Originally published in 1961. This book is a study of some important ways of knowledge and experience and of the symbols through which they become articulate. Both ‘knowledge’ and ‘experience’ are interpreted in wide senses which are sanctioned by common use – though not always by the usage of philosophers and scientists. The four main fields considered are: the arts, religion, moral knowledge, and our knowledge of one another. These fields, though distinguishable, are nevertheless found to be interrelated in subtle (...) and interesting ways, and it is contended that increase of ‘wisdom’, or ‘educated understanding’, can be achieved only through acceptance and assimilation of all their many-sided disciplines into personal insight. The book deals in a new way with questions of perennial interest which, because they are fundamental, are difficult. Nevertheless, the writing is lucid and untechnical and addressed to a wide range of readers. (shrink)
Is it proper to call art (or the arts) in any sense 'true' or 'false'? reid suggests that though abstract arts like abstract painting and sculpture, or music, are not true to the independent world in the somewhat guarded sense in which the representative arts are; still the former reveal new aspects of the relationships of space, color and movement and the latter reveals a reality of the relationships of sounds in time. (staff).
The problem before us is the question: How far is the term ‘ instinct ‘ applicable in ethics? How far is it true to say that instincts are the determinants of the good, or moral, life? And if it is true at all to say they are determinants, how Far is it true?
I want to concentrate on two kinds of talking about the arts. One concerns those aspects of the language of philosophical aesthetics in which generalisations about ‘art’ and ‘the arts’ are made. The other concerns the language of the critic in so far as it can be stated as having a very particular aim: ‘the stimulation’ ‘of interest and the heightening of insight and the education of his ability to make his own appreciative judgments from direct experience’.
The main problem which I wish to discuss in this paper may be set out in the form of a very simple question. It is this: What makes an artist—whether he be painter, sculptor, musician, poet, or anything else—desire to produce a work of art and to go on working until he has done so?
In this article I shall employ the word “spiritual” for want of a better. It is not a particularly good word, for it is “emotive,” stirring up sentimental feelings in some people and causing the sympathies of others to shut up like clams. “Personal” is in some ways less objectionable, but a title like “The Personal Basis of Democracy” might suggest a thesis other than I have in mind. Nor is the word “moral” nearly wide enough. As to the meaning (...) of “spiritual” all I can say now is that my readers will have at least some idea of what I am referring to by the time they reach the end of the article. (shrink)
