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2.0
Literary Systems Theory
There is a style of English philosophy which I find impenetrable. I understand the individual words, the import of the sentences, and (mostly) the thrust of the paragraphs. Yet I clearly fail to get the point of the whole. Murdoch, in this her most famous philosophical work, presents an example of my difficulty.
There is no doubt about Murdoch’s erudition, nor about her literary cogency. But the whole of Metaphysics reads like fragments of a private conversation which the reader is overhearing (the dedication to the Cambridge philosopher and devout Catholic, Elizabeth Anscombe, provides a clue as to her intended interlocutor). There is no context given such as the question being posed, or the nature of the answer provided. Instead there is a sea of literary and philosophical free association. Paragraphs run on for pages as the associations multiply and ramify. If an argument is present it is overwhelmed by the presentation of random opinions, no doubt interesting but mainly distracting from the main line of thought, whatever that might be.
Within this mass certain ideas seem to appear, only to disappear beneath the waves of further rambling discourse. The first, and therefore what I take to be the central idea of the book, is that of the aesthetic idea of a whole. This, for Murdoch, is a mode of appreciation: “The urge to prove that where we intuit unity there really is unity is a deep emotional motive to philosophy, to art, to thinking itself. Intellect is naturally one-making.”
Her claim, with no further proof, is that “The idea of a self-contained unity or limited whole is a fundamental instinctive concept.” I not so sure about this. Analysis breaks down any whole into independent components. And English empiricism itself is nothing if not analytical. There are any number of reductionist philosophers and scientists who would claim that thinking in wholes is a piece of mystical claptrap, and not a natural thing at all but an unfortunately learned error.
Not that I disagree with Murdoch about the importance of thinking in terms of wholes. This is what is commonly referred to as ‘systems thinking’. But what she thinks of as “the calming whole-making tendencies of human thought,” again without any evidence of this assertion, is highly questionable. Murdoch seems bent on projecting her personal experience. Thinking in wholes, as it were, is often extremely disruptive. Marx did it, for example, with some less than calming effects.
In her continuous referencing and cross-referencing, Murdoch also contradicts herself. She seems intuitively aware that the thrust of systems thinking is toward the consideration of ever larger wholes. This leads intellectually with a certain inevitability to theology (although her leap to Christian theology is more than a bit premature - yet another thing she deems it unnecessary to account for). She points out the historical effect of this: “The violence of shock and paradox has of course always been at home in Christianity ever since Paul made his point of preaching not just Christ but Christ crucified.” Indeed, violence and shock, as well as war and strife and a great deal of human misery. Not, therefore, all that calming.
Her second idea is the distinction between fact and value. I find it so convoluted as to be baffling. I think the reason for my confusion (and it is undoubtedly mine) is that throughout her discussion of ‘attention’ as the key to the appreciation of unity*, she makes absolutely no reference to the idea of human (or for that matter divine) purpose. We pay attention for a reason, not because it is an abstractly admirable human trait. We pay attention to get something we want or avoid something we don’t, to solve a problem or to establish that a problem exists.
Attention in other words is a consequence of what we value. We only go about establishing the ‘parameters’ of our attention, that is to say, the facts, because they are relevant to what we value, which is another way of describing our purpose. In short, fact and value cannot be separated for the simple reason that without value there is no fact. To put it in her terms, thinking in wholes creates a certain class of things known as facts. Attending to value as both facts and sources of facts is therefore pivotal in our existence. Our aesthetic determines what we perceive, what we are capable of perceiving.
Murdoch is very big on teleology as a cosmic principle. But she has no apparent use for purpose on a human scale, addressing real issues of well-being and justice. She therefore can’t see that her aesthetic theory has direct and practical ethical content without the need for Christianity or any other doctrinal religion. There are larger and lesser purposes, that is, intentions and systems of intentions that contain other intentions within them. In other words there are better and worse aesthetics depending upon which includes another totally within it.
Whether or not this view is compatible with Murdoch’s is a question beyond my limited intellect. Perhaps someone better equipped will be able to answer. But it seems to me a monumental self-indulgence to put into print a sort 0f random compendium of philosophical notes no matter how profound. There are better ways of spending one’s time than trying to discern her point or her intention.
*It is here too that Murdoch makes a rather substantial theological error while attending to enormous amounts of marginal material, when she says that it is crucial “to attend upon the grace that comes through faith.” Sadly, orthodox doctrine has it exactly the other way round: faith is the product of grace. And attending to faith is a very different matter, especially for an intellectual.
There is a style of English philosophy which I find impenetrable. I understand the individual words, the import of the sentences, and (mostly) the thrust of the paragraphs. Yet I clearly fail to get the point of the whole. Murdoch, in this her most famous philosophical work, presents an example of my difficulty.
There is no doubt about Murdoch’s erudition, nor about her literary cogency. But the whole of Metaphysics reads like fragments of a private conversation which the reader is overhearing (the dedication to the Cambridge philosopher and devout Catholic, Elizabeth Anscombe, provides a clue as to her intended interlocutor). There is no context given such as the question being posed, or the nature of the answer provided. Instead there is a sea of literary and philosophical free association. Paragraphs run on for pages as the associations multiply and ramify. If an argument is present it is overwhelmed by the presentation of random opinions, no doubt interesting but mainly distracting from the main line of thought, whatever that might be.
Within this mass certain ideas seem to appear, only to disappear beneath the waves of further rambling discourse. The first, and therefore what I take to be the central idea of the book, is that of the aesthetic idea of a whole. This, for Murdoch, is a mode of appreciation: “The urge to prove that where we intuit unity there really is unity is a deep emotional motive to philosophy, to art, to thinking itself. Intellect is naturally one-making.”
Her claim, with no further proof, is that “The idea of a self-contained unity or limited whole is a fundamental instinctive concept.” I not so sure about this. Analysis breaks down any whole into independent components. And English empiricism itself is nothing if not analytical. There are any number of reductionist philosophers and scientists who would claim that thinking in wholes is a piece of mystical claptrap, and not a natural thing at all but an unfortunately learned error.
Not that I disagree with Murdoch about the importance of thinking in terms of wholes. This is what is commonly referred to as ‘systems thinking’. But what she thinks of as “the calming whole-making tendencies of human thought,” again without any evidence of this assertion, is highly questionable. Murdoch seems bent on projecting her personal experience. Thinking in wholes, as it were, is often extremely disruptive. Marx did it, for example, with some less than calming effects.
In her continuous referencing and cross-referencing, Murdoch also contradicts herself. She seems intuitively aware that the thrust of systems thinking is toward the consideration of ever larger wholes. This leads intellectually with a certain inevitability to theology (although her leap to Christian theology is more than a bit premature - yet another thing she deems it unnecessary to account for). She points out the historical effect of this: “The violence of shock and paradox has of course always been at home in Christianity ever since Paul made his point of preaching not just Christ but Christ crucified.” Indeed, violence and shock, as well as war and strife and a great deal of human misery. Not, therefore, all that calming.
Her second idea is the distinction between fact and value. I find it so convoluted as to be baffling. I think the reason for my confusion (and it is undoubtedly mine) is that throughout her discussion of ‘attention’ as the key to the appreciation of unity*, she makes absolutely no reference to the idea of human (or for that matter divine) purpose. We pay attention for a reason, not because it is an abstractly admirable human trait. We pay attention to get something we want or avoid something we don’t, to solve a problem or to establish that a problem exists.
Attention in other words is a consequence of what we value. We only go about establishing the ‘parameters’ of our attention, that is to say, the facts, because they are relevant to what we value, which is another way of describing our purpose. In short, fact and value cannot be separated for the simple reason that without value there is no fact. To put it in her terms, thinking in wholes creates a certain class of things known as facts. Attending to value as both facts and sources of facts is therefore pivotal in our existence. Our aesthetic determines what we perceive, what we are capable of perceiving.
Murdoch is very big on teleology as a cosmic principle. But she has no apparent use for purpose on a human scale, addressing real issues of well-being and justice. She therefore can’t see that her aesthetic theory has direct and practical ethical content without the need for Christianity or any other doctrinal religion. There are larger and lesser purposes, that is, intentions and systems of intentions that contain other intentions within them. In other words there are better and worse aesthetics depending upon which includes another totally within it.
Whether or not this view is compatible with Murdoch’s is a question beyond my limited intellect. Perhaps someone better equipped will be able to answer. But it seems to me a monumental self-indulgence to put into print a sort 0f random compendium of philosophical notes no matter how profound. There are better ways of spending one’s time than trying to discern her point or her intention.
*It is here too that Murdoch makes a rather substantial theological error while attending to enormous amounts of marginal material, when she says that it is crucial “to attend upon the grace that comes through faith.” Sadly, orthodox doctrine has it exactly the other way round: faith is the product of grace. And attending to faith is a very different matter, especially for an intellectual.
blackoxford's review against another edition
2.0
Literary Systems Theory
There is a style of English philosophy which I find impenetrable. I understand the individual words, the import of the sentences, and (mostly) the thrust of the paragraphs. Yet I clearly fail to get the point of the whole. Murdoch, in this her most famous philosophical work, presents an example of my difficulty.
There is no doubt about Murdoch’s erudition, nor about her literary cogency. But the whole of Metaphysics reads like fragments of a private conversation which the reader is overhearing (the dedication to the Cambridge philosopher and devout Catholic, Elizabeth Anscombe, provides a clue as to her intended interlocutor). There is no context given such as the question being posed, or the nature of the answer provided. Instead there is a sea of literary and philosophical free association. Paragraphs run on for pages as the associations multiply and ramify. If an argument is present it is overwhelmed by the presentation of random opinions, no doubt interesting but mainly distracting from the main line of thought, whatever that might be.
Within this mass certain ideas seem to appear, only to disappear beneath the waves of further rambling discourse. The first, and therefore what I take to be the central idea of the book, is that of the aesthetic idea of a whole. This, for Murdoch, is a mode of appreciation: “The urge to prove that where we intuit unity there really is unity is a deep emotional motive to philosophy, to art, to thinking itself. Intellect is naturally one-making.”
Her claim, with no further proof, is that “The idea of a self-contained unity or limited whole is a fundamental instinctive concept.” I not so sure about this. Analysis breaks down any whole into independent components. And English empiricism itself is nothing if not analytical. There are any number of reductionist philosophers and scientists who would claim that thinking in wholes is a piece of mystical claptrap, and not a natural thing at all but an unfortunately learned error.
Not that I disagree with Murdoch about the importance of thinking in terms of wholes. This is what is commonly referred to as ‘systems thinking’. But what she thinks of as “the calming whole-making tendencies of human thought,” again without any evidence of this assertion, is highly questionable. Murdoch seems bent on projecting her personal experience. Thinking in wholes, as it were, is often extremely disruptive. Marx did it, for example, with some less than calming effects.
In her continuous referencing and cross-referencing, Murdoch also contradicts herself. She seems intuitively aware that the thrust of systems thinking is toward the consideration of ever larger wholes. This leads intellectually with a certain inevitability to theology (although her leap to Christian theology is more than a bit premature - yet another thing she deems it unnecessary to account for). She points out the historical effect of this: “The violence of shock and paradox has of course always been at home in Christianity ever since Paul made his point of preaching not just Christ but Christ crucified.” Indeed, violence and shock, as well as war and strife and a great deal of human misery. Not, therefore, all that calming.
Her second idea is the distinction between fact and value. I find it so convoluted as to be baffling. I think the reason for my confusion (and it is undoubtedly mine) is that throughout her discussion of ‘attention’ as the key to the appreciation of unity*, she makes absolutely no reference to the idea of human (or for that matter divine) purpose. We pay attention for a reason, not because it is an abstractly admirable human trait. We pay attention to get something we want or avoid something we don’t, to solve a problem or to establish that a problem exists.
Attention in other words is a consequence of what we value. We only go about establishing the ‘parameters’ of our attention, that is to say, the facts, because they are relevant to what we value, which is another way of describing our purpose. In short, fact and value cannot be separated for the simple reason that without value there is no fact. To put it in her terms, thinking in wholes creates a certain class of things known as facts. Attending to value as both facts and sources of facts is therefore pivotal in our existence. Our aesthetic determines what we perceive, what we are capable of perceiving.
Murdoch is very big on teleology as a cosmic principle. But she has no apparent use for purpose on a human scale, addressing real issues of well-being and justice. She therefore can’t see that her aesthetic theory has direct and practical ethical content without the need for Christianity or any other doctrinal religion. There are larger and lesser purposes, that is, intentions and systems of intentions that contain other intentions within them. In other words there are better and worse aesthetics depending upon which includes another totally within it.
Whether or not this view is compatible with Murdoch’s is a question beyond my limited intellect. Perhaps someone better equipped will be able to answer. But it seems to me a monumental self-indulgence to put into print a sort 0f random compendium of philosophical notes no matter how profound. There are better ways of spending one’s time than trying to discern her point or her intention.
*It is here too that Murdoch makes a rather substantial theological error while attending to enormous amounts of marginal material, when she says that it is crucial “to attend upon the grace that comes through faith.” Sadly, orthodox doctrine has it exactly the other way round: faith is the product of grace. And attending to faith is a very different matter, especially for an intellectual.
There is a style of English philosophy which I find impenetrable. I understand the individual words, the import of the sentences, and (mostly) the thrust of the paragraphs. Yet I clearly fail to get the point of the whole. Murdoch, in this her most famous philosophical work, presents an example of my difficulty.
There is no doubt about Murdoch’s erudition, nor about her literary cogency. But the whole of Metaphysics reads like fragments of a private conversation which the reader is overhearing (the dedication to the Cambridge philosopher and devout Catholic, Elizabeth Anscombe, provides a clue as to her intended interlocutor). There is no context given such as the question being posed, or the nature of the answer provided. Instead there is a sea of literary and philosophical free association. Paragraphs run on for pages as the associations multiply and ramify. If an argument is present it is overwhelmed by the presentation of random opinions, no doubt interesting but mainly distracting from the main line of thought, whatever that might be.
Within this mass certain ideas seem to appear, only to disappear beneath the waves of further rambling discourse. The first, and therefore what I take to be the central idea of the book, is that of the aesthetic idea of a whole. This, for Murdoch, is a mode of appreciation: “The urge to prove that where we intuit unity there really is unity is a deep emotional motive to philosophy, to art, to thinking itself. Intellect is naturally one-making.”
Her claim, with no further proof, is that “The idea of a self-contained unity or limited whole is a fundamental instinctive concept.” I not so sure about this. Analysis breaks down any whole into independent components. And English empiricism itself is nothing if not analytical. There are any number of reductionist philosophers and scientists who would claim that thinking in wholes is a piece of mystical claptrap, and not a natural thing at all but an unfortunately learned error.
Not that I disagree with Murdoch about the importance of thinking in terms of wholes. This is what is commonly referred to as ‘systems thinking’. But what she thinks of as “the calming whole-making tendencies of human thought,” again without any evidence of this assertion, is highly questionable. Murdoch seems bent on projecting her personal experience. Thinking in wholes, as it were, is often extremely disruptive. Marx did it, for example, with some less than calming effects.
In her continuous referencing and cross-referencing, Murdoch also contradicts herself. She seems intuitively aware that the thrust of systems thinking is toward the consideration of ever larger wholes. This leads intellectually with a certain inevitability to theology (although her leap to Christian theology is more than a bit premature - yet another thing she deems it unnecessary to account for). She points out the historical effect of this: “The violence of shock and paradox has of course always been at home in Christianity ever since Paul made his point of preaching not just Christ but Christ crucified.” Indeed, violence and shock, as well as war and strife and a great deal of human misery. Not, therefore, all that calming.
Her second idea is the distinction between fact and value. I find it so convoluted as to be baffling. I think the reason for my confusion (and it is undoubtedly mine) is that throughout her discussion of ‘attention’ as the key to the appreciation of unity*, she makes absolutely no reference to the idea of human (or for that matter divine) purpose. We pay attention for a reason, not because it is an abstractly admirable human trait. We pay attention to get something we want or avoid something we don’t, to solve a problem or to establish that a problem exists.
Attention in other words is a consequence of what we value. We only go about establishing the ‘parameters’ of our attention, that is to say, the facts, because they are relevant to what we value, which is another way of describing our purpose. In short, fact and value cannot be separated for the simple reason that without value there is no fact. To put it in her terms, thinking in wholes creates a certain class of things known as facts. Attending to value as both facts and sources of facts is therefore pivotal in our existence. Our aesthetic determines what we perceive, what we are capable of perceiving.
Murdoch is very big on teleology as a cosmic principle. But she has no apparent use for purpose on a human scale, addressing real issues of well-being and justice. She therefore can’t see that her aesthetic theory has direct and practical ethical content without the need for Christianity or any other doctrinal religion. There are larger and lesser purposes, that is, intentions and systems of intentions that contain other intentions within them. In other words there are better and worse aesthetics depending upon which includes another totally within it.
Whether or not this view is compatible with Murdoch’s is a question beyond my limited intellect. Perhaps someone better equipped will be able to answer. But it seems to me a monumental self-indulgence to put into print a sort 0f random compendium of philosophical notes no matter how profound. There are better ways of spending one’s time than trying to discern her point or her intention.
*It is here too that Murdoch makes a rather substantial theological error while attending to enormous amounts of marginal material, when she says that it is crucial “to attend upon the grace that comes through faith.” Sadly, orthodox doctrine has it exactly the other way round: faith is the product of grace. And attending to faith is a very different matter, especially for an intellectual.
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