Social Differentiation and Class Structure: Some Implications of Whitehead’s Metaphysics

I. Whitehead’s Theory of Social Differentiation

In AI 58-60 Whitehead distinguishes between Instinct, Intellect, and Wisdom. Instinct is "the mode of experience directly arising out of the urge of inheritance . . . ." Intellect is the mode of experience arising from the entertainment of ideals. Wisdom "determines the mode of coalescence of instinct with intelligence"; it is "a modifying agency on the intellectual ferment so as to produce a self-determined issue from the given conditions." Whitehead concludes that "for the purpose of understanding social institutions, this crude threefold division of human nature is required: Instinct, Intelligence, Wisdom" (AI 59). I suggest Whitehead is drawing an analogy from the microscopic level to explain social institutions on the macroscopic level. Such institutions are the product of three forces: a physical force, a mental force, and a regulative force which produces a "self-determined issue" from the previous two forces. These forces seem to correspond to the physical pole, the mental pole, and the subjective aim of an actual occasion.

Now AI 85 further gives the impression that at least Instinct and Intellect characterize different social classes. The "fortunate classes," which are oblivious to the basic needs of life, concentrating instead on "long-range" and "abstract" interests, are the source of society’s novel, ideal aims. They direct society and represent on the social level the mental pole of the occasion of experience. The "masses of mankind" are identified with the physical pole, and their experience is characterized as ‘Instinct.’ Whitehead concludes that "the great convulsions happen when the economic urges on the masses have dove-tailed with some simplified ideal end. Intellect and Instinct then combine and some ancient social order passes away" (AI 85). In society, Wisdom represents this dove-tailing of physical urge and ideal end. The fortunate classes provide ideals for the society that are subsequently grasped by the lower classes -- which in general are "intellectually quiescent" -- in a "simplified" form. Perhaps Whitehead is envisaging a type of ‘social proposition’ in which society’s mental pole introduces a novel idea which serves as the predicate and acts as a lure to society. The diverse feelings of society possessed by both classes (physical/economic; conceptual/ideal) are united into a determinate satisfaction, i.e., social order.

Since these passages imply an analogy between social institutions and actual occasions, it is clear that for Whitehead human societies exemplify the basic features of his metaphysics. I now want to pursue this analogy through an exegesis of Whitehead’s texts so as to uncover its implications for social structures.

II. Instinct

Instinct, we recall, is "the mode of experience directly arising out of the urge of inheritance" (AI 58). Instinctive action is thus ‘backward looking’; it arises directly out of the contribution of the past to the present. Whitehead appears to imply that instinctive action, which characterizes the masses of mankind, is the product of efficient causation. Instinctive action is ‘conformal.’ This comes out clearly in S 92:

Pure instinctive action is that functioning of an organism which is wholly analyzable in terms of those conditions laid upon its development by the settled facts of its external environment. . . . This pure instinct is the response of an organism to pure causal efficacy.

Instinct, which corresponds to the physical pole of an actual occasion, is the experience of efficient causation. Moreover, efficient causation is the means by which order is maintained. Consequently one would expect that a society in which Instinct was dominant would be a society where order prevailed over novelty. In fact, the most successful examples of community life are found in the inorganic world where "pure instinct reigns supreme" (S 97).

Human societies1 also can be dominated by Instinct. In AI 61 Whitehead describes the role of instinct in earlier societies:

We now discern a certain simple-mindedness in the way our predecessors adjusted themselves to inherited institutions. To a far greater extent the adjustment was a matter of course, in short, it was instinctive . . . . Instinctive adaptation was so pervasive that it was unnoticed. Probably the Egyptians did not know that they were governed despotically, or that the priest limited the royal power, because they had no alternative as a contrast either in fact or in imagination. They were nearer in their thoughts to the political philosophy prevalent in an anthill.

Whitehead refers to "instinctive" adjustment within such a human society: Instinct (efficient causation), as opposed to Intellect (final causation) predominates almost exclusively. There is little conception of autonomous freedom. Individual Relativity rather than Individual Absoluteness (AI 54) is stressed; social functions are given to the members by their environment. "Action and mood," he argues, "both spring from an instinct based upon ancestral co-ordination. In such societies, whatever is not the outcome of inherited relativity, imposing co-ordination of action, is sheer destructive chaos" (AI 61). On the microscopic level, when the novelty originating in the mental pole of an actual occasion is largely absent, the power of efficient causation escapes modification by conceptual ideals. The same principle is operative in human societies in which Instinct is dominant. The ancestral social coordination imposes itself upon the present members of society. Instinct is thus the basis of order in society.

This conclusion is supported by Whitehead’s admission that his main thesis is that "a social system is kept together by the blind force of instinctive actions, and of instinctive emotions clustered around habits and prejudices" (S 81). He agrees with Burke’s premise that ‘prejudice’ is important as a binding social force (S 84).2 It is prejudice that transforms a mere group or crowd into an organized community. There is an echo of Whitehead’s metaphysics here. A society of occasions is not constituted by the mere fact that a number of occasions display the same feature (PR 89/ 137). There must be a genetic relationship between the occasions so that they impose on one another that defining characteristic. Thus, whereas for Burke a crowd becomes a society because of shared prejudice, so for Whitehead a group becomes a society through an inherited social order. This is ‘custom’ or ‘tradition’ by which an occasion is ‘bound’ to a line of ancestry.

Whitehead’s emphasis on custom also resembles Hegel’s connection between the form of a state and its customs (Sitten) and ethical life (Sittlichkeit). A people form a genuine community only when their interrelations are suffused by Sittlichkeit. Although Hegel incorporated individuality as a moment in the modern state, he opposed the atomistic, general will theory of the state as a contract built upon an a priori foundation. Hegel constructed an organic conception of the state. The abstract individualism of Enlightenment political philosophy, in Hegel’s opinion, merely leaves one with an ‘aggregate’ or ‘heap’ and not a state.

Whitehead, too, adopted an organic conception of the state. What Sittlichkeit in many ways was to Hegel, ‘Instinct’ is to Whitehead. It is the customary; traditional inheritance which is at the base of society. In Adventures of Ideas Whitehead again refers to social custom and social contract:

The environment which the occasion inherits is immanent in it; and conversely it is immanent in the environment which it helps to transmit. The favorite doctrine of the shift from a customary basis for society to a contractual basis, is founded on shallow sociology. There is no escape from customary status. This status is mere1y another name for the inheritance in each occasion. Inevitably customary status is there, an inescapable condition. (AI 80f.)

This recalls the central features of Whitehead’s doctrine of causation and freedom, now applied within the context of sociology. The basis of human society is customary; social life is founded on routine. This is so regardless of whether, like the ancient Egyptian society, there is almost no contractual qualification of society, or, like modern societies, institutions arise through the entertainment of some idea. By custom, or routine, Whitehead means the inheritance immanent in the occasions constituting that society. This is the mode of efficient causation, i.e., social immanence. Custom is the obligation which society lays upon its members. In practice, custom is transferred unconsciously; hence Whitehead appropriately speaks of "the blind force of instinctive actions" (S 81; emphasis added). Custom is inescapable; and where novelty is sparse, as Whitehead believes it is among the masses who are too busy procuring the necessities of life to be intellectually active, custom tends to perpetuate itself. Hence for Whitehead the masses are predominantly the bearers of custom. But custom limits contract; the past limits the freedom of the present; the masses limit the ideals of the minority.

III. Intellect

The second factor involved in the constitution of society is Intellect, which corresponds to the mental pole and represents the force of originative novelty in society. To appreciate the sociopolitical function of Intellect one should note the similarities between the laws governing social interaction among humans and the laws of nature. Whitehead’s doctrine of law as immanent assumes neither the inviolable nature of natural laws nor their permanence. Natural laws are statistical regularities and they evolve by the transformation of the entities whose interrelation they express. There is an obvious similarly between this account of the laws of nature and Whitehead’s assertion that "the ideals cherished in the souls of men enter into the character of their actions. These inter-actions within society modify the social laws by modifying the occasions to which those laws apply" (AI 52; my emphasis). As with natural laws, social laws are immanent rather than imposed; they are the product of those members constituting that society and are perpetuated by ‘tradition.’ Social laws are "communal custom" (AI 22) and are inherited by the individual from society. Inasmuch as inheritance involves efficient causation there is an element of imposition. But we now see that this imposition is not simply the restrictions which the natural environment places upon society, but there is also the inheritance of social custom. Social laws are at once expressive of the members’ interrelation and are imposed upon the members, thereby promoting that particular order. Social laws, however, evolve and ideals function as a standing criticism of existing laws: "The ideal in the background is promoting the gradual growth of the requisite communal customs, adequate to sustain the load of its exemplification" (AI 26).

This brings us back to AI 85. The lower class functions on the macroscopic level in a way analogous to the physical pole of an actual occasion. What we are being provided with is a general caricature of this social class which is a statistical fact rather than an inviolable law On the whole the actions of this class exemplify modes of behavior determined by their social environment. In older societies this mode of response characterized almost the entire community; therefore, such communities were relatively stable. In modern societies Instinct has given way somewhat to Intellect, which is represented by the middle class, and novelty is no longer viewed as sheer destructive chaos, but as the basis for possible contractual modifications of communal custom. The minority who constitute the middle class, whose minds are set free from immediate physical concerns, are presented as the fountainhead for most of society’s novel ideals, which serve as a lure for social reform.

The origination of conceptual novelty is what Whitehead has in mind when he speaks of ‘life.’3 This suggests that he saw the middle class as the source of life in a society, apart from which society would be ‘bound’ to its traditions. The consequence of an actual occasion’s failure to introduce novelty is that when the conceptual feelings are reintegrated with the physical feelings from which they were derived there is the preservation of the dominant types of inherited order. This is true analogously of a society in which Intellect is feeble. Where there is minimal creative novelty owing to an absence of mental activity, order is preserved and progress is impeded.

For society to advance it must be structured so as to provide a suitable environment for the emergence of novelty which must then be coordinated with the background that gave rise to it. Whitehead maintains that a modern response to that need involves the differentiation of society so that it includes the maintenance of a "wide distribution" of professional institutions, or ‘guilds’ (AI 72). The metaphysical justification of such an articulated society is clear. God’s aim at maximum depth of intensity of feeling necessitates the emergence of highly complex structured societies. Such a society is "favorable to intensity of satisfaction for certain sets of its component members. This intensity arises by reason of the ordered complexity of the contrast which the society stages for these components" (PR 100/ 153). Inordinate identification, or homogenization, results in ‘vagueness’ and a consequently feeble satisfaction. Too much order compels "uncreative reiteration of the overdominant pattern, thus robbing the perspective of its originality."4

We have seen that the persistence of social institutions through time is due in part to a lack of conceptual novelty which through reintegration (coordination) with its environment thereby modifies the structured society. Instinct must be modified by Intellect. To encourage the production of novelty Whitehead advocates an articulated society in which the subsocieties possess a degree of autonomy from the state. Tolerance is shown in order to encourage discord within limits, which is productive of adventure. Thus a complex structured society provides the requisite environment for heightened satisfaction by some members of the society; and in turn the emergence of novelty enables that society to make thoughtful adjustments of its social structure to meet novel situations. Life emerges from society and "turns back into society" (PR 107/ 163).

IV. Wisdom

A society requires the coordination of its parts. We have seen that ancient societies realized an instinctive coordination. A unity exists between the individual and society; consequently’ the society is dominated by an urge toward some general end shared by all its members. The liberal sociopolitical theory of the Enlightenment, on the contrary, was "utilitarian in its ethical outlook, and atomistic in its social philosophy."5 The idea that society was founded on custom gave way to the social contract theory according to which absolute individuals enter into a prudential agreement with other individuals in order to maximize their own welfare.

Whitehead repudiates the laissez-faire individualism of the Enlightenment.6 Whereas ancient societies failed to perceive man as an individual, social contract theory neglects man s essential sociality, which is more primal than his individuality: contract presupposes custom. Whitehead’s social theory supercedes without destroying both types of social coordination. These previous types are ‘moments’ which are in Hegel’s terminology aufgehoben (sublated) in the third inclusive mode. Instinct and Intellect are moments which achieve a synthesis in Wisdom.

Life is the origination of conceptual novelty, and the broadest definition of a living society is one which includes living occasions. In a society dominated by Instinct social order predominates at the expense of novelty and life. There may be flashes of free thought, but more often than not the novelty derived thereby is not coordinated with the background order. The result of such a social arrangement is a diminished level of satisfaction experienced by its members.7 Conversely, a society dominated by Intellect has novelty, and is therefore living, but lacks order and stability. In such an environment spontaneity tends to be mutually inhibiting. Consequently there is triviality because of the lack of coordination.8 Both extremes must be avoided if nature is to achieve intense satisfactions. "We require," writes Whitehead, "both the advantages of social preservation, and the contrary stimulus of the heterogeneity derived from freedom" (S 17). The coordination of order and novelty is what Whitehead means by Wisdom. Wisdom’s function is "to act on the intellectual ferment so as to produce a self-determined issue from the given conditions" (AI 59). Wisdom is the ‘subjective aim’ of society in which order and novelty are united; it expresses society’s ideal of itself. Wisdom is the attainment of a harmony through the effective coordination of the two principles inherent in society: the spirit of conservatism (Instinct) and the spirit of change (Intellect). "It is the case of the whole emerging from its parts, and the parts emerging within the whole" (AI 60).

Did Whitehead envisage a particular social group as being characterized by Wisdom? There are no explicit statements to this effect, yet I believe that such an identification would remain consistent with his approach to social structures outlined thus far. The coordination of society should be entrusted to those who have an appreciation of the variety of values. Education should aim at an improvement of our "directive wisdom" (SMW 246). While Whitehead’s comments on education in SMW have applicability to professional people generally, I suggest they also have derivative, but perhaps more significant application to statesmen. Although professional people have a vision of the general ideal, their primary concern is with their particular profession or business to which the general ideal is applied. But such people can only give "limited application" to the general ideal, and in its particularization the ideal is distorted.9 The statesmen, however, have as their aim the whole of society. Therefore they continually remind the middle class of their omission (AI 60) and regulate the implementation of the ideal in this ‘universal’ context. With the professions the general gets lost in the particular; but the statesmen work to recover the general ideal for its application to the whole.10

Statesmen are required by Whitehead for the coordination of society. While the state must not presume to trespass in the sciences or professions, some passages suggest that the state was still regarded as the ultimate regulative power. For example, Whitehead implicitly repudiates the "hidden hand" of which Adam Smith speaks when he claims that "no one now holds that, apart from some further directive agency, mere individualistic competition, of itself and by its own self-righting character, will produce a satisfactory society" (Al 44). Whitehead realized that political philosophy could not escape an element of compulsory coordination. Some compulsion may be supplied by the professions; they can restrict the freedom of the members of their own profession. But it is doubtful whether Whitehead saw the various professions as succeeding where individuals failed and thus happily cooperating apart from any transcendent compulsory coordination. It is in the nature of things that ideals are not all compatible. Therefore inasmuch as each profession is a source of novelty, a regulatory agency is required to ensure some coordination among them.

Even as Instinct and Intellect are characterized by the masses and the fortunate classes, so Wisdom finds expression with the statesmen, which we might term the ‘universal’ class. Each of these classes reflects a particular mode of consciousness: conservatism, individualism, and universality11 The masses display an unreflective adherence to the nation’s Sittlichkeit. These shared values and customs are an integrative force in society. While the cohesive power of a shared culture dominated earlier societies, a predominant feature of the modern state is the tendency towards individualism. This mode of consciousness, according to Whitehead, is displayed primarily by the fortunate classes, whose economic position allows them the freedom to reflect upon the inherited values, laws, and customs. Unchecked, this tendency is towards the disintegration of society. For society to both survive and advance it is necessary that these dialectical forces of integration and disintegration be synthesized in the state. This is accomplished by the statesmen, whose mode of consciousness is properly that of ‘universality.’

Within living structured societies one finds three ‘levels’ of occasions. First, there is the "inorganic apparatus" which is a complex system of interaction conducive to the emergence of novelty (PR 103/ 157f.). Secondly, "certain sets" of a society’s members experience intense satisfactions because of the "subservient" nexus. These occasions are the source of life in a society. Thirdly, there is the "living person," which combines "individual originality with the safety of the material organism on which it depends" (PR 107/ 163). This third ‘level’ canalizes the originality produced by the living occasions so that it is not destructive of the society as a whole. This level ensures that "life turns back into society: it binds originality within bounds, and gains the massiveness due to reiterated character" (ibid.).

I suggest that Whitehead saw human societies as displaying a similar articulated structure. First, there is the social order which is inherited from the past. This order is rooted in the customs, culture, laws, and institutions of the nation. It is the product of efficient causation and is what binds society together. This level of society is that which characterizes the lower class, the masses who are ‘bound’ by custom. ‘Certain sets’ of human society, i.e., the minority who constitute the fortunate classes, are the locus of the novelty, or life, of the community. Finally, the statesmen are responsible for combining the originality produced by the ‘living’ members of society with the social order transmitted unreflectingly by the ‘inorganic’ members. Originality thereby gains the massiveness due to reiterated character. Thus the three moments, or forces, constitutive of a living human society both parallel the ‘levels’ found in a living structured society and find expression in an articulated community. Moreover, the historical life of a society is found in the dialectical movement in which the nation’s order, or in Hegelian terms its Sittlichkeit, undergoes a separation and a return. Order becomes alienated in its generation of novelty, but returns to itself via coordination. Or perhaps we would say that the life of a nation in its history experiences self-alienation and reconciliation. But in the recovery of order, in the return or reconciliation, the nation has progressed to a new ideal.

V. Conclusion

The aim of this paper has been to reconstruct Whitehead’s general attitude towards social differentiation and class structure. Owing to the absence of extended comment on this topic by Whitehead, we have had to rely on our general knowledge of his philosophy in order both to exegete and build upon those occasional suggestive comments and allusions scattered throughout his writings. The success of this project will be judged in part by whether or not the final product is in agreement with his metaphysical system. It is important to add that I have not tried to defend Whitehead’s position, nor to suggest that this is the only stance possible for a process theologian to take on this issue; I have only sought to establish that Whitehead did possess a discernable theory of social differentiation. Perhaps we could consider this an exercise in uncovering the ideological roots of Whitehead’s philosophy -- a task too long overlooked by process theologians concerned with political theology.

 

Notes

1Instinct is also a feature of insect communities. In Symbolism Whitehead says, "the important binding factor in a community of insects probably falls under the notion of pure instinct, as here defined. For each individual insect is probably such an organism that the causal conditions which it inherits from the immediate past are adequate to determine its social actions" (S 96). Whitehead was a bit careless in saying that ‘pure’ instinct is the binding factor in an insect community, for in S 97 he says that the only examples of pure instinct are inorganic societies. Cf. AI 62.

2 Burke, in advocating prejudice as the basis of social order, departs from the theory of the original contract. That Whitehead sympathizes with Burke is evident from his judgment on Locke and the advocates of a contractual basis for society: "Such a doctrine seeks the origin of the state in a baseless historical fiction. Burke was well ahead of his time in drawing attention to the importance of precedence as a political force" (S 85f.).

3 See PR 102/ 156: "In accordance with this doctrine of ‘life,’ the primary meaning of ‘life’ is the origination of conceptual novelty -- novelty of appetition."

4 Elizabeth Kraus, The Metaphysics of Experience (New York: Fordham University Press, 1979), p. 62.

5 Charles Taylor, Hegel and Modern Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), p. 69.

6 See AI 80: "The whole concept of absolute individuals with absolute rights, and with a contractual power of forming fully defined external relations, has broken down."

7 This massiveness of order without the influx of novelty is what Whitehead terms "The Gospel of Uniformity" in SMW 258f.

8 This situation of novelty without the requisite background of order to preserve it is what Whitehead terms "The Gospel of Force" in SMW 256-58. He specifically points out its relevance to human society when he refers to the "watchwords of the nineteenth century," viz., "struggle for existence, competition, class warfare, commercial antagonisms between nations, military warfare" (SMW 256). Individual Absolutism reigns supreme with the result that the weak are eliminated.

9 See AI 17.

10 It appears that there is a two-fold disintegration in the middle class: (1) custom disintegrates in the pursuit of individual ends, and (2) the general ideal disintegrates in its particularization, again by its application of a ‘finite’ section of the community.

11 Whitehead appears to base his differentiation of social classes primarily on the different modes of consciousness they represent and not on economic considerations such as forms of labor (Hegel). Thus while Whitehead believes it to be generally true that the masses are, as he puts it. "intellectually quiescent" and by implication conservatively minded owing to their impoverished economic position. this is not necessarily the case. Nor is it necessarily the case that the middle classes are actively seeking reforms (SMW 259). But Whitehead does maintain a general correlation between one’s economic condition and one’s mode of consciousness. Furthermore it might he argued that Whitehead would find all three modes of consciousness necessary for a healthy, adventurous society, and this might have implications for the vision of a ‘classless’ society.

The Axiomatic Matrix of Whitehead’s Process and Reality

I

Commentators on Whitehead’s philosophy often mention his mathematical background as a foundation for his metaphysics. Rarely, however, do they explain just how the rigorous and technical expertise of his early work finds its relevant applications in his later cosmological framework. Nor do they explain his strenuous objections to philosophers following the pattern of mathematical method if indeed he did so himself.

Though the particular structure and procedure of Process and Reality appear to be quite a divergence from most philosophic exposition, Whitehead here achieves a system which requires at least a moderate understanding of the mathematician’s construction. It is just this structural similarity between Whitehead’s celebrated work with Bertrand Russell, Principia Mathematica, and his mature metaphysics developed in Process and Reality that I wish to investigate in this paper.

A cursory glance at Principia Mathematica will often lead to indigestion and perhaps discourage further interest. Indeed, the massive amalgam of symbolic logic is closer to electronic circuits of a computer than the prose of general philosophical problems. However, what is essential and more influential than the thesis itself is the method in which the authors went about their conviction. The idea that mathematics is entirely an extension of formal logic is due to Russell’s earlier work The Principles of Mathematics. This Whitehead clearly acknowledges. But the fact that both Whitehead and Russell coalesced to produce a collaborated three-volume work extending over ten years does give some indication of the importance of the problem in Whitehead’s own thought. From his earlier work Universal Algebra throughout the Principia collaboration we find that Whitehead’s dominant interest was the very broad sense of mathematics as the study of pattern or relations in general; a definition easily applied to his metaphysical speculations where the patterns of relatedness express the character of anything and everything real.

The impact of Principia Mathematica on Whitehead’s later thought centers on the issue that its method applied to a very general problem of deducing the whole of mathematics from a handful of elementary formal notions and axioms. The procedure of working from such a matrix of primitive ideas and primitive propositions proved fundamental for a metaphysician desiring a broad basis for understanding the universe. In this regard, we may observe that the Categoral Scheme of Process and Reality is an axiomatic matrix of tentative generalization derived from our experience. That is, Whitehead modeled his metaphysical system on the axiomatic treatment of logical systems.

Some difficulty here arises as regards the manner in which Whitehead’s system may be described as ‘axiomatic’. Principia, like Euclid’s Elements, develops from axioms as self-evident starting points. But clearly Whitehead does not take his metaphysical first principles as self-evident axioms from which we deduce experience. This would be a fatal error for the metaphysician. The sense in which he recognizes the first principles as tentative is that the perfection of them was the goal and not the origin of his metaphysics. This is the key to understanding Whitehead’s criticism of philosophy as misled by the example of mathematics. Philosophy, in the Cartesian sense, which began with what was considered clear and indubitable premises to arrive at certainty is what Whitehead calls the "false estimate of logical procedure" (PR 8/11). Philosophy is not deduction from absolutely certain premises; it is rather the search for the premises.1

The main point for Whitehead then concerns the alleged self-evidence of the axioms. How do we construe the status of the axioms? Are they absolutely certain, or are they subject to revision? How does experience play into the final outcome?

A metaphysics, Whitehead wrote in Religion in the Making, is a description: the metaphysician discerns in some special field of interest what he suspects to be the general character of reality; he then sets up categories from this investigation and seeks to discover whether they are exemplified in other areas of human interest (RM 76). We arrive at the categories through the primary stages of ‘assemblage’ which attempt to cover the infinitude of the universe by metaphysical notions of the widest extension. This provides the matrix, as a body of first principles, judged as coherent and logical depending on the manner in which each proposition requires the others in systematic interconnection.2 However, as a whole, the theses of the system must be confronted with the facts of experience. The final evaluation is a rational interpretation of the metaphysics as applicable and adequate depending on its comprehensive capacity in elucidating experience -- an approximation, no doubt, to the hypothetico-deductive method of scientific enquiry. What is quite clear to Whitehead is that "philosophers can never hope finally to formulate the metaphysical first principles" (PR 4/ 6) as the whole of experience forever eludes the grasp of finite judgment. However, the categoreal scheme must be sought regardless of the emphasis placed on its hypothetical character. The metaphysician must progressively modify the working in his approximation to the ideal scheme.

Process and Reality and Principia Mathematica are both constructive schemes which develop from a matrix of undefined primitive notions. The goal of Process and Reality is to provide metaphysical generalizations by which we can interpret the whole of experience. The goal of Principia Mathematica is to provide a formal system which attempts to encapsulate the whole of pure mathematics in a complete axiomatic system -- an enterprise which, according to the theory of Gödel, was doomed to failure. Gödel’s incompleteness theorem of 1931 succeeded in proving that it is impossible, in principle, to set up a system of mathematics by logical propositions which does not imply some propositions which the system is unable either to prove or disprove. The result had quite an impact on what was thought to be the last frontier in certainty -- mathematical logic. Though Process and Reality was written three years before Gödel’s published results, the general tone of Whitehead’s remarks regarding the thesis of Principia seems to anticipate trouble. He writes: . . . even in mathematics the statement of the ultimate logical principles is beset with difficulties, as yet insuperable" (PR 8/12). The point of comparison in his footnote is the second edition of Principia Mathematica where Russell considers suggested improvements to the system. Here Whitehead implies that Principia has committed the same fallacy of overestimating the potential of logic and mathematics in the Cartesian sense of certainty. And later in Modes of Thought he acknowledges the incompleteness of logical systems by saying: "even Logic itself is struggling with the discovery embodied in a formal proof, that every finite set of premises must indicate notions which are excluded from its direct purview" (MT 26). But what he never doubted was the axiomatic method as a procedure for constructing systems, provided that we realize that their premises are always incomplete and subject to overthrow with the decline of the epoch in question. For this reason Whitehead insists that we keep our systems open with due attention to their limitations.

Whitehead himself, in a memoir published in Mind, "Indication, Classes, Number, Validation," criticizes various technical details of Principia Mathematica, especially the definition of number contained therein. The attempt in Principia to exhibit mathematical truths as logical truths fails because it requires an essential reference to the metaphysical notion of types which is founded on a level of individuals derived from the physical world. A cardinal number is defined ill Principia as a complete class of equi-numerous classes (of objects); thus every change in the number of physical objects will alter the meaning of each number. Mathematics, by this definition, is bound up with intention and history whereby ". . . a new litter of pigs alters the meaning of every number, and of every extension of number, employed in mathematics" (ESP 232). Whitehead’s modification in the memoir is to redefine number solely in terms of extension by purely logical terms.

From the ten year course in which Principia was produced, Whitehead retained not only the emphasis on its procedure but also its general aim of producing a universal system of thought. This is admirably disclosed in a paper by David Harrah who investigates the logical and mathematical analogues in Whitehead’s metaphysical conclusions (ILM 420). The mathematical procedure, as distinct from the content of Principia Mathematica, provides an interesting insight into the workings of Whitehead’s thought as creative synthesis. Compare, for example, the procedure in the formal system of building premises into conclusions which again become premises as forms of implication used in the developing theme of Principia. Such a method can easily be seen in the metaphysical notion of prehension in which occasions of experience become by inheriting the forms of antecedent occasions, which in turn become the forms or data for future prehensions. This analogy is helpful to the extent that it articulates the general notion of passage from many data to a novel one. But even here we must not push such parallels too far due to the existence of the infinite number of isometric forms generated in logic where the novelty is in some sense only apparent.

At most the metaphysics tacitly understood in Principia is that: "the universe consists of objects having various qualities and standing in various relations" (PM 43). It is not, however, committed to the actual existence of classes and relations. From this basis it is interesting to note the divergence in two radical types of pluralism developed by Whitehead and by Russell after their collaboration. One became the philosophy of organism admitting both internal and external relations as a consequence of the dominance of procedure, while the other became a logical atomism of purely external relations as a consequence of the content of Principia Mathematica (cf. ILM 420 and UW 152f.).

A further insight into the relations of Whitehead’s mathematical procedure and cosmological construction is detailed in his memoir of 1906 "On Mathematical Concepts of the Material World." In this essay, written in the middle of the Principia collaboration, Whitehead states his thesis as a "mathematical investigation of various possible ways of conceiving the nature of the material world" (MCMW 11). He considers five different concepts from the standard world view of classical physics to a view which closely resembles the cosmology put forth in Process and Reality. Each concept is considered in light of a set of definitions which apply to an ‘essential relation’ which defines the concept dealt with, and a set of primitive entities chosen for that view. The definition of material world, for instance, is "a set of relations and of entities which occur as forming the field of these relations (MCMW 13) -- a most curious definition when we consider Whitehead’s later view that the world (ourselves included) is understandable as a coherent logical system of polyadic relations of actual occasions. Whitehead then adds to each concept a set of axioms which state relationships between the ‘essential relation’ and the primitive entities from which he thereby deduces theorems. In the later cosmology, such a method is applied to experience in general where relatedness is taken as primary, and the extensive properties of nature are dependent upon the function of the universe as a creative process, albeit such a method loses it deductive character when applied to the observed connectives of experience.

II

Although Whitehead in Process and Reality develops his cosmology in quite a different language from the symbolism which unfolds from Principia Mathematica and "On Mathematical Concepts of the Material World," we can discern in the cosmology the basic logical structure of the axiomatic matrix used throughout his work. This involves: (i) a given operation or function, (ii) a set of entities, (iii) explanation of the primitive ideas, and (iv) axioms as rules governing the relations of the entities. Having set the matrix at the beginning of Process and Reality, Whitehead then attempts to elucidate the scheme by applying it to special topics in the succeeding chapters. It also becomes quite evident how the categories require one another as a coherent system. But again it must be emphasized that, in the cosmology, Whitehead is not producing theorems from the definitions and axioms in the categoreal scheme. Rather the matrix and the special topics evolve concurrently, despite the fact that the categoreal scheme gains an air of completeness by its having been placed at the beginning of the system. There is, in fact, a strong indication that the complete categoreal scheme is the last stage of Whitehead’s final product (cf. WPO 37f. and EWN 192 and ch. 9, sec. J).

The scheme is thus set out with four major categories of which three are more special of the one ultimate. For Whitehead, Creativity is the ultimate presupposition or given operation which describes the universe as a harmonizing of data into a novel unity. This is the principle of the highest generality governing the advance of everything that becomes. It is the pulse of existence which conjoins the disjunctive diversity of the antecedent world. Analogously, in Principia Mathematica, inference and substitution are the given operations used in the deduction of pure mathematics.3 Inference is the dropping of a true premise, the dissolution of an implication (PM 9). This is simply modus ponens (i.e., the first part of a theorem or axiom is dropped when we have ‘P and P Q, implying Q’). And substitution is the exchange of appropriate expressions for variables. For example, having accepted P P, Q can be substituted for P, obtaining as a theorem the formula Q Q. This is also expanded with new rules for quantification which come later in Part I of Principia. These operations are metalogical since they are understood as rules of deductive procedure which govern the valid moves in asserting propositions as resulting theorems. Just as Creativity functions to produce the novel one from the disjunctive many, inference allows the dropping of a set of premises which conjointly imply some proposition asserted as the new theorem (ILM 424).

The categories of existence in Process and Reality, eight in number, are the classifications of the primary entities which function in accordance with the category of the ultimate. From these, the actual occasions and eternal objects are singled out as the most fundamental ontological units by which the others (i.e., prehension, subjective form, etc.) have an intermediate character (PR 22/ 33). Whitehead thinks that the three most concrete elements in experience are actual entities, prehensions, and nexus. All else, in accordance with the ontological principle, are derivative abstractions. On the other hand, the theory of existence in Principia is modeled on the method of algebra. That is, the domain of individuals is left completely unspecified. However, the authors always refer, in formal statements, to one domain over which all apparent (bound) individual variables are to range. Thus ‘ x’ is any propositional function with individuals for its arguments, ‘ ( x) x’ means ‘there exists some individual in the universal domain that has the property ’.4 At the lowest level in the theory of types there are individuals -- a,b,c,d, . . . n, but the precise identification of the individuals is left open since the system of logic was only to be used as a foundation for pure mathematics. In principle, the unspecified entities could be a number of things: sense data, electrons, stars, etc. They need not be explicitly defined since, for the purpose of logic, all that was needed was the symbolic representation for the calculus. Fundamental to the theory of existence and the theory of types is propositions as combinations of individuals or atomic facts. These provide a basis for the propositional and quantification logic. However, it must be noted that the individuals form the foundation for the hierarchy of classes of classes of individuals kept separate by the theory of types. Mathematics then, being defined in terms of the infinity of types, is dependent upon the lowest level of individuals interpreted as unspecified entities of the physical world.

Next are the categories of explanation in the cosmology; here Whitehead explains how the categories of existence interact in the fluid and dynamic nature of process. Generally, the twenty-seven categories of explanation describe the creative activity of actual occasions in terms of the functions of prehension and concrescence. Category xii, for instance, explains the two species of prehension as positive, absorbing antecedent data, and negative, eliminating incompatible data with the present actual occasion. Throughout these categories we find the descriptions of the various types of entity becoming more definite as the categories build to more complex explanations which involve the previous ones. In Principia, what are termed the ‘primitive ideas’ correspond roughly to these categories of explanation in Process and Reality except that they are very few by comparison. They serve the purpose of exposing the undefined notions of the system. Here Whitehead and Russell emphasize "the primitive ideas are by means of descriptions intended to point out to the reader what is meant; but the explanations do not constitute definitions, because they really involve the ideas they explain" (PM 91). Aside from the symbolization of elementary propositions -- p,q,r -- the fundamental notions explained are: assertion I-.p, negation -- p, and disjunction p v q, by which implication, conjunction and equivalence are later defined --

*1.01. p q.=. ~ (p v q Df. (PM 94),

*3.01. p. q.= ~ (~p v ~ q) Df. (PM 109),

*4.01. p=q.=.p q q p Df. (PM 115).

We now come to comparative analysis of the axioms in the two systems as concise statements governing the relations between the various entities. In Process and Reality the categoreal obligations perform the function of axioms expressing the necessary conditions for which actual occasions must obtain in order to achieve a fully determinate end as a unit of feeling. What we find in these remaining nine categories is a set of refined laws which state how actual occasions are obligated to become in accordance with the other three categories of the matrix, i.e., Creativity, Existence, and Explanation. These nine categories involve the concrescent process inside the actual occasion explaining the interplay between the mental and physical poles. Categoreal Obligations iv-viii, for example, explain how subjective aim could come into existence. One point, parenthetically, confirms Whitehead’s remarks about the perfection of the final generalities as his goal, and not the origin, of his metaphysics; that is, axiom v, the category of conceptual reversion, was later abolished (PR 249f./ 381f.). This category became unnecessary once Whitehead discovered how novelty could be derived from God (cf. PS 8:147 and EWM 212, 222). Throughout the various stages in the composition of Process and Reality, new axioms were admitted in the evolving thesis replacing those of the original matrix. Such moves often appear as ad hoc procedure in Whitehead’s metaphysics, but the real issue at stake is the coherence and adequacy of the entire system. Likewise, in Principia Mathematica, the axiom of reducibility was introduced to relax the excessive restrictions of the ramified theory of types, thus enabling theorems for all functions of numbers. Systems thinking, in general, must allow for such internal development until the whole can be disclosed -- a concession to an Idealist logic of a Bradlean sort. The laws adopted as formal axioms in Principia are called ‘primitive propositions.’ The sense in which they are primitive’ is that they must be assumed without proof since all subsequent inference develops from what has been previously asserted. What we find here is the beginning of the forms of implication as self-evident axioms used by Whitehead and Russell to deduce hundreds of proved theorems by displaying the logical connections between the primitive axioms and the theorems. There are five primitive propositions adopted as formal axioms --

*1.2. Hp v p. .p Tautology

*1.3. F:q. .p v q Addition,

*1.4. Hp v q. .q v p Permutation,

*1.5. Hp v (q v r). .q v (p v r) Associative Principle,

*1.6. H.q r. :p v q. .p v r Principle of Summation.

(PM 96f.)

As an interrelated structure, the matrix of Principia is, of course, more precise in its development of immediate consequences. This is the great merit of the calculus and the formal language developed therein. But what it gains in logical clarity it loses in philosophical depth with regard to certainty. Whitehead’s metaphysical system, on the other hand, utilizes the axiomatic structure to form a coherent matrix of categories, yet, like Plato’s Timaeus, offers an explanation of the limitations inherent in any cosmological endeavor. The first principles (inclusive of the axioms) are treated as hypotheses judged as applicable to the whole of experience beyond their nascent conceptions. What Whitehead seems always to have held is that the relatedness within nature provides a logical order for our interpretation, and that this gives rise to our ability to form a cosmos from a chaos. Our interpretation, however, is an expression of value in defining such an order and will always depend on our purpose in mind. This is admirably expressed in the conclusion of the first chapter of Science and the Modern World, when Whitehead says:

. . . this system includes the harmony of logical rationality, and the harmony of aesthetic achievement: to know that, while the harmony of logic lies upon the universe as an iron necessity, the aesthetic harmony stands before it as a living ideal moulding the general flux in its broken progress toward finer, subtler issues. (SMW 24)

His solution to this necessity involves a set of entities derived from our experience, which form a field of relations by the complex function of Creativity, operating in accordance with the explanations and obligations of the system.

 

REFERENCES

EWM -- Lewis S. Ford. The Emergence of Whitehead’s Metaphysics. Albany: State University of New York Press, 1984.

ILM -- David Harrah. "The Influence of Logic and Mathematics on Whitehead," Journal of the History of Ideas 20 (1959).

MCMW -- A. N. Whitehead. "On Mathematical Concepts of the Material World," Philosophical Transactions of the Royal Society (1906), reprinted in Alfred North Whitehead: An Anthology, edited by F. S. C. Northrop and Mason W. Gross. New York: Macmillan and Co., 1953.

UW -- Victor Lowe. Understanding Whitehead. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins Press, 1966.

WPO -- Dorothy Emmet. Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism. Westport: Greenwood Press, 1966.

WRL -- W. V. O. Quine. "Whitehead and the Rise of Modern Logic," The Philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead. The Library of Living Philosophers, Vol. 3, edited by P. A. Schilpp. New York: Tudor Publishing Co., 1941.

NOTES

* I have profited greatly from critical comments on the original draft of this paper by Lewis Ford, Forrest Wood, Jr., and John R. Baker.

1 Some logicians may here object that the very meaning of the term ‘axiomatic’ is unforgivingly deductive and that Whitehead’s metaphysical system can hardly satisfy this requirement. But to this the sufficient reply is that although it is clear that Whitehead is not proceeding deductively, his setting out a definite statement of his first principles at the outset of his system indicates that he held the axiomatic method to he an ideal form in which one should strive to organize thought into a system.

2 "Systematic interconnection" or "coherence" here does not mean that the fundamental proposition or axioms are definable in terms of one another. Indeed the coherence of the axioms seems to require a certain independence of the axioms as well. As Whitehead puts the point, coherence "means that what is indefinable in one such notion cannot he abstracted from its relevance to the other notions" (PR 3/ 5).

3 The logical calculus is formulated first in terms of propositions and propositional functions and is soon expanded into a formal theory of classes and relations until the topics gradually become more specific to the point of a purely logical theory of cardinal and ordinal numbers.

4 Curiously enough Quine complains that "there is an inconspicuous detail that embodies the germ of a Platonic ontology of universals" in Principia. and are allowed to occur in quantifiers, which allows a theory of attributes in the quantification logic. It seems that some form of the doctrine of eternal objects was recognized as part of the theory of existence in Principia (WRL 144f.).

Toward a Definition of Religion as Philosophy

The progress of religion is defined by the denunciation of gods. The keynote of idolatry is contentment with the prevalent gods. (AI 12)

We often hear it said that there exists a basic human need for some sort of deliverance, salvation, release, liberation, pacification, or whatever we may wish to call it, and that this intrinsic need is one of the main foundations of all religion. This is probably true -- but we cannot verify the claim.

At the same time we also often hear it said that there exists a basic human need for mystery, wonder, fear of the sacred, the romantic worship of the inexplicable, or for the feeling of the "numinous," the topic of Eliade’s The Sacred and the Profane and Otto’s Das Heilige, and that this need too is a foundation of religion. Some human beings, especially those less advanced culturally, less civilized, less sophisticated, less well educated -- or, to borrow Hegel’s famous metaphor from his Hinrichs-Foreword, more "doglike" -- have indeed been documented as experiencing these feelings. However, since all empirical generalizations are in principle falsifiable, we cannot here assert that such an alleged "need," or indeed any psychological perception, is common to all human beings. To be sure, it is highly dubious that any need for mystery is generally felt among us. On the contrary, the need to solve mysteries seems to be much more basic and human than a need to have mysteries. For example, mythology in all known cultures has arisen from either the need or the desire to provide explanations for certain types of occurrences, either natural or interpersonal, and thus to attempt to do away with those mysteries. Moreover, if there is in fact a basic human need for deliverance, salvation, etc., then it may well be manifested in part as a need for deliverance from mystery, salvation from ignorance, etc.

In the post-Enlightenment era, and especially in the post-Hegelian era, the continuation among intelligent, well educated people of the primeval feeling of a need for mystery is clearly a case of "created demand." Those who still feel such a need seem to be the prisoners of both tradition itself and their own uncritical approach to tradition. Sapere aude! -- but they will not.

Yet it cannot be denied that there are, even today, many who are sincere in their acknowledgment of feeling a deep need for mystery in their lives -- and such people are generally members of some kind of religious group. (A churchgoer once told me that she rejected out of hand any scholarly conclusions on the almah/parthenos controversy surrounding Isaiah 7:14 simply because, in her words: "It is very important for me to believe that Jesus is the Son of God.")

There are indeed many intelligent, sincere, well-meaning people who say such things as: "Whatever the controversy, and however strong the scholarly arguments against it, I choose to believe in the supernatural aspects of my faith, simply because it is very important for me in the life of my faith to be radically aware of sacred mysteries." Needless to say, if one chooses to make the supernatural element a central aspect of one’s religion, the Bible will certainly support such a set of beliefs. However -- and this is well worth noting -- the Bible, without adding more internal contradiction than is already present in its pages, will also support common sense interpretations of its texts and theologies. Such a plurality of defensive interpretations is possible, not because the texts are vague, for indeed they are not vague, but because the content of the text is universal in its domain of application and ambivalent -- rather than ambiguous -- in its language. Thus it is a strength -- not at all a weakness -- of the Bible that it speaks to supernatural as well as to common sense interests, for in that way it assures that it will speak to every era, to every nation, to each successive Zeitgeist in world history.

Whitehead’s remark quoted above is not intended to show that progress in religion is characterized by mere iconoclasm. Rather, the claim is simply that, as human civilization gains in history a more and more adequate self-awareness, the concepts of God which had once been adequate for individual cultures have to be -- and are -- successively replaced by more and more adequate conceptions of’ God. The ancient Hebrew transition from henotheism to monotheism is an excellent example of such progress; the God of Israel was adequate for the confrontation between Israel and Egypt, but the God who could intervene in the long struggle among Israel, Assyria, and Babylon had to be the God of the whole world (cf. e.g., Amos 9:7, Isaiah 10:5-15). Such a transition from a particular God to a universal God is surely a mark of true progress, in culture, in religion, and in Weltanschauung. Thus the development of more and more adequate conceptions of God is a mirror of the development of civilization itself.

The historical development of religion proceeds in stages which can be analyzed in terms of dialectical progress or unfolding. Such is the case both with individual religions and with religion in general. Anthropologists, psychologists, and sociologists, especially those who study folklore and oral traditions, have done much good work in classifying such stages, all the way from the most primitive animism to the most sophisticated philosophical monotheism. But their classification is in general only formal. What they have largely failed to do is to discover and define precisely the reasons why a given stage passes over into another. They have failed in general to see the progressive development of religion and religions as a unified and deliberate series of God’s revelations of reason designed specifically to lead us gradually toward the most adequate and profound understanding and appreciation of God which is humanly possible. This is a task which only a philosopher can achieve. Hegel and the Right Hegelians had conceived and attempted such a project -- to learn the ultimate, divinely sanctioned reasons why one religious stage passes over into another -- but that movement, plagued from the start by bad anthropological data, died out in the mid-nineteenth century, and only recently has been revived. Imagine what such an Hegelian project could accomplish today, in the wake of Eliade, Freud, Jung, James, Durkheim, van der Leeuw, Wach, Weber, etc., as well as countless scholarly anthropologists reporting from the field!

Insofar as God (according to Anselm) is not only that than which nothing greater can be conceived, but also that which is greater than anything which can be conceived, the historical development, on the scale relative to culture, of more and more adequate conceptions of God must also be seen as the development on the absolute scale, or sub specie aeternitatis, of ever more nearly true conceptions of God. It is safe to say that Isaiah’s conception of God more nearly approached the true nature of’ God than did that of Moses; and likewise, it is safe to say that Augustine’s was more highly developed and thus more accurate than Isaiah’s. This does not mean that Isaiah was either more intelligent or more sincere in his religion than Moses, or Augustine more than Isaiah, but it means that their respective theologies are to a significant degree products of the total of learned culture in their respective times, and thus that these theologies themselves reflect these several levels of cultural development and philosophical refinement.

The narrative of Elijah on Mount Carmel in I Kings 18 tells of the supersession of the god (s) of fertility by the God of historical intervention. Likewise, the whole New Testament can be regarded as the tale of the supersession of the God of historical intervention by the God of supernatural salvation. The Roman Catholic Church gradually came to see this God as the God of supernatural salvation by priestly intermediation. The Protestant Reformation was in the main a movement to replace this Catholic God with tbe God of supernatural salvation by direct faith. All of these were rational transitions, demanded by their times, right for their times, and each unable to have happened at any other time. The God right for the Hebrews of the ninth century BCE. could not be right for the Greeks of the first century CE., nor could that of the twelfth century Italians be right for the sixteenth century Germans -- even though the same tradition of scripture speaks to all of these groups. Each successive stage must make more sense in its time (kairos) than each supplanted stage. For example, Augustinian Christianity survived beyond its Pelagian, Manichaean, and Donatist rivals chiefly because (in its specific cultural setting) it made more philosophical sense than they did.

Since we in the late 20th century now have good scientific, epistemological, and even metaphysical reasons to abandon our former belief in the supernatural, the time has come for yet another rationally ordained supersession of an old god. The God of supernatural salvation, in whatever guise. is to be replaced by the God of what might be called in English "ethical solidarity," "social coherence," "cohesive social order," "the order of ethical life," or, in Tillich’s vocabulary, "theonomy," but which is really much better expressed by Sittlichkeit in Hegel’s German or by koinônia in New Testament Greek. In short, the God of supernatural salvation is to be -- must be -- replaced by the God of peace. Theology after 1945 must revolve around the bomb. Eschatological expectations are no longer grounded in the supernatural, as they always had been until 1945; now they have been brought home to the immediate level of common worldly experience. There is nothing mysterious about the end of the world any longer -- we know how it will end unless we change our tune.

It is of the utmost importance that religion make sense to the believer -- not necessarily common sense, but some sort of sense; i.e., the individual ought to be able at some level to justify his or her belief’s. At the lowest level, such defense is accomplished by appeal to authority or tradition; at the highest level, it is done through philosophy -- specifically, through philosophical theology or systematic theology.

Religion’s road toward its self-fulfillment as philosophy is long and hard, but it makes sense. Philosophy’s recognition of itself as religion is neither achieved nor admitted by all philosophers, but among these who have recognized the identity of philosophy and religion are Socrates, Plotinus, Erigena, Spinoza, Hegel -- in short, and in general, most of the speculative, "Platonic" tradition, in opposition to the mainstream of the analytic, "Aristotalian" tradition (if the reader will forgive such a gross oversimplification of a very complex history of thought).

Religion in its highest form is philosophy; and philosophy in its true form is religion. The true content of each is the same. In their development they move toward each other, since in the historical development of culture, the conception of God moves toward the philosophical.

In essence, religion is an attitude, or a sum of attitudes. The various institutions of’ religion grew up only after and as a result of certain attitudes, first felt by the individual, subsequently shared with a group.

Let us then provisionally define religion as the totality of an individual’s sincere attitudes and predispositions toward that which serves as the final expression of that individual’s particular primary interest or goal -- which in fact is very much the same as saying, with Whitehead: "Religion is what the individual does with his [or her] own solitariness" (TIM 16). And what else does any individual actually do with solitariness -- that is, true solitariness, which is uniquely characterized by a curious amalgam of loneliness and reflectivity -- except philosophize? "Religion is force of belief cleansing the inward parts. For this reason the primary religious virtue is sincerity, a penetrating sincerity" (RM 15). Similarly, philosophy is force of thought cleansing the inward parts. Thus the primary philosophical virtue is precisely the same penetrating sincerity.

Process, Creativity, and Technology: Reflections on The Uncertain Phoenix

In two recent works, The Uncertain Phoenix and Eros and Irony, David L. Hall presents a systematic and radical critique of the Western cultural and philosophical tradition, and (in The Uncertain Phoenix) a provocative vision of a future which might result front a movement away from certain aspects of that tradition. Hall’s perspective, with its strong emphasis on the notion of creativity, shows the influence both of Whiteheadian concepts and ideas from Chinese (particularly Taoist) thought. In The Uncertain Phoenix he describes his procedure as follows: "We are attempting, by recourse to Eastern sources, to construct a creationist paradigm that may be employed to interpret the nature and direction of contemporary Western culture. In so doing we shall begin with the Whiteheadian concept of creativity and adjust it in the direction of Eastern process views" (UP 212).

Like a number of other recent thinkers, Hall holds that "[t]he phenomenon that has come to he called ‘technological society’ is the single given that affects every significant element of our cultural milieu" (UP 297). Much of The Uncertain Phoenix comprises an account of the intellectual and cultural background, present status, and possible future of technological society. The following discussion will focus on this aspect of the book. I shall first summarize Hall’s main ideas relating to technology and technological society and then offer a critique of a number of those ideas and of some related aspects of his thought, including his use of certain process concepts.

A good place to begin the exposition is with Hall’s discussion of the role which the idea of "chaos" has played in Western thought. He notes that Western creation myths are accounts of the overcoming or "disciplining" of primordial chaos (UP 52-59, cf. EI 11f.). Chaos is seen negatively, as "disorder, confusion," as "non-rational . . . an-archic" (UP 53). Hall contrasts this view with the more positive image of chaos which he finds in Eastern thought, as "undifferentiated homogeneity . . . the sum of all orders" (UP 255). For the Western mind, however, chaos is that which must be rationalized by means of "determining sources of order," principles or archai (UP 53).

In the most familiar Western creation myth, that of Genesis, God establishes this order by an act of will or command. God thus has complete power or control over his creation. "But this control is qualified by the fact that man was made God’s ‘deputy.’ As such, nature is an object of man’s control as well. He must establish power over it" (UP 86). Hall thus joins a number of other thinkers in seeing in the Genesis myth a primordial source of the characteristic Western attitude toward nature, an attitude which stresses power, control, domination.1 This attitude, in turn, is seen as essentially determinative of our view of technological activity, and indeed of the entire Western notion of action. "Action turns out, ultimately, to be only a sublimation of labor, which advertises its origins in the enmity between persons and nature" (UP 236).

Hall asserts that "[o]ur cultural self-understanding is dominated by the conception of imposed order. And if this is so, reason cannot be seen as a means of passively entertaining an antecedent order; rather, it must be seen as rationalization, the production of order, and as control, the maintenance of order" (UP 106; cf. El 44-46).2 Thus he agrees with those philosophers who see a link between our desire to achieve a rational understanding of nature and our drive to control or dominate nature by means of technology.

With Nietzsche I would claim that all knowledge is open to critique in terms of its motivation toward control. With Scheler I would assert an internal connection between knowledge and the growth of the contemporary technological forms of domination. And with Heidegger I would claim that the end of our traditional forms of knowledge realized in terms of technology signals the beginning of a new cultural, or perhaps post-cultural, sensibility. (UP 111)

Modern scientific-technological understanding is instrumental understanding, a fulfillment of the Baconian dictum that "knowledge is power" (UP 232). Although he sees this as a working out of a tendency rooted in the fundamental nature of Western thought and culture, Hall regards it as a serious distortion of the proper function of knowledge.

The fundamental aim of knowing is the enjoyment of the immediate intuitive grasp occasioned by the theoretic attitude. Such enjoyment is intrinsic to the attitude itself. Action, on the other hand, is a means toward the achievement of greatness. It cannot constitute the dispassionate application of theoretic knowledge to experience. . . . [T]he union of [theory and practice], occasioned by the fusion of science and technology, has perverted the aims of both knowledge and action. (UP 232f.)

To understand this claim fully, we must look more closely at Hall’s views on both "knowledge" and "action."

As the preceding passage suggests, Hall regards knowing in the original and fundamental sense as contemplative enjoyment. Such knowing he refers to as theorial, a term which (at least as Western thought has developed) is to be contrasted with theoretical.

Theoria is the source of all knowledge and theory. In the West we have, largely because of our identification of our "source" with an action of creation that established the beginning of time, viewed our origin as a point from which to progress. The movement from theoria to theory, which has as its goal nothing less than the complete rationalization of experience, is one consequence of this identification. (UP 244)

"Theory" in the sense that the term is used here is again to be identified with the instrumental or controlling use of reason; that is to say, it designates the use of reason that has become allied with action. Now the Western concept of action is for Hall doubly problematic. Not only is it associated, as a previously quoted passage asserts, with the drive to dominate nature which can be traced back to the Hebraic creation myth, but it also reflects the "agonal spirit of the Greeks," the aim "at the attainment of individual greatness" (UP 236).

Hall finds support for his claim that theoria and technological practice, contemplative knowledge and action as the quest for greatness, should be sharply distinguished and separated, in Whitehead’s distinction (in The Function of Reason) between the speculative and practical uses of reason, the reason of Plato and the reason of Ulysses (UP 231; cf. FR Chapter 2). He also contrasts the Western concepts of knowledge (in the instrumental or practical sense) and action with ideas derived from Taoist thought. The Taoist ideal of knowledge is wu-chih, a notion which Hall associates with his idea of contemplative or theorial knowledge. Wu-chih is "no-knowledge," "unprincipled" knowing, a sense of being at one with the "intrinsic natures" of things rather than an imposition upon them of theoretical structures or archai (UP 246-48). Hall discusses the concept together with that of wu-wei, "non-assertive action," a notion which "suggests spontaneous actions in accordance with the natures of things." He contrasts this ideal with the Western "identification of action with acts of will" (UP 248). He also refers to a third Taoist concept, wu-yu.

Wu-yu is the concept of objectless desire, which is the subjective form of feeling associated with instances of wu-chih and wu-wei. Together, [these] three notions . . . articulate the differences between the notion of creativity and the correlative concept of power with which it has often been confused in Western thinking. (UP 249)

As we shall see, the contrast between an understanding in terms of power and one based on the concept of creativity plays an important role in Hall’s discussion of the future of technological society.

Hall describes a "popular Taoist tale that well illustrates a negative attitude toward material technology." In the story, a farmer refuses to use a "well-sweep" (hardly a piece of high technology!) to help him irrigate his garden plots, on the grounds that "cunning contrivances" lead to "cunning hearts," and thus to a soul in which "Tao will not dwell" (UP 320). Hall associates this attitude with that of "gnostic" critiques of technology such as that of Theodore Roszak.

The essence of the gnostic sensibility is the appeal to traditional wisdom against the claims of science, and the stress upon the "spiritual," or internal, as opposed to "material," or external, technologies. The emergence of the gnostic sensibility suggests the beginnings of a revolt against contemporary forms of technology. (UP 321)

However, although Hall is clearly sympathetic to much in the "gnostic sensibility" as thus characterized (cf. UP 336-46), and although, as we have seen, he regards modern technology as the manifestation of a tendency in Western thought and culture of which he is highly critical, he does not himself recommend "a revolt against contemporary forms of technology," at least as that phrase would ordinarily be understood. To see the reasons for this is to begin to grasp the distinctive nature of Hall’s own view of the future of technological society.

In the first place, Hall decries what he calls the "Pelagian Fallacy" with regard to technology. This is the fallacy of thinking that we are in fact free to determine or shape the future of technological society. This belief is "dangerously and pathetically naive. We could be free. Indeed, in the future, we shall again be free. At present, however, we are compelled by forces that no one understands toward the realization of a future that can in no real sense be of our choosing" (UP 311). The illusion of freedom, Hall thinks, simply causes us needless anxiety and guilt as we await the inevitable working out of the tendencies inherent in our present cultural situation. This view is neither as pessimistic nor as fatalistic as it may seem at first. Although Hall speaks in the just-quoted passage of "forces that no one understands," he says elsewhere that the whole of his discussion in The Uncertain Phoenix is "an attempt at cultural self-understanding" (UP 416). That self-understanding involves the vision of a possible future which Hall regards as hopeful and as providing for a resolution of some at least of the dilemmas of contemporary technological society. Furthermore, while I think that Hall genuinely means to say that we cannot and should not strive to bring this future about, I believe that he is suggesting that an imaginative projection of such a possibility can itself he a positive factor in the present.3

What is this "hopeful" vision of the future? Surprisingly, it involves not the containment or "humanization" of material technology, but the full working out of its potentialities. Like Jacques Ellul, Hall holds that "[t]echnology obeys hut one rule, the rule of efficiency, and that "[t]he history of technological development shows itself to he the sort of accretive, self-augmenting process that aims ultimately at perfection, which must he construed as complete rationalization, complete order" (UP 304). It is only the fulfillment of this process, the realization of this aim, that can solve our present material and environmental dilemmas. A fully "efficient" and "rational" technology will not waste resources or pollute the environment; nor need it require of human beings demanding and unpleasant labor or the sort of regimentation characteristic of so much of contemporary society. Indeed, Hall suggests, a fully developed technology will require almost nothing at all of human beings, not even their participation in its operation or control. "Control will not be our responsibility, but will be imminently ‘decided’ by the necessities of efficiency and rational order" (UP 327). A self-sustaining, self-regulating technological order will represent the final development of a process of "objectification" or "externalization" of reason, ". . . which means, literally, the precipitation of reason into the Outside. And the story of the continuing evolution of human beings can only be told with that fact in mind; the fact that . . . reason has fulfilled itself in the practical sphere, in the sphere of external technology" (UP 358).

But does not this idea of the ultimate development and expression of technological rationality suggest a future in which human beings, as well as the natural environment, will be subject to complete "rational" control in the name of "efficiency," the future of Brave New World if not of 1984? Hall acknowledges that this is a possibility, but he does not think that it is the only possibility.

It would be too much of a good thing if we tried to internalize the objective structures of technology. To do so would be to create rational beings, hut we must at some point recognize that the story of human experience is not the story of reason alone. In evolutionary terms it is the story of the realization of balanced intensity of experience. Reason has played its role to be sure. But in the narrow sense of rationality and technical reasoning, its function seems to be abating. Externalized technique can take over the rational activities of human beings, freeing the organism of the brain to integrate, co-ordinate, and enhance more complex and more intense types of experience. The internalization of behavioral technique would turn persons inside out, leaving no future internal possibilities. (UP 358)

This passage has been quoted at length because it expresses the essence of Hall’s "eutopic vision." If we can avoid the dangers of environmental devastation or global warfare brought about by the megalomaniacal pursuit of technological power, and the almost equally dreary prospect of a world of persons controlled by behavioral engineers in the name of technological rationality, we may move into a future in which the pursuit of power and rational order gives way to the cultivation of "intensities of experience."

Here, of course, we see the strong influence of process thought (both Western and Eastern) on Hall’s vision. The future he hopes for is one which is informed not by the "rationalist" paradigm which has been dominant in Western culture since its beginnings, but by what he calls the "creationist" paradigm. (See the quotation in the first paragraph of this article.) Specifically, Hall wishes to emphasize the self-creativity of each individual as the locus of meaning and value. Like Whitehead, he sees individuals as "aesthetic events which are momentary, transitory, and in process (UP 214). He places strong emphasis on the freedom of such self-creative individuals, the fact that their natures are not determined by archai or principles of order external to themselves. At the same time, he resists the identification of freedom with that concept of action as the imposition of will, the exercise of power or control, which as we have seen he regards as an essential aspect of the contemporary scientific-technical approach. "For to identify freedom with activity suggests that actions over against nature are preferable to ‘actions’ in accordance with the flow of events" (UP 222). An essential element of Hall’s novel vision of the future is the idea that once technology has been fully established as a self-governing, self-sustaining system, a sort of "automatic rationality" with which we need no longer concern ourselves, we will be free to turn away from "actions over against nature," to turn our attention "inward" to the sort of "actions" which enhance the aesthetic value of experience.

Hall characterizes this turn in various ways: as a shift in emphasis from "external technologies" to "internal technologies aimed at self-creativity" (UP 395; cf. 318-47), as the development of a "therapeutic society containing a plurality of techniques and practical reason in an aesthetic methodology" (UP 242). Some of the possibilities which he imagines are startling, to say the least (although it should be stressed that these speculations are put forward quite tentatively, and at times with a kind of playful and deliberate outrageousness). Thus he pictures a future in which the maintenance of distinctions between male and female has largely given way to the cultivation of androgynous personality aided by surgical and biochemical manipulation (UP 371-84); in which the notion of a substantial self enduring through time (and responsible for its actions) is superceded and "one is freed to be a career of selves strung out in time" (UP 390; cf. 384-97); in which the worship of a single all-powerful God has given way to the experiencing of a pantheon of "momentary deities" (UP 397-411)4 Morality in our sense will no longer have a place in Hall’s "anarchic" world.

It may now be possible to forget what we have learned by eating of the forbidden fruit. We can forget the knowledge of Good and Evil, and return to the primordial innocence that once was ours. Reason and moral inhibition are the sources (as well as the consequences) of the development of the substantial self. (UP 391f.; cf. 396f.)

Perhaps even more surprisingly, Hall foresees an end to science as we now know it.

The first thing to notice about this reorganization [of all cultural interests] is that there is no place for what is currently termed "science." The scientific mode of perception has been realized, in principle, in the external technology that constitutes our material environment. . . . In place of science as the principle mode of knowledge we have religious intuition. (UP 399)

It must be emphasized that "religious intuition" as Hall uses the term is a kind of mystical sense of oneness with nature, closely associated with the Taoist ideal of wu-chih or knowledge in accordance with the natures of things, a sense of "human participation in" or "constatic unity" with nature (UP 400). Nevertheless, the prospect of a culture in which there is "no place for science" is one that will certainly disturb many readers, even those who may agree with much of Hall’s critique of the contemporary union of science and technology.

Although Hall’s views are sometimes surprising and even shocking, they deserve careful consideration. As has been noted in the preceding exposition, his concerns about technology and technological society have much in common with those expressed by such diverse thinkers as Ellul, Roszak, Mumford, Heidegger, and members of the Frankfurt School (Horkheimer, Marcuse, and others). Again and again in reading the works of these and other critics of the role of technology in the contemporary world, one comes upon the claim that at the core of the modern dilemma is the association of scientific and technological rationality with power, control, and domination -- where these are seen as operative both in the natural and social realms. This claim seems to me to be far more philosophically penetrating, and more disturbing, than the often-heard but more piecemeal criticisms of modern technology’s negative environmental, economic, or social-political consequences, or even the critique of present uses of technology as "inhumane" or contrary to basic human values. If, as Hall and others suggest, the flaw in technological society runs so deep in Western thought and culture, the solutions to our present difficulties (if any there be) must indeed be radical.

I think that Hall’s distinctive version of this critique is particularly interesting for a number of reasons. His account of the relation of modern scientific and technological thought and practice to the drive to overcome "chaos" and establish a complete and "rational" order is subtle and convincing, and I think that his criticism of the over-emphasis on order and control in our culture is well-founded. I also agree with his assertion that in overemphasizing a narrow concept of rationality, we have tended to neglect the aesthetic dimension of experience and of thought, and to describe and evaluate the aesthetic in terms of rational and moral categories (see EI Chapter 1). I think that the insight, which Hall shares with Whitehead, that all value is finally grounded in immediately experienced "aesthetic" quality is profoundly important,5 and I believe that an increased emphasis on immediate experience and aesthetic value is essential for an adequate understanding and evaluation of modern technological society. Hall’s attitude toward technology, though very critical, is not a shrill "anti-technological" diatribe, and his vision of a possible future sustained but not dominated by technology is a refreshing alternative to the pessimism of Ellul or the cryptic prognostications of Heidegger. At the same time, I have grave doubts about some aspects of his diagnosis of the contemporary dilemma, and even more about his projection of a supposedly hopeful future. The doubts are associated with certain more basic concerns which I have about Hall’s philosophical position. Let me turn, then, to a discussion of some of my questions and reservations.

A number of these reservations relate to Hall’s notion of "technological rationality" and its possible future role. His discussion tacitly acknowledges that technology as it is today is not entirely "rational," or at least that its use is often governed by such "non-rational" considerations as the desire for unlimited profits or political power (see UP 302-10). Nevertheless, like Jacques Ellul he seems to accept the idea that technology inevitably tends toward increasingly efficient and rational modes of organization and operation, that this is its "true nature." I am very skeptical of this idea, in part for reasons which it seems to me are closely related to some of Hall’s own views. As has been pointed out, he stresses the importance of the aesthetic element in all experience, thought, and action. In this connection, he cites not only the Whiteheadian "emphasis upon the aesthetic modality as a means of defining the substance and form of philosophic endeavor" (El 101), but also the whole American philosophical tradition (in which, correctly I think, he locates Whitehead’s thought). Hall traces this emphasis in American thought from Edwards’ discussion of "the sense of the heart" to Peirce’s notion that logical and ethical norms are ultimately grounded in aesthetics to Dewey’s claim that "esthetic" quality pervades and completes all intellectual and practical activity (El 97-101). But he seemingly fails to draw the consequence that Dewey, for example, would have drawn: that "technological rationality," as a modality of human thought, cannot itself be fully understood without recourse to aesthetic and valuational concepts.

It can, I think, be argued that even the understanding of a purely formal system in mathematics or logic is a valuational activity, involving a qualitative sense of the significance of the elements of the system and their relation.6 If this is so with respect to the most abstract thought, however, is it not even more clearly the case when we consider the development, control, or understanding of a technological device or system? To relate the formal structures of mathematics and science to the concrete particularities of the world of actual objects requires not only calculation but judgment, a judgment which, if Dewey and others are correct, surely involves valuation and qualitative awareness. Of course that judgment may be exercised in the name of "efficiency" or "technological rationality," but I think that those concepts are themselves much less monolithic and more open to personal and cultural interpretation than Hall seems willing to grant. As he notes, "[the idea that] the consummation of an act of experiencing necessarily involves the aesthetic quality . . . is the ground of Dewey’s resolution of the dichotomy of theory and practice. Theoria and praxis are conjoined by aisthesis" (El 99). But Hall seems to be unwilling to fallow Dewey in this regard, at least with respect to technological practice, which Dewey views as not simply a rational but an aesthetic activity, an "art" as well as a "science" (see, e.g., AE 26f., 47, and passim).7 In short, it seems to me that Hall, like Ellul and a number of other modern philosophers of technology, has accepted an image of technology not as it is but as certain of its practitioners would like it to be (and as many of its critics fear it is): as an embodiment of pure abstract rationality. I think that this image is a myth.

If this is so, it may have important practical consequences. Hall’s notion of a self-sustaining technological system would seem to entail elaborate cybernetic controls, of a level of sophistication far beyond the capabilities of today’s science of "artificial intelligence." But Hubert Dreyfus and others have suggested that the whole project of attempting to develop and apply systems of artificial intelligence may be subject to limitations which are not just practical but philosophical (see, e.g., WCCD, Parts II and III and Conclusion). Dreyfus’s own critique is made from the standpoint of phenomenology, but his philosophical perspective and that of a number of other critics of artificial intelligence is similar in some ways to Hall’s. If human thought is regarded as fundamentally qualitative and valuational, if it involves a grasp of meaning and significance that cannot be completely formalized, then it may not be possible to duplicate human technical reason in a purely mechanical system. Without wishing to embrace all of Dreyfus’s very strong claims concerning "what computers can’t do," I feel that there are serious questions about the practicality of an entirely cybernetically-regulated technological system at any time in the foreseeable future. My point here is not to make dogmatic claims about what will ever be scientifically or technically possible, but to suggest once again the Hall’s own vision of the future may take too seriously the self-image of some technologists as practitioners of a purely rational and completely formalizable activity.

Furthermore, I think that even if a self-regulating technology could be developed, it would entail a serious loss. Certainly I agree with Hall that there are many undesirable activities, and many unfortunate attitudes, involved in contemporary technological practice At the same time, however, it seems that the modes of thought and experience associated with the development of and active engagement with technology are so much a part of the very fabric of human culture that they probably cannot and certainly should not be simply eliminated or relegated to the care of unfeeling machines. Once again, I follow Dewey here in seeing such technologically related activities as a significant source of intense aesthetic experience in the contemporary world (see, e.g., AE 5). I see no consistent basis within the framework of Hall’s own thought for asserting that this particular kind of experience is somehow "illegitimate," that its aesthetic quality is greatly inferior to that which results from the experience of art or nature or interpersonal relationships or even of mystical contemplation.

There are broader questions here. Hall says repeatedly that "the aim of speculative philosophy . . . is to heighten one’s experience of the world" (UP 346; cf. 243, 360). He also refers with approval to Whitehead’s "aesthetic interpretation of reason and his dictum that "the function of Reason is to promote the art of life" (UP 242). Yet if we are to judge purely on the basis of immediate aesthetic quality, of "intensity" in a Whiteheadian sense, on what grounds are we to prefer the experience of "passive" contemplation to that which comes from the active exercise of instrumental reason? Is there a greater aesthetic value in participatory experiencing "in accordance with the natures of things" than in a mode of experiencing which involves the active construal and perhaps even domination of the experienced object? Why is the experience associated with "non-assertive action" to be preferred to the experience arising out of the self-assertive "striving for greatness?"

I think Hall might respond to these questions in two ways, both of which are suggested but not fully developed in his writings. First, he appears to feel that certain modes of thought and activity simply are more conducive to the enrichment of immediate experience than are others. Now to some extent this is certainly true. As Whitehead. for example, repeatedly stresses, "tedium" and repetition are the enemies of aesthetic intensity. Many activities associated with technology, and many so-called "rational" processes, fall into the category of the tedious and the repetitive; they submerge aesthetic awareness in habit and routine. I would argue, however, that one cannot simply make a wholesale division of different modes of human action or experience on this basis. Doing a long series of arithmetical calculations or working all day entering data at a computer terminal may result in almost total "an-aesthesia," while proving a new mathematical theorem or writing a complex computer program may bring about intense involvement and the enjoyment of vivid immediate experience.8 "Aesthetic" experience in the more usual sense of tile term can also y~ry fi-om trivial to highly intense, even when it relates to a single object; one is reminded of the cliche situation in which one member of a couple listens in rapture to a concert while the other writhes in boredom.

Once again, it seems to me that Hall does not always take seriously enough one of the implications of his own position: that all human experience, all intellectual activity, indeed (if 01ue follows Whitehead) all reality, is pervaded by aesthetic quality. If this is so, then the issue becomes not one of distinguishing those modes of human thought and experience which are "aesthetic" in character from those which are not, but one of evaluating and comparing (insofar as this can be done) different experiences with diverse textures and degrees of aesthetic intensity. If indeed we are to judge all thought by the way it "promotes the art of life," then I think that we must recognize that there are many ways in which that "art" can be promoted, just as there are many different forms and styles within the fine arts, all of which can give rise to particular kinds of rich aesthetic experience.9

There is, however, another point of view suggested in Hall’s work, particularly when, as he says, he "adjusts" the Whiteheadian perspective "in the direction of Eastern process views (UP 212). Thus he sometimes seems. to suggest that the ideals of wu-chih and wu-wei are simply in some fundamental sense "better" than the Western paradigms of active, instrumental knowing and the pursuit of power or greatness. To some extent this notion appears to reflect a basic and irreducible intuition about the nature of things. This intuition leads Hall to an extreme emphasis on the individuality and self-creativity of each individual occasion, on the importance of "deference" in the relation between occasions, and on the significance and value of contemplative or even "mystical" knowledge.

One is somewhat at a loss as to how to respond to such an appeal to intuition in a philosophical discussion. In some cases, I feel I must simply protest, with the anonymous prophet" in The Uncertain Phoenix, "Not the vision I saw" (UP 371). To some degree, however, I share the sensibility reflected in Hall’s discussion. There does seem to be something fundamentally wrong with activity exclusively determined by the pursuit of power, or claims to "know" which simply reflect the imposition of the perspective of the knower upon the object known. In explicating this "wrongness," however, my inclination would be to have recourse first of all to the kind of philosophical argument which I have already adumbrated: that in many instances such ways of knowing and acting do not effectively promote the fullest realization of values in immediate experience."10 I also feel that Hall’s version of the Taoist position involves some philosophically questionable claims.

For example, I think that there are serious problems with the notion of a pure "contemplative" or "receptive" mode of knowing. Hall asserts that he is "not suggesting that we substitute the so-called receptive mode of consciousness for the active mode." Rather than such "disjunctive" thinking, which itself implies the "dominance of one mode, he envisions a new sensibility . . . based on the balancing of the active and receptive" (UP 373). But even this formulation suggests that there is a purely receptive mode of consciousness, a mode which Hall certainly thinks should be given greater importance even if it is not entirely "substituted" for the "active mode. Yet philosophers at least since Kant have argued with great force against just such a notion of pure receptivity and have asserted in a variety of ways that the subject is always an active participant in the process of knowing. I find this emphasis particularly strong in the American philosophical tradition to which Hall appeals at several points. The claim of Dewey and others that all knowing involves aesthetic valuation is intimately associated with the idea that knowing is purposive, that it is guided and given form by some end in view, some active concern of the knower. Despite Hall’s appeal to the Whiteheadian separation of "practical" and "speculative" reason,11 I think that on a more fundamental level Whitehead too regards knowing (or more broadly the relation of any actual occasion to its "environment") as an active process in which the aim of the subject at its own attainment of value partially determines how it will respond to the objects of which it is aware. It is interesting to note that while rejecting Kant’s "doctrine of the objective world as a construct from subjective experience," Whitehead speaks approvingly of the Kantian "conception of experience as a constructive functioning," though he inverts the Kantian order and sees this functioning as "transforming objectivity into subjectivity" (PR 156/ 236f.). What I do not find in Whitehead is any account of knowing or awareness understood as pure contemplation or passive receptivity. Once again, it seems that the very aesthetic emphasis which Hall shares with Whitehead involves the idea that the values of the subject enter into its experience of the object.

I realize that in speaking in support of the idea of the active character of all knowing, I open myself to attack not only from Hall’s Taoist perspective but from the standpoint of a number of other significant critics of contemporary thought and culture. For example, Martin Heidegger argues that the whole modern view of the person as an active subject engaged in the process of knowing leads to the "nihilism" of Nietzsche, to the idea of knowing as the pure exercise of the will to power which has its fullest expression in contemporary science and technology (see, e.g., QT): In one sense my response can only be that I believe knowing is most truly understood as an active process, and that I think that the idea of a purely receptive knowing is a myth, albeit perhaps an appealing one. I think it is worth remembering that the ideal of "receptive" or "intuitive" knowing can also lead to abuses: it can too easily become a rationalization for beliefs or actions whose real source may be quite other than a direct awareness of or participation in "the natures of things." The Eastern modes of thought which Hall praises have themselves been the source of doctrines which support the domination of one group of persons by another l2 and have at least failed to prevent (and have perhaps sometimes helped to bring about) many actions destructive of human life and the natural environment.

At the same time, I do not think that the notion of the active participation of the knower in the process of knowing needs to lead to such sinister consequences as is sometimes suggested. The pragmatist account, for example, sees human perceiving and knowing as extensions of the process whereby any organism both responds to and acts upon its environment. On a more metaphysically fundamental level, Whitehead’s "philosophy of organism also regards knowing as a special case of the "bipolar" nature of all becoming, whereby the direct "physical" response to objective reality is partially transformed by "mental" functioning in the realization of a novel subjective experience. It is particularly notable that for Whitehead the "higher phases of experience" entail the progressively greater importance of the mental pole, that is, of the move beyond bare receptivity to imaginative transformation. It is only thus, as Hall’s own stress on imagination and creativity suggests, that there can be a realization of intense aesthetic experience.

There also seems to be something quite contradictory about Hall’s claim that instrumental knowledge is simply an arbitrary construal of nature, that the very laws which science supposedly "discovers" are but archai which we somehow impose upon the world (see, e.g., UP 261-70). If this were so then it would seem that nature could be made to dance to any tune we piped. But one of the great problems of modern technology, as Hall himself would surely acknowledge, has been its repeated failure to act "in accordance with the natures of things," its attempts to impose inappropriate structures in ignorance of or disregard for environmental constraints. Conversely, I would argue that what the good technologist, like the good artist, needs, is an active awareness of the nature of her materials and her environment. The artist or engineer does not simply respond or record, but creates; yet to be successful that creation must respect "the grain in the stone" from which a statue is carved or the malleability of steel from which a bridge is built, the acoustic environment of the concert ball or the natural environment of a highway right-of-way. No effectively instrumental knowledge can be merely arbitrary; and, I would argue, no genuinely creative aesthetic response can be purely passive or receptive.

Another aspect of Hall’s basic philosophical position which I question is his interpretation of "creativity" and its relation to value. As has been pointed out, his emphasis is on the self creativity of each individual, an idea which is associated with a number of other key notions in his thought.

The primary characteristics of any self-creative beings -- and we must suppose that this holds pre-eminently for human beings -- are freedom, transience, and novel purpose . . . The denial of rationality as the primary character of experience involves the denial of principles as external sources of order and thus entails the consequence that each aesthetic event will constitute its own source of order and novelty. (UP 387)

Now although Hall considers this a "process" view of creativity, its emphasis upon the individual as "its own source of order and novelty" is more extreme than that in Whitehead’s philosophy. It is true, as Hall points out, that for Whitehead ordering principles are "immanent" within particular occasions (see UP 261-70), but in most cases those ordering principles also reflect the "mutual relations" of individuals, as well as the "community in character" pervading groups or societies of individuals (AI 142).13 This is particularly true of persons: the relations between occasions which constitute the human body and brain, and the "community of character" of the succession of personal experiences, give an essential element of unity to human experience.

In general, the realization of intense aesthetic value is for Whitehead both an individual and a social matter.

Existence, in its own nature, is the upholding of value-intensity. Also no unit can separate itself from the others, and from the whole. And yet each unit exists in its own right. It upholds value-intensity for itself, and this involves sharing value-intensity with the universe. Everything that in any sense exists has two sides, namely its individual self and its signification in the universe. (MT 151)

Not only the spontaneous self-creativity of the individual but the social order which makes possible that particular exercise of spontaneity is essential for intense value-experience Indeed Whitehead says that "‘order’ means ‘society’ permissive of actualities with patterned intensity of feeling arising from adjusted contrasts" (PR 244/ 373f.). Once again, the "order" of human personal identity is seen as particularly important. "The World of Change develops Enduring Personal Identity as its effective aspect for the realization of value. Apart from some mode of personality there is trivialization of value" (ESP 89; cf. 84f.).

Now the point of this discussion is not to appeal to Whitehead as some sort of final authority; Hall clearly recognizes that his own view differs from that of Whitehead at some points (see, e.g., UP 200f., 269, 290 n. 51). But in this case I believe that Whitehead is correct in stressing the need for endurance as well as novelty, order as well as spontaneity, partial determination from the past together with free creativity in the present, as essential for value-intensity. These principles can themselves be seen as "aesthetic" in both the narrower and the broader sense: they define the conditions for the achievement of value in a work of art, or in the experience of any actual occasion.

Now one thing that this suggests is that one should not be quite so ready as Hall to give up the notion of the enduring self. Unlike some critics of process philosophy, I am not convinced that a "substantial self’ is a necessary precondition of moral responsibility;14 furthermore, I have considerable sympathy for Hall’s claim that narrowly moral concepts tend to be overemphasized in our culture at the expense of concepts of aesthetic or experiential value. But I follow Whitehead here in suggesting that the greatest importance of the "enduring personality" (which of course for Whitehead is precisely not a substantial self but a particular kind of society) may be its role in facilitating intense value experience. With regard to the specific topic of this paper, I would also again argue that like the structures of human personality and human social organization, technological structures are not necessarily antithetical to aesthetic experience, but that they can serve to facilitate and enhance such experience.

My conclusion, I think, is both more and less optimistic than that of Hall. I agree with much of his negative account of the state of contemporary culture and the role of modern technology. I would not for a minute wish to deny that we are too often motivated by an obsessive desire for power and control, and dominated by a narrow and calculating rationality which cannot even acknowledge the deeper values of human life and experience, and that such attitudes may contribute to the coming of one form or another of global catastrophe. Unlike Hall, I cannot take comfort in the idea that the future is not ours to control, but that technology may take its own course to a better tomorrow. I think that for all the complexity and inertia of the technological enterprise, it is still our enterprise to guide as best we can. Hall’s notion of the technician absconditus strikes me as not only impractical but (to use a word which Hall will doubtless dislike) irresponsible as well. Having brought to life our Frankenstein’s monster, we cannot simply turn him loose in the world with no guidance.

But perhaps he is not altogether monstrous. The burden of the preceding discussion is to suggest that technology, with all its problems, is not a monolithic entity whose very touch brings the death of creativity and aesthetic experience, but an integral aspect of human personal and social existence, with all the richness and ambiguity of human life itself. If we keep Hall’s emphasis on creativity, aesthetic value, and knowledge and action in accordance with the natures of things, but see these as possible in association with "external" as well as "internal" technologies, then we may attain a new "eutopic vision." Perhaps there is a possible future in which art, science, and technology are more nearly one, in which rationality is explicitly informed by value and action shaped by a concern for the goods of those on whom it impinges. I am not sure how realistic is it to hope for such a future, or to try to bring it about, but it is the best prospect I can see.

Finally, I would like to suggest that The Uncertain Phoenix provides a valuable model for future discussions by process philosophers. Despite my considerable disagreements with the specifics of Hall’s analysis of technological society, I share a sense of the importance of going beyond the narrowly reductive categories characteristic of much modern scientific and technological thinking, by making use of such process concepts as creativity and aesthetic intensity. I believe that process thought has much to contribute to contemporary philosophical discussions of technology and that Hall’s book is a significant step in this direction.

 

References:

AE -- John Dewey. Art as Experience. New York: Capricorn Books, 1958.

EI -- David L. Hall. Eros and Irony: A Prelude to Philosophical Anarchism. New York: State University of New York Press, 1982.

QT -- Martin Heidegger. The Question Concerning Technology. New York: Harper and Row, 1977.

UP -- David L. Hall. The Uncertain Phoenix: Adventures Toward a Post-Cultural Sensibility. New York: Fordham University Press, 1982.

WCCD -- Hubert L. Dreyfus. What Computers Can’t Do. New York: Harper and Row, 1979.

 

Notes:

1 The best-known recent statement of this view is probably Lynn White’s article "The Historic Roots of Our Ecologic Crisis" (Science 155 [March 10, 1967]: reprinted in White’s Machina ex Deo [Cambridge: MIT Press, 1968] and in numerous anthologies).

2 Hall says of Eros and Irony "Nor (despite some common assumptions) is this work written in the deconstructionist mode" (EI xi). Certainly many readers will see a number of common assumptions between Hall’s critique of rationality as a form of control or dominance and the ideas of deconstructionist thinkers.

3 The relation between Hall’s "an-archic" philosophy and his view of the proper attitude toward the future is most clearly seen in the conclusion of Eros and irony. "Since there is no Supreme Arche as source of meaning and value, there is no need to set the world right. . . Unless we free ourselves from the bias that forces us to conceive the Cosmos as a single-ordered world which it is our responsibility to recreate in social and political dimensions, we shall surely not escape the temptation to exploit the instrumental power born of our narrow and perverse anthropocentrism for totalitarian ends (EI 251).

4 There are a number of striking parallels between Hall’s vision of the future (and his critique of contemporary society) and the ideas expressed by James Ogilvey in Many Dimensional Man: Decentralizing Self, Society and the Sacred (New York: Oxford University Press. 1977). Hall has told me that he regards Many Dimensional Man as reflecting a point of view quite similar to that in The Uncertain Phoenix, although he was unaware of Ogilvey’s work until his own was in press.

5 The essential correctness of this insight will simply be presupposed in most of the following discussion. In addition to being reinforced by Hall’s own impressive arguments in support of the fundamental status of aesthetic value, my views On this matter have been most deeply influenced by the thought of Whitehead and Dewey.

6 Dewey, for example, asserts that "[T]he more formal and mathematical science becomes, the more it is controlled by sensitiveness to a special kind of qualitative considerations." (John Dewey, "Qualitative Thought," reprinted in Richard J. Bernstein, ed., John Dewey on Experience, Nature, and Freedom [New York: Liberal Arts Press, 1960], p. 187.)

7 In discussing an earlier version of this paper, Hall responded that while there might be some aesthetic quality associated with technology, the "difference of degree" between this and the aesthetic character of other modes of human activity is so great as to constitute a "difference in kind." I suspect that there is an empirical or phenomenological difference between us concerning the actual character of experience associated with the development and use of technology. However, it also seems to me that at some points at least his arguments presuppose a complete disjunction between the technological and the aesthetic, a disjunction which I emphatically deny.

8 For a striking sociological study of the "affective" aspect of computer programming, see Sherry Turkle, The Second Self: Computers and the Human Spirit (New York: Simon and Schuster, 1984), especially Chapters 3, 5, and 6.

9 Hall says of one style of Chinese painting that it is "perhaps the very epitome of the aesthetic sense," and that it attains a subtlety of nuance and attains "harmonies . . . somewhat richer than those found in Western Renaissance and Modern forms of naturalism" (UP 257f.). He asserts elsewhere that Taoist art, like Taoist thought, opens up possibilities of experience which are closed to certain Western perspectives. The latter claim seems to me entirely unexceptionable, and indeed insofar as Hall’s entire work involves an opening up of those possibilities, I am strongly in sympathy with it. But when he asserts that one style of art, or one philosophical or experiential perspective, is aesthetically "better" or "richer" than another, it seems to me that he is on very questionable ground, particularly in view of his own aesthetically oriented and "anarchistic" approach.

10 Certain recent discussions of environmental ethics, dealing with "respect for nature" (where nature is not necessarily limited to the realm of living things), reflect some affinities with Hall’s ideas on "deference" and seem to pose a challenge to my suggestion that the pursuit of power over nature should be criticized primarily in terms of its negative effects on human values and experiences. While interesting and suggestive, such views also involve considerable problems in both clarifying and justifying the idea of "respect for nature (and the related notions of the "rights" of nature or the need for nature’s liberation from human intervention and the imposition of human purposes). For an account and critique of recent work on this topic, with extensive references, see Edward Johnson, "Treating the Dirt: Environmental Ethics and Moral Theory," in Tom Regan, ed., Earthbound: New Introductory Essays in Environmental Ethics (New York: Random House, 1984).

Another interesting approach is the "axiology of thinking" being developed by Robert Neville. In Reconstruction of Thinking (Albany: State University of New York Press, 1981), Neville argues that thinkers such as Dewey and Whitehead are correct in emphasizing the essential role of value in all thinking, but that a fuller account is needed of the grounds for comparison of values, the responsibilities involved in valuation, etc. (see, e.g.. pp. 101, 247-51, and passim). Neville’s work, which is still incomplete, seems to me to provide an interesting alternative to Hall’s view at many points; see also the paper cited in note 13 below.

11 See FR Chapter 2. It is interesting to note that in the course of discussing the role of speculative reason later in this work, Whitehead remarks that "Asia had no large schemes of abstract thought, energizing the minds of men and waiting to give significance to their chance experiences. It remained in contemplation and the ideas became static. This sheer contemplation of abstract ideas had stifled the anarchic curiosity producing novelty (FR 57f.). Whether or not one agrees with this characterization of Asian thought (on which Whitehead was no expert), it seems to reflect a strikingly different understanding of contemplation and its relation to speculative reason" than that which Hall expresses.

12 I have in mind particularly the relation between Taoist ideas of "masculine" and "feminine" and the status of women in traditional Chinese society.

13 See also Robert Neville’s discussion of Eros and Irony, entitled "Uncertain Irony" (PS 14:49-58). E.g., "There can be no uniquely self-existent ontological individuals, only mutually existent individuals together" (p. 53).

14 See my paper, "Action, Responsibility, and the Problem of Personal Identity" (Society for the Study of Process Philosophies, Spring, 1976; available from the Center for Process Studies).

Liberation Theology and Social Justice

Introduction

In inviting me to participate, Professor Joseph Bracken asked that I present some of the foundational elements in contemporary Christian liberation theologies relative to the issues of social justice. In this lecture I shall first outline the major social justice issues to which various forms of liberation theology are responding. Then I shall sketch, in an historical retrospect, the dead-ends of classical sacralism and of modern secularism. This is important, I believe, in order to contextualize the real import of liberation theology as calling for a new realization of social justice in dialectical contradiction to conservatism and liberalism. Such a context is also relevant, I believe, to understanding the different emphases of process theologies and liberation theologies. Third, the lecture will deal with a few of the methodological issues in the advocacy scholarship of liberation theologies and how this scholarship corresponds with the turn to dialectics and praxis in contemporary philosophical reflections on science. Finally, I shall offer some reflections on liberation theology and social justice beyond sacralism and secularism.

Central Social Justice Issues and Liberation Theology

What are the social justice issues to which this conference is addressing itself? Justice, Thomas Aquinas remarks, is of its very nature social since it is defined by egalitarian relations towards others.1 Briefly, I would list the major social justice issues as fivefold, corresponding to the five major areas in which egalitarian relations towards others are repressed or denied. The fivefold differentiation also delineates the major forms of liberation theology.

There is the unjust distribution of goods and services whereby a relative minority of wealthy groups and ruling classes use their power and influence to perpetuate macroeconomic and political structures which exploit the labor and lives of the vast majority of the planet’s populations. The issue of social justice here is the eradication of exploitive and oppressive structures of class oppression (classism). Liberation theologies in Third and Fourth World countries, as well as political theology in First and Second World countries, are addressing these systemic class injustices by intellectually and religiously supporting and fostering egalitarian communities committed to more just economic and political orders (CBCC, CLT, LT, FSUW).

There is the deep and widespread oppression of women, along with the elderly and children dependent upon women, in all patriarchical societies around the globe whereby women and their dependents are dehumanized and depersonalized by the androcentric fears and aggressions of males (sexism). Feminist liberation theologies are addressing these systemic sexist injustices by intellectually and religiously supporting and fostering genuinely egalitarian feminist communities of women and men committed to the dismantling of patriarchal and androcentric injustices (LT).

There is the repression of millions of humans belonging to races and ethnic groups other than those races or ethnic groups dominant in societies (racism, ethnocentrism, antisemitism directed against Jews and/or Arabs). Black, Native American, Latino-American, and other liberation theologies are addressing these systemic racial and ethnic injustices by intellectually and religiously supporting and nurturing egalitarian racial and ethnic communities (CLT, PD).

There is the unjust exploitation of physical, chemical, biological, and zoological nature, the ecology in which human nature is embedded, by industrial and technocratic production processes of "megamachines" (L. Mumford) polluting and destroying environment after environment. Technocentrism will be used here to designate this injustice rather than the too generic designations of "anthropocentrism" or "homocentrism." These are too generic since technocentrism is the ecological form of androcentrism (LT 115ff.). Process and other ecological liberation theologies are addressing these systemic technocentric injustices by intellectually and religiously supporting and fostering egalitarian ecological communities (LL).

Finally, there is the injustice of an ever-expanding and necrophilic militarism as violent uses of power and force whereby nonegalitarian relationships are defended, whether internally through various forms of police and surveillance force, or externally through massive military and espionage forces. Since World War II, when War Departments all over the globe became Defense Departments, this militarism has reached its apotheosis in the nuclear arms race. A recent comparative study of worldwide military and social spending indicated how at present 1.3 million dollars per minute on average are spent for military purposes; during the same minute 30 children die for lack of food or simple vaccines (WMSE). Concretely, during the next hour, an average of 78 millions will be spent for military purposes while some 1,800 children will die for lack of food or elementary vaccinations. Various nuclear-pacifist and pacifist liberation theologies are addressing the systemic injustices of militarism by intellectually and religiously supporting egalitarian communities committed to halting the arms race and developing nonviolent forms of legitimate defense.

In a very schematic way, I believe these are central social justice issues which any theology must address if it is to mediate responsibly the significance and value of its religious tradition to the social and cultural matrices of our contemporary world. A common basic element in all five of these forms of social injustice is domination by which egalitarian relations towards others are denied and oppressed.

Christian theologies have sometimes been highly introspective examinations of debates going on "intramurally" among and within various ecclesial and theological traditions. A conceptualistic narcissism has not been absent from such intramural debates about who has the better concepts of God, Christ, Salvation, Sacraments, etc. Liberation theologies as a movement -- and I should emphasize that these theologies are aspects of a movement, not some closed conceptualistic system -- have tended to avoid such intramural debates. Instead, liberation theologies have arisen as intellectual and religious responses to very concrete struggles for justice and love on the part of those committed to overcoming the dehumanizations and depersonalizations resulting from classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism, and militarism. As intellectual and religious responses to such massive human failures, liberation theologies have continuously challenged concepts of God, Christ, Salvation, Sacraments, etc. which are judged inadequate or false relative to the values of liberating us from the systemic injustices destroying so many billions of human lives and the very environment in which we live. But where some other forms of theology might consider their task accomplished when new concepts are forged, liberation theologies insist that only a liberative and transformative praxis actually converting or changing our contemporary world (and churches within that world) provides criteria for whatever adequacy and truth theological concepts may have.

An Historical Retrospect: The Dead-Ends of Classical Sacralism and Modern Secularism

Philosophically, liberation theologies are sometimes portrayed as more or less naive popular movements drawing upon now outdated 19th century notions of divergent vintages: Marxist (Third World), social gospel (First World), suffragette (Feminist), black nationalism (Black), agrarian pastoralism (Environmentalist), or romantic pacifism (Nuclear Pacifist). These portrayals cast liberation theologies in the guise of populist discontents futilely raging against the progressive organizational developments of modern, 20th century industrialized societies. Theologically, liberation theologies are sometimes portrayed as neoconservative reactions to the advances of theological liberalism, as though liberation theologies were ducking the stringent critiques liberal theologies posed to traditional doctrinal symbol systems.

I would suggest another interpretive framework. Liberation theologies are the theological counterpart of a widespread recognition that we must collaborate concretely to transform the world. In solidarity with the many victims of both premodern classical sacralist cultures and modern secularist cultures, liberation theologies are collaborating with others in an epochal transformation of contemporary cultures into a new world order (PPH 213). Since the first centuries of our Common Era when Christian theologians were forging the categories of a new religion in an old world, and since the Reformations of the 16th and 17th centuries when Christian theologians were dismantling the religious legitimations of a decadent Christendom, liberation theologians are not arriving, a little breathless and a little late, at deep cultural transformations which have already occurred. Instead they are collaborating in the elaboration of a vast new cultural transformation which is calling us to collaborate towards a new future -- provided, of course, that the weapons of modernity do not blast our planet into oblivion.

Elsewhere I have analyzed some of the major elements of these three cultural epochs -- classical, modern, and contemporary (SV 107-15, LW 257-307, compare with SAL 3-20). Here I shall summarize that analysis as it contextualizes the contemporary cultural significance of liberation theologies. Taking a first cue from Whitehead and others, these three cultural epochs can be defined with reference to the notions of science which underpin the cultural achievements, as well as reflecting the social conflicts, characterizing the three epochs (SMW 1-24, 258-60, AI). A second cue is taken from Bernard Lonergan’s understanding of a dialectic between communal experience and communal expression. This dialectic provides categories, within our contemporary context, for discerning how communal expressions, when they are cut off from transformative communal experiences, become "objective" and "institutionalized" in ways which dichotomize subjects and objects, experiences and expressions. Insofar as this occurs, community as the dynamic of active intersubjective agents is difficult, if not impossible. Human beings are reduced to more or less passive, manipulated objects. Subjects and experience become "privatized," and social integration is reduced to forms of hierarchic and/or bureaucratic institutionalization. The dynamics of nature and of history, contrary to all forms of domination, can be understood as the massive movements from intersubjective to interpersonal communities; or, adapting Whitehead’s categories, from spontaneous origination through solidarity to ever more perfect actuality (CTSA 134-36, PR 532, AI 177ff., LL).

Nevertheless, as Johann B. Metz emphasizes, the dialectic of worldwide solidarity "interrupts" the unilinear dominance of progressivist modernity. This should caution us against reading "di~dectics" into natural, nonhuman, dynamics (CCC 149-60, 204-11, PTPT 111-34, M 60-73). The dialectic of communal experience and expression is foundational to all forms of liberation theology. Hence, the importance I gave to the communal contexts in outlining the quests for social justice, to the "movement" character of liberations, and to how liberation theologies are organically related to these movements as their religious and intellectual coworkers. To understand why and how we must collaborate for a new cultural and world era, it is important to contrast our contemporary situation with both the classical and modern periods.

Classical cultural contexts are defined in terms of the notion of science as classical theoria: the ideal of certain knowledge of necessary causes (SC 1-9, 43-67, 193-208). This ideal of epistemic science originated in the classical experience of reason associated with Socrates and his disciples, especially those who gathered about Plato and Aristotle. Eric Voegelin and others have called attention to the classical experience of reason -- the transformative perigoge or "conversio" -- expressed in the ideal of theoria.2 The expression, however, was ambiguous at best (as Heidegger realized) and dangerously imperialistic at worst (as Alvin Gouldner and Enrique Dussel realized).3

The classical experience of reason, as the dynamic of questioning, was politically subversive, calling into question the dominant myths legitimating governance by untransformed rulers (witness the death of Socrates). Yet politically and culturally this seed of a transformative experience of reason fell on very stony ground. Expressed in theoria as a quest for certain knowledge through necessary causes, the cosmological myths were not so much overcome as they were "scientized" into a philosophical cosmology of necessary and certain orders of the universe, which "projections" were then androcentrically "injected" to legitimate dominative "natural and necessary orders of patriarchal societies and "natural and necessary" orderings of faculties in the soul. Cut off from the classical experience of reason, the classical expression severed Theoria from Bios. Just as androcentric competition in the polis had the dark underside of classist, racist, and sexist repressions of women-slaves-children, so Greco-Roman cultures and politics came to renounce even their limited democratic ideals and practices in the pursuit of the certainties and necessities of militaristic imperialism. An egalitarian noetic transformation was systemically blocked. Metaphysics and ethics, rather than questioning authority, became authoritarian and legitimative of dominative power.

The trajectory of these deformations is well illustrated in the centuries between Socrates and Plutarch, who, in his Fortune and Virtue of Alexander, describes how the imperial ruler is "above" the philosopher since the ruler realizes in dominative power-actions what the philosopher only dreams and lectures about. In this deformed classical context, the theoria of the philosopher is a conceptual legitimation of imperial domination by the ruling elites and the historical victors. As Karl Marx pointed out, the Greeks and Romans soon repressed the insights of Aristotle into the destructive class oppressions by the rich of the poor in antiquity (CSAGW 23-111, 300-26, 518-37).

Judaism and Christianity greatly intensified the dialectic of communal experience and communal expression with their revelations of the Divine Mystery’s covenanted choice and partiality with the poor, the enslaved, the outcast victims of history (BL). Briefly, the communal Passover experience recalled the Divine election as Exodus from slavery, sealing Israel’s identity in fidelity to Torah and messianic expectation. The prophets recalled this time and again when Israel tried to mimic the monarchical ambition of surrounding polities, failing to keep alive the transformative Passover experience of liberative election. As a reform movement within Judaism, the communal praxis of inclusive wholeness and the Basileia vision of Jesus both transformed apocalyptic messianism and led those he converted into a paschal-metanoetic egalitarian discipleship wherein faith in his resurrection would open the Covenant of God to the "lowly" of all nations. This is what inspired the early Christian missionary movements, fostering faith-communities whose knowledge was born of the Spirit of Love (Agape), rather than a certain knowledge of necessary causes, or an elitist knowledge engendered by fear of competition and oppression (IMH, BFM).

Regarding classical cultures as a dialectic of Christian theology and theoria, much work remains to be done in recovering the egalitarian and anti-imperialistic communities of reform-minded Christians, how their orthopraxis in communal experiences of repentance and inclusive wholeness envisaged an orthodoxy expressive of solidarity with the poor and outcast. Martyrdom, and then monasticism, carried forward a communal solidarity in conflict with Roman Imperialism and the domination of imperial cities over the peasant countryside (CSAGW 9-19, 120-32,208-26, 267-69, 425-52, 474-503; nowhere does CSACW treat of monasticism as a solidarity movement, cf. OECT). Theologians divided. An Athanasius, inspired by a genuinely Christian monasticism, not only had a more (comparative to his times) wholesome understanding of human sexuality and marriage, as well as women s ministerial roles in the church, but also struggled (to the point of being expelled from his diocese five times by those supporting the imperium) for an orthodoxy which would confess the God revealed in Christ as a community of consubstantial Persons. The Trinitarian and Christological Councils doctrinally broke with the authoritarian metaphysical ideology of the Imperium, with its syncretic amalgam of monist monarchy (One Supreme God, One Emperor, One Ecumene) and dualist anarchy (subordinate polytheistic cults, rival regional imperial representatives, tolerance of indigenous cultures if they did not threaten monist monarchy) (MPP, CSAGW 278-408, ERW, AB).

But the emperors had their court theologians, like Eusebius of Caesarea and his disciples, who would promote an ecclesial history of the victors and a sacralist ideology wherein Christian symbols were used to legitimate imperialistic political domination (CE).

The breakthroughs of communal paschal-metanoetic Christian experience, and the reformations they engendered, were increasingly outnumbered by the deformative breakdowns into sacralism. Over centuries Christianity became Christendom, the Roman Empire became a feudal "Holy" Roman Empire. Monastic missionaries, both women and men, would live among and educate the so-called "barbarians," only later to give in to the tactics of a Charlemagne pressing the monasteries into strategies of Western empire-building, which, in turn, evoked ongoing reforms as wealth dulled and darkened a genuine Christian discipleship (CSP 1-43).

The thirteenth century beggar or mendicant reforms initiated by Dominic Francis of Assisi, and Clare revitalized a Christian spirituality of egalitarian communities and solidarity with the poor. It was in this context that Bonaventure and Thomas Aquinas fulfilled their intellectual apostolates within the newly emergent, and democratic, universities. They recovered the classical experience of reason as the potential infinity of human questions, showing how this dynamic "ratio" as a desire for understanding is healed and transformed by the paschal-metanoetic experience of faith in the Sophia-Cod of compassion and love.4 Aquinas, for example, understood God as "intimately present within everything that exists since God is existence" and that Cod’s omnipotence -- Aquinas wrote very little about it -- regards not actualities but possibilities, and is best manifested in forgiveness and compassionate mercy.5

By the next century, however, the dialectic of classical theoria was evident in the scholastic conceptualism which put concepts and logic before understanding, so that knowledge was misunderstood as an intuition of nexi between concepts. As subsequent Dominican and Franciscan theologians joined the inquisition, so their theologies became sacralist legitimations of papal and monarchist power politics to shore up a decadent Christendom, portraying God as the all powerful monarch of the universe.

The Protestant reformers sought to recover the egalitarian and communal biblical faith experience as a reforming antidote to this poisonous sacralism (CSP 159-222). Luther, for instance, rightly railed against the deadening conceptualism of the decadent speculative theologies of his day. But the reformers had their efforts so often coopted by the dominative power politics of the emerging nation-states. In short, the classical contexts of Christian theologies and theoria historically witnessed the recurrent betrayals of the Cross by the sword, Christianity by Christendom, as colonizations brought new peoples and lands into the orbit of the dehumanizing power games of Europe’s so-called Christian cultures and nations. By the seventeenth century the West began to have its fill of the pogroms, crusades, inquisitions, wars of religion, and all the other excesses and repressions of Christian sacralisms.

Modern Western cultures emerged as an Enlightenment. Small groups of philosophers, scientists, scholars, and men of letters were increasingly convinced that the rising merchant and bourgeois class were destined by "the laws of nature and history" to replace the aristocrats of the old feudal order. This class solidarity was linked to a fundamental belief in the newly emerging science and technology to assure progress. The historical fatalism of the Renaissance was broken (ESF 6-10, 45-51, 123-25, 163-66). This conjunction of socioeconomic restructuring and the modern scientific revolution "outshines everything since the rise of Christianity and reduces the Renaissance and Reformation to the rank of mere episodes, mere internal displacements, within the system of medieval Christendom" (OMS vii, SMW 1-4).

Auguste Comte would later draw parallels between the early communal groups of Christians and the small communities of intellectual elites, in solidarity with the emergent bourgeoisie, making scientific breakthroughs in the 17th and 18th centuries. As the Christian household churches eventually were institutionalized in early Catholicism, so, mused Comte, it was time in the 19th century to institutionalize modern science in a rationally secularist alliance between science, state, and industry which would wed universities, governments ,and business enterprises in the campaign for unlimited technological progress. If, for David Hume, "reason or science is nothing but the comparing of ideas and the discovery of their relations" (THN 10-15, 466), for Comte it was clear that the "ideas" were no longer theological, nor metaphysical, but the positive ideas of empirically discovering the mechanical laws of nature and society by the scientific and industrial elites. Politicians were assigned the task of promulgating these laws to the masses (CPP, CP).

The point about Comte’s views on modernity is how unexceptional they were. Although his prescriptions were regarded as odd, his descriptions of the new age as informed with secular beliefs in progress through the rational, scientific organization of societies, for the purpose of ever increasing industrialization and ever new technologies of control, was very typical of modernity. European and Western in origin, modern science and technology were seen as universal in scope. As Whitehead put it: "More and more it is becoming evident that what the West can most readily give to the East is its science and its scientific outlook. This is transferable from country to country, and from race to race, wherever there is a rational society" (SMW 4). But what precisely is a "rational society"? Modernity underwent the dialectic of communal experience and communal expression in the form of what Peter Cay calls "the logic of enlightenment and Theodor Adorno with Max Horkheimer call "the dialectic of scientific enlightenment" (ESF 497ff., DE). Briefly stated, this logic or dialectic was the tragic transition from the notion of science as theoria (certain knowledge of necessary causes) to the notion of science as technique (verifiable knowledge of mechanistic causes). The transition is tragic because the moderns failed to understand, just as the originators of classical cultures had, how the liberative potential of reason as the human ability to raise ever further relevant questions is alienated and frustrated in authoritarian societies deeply marked by classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism, and militarism. Thus the transition from the system of a declining medieval Christendom to modernity was a tragic transition from sacralist hierarchic authoritarianisms to secularist bureaucratic authoritarianisms.

We have seen how the classical experience of reason was a release of the questioning dynamism of human understanding and how this dynamism was restricted and deformed by authoritarian social structures time and again. The modern experience of reason released this dynamism, orienting it in ever more sophisticated methods of empirical observation, hypothesis formation, verification or falsification, and technological applications. Yet, just as classical theoria was deformed by ideas of knowing as "seeing" or "looking at" naturally necessary causal substances (cosmology) and then "injecting" this looking at supposedly "natural and necessary" unjust social structures, so modern technique was deformed by ideas of knowing as verified in "making" or "producing" naturally mechanistic substances (mechanics, physics, chemistry) and then "injecting" this making into necessarily mechanistic reorganizations of human societies which bureaucratically maintained unjust social structures. Modern expressions of reason were deformed into either an extrinsicism (positivism) or an immanentism (idealism) in which nature and history, science and morality, fact and value, bureaucracy and community, knowing and feeling, were (1) either sundered from one another in various forms of dualism, e.g., mechanism-vitalism, scientism-emotivisrn, etc., (2) or were conflated into various forms of monism, e.g., materialism, idealism, etc. (LL 66-79, 146-53, 213-19, 245-64, 285-94, SV 1-60).

The modern scientific revolution was quickly coopted by the modern industrial 1evolution. Science became identified with techniques of control and manipulation of both the natural and social environments. Knowledge was power, and the quest for this cognitive power was fueled by fear. Fear, first of all, of the natural environment (viz., Voltaire on the Lisbon earthquake), then fear of the contingencies of physical life and death, and finally fear of other human beings and societies. Science and technology became weapons in the struggle for dominative power. Such deformations need not have occurred. As in the classical contexts, so in the modern, there were many efforts to address the increasing injustices arising from classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism, and militarism. But such reform movements, as efforts to recover the genuine and liberative orientations of the modern experience of reason, were either ignored by the dominant modern cultures or, when they succeeded, they did so only because they adapted the dominative power techniques of manipulation and control typical of the social orders and cultures against which they initially protested. Thus in Communism, as John McMurtry and others have shown, the unjust structures of class oppression have not been transcended, as Marx hoped, but only transmuted into party-bureaucratic class oppression (SMWV, AEE, CSCP).

Socially and politically, modern secularism has in our time ended up a ghastly reflection of the classical sacralism it initially rejected. Instead of an authoritarian Holy Roman Empire we now live in world of nuclear Superpowers which justify their divergent forms of authoritarianism by appeals to national security. The disintegration of a divided Christendom had led reformers and counter-reformers to dismantle ecclesial unity but to keep the notion of revealed religion. When these competing sacralisms spawned the wars of religion, the modern quest for "pure reason" led the rationalists to reject revealed religion and enthrone in its place first a natural religiosity and then a secularist supremacy of reason. But the dialectic of this enlightenment was that liberal, egalitarian rational discourse and decision-making could hardly be realized in societies distorted by the social injustices of classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism, and militarism.

The consequence was that modern secularist liberalism eventually despaired of rational agreement, yet insisted on maintaining respect for individual conscience. Conscience, however, was so privatized that religious, moral, and economic values could not sustain the common good in the republics of representative democracies except through "pressure politics" relative to the social contract (Jean-Jacques Rousseau). Max Weber saw how the claims and counter-claims of competing private religions, private moralities, and private businesses would be at best only adjudicated by bureaucratic techniques. The underlying social Darwinism -- survival of the strongest -- seemed to assure that modern liberal republics would trace again the trajectory of Rome from a republic to an empire. For, as both Marx and Weber surmised in different ways, the demands of capitalist accumulation, industrialization, and professionalization would increasingly contradict and constrain genuine democracy (CMST 169-84). The nation-states, even those born in the desire for independence and self-determination, became engaged in aggressive empire-building and militaristic nationalisms. These mocked the dictates of private conscience in their overriding national security needs for bureaucratically organizing vast economic and military exploits (I 225-44, KP, OT, EWL).

Modernity has dead-ended in the World Wars, the Holocaust, the countless genocides, the exploitation of Third-World countries, the increasing pollution of the earth’s environment, and the terrible spectre of nuclear omnicide. "Progress through technology" sounds like the empty gong of a clanging funeral bell. Our modern and enlightened 20th century has witnessed the slaughter of more human beings by their fellows than any other. I ask you to recollect in some dark phantasm the millions upon millions of dead and broken men, women, children, animals which the wars and oppressions of the last eighty-three years have sacrificed on the altar of modern ideologies of progress. Through the shadows of such a ghastly phantasm listen to the words of Joseph Priestly, a clergyman, chemist, and liberal reformer, writing on the glories of modern technology from his vantage of the eighteenth century:

Men [sic] . . . will grow daily more happy and more able to communicate happiness to others. Thus whatever was the beginning of this modern world, the end will be glorious and paradisiacal beyond what our imagination can now conceive. (WPSP 198)

Advocacy Scholarship and Intellectual Praxis

The dead-ends of both Medieval sacralism and Modern secularism indicate, I believe, the radical contradiction which liberation theologies pose to both conservative and liberal theologies (and their many "neo" varieties). Classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism, and militarism were rampant in the societies and cultures of both classical and modern societies. Modernity is still very much with us. As Nietzsche remarked, it will take time for the death of modernity to reach the awareness of those it favors. There is still a strong secularist belief in technological progress. Modern secularism seems to be flourishing to many -- just as classical sacralisms did to generations of politicians, philosophers, and theologians during the twilight of Christendom.

But the victims of modernity, and those of us in solidarity with them, contradict the hopes of those who would manage the ever increasing crises of modernity through more adroit use of the techniques of social engineering and bureaucratic professionalism. The central problem is how to bring about more just and good societies, for only such social transformation will avert the mounting probabilities of ecological and/or nuclear devastation. Whitehead saw the problem when he remarked how bureaucratic professionalism in modernity is mated with the notion of progress, so that "the world is now faced with a self-evolving system, which it cannot stop." Private conscience or individually great persons are insufficient to counteract the social injustices intensified by the technological and bureaucratic power of modernity (SMW 255, CPST 234-59).

Liberation theologies concentrate on precisely this central problem insofar as they focus, in solidarity, on those communities concretely striving to transcend classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism, and militarism. This concentration acknowledges the futility of either theoria or technique to transcend adequately these social injustices. Simultaneously, however, this contemporary stance is not a neoconservative antimodernity. If liberation theologians, in solidarity with the victims of modernity, have no illusions about modernity’s quest for "pure reason," we are just as disillusioned about the quest for "pure religion" in classical sacralisms. Against sacralism, liberation theologians point to the many ideological distortions of Christian faith to legitimate dominative power-complexes and value-conflicts in which that faith is used to victimize the poor, women, non-European races, the environment, and the defenseless. Against secularism, the same theologians point to the many ideological distortions of science and technology in which scientific reason is used to dominate and victimize the same groups of persons and nature. Modernity, with its enthronement of "progress through technology" is, however, the concrete economic, social, political, cultural, and ecclesial orders against which liberation theologies direct their intellectual and religious dialectics. Nor are they alone.

Intellectually, there are growing numbers of scientists, technicians, philosophers, and scholars who practice an "advocacy science and scholarship" which challenges head-on conceptions of science, technology, and scholarship as value neutral activities of pure and disinterested elites. But the challenge is not an abstract conceptual claim, as though it held that "the essences" of science, technology and scholarship are classist, sexist, racist, technocentric, and militaristic. Such abstract conceptualism misunderstands such intellectual advocacy in terms of classical theoria, as if we were claiming that we had certain knowledge of necessary causal relations between science-technology-scholarship and these social injustices. Nor do such claims seek an a priori and abstract conjunction between "liberation" and "theology," as if all "liberation" is "of its very essence" theological, or all "theology" is "of its very essence" liberative. This would be a similar misconstrual of liberation theology in terms of theoria (FF). Similarly, the advocacy of solidarity with the poor, women, nonwhite races, environments, and the defenseless is not an exclusionary technique or strategy whereby these masses are armed with a secret knowledge only they enjoy, and by which they can act to overthrow their oppressors. Such a view misconstrues advocacy scholarship in terms of modern technique, as though we claimed an exclusive knowledge verified in mechanistic causal relations between the victims of history and the "making" of history; as if history could be "made" or "produced" like an object (HMT 341-56, 422-56).

The advocacy scholarship of liberation theologies corresponds and contributes to the hermeneutical and dialectical shifts toward praxis now Occurring in what are called post-empiricist philosophies of science (BOR, TKH). Elsewhere I have attempted to spell out in greater detail these developments in contemporary philosophical reflections on the praxis of reason in sciences and scholarly disciplines, indicating how they support the intellectual performance of liberation theologians (TW 103-47). Briefly, contemporary post-empiricist philosophies of science call attention to the fundamental importance, neither of theoria nor of technique, but of the concrete praxis of performance of reason constituted by the raising of ever further relevant questions within communities of inquiry (SAFT).

This directs attention to the concrete subjects doing science or scholarship, as well as the life-worlds of everyday living and the social institutions within which those subjects do science and scholarship. Hermeneutics, with its emphasis upon tradition and narrative, is central to the philosophy of science now cognizant of the false dichotomies between objectivity and subjectivity, science and ideology, engendered by the modern Enlightenment. Just as sciences, technologies and scholarly disciplines arise out of and return to the life-worlds of everyday living and dying, so the logical and theoretical methods of argumentative discourse arise out of and return to participatory "fusions of horizon" in the "mutual agreements" of historical narrative praxis (BOR 144ff, TW 113ff). Yet the hermeneutical dimensions of rationality are insufficient to raise all the relevant questions posed within them. There is a series of sublations operative between empirical science, hermeneutics, and dialectics. Just as it is important, in order to do justice to the praxis of reason operative in the empirical sciences, to complement their observational and explanatory heuristics with hermeneutical and historical analyses, so it is important, in order to do justice to the praxis of reason operative in hermeneutics and historical reconstructions, to complement their interpretive and reconstructive heuristics with dialectics (BOR 150ff, TW 117ff.).

A dialectics without hermeneutics can be, and has been, ideologically distorted into a universalizing or totalizing of particular discoveries as though they were the answer to all further relevant questions (HU 384-97, MFL). But a hermeneutics without dialectics cannot engage in the heuristic and critical questioning of latent value-conflicts and power-complexes whereby the very raising of further relevant questions itself is socially repressed or oppressed. As the work of Paulo Freire abundantly documents, it is precisely such further relevant questions which the oppressed victims of injustice are kept from raising (P0, PP). Social justice as egalitarian relations towards others is intrinsic to the realization of reason’s truth and freedom in history. Science, technology, and scholarship are ideologically and systematically distorted to the degree that the subjects doing or practicing them, and the institutions in which the practice occurs, repress or oppose this intrinsic orientation to social justice (CPST, TKH, CIR).

Contemporary social science is also calling into question the long-standing modern dichotomies between Gemeinschaft and Gesellschaft (Tönnies), along with Max Weber’s highly influential subsequent dichotomies between Zweck- and Wertrationalität, bureaucracy and charisma, which had an impact on the derivative Troeltschian distinctions between church and sect (TKH, CPST). These dichotomies tended to institutionalize or bureaucratize domination, which, as mentioned, is the common core of the social injustices of classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism, and militarism. Weber’s distinctions between three "pure types" of authority (rational-bureaucratic, traditional, and charismatic) are termed by Weber forms of "legitimate domination" (Herrschaft). These "pure types" give the primacy to extrinsic bureaucratic control techniques as eminently "rational" (ES 212ff.). Yet, as Giddens remarks, they have intensified, in the social sciences, the subject/object dualisms which have dogged most areas of social analysis (CPST 96-130). For all forms of social production and reproduction are constituted by the dialectics of structuration and agency whereby the active praxis or doings of subjects distance and deligitimate dominative power (CPST 131-64). Such an analysis indicates the foundational importance of liberative communities empowering subjects in their praxis of transcending social injustice. Contradictions are embedded in dominative power structures whereby it is impossible to negate fully human subjects as knowers and active agents (CPST 76-95). No matter how alienating past and present social structures were or are, countervailing transformative trends can be nurtured and, in the case of past histories, discerned.

In dialectically articulating our solidarity with the victims of injustice, liberation theologians provide the theological dimensions of a much larger contemporary n7lOvement among scientists, technologists and scholars. This movement is assembling the elements for a radical paradigm shift in science, technology, and scholarship. This paradigm shift is transforming or "converting" these activities away from modern ideological distortions which dichotomized objectivity and subjectivity, facts and values, science and morality, industry and environment, system and life-world, bureaucracy and autonomy, analysis and narrative, technology and art, truth and freedom (TW, LL, SAFT, SL).

The liberative praxis of reason stresses imaginative insight and understanding as generative of concepts of ideas, the intrinsic relational conditions constitutive of true knowledge, as well as the ongoing dynamism of raising ever further relevant questions and the need to take responsibility in freedom for the values of reason. The values of reason are not cut off from the values of life, and values are mediated imaginatively and emotively, as well as conceptually. This intellectual praxis is very different from the conceptualism which, as Habermas and others indicate, derailed both classical science as theoria and modern science as technique. For these expressions of the scientific and rational ideals do not attend to the actual performance of imaginatively understanding; instead concepts are "mysteriously" produced and understanding and/or explanation consist in intuiting the necessary and certain relations or nexi between them (classical expressions of theoria), or concepts are mechanically produced in the brain and understanding is intuiting the verifiable or falsifiable relations between them (modern expressions of technique) (KHI 301-17, SC 69-86). I believe that similar insights are conveyed by Whitehead when he argues against understanding the relationship between subject and object as only that between knower and known in a Cartesian conceptualism (Al 117ff.). A key issue in comparing process theology and liberation theology would be the fundamental import of contextualization in liberation theology. If understanding precedes and grounds conceptual expressions, then the primary concern must be to attend intelligently and responsibly to the concrete contexts in which conceptual expressions are elaborated. John Cobb’s Process Theology as Political Theology and Delwin Brown’s To Set at Liberty indicate the fruitfulness of this contextualization in the emerging dialogue between process and political or liberation theologies. I believe such a contextual attentiveness is also needed in dealing with past theological expressions, e.g., those of classical theism.

Genuine knowledge is not power to dominate, manipulate, or control what is known, making the latter fit into necessary and/or mechanistic concepts. Rather, genuine knowledge is a performative questioning of the multiple environments and ecologies of data, empowering the knower to participate creatively and responsibly in life. As Whitehead and Lonergan, among others, emphasize, our creative conscious participation in reality and life generates the concerns and emphases of our questioning.6 The heuristics of such a participatory and empowerment notion of understanding and scientific performance correlate with an understanding of reality as an ecologically inclusive wholeness, the emergent probability of which is oriented towards ever greater freedom and justice (LL 79-109, I 115-39).

Knowledge as empowerment towards participation in the emergent probability of ecologically inclusive wholeness indicates both the importance of communal solidarity in life-worlds and the intrinsic relationship between genuine intelligence and social justice. Classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism, and militarism are not only moral outrages, they are stultifying and irrational alienations from the creative praxis of reason. They are social surds having no intrinsic intelligibility and so can be adequately understood only in the dialectical efforts to transcend their destructive necromorphic alienation (I 229-32, 628-29, 689-90). This understanding of injustice as social surd is crucial for breaking through the classical and modern deformation of reason and of faith. The only intelligibility within the injustices of classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism, militarism is the intelligibility of concretely striving to transcend dialectically their irrationality.

Charges of "reverse" classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism or militarism are typically modern, conceptualist distortions of the intellectual praxis of liberation. Each concept has a possible and necessary opposite, and the liberal, open-minded approach is to leave it up to the "free market" of history to see which prevails. Alasdair MacIntyre has exposed the profound failures of this modern, value-neutral conceptualism; and Gustavo Gutierrez has uncovered how such conceptualism cloaks the massive exploitation occurring on the "underside" of modern, liberal history (AV 49-102, 238-45, PPH 169-234). What such charges of "reverse bias" fail to understand is how these communal movements are seeking to transcend classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism, militarism; how their liberation intrinsically involves the liberation of the oppressor groups; how freedom is not value-neutral but profoundly oriented to the values of responsibility for egalitarian relationships with others; and how human history can only be understood adequately in the contexts of such immanent struggles for transcending the moral evils which twist and torment it into histories of domination and oppression. These histories of domination and oppression cannot be determined in apriori, necessary, or mechanical manners, but only through the attentive and intelligent aposteriori praxis of reason committed to the values of justice, truth, and freedom. Theoria and technique seek to avoid the commitments of this praxis of reason. Whenever conscience is repressed from consciousness, consciousness itself constricts or atrophies. Between domination and liberation "tertium vel via media non dantur."

Liberation Theology Beyond Sacralism and Secularism

Modern agnostic and/or atheistic secularism was not the consistent consequence of a syllogism. Freud and Marx were no logicians or metaphysicians wrestling with third degree abstractions about God. They were dealing with personal pathologies and social alienations which were not infrequently related to sacralist deformation of religion, and specifically of Christianity. For them, and for modern secularism generally, the conjunction of "liberation" and "theology" would be a contradiction in terms. Sacralism, we saw, is the religious legitimation of domination; and domination is the common denominator in classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism, and militarism. Modern secularism rejected this sacralism, and with it Christianity, often out of the best of intentions.

Yet, as we have seen, the performance of modernity hardly measured up to its promise. A conceptualist theoria was transmuted into an empiricist technique which put the products of its knowledge as power at the service of new masters. Only some human beings of particular classes, races, and sex have been systemically permitted to grow and be themselves. Moreover, this growth has often entailed vast industrialization and capitalist accumulation which have trapped millions of human beings in grinding cycles of poverty and exploitable cheap labor, as well as ravishing and poisoning environment after environment. The concrete social contradictions are so intense that a massive militarism is relied upon to "stabilize and pacify" spheres of domination. The liberal secularism (freedom of religion) and the Marxist secularism (freedom from religion) are techniques which overlooked the need for a dialectics which would uncover the concrete forms of domination distorting both sacralism and secularism.

The theological critiques of sacralism and secularism by liberationists are dialectical. In solidarity with the dead as well as the living victims of domination, they acknowledge how any symbol-system, idea-system, or social-system becomes ideological to the degree that those systems legitimate domination (CPST 165ff., 184-93, TWI). Neither faith systems nor science systems provide any guarantee against ideology. But, by the same token, neither faith nor science are "necessarily" ideologies of domination. The dialectical tasks of liberation theologies, therefore, make imperative critical collaboration among the various liberation theologies dealing with the diverse forms of domination in classism, sexism, racism, technocentrism, and militarism (CLT).

Imperative as well is collaboration with other religious traditions and all movements of solidarity with the victims of domination. Such an "ecumenism from below" does not mean that any of these liberationist orientations must give up their own particular concerns and values for the sake of a common lowest denominator. For the intrinsic relations between reason and justice, the praxis of reason with its priority of contextual understanding over conceptual expression, means that the universality of solidarity, or inclusive wholeness, is a universality that is mediated through the particularity of local and communal struggles to transcend injustice. It dialectically rejects the classical and modern "imperial" efforts to first elaborate a conceptualist "universality" and then impose it from the top down" on all local and communal particularities. Basic Christian communities are misunderstood if they are taken as "techniques of organizing pressure groups" to make or produce social changes "external" to the communities. These communities can only adequately be understood as a "praxis" rather than a "technique." Their good is internal to their own communal efforts at transcending social injustices (AV 171ff., CBCC, EC).

Such liberationist collaboration is already beginning to emerge among the various types of liberation theologies. Third World liberation theologies have continually striven to promote such a dialectical collaboration among the diverse regional perspectives among South American, African, and Asian contexts. There has also been an ongoing collaboration between First and Third World theologians. There could be a long recitation of how liberation and political theologians have, in their own intellectual praxis, sought to promote a dialectical collaboration among past and present scientists, scholars, philosophers, and theologians working within First, Second, and Third world contexts (FSUW). It is crucial to interrelate the manifold contexts in which people are striving to transcend concretely the injustices of classism, racism, sexism, technocentrism, and militarism.

We can scarcely overestimate the work that remains to be done. For nothing less is at stake than collaborating on the radical transformation of civilizations and history. As Cornel West points out, liberation theologies in Christianity seek "a promotion and practice of the moral core of the [dialectical] perspective against overwhelming odds for success’ (PD 137). Solidarity with the victims of history trans-values, indeed, the very notion of success. Domination has always been a short-cut to very Pyrrhic victories. If the nuclear arms race is not proof enough of that, I do not know what possibly could be! For the first time on the stage of world history, we humans can envisage the possibility -- some would say, the probability -- of a self-inflicted, abrupt, and apocalyptic nuclear end of the drama as we have lived it till now. The drama must change profoundly if it is even to continue.

For until now it has been rent by wars and conflicts in which some emerged as victors and most were destroyed or enslaved as victims. The human drama has been marked by pell-mell successions of roles, which could be designated as winners versus losers, victors versus victims, masters versus slaves, empires versus colonies, superpowers versus underdeveloped countries. The nuclear arms race discloses the lethal power of domination as death. This was known by the victims of domination, but their cries were scarcely heard over the drums of superpower rhetoric. If science and technology are ever to be liberated from tutelage to the dominative powers of history, if the drama is to be "interrupted" redemptively rather than destructively, then Christian theology, which has itself been enticed time and again to legitimate dominative power, can contribute to that future by mediating more dialectically to the present the subversive memories of God’s identification with the struggles of victims everywhere in the mystery and message of Christ Jesus.

In Process and Reality Whitehead wrote: "When the Western world accepted Christianity, Caesar conquered; and the received text of Western theology was edited by his lawyers. . . The brief Galilean vision of humility flickered throughout the ages, uncertainly. . . [T]he deep idolatry, of the fashioning of God in the image of the Egyptian, Persian, and Roman imperial rulers, was retained. The Church gave unto Cod the attributes which belonged exclusively to Caesar . . . . [I]n the Galilean origin of Christianity [is] yet another suggestion. . . It does not emphasize the ruling Caesar, or the ruthless moralist, or the unmoved mover. It dwells upon the tender elements in the world which slowly and in quietness operate by love; and it finds purpose in the present immediacy of a kingdom not of this world. Love neither rules, nor is it unmoved . . ." (PR 519f.). If sacralism, in this metaphor, is fashioning God in the image of an imperial ruler, secularism (recalling Weber’s appeals to the legal profession as paradigmatic for "legitimate domination") is turning the world over to the lawyers. The solidarity or inclusive wholeness of the Galilean discipleship of equals has only flickered through the ages uncertainly . . . and now we wonder if there will even be another age!

 

References

AB -- Margaret R. Miles. Augustine on the Body. Chico: Scholars Press, 1979.

AEE -- Rudolf Bahro. The Alternative in Eastern Europe. London: NLB Press, 1978.

AV -- Alasdair MacIntyre. After Virtue: A Study in Moral Theory. Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1981.

BFM -- Donald Senior and Carroll Stuhlmueller. The Biblical Foundations for Mission. Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1983.

BL -- Norman K. Gottwald, ed. The Bible and Liberation: Political and Social Hermeneutics. Maryknoll: Orbis Books 1983.

BOR -- Richard J. Bernstein. Beyond Objectivism and Relativism: Science, Hermeneutics, and Praxis. Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1983.

CBCC -- Sergio Torres and John Eagleson, eds. The Challenge of Basic Christian Communities. Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1981.

CE -- Timothy D. Barnes. Constantine and Eusebius. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1981.

CIR -- Marx Wartofsky. "The Critique of Impure Reason: Sin, Science, and Society." Science, Technology, and Human Values. Cambridge: The MIT Press, number 33, Fall, 1980, pp. 5-23.

CLT -- Brian Mahan and L. Dale Richesin, eds. The Challenge of Liberation Theology: A First World Response. Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1981.

CMST -- Anthony Giddens. Capitalism and Modern Social Theory. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1971.

CP -- Auguste Comte. Catéchisme positiviste. 1852. Paris: Société Positiviste Internationale edition, 1912.

CPP -- August Comte. Cours de philosophie positive. 1830-1842. Paris: Schleicher edition, 1908. 6 vols.

CPST -- Anthony Giddens. Central Problems in Social Theory: Action Structure and Contradiction in Social Analysis. Berkeley:

University of California Press, 1979.

CSAGW -- G. E. M. de Ste. Croix. The Class Struggle in the Ancient Greek World. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1981.

CSCP -- Stanislaw Starski. Class Struggle in Classless Poland. Boston: South End Press, 1982.

CSP -- Derek Baker, ed. Church Society and Politics: Papers Read at the 13th and 14th Meetings of the Ecclesiastical History Society. Oxford: Basil Blackwell, 1975.

CTSA -- Matthew L. Lamb. "Power in Liberation Theology." Catholic Theological Society of America Proceedings 37 (1982), 134-36.

DE -- Theodor Adorno & Max Horkheimer. The Dialectic of Enlightenment. New York: Crossroad Publishers, 1972.

EC -- Johann B. Metz. The Emergent Church: The Future of Christianity in a Postbourgeois World. New York: Crossroad Publishers, 1981.

ERW -- Fergus Millar, The Emperor in the Roman World. Ithaca: Cornell University Press, 1977.

ES -- Max Weber. Economy and Society. Berkeley: University of California Press edition, 1978. 2 vols.

ESF -- Peter Gay. The Enlightenment: The Science of Freedom. New York: Knopf, 1969.

EWL -- William A. Williams. Empire as a Way of Life. New York: Oxford University Press, 1980.

FF -- Schubert M. Ogden. Faith and Freedom: Toward a Theology of Liberation. Nashville: Abingdon, 1979.

FSUW -- Roger L. Shinn and Paul Abrecht, eds. Faith and Science in an Unjust World: Report of the World Council of Churches’ Conference on Faith, Science and the Future. Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1980. 2 vols.

GGC -- Johann B. Metz. Glaube in Geschichte und Gesellschaft. Mainz: Grünewald, 1977.

HMT -- Matthew L. Lamb. History, Method and Theology. Chico: Scholars Press, 1978.

HU -- Stephen Toulmin. Human Understanding: The Collective Use and Evolution of Concepts. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1972.

I -- Bernard Lonergan. Insight: A Study of Human Understanding. New York: Harper & Row, 1978. Eleventh Printing.

IMH -- Elizabeth Schüssler Fioreuza. In Memory of Her: A Feminist Theological Reconstruction of Christian Origins. New York: Crossroad Publishers, 1983.

KHI -- Jürgen Habermas. Knowledge and Human Interests. Boston: Beacon Press, 1971.

KP -- Richard Bendix. Kings or People: Power and the Mandate to Rule. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978.

LL -- Charles Birch and John B. Cobb, Jr., The Liberation of Life: From the Cell to the Community. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981.

LT -- Rosemary Ruether. Liberation Theology. New York: Paulist Press, 1972.

LW -- Frederick Lawrence, ed. Lonergan Workshop. Chico: Scholars Press, 1978. Vol. 1.

M -- Mark Morelli, general editor. Method: Journal of Lonergan Studies. Loyola Marymount University. 1/1 (Spring, 1983).

MFL -- Enrique Dussel. Método para unafilosophia de la liberación. Salamanca: Sigueme, 1974.

MPP -- A. Schindler, ed. Monotheismus als politisches Problem? Gütersloh: C. Mohn, 1978.

OECT -- Charles Avila. Ownership: Early Christian Teaching. Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1983.

OMS -- Herbert Butterfield. The Origins of Modern Science. London: Bell & Sons, 1957.

OT -- Hanna Arendt. The Origins of Totalitarianism. New York: Harcourt Brace Jovanovich, 1973. Reprint.

PCST -- Anthony Giddens. Profiles and Critiques in Social Theory. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1982.

PD -- Cornel West. Prophesy Deliverance! An Afro-American Revolutionary Christianity. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1982.

PO -- Paulo Freire. Pedagogy of the Oppressed. New York: Herder & Herder, 1972.

PP -- Paulo Freire. Pedagogy in Process. New York: Seabury Press, 1978.

PPH -- Gustavo Gutierrez. The Power of the Poor in History. Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1983.

PTPT -- John B. Cobb, Jr. Process Theology as Political Theology. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1982.

SAFT -- Helmut Peukert. Science, Action, and Fundamental Theology. Cambridge: The MIT Press, 1984.

SAL -- Delwin Brown. To Set at Liberty: Christian Faith and Human Freedom. Maryknoll: Orbis Books, 1981.

SC -- Bernard Lonergan. A Second Collection. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1974.

SL -- Rita Arditti, Pat Brennan, Steven Cavrak, eds. Science and Liberation. Boston: South End Press, 1980.

SMWV -- John McMurtry. The Structure of Marx’s World-View. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1978.

SV -- Matthew L. Lamb. Solidarity with Victims: Toward a Theology of Social Transformation. New York: Crossroad Publishers, 1982.

THN -- David Hume. A Treatise of Human Nature. Oxford: Clareton Press, 1973. Reprint of 1888 edition.

TKH -- Jürgen Habermas. Theorie des kommunikativen Handelns. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1981. 2 vols.

TW -- Hans Küng and David Tracy, eds. Theologie -- Wohin? Zurick: Benziger Verlag, 1984.

TWI -- Jürgen Habermas. Technik und Wissenschaft als ‘Ideologie’. Frankfurt: Suhrkamp Verlag, 1968.

WMSE -- Ruth L. Sivard. World Military and Social Expenditures 1983: An Annual Report on World Priorities. New York: World Policy Institute, 1983.

WPSP -- Joseph Priestly. Writings on Philosophy, Science, and Politics. New York: Collier Books, 1965. Passmore edition.

Notes

1Summa Theologiae, Il-Il, 57, ic. "iustitiae proprium est inter alias virtutes ut ordinet hominem in his quae sunt ad alterum. Importat enim aequalitatem quandam, ut ipsum nomen demonstrat"; 58, Sc. "Et secundum hoc actus omnium virtutum possunt ad justitiam pertinere, secundum quod ordinat hominem ad bonum commune. There are many inadequacies in Aquinas’s analysis ofjustice, but his definition did emphsize egalitarian relations ("aequalitas") rather than mere equity ("aequitas"). Cf. Michael Walzer, Spheres of Justice (Boston: Basic Books, 1983); and Joseph O’Malley, "Karl Marx and the Thomistic Concept of Justice" as yet unpublished article.

2 Cf. E. Voegelin, "The Gospel and Culture" in D. Miller and D. Hadidan (eds.), Jesus and Man’s Hope (Pittsburgh: Pittsburgh Theological Seminary, 1971), pp. 59-101. Also Eugene Webb, Eric Voegelin: Philosopher of History (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 1981).

3 Cf. M. Heidegger, Unterwegs zur Sprache (Pfullingen: Verlag C. Neske, 1959), pp. 9ff.; A. Gouldner, Enter Plato: Classical Greece and the Origins of Social Theory (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1965), pp. 326ff.; E. Dussel, MFL 17-31; Robert Goizueta, "Liberation and Method: Enrique Dussel’s Analectical Method," in R. Masson (ed.), Pedagogy of God’s Image (Chico: Scholars Press, 1982).

4 Cf. Bernard Lonergan, Verbum: Word and Idea in Aquinas (Notre Dame: Notre Dame University Press, 1967), pp. 66-95, 201-20; also his Grace and Freedom (New York: Herder & Herder, 1971), pp. 93ff.; Elizabeth Dreyer, "Affectus" in the Theology of St. Bonaventure (Milwaukee: Ph.D. Dissertation at Marquette University, 1982, unpublished). Much work remains to be done showing how the Sophia-God of Jesus -- cf. E. Fiorenza, IMH l3Off. -- correlates with the "sapientia" so central to Bonaventure and Aquinas. There is a need for a more contextual retrieval of past theologies.

5Cf. Aquinas Summa Theologiae, I, 8, 1; 25, 3 c. and ad 3. It seems to me that neoclassical criticisms of classical theism misunderstand the theology of Aquinas by reading him through a too conceptualist rendering of his writings common to much so-called "Thomism." Process theologians can scarcely be held accountable for this, since most so-called "Thomists have promoted such a conceptualism. The key to Aquinas, as Lonergan has shown, is a nondominative understanding of human understanding as preceding and grounding conceptualization. The analogy for Divine knowing and willing is a noncoercive "intelligere" and "velle," in which God’s eternal knowing and willing empowers human freedom. Cf. Lonergan, Grace and Freedom, pp. 93-116. Few contemporary theologians have yet understood how, for Aquinas, the simplicity of God’s eternity embraces as presence all the spatiotemporal events of past, present, and future in the transcendent, noncoercive presence of Infinite Consciousness. Hence, the temporal statement that God wills "this or that" requires for its truth that "this or that" actually occurs as the "ad extra" event in the created universe. The "relatin rationis" of God to all created events in the universe is another way of stating this noncoercive Divine Presence or Mystery grounding all cosmic and human actualities, beckoning human freedom towards noncoercive world and self understanding and acting. Cf. Lonergan, De Constitutione Christi Ontologica et Psychologica (Rome: Gregorian University Press, 1961), pp. 9-56. There is no "unilateral determination" on God’s part relative to human freedom, contrary to David Griffin’s God, Power, and Evil (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1976), pp. 72-95. Hartshorne’s analysis of "Thomism" tends to read Aquinas through the logical conceptualism of Jacques Man-tam. Process theology is, I believe, a coherent reaction to the mistaken identification of knowing and willing with "determination," "control," and "domination" in the "De Auxiliis" controversies from the 17th to the 20th century. But the argument should be contextualized in terms of the determinative and coercive distortions of classical theoria and modern technique by which knowing and acting were misunderstood as necessitating and dominating. Note also how within process theologies there are the debates about the relationship between God’s primordial and consequent nature. To what extent is the conception of a "dipolar God" an interim solution on the way towards a more adequate understanding of God’s creative act as noncoercive, empowering, praxis? For goodness is internal within praxis, not external as in the "making" of technique; cf., for the human analogue, AV 171ff.

6 There are many terminological, and some real, differences between Whitehead’s and Lonergan’s respective accounts of consciousness and knowledge. Note, however, Whitehead’s reliance on the Quaker notion of "concern," AI 178, as more fundamental than knowledge. The real differences might depend on the extent to which Whitehead, for all his criticisms, still depends upon Hume’s approach. To what extent is "knowledge" still left in a typically modern paradigm of technique and control, and emotive dimensions added to it as correctives?

Process and Revolution: Hegel, Whitehead, and Liberation Theology

This paper will compare the respective potentials of the thought of Hegel and Whitehead as philosophical supports to the theology of liberation. A first section argues the need for such support, and the second part considers a recent influential reading of process theology as political theology.1 In the third section attention is directed to Hegel, and in the final section to Whitehead. The de-idealized reading of Hegel needed to utilize his thought in the context of liberation theology, it is argued, is suggestive in the case of Whitehead too.

I

Philosophy has of course always had a considerable role to play in theological reflection, in directing attention to the need for conceptual clarity and systematic completeness, demanding rigor of thought, seeking comprehensiveness. All theologies, indeed all academic disciplines, would admit philosophy to such a function. Not to do so would be to reject order and form.

The relation between philosophy and theology has, however, often been thought to go far beyond the purely instrumental value of a mental discipline. Whitehead himself said that "Religion requires a metaphysical backing: for its authority is endangered by the intensity of the emotions which it generates" (RM 81). Others have gone much further; Hegel perceived of religion and philosophy as two ways of access to the same truth, with philosophy as the more perfect way. Religion was a representational form of the truth which philosophy’s role was to comprehend fully. Even though theology as a whole has not gone to these Hegelian lengths, from the very beginnings of Christian theology there has been a kind of social contract between philosophy and theology in virtue of their common concern for truth, and a very close association indeed between the Catholic traditions of theology and metaphysics.

In recent times this close association of philosophy and theology has come under scrutiny. Among those to whom it would be most deeply suspect must be counted the mostly Latin American theologians of liberation. Liberation theology is conducted in a hermeneutical circle which can be entered only in an act of solidarity with the oppressed of the world, an act of such immediacy and commitment that it circumvents the danger of ideological bias normally inherent in political choices.2 From this hermeneutically privileged standpoint, liberation theology proceeds to a social scientific analysis of the situation, which is intended to uncover the structures of oppression and the extensive ideological biases both of the oppressors and of their attendant theologies. This new critical awareness of society on the part of oppressed peoples previously restricted to the status of victims brings them to a fresh reading of scripture in which the word of God is heard speaking clearly to their situation of structural oppression, and they are moved to deep reflection (theology) directed to a new praxis of social transformation.

Even with such a sketchy picture of the methodology of liberation theology, it must be apparent that philosophy’s role as handmaid to theology must come into question. Philosophies themselves are products of an oppressor class and bear the ideological presuppositions of that class. The theory which does not emerge from praxis, but which precedes it, is inevitably tainted with ideological presuppositions. But which metaphysical system emerges from praxis? The very idea of a system seems to imply a prescription for reality.

Charles Davis has made a useful attempt to mediate between the unwillingness of political theologies to accept a role for philosophy and the human drive to understand what is at work in any cultural phenomenon, among which theologies must be counted.3 Davis distinguishes between "original" and "scientific" theology. The former is "theology bound up with religious living, a theology that accompanies action" (p. 23), while the latter is "an elaboration and grounding of the Christian tradition as a place of truth and value and is thus historical and hermeneutical in its method" (p. 24f.). Thus far, liberation theology has been firmly in the first camp and will always derive its energies and its raison d’être from transformative social praxis in a Christian context. Its very success and influence, however, have brought it to the second stage. In that second stage of enquiry into truth and value, it must at least be in dialogue with the great philosophical traditions, even if it shall not finally fall under their sway.

II

In Process Theology as Political Theology John Cobb sets out to show how process thought needs to develop a political sensitivity. In the course of analyzing the especial value of process thought for doing a political theology,4 Cobb draws a stark contrast between major exponents of political theology as it has thus far been practiced, in particular the work of Jürgen Moltmann, Dorothee Soelle, and Johann Baptist Metz,5 and the kinds of political theology that process thought might become. For Cobb, political theology thus far has been bedeviled by a Kantian anthropocentrism, which he holds responsible for the lack of ecological and even nuclear awareness in Metz and others. In fact, Metz is singled out as a prime example of this simplified Kantianism, in which "human beings are now collectively contrasted with the remainder of what exists, and this is all understood as what is present at hand as a thing. "6 Because to the Kantian, Cobb continues, "the end of the human race is the end of being as such," any consideration of nuclear holocaust is "a difficult thought -- one that falls outside the system." In fact, says Cobb, Metz’s rejection of the historical in favor of the apocalyptic perspective on the human community shows that he is aware that the Christian enterprise may fail, but:

It is significant that an entire book could be written in 1970 about the practical meaning of a theology of hope without discussing the relevance to that practical meaning of the serious doubtfulness of human survival. One must judge that this topic is not readily assimilated into the Kantian frame of reference.7

The Whiteheadian world-view seems to Cobb to be much more promising. Focussing on the notion of prehension as the basis of a concept of "shared existence," Cobb stresses the possibility’ of an "ecological theology" to counter the Kantian overemphasis on the human point of view.8 A fuller discussion of Whitehead’s ecological dimension is to be found in an article by John B. Bennet.9 Bennet suggests three possible sources of Whitehead’s value to ecological thinking. The first, that as a systematician Whitehead assumes the essential interconnectedness of all things, applies too to many other thinkers, not least among them Hegel. Secondly, Bennet also emphasizes the "shared existence" of human and nonhuman, expressing it in terms of the Whiteheadian category of "actual entity." Precisely because everything, from lowest to highest, shares the characteristic of being an actual entity, Whitehead overcomes the "basic dualism of man and nature." Thirdly, this same interrelatedness extends to the concept of value. Although the human, since it is more complex, may be the locus of more value, nothing lacks intrinsic value, nothing is merely instrumental to the human. Environmental pollution or the destruction of the ozone layer is consequently not to be seen simply as imprudent, but in fact as wrong.

There is no doubt that an ecological perspective is vital to today’s world. The single major issue under which all others can be subsumed is the very survival of life-forms on the planet. Consequently, no theology can afford to ignore a problem the solution to which is a necessary if not sufficient condition for tackling any other serious problems. In this regard, Cobb is quite correct that the Whiteheadian vision provides a corrective to all forms of political theology. Attention to the oppressed in careful exclusion of the kinds of cosmic problems which may preclude the possibility of all liberation and all oppression, even all life, is a prime example of fiddling while the world burns.

Nevertheless, these Whiteheadian insights remain nothing more than a corrective, however necessary. The Christian thinker who takes up the Whiteheadian viewpoint into a theological system may achieve an awareness of the interconnectedness of all things, but is not thereby moved to revolutionary praxis on behalf of the oppressed. Indeed, there are suspicions in some quarters that the process model itself may be inimical to the ideas of conversion, transformation, and revolution, and it is perhaps this thought that underlies George Pixley’s dark hint that Whitehead’s philosophy of culture is "open to appropriation for counter-revolutionary purposes."10 This thought will reemerge in our consideration of the respective merits of Whitehead and Hegel as theoretical bases for a liberation theology, which will occupy us in the remainder of this paper.

III

There are a number of possible reasons to prefer Hegel’s thought over that of Whitehead as a philosophical basis for a liberation theology’. Chief among them is that Hegel the Christian metaphysician stands considerably closer to an attachment to Christian theological symbols. In particular, Hegel’s use of the dynamics of the trinitarian doctrine and his thorough dependence on the idea of incarnation for establishing the relations of subjective, objective, and absolute Spirit, mean that the Christian theologian feels at home with Hegel, even if he or she is not exactly sure why. The system, sometimes apparently and sometimes less so, is driven by a Christian motor.

Further explanation of Hegel’s attractiveness to the theologian can be found in the high estimation he has of the role of (Christian) religion,’ the way in which his philosophy of history can be read as a speculative transformation of salvation history,12 and his "high" anthropology in which human beings are moments in the self-knowing of God." Taken together, everything in the world is for Hegel somehow an expression or reflection of Spirit, whose Vorstellung is the Christian God. If this is so, then the "purely"’ political must of necessity bear a theological interpretation, whether we are talking about political institutions or the political activity of the individual.

It is in the fact that Hegel’s Spirit is at work in the social and political process, and above all in the institution of the state, that we have to anchor any claim that his thought could serve a liberation theology. The state is the climactic moment in Hegel’s philosophy of objective Spirit and his Philosophy of Right.14 Rationality and freedom both achieve their peak within the concrete structures of human society in the state, which exists as a result of the actions of individual finite spirits and is in virtue of this the result of the movement of the Spirit in history. It is a product of human freedom and a guardian of that freedom. It is Spirit at work in history, and consequently human involvement in actualizing the state, a struggle which has to be taken up daily, is the action of the Spirit. To make the theological translation, the work of actualizing the state is genuinely "doing God’s work in the world." Hegel’s political philosophy, when seen against the background of his fundamental notions, is at least a political theology in nuce, if indeed it needs working out in detail.15

The question remains, whether such a Hegelian political theology’ is capable of a revolutionary dimension, which would raise it to the level of liberation theology. The idea of the state is of an ordered and equitable society, true, but no actual state is a perfect instantiation of this idea. The idea of the state, in addition, is a part of the divine strategy for the world.16 There must, therefore, on the part of the finite spirits who are moments in the progress of Spirit in human history, be a constant struggle within the political process to actualize the idea of the state. In this struggle, the major conflict is with the unchecked individualism of civil society, or the "system of needs," both real and imaginary.17 This dialectical process has in Hegel’s modern world surpassed the stage of revolution, which in the shape of the French Revolution was itself a necessary moment in the process by which the emergence of the state occurred.

Hegel seems sometimes to think that the state can only emerge once in history, and that in modern Europe. But if his thought is to offer any kind of basis for liberation theology, a more flexible interpretation will be needed in which the emergence of the state will take place in each society in its own tune. This would be a bold way to utilize Hegel, and certainly not one for which he provided any real warrant. There are, however, hints here and there in Hegel’s writings, most notably in the preface to the Philosophy of Right, that philosophy’s role of discerning the rational at work in history consists in the identification of a truth to which not all actual historical circumstances in fact conform. This has always been the more liberal reading of his famous aphorism in the preface to that work, "What is rational is actual, and what is actual is rational."18 Confirmation of this reading has recently emerged in an examination of lecture notes from preparatory versions of the text. In an article in The Owl of Minerva,19 Shlomo Avineri shows very convincingly that Hegel’s view was that the rational must inevitably triumph in history, but that the progress towards it would have to respect the history of the particular society. Avineri quotes from the preface to the Berlin 1819-20 lectures, where Hegel clearly says that "It would be a folly to try and force on a people arrangements and institutions toward which it has not progressed by itself."20 As Avineri comments, "the relationship between reason and actuality is not that of a state of things, but of an ongoing process."21

If we read Hegel in this less dogmatic, less idealist fashion, it becomes possible to see how he might be susceptible of a revolutionary interpretation. The political theologian seeking a theoretical basis for social transformation could argue on Hegelian lines, and thereby place the questionable call for social transformation in the context of a move towards the justice and equilibrium of the rational State. He or she would be identifying the stage of the progress towards the Idea that the particular social context had achieved.

The next and most central stage of the paper is to ask if in the case of Whitehead too it might not be possible to find a more flexible reading of a superficially unattractive philosopher for revolutionary or socially transformative purposes. With Hegel, we have had the undoubted advantage that his God is deeply involved in the historical process, consequently that history is salvation history, and so that any historical judgment is itself a theoretical judgment. How might it be with Whitehead?

IV

In the case of Whitehead, things are more than a little different. For one thing, there is no real or ostensible connection between Whitehead’s notion of God or religion and the symbols of the Christian tradition, although of course this does not mean that they are necessarily incompatible with one another.22 Whitehead does value religion, however, and does have a place for God. The connection between God and religion on the one hand, and the sociopolitical on the other, seems to rest in Whitehead’s case with the notion of world consciousness, and it is there that our investigation will accordingly focus. As a guide to Whitehead’s use of this term, I shall be utilizing the valuable work of Thomas J. Regan, S.J.23

"World consciousness," a term which Whitehead in fact only uses twice, is intended, says Regan, "to convey an awareness of the harmonious unity and value of the entire universe." Indeed, "the attitude of mind guided by this notion would be one that was most capable of maximizing the value possibilities for a particular experience" (p. 3). Thus, world consciousness is clearly related to Whitehead’s idea of religion, which is essentially an ethical notion: "The movement of the religious consciousness starts from self valuation, but it broadens into the concept of world as a realm of adjusted values, mutually intensifying or mutually destructive" (RM 58f.). Characterizing world consciousness as "a very high level abstraction which has affected the thought patterns of an individual or of a society" (p. 5), Regan goes on to show how for Whitehead the approximation to world consciousness and the development of religion are parallel. Both exhibit the same dynamic towards the more general, inclusive perspective. If this is true, and if Regan’s contention that world consciousness is the basis of social ethics in Whitehead’s thought is also true, then any action for justice or human rights or the freedom of the oppressed can be viewed religiously. It is certainly true that the individual who acts upon the possession of world consciousness will act to maximize the intensity of value of a given actual occasion, and such an action is indubitably one towards which God "lures." If, then, Whitehead’s thinking bears this association of the ethical and the religious, can it accommodate the revolutionary impulse which it needs if it is to serve political theology?

A clear contrast between the visions of Hegel and Whitehead rests on the relative modernity of the latter. For Hegel, the process of history was driven by a metaphysical necessity, the so-called "cunning of reason," and the outcome was and is assured, even if at any given moment elements of chaos and lack of reason are all too apparent. Hegel considered history to be a true struggle, but one in which the warring elements could be readily identified. Whitehead, on the other hand, recognizes a de facto growth in world consciousness or the generalization of the religious impulse, but does not seem to see any necessity in it. Their respective notions of God, of course, correspond to this difference: Hegel’s God drives the process; Whitehead’s coaxes it. Both fulfill their respective functions insofar as reason is present in history, but Hegel’s God is that reason impelling history, while Whitehead’s is that reason hoping history will see the need to be reasonable.

Whitehead’s notion of world consciousness, and hence his hope of progress in history, is dependent on human cooperation. But it is particularly difficult to see how, given the generality of his idea and its clear compatibility with the Christian vision, we can have any surety that individuals will in fact act according to world consciousness. What will motivate them so to act? For Whitehead, of course, knowledge equals virtue, and a lack of willingness to act is presumably explicable as a lack of knowledge. Yet, those who ought to have more knowledge -- the educated -- seem singularly unwilling to act. The system sounds fine, but does it actually work? Is there any evidence that things are actually happening as Whitehead would have it, or is it a hopeless quest in every sense?

In Whitehead’s view, human life is distinguished by a three-stage process of "wishing to live, to live well and to live better" (FR 8). This is a prerequisite for the experience of world consciousness. Put simply, this has to mean that where there is deep and urgent concern for basic human needs, for food and clothing and health care and education, there cannot be the requisite peace for the experience of world consciousness. Education, "civilization," even leisure, seem to Whitehead to be necessary’ before either individuals or society can operate upon sufficiently general (i.e., non-selfish) criteria to make world consciousness a possibility.24 However, as we have already seen, world consciousness in Whitehead is the basis of social ethics and in close affinity with what he would want to designate as the fundamental religious impulse, the maximization of value. In consequence, the improvement of the world, "building the kingdom," in the language of traditional Christian theology, or "praxis in solidarity with the oppressed," in the terms of political theology, has to be in the hands of those whom we cannot avoid calling "the bourgeoisie," if not the aristocracy.

Whitehead’s God is in some respects compatible with the God of Christianity, and even with the God of liberation theology. God for Whitehead has an all-encompassing vision and is "the binding element in the world." The maximum possible actualization of value which this God favors has to include the redress of the terrible grievances of the oppressed. However, the Whiteheadian God only intends such an end through being the lure towards the best possible actualization of value in any occasion. The oppressed are of course on the way towards world consciousness, but the sufficiently general vision to achieve the unselfish act escapes them. Thus, the transformation of the world is left in the hands of those who can approximate more closely to world consciousness. This seems at one and the same time to exclude truly revolutionary praxis, the action of the underclass, and to demand that the impulse to the betterment of the world be placed in the hands of the cognoscenti. The problem with this is that they are all too often just as self-interested as the hoi polloi, and with less justification. Once again, knowledge simply does not seem to add up to virtue in the world we know. The poor seek their survival, perhaps with dignity, while the rest of us are too often concerned with living, living well and living better at the expense of those unfortunate enough to get in our way. Does Whitehead, after all, leave us with a God who wills more equality, but a people unlikely to choose it? Is there nothing more here than an appeal for an aristocratic spirit of service to society in a bourgeois liberal world? Is his final offer in fact only what Gustavo Gutierrez, doyen of liberation theologians, would call "bourgeois reformism," mere tinkering with the system?

John Cobb seems to be sensitive to this lack in Whitehead, and in illuminating fashion:

Whitehead’s commitment to the increase of freedom does not stress the Christian point that God sides with the oppressed and that we are called to solidarity with them. The general support of freedom and equality lacks the pathos of the Christian affirmation and can too easily be appropriated within a bourgeois framework without breaking the structure.25

However, says Cobb, (and rightly so), Whitehead’s view does give support to a Christian concern for the underprivileged, since lack of education and basic human needs limits "the rational self-direction of conduct." To be uncivilized, we might say, is to be oppressed. Hence, says Cobb, "the call to maximize the quality of experience generally directs us primarily to changing the conditions that now constrain the oppressed."26 The problem with this position from the perspective of liberation theology’ is that it retains the control of society in the hands of those who have always had control, the powerful individuals and the first-world nations. We are the ones who must work for this change. Reform, not revolution. True, Cobb adds that one of the things we must work for is the empowerment or conscientization of the oppressed, but until they are conscientized, that is, educated or civilized, they cannot achieve world consciousness.

Cobb’s conclusions show why Whitehead’s influence must remain within the first world context; there is no room for revolution. "Political theologians," says Cobb, "seem, on the whole, to be ready for the heavens to fall."27 While recognizing the need for prophetic denunciation of injustice, the process theologians propose another need, "to share in the consideration of the real alternatives confronting society and in support for the best of the imperfect options available." Of course, Cobb is sensitive to the chance of this view becoming a justification for acquiescing in the status quo; nevertheless, "we must recognize the danger that the abandonment of realism can lead to unjustifiable projects."28

It may be in Whitehead and Hegel we have two complementary philosophical bases for a political theology. Hegel’s position shows clearly how the idea of the state can act almost as a prophetic principle over against the extremes of totalitarianism or materialism, and how such a state might lie within the "divine strategy," though only if, as we said earlier, we may be permitted to read his philosophy of history in a more flexible way than he may have intended it himself. Under those conditions, Hegel may support a revolutionary interpretation. Without the freedom to read Hegel that way, his thought demonstrates a dogmatism that renders it redundant outside the first world context.

Whitehead, as we have just seen, seems unable to support a revolutionary interpretation and is in consequence not so immediately’ compatible with a liberation theology in the strict sense.29 Nevertheless, he has a number of important qualifications to address to the standpoint of a revolutionary theology. Firstly, he demands of the so-called first world the perspective of world consciousness, which issues a call to relinquishment and to justice and equity on an international scale, if not to revolution. In the second place, he proposes to the truly revolutionary societies an attention to what is of value in their own contexts, and a program for growth to world consciousness -- education, religion, an ethical business community, and so on. Thirdly, he shows perhaps better than Hegel does how dependent social progress and ethical advancement are upon the ability of the individual and society to achieve a viewpoint wider than its own petty concerns. However, it still remains necessary to show how Whitehead’s theology of world consciousness can admit of other than a bourgeois revolution. To the liberation theologian, deeply influenced by a hermeneutics of suspicion, knowledge cannot equal virtue, unless that knowledge be a product of the praxis of solidarity with the oppressed. If Whitehead were to be subjected to a consistent exercise of ideological suspicion, what would remain of "world consciousness?" Little, one would think, unless his own notions of education, civilization, and so on, could themselves be made subject to praxis. This may be to demand more flexibility even than we required of Hegel.

 

Notes:

1John B. Cobb, Jr., Process Theology as Political Theology (Philadelphia: Westminster Press, 1982).

2For an examination of the hermeneutics of liberation theology, see Juan Lois Segundo, The Liberation of Theology (Dublin: Gill and MacMillan, 1978). The classic text of liberation theology is A Theology of Liberation by Gustavo Gutierrez (Maryknoll, NY: Orbis Books, 1973). The literature of liberation theology in English is simply enormous.

3Theology and Political Society (Cambridge University Press, 1980). The whole work is a study of the contribution of critical theory to the discussion of the relationship between theology and politics.

4 Cobb concentrates upon a discussion of political theology. This term frequently is used generically to describe a family of theologies inclusive of liberation theology. us Cobb’s case he is concentrating mainly on the German member of this family, which is itself called simply "political theology."

5 The literature of political theology is immense. An excellent place to start is with Francis Schussler Fiorenza, "Political Theology as Foundational Theology," Proceedings of the Catholic Theological Society of America 32 (1977), 142-77. Good introductions to the world of Moltmann, Soelle, and Metz are as follows: Soelle, Political Theology (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1977); Moltmann, The Open Church (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978); Metz, Faith in History and Society (London: Search Press, 1980).

6 Cobb, p. 115.

7Cobb, p. 119.

8Cobb, p. 116.

9 "Ecology and Philosophy: Whitehead’s Contribution," Journal of Thought 10 (1975), 24-30.

10 Pixley’s observation comes at the end of "Justice and the Class Struggle: A Challenge for Process Theology," PS 4:159-75. In the same issue of the journal there follows a strenuous response by Clark M. Williamson, "Whitehead as Counterrevolutionary? Towards Christian-Marxist Dialogue," PS 4:176-86.

11Encyclopaedia of the Philosophical Sciences (1830), sections 564-571.

12 See the role of Spirit (Geist) as outlined in Hegel’s posthumously published lectures on the philosophy of history, The Philosophy of History, ed. J. Sibree (New York: Dover, 1956).

13 See especially the Znsatz to Encyclopaedia, sections 386.

14 Translated with notes by T. M. Knox (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1967).

15 See Paul Lakeland, The Politics of Salvation: Hegel’s Idea of the State (Albany: SUNY Press, 1984), passim.

16 The best available general study of Hegel’s state is Shlomo Avineri’s Hegel’s Theory of the Modern State (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1972). He discusses the "divine strategy, while circumventing the notion of a deified state, on p. 176f.

17Philosophy of Right, Zusatz to section 258.

18 Knox edition, p. 6.

19 "Feature Book Review: The Discovery of Hegel’s Early Lectures on the Philosophy of Right," The Owl of Minerva 16 (Spring, 1985), 199-208.

20Owl, p. 203, quoting from Philosophic des Rechts: Die Vorlesung con 1819/20 in einer Nachsch rift, edited by Dieter Henrich (Frankfurt-am-Main: Suhrkamp, 1983), p. 50, in Avineri’s own translation.

21Owl, p. 204.

22 The most satisfactory general treatment of Whitehead’s notion of God is Kenneth F. Thompson, Jr., Whitehead’s Philosophy of Religion (The Hague: Mouton, 1971).

23 "Whitehead’s Notion of World Consciousness," unpublished Ph.D. dissertation, Fordham University, 1984. Regan’s study is important not least for its suggestiveness in the area of political theology.

24 See Regan, pp. 24-28 and 100-45.

25 See Cobb, op. cit., p. 148.

26 Ibid.

27 Cobb, p. 151.

28 Ibid.

29 I am happy to believe that Whitehead himself would have no problem with the notion of revolution, if it could be shown in a particular context that that would be the action that would maximize value. I am less confident that such a context would clearly emerge, and I am very sympathetic with the third world position that since things have been steadily getting worse for them for some considerable time, increase in world consciousness or not, it is perhaps understandable that they would grow tired of awaiting an occasion on which all could agree. Once again, the problem is the same; in principle, Whitehead’s view is impeccable, but unfortunately people simply do not act like that. His opinions on the place of ethical considerations in the business community are the clearest example of this lack of contact, of this excessive idealism, beside which Hegel’s state control of civil society seems positively hard-headed!

Whiteheadian Philosophy and Prolog Computer Programming

Whitehead came to his mature philosophical position in Process and Reality after many years of wrestling with problems in the foundations of logic and mathematics. His doctrine of eternal objects in both his earlier and later philosophy can be understood as a description of the ontological nature of pure logic and mathematics (EWP 14-28). Eternal objects as patterned after mathematical structures found in Science and the Modern World are understood primarily in a logical guise coming from Principia Mathematica. In Process and Reality Whitehead developed a philosophy of actual entities that are comprised of and established by prehensions. In this same work eternal objects as potential structures for actuality do not have an evident form as structures for prehension but maintain their original logical and mathematical interpretation. This does not exclude, however, the possible existence of a logical or mathematical structure for prehensions. Indeed we would expect that Whitehead, had he been able to continue his logical and mathematical development and especially had he known of contemporary computer developments, would have expanded the boundaries of the logical structure of eternal objects to include a direct description of the structure of prehension. At present, however, the contemporary understanding of Whitehead’s philosophy of organism involves eternal objects resting on the intuitions of logic and mathematics that contrast with concrescing actual entities united through prehension. The abstract logical structure of prehensions is not represented naturally by the familiar form of Whiteheadian eternal objects. Does there exist a form for representing eternal objects that can also show in a clear manner the prehensive structure of actual entities?

An Imaginative Leap Via Microcomputers

We believe that we have found a set of structures that allows descriptions of prehensions as well as providing a symbolic understanding of Whiteheadian eternal objects and propositions. Surprisingly these structures are to be found in the form of a modern computer programming language -- Prolog. We have been struck by the similarity of the development of logic programming into Prolog with that of Whitehead’s historical philosophical development. Whitehead as mathematician and logician desired to make logic applicable to actual experience in the real world. The fruits of this desire are found in Process and Reality where he developed a new understanding of propositions. Computer specialists wanted to use logic to program computers. Their failure with standard predicate logic, which Whitehead used in Principia Mathematica, led to the development of a new clausal logic that could more efficiently program a computer. We believe that this clausal logic of Prolog provides a better way of understanding eternal objects. It is better because its form, which allows programming a computer, also allows representation of a structure of prehensions that may occur in the concrescing of an actual entity. Its form also allows an understanding of how an eternal obect may become a Whiteheadian proposition and act as a lure for feeling for some conscrescing subject.

We need to emphasize in the beginning that we are understanding computer programs in two distinct ways. The first way is as a symbolic means for controlling the actions and output of a computer. The second way is as symbolism which represents a structure that may have no necessary relation to a computer. Prolog programs, for example, will stand for both general Whiteheadian eternal objects and propositions as well as a set of instructions that when entered into a computer can direct its actions.

Prolog Programming

Prolog (Programming in Logic) is a high-level, contemporary computer language that is generally applicable to all kinds of programming but is particularly useful in data base analysis, expert systems, and projects in artificial intelligence. It has been adopted by the Japanese as the primary language for their national program to develop artificial intelligence. Although Prolog is a powerful and expressive programming language, it is easy to learn -- especially by those who have had no previous programming experience. The primary purpose of this article is to show the similarity between Prolog programming and Whiteheadian philosophy and to use Prolog programming to illustrate some aspects of the concepts of eternal objects, propositions, actual entities, and concrescence. A secondary purpose is to encourage process philosophers and theologians to explore the joys of computing through this Whiteheadian-like programming language that is at the forefront of current computer science development.

A Prolog program is a list of clauses. A clause is a list of relations consisting of a head relation and a possibly empty tail list of relations. In the clause ( (loves John x) (attractive x) (intelligent x)), (loves John x) is the head relation, and the tail list of relations consists of (attractive x) and (intelligent x). This clause may be translated in logic as "John loves x if x is attractive and x is intelligent," and some Prolog systems allow you to write the clause almost in this English fashion. [Actually you would have to write it John loves x if x is-attractive and x is-intelligent."] Notice that the full clause is a conditional with the head as consequent and the tail as antecedent. At this stage, however, it is best to see the clause as asserting only that the head relation (loves John x) is dependent in some way on the elements of the tail (attractive x) and (intelligent x). We now suggest that a Prolog clause may have the following Whiteheadian interpretation. The tail relations of the clause can be viewed as a possible pattern of prehensions; namely, those prehensions which are necessary for the head relation possibility to be felt as true in the actual world of some concrescing subject. All relations, head and tail, and clauses made up of relations, play a multiple role. Abstracted as pure possibilities, they represent eternal objects. As possibilities in some actual world they are propositions and serve as lures for feeling. If felt in some way by some concrescing entity, they then become symbols for actual prehensions: "A proposition is an element in the objective lure proposed for feeling, and when admitted into feeling it constitutes what is felt" (PR 187/ 284). Let us illustrate this Whiteheadian interpretation further.

Consider the Prolog program consisting of the previous clause and the additional clauses ( (attractive x) (kind x) (Scandinavian x)), ( (attractive Jane)), ( (attractive Floyd)), ( (kind Eloise)), ( (Scandinavian Eloise)), ( (intelligent Eloise)), and ( (intelligent Floyd)). Notice that the first two clauses in the complete program listed below have both a head relation and tail relations, but the remaining clauses have only a head relation.

( (loves John x)

(attractive x) (intelligent x))

( (attractive x)

(kind x) (Scandinavian x))

( (attractive Jane))

( (attractive Floyd))

( (kind Eloise))

( (intelligent Eloise))

( (intelligent Floyd))

( (Scandinavian Eloise))

A relation in Prolog, for example, (loves John x), consists of a name and list of variables and constants. In this case the name of the relation is loves, John is a constant, and x is a variable. The order of variables and constants in a relation is significant; for example, (loves John Mary) interpreted "John loves Mary" is different from (loves Mary John) interpreted "Mary loves John." Relations have names that signify properties such as "kind" and "attractive" and those that signify activities such as "loves," This variety of possible names of relations and the states and activities that they symbolize fits well with Whitehead’s understanding of a world in process and of prehensions of this active process. A relation may be as complex as desired. After the name of the relation a list of as many constants and variables as needed may be used. We point this out because we have used only simple relations in the program above. If relations in Prolog are to be interpreted as symbols for prehensions in a Whiteheadian context, they must possess the capacity to be arbitrarily complex in order to represent complex prehensions.

We remind the reader at this stage that the clauses above can be considered both as a computer program and as a symbolic structure of a Whiteheadian proposition with its requisite prehensions for a true judgment feeling in concrescing subjects. As presented to a concrescing subject (loves John x) acts as a lure for feeling. Another way of understanding the proposition represented by this clause is: Some entity named John loves another unnamed entity. The concrescing subject lured by (loves John x) is also lured by other clauses, i.e., by any of those in the left hand column above. Thus, the program represents possibilities for feeling which act as lures (propositions) until, if ever, they are felt by some concrescing subject. At this point they then become symbols of actual prehensions. The clauses in the above program suggest possible ways of being that can be felt by the concrescing subject -- for example, that Eloise is kind or that John loves her [Eloise substituted for x in (loves John x)]. What the set of clauses shows as a proposition, in addition to its role as lure, is that should the concrescing subject decide to feel, for example, that John loves Eloise, it must be able to prehend in its actual world that Eloise is Scandinavian, kind, and intelligent. Should the concrescing subject be lured instead by (loves John Jane), the clauses show that because Jane cannot be prehended as intelligent in this subject’s actual world, (loves John Jane) cannot be felt as true. However, the same concrescing subject can prehend a component proposition of (loves John Jane) as true, namely that Jane is attractive. Thus a false proposition can still have power as a lure: "It is more important that a proposition be interesting than it be true" (Al 243). Because it is interested in the proposition (loves John Jane), the concrescing subject has a number of options depending on the subjective form of its feeling of that false proposition. It may be angry, delighted, or indifferent and choose to take action accordingly. Of course, it must be remembered that numerous other propositions are competing for the lured, but not necessarily conscious, attention of this subject.

In Whiteheadian philosophy there are no abstract prehensions. Actual entities are beings which prehend other actual entities. In the example above (loves John Eloise) is a feeling established in some actual entity by a prehension of other actual entities in which (attractive Eloise) and (intelligent Eloise) are positive prehensions in these entities. That Eloise is felt as attractive in the satisfaction of one of these entities is the result of its prehensions of entities that include the facts that Eloise is kind and that Eloise is Scandinavian. In the reading of Prolog clauses, we do not wish to imply that a relation is a full symbol of an actual entity. We do wish to point out that the feeling that John loves Eloise in some actual entity must be the result of this Prolog clausal structure of prehensions of actual entities (or nexus) which establish the fact that Eloise is kind, Scandinavian, and intelligent. The Prolog clauses give a lure for feeling which also represents the exact structure of prehensions necessary for this lure to be obtained.

A Logical Reading of a Prolog Program

In the computer science programming literature, a Prolog program can be interpreted in two primary and different ways: a logical (or descriptive) reading and a control (or imperative) reading. A logical reading allows us to understand a Prolog program as an abstract structure, a structure that can be interpreted as a Whiteheadian eternal object or proposition. This reading understands each Prolog clause to be a formal sentence in predicate logic and allows us to assess the scope and limits of Prolog programs from our knowledge of logic. A control reading of a Prolog program asks how the computer solves a problem using Prolog. Such a reading allows us to add an interpretation of prehensive structure to the logical reading. Although Whitehead understood logic primarily as our logical reading of a Prolog program, it is the control reading which can illuminate the structure of Whitehead’s prehensive philosophy. A discussion of the control reading will follow a discussion of the logical reading.

In the logical reading, a Prolog program is a list of logical definitions about a certain situation. The program above is a limited description of John, Jane, Eloise, and Floyd and their relations of loves, attractive, kind, intelligent, and Scandinavian. To program in Prolog one must be able to describe a situation in logical terms subject only to minimal constraints of grammar. This is much easier than programming in almost all other computer programming languages where one must tell a complex computer what to do and how to do it.

To "execute" a Prolog program, you ask it a question. For example, on being asked "Does John love Eloise?" (in an appropriate format) the computer will respond affirmatively. In the logical reading this means that "John loves Eloise" logically follows from the statements of the program interpreted as formal logical sentences. You can see this quickly from the translation of relevant portions of the program into an argument.

John loves x if x is attractive and x is intelligent.

x is attractive if x is kind and x is Scandinavian.

Eloise is kind.

Eloise is Scandinavian.

Eloise is intelligent.

Therefore John loves Eloise.

To the question "Does John love Jane?" (in an appropriate format) the computer would respond negatively, indicating that this conclusion does not logically follow from the premises of the argument.

This program is of course very simple, and the human mind can solve queries of the sort asked almost as quickly as the computer. In a complex situation requiring a complex logical description, a computer execution of a query can be very helpful and make possible a solution of a problem that, because of its difficulty, could not be solved other wise.

In the logical reading of a Prolog program each clause or statement in the program may be understood to be a formal sentence in predicate logic. To get the exact set of formal sentences, universal quantifiers for each variable in the clause must be put at the beginning of the clause, an "if" must be put between the head and the tail of the clause, and "and’s" must be put between the members of the tail of the clause. Some versions of Prolog allow working directly with logical sentences, but these versions, in our judgment, tend to exaggerate the logical character of Prolog and to obscure a control reading that shows its Whiteheadian structure. By knowing that a Prolog program may be considered as a list of sentences in predicate logic and by knowing further that any sentence in predicate logic may be expressed in an equivalent Prolog clausal form, we can assert that Prolog is logic and that any sentences in logic may be expressed in a Prolog form. By viewing Prolog programs in their logical reading, we may assess the nature of the ontological structures that Prolog programs represent through their status as logic.

Whitehead came to his view about the nature of eternal objects from his study of logic and mathematics. Any logical or mathematical structure in its pure sense as a potential for actualization of entities is an eternal object. Triangles, mathematical relations, logical systems, groups, rings, spaces, etc. are all eternal objects or can be viewed as eternal objects through their ordinary expression in mathematical or logical symbolism. This means that a Prolog program interpreted at its most abstract level as a logical or mathematical structure is a symbolic expression for an eternal object. Prolog programs are, of course, just one means for expressing the structures of eternal objects. Others are through ordinary mathematical expression or through the use of ordinary language involving, for example, colors. Prolog, however, is surprisingly adequate in its expressive powers. Since Prolog is predicate logic and predicate logic is the basis for the expression of all other logics and mathematics, it may be possible to express the structure of any eternal object by some Prolog program. Understanding a Prolog program as a symbol for an eternal object may also assist us in understanding how an eternal object is nested in another eternal object and how their structures are related. For example, the clause ( (attractive x) (kind x) (Scandinavian x)) in our simple program symbolizes an eternal object in which potential attractiveness requires (in this example) kindliness and being Scandinavian. In turn, this clause, by virtue of its head (attractive x) is nested in the clause ( (loves John x) (attractive x) (intelligent x)) which, as symbolizing an eternal object, might be described as showing the relationship between loving, attractiveness, and intelligence. We believe that this representation of the structure of eternal objects by Prolog programs could be a helpful tool for further analysis of Whitehead’s discussion of the structure of eternal objects (see SMW, chapter 11). Furthermore, the nesting of clauses indicates that propositions, like eternal objects, may be complex. That is, propositions may also have a nested logical structure.

A Prolog program may also be considered to be a symbolic expression for a theory. A theory technically is defined in contemporary logic to be a set of sentences such that any sentence which logically follows from members in the set is also in the set. The set of sentences including axioms and those sentences which logically follow from the axioms is a theory. Prolog is able to test whether or not a hypothesis, posed to a computer as a query, logically follows from a list of axioms (the program itself). A Prolog program considered as a set of axioms in predicate logic, and further possessing the ability to decide (in most cases) whether or not a query logically follows from the axioms, may therefore be considered to be a symbolic expression of a theory.

Whitehead identifies his redefined propositions to be theories (PR 184/ 280). However, his understanding of a theory more closely resembles a notion of an hypothesis in contemporary logic than the modern notion of a theory. We believe that a Prolog program can be understood both as a theory in the modern sense and as a complex Whiteheadian proposition, thereby confirming Whitehead’s intuition of the relationship of propositions and theories while making Whitehead’s position more compatible with the definitions of contemporary logic.

Theories from the perspective of contemporary logic can be viewed as eternal objects when understood in an abstract interpretation. When theories become hybrid by the identification of some of their parts with actual entities, they become Whiteheadian propositions and serve as lures for feeling for some concrescing subject. The lure for feeling is some possibility inherent in the situation that the proposition presents to the concrescing subject. This possibility is actually some conclusion of the theory viewed as axioms. We do not think, however, that Whitehead had in mind that the concrescing entity must go through a series of deductions from the theory in order to select that which is its lure for feeling. That lure is somehow evident, available and wooing the entity, yet it is chosen by it. A Prolog program is a proposition that presents lures and shows how these lures are available to be felt dependent upon prehensions of a concrescing subject. A control reading makes this dual role of a Prolog program evident in a way which the abstract logical reading does not.

A Control Reading of a Prolog Program

In contrast to the method of logical deduction employed above to test whether (loves John Eloise) holds in relation to the program, let us examine the mechanism of how the computer using Prolog actually tests the clause (loves John Eloise) in regard to the program, which is relisted below.

( (loves John x)

(attractive x) (intelligent x))

( (attractive x)

(kind x) (Scandinavian x))

( (attractive Jane))

( (attractive Floyd))

( (kind Eloise))

( (intelligent Eloise))

( (intelligent Floyd))

( (Scandinavian Eloise))

Notice again that the program by its organization presents possibilities, including among others that of John loving someone in the form of the clause (loves John x). In order to utilize the program, the computer operator must make a decision. In the light of the suggestions inherent in the form of the program, he or she must decide exactly what information is desired. This information may be general information -- for example, "Does John love someone and whom?" or more specific information such as "Does John love Eloise?" If the computer operator decides to ask the question "Does John love Eloise?" it can be entered as a query in an appropriate form.

Although a Whiteheadian proposition may present to a concrescing entity a possibility for its actual situation as a lure for feeling, the proposition does not determine mechanically and causally the final satisfaction of the entity. The entity decides what it shall be. It is the cause of itself. We maintain that a Prolog program as a symbol for a Whiteheadian proposition presents possibilities and lures for a concrescing entity. In addition, the program presents the pattern of prehension necessary for the concrescing entity to be able to judge (feel) any of these possibilities as true in the actual world. However, the concrescing entity must decide what lures to pursue in a manner similar to the choice that must be made by the computer operator.

By his or her decision to ask the query "Does John love Eloise?" the computer operator passes information into the program. In particular the computer identifies the pattern of (loves John Eloise) with the pattern (loves John x) in the first clause and passes the value of the variable x as Eloise to the tail of the clause. It then checks (attractive Eloise), identifies it with the pattern ( (attractive x) in the second clause, and then passes the value of Eloise as x in this clause on to its tail. [Please try to follow this action in the program.] It then checks (kind Eloise) and finds that (kind Eloise) obtains because it is listed in this form as a clause in the program. It then checks (Scandinavian Eloise), which also holds because it is listed in the program. Thus it has confirmed that (attractive Eloise) holds and has satisfied part of the tail of (loves John x) with x as Eloise. It next moves on to the rest of the tail of (John loves x) and tests (intelligent x) with x as Eloise. The clause (intelligent Eloise) is listed in the program, and therefore (loves John Eloise) is confirmed.

The same clauses functioning as Whiteheadian propositions play the following role. Some concrescing entity establishes the head and tail clauses by prehensions in its actual world which allow confirmation of the clauses as true judgments. In this case (loves John Eloise) is established by prehensions (attractive Eloise) and (intelligent Eloise). The clause (attractive Eloise) is established by prehensions (kind Eloise) and (Scandinavian Eloise). The clauses (kind Eloise), (Scandinavian Eloise), and (intelligent Eloise) are symbols of true judgments as a result of actual prehensions. Thus (loves John Eloise) can be confirmed in this actual world by the pattern of prehensions just listed.

These steps presented sequentially in the discussion above may appear to violate Whitehead’s claim that concrescence does not occur as temporal succession in physical time (PR 283/434). We are describing the computer’s activities as sequential because, to date, standard Prolog is executed sequentially. However, a current major effort of computer research is towards the development of parallel processing. Major successes have been achieved so far in parallel processing research using Prolog programming. For Prolog, parallel processing would mean the ability to solve simultaneously clausal conditions in tails, thus leading to a much truer representation of Whitehead’s doctrine of prehension.

Summary

In a Whiteheadian interpretation, a Prolog clausal structure or program as predicate logic in its most formal sense can symbolize directly an eternal object. The logical structure of a Prolog program is the same logic, in a slightly different form, from which Whitehead’s mature understanding of eternal objects developed. The natural structure of Prolog programs allows us to see in an appealing manner how eternal objects and propositions are nested and related to each other and how they can reveal the form of prehensive structure in the real world. A Prolog program understood as a proposition may provide lures for feeling for some concrescing subject and can show this subject the necessary possibilities for prehension which must be actualized if that lure is to be felt (judged) as true.

We hope that the position taken in this article concerning the relationship between Whiteheadian philosophy and Prolog programming will encourage an examination of the following suggestions and implications.

Recursion and Personal Societies

Any proposition for a personal society (enduring object) can be viewed as a recursive Prolog program. An actual entity in a personal society prehends itself in its immediate past along with prehensions of other objectified past actual entities. This structure, according to our Whiteheadian interpretation of Prolog programs, is exactly the structure of a recursive program whose head relations, with possible changes in variables and constants, are contained in their own tails. If we realize that recursive structures are extremely powerful contemporary techniques for solving problems in science and mathematics, and further realize that personal societies solve problems of their own -- namely, their own enduring existence -- then Prolog programs as prehensive structures can be an effective tool in analyzing and clarifying the relationship between a Whiteheadian ontology and current computer science.

Teleology and Mechanism

The language Prolog is both teleological and mechanistic. A Prolog program is teleological in two ways. First, the computer operator using it must present a goal or hypothesis (which is normally suggested by the program itself as a lure) in order to activate the program. Second, although mechanistically driven, a Prolog program offers a problem-solving pattern that is teleological by virtue of its backward chaining function. Stated simply, backward chaining starts with a consequent, functioning as an "aim," and attempts to justify it by working backward to its antecedents. An actual entity is teleological in that it chooses what it shall be in terms of an initial aim or goal. It is mechanistic in that it can be seen to be caused and limited by its prehensions of its own actual world. In both Whiteheadian philosophy and Prolog computer programming teleology and mechanism are interrelated. A suggestive question is whether, under our assumption that a Prolog program can represent a Whiteheadian proposition that illuminates the structure of concrescence, the play of teleology and mechanism in Prolog computer programming can give an appropriate insight into the relationship of teleology and mechanism in Whiteheadian philosophy.

The Scope and Limits of Artificial Intelligence

In our Whiteheadian perspective, if a computer (Prolog) program, however complex, can be no more than a complex symbol for a Whiteheadian proposition or eternal object, then neither it nor the computer running it can ever be as intelligent as a human personal society. This is because neither the computer nor the program is a subjective entity that experiences the world through prehension. Yet Prolog programs can be devised that possess the ability to modify themselves intelligently dependent upon their contact with both computer operators (who do prehend) and scientific input devices that mechanically "see" and "feel." Thus, we see no limit to the complexity and usefulness of computer programs that have their own history, go through their own development, learn from their own mistakes, and as symbols of Whiteheadian propositions offer both intelligent lures and the means to confirm or deny them.

Recommendations for Prolog Systems

For process philosophers and theologians who wish to use Prolog, we recommend Micro-Prolog, produced by Logic Programming Associates, London, England. Get the version for the microcomputer available to you. The associated teaching manual is Micro-Prolog: Programming in Logic by K. L. Clark and F. C. McCabe, published by Prentice-Hall International. It is easy to learn Prolog using their SIMPLE front-end system, but learning to program in the standard syntax, which we have used throughout this article, illuminates best a Whiteheadian interpretation. There are a number of other systems available that use the now standard textbook Programming in Prolog by W. F. Clocksin and C. S. Mellish, published by Springer-Verlag.

 

REFERENCES

EWP -- Granville C. Henry. "Whitehead’s Philosophical Response to the New Mathematics." Explorations in Whitehead’s Philosophy, ed. Lewis S. Ford and George L. Kline. New York: Fordham University Press, 1983.

Culture, History, and the Retrieval of the Past

There were eighteen hours traveling time left, and I had not the slightest talent for sleeping on a bus. Granted a thirty-minute rest stop in Pecos, Texas, I went in search of a book. Inside a cafe I found a decrepit wire book stand of the sort that mercifully occupies every bus-rider’s oasis. Praying for "just anything interesting," I spun the wobbly roulette wheel that was to determine my fate for the next several hours. The motley hotch-potch of titles hanging from this leaning tower of Babel was almost completely unappealing, even to an indiscriminate adolescent. The book that finally captured my attention had a colorful, rather exotic, cover and a subtitle that promised, "A Brilliant History of Mankind’s Great Thoughts." (Its only serious rival had been The Way of Life: The Tao Te Ching.) I paid fifty cents, boarded the Trailways bus, nestled into my narrow seat and into the vastness of the desert spaces -- and soon into the yet vaster spaces of mankind’s great thoughts. The adventure begun that day opened me to the "endless beginning of prodigies" which life affords the fortunate.

As I recall that first encounter with philosophic thinking, I seem to capture the exact feeling -- the mixture of intrigue and perplexity, the congealed sense of awe the apotheosis of which is the lure for feeling that Whiteheadian philosophy now represents for me. Can I truly disentangle the original feeling, the original understanding? Recognizing the dense filter of the intervening past, how is it that the "I" I am can presume to celebrate the "I" I was then? Were I outside time, able to dip into it here or there at will, I should have little trouble in retrieving a specific past moment. I am, however, inexorably constituted by time, for without memory I should have no means of having, of being, a self. Only by remembering my self may I remain a self. In some crucial sense, I am my memories. The intellectual life, therefore -- conscious life, human life per se -- is a series of resorts to anachronism.

I could, perhaps, have learned this lesson from Hegel s totem owl, but not, I fear, without yielding to other, less productive doctrines. I might have learned it from Jorge Luis Borges, whose ficciones thematize that insight. ("Life is essentially anachronistic," he said, thus "every man is born at the wrong time.") But I encountered Borges long years after my introduction to philosophy. In fact, it was Whitehead who taught me this, and in the strange, roundabout manner that one is taught all truly valuable lessons.

The insight is entailed by Whitehead’s distinction between the genetic and morphological characterization of events, a distinction that contributes enormously to the power of his account in Adventures of Ideas. The constitution of a thing is both what it is and how it becomes. In a most important sense, a thing simply is how it becomes. But the genetic account cannot be the whole story. Most of what we see, of what we know, of what we are, is ex post facto -- anachronistic Thus process philosophies problematize the past in a dramatically urgent fashion: In individual experience immediacy is never fully enjoyed; satisfaction is a subsequent affair. Existence is ever-not-quite. We look to the past for the source of our enjoyment. That backward look, in fact, constitutes our enjoyment.

At the level of social and cultural existence the problematic aspects of the relations of past to present are construable in terms of the various cultural interests that channel our experiences and activities. An important way of characterizing that relationship is by reflecting upon the mutuality of the discipline of "history" as the shepherd of the past, and of "culture" as the repository of human significance synchronically presented for our celebration.

The relations of history and culture provide the architectonic of my present philosophic thinking. Its problematic, however, is the more general concern of process philosophy -- namely, the "past" in the sense of "subsequent enjoyment." My fundamental concern is with "remembering" and "forgetting" in their more general senses.

What does it mean to forget"? Certainly the most drastic sense of forgetting would be simply the renewal of ignorance: the cancellation of a portion of one’s past, the omission of it, its deletion. There is little to be said about this sort of forgetting except to wonder if it is indeed possible in the strictest sense. Such forgetting would entail the reconstitution of one’s character by virtue of the deletion of certain of the conditions occasioning that character. Can "effects," however we may wish to describe them, ever be cancelled? I have no wisdom with regard to this question, though I myself tend to believe not.

The less drastic senses of forgetting are expressed through three distinct modalities: incorporation, repression, and sublation. Incorporated experience is taken for granted. Even the weakest sense of such incorporation -- the acceptance of a portion of the past as "given" -- cancels its pastness and, a fortiori, its historicity. It is no longer contingent, no longer an event within a causal context that might have been other than in fact it was. The past so viewed has the character either of the given world -- nature itself -- or else that of a logical, atemporal truth, the sole response to which is: "Of course."

Repressive forgetting results in practical remembrance without conscious recognition or assent. The conditioning features of the past are efficaciously present, but not consciously so. Neither the incorporation nor the cancellation is complete. We must assume that the repressed elements are in active tension with the subject who has repressed them and, as such, are present to the subject as conditioning features.

The sublated past is forgotten in yet another way: like the incorporated past it is made a part of one, but not until it is transformed by recontextualization. The difference between incorporation and sublation is that, in the former, the propositional content and/or judgment form of the knowledge is retrievable, if only in the guise of a truism or an obvious "given." In the case of sublation, however, this is not so.

I have discussed so-called "forgetting" first in order to introduce the rather obvious paradox so often confronted by those who seek to understand the pastness of the past: It does appear that the senses of forgetting associated with incorporation, repression, and sublation are, in fact, meanings of "remembering."

The extreme importance human beings place upon meaningfulness argues for the dominance of sublated forms of remembering and forgetting in conscious experience. What is lost to memory in the act of sublation is preserved as an element of a context. The most fruitful forms of sublation occur with reference to interpretative schema that are, arguably, conceptual givens. An interpretation is a guide for the activities of incorporation and sublation. The maintenance of the balance between incorporation and sublation gives rise to the necessity of repression since initial data of experience which are inconsistent with incorporated or sublated elements must be handled in such a manner as to leave what are conceived to be vital incorporated or sublated elements essentially unchallenged.

Were we to consider the subject of meaningfulness at the level of cultural and historical experience and activity, we would be led to search for those structural elements that permit us to conform to the past and to conform it to ourselves. In Western culture this leads us to examine the three most general accounts we have given of ourselves -- namely, those of mythos, logos, and historia. These modes of accounting serve as the guardians of memory and, therefore, as guarantors of the persistence of the past.

Mythos is the first guardian. Its primary allies are the elements of meter and metaphor which give mythos substance and form. We survived the assault upon personal and communal memory which began with the invention of the brush, the stylus, and the pen in large measure because literature, music and the allied arts were conditioned by these guardians. Mythic themes, which gauge the profoundest dimensions of human life, ground our aesthetic sensibilities not unlike the manner in which principles ground our rational understandings. Meter, the soul’s own syntax, provides mimetic resonances of the cyclical themes of myth. Metaphor protects us from the fatigue that might otherwise be occasioned by repetitions of form and content. Less profound themes, unmetered, and without the comforts of metaphor, are trivialized and effectively lost to us. Art, literature, music, and allied cultural forms are remembered. And, through their agency, we ourselves are continually remembered.

The second guardian of memory is the account provided by logos. This account is privileged in our tradition and, thus, largely determines the manner in which the accounts of mythos are understood. In this mode of accounting meter is replaced by logical structure, metaphor is pressed into the service of literal, referential language. Archai, "principles," are discovered. Rational discourse is born. The attempt to separate logos and mythos is the heroic theme of rational culture. That endeavor is made on behalf of logos.

Historia is the third account which constitutes us as self-conscious beings. It is both in principle and in fact the most problematic of the three. On the one hand, history may be conceived as primarily concerned with particularities. This is Aristotle’s view. In the Poetics, Aristotle claims that poetry is more serious and philosophical" than is history, dealing as it does with universals rather than particulars. The poet is a maker of objects of imitation. He imitates actions primarily through the construction of plots. Plots, themes, archetypes, principles have universal characteristics. History, as the account of activities that did in fact take place, in contrast to what might have been, is concerned with particularities. The alternative treatment of history (certainly the dominant one in our tradition since Augustine’s De Civitate Dei) presumes to be an interweaving of the mythical and rational modes of accounting.

One must assume that the greater number of our philosophers have tacitly agreed with the Aristotelian claim, but have acted in distinctly different manners by virtue of that agreement. One group has thought to ennoble history by making it into a universal science" -- thus canceling its concern with particularities. The alternative response is to accept history as a chronicle of the past and nothing more. In the first instance history loses any claim to autonomy and serves as the story of the interactions of mythos and logos. Alternatively, history maintains its autonomy at the cost of its claim to cultural importance.

The fact that history has often been provided the universal themes of mythos and logos in order to render it meaningful has placed it into tension with "culture" insofar as that notion is held to name the presented matrices of meaning and interpretation that constitute communal consciousness and activity. For the danger is continually present that history may come to be construed solely by reference to the universal characteristics of the interpretative schema employed to make sense of it.

The historical enterprise is defended against this eventuality either by reverting to its status as the shepherd of particularities which are characterized strictly in situ or by claiming that culture as the presented immediacy of "the known," "the felt," and "the achieved" is but the latest in the series of historical products. There is an inherent danger to the discipline of history in the latter view. For if culture is conceived as the historically determined matrix of interpretations from out of which that interpretative scheme currently defining the meaningfulness of the past in relation to the present has been drawn, the discipline of history will remain viable only so long as it is believed that not all the interpretative schemata have been raised to consciousness.

Historicist reductions of cultural experience become increasingly difficult the greater is our sense of cultural self-consciousness. If culture, as the presented immediacy of communal experience and expression, is thought to contain the meaningful past in its entirety and to show it forth in a conceptually exhaustive manner, the sense of novel historical genesis may be lost.

The Hegelian claim that history, insofar as it may be construed as the story of the unfolding of cultural self-consciousness, has come to an end seems to be a given of the postmodernist. History as meaningful accounting comes to an end with the full consciousness of the interpretative schema that define and organize social activity and production. Historical accounts become repetitive when the philosophic and historiographical alternatives are long since known and catalogued. History becomes a tale twice-told and more.

Nietzsche confronted the problem of the "excess of history" most decisively. His first strategy was forwarded in the form of the ironic proposal that "active forgetting" might serve to revitalize the sense of historical novelty. We do well not to take Nietzsche seriously here. The active cultivation of ignorance of the past is no more satisfactory than is the meta-theoretical activity of charting the grand narratives that make sense of our historical existence. In the first case, history in its fullest sense is rendered inimical to creativity and survives only at the cost of excessive repression of its contents. In the latter instance, of course, history is reduced to the repetition of interpretation deriving from the inventories of mythos and logos.

As is true in so many other areas of intellectual culture, Nietzsche’s more serious response to the problem of the demise of historical consciousness was prophetic. Claiming that "only interpretations exist," Nietzsche was able to find the truth of things in the additive sum of perspectives. The accumulation of interpretations of a thing constituted the truth of a thing. The fragmentation of any notion of absolute perspective was expressed by Nietzsche in the doctrine of "the death of God." "Meaning" is no longer a function of coherence or consistency. History, if such it can still be called, is saved by the fragmentation of its narratives into unreconstructable elements which permit retrieval undisciplined by consensual interpretation. The most recent developments in contemporary culture in the sciences and the humanities suggest the prophetic character of Nietzsche’s thinking.

Culture, in the sense of high culture, is paradigmatically expressed through the humanities. Humanistic culture is constituted by the aims and interests in accordance with which social activity and its products are to be defined insofar as these are grounded in mythos, logos, and historia as modes of accounting. The humanities -- literature, philosophy, and history -- are the principal cultural modalities through which these accounts were classically expressed.

The contemporary fate of the humanities is a paradigm for the recognition of recent cultural developments. The fragmentation of cultural forms is rife, as evidenced by the deconstruction of narratives in literature, the substitution of the model of "edifying discourse" for that of foundational philosophy and the disintegration of the grand historiographical schemes into a plurality of nonintegratable minority histories. All these changes advertise the recognition that the futures of both culture and history as meaningful enterprises lie, paradoxically enough, in the disconstitution of the very interpretative structures that have until recently provided our resources for meaningful accounts.

The phenomenon of purposeful fragmentation may also be recognized in the development of computer technology. The computer as "retrieval system" is the primary illustration of the disconstitution of cultural forms. The term "retrieval system" is really an oxymoron, for the act of electronic retrieval could hardly be called systematic. Quite the contrary. The retrieval of stored data is an ad hoc enterprise determined largely by incorporative processes. Sublated memory is unproductive; efficiency and productivity are promoted if data persist throughout the storage and retrieval process as disjoined information bits passive to any number of distinctive combinations.

The traditionalist might feel more than a twinge of ironic sadness in recognizing the etymological connection of "retrieve" and "troubadour" (both deriving from trouver -- "to find"). Through their compositions, our medieval poet-musicians were retrievers of cultural significance. They composed, and in so doing, remembered. Culture is retrieval. Once that notion of retrieval entailed the conception of composition and remembrance. Culture composed us, remembered us. Our new paradigm of retrieval requires that the body of our culture be dis-membered, de-composed.

The refragmentation of the past, existing in the cultural present in the form of interpretations, is achieved through the agency of the computer as retrieval device. The computer is our contemporary troubadour. It is the winnowing sieve by which the past is disintegrated, deconstructed. It is perforce the savior of history by virtue of constituting the destroyer of form and interpretation our surfeit of which has rendered history into a mere rehearsal of a meta-theorist’s catalog.

Data constitute the fundament, the chaos of potentially new beginnings. But these beginnings are fitful, plural, and tactical. From this chaos one cannot expect a cosmos but a congeries of kosmoi, petites mondes -- ephemera. For without the interpretative schemes that make sense of the received data of the past, there is simple accumulation. History is the blind gathering of mere accretion. Any search for overarching meaningfulness must lead either to the all too familiar avenues which provide access only to the historically "old hat" or -- and this is the likely direction of our immediate future -- into the sense of sheer massiveness as meaningfulness.

I myself think there to be nothing desperate or cynical about such a reading of the contemporary relations of history and culture. There are histories, ad hoc manners of construing a (selected) present in relation to its effective past, but no history per se. The search for a single thread connecting past and present can only be motivated by political ideologues holding up the rapidly disintegrating myth of consensus or by romantic rationalists propounding the equally enemic myth of progress.

No longer construed in terms of themes or epochs or unfolding absolutes, history is the unorganized data initiating present experiencing. History as "initial data" supports the prominence of the genetic over the morphological character of experience. But at the very moment that history is transformed into the shepherd of particularities it is transmogrified once more into culture. For the immediacy insured by particular reference cancels the pastness of the past and makes all things present.

Perhaps we had best not attempt to distinguish culture and history. Better that we understand them as jointly constituted. Together they form a diachronous web the strands of which lead backward into multifarious pasts and forward toward an unintegratable plurality of presents.

The Mentor paperback of Whitehead’s Adventures of Ideas which introduced me to philosophic thinking is still on my shelf, held intact now by a rubber band. I cannot but think it to be an interesting comment on the argument of this essay that upon my opening that hook this morning the pages fell piecemeal from the cover, landing in disparate array on desk and floor. Since its publication, the adventures of our principal ideas, "the history of mankind’s great thoughts," has followed a course not unlike that of this particular copy of that founding document of my intellectual life.

Justus Buchler: Nature, Power, and Prospect

The work of Justus Buchler is systematic philosophy akin to that of Aristotle, Spinoza, Whitehead, and Hegel. By systematic we mean not that some traditional set of problems has been covered, but rather that the philosophical product is the deliberate and methodic interrelation of its constituents, viz., its concepts, categories, and principles in a structure which supports broad inferences and extensions or applications of the conceptual scheme. Note that this means that no system is complete or exhaustive. No set of categories or systematic project is without further ramification. Therefore, the achievement of "system," while finished by its author, does not mean the end of philosophy. A system is, in a sense, a beginning of beginnings.

We want to emphasize that systematic philosophy constructs categories to articulate its subject matter. Categories are not necessarily "transcendental abstractions" which distort or make impossible "lived experience." Rather, categoreal description is a means of rendering "lived experience" intelligible. No description can be pure; categoreal description can be as valid, in the relevant respect (s), as any other. Assumptions in philosophy are not mere preferences, but commitments which are worked out in and through categoreal development. Systematic philosophy is defined not so much by the scope of its subject matter or by any one kind of system, as by the deliberate achievement of a conceptual array within which themes and categories recur and facilitate theoretical development and ramification. Thus, it is not necessary to think of systematic philosophy as synonymous with or as necessarily based on an ontology. Husserl, for example, is as systematic in his "theory" of consciousness as Aristotle is in his metaphysics of being.

Systematic principles or concepts are "foundational," that is, when explicitly formulated by a categoreal structure, they can become an explicit basis for or, better, a framework of further categorizing. The interpretive scope of a categoreal structure is determined in part by its subject matter: a general ontology is wider in scope than a more specific theory.

But to say that a more general categoreal structure frames a less general or more specific one does not mean that from generality as such we can deduce or derive what would be specifically apt. Rather, the more general principle or structure frames in the sense that it provides possibilities of interpretation; it involves a commitment to what it entails. Spinoza’s commitment to what is entailed by his definitions and axioms is vividly shown by his methodic scheme. Aristotle cannot assert something of the soul (psyche) or employ special systematic principles which would entail consequences contrary to his more general ontological principles. The priority Aristotle assigns to Substance (ousia) is a recurrent -- systematic -- -commitment exemplified in certain kinds of characteristic inferences which are tolerated and compelled by the system. Hegel’s dialectic -- the movement of the concept -- is a pervasive, systematic theme which resonates through his analysis of any subject matter. Given his commitment to what Whitehead calls the reformed subjectivist principle, any being (actual entity) is becoming, that is, the becoming of experience. In Buchler’s system, a principle of ontological parity is a commitment which pervades the analyses in both the general ontology and the more specific metaphysics of what Buchler calls human utterance.1 For Buchler, that no one of three modes of human judgment is any more of a judgment than any other is also an exemplification of the more general principle of ontological parity.

The implications of this view of "foundational" for Buchler’s philosophical method are revealing, especially if we contrast it with Spinoza’s explicit methodological principle. What Spinoza means by foundation is a necessary starting point: definitions are foundations for axioms, axioms for theorems, and so on. While Spinoza does not necessarily reveal what his aims and strategy are, his highly formalized method is supposed not only to guide but to show that the inferential consequences are also necessary, given the necessary first starting point.

In light of the fact that he wrote an entire book devoted to the concept of method, the reader may be initially puzzled that, unlike either Spinoza or Whitehead, Buchler does not explicitly or formally specify methodological principles at the outset of any of his works. As exasperating as this may sometimes seem, Buchler’s method of "plunging in" is part of a deliberate systematic strategy. Buchler’s starting points are not necessary in Spinoza’s sense, but neither are they arbitrary. Rather, they are starting points because they are conducive to the growth of systematic aims and goals. A starting point is congenial as a beginning, but it cannot prescribe all that is to follow. What is "foundational" is what is categorically wrought, not the raw materials.

Philosophical query2 does not require a necessary first starting point itself either indubitable or axiomatic. A philosopher starts with what is compelling; what is categorically "foundational" is wrought by and furthers query. Systematic philosophy is not just a set of assertions or claims, but is exhibitive as well as assertive. It is a pattern of concepts and interrelated themes which unfolds much as a Bach fugue does. The product is the unfolding and is of indefinite richness in variation and applicability. In this respect, Buchler is an admirer of Plato as the exemplar of philosophical query:

The Socratic method is indeed a method, the very antithesis of timorous caution. Its boldness of movement can never be clear to those who think of the Platonic dialogues as a mass of astute but non-committal propositions. For it renders its products not by simple affirmation but assertively, exhibitively, and actively, in subtle proportions. It is in a sense the paragon of query, being masterful in all the modes of judgment.3

Instead of interweaving characters as well as ideas, Buchler’s drama is mainly one of ideas. Ideas, themes, principles are introduced, developed; they recede into the wings only to reemerge in another context, from another angle. Buchler, like Plato, does not explain that this is what he is doing or why, because he holds the view that the work speaks for itself; that it is the product, not the author, which determines meaning. If the chance intersections of history are favorable, it is through one’s product(s) that immortality is achieved.

Once we have noted the systematic character of Buchler’s method of "plunging in," we see that his foundational principles are clearly earmarked and defined. Buchler’s work consists of a general ontology (a metaphysics of being), a metaphysics of human utterance (a theory of human being qua human) and a theory of poetry. The most general or "foundational" principles which pervade all of his work are, as one might expect, found most perspicuously in the general ontology. It should be noted, although we will not treat it in this essay, that poetry is singled out by Buchler because he regards it as a humanly fundamental mode of articulation. Poetry’s unique ability to penetrate and portray the prevalence of the world4 without making assertive claims of truth or falsity gives poetry a power of expression unmatched certainly by any other linguistic mode of utterance.

There are at least three "foundational" or systematic commitments throughout Buchler’s work. While "naturalism" is not a term used explicitly by Buchler, it prefigures an idea which is basic to his work. Naturalism is a commitment to the view that there is no being or reality which is wholly different from and discontinuous with any other being. In rejecting the notion of "the supernatural" as meaning that which "in itself" is wholly prior or other in being than "the natural," a naturalistic view does not necessarily deny that there is a being such as God, but only that way of categorizing such a being. Buchler transforms this somewhat negative formulation of naturalism into a positive ontological principle -- namely, the principle of ontological parity. Ontological parity is not only a rejection of the notion of wholly discontinuous realms or kinds of being -- some more real than others; it is a commitment to the equal reality of all beings. There are no degrees of reality or being (even though there are many degrees of other kinds). Thus God, in whatever his supremacy may consist, is not more real, is not more of a being, than anything else.

A second ontological principle in Buchler’s work is the principle of ordinality, that is, that any being is both determinate and indeterminate, and therefore that any being is complex. There are no ontological simples. Because any being is determinately and indeterminately complex, it is, in principle, accessible or related to some other beings, which may include human beings. In using the term "natural complex" rather than "being" as the generic term of identification, Buchler is exhibiting the pervasiveness of these two principles. Any (natural) complex is an order and any order is a complex.

The first two principles are explicitly articulated by Buchler. We would identify a third, what we call a systematic commitment to a principle of commensurateness. Beings are determinate, but they are specifically determinate. Commensurateness provides for what Buchler calls the [gross] integrity of a complex. While any complex is plurally located, it is not plurality without limit (even if its limits are indefinite, revisable, or difficult to define). What is actual of or possible for a complex is determined by the complex, by its relations. There are, therefore, no "pure possibilities" nor "pure actualities." Every being, possibility or actuality, is relative to some other being, is conditioned by and conditions other beings. A complex is delimited from other complexes by the commensurateness of its constituents. Even if not every trait of a complex is related to every other trait, it must be related to at least some other trait and between those which are unrelated there must be mediating traits which mark the commensurability of these as the constituents of this complex or order.5

A principle of commensurateness also means that there is no single form of determination (or of being) for all beings. To say with Buchler that all beings are natural complexes (complexes, for short) is not to ascribe some generic or universal form of determinateness to them, but is rather to affirm that the conditions of being at all are ordinal. Whatever those conditions are, none has more (or less) being (or is more or less real) than any other. Let us examine how these principles resonate in the work.

Buchler says at the beginning of Toward a General Theory of Human Judgment that his work is a "metaphysics of utterance." This is a potentially misleading statement -- for his metaphysics of the human-self-in-process encompasses more than even what Buchler means by utterance (or judgement). Furthermore, it would be misleading if the reader takes him to be characterizing his work as a whole, including the general ontology. Even in the early works -- Toward a General Theory of Human Judgment, Nature and Judgment -- the so-called metaphysics of utterance is transcended by more general principles. It is located in an implicit broader theoretical structure with which the more specific structure resonates, but which is not derived from the specific principles of the theory of human nature (or process). Indeed, it is Buchler’s contention that in order to adequately develop a just theory of human life, one must be aware that the human is always located in some natural and social framework which transcends any one individual or group. (This is an embodiment of the principles of both ordinality and commensurateness.) Similarly, the theory of human judgment is not merely a specification or instantiation of the more general theory. A more specific theory has its own independence and integrity; it is not a mere appendage of or auxiliary to something more encompassing, but has its specific determinations and scope which are defined by its subject matter and not exclusively by a prior theory. They are distinct but related.6 For example, that a moral ideal is ontologically or generically a possibility would not mean that its character (integrity) as ideal is derivable from or reducible to the meaning of possibility. The kind of possibility an ideal is is determined by specific relations, such as human need, striving, and anticipated conditions for betterment or perfection.

We will focus initially on the systematic structure of Metaphysics of Natural Complexes (MNC) where the general foundational principles are most explicitly articulated. A systematic trend or principle is articulated through a categoreal structure, a pattern of interrelated ideas and concepts. From the principle of ontological parity are developed what we will call the categories of "being," viz., prevalence and alescence. Corresponding to the principle of ordinality are the categories of determinateness, viz., ordinality and relation (with the subaltern categories of strong and weak relevance). Finally, the principle of commensurateness is most obvious in what we will call the categories of natural definition, viz., actuality and possibility.

Of course, in a certain sense each category helps to articulate the system as a whole. Hence, none is defined exclusively in terms of any one trend, even if one trend is more emphatically relevant than another. Furthermore, we note that the categories are developed by Buchler in the order we have indicated and that the sequence is crucial. For example, prevalence and alescence are indispensable to the formulation of possibility and actuality while the reverse is not the case. In addition, as we have already indicated, "natural complex" is the term of universal identification and hence is pre-categoreal. Buchler also introduces a group of intermediary categories of identification by means of which the unity and distinctness of, the similarity and difference between complexes can be articulated. These are: trait, integrity, contour, scope, and identity (see MNC 12ff., 22, 35-39). While these are cumulatively defined throughout the work in terms of the categoreal structure, their stipulative use from the outset serves the pre-categoreal function of establishing a conceptual language with which to shape the systematic structure.

What it means "to be" is formulated by the pair of concepts, prevalence and alescence. If there are no degrees of being or reality, then a given complex is no more or less real than any other. Yet, to say simply that everything is would not adequately distinguish relevant differences in ways, even if not degrees, of being. Buchler criticizes what others have singled out as the relevant ontological differences: "being and becoming," "permanence and change," "the static and the dynamic," "stability and instability," "determinateness and indeterminateness." Buchler conceptualizes the differences in terms of prevalence and alescence, which together are meant to be exhaustive of what it means "to be."

Every complex prevails, is alescent, or both (in different respects), that is, a complex excludes traits, admits traits, or both in different respects. The purpose of this distinction is to distinguish the nascent, deviant, augmentative, or spoliative character of a complex from its sphere of dominance while at the same time consigning neither to the status of lesser reality. Prevalence and alescence are modes or dimensions of being. Thus, in whatever way a complex is -- prevails or is alescent -- it is no more or less real in that respect than it is in any other. Thus, the house which prevails in my visual field is as real as the same house which prevails in its geographic location. The house which is being torn down is alescent and is as real as the house which prevails whole and entire in my memory. In keeping with the principle of ontological parity, God prevails but is no more real than the ale scent house.

The principle of ordinality means that every complex, that every prevalence or alescence, is determinate. To be determinate means to be ordinally located. To be ordinally located means to be related to some other complex(es) in some respect. To prevail is always to prevail in an order. (Similarly for alescence.) Thus, the house in my visual field is located (prevails) in a visual order in which I as perceiver also prevail. In a visual order I am relevant to the perceived house, and the house is relevant to me. Determinateness (relatedness) is always reciprocal. The house has the trait of being visible and of being perceived. I have the trait of vision and of "house-seeing." Two people, each looking at the house, would be located in the visual order, and each could be reciprocally related to the other in that order. If they were, they would each be either strongly or weakly relevant to the other as house perceiver (however they might be relevant or not to each other in other respects, i.e., orders).7

In the order of marriage, each partner is strongly relevant to the other as spouse -- the determinate character, the integrity, of each as spouse is determined by the other. Yet, in another order, for example, as house perceivers, they may be irrelevant, strongly relevant, or weakly relevant to each other. Spouses may be strongly relevant (indispensable) to one another as spouses, but weakly relevant (dispensable) to one another’s career, each to the other as friend to a third, and irrelevant (determinative in no respect) to one another as potential victims of nuclear fallout.

To prevail or be alescent as determinate is to be plurally located, to be reciprocally related. To be related is to determine as well as to be determined. Every complex is also an order; it locates other complexes, at the least, its own constituent traits. If God prevails, God is determinate, that is, determines and is determined by other complexes. God, therefore, is not wholly self-determined, because no complex has only one ordinal location. God is no more real than any other complex, because God’s prevalence is no more (or less) determinate than that of any other complex.

If the boundaries between complexes are sometimes difficult to discriminate, that does not mean that there are none. The principle of commensurateness means that no complex is relevant to (determinative of) every other. Complexes (orders) have limits. Where commensurateness ceases, where there are no mediating traits, there is the limit of an order (MNC 96). In order to conceptualize the meaning of a limit or "natural definition," Buchler introduces the categories of actuality and possibility.

Every trait of a complex is an actuality or a possibility. The traits of actuality define its current situation; those of possibility define a prospect for itself.8 A prospect is not necessarily the future, but is a continuation or extension of the complex. A possibility, like an actuality, is a relative limit, immanent in (determined by) the relevant traits of the complex. If the traits of a complex, its actualities and possibilities, are commensurate with one another, then not just anything conceivable can prevail or be alescent as a possibility for it.

To illustrate: Suppose we ask whether it is possible for an insect to talk.9 That would mean that an insect in an order of biological existence cannot talk, and in an order of fantasy can talk. This would be a contradiction in respect to talking. If in the same respect (talking) presumed traits contradict one another, then the traits are not commensurate with one another. Therefore, if one possibility is a trait of the complex, the other cannot be. For contradiction means that there are no mediating traits, and thus that not both are limits of, can define a prospect for, a complex.

Since not every complex can be relevant to every other, not all complexes have the same possibilities. If possibilities are those commensurate traits of a complex which define its prospect, then not all possibilities "always were" (MNC 165). However, since [some] complexes may be located in the same order, complexes may have a possibility or some possibilities in common; they may share a prospect. All possibilities, as well as actualities, are "empirical," i.e., commensurate with relevant conditions or traits. Therefore, no possibility is by definition "pure" (independent of any conditions) or "eternal" (guaranteed to prevail no matter what the conditions).

If possibility is always of a complex, then there is no realm or world of possibility, nor one of actuality. Recalling the principles of ordinality and commensurateness, there is no single order "the World," for there can be no single order determinative of all complexes, actual and possible. The World means exhaustively and distributively [all] the innumerable natural complexes (OCW 574). But, the World is not innumerable complexes collectively identifiable: "all" is not a determinate trait. Therefore, the World is not an order, not a complex. For even though the World is distributively exhaustive, "it" is never complete, whole or a totality, because "it" is indefinitely extended. That the World is indefinitely extended does not mean that its limits are ambiguous or vague. "It" has no limits, for since "it" distributively "includes" everything, "it" has no principle of exclusion (of limitation).

The physical universe is not equivalent to the World; it is a world, albeit one of unimaginably great scope.10 But, it does not include every other world, i.e., it does not define the conditions and traits of every other complex or order (which would be a denial of the principle of commensurateness). Thus, a world of literature is not necessarily "located in" the order, the physical universe, even though books in some respects are. For the possibilities and actualities of literature as such are not necessarily determined by the conditions of the physical universe. Nor is the relation of any work of literature to the world of literature necessarily determined by the physical universe.

If all possibilities are "empirical," then moral ideals are ordinal, relative to the relevant conditions. Ideals can be formulated as being both humanly relevant and "objective," that is, available in a plurality of orders. To say that ideals, or values for that matter, are relative, is not to admit that they are merely preferences, the morally arbitrary results of a cultural or subjective relativism. Rather, their genesis as well as their merit is conditional. Love is an ideal because of the kind of relation it is and because of the kind of impact, intense but rare, it can have on human life and aspirations. The 55 mph speed limit is a value of and for highway driving, because it reduces the risk of highway accident (and hence exemplifies the value of preserving human life). It also conserves gasoline. Only if it did not accomplish those aims would its continued enforcement be arbitrary. Its merit is relative (ordinal), and therefore objective (commensurate with its goals and with other values).

The merest breath a man takes favors one possibility and renders others obsolete. . . . At the other end of his scale, where he is unique in the manner of his kind, he methodically actualizes possibilities that he has produced or apprehended. In so doing, he also keeps actualizing himself. He is not the sole or even the most basic determinant of his own actualization. His is not the only kind of complex that is continually in process of actualization. His kind alone, however, is able to dwell with the possibilities, and this is crucial for his degradation or salvation. (MNC 184f.)

2

We can now trace the resonance of general principles in the metaphysics of human utterance. Man is ontologically no more or less real than any other kind of complex, and human orders are continuous with other orders of nature. (Naturalism, or the principle of ontological parity.) However, continuity does not mean similarity in all respects, nor does it preclude discontinuities. While a man is biological, man is not merely biological. Thus, human life is not a depletion of possibilities (genetically defined) all resident at the start of a life. Rather, potentialities and possibilities arise and expire -- life is not a process of moving from indeterminateness (potentiality) to determinateness (actuality). That life is always determinate and indeterminate exemplifies the principle of ordiuality.11 "Man is born in a state of natural debt" (NJ 3), but his possibilities and actualities are not all "generic." (Principle of commensurateness.) That is, individuality requires that a complex also have specific and unique possibilities.

What is distinctive of an individual is not what is "internal" to it, but what is strongly relevant to it. Strong (or weak) relevance is not a matter of degree, but one of difference in kind. Both strong and weak traits are equally determinate of what a being is. To illustrate: a human being is a spatiotemporal, existing being, even though it is not distinctively human in virtue of that trait. (Spatial and temporal relations as such are weakly relevant to human beings qua human.) However, it is not any less determinate with regard to space and time than some being (complex) for which such relation is presumably distinctive. It is no less determinate as existing than it is determinate as rational (or, for Buchler, judging), even though the latter is strongly relevant to it as human. (Principles of commensurateness and ontological parity.)

These systematic resonance does not, of course, establish the specific principles and categories pertinent to human nature. Buchler’s theory of perception and judgment articulates, in a descriptive sense, what is categorically distinctive of human nature, or rather for Buchler, human process. But, in addition to descriptive categorization, a philosophical theory of human nature or process also aims to categorize what it means to be distinctively human in the best sense. In other words, a metaphysics of human process would be incomplete if it did not provide a categoreal identification of what is generically normative. What it means to be human in the best sense requires an additional category, not the introduction of degrees into what is generically descriptive. For example, if man were defined as essentially a rational animal, rationality could not admit of degrees, and "more" of it would not constitute a norm or an ideal, without entailing that some human beings are less "human" than others. Rather, the normative is a question of what is the distinctive qualification of a function as an ideal. We will focus our discussion of human process on the question of the generically normative, articulated by Buchler as query.

Buchler develops a theory of the human self in several works.12 The individual is a whole-self-in-the-process-of-becoming. Distinctively human becoming is judging (uttering or producing).13 The self is its products. "Becoming" in this sense is not an "internal" process of achieving self-consciousness. We become, the self judges, whether aware of doing so or not. Becoming is a relational process and therefore the self is not the sole determinant of its products. Its products and therefore itself are also determined by other complexes. The self is spread out in space as well as in time. The historical and spatial spread of the self-in-process, of the judging self, is the rudimentary basis for association.

Man is born in a state of natural debt, being antecedently committed to the execution or the furtherance of acts that will largely determine his individual existence. (NJ 3)

The fact that man is characterized by a state of natural debt, by a perpetual incompletion, … emphasizes … the extended nature of individuality, its communicative essence, and the indefinite bounds of relatedness. (NJ 106)

The spread of the self is both something we find ourselves "in" and something which we forge, extend, and ramify through our products (judgments, utterances). Judgment "allows the individual to transcend himself. Through each product the individual is literally multiplied" (TCT 53).

Buchler introduces query through a discussion of the self’s spread and association (NJ 56-58). Why? Because association is indispensible to an understanding of the achievement of the best of human possibilities, such as art, science, philosophy, religion, society. These ongoing achievements make association into civilization. Civilization is the product of the ramifications of query. Through query human individuals become civilized, that is, they become capable of producing systematically and inventively. Judgment becomes query.

The self is an unfolding, it is a ramified spread-out self. We, in self-unfolding, also produce civilization. How is that process to be understood both individually and collectively? The Hegelian approach would say it is the necessary dialectical development of reason. Santayana14 would say that it is a natural process; at a certain level of biological or organic complication more "refined" possibilities yield more refined results, even though they are thoroughly continuous with more primitive levels of nature. For each, Hegel and Santayana, civilization is a historical development. But do these approaches capture the distinguishing traits of that process? Rationality as the distinguishing generic feature is both too broad (would tolerate inclusion of judgments and events which are rational, but actually or potentially destructive of an individual or of a civilization) and too narrow (since not all civilizing processes and possibilities are necessarily rational). On the other hand, neither perfection of function nor civilization is a merely natural development -- that is too general, or too narrow if by ‘natural’ one means ‘biological’ or ‘organic.’ Now, of course science, for example, is rational activity, but Buchler wants a category which will distinguish rational activity that produces civilization from that which destroys it; the difference between a Hegel and a Hitler.

Query, whether collaborative or not, presupposes reflexive communication. It is the interrogative spirit methodically directed. As the most powerful force making for civilization. . . . (NJ 66; our emphasis)

Query is a perpetual human possibility. So, too, is the destruction of civilization, reversion to a "state of nature." Query does not guarantee historical or individual progress, but without it progress of any significant kind would be inconceivable.

Query is the activity not of a special faculty (for example, Reason), but of a whole self. It is not the mind of the mathematician which probes; it is the mathematician who has focused his powers in a given direction. If query is the process of being searchingly and inventively reasonable, it is not only that. Rational activity is an instance of, but is not exhaustive of, query. Query is constructive and inventive probing which also initiates and promotes self (reflexive) communication.15 Love can be an exemplification of query; perfecting a swimming stroke can be an instance; symbolic inventiveness in a wedding ceremony; political maneuvering, legislative policy, voting can all be instances of query, even though it would be difficult to describe all of these as primarily or generically "rational." Through the reflexive communication facilitated by query the limits of the self are extended. By this is meant not only that the self continues to be extended temporally and spatially, but that its possibilities are augmented, its boundaries are redefined, in such a way as to allow for further query. If there is an absence of the very possibility of query, the action and results of a Hitler should not be surprising.

That query is generically normative does not mean that it is the highest or best specific value for every individual in any situation. If we abstract from the vicissitudes of life, which often require that we make choices between alternatives none of which exemplify query, what recurrently signifies the best, humanly speaking, is query. If this is the case, then is there not a sense in which query could play a role in ordering all specific aims and purposes? For even if every choice is not one between the life of query and its absence, it maybe that it is only through query that we are best able to determine what the relatively best choice or goal is. Even this may not be a safe generalization, for there may be situations in which "instinct" (which for Buchler would issue in judgment) is as reliable as or more reliable than query (systematic and inventive probing) in responding to the situation. So, even if through query we can train our instincts, it would not be the case that query is always the best determinant of value. This exemplifies the principles of ordinality and commensurateness which are the ontological bases for articulating a theory of value as both relative and objective.

But the life of query is recurrently prized for being that kind of life which does reliably promote the civilizing process -- for an individual as well as a society. Art, science, philosophy, religion, political institutions, these are the distinctive achievements of man. Man is at his best when man transcends himself through query. The life of query may in one respect have an impact on an individual and in another respect be a civilizing force. An athlete who breaks a world record in the 100-meter dash has not only achieved a goal for himself in surpassing a limit, but has defined a new historical limit, available to and a challenge for others. Here, through query, our possibilities of judgment in respect to athletics have been extended. The philosopher who is personally satisfied by her work may also have contributed to the intellectual life of man. The interrogative temper is infectious. Without query human life would not be much better than a Hobbesian state of nature. As Hobbes points out, human nature is productive, not just avaricious. If the theories of a Hobbes, a Hegel, and a Santayana are richer in detail and closer in spirit to the lived experience as it were of query, Buchler’s theory is a categoreal challenge to the traditional ways of conceptualizing that experience.

The elusiveness of query in Buchler’s system rests in part on the fact that the reader is not explicitly alerted to its function, but more importantly on the absence of systematic detail in its explication. There may also be another factor, and that is Buchler’s use of language. Language is the tool of philosophy. Philosophy is query and therefore may require linguistic as well as conceptual inventiveness. Language even in philosophy is subordinate to query. The philosopher is not bound by language, but rather, must employ language responsibly in pursuit of query.

Buchler often uses language to evoke a rich texture of meanings, rather than to offer a single precise definition for any concept or idea.16 (This style is more prevalent in the works on human process than in MNC.) This is due in part to his notion of philosophy as exhibitive judgment. Not every sentence asserts or makes a claim; it may instead (or also) be imbedded in a pattern of sentences which shows the possibilities of an idea. The intent is to extend interpretive possibilities; the risk is that the ideas may sometimes be elusive. But if it is the responsibility of the philosopher to promote the life of query, then it is a very fine line one treads. For if an idea were indeed perfectly clear, if all its implications were drawn out, then query would be terminated, until and unless new ideas were introduced. On the other hand, if an idea resists interrogation, it becomes a stumbling block to query.

Buchler’s systematic philosophy is not so much polemically provocative as it is a shock. While MNC is spare and abstract, it is quite accessible, in part because general ontology does not depend on detail of applicability and relevance for its persuasiveness or intelligibility. But in a metaphysics of human process one expects a certain kind of systematic detail in establishing the theoretical aptness of the ideas for what is typically found to be immediately relevant -- e.g., reason, mind, body, emotion, "morality." The kind of conceptual leap required by the reader is not what one suspects is needed. It is the level of abstractness and the absence of strategic clarification in the metaphysics of human process which quite literally shock. While Buchler uses familiar examples, their conceptual translation is sometimes difficult to follow.

Now there is probably no philosophic work which has not been condemned as obscure, unclear, or irrelevant at some time or other. The important question is how remediable the alleged obscurity is. In Buchler’s case it is not endemic. The connection between the ideas and what is found to be familiarly the case can be made compelling, even if Buchler himself does not do so.

The spareness of Buchler’s system, his systematic strategy and style of expression might disorient the reader who is unfamiliar with systematic philosophy. From the economy of thought manifest in his works, it is evident that Buchler’s focus was the development of a categoreal structure, not the elaboration of detail in application. From the point of view of the scheme, nothing has been omitted which is required on theoretical grounds, even though much could be added which would be felicitous. As we pointed out at the outset, the relative completeness of Buchler’s system does not preclude development. If we take the idea of query seriously, then the merit of a philosophical system rests in its capacity to promote query, not in its completion as defined by its author. This means that its merit is never absolutely established, even if its integrity can never be annulled.

Reason is a form of love, as love (in an equally just perspective) is a form of reason. It is love of inventive communication. Nothing is more foundational for all value than query, and reason is devotion to query. . . . It is for reason to discover and appraise itself from time to time and, like the god it was early said to be, find that its work is good. Sometimes the progress of reason is more easily measured by the discernment of unreason and by the struggle that it is destined to undergo in order to prevent the fruitless death of its possibilities. (TCT 168, 169)

 

Notes

1 Justus Buchler, Toward a General Theory of Human Judgment (New York, Columbia University Press, 1951); 2nd revised edition, New York, Dover Publications, Inc., 1979. Preface p. xi. Hereafter, TGT.

2 See pages 18ff. for a discussion of query, one of Buchler’s distinctive categories of human process.

3Justus Buchler, Nature and Judgment (New York, Columbia University Press, 1955), reprinted by Grosset Dunlap, 1966. p. 77. Hereafter, NJ.

4See Justus Buchler, The Main of Light: On the Concept of Poetry (New York, London, Oxford University Press, 1974).

5 See also Beth J. Singer, Ordinal Naturalism: An Introduction to the Philosophy of Justus Buchler (Bucknell University Press, 1983), p. 168 for a discussion of commensurateness in terms of "mediated relatedness."

6 Buchler makes the related point that a theory is a formalized perspective which may tolerate some subperspectives and not others, may urge some subperspectives and be incompatible with others (TGT 71). But a subperspective is still a perspective and has an integrity as well as being subaltern to a broader perspective or theory.

7See Justus Buchler, Metaphysics of Natural Complexes (New York, Columbia University Press, 1966, hereafter, MNC) pp. 104-28 for a full treatment of strong and weak relevance.

8Buchler formulates the mode of natural definition afar by a possibility as "prefinition" (MNC 165-70).

9Justus Buchler, "On the Concept of ‘the World,’" The Review of Metaphysics, June 1979, p. 576. Hereafter, 0GW.

10 "The World" is something which exceeds the self or any self which would suggest that it is the physical (public) world only if we were to assume that it had to he contrasted with mental, self-centered, and private selves. Note that such a world could not include such a self.

11 This suggests that the so-called alternatives of free will and determinism are not necessarily metaphysical distinctions. To be "free" is also to be determinate and to be "determined" is also to be indeterminate. Hobbes, in rejecting the notion of the will as a separate faculty, is making a related point.

12 Toward a General Theory of Human Judgment (1951) [TGT]; Nature and Judgment (1955) [NJ]; The Concept of Method (New York, Columbia University Press, 1961; hereafter, M; The Main of Light: On the Concept of Poetry (1974). In this last book, Buchler weaves together the general ontology and the metaphysics of human process in a philosophical account of poetry.

13 The notion of judgment for Buchler is not limited to inferential or logical processes. Judgment is the generic category identifying that which is distinctively human. Thus, emotion, action, prayer, preference -- anything we say, do, or contrive, consciously or not, which discriminates traits and defines where one stands, is judgment. See NJ, Chapter 1; TGT 46-57.

14 George Santayana’s The Life of Reason or the Phases of Human Progress (Scribner’s, 1905-06), can be seen as a naturalization of the Hegelian phenomenology. Reason itself is a natural development. The "phases" are common sense, art, society, religion, and science.

15 Chapter 2 of Nature and Judgment is entitled "Query." The idea is developed, however, throughout Buchler’s work. See TCT 54,66-81, 166-69; CM 114-15, 141-44. In CM, the idea of query becomes explicitly normative.

16 This is an observation on Buchler’s method, nut an exclusion of clarity from query. In Buchler’s case, clarity or precision of statement is embedded, so to speak, in a dramatic structure.

Whitehead and Contemporary Analytic Philosophy

As developed through the writings of Charles Hartshorne, Whitehead’s process conception of God has had an important influence on natural theology as taught in the seminaries. But in the secular philosophical discussion dominated by analytical thought in the English-speaking world he has suffered the worst fate that can befall a philosopher. This is not to be the object of criticism, for all welcome the attention and notoriety it brings and the realization that it usually leads to improved solutions to the problems faced by the community of philosophers. Whitehead’s fate has instead been largely silence and neglect, broken by occasional quotations of his eloquent commentaries on the history and development of civilization. In the sections that follow I want to state briefly what I think are the two principal reasons for this neglect, and then to indicate what I believe to be a promising way to revive the inspiring project that Whitehead undertook in Process and Reality.

I. Analytic Critiques

The first of these reasons is a very obvious one. Whitehead’s metaphysical system can be seen as a successor to the systems constructed by Leibniz and Spinoza and then later by Hegel, Bradley, and Bosanquet in the nineteenth century. At the time Whitehead was writing Process and Reality idealist systems were under attack on methodological grounds, first by C. E. Moore as violating the prescriptions of common sense, then by the school of logical positivism represented chiefly by Schlick, Carnap, and Ayer. As is well known, the basis for the positivists’ attack was the so-called "verifiability criterion of meaningfulness," the requirement that for a sentence to be meaningful it must be either true by definition of its constituent terms, i.e., analytic, or be a synthetic sentence which is empirically testable. Since the sentences of Whitehead’s metaphysical system violated this criterion, they and the system as a whole were dismissed as meaningless, suitable perhaps for expressing feelings of awe and reverence towards the whole of which we are a part, but not for conveying what is true or false and what can be accepted or rejected on rational, philosophic grounds. Hence, his system could never be the topic of fruitful discussion or development.

Though this positivist critique maybe a substantial cause of the neglect of Whitehead’s philosophy in the English-speaking world, it certainly does not justify this neglect. As has been pointed out many times, to consistently apply the positivists’ verifiability criterion would have the effect of dismissing all of philosophy as meaningless, including epistemology and ethics. Indeed, no sentence in the writings of the positivists seems to satisfy their criterion. Certainly their conclusion ‘Every meaningful sentence is either analytic or empirical’ is not true by definition, for if it were, it would be a trivial definition of the term ‘sentence’. But neither is it empirically testable, for no facts of experience seem to bear on its truth or falsity. Moreover, the analytic-synthetic distinction has been effectively challenged by Quine In recent years.1 Stripped of the possibility of assigning a given sentence in either category as the result of Quine’s critique, there remains little basis for the positivists’ criticisms.

The second reason for the neglect of Whitehead is, I think, much more justifiable. But it is also more complex. To understand it requires first an attempt at stating the central goal of the metaphysical system formulated in Process and Reality. I agree with Hartshorne that this goal was to formulate a philosophy of panpsychism by generalizing fundamental features of human experiencing. The philosophy of organism of Process and Reality is an ambitious attempt to extend descriptions of human experiencing that we give with such terms as ‘sensation’, ‘perception’, ‘sensory image’, and ‘judgment’ to the experiencing of subhuman organisms. Whitehead’s most frequent historical references are to Locke, Hume, and Kant. He agrees with all three that philosophy’s first task is to describe the operations of the human mind based on direct introspection of these operations and the ideas that are their contents. His basic disagreement is only with the phenomenalism that entered philosophy with Berkeley and Hume, with his corrections taking the form of reasserting the realism of Descartes and Locke through his conception of "causal efficacy." The psychological terminology employed by these and other philosophers of the modern tradition following Descartes can be applied to our own experiencing, Whitehead believes, and then analogically extended to subhuman forms of experiencing of which we can never be directly aware. Whitehead thinks that this extension can only be made by replacing established terminology by an entirely new terminology designed to avoid what he regarded as the old’s misleading associations. Thus, in place of ‘feeling’ be uses ‘prehension’, in place of ‘judgment is concrescence’, and in place of ‘perceiving a sensory image’ is ‘perception in the mode of presentational immediacy’. This new terminology, he thought, could achieve through the definitions he stipulated for it a generality impossible for the terminology inherited from the philosophic tradition.

The basic framework for the philosophy of organism is provided, then, by the introspective psychological tradition of modern philosophy, with an artificial terminology introduced as the vehicle for generalizing to subhuman forms of experiencing. But starting with Peirce and Frege in the nineteenth century and continuing with Wittgenstein, Ryle, Austin, and a host of others in the twentieth, the fundamental assumptions of this framework came under consistent and, I think, effective attack. We can describe with some accuracy our sensations and feelings, but our thought processes -- our judgments, decisions, suppositions, emotions, etc. -- seem incapable of direct description.

We can, however, describe the forms of the sentences we use in expressing these judgments, decisions, suppositions, and emotions, and attempt to describe how these sentences are used in communication situations and how their constituent subjects and predicates function. Indeed, human thinking just is the interpretation and use of language, and no adequate account of our mental operations can ignore their linguistic base. The lesson taught by the linguistic philosophers is that the more we become self-conscious of the language we use the more we realize how linguistic distinctions have all along been imported into what we believed were direct descriptions of psychological processes. We are like beings forced to see the world through spectacles, and linguistic categories are the lenses that determine how this world appears to us.

II. Images as Objects

Further, many of the foundations of post-Cartesian philosophy begin to crumble when we examine the linguistic bases on which they were constructed. One of these foundations is the view that when we see a table, hear a trumpet, taste sugar, etc., what we really see, hear, or taste are not ordinary objects, but instead our own ideas or images -- the colored shape directly apparent to us, the loud blare, the sugary taste. These so-called appearances or "immediate ideas" are said to be objects of a kind of direct, error-free perception. The so-called "external objects" -- the table, the trumpet, the sugar -- are not themselves perceived. They are instead the "things in themselves" or "noumena" behind the appearances. We can be certain of how these things appear to us, the fact that we are directly aware of a brownish rectangular shape, a high pitched blare, a sugary taste.

But we can be mistaken as to whether the objects are as they appear to us. For post-Cartesian philosophy it is even uncertain whether there are existing physical objects to which the appearances correspond, with idealists divided from realists over the issue. The dominant view in modern philosophy was the version of realism espoused by Descartes and Locke, a version which took the form of a "representative theory perception." According to this theory, what we perceive are particular ideas or images. Causing these "subjective" or "internal" images are "external" objects. What we call the perception of these latter objects is in fact an inference we make to them from images as their representations.

Criticisms of this view of perception have been given by a number of philosophers in the past 30 years and have taken a variety of forms.2 The chief criticism is that sensory images can be seen to be fictitious objects once we look carefully at the language we use to describe them. Such descriptions do seem liable to error, as when we describe a certain color by the word mauve’ and later correct ourselves as having misdescribed it. Further, the language used in these descriptions seems to be dependent on language used to directly describe ordinary things. To describe a taste as salty, for example, is to say that the taste is like that experienced when we taste salt. The conclusion reached is that the modern philosophical tradition was mistaken in postulating sensory images as objects of perception. Instead, what we should say is that we perceive ordinary things like tables and chairs by having these images. The images are not "objects" at, all, but simply means by which we perceive objects.

The extent to which Whitehead is himself vulnerable to these same criticisms is open to debate. His choice of a novel terminology makes it often difficult to determine the extent to which he shares views of past philosophers. He does use the terms ‘sensum’, ‘sense presentation’, and ‘image’ to stand for the immediate objects of awareness, the ideas or appearances of the tradition.3 These sensa are the direct object of what he terms "perception in the mode of presentational immediacy." His discussion of "delusive perceptions seems to indicate that he regarded the direct objects of perception in this mode to be sensa or images, with error introduced when we make an incorrect inference to the nature of the material things causally related to it. When we look at a chair, he says, delusive perception results from an incorrect inference from a certain geometrical shape directly apparent to us. A non-delusive case arises, in contrast, "when we see a chair-image and there is a chair" (PR 100). As we shall see in the next section, Whitehead’s principal version of symbolic reference becomes his means of relating images or sensa as directly perceived to the objects which cause them.

Whitehead’s use of assumptions dating back to Descartes and Locke in his account of perception leaves him vulnerable to the criticisms introduced by the revolution in philosophic method taking place at the time he was writing his major works, one in which the analysis of the functioning of language was replacing psychological introspection as the principal method for understanding human thought. The fact that many of the assumptions fundamental to Whitehead’s starting point in human experience were thrown into question by those undertaking this revolution is the main reason, I think, for the subsequent neglect of his philosophy in the English-speaking world.

But the effect has been to leave our philosophy impoverished, for Whitehead’s project was an important correction to the anthropocentric bias characteristic of post-Cartesian philosophy. The ancient Greeks saw all of nature as alive and themselves as but the most advanced stage in what Lovejoy was later to term the "great chain of being." The rationalization of this conception came with Aristotle’s Metaphysics and De Anima. The effect of the new method of philosophy instituted by Descartes and Locke was to make human mental operations and their contents the sole object of study, with the rest of nature the "unknown something" behind the veil of appearances. Whitehead’s philosophy of organism is an attempt to restate the Creek conception by extending features of human experiencing to subhuman forms. But while it may be possible to extend certain psychological capacities to lower organisms, it does not seem possible to extend to them our capacity to use language. We humans seem uniquely endowed with this capacity, with only very primitive anticipations among some of the higher primates. By making language use its central object of study contemporary philosophy seems to have committed itself to an even more extreme form of that same anthropocentric orientation that Whitehead saw himself as combating.

III. Two Versions of Symbolic Reference

There is, however, a possible way of overcoming this difficulty if certain very basic features of language can be found also in what is interpreted at lower stages of organic life. I will use the generic term ‘sign’ from the semiotic tradition revived by Charles Peirce at the end of the nineteenth century to stand for any object of interpretation. For this tradition a linguistic sentence is regarded as a sign of a relatively high level of complexity sharing certain common features with more primitive signs interpreted by lower forms of life. The problem of restating Whitehead’s panpsychism becomes then one of isolating such common features as meaning and reference found in the use of simple sentences that can be analogically extended to these primitive signs.

Whitehead’s account of the functions of what he terms "symbols in Symbolism and Process and Reality offers a suggestive attempt at such an extension.4 In the first of these works two basic forms of symbols are distinguished: linguistic expressions in the form of perceived words and sentences and our sense presentations correlated to natural objects. Whitehead seems to give two versions of the functioning of sense presentations as primitive types of symbols. In one version sense presentations such as a colored shape are symbols of other elements of our experience, as the visual appearance of a flash of lightning may be a symbol of the sound of thunder with which it has been correlated in our past experience. We thus see the lightning flash and expect the thunder, and such primitive types of interpretation of natural events seem to be present in any organism capable of learning from experience. By being able to anticipate these associated events organisms can behave in ways designed to secure a benefit or avoid a harm. Thus, for the deer in the forest an odor may be a symbol of the sight of a predator; to interpret this symbol is both to anticipate the sight and to flee to avoid harm. For Whitehead says, "coloured shapes seem to be symbols for some other elements in our experience, and when we see the coloured shapes we adjust our actions towards those other elements" (5 4). These "other elements," Whitehead says in Symbolism, constitute the "meaning" of the symbol, and the transition from symbol to meaning is called here "symbolic reference."

The human mind is functioning symbolically when some components of its experience elicit consciousness, beliefs, emotions, and usages, respecting other components of its experience. The former set of components are the ‘symbols,’ and the latter set constitute the ‘meaning’ of the symbols. The organic functioning whereby there is a transition from the symbol to the meaning will be called ‘symbolic reference.’ (5 8)

This version of symbolic functioning allows a comparison between the interpretation of a sense presentation such as the sight of lightning and linguistic expression such as the word ‘tree’. Just as the flash that appears has as its meaning the thunder with which it is associated, so the word ‘tree’ has as its meaning the visual, olfactory, and tactual experiences of trees.

Whitehead’s second version of symbolic functioning is very different from the first. In this version the sense presentation as symbol is said to stand for the physical object with which it is causally correlated, not to another experience. "Symbolism from sense-perception to physical bodies," Whitehead says, "is the most natural and widespread of all symbolic modes" (5 4). In Process and Reality this differing conception of the symbol is developed in considerable detail in the form of a revised statement of "symbolic reference." Such reference is regarded here as being the process by which sense presentations perceived in the "mode of presentational immediacy" are projected on to regions of space external to the percipient. These regions are those from which the causal chains terminating in the sense presentations or sensa were initiated. In this way there is a combination of presentational immediacy with what Whitehead terms "perception in the mode of causal efficacy," a direct perception of the causal relation between the sense presentation and the object which it stands for. Rasvihary Daz gives the example of seeing a friend approaching. What is immediately apparent is some shape and color. For Whitehead, Daz correctly points out,

the coloured shape is used as the symbol of the actual person, and the perception of it blends itself with that of the actual being given in causal efficacy. . . . This is how symbolic reference works. We project the sensum on to the physical nexus causally felt, and take it (the sensum) as the representative, in clear consciousness, of what is vaguely, but deeply, felt in causal.5

In this version the "meaning" of the symbol as sensum would seem to be the object causally related to it.6

In the first version of symbolic functioning a kind of "error" seems to arise when expectations are disappointed, for example, when the sound of thunder fails to follow the flash of lightning. But for this second version of symbolic reference error occurs when the object being symbolized either fails to exist, as for a mirage, or exists in a much different way than is being represented, as for the straight stick immersed in water which looks bent, the red book which looks yellow to the person suffering from jaundice, etc. Errors are thus due to what Whitehead terms "delusive appearances" of the kind discussed in the previous section where a sensum fails to match what it symbolizes or represents.7

The contrast between these versions of the functioning of primitive signs can be found in the British empiricist tradition. The first phenomenalist version was clearly stated by Berkeley. Just as linguistic expressions lead us to anticipate certain experiences, so for Berkeley certain experiences or immediate ideas are "natural signs" of others, as the sound of the coach is a sign of the sight of the approaching coach.8 The second realist version can be found in the writings of Thomas Reid, for whom sensations are signs of external objects. For Reid it is by a "natural kind of magic" that we take them to stand for these objects; there are no grounds in experience for making this association.9 As we have seen, Whitehead disagrees with Reid in that he holds that we have a direct intuition or "feeling" of external objects as causes of sensations. Nevertheless, his second version of signs shares some central features with Reid’s, and can be regarded as its successor.

IV Analogies Between Natural Signs and Language

To which of these alternative versions of natural signs can features of language be most adequately extended? A complete answer would be very complicated,10 but in general terms we can see that Whitehead’s second version is inadequate for the task. A sense presentation or sensum is for Whitehead a causal effect of a sequence of events correlated with the physical object that it stands for. But what meaningful analogy can hold between such a causal effect and a linguistic expression such as the word ‘tree’ or the sentence ‘The stove is hot’? Utterances of these expressions are clearly not causal effects of the objects or the states of affairs they represent. It is not the tree which causes an utterance of ‘tree’, nor the hot stove which causes a person to say ‘The stove is hot’. Instead, utterances of these expressions lead us to anticipate future events and possibly as a consequence orient our actions. If someone says ‘Tree’ and points, I anticipate at the location to which he points that I will see a tree. If someone says ‘The stove is hot’, I believe that the stove he is using the subject ‘the stove’ to refer to will be hot if I touch it. To avoid the painful touch, I may remove my hand. These obvious features of the use of language are quite consistent with the first version of natural signs (or symbols) that Whitehead presents, that for which a sense presentation has as its meaning other experiences and leads to our altering our actions.

There is also at least a general analogy between judgments of falsity directed towards utterances and disappointment of expectations for natural signs. To judge ‘This stove is hot’ false is first to identify the referent of the subject and then recognize that the predicate fails to be instantiated. Similarly, when the thunder fails to follow the lightning, there is recognition of a nonoccurrence of what was expected. But so far as I can see, these features are inconsistent with the second version requiring the sense presentation to be the causal effect of what it signifies. The cause of a sense presentation as sign lies in the past, while in all the examples just cited the anticipation is of a future event, and it is in the future that realization of error takes place.

Nevertheless, Whitehead is understandably reluctant to endorse the phenomenalist implications of his first version, since it seems to create a schism between the philosophic account of sign interpretation given in terms of correlations between experiences and the world as described by physics and the other sciences. His introduction of causal efficacy as a mode of perception is designed to overcome this schism, what he refers to as the "bifurcation of nature" introduced into philosophy by the dualism of Descartes and Locke. It is not necessary, however, to employ the sign-signified distinction in order to explain the basic facts of perception. What I see when I look up in the sky is the flash of lightning at a certain location. As the linguistic philosophers have pointed out (cf. Section II), I do not see a yellowish sensum and then interpret this as standing for some physical event causing the sensum, for having the yellowish sensum is but an aspect of seeing the lightning. The perception is direct and immediate and itself involves nothing analogous to error. To interpret what I see as a sign is to expect to hear thunder at a time and place directly indicated by the lightning.

Further, what is correlated with the sign is not simply another sense presentation, but a locatable sound. It is at a given spatial-temporal location that I recognize whether or not what I have expected in fact occurs. The description of the perception of both the lightning and the following thunder does not therefore have to be given in phenomenalist terms, nor does abandoning the phenomenalist description require Whitehead’s second version of symbolic reference as the projection of a sensum on a spatial region to which it is causally related. The reference of a natural sign would seem instead to be to that spatial and temporal region at which the signified event is expected, for example, the region at which the thunder is expected after seeing the lightning.

We can find, therefore, very general similarities between the use and interpretation of sentences at the linguistic level and primitive natural signs as characterized in Whitehead’s first version of symbolic reference. These similarities are sufficient to allow the analogical extension of features of language to signs interpreted by subhuman forms of life, certainly those "higher grade of organisms, as Whitehead terms them, capable of learning. The most primitive of these would seem to be the amoeba learning to respond differentially to events in its environment. But between these primitive forms of sign interpretation and the interpretation and use of language there are many intermediate levels. There are, for example, signals used in animal communication, nonconventional signals which include some gestures, and single-word sentences such as the word ‘Tree’ used by children in the early stages of language acquisition. Only as a relatively recent evolutionary development do we have developed natural languages with their sentences and combinations of sentences as forms of discourse. Whitehead has little to say of these intermediate levels, though he was certainly well aware of them and notes the use of signals both to convey information and to express emotions. "Speech in its embryonic stages as exemplified in animal and human behavior," he says in Modes of Thought, "varies between emotional expression and signaling" (MT 52). Clearly, any complete extension of features of language must include these intermediate signs along with the natural signs that have been our focus.

I noted above the existence of semiotic as the discipline which attempts to isolate general features of signs. I believe the most promising way of restating Whitehead’s project of generalizing beyond human experiencing is in terms of the principles outlined in this discipline. In this way the sound reasons for contemporary philosophy’s attention to language use can be acknowledged. At the same time recent philosophy’s anthropocentric bias can at least partially be overcome. The generality and scope of Whitehead’s philosophy continues to be an inspiration in the contemporary world. Despite its neglect his vision of a metaphysical system as comprehensive as Aristotle’s, one that embraces all forms of life, has enduring appeal. But at the same time it seems to me that we cannot turn our backs on advances undertaken by philosophy in the past 50 years, and that an attempt must be made to apply the methodology dominating contemporary philosophy to Whitehead’s central aim. I have tried to outline in this paper what I think is the proper direction this attempt should take and those aspects of Whitehead’s account of symbolic reference which can serve as a promising starting point.

 

 

Notes:

1For the original statement of this criticism see W. V. O. Quine, "‘Two Dogmas of Empiricism" in From a Logical Point of View, 2nd edition (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1961).

2The most influential criticisms are those by J. L. Austin in Sense and Sensibility, (London: Oxford University Press, 1962). See also Gilbert Ryle, The Concept of Mind (London: Hutchinson. 1949), Chapter VI.

3 See PR 98, where Whitehead uses the term ‘chair-image’ to stand for the effect of a sequence of physical causes. In contrast, a ‘sense datum’ is used, following the early Russell, in the sense of a universal or "eternal object" instantiated by a particular image.

4 I follow Whitehead in using his term ‘symbol’ in a generic sense applying to both linguistic expressions and sense presentations as natural signs. In the semiotic tradition ‘symbol’ has since Aristotle been restricted to conventional signs and ‘sign’ used as the generic term.

5 Rasvihary Das, The Philosophy of Whitehead (New York: Russell and Russell, 1964). p. 138. See also Donald Sherburne’s summary account of symbolic reference in A Key to Whitehead’s PROCESS AND REALITY (New York: Macmillan, 1957), p. 246f.

6 Whitehead does allow in PR 274f. for the possibility of his first version of symbolic functioning: "The species from which the symbolic reference starts is called the ‘species of symbols,’ and the species with which it ends the ‘species of meanings.’ In this there can be symbolic reference between two species in the same perceptive mode." Thus, the symbol can signify another sensum, with both perceived in the mode of presentational immediacy. But, he adds, "the chief example of symbolism . . . is that between the two perceptive modes," where the symbol is a sensum and the meaning the causally related object.

7 See S 54f. This interpretation of Whitehead’s conception of error can be found in Nathaniel Lawrence, Whitehead’s Philosophical Development (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1956), p. 343.

8 See Three Dialogues between Hylas and Philonous, I.

9 Thomas, Reid, An Inquiry into the Human Mind, Pt. II, Ch. 5. Sec. III.

10 For a detailed analysis of signs at different levels see my Principles of Semiotic (Boston: Routledge and Kegan Paul, forthcoming, 1987).