Whitehead’s Category of Harmony: Analogous Meanings in Every Realm of Being and Culture

 

I. The Pythagorean traditions of four kinds of harmony: musical harmony the root metaphor

"Harmony" is a word now used only in metaphorical senses.1 In the long and complicated history of this word, which we cannot here trace, the literal sense has been forgotten. The ancient Greek a r m o z . meant joint, and a r m o z e i n meant to arrange. The physician Galen used the abstract noun a r m o n i n in a way defining his orthopedic meaning "the union of two bones by mere apposition" (New 96).2

Joining or arranging presupposes logically that there are different things together. Joining parts of the body allows functioning together, as parts cannot function separately All the metaphorical extensions seem to have this in common: they are cases of the many that become one. The most important metaphorical extension indicates the very essence of music: that there is "agreement [or] concord of sounds" (New, V, 96-98). If music is the chief metaphorical meaning, and the others are controlled by it, then to think of the world as a harmony is to regard everything as if all things sound well together.

In the tradition of both the ancient and the modern world, musical harmony is only one of four kinds. There is, according to the Pythagoreans, a harmony of strings, but also a harmony of body and soul, a harmony of the state, and a harmony of the starry sky In a doctrine of universal harmony; the metaphors go back and forth (Spitzer 8-9). According to Jean Bodin, an eminent Renaissance thinker whose thought in this regard has only recently been recovered from obscurity, held that there is harmony in numbers, harmony in geometric progression, harmony in musical systems, and harmony in nature. Bodin extended the latter harmony in a doctrine that toleration facilitated harmony among religions. Harmony then functions to cure, as in the case of Leibniz and Whitehead, one of the ills of civilization, religious war.

The world then is made up of many harmonies. This seems the essence of the tradition; that there should be four and only four seems somewhat accidental and arbitrary (see various works by Kuntz). The lists of four, as can be seen above, do not coincide. We may indeed regard the starry sky as an aspect of nature, and harmony of strings is one application of a musical system. Should we then conflate the two lists and conclude that there are six fundamental harmonies of the universe? The question of how many harmonies there are should be deferred because it is a function of prior decisions. Bodin distinguished harmony in numbers from harmony in geometric progressions. Yet another philosopher might prefer to group both under the head "mathematical" harmony.

II. Whitehead’s reduction into two basic types of harmony: logical and aesthetic

The simplification of kinds of harmony into a simple correlation is found in a twentieth-century son of Pythagoras, whose thought about harmony deserves exploration. In Science and the Modern World, Whitehead expounds the central idea of Western civilization as faith in an order of things and in an order of nature.

Faith in reason is the trust that the ultimate natures of things lie together in a harmony which excludes mere arbitrariness [. . . .] The faith in the order of nature which has made possible the growth of science is a particular example of a deeper faith. This faith cannot be justified by any inductive generalization. It springs from our direct inspection of the nature of things as disclosed in our own immediate present experience [. . . .] To experience this faith is to know that in being ourselves we are more than ourselves: to know that our experience, dim and fragmentary as it is, yet sounds the utmost depths of reality: to know that detached details, merely in order to be themselves demand that they should find themselves in a system of things: to know that 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 molding the general flux in its broken progress towards finer, subtler issues. (18)

There is, Whitehead suggests, a harmony of the abstract possibilities with which formal sciences deal, and then another harmony of the changing process that we study in the concrete. Our study of the latter, as in history; is based upon sense.

Whitehead’s principle of moving from the abstract to the concrete seems to be the principle implicit in both the Pythagorean list of four harmonies and in Bodin’s list of four. The musical and mathematical harmonies are cited first, then the mind moves to the harmony of body and soul and the harmony of human society, until finally we think of the richest harmony of the all-embracing world in which we live and think. Let us rather begin with the greatest and most concrete order, and use the principle in inverse form, to end with the least tangible.

III. Nine kinds of harmony: all required in Whitehead’s illustrations

Since, as we have illustrated, "harmony" is a metaphorical term, the meaning must change from one level to another. Things of different sorts are related by different principles. Especially because the following list is based on a richer selection of instances, we need to suggest a sharper clarification of differences (New 96-99).

I propose that we consider the kinds of harmony we commonly speak of under nine heads. I arrived at these nine empirically by thinking of the kinds represented in the English language. It may be more than a coincidence that John Milton celebrated a "ninefold harmony."3 Even Whitehead, who in the above significant passage reduces all harmony to "logical" and "aesthetic," says only that the "system of things includes" these, and elsewhere, as we shall see, he refers to others. At one point my list was of twenty harmonies, but some of these distinctions are in this present list reduced to subtypes.

Type I: Cosmic Harmony

There is a harmony of heavenly bodies. The principle is the regularity and therefore the predictability of motion, as developed in astronomy

Type II: Natural Harmony

There is a harmony of plants and animals living in their environment. The harmonic principle is balance, as in ecology.

Type III: Human Harmony.

There is a harmony between humans in families, businesses, schools, churches, armies, states, etc. The harmonic principle is agreement of interest, as studied in ethics, history, and the social sciences.

Type IV: Harmony of Action

There is a harmony between thought and behavior, or speaking traditionally of substances, between mind and body; The harmonic principle is correspondence. One sort of correspondence is Leibniz’s "pre-established harmony"

Type V: Spiritual Harmony

There is a harmony of individual consciousness. The principle is self-identity as we find it in rational psychology, some forms of philosophy and psychiatry.

Type VI: Aesthetic Harmony

There is a harmony of sensed objects such as sounds, colored things, etc. The principle is aesthetic fittingness of various kinds, as studied in aesthetics.

Type VII: Doxic Harmony

There is a harmony of stories, propositions, doctrines, and theories. Beliefs or statements that are claimed to be true or false are subject to principles of logical laws, such as identity, contradiction and excluded middle. There are also certain epistemological principles of relevance and coherence.

Type VIII: Mathematical Harmony

There is a harmony of numbers, of geometrical shapes such as lines, etc. The principle is proportion that can be stated, as an algebraic formula.

Type IX: Metaphysical Harmony

There is a principle of harmony underlying the unity of things and of process. The principle is teleology, as in metaphysics, that what can be actualized ought to be, and that the fulfillment of possibilities is good.

The above schema is no more than a sketch and could be fully expounded and defended only with a chapter expounding each meaning. Yet I wish to press several distinct advantages over all previous theories of harmony that have come to my attention. Previous lists of kinds of harmony seem to me to be over-simple, and a richer and more complete summation is required. This is a metaphysical advantage: A variety of distinct definitions is what we have in the case of Being and Existence. There are very diverse sorts of relations called "harmonies" and no conventional definition using "agreement" or "correspondence" is helpful in defining such diverse cases. Greater precision is needed. Each of the nine kinds can be further specified into subtypes and each admits of degrees of specificity.

IV All harmonies are relations analyzable in terms of the logic of relations

The table of nine kinds accepts the plurality of meanings and hence does not beg the question whether "harmony" has an identical meaning in every instance. Harmony may be a general name for a family of terms. If there is a common essence, that remains to be demonstrated.

All we can assert at this stage is that harmony has many meanings, yet sufficiently analogous that a common metaphor applies to all. The analogy or sameness in difference remains to be discerned.

Just as we began by saying of any harmony that there are "different things together," so we may now say that all harmonies require relation of a definite sort. All harmonies are orders (see Kuntz, Concept).

If it is true that all harmonies are relations between terms, then we can ask, How many terms are required or allowed? We can also ask, What are the formal properties of the relations? These two leading questions are couched in the familiar language of the logic of relations.

Can there be a one-term relation, or a relation that is reflexive? Stated formally; is there a harmony of the form aRa? The only likely case is form V. A person is said to be in harmony with himself/herself. Is there here really a many that is one? Surely more than one term is required. Are there many feelings, thoughts and actions that are unified by one design or purpose?

The relation of harmony; where there are two terms, aRb, has the formal property of symmetry. Under Type III we speak of the harmony between labor and capital. We might just as well say the harmony between capital and labor, or formally aRb = bRa. Type IV is also a two-termed relation of harmony; Type II, balance, is also two-termed. If a balances b exactly; then we must also say b balances a exactly.

Yet other harmonies require three terms. Type VIII, mathematical harmony; includes "harmonical proportion." Here we have a relation that is an ordering relation in the strict sense of a series, or a relation that is asymmetrical, transitive and connected. "Harmonical proportion" was stated by Morley in 1597: "Harmonical proportion is [. . .]when the greatest of three terms is to the least as the difference of the greatest and the middle terms is to the difference of the middle and least," (New 96-99). This is clearer if stated in terms of a, b and c a : c :: (a-b) : (b-c). This proportion is illustrated by the progression 30, 15, 10. For 30 :10 :15 : 5. The transitivity of the relationship is that the same relation that holds between the first and second, and the second and the third, holds also between the first and the third. The relations are asymmetrical because we may not reverse them without changing the sense or direction. And given the numbers in such a relation -- there must be three but may be any number -- we can find one and only one place for each within the order.

Harmonies of several types are not limited to one, two, or even three terms. Notably Types I, III, VI, VII, and VIII have common examples of many-termed relations. The balance of nature, Type II, although commonly stated in a metaphor of two terms, obviously involves many terms such as animals, waste, water, oxygen, algae, industries, governments, conservation groups, etc. Many-termed harmonies may contain certain relations that are disharmonious. Discordant aspects may be resolved in the totality of harmony, as in the most interesting and complex musical compositions.

Not all harmonies are so clear; few have an ear that can catch the music of the spheres. Our musical instrumentals can scarcely reproduce musica mundana. According to Johannes Kepler the basic musical intervals are 4/5, the major third of Saturn, 5/6, the minor third of Jupiter, 2/3, the fifth of Mars, 15/ 16, the half-tone of Earth, 14/15 of Mercury, 5/12, the octave plus minor third of Mercury (Apel 375).

But how are we judging whether relations are harmonious or disharmonious? Are we limited to listening to musical notes sounding together? We are indeed often pleased by sweet sounding notes, but also by colors that vivify one another and shapes that together excite our vision. Yet there are mathematical relations associated with sweet sounding notes or underlying auditory pleasure. The great thrust of Pythagoreanism is to regard Type VIII, Mathematical Harmony; as fundamental to all other types. Mathematical relations as such are not sensed, hence Pythagoreans claim that the unseen harmony explains the seen, or the unheard the heard. Is there then ultimately only the conceptual standard of harmony?

Surely the most interesting abstract principle of musical harmony that would explain all heard consonances and dissonances is that of the Pythagoreans. One statement of harmonic relations begins with the octave (1/2) as simple, goes on to 1/3, (the fifth), 1/4, (the double octave), 1/5 (the third above the double octave), etc. But the disharmonic relations are complex, such as 7/8, etc.4

Concord of any sort can be compared to music, as discord can be compared to noise. If mathematical formal relations underlie song and instrumental compositions, do they also underlie harmonies of Type III, Human Harmony? I should rather leave the question as did Milton: "Harmonie to behold in wedded pair/ more grateful then harmonious sound to the eare" (Paradise Lost VIII, 605, Adam of Eve: "in us both one soul").

V. Is harmony dead? An historicist challenge to any attempt, as Whitehead’s, to reconceive the Category of Harmony

The great philological historian of ideas, Leo Spitzer, wrote his account of Classical and Christian Ideas of World Harmony with nostalgia. The present state is only one of loss of faith. René Wellek says in his "Preface":

While Spitzer’s regret or half regret for the destruction of the old belief in world harmony faded, as no illusion could long keep his allegiance, he surely preserved his aesthetic admiration for the old world-picture, his historical interest in understanding it and his feeling for its survivals in our time and in our languages. Stimmung is such a survival as he shows convincingly, and so is ‘mood’ as moods preserve ancient feelings. The musica mundana, the well-tempered man, was or tried at least to be in harmony with the great musica mundana, while musica instrumentalists was a means of reconciling microcosm and macrocosm, man with nature -- the work or even the composition of God. Without succumbing to superstition or sentimentality we may feel this even today in our deepest experience of music and poetry. (viii-ix)

The story of the idea of world harmony ends then with rejection, not with the acceptance stated so vigorously by Whitehead in Science and the Modern World (18). We cannot logically agree with Spitzer-Wellek and with Whitehead. Perhaps nothing can help us towards deciding as a closer examination of Whitehead’s theory of world order.

VI. Whitehead, a person with deep Pythagorean feeling

When Whitehead wanted most of all to state his deepest feeling of hope in the midst of anguish, his words took a distinctly Pythagorean form. The dedication of The Principles of Natural Knowledge is the best case in evidence:

To ERIC ALFRED WHITEHEAD

Royal Flying Corps

November 27, 1898 to March 13, 1918

Killed in action over the Foret de Gobain giving himself that the city of his vision may not perish. The music of his life was without discord, perfect in its beauty

My work on harmony in history reveals that several historians have erred in counting harmony dead before it was expressed significantly, as by Whitehead. An historian must keep his own beliefs from coloring the texts of past thinkers, and there is no personal cost in writing an obituary of the ideas of others.

Whitehead is writing from within the living tradition of Pythagoras. The belief is fervent, and a conviction without which he could not go on living and working. He is not an historian of ideas writing coolly of others, even with homesickness for a lost faith.

VII. Harmony, according to Whitehead, essential to civilization and therein vindicated

Whitehead counts Harmony one of the seven main doctrines of Plato. But it is not merely of historic interest. Harmony is "as important for us now, as [it was] then at the dawn of the modern world, when civilizations of the old type were dying" (Adventures 147). The doctrine couldn’t be, as Wellek judges it, an "illusion," or a "survival," a "superstition or sentimentality." Whitehead concludes: "The Greek doctrine of Composition and Harmony has been vindicated by the progress of thought" (Adventures 154).

Unfortunately Spitzer did not study Whitehead, and Wellek ignored him. Therefore we have no direct and explicit statement of exactly the respects in which the idea of world harmony is a failure in Wellek’s opinion. Nor is Whitehead altogether clear about the respects in which the idea of world harmony is a success. Whitehead certainly regarded faith in an order of nature (Type I and Type II) as a vindicated faith. I doubt if Wellek would deny that mathematics has proved the key used in discovering the regularity of planetary motion or that humanity has now extended its knowledge to the delicate interrelations of life in an environment (See Whitehead, Science Chapters 1,11 and IV). Perhaps Wellek’s case for failure is based on the prevalence of strife rather than harmony in natural and human life. That the "vision" of community of interests did not prove a total success is illustrated by the tragic death of Whitehead’s son. Is the doctrine of world harmony as naive a form of optimism as Voltaire in Candide mocks Leibniz’s doctrine of pre-established moral harmony? is Whitehead’s doctrine of world harmony some Platonic optimism that insofar as anything is true, it is also good and beautiful, and insofar as anything is true, good and beautiful, it is also most real? Lastly, does Wellek mean by failure of the doctrine of world harmony that philosophy has not demonstrated or proved in a strong sense the necessity of an ultimate ground of order?

VIII. Whitehead’s category couples disharmony with harmony

Whitehead grants the existence of much strife, of great tragedy, of failure of the actual world to conform to the ideal, and of lack of finality in matters of ultimate trust. Indeed, as I read Whitehead on harmony; he seems to be building into his theory these supposed refutations in order to render it more adequate and defensible.

Whitehead’s theory of harmony does not deny strife in nature and human society. A theory of harmony-disharmony accepts the partial truth of applying the "struggle for existence" to economic life. In short, in Adventures of Ideas, Whitehead does not dismiss Social Darwinism as wholly false:

What the notions of ‘form’ and ‘harmony’ were to Plato, that the notions of ‘individuality’ and ‘competition’ were to the nineteenth century. God had placed his bow in the skies as a symbol; and the strip of colours, tightly read, spelt ‘competition.’ The prize to he competed for was ‘life.’ Unsuccessful competitors died; and thus, by a beautiful provision of nature, ceased from constituting a social problem.

Now it is quite obvious that a much needed corrective to an unqualified, sentimental humanitarianism is here being supplied. Strife is at least as real a fact in the world as Harmony. If you side with Francis Bacon and concentrate on the efficient causes, you can interpret large features of the growth of structure in terms of ‘strife.’ If, with Plato, you fix attention on the end, rationally worthy, you can interpret large features in terms of ‘harmony.’ But until some outline of understanding has been reached which elucidates the interfusion of strife and harmony, the intellectual driving force of successive generations will sway uneasily between the two. (31-33)

Whitehead grants that in much recent history strife was fundamental and "harmony was a secondary effect, merely Romance gilding Strife" (Adventures 31-33).

IX. Whitehead’s theory of harmony-disharmony is not to be confused with the liberal Nineteenth Century compromise

What of the reconciliation of Strife with Harmony?

The political, liberal faith of the nineteenth century was a compromise between the individualistic, competitive doctrine of strife and the optimistic doctrine of harmony. It was believed that the laws of the Universe were such that the strife of individuals issued in the progressive realization of a harmonious society. In this way, it was possible to cherish the emotional belief in the Brotherhood of Man, while engaging in relentless competition with all individual men (Whitehead, Adventures 33).

There is no logical contradiction in the theory of liberalism. The repugnancy is between the misery of workers in factory and mine, when competition is unregulated, and the profession of humanitarian faith. In terms of our table of types of harmony; Type VII may be satisfied while clearly there is a lack of Type III, Human Harmony, and probably also of Types IV, Harmony of Action, and Type V, Spiritual Harmony.

X. The Ancient Greek success in discerning the mathematical harmony in music inspires hope that we can likewise discover a basis for coherent policies

If recent Western civilization is moral failure in achieving harmony in society, it is to be counted an intellectual success in comprehending the harmony of nature. Whitehead agrees with Plato that "any selections [of Ideas] are either compatible for joint exemplification, or are incompatible. It thus follows, as he notes, that the determination of compatibilities and incompatibilities is the key to coherent thought, and to the understanding of the world in its function as the theatre for the temporal realization of ideas" (Adventures 147). The most signal intellectual success in the search for harmony lies, says Whitehead in Adventures of Ideas, in the application of Mathematical Harmony (Type VIII) to Aesthetic Harmony (Type VI). This may be the clue to why Pythagoreans chose musical harmony as the root metaphor.

In respect to Harmony, the Greeks made a discovery which is a landmark in the history of thought. They found out that exact Mathematical Relationships, as they exist in Geometry and in the numerical proportions of measurements, are realized in various outstanding examples of beautiful composition. For instance Archytas[5] discovered that, other circumstances being equal, the note given Out of a stretched string depends on the length of the strings [. . .] Also they investigated the dependence of the beauty of architecture upon the preservation of the proper proportions in the various dimensions. This was an immense discovery, the dependence of the qualitative elements in the world upon mathematical relations [. . . .] But the Greeks, with their power of generalization, grasped the full law of the interweaving of qualitative fact with geometrical and quantitative composition. (149)

XI. Harmony as a category applicable to numerous sets

Whitehead meets an objection that even if Pythagoras contributed a theory toward understanding proportions of music and architecture, these only are the fine arts: Whitehead argues that the category applies to chemistry, physiology; and economics.

Not only does Whitehead call attention to Type VIII as a key to Type VI, that is Mathematics as a theory applicable to Beauty; but also to Mathematics as a key to Cosmic and Natural Harmony "Plato drew the conclusion that the key to the understanding of the natural world, and in particular of the physical elements, was the study of mathematics" (Adventures 149).

He adds, also in Adventures of Ideas:

An intense belief that a knowledge of mathematical relations would prove the key to unlock the mysteries of the relatedness within Nature was ever at the back of Plato’s cosmological speculations. In one passage he reprobates the swinish ignorance of those who have failed to study the doctrine of proportions incapable of expression as numerical ratios. He evidently feels that the chance of some subtle elucidation of the nature of Harmony is being crassly lost. (151)

And in the same pages:

The Platonic doctrine of the interweaving of Harmony with mathematical relations has been triumphantly vindicated. The Aristotelian classification based upon qualitative predicates have a very restricted application apart from the introduction of mathematical formulae. Indeed, Aristotelian Logic, by its neglect of mathematical notions, has done almost as much harm as good for the advancement of science. We can never get away from the questions -- How much, -- In what proportions, -- and In what pattern of arrangement with other things. The exact laws of chemical proportions make all the difference; CO will kill you, when CO2 will only give you a headache. Also CC2, is a necessary element for the dilution of oxygen in the atmosphere; but too much or too little is equally harmful. Arsenic deals our either health or death, according to its proportions amid a pattern of circumstances. Also when the health-giving proportion of CO2 to free oxygen has been obtained, a rearrangement of these proportional quantities of carbon and oxygen into carbon monoxide and free oxygen will provide a poisonous mixture. In Political Economy, the Law of Diminishing Returns points to the conditions for the maximum efficiency of a dose of capital. In fact, there is hardly a question to be asked which should n(it be fenced round with qualifications as to how much, and as to what pattern of circumstances (153).

XII. As the Aristotelian Categories of Quality and Quantity are required in understanding chemical substances, so Whitehead suggests we must grasp the relations between Harmony and other categories

Harmony is one of the fundamental notions concerning the factors of fact. Very often Whitehead couples "The Harmony" with "The Mathematical Relations." Exactly how Harmony interweaves with Ideas, in contrast to The Physical Elements, to The Psyche, to The Eros, to The Receptacle, is a task of a philosophical system. Whitehead allows many ways of understanding this interweaving (see Adventures 158). It would be most helpful to know in detail how Harmony changes its role as we go from system to system. Whitehead is here suggestive of further study.

XIII. Harmony sometimes describes processes of nature and sometimes prescribes social policies. Is there a basis in fact for what ought to be? Harmony may be a norm of logical coherence or of the aesthetic and moral good

Just as above we made the contrast between the failure to achieve social harmony while people gained knowledge of natural harmony; we must now go a step further in recognizing that Whitehead’s Harmony is an ideal as well as a factor of the actual world, though this contrast is not as sharp in Whitehead as in many philosophers. Given such a concept of harmony as regularity, a given situation approximates to the ideal. Harmony is a logically normative concept. Harmony is also an aesthetic and moral concept.

XIV Bridging the gap between the natural and the ideal also connects the True with the Beautiful and the Good. There are gradations both of Beauty and of social harmony

There is in nature "a tendency to be in tune." This is a suggestion in the form of a question, and it leads to another form of the question. How is the natural harmony connected with the ideal harmony? The explanation by way of conformal feeling is too complex to be considered in detail; suffice it to say here that Whitehead does believe he has bridged the gap between the natural and the ideal:

The attainment of such conformation would belong to the perfection of nature in respect to the higher types of its animal life. There is no necessity about it. Evidently there is failure, interference and only partial adjustment. But we have to ask whether nature does not contain within itself a tendency to be in rune, an Eros urging towards perfection. This question cannot be discussed without passing beyond the narrow ground of the truth-relation. (Adventures 251)

There are gradations of aesthetic harmony Beauty, which is "defined as being the perfection of Harmony;" comes in two forms, minor and major. The minor form, Whitehead says, is "the absence of mutual inhibition" (Adventures 252). In terms of harmony, this is the mere absence of discord. But the major form is a synthesis of new contrasts with the content. It is the latter kind of harmony that Whitehead says is strong: "In the sense here meant, Strength has two factors, namely; variety of detail with effective contrast, which is Massiveness, and Intensity Proper which is comparative magnitude without reference to qualitative variety. But the maximum of intensity proper is finally dependent upon massiveness" (Adventures 253).

There are comparable gradations of social harmony Civilization as well as art, Whitehead says, is "nothing other than the unremitting aim at the major perfections of harmony" (Adventures 271). One excellent harmony of society is the exclusion of destruction. But this is a lower form of perfection. The failure to realize a higher form of perfection is preferable for Whitehead: "Progress is founded upon the experience of discordant feelings. The social value of liberty lies in its production of discords" (Adventures 257).

The argument of analogical resemblance of degrees of aesthetic harmony and degrees of social harmony; raises the question of a highest degree of perfection.

XV Is all harmony finite or can there be an infinite harmony? Can all harmonies be harmonized together in perfection Itself

"There are perfections beyond perfections" (Whitehead, Adventures 257-58). Degrees, as steps of a ladder, suggest a topmost rung. If there is more perfect, must there not also be a most perfect? Traditional hierarchical thought culminates in Perfection Itself, sometimes including a Summum Verum, Truth Itself, a Summum Pulchrum, Beauty Itself, in addition to more familiar Summum Bonum, the Good. Whitehead clearly rejects this version of the Great Chain of Being:

all realization is finite, and there is no perfection which is the infinitude of all perfections. Perfections of diverse types are among themselves discordant. Thus the contribution to Beauty which can be supplied by Discord -- in itself destructive and evil -- is the positive feeling of a quick shift of aim from the tameness of outworn perfection to some other ideal with its freshness still upon it. Thus the value of Discord is a tribute to the merits of Imperfection" (Adventures 257) - Whitehead goes on to judge the stale perfection of Hellenism in contrast to the freshness of most religions and barbarism. (Adventures 257)

XVI. Can there be bad harmony and good disharmony? Can there be too much harmony and too little disharmony? Can a person or a civilization or work of art be too harmonious?

How should we judge harmony and disharmony? How should we deal with disharmony? Whitehead’s chief novelty in his theory of harmony comes form considering the respects in which disharmony can be good and should be respected. It is fair to say that Whitehead has no simple theory of harmony but, just as he has a theory of order-disorder, so also a theory of harmony-disharmony. If major beauty requires contrast, and the basic contrast rendering harmony vivid and fresh is disharmony, then it follows that not all harmony is good nor is all disharmony bad. Whitehead’s case is best made in Adventures of Ideas with the example of Hellenistic, as contrasted to Hellenic culture:

Perfection was attained, and with the attainment inspiration withered. With repetition in successive generations, freshness gradually vanished. Learning and learned taste replaced the ardour of adventure. Hellenism was replaced by the Hellenistic epoch in which genius was stifled by repetition. We can imagine the fate of the Mediterranean civilization if it had been spared the irruption of Barbarians and the rise of two new religions. Christianity and Mohametanism: -- For two thousand years the Greek art-forms lifelessly repeated: The Greek schools of philosophy, Stoic, Epicurean, Aristotelian, Neo-Platonic, arguing with barren formulae: Conventional histories: A stabilized Government with the sanctity of ancient ceremony, supported by habitual pieties: literature without depth: Science elaborating details by deduction from unquestioned premises: Delicacies of feeling without robustness of adventure. (257-58)

XVII. Whitehead’s warning against harmony used to stifle individuality, spontaneity, and originality

Progress requires therefore that the case for harmony be not used to stifle individuality. The individual (exemplified by "each actual occasion," as Whitehead says) displays "Spontaneity, originality of decision [...] Freshness, zest, and the extra keenness of intensity arise from it [individuality] [. . .] Thus the wise advice is, not to rest too completely in any continued realization of any perfection of type" (Adventures 258).

XVIII. Warning against disharmony that is destructive, uncoordinated, unsubordinated, and therefore evil

It is not the "basic disharmony of the actual world" that is evil, rather it is destruction that is evil. Disharmony is relatively good for Whitehead because it prevents mere repetition (Adventures 259). Rather than block out disharmony or absorbing it in the generally positive apprehension, Whitehead recommends what he calls "readjustment" and what we may call synthesis in terms "relevant to both the inharmonious systems." At this point Whitehead is very abstract and fails to use examples from the history of music that many times shows that a new combination of sounds, once rejected as cacophonous, is taken up into a richer system of sounds. In western culture, as contrasted to Byzantium, history of music is made through revolutions, and musical education must therefore proceed by the wisdom of accepting shock:

The third way depends on another principle, that a readjustment of the relative intensities of incompatible feelings can in some cases reduce them to compatibilities. This possibility arises when the clash in affective tones is a clash of intensities, and is not a sheer logical incompatibility of qualities. Thus two systems of prehensions may each be internally harmonious; hut the two systems in the unity of one experience may he discordant, when the two intensities of their subjective forms are comparable in magnitude. There may he discordance in feeling this as much as that or in feeling that as much as this. But if one be kept at a lower intensity in the penumbra of feeling, it may act as background to the other, providing a sense of massiveness and variety. This is the habitual state of human experience, a vast undiscriminated, or dimly discriminated background of low intensity, and a clear foreground. This third way of eliminating discordance may be termed the method of ‘reduction to a background.’ Alternatively, it can equally well he termed the method of ‘raising to a foreground’ (Adventures 260).

XIX Including the disharmonious in the harmonious

The disharmonious can be an asset to the harmony of a whole when there is no clash of equal intensities. That is, when one is put in the background of the other. This is sub-ordination, and there is also coordination.

Whitehead’s explanation of how the inharmonious systems are included in an harmonious system is "a fourth way": "This novel system is such as radically to alter the distribution of intensities throughout the two given systems, and to change the importance of both in the final intensive experience" (Adventures 260).

The beneficial disharmony of individuality is illustrated both by strong individuality in society and strong individuality in the arts. "The problem of social life is to make possible a harmony of strong individuals. This ‘is the problem of the co-ordination of [various grades of activities], including the limits of such co-ordination."6 As in civilization, so in art, individuals appear immortal: "The very details of [. . .] compositions live supremely in their own right. They make their own claim to individuality, and yet contribute to the whole. Each such detail receives an access of grandeur from the whole, and yet manifests an individuality claiming attention in its own right" (Whitehead, Adventures 282)

Whitehead’s example in Adventures of Ideas is here needed to make the point effective:

The sculpture and tracery in a Gothic cathedral -- Chartres for instance -- subserve the harmony. They lead the eye upward to the vaulting above, and they lead the eye onward horizontally to the supreme symbolism of the altar. They claim attention by their beauty of detail. Yet they shun attention by guiding the eye to grasp the significance of the whole. Yet the sculpture and the tracery could not perform this service apart from their supreme individuality, evoking a wealth of feeling in their own right. Each detail claims a permanent existence for its own sake, and then surrenders it for the sake of the whole composition.

Again, the value of discord arises from this importance of the forceful individuality of the details. The discord enhances the whole, when it serves to substantiate the individuality of the parts. It brings into emphatic feeling their claim to existence in their own right. It rescues the whole from the tameness of a merely qualitative harmony (282-83).

XX. As followers of Pythagoras rejected the tendency to reduce all harmonies to simple ratios, so Whitehead rejects the reduction of all harmonies to logical compatibility

Just as Aristoxenus7 in The Harmonics transcended the Pythagorean reduction of all problems of harmony-disharmony to ratios, so Whitehead likewise in Adventures of Ideas: "The Harmony is felt as such, and so is the Discord. Now Harmony is more than logical compatibili5; and Discord is more than logical incompatibility. Logicians are not called in to advise artists"(261-62). The reason for this reinforces what Whitehead said about individuality in society and the arts. The artist pays attention to the individuality of an ‘It.’ The logician ignores any individual ‘It’ (Adventures 262). It would follow that the harmony of logic is abstract in contrast to social harmony or aesthetic harmony; which are richer, or in a word, concrete.

XXI. Harmony of truth based on a narrow relation; harmony of beauty based on a broad relation. Truth-relation not necessarily good or evil Beauty-relation self-justifying

Compatible with the contrast between the abstract harmony of logic and the concrete harmony of society and the arts is the place given by Whitehead to the harmony of truth in contrast to the harmony of beauty; Truth "is the conformation of Appearance to Reality [. . . .] The notion of ‘conformation’ in the case of Truth is narrower than that in the case of Beauty. For the truth-relation requires that the two relata have some factor in common" (Adventures 265). Beyond the limitation of the truth-relation in contrast to the beauty-relation is the service of the former to other ends. In Adventures of Ideas, Whitehead explains:

A truth-relation is not necessarily beautiful. It may not even be neutral. It may be evil. Thus Beauty is left as the one aim which by its very’ nature is self-justifying. The Discord in the Universe arises from the fact that modes of Beauty are various, and not of necessity compatible. And yet some admixture of Discord is a necessary factor in the transition from mode to mode. The objective life of the past and future in the present is an inevitable element of disturbance. Discord may take the form of freshness or hope, or it may be horror or pain. (266)

The general importance of Truth for the promotion of Beauty is overwhelming. After all that has been said, yet the truth-relation remains the simple, direct mode of realizing Harmony. Other ways are indirect, the indirectness is at the mercy of the environment. There is a blunt force about Truth, which [. . .] is akin to cleanliness -- namely, the removal of dirt which is unwanted irrelevance. The sense of directness which it carries with it, sustains the upstanding individualities so necessary for the beauty of a complex. Falsehood is corrosive. (266)

XXII. Truth and beauty combine into what has "rightness in the deepest harmony." Goodness belongs "to the constitution of reality"

A major Platonic step towards "a Harmony of Harmonies" is the combination of Truth and Beauty. The kind of Truth involves penetrating insight, perhaps what some call "revelation." In Adventures of Ideas, Whitehead notes:

The type of Truth required for the final stretch of Beauty is a discovery and not a recapitulation. The Truth that for such extremity of Beauty is wanted is [. . .] a Truth of feeling, and not a Truth of verbalization. The relata in Reality must lie below the stale presuppositions of verbal thought. The Truth of supreme Beauty lies beyond the dictionary meanings of words [. . .] Truth in the service of Beauty achieves security and promotes Beauty of feeling [….] The element of anticipation under the influence of Truth is in a deep sense satisfied, and thus adds a factor to the immediate Harmony. Thus Truth, in itself and apart from special reasons to the contrary, becomes self-justifying. It is accompanied by a sense of tightness in the deepest Harmony. But Truth derives this self-justifying power from its services in the promotion of Beauty. Apart from Beauty, Truth is neither good nor bad. (267)

XXIII. The role of Creative Advance is to doom mere harmony of repetition to decay while fostering harmony that is freshened by discord and spontaneity

With Truth and Beauty interrelated, Whitehead’s next step is to bring in" Good ness [as] the third member of the trinity." Goodness is not an aim of art, but belongs "to the constitution of reality; which in any of its individual actualizations is better or worse. Good and evil lie in depths and distances below and beyond appearance [....]The real world is good when it is beautiful" (Adventures 268).

The search for Truth and Beauty, Science and Art, are able to tap "the infinite fecundity of nature," and thus become "sources of Harmony" Whitehead, Adventures 272). This point is stressed, in that nature supports the harmonies of man’s efforts but nature is not supportive of mere harmony, that is the stale repetition of old perfections lacking the freshness of discord. Whitehead writes:

Decay, Transition, Loss, Displacement belong to the essence of the Creative Advance. The new direction of aim is initiated by Spontaneity, an element of confusion. The enduring Societies with their rise, culmination, and decay, are devices to combine the necessities of Harmony and Freshness. There is a deep underlying Harmony of Nature, as it were a fluid, flexible support; and on its surface the ripples of social efforts, harmonizing and clashing in their aims at ways of satisfaction. (Adventures 286)

Thus Adventure is added to the great regulative properties in addition to the qualities of Truth, Beauty and Art.

XXIV What is the ultimate harmony?

The "harmony of harmonies" is called "peace" because it hinds together distinct kinds of harmony Yet the "harmony of harmonies" is not infinite, for all harmony must be limited. In politics, as in art, evil comes from trying to join what cannot be conjoined. Not even God can surmount impossibility.

Regarded as aspects of civilization in search of Harmony; we have been given many more or less distinct kinds or types of harmony. In Adventures of Ideas, Whitehead notes: "We require the concept of some more general quality [. . .] the notion of a Harmony of Harmonies, which shall bind together the other four qualities. [. . .] I choose the term ‘Peace’ for that Harmony of Harmonies which calms destructive turbulence and completes civilization.

Thus a society is to be termed civilized whose members participate in the five qualities – "Truth, Beauty, Adventure, Art, Peace" (284-85).

Yet Harmony remains finite and not infinite. According to Whitehead, every

actuality is in its own nature finite. There is no totality which is the harmony of all perfections. Whatever is realized in any one occasion of experience necessarily excludes the unbounded welter of contrary possibilities. There are always ‘others’, which might have been and are not. This finiteness is not the result of evil, or of imperfection. It results from the fact that there are possibilities of harmony which either produce evil in joint realization, or are incapable of such conjunction. This doctrine is a commonplace in the fine arts. It also is -- or should be -- a commonplace of political philosophy. History can only be understood by seeing it as the theatre of diverse groups of idealists respectively urging ideals incompatible for conjoint realization. You cannot form any historical judgment of right or wrong by considering each group separately. The evil lies in the attempted conjunction. (Adventures 276-77)

What follows with regard to the affirmation of God as infinite Harmony? Again, in Adventures of Ideas, Whitehead says:

This principle of intrinsic incompatibility has an important bearing upon our conception of the nature of God. The concept of impossibility such that God himself cannot surmount it, has been for centuries quite familiar to theologians. Indeed, apart from it there would be difficulty in conceiving any determinate divine nature. But curiously enough, so far as I know, this notion of incompatibility has never been applied to ideals in the Divine realization. We must conceive the Divine Eros as the active entertainment of all ideals, with the urge to their finite realization, each in its due season. Thus a process must be inherent in God’s nature, whereby his infinity is acquiring realization. (277)

XXV Conclusion

Whitehead’s theory of harmony-disharmony is a great success. This is particularly remarkable because the learned historians who know the literature as Whitehead did not, had pronounced it dead.

Whitehead knew enough history of the idea to know why it had been given a nostalgic obituary. With regard to order, which is only a general name for such particular types or families as harmony, Whitehead writes, "there is not just one ideal ‘harmony’ which all actual entities should attain and fail to attain." (Process 84) (This passage also mentions the failure of Plato, and could also cite the best known philosophy of Leibniz, or Augustine’s theology I have inserted "harmony" for "order").

Several criteria for a successful philosophy of harmony are listed, and Whitehead’s satisfies all of them. Does consideration of harmony take the correlative disharmony into account? Does the theory assume one and only one meaning? Does the theory assume one and only one principle of harmony applying to all actual occasions? Does the theory assume final perfect satisfaction of the one ideal? By these four tests, all past theories of harmony fail, but Whitehead’s avoids these fatal errors.

Whitehead’s theory is not the only one in our century passed over. One other one that I have studied and written about is George Santayana’s. A comparison reveals some remarkable agreements, yet some disagreements also.

What I have presented as Whitehead’s category of harmony which should more carefully be harmony-disharmony; has been drawn exclusively from Adventures of Ideas. But in that text harmony is nowhere called a "category Such designation comes from Process and Reality, where, among nine Categoreal Obligations, we meet the seventh, "The Category of Subjective Harmony" (1. II. III. with subsequent commentary in III. III. VII, 27 and 254-55. In the latter we find "The Category of Aesthetic Harmony")

In Adventures of Ideas Whitehead found analogous meanings of harmony in almost every realm of being and culture. But one conspicuously missing in the text of 1933 was harmony of mind and body. Since that had already been dealt with in the text of 1929, we may think of the two, Process and Reality and Adventures of Ideas, as supplementary accounts of harmony.

There are good reasons both for coupling Process and Reality and Adventures of Ideas and for contrasting them. There is much more in Adventures of Ideas on harmony than in Process and Reality, but many of the essential points were laid down in Process and Reality. Adventures of Ideas on harmony may be read as an expansion. First, Whitehead uses Leibniz’s term in Process and Reality "preestablished harmony"; he did not in Adventures of Ideas, but affirms the same principle: in the nature of things incompatible data cannot be conjoined or united in one feeling. In the relation of organism to environment the harmonious relation may be narrow or wide (Process III) In Adventures of Ideas this is the contrast between the truth-relation and the beauty-relation.

In Adventures of Ideas harmony may require exclusion of irrelevance, corrosion, or dirt. In Process and Reality "the right chaos, and the right vagueness are, jointly required for any effective harmony" (112).

In Process and Reality Whitehead makes a clear use, as in Adventures of Ideas, of analogy as that between the structure of body and that of mind. The mind "is only one more example of the general principle on which the body is constructed" (Process 109). The most daring extension of the category of subjective harmony is to God, whose role is harmonization such that there is no final loss of value. All is "woven by rightness of feeling into the harmony of universal feeling" (Process 346).

But on the other hand, is there not a deep difference between the categoreal scheme of Process and Reality and such a category as harmony in Adventures of Ideas? Certainly the concept of category in Process and Reality is more Aristotelian, while that in Adventures of Ideas is more Platonic. Each of Aristotle’s ten -- substance, and nine predicables -- is complex. As quality and quantity are sharply contrasted, so we are not to confuse an actual entity with an eternal object. But the whole strategy of Pythagoras is to find a correspondence between the mathematical and the sensed sounds, or colors, etc. But when in Process and Reality we come to Categories of Obligation, dealing with binding relations, we find them interwoven. Unity and harmony "jointly express a pre-established harmony in the process of concrescence of any one subject" (27).

My hypothesis is that Whitehead began his Categorical Scheme in Process and Reality with Aristotle’s in mind, but found kinds of relations that were more complex. Hence he turns to Plato’s interwoven modes of order to be true to process. By modes of order, I mean not merely series, but rhythm, balance, hierarchy; as well as harmony, even analogy and dialectic.8

I have extended the logic of relations beyond series, and in this I follow Josiah Royce, rather than Whitehead or Russell. It is thoroughly in keeping with Whitehead’s practice to begin with such an order as ABC, or 1, 2, 3, "a relation which is asymmetrical, transitive, connected." But if order is aesthetic as well as logical, simplicity, once found, is to be finally escaped. What we find in Whitehead on harmony is that it cannot be analyzed in the complex patterns of events without dealing also with balance and with hierarchy. We may suppose that Whitehead had Pythagorean harmonies in mind when he wrote: the Platonic doctrine of interweaving of Harmony with mathematical relations has been triumphantly vindicated" (Adventures 149-50)9 But it is of great philosophic importance to note the interweaving of modes of order.

The modes of order are interwoven. This, I believe, is found in other discussions of rhythm or periodicity as well as of harmony, but I would now wish to explore further what I suggested in my Alfred North Whitehead in Twayne’s English Author’s Series, and to make out the case, as I did in the case of Voegelin, that the cosmos cannot be comprehended without hierarchy and balance.10 This way of stating the categories can employ the logic of relations, among which analogy is necessary, and a superior way of stating the categories.

 

Notes

1. The author expresses thanks to Professor George J. Allan, the assessors of the manuscript, the editor of Process Studies for editing the essay, Ms. Ivia Cofresí and Ms. Lynda McMorris, and the librarians of Woodruff Research Library of Emory University.

2. So Galen used the term a r m o n i a .

3. This "ninefold harmony" is in context of the spheres. This recalls the myth of Er in Plato’s Republic, X. On each wheel an intelligence sings one tone and together form a harmony. Poets commonly invoked Nine Muses, and Christian poets thought of the ninefold hierarchical order of angels, from those on the moon to the seraphs nearest to God. This is crucial, as we shall see, to Whitehead’s position that modes of order are interwoven: harmony involves hierarchy.

4. Cf.: Theodore Presser, "Harmonics," Grove’s Dictionary of Music and Musicians. Also Donald Francis Tovey, The Forms of Music and Joseph Otten, "Harmony," The Catholic Encyclopedia; A. Lalande, Vocabulaire Technique et Critique de la Philosophie; Rudolf Eisler, Handwörterbuch der Philosophie; José Ferrater-Mora, Diccionario de Filosofia; Encyclopedia Filosofica; Paul Edwards, Encyclopedia of Philosophy has no article "Harmony" but interesting aspects are discussed under "Monad and Monadology," "Utopias and Utopianism," "Chinese Philosophy," "Hungarian Philosophy"; A Syntopicon of Great Books of the Western World discusses harmony under five heads: "Beauty," "Justice," "Man," "Medicine, and "Relation."

5. Fragments of his writing are translated, Gutarie, pp. 177-201. Archytas was the general of the Pythagoreans in Tarenum, then "Magna Graeca," now Traranto on the western side of the heel of Italy. Not only did he contribute to mathematics, geometry, and harmonic theory, but also as a ruler attracted Plato who visited him in 388 BC. "It is possible that Archytas was Plato’s model for the [. . .] ‘Philosopher King."’

6. See Victor Lowe’s Understanding Whitehead. See also Whitehead, Adventures 34. Another book from the same period by another one who defends more explicitly the interweaving of modes of order is John B. Cobb, Jr., A Christian Natural Theology. To aim at ideal harmony is also to aim at balance (101, 112, 128) and involves "graded relevance" (154, 201, etc.). Dorothy Emmet notes that harmony is associated with rhythm in Whitehead and suggests a Platonic text, Timaeus 90d. Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism, 240. This passage (Timaeus 90d) occurs in 109, cf. also 179, 215, 247.

7. Aristoxenus, as Archytas, also of Tarentum, a student of Aristotle whose On the Pythagoreans does not survive, continued both to contribute to the theory and to tell the story of the movement. His life of Pythagoras is the source for Diogenes Laertius and the Neo-Platonists Porphyry and Iamblichus. (Guthrie: Sourcebook, 38-39). His Rules of Education advised, in educating sons, to chose that they be born and grow up in a city ruled by good laws (Sourcebook, 145). Aristoxenus was a prolific author, credited with four hundred books, survives only in three books the Elements of Harmony, to which Whitehead refers, and also part of book two of Elements of Rhythm. The latter book is an important example of the interweaving of two modes of order, rhythm and harmony. ‘Without rhythm melody was felt to be incomplete and formless. Melody was sometimes regarded as female, rhythm as the male partner in bringing music to life" (xxiii).

8. It is fruitful to think of the closeness of Whitehead to Aristotle in thinking of categories as adverbial interrogatives, accompanying verbs, rather than as nouns and adjectives. See Marion Leathers Kuntz and Paul G. Kuntz, "Naming the Categories; Back to Aristotle by Way of Whitehead."

9. Josiah Royce, "Order," Encyclopaedia of Religion and Ethics, ed. James Hastings, Edinburgh: T. and T. Clark, 1917, Vol. 9, 553-40. I have included among mathematical relations the mean, and other modes of balance between extremes. I have assumed, if harmony is a "category" so also is rhythm. By the "interweaving" of modes of order the most obvious example is Whitehead’s An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Natural Knowledge, 195-200. We see that rhythm is a series of states, in which we recognize alternation between in higher and lower, which is gradation or hierarchy. There is reversal of process to attain some balance. One concept of balance between extremes which Whitehead used was, not too structured, as a crystal, nor too unstructured as fog or gas. Because rhythm is as obvious as beating of the heart and the alternation of light and darkness, I begin my book Alfred North Whitehead, with "The Discovery of Rhythm." This mode of order, I argue, is most prominent in Whitehead on his life and theory of learning. Balance is most commonly now used in stating the problems of the environment. I deal with this in "American Wilderness: Too Much or Too Little? Clarifying the Concept of Balance with the Help of Aristotle’s Mean and Cannon’s Homeostasis."

10. In my article on Voegelin, there is another example of a living philosophy of interwoven modes. I put hierarchical order first (135-44) and at far greater length than would be appropriate to Whitehead, and also polarity or balance between opposites (147-56). I believe much more can now be understood about balance through more careful use of Aristotle and the discovery in our century of homeostasis (see note 9).

 

Works Cited

A New English Dictionary on Historical Principles, Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1901, Vol. V.

Adler, Mortimer J. Ed. A Syntopicon of Great Books of the Western World. Chicago: Encyclopedia Britannica, 1952.

Apel, William. Harvard Dictionary of Music. 2nd Edition. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1969.

Bodin, Jean. Colloquium of The Seven about Secrets of the Sublime (Colequium Heptaplomeres de Rerum Sublimium Arcanis Abditis), Translation, with Introduction, Annotations, and Critical Readings by Marion Leathers Daniels Kuntz. Princeton: Princeton UP, 1975.

Bodin, Jean. The Six Books of a Commonweal, Facsimile of 1606 translation, Ed. Kenneth Douglas McRae, Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1962, 455-67.

Cobb, John B. Jr. A Christian Natural Theology. Philadelphia: Westminister, 1965.

Edwards, Paul. Encyclopedia of Philosophy. New York: Macmillan, 1967. Eisler, Rudolf. Handwörterbuch der Philosophie. 2te Auflage, Berlin: E. S. Mittler & Sohn, 1922.

-- Kritische Untersuchung des Begriffs der Weltharmonie und seiner Anwendung bei Leibniz, Berlin: S. Calvary. 1895.

Emmet, Dorothy. Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism.1932 London: Macmillan, 1966.

Enciclopedia Filosofica, Venezia-Roma: Centro di Studi Fiosofici di Gallarte, 1957, Vol. I.

Ferrater-José, Mora. Diccionaria de Filosofia, 3d ed., 1951. Guthrie, Kenneth Sylvan. The Pythagorean Sourcebook and Library, Grand Rapids, Mich.: Phanes, 1987.

Kuntz, Marion Leathers and Paul G. Kuntz. "Naming the Categories: Back to Aristotle by Way of Whitehead." Journal of Speculative Philosophy 1.2 (1987): 30-47.

Kuntz, Marion Leathers Daniels. "Harmony and the Heptaplomeres of Jean Bodin." Journal of the History of Ideas 12.1 (1974): 31-41.

Kuntz, Paul G. Alfred North Whitehead. Boston: Twayne, 1984.

-- "American Wilderness: Too Much or Too Little? Clarifying the Concept of Balance with the Help of Aristotle’s Mean and Cannon’s Homeostasis." Contemporary Philosophy 12 (1989): 1-8.

-- The Concept of Order. Seattle: U of Washington P, 1968.

-- "The Continuity of the Pythagorean Tradition." (with "Select Bibliography on Harmony") Unpublished manuscript.

-- "Harmony According to Santayana: A Pythagorean Theme in the Cosmos, Art, Psyche and Spirit, Society and State, A Metaphysical and Theological Principle." Unpublished essay.

"Leibniz’s Theory of Order." Acta Conventus Neo-Latinus Goelpherbytani: Proceedings of the Sixth International Congress of Neo-Latin Studies, Ed. Stella Revard, Fidel Riidle, Mario A. DiCesare, Binghamton: (1988): 625-34.

-- "Voegelin’s Experiences of Disorder Out of Order and Vision of Order Out of Disorder: A Philosophic Meditation on His Theory of Order-Disorder." Eric Voegelin’s Significance for the Modern Mind. Ed. Ellis Sandoz, Baton Rouge. Louisiana: Louisiana State UP, 1991. 111-173.

-- "Weiss’s Search for Adequacy." The Modern Schoolman 66 (1969): 251-70.

Lalande, A. Vocabulaire Technique et Critique de la Philosophie, 8th ed., Paris: Presses Universitalres de France, 1960. 401.

Lowe, Victor. Understanding Whitehead, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1962.

Milton, John. "On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity" 1629. -- Paradise Lost.

Orten, Joseph. "Harmony." The Catholic Encyclopedia, New York: Robert Appleton, 1910.

Presser, Theodore. "Harmonics." Groves Dictionary of Music and Musicians. 1926.

Plato. R.G. Bury’s translation. Cambridge: Harvard UP, 1957. Spitzer, Leo. Classical and Christian Ideas of World Harmony. Ed. Anna Granville Hatcher, Baltimore: Johns Hopkins UP, 1963.

Tovey, Donald Francis. "Harmony." The Forms of Music. New York: Meridian Books, 1956.

Whitehead, Alfred North. An Enquiry Concerning the Principles of Natural Knowledge. Cambridge: Cambridge UP, 1919.

-- Science and the Modern World. 1925. New York: Free Press, 1967.

Whitehead and Russell: Origins of Middleheadedness, Simplemindedness

If my studies of Whitehead and Russell are, as Lucas says, "intellectual biographies," such an approach has very recently been given its greatest boost in Russell: The Journal of the Bertrand Russell Archives with the publication of Whitehead’s "To the Master and Fellows of Trinity College, Cambridge"1 preceded by an analysis by Paul Delany of "Russell’s Dismissal from Trinity: A Study in High Table Politics."2 Does the document shed light on Whitehead’s "muddleheadedness" and Russell’s "simplemindedness?" It does indeed: Whitehead is very much the Anglican who has a duty to "the State" or "the nation" which in time of danger such as war leads him to condemn Russell’s "heedlessness" in protesting injustice to conscientious objectors. What is this circumspection Whitehead is urging on Russell but "heed." "Heed" is cognate with "hood." Russell could scornfully reply: put a "hood" over your head, put a "hood" over the slaughter on the western front, put a "hood" over your protest against the Moloch of the modern state that demands that children be sacrificed. Is Whitehead’s muddle the urging on Russell of dishonesty? Well, not wholly so because, to protest, Whitehead must grant, is a defensible position because a conservative lawyer, Lord Parmoor, has argued that in the case of Sir Thomas More "duty to God . . . came first," and his fate was uncivilized. Furthermore, the "great statesman-Archbishop" Dr. Davidson has condemned handing C.O.’s over to the military. Therefore Whitehead must agree with Russell’s argument. The point of Whitehead is that Russell should have kept his "individual opinion," which he was free to hold, without "heedless . . . propagation" of it.3 This defense of the State is not absolute, for the danger will pass and then new occasions will teach new duties. Then "the duty to religion, to learning, and to research" becomes once again paramount. The responsibility then of the Master and the Fellows will be to correct an injustice. Whitehead states the wrong: "Mr. Russell, a scholar known in every major university of the world, impelled by motives which religion dare not disown, has been driven out of academic life and deprived of academic encouragement . . . ." Whitehead "leave[s] the question here," without drawing the conclusion explicitly: restore the lectureship to rectify the wrong. But this can be done only after the war.

"Mr. Russell has stood his trial, and the facts are noted above. We shall then stand our trial, not before the Lord Mayor of London, but before more searching tribunals, our consciences, the nobler judgment of the world, and, as some hold, in that unknown future to which we must pass. When Paul (Acts 24:25) reasoned of righteousness, of self-control, and of judgment to come, Felix trembled."4

I believe this is Whitehead’s most profound use of analogy from the Bible. Why does Whitehead refer to Chapter 24 of The Acts of the Apostles? I think because the lawyer’s accusation against Paul: "we have found this man a pest, and a promoter of sedition." Could there be a more apt scripture text applied to Russell than "we have found this man a pest" in relation to Trinity "a pestilent fellow?"5 I think this exactly describes Russell, particularly since he, as did once the Apostle, defended himself in court trial which Whitehead himself witnessed. "I shall answer for myself with good courage" (Acts 24:10). Both Paul and Russell appeal, if condemned, to a higher court. The judge Felix, although almost persuaded that the accused has striven "always to have a clear conscience before God and before man" (Acts 24:16) nevertheless adjourns the trial, keeps the accused "in custody but . . . allow[s] him some liberty, [does] not . . . prevent any of his friends from looking after him." Whitehead visited Russell in prison. Felix was concerned enough to want to hear more from Paul. "But as he talked of justice, and chastity (KJV "temperance"), and the judgment to come, Felix is more concerned with keeping the favor of Paul’s enemies . . . ." (Acts 24: 27).

If Russell is Paul, who is Felix? Clearly Whitehead himself. He is saying as directly as he can that the condemned man is honest and has maintained his moral integrity, while he, as a judge, is dishonest and has sacrificed his integrity.

When G. H. Hardy talked with Whitehead he found him "exceedingly long-winded and apologetic . . . ."6 Paul Delany, granting that "the dismissal seems to have strained Whitehead’s nerves to the breaking-point" observes that the pamphlet of July 15, 1916 is "painfully incoherent and uncertain." 7

Whitehead’s institutional responsibilities are conceived complexly because there are various kinds of duties and levels of duty. He was taught at Sherborne to "serve God through church and state," and he is serving God through church, state, and university, and trying to balance them, or to find a sequence in which all duties can be fulfilled. Russell is more single-minded, for he has few duties: to tell the truth and to distinguish justice from injustice. I heard Whitehead in 1940 introduce Russell as William James Lecturer, and only now do I know one complex situation in which the humorous contrast shows what I believe is historically the division between the Anglican and the Puritan: "Bertie thinks I am muddleheaded; but then I think he is simpleminded." May I then conclude that the war brought out the moral muddle we are all in? And wouldn’t we all wish that when we recognize the manifest evils of war that by renouncing war we could end all war? By studying Whitehead and Russell together we face the problem in a way more concrete and many-faceted.

I would wish, now that we end on the note of tragedy, that I could struggle with the problem of whether I have imposed an Hegelian hierarchical order on Whitehead. I had not thought that I was an order-monist, but rather with Lotze, a pluralist, more Leibnizian. I had not thought of the world or history in such an organic unitary way of internal relations only, but of units in many ways independent and externally related, but I really don’t know Hegel as Lucas does, so I thank him for revealing something about my philosophy that I had not recognized.

The big point on which I appear to have convinced Lucas is that Russell must be counted among the metaphysicians and that his anti-metaphysics is a negative phase. Whitehead also had this phase, and although he deleted it later, counted metaphysics among the stories of cock and bull.8

Further Lucas has examined my argument and evidence that part of Russell’s constructive metaphysics was a philosophy of events and process, and had this been elaborated, rather than only the epistemology of Human Knowledge, Its Scope and Limits, there could have been a collaboration in a cooperative Process and Reality. I do not know whether Lucas has also agreed that on religion Russell, violently rejecting what he judged bad religion was always devoted to what he judged to be true religion. I count Russell a Puritan iconoclast in his village atheism, with a positive evaluation of what he regards as essential, such as love and knowledge, and above all devotion to Truth.

Lucas has not developed any criticism of my reinterpretation of the moral philosophy of Russell. Rather than conclude his ethical theory with insoluble problems of skeptical denial, I invoke a richer epistemology from Russell on which to base a constructive view of the virtues. From this I try to show Russell’s social, educational, political, and religious philosophies to be coherent applications. I believe studying Russell with Whitehead could enable us to find in the latter a similar philosophy of virtue. And, since Whitehead was more explicit on the status of beauty, we might make Russell’s aesthetic explicit. There is enough here on civilization to make the dialogue between Whitehead and Russell continue and when we do not have texts, we should use our imaginations and write imaginary conversations.

In the middle of my Russell, I considered the fascinating summation by Russell of the difference between them. "You think," said Whitehead to Russell, "the world is what it looks like in fine weather at noon-day. I think it is what it seems like in the early morning when one first awakes from a deep Sleep." Root metaphors are as important as Stephen C. Pepper argued in World Hypotheses, and Russell obliged an inquiring reader with an explication, but not by trying to tell "exactly what he meant by it." "Another way of expressing the difference between Whitehead and me is that he thought the world was like jelly and I thought it was like a heap of shot. In neither case was this a deliberate opinion, but only an imaginative picture."9

Just as we all know Whitehead’s emphasis on atomic units, so we should also recognize Russell’s presentation of organic unities, and not to take simple metaphors in an exclusive and dogmatic way. The advantage over atomism and organicism of a philosophy stressing modes of order is that any order, which I define as things in some definite relationship, rests on things in relations.

Since some of you may not have considered my evidence, consider to which philosopher the following vision should be attributed:

Suppose that on a dark night you see the beam from a searchlight, or a lighthouse, moving about the sky, or sweeping over the sea; the beam in some sense preserves its identity and yet you do not think of its being a "thing." Or again, suppose you hear "The Star Spangled Banner" sung; it is one tune, but you would not think of it as a "thing": it is a series of notes, and the notes themselves are essentially brief. When I say that there are not "things" I mean that tables and chairs and loaves of bread and so on are really just like the beam of light and the song. They are a series of more or less similar phenomena, connected, not by substantial identity, but by certain causal connections.10

Russell had said that "logic is the essence of philosophy" but when you examine his metaphysics, this as much as Whitehead’s, is the work of a philosophic poet who speaks in metaphor based on analogy. Although some empiricist phases made Russell seem to suffer from guilt and anxiety when doing metaphysics, here he is letting himself go, as free from bad intellectual conscience as Whitehead doing his magnificent Part V of Process and Reality.

We are studying compatible visions expressed in sublime poetry, and when we consider the two together, we face our tragedy. They both grew up in a period of peace and increasing economic and political progress, and saw their world falling apart. After the War came a vain effort called the League of Nations. I wish more could now be said for the United Nations. There are many expressions of Russell’s hope that our late modem world could do what early modem Europe did, "substitute for anarchy" the order of the victory of Royal Power. If order now can emerge it "will come about through the superior power of some one nation or group of nations. Only then will international democracy be possible. This view, which I have held for the last thirty years, encounters opposition from people of liberal outlook."11

Both my Whitehead and my Russell end on the note of tragedy. Russell wants above all to foresee a brighter future for humankind. But he was cast historically in the role of Cassandra. He foresaw the disastrous consequences of World War I, and thereafter the disastrous tyranny and aggression of Soviet Marxism, and since World War II, the armageddon of nuclear war. He was unable to formulate, with the fervor of a Messiah, a universal unifying new religion.12

Similarly, Whitehead’s philosophy of creative order has to face the entropic loss of all orders except randomness. Rather than bringing "order out of chaos," what the process may bring is "chaos out of order." I end asking "What of the ultimate whither?" "Why should not Reason, God, Forms, Creativity all return to nothing?" Whitehead expressed hope as an act of faith:

The present type of order in the world has arisen from an unimaginable past, and it will find its grave in an unimaginable future. There remain the inexhaustible realm of abstract forms, and creativity, with its shifting character ever determined afresh, by its own creatures and God, upon whose wisdom all forms of order depend.13

As many crucial problems of philosophy, such as the meanings of truth, Whitehead and Russell make more sense together than either makes apart. My defense of writing a pair of books is my conviction that the dialogue between them was a great cooperative achievement, perhaps the greatest, in the history of philosophy. The deepest tragedy of our age is the division between ideologies represented by Whitehead’s national loyalty in World War I vs. Russell’s pacifism. If we fall apart ideologically into right and left or whatever other polarization makes us cleave to one and to hate the other, is there no philosophic center to hold opposites together’? If the authors of Principia Mathematica, both lecturers of Trinity who were members of the secret brotherhood of the Apostles, both rather unworldly dons, improvident in budgetary prudence, both devoted to discovery of truth, can no longer maintain a sense of humor about the wisdom of fighting for victory or negotiating a peace, what hope remains for reason in a world gone mad?

 

Notes

1Alfred North Whitehead, To the Master and Fellows of Trinity College, Cambridge. Russell, Vol. 6, No. 1, Summer 1986. pp. 62-70

2 Paul Delany, "Russell’s Dismissal from Trinity: A Study in High Table Politics." Ibid., pp. 39-61.

3Whitehead, op. cit. pp. 68-69.

4Ibid.. p. 69.

5 The biblical quotations are from The Holy Bible: Containing the Old and New Testaments in Confraternity and Doway Texts, New York: Abradale Press, 1966. The King James Version has the translation: "we have found this man a pestilent fellow, and a mover of sedition." Acts XXIV: 5.

6 Paul Delany, op. cit., p. 44.

7Ibid., p.45.

8 My Alfred North Whitehead (Twayne’s English Authors Series, Boston: Twayne Publishers, 1984), p. 145, ft. 6: the origin of metaphysics, in contrast to science, has in preference for "some legend of those great twin brethren, the Cock and Bull." This was published in The Organization of Thought: Educational and Scientific (London, 1917, 1929), But this reference is omitted from The Aims of Education (New York; 1949). p. 111. With our paucity of biographical information, does this signify Whitehead’s conversion from positivism to speculative metaphysics?

9 My Bertrand Russell (Twayne’s English Authors Series, Boston: Twayne’s Publishers, 1986). p.91.

10 Ibid., p. 93. quoting from Russell, "Physics and Metaphysics", Saturday Review of Literature, Vol. 4, 26 May, 1928. p.910.

11Bertrand Russell. New Hope for a Changing World (London: G. Allen & Unwin, 1951), p. 77.

12 My Bertrand Russell, pp. 151-53.

13 My Alfred North Whitehead. p. 144. quoting from Religion in the Making (New York: Macmillan Co., 1927). p. 160,

Can Whitehead Be Made a Christian Philosopher?

I have formulated a complex question, for it seems to presuppose that Whitehead was not a Christian philosopher. This I have done deliberately because an interesting point of beginning is a pair of documents that spell Out clearly why their authors cannot accept him as "Christian" or a "Christian philosopher."1 If to be a Christian means to pray to a supreme person who can satisfy the prayers of the devout, or if a Christian is necessarily a supernaturalist who holds that God is a power who brought the world into being out of nothing, then Whitehead was not a Christian or a Christian philosopher, and it is ridiculous to try to make him the patron philosopher of a movement now called "process theology." Since there is such a kind of "Christian philosophy" sometimes called a "Christian natural philosophy," we need to hear the affirmative as well as the negative side.2 It is important to present the problem dialectically so that a confrontation can help us recognize the presuppositions of what it is to be "Christian," to be a "philosopher," to be a "Christian philosopher." Depending on the meanings of each term, we may ascertain the truth of each claim and conclude with a clarification.

The early writer about Whitehead, Dorothy Emmet, whose Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism, of 1932, was republished in 1966, is a model ignored by too many successors. She recognizes that the use of the philosophy of organism in Lionel Thornton’s The Incarnate Lord, 1928, which although accepting Whitehead’s view of the natural order, yet affirms "that Christ is not a product of the creative organic series but an irruption of the Logos-Creator (or the absolute eternal order) into the series." In spite of this failure to achieve thought that is both Christian and philosophically coherent, Dr. Emmet yet cannot resist restating doctrine in philosophical terms since she knows that theology must bring about a reconciliation of doctrine with a current philosophy as did the Greek Fathers. She likens creative power to God the Father; limitation or primordial nature to God the Son, the Logos; the consequent nature to the Holy Spirit.

Professor Emmet adds that she "should not wish this analogy to be taken too seriously since it is always a deceptive business to compare one system of ideas with another." Probably on this basis she did not go further in this direction; in the second edition she singled out Charles Hartshorne as one who developed a "natural theology," but there is no mention of Hartshorne’s students who have developed a "Christian natural theology" and "process theology."3 Unfortu nately, however large the literature, this Whiteheadian Christian philosophy may be the most illegitimate of bastards. By the superlative I mean that it may be it cannot be made legitimate.

Yet it may be comparable historically to the meeting in Philo Judaeus of Moses and Plato. In Harry Wolfson’s perspective, Judaism was formulated philosophically, and Plato given an institutional reality. By scripturalizing philosophy and philosophizing scripture, there was ushered in a great new period that dominated Western thought until Spinoza. How do we know we do not have something here of such vast importance?4

If we mean by "Christian" what the Christian churches mean, one who attends worship, accepts the sacraments, professes the creed, was Whitehead a Christian? I believe the answer will have to be no. One of the most persistent of Whiteheadian theologians, Norman Pittinger, writes: "At Cambridge, Massachusetts, he attended the nearby parish church until his later years, when he began going from time to time to the University Memorial Church."5 I believe this is without much factual basis, if any, and part of a legend. To make Whitehead a "Christian" in this sense may require further pious fraud.

Whitehead ceased to be Anglican, did not convert to Roman Catholicism, and although he made liberal Protestants quite happy, did not, to my knowledge, join such a sect as the Quakers, for whom he expressed admiration. The one encounter I witnessed between Whitehead and an orthodox Christian society was, to say the least, as cordial as the trial of a heretic by a court of the Inquisition.6

Yet why should the judgment be passed only by priests of the Church? Perhaps a Jewish philosopher and an ex-Christian agnostic are better able to judge who is or who is not a Christian and a Christian philosopher. Rather than saying that Whitehead was very deficiently Christian by orthodox standards, Morris B. Cohen and Bertrand Russell complained that he was excessively Christian, or at least too Christian to be a rational philosopher.7 Whitehead, from a purely rational point of view, was, as Pascal and James before him, a defender of emotion and feeling, or in Biblical terms, a defender of the heart, the raison. d’amour as well as raison de finesse. If Whitehead was not an ecclesiastical Christian, or a confessional Christian, he was a cultural Christian. If we have no evidence of his communing, accepting the bread and wine as Christ’s body and blood, so what? All expression was sacramental, an outward and visible sign of inward and spiritual grace (RM 131). Whitehead may indeed, as Lucien Price reports, have given up on the Bible, but what Twentieth Century philosopher uses scripture stories, teachings, and crucial terms with greater effectiveness as meaningful and true?

We may detail all manner of cultural traits of Whitehead, the son of an Anglican priest, that come through in his philosophy. Some say that his humility was merely the deference of a Victorian gentleman. Some say that his optimism is merely a Nineteenth Century idealism of progress strengthened by upward evolution. Some say that his objection to idolatry is merely a streak of rebellious iconoclasm. Some say that his emphasis on the tender aspects of the cosmos, ascribed to Jesus and the Gospels, is merely a rural English kindliness. Some say that his world-loyalty encompassing Buddhism and Chinese wisdom is merely the intellectual side of British imperialism. But in the context of Adventures of Ideas there is no doubt in my mind that even mediated by modern institutions, he has deep roots in the antiquity that produced Christianity. When it is all put together in context, could we say that Whitehead was Christian in his way of relating to persons and to humanity in its historic adventure?

I hear the theological objection that "he may have been a good man, quite a faithful husband, in sharpest contrast to Bertrand Russell, but being a Christian is a matter not of morals, but of faith.

An orthodox Christian who reads in Whitehead that the primordial nature of God envisions all possibilities and provides the lure might well say that Whitehead’s "God" in instigating the order of nature does not know what he is doing. Is it only the consequent nature that can be said to be conscious rather than unconscious? Then he has become conscious and found out what a world he has tried to persuade. No wonder then that God is a "fellow-sufferer." God may be a tragic cosmic hero, but may be also a comic hero, whose fault has disastrous consequences. This may be a truer and more inspiring vision, but surely it cannot be easily identified with that of the Creator of Heaven and Earth, said by theology to be omnipotent and omniscient, the Lawgiver and Judge of all mankind, by whose will the earth will come to an end. Because of the human breach of the divine command there is in the Christian drama a depth of sin from which only a divine Savior by his sacrifice can rescue the human race, thereby instituting the divine way with a church of the apostles to administer the saving sacraments to those who confess the creed of the Savior born of the Holy Ghost of the Virgin Mary, who suffered, died, and rose again on the third day.

By such theological standards, Whitehead is no Christian and there is no place within his system for the plan of creation and salvation.

The most explicitly negative answer to the question is to the formulation of a creedal test. The more theological the conception of Christian, the less Christian Whitehead seems. Yet Whitehead is not at all antitheological in principle because he defends the efforts to formulate beliefs as clearly as possible, provided that the results be considered subject always to revision. Surely that fits Newman s teaching of the Development of Doctrine.

The philosophical point is that religious beliefs are meaningful and to be judged more or less true. Some beliefs are false, by internal and external tests. It is natural, therefore, in an age when most secularizing philosophies exclude theology, and reduce all religious language to nonsense, to expect the eagerness with which theologians welcome Whitehead the theist. This point was never so well made as by Malcolm L. Diamond’s survey of the positivist-analytic attack in "Contemporary Analysis: The Metaphysical Target and the Theological Victim" (PPCT 143-70, esp. 160-65). In the context of Anglo-American analytic philosophy, still very much a positivism, what better means to use in our intellectual world in defense of theology than the metaphysics of Whitehead? Particularly since Whitehead was, with Russell, author of the new logic used by Wittgenstein, and himself once an opponent of metaphysics who had overcome positivistic objections to "the cock-and-bull story," and himself in theology a post-Humean who goes on as another participant in the Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion; there could be no philosopher whose methods and results would put the theologian in a stronger debating position. All this may be called the political situation of the Christian in the contemporary academy, but this needs saying because we commonly overlook the obvious.

The best discussion of Whitehead as a Christian philosopher does not mention "Christian philosophy." But that is the issue between William A. Christian and his critics, particularly Donald W. Sherburne, George Allan, Frederick Ferré, and Robert C. Neville. The issue of the Christian Scholar (now Soundings) of Fall, 1967 (CS 50) is excellent because the negative side is taken by the ablest expounder of Whitehead’s Categoreal Scheme and God. Professor Christian is also an authority on Christian theology. If he had not had both commitments, to metaphysics and to Christianity, he would not have felt so deeply the danger each poses to the integrity of the other. The autonomy of metaphysics is guarded by limiting its question to tile kinds of being and "the structural relations between things of these sorts" (CS 50:306). The autonomy of theology, within the Christian religion, is guarded by limiting its question to "What is it that is of central and ultimate significance for human life?" (CS 50:307). Since answers to each question have their own logical basis, and between the two is "only an indirect relation," the conclusion follows.

Christian theology must develop from its own roots, but its life may be fertilized and invigorated by influences which penetrate the soil in which it grows. It may be that in our time Whitehead’s philosophy will be such an influence.

No doubt some theologians will go on adapting Whitehead to their purposes without understanding his problems and his solutions. This way of despoiling the philosophers, as the ancient Hebrews despoiled the Egyptians, taking jewels of silver and gold, and raiment, is an old theological habit. But often the jewels are displayed in bad taste and the raiment does not fit. When theologians appropriate and make use of speculative theories, they do less than justice both to speculative philosophy and to their own discipline. Augustine did not make use of neoplatonism. He was a neoplatonic philosopher who had become a Christian theologian ("I had sought strenuously after that gold which thou didst allow thy people to take from Egypt, since wherever it was it was thine" Conf., VII, ix, 15). Aquinas did not make use of Aristotle. He was a Christian theologian who was also an Aristotelian philosopher. (CS 50: 315)

Shall we conclude by agreeing with Christian’s eloquent appeal to keep a person’s Christianity and his philosophy separate and distinct? I am bothered by the use of Augustine. He was the son of a Christian mother who was not firm in his faith and wandered through all the viable ways, Manichean, Stoic, Skeptical, shunning the Aristotelian, until he found the Platonic way. In this he found everything of Christianity except the Word made flesh. For the Christian Platonist, and Whitehead is a kind of Christian Platonist, there is wisdom that comes through reason and wisdom that comes through faith, but is not wisdom one because it flows from God into the soul and restores man to God? However different the two ways may have become when Augustine was a bishop fighting heresies, at the period of his conversion his philosophic understanding of scriptural teaching about the divine order is far more in evidence than any appeal to faith. Pythagoras is the philosopher to whom he appeals in De Ordine, and in the De civitate Dei the way of seeking wisdom, philosophia, was a manifestation of humility (AS 10:79-89).

If the logic of Christian’s position is followed, the notion of a "Christian philosophy" is nonsense and worse than nonsense. We must therefore examine what it presupposes and whether these presuppositions are tenable.

It presupposes a complete dualism between what is sacred, in this case "Christianity," and what is secular, and philosophy which is completely outside, and also on a lower plane, so that the theologian can criticize philosophy but the philosopher cannot criticize Christianity.

It presupposes by "theology" what is based on the faith alone, presumably revelation, and therefore "revealed theology," and that therefore whatever theology developed by metaphysics, a "natural theology," reason using the cosmos as evidence of some source of order (as Whitehead said "the great fact which produced the order of the world") is completely irrelevant.

It presupposes that the religion other than what is officially self defined as "Christian" is pagan and sometimes idolatrous, and that any interrelation is accommodation to heresy, which is to be shunned as not leading to salvation.

It presupposes that Christianity is a completely finished and self-contained social entity, which may perhaps change from within following the lines laid down in the past, but never to be affected by criticism from the outside, that is, from science, philosophy, history, art, and moral intelligence.

I believe in these four ways Professor Christian has imposed upon his Whitehead views which are more like those of Karl Barth. Barth drew boundaries so sharply that even he, using Augustine on creation in his Dogmatics, could not avoid as a theologian asking and answering metaphysical questions.

All the respondents to Christian who know Whitehead reject this interpretation. This is a great problem of "process theology" and any possibility of a Whiteheadian Christian philosophy. Christian is clear, but clearly wrong. The whole analytic method of sorting out questions that are strictly metaphysical ("What is it that P?") and statements that are Christian-theological ("What is it that is of central and ultimate significance for human life?") resembles A. J. Ayer’s attempt to separate the empirical, which can be verified, from the metaphysical, which cannot. Most effectively Donald Sherburne quotes Whitehead: "‘Religion is among the data of experience which philosophy must weave into its own scheme’, but these data also, he insists in the same breath, must undergo their sea change: ‘Philosophy finds religion and modifies it’ " (CS 50:316f., quoting from PR 15f./23).

Whitehead is not committed to fact-value dualism, or to the insulation of theology from criticism, as by metaphysics, or the limitation of theology from the question of its truth, or the refusal to get beyond to the level from which one distinguishes one discipline from another. The criticisms of Sherburne, Allan, Ferré and Neville add up to a rejection of Christian’s refutation of the possibility of Christian philosophy. But do they add up to the possibility of a Whiteheadian Christian philosophy? (CS 50:318-25).

I am not happy, except in the loose terminology of philosophic traditions, to call Whitehead a Christian Platonist. I introduced this because my reading of Augustine is rather the antithesis of Christian’s. But Augustine’s position allows me to invent a characterization of Whitehead which I find more appropriate -- a Christian Pythagorean. Pythagoras is the great hero of Science and the Modern World, chapter II, on "Mathematics as an Element in the History of Thought." Very few interpretations of Whitehead have noted the importance of harmony, aesthetic, logical, social, cosmic, and divine, which is the distinguishing mark of the Pythagoreans. Nor have critics yet taken account of why Whitehead conjoins "Plato and Epicurus, the Gnostics, the Alexandrian theologians, the rationalists of Antioch and Mopsuetia, the Manicheans, Augustine, Calvin:" they all shared "this unquestioned belief in order" (AI 167).

Is a Christian philosophy possible? Some deny the very possibility. What would Whitehead make of this denial? I believe he would cite it as evidence of the disintegration of Western culture. Certainly it is clean and neat to say that the Biblical God is the Creator and that the philosophic God is the first cause or the demiurge. Yet the European mind that created science has "but one source for its origin. It must come from the medieval insistence on the rationality of God, conceived as with the personal energy of Jehovah and with the rationality of a Greek philosopher. Every detail has been supervised and ordered: the search into nature could only result in the vindication of the faith in rationality" (SMW 18). I do not believe Whitehead means this only as history of the origins of modern science, for the philosophy of organism included not only harmony, but rhythm, balance, series, progress -- all modes of order are affirmed of nature and "set before us as ideals" (SMW 28, extended from harmony and progress to other modes of order). It is not only science that depends on faith in order. I believe a reading of Adventures of Ideas and the other works would justify saying there can be "no living [art, morality, religion and science] unless there is a widespread instinctive conviction in the existence of an Order of Things, and, in particular, of an Order of Nature" (SMW 5). What has gone wrong in interpreting Whitehead is that, like Christian, we pay attention only to what people "say in words. . . . The words may ultimately destroy the instincts" (SMW 5).

A program like Whitehead’s is very critical of most of what has gone on in the name of Christ. Whitehead is not, we have admitted, an ecclesiastical Christian, and not a confessional Christian. But he is a cultural and moral Christian. More significantly, he is a philosophic Christian, that is, critical and constructive of "religion as it ought to be." Christianity in history has been exclusive, denying the legitmacy of other religions. The two great missionary religions of the world are those sprung from Gotama Buddha and Jesus Christ. If the essence of high religion is "world loyalty," Christians owe it to their universal aim to accept the criticism of Buddhism, Hinduism, Confucianism, Taoism, etc.

If a philosophy, such as Whitehead’s, is acceptable to Hindus, Buddhists, Confucians, and Taoists, does that mean that it therefore cannot be a Christian philosophy or even a philosophy of Christians? It would seem that if a Christian were anxious about the truth of something in his faith, he would want to find something that is found in other faiths. The more ways of testing affirmations and restating them in different languages, the surer we can be that something in a religious point of view approximates to truth. Whitehead in Religion in the Making is looking for "consensus." Whitehead looked beyond Western culture in his metaphysics and in his philosophy of religion, Therefore, if we adopt a meaning of "Christian" that is limited to Western culture, Whitehead will necessarily fail to satisfy.

But could it be that the decay of European churches, and the loss of appeal in their doctrines, is exactly the interruption that allows Christians to overcome the artificial restrictions and inhibitions?

That is my reading of "The New Reformation." In spite of the decay of churches, the "religious spirit is an effective element in the affairs of men." The illustration is Mahatma Gandhi and the Anglican Viceroy who cooperated in restoring peace (AI 205). I believe all the other examples of religious effectiveness, St. Francis, Fox and Woolman of Quakerism, John Wesley of Methodism, are from the past. Mahatma Gandhi is, I believe, the only example of eminent religious life cited by Whitehead in the twentieth century (AI 205).

More than two thousand years ago, the wisest of men proclaimed that the divine persuasion is the foundation of the order of the world, but that it could only produce such a measure of harmony as amid brute forces it was possible to accomplish. This, I suggest, is a plain anticipation by Plato of a doctrine of Grace, seven hundred years before the age of Pelagius and Augustine. (AI 205)

If the universalizing seems more Hindu than Christian, that may be because what we mean by "Christian" has not made enough of the variety of perspectives, the failure of insight and language, and the possibilities of variation and change.

Whitehead was a Christian philosopher in the sense that will be recognized if Christianity becomes tolerant enough to universalize itself. If he is not Christian as Christianity now is, he would reply, "So much the better." He can be made a Christian philosopher if Christianity evolves in the ways in which he hopes it will.

I do not hold it to be possible, or even desirable, that identity of detailed belief can be attained. But it is possible that amid diversities of belief, arising from differences of stress exhibited in metaphysical insight and from differences of sympathetic intuition respecting historical events, -- that it is possible, amid these differences, to reach a general agreement as to those elements, in intimate human experience and in general history, which we select to exemplify that ultimate theme of the divine immanence as a completion required by our cosmological outlook. In other words, we may agree as to the qualitative aspects of religious facts, and as to their general way of coordination in metaphysical theory, while disagreeing in various explanatory formulations. (AI 266)

 

References

AS -- Au gustinian Studies, for Paul Grimley Kuntz, "Homo Erro to Homo Viator: St. Augustine’s Journey," AS 11 (1980), 79-89.

CS -- The Christian Scholar, for CS 50/3, ed. George Allan and Merle Allshouse, Current Issues in Process Theology.

PPCT -- Process Philosophy and Christian Thought, ed. Delwin Brown, Ralph E. James, Jr., and Gene Beeves. Indianapolis: The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1971.

 

Notes

1Oliver Martin, "Whiteheads Naturalism and God," Review of Religion 3/2 (January, 1939), 149-60, clearly rejects the notion that Christianity may change its ‘essence," and that essence has been that God is eminently real. To argue that "the religion of Jesus" is compatible with naturalism is contradictory to Christianity so identified (160). There is therefore in the philosophy of organism no basis for the reconstruction of "Christian philosophy and theology" (159). Towards the end of his rather stormy philosophic career Oliver Martin told me that between a true Christian philosopher, that is a Thomist, and a follower of Whitehead the relation was very simply described: "WAR." I believe this later statement was not published.

Stephen Lee Ely, The Religious Availability of Whitehead’s God (Madison: The University of Wisconsin Press, 1942), is dependent on the former (n. 7) and considers the problem of "reconstruction of Christian philosophy." It was reviewed by the best balanced student of Whitehead, Victor Lowe, in Review of Religion 7 (1943), 409-15. The best recent reply is probably Nathaniel Lawrence, "The Vision of Beauty and the Temporality of Deity in Whitehead’s Philosophy." Journal of Philosophy 58 (1961), 543-53, reprinted in George L. Kline (ed.), Alfred North Whitehead: Essays on His Philosophy (Englewood Cliffs, N. J.; Prentice-Hall, 1963), 168-78. Lawrence does not conclude that what Whitehead did was to affirm an inherited Christian philosophy, but rather to translate "the eternal will of God," the "familiar language of Christianity," into "the Consequent Nature of God," thus rendering it rational (173). Nor does Lawrence meet our question with head-on directness in Alfred North Whitehead: A Primer of His Philosophy (New York: Twayne Publishers, 1974). This book deals beautifully in the first chapter, "Biography," with the Anglican background, and ends the last chapter on God with reference to Christian faith. The implication of Lawrence’s subtle use of the quotation, "God is the great companion -- the fellow-sufferer who understands," etc., is that Whitehead restated the essence of Christianity (176f.).

The two chapters on Whitehead’s religious views in Paul A. Schilpp, The Philosophy of Alfred North Whitehead (New York: Tudor Publishing Co.) 2nd ed., 1951, do not ask the question of whether this philosophy is or is not, and in what senses, a "Christian philosophy": Julius Seelye Bixler, "Whitehead’s Philosophy of Religion," (489-511), and Charles Hartshorne, "Whitehead’s Idea of God," (515-59). Yet Bixler does quote among "the great religious conceptions … the solitary Man on the Cross" (502). And Hartshorne does defend the doctrine "almost unexplored in philosophy, that God is love (in a non-Pickwickian sense . . .)" (541, n.).

2J. B. Cobb, Jr., A Christian Natural Theology: Based on the Thought of Alfred North Whitehead (Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1965).

The review by Schubert M. Ogden in Christian Advocate, 9/18 (September 25, 1965), 11f., reprinted in PPCT 111-15, takes issue with "Christian natural theology." If a theologian finds truth in philosophy, it must be part of the whole truth of Christian faith. "But this does not . . . justify our speaking (with the tradition of ‘Christian philosophy’). . . although we may say… that any philosophy which is true is to that extent anonymously Christian" (p. 114).

3Dorothy Emmet, Whitehead’s Philosophy of Organism, 2nd ed. (London: Macmillan, 1966), 254-55 n., 253-55, 256, xxxv.

A very interesting paper by Bowman L. Clarke, "Whitehead’s Cosmology and the Christian Drama," Journal of Religion 39 (1959), 162-69, begins with an analysis of St. Peter’s Sermon in Acts 2 and uses it to show a Christian dramatic pattern in four acts to illustrate what Whitehead may have been generalizing in four stages of creativity, to which he applies the term "the particular providence for particular occasions" (PR 532).

Clarke recognizes the difference between metaphysical generality and the particularity of the historic scheme of Christian salvation then justifies generality as part of a universal religion. It is a pity this dialectical pattern, with recognition of objections, has been ignored.

4 The size of the literature can be judged from 1868 items (including Whitehead’s 105) in Barry A. Woodbridge (ed.), Alfred North Whitehead: A Primary-Secondary Bibliography (Bowling Green, Ohio: Philosophy Documentation Center, 1977). Among the significant new contributions of the next two years are Lewis S. Ford, The Lure of God: A Biblical Background for Process Theism (Philadelphia: Fortress Press, 1978); and Lawrence F. Wilmot, Whitehead and God; Prolegomenon to Theological Reconstruction (Waterloo, Ontario: Winfred Laurier University Press, 1979).

The parallelism to Philo Judaeus, to go beyond the Christian Alexandrians who were admired by Whitehead, was prompted by reading Leo W. Schwarz, Wolfson of Harvard: Portrait of a Scholar (Philadelphia: Jewish Publication Society, 5738-1978), p. 149. Wolfson’s analysis of the problems of process theology would have been most illuminating.

5Norman Pittenger, Alfred North Whitehead, in Makers of Contemporary Theology (Richmond, Va.: John Knox Press, 1969). Pittenger now admits that in this detail he was misled by Professor John Marshall of the University of the South.

6 Of course, "Are you a Christian?" or "Are you a Christian philosopher?" were not the kinds of personal questions one asked Whitehead, and certainly not the kind of thing he talked about.

The question was something of a joke with Dean Willard L. Sperry, the Dean of Harvard Divinity School, Chairman of the Board of Preachers to Harvard University. Why some professors attended and others did not was always a subject of speculation, and especially so at Memorial Church, after Religion in the Making. Liberal opinion in Cambridge and Boston after the chapter "God" in Science and the Modern World demanded Whitehead for a return as Lowell Lecturer in 1926, and Whitehead replaced Hocking as the true successor to Royce and James, the philosopher who provided an alternative to the very strident atheism and persistent agnosticism that then (and now) marked "advanced" thinkers, such as Bertrand Russell.

For example, I remember Quakers at Cambridge Friends Meeting who asked Professor Henry Joel Cadbury whether he should not open the question of membership with Professor Whitehead, especially after the nice words about George Fox in Adventures of Ideas. "Ask him to join meeting?" Professor Cadbury rejected the idea as an intrusion upon a professor’s privacy and improper because if the spirit moved him he would do what it prompted. If Whitehead attended Christ Church, I feel sure Professor Cadbury would have mentioned that he objected to proselytizing.

I raise a doubt about claims made by Norman Pittinger in Alfred North Whitehead, not that Whitehead didn’t seem Christian enough! That is the point of Sperry’s stories. Sperry had met Alfred’s brother, a "missionary bishop" of the Anglican Church in India. When Sperry mentioned knowing the philosopher-brother, the bishop lamented, "I’m afraid Alfred is not very Christian." Sperry told the story, as he did masterfully, to convey the indelible impression that bishops are too fussy about creeds, sacraments, and such outer marks of conformity. The "spirit" was utterly Christian in the liberal sense, and Sperry, presiding at the "Immortality" lecture, was himself so deeply moved at the conclusion (the one time Whitehead did speak in Memorial Church) that he rose in tribute to the majesty of the prophetic word, and indeed I was one of the first to follow suit, for I was reminded of the most eloquent passages of Plato, Plotinus and Spinoza. That Whitehead spoke poetically, used metaphor, alluded to Oriental wisdom and was known to his students because of remarks on term-papers, to consider mystical union with the divine to be beyond exact expression in words, gave him the full majesty of a magus.

But there was a professing Christian of the strict observance in the Department of Philosophy. John Wild took us through Plato and Aristotle and discriminated those philosophic doctrines that could be effectively adopted by St. Augustine and St. Thomas Aquinas; they were the "Aegyptian Spoils." The Church decided in its councils and through its bishops what was and what was not Christian teaching. There was a place to worship: the Oratory, over which presided F. Hastings Smythe, a high Anglican who pitied the Bishop of Rome because out of communion with the Archbishop of Canterbury, and who barely tolerated the liberal Henry Knox Sherrill. But a priest has to be deferential to his bishop because so the Church has decided.

Whitehead, of course, never attended mass here, but he did come once to the meeting of the Augustinian Society. John Wild thought me sufficiently Augustinian (but not quite Thomistic enough, as he was) to be the only graduate student invited. Whitehead was absolutely delightful in his irony. To the Augustinians he announced:

"The greatest disaster in Western thought was St. Augustine." He had a deep desire to bring all people to the truth. A notable motivation, he had the idea that God had revealed the truth to him above all others, and because of divine authority he could condemn anyone who disagreed with his interpretation of the Christian Gospel. A very dogmatic stance, which is bad Christianity because Jesus had taught charity towards all and in the parable taught "let them both (wheat and tares) live together until the harvest." Augustine blasphemously put the divine authority of the judge in the hands of human leaders. The whole business of orthodoxy is shot through with subjectivity and relativism -- it’s as Emerson had said, "my-doxy and thy-doxy." Now Augustine is not only an idolator, confusing his version of the truth with Truth itself Augustine was a despot, and the father of despots, because he added to the argument that priests of the Christian Church were responsible for bringing all humans to salvation and heaven; "extra ecclesiam salus nulla." If any soul were not brought into the one true Catholic and Apostolic Church, then that soul was in danger of eternal torment. And the priest who did not do his utmost to convert was responsible and himself subject to damnation. Hence it might be better for the heretic not to live, and surely because one heretic and schismatic spreads the infection, he becomes an enemy to be curbed, silenced, and destroyed. Hence the welcome of the father to the son’s wedding party, "Go ye into the highways and the byways," became the solemn command, "Compel them to come in. Persecution and forced conversion follow logically.

The Augustinians were not merely displeased with the address; they were furious. The three Jesuit priests at my table were angry, and what followed showed Whitehead a theological controversialist. Religion in the Making showed Whitehead’s rejection of St. Paul, St. Augustine, Luther, and Calvin. I think it fair to say, what I have not found anyone saying, that Whitehead was an articulate defender of sectarian vs. ecclesiastical Christianity. He was, I believe, so jealous of his individual freedom of interpretation that he did not care to he enrolled as a member lest he become regarded as a "representative," and therefore compromised in thought and actions by a specific religious society.

I believe Whitehead’s interpretation of religion as "what a person does with his solitariness" was deeply autobiographical. Cadbury was respectful of this because of his deep studies, not only of the New Testament but of Seventeenth Century Quakerism. Fox or any Quaker leader would not decide for William Penn’s sword:

"Wear it as long as thou canst." The sect may not demand conformity or even membership. The church considers these necessary for salvation. Unless we recognize the gulf that divides the church-concept of "Christian" from the sect-concept of "Christian," we shall not realize how deeply one reveals his or her orientation when he or she says that Whitehead was not a Christian or Whitehead was a Christian. Of course, there are mixed or betwixt types, but they play no role unless we get from thesis and antithesis to synthesis.

7 Morris R. Cohen, review, Adventures of Ideas, in Yale Review 23 (1933), 173-77, enlarged in Faith of a Liberal (New York: Holt, 1946), chapter 44.

Bertrand Russell, review, Science and the Modern World, in Dial 81 (1926)179-86, also in Skeptical Essays (London: George Allen & Unwin, 1928), pp. 35-44, and Little Blue Book, No. 543 of Haldeman-Jullus (Girard, Kansas: 1947, "Is Science Superstitious?")

 

Additional Notes

Since the writing of the essay, Victor Lowe has given us his splendid "A.N.W.: A Biographical Perspective" PS 12/3 (1982), 137-47. The present author could scarcely ask for better confirmation. Whitehead accepted the "model of a dedicated, useful Christian life and of firm moral character" and was faithful to it "although [he] had in his thirties ceased to be an orthodox Christian" (138). This is what I mean by being a moral and cultural Christian, while rejecting the conformity of an ecclesiastical and confessional Christian. The imperial Church which suppressed heretics was an evil because the standard is "change, tension, the multifariousness of things and qualities" -- in other words, heterogeneity rather than homogeneity (138f.). Was not Whitehead, as Arnold Toynbee, more like a Hindu, therefore, than a traditional Christian? I would not, however, agree with Lowe that Whitehead dropped "all Christian belief," but rather that he was taking what he found true and wise, transforming it, as Newman’s interpretation of development showed theologians always doing to a degree (140f.). Outside any institution Whitehead could do that more openly and to a greater degree. Based on the error of the imperial church is the further mistake of "the doctrine of papal infallibility, which Newman was reluctant to accept, and which Mrs. Whitehead later said was the great obstacle [to their going to Rome]" (142). I quite agree that Whitehead’s theism is a conviction of "harmony at the base of existence," and that agnosticism fails to take into account the value of existence, particularly the struggle of good against evil or construction against destruction. I quite agree that Whitehead’s "new reformation," which I interpret as universalizing, would have been compromised by identification with any sect or use of any particular sacrament (145). Lowe’s emphasis on the horror of the First World War is certainly right also in the case of Russell, and the difference between him and Whitehead is that Russell was most reluctant to take the further step toward "a God of love who was not a personal creator but a divine factor in the universe, a Harmony that is always present, not overruling but beckoning and preserving" (144). Yet Russell did a second, and a far more sympathetic review of SMW than "Is Science Superstitious?" (note 7), ("Relativity and Religion," The Nation and Athenaeum, 39/8 [1926], 206f.), and we overemphasize the difference if we fail to recognize that Russell was, though hardly a process theologian, also a process philosopher.

The author thanks the American Philosophical Society, the Woodrow Wilson Center of the Smithsonian Institution, and particularly the Emory Committee on Research, for generous support.

Metaphors as Imaginative Propositions

Contemporary language theorists have isolated several philosophically provocative linguistic components, portions of language which are logically and/or epistemologically problematic. One such category is that of metaphorical expression. Philosophers of language, specifically nonellipsis theorists of metaphor, have zeroed in on a type of expression they refer to as "vital" or "irreducible" metaphor; i.e., metaphor that is not reducible to literal expression without loss of impact and, most importantly, meaning. This is to say that any attempted literal translation fails to give the cognitive insight which the original metaphor yields. A vital metaphor is not an elliptical condensation of a prolix literal assertion; this special type of metaphor, it is held, generates meaning which is not, and cannot be, literally linguistically encoded, either on-the-page or in-one’s head. Its novel cognitive significance is the product, in some fashion, of epistemologically significant metaphorical expression.1

What I will attempt to show is how and where the phenomenon of metaphor "fits" in Whitehead’s speculative scheme, and what contributions, if any, the philosophy of organism may provide for contemporary discourse on metaphor. Specifically, I will maintain that the irreducible metaphor is a verbal approximation of a species of imaginative propositions. In order to facilitate this attempt, a synopsis of Whitehead’s view of language as a whole will be required, as well as an adumbration of nonellipsis metaphor theory.

I

The important distinction to be made with regard to Whitehead’s general view of language is that between verbal phrases and the propositions they are meant to express. Propositions, while proposing a particular state of affairs, must also propose the "general character of the universe required" for that state of affairs (PR 11/ 16); this follows from the notion of generic organism, that propositions, qua propositions, cannot be abstracted from their systematic cosmological context. A verbal phrase, however, does precisely that -- it abstracts a given proposition it attempts to express without reference to its cosmological status, its relational character. Hence, verbal statements are indeterminate, for the system of relations which gives propositions their determinate character is not present in language: language is inadequate as a means of definite expression. This inadequacy does admit of degrees, ranging from the merely insufficient to the wholly misleading.

The common-sense distinction between literal and metaphorical expression thus collapses, for if no verbal statement can he the adequate expression of a proposition, then all language is, in a sense, metaphorical. "Words and phrases . . . remain metaphors mutely appealing for an imaginative leap" (PR 4/6). Verbal statements err on the side of indeterminate omission; they are elliptical abstractions lacking a systematic character. At best, language can only approximate propositional meaning.

The nature of this abstraction is, however, inverted; Whitehead calls it "abstraction from possibility" (SMW 167). One normally thinks of abstraction in terms of higher and vaguer generalizations: cow is more abstract than "Bossie," "mammal" is more abstract than cow. But what a verbal abstraction from a proposition omits is the general systematic character of the proposition, not the particular details. In this sense, the more "abstract" a statement is, the less it exhibits generality. Thus, "Bossie" is more abstract than "cow," "cow" is more abstract than "mammal," etc. This notion ofthe inverted abstraction of language has important implications for metaphorical expression which will be discussed in part IV.

II

A representative view of the epistemological significance of irreducible metaphor is to be found in the work of Max Black. According to this view (the "interaction view"), novel meaning is generated by the interaction between the focus (the word or words used nonliterally in a metaphorical expression) and the frame (the literal setting of the focus). The frame is to be treated as a system of implications, or an "implicational complex." The interaction between the focus and the frame takes the form of the suppression and/or evocation of certain sets of predicates (predicable of the focus, in the case of evocation, and impredicable, in the case of suppression) from the implicational complex, and "projecting" the evoked sets onto the focus. A "vital" metaphor thus proposes, nonliterally, that a certain subject be viewed in a radically different light; it also proposes that a relationship exists where one is not normally thought to be (1:438-40).

Consider the sentence: The chairman plowed through the discussion." In this case, the focus is "plowed," and the remainder of the sentence, taken literally (but perhaps not unambiguously) is the frame, or implicational complex. If "plowed" is to be taken nonliterally (which must be the case unless the chairman happened to be practicing agricultural techniques while the discussion was taking place), then "chairman . . . through the discussion" must provide grounds for possible construals of "plowed," such as dealing summarily with objections, harshly censuring irrelevance, etc. The frame provides a system of implication which both frees and limits he potential meanings of the focus.

One of the major questions, however, that the interactional view and other theories of metaphor have to answer is whether a literal statement such as, "The chairman ran the discussion strictly," or a collection of like literal statements, captures the meaning of a metaphorical statement like, "The chairman plowed through the discussion." Although most schools of metaphor theorists (with the exception of the substitution view) regard metaphorical meaning as irreducible to any set of literal statements, they have difficulty in describing just what it is that constitutes metaphorical meaning. As Black puts it:

One of the points I most wish to stress is that the loss in such cases [of a literal translation] is a loss in cognitive content; the relevant weakness of the literal paraphrase is not that it may be tiresomely prolix or boringly explicit (or deficient in qualities of style); it fails to be a translation because it fails to give the insight that the metaphor did. (MAM 46)

III

What, then, is the position of the irreducible metaphor with respect to Whitehead’s scheme? If all language is depicted by the philosophy of organism as being in some sense metaphorical, can "vital" metaphor still retain its special epistemological status? If so, an irreducible metaphor must be an approximation of a proposition which is unlike those propositions expressed by literal language.

A likely candidate is the imaginative proposition. An imaginative proposition arises when, at the conceptual pole, an eternal object is felt which characterizes a nexus in the datum of the physical recoginition2 not felt in the indicative feeling. In an imaginative proposition, a predicative pattern is proposed of certain logical subjects which do not exhibit (in degrees ranging from complete irrelevance to near identity) the eternal object of the predicative pattern as a determinant of their nexus.3

An imaginative proposition is a "tale that might be told" (PR 256/ 392), a potential proposal, about the logical subjects of the proposition. It projects a predicate derived from one nexus onto the occasions which constitute the logical subjects of the proposition, which, in turn, are elements of another nexus: an ontological "sort-crossing," if you will. Those actual occasions which are the logical subjects of an imaginative proposition may properly be called the focus of a verbal metaphor; likewise, the predicative pattern of the imaginative proposition may be called the frame, or implicational complex, of a verbal metaphor. If you reread the preceding two paragraphs, and substitute the following words and phrases, you will get a fair account of an interaction analysis of metaphor at the level of language. Substitute: "metaphor" for "imaginative proposition," "focus" for "logical subjects," "implicational complex" for "predicative pattern."

We have yet to account for conscious entertainment of metaphor and emergent novel meaning, however. Consciousness only enters into the higher phases of feeling; for our purposes, it enters into the intuitive judgment as the subjective form of the comparative feeling, When an affirmative intuitive judgment is involved, the subjective form takes on a "belief" character. When a negative intuitive judgment is involved, it takes on a character of "disbelief"; however, when a suspended intuitive judgment is involved, belief character is suspended also, and the proposition, in our case imaginative, is entertained; merely: it is proposed as a "lure for feeling," and the truth or falsity of the proposition is secondary or irrelevant to its intrinsic interest for the subject occasion. When an imaginative proposition is an element in the datum of a suspended intuitive judgment, the feeling is of a contrast between the "facts," or the patterned nexus of the indicative feeling, and the proposed relation between logical subjects and imaginative predicate. It is the feeling of what "is," as opposed to what "could not be (literally), but what is interesting, nonetheless."

There is now, at the level of conscious imagination, a dual tension: there is tension between the imaginative predicate (implicational complex) and the logical subjects (focus), and between the imaginative proposition (metaphorical expression) and the objectified nexus of the indicative feeling (literal facts). Judgment is suspended on the contrast between the way things seem to be and the way they could be viewed, and a free play of conscious imagination occurs.

Arising from this dual tension and the play of conscious imagination is novelty. The tension between the imaginative predicate and the logical subjects produces a novel propositional feeling, and tension between the objectified patterned nexus and the imaginative proposition produces a novel satisfaction. On the level of language, nonliterally encoded meaning is generated by the degree of abstraction of the imaginative proposition as embodied in the language, and by the conscious imagination or "imaginative leap" (PR 13/ 20) involved in the contrast between the facts and the metaphorical expression.

IV

It remains to be shown what sort of interpretation maybe given as a summary contribution to contemporary metaphor theory in particular, and to language analysis in general.

Foremost, the dual nature of novel meaning evoked by vital metaphorical expression has perhaps been overlooked by theorists of metaphor. A metaphor generates meaning primarily by the degree to which it approximates an adequate expression of an imaginative proposition, which is its index of abstraction. A "vital," "irreducible" metaphor is an expression with a low degree of abstraction (and a high degree of connectivity, correspondingly). Because it points to relatedness, the relatedness of notions which at face value seem irrelevant, a metaphorical expression echoes the systematic character of the imaginative proposition and hints at its relatedness with more of experience than it would seem.

The concept of inverted abstraction also operates at the level of the "imaginative leap." By pointing to relations, relatedness, and consequently hinting at the systematic character of propositions, a metaphorical expression, because of its low level of abstraction, provides a cue that an imaginative leap is required to appreciate the contrast between metaphorical and literal expression. It is its own harbinger.

Further, it should be pointed out that although the common- sense distinction between metaphor and literal expression is collapsed, the distinction remains between irreducible metaphor and other semantic components of language. However, although metaphor is one mode of expression of imaginative propositions, others may be distinguished as well. In particular, the counterfactual conditional expresses an imaginative proposition with a high degree of relevance between the predicative pattern and the objectified pattern of the nexus composed of the logical subjects of the proposition entertained by a nascent occasion.

Finally, if this account of the distinction between verbal statements and propositions is correct, and the gradations of inverted abstraction entail degrees of adequacy of expression, then it follows that language is best suited for the framing of general, systematic categories rather than the strict analysis of isolated phenomena. Though these generalizations seem vague and unwieldy, when formulated with logical precision, they represent the closest that language can possibly come to depicting reality with any determinacy.

 

References

MAM -- Max Black, Models and Metaphors. Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1962.

1. Max Black, "More About Metaphor," Dialectica 31/3-4 (1977), 431-57.

 

Notes

1To say that a metaphor expresses something differently than a literal statement is unexceptionable. But to say, as nonellipsis theorists do, that a metaphor expresses something different than a literal statement does, or any conjunction of literal statements can, is to claim an epistemologically separate category for metaphor.

2A physical recognition is the physical feeling of a complex eternal object as the determinant of a nexus objectified in the conformal feeling.

3 The complex eternal object which is the predicative pattern of an imaginative proposition may arise from a nexus outside of the indicative feeling but prehended in the physical recognition, or by the category of conceptual reversion. However, I think that reversion is unnecessary for an imaginative proposition which serves as that-to-be-expressed by a metaphor, for the novelty required (epistemologically speaking) is the novelty of not being linguistically encoded.

Whitehead’s Theory of Causal Objectification

1

Not enough attention has been paid to Whitehead’s theory of causal objectification in the growing corpus of Whitehead literature. In view of the importance which Whitehead himself attaches to this theory, the need for clarity about it becomes so much the more urgent. I think it can be plausibly maintained that the concept of causal objectification is one of the keys to Whitehead’s metaphysics. As Whitehead himself says, "The philosophy of organism is mainly devoted to the task of making clear the notion of ‘being present in another entity’ " (PR 50/ 79f.). Unfortunately, Whitehead’s own notion of ‘being present in another entity’ is obscure in itself and has remained obscure in many of the interpretations of his philosophy heretofore presented.1 This paper attempts to indicate the direction in which a clarification of Whitehead’s concept of causal objectification2 might proceed.

Whitehead introduces the concept of ‘objectification’ in the eighth Category of Explanation:

That two descriptions are required for an actual entity: (a) one which is analytical of its potentiality for ‘objectification’ in the becoming of other actual entities, and (b) another which is analytical of the process which constitutes its own becoming. The term ‘objectification’ refers to the particular mode in which the potentiality of one actual entity is realized in another actual entity. (PR 23/ 34)

When he expands upon the meaning of objectification in the twenty-fourth Category of Explanation, he states: "The functioning of one actual entity in the self-creation of another actual entity is the ‘objectification’ of the former for the latter actual entity" (PR 25/38). In other passages, Whitehead contrasts the ‘subjective immediacy’ which an actual entity enjoys during its own process of concrescence with its ‘objective immortality’, which is the way in which an actual entity exists after it has perished subjectively (PR 29/ 44). An actual entity has value for itself in its subjective immediacy; it has value for other actual entities in its objective immortality. Whitehead’s theory of objectification concerns the immanence of past actual entities in the present actual entity. It is an attempt to clarify the way in which one actual entity can influence or exert power over (‘have value for’) another (PR 58/ 91).

The most detailed analysis of Whitehead’s theory of objectification is given by William Christian (IWM 130-44). Christian focuses his attention on the simplest case in which one actual entity prehends only one other actual entity in its immediate past by a simple physical feeling. Christian does not think that the new actual entity first feels the previous actual entity as an individual and then eliminates some aspects of this actual entity by negative prehensions. Rather, he claims that elimination is a primitive part of prehension; as Whitehead states, "Objectification involves elimination" (PR 340/ 517). Thus, according to Christian, the new actual entity positively prehends only one of the feelings which make up the previous actual entity. It never feels the past actual entity as a whole individual (IWM 132f.).

Christian also claims that the conformity of the subjective form of the present actual entity to the subjective form of the past actual entity is crucial to objectification. The subjective form of a feeling is the manner in which the subject feels its datum (see PR 23/ 35). Now the subjective form of a feeling receives its characteristic tone from the subject which privately entertains that feeling. But since no two actual entities can share subjective immediacy, no two actual entities can have identical subjective forms. However, a subjective form in abstraction from the subject of a feeling is merely an eternal object (PR 233/ 356). Thus, whereas the subjective forms of two actual entities cannot be identical in all aspects, the same eternal object can be found in both subjective forms. Christian concludes that the continuity of nature ultimately rests upon this two-way functioning of eternal objects. There is no literal ‘flow of feeling’ from one actual entity to another, though Whitehead often talks as if this were the case. Rather, certain eternal objects which were found in past actual entities are repeated in the new actual entity (IWM 134-44).

Ivor Leclerc’s interpretation of Whitehead’s theory of objectification is in many respects similar to Christian’s. Both of them give a significant role to eternal objects in the process of objectification. However, Leclerc’s views on this subject seem to be more extreme than Christian’s. For example, Leclerc claims that "antecedent actualities are conditioned eternal objects" (WM 107; italics in text). He elaborates on this doctrine in his article, "Form and Actuality": "The objectification of actualities . . . is effected by form. The role here played by form is crucial, and the implications of this are of the greatest significance" (RW 185). Leclerc claims that an individual actual entity is essentially the enacting of form; this constitutes its ‘real internal constitution’. When an actual entity perishes and becomes objectively immortal, other actual entities prehend it by reenacting some of the same eternal objects that it enacted. Speaking of objectification, Leclerc states: "The form is the objectified actuality, and the objectified actuality is the form" (RW 18Sf.; italics in text). He quotes Whitehead in support of his position: "Each actuality is prehended by means of some element of its own definiteness" (PR 152/ 230). Yet Leclerc points out that this form is not simply a universal; rather, it is the form of both the prehending actuality and the prehended actuality. Moreover, both Leclerc and Christian make it clear that the eternal objects involved do not act in any manner. Rather, prehension is an activity of the present actual entity.

Christian and Leclerc give very clear-cut interpretations of Whitehead’s theory of objectification. It is easy to visualize just how objectification takes place with the eternal objects in their two-fold functioning. Yet the neatness of these interpretations does not exempt them from serious problems. By unduly stressing the role of eternal objects in objectification, both Christian and Leclerc undercut the connectedness of the universe. Without any direct experience of individuals in the antecedent world, we are but one step away from solipsism of the present moment, as Whitehead repeatedly shows. For if the data of experience consisted only of universals, then the experiencing subject would have to infer the existence of other individual actual entities, just as Descartes claimed to infer the existence of a real man in the street from the sense-data present to his eyes. In opposition to the ‘unreformed’ subjectivist principle, which holds that "the datum in the act of experience can be adequately analyzed purely in terms of universals" (PR 157/239), Whitehead insists that we have a direct experience of the causality of the past (PR 169/ 256, 178/ 271). The most natural way for Whitehead to incorporate this insight into his system would be for him to allow that one actual entity can directly experience the particularity of previous actual entities.

2

Accordingly, let us examine Whitehead’s writings with two questions in mind. (1) Does Whitehead want to say that a new actual entity feels the other actual entities in its actual world as individuals? (2) Does Whitehead’s system permit him to say this? The first question will not detain us long, for Whitehead repeatedly asserts that we experience particular existents. Speaking of the actual entities in the past of a given actual entity, Whitehead says, "The concrescent actuality arises from feeling their status of individual particularity" (PR 55/ 86; italics mine). Again, Whitehead declares: "The philosophy of organism follows Locke in admitting particular ‘exterior things’ into the category of ‘object prehended’" (PR 141/ 215; italics mine). In Adventures of Ideas, he expresses this same thought in different terms: "The individual, real facts of the past lie at the base of our immediate experience in the present. They are the reality from which the occasion springs" (Al 361; italics mine). Other passages to the same effect can be found throughout Whitehead’s works. Thus, it is clear that Whitehead intends to say that we directly experience other actual entities as individuals.

But does Whitehead’s metaphysical system permit him to include the doctrine of the experience of individuality? I claim that it does, and I want to support my claim by giving an extensive analysis of the way in which a new actual entity comes into being. In this analysis, I have been influenced by Donald Sherburne’s account of concrescence, although I depart from Sherburne’s interpretation in crucial places.3

Whitehead claims that the most concrete analysis of an actual entity shows that it is a concrescence of prehensions" (PR 23/ 35). He furthermore claims that the process of concrescence can be divided into several phases, which begin with the initial or primary phase and end with the satisfaction (PR 220/ 337). Sherburne distinguishes four phases in the concrescence of an actual entity -- the phase of conformal feelings, the phase of conceptual feelings, the phase of simple comparative feelings, and the phase of complex comparative feelings (WA 56; see also KWPR 40). I basically agree with Sherburne’s analysis, although I would add the phase of satisfaction as the final phase of concrescence. The phase I want to concentrate upon, however, is the initial phase. It is here that we must look for support for our claim that Whitehead can legitimately say that we experience other individuals.

Whitehead explicitly says that the first phase in concrescence is composed of "a multiplicity of simple physical feelings" (PR 236/ 362). He furthermore defines a "feeling" as a positive prehension (PR 23/ 35,41/ 6Sf.). Whitehead claims that a feeling can be analyzed into five factors: " (i) the ‘subject’ which feels; (ii) the ‘initial data’ which are to be felt; (iii) the ‘elimination’ in virtue of negative prehensions; (iv) the ‘objective datum’ which is felt; (v) the ‘subjective form,’ which is how that subject feels that objective datum" (PR 221/ 337f.; italics in text). Here Whitehead introduces a crucial distinction, the distinction between the ‘initial data’ for a feeling and the ‘objective datum’ for the same feeling. This is the distinction which will permit him to say that we directly experience other individuals. It is also a distinction which both Christian and Leclerc underrate and which Sherburne does not analyze sufficiently.

3

I will now give a detailed analysis of Whitehead’s distinction between the ‘initial data’ and the ‘objective datum’ for a feeling. The first thing to notice is that feelings are the types of entities which have initial data. Actual entities have initial data only in a derivative sense, in that an actual entity can be analyzed into a concrescence of feelings (PR 19/ 28f.). Hence "the initial data for an actual entity" is always elliptical for "the initial data for the feelings which constitute that actual entity."

My second point is that Whitehead himself is ambivalent in the way in which he talks about the initial data for a new actual entity. Throughout part II of Process and Reality, Whitehead talks about "the datum for a new concrescence" (PR 211/322, italics mine; see also PR 65/101, 142/ 216, 149f./ 227f., 210/ 321). This kind of language has led Jorge Luis Nobo to construct an interpretation of Whitehead’s theory of transition in which he claims that transition is a creative process which produces a novel but incomplete actual entity and concrescence is a creative process through which the actual entity completes itself. Nobo claims that transition has the many settled actual entities of the universe as its data and that transition unifies these data into a datum for the process of concrescence. Thus, transition is a creative process on its own which is distinct from the process of concrescence (IPQ 19:265-72).

Nobo backs up his claims about transition and concrescence with impressive textual evidence. However, there is another way of looking at the texts in which Whitehead speaks of a unified datum for a new concrescence. Lewis S. Ford has persuasively argued that a shift occurs in Process and Reality between the view that concrescence starts from a single unified datum and the view that concrescence starts from a vast multiplicity of initial data which are then unified in the concrescent process.4 Whitehead spells out the ‘unified datum view in the nine and one-half chapters of his Gifford lectures which were written during the summer of 1927 and were incorporated largely (though not exclusively) into part II of Process and Reality. He first works out the details of his ‘initial data’ view only in part III, chapter 1. Yet the strange thing is that Whitehead leaves the ‘unified datum’ theory of concrescence in the text of Process and Reality (mainly in part II) even after he has abandoned its basic tenets.

The result is that textual evidence can be found in Process and Reality both for Nobo’s view and for my view of concrescence. The best way to decide between these views is to ask which represents Whitehead’s earlier view and which represents his later view. Here I follow Ford in claiming that the ‘initial data’ view is Whitehead’s later view and that it was intended to supersede the ‘unified datum’ view. I intend to support my claims about concrescence mainly with references to passages in which Whitehead has already switched from the unified datum’ view to the ‘initial data’ view. Hence, I think that my analysis should be preferred to that of Nobo.

Now I will present my analysis of the initial phase of concrescence. I claim that it is fruitful to distinguish two subphases within the initial phase of concrescence. Whitehead himself does not explicitly make such a distinction, so my analysis involves an interpretative component which goes beyond a strict exposition of Whitehead. Nevertheless, I think that my analysis is at least suggested by some of the claims that Whitehead does make about the process of concrescence and that it is consistent with all of the claims that he makes about concrescence.

On my interpretation, the first subphase is one of pure givenness and does not yet involve elimination. Instead, the actual entities from which the new concrescence arises are felt as whole individuals which make up the actual world. This is the subphase in which Whitehead speaks of the ‘initial data’ for the concrescence. The second subphase is one in which eliminations are made from the initial data by means of negative prehensions so that an ‘objective datum’ is obtained for each feeling. The process of elimination makes possible the movement from the initial data to the objective datum. This is the subphase in which Whitehead speaks of the ‘objective datum’. There is an objective datum for each of the physical feelings which make up the first phase of concrescence. Thus we are still dealing with a multiplicity when we are at the level of the ‘objective datum’.

Sherburne recognizes the existence of two subphases within the initial phase of concrescence in A Whiteheadian Aesthetic (p. 47f.), but he does not see the full ramifications of this distinction. Furthermore, he does not mention this distinction when he presents his more influential analysis of concrescence in A Key to Whitehead’s Process and Reality. Accordingly, I want to resurrect Sherburne’s original distinction and to use it to vindicate my claim about the prehension of individuality.

Let us now analyze the first subphase of the initial phase of concrescence in more detail. As we noted earlier, Whitehead says that the initial phase is composed of "a multiplicity of simple physical feelings" (PR 236/ 362). He further says: "A ‘simple physical feeling’ entertained in one subject is a feeling for which the initial datum is another single actual entity, and the objective datum is another feeling entertained by the latter actual entity" (PR 236/ 361). The important thing to notice at this point is that Whitehead claims that a simple physical feeling has as its initial datum another single actual entity. On first glance, this claim seems to support Nobo’s contention that there is a single unified datum for a new concrescence. But further analysis reveals that this is not the case. In the first place, Whitehead claims that the initial phase in concrescence contains a multiplicity of simple physical feelings. Each of these feelings has its own initial datum, but there are many such feelings. The data for these feelings taken together are what Whitehead calls the ‘initial data’ for the initial phase. In the second place, a simple physical feeling is only one type of feeling. As such, it is a special instance of Whitehead’s general description of a feeling (FR 2211 337f., quoted above). This explains why Whitehead can say that a feeling in general has ‘initial data’, whereas a simple physical feeling has only an ‘initial datum.5

The next thing we should notice about the first subphase of the initial phase of concrescence is that Whitehead holds that all actual entities in the actual world of a new occasion have to be felt by some simple physical feeling (PR 41/ 66, 239/366). This principle does not hold true of the eternal objects; some of them can be dismissed completely by negative prehensions. But things are different in the case of actual entities: "An actual entity in the actual world of a subject must enter into the concrescence of that subject by some simple causal [i.e., physical] feeling, however vague, trivial, and submerged" (PR 239/ 366; italics in text). Accordingly, the first subphase in the initial phase of an actual entity’s concrescence is composed of feelings of all actual entities in its actual world. These past actual entities and God are the initial data for a new actual entity. Whitehead never says this directly, but it seems to be a clear implication of his position.

Now we come to the important question: How are the initial data in the actual world felt by the new actual entity during the first subphase of its initial phase of concrescence? I want to claim that these past actual entities and God are felt as individuals. Several passages in Process and Reality explicitly call for this interpretation. For example, Whitehead wants to claim that the things which we experience have an "insistent particularity" of their own:

The real internal constitution of an actual entity progressively constitutes a decision conditioning the creativity which transcends that actuality. The Castle Rock at Edinburgh exists from moment to moment, and from century to century, by reason of the decision effected by its own historic route of antecedent occasions. And if, in some vast upheaval of nature, it were shattered into fragments, that convulsion would still be conditioned by the fact that it was the destruction of that rock. The point to be emphasized is the insistent particularity of things experienced and of the act of experiencing. (PR 43/ 68f.; first italics in text; second italics mine)

Another passage also calls for this interpretation:

This peculiar particularity of the nexus between actual entities can be put another way. Owing to the disastrous confusion, more especially by Hume, of conceptual feelings with perceptual feelings, the truism that we can only conceive in terms of universals has been stretched to mean that we can only feel in terms of universals. This is untrue. Our perceptual feelings feel particular existents . . . . (PR 230/ 351; italics in text)

Likewise, we find the following passage, in which Whitehead is discussing his agreement with Locke that particular ‘exterior things’ are directly given in experience:

But the ‘exterior things,’ although they are not expressible by concepts in respect to their individual particularity, are no less data for feeling; so that the concrescent actuality arises from feeling their status of individual particularity; and thus that particularity is included as an element from which feelings originate, and which they concern. (PR 55/ 86; italics mine)

In each of these passages, Whitehead affirms that we directly experience particular actual entities as concrete particulars. This, I submit, is the nature of our experience in the first subphase of the initial phase of concrescence.

Now let us turn to the second subphase of the initial phase of concrescence. In this subphase, the concrescing actual entity selects one feeling from each past actual entity and God to include within its own internal constitution.6 The feeling which is selected is said to "objectify" the past actual entity for the new concrescence (PR 236/ 361,238/364). In the case of a simple physical feeling X belonging to a new actual entity A, the feeling Y by which X objectifies the past actual entity B is called the "objective datum" of X. Whitehead describes this second subphase in the following passage:

A feeling is the appropriation of some elements in the universe to be components in the real internal constitution of its subject. The elements are the initial data; they are what the feelings feels. But they are felt under an abstraction. The process of the feeling involves negative prehensions which effect elimination. Thus the initial data are felt under a ‘perspective’ which is the objective datum of the feeling. (FR 231/ 353)

Whitehead illustrates his point well by calling the objective datum a perspective’ for feeling the initial data. For instance, suppose you are looking at Athens while standing on top of a hill. You are really seeing Athens itself, not just the eternal object of Athens-ness. But you are seeing Athens from a certain point of view; Athens is objectified for you. Likewise, the objective datum Y of a new feeling X objectifies its initial datum (the actual entity B) for a new process of concrescence (the actual entity A).

It is important to notice that the feeling X (A’s feeling) and the feeling Y (B’s feeling) are "real, individual, and particular" in the same sense in which the actual entities A and B are "real, individual, and particular" (FR 20/ 29f.; see also PR 221/ 338f.). Furthermore, a feeling cannot be abstracted from the actual entity which is its subject; it has an essential reference to the subject of which it is the feeling (PR 222/ 339, 233/ 355). Thus, the feeling X which feels the feeling Y conveys the particularity of B into the internal constitution of A; X forms a particular bond of relatedness between B and A. As Whitehead says:

A simple physical feeling [X] has the dual character of being the cause’s [B’s] feeling [Y] re-enacted for the effect as subject [A]. But this transference of feeling effects a partial identification of cause with effect, and not a mere representation of the cause. It is the cumulation of the universe and not a stage-play about it. In a simple feeling [X] there is a double particularity in reference to the actual world, the particular cause [B] and the particular effect [A]. (PR 237/ 363)

In the process of objectification, there is literally a "flow of feeling" (PR 237/ 363) from actual entity B (‘the cause) to actual entity A (the effect). Note that this is directly opposed to Christian’s claim that there is no "flow of feeling" from one actual entity to another (IWM 141-44).

It is important to realize that a simple physical feeling does not choose the perspective of its initial datum independently of the perspectives chosen by the other simple physical feelings which belong to the first phase of concrescence. Instead, each feeling chooses a perspective which will be compatible with the perspectives chosen by the other feelings. This follows from the first Categoreal Obligation, The Category of Subjective Unity: "The many feelings which belong to an incomplete phase in the process of an actual entity, though unintegrated by reason of the incompleteness of the phase, are compatible for integration by reason of the unity of their subject" (PR 26/ 39). What Whitehead means here is that all the feelings which make up any phase of a concrescence must be guided by the ‘subjective aim’ of the whole concrescence so that they can be harmoniously synthesized in the final satisfaction.

Here I should make a few comments about the ‘subjective aim’. The subjective aim is the new actual entity’s ideal of what it would like to become in the process of its concrescence. The new actual entity derives its subjective aim from God in the initial phase of its concrescence (PR 224f./ 343f., 244/ 373f.). It does this through a ‘hybrid physical feeling’ of God. A hybrid physical feeling is a feeling which objectifies the actual entity which forms its initial datum by means of one of this datum actual entity’s conceptual feelings. A conceptual feeling is a feeling whose datum is an eternal object. Thus, a hybrid physical feeling introduces conceptuality into the very first phase of concrescence (see PR 224/ 342).

I must also explain how negative prehensions enter into the second subphase of the initial phase of concrescence. The function of negative prehensions is to eliminate from feeling those aspects of past actual entities which are not compatible for synthesis in the new concrescence (PR 226f./ 346, 231/ 353, 238/ 364). Negative prehensions transform the ‘initial datum’ for each simple physical feeling into the ‘objective datum for that feeling. But although negative prehensions eliminate their data from inclusion in the internal constitution of the new actual entity, they contribute their subjective forms to the total "emotional complex" of the final satisfaction (PR 41f./ 66, 226f./ 346). Moreover, as the process of concrescence proceeds, the subjective forms of the prehensions which make up the concrescence are adjusted to one another in accordance with the subjective aim so that they will all be compatible for the final synthesis of satisfaction (PR 235/ 359f.; see also PR 19/ 29, 41f./ 66).

4

So far, my analysis of objectification has proceeded in terms of actual entities, simple physical feelings, subjective aims, and negative prehensions. Yet where do eternal objects enter into the process of objectification? On first glance, it appears that eternal objects enter into concrescence only in the second phase, which Sherburne calls the phase of conceptual feelings (WA 49-54). As I explained above, a conceptual feeling is a feeling whose datum is an eternal object. Yet conceptual feelings are always derivative from physical feelings.7 This principle is expressed in the fourth Categoreal Obligation: "From each physical feeling there is the derivation of a purely conceptual feeling whose datum is the eternal object determinant of the definiteness of the actual entity, or the nexus, physically felt" (PR 26/ 39f.). Now the conceptual feeling of eternal objects first occurs in the second phase of concrescence, which is the phase of conceptual feelings. But objectification takes place in the first phase of concrescence, not in the second phase. Thus, it seems as though eternal objects play no significant role in objectification.

Now it could be contended that eternal objects are actually involved in both physical feelings and conceptual feelings, although in a different manner. This is the way in which Sherburne in fact argues (WA 50). Sherburne bases his claim upon Whitehead’s distinction between the immanent and the transcendent function of eternal objects. In a physical feeling, an eternal object is felt as immanent, while in a conceptual feeling, the eternal object is felt as transcendent (see PR 239f./ 366f.). In the first phase of concrescence, eternal objects are felt as embedded in the particular actual entities which form the initial data. In the second phase, the eternal objects which are immanent in each simple physical feeling are abstracted from their respective physical feelings and are felt as transcendent.

I accept the results of this argument and grant that eternal objects are present in the first phase of concrescence as realized determinant[s]" (PR 239/ 366) of the actual entities that are being prehended by the new actual entity. As such, the eternal objects express the definiteness of the actual entities into which they have ingression (PR 240/367). This definiteness is transmitted to the new actual entity in the second phase of concrescence, when the new actual entity lifts the eternal objects out of their physical feelings so that it can valuate them up or down. Yet the role that eternal objects play in the objectification of past actual entities is strictly limited. This is because eternal objects cannot convey a sense of the individuality of the past actual entities which are being objectified by a new actual entity (see PR 229f./ 350ff.). By contrast, the feelings involved in objectification can express the way in which past actual entities are objectified as individuals. This is because a feeling conveys a sense of the individuality of its subject (see PR 2211 338, 233/ 355f., 235/ 359f.). Perhaps this is why Whitehead calls feelings "vectors" (PR 19/28 and passim): they carry or convey (from the Latin vectus, past participle of veho, to carry or convey) the individuality of past actual entities to the present actual entity.8

I must now explain just why Christian and Leclerc believe that eternal objects play a more significant role in objectification than the role which I have granted them. Part of the problem stems from the fact that Whitehead himself sometimes speaks as if eternal objects played a significant role in objectification. Consider the following passage: "The organic philosophy does not hold that the ‘particular existents’ are prehended apart from universals; on the contrary, it holds that they are prehended by the mediation of universals" (PR 152/230). This passage certainly seems to indicate that eternal objects ("universals") are directly involved in the process of objectification, and it is precisely passages such as this one which lend support to the view of Christian and Leclerc.9

But the more basic reason behind the interpretations of Christian and Leclerc is that neither of them gives an adequate analysis of the status of the past actual entities which form the initial data for a new concrescence. Christian claims that past actual entities are "no longer actual" (IWM 321). Thus, they cannot serve as their own reasons why they are given to a new actual entity (IWM 321f.). Christian tries to solve this problem by bringing in God as the ground for the givenness of the past (IWM 322-30). But this move has been well-criticized as artificial and ad hoc. Leclerc also claims that past actual entities are no longer actual (WM 101). Instead, he holds that past actual entities are "conditioned eternal objects (WM 107). Now since past actual entities are no longer actual (on the view of Christian and Leclerc), it is easy to conclude that they are no longer real individuals. Thus, they do not have enough ‘ontological reality’ to serve as the basis for a new concrescence.10

Yet the evidence which I have presented above shows that this interpretation of the status of past actual entities is inadequate. The one thing that Whitehead expresses over and over again in Process and Reality is his conviction that we experience particular individuals and not just ‘universals’ or ‘previously-enacted forms’. Interpretations of Whitehead’s metaphysics which neglect this point cannot hope to do justice to his persistent endeavor to explain just how one actual entity can be present in another.

 

References

IPQ -- International Philosophical Quarterly, for Jorge Luis Nobo, "Transition in Whitehead: A Creative Process Distinct from Concrescence," 19/3 (September, 1979), 265-83.

IWM -- William A. Christian. An Interpretation of Whitehead’s Metaphysics. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1959.

KWPR -- Donald W. Sherburne. A Key to Whitehead’s Process and Reality. New York: Macmillan, 1966.

RM -- Ivor Leclerc, ed. The Relevance of Whitehead. London: George Allen and Unwin, Ltd., 1961. For Ivor Leclerc, "Form and Actuality," pp. 169-89.

UW -- Victor Lowe. Understanding Whitehead. Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins Press, 1962.

WA -- Donald W. Sherburne. A Whiteheadian Aesthetic. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1961.

WM -- Ivor Leclerc. Whitehead’s Metaphysics. London: George Allen and Unwin, Ltd., 1958.

 

Notes

1Two recent interpretations should be mentioned here. The first is that of Sheilah Brennan in her "Substance Within Substance" (PS 7:14-26). Brennan makes some suggestive remarks about the vector quality of feelings, but her essay does not go far enough into the details of objectification. The second interpretation is that of Jorge Luis Nobo in his "Whitehead’s Principle of Relativity" (PS 8:1-20) and his "Transition in Whitehead: A Creative Process Distinct from Concrescence" (LPQ 19:265-83). Nobo’s most revolutionary claims are to be round in the latter article, and I will discuss some of these claims below.

2 will use the term ‘causal objectification’ to indicate that I do not intend to deal with the type of objectification which Whitehead calls ‘presentational objectification’ (see PR 58/ 91 for this distinction). Henceforth the term ‘objectification’ should be understood as referring exclusively to ‘causal objectification’.

3 Sherburne’s analysis of concrescence may be found at WA 41-71 and at KWPR 36-71.

4 See Ford, "The Process from ‘Transition’ to ‘Concrescence’," The PR Newsletter, 113 (July, 1981). 8; cf. Ford, "Some Proposals Concerning the Composition of Process and Reality," PS 8:153.

5 Whitehead makes this point clear at PR 231/ 353: "In two extreme cases the initial data of a feeling have a unity of their own. In one case, the data reduce to a single actual entity, other than the subject of the feeling; and in the other case the data reduce to a single eternal object. These are called ‘primary feelings.’" Later Whitehead explains that the ‘primary feelings’ he has in mind in this passage are simple physical feelings and conceptual feelings (PR 232/ 35411,239/365). Thus, a simple physical feeling is a special kind of feeling, and, as such, it can have a single actual entity as its ‘initial datum’.

6 The term "selects" is inappropriate when it is applied to God. A new actual entity does not select the feeling by which it will objectify God. Instead, God determines the feeling by which God will be objectified by the new actual entity (see PR 244/ 373f.). This feeling provides the new actual entity with its subjective aim, and in turn the subjective aim determines how the new actual entity will objectify the actual entities in its past. Thus, a new actual entity "selects" the feelings by which it will objectify past actual entities only in a very restricted sense of the term "selects."

7God is an exception to this general rule. God’s conceptual feelings are "primordial," and God’s physical feelings are "consequent upon the creative advance of the world" (PR 345/ 524).

8 I owe the observation about the Latin origin of ‘vector’ to Sherburne (KWPR 10). For a different but related view of why Whitehead calls feelings vectors, see Sheilah Brennan, "Substance Within Substance" (PS 7:21f.).

9 For an attempt to make this passage consistent with Whitehead’s view that we directly experience individual actual entities, see Victor Lowe, UW 358ff. I agree with the basic thrust of Lowe’s remarks, although Lowe does not provide a detailed theory of how the objectification of individuals is possible.

10 Here I agree with the claims of Jorge Luis Nobo in "Whitehead’s Principle of Process" (PS 4:275-84). Nobo claims that it is a "widespread and deeply rooted mistake" (p. 281) to maintain that an actual entity is actual only while it is in the process of concrescence. Instead, Nobo argues that an actual entity is actual both as a subject and as a superject. Thw., the actual entities rif the past are fully actual, just as the actual entities of the present are. I think that Nobo is exactly right on this point, even though I have taken issue with him on other points regarding transition and concrescence.

Plato as Dipolar Theist

Any power of doing or suffering in a degree however slight was held by us to be a sufficient definition of being.

And, O heavens, can we ever be made to believe that motion and life and soul and mind are not present with perfect being? Can we imagine that being is devoid of life and mind, and exists in awful unmeaningness an everlasting fixture?

-- Plato, Sophist (247d-c, 248e-249)

In the Greek dawn of western civilization, the word ‘theos’ (god) had two primary meanings, surprising for modern men for whom the word is so heavily freighted with sophisticated meanings of utter transcendence acquired through centuries of Hebrew-Christian tradition. The earliest is found in Homer. There it is a synonym for ‘immortal’. The contrast between men and gods is simply that between mortals and immortals. The shades of the dead in Hades are impotent and mindless, capable of intelligent communication only after drinking sacrificial blood (as when summoned by Odysseus). The second primary meaning is found in the one surviving writing of the first of all western philosophers, Thales of Miletus. He tells us darkly that "all things are full of gods." The darkness is quickly dispelled when we remember that Thales, like all philosophers prior to Parmenides, was a hylozoist, the philosophical analogue to supposedly primitive religious animism. Thales means simply that all things are alive. To be alive is to be self moving, to have soul. It is a sign of Plato’s essential continuity with his Greek predecessors that his own definitive and most sophisticated meaning for soul is ‘self moving mover’, and that when he comes, in the tenth book of the Laws, to construct the first formal proof for the existence of God in the history of western thought, a version of the cosmological argument, he will seek to establish the existence of soul as self moving mover. In Plato the two primary Greek meanings for ‘theos’, immortal and soul, coalesce, as they had earlier in the Pythagorean religious tradition, rooted in the Orphic mystery cults as distinguished from the popular Greek religion of the Olympic gods.

Another essential facet in the historical background for Platonic theism is the definitive fixing of the meaning for being by Parmenides of Elea. In sharp opposition to the things which become, ‘being’ connotes only the eternal, immutable, and self-same. Such stable unchanging self identity is an indispensable condition for the objects of knowledge, episteme, in the strict sense, as distinguished from the contingent, evanescent objects of opinion, doxa, the things which are ever becoming and never really are, to use the language of Plato’s Timaeus (Tim. 28). It is this demand which gives rise in Plato to the definitive chorismos or separation of the Forms from the mutable world of becoming. It provided also the starting point for the long theological tradition of classical monopolar theism in the West, which held that divine perfection was exclusively the perfection of eternal and immutable being. The extent to which Plato is committed to such an absolute schism between being and becoming, with no intermediate level of existence, would seem to dictate for him a similar exclusion from divinity of all shadow of change.

And, indeed, in early Platonic theism, culminating in the second book of the Republic, we find precisely this unqualified insistence upon the divine immutability. There is, to be sure, no textual foundation for the popular identification of Plato’s divinity with the admittedly transcendent Good, nor even with the world of Forms, either as a whole or part. P. E. Moore is surely correct in denying that Plato intended any such identification (RP 120). Plato was never a neoPlatonist. The Platonic locus for divinity is, even in his earlier period, soul, psyche, and nous, the supreme and essential principle of soul. To assert the divine immutability is to assert the immutability of soul, at least as soul is collected into itself and not dispersed and confused by its transitory and traumatic union with the body.

But first what argument does Plato present in Republic II for divine immutability? It is simply that any change in a perfect being must be for the worse, towards imperfection (Rep. 381). The perfection of divinity cannot admit being subject to any external influence, or even change from within. "Then it is impossible that God should ever be willing to change: being, as is supposed, the fairest and best that is conceivable, every God remains absolutely and forever in his own form" (Rep. 381).

Such a divine being is not the cause of all things, but only of the good. The causes of evils are to be sought elsewhere.

The argument for the soul’s essential immobility is found in the Phaedo. It is the soul’s kinship with the eternal and unchanging Forms, the objects of its knowledge, that is advanced as one of the preliminary arguments in that dialogue for immortality, In the use of bodily senses the soul touches change, so that the "world spins around her," but when she returns into herself she enters into the other world, "the region of purity, and eternity, and immortality, and unchangeableness, which are her kindred. . ."

It is concluded that the soul is in "the very likeness of the divine, and immortal, and intellectual, and uniform, and indissoluble, and unchangeable" (Phaedo 78-80).

The same notion of divine perfection as excluding all change is functioning in the famous passage in the Symposium in which Socrates, taught by the wise woman of Mantineia, denies the divinity of Eros. Love is born of Poverty and Plenty, and involves therefore want and motion, and not the fullness of divine perfection (Sym. 202c-203c). Love is, to be sure, a great daimon, an intermediate spirit, but not a god.

It comes, therefore, as a shock to the reader of the Phaedrus, on many grounds a later dialogue than the Republic, Phaedo, and Symposium,1 to find Socrates reasserting the divinity of Eros, recanting as impious, the speech he had just made in praise of the nonlover. This is a clear and dramatic indication of a fundamental shift in Platonic theology, the reasons for which we must next examine.

One important key to this shift is found in the Phaedrus itself. It is a passage in which Plato announces his discovery of a new, dynamic, meaning for perfection. Instead of basing the soul’s immortality on its presumed immutability, as in the Phaedo, it is founded instead on its essential mobility, not the physical motion of bodies, imparted always from without, buit the self motion of spirit, The later Aristotelian tradition will inherit from Plato the distinction of two kinds of action, transient and immanent. The former is physical and involves always an agent acting upon a patient distinct from itself. Such agents are moved movers, and their motions are, in Aristotle’s language, actuations of the potential as potential. They constitute imperfect actions, intermediate between the completed actuality of formal attainment and bare potentiality. Immanent activity, however, is self perfecting, a perfect action remaining within the agent and not passing outside it. It is not a potency-act transition, but an act to act. It is precisely the activity of life, of soul. It is this self motion which grounds for Plato the soul’s immortality and hence its share in divinity. As Plato puts it in the Phaedrus:

The soul through all her being is immortal, for that which is ever in motion is immortal; but that which moves another and is moved by another, in ceasing to move ceases also to live. Only the self-moving, never leaving itself, never ceases to move, and is the foundation and beginning of motion to all that moves besides. (Ph. 245)

Plato goes on to say that the soul as the beginning of all motion, is itself unbegotten. This is a remark to keep in mind when we come later to the Timaeus, Plato’s creation myth. In that context, the world soul is described as the begotten product of the eternal Demiurge, but that context is mythical. A Platonic myth is a way of saying something that cannot be said -- that is, said literally, since we are dealing either with first or last (eschatological) things, and talking about that which is out of time as if it were in time.

Plato’s discovery of a mode of perfection which is dynamic, the perfection of life itself, rather than the static perfection of the eternal immutable Forms, is for him epochal and theologically liberating. It antedates by many centuries Bergson’s similar intuition into vital duration. It provided Aristotle, in Book Lambda of the Metaphysics, with a means of talking about the life of God, in terms of the perfect Immanence of self-thinking thought. But Aristotle’s God lives with a life that is completely self-enclosed, having lost its Platonic character of immanence in the world as the soul of the world. The God of Book VIII of the Physics, written earlier, had been essentially Platonic and could function with the primary efficient causality of soul as self-moving mover.

I do not intend to conduct an exegesis of the Timaeus in any detail, even though it and Book X of the Laws constitute Plato’s most extended theological reflections. Its essentially mythical character I have already noted. Even though Aristotle for his own purposes often writes as though the Timaeus were to be taken literally, the evidence is that most of Plato’s colleagues in the Academy did not. That there was a state of primordial visible chaos "before" the world, for example, can only be a mythic symbol for a surd of relative disorder and presupposed material necessities which any cosmic state must exhibit. The Demiurge is clearly identified by Plato with divine mind, the reason which creates by persuading necessity. Mythically world soul, whose essence is self-motion, is depicted as posterior to the Demiurge, who eternally and without change contemplates the Archetypal Model, the eternal Forms. As I have previously mentioned, the world soul is talked about in this creation myth as "begotten" by the unbegotten Demiurge, but in the less mythical contexts of the Phaedrus (245) and Laws (893). Plato strongly emphasizes that soul as beginning is unbegotten and that soul is the "eldest of all things." Further, minds are said by Plato to reside in souls. Indeed, I think for Plato Aristotle’s "self thinking thought," which is not the mind of any soul animating or capable of animating a body, would be an example of what Whitehead called the fallacy of misplaced concreteness. To be sure, mind in soul has a certain metaphysical priority, since without it soul’s self-motion would not be possible. The "parentage" of Eros must include not only poverty (lack) but plenty (possession), and soul without at least vestigial mind (what Whitehead would call the mental pole of an actual entity) could not move itself in the self motions of life. Learning, as remembering, is precisely such a self motion. The soul can dialectically ascend to the Good only in the light of the Good, and the rational motions of discourse depend upon an intellectual intuition which rests in its object.

The Laws makes it quite clear that Plato, in his final period, is talking about divinity in terms of the founding self motion of soul -- the highest and best of souls, author or authors only of good and not of evil. The existence of evil demands soul or souls other than divine (Laws 894). Nevertheless, divine soul or souls exercise a providential universal causality, not only in great things but in small as well, ordering everything for the good of the whole, as far as may be (Laws 894-904). All of this is in sharp contrast to the God (or rather Gods of Aristotle’s Metaphysics XII -- probably 47 or 55 in number). They neither know nor care about the moving world below them.

It is of the utmost significance that the self motions of psychic life include both action and passions. The latter are vital responses to the actions and decisions of other souls. Examples of such self motions given by Plato include will, consideration, attention, deliberation, opinion true and false, joy and sorrow, confidence, fear, hatred, love "and other primary motions akin to these" (Laws 894). Plato is clearly not a classical monopolar theist such as Anselm, who will declare that compassion is not to be literally attributed to Cod (PMC 13f.). The soul also receives the "secondary motions of corporeal substances" (Laws 894) in sensations, though Plato doubtless has in mind an active theory of sense perception, such as we find in the Theactetus (184b-c).

We are now led to the ultimate question about Platonic theism. The problem is that the texts present us not with just one theism, but two, that of the middle dialogues, Republic, Phaedo, and Symposium, in which God is subsumed under what Hartshorne calls the category of absolute fixity, and that of the later dialogues, Phaedrus, Timaeus, and Laws. In the latter, divinity fills under what Hartshorne calls the category of absolute mobility (PSG 44). That there is a development in Plato’s thought seems obvious. It is no longer possible to propose the unity of Plato’s thought as one of my old teachers, Paul Shorey, once did, in the sense that there is no significant development beyond the doctrines of the Republic. But is the development from the God of the category of absolute fixity to the God of absolute mobility a simple contradiction? Might there not be an interpretation -- a reasonable interpretation -- in terms of which the two Platonic theisms coalesce as complementary into one? I think such a perspective was not possible until this century (except for obscure and clouded earlier anticipations) in the philosophies of Alfred North Whitehead and Charles Hartshorne. This will be the effort to understand Plato as a so-called dipolar theist, or, at the least, as a prophetic quasi-dipolar theist. It should not strike us as ridiculously anachronistic to make such an attempt, even though it is notoriously dangerous to approach an ancient thinker with modern categories. It has been well said of Plato that there is no road one can walk upon in philosophy without meeting Plato coming back.

Earlier in this century Morris Cohen formulated what he called the "Law of Polarity," that ultimate contraries are mutually interdependent correlatives. According to this law, anything real, including God, must, in different respects, be both actual and potential, being and becoming, agent and patient, and all related contraries. Monopolar theisms have always held that divine perfection consisted in pure actuality, being without becoming, cause without being an effect. The God of Aristotle’s Metaphysics XII exhibits such monopolarity -- the pure actuality of a being without any dependent relatedness to anything else. Similarly, the God of St. Thomas Aquinas cannot be really related to his creatures. Something can be really related to another only if that other makes a difference to its very being. The divinity of monopolar theism is quite literally indifferent to his creatures. He is eternally and immutably the same whether they exist or not and is unaffected by their behavior if they do exist. Such a God model is difficult to reconcile with the God of religious experience, and, in particular, with the supremely loving God of Christian belief: Incarnationist theology proposes what Kierkegaard calls The Paradox -- the literal intersection of time and eternity.

The dipolar theist, such as Whitehead or Hartshorne, offers a new and different model for divine perfection. A God who is supreme cause must also be supreme effect, infinitely sensitive to his creatures. Impassivity is not either metaphysical or moral excellence. The finitude of a creature is not only the limitation of its active power, but also the limitation of its power of responding to and being affected by others. God must be the supreme instance of both. There must be an aspect of God which is eternal being, primordial and underived, an aspect of divinity which is unchanging and unmoved. But there must be another aspect of God in which he is the perfect instance of becoming, in which God is consequent upon the world and receives the world of temporal occasions everlastingly into himself. These two divine aspects are called by Whitehead the Primordial and Consequent Natures of God.

Charles Hartshorne is the first, to my knowledge, to interpret Plato as a dipolar theist. This he does in introducing and commenting upon the Plato selections in Philosophers Speak of God (PSG 38-57). He is able, in this way, to render coherent the Platonic texts we have already discussed. But the final and the most compelling evidence for Platonic dipolar theism comes from two late dialogues we have yet to consider, the Parmenides and the Sophist.

The crisis in Plato’s earlier theory of Forms comes to a head in his early sixties and is marked by two perhaps contemporary dialogues, Theaetetus and Parmenides. In the first part of the latter dialogue, serious difficulties are raised regarding the participation of sensibles in Forms. The Forms of the middle dialogues had been conceived as simple unitary beings, each just itself with no otherness or nonbeing. Indeed, this was their distinction from sensibles in the world of becoming, which were like "punning riddles," blends of being and nonbeing. But how such indivisible Forms could be shared in by sensibles, either as wholes or parts, seemed impossible to say. If physical immanence were abandoned for either a relationship of one over many, or by likeness, a "Third Man" infinite regress seemed to break out. Nor was escape possible by making them mere thoughts in mind, since this would sacrifice the reality of the objects thought, an objective reality not to be accounted for by the ever-changing sense world. Finally, there was no ground within such Forms for relation to the world below or to knowledge in that world. Even if they be conceived as relatable among themselves -- a concession that the second part of the dialogue will withdraw for simple atomic Forms -- relations in the higher and lower worlds would be like parallel lines which never intersect. They could not be objects of our knowledge, and even worse, from Plato’s point of view, the gods who knew them would not know its, or anything in the world below. (Aristotle, whose gods were in no way dependent upon objects of knowledge other than themselves, will not be disturbed by such a conclusion, but for Plato the denial of divine providence was intolerable.)

The difficulties in part one of the Parmenides are serious enough, but they pale compared to those which will come in part two. For they strike at the very possibility of all rational discourse. As the Sophist will later show, rational discourse depends upon selective interparticipation among the Forms themselves. (Remember that the dialectic of the Republic started with Forms, moved through them, and ended with them.) The suicide of rational discourse would be effected either if no Forms interparticipated, or if all Forms participated in all. The Forms are units, but the meanings of ‘unity’ are two, the simply indivisible unit of arithmetic and the infinitely divisible whole of parts of geometry. Alternating between these two meanings, the second part of the Parmenides shows the consequences, whether affirmed or denied, for themselves and for others. For our purposes the development of the first hypothesis is most important.

It concerns a one which is just one and nothing else, a simple indivisible unity without parts. Plato shows with rigorous logic that nothing whatsoever can be predicated of it. It cannot even be said to be, since being adds to the notion of that which is just one and nothing else. This hypothesis has had perhaps the strongest and most fateful history of any philosophical text in Western civilization. Plotinus and the neo-Platonists supposed (I think incorrectly) that Plato was referring in this hypothesis to the supreme godhead, beyond being and knowledge -- even beyond God’s own knowledge. In this tradition the first hypothesis becomes the charter of negative theology. I think Plato had completely different intentions. He was showing that the being of the Forms if conceived as simple and in composite, as existing only in themselves, could not exist in relation to anything else, and indeed, could not exist at all. Nothing could exist as pure actuality, without relational dependence upon things other than itself. The theological lesson of the first hypothesis is the reverse of what is has been supposed to be. Monopolar theism, whether it be the pure act of Aristotle’s gods, or the One of Plotinus, is based upon a logical absurdity.

The second hypothesis shows the consequences for itself of af’ firming a unity which is an infinity divisible whole of parts. Here relativity is endless and unlimited, unordered by the application of unity. There is no inseity. Everything is predicable of everything. There can be no being either when relativity is unlimited or when it is nonexistent. Being for Plato, Aristotle tells us (Meta. A), is the joint product of the One and the Indefinite Dyad. Beings must exist both in themselves and in relation. This is precisely the metaphysical ground of Cohen’s "Law of Polarity," and what I have elsewhere2 called "the dyadic character of being" in Plato, which when applied to theism leads to dipolarity. God must be both absolute, with an aspect which is primordial and underived, and relative.

The Sophist, Plato’s metaphysical masterpiece, is saying in a positive way what had been said negatively in the Parmenides. The dialogue is much too vast, in many dimensions, to be the subject of detailed exegesis here, a task I have undertaken elsewhere.2 Here I am concerned only with what bears directly upon dipolar theism. The problem of "catching" the Sophist in a network of definition hinges upon being able to show the existence of nonbeing -- not absolute nonbeing (which Plato dismisses, as had Parmenides), but relative. To catch the Sophist, one must show that philosophical knowledge is possible, and this hinges upon establishing that some Forms participate in some, but not all in all, or none in none. If being is thought of as exclusively at rest, as absolute and without relational dependence (the otherness of relative nonbeing), it cannot admit the activity of mind in knowledge. It would exist "in awful unmeaningness as everlasting fixture" (Soph. 248e-249). There must be some foundation even within the eternal being of thy Forms for the spiritual, discursive motion of mind, which passes in judgment from subject to predicate, and from premises to conclusion in reasoning. Even within the Forms there must be relative nonbeing, existence not only in itself (as an indivisible and hence incommunicable unit) but in relation as a divisible whole of parts, a generic unity communicable to its species.

In the example given of metaphysical diaresis, Being in its otherness is both motion and rest, its coordinate species, but in itself it is a third, different from both. The possibility of significant and true negative judgment depends upon this: that both coordinate species of a genus participate in common in that genus, but not in each other. Thus for Plato the dyadic structure of being is revealed. Nothing is merely self-existent -- nothing exists which lacks dynamis, power, the power of making a difference to others, and of having a difference made by others. ‘Dynamis’ is the word which Aristotle will use for ‘potency’ or ‘potentiality’. From Plato’s point of view, divine perfection cannot be one-sided, exclusively in terms of actus purus. Bare unity would be a pure abstraction, lacking all power. The neo-Platonic supposition of infinite fecundity for such a One, as an inexhaustible fountain or source from which emanate being, mind, soul, and nature, would have been repudiated by Plato.

Even within eternal being itself there is a principle of relativity, which is its power of existing and of being known, so that motion and life and soul and mind can be present with it. Without it it would be an awful unmeaningness. The mind which eternally knows it is mythically symbolized in the Timaeus by the Demiurge. But such a divine mind was never without its soul, since it is the resident principle of the self motion of soul. Plato declares in the Timaeus:

And when reason, which works with equal truth, whether she be in the circle of the diverse or of the same -- in voiceless silence holding her onward course in the sphere of the self-moved -- when reason, I say, is hovering around the sensible world and when the circle of the diverse also moving tnily imparts the intimations of sense to the whole soul, then arise opinions and beliefs sure and certain. But when reason is concerned with the rational, and the circle of the same moving smoothly declares it, then intelligence and knowledge are necessarily perfected. And if anyone affirms that which these two are found to be other than the soul, he will say the very opposite of the truth. (Tim. 36-38)

It is, therefore, in the sphere of soul, of self-motion, that God is to be found for Plato. The divine is not to be found on the level of the essential principle of those Forms, the One. The divine world soul is mythically said to be "compounded" out of an intermediate blend between indivisible and divisible being, sameness, and difference. (The "divisible" character of the world of physical becoming lies in the endless contingency of causal series in it [Tim. 35a].) This formula is that of a self-moving mover, of a dynamic selfhood which is ever moving with a motion ever returning upon itself. Only such self-motion can be creative. Without this intermediate divine moving principle, the Forms could only be reflected in the Receptacle chaotically -- the mythic symbol of the "primordial visible chaos." Cosmic order is the effect of the creative action of divine soul. Even the Forms, the Archetypes which are the eternal objects of God’s primordial vision, can exist and be such objects only because of their power of relativity, of relational dependence upon one another. So also the living God, who is the creative force of the world, must be both absolute and relative, primordial and consequent upon the world. Eros, as Plato finally came to recognize, is indeed divine.

 

References

PMC -- St. Anselm, Proslogium, Monologium, and Cur Deus Homo, trans. S. N. Deane. La Salle, Illinois: Open Court, 1903,1945.

PSG -- Charles Hartshorne and William L. Reese, Philosophers Speak of God. Chicago and London: University of Chicago Press, 1953.

RP -- P. E. Moore, The Religion of Plato. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1921.

 

Notes

1The Phaedrus employs the later dialectical method of Collection and Division.

2 L. J. Eslick, "The Dyadic Character of Being," Modern Schoolman 21 (1953-54), 11-18. See also "the Platonic Dialectic of Non-Being," New Scholasticism 29/1 (January, 1955), 33-49.

Continuity, Possibility, and Omniscience

It is an assumption of classical theism that God knows not only the entire realm of actuality -- past, present, and future -- but that he also knows the entire realm of possibility in the sense of knowing all things that could have come to pass but will not, e.g., a certain shade of blue that will never become actual, or a certain member of a species of animal that will never exist. Critics of classical theism have generally accepted without a blink God’s knowledge of all possibilities and rushed onto dispute the claim to God’s knowledge of the future.

There is, however, a discerning philosopher who has challenged the claim that God knows all possibilities in the preceding sense. I speak of Professor Charles Hartshorne. To be sure, he holds that God is Omniscient in the sense that he knows all actualities as actualities and all possibilities as possibilities, but he adds that possibilities are by nature vague and indeterminate to various degrees so that, e.g., God could not have known that shade of blue until it became actual; he could, at best, only have known of the possibility of new shades of blue, without knowing precisely what they would be like. The scope of this interpretation of possibility is enormous: it extends to the individual members of every species, to species themselves, and to possible worlds. Regarding the latter, Hartshorne says, "Whatever possibilities there are God knows them. But there are, for me, no possibilities in the sense of Leibnizian possible worlds . . ." (LTR). Hence, not only individuals, but also species, genuses, and possible worlds exist only in a vague and indeterminate manner until they become actual.

If Hartshorne is correct, then obviously God’s knowledge is much less extensive than traditional believers have thought, and, moreover God’s omniscience dictates that his knowledge will continually increase as more and more things become actual. A corollary of this point is that God’s will could not be impassible and immutable because he would not be able to make his decisions about the world in advance of things actually occurring because one cannot knowledgeably and responsibly make decisions about one knows not what. Obviously, then, because of its attack upon the coherence of the traditional conception of God and current talk about possible worlds, Hartshorne’s position is a formidable doctrine. I am convinced that if his arguments for it are sound, then the jig is up for the classical conception of God and Leibnizian talk about possible worlds.

Charles Peirce on Continuity

Hartshorne’s conclusions about God’s knowledge of possibility appear to be based on Charles Peirce’s analysis of continuity. There are discussions of continuity throughout the six volumes of The Collected Papers of Peirce (CP). Indeed, continuity is the central idea in Peirce’s philosophy, whence he named his philosophy "synechism." Especially relevant to Hartshorne’s conclusions are 1.163-72, 1.499, 3.563-70, and 6.164-213. In 1.165 and 3.569 we find keys to Peirce’s understanding of continuity. In the former he says that "the idea of continuity involves the idea of infinity," and in the latter he says that a continuum is something every part of which can be divided into any multitude of parts whatsoever." These points are elaborated in 6.170:

A true continuum is something whose possibilities of determination no multitude of individuals can exhaust. Thus, no collection of points placed upon a continuous line can fill the line so as to leave no room for others, although that collection had a point for every value towards which numbers, endlessly continued into the decimal places, could approximate; nor if it contained a point for every possible permutation of all such values.

It seems reasonably clear from the preceding passage that Peirce is defining, or at least describing, the nature of a continuum in terms of two claims, One positive and one negative. The positive claim is that a continuum is something which is divisible -- the result of the division being of the type of the continuum divided, whether it be a line, an angle, a color spectrum, a pleasure spectrum, or something else. The negative claim is that a continuum is not exhaustively divisible into a finite number of results; between any two results, e.g., two points on a line or two shades on a continuum of red, it is possible in principle to derive an unlimitable number of additional points or shades of red. In brief, there are no atoms in a continuum (6.173).

This position of Peirce’s on continuity, a position that I find persuasive, has a striking implication for our understanding of possibilities. If, following the terminology of W. E. Johnson, we speak of a continuum as a determinable and a point on the continuum as a determinate, it follows, according to Peirce, that determinable points, as they exist in a continuum, "are not individuals, distinct, each from all the rest" (3.568). The significance of this is that a possibility is not knowable in its distinctness until it becomes actual because before it becomes actual there is no it to be known. Before it becomes actual, at best we can only know of the possibility of something like it. Peirce develops this point in 6.185-87.

That which is possible is in so far general and, as general, it ceases to be individual. Hence, remembering that the word ‘potential’ means indeterminate yet capable of determination in any special case, there may be a potential aggregate of all the possibilities that are consistent with certain general conditions; and this may be such that given any collection of distinct individuals whatsoever, out of that potential aggregate there may be actualized a more multitudinous collection than the given collection. Thus the potential aggregate is with the strictest exactitude, greater in multitude than any possible multitude of individuals. But being a potential aggregate only, it does not contain any individuals at all. It only contains general conditions which permit the determination of individuals. (6.185)

Clearly, then, neither human, angel, nor God can apprehend potentiality in the mode of an exhaustive set of individuals, or, as Whitehead might put it, as a set of discrete eternal objects.

Peirce goes on to say that though we can have only a vague idea of possible but unactualized individuals, it is not so with the classes of which those individuals would be members were they to become actual. Of the classes we can have a distinct idea. Consider, for example, the aggregate of whole numbers: "Though the aggregate of whole numbers cannot be completely counted, that does not prevent our having a distinct idea of the multitude of all whole numbers. We have a conception of the entire collection of whole numbers. It is a potential collection, indeterminate yet determinable" (6.186; also 6.187).

Peirce’s final thrust in this series of statements is to warn that "a potential collection more multitudinous than any collection of distinct individuals can be, cannot be entirely vague. For the potentiality supposes that the individuals are determinable in every multitude. That is, they are determinable as distinct. But there cannot be a distinctive quality for each individual; for these qualities would form a collection too multitudinous for them to remain distinct" (6.188). Peirce’s point seems to be that we can have a clear and distinct idea of the continuum or universal, e.g., length or redness, of which an actual individual is a part or an instance, but at best we can have only a vague and somewhat indeterminate idea of unactualized possibilities of a continuum. Why? Because potentiality can be grasped only in the form of continuity, and continuity is of the nature of infinity, and it is impossible in principle for us to know exhaustively the infinite individuals that can be actualized from a continuum.

Notice that in the preceding I said "impossible for us to know." Peirce does not explicitly draw the conclusion that it is also impossible for God to have such knowledge. Indeed, the spirit of several of his remarks seems contrary to such a conclusion -- though they are not so explicit as one would like. See 2.227, 4.67, and 4.583. Whitehead does seem to have been explicit that God possesses such knowledge, as can be seen in his doctrine of eternal objects, and it is perhaps at this point that Hartshorne departs most sharply from Whitehead. It is possible, however, that Whitehead was wrong and that Peirce overlooked an important implication of his own position, so let us now look at Hartshorne’s arguments for his claim that God can know potentiality only as vague and indeterminate.

Hartshorne on God’s Knowledge of Possibility

Hartshorne’s position on continuity and possibility is set forth most fully in his early essay, "Santayana’s Doctrine of Essence," and in his later chapter, "Abstraction: The Question of Nominalism." In both locations he cites Peirce extensively and summarizes Peirce s position as follows, using points on a line to illustrate his contention:

Continuity admits of any multitude, and since further a maximal multitude is impossible, and anything less than a maximal multitude of points on a line must omit something which could have been there, it follows that the continuum of possibilities cannot be any distinct set or multitude at all, but is rather something beyond multitude and definite variety, an inexhaustible source of variety rather than variety itself. (PGS 166)

In Creature Synthesis and Philosophic Method Hartshorne makes it clear that for Peirce such continua were not restricted to mathematical or geometrical entities. "As Peirce held," he writes, possible qualities of feeling form a continuum without definite parts" (CSPM 65f). From this position Hartshorne derives the conclusion that though God is always omniscient in the sense of knowing everything that can be known, still the scope or quantitative content of God’s knowledge is continually increasing as new things come into actuality that could not have been known earlier because they did not exist in a manner in which they could have been known, viz., as actual, i.e., as precise and determinate. Let us look at numerous passages in which this conclusion is contained and later reconstruct Hartshorne’s argument to this conclusion.

In his early opus, Man’s Vision of God, Hartshorne wrote,

Everything which is in the least particular, such as ‘light blue,’ or ‘sour,’ we have no reason for regarding as eternal, not because there was or could ever be a time when blue was not blue, or when blue was green, but because there may have been a time when blue was the subject of no truth whatever, since no such item was included in the whole of reality, or in the content of omniscience. Not that it was then true that ‘blue is not included in reality,’ but that it is now true that the whole of what was then real failed to contain blue, since no color which then was real was what we now know as blue. (245f.; see also WP 32)

In a recent volume, similar sentiments are stated. "I see no ground at all," Hartshorne writes, "for supposing that, besides numbers or similarly abstract entities, including metaphysical categories, every quality of sensation or feeling that occurs in experience must have its eternal duplicate. Feeling as such, quality as such, yes, but not red, sweet, as determinate qualities identical with those we enjoy in experience. Feeling is a determinable of infinite range, not a vast sum of determinates" (CSPM 65f).

Responding to criticism of the position set forth in the preceding passages, Hartshorne writes,

One objection to this view needs to be met at once. Against the idea of determinable characters it might beheld that prior to determination of the determinable the determinations must have been there as possibilities, one for each determinate character that can ever arise. This may seem self-evident. It can, however, reasonably be denied, as follows. A determination, prior to coming into existence, was neither possible nor impossible, it was nothing, for there was no such ‘it,’ and only of what in some sense is can anything be predicated, even possibility or impossibility. After being constituted in existence, the ‘it’ may then have the retrospective relation of absence from antecedent existence, but this relation is external to such existence. (PGS 141)1

In other words, there is no eternal duplicate of any actuality which is identical with that actuality in every respect except that it lacks existence. That which becomes actual did not exist before, not even as a possibility (if what we mean by "a possibility" is something that has all the definiteness of the actuality except that it lacks the dimension of actual existence).

Consequently, as Alvin Plantinga argues in The Nature of Necessity, chapter 8, because we can properly make singular affirmations only about things that exist, we cannot properly say anything about something before it comes into existence. To be sure, of anything that exists it is true that it was possible for it to come into existence, but it does not follow that before it came into existence we could have meaningfully said that it was possible for it to come into existence. Before it came into existence we could not have known precisely what we meant by speaking of "it"; we could not have been referring to "it" because it did not yet exist and therefore was not there to be referred to, and there could have been an indefinite number of things that would have satisfied any description that we might have given of "it."

By contrast, a completely specific possibility, one to which the Law of Excluded Middle applies in every respect, is actual. Any other possibility is indeterminate to some extent and less than actual to that same extent. Hence, when anything becomes actual, it is truly an emergent in the sense that it did not previously exist anywhere in reality -- not even in the mind of God as a perfect copy lacking only actual existence.2

This position is restated in Hartshorne s recent work, in which he reaffirms his unity with Peirce and his departure from Whitehead, who in Science and the Modern World speaks of color as something that "haunts time like a spirit."

My view here is the Peircean one, obscure and difficult as it may be, that all specific qualities, i.e., those of which there can be negative instances in experience, are emergent, and that only the metaphysical universals are eternal, something like Peirce’s Firstness, Secondness, Thirdness. I do not believe that a determinate colour is something haunting reality from all eternity, as it were, begging for instantiation, nor that God primordially envisages a complete set of such qualities. (CSPM 59)

A few pages later Hartshorne says regarding the creation of a painting,

The advance possibilities for a painting are only relatively definite. The pigments may already exist; the human senses are largely fixed. Thus the painter knows roughly what he can do. But that he can do just this which he subsequently does, not even deity can know until it is done. The ‘this’ of an actuality simply has no advance status, modal or otherwise. Creativity does not map the details of its future actions, even as possible. (CSPM 65)

In an even more recent statement, Hartshorne put his point this way:

What you or I now are is from the standpoint of eternity nonexistent. Not that we were impossible from that standpoint, but that we as individuals were not in being at all. I reject the idea of merely possible individuals. All individuals are actual. God knows the actual as actual, the possible, all of it, as possible, and this means as more or less indefinite. Just before my Mother conceived me I was a somewhat definite possibility, and known to God as such, but before the human species there was no possibility (nor yet an impossibility) corresponding to Charles Hartshorne. Tomorrow’s possibility is more definite today than it was a year ago, not only for us but for God. (LTR)

"The issue is not as to whether God knows all possibilities." For Hartshorne, divine knowledge is all-inclusive, knowing actualities as actualities and possibilities as possibilities. "But what some people call possibilities are not real at all but only mere words" (LTR). Therefore they cannot be known by God or anyone else except as mere words.

Now let me present a summary of what I understand Hartshorne argument to be. No two individuals on a continuum can be immediately close; therefore, there can be an indefinite number of other individuals between every pair of discrete individuals on a continuum. From this it follows that it is impossible in principle for a continuum to be known exhaustively by means of a collection of individuals that constitute it; even an infinite collection of individuals would be inadequate because in between any two of them there could be an infinite number of others. Hence, no matter how many possibilities on a continuum one may be familiar with from their actualization, there are always an even greater number that one is ignorant of except perhaps in a vague and indeterminate way. Hence, even God in his omniscience cannot know all possible individuals, at least not as a set of discrete individuals. Rather, God must know unactualized possible individuals as contained in a continuum; but to know possible individuals as contained in a continuum is necessarily not to know them as determinate and discrete but as indeterminate and vague, and therefore it is not to know them as individuals. Hence, God, like we, must wait upon creativity to find out what is possible because we can only find out from the actual what is determinately possible. Prior to the actualization of possibility, i.e., the specific determination of possibility, that creativity brings about from the infinitude of possibilities, we can only make guesses more or less approximate, depending on the range of our experience, from what is and has been actual to what is possible, e.g., from these shades of blue to the possibility of another shade of blue somehow between them.3

Part of the significance of the position that determinate qualities are emergent is that they could not have been known ahead of time in their determinateness. This means that God, as well as we, is continually increasing in knowledge as new shapes, colors, textures, creatures, etc., come to be, and it would seem to mean that sometimes God, as well as we, is completely surprised by what occurs, as when a new color (as distinguished from a new shade of the same color) occurs, or, even more dramatically, as when the perception of color occurs for the very first time. The latter would be an instance in which the first member of a species or genus becomes actual. Presumably Hartshorne would defend the idea that God, too, would be surprised upon such an occasion because even though he might already be familiar with the genus, knowledge of the genus does not imply knowledge of its species, even as knowledge of a species does not imply knowledge of all the individuals that will belong to the species. Hartshorne makes this point with regard to individuals and species in the following statement:

To understand ‘whiteness,’ and to know all the things that ever have been or will be white, are two things different in principle. This is, it can be claimed, the very meaning of universality, without which we should have no rational knowledge. It is the definition of the universal that it does not involve all its instances. (PGS 155)

With regard to the relation between species and genus Harts-horne says, "The ultimate eternal logos, the real essence of existence as such, includes all the generic factors necessary to knowledge, such as relation, time, plurality, number, quality, and the generic interrelations of these." But he adds that he does not "see any reason for supposing that such ‘essences’ as redness must be involved distinctly in the generic ideas" (PGS 164). Hartshorne summarizes these points and relates them to God in the following passage from Man’s Vision of God:

it is the very nature of the universal that one can know the genus without knowing all the species, or any of them with perfect distinctness, and certainly without knowing the individual natures which the genus makes possible. Not even God sees the individual natures as items in the generic, for it is a contradiction to make the common property imply the differences, past and future alike, thus destroying temporal distinctions. (MVG 133)

In brief, God knows eternally the genuses and species of which he is the instantiation, but all else he must learn at the window of creativity. Clearly, then, his knowledge cannot be wholly eternal, immutable, or impassible. Even with regard to what is possible in the way of worlds, God knows only "indeterminate possibilities for worlds, nothing more" (CSPM 127).

In conclusion, if Hartshorne’s analysis is correct, the classical conception of God’s knowledge must be recognized as incoherent, and Leibnizian talk about possible worlds must be recognized as babble. Referring to the Leibnizian notion of "the completely defined possible world," described in what Plantinga calls "a world book," Hartshorne says, "there are, for me, no possibilities in the sense of Leibnizian possible worlds" (AD 196f.); rather, a possible world is merely the notion of "vague directions for further determination" (LTR).4

An Alternative to Hartshorne

The preceding sections on Peirce and Hartshorne have been purely expository. My ultimate concern, however, is philosophical. Hence, I shall now turn to an evaluation of these positions. The core of Peirce’s continuity thesis is that a continuum is infinitely divisible and therefore cannot be comprehended by apprehension of a set of discrete individuals, no matter how large the set. The core of Hartshorne’s thesis on possibility is that it is impossible in principle for anyone, even an omniscient being, to have eternal knowledge of all possibilities by virtue of knowing possibilities independently of actualities. Apparently Hartshorne holds this position because he believes it is implied by Peirce’s continuity thesis. I believe he is wrong in this belief -- though this is certainly a difficult issue and his position a thoughtful one. My own position is that Peirce’s continuity thesis is correct and that there is a position on possibility that is compatible with Peirce’s continuity thesis yet makes plausible how God can know all possibilities in the traditional sense. In order to argue successfully for this position against Hartshorne’s thesis on possibility it seems clear that one must make plausible the idea that God’s knowledge of possibilities is in some relevant sense exhaustive in spite of Peirce’s continuity thesis. I believe this can be done as follows.

We are all familiar with the fact that we can take two sticks of equal length that are hinged at one end only and rotate them from a fully closed position to a fully open position, i.e., from an angle of 0 degrees to an angle of 180 degrees. If we close the sticks again, add an elastic band to the unhinged ends of the sticks, and then open them again from 0 to 180 degrees, we will in the process have circumscribed the angularity of every possible isosceles triangle. I submit when we realize this, we will have understood what a Euclidean isosceles triangle is because we will have comprehended it as a continuum of possibilities. In a sense, by moving the sticks from closed-in-line to open-in-line we will have generated an exhaustive number of isosceles triangles. There were an infinite number of points through which we passed and at which we could have stopped which would have constituted an isosceles triangle had we stopped. Further, there were no additional stopping places; we did not miss a single point at which an additional triangle could have been generated. The same point could be illustrated by thinking in terms of screwing a crescent wrench from shut to open or of turning a rheostat from off to maximum.

To be sure, in generating our triangles we did not actually stop at an infinite number of places along the way. Moreover, it would be impossible for us or God to stop at every point along the way because such points are in principle inexhaustible. Even if God has been generating isosceles triangles of different angularities every moment for the whole of his existence and therefore has generated an infinite set of such triangles by now, he cannot have generated all possible discrete isosceles triangles (even on the assumption that the length of the equal sides is being held even) because even if God generates an infinitely large set of such triangles, there is always possible an even larger such infinite set. Clearly, then, though a continuum is something from which an infinite number of individuals can be analyzed (abstracted/decided/identified), a continuum could never be constructed by putting together any number of individuals or particulars. Indeed, part of the significance of a continuum is that it allows for inexhaustible creativity; even God cannot exhaust the richness of a continuum. Neither, however, can God be exhausted by a continuum. Part of the significance of his omnipotence is that he is able to everlastingly and unrestrictedly act according to the inexhaustible resources of limitless continuity. Presumably he is the only individual able to do so.

The significance of the preceding analysis is that in understanding the isosceles triangle as a continuum of possibilities, we know all there is to be known about the possible relations among the angles of isosceles triangles. No isosceles triangle can henceforth come into existence the angularity of which could surprise us. For any isosceles triangle that ever becomes actual, we already know, and not merely in a vague and indeterminate sense, that its angularity is possible. Moreover, we can generalize from isosceles triangularity to triangularity in general and draw the same conclusion. No geometer should ever be surprised by a new triangle into saying, "I didn’t know such a combination of angles was possible! Hence, to understand the triangle as a continuum is to know in advance the possibility of all triangles that ever become actual subsequent to that understanding. If an individual’s understanding of this is eternal, then, of course, to that individual no triangle that ever becomes actual will be unfamiliar.

Meanwhile let us ask whether the fact that a continuum cannot consist of discrete individuals means that it must be impossible for God to know all possible individuals in advance of their becoming actual. The answer must be "yes" and "no." "Yes" for two reasons. First, as we have seen already, it is logically impossible for anyone to know as discrete all individuals that can possibly be excised from a continuum. Even if one extracts an infinite set of such individuals, there is always a yet larger set possible. Hence, an exhaustively infinite set of individuals could not have been known by now or ever, even iii the mind of God.

The second reason for saying that God cannot know even one possible individual, much less all possible individuals, in advance of its becoming actual is that a thing cannot be known as actual before it becomes actual. This is a point that Hartshorne’s writings have helped me understand and with which I now concur. If that very triangle there, for example, somehow existed in the world but in a mode imperceptible to anyone but God until t1, then it did not become actual at t1; it merely became humanly perceptible at t1. God knew it as actual before t1 because it was actual before t1, However, if the triangle was not actual before t1 and became actual only at t1, then even God did not know it as actual before t1.

If one objects, "But the object existed in the mind of God before it existed in actuality, and therefore God knew it before it became actual," I would disagree as follows. An object that exists in the mind of God, or for that matter in a human mind, but not in the world cannot be identical with an object in the world. An object which is "merely in the mind," as in imagination or conception, rather than perception, cannot be identical with an object in the world even if the object in the mind is corresponded to or succeeded by an object which is indiscernible from it in all respects except that it is actual. At most such objects could be qualitatively, structurally, and contextually (each in its own realm) indiscernible, but not identical simpliciter.5

More generally, Hartshorne is correct that we should not confuse imagination and possibility with one another. The distinction between the actual and the possible is of quite another order from the distinction between the perceived and the imagined (MVG 224f.). "Potentiality" refers to that quality of the existent that enables it to possess as actual a property that it does not now possess. Strictly speaking, images in the mind are not themselves potentialities -- though they may and frequently do allude to the potentialities of existents. Hence, when the potentialities of an existent are actualized in such a way that they are indiscernible from something that we had in mind, it is not the case that what we had in mind has taken on actuality; it would be closer to the truth to say that actuality has taken on what we had in mind. If by "the potential has become actual" we mean that the very thing we had in mind has taken on actuality, then that is not true; rather, something has become actual that corresponds qualitatively and structurally to what we had in mind and fulfills the intentionality of what we had in mind by being actual rather than imaginary. Hence, the imaginary is not transformed into the actual, or the abstract into the concrete, by being moved over from the one realm to the other or by being infused with a third dimension, or some such thing. Only the concrete is transformed into something concrete that resembles or is partially identical to or fulfills the imaginary. Potentialities for concreteness -- and here I believe Hartshorne and I are in agreement -- are inherent only in the concrete.

But if Hartshorne and I are correct that an actual object cannot be known as actual before it becomes actual, does that mean that Hartshorne is correct that therefore God will learn from the process of actualization things about possibility that he did not already know? I do not think so. To return to our example, God did not know that triangle as an individual before it became actual, but he knew about the possibility of it because he eternally knows the triangularity continuum of which all actual triangles are instantiations. Hence, from no number of actual triangles will God learn what triangles it is possible for there to be.

There is more, of course, to an actual triangle than the relations of its angles. It will have size and perhaps color, but I do not see these facts as implying that God will, after all, learn something about possibility from actuality. Individuals are determinate in the sense of cutting at specific points the continua to which they correspond or in which they participate. A particular triangle at a moment is exactly this shape, that color, such and such a size, and so on. I see no good reason to say that though God knows perfectly the continuum of triangularity, he does not know perfectly the continua of size and color, or, for that matter, feeling and all other types of possibility.6 Hence, it seems reasonable to believe that God can have known eternally the possibility of a triangle, i.e., a complex actuality, that cuts the continua of size, shape, and color at just those points. To be sure, as Hartshorne insists, to know a possibility is not to know an actuality; however, I am arguing, to know a possibility thoroughly is to know exactly what an actuality will be like that instantiates the possibility. In each case of the emergence of a possibility into actuality, just because it is impossible to know all tokens of the type by means of a finite or even an infinite set of tokens, it does not follow that God cannot by knowing the type know the range of possibilities that any actuality of that type must instantiate.

Such knowledge on God’s part would be impossible, of course, if knowledge of a possibility is always knowledge of a range of possibilities -- and Hartshorne seems to believe that that is all we can mean when we talk about possibility, viz., something general, vague, and indeterminate. But that belief is in part, I think, the result of his choice of metaphor, viz., touch, for selection of a quality. He points out correctly that we cannot select a single shade of red by touching a spectrum of such shades. Touch necessarily has breadth, and breadth necessarily spans an infinite number of shades on a spectrum. But what if we slice the continuum instead of touching it? Then -- assuming that the continuum is homogeneous in shade when looked on from its end -- we will have got ourselves a single, determinate shade of red, and if one knows the continuum thoroughly, I see no reason to think that one would ever be surprised by any shade of it that might ever become actual.

Consider another analogy, viz., shades of red being generated electronically in a small disc, the hue being controlled by a knob so that if you turn the knob one way the hue gets richer in a continuous fashion, and if you turn it the other way the hue gets thinner in a continuous fashion. You can stop the process at any point, and the resulting hue is always distributed homogeneously across the disc. In this way, it seems to me, we avoid the problem of having to touch a spatial continuum of hues by generating a temporal continuum of hues. Still, the two characteristics of continuous change of hue and no change of hue would be combined in a spectral rod, and so, I suggest, the idea of slicing such a rod to obtain a determinate hue is the one that best reveals how possibilties might be known as determinate.

To summarize, Hartshorne claims that when anything becomes actual, qualities emerge which even God did not know in advance. But if I am right about how and what God knows in knowing the realm of possibility, there is no reason to think that he would not know in advance of every actualization of an individual every property and relation that any individual might instantiate. This is possible because God knows possibility in the form of continua, and to know a continuum perfectly, as God would, is to know exhaustively and simultaneously an infinite range of possibilities of a certain type -- shape, size, color, number, feeling, etc. In knowing a continuum and knowing that it can be decided at any point, one knows all the possibilities that can be instantiated by any individual that will (or could) ever exemplify the universal of which that continuum is the fulfillment.7 In line with this position I believe that the expression, "the realm of essence," is most meaningfully applied to universals and their combinations understood as continua. To know the realm of essence is to know the range of logical possibilities, i.e., of simple qualities and relations and their possible combinations.

To know such combinations, however, is not to know an individual as actual before it becomes actual; an individual becomes knowable as actual only upon becoming actual. Hence, perhaps we should distinguish between possible individuals and the possibility of individuals. For reasons given earlier, what God knows eternally cannot include all possible individuals as discrete from one another. But prior to the emergence of any individual, God will know the possibility of that individual by virtue of knowing the continua to which any actual individual must correspond (or instantiate/actualize/participate in). Consequently, it seems to me that God will not learn from an emergent anything new about what is possible, and, further, that it makes sense to speak of God being aware of a continuum of possible worlds and being able in advance of the creation of any of those worlds to decide his specific will for the creatures therein.

We must, then, beware of an ambiguity in, "God cannot know x before x becomes actual." Taken as meaning, "God cannot know x as actual before x becomes actual," it is analytically true and acknowledges Hartshorne’s point that no one can know an object as actual before it is actual. Taken as meaning, "When x becomes actual God will learn something about possibility that he did not know before," it is false because of God’s exhaustive knowledge of the continua that any object must exemplify, and it acknowledges the classical point that God learns nothing from the flow of events that he would need to know in order to decide his will in general or in specific.

Does the position that I have been developing make a mockery of creativity? Hartshorne has frequently lamented that the doctrine of possible individuals does just that. He says, for example, "If all the ‘forms of definiteness,’ each perfectly definite in itself, are eternally given to God, it is not altogether clear to me what actualization accomplishes" (WP 95). I am sympathetic to this complaint and believe that my position, which speaks of the possibility of individuals rather than of possible individuals, maintains the emergent nature of the products of human creativity. William Blake’s frontispiece to The Marriage of Heaven and Hell never existed before Blake drew it. To be sure, God knew of the possibility of it before Blake drew it, but God did not know it as actual until it was drawn. Nor was its coming into existence a mere sleight of perception whereby God, who had seen it all along, whisked away a perceptual handkerchief, thereby causing others, including Blake, to suddenly begin seeing it in the 1790’s; nor should it be thought that until that point it had been in another realm and known there by God so that Blake’s artistic strokes were not of the nature of creativity but rather of the nature of rubbing away a patina beneath which lay the already existent drawing -- an illusion causing Blake and others to think that he was creating it rather than merely uncovering it. To the contrary, Blake brought into actuality for the first time something the possibility of which God knew eternally, but which neither God nor anyone else knew as actual until Blake created it.

However, is it coherent to claim that God’s knowledge of possibilia does not increase? Before responding, let me explain why Hartshorne believes it must increase. To say that God is omniscient is, in the broadest sense, to say that he knows everything. Most philosophical disputes over omniscience have to do with the scope of "everything." Does it include the future, for example? Hartshorne would say that whatever else omniscience might include, it must include knowledge of everything that can be known at the present moment, and that would include everything that is actual and has been actual. From this it follows that a being would be omniscient even if the future is not knowable as long as it knows all the present and the past. Further, if it is in principle impossible to know a specific shade of color that has not yet occurred, then it would not count against God’s omniscience if he did not know it before it became actual -- though it would, of course, count against his omniscience if he did not know it as soon as it did become actual and remember it perfectly ever thereafter. Hence, given the Hartshornean assumption that there is no knowledge of specific possibilities apart from actualities, it follows that because God is by nature Omniscient, his knowledge of possibilities will increase as novel actualities emerge (and as we saw earlier, according to Hartshorne every actuality is novel).

The epistemological position from which Hartshorne’s theological position is drawn appears to be contained in the following passages: "I can indeed know what the thing known would be though I myself did not know or feel it; but I cannot possibly know what it would be were it now unknown and unfelt; any more than I can know what an existent Platonic form would be were there nothing concrete to embody it" (WP 12). This is, Hartshorne adds, the Aristotelian principle that "the universal can have being only as it is concretized somehow." Whether or not this was Aristotle’s position, it does seem to be Hartshorne’s position that what Brand Blanshard calls a "specific universal," e.g., this shade of red, cannot be known by man or God apart from the actual. Before it becomes actual, it simply is not available to be known -- though, of course, as soon as it does become actual, God knows it and remembers it perfectly ever thereafter. This position is reaffirmed in Man’s Vision of God:

There seems but one way to know a quality, and that is to feel it. There is nothing in it to think, if by thought is meant relating; for a simple quality is not a relationship, but the term without which relations would not be possible, as the complex presupposes the simple. God must equally know qualities and relations, and how he could know a quality except by having it as a feeling-tone a quality of his experience itself, we have not the faintest clue in experience. (MVG 223)

God, then, can know a particular quality only by feeling it; but only that which is actual can be felt, and not all possible qualities can be discretely actual simultaneously; therefore God must wait upon the temporal process of actualization to gain knowledge of qualities that have not yet come to pass.

The classical theist might react to the preceding argument by insisting that it must be possible for God to know possibilities apart from actualities because he is omniscient and therefore knows all things. That, of course, would be begging the question. The debate is not whether God knows all things but whether "all things" can coherently range over unrealized possibilities in such a way that God will learn nothing about them from actuality. Hence, the only promising way to proceed, it seems to me, is to attempt to show that the idea of God knowing possibilities that have not been actualized is a coherent notion. That is, of course, what I have been trying to do by explaining how God’s knowledge of possibilities should be understood as subsumed within his knowledge of continua.

Let me try to develop my position further by claiming that I know there can be shades of blue other than those I have seen. Moreover, I claim, this knowledge is not merely formal, i.e., a warranted induction based on experiences of having seen new shades of blue emerge between shades with which I was already familiar. Give me two shades of blue that I can discriminate perceptually, and I will mix or imagine another one in between them. Hartshorne might reply along the line of John Morreall’s analysis by saying, "Yes, but there were an infinite number of possible shades in between the two you started with; therefore, you did not know for certain which shade you would wind up with when you mixed your paints or exerted you imagination. And that, I agree, is true. However, if I were more mentally agile, why could I not imagine a spectrum of blue beginning with the one shade I was given and ending with the other? It seems commonly conceded since Hume, and correctly I believe, that we are capable of imagining a single shade of blue in between two others that are given to us. Why not a spectrum in addition to a single shade? I see no reason to rule this out as a possibility.

If the generation of such a spectrum by imagination seems a coherent possibility for us, certainly it also is for God. Further, I see no reason to rule out the possibility that God could "imagine" the entire spectrum of shades of blue inasmuch as it seems reasonable to assume that he knows the factors that go into making shades of blue, as distinguished from other colors, just as we know the factors that go into making a Euclidean triangle. But what if Hartshorne objects that (1) you can imagine a spectrum of blue only by virtue of having already seen some actual shades of blue -- from which it follows that God, too, must wait upon actualization of at least two shades of blue before he can do it, and (2) the shades of blue in your mind are not actual; they are imaginary.

Regarding (1) it seems true that in order to grasp a continuum one would have to do so immediately or mediately. A continuum given immediately would have to be perceived or imagined. The latter is ordinarily the result of imaginative generalization from two or more instances of a spectrum, so let us examine the perceptually immediate possibility first. That possibility would depend upon there having been actualized somewhere in reality a spectrum -- of blue, for example. I can think of no reason, however, to believe that there is necessarily an actual spectrum of blue in the world; so it would be ad hoc to assume that there is and always has been; hence, it would seem that God, like we, must wait upon the emergence of an actual spectrum or at least upon two or more instances of blue (from which he can make an imaginative generalization) before he can apprehend the blue spectrum.8 Hence, it seems to me that either Hartshorne is correct that we should think of God as learning about possibilities from actualities, or we must make it plausible that God can immediately and eternally know all possibilities apart from becoming, and we must indicate serious difficulties in Hartshorne’s own position. I would like to argue for such knowledge on God’s part from the combination of his omniscience and his omnipotence.

The concept of omnipotence is by no means a limpid one, but roughly it means that God can bring about anything that is not self contradictory. Because it is not self-contradictory for God to create an object of any particular shade of blue, it follows that he can create an object of any shade of blue, whether he functions as direct efficient cause (the classical tradition) or as necessary contributory cause (the neoclassical tradition). From his omniscience it follows that he knows himself perfectly, and from his perfect self-knowledge it follows that he knows perfectly well everything that he can bring about, whether as sole creator or cocreator. Therefore, he knows all qualities and relations independently of becoming because actualization of them is within his power and he knows himself, and therefore his powers, perfectly.

Hartshorne might object at this point that God has perfect knowledge of his powers only in a generic sense; e.g., prior to the emergence of a novel shade of blue, he knew that he could bring about some such shade of blue, but he could not have known that he would bring about that very shade of blue there.9 Such a response, it seems to me, leads to serious difficulties.10 To begin with, it is implausible enough that, according to Hartshorne, God does not know exactly what he is up to when he is trying to bring about a hitherto unactualized shade of blue, but the problem becomes even more serious when we realize that, presumably, once upon a time there was no blue, so then God did not know that he could create blue or how to do it; worse yet, presumably once upon a time there was no color in the universe so that God did not know what color was, or that or how he could create it -- and why would this not be true of shape as well?

Hartshorne insists, to be sure, that God must always be creating a universe, but even so I see no reason to think that a universe necessarily includes shape and color, and Hartshorne himself states that "by going back far enough into the past one could (with sufficient knowledge) come to a stage at which whatever definite specificity you wish to point to was not yet in being, and was in its specificity neither possible nor impossible, though some less definite possibility was established by what had happened up till then" (CSPM 68). The significance of the preceding statement seems to be that there is no past limit to God’s ignorance of possibility. The farther we project into the past, the more ignorant he must be, so that he asymptotically approaches complete ignorance of possibility. Hence, either we must accept an absurd conception according to which once upon a time God was as ignorant as a clam, or we must accept that God learns nothing about possibilities from becoming because in knowing himself he knows all possibilities because his power ranges over all possibilities.11

Leaving aside what Hartshorne ought to think because of his own principles, let us now look at a second problem with his position. Specifically, it follows from Hartshorne’s dual claims that God is a necessary contributory cause to everything that becomes and that God is ignorant of much that can become, that he is also ignorant of much of what he can do. Hence, it is implicit in Hartshorne’s position that there are always things that God could bring about but of which he is ignorant as to the fact that they could exist, that he could bring them about and, therefore, of how to bring them about. To be sure, Hartshorne could respond that God would know that he could and how he could bring about things similar to those that he was already familiar with from actuality, but it is surely a corollary of his position that the less similar a possibility is to anything that has ever come about, the less clearly God would know that he could bring it about or how to do so.

There is here, then, it seems to me, a serious question as to how God knows what he can bring about and how to bring about anything that has not yet existed. Does he use trial and error? Does he thrash about and accidentally discover what is possible and how to cause it? Does he systematically vary his will, like a chemist conducting a series of experiments in which only the quantity of an agent is varied while all other factors remain the same? And given the Hartshornean conception of the nature of God’s influence on the world, how could God knowledgeably lure into existence a something he knows not what?12 Hence, either God would be restricted to trying to bring about new things identical to those that had happened before, or he would have to aim at bringing about he knew not quite what. Surely this is a less exalted conception of the knowledge and power of God than is the classical conception. If it is the best we can do within the limits of reason, then so be it. I have been arguing that something more is intelligible.

Consider also that the preceding problem is even worse than it appears at first because Hartshorne holds that no quality can be duplicated identically because each instance of a quality is uniquely affected by its history and relations, and no two instances of quality can have the same history and relations. Hence, God never quite knows what he is doing. This position is partially expressed in Hartshorne’s comments that

the qualities of things are as particular and unique as the things. When we think that two objects have or can have the same hue of color, we are thinking in terms of approximation; the idea that the two hues are ever exactly the same is either a sheer assumption or it presupposes as its verification an absoluteness of qualitative comparison which itself is a sheer assumption, controverted by much significant evidence. (WP 33)

He goes on to say, "the same essence can be in different things; but only if by essence we mean an entity which in itself, and not merely as we see it, is vague.

Later, Hartshorne writes, the precise qualities of particulars are themselves particular and unrepeatable. Only abstract, more or less generalized traits are repeatable. I am here differing from Santayana as well as Whitehead. Something very like this blue can occur over and over, but not precisely this blue. Particular qualities in their absolute definiteness are irreducibly relational and historical. The illusion to the contrary comes from forgetting that inability to detect a difference is not the same as ability to detect absolute similarity. If we were divine, it would be otherwise. But I assume that God knows all non-abstract or wholly determinate qualities of particulars to be unrepeatable. (CSPM 64)

In other words, two extant qualities may be qualitatively indiscernible to human perception, but they never are to divine perception, which sees things as they are in themselves. Now if this is true, then it is impossible for God to know how to bring about anything with precision because no matter what he does, the result will be different, in ways that could not have been anticipated, from everything else that has ever existed or been known. Such a position, however, does not seem to fit with thought or experience.

Because absolute precision is conceivable, I see no reason to rule out the possibility that God could achieve such, as by creating two qualitatively identical patches of red. Hartshorne might object that our empirical experience is that whenever we examine two seemingly identical patches of red under closer scrutiny, we almost always discover them to be qualitatively discernible. He might further object that even the appearance of qualitative homogeneity in one patch of red is always the result of a kind of perceptual averaging over myriad occasions of red that are not identical in shade. But, I would ask, if the perceptual result, i.e., the redness as experienced by a perceiver, is an average, then why could not two perceptual averages be identical even though there are no qualitatively identical particles in either patch, even as two arithmetic averages can be identical though none of the numbers contributive to the two averages are the same? Is it not conceivable that God could know two perceptual averages as the same while knowing the constituent occasions to be qualitatively different? I do not see how we can rule out this possibility.

Further, what about the qualitative relations among actual occasions themselves, those smallest units of reality? Might Hartshorne accept the conclusion of the preceding paragraph but add that his claim was directed not at how things appear to us but how they appear to God, who sees things as they are in themselves? To that I would respond that to accept the conclusion of the preceding paragraph is to accept that God would apprehend identical qualities in us -- results of perceptual averagings on our part though they be -- and that should be enough to establish the possibility of identical qualities.

We can certainly conceive that God might experience two actual occasions as being qualitatively identical. Hartshorne might say, "But we can conceive of that only in abstraction from the histories and relations of those actual occasions." I would have to disagree. It seems to me here that Hartshorne is presenting an empirical thesis as though it were a metaphysical thesis, i.e., is presenting a thesis that might be true but does not have to be as though it had to be. Why could not different histories and sets of relations result in identical qualities, even as different sets of numbers can result in identical averages? To address the problem more directly from Hartshorne’s point of view, why could not two actual occasions be presented with overlapping ranges of possibilities? And if they could be presented with overlapping ranges of qualitative possibilities (even by only one unit of overlap), why could they not happen to choose identical qualities? I simply do not understand the strength of Hartshorne’s conviction that qualities are like drone bees, forever retired after just one use. I can imagine arguing that God has chosen to prevent identical recurrence of any quality; Hartshorne could make a good empirical argument for this thesis; but I see no good reason to say that God can neither prevent nor bring about identical recurrence of any quality because such a thing is impossible in itself.

To return to the problems that result from Hartshorne’s position, consider that God would not only not be able to make or lure into existence two identical colors; he would never know in advance just what color he would get. The most that God or anyone can do in creative activity, according to Hartshorne, is to shoot in a promising direction, chosen on past experience, and hope for the best. "As causes we never know just what we are causing," says Hartshorne (CSPM 127); and God, according to Hartshorne, is no exception to this principle. Further, the less similar one s circumstances and actions are to one’s earlier circumstances and actions, the less confident one can be of what will result from one’s actions. Hence, the more God’s present circumstances and actions differ from his earlier acts and circumstances, the more surprised, even startled, perhaps unpleasantly, he is likely to be by what results. "Oh, my God!" I can imagine him saying, "I didn’t know that would be the outcome!" Will this tend to make God exceedingly cautious, varying his actions by only miniscule amounts so as to minimize the risk of getting significantly unpleasant results? Or will the spirit with which God proceeds to act vary with the kind of results he has been getting lately?

Finally, perhaps most radically, it follows from the unrepeatability of God’s action and the inherent vagueness of potentiality that God never knows in advance what he will do until he does it. Presumably at times he surprises himself not only by what he brings about, but also by what he wills.

Consider also that according to Hartshorne God must have eternal knowledge of his power and such knowledge must be abstract, i.e., not dependent upon any specific thing that he has brought about. But such knowledge would be empty (and therefore no knowledge at all) if it included nothing specific, and it would be arbitrary if it included eternal knowledge of only the power to bring about this shade of red or that pitch of sound. Hence, in saying that in knowing himself God knows he has power, and in knowing he has power he knows what he can do, we should not mean merely that he knows that he can do something, but not what; nor should we mean that he knows he can do anything, but without knowing specifically anything that can be done. Rather, we should mean that he knows eternally and determinately all that he can do.

A fifth problem in Hartshorne’s position has to do with the relation of imagination to perception, and the implication of that relation for memory. David Hume accepted, in spite of the anomaly that it created for him, that given two shades of blue, a human could imagine a third shade in between them without having perceived that shade before. Surely Hartshorne would allow as much. But if he does, should he not also allow that given God’s unlimited powers of thought, he would be able to fill out the whole spectrum, so that any shade of blue that he henceforth perceives in the world, he will have already been familiar with? Hartshorne might reply, "But the color as seen in imagination is itself an emergent. When we ask a human to imagine a shade of blue that he has never seen or imagined before, he does not know what shade it will be before he actually imagines it, and neither does God. Hence, the fact that we can image new shades of color independently of perception does not imply that they are not emergents, i.e., does not imply that they could have been known before they emerged. Qualities emerge in imagination as well as in perception. Regarding humans I agree with this point because our knowledge of color obviously has a temporal beginning. But what about God? Can we not at least conceive of God eternally being aware of (or "conceptually prehending," as Whitehead might say) the blue spectrum?

Perhaps the most pernicious corollary of Hartshorne’s principle of radical qualitative uniqueness, i.e., every instance of a quality is qualitatively unique, has to do with God’s memory. According to Hartshorne, God is a society of actual occasions that come into being and subsequently perish just like the actual occasions that constitute all other complex individuals. This means, together with Hartshorne’s principle of radical qualitative uniqueness, that the series of actual occasions that are identical with God’s memory of an instance of blue in the world would have to be not only numerically different but also qualitatively different from the occasions of blue that God originally encountered in the world. The significance of this is that God can never remember anything exactly as it was.

Further, it follows from Hartshorne’s dual principles of qualitative uniqueness and social divinity that God’s "memory" of something must -- because no two occasions can be qualitatively identical -- become more and more unlike that of which it is a memory as time passes. From all this it follows that even immediately after a person dies, God will not remember that person perfectly. Perhaps immediately after the person’s death God’s memory will be very like the person, but as we saw earlier, his memory must be continually changing because no two actual occasions can be qualitatively identical. Hence, an actual occasion of memory cannot be qualitatively identical with an actual occasion of perception, so one is confronted with the puzzle: just how different is it initially?

The problem gets worse as time passes. The memory of an event may be nearly identical to the event immediately after it occurs, but what about a million years later? A googol of years later? Hartshorne finds a great deal of value in the belief that though we will not survive death subjectively we will be everlastingly remembered and cherished by God. He writes in "The God of Religion and the God of Philosophy," "I deeply honor that ancient people who, almost alone in the world, could accept their status as neither divine nor immortal. But, implicitly at least, they were assured of a kind of immortality from this alone, that God would everlastingly know and love them just as they were in their earthly careers. For there cannot be a counterpart to forgetting in God" (TOG 157; emphasis mine). But now it appears that Hartshorne’s principles imply that though God will remember us, he cannot remember us as we really are, and to make things worse, his memory of us must everlastingly slide down a slippery slope of deviation from the truth. We appear to be left with nothing more than a causal relationship which would eventually result in memories that are so faded and/or distorted as to be grossly misleading.

To summarize, as Hartshorne’s principles now stand, they entail that God cannot remember anything perfectly and that his memory must get worse and worse as time passes. Does God realize that he is not remembering us correctly? If not, he is not worthy of the name "God," given its dominant meaning in philosophical and religious contexts. If he does realize that he is not remembering correctly, then he must remember us correctly since he could only know that one memory was not correct if he had another memory of the same thing that was veridical. But then he would have to have misremembered in at least one case -- which is impossible for God, as Hartshorne himself testifies. And we should ask, "If God misremembers and also remembers correctly, how could he know which memory is veridical given the fact that in order to resolve the problem he would have no higher authority to appeal to than himself?" If we try to get around this problem by suggesting, in Hartshornean language, that God has only a vague and indeterminate" awareness that his memories are gradually becoming faded and distorted, must we not then think of him as increasingly distressed and frustrated at the loss of precious memories?

Finally we come to the point at which I believe Hartshorne and I are farthest apart. He holds, as we saw earlier, that to know a genus, e.g., animal," is not to know thereby the species thereof, e.g., "dog," and to know the species, e.g., "dog," is not to know future members of the species. I, by contrast, hold that to know the genus perfectly is to know all its possible species, and to know the species perfectly is to know all its possible individual members. But in what sense do I mean this? As can be inferred from earlier arguments, I do not mean that to know a species perfectly is to know all its possible members as discrete from one another. That, I agree, is impossible. Rather, it is to know a continuum of which any specific individual would be an instantiation, and therefore it is to know independently of every individual what it is like. However, I certainly agree with Hartshorne that to know a species is not to know thereby the members of it that will become actual. To hold that it did would violate two metaphysical principles that Hartshorne and I hold in common: (1) an individual cannot be known as actual until it is actual, and (2) the future will of a free agent cannot be known for certain in advance, not even by the agent himself, much less by anyone else.13

If, however, one knows the limits within which triangles must exist and the method of their generation, then, I believe, one knows in a significant sense every triangle that will ever exist. Consequently, when the conditions that can eventuate in an actual triangle do eventuate in an actual triangle, one who has the preceding knowledge will never before have seen that triangle, but there will be no surprises in it for him. The same point, I believe, can be defended with regard to all other qualities, relations, and complexes thereof. Humans, to be sure, do not understand genuses and species with the kind of mastery and clarity of which I have been speaking. Perhaps we do understand some species in this mode, species such as triangularity, and to a lesser extent colors, though there is here great variation among us. Gifted geometers show with illustrations that they are able to imagine four-dimensional linear continua that boggle the mind of the layman, and I believe the same is true of gifted artists with regard to color.

At the same time, I certainly feel that here I am only touching an idea rather than grasping it -- or perhaps even more accurately, merely pointing to an idea dimly seen, rather than touching it -- but the kinds of difficulty I see here strike me as the kinds that we, as finite, corporeal beings, should expect to encounter as we attempt to understand the divine mode of knowledge. As a corollary to my position, I would like to suggest that the higher one rises in the continuum of intelligence, the more clearly and extensively one understands possibility in terms of continua. This claim applies to ontogeny as well as phylogeny. In terms of ontogeny, the more perfectly an individual, such as a human, understands a genus or a species, the more clearly and extensively he understands it as a continuum, and the more clearly and extensively he understands it as a continuum, the more clearly and extensively he understands the possibilities that are inherent within it. In terms of phylogeny, a type of being who is capable of understanding perfectly all genuses and species will understand all the possibilities that are inherent in reality. I do not believe humans are capable of enjoying such understanding of the entire realm of possibility, but I see no reason to think that God has not always enjoyed it.

 

References

AD -- Charles Hartshorne, Anselm’s Discovery. LaSalle, Ill.: Open Court Publishing Co., 1965.

CP -- Collected Papers of Charles Sanders Peirce, ed. by Charles Hartshorne and Paul Weiss. Cambridge, Mass.: Harvard University Press, 1960. "1.163" will mean "Volume 1, Paragraph 163."

CSPM -- Charles Hartshorne, Creative Synthesis and Philosophic Method. LaSalle, Ill.: Open Court Publishing Co., 1970.

LTR -- Charles Hartshorne’s December 16, 1980, letter to the author.

MVG -- Charles Hartshorne, Man’s Vision of God. N.Y.: Harper and Brothers, Publishers, 1941.

PGS -- The Philosophy of George Santayana, ed. by Paul Schilpp. New York: Tudor Publishing Co., 1951.

TOG -- Talk of God: Royal Institute of Philosophy Lectures. London: Macmillan and Co., Ltd., 1969.

WP -- Charles Hartshorne, Whitehead’s Philosophy: Selected Essays, 1935-1970. Lincoln: University of Nebraska Press, 1972.

 

Notes

1Readers familiar with Alvin Plantinga’s The Nature of Necessity (Oxford: The Clarendon Press 1974), chapter 8, will recognize in this quotation the distinction that Plantinga adopts under the terminology of "predicative and impredicative propositions.

2 Since to most people the denial of possible individuals is initially preposterous, I am surprised that Hartshorne does not follow Bergson in smoothing the way by playing up the contrast between two very different senses of "x was possible," one sense being retained and the other rejected. See Henri Bergson, The Creative Mind (Totowa, N.J.: Littlefield, Adams, & Co., 1965), p. 21.

3See John Morreall’s interesting discussion of "Hume’s Missing Shade of Blue," Philosophy and Phenomenological Research 42/3 (March, 1982), 407-15. Morreall argues that our ability tr, fill in a missing shade of blue is destructive of Hume’s copy theory of thought but is not incompatible with his empiricist framework.

4I would like to thank Professor Hartshorne for reading an earlier draft of this expository part of my paper and, in a very instructive letter dated June 14,1981, pointing out a misunderstanding that has now, I believe, been corrected.

5 Phil Weiss seems also to have arrived at this conclusion in his analysis of the theories of possibility of David Lewis, Nicholas Rescher, and Justus Buchler. See his "Possibility: Three Recent Ontologies," International Philosophical Quarterly 20/2 (June, 1980), 219.

6 Whether we should hold that there are an infinite number of basic continua is an interesting question that I will not take up. Hartshorne does not seem disposed to think that there are, and neither am I.

7 Strictly speaking, we cannot slice a continuum at a point because there are no points, in the sense of joints, in a continuum. Rather, the point is created by the slice.

8 Given Hartshorne’s belief that becoming is discrete, not continuous, I believe he would say that there can be no such thing as an actual continuum; any seemingly actual continuum would be illusory. See his "A Revision of Peirce’s Categories," The Monist 63/3 (July, 1980). especially 286ff.

9 Interestingly, for Hartshorne God’s power exceeds his knowledge, i.e., he can do things that he does not know he can do. My position is the opposite: God’s knowledge is greater than his power, i.e., he can know of more than he can do; e.g., he knows of the possibility of free actions by creatures but he cannot cause them to perform particular free actions.

10 Eugene Peters’ "Hartshorne on Actuality," PS 7/3 (Fall, 1977), is the only piece I knew of, other than my own, that is exclusively devoted to critical evaluation of Hartshorne’s theory of possibility. However, Theodore Vitali’s "The Peirceian Influence on Hartshorne" (PS 7/4) and the articles by David Griffin and Lewis S. Ford in Two Process Philosophers (AAR Studies in Religion, 1973:5) are excellent expository background and contain some critical remarks, especially by Ford. Also relevant to the type of analysis that I shall give is Ford’s use of set theory in his "God Infinite? A Process Perspective," The Thomist 42/1 (January, 1978), 1-13.

11 My position, I concede, as Hartshorne does about his, is "obscure and difficult" (CSPM 59), but these characteristics as contained in my position strike me as none other than the kind of obscurity and difficulty we should expect to encounter when we try to understand divine knowledge. For Peirce’s Wittgensteinian counsel on this issue see 6.508.

12 Lewis Ford notes this problem in his article, "Whitehead’s Differences from Hartshorne," in Two Process Philosophers, ed. Lewis S. Ford (Missoula, Montana: American Academy of Religion, 1973), p. 78f.

13 Because our willings are free and have temporal beginnings, we sometimes discover that when a moment of decision comes, we do not will what we had thought we would. If my argument in "Impassible Love" is correct (see Hartshorne’s response to this paper, delivered to the 1981 meeting of the Society for the Philosophy of Religion), then God can never be ignorant or mistaken about what he will will because he is always willing all that he ever will will. There is no futurity to God’s will as far as his deciding it is concerned.

Continuity, Possibility, and Omniscience: A Contrasting View

In a recent article in Process Studies, Richard Creel discusses the idea that the realm of possibility is a continuum and the implications of this idea for our understanding of God’s omniscience (PS 12:209-31). Although he agrees that the realm of possibility does form a continuum (or perhaps several continua), he nevertheless believes that it is possible for God in some sense to know all possibilities. Much of his article is devoted to defining this sense, to contrasting his view with that of Charles Hartshorne (who denies that God in this sense knows all possibilities), and to pointing out some purportedly problematic implications of Hartshorne’s view.

In addition to the intrinsic importance of this issue, more is at stake for both Creel and process thinkers. Creel relates this issue to God’s deciding about future action and to the immutability of God’s will. He thinks that unless we can define a sense in which God eternally knows all possibilities "God’s will could not be impassible and immutable because he would not be able to make his decisions about the world in advance of things actually occurring because one cannot knowledgeably and responsibly make decisions about one knows not what" (PS 12:209). Implicit in this reason is the idea that by knowing all possibilities God is able to decide his response to any combination of them. Though he may not know in advance which possibilities will be actualized, he will have already decided what he will do in any possible situation. In principle, the decisions could have been made in an eternal contemplation of all possibilities. Then when a particular situation occurs, God simply does what he had from all eternity decided that he would do in such a situation, which he had eternally contemplated as possible.1 This view has important similarities to John Cobb’s exposition of Whitehead’s view of God’s knowledge of eternal objects, though Cobb might not wish to claim that the primordial orderings of eternal objects are conscious, as Creel claims about God’s knowledge of possibilities.2

But there is much at stake for Hartshorne also. If Creel can specify a sense in which God can eternally know and pre-decide about all possibilities, he will have devised a concept of God in which God knows more than God knows according to Hartshorne’s view. Since Hartshorne admits that knowledge is a perfection, Creel’s view of God will involve a higher degree of divine perfection than Hartshorne’s. But Hartshorne insists that God is the most perfect being consistently conceivable. Thus, if Creel succeeds in his project, Hartshorne would be forced to make drastic revisions in his conception of God and therefore in his entire system.

It seems to me, however, that Creel has not succeeded in defining a sense in which possibilities are understood as constituting a continuum and yet can be eternally known in a way which would permit God to use his knowledge of them to decide his action in response to any possible situation. The first section of this paper is devoted to articulating an argument to show that no such knowledge is possible. But if (as I shall be assuming throughout this paper) possibilities do constitute a continuum, what sort of knowledge does God have of them, and how does that knowledge relate to actualities and to God’s purposes for the universe? The balance of this paper explores these issues in relation to the thought of Charles Hartshorne and, more briefly, of Alfred North Whitehead.

Creel’s Doctrine of Possibility

According to Creel, possibilities form a continuum whose points are inexhaustible even by God. To illustrate his view, he speaks of generating all isosceles triangles by rotating two sticks which are hinged at one end and joined by an elastic band at the other. By varying the angle between the sticks from 0 through 180 degrees, one will have moved through all possible isosceles triangles whose equal sides are the length of the sticks. But "it would be impossible for us or God to stop at every point along the way because such points are in principle inexhaustible" (PS 12:217). Thus, Creel admits that it is impossible to actualize all the points of a continuum. But could God explicitly think of all points (all possible isosceles triangles whose equal sides were a given length) even if they could not be actualized?

It appears crucial to Creel’s position to say that God could. In order to explain how God could pre-decide his actions in various possible situations, Creel must attribute to God a knowledge of all possibilities which is detailed enough for God to decide how to respond to each contemplated possibility; I claim that this requires that the possibility have been brought in complete detail to full conscious awareness. For if something has not been brought to full conscious awareness, would not a decision about it be a decision about one knows not what? And as Creel himself admitted (PS 12:209), one cannot responsibly make decisions about one knows not what.

But can even God have consciously thought about every possible isosceles triangle? Would not this be a way of exhausting the inexhaustible? To be sure, the object of each thought would not necessarily be exemplified in some physical object. But it is hard to see why this matters. Surely God (on the more or less traditional conception Creel has) could produce physical triangles (or physical objects instantiating particular triangular shapes) as fast as he could think of the shapes. The problem cannot be that God cannot make what he can clearly conceive. Thus it is hard to see that the inexhaustibility could lie in the impossibility of physically producing something which can be thought of; rather, it must lie in the nature of the object which is being thought of or instantiated. I should note too that it seems that Creel agrees on this point, for he states that "it is logically impossible for anyone to know as discrete all possible individuals that can possibly be excised from a continuum . . . hence, an exhaustively infinite set of individuals could not have been known by now or ever, even in the mind of God" (PS 12:217f.).

Thus my argument against Creel rests on two premises: (1) If possibilities form a dense nondenumerable continuum (as Creel admits), then they cannot all be brought to full conscious awareness as discrete items; and (2) In order to pre-decide his response to a possibility, God must have brought that possibility to full conscious awareness as a discrete item. These premises deductively imply that if possibilities form a dense continuum, then God cannot have pre-decided his response to all possibilities. Thus, if Creel is to avoid this conclusion, he must deny one of the premises, and if I am correct in thinking that he accepts the first, he would have to deny the second. Later in the paper I shall explore one possible way in which he might deny this, viz., by affirming that God gathers point-possibilities into groups when he considers them as situations or actions; but I shall not have anything to add to my argument for the second premise. Now, however, I wish to explore how these issues appear within the philosophies of Whitehead and Hartshorne.

Continuity and Possibility in Whitehead’s Thought

As we begin our discussion of Whitehead, we should recognize that Whitehead does not explicitly state whether or not he regards the realm of eternal objects as constituting a dense continuum. Thus, to attribute this view to him represents an extension of his philosophy, not simply an explication of it. Such an extension has, however, already been made by Lewis S. Ford (TPP 65). This extension has the advantage of precluding questions about how broad a range of possibilities each eternal object includes. That is, suppose that a single color is one eternal object and yet includes more than one point on the color spectrum. Then one might well ask why that putative single color cannot be analyzed into two different colors, each one occupying half of the spectrum occupied by the putative single color. Moreover, if all colors together do constitute a spectrum, one might well wonder why that spectrum has been nontemporally cut at certain points and not others, especially when comparisons of different human cultures suggest that there is no way of dividing the color spectrum which is natural even to the human species. (Of course, it is possible that the primordial envisagement creates colors each of which covers such a small portion of the spectrum that it would be compatible with any humanly or even any creaturely division into discrete colors.)

But regardless of how conclusive these reasons may or may not be, we shall consider Whitehead’s view only as so extended, for I am concerned to explore the implications of this conception of possibility. At first glance, Whitehead’s view might not seem liable to the objection which I raised against Creel’s because Whitehead explicitly denies that the pure conceptual prehensions which constitute the primordial nature are conscious. Moreover, as Ford develops this view, at no time does God consciously prehend all eternal objects (IPQ 13:361). The data of conceptual prehensions are consciously entertained only when they are synthesized with the data of physical prehensions in intellectual prehensions. Thus, God is conscious of only those eternal objects which are relevant to prehended actual occasions, and these would be only a small part of the realm of eternal objects.

In what sense does God unconsciously prehend the entire realm of eternal objects? Ford suggests that the primordial decision which constitutes the realm of eternal objects might be compared to the postulation of a set of axioms. This postulation establishes all the theorems of the system, but only gradually do they come to consciousness, and perhaps many of them never do. However, unlike the postulates of an axiomatic system, those in God’s primordial decision which establishes the realm of eternal objects can never be completely specified; Ford suggests that in this regard the primordial nature is more like human integrity, which can be expressed only in the entire lifetime of the being (IPQ 13:371-73).

Earlier I argued that it is impossible to actualize all the members of a nondenumerable multitude or to think of every one of them as a discrete object. Does the unconscious prehension of all eternal objects in the primordial nature violate this principle? As I remarked earlier, it does not appear to. Perhaps further analysis would reveal that it violates some analogous principle. But I am not inclined to pursue this point any further, for I think that there is a related point in Whitehead’s view of God which clearly does violate this principle.

I have in mind God’s intellectual feelings regarding an occasion after its concrescence is completed. Provided that there are at least two possibilities for what it could have become (e.g., the one it did become and at least one other), there is a nondenumerable set of such possibilities. For one characteristic of a dense continuum is that between any two points on it there is an inexhaustible multitude of points. Thus, there would be an inexhaustible multitude of possibilities relevant to any concrescence. Each of them could be the conceptual part of a proposition whose logical subject is the concrescent actuality. Each such proposition could be one element in an intellectual feeling whose other element was the completed occasion in its full concreteness. Now each of these intellectual feelings would be conscious. Thus, in relation to every past occasion God would have a nondenumerable multitude of conscious intellectual prehensions. This would be exhausting the inexhaustible with a vengeance!

A related problem arises in relation to God’s provision of the subjective aim for a new concrescence. God would prehend the past actual world for a new concrescence and form propositions relating various eternal objects to that world. These objects would be possible ways in which that world could be unified by the new concrescence.3 Reasoning parallel to that in the foregoing paragraph suggests that there would be a nondenumerable multitude of such possibilities for each new concrescence. The new occasion derives its initial aim from one of these possibilities. But what of the rest? Does it prehend any of them? All of them? Even though the prehensions in question are not conscious, surely one would be hesitant to attribute to a finite occasion the envisagement of a nondenumerable multitude of possibilities from which to select its subjective aim.

It may seem that this problem may not be as difficult to resolve as the previous one. For instance, it might be suggested that God provides only a selection of alternative objects (or perhaps only a selection of novel alternative objects). The occasion could then select one of those provided or select a related one derived by conceptual reversion. But this suggestion is itself in need of further development. For instance, where and how would there arise the limitation on the alternatives provided? Would God prehend them all? If not, it would seem that God’s conceptual supplementation of his physical prehensions is not complete. But if so, just how would God limit those which he provides? To be sure, the prehending entity is limited by its perspective. But all the alternatives would seem to lie within the perspective of the new occasion. Thus there are problems with the suggestion that God limits the alternatives which the concrescing occasion prehends.

Because of these problems, perhaps it might be suggested that the sheer multitude of alternative eternal objects would prevent the finite occasion from prehending more than a relatively small set of them. Which ones the occasion prehends would have to be random, for the occasion could not prehend them all and then non-randomly select some for further consideration. For a non-random selection would require that the occasion already possess a subjective aim to guide the selection, but this process is the means through which the occasion obtains its aim. Therefore, on this suggestion the occasion would prehend some eternal objects randomly selected from relevant divine prehensions and aim at one of them or at something similar obtained by reversion. We shall see that this position has similarities to Hartshorne’s view, except that it (unlike Hartshorne’s) states that the eternal objects nontemporally exist as distinct items in the continuum.

In summary, extending Whitehead’s doctrine of eternal objects to include the idea that they form a dense continuum seems to raise at least two problems: (1) it requires that God consciously prehend a nondenumerable multitude of propositions regarding every past actual occasion and (2) it requires either that a new concrescence choose its subjective aim from a nondenumerable multitude of alternatives or that this multitude somehow be restricted before all these alternatives are prehended by the occasion. Although I have suggested some ways which might be developed to solve the second problem, I can think of no way to solve the first. Since the source of these difficulties is the claim that each eternal object is a discrete entity which can be individually prehended, it might be worthwhile to examine the position of Charles Hartshorne, who denies this claim while affirming that possibilities form a dense continuum.

Continuity and Possibility in Hartshorne’s Thought

Hartshorne’s rejection of eternal objects in Whitehead’s sense constitutes one of the main differences between him and Whitehead. Hartshorne himself has called attention to this difference, as have several other scholars.4 He holds that although there are certain logical and metaphysical categories which are eternal (defined at all times and unchanging), no other possibilities are eternal. Rather, these other possibilities belong to an eternal continuum in which particular possibilities are not individually defined. Such possibilities emerge into more or less clear definition with the passage of time, as events and entities occur for which they are more or less relevant.

But no possibility, Hartshorne insists, is fully definite. Only actualities are fully definite. He writes:

There is no such thing as a possible particular. . . . Not even God can fully define a world without creating it. Possibilities are irreducibly non-particular. . . . The definite past in outlines implies its own successors, but when these are definite or actual, there will be in them that which their mere possibility failed to embrace, namely determinates corresponding to the antecedent determinables or universals. (CSPM 122)

Possibilities, then, are indefinite. But indefinite in what sense? How could two actualities instantiate the same possibility? A possibility is a way in which past actualities are (and actualities which have not yet occurred might be) similar. If two actualities are similar in some manner, that manner of similarity is a possibility which they instantiate. Thus we can see how possibilities emerge with the passage of time. As new actualities occur, they enable the more precise delineation of ways in which other actualities might be similar (to them or to other actualities).5 And since similarity is a matter of degree, possibilities are indeterminate; how much they include is not precisely specifiable.

This understanding of possibilities might occasion perplexities if similarity is understood as partial identity and partial difference. (If two things are similar, what identical quality do they have in common? Any such quality would also be a possibility, but this possibility would be a way in which the two things were identical, not just similar. The doctrine that a possibility is a similarity among things would then be otiose.) But Hartshorne claims that similarity is as ultimate as identity. Indeed, both are degrees of difference, which Hartshorne takes as a positive quality. Identity is the zero of difference, and similarity is a low degree of difference (CSPM 59).

This account of possibilities accords well with certain aspects of our experience of possibilities. Many possibilities in our experience, particularly those which fire qualities (such as red or hot), have vague boundaries. Red (hot) things are things which are similar to standard cases of red (hot) things. This is Hartshorne’s model for all possibilities. On the other hand, some possibilities in our experience do seem discrete. Some living thing is either a human being or it is not. The flip of a coin will produce a heads or a tails. In both these cases and in many more concerning which we think and make plans and decisions, the alternatives seem discrete, not continuous.

What sort of account can Hartshorne’s view give of discrete possibilities? I would suggest that the existence of such discrete possibilities always is dependent on contingencies in the development of the universe, including human history. For example, why is it that the flip of a coin will produce heads or tails? It is not because of the logical impossibility of a result in which the face of the coin makes an angle other than approximately 0 degrees with the flat surface on which the coin is flipped. It is logically possible for a coin to be inclined at any angle from 0 to 180 degrees with the surface which it touches. But a result other than approximately 0 degrees is exceedingly unlikely given the laws of nature and the characteristics of the surfaces on which we flip coins.

Suppose, however, that we were to coat the surface with a "super glue" which would cause the coin to stick at precisely the attitude at which it struck the surface. Then the result of a flip might be a coin inclined at any angle. In this situation, the possibilities would not divide into two clear discrete categories. (Of course, we would not then use a coin flip to decide things, as we do.) This is not to deny that the coin -- an actuality -- has only two faces; it is only to point out that the result of a coin flip depends on the angle which these faces make with a surface, and there is a logical possibility of any angle, not just approximately 0 degrees, for the result.

This imaginary case illustrates my point that the fact that some possibilities can be categorized into discrete categories depends on the contingencies of the world in which we live. The same point can be made in relation to the existence of different species of living things. Consider, for example, a type like the human species. The boundaries between this type and the type from which it evolved are not sharp. At present we are able to distinguish humans as distinct species from all other individuals with which we are familiar. But between humans and other species there are conceivable (but non-actual) intermediaries, and more intermediaries between the humans and certain intermediaries, and still more between the humans and them, and so forth until we come to other "types" from which we could not clearly distinguish humans; humans would blend with these other types.

Thus, that we can distinguish humans as a type from other types depends on the contingencies of our world, in particular that it came to be characterized by certain individuals and not others. (I say "not others" because it is crucial that we not be acquainted with individuals which fill what is for us a relatively clear gap between humans and nonhuman species.)6 In relation to these individuals, we are able to define a type to which they belong. That is, they are sufficiently similar to each other and sufficiently dissimilar from other individuals that we can assign them to one type. In relation to them we are also able to conceive other nonactual types to which they would be similar but from which they are also distinct -- e.g., human-like entities with a green skin or with only one eye (a Cyclops). In this way our experience of individuals of one type can enable us to conceive of other individuals of other types -- other possibilities -- which we have not experienced.

I would claim that this is also true for God. But that does not mean that 10 or 20 billion years ago, when the big bang was occurring, these types rather than others could have been distinguished, even by God. At that time there were no relevant individuals who could serve as a group to generate the idea of one type and to be a contrast for the generation of the idea of similar but distinct types. (Of course, if individuals like us existed before the big bang, then God would remember them and be consciously aware of them and of the types whose definition they enabled. Under these rather unlikely circumstances God would have conceived of the human type at the time of the big bang. But he could not have done this long before the first appearance of such individuals in some cosmic epoch before our big bang. A fortiori, he would not have conceived of them from all eternity.)

Thus on this account, though the realm of possibilities is eternal, the delineation of possibilities (universals) depends on the occurrence of actualities. For a possibility is a similarity among actualities. Since which possibilities occur is logically contingent, sub specie aeternatatis and divorced from all actualities, no possibilities could be distinguished (except perhaps for metaphysical and logical categories, to which Hartshorne believes that there are no consistent alternatives).7 Hence, it would be impossible for God from all eternity to contemplate all possibilities and pre-decide his response to every possible combination of them (as Creel holds).

Of course, this account does not preclude either God or humans from pre-deciding at one time their response to events at a later time; it precludes only such pre-decisions being made from all eternity. We have already seen how the occurrence of contingent actualities makes possible the delineation of various possibilities. Once these have been delineated, one can use them to categorize events and to pre-decide one’s response to some future event.

It is important, however, to note that both the categorization of the event and the pre decision refer not to the event or the action in its full concreteness, but only to some abstractable aspect of each. For both are done in terms of certain ways in which the event and the action are similar to other events and actions. And the fact that one thing is similar to another does not by itself allow a precise knowledge of the former even if the latter is known with complete precision.

For example, suppose that a woman decides that if she receives information today about some matter which concerns her (e.g., a medical condition), she will phone a friend to discuss the matter with him. Notice that she did not specify whether the information came by phone or letter or from whom. She did not specify exactly what the information was, how it was worded, whether it was delivered impersonally or warmly, etc. And in her response she did not decide whether she would phone immediately, how frank she would be, how she would express herself, etc. Nor is this just a correctible oversight on her part. For each of these further specifications itself still only designates an abstactable aspect of the situation or action -- i.e., a way in which the situation or action is like others. Thus, no matter how precisely she specifies the event or her response, she cannot exhaustively specify the event in its full concreteness before it occurs.8 This is why Hartshorne says that "the fulfillment of a plan, which is always an outline only, implies the plan, but the latter, being more meager in definiteness, cannot imply the fulfillment" (CSPM 122).

We should note too that it would not help Creel to claim that God categorizes situations and actions in terms of discrete possibilities covering many points on the continuum rather than in terms of precise points on the continuum. Though Hartshorne believes that God does in fact do this, it is only actualities which enable him to determine the appropriate and relevant similarities (i.e., how to gather points into appropriate groups). In abstraction from all other actualities, no way of grouping them is any more appropriate than any other. And the number of logically possible groupings would be nondenumerable, for it would be logically possible to use each point as a center for a possible grouping and to include more or fewer points in each grouping. Thus, God could not eternally group points into discrete possibilities in a way which would be relevant to whatever actualities occur.

Creel and Hartshorne on Omnipotence and Omniscience

At this point it might be appropriate to consider another argument advanced by Creel to support his view that God eternally knows all possibilities in a way which would allow him to pre-decide his response to all possible situations. He asks how God knows continua of possibilities, and he responds that it is from the combination of God’s omniscience and omnipotence. The former implies that God knows all there is to be known. But Creel sees that it would be begging the question to assume that this "all" includes familiarity with particular points on the continuum. However, he thinks that the conception of omnipotence will bridge the gap. For the "all" certainly includes God himself; and since God has the power to actualize any of the points on the continuum, by knowing his power he knows the points. As Creel says, since God has the power to create any particular shade of blue, by knowing that he has this power, he knows the shade (PS 12:223f.).9

Unfortunately, this argument also appears to beg the question. Does God know before he creates a shade the particular shade which he will create or (as we have seen that Hartshorne holds) only that he will create some such shade? If the latter, then Creel has not shown that God knows particular points. If the former, then God has already cut the continuum of possibilities at a particular point in consciously thinking of exactly that color. And even if God can do that for a few points, would Creel want to affirm that God could do it for all points? Would not this be a way of exhausting the inexhaustible, of attributing to God a knowledge of an exhaustively infinite set of individuals (contrary to PS 12:218)?

From the perspective of Hartshorne’s (and Whitehead’s) philosophy, there is a further problem with this argument of Creel’s: it assumes a model of an entity doing something which he does not accept. Creel’s model for an entity doing something seems to be something like a human driving a car or baking a cake. But this is not Hartshorne’s model at all. He would say that we can speak of an actual entity doing something in two senses: a strict, narrow sense and a broader sense.

In the narrow sense, all that an actual entity can do is to determine how it will synthesize the data from which it originates; it does this as it concresces (to borrow Whitehead’s terminology). Since the aim of this process is to become something fully definite, there is no fully definite possibility at which the occasion aims.10 Indeed, a "fully definite possibility" is, in Hartshorne’s view, a contradiction in terms. So the entity itself does not know precisely what it is becoming: rather it is aiming at becoming something like this (or similar to this: a possibility)." But as its process of concrescence proceeds, it narrows the range of possibilities more and more, until all indefiniteness is resolved and it is a fully definite thing (and the continuum of possibility has thereby been cut at one point). The foregoing description of a concrescence applies to God as well as to other actual entities; not even God knows the particular point on the continuum toward which he is concrescing until he gets there, for the only way of defining a particular point is to actualize it.

In the broader sense, we may speak of the action the entity performs in terms of its effect on subsequent actual entities. According to Hartshorne, the entity cannot control the precise effect which it has on subsequent entities; it is metaphysically necessary that the subsequent entities take account of the earlier entity, but the earlier entity cannot control exactly how the later entities take account of it. Thus, God cannot know that he will bring about a particular shade of blue in some other entity, and he cannot know in advance that he will bring it about in his own concrescence.

Divine Omniscience in Hartshorne’s View

Creel objects to Hartshorne’s view on the grounds that it raises doubts about God’s omniscience. He develops this objection in at least three ways. One is to claim that according to Hartshorne’s view, God does not know what he is doing. We have just seen that there is a sense in which this is true. God knows only that the outcome of a concrescence (his own or some finite entity’s) will be similar to X (or perhaps similar to X or to Y or to Z, etc.). Thus, we might say that God knows only the range of possibilities toward which his own concrescence is headed at any moment and the range of possibilities toward which the concrescence of some finite entity is headed. Creel wonders, then, how does God know "what he can bring about and how to bring about anything that has not already existed. Does he use trial and error," or thrash about, or experiment systematically (PS 12:225)? How could God lure into existence something he knows not what?

In part the answer to these questions has already been given. God knows the sort of thing toward which he is headed in his own concrescence and the sort of thing toward which any particular finite concrescence is headed. What God does not know is exactly what thing within that range will eventuate. But this does not imply that God must use trial and error or experiment. God everlastingly knows (i.e., knows "from all eternity") that he can determine how he integrates the data with which his own process of concrescence begins at any particular moment. He knows that those data put limits on what precise overall final state results when he completes the process of concrescence. Thus God knows the range of final states. But he does not know in advance where in that range he will come out. And he also everlastingly knows that he can influence but not completely control the process of concrescence in other entities. Thus he does not know in advance the precise outcome of any process of concrescence, including his own.

To speak of trial and error or experimenting is misleading, however, for it suggests that after practice God could eventually come to know how to bring about exactly some predetermined end. But this can never be since actuality is always more definite than possibility and since (as Hartshorne believes) all actual entities have some freedom. Thus we speak of trial and error and experimenting in the physical sciences, where we hope for repeatable results -- repeatable in certain abstract characteristics. In other words, we hope that all events in a certain series will be sufficiently similar in a certain regard. (And God knows that he -- along with the limitations provided by the other data from which a new entity originates -- can bring about the repetition of certain abstract characteristics, or there would be no "order of nature.") But if we are trying by persuasion to evoke a feeling in another person, (1) we can specify only roughly, not exactly, what we are aiming at and (2) we do not expect to get repeatable results; therefore, we do not speak of trial and error or experimenting in this context. And this context provides a better model for Hartshorne’s view of God’s action on other actualities.

A second way in which Creel develops his objection based on the implications of Hartshorne’s view for God’s omniscience is to claim that on Hartshorne s view, as time goes on God learns about new possibilities which he had not known about before. For instance, at some time in the past, God might not have known about blue or even colors in general. Thus, it seems that long ago God knew much less about possibilities than he knows now; by extrapolation, at some time in the past, God must have been "as ignorant as a clam" (PS 12:224). Creel regards these as inescapable conclusions from the premise that God learns about possibilities as time passes. I think Creel is correct in claiming that on Hartshorne’s view God learns about possibilities as time goes on; indeed, earlier portions of this paper imply that this is a consequence of any view which understands possibilities as a continuum. But I do not think that this implies that at some time in the past God was rather ignorant. That conclusion would follow only if the range of possibilities were finite, but there is no reason to think that it is. If the range is infinite, then at any point in the past, God would have known an infinity of individuals exemplifying an infinity of sub-ranges of possibilities.

I think that it nevertheless troubles Creel that God was not eternally consciously aware of something like this shade of blue. But there is no reason to be troubled by this fact provided that (as I am now assuming) (1) the range of possibilities is infinite and (2) there is no limit to how fine-grained God’s knowledge of a sub-range of possibilities might be. (To say that one’s knowledge becomes more fine-grained is to say that within a more encompassing similarity one distinguishes other less encompassing similarities and differences. For example, within the set of cars we distinguish subsets of Chevrolet Citations, Ford Escorts, Toyota Corollas, etc. All these have a similarity denoted by calling them cars; within that overall similarity, there are similarities and differences denoted by the make and model names.) These two assumptions imply that God never has an exhaustive knowledge of any sub-range of possibilities. The thoroughness of his knowledge of any two sub-ranges differs only in how fine-grained the knowledge of each is. For some sub-ranges (e.g., those which past actualities instantiated), it is much more detailed than for others (e.g., those very unlike any past actualities). But since exhaustive knowledge, a knowledge of every point on the continuum of possibilities, is impossible, it does not seem demeaning to say of God, who is in process, that the amount of detail with which he knows various sub-ranges of possibilities varies with time.

The third way in which Creel develops his criticism of the implications of Hartshorne’s view for God’s omniscience has to do with the nonrepeatability of qualities and the purported consequence that God’s memory of an event must inevitably grow more and more erroneous as time passes (PS 12:225-28). This conclusion about the divine memory would, if accurate, be a serious problem for Hartshorne’s metaphysics. How does Creel arrive at this charge? He starts with Hartshorne’s claim that "particular qualities in their absolute definiteness are irreducibly relational and historical"; therefore, they are unrepeatable (PS 12:225 citing CSPM 64). But if they are unrepeatable, then each divine occasion which remembers a particular event will differ; thus the divine memory of that event will inevitably continually change (PS 12:228). Therefore, Creel concludes, the divine memory of any particular event or individual will become increasingly inaccurate.

This argument however, rests on a failure to distinguish between the uniqueness of reaction (in Whitehead’s terminology, the subjective form) of an occasion and the uniqueness of the data. There is no requirement that each datum of an occasion be unique. To be sure, no two occasions begin with the same toted set of data, but two occasions may well begin with some data in common. And each divine occasion includes all the data of previous divine occasions and more besides. But the subjective form for any datum depends on that datum and on the total occasion of which that datum is a part. Thus, it is unique, for no two occasions have an identical set of data; and even if per impossible they did, it is virtually inconceivable that their freely chosen reaction to those data would be completely identical.

This is what Hartshorne was getting at when he wrote that particular qualities are irreducibly relational and historical. For a subjective form is irreducibly relational and historical; it is the form for this datum in this occasion. But a datum occasion, though it occurred in a particular historical context, is not in its status as a datum irreducibly relational and historical. It can be a datum -- the same datum -- for many other occasions. Non-divine occasions will inevitably abstract from the total datum and thereby lose some of it; colloquially, their memory will not be perfect. But divine occasions do not have to abstract anything from the total datum; each time the datum is included in a divine occasion, it can be included without change or modification. In short, because the nonrepeatability of qualities (as subjective forms) does not imply the non-recurrence of a datum (with its qualities) in many different occasions, the nonrepeatability of qualities does not imply the inevitable degeneration of the divine memory of individuals.

Providence in Hartshorne’s Thought

In his essay Creel is concerned to explain how God could use his knowledge of all possibilities to pre-decide his response to all possible states of affairs. Then as God learned what transpired in the world (which, because of creaturely freedom, he could not foreknow), God would simply do what he had already decided he would do in that situation. Thus Creel was concerned with how God’s knowledge of possibilities and actualities would be used in his providential guidance of the world. Before concluding this paper, we might also examine Hartshorne’s view on these topics.

Such an examination is all the more necessary because it has been charged that Hartshorne’s doctrine of divine providence amounts to little more than divine imposition of the laws of nature on the universe (Lewis S. Ford in TPP 75-80). It must be granted that there are elements in Hartshorne’s writings to support this charge. Usually when he speaks of providence, he illustrates it with God’s providing the laws of nature (LP 110) or setting limits to chaos and chance (DR 137; LP 206,295). Moreover, he often says that God does this by setting limits to the range of creaturely freedom (e.g., DR 142). And Ford cites a passage in which Hartshorne calls God’s selection of the laws of nature which characterize the universe "a ‘lure,’ an irresistable datum, for all ordinary acts of synthesis" (TPP 77, citing WEP 21).12

Hartshorne’s writings, however, contain other ideas which suggest that God’s providential role in the world is richer and less coercive than can be gleaned from the foregoing account. For instance, Hartshorne says that God does for the world everything which he should do for it (DR 24). Though this is merely a formula without specific content, it might prove possible to fill it out by arguing that among the things which God should do for the world is to provide some direction to the overall course of human history and perhaps indications of preference regarding some human choices. For if God is concerned, as Hartshorne says, to provide a world in which there is an optimum mix of opportunities and risks (LP 231), then surely that might include more specific influences than just the provision of laws of nature.

Moreover, there is at least one indication that the laws of nature should be construed as statistical tendencies in the behavior and relations of the actual entities in the universe rather than being divine impositions, as Ford charges. In The Logic of Perfection, as part of his argument against determinism, Hartshorne writes that "plural freedom cannot be ordered (no matter by whom) save approximately and statistically" (LP 189). This accords well with Hartshorne’s claim that no plan or intention is ever as specific as what results from carrying it out; therefore, the end result cannot be exactly specified, even by God (CSPM 66).

Third, it is noteworthy that in Man’s Vision of God Hartshorne distinguishes between God’s "purpose as laid down before all the worlds, or rather before each and every world" -- which is part of God’s eternal and unchanging aspect -- and "the more and more particular purposes which mark the approach to, and . . . , the achievements of purpose which mark arrival at, any given point of time" (MVG 237, my italics). This passage, especially the italicized part, clearly suggests that Hartshorne attributes to God particular purposes for particular moments. It further suggests that as the world process moves nearer a given point in time, God’s purposes for events at that point are constantly subject to modification and more precise specification. If God has such purposes for particular moments, there is no reason to doubt that those purposes may influence what transpires.

Finally, one of Hartshorne’s favorite analogies for the God-universe relation is the mind-body relation. The human mind influences the human body by desiring and choosing certain states of affairs. These choices by the mind set conditions of which occasions which constitute various parts of the body must take account as they concresce. These conditions strongly influence those occasions, but they do not determine what those occasions will do. Indeed, the occasions may not do anything like what was desired or chosen (as when one’s muscles will not respond because of the excessive accumulation of lactic acid). This analogy suggests two things: (1) God, like the mind of a human being, may have specific intentions for part of his body that do not pertain (except very indirectly) to the rest; and (2) God may wish to influence part of the created order by his desires or preferences for it and not be certain of success.

The mind-body analogy can be further developed as a model for how God influences particular occasions. Each new occasion in our body feels, as part of its past, occasions which are members of the society of occasions which constitute the mind of human being. If these occasions had choices which were relevant to the new occasion, it would feel them and be influenced (but not completely determined) by them. Of course, the occasions which it is feeling were themselves responding to their past actual worlds, which would not be identical with the new occasion’s. But if the world has not changed too rapidly (and usually it does not, or we would not survive), the choices made by the presiding occasions will, if followed by the new occasion, produce appropriate actions.

Analogously, a new finite occasion might feel a divine occasion’s feeling of its (the divine occasion’s) past world and its reaction (subjective form) regarding that world (or some aspect of it), and the new occasion might be influenced by that feeling. To be sure, the new occasion’s past would not be identical with the divine occasion’s, for the divine occasion which began at the same time as the finite occasion could not be prehended by that occasion. So the new occasion would be influenced by divine occasions which began and ended before it began its concrescence. But the analogous situation in humans does not usually cause inappropriate actions. And if divine occasions have a much higher frequency than finite occasions, the new finite occasion could prehend a divine occasion which started only a very brief time before it did. Surely their worlds would be similar enough to make the influence of the divine occasion highly relevant to it.

I would suggest that the new occasion might include in its data a divine feeling of preference that certain developments occur in that place. Of course, as we have seen, such a preference can only mean the preference that something like this happen, since it is impossible to specify in advance exactly what will happen, for the actual is always more definite than the possible or the imagined. But in this way a divine preference that a certain development occur might influence the course of the universe in specific ways at specific points in space and time.

This model differs in important ways from Whitehead’s with regard to the source of novelty in the world. On Whitehead’s view a concrescing occasion begins with definite novel forms provided by God and eventually selects one of them as its subjective aim. It selects from among these definite forms, but it does not further define them. On Hartshorne’s view God has (feels) a preference that the occasion concresce into something similar to a certain form. The form God has in mind has already been realized elsewhere or is a combination of such forms. But on this view there are no completely definite forms provided by God (or any other entity) from among which the concrescing occasion chooses its subjective aim. Without any completely definite form as a guide, the occasion must itself decide how it will synthesize the data from its past, including God’s preferential feeling. The result of this process is productive of a new actuality and thus of new forms of definiteness (in the sense of new ways in which actualities may be similar to each other). Novel forms emerge in the process; they do not exist nontemporally as a lure for the process. In the process of self-determination, the concrescence is not without aim or direction, for its prehension of other actual entities’ preferences provides a variety of rough aims. But for Hartshorne, unlike Whitehead, these aims are not eternally definite forms made relevant by God, but rather temporally emergent forms to which it could become something similar.

This completes our examination of Hartshorne’s views on the issues under discussion in this paper. It does seem to me that those views, unlike Creel’s, raise no irresolvable problems. Therefore, if possibilities do form a dense continuum, there is no reason to think that God as Hartshorne conceives of him is less than maximally perfect. But (apart from the briefest of hints in the discussion of Whitehead) nothing has been said to establish this idea of possibilities. Such a task must await another occasion.

 

References:

CNT -- John B. Cobb, Jr., A Christian Natural Theology: Based on the Thought of Alfred North Whitehead. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1965.

CSPM -- Charles Hartshorne, Creative Synthesis and Philosophic Method. LaSalle, Illinois: Open Court Publishing Co., 1970.

DR -- Charles Hartshorne, The Divine Relativity. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1948.

IPQ 13/3 -- International Philosophical Quarterly for Lewis S. Ford, "The Non-Temporality of Whitehead’s God," IPQ 13/3 (September, 1973), 349-76.

LP. -- Charles Hartshorne, The Logic of Perfection. LaSalle, Illinois: Open Court Publishing Co., 1962.

MVG -- Charles Hartshorne, Man’s Vision of God. New York: Harper & Row, Inc., 1941.

PPCT -- Process Philosophy and Christian Thought, ed. Delwin Brown, Ralph E. James, Jr., and Gene Reeves. Indianapolis:

The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1971, for Lewis S. Ford, "Divine Persuasion and the Triumph of Good," pp. 287-304.

TPP -- Lewis S. Ford (ed.), Two Process Philosophers. Tallahassee, Florida: American Academy of Religion, 1973.

WEP -- Alfred North Whitehead: Essays on His Philosophy, ed. George L. Kline. Englewood Cliffs, New Jersey: Prentice-Hall, Inc., 1963, for Charles Hartshorne, "Whitehead’s Novel Intuition," pp. 18-32.

 

Notes

1Clearly, this reason presupposes the denial of the Thomistic (and Boethian) doctrine that God knows all actualities in one eternal now, a doctrine which was crucial to Thomas’s defense of the impassibility and immutability of God’s will. Consideration of this doctrine, however, is not part of Creel’s paper nor of this one.

2 Cobb writes that "God’s ordering of possibilities is such that every possible state of the actual world is already envisioned as possible and every possible development from that actual state of the world is envisioned and appraised" (CNT 155f.). I am troubled by the idea of an unconscious appraisal of all eternal objects in relation to a possible world which is envisioned in all its detail, and Cobb does not comment explicitly on whether this appraisal is conscious or not. He does report Whitehead’s claim that pure conceptual feelings are not conscious and that God’s primordial nature therefore is not conscious (CNT 163f.). If he applies this consistently, it would seem that he would have to say that God’s primordial orderings of eternal objects are also unconscious and presumably also his primordial appraisal of developments from each possible state of the world. But perhaps he would think that the problem of the consciousness of the appraisals arises only because I am drawing too sharp a distinction between the primordial and consequent natures, a charge he levels at some of Whitehead’s formulations (CNT 178).

3 I am following Lewis S. Ford s interpretation of how God provides the initial aim (PPCT 292n9). It would appear to be open to a problem similar to the one mentioned in the previous paragraph. For God would entertain propositions about how an actual world might be unified by a new concrescence; these could be contrasted with that actual world, thus generating conscious, intellectual feelings. If for each actual world there is a dense multitude of such propositions and therefore of such intellectual feelings, we would have to conclude that God has a nondenumerable multitude of conscious prehensions for every past actual world, as he has for every actual occasion which has completed its concrescence.

4 For Hartshorne, see CSPM 58f.; David B. Griffin has discussed this from Hartshorne’s perspective and Lewis S. Ford from Whitehead’s perspective in TPP 37-40 and 58-65, respectively.

5 To adapt an example from Hartshorne, before Shakespeare was born there was the possibility "lover of writers" and the more specific possibility "lover of playwrights." But after he died, there was the still more specific possibility "lover of Shakespeare." The actuality, William Shakespeare the playwright, had created the possibility of future actualities each of whom loved not just playwrights in general but specifically Shakespeare; this would be a similarity among those actualities, a similarity whose delineation was enabled by the actuality which was Shakespeare.

6 Of course, if such intermediary individuals did exist, we still might distinguish humans from them by using criteria other than the biological classificatory systems now in use. But we could not do this unless there were a clear gap with regard to the new criteria between these intermediaries and humans. Thus this case would not be a counterexample to my claim.

7 Not even these possibilities constitute an exception to the principle that the definition of possibilities depends on actualities. For they constitute the eternal nature of God and thus are always instantiated by an actuality.

8 In Hartshorne’s terminology, both the envisioned situation and the pre-decided action are determinables, whereas the actual event and the actual action are determinates; but the fully determinate event and action which subsequently occur are not included in their full determinateness in the determinable (CSPM 64f.).

9 This position of Creel’s has obvious similarities with the doctrine of traditional Christian theism that by knowing himself God knows all possible ways in which he might be imitated and thus knows all possible creatures.

10 On this matter there is an important difference between Whitehead and Harts-borne. Whitehead would say that the occasion aims at a fully definite possibility (the eternal object), hut the aim of the concrescence is to become something fully determinate, not just something fully definite. The determinate differs from the definite in that the former includes location in a nexus of actual entities including the past actual world from which an occasion emerged, while the latter does not. (See Whitehead’s account in the twentieth category of explanation in PR 251 38).

11To be sure, if the possibility aimed at is a discrete one (as it often is in human concerns), then one can aim at this possibility (and not just something like it). But that is only because a discrete possibility is itself a collection of points which are grouped together in light of their similarity to and differences from certain actualities. Thus to aim explicitly at a discrete possibility is to aim implicitly at becoming similar to something.

12 The passage, however, may not point unambiguously to Ford’s interpretation of Hartshorne’s view. For the phrase ‘irresistible datum’ is in apposition to the word ‘lure’; this suggests to me that we should not make too much of the word ‘irresistible’; moreover, every datum is irresistible for later occasions in its facticity, though not in the use which they make of it. And there is evidence in Hartshorne’s writings that he recognizes that not even God can completely control the use which an occasion makes of its prehension of him (e.g., the passage cited below in the text about the impossibility of anything more than an approximate ordering of plural freedom).

The Basingers on Divine Omnipotence: A Further Point

Recently in these pages David and Randall Basinger discussed the classical and the process theologians’ indictments of each other with respect to the relation between evil and divine omnipotence. According to them, the classical theologian indicts the process theologian with "forfeiting a meaningful notion of divine omnipotence," while the latter indicts the former with "proposing a view of divine omnipotence that makes the problem of evil insoluble" (PS 11:11). The Basingers argue that neither indictment holds.

To do this, they begin by noting David Griffin’s discussion in GPE between "I" omnipotence and "C" omnipotence.

The proponent of "I" omnipotence . . . maintains that "an omnipotent being can unilaterally affect any state of affairs, if that state of affairs is intrinsically possible. . ." (GPE 270). On the other hand, the proponent of "C" omnipotence maintains that it is not logically possible for God to unilaterally control the activities of self-determining beings, even if such activities are intrinsically possible. (PS 11:13)

They then argue that only "C" omnipotence is defensible even by a classical theist. The crucial moves in this argument are two: (1) Though it is logically possible that a free being always choose what is right, God cannot make a free being choose what is right. Therefore, if there are free (self-determining) beings, God cannot control what they do. (2) If there are free beings, they must have a regular natural order in which to exercise their freedom, and such an order will inevitably result in certain events that are of the sort traditionally termed natural evils. Having shown that the classical theist must adopt "C" omnipotence, they conclude that the classical theist "must affirm a notion of omnipotence practically identical to that of the process theist" (PS 11:23).

For the purpose of this discussion, I wish to accept their argument as outlined and to ask whether there remain any differences in the area of beliefs about divine omnipotence and creaturely self-determination that might provide a basis for choosing between classical and process theologies. Regarding the latter, classical theologians typically limit self-determining (free) creatures on this earth to humans (Or perhaps also to certain higher animals),1 while process theologians typically would affirm that creative self-determination is characteristic of all beings. There are at least two important implications of this difference. First, for the process theist the natural order has value in itself and not just as a sphere in which free creatures can grow to moral maturity (as the Basingers imply for the classical theist). Second, the regularity of the natural order is therefore seen by the process theist as important for the sake of all beings and not just for free beings.

The classical theist has to limit divine omnipotence only because of points (1) and (2) above. That is, God is limited in what states of affairs he creates only in order to preserve creaturely freedom and to provide a natural order in which this freedom may be exercised. But the process theist would insist that God must always work with an already existing creaturely order and that changes in this order can therefore come about only gradually through the agency of divine persuasion.

When these two differences are combined with what we know about the history of the universe and of our earth, it would seem that the process view is much more plausible. If the universe began several billion years ago and went through billions of years of development before any life was possible, one must ask the classical theist the point of this extended period of development. Why did not God simply create the universe in such a condition that it was ready for life (or intelligent life, or whatever is required for creatures who act freely)? The same question applies in particular to our own Earth. There were billions of years of development before life (or intelligent life, or creatures who act freely) appeared. Why? According to the classical view of God, God could have skipped all this; according to the process view he could not. Moreover, the classical view implies that these years were pointless; the process view does not.

At this point, I can see two possible replies by classical theists. One would be to insist -- as Plantinga does in his reply to the Basingers’ article (PS 11:25-29) -- that they are concerned only with showing that admitting the existence of evil is not inconsistent with adherence to a "C"-omnipotent classical idea of God. Therefore, they are not required to explain why the universe in general and our planet in particular went through this long process of development; presumably God has his reasons, which God need not disclose to human beings.

This reply might be impeccable on logical grounds, but it will satisfy only those who are already absolutely sure that their belief in God is correct. But any classical theists who admit that their belief is only the most plausible conclusion based on the evidence available must regard this difficulty as another bit of evidence against their idea.

That is, the classical theists must so regard it unless they also adopt some sort of panpsychism. (This is the second reply available to the classical theist.) Adopting this alternative would, of course, mean not merely that there are some possible created worlds over which God does not have complete control. It would mean accepting the principle that to be is to be (partially) self-creative. I know nothing in classical theism that would preclude accepting this principle despite its rarity in classical theism. But if it were accepted, would there be anything left of the classical idea of God as omnipotent besides the term? The Basingers’ conclusion "that even when starting with classical premises one still ends up with process-like conclusions concerning divine power" (PS 11:23) would seem to apply even more thoroughly than they realized, for it would seem that the classical theist would have to accept the view that God cannot create without limiting his power.2

 

References:

GPE -- David Griffin. God, Power and Evil: A Process Theodicy. Philadelphia: The Westminster Press, 1976.

 

Notes:

1C. S. Lewis speculates that animals may attain a sort of selfhood in relation to human beings. See The Problem of Pain (London: Fontana Books, 1961), chapter 8.

2One final distinction suggests itself: the classical theist insists that God is free to create or not to create, while the process theist holds that God must create. But does even this distinction still apply? It does for process theism of Hartshorne’s type, but perhaps not for Whitehead’s. As early as 1970, Ford argued cogently that Whitehead’s metaphysics imply that God made a primordial decision so to constitute the metaphysical principles as to make a universe of some sort either necessary or impossible, though not contingent. So perhaps process theism can agree on the nonnecessity of God’s creating a universe. See Lewis S. Ford, ‘The Viability of Whitehead’s God for Christian Theology." Proceedings of the American Catholic Philosophical Association 44 (1970), 141-51.

God as Thelarrhenic

Recent papers on process thought and feminism have used the term "androgynous to depict the range of maleness/femaleness expressed in both humans and God.1 In a similar sense, "gynandrous" has been proposed.2 To be sure, the aim is to capture, by means of an appropriate term, the rich texture of human differences, that one is neither strictly "female" or "male" but a creative combination of the qualities historically assigned to both. The aim of this note is to illuminate certain problems generated by the appropriation of the terms "androgynous" and "gynandrous" in process theology.

Botanists have used these terms for many years. Androgynous and gynandrous have precise meanings with neither term being the obverse of the other. Strictly, androgynous refers to an inflorescence (group of flowers on a stalk or in a head) with the staminate (male) flowers located above or inside and the pistillate (female) flowers located below or outside. Gynecandrous (not gynandrous) is precisely opposite: an inflorescence with the pistillate flowers above, the staminate flowers below. Both terms imply a spatial arrangement of female/male flowers. Moreover, in human physiology, androgyny and gynandry refer to abnormal human sexual development in which an admixture of male/female sexual organs is present in one human. In plant taxonomy gynandrous refers to a fusion of male flowers (stamens, actually) on a style (part of the pistil or female reproductive structure) such as in orchids and milkweeds. Again, the term implies a spatial organization, and in Greek it means "of doubtful sex, an appropriate term for the physically abnormal intersexed humans referred to above.

The term called for, I think, is one which means that, in the case of flowers or animals, both female and male parts are present (and functional!) within one flower or one organism. Two terms could be used (from systematic botany): (a) hermaphrodite (from Lat., hermaphroditus, having the characteristics of both male and female), i.e., an individual biologically with both sex organs (unfortunately, the term is applied also to humans who possess both female and male sex organs); (b) monoclinous (Gk.,monos, one + kline, a bed), i.e., a plant having flowers with both stamens and pistils -- without regard to their spatial arrangement (such flowers are said to be perfect). One must not forget that, in systematic botany, androgynous means the male flowers are above (superior to, as botanists say) the female flowers, which is hardly the image intended by the appropriation of the term by process theologians. Certainly the terms could be invested with new meanings, but I prefer using a term which does not imply either spatial positioning or abnormality. Possibly the best term from systematic botany would be monoecy (Gk., one house) which refers to plants possessing both male and female flowers (i.e., the flowers themselves are unisexual or imperfect, as contrasted to bisexual or perfect), as, for example, in maize or oak trees.

Perhaps a new term might be coined, one which would not carry all the technical freight of the terms discussed above. By combining two Greek words for feminine and masculine traits, viz., thelis (female, fruitful, prolific, nourishing, tender, delicate) and arrhen (male, masculine, manly, strong), the word "thelarrheny" can be invented.3 Thelarrheny expresses the view that humans combine the traits (but not physical sex organs) of both female and male. Hence, one could talk of God and ourselves as thelarrhenic. Note that the root "thel-" should come first (at least for euphonic reasons), a shift which should please everyone.

This note is a pitch from a botanist. Perhaps psychologists might invent a better word!

 

Notes:

1John B. Cobb, Jr., "Feminism and process thought: a two-way relationship," pp. 32-61 in Feminism and Process Thought, ed. S. G. Davaney, (New York: Edwin Mellen Press, 1981). V. C. Saiving, "Androgynous life: a feminist appropriation of process thought," pp.11-31 in that same volume.

2John B. Cobb, Jr., op. cit.

3 The meanings of the Greek words are from Liddel & Scott’s Greek-English Lexicon, 25th edition (Chicago: Follett Publishing Company, 1938).