subjective awareness. Language Contains both the structure of knowing and the structure of feeling, the forms of truth and the forms of significance. The forms of objective knowledge were systematized by Aristotle and further developed by Kant. They are still basic as Kant presents them in his "Logical Table of

Judgments."*1*^ The relation of these categories to Logic and thence to grammar will be briefly indicated. Then the relations of grammatical forms to the design principles of art will be sketched, and finally the reflection of all these in ethics will be examined. The writer is aware that a thorough treatment, which this subject deserves, is out­ side the limits of this dissertation. The purpose here is merely to establish the possibility of a systematic inter­ relationship, and to indicate a worthy direction for further investigation. Kant says of his "Logical Table of Judgments*" To prove, then, the possibility of ex­ perience so far as it rests upon pure concepts of the understanding a priori, we must first represent what belongs to judging in general and the various functions of the understanding in a complete table. For the pure concepts

llf?Immanuel Kant, Prolegomena To Any Future Metaphysics. New Yorks The Liberal Arts Press, 1950, p. 50. 108 of the understanding must run parallel to these functions, as such concepts are nothing more than concepts or intuitions in general, so far as these are determined by one or the other of these functions of judging, in themselves, that is, necessarily and universally. HMueby also the a priori principles of the possibility of all experience, as objectively valid empirical knowledge, will be precisely determined. For they are nothing but propositions which subsume all perception (under certain universal con­ ditions of intuition) under whose pure concepts of the understanding. l*+6 In other words, the above categories correspond to functions of the mind in a process of sorting and arranging and ordering perceptions. Kant1s Logical Table of Judgments 1. As to Quantity 2. As to Quality Universal Affirmative Particular Negative Singular Infinite 3. As to Relation *+. As to Modality Categorical Problematic Hypothetical Assertoric Disjunctive Apodictic Im formal logic propositions which are universal as to quantity and affirmative as to quality are A-type propo­ sitions (All A is B); those which are universal as to quan­ tity and negative as to tjuality are E-type (No A is B). Singular statements (This A is B, or This A is not B) are also Afitype and E-type respectively, since the subject im­ plies a totality of its own. Particular statements (Some A is B, and Some A is not B) are I-type and 0-type respectively.

llf6Ibid. 109

The "Relations" between propositions are: Categorical

("A" is true or the conjunctive "A" and "I" are both true),

Hypothetical (If "A" then "I"), and Disjunctive (Either "A" or "0"). These relations are the core of the syllogism, the truth tables, and other aspects of formal deductive logic.

As to "Modality" or the degree of knowledge: Problematic is probably true, Assertoric assertedly true, and Apod->ctic necessarily true. These are important in the conclusions, particularly of inductive reasoning, and depend on the decree of evidence given for a proposition.

The "form" of language as used in normal discourse is grammar. It is less concerned than logic with truth and validity and more concerned with consistency among the parts of "the complete thought" or sentence. Its aim is not validity so much as clarity.

The categories of quantity are expressed grammati­ cally by inflections of the nouns and verbs in English, and in older languages by inflections of articles and adjectives as well. Thus in the English sentence, "The little girls dance," the plural is shown in the agreement of "girls" and

"dance." In French, however, "Les petites "illes dansent" involves, in addition, the agreement of article and adjective to show plurality. Affirmative and negative are fundamental grammatical categories as they are in loeic. They are ex­ pressed by the addition of non (Latin), ne...pas (French), 110 or not (English) to the verb. As to relation, the categorical is easily seen to be related to the simple indicative state­ ment, while the hypothetical is related to the ‘'conditional,*' and the disjunctive is expressed by "either...or" sentences. Modality is expressed grammatically in the moods; sub­ junctive, being the device of conveying the problematic, indicative the assertoric, and imperative the apodictic. Some categories are found in grammar which are more subtle than those in deductive logic. For example, the parts of speech distinguish substance (nouns, pronouns), pro­ cesses (verbs), modes (adjectives and adverbs), and func­ tional words (articles, prepositions, and conjunctions). Within these categories there are many more variations of meaning. Whereas logic employs the verb "to be" in the present, ordinary discourse uses an almost infinite variety of verbs in half a dozen distinctions of tense. Furthermore, deductive logic has only a limited repertoire of quantitive terms (all, some, none), while discourse distinguishes many shades of meaning (like most, few, nearly all, hardly any). Logic concerns only the skeleton of the "complete thought," whereas grammar involves also fragments of thought like phrases, clauses, interjections, which enrich with overtones the propositional content of sentences. The comparative "dryness" of much logical discourse is probably due to the barrenness of its categories. It is no great enlightnment to discover that "Socri|tes is mortal,” or ”Stalin is a Communist,” or "If A is greater than B, and B is greater than C, then A is greater than C." Students* reaction to much of what is in their logic text is, under­ standably, "So what?" The ordinary discourse which expresses their interests must be so contorted to fit into the logical forms that the possibility of any useful application often seems to them remote. If "A bird in the hand is worth two in a bush" must be translated "All birds which are in the hand are things equivalent to two birds in the bush," what would become of the "bull session"? The value of logical precision should not be underestimated, and students should be patiently led to appreciate it, but it is nevertheless limited by its skeletal forms. These contain the structure of objective knowledge, which is an important but relatively small part of most people*s lives. By far the greater part is that which contains the structure of feeling, or that aspect in which language is used as an art rather than a science.

B. LANGUAGE AND ART It is clear that grammar contains all the forms of logic, to which it adds a rich variety of forms for convey­ ing non-propositional or emotional experience. The degree to which all language is or should be subject to the formal 112 patterns of grammar is a matter of controversy among grammarians. One point of view is that there is a "correctness" in English language like the correctness in logic or math­ ematics and that this is measured by very definite rules of grammar. This view treats language more like logic than art. The following quotations illustrate* Grammar consists of a series of rules and definitions...Since...ninety-five per cent of all children and teachers come from homes or communities where incorrect English is used, nearly everyone has before him the long, hard task of overcoming habits set up early in life before he studied language and grammar in school...Such people are exposed to the ridicule of those who notice the error, and the only way in which they can. cure themselves is by eternal vigilance and the study of grammar. l*+7 A vast amount of wretched English is heard in this country. The remedy does not lie in the repeal of the rules of grammar; but rAther in a stricter and more intelligent enforcement of those rules in our schools...This protest against traditional usage and the rules of grammar is merely another manifestation of the unfortunate trend of the times to lawlessness in every direction...Quite as important as keeping undesirables out of the vocabulary is the maintaining of respect for the rules of grammar, which govern the formation of words into phrases and sentences...Students should be taught that correct speaking is evidence of culture; and that in order to speak correctly they must master the rules that govern the use of the language. IMS Opposed to this "conventional" point of view is one which declares that the rules of grammar have no value

^ 7 W . W. Charters, Teaching the Common Branches. New York* The Macmillan Co., 192M-, pp. 96, 98, lip. i^Editorial, The Detroit Free Press. December 9, 1928. 113 except as statements of fact, and that whatever Is in general use in a language Is for that very reason grammati­ cally correct. The following quotations illustrate this point of view* The grammar of language is not a list of rules imposed upon its speakers by scholastic authorities, but is a scientific record of the actual phenomena of that language, written and spoken. If any community habitually uses cer­ tain forms of speech, these forms are part of the grammar of the speech of that community. lM-9 It has been my endeavor In this work to represent Ehglish Grammar not as a set of stiff dogmatic precepts, according to which some things are correct and other absolutely wrong, but as something living and developing under continual fluctuations and undulations, something that is founded on the past and prepares the way for the future, something that is not always con­ sistent or perfect, but progressing and per­ fectible— in one word, human. 150 The latter point of view, which treats language more like art than logic, is represented currently by Charles Carpenter Fries in his American English Grammar, the report of an investigation financed by the National Council of 151 Teachers of English. Declaring that "usage or practice is the basis of all the correctness there can be in a

language,"1^ he identifies as "standard American English"

h. G. Grattan and P. Gurrey, Our Living Language. London* Thomas Nelson and Sons, 1925, p* 25 • l5°0tto Jesperson, A Modern English Grammar. Heidel­ berg* C. I. Winter, 1909* Preface. l^lCharles C. Fries, American English Grammar. New York* Appleton Century-Crofts, Inc., 19^+0• 1^2Ibid., p. 5. Ill* a "set of language habits, broadly conceived, in which the major matters of the political, social, economic, education- ic’-a al, and religious life of this country are carried on," He elaborates, To these language habits is attached a certain social prestige, for the use of them suggests that one has constant relations with those who are responsible for the important affairs of our communities. It is this set of language habits, derived originally from an older London Ehglish, but differentiated from it somewhat by its independent development in this country, which is the "standard" English of the United States. Enough has been said to enforce the point that it is "standard" not because it is any more correct or more beautiful or more capable than other varieties of English; it is "standard" solely because it is the particular type of English which is used in the conduct of the important affairs of our people. l$k Taking as evidence some three thousand informal letters from native Americans in various social strata, Dr. Fries selected those by graduates of reputable colleges whose positions in the community were of recognized standing, usually professional. These letters were studied as ex­ amples of "standard" English, and their grammatical prac­ tices summarized. Three general devices for expressing grammatical ideas were found: first, inflections of words mainly for indicating plurality and tense (but also to some extent for

153i b i d . p. 13. 115 the geneitive, dative-accusative cases and for comparison); second, function words which have no meaning in themselves apart from a grammatical idea in the sense (like "of" in the genitive, “shall" and "have" with verbs, "do" with questions, and "not" with negatives); third, word order which is largely replacing inflections in indicating subject- object and modifier-noun relationship. In conclusion, the author states his belief that language usage cannot be separated into two simple logical classes, correct and incorrect. Instead, it "presents a complex range of differing and changing practices which must be understood in relation to the feelings of an in­ definite number of social groups." and, ...sensitiveness to usage— a richness of assimi­ lated experience through which one becomes aware of the suggestions attaching to words* rand constructions because of the circumstances in which they are commonly used— is the only con­ dition upon which good English can be won. All the effort which goes to make one conscious of "rules of grammar" serves to deaden this sen- sitiviness to one*s speech Environment and to turn one*s attention away from the only source of real knowledge. 155 The distinction that marks off "vulgar" from "standard" English is not its incorrectness but its poverty of ex­ pression. "In vocabulary and in grammar the mark of the language of the uneducated is its poverty. The user of Vulgar English seems less sensitive in his impressions, less

155jbid., pp. 286-6 . 116 keen in his realizations, and more incomplete in his re­ presentations."1^ It would seem therefore, suggests Fries, "that perhaps the major emphasis in a program of language 3tudy that is to he effective should he in providing a language experience that is directed toward acquaintance with and practice in the rich and varied resources of the 157 language."

The tenor of Fries* book and the movement which it has stimulated is that language is a creative art which, while obeying laws of order, cannot be rigidly confined by them. Rather, like art, it modifies and invents forms of order which function as urged by the demands of usage. The more richly endowed the experience the more subtle and com­ plex the forms through which it must be expressed. Language is not made— it grows. Its origin is ob­ scure— somewhere in the transition from animal to man. Anthropologists have discovered linguistic elements which may have been stages in the development of language. Accord­ ing to Professor Lionel Ruby,1^ professor of philosophy at Roosevelt College, one such element is the primitive "holo- phrase," in which one word stands for a complete thought. This suggests that the whole came before the parts; sentences

1 ^6Ibld.. p. 288. 157 Ibid. 1^Lionel Ruby, Logict An Introduction. Chicagoi Lippincott, 1950, pp. 26-32* 117 came before parts of speech, a single word before the dis­ tinction between subject and predicate. At a later stage specific names were given to things, to their qualities, to activities, and to relations. Further development then went on In two directions, toward breaking down into parts (analysis) and toward building up a whole from its parts (synthesis). In all this process language and thought were Indissolubly united. As distinctions were made in the mind between things which were formerly thought to be the same, language added new words to Its vocabulary and new forms to its syntax. Different languages reveal Interesting differences in thinking and feeling. For instance, the vocabulary of modern Slavic Languages has a single word for both fingers and toes; the Tasmanian language has names for different types of trees but no name for "tree" as such. The Hopi Indians use the same word for "He is running" and "He was running," while the Chinese have no future tense except by putting "I want (Intend) to" before the verb. While there are differences between languages, there are much more impressive similarities, especially syntactic, even between languages which have no apparent historical connection. Thus, such factors as the subject-predicate distinction, parts of speech, affirmative and negative, particular and universal, Indicative, imperative, and con­ ditional "moods," seem to be necessary in the development of human expression. 118 Particularly illuminating to our study at this point is the work of Ernst Cassirer which showed the relation of linguistic forms to the development of religious ideas.

In one of his early works, Snraeche und Mvthos. he reveals the investigations from which his later theories on man derived, Realizing that language reflects man's creative imagination or “mythmaking1* tendency even more than his reason­ ing tendency, Cassirer tracks it down to its pre-logical origin in man's deepest feelings, and distinguishes the following steps in its development. The first contains the "Tahoo-Mana" concept, regarded by ethnologists as "the minimum definition of religion." Linguistically, the words of this stage have defied classi­ fication into our categories of nouns, verbs, modifiers, etc. Cassirer believes this to be because they expressed undifferentiated feeling toward a world which was to them holy or daemonic. "Mana" and "Taboo" proceeded the distinc­ tions which we try to put upon them. "If we would have a verbal analogue to these conceptions, we must, apparently, go back to the most primitive level of interjections, (for) they indicate not so much a thing as a certain impression which is used to greet anything unusual, wonderful, marvelous, or terrifying."1^1

^■^This study was mentioned briefly in Chapter IIII "The Genealogy of Ethics." l6°Cassirer, Language and Myth. Op . Cit.

l61lSii< > p - n . 119 The second level contains the "momentary gods" or beings of animism. They are, despite their transciency, always Individual, always personal, and however vague the outlines of such daemonic beings, they indicate the first step in a new direction— "polynomy." From names of things (nouns), the gods then took on the characteristics of activ­ ities (verbs). These later "functional gods," symbolizing ordered and continual activities of mankind, are illustrated in the mythology of the Greeks and Romans. In the next step a single, unified substance or personality is conceived, of which the functions and traits of the earlier gods are modifiers (adjectives, adverbs, etc.). This, one might say, is the stage at which the sentence has come into existence. Subject, verb, and complements are distinguishable in "Jehovah is a jealous God," "God Is thy sword and thy shield." The next step had to wait for language to achieve the liberation of the concept of being from its bondage to some specific form of existence. Being as a predicate (verb) had to become Being as subject (noun), "pure Being" that begets but is not begotten, that was before all things, and out of which all things were made to be. "Here all separate, con­ crete and individual divine names have been resolved into the one name of being; the Divine excludes from itself all particular attributes, it cannot be described through anything 120 else, but can be predicated only of itself."162

"Prom here it is but a single step to the fundamental ideal of true monotheism. This step is accomplished as soon as the unity, which so far has been sought through the objec­ tive world and expressed in objective terms, is turned into a subjective essence, and the meaning of divinity is approached not through the existence of things, but through the being of the Person, the Self.“163 use 0f pronoun "I" with various predicates, originating in Egypt and Babylon, and typical of Old Testament utterances, is of this stage. But its final form is not met with until it excludes all other forms; where, accordingly, the only "name” for the god is the name of the Self. When God, revealing himself to Moses, (said) "I am that I am. Thus thou shalt say to them: I am sent me unto you." It is only by this transformation of the objective existence into subjective being that the Deity is really elevated to the "absolute” realm, to a state that cannot be expressed through any analogy with things or names of things. The only in­ struments of speech that remain for its expres­ sion are the personal pronouns: "I am he; I am the first, the last," as it is written in the Prophetic Books. 1$+ "But even here man's mind does not rest content; beyond this unity, it strives for a concept of Being that is unlimited by any particular manifestation, and therefore not expres- 165 slble in any word, not called by name." ' in the specula­ tions of India and the cults of mysticism in all ages and

l6 2ibid.f p. 76. I63lbld.r p. 77. l6M-ibid. I65ibid.r p. 73 . 121 among all peoples, the notions of Self and Being, subject and predicate, are gathered up into one in the impossible "task of comprehending the Divine in its totality, in its highest inward reality, and yet avoiding any particular name or image. Thus all mysticism is directed toward a world beyond language, a world of silence."*^

Herein the full cycle of religious feeling has bee n traced from the indefinite, nebulous chaos of "Mana and Taboo," which is below exact verbal determination, to the infinite unity which is above it. And between these two poles, language both reflected and made possible the trans­ ition from the featureless matrix of Being to its form and organization. Moving from linguistic forms, which have been shown to contain the gamut of experience— objective to subjective, we turn to a medium which is specialized for the expression of feeling, namely, visual art. This one is chosen as an example of the many artistic media (including music, dance, drama, etc.) because time and space do not permit treatment of them all, nor does the problem require an accounting for specific distinctions among them.1^ Rather, the underlying principles of design which apply, under various terminology, in all art are to be related to the grammatical forms which convey artistic or "feeling" import in language. Miss Langer

166Ibid.. p. 7*+. 1^7suzanne Langer has already accomplished this in Feeling ,and Form. 122 says aesthetic forms in whatever medium are “the fundamental laws of imagination.” The laws of combination, or “logic” of purely aesthetic forms— be they forms of visible space, audible time, living forces, or experience itself— are the fundamental laws of imagination. They were recognized long ago by poets, who praised them as the wisdom of the heart (much superior to that of the head), and by mystics who believed them to be the laws of “reality." But, like the laws of literal language, they are really just canons of symbolization;... 168 In visual art a roughly parallel development might be traced between Casirer's presentation of the growth of religious feeling through language and the growth of artistic perceptiveness through design. A child's early scribblings, incoherent but emphatic as they are, are like “taboo-mana" exclamations, b^low the level of identifiable form. Out of this chaos emerges at a certain stage re­ cognizable shapes of familiar things— the house, flower, tree, and the inevitable “sun"— like the noun-gods of animism. The awareness and portrayal of action is a later development when children begin to draw people or things in motion or use lines to indicate the path of movement. The expression of qualities attaching to things or people is, as in religion, the stage at which the complete sentence (subject-verb-coraplement) has come into existence and a picture becomes something more than an account of things

l68Ibid.. p. 2*+l. 123 and ©vents; it becomes a description. Finally, the true artist achieves a level at which he can portray through visual forms a subjective essence in place of the objective world. In this context the analogy often drawn between vis­ ual elements and parts of speech has meaning. A shape is the symbol of a person, place, or thing (realistic or ab­ stract). Line expresses action or state of being. The running mouse seems to cover a path lying on the floor, and the still, painted line seems to run. The reason is that both embody the abstract principle of direction, by virtue of which they are logically congruent enought to be symbols for one another; and in the ordin­ ary, intelligent use of vision we let them stand proxy for each other all the time, though we do not know it. 169 Color, value and texture are modifiers, for, like adjectives and adverbs, they cannot exist apart from the substances which they describe. Such visual elements symbolize con­ cepts of increasing complexity. The design principles which govern their articulation must meet the requirements of their use. These principles are the logic or '•grammar" of art. In discussing the logic of vision, Susanne Langer

says: •..As language, wherever it occurs, breaks up into words and acquires conventions for shuffling the patterns of these semi-independent words to ex­ press propositions, so the grammar of artistic vision develops plastic forms for the expression of basic vital rhythms. 170

I69lbid.* p. 6?. 170lbid.. p. 62. 12b Perhaps these basic vital rhythms account for the universality of art, she continues. That is why certain decorative devices are almost universal; perhaps it is convergence, rather than divergence, that accounts for the astonishing parallels of design which may be found in such unrelated cultural products as Chinese embroideries, Mexican pots, Negro body decorations, and English printers' flowers. 171 What are these universal principles of design which disregard the barriers of culture? Basically they are such things as unity and variety, similarity, contrast, harmony, balance, and conflict. The relation of these principles to the fundamental 172 logical categories of Kant may be shown in the following table. 1 2 As to Quantity As to Quality Whole (Universal) Similar (Affirmative) Part (Particular) Different (Negative.)--. Indi vidual (Singular) Limited (Infinitive1'3)

As to Relation As to Modality Harmonious (Categorical) Problematic (Problematic) Balanced (Hypothetical) Assertoric (Assertoric) Conflicting(Disjunctive) Apodictic (Apodictic) The categories of quantity are fundamental in art as they are in logic. A work of art, whether it be painting, statue, building, song, dance, or poem, is a whole. symbolic

171ibid.. pp. 62-3. 172DiSCUSSed on p. 108 of this dissertation 173Kant lists "Limitation" in his Transcendental Table on Concepts of the Understanding in the position correspond­ ing to "Infinite" In the Logical Table of Judgments. 125 — or as Miss Langer would say "semblance1*— of a unit in actual life. The unity of a composition is essential in a work of art. What Aristotle said of tragedy is applicable in every medium, for art is, .•.an imitation of an action that is complete and whole...and of a certain magnitude;...A whole is that which has a beginning, a middle, and an end. A beginning is that which does not have to follow anything else, but after which something else naturally takes place. An end, on the contrary^: is that which itself naturally follows something else, either by necessity or as a general rule, but has nothing coming after it. A middle is that which follows something else as some other thing follows it. A well constructed plot must neither begin nor end at haphazard, but conform to these principles. 17*+ The relation of individual parts of the composition to other parts is expressed by principles like "dominance,""sub­ ordination," or more currently "figure-ground." The re­ lation of the individual to the whole is expressed by such principles as "scale," "perspective," and "center of in­ terest," or "focus." As to quality, the affirmative category (A is B) gives us identity or similarity, the basis of "repetition," and "rhythm." The negative category "A is not B) gives difference or contrast, the basis of "alternation." The category of limitation gives the degree of similarity and difference which make possible the aesthetic principles of

17^Aristotle, "Poetics" in On Man in the Universe, ed. Louise Ropes Loomis, p. ^28. 126 '’gradation" and "transition," (It is to be noted that this last plays an important role in art where gradations of color, value, tone, etc., are almost infinite, while there are only a few degrees of affirmation and negation in lan­ guage signified by rather awkward expressions like "almost," "not quite," "quite surely," or "hardly at all." Deductive logic, according to Kant, recognizes no shades of meaning between "is" and "is not," only one "Infinite" in which all shades disappear. As to relation, the categorical together with its compound form or conjunctivej '(Both A and B) is the form in art known as "harmony" where both "A" and "B" belong within the unity. Again, art is more complex and can contain an almost infinite number of factors in many degrees of har­ monious relation, while logic contains only the categorical statement and its compound. The hypothetical (If A then B) corresponds to the aesthetic relation of symmetry or balance. Given a "weight" of a shape or color on one side of a fulcrum, it must be balanced by an equal or equivalent weight on the other. Here again art often goes beyond mathematical equal­ ity and mechanical balance and takes into account unequal fafitors (assymetrical balance) and psychological factors (dynamic symmetry). The disjunctive category (Either A or B) makes the principle of conflict in art. When two factors cannot "belong" in the same whole they are in conflict, and one 127 must be eliminated. It may be a color that "swears," a building that is out of place, or a sound that is discordant. The categories of modality, which give the subjunctive, indicative, and imperative moods in grammar, are operative in art in the same way as in language, for aesthetic experience too has different degrees of certainty ranging from matters of taste and judgment (problematic) to absolute necessities for communication (apodictic). The "moods" are also expressed in a work of art. Maitland Graves in his book Art of Color and Design, has worked out an elaborate system of what he calls "major" and "minor" keys in painting in which the similarity or contrast of values sets the mood. Close harmony produces a dreamy, searching mood, some contrast makes a positive, assertive one, and dramatic contrast commands attention.!?^ And so the visual principles of design do seem to show a structure that can be seen to parallel that of logic. This would strengthen the contention that there is an over­ arching pattern which orders man's thought and feeling. The next section will attempt to view ethics in relation to this pattern.

175Maitland Graves, Art $£ Color and Design. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1951, Chapter XI. 128

C. ART AND ETHICS

As early as Plato and Confucius the development of character through music was advocated, “because rhythm and harmony find their way Into the inward places of the soul, on which they mightily fasten, imparting grace, and making the soul of him who is rightly educated graceful..."1^ Confucius would have extended music into government and went so far as to say, “All that one needs to do Is simply for the gentleman to fully understand ritual and music and then apply them to the government. 9 1 7" 7 Today the idea is not unusual. DeWitt Parker, for example, has stressed the two chief factors of “individualism” and “harmony” as basic rules in human relations. John Dewey points up the “inte­ grating” function which art performs in society, and Santa­ yana the “civilizing" effect of taste. Principles of design have long been applied to human conduct in this incidental way by thoughtful and sensitive people. Today, when ethicists are searching for a system

176piat0 , “The Republic, Book III," in Plato, ed. Louise Ropes Loomis, p. 289.

^^Lln Yutang, The Wisdom of Confucius. New Yorks T|te Modern Library, 1938, p. 11. 129 which underlies the various principles, a more careful exploration of the relationship of art to ethics is in order. It might help in setting up a substantial framework for systematic creation and evaluation— a "form" for ethics. To test the principles in controlled situations by modern methods of research would be an enormous but worth-while task, and one for cooperative rather than individual effort. The present study is limited to an interpretation of some existing ethical principles in terms of the categories of design outlined in the previous section. It is in a sense a "rough sketch" of what the writer envisions as a '£orrrf' for ethics. The principles will be discussed in the following order; 1. As to Quantity Whole, or concept of the self. Part a) in relation to wholes organic unity, b) in relation to other parts: dominance and subordination. Individual a) in relation to the part: figure- ground . b) in relation to the whole; focus, per­ spective. 2. As to Quality Similarity: the basis of benevolence. Contrast: the basis of dialectic. Infinity: the basis of mysticism. 3. As to Relation Harmony: the definition of good. Balance: the definition of prudence. Conflict; the definition of evil. b. As to Modality Problematic: the definition of judgment. Assertoric: the definition of right. Apodictic: the definition of duty. 130 The self is the source and condition of all experience and the central unit in each human universe. Part of its creativeness is in conceiving larger and larger wholes within which it orders its existence. These units might be the family, community, country, civilization, or all humanity. Josiah Royce describes them as "Larger Selves” culminating in the "Infinite Self," which is God. Buddha describes "these three persons found existing in the world...the one who Is like a drought, the one who rains locally, and the one who pours down everywhere."^78 ideally the self in its matur­

ing grows both horizontally and vertically— horizontally in the breadth of its sympathy and vertically In the depth of its feeling. Men are of different proportions, however, and individualists are often deep but narrow, while humanitarians are characterized by breadth rather than depth. Some great souls have both dimensions. In still others the self be­ comes continuous with the Infinite Self in that Unity which, in the words of Laotzu, "recognizes all men as members of

his own b o d y . " - ^ 9

Except in this Infinite Self, in which the parts are One with the Whole, each self is made up of many parts whose

■^^Buddha, "A Sermon to the Monks," The Viking Por­ table World Bible, ed. Robert 0. Ballou. New York* Viking Press, 1950, pp. 132-3* W L a o t z u , "Tao Teh Chlng, XIII," in The Wav of Life According to Laotzu bv Witter Bynner. New York* John Day Company, 19*+*+, p. 32. proper relation to the whole is one of organic unity. A person does not have to see the Final Picture to recognize this as the basic pattern for man's fulfillment. Without self-awareness the personality does not exist as a unit, but floats in a formless sea of fantasy. As screams and scrib­ bling s are below the level of language and art, so idiots, imbeciles, and some neurotics are below the level of person­ ality. They do not possess the forms for organizing a per­ sonality. On the other hand, that person who conceives of himself as a substance in a cosmos of orderly relationships-- a "noun" in a "complete sentence"— is like the picture in which a house, tree, and flower are put together in a design which makes sense. That person has the basic pattern for coherent and creative living. The aberrations of person­ ality— the psychotic, schizo-phrenic, delinquent— are ones whose basic pattern is distorted. The parts do not fit the whole, or the whole does not fit other wholes. Their con­ cepts of themselves violate the principle of organic unity. The person for whom all aspects of life are equal would not be an organic whole but a mere collection. The distinctiveness which a creative energy impells is lacking. Aesthetic unity abhorss uniformity, whether it be in shapes, sounds, or human relations. This is illustrated in individual, social, or political "totalities" which impose on themselves or their members conformity in appearance, action or thought. 132 When variety is eliminated for the sake of unity, the result­ ing suppression of creative energy in individuals causes dull, frustrated, or deformed characters, and often rebellion. Aesthetic unity, on the other hand, is illustrated in this definition of the "loyal citizen" by Walter Lippmann* "Qhe who loves his country and regards the status quo as an arrange­ ment which he is at liberty to modify only by argument.."'*'®®

Plato advocates the same pattern for the relation of individual to state in his Crito. Variety within unity is described by Radhakrishnan as an ideal in religion in The Hindu View of Life. He says, "To obliterate every other religion than one’s own is a sort of bolshevism in religion which we must try to prevent...The world would be a much poorer thing if one creed absorbed the rest. God wills a rich harmony and not a colorless uniform!* . ty.»l8l Rkadakrishnan is not suggesting that his readers be

collectors of religions, or what Santayana calls, "travellers from one religion to another,...people who have lost their spiritual nationality (and) may often retain a neutral and confused residuum of belief."182 They would have variety at the expense of unity. Like many other liberal religious leaders, Rhadakrishnan

■*-®®Walter Lippmann, A Preface to Morals. New York* Macmillan, 193^, P- 263* l8l Sarvepalli Radhakrishnan, The Hindu View of Life. New York* The Macmillan Co., 1927, pp. 5^-9• 1®2George Santayana, Reason in Religion. New Yorkt Scribner's, 1921, p. 5* 133 would advise, rather, the relationship of dominance and sub­ ordination in which one's own chosen faith stands out but is broadened and enriched by the others. (Dominance and sub­ ordination are extrinsic relationships which take place with** in a given frame of reference. They do not change the intrinsic value of the various parts.) In politics the structure of any government requires the dominance of some and the subordination of others. While "equality of all men" is based on a faith in the intrinsic worth of personality, the fact is that people are unequal in talents, strength, and character, and— whatever happens to them in the hereafter— on this earth where Categories apply some will lead and some will follow. Furthermore, leader and follower exist only with a given situation and derive status from their function rather than from their individual worth. Change the situation and the leaders change. The "Admirable Crlghton" is a butler in England to the Earl of Loam, but on a desert island becomes the Earl's master. The leader is determined by the situation, and the political situation, as Aristotle points out, demands of necessity the ruler-subject relationship. This condition is creative; the alternatives would be inaction or anarchy, neither of which could be called "good." The category of the individual is very important in ethics. It is the single self which cannot be subdivided. 13^ The existentialists have a great deal to say about this, and Buber defines it in these words: The category of the Single One, too, means not the subject or "man," but concrete siragularity; yet not the individual who is detecting his existence, but rather the person who is finding himself. 183 Quoting from Kierkegaard, he continues, No-one is excluded from being a Single One except him who exludes himself by wishing to be "crowd"...to fulfil the first condition of all regigiosity (is) to be a single man. It is for this reason that the "Single One" is the category through which, from the religious standpoint, time and history and the race must pass. 183A The relation of an individual to a part within the whole corresponds to the figure-ground relation in art. A human individual is the figure merging out of a ground of his own experience, out of a culture and civilization which gives him context. Some stand out in bold relief and others blend imperceptibly with their surroundings. The figure- context relation is as important in ethics as in literature and art, where to take one "out of context" is deceiving. Other applications of figure-ground might be made in the relation of the "Single One" to an Ideal or concept of him­ self, of a single action to principles of action and of a principle to experience. There are many possibilities to be explored.

l83Martin Buber, Between Man and Man. Boston: Beacon Press, 19*+7, p* ^2. 183Am d . 135 One relation of the individual to the whole is symbol­ ized by ’’focus.” This center of interest is in itself a unify­ ing fact. Once it is fixed, other elements tend to ’’fall into place," finding their significance through the central "theme." A society gives itself meaning by a totem, a symbol, a royal family, a hero, or a set of principles in a constitution, and an individual gives himself meaning by the ideal to which he is dedicated: his God. To show how important this factor is in the organic design, one need only note how violently a person or group reacts when such a symbol is challenged. Another relation is perspective, in which an individual or part is seen in relation to the whole. Kant’s maxim illustrates this, for it puts an individual’s action in per­ spective with the universal. He commands one "so to act that one could will that the maxim of his act should be a universal law." Kant says "common reason" agrees with this. "The common reason of man in its practical judgments perfectly coincides with this, and always has in view the principle here suggested.,,x To view in perspective requires a cer­ tain disinterestedness, as Kant pointed out. Perhaps, how­ ever, it is more of an aesthetic detachment which enables one to see in terms of form— "aesthetic distance"— rather than the rigid disregard of inclinations which Kant prescribed. While he thought the latter necessary to the form of moral- iga Kant, Fundamental Principles of the Metaphvsic of Morals, p. 20. 136 ity, he admitted that it is extremely impractical in appli­ cation. "For man is affected by so many inclinations that, though he is capable of the idea of a practical pure reason, he is not so easily able to make it effective jji concreto in his life.1’ In fact, he says, "No doubt these laws require a Judgment sharpened by experience in order, on the one hand, to distinguish in what cases they are applicable, and, on the other, to procure for them access to the will of the man, and effectual influence on conduct."-*-®^ This sounds like aesthetic activity rather than rationality. Kant did not mean to substitute the "bloodless flow of categories" for reality as he is sometimes accused of doing, but to set up an objective standard, like a yardstick, for measuring morality. Even utilitarian ethics, which Kant scorned as "com­ mon rational knowledge of morals" not "deserving the name of philosophy,"is capable of aesthetic perspective. The prin­ ciple of "the greatest good for the greatest number" is a "whole" by which individual acts are measured. This requires an equal disinterestedness toward one's own inclinations. John Stuart Mill says, "As between his own happiness and that of others, utilitarianism requires him to be as strictly impartial as a disinterested and benevolent spectator."1®^

I85ibid.. p. 5. ^^John Stuart Mill, Utilitarianism. Liberty, and Representative Government. New Yorkx E. P. Dutton, 1951, p. 21. 137 In the golden rule of Jesus of Nazareth, we read the complete spirit of the ethics of utility. To do as you would be done by, and to love your neighbor as yourself, constitute the ideal perfection of utilitarian morality. As the means of making the nearest approach to this ideal, utility would enjoin, first, that laws and social arrangements should place the happi­ ness, or (as speaking practically it may be called) the interest, of every individual, as nearly as possible in harmony with the interest of the whole. 187 The rule, "love your neighbor as yourself" and its corollary, "do unto others as you would be done by" are based on another aesthetic category. To recognize other persons as being like oneself with similar feelings, pains and pleas­ ures, is to employ the symbolic form, "Similarity." To "put oneself in another person's place" takes an effort of the intellect as well as the will. It is an abstraction of the self to the point where it can be seen in relation to other people. Sympathy is the feeling which results, ben­ evolence the virttie. The idea of similarity between people is so elementary that very small children can apply the rules based on it long before they conceive a whole larger than themselves. Perhaps this accounts for the "Golden Rule" be­ ing so universal a principle in ethics. Martin Buber deals with this principle in both I and 188 tftQ Thou and Between Man and Man. ^ The "I" (Self) perceives

l8?Ibid. 188 Martin Buber, I and Thou. Edinburgh* T. & T. Clark, 1952. l890n. cit. 138 another human being either amorally as an object, “It," or morally as another self, "Thou." The "I-Thou Relation" is based on the principle of similarity, and love is the bond between the "I" and his "Thou." He emphasizes that the two are not identical as in mysticism. "Mysticism only toler­ ates the Single One in order that he may radically melt away. But Kierkegaard knows...that without being and re­ maining oneself there is no love."^9^ A broader term for love is "benevolence," the virtue of thinking and acting generously toward one’s fellow man. This virtue plays an important part in many systems of ethics. David Hume, for example, called benevolence "The moral sentiment," and he though it quite general among men, and the basis of social virtue. "The merit, ascribed to the social virtues, appears still uniform, and arises chiefly from that regard, which the natural sentiment of genevolence engages us to pay in the interests of mankind and society."191 That similarity contributes to unity is obvious, whether it be in visual art or human relations— also that extreme similarity approaches monotonous uniformity, as is often the case in cults. Too much similarity between people may produce a harmony so close that it is no longer ehalleng-

19QIbld.T p. 1+3. 191David Hume, "An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Morals," from A. I. Melden, Ethical Theories. A Book of Readings, p. 189. 139 Ing. Variety too is needed, and it is produced by contrasts The recognition of negation, or that which one is not sets up a dialectic which can be very stimulating in human rela­ tions as it is exciting in art. It is a wide interval between things of the same nature, and differs from conflict in that it does not destroy the unity of Its context. It is a rela­ tion to something and therefore implies a common denominator. Thus people contrast in things which they have in common. Each intensifies and enlivens Its opposite, and this produces vitality. Kant devined morality in terms of contrast— between the desires and rational duty. He believed that goodness, which contrasts with the natural inclinations, is "sublime" rather than merely "beautiful" (harmonious). Hegel’s Philosophy of Right. Is based on contrasts between external things and spiritual ideas, also between the individ­ ual and universal (state). The dialectic which takes place between the physical world with its "Laws of Nature" and the spiritual world with its "Laws of Right" is resolved in individual "morality." This in turn contrasts with universal "morality," which Hegel believed to be embodied in the state. The resolution of this dialectic is ideally the embodiment of individual good in the universal good of the State. In

W 2 q . w . F. Hegel, Philosophy of Right. London* George Bell & Sons, 1896. I*f0 all the friction between contrasting elements there is an overarching unity, which Hegel envisioned as the spiritual idea of freedom or ’’God." The opposing factors are not separated into a dualism of good and bad in which one must anihilate the other. Rather, the one is made manifest through the other. Here the physical and individual are not considered bad (contradictory to or in conflict with the good) but merely in contrast to it.

The combining of similarity and contrast, together­ ness and opposition, in proportions that are satisfying and creative makes a kind of rhythm in living. This is what inspired Havelock Ellis, the psychologist, to describe life in terms of the dance. In his book, The Dance of Life, he said among other things, "Life must always be a great ad­ venture with risks on every hand; a clear-sighted eye, a many-sided sympathy, a fine darin?, an endless patience, and forever necessary to all good living.

The blending together of various quantities and quali­ ties so that they "belong" in one unity demonstrates the relation of harmony. Belonging together within a whole are the parts of a good society and a good man. Plato was really defining goodness when he employed this principle to explain

"justice" in the Republic. In the state where the existing

-*-93Havelock Ellis, The Dance of Life. New York: The Modern Library Publishers, 1929, p. 263. Ibl classes are each performing well that task for which their members are by nature best suited— when the tradesmen are industrious and temperant, the soldiers courageous, and the rulers wise— there is Justice. The same principle applies to the individual; when the passions are temperant, the spirited part courageous, and the mind wise, the person is "just,11 or good. ,,,for the just man does not permit the sev­ eral elements within him to interfere with one another, or any of them to do the work of others— he sets in order his own inner life, and is his own master and his own law, and at peace with himself; and when he has bound together the three principles within him, which may be compared to the higher, lower, and middle notes of the scale, and the inter­ mediate intervals— when he has bound all these together, and is no longer many, but has become one entirely temperate and per­ fectly adjusted nature, then he proceeds to act, if he has to act, whether in a matter of property, or in the treatment of the body, or in some affair of politics or private business; always thinking and call­ ing that which preserves and cooperates with this harmonious condition, just and good action, and the knowledge which pre­ sides over it, wisdom, and that which at any time impares this condition, he will call unjust action, and the opinion which presides over it ignorance. 19**- Plato recognized the principle of justice to be aesthetic, for he repeatedly related it to music, and throughout the Republic recommended training in music as preparation for goodness.

19l+Plato "Republics Book IV," in Plato, ed. L. R. Lofomis, pp. 328-9« Ib2 And as we were saying, the united in­ fluence of music and gymnastics will bring them into accord, (the rational, spirited and passionate parts) (ed.) nerving and sustaining the reason with noble words and lessdnss and moderating and soothing and civilizing the wildness of passion by harmony and rhythm. 195 Confucius employed the same principle in his idea of Chungyung, or as Lin Yutang translated it, "Central Harmony." By it a person orders his own life and his relations with his family. By extending it the proper relations are es­ tablished in the community and the state. All this is accomplished through training in ritual and music, for "music harmonizes the community, while ritual draws its social dis­ tinction. "196 in the Confucian Analects, as translated by James Legges Chapter VIII. The Master said, "It is by the odes that the mind is aroused." 2. "It is by the Rules of Propriety that the character is established. 3. "It is from Music that the finish is received." 197 Not only harmony of the parts within the whole is needed, but a balance or right proportion of them to each other. This principle is evident in the "Golden Mean" of Confueius and Aristotle, and is the form of the virtue called "prudence" by the Stoics, Epicureans and others. Confucius

^ i b i d .. p. 326. 196L:in Yutang, The Wisdom of ConfuciusT p. 16. 197confucius, The Four Books. In Chinese with English, trans. and notes by James Legge. Shanghai* The Chinese Book Company (No date of publication stated), p. 100. 1^3 said, "To go beyond is as wrong as to fall short!"^98 and

Aristotle put the same idea in more detail: Thus it is possible to go too far, or not far enough in fear, pride, desire, anger, pity, and pleasure and pain generally, and the excess and the deficiency are alike wrong; but to feel these emotions at the right times, for the right objects toward the right persons, for the right motives, and in the right manner, is the mean or the best good, which signifies virtue. 199 Prudence, or rational living, which has been expounded by Stoics and Epicureans and others as a necessary means to the good or harmonious life, is this ability to arbitrate between factors with a fine awareness of proportion and balance. Finally, conflict, the"eithey~o£"disjuntive, being the form of contradiction, is the form of evil. Whatever contradicts organic unity, harmony, balance— or the combin­ ation of these— is bad. Thus, anarchy contradicts unity, uniformity contradicts variety, selfishness contradicts disinterestedness, excess and defect contradict balance, and so forth. Whatever destroys unity or individuality, whatever frustrates the creative exercise of forming— these things are bad. The distinction between good and bad is between order and confusion, for the various elements should be like chords of a harmony, and self-realization should be an ordered evolution of the faculties under the control of a balanced mind.

198ibld.. p. lMf. 199Aristotle, "Nichomachean Ethics," ed. Louise R. Loomis, On Man in the Universe. New York* D. Van Nostrand Co., Inc.,19^3, p. 108. 1M+ As to modality, the propositions of ethics, like those of art, are of various orders of necessity. Some are only problematic as?for example^where the evidence is inconclusive, whether a given action would produce more or less harmony in the state. The decision requires wise judgment rather than inflexible will power. Ethical judgment could be defined as the ability to act wisely in a problematic situation. It involves both knowledge to predict effects as far as possiMe and well-ordered concepts of right and wrong, wisdom. Other propositions are assertorical, and are right by their very nature. These, like axioms, are so self- evident they need not be argued. The Golden Rule would be an example. This kind of intrinsic "correctness" in ethical propositions IS the "Right" (sometimes contrasted with the more problematic "Good"). Other propositions are imperative and require uncon­ ditional acquiescence. This last is the form of what in ethics is called "duty." While Kant's Categorical Impera­ tive may not be, as he thought,the only form of duty, his description of duty itself in the Critique of Practical Reason can hardly be surpassed: Duty, thou sublime and mighty name that dost embrace nothing charming or insinuating, but requirest submission, and yet seekest not to move the will by threatening ought that would arouse natural aversion or terror, but merely holdest forth a law which of itself finds entrance into the mind, and yet gains reluc­ tant reverence (though not always obedience), lh5 a law before which all inclinations are dumb, even though they secretly counter-work it; what origin is there worthy of thee, and where is to be found the root of thy noble descent which proudly rejects all kindred with the inclinations; a root to be derived from which is the indispensable condition of the only worth which men can give themselves? 200 If the relationshins between logical, linguistic, aes­ thetic, and ethical forms which have been sketched in the last chapter are truly basic patterns of symbolic form, then ethics, like language and art, can be systematically taught. The ford­ inal relations , once they are made explicit, would provide a conceptual framework which would give objectivity and univer­

sality to the subject. Ethics would no longer need to be an historical review of unrelated or conflicting ideas, so frus­

trating to the student who is looking for something to "make

sense."

However, to teach ethics— or any other subject— merely

as a system of objective forms would be deadly. Forms, of them­

selves, tend to be restrictive. They must be made productive.

Confucius said, "A man can enlarge the principles which he pm follows; those principles do not enlarge the man." For stu­

dents to learn to know and love the good, they must be trained

to imagine intensely and comprehensively. The final chapter of

this dissertation will be devoted to the problem of what kind of

education in philosophy, and especially in ethics, would serve

this purpose.______^^Immanuel Kant, Critique of Practical Reason and Other Works on the Theory of Ethics, trans. T. K. Abbott, 3rd Edition. London: Longman's Green i. Co., 1883, p. 180. 201confucius, The Four Books, p. 231. CHAPTER VIII

TEACHING ETHICS IN THE NEW KEY

There are roughly two approaches to the teaching of philosophy in the contemporary American situation, says pop Arthur E. Murphy. The first is of the pragmatic school, which carries philosophy "to the affairs of men." Accord­ ing to this point of view thought should be a guide to act­ ion, and all philosophy is therefore ethics. It should be practical in the common task of bringing about more happiness for more people through the democratic process. Intelligence and the scientific method are the medium through which the

"reconstruction in philosophy" is to take place. This school has defended itself as the ultimate human standpoint. It is the modern heir of the magical mode of thinking.

To most philosophers, however, pragmatism is only one among many "isms." These people are members of the other school in the teaching of philosophy, the liberal arts. The method used by them is to present to the student the cosmos of "isms": mechanism, materialism, naturalism, realism, positivism, pragmatism and idealism. Each is explained and 202Arthur E. Murphy, "The Situation in American Phil­ osophy," Chapter II in Brand Blanshard, Philosophy in American Education. New York: Harper & Brothers,19^5*

lb6 lb? discredited in its turn. This has the effect of seeming comprehensive and broadminded. To avoid over-frustrating the student who is trying to formulate his own philosophy of life, the professor helpfully concludes the course with his choice of philosophy which combines the best in all of them. This cosmic approach is heir to the mythical mode of thought. Describing the purpose and method of philosophy accord­ ing to pragmatism, Max Otto calls it "a social fine art." He further defines this as the “technique of creative bar­ gaining" to yield the largest return of good for all con­ cerned. This he calls the philosopher's alternative to the rule of might. It is characterised bys first, an attempt to appreciate conflicting aims; second, a search for new aims in which conflicting ones may be absorbed; and third, an in­ vention of programs through which the new aims can be real­ ized.20^ This discipline would be learned by students and applied in all situations involving human relations. Such is the function of philosophy in the pragmatic school. It has good points. It Is student-centered rather than subject-centered. Young people would have little dif­ ficulty appreciating the relation of philosophy to their own lives. They would even receive "guidance" in applying it to concrete, real situations. For many this would be a creative

2°3Max Carl Otto, Chapter IV in Brand Blanshard, Philosophy in American Education, p. 161. 1^8 experience, giving direction to their lives, security to their feelings, and a sense of unity in a "Larger Self." The skill achieved could be of value throughout their lives, and the more intelligent would undoubtedly continue to apply their training to an expanding area of situations, becoming a kind of leaven in society and a bulwark against the rule of might. There are some dangers in the pragmatist view of the function of philosophy, however. In the first place, the student has no part in choosing the form of his philosophy. It is assumed that Pragmatism i£ The Democractic Viewpoint and that "democratic" is synonymous with "ethical." Both these assumptions are open to question. Other philosophies also claim to be in the democratic tradition; Christianity, idealism, humanism, positivism, each could make a case for being the embodiment of democratic principles. Furthermore, democracy as an ultimate value needs to be examined before being accepted. Thoreau and others had doubts that majority rule was anything more than expedient. Statistically speak­ ing, it is rule by the average rather than the wise, the mediocre rather than the best-qualified. With mass media of communication it is at least conceivable that the rule should fall into the hands of the skillful demagog. The student of pragmatic philosophy does not have sufficient opportunity to weigh such considerations as these or to compare with other views. I*f9 Of coarse this training will adapt him well to the democratic society of which he is a part. But the adaptation is made for him, not by him. By passively accepting it he is on the way to becoming a conservative member of the group and part of the cultural lag. The "spirit of democracy" was any­ thing but passive at its inception. The labor pains were not easy, and without them there would have been no "new birth of freedom." Another danger is that this view does not sufficiently take into account the past, but concentrates on the problems of the present without the perspective of history. This is what Robert Hutchins, then of the University of Chicago, called "The Sin of Presentism," and it can lead to shortsighted solutions and misdirected energy. Furthermore, as The Harvard Report pointed out, practice in meeting present problems is not necessarily preparation for meeting future ones. Finally, the scientific method does not take into account the whole realm of belief and commitment by which human activity is directed. It is open to question, said the Report, whether the scientific attitude is applicable to the pr\h_ whole of life, "the full horizon" of man's concerns. All the intelligence of Epimetheus could not conceive man. The so-called "liberal" alternative to pragmatic

2Q*+General Education in a Free Society: A Report of the Harvard Committee. Cambridge* Harvard University Press, 19^6, p* *+0. 150 education is presented in The Harvard Report. In the mythical mode, it affirms the value of tradition. But it also accepts the spirit of change. Thus it reflects the "Character of American Society, a society not wholly of the world since it came from the old, not wholly given to innovation since it acknowledges certain fixed beliefs, not wholly a law unto it­ self since there are principles above the state. Later the Report states its thesis* "The true task of education is therefore to reconcile the sense of pattern and direction deriving from heritage with the sense of experiment and in­ novation deriving from science that they exist fruitfully together, as in varying ways they have never ceased to do throughout Western history." More specifically, out of the American tradition the ideal of cooperation on the level of action irrespective of differences in belief, and faith in the value of the human soul irrespective of how It is conceived, and tolerance from the holding of standards rather than eliminating them— all these Ideals are to be the gifts 207 of Prometheus through liberal education. These ideals do not wholly conflict with those of the pragmatist. There Is the same assumption of the value of democracy. The ideal of cooperation on the level of action

2°5ibid. 2o6Ibid.. p. 50. 207ibid.. p. m . 151 sounds Ilk© Max Otto's "creative bargaining." Both schools respect the value of the individual and seek his orientation in society. The contrasts between the two are apparent, however, in their perspectives and methods. The liberals, as has’ been noted, pay homage to the past. They teach historical courses and "Great Books." Furthermore, they extend their method be­ yond the scientific to include a Promethian commitment to ideals about man and society which press upon the religious. The closeness of educational aims to those of religion in this matter is made explicit. "There is a sense in which re­ ligious education, education in the great books, and in modem democracy may be mutually exclusive. But there is a far more important sense in which they work together to the same end, which is belief in the idea of man and society that we inherit, adapt, and pass on." Like Prometheus, liberals are men of faith. In spite of the nobility of the ideals of liberal education, there are also shortcomings and dangers. The practice does not generally fulfil the ideal, and the qualit­ ies of reverence, perspective, and reasonableness do not flow freely from the prescribed courses. In fact, since the core courses are usually required, there is inevitably some re­ sistance to them by students who are not convinced of their

208Ibid.. p. b6. 152 value. They are not "student contered" like the pragmatist courses, and therefore are confronted with the problem of "selling" where there often is no demand. Those who do "buy" are ones who have already acquired taste in such things, and these people are intellectual aristocrats. Liberal education is not democratic in practice, for it presupposes intellectual capacities and emotional refinement which exist only in "the few" and do not even interest "the many." Schools of the liberal tradition are highly selective of their students, and of their select group, many students would not take the core course if it were not required. The study of philosophy and the arts, of ideas and events of the past, seems to many people very academic— and indeed may be so when taught by an academically trained man. "When the heart goes out of the subject matter, only the in­ tellect remains, and the result is training or knowledge, but not culture and wisdom. Everett Dean Martin said crisply of the recipient of such education, "You feel that his learning has never become integrated with his personality. It is a property annexed to his estate over which he is an absentee 209 landlord." 7 This too often happens in liberal education. There are few truly liberal spirits to teach it. The student becomes a connoisser of "isms," so open-minded that he is

2°9gverett Dean Martin, The Meaning of a Liberal Education. New York* W. W. Norton, 1926, p. 23. 153 empty-minded, so full of "inert ideas" that he becomes, in Whitehead's words, "the most useless bore on God's earth. The two alternatives which have been discussed pre­ sent a dilemma: pragmatism on the one hand with many good points but a limited perspective, and, on the other haild, liberal education with depth and vision but a limited appeal. The"New Key"in philosophy suggests a third way which may combine the virtues of liberalism with the earthiness of pragmatism. That is an aesthetic approach. Bernard Meland has made this most explicit, but there are suggestions of it in the liberalism of Whitehead, who said, "There Is only one subject matter for education, and that is Life in all its manifestations."^H jn this he would include the past, but he states that "a knowledge of the past is to equip us for 212 the present." He also maintains that there is a religious quality to education because "it inculcates duty and reverence. Duty arises from our potential control over the course of events...And the foundation of reverence is this perception that the present holds within itself the complete sum of existence, backwards and forwards, that whole amplitude of 21 3 time which is eternity." J

210Alfred North Whitehead, The Aims of Education. New Yorks The New American Library of World Literature, Inc., 19^9, p. 13. 211Ibid.. p. 18. 212Ibid., p. lb. 213Ibid.. p. 26. 15*+ In his chapter on “Freedom and Discipline," Whitehead discusses aesthetic education: “The ultimate motive power, alike in science, in morality, and in religion, is the sense of value, the sense of importance...The most penetrating exhibition of this force is the sense of beauty, the aesthetic sense of realized perfection." Therefore, he suggests there should be more of the art experiences in education. In the chapter on “Space, Time, and Relativity,“ he shows that perceptions, not the "given world" of science and scientific method are primary. The physical world (and there could be added the social world of the pragmatist) is a deduced con­ cept. "Our problem is, in fact, to fit the world to our perceptions, and not our perceptions to the world."21? This means a creative Interaction between the sub- * jective consciousness and the materal or medium of the “ob­ jective world" in which it operates. It requires more than intellect in the traditional sense of logical reasoning. It needs a heightened sensitivity to overtones and undertones. It needs a quickened ability to sense relationships and “play" with the making of new ones. There is no single method of "thinking" on this level. Various logics may be used, and the discipline Is in the art of skillfully combining them. Bernard Eugene Meland, a religious empiricist and keen

21^Ibid.. p. 57. 21?Ibid.. p. 166. 1 55 proponent of the aesthetic approach to education, believes that the highest level of thinking is one which combines analysis, constructive understanding, and imaginative inter­ pretation in dealing with the large-scale problems of human destiny. He says that education in colleges should aim at this kind of activity rather than the narrowly practical, historical, or analytical.21^ He calls this method "Appre­ ciative Consciousness11 and describes is as "a constant and indispensable companion and resource of critical thought"* first, in open awareness unaffected by the conscious ego, second, in identification by symbols into concepts, and third, in discrimination between concepts within the context of critical thought. When operating through the bodily senses, this "Con­ sciousness" is intellect extending to the level of feeling, more profound than thought, more disciplined than sensation. It is aware, first, with a sense of fact and structure, and second, with an even livelier sense of meaning transcending 217 fact and structure. it can be taught and nurtured, as empathy, a disciplined effort to go beyond one's self. It is applicable to the full panorama of human experience from science to politics, religion, and art.

21^Bernard Eugene Meland, Higher Education and the Human Spirit. Chicago* University of Chicago Press, 1953, Chapter III. 21?Ibid.t pp. 63-72. 156 If this is to be the object of education, certain fundamental principles become evident, according to Melandj that things exist in relations, that these relations are dynamic, that they give rise to qualitative significance over and above functional considerations. It is to/noted that these are principles of symbolism rather than science; they belong to the “New Key" not the old. Education in the “New Key1' must be aesthetic education based on relations and the dynamics of significance, not merely on “facts" and "functions.” How would such "New Key" principles be applied in the college classroom? More specifically, how would they affect the teaching of philosophy and ethics? Some good points of both pragmatism and liberalism are combined in this new approach. Philosophy again becomes an integral part of the student's whole experience, and not a peculiarly intellect­ ual aspect. It would burst the bounds of departmental in­ struction and become an “over-arching" way of life. However, this way would not be a pattern already set by the "American Tradition," the scientific method, democracy, or any other system. It would be a wholly creative attitude and habit of acting.

2l8Ibid.. p. 2b. 157 It would bo essentially self-defining in the existen­ tial mood, where, in the transaction of thought with environ­ ment one identifies the self with larger wholes. Robert Ulich, formerly of Harvard University education department, calls this process "self transcendence," and says it may be accomplished by various methods. Thinking is theoretical self-transcendence, metaphysics is speculative, ethics prac­ tical self-transcendence, religion devotional, and art im- 219 aginary. No single method is the correct one; all methods are eligible. Max Black, in his book Critical Thinking, says, The various ways which may be used to ground basic beliefs should not be regarded as competitors...If no method can therefore be relied upon in general to produce nothing but true beliefs, the practical problem of the reasonable formation of beliefs reduces to the skillful practice of the art of combin­ ing methods. For one of the most important morals of any critical survey of the grounds of belief is that the various methods are more likely to be successful when used together than when used separately. 220 Inductive, deductive, historical, intuitive, democratic, authoritarian, free play, and discipline could each in its own way be a means to increased awareness of larger relation­ ships. Knowledge of the past would play its part, along with experimentation in real-life situations. Principles and

^^Robert Ulich, The Human Career, A Philosophy j z L Self-Transcendence. New York: HarperBros., 1955* Black, Critical Thinking: An Introduction to Logic and Scientific Method. New York: Prentice-Hall, 1952,"pp. 2*+i-2. 158 action would be continuum of ends and means as in the crea­ tion of a work of art. In fact, the pursuit of philosophy would be an aesthetic life-process in which ideals modify action, and action in turn reflects itself in the revision of ideals. This is described as making "an art of living" by Everett Dean Martin in his classic book, The Meaning of a Liberal Education. He says, "Education should help people make an art of living, and the art of living, like all arts, is play. Learn to play with your ideals, even with your sublimities and you will break the hold upon you of many a crude and hampering dilemma."22-*-

Art has been defined in Chapter V as the creation of forms for the expression of feeling. The pursuit of a phil­ osophy of right and wrong is just this, whether in or out of the classroom. The classroom, like an art laboratory, should make the process easier and more direct. This can be done bys 1, the role which the teacher assumes; 2, the sub­ ject matter presented; and 3, the methods used. These will he discussed in the order given. The teacher's role is, essentially, to set the stage for creative thinking. His function is not primarily to impart information, for philosophy, unlike science, is not primarily a matter of information. In the "New Key" it is acknowledge to be a symbolic creation— a structuring of

22lMartin, The Meaning of a Liberal Education, p. 126. 159 experience— whose purpose is to make significance not science.

Information is helpful--even necessary--in the process, and should be the subject-matter of the course. The teacher should ake it available through readings, references, inter­ views, and occasional lectures.

But the teacher must plan for more than information; he must plan a situation conducive to creative thought. This means sufficient freedom for the student to "be himself," and to feel that he is accepted and respected on his own level. It means enough informality for him to explore and "play" with a variety of new ideas.

However, "Freedom is not a dwell in? place but a foot­ bridge" as Martin Buber says, and the teacher must lead across it. There must be sufficient form in the information, structure, and conduct of the class to provide a sense of direction. The teacher should know where he wants to go and act constructively.

The student should know what has already been done in philosophy so that he does not repeat the past but builds upon it. His building should be his own. To paraphrase

Kahlil Gibran, the teacher "does not bid you enter into the house of his wisdom but rather leads you to the threshold of your own mind and thus reveals that which already lies half 222 asleep in the dawning of your own knowledge." 2?2Kahl±l Gibran, The Prophet. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1923, p« 62. 160 The relationship between teacher and student should not be— as it so often is— a dialectical one, but a "dia- logical" one, according to Buber. This means an "I-Thou" relation in which the teacher should have the ability of •'inclusion11 or experiencing from the standpoint of the other person. "He is of all men the one for whom inclusion may and should change from an alarming and edifying event into an 22^ atmosphere." J As to subject matter, a class in ethics should provide the student experience with the best which has been thought and written. From the classical structures of Plato and Aristotle, and the delicate monuments of Epictetus and Epicurus, to the Baroque intricacies of Kant and Spinoza, there is wisdom and inspiration for the student. These creations of the past should be presented not as curiosities to be dissected, or antiques to be collected, but each as a masterpiece of thought through which the student can get insight into the structure of a great character. This gives the student experience of the Larger Unity in the selves of great men. Such insight moves the student emotionally as well as intellectually, and helps the teacher to make durable values credible. A cosmos of different points of view should be pres- sented, as in liberal education, but not with the professor's

22^Buber, Between Man and Man. Bostons The Beacon Press, 19^7, p* 100. 161 watered down solution at the end. The student is not usually- impressed by the latter. After all the others, the pro­ fessor's idea too might be wrone. Besides, it is likely to be dull. A more muscular ethics could be developed by let­ ting the student relate the ideas to each other within the framework of a form such as that described in Chapter VII,

Part C. Many differing points of view can be organically related, and thus knowledge in ethics decomes cumulative rather than contradictory.

Such a form could be shown to relate to those of language and art and other media through which men give meaning to their thoughts and feelings. A design, thus com­ posed gives, by its universality, an objective quality which is impressive, like the laws of science. In fact, it is a

science in the theoretical— not the descriptive— meaning of

the word. For it is a body of systematized principles.

Something like it might become a theoretical framework that would prove creative to the student of ethics, as theoretical

science has been to the student of natural science.

At the graduate level the theoretical aspect should

receive the full treatment. Emphasis should be directed to

the relationships between established ethical principles,

and also between ethics and other systems of symbolic form.

Kant says of this kind of study that the philosopher "...will

take pleasure in such comparisions for they suggest the 162 expectation that we may perhaps someday be able to discern the unity of the whole faculty of reason (theoretical as well as practical) and be able to derive all from one prin­ ciple. ..,,22lf

On the undergraduate level, however, the object is not to train aestheticians in ethics but artists. While the student is beginning the process of formulating his ethics from the subject matter he is studying, he should have plenty of laboratory experience in applying the principles to life experience. "After all, life is not for logic but for

22 'd living," as Ulich says in the Human Career. ' Many a phil­ osopher erects a noble mansion of thought and then"lives in a shack nearby." A class in ethics must teach that "a man's thought must be the building in which he lives."22^ Part of the subject matter of an ethics course is life itself, and the method of teaching should make the experience existen­ tial. To do this a laboratory type of session like that in the fine arts should be provided regularly. Students should be given opportunity to work with ideas by themselves ot in small groups under the teacher's supervision. Carefully

2^lfKant, Critique of Practical Reason and Other Works on the Theory of Ethics., p. lfflf. 22^Ulich, The Human Career, p. 3.

22*hcierkegaard, "The Journals, No. 583," from Reider Thomte, Kierkegaard's Philosophy of Religion. Princeton* Princeton University Press, 19*+c, p. 207. 163 planned assignments at the beginning should gradually give way to self-direction by the student in the choice and solu­ tion of problems. Effort should be made to take situations from real life; the class could visit a trial in court, a legislature in session, a community area with a problem like segregation, poor housing, or juvenile delinquency. Students should have practice in collecting evidence, making generalizations, analyzing the situation in the light of various principles of ethics which they have studied, choos­ ing the ones which apply in the situation, and following through the implications of a decision. This kind of ex­ perience should be provided not just once or twice as a curiosity, but often enough to engender skills of behavior and sensitivity to the varied aspects of an ethical sit­ uation. Students should be encouraged to be constantly re­ thinking principles of action in the light of their own ideas of man, self, and society. Metaphysics and political phil­ osophy should not be separated from ethics. Their orches­ tration should be noted in the various historical systems, and a similar organic unity should be encouraged in the students' own creations. The success of a student's work should be judged by his discipline, critical ability, and fertility of mind. Ideally he should develop the habit of sensitivity to all aspects of a situation. He should have experience in rec- 16^ ognizing principles which apply in a situation and skill in applying them to it. He should develop self-reliance and inventiveness in the solution of problems, and a sense of duty far beyond what is merely expedient. This course in ethics would differ from the usual ’’problem solving” course in several telling ways. It would incorporate the heritage of the past, making it live in the present. It would not limit itself to the scientific method, which deals with external and observable factors, nor to the activity method, which concerns behavior alone. It would employ both in the service of the aesthetic method, dedicated to the transaction of thought with action in the existential process of self-realization. It would aim to develop the creative individual rather than the merely ”adJusted.” And finally, it would have a metaphysical basis in the theory of symbolic forms. EPILOGUE

And so my search has found its form; my myth has taken shape, It is a cosmic myth in which the form of righteousness is found in the universe of creative thought. The orbit of ethics lies between those of logic and of art — more flexible than the first, more definite than the last. Its laws are firmly fixed in the Pattern of Justice, which makes order out of the universe of thought and feeling. This Pattern is in dynamic intercourse with the throbbing, vital Force at the heart of things, and so its Justice is tempered with the lively quality of Mercy. The heroes of my myth are the many who, by. thought or example, have made manifest its truths. To the writers on whom I have depended for the development of the ideas, to the teachers who have given freely of their wisdom and their patience, and especially to those who, unconsciously perhaps, are incarnations of its ideals,my myth owes much of its vitality. From the "New Key in Philosophy" this study has taken bearings. The works of Kant, Cassirer, and Langer established the relation of symbols to experience. Miss Langer treated especially the relation of "virtual" forms

165 166 to '’actual11 life In the various symbolic systems from magic and myth to the contemporary arts. My myth, on the other hand, has related the forms of various systems to each other, thereby creating a new— still somewhat nebulous— system. There is a little magic too in my myth. I hope it will bring results both In living and in teaching. I think it is a vigorous myth, but I am not sure yet. It is not finished. It could shrivel up and grow brittle with system-building. It could, with dissipation, grow old and weak before its time. But perhaps, like other myths, it too will have Its day. If in that day it is strong and vital— a help to living, not a substitute for life— it will have served its purpose. BIBLIOGRAPHY

A. AESTHETICS 1. Adams, Henry, Mont-Saint-Michel and Chatres. New Yorks Houghton Mifflin Co., 1935. 2. Bosanquet, Bernard, Three Lectures on Aesthetics* London; The Macmillan & Co., Ltd., 1923. 3. Bridges, Robert, The Testament of Beauty. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1929. b. Carritt, E. F., The Theory of Beauty. Londons Methuen & Co., Ltd., 1931* 5>. Carritt, E. F., (ed.) Philosophies of Beauty. Oxford: The Clarendon Press, 1931. 6. Dewey, John, Art as Experience. New York: Minton, Balch & Co., 193^. 7. Ellis, Havelock, The Dance of Life. New York: The Modern Library Publishers, 1929. 8. Focillon, Henri, The Life of Forms in Art. trans. Charles Beecher Hogan and George Kubler. New Yorks Yale University Press, 19^2. 9. Graves, Maitland, Art in Color and Design. New Yorks MacGraw-Hill, 19^1. 10. Henri, Robert, The Art Spirit. Philadelphia: IT. B. Lippincott Co., 1923. 11. Langer, Suzanne, Feeling and Form. New Yorks Charles Scribner's Sons, 1953. 12. Lee, Harold Newton, Perception and Aesthetic Value. New Yorks Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1938. 13. Newton, Norman T., An Approach to Design. Cambridge: Addison-Wesiey Press, Inc., 1951.

167 168 ll+. Rader, Melvin M., A Modern Book of Aesthetics. New Yorks Henry Holt & Co., 193!>• 1?. Read, Herbert, Art Now. New Yorks Harcourt, Brace, & Co., 1933* 16. Santayana, George, Reason in Art. New York: Charles Scribner's Sons, 192*+. 17. Santayana, George, The Sense of Beauty. New Yorks Charles Scribner's Sons, 1896.

B. ANTHROPOLOGY 1. Bourguignon, Erika E., "Class Structure and Acculturation in Haiti," The Ohio Journal of Science. November, 19521 2. Goode, William J., Rel&gion Among the Primitives. Glencoe, 111.: Free Press, 1951• 3. Hobhouse, L. T., Morals in Evolution, A Study in Comparative Ethics. New Yorks Henry Holt & Co., 1923. *+. Honigmann, John J., Culture and Personality. New Yorks Harper & Bros.,-195k-. 5. Labarre, Weston, The Human Animal. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 195^. 6. Linton, Ralph, The Tree of Culture. New Yorks Alfred A. Knopf, 1955. 7. Malinowski, Bronislaw, Magic. Science and Religion. Bostons The Beacon Press, 19*+8. 8. Mead, Margaret, Cooperation and Conflict Among Primitive Peoples. New York: McGraw-Hill, 1937* 9. Murdock, George P., Our Primitive Contemporaries. New Yorks The Macmillan Co., 193^. 169 C. EDUCATION 1. Barken, Manuel, A Foundation for Art Education. New York: The Ronald Press Co.,1955• 2. Blanehard. Brand, ed. Philosophy in American Education. its Tastb and Opportunities. New York: Harper & Bros., 19*+5« 3. Charter, W. W., Teaching the Common Branches. New York: Macmillan Co., 192*+. *f. Frank, Paul L., "The Contemporary Crisis in the Humanities," The South Atlantic Quarterly. 5:2, April, 19W- 5. Green, John H., "Spiritual Empiricism and the Liberal Arts." Unpublished doctoral dissertation, The Ohio State University, 1956. 6. Harvard Committee, General Education in a Free Society: A Report of the Harvard Committee. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 19^6.

7. Howeishy, M. H. K., "The Discipline of the Creative Disposition as a Means of Integration in Art Appreciation, Teaching and Living." Unpublished doctoral dissertation, The Ohio State University, 1951. 8. Kircher, Everett J., "Post-Dewey Philosophy of Education," manuscript. Columbus, Ohio: The Ohio State University Dept, of Education. 9. Kircher, Everett J., "Reflections on Whitehead’s Conception of the Role of Philosophy in Culture," manuscript. Columbus, Ohio: The Ohio State University Dept, of Education. 10. Martin, Everett Dean, The Meaning of a Liberal Education. New York: W. W. Norton, 1926. 11. Meland, Bernard Eugene, Higher Education and the Human Spirit. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1953. 1 7 0 12. Mooney, Ross L., “The Artist and Our Human Need," The Journal of Human Relations. Summer Issue, Wilberforce, Ohio: Central State College, 1955. 13. Mooney, Ross L., "Problems in the Development of Research Men," The Educational Research Bulletin. 30:6, September 12, 1951. 1^. Mooney, Ross L., "The Researcher Himself," manuscript. Columbus, Ohio: The Ohio State University, Bureau of Educational Research. 15* Orr, Jeanne E., "The Arts as an Integral Part of the Value-Centered Curriculum." Unpublished doctoral dissertation, the Ohio State University, 1953* ' 16. White, Lynn, Educating Our Daughters. A Challenge to the Colleges. New~York: Harper & Bros., 195©. 17. Whitehead, Alfred North, The Aims of Education. New York: The New American Library of World Literature, Inc., (Mentor Book) 19^9.

D. ETHICS 1. Albert, Ethel M., Theodore C. Denise, and Sheldon P. Peterfreund, Great Traditions in Ethics. New York: American Book Co., 19!?3« 2. Bergson, Henri, The Two Sources of Morality and Religion. New York: Doubleday & Co., Inc., 195*+« 3. Buber, Martin, Between Man and Man. Boston: The Beacon Press, 19^7* 1+. Buber, Martin, I and Thou. Edinburgh: T. & T. Clark, 1952. 5. Freud, Sigmund, The Basic Writings of Sigmund Freud. trans. and ed. Dr. A. A. Brill. New York: The Modern Library, 1938. 6. Freud, Sigmund, New Introductory Lectures on Psychoanalysts. trans W. J. H. Sprott. New York: W. W. Norton & Co., Inc., 1933. 171 7. Hegel, George Wilhelm Friedrich, The Philosophy of Right. London: George Bell & Sons, 189b. 8. Lippman, Walter, A Preface to Morals. New York: Macmillan co., 193^. 9. Melden, A. I., Ethical Theories. New York: Prentice Hall, Inc., 1950. 10. Moore, George E., Princinia Ethica. Cambridge: The Syndics of the Cambridge University Press, 195*+• 11., Otto, Max, Science and the Moral Life. New York: The New American Library, 19!?£. 12. Prior, Arthur N., Logic and the Basis of Ethics. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 19^9*

E. LANGUAGE 1. Cassirer, Ernst, Language and Myth. New York: Dover Publications, Inc., 19^-6. 2. Fries, Charles C., American English Grammar. New York: Appleton-Century-Crofts., Inc., 19*f0. 3. Grattan, J. H. G. and P. Gurrey, Our Living Language: A New Guide to English Grammar. London: Thomas Nelson and Sons, 1925. 1+. Jesperson, Otto, A Modern English Grammar on Historical Principles. Heidelberg: C. Winter, 1909. Webster's New World Dictionary of the American Language. College Edition. New York: The World Publishing Co., 195^. 172 F. RELIGION AND MYTH 1. Ballou, Robert 0., The Viking Portable World Bible. New Yorks Viking Press, 1950. 2. Barnes, Hazel E., "Myth and, Human Experience,” The Classical Journal. 51*3, December, 1955* 3. Bulfinch, Thomas, The Age of Fable, ed. W. H. Klapp. New York* The Heritage Press, 19^2. *+. Bynner, Witter, The Way of Life According to LaotzuT An American Version. New Yorks John Day Co., 19^. 5. Confucius, The Four Books (in Chinese), English trans. and notes James Legge. Shanghais The Chinese Book Company, (no date given). 6. Frazer, James George. The Golden Bough. A Study in Magic and Religion. New York* The Macmillan Co., 19^8. 7. Gayley, Charles Mills, The Classic Mvths in English Literature and in Art. New York* Ginn & Co., 1939. 8. Gibran, Kahlil, The Prophet. New York: Alfred A. Knopf, Inc., 1923* 9. Holy Bible (The). New Yorks Thomas Nelson and Sons, 1898. 10. Lin, Yutang, The Wisdom of Confucius. New York* Random House, 1938. 11. Longfellow, Henry Wadsworth, The Complete Poetical Works of Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. London* George Routledge & Sons, 1871. 12. Page, Curtis Hidden and Seth Thompson, ed. British Poets of the Ninteenth Century. New Yorks B. H. Sanborn & Co., 1929* 13. Radhakrishman, Sarvepalli, The Hindu View of Life. New Yorks The Macmillan Co., 1927. l^. Robbins, Florence Greenhoe, Bout With Cancer. Boston* The Christopher Publishing House, 19^5* 15. Rolleston, T. W., Myths and Legends. The Celtic Race. New Yorks T. Y. Crowell Co., 1911.

PHILOSOPHY 1. Aristotle, On Man in the Universe, ed. Louise R. Loomis. New Yorks D. Van Nostrand, inc., 19^3• 2. Bergson, Henri, An Introduction to Metaphysics. New Yorks The Liberal Arts Press, 1950. 3. Bergson, Henri, Laughter. An Essay on the Meaning of the Comic. New Yorks The Macmillan Co., 19H* *+. Bergson, Henri, L 1Evolution Creatrice. 26 ed. Pariss F. Alcan, 1923.

5. Black, Max, Critical Thinkings an Introduction to Logic and Scientific Method. 2 ed. New Yorks Prentice-Hall, 19!?2. 6. Cassirer, Ernst, An Essay on Man. New Yorks Doubleday & Co., Inc., 1953. 7. Cohen, Morris and Ernest Nagel, An Introduction to Logic and Scientific Method. New Yorks Harcourt, Brace & Co., 193^.

8. Copi, Irving M., Introduction to Logic. New Yorks Macmillan Co., 195*3. 9. Dewey, John, Reconstruction in Philosophy. New Yorks The New American Library of World Literature, Inc., 1950. 10. Durant, Will, The Story of Philosophy. New Yorks Simon & Schuster, 1926V 11. Ewing, A. C., Kant's Critique of Pure Reason, A Short Commentary. Londons Methuen & Co.. Ltd., 1936. 12. Hartman, Robert S., "Levels of Value Language," manuscript. Bostons Massachusetts Institute of Technology. 17^ 13. Krutch, Joseph Wood, The Modern Temper. New Yorks Harcourt Brace & Co., 1929. l^-. Hoople, Boss E., Raymond F. Piper, and William P. Tolley, Preface to Philosophy: Book of Readings. New Yorks Macmillan Co., 19*+6. 15. Kant, Immanuel, Critique of Judgment, trans. J. H. Bernard. New Yorks Hafner Publishing Co., 1951. 16. Kant, Immanuel. Critique of Practical Reason and Other Writings in Moral Philosophy, trans. and ed. L. W. Beck. Chicagos The tJniversity of Chicago Press, 1950.

17. Kant, Immanuel, Critique of Practical Reason and Other Works on the Theory of Ethics. 3 ed., trans. Thomas Kingsmill Abbott. Londons Longman's Green & Co., 1883. 18. Kant, Immanuel, Foundations of the Metaphysics of Morals, trans. and ed. L. B. Beck. Chicagos University of Chicago Press, 1950. 19. Kant, Immanuel, The Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals, trans. J. W. Semple. 3 ed. Edinburgh5 T. & T. Clark, 1071. 20. Kant, Immanuel, Kant's Introduction to Logic and His Essay on the Mistaken Subtilty of the Fonr Figures, trans. T. K. Abbott. Londons Longman' s, Gr een & Co., 1885. 21. Kant, Immanuel, Prolegomenon Any Future Metaphysics. New Yorks The Liberal Arts Press, 1950. 22. Kierkegaard, Soren, Concluding Unscientific Postscijbj>£,trans. David F. Swenson, ed. Walter Lowrie. Princetons Princeton University Press, 19^. 23. Langer, Suzanne, Philosophy in a New Keys A Study in the Symbolism of Reason, Rite, and Art. New Yorks Penquln Books, Inc., 19^+S.

2 k . Langer, Suzanne, The Practice of Philosophy. New York; H. Holt & Co., 1930. 175

25. Ludovici, A. M. , and 0. Levy, Complete Works of Nietzsche. Edinburgh: Foulis, 1923.

26. Mayer, Frederick, History of Ancient and Medieval Philosophy. New York: American Book Co., 1950.

27. Mill, John Stuart, Utilitarianism. Liberty, and Representative Government. New York: E. P. Dutton Co., 1951.

28. Nicholson, J. A., An Introductory Course in Philosophy. New York: Macmillan Co., 1939.

29. Nietzsche, Friedrich, Birth of Tragedy. London: T. &. N. Foulis, 1909.

30. Nietzsche, Friedrich, Thus Spake Zarathustra. New York: Random House (no date given).

31. Plato, Five Great Dialogues, trans. B. Jowett, ed. L. R. Loomis. New York: D. Van Nostrand Co. , Inc . , 19*+2.

32. Royce, Josiah, The World and the Individual: Gifford Lectures. First Series: The Four Historical Conceptions of Being. New York: The Macmillan Co., 1920.

33. Ruby, Lionel, Logic: An Introduction. Chicago: Lippincott Co., 1950.

3k. Santayana, George, Reason in Religion. New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1921.

35. Sartre, Jean-Paul, Existential Psychoanalyses. trans. Hazel E. Barnes. New York: Philosophical Library, Inc., 1953.

36. Sartre, Jean-Paul, Existentialism, trans. Bernard Frechtmar. New York: Philosophical Library, 19k7.

37. Schopenhauer, Arthur, The World as Will and Idea. trans. R. B. Haldane and J. Kemp. London: Triibner & Co., 1883-86.

38. Shahan, Ewing P., Whitehead's Theory of Experience. New York: Columbia University, King’s Crown Press, 1950. 176 39- Spinoza, Baruch, Ethics. New York* E. P. Dutton & Co., Inc,, 19^8. M-0. Thomte, Reider, Kierkegaard's Philosophy of Religion. Princeton* Pri nceton University Press, 19*+8. *+1. Ulich, Robert, The Human Car&- err A Philosophy of Self-Transendence. Ner-w York* Harpers Bros., 195% k-2. Whitehead, Alfred North, Adverntures of Ideas. New York* American LibraiT of World Literature, Inc., 1955. AUTOBIOGRAPHY

I, Lucile Wolfe Green, was born in Fenchow, Shansi, China, where my father wa_ architect for the American Board Mission. The first eighteen years of my life were spent in China, with brief visits to the United States on furlough. I attended Worth China American School, a missionary board­ ing school, from 1929 to 1933. After this I attended Yenching, a Chinese university, for two years, making the most of the opportunity to study Chinese philosophy and to mix with Chinese students in dormitory life and extra-curricular activities. At the same time my course of studies fulfilled the standard requirement of American colleges, and I was able to transfer directly to Pomona College for my junior and senior years. There I majored in art, graduating with "High Honors" and Phi Beta Kappa. In 1939 I completed a Master's Degree in philosophy, writing a thesis on the aesthetic philosophy of Benedetto Croce. The same year I was married to John H. Green. We both taught in the public schools of California until he was called to Lincoln College, Illinois. There we spent from 19^5 to 1950, teaching in the Basic Course. Meanwhile our two sons, born in 19*+2 and 19*+*+, were growing up. When they entered school, I took on additional duties teaching art and philosophy.

177 From 1951 to 1956 we spent at Columbus, Ohio study­ ing for our doctor's degrees and teaching at the Ohio State University and at Otterbein College. On completing his degree, my husband accepted a lectureship at the University of California, and, after a year of getting settled and writing my dissertation, I am now teaching at Oakland Junior College.