The present attempt to indicate the general manner in which the kinship system of a people can be stated as an interpreted axiomatic system, with utilization of the symbolism of modern mathematical logic, is intended as a demonstration of the applicability of contemporary logical methods to problems in the social sciences. Aside from the obvious general advantages in the way of clarity and logical rigour to be gained by an application of axiomatic method, there emerges as by-products a convenient system of kinship symbolization and what is believed to be a solution to the long-standing controversy concerning the use of the terms ‘descriptive’ and ‘classificatory’ in reference to kinship systems. Since kinship terms are words in languages, the present exposition is perhaps of interest in that it shows how meaning in a semantic field of related terms can be defined by logical methods. So all the directional or temporal terms in a specific language might be treated as kinship terms are here. The possibility of a systematic treatment of the semantic aspects of linguistics which so far have resisted this type of treatment should be of interest to linguists.

The line of thought from which contemporary Social Science has come forth was occupied with problems of public policy in a way which has since become very much less prominent in the work of social scientists. The classic figures of social thought —Aristotle, Plato, Adam Smith, Montesquieu, Jeremy Bentham, James and John Stuart Mill, Ricardo, Hobbes and Locke, Burke, Machiavelli and Hegel—were all involved in the consideration of the fundmental problems of policy from the point of view of the man who had to exercise power and to make practical decisions. Even where they themselves lived in remoteness from practical affairs the clarification of the standards for the judgment and guidance of public policy was always close to the centre of their attention. The politician's problems, reduced to fundamentals, were their problems. The problem of maintaining order through the prince's exercise of power was the point of departure of classical political philosophy; it was extended by modern liberalism to the maintenance of liberty in a framework of order. Political philosophy was regarded by those who professed it, as a means of enlightening rulers—and citizens—as to the right ends and the approximate means. The great ancestor of modern empirical social research, Sir William Petty, who regarded his task as the quantitative matter-of-fact description of what existed, viewed his problem as set by the prince's need to safeguard and maximise his power. Early economic theory accepted the same task. Even after mercantalism gave way to liberalism, economic theory was still intended to be a guide to policy.

An argument opposing the unrestricted use of quantification in modal logic has been put forward by Quine. Central to this argument are the two phrases,

(1) The Morning Star,

(2) The Evening Star.

One form of the argument is obtained by considering the following two statements:

(3) It is necessary that the Morning Star is identical with the Morning Star.

(4) It is not necessary that the Evening Star is identical with the Morning Star.

There is a notion, cataleptic in its effects, that discussion in ethics and values must ultimately be blocked by the “naturalistic fallacy.” We can go so far in analyzing the categories of “good,” “right,” “ought,” “valuable,” and the like, but never so far as to embark from the field of logic or general philosophy and enter the alien provinces of science—at least with a visa. To think to reduce moral problems to those of psychology or biology or (in Northrop's amendment) to those of “culture,” is The Fallacy, insensitivity to which brands one as a positivist, a dupe of “scientism,” or at least a sympathetic fellow-traveller. Though the vocabulary of The Fallacy is not old—G. E. Moore and his earnest commentators will date it—the idea is almost as antique as philosophy itself; indeed, it is one of the prime devices whereby philosophy has managed to rationalize its subject-matter as something more than an historical accident.

The traditional attitude of philosophers towards the analysis of language is that it may have some corrective value, but can make no positive contribution to philosophy. The world must be investigated in itself: an analysis of the language in which we describe it will perhaps give us greater insight into the description, but not into what is described. Many philosophers have been suspicious of language, considering it a hindrance rather than an aid in philosophical investigation. This tradition has a long history, some of whose high points we can mention briefly.

In his memorandum, “The Role of Applied Social Science in the Formation of Policy,” Professor Merton has stated that “… all applied social science involves advice (recommendations for policy).” While this statement obviously does not mean that the social scientist is limited solely to giving advice, it does imply a frame of reference in which the primary function of the social scientist appears to be obtaining information, analyzing it, and presenting the results to the policy-maker.

The lucidity of Mr. Copilowish's argument makes the task of the reviewer very pleasant, even if he disagrees as completely as I do with the conclusion, which is the main thesis Mr. Copilowish attempts to prove. Only at one minor point does his exposition not quite suit my taste. He chose to preface his argument with a string of quotations supposedly supporting the position he wishes to defend. It seems to me that with the proper historical precautions these passages allow for a very different interpretation. Yet I shall not pursue this matter, partly because I believe that Mr. Copilowish merely followed a literary stereotype, but mainly because the issue ought to be discussed on its merits rather than through the clouds of witness one could adduce on either side.

We live in a circular universe, of which each item must be defined in terms of other items, ultimately of its complement-opposite, by their mutual limitation. The employment of abstract, formally consistent, thought in this work is quite inadequate. Abstract thought is not metaphysically valid, because its formal consistency forces it to ignore—which in the realm of pure reason is tantamount to denying—some pertinent elements of reality—experience, and then implicitly at once and perhaps explicitly later to recognize the ignored elements, and thus be unconsciously inconsistent with itself. Therefore mankind is forced to undertake the monumental task of constructing a philosophical method of thought which does not strive after formal consistency and so which is able as constantly as may be consciously to express both (1) the recognized and the (complementary-opposite) ignored elements of reality—experience, that is, in ontological terms, being and non-being, and (2) the consistent and the inconsistent elements in thought. This the needed method can do only by relating items by their mutual restraint or measurement of various kinds and degrees, as will be explained below. To put the essential matter bluntly: philosophers must seek to learn discursively what scientists have always known intuitively—that the ultimate method of discovering truth is measurement, not abstract consistency. The proposed method must not, however, interfere with the rhetorical ordering of material, which must contain a conscious element of pure consistency, as will also be explained below.

Werkmeister's new book, The Basis and Structure of Knowledge is the second major attempt in recent years to defend the idealistic theory of knowledge. The first was Blanshard's Nature of Thought; and it is worth noticing that both authors, in undertaking the defense of a position long in the shadows, are well aware of contemporary developments in logic and technical philosophy. Werkmeister freely acknowledges his debt to Blanshard; yet his work differs in scope from the latter's in at least two ways. Firstly, the more recent book is concerned largely with the epistemological analysis of meaning and truth and hardly at all with what an older generation called “philosophical psychology,” while philosophical psychology fills all of the first and part of the second volume of Blanshard's work. In my opinion, this is all to the good. (That our generation inverts the error and too often indulges in psychological philosophy is another story!) Secondly, Werkmeister presents us with detailed analyses of scientific method, of the structure of scientific theories, and of mathematics, all three areas to which Blanshard pays virtually no attention.