We Are Always Confronted By Pi and Pie

What is Axiology?

Most definitions of axiology are cut-and-dry, overly simplistic in ways that diminish the potential of the entire area of consideration.  For example, most beginning research on the topic identifies axiology as the study of values.  This definition is basically true, but only “basically” as there is a lot more to say.  Most beginning research will say that axiology got its beginning in the work of the ancient Greek philosophers, and especially Plato in his ruminations on the idea of “the good.”  I will not argue with this historical understanding, although the actual word used as it is applied to a discipline within the academic field of philosophy did not occur until we find it in the work of the French thinker, Paul Lapie, and the German thinker, Eduard von Hartmann (not to be confused with Robert S. Hartman) in the early 1900s.

Intrinsic vs. Extrinsic Value

The cut-and-dry, overly simplistic explanations tend to say that axiology involves the difference between “intrinsic value,” where something is valuable in-and-of-itself without any additional, outside considerations, and “extrinsic value,” where something has functional or transactional value.  For example, you would hope that a human being/a person could have value regardless of any outside considerations (intrinsic), but a human being/a person who is functionally and transactionally a fireman or a physician has a different kind of social and cultural value (extrinsic).  These value distinctions/axiological distinctions are probably captured best in something like Immanuel Kant’s famous statement—or at least “famous” to people who have studied basic philosophy—that we should “treat all people as an end in themselves, and never only as a means to an end.”  In some respects, a reason that axiology as a discipline has not gotten more traction as compared to psychology and sociology is because this basic distinction between intrinsic value and extrinsic value is about all that is to be said, and most of that conversation is fairly obvious.  Extensions of the conversation relating to ethics and aesthetic do not vastly improve on the overall discussion; again, using the two terms to talk about how to treat people or how to appreciate a work of art becomes—again—pretty obvious and pretty narrow—important and useful in some ways, but not as decisive as we might could be.

G. E. Moore and the Limits of Definition

Some advances in the study of axiology as a specific discipline occurred in the work of the English philosopher, G. E. Moore.   Moore was a brilliant thinker who took up almost any area of study, and surrounded himself with the likes of Bertrand Russell, Ludwig Wittgenstein, Alfred North Whitehead, and Gottlob Frege.  These men wanted to take philosophy out of the areas of esoteric ideas, and ground their discussions in the most analytical, practical, fact-based information and proof.  When Moore turned his attention to axiology and the definitive way of proving that something was “good,” he finally gave up, hitting a brick wall of sorts that allowed him to only say that “goodness” was a reality that could not ultimately be defined.  Once again, it seemed that the entire conversation about axiology had gone about as far as it could go.  Moore readily admitted that his ideas on “good” were left with too many open questions that would never be adequately answered.

Robert S. Hartman and the Hierarchy of Value

At this point, we see the arrival of Robert S. Hartman, a man whose comprehension of philosophy from Plato to Russell and Moore was pristine and of the highest competence.  He was convinced that there was a better way to talk about axiology, and this better way of talking about could open the door to new and vital ways of individuals being able to look at/value/evaluate the world, to look at others, and to look at personal Self.  Hartman completely believed that this new way of talking about and looking at could lead people to new dimensions of engagement and meaning, contribution and fulfillment of potential in their own lives and in the world in which they lived.  So, what Hartman does is to create a better way of talking about axiology than anything Plato had done or anything G. E. Moore had done.  Hartman becomes the “breakthrough” and “breakout” voice advancing a modern understanding and platform for implementation of axiology as both a discipline and a catalyst for “richness” of living.  His contribution to the discussion and conversation surrounding axiology gives options for looking at and understanding human existence that are beyond psychological, sociology, anthropology, and other academic disciplines and academic research.

Science, Orderly Conversation, and Metaphor

First, Hartman blatantly says that axiology is “the science of values/valuing.”  This has created a bit of ridicule, even leading one modern critic to call him “pretentious” for use of the word.  I imagine that this response was evoked by the feeling that nothing as deep and complex as human existence could ever be contained in any concept of “science” that involved absolute fact or absolute evidence, although there is plenty of psychology and other academic pursuits that would claim or at least imply such standards.  Anyone who ever knew Hartman personally would immediately note that he was probably one of the least “pretentious” academics in their experience.  

Second, and more importantly, Hartman never in any way saw “science” through the lens of the more absolutist voices such as Russell, Moore, or the early Wittgenstein—the “analytic” philosophers.  He simply stated that science, for him, was a conscious and intentional, “orderly way of talking about.”  No “science” was absolute, and so no claimed “truth” or “fact” could rise to that kind of assertion with authentic credibility.  However, “orderly conversation” should not be seen as easy.  Hartman’s “Hierarchy of Value” becomes the most compelling and distinctive conversation about axiology that I have ever encountered, and takes the entire philosophical pursuit from Plato to Moore to a new level of consideration and insight.

Hartman and Mathematical/Logical Influence

Yes, Hartman did align a great deal of his philosophy with the most modern mathematical and logical thinking of his day, and he was totally comfortable with the extensive reach of mathematics and logic that he would have seen in something like Russell and Whitehead’s Principia Mathematica.  He was informed and comfortable talking about relativity theory and transfinite mathematics with the best logicians.  But, he also knew that these mathematical paradigms, the highest of human, rational endeavor by their time, were totally conscious of not being absolute or perfect.  They were helpful, useful paradigms that helped him make his points.  I am even personally convinced, and taking a position that is admittedly not in agreement with many Hartman scholars,  that his mathematical references amount to much more of a metaphorical status than an absolute truth status.  Often, Hartman would say that when we are metaphorical, we are doing our best “pointing,” our best “talking about” in terms of directing attention—not capturing—the deepest levels of existence.  I like using his mathematical paradigms, but I do not see them as the core of his thinking.  It is impressive to me that Hartman used something of the mathematical and logic models that were so attractive to analytical philosophy, but found a way to move beyond their absolute/fact/truth implications.  Russell probably never came to this view of mathematics and logic, but the later Wittgenstein certainly did.  Hartman’s mathematics and logic as a useful metaphor is still a significant question.

Mathematics, Constants, and Evaluative Judgment

As something of an aside at this point, we should always be careful about what we claim as “science” and—in turn—as absolute/fact/truth.  Early on, we all learned the usefulness and practical benefit of pi/π, the mathematic “constant” that is so vital in all kinds of critical  measurement.  When I was in grammar school, the equations we used were informed by the  number 3.14.  By the time my children got to school, it was 3.14159.  In the present life of my grandchildren, computers can calculate pi/π to literally trillions—trillions—of decimal points.  However, the decimal points never end, and pi/π is never perfect/absolute.  We can certainly say that pi/π is a “constant,” but we better be sure to put the word in scare quotes or it will be—and the “science” behind it will be—misleading.  The “constant” is useful, but it is not absolute, and an evaluative judgment has to be made about whether the calculation is “good enough,”  thus making evaluative judgment trump absolute calculation, to me, in any authentic epistemology that reflects on human “knowledge.”   If I am calculating the size of a circle for a lamp stand, 3.14 will probably work “just fine.”  If I am calculating the reentry angle of my spacecraft coming back through the earth’s atmosphere, I might want to be a bit more “accurate.”  Again, I am ultimately falling back on axiology—evaluative judgment.

Primary Colors, Perception, and Limits of Science

I learned about primary colors in school—red, blue, and yellow—and I made great grades on test scores about color combinations.  I learned that “primary colors” are the colors that cannot be made by mixing other colors, and that helped me a bit when I saw G. E. Moore basically giving up on defining “goodness” in his axiology by comparing it to “yellow” which he saw as an “ultimate simple” that defied further definition.  But today, I look at my simply ink-jet printer and see cyan, magenta, and old reliable yellow.  I also see black, and hear discussions about “subtraction colors,” and I realize that the old “science” cannot carry the new day.  I also recognize that no one else—although I cannot prove this—has the exact arrangement of cones and rods on the retinas of their eyes, and thus no one sees the exact, absolute, same colors in the exact, same, absolute way.  I should have simply realized, on a far simpler level, that any time I looked for 1/3 by multiplying a number by .333 that I was not getting an absolute.

Hartman's Caution About Absolute Claims

Hartman was totally correct in saying that we should be very careful about assumptions built around the word science; what we are really doing is making evaluative judgments, interpretations, stopping at practical usefulness, and sometimes not admitting that there is more

These kinds of examples from mathematics and logic, dynamics of reality that most people accept without questions as “fact” or “truth” could go on—again using Hartman’s language—infinitely. I became intrigued at one point with what is known as “Fermat’s Last Theorem.” Pierre de Fermat, a French thinker from the first part of the 1600s, said that “for any whole number/positive integer greater than 2 (n>2) that there would never be any whole number solution to the equation an+ bn = cn. He was correct. It is “unsolvable.” Try figuring out if a is 3 and it is cubed and b is 4 and it is cubed what c would be cubed. It will never be solved as a whole number. I cite this additional example to show how Hartman as a philosophical axiologist understood the deepest of mathematics and logic, and how I—incidentally—had to learn to do all of this even when it made my brain tired in order to understand the detail of Hartman’s axiology.

to be seen—perhaps—than we are seeing.  Where did we come off assuming that if we throw a ball into the air that is will come back down—our hallowed “law of gravity”?  What if once in every billion years, the planets and stars of the solar system are aligned in a way that reverses the “law of gravity” on the earth for five minutes?  And, what if that five minute period is about to begin at noon today?  You see: we do not know!  Therefore, the best we can ever do is to talk about, and—yes—to hope that our talking can go forward in an “orderly manner.”

Hartman's Hierarchy: Systemic, Extrinsic, Intrinsic

So, Hartman’s “Hierarchy of Values”—to me, the base of his axiology—becomes a better way to talk about the entire dynamic of values/valuation/evaluative judgment.  He gives us—ultimately—a tripartite, triangulated way of framing, looking at the world, at others, and at our own selves that makes infinitely more sense than the old, binary intrinsic/extrinsic conversations of the history of philosophy from Plato to Kant to Moore.  With this “Hierarchy of Value,” we have a lens through which life can be “filtered” and “interpreted” that both “works” in  pragmatic, useful ways and leaves room for that which is beyond practical usefulness, analytic explanation, and “scientific,” “rational” proof, even for that which may hold the “practical” and the rationally “scientific” in check.

Hartman sees three dimensions of evaluative engagement/value and valuation.  A “systemic” dimension is primarily concerned with conceptual ideas, theories, and beliefs.  An “extrinsic” dimension is primarily concerned with functional and transactional interactions and measures that occur in real-life circumstances.  An “intrinsic” dimension is primarily concerned with human elements that both require and produce the highest level of evaluative consideration.  This tripartite “lens” immediately allows us to look at and talk about any aspect of our existence in a highly triangulated manner that always adds greater depth of meaning.  Easy examples proliferate: my wife is conceptually not my sister, my father, my aunt—important, basic differences that define my wife in fundamentally useful, conceptual and theoretic ways (systemic); my wife is of a certain age, weight, skin coloration, height, with certain specific skills and historical background elements that comparatively distinguish her from other people (extrinsic); my wife is “the love of my life,” advancing a relationship that is ultimately beyond words (intrinsic).  A second example: I look out the windows of my study where I am writing this essay, and I see trees that are not houses, cars, birds, or streets—useful information that is basically correct in any “rational” estimation (systemic); some trees are elms, others are oaks, and yet others are tulip poplars, and—by comparison—some are evergreens and others are dropping their leaves right now (extrinsic); and one tree in particular is a glistening green, shiny magnolia, my wife’s favorite, and the first tree she planted at our new home forty years ago.  I love (intrinsic) that tree for all that it represents.  It might be “just another tree” to someone else, but not to me.  We wait patiently for it to bloom in the spring, and the size it has achieved and the anchor, focal point it holds in our yard is “amazing” (intrinsic).  What I have said here about the tree speaks to its intrinsic value to me, and also speaks to something unique and special about me, my unique capacity to intrinsically value.

Valuing the World and the Self

In most respects, what I have said in the preceding paragraph relates to value and valuation—axiology—as it applies to the world in which we live and our different kinds of relationships to it.  It is also possible to apply the systemic, extrinsic, intrinsic conversation to the way that we see our own Selves.  Hartman’s assessment instrument gives 50% of its attention to our we value and evaluate the world in which we live, and 50% gives attention to how we value and evaluate our own Selves.  The assessment, beyond Hartman’s ideas, becomes a powerful catalyst for conversations that lead to greater and greater depth of Self-awareness, and it is the most deeply aware Self that can experience the richest relationships with the world and others, and come to have a deep appreciation of personal uniqueness.

Integration and the Primacy of the Intrinsic

When Hartman uses the word hierarchy, we are seeing the systemic, extrinsic, and intrinsic existing on succeeding levels of “richness” and evaluative intensity.  Functional transactions in a real world (extrinsic) are more complex than ideas, theories, and rational concepts (systemic); in like manner, unique and personal experiences that are intrinsic are more complex than functional transactions.  I have no problem embracing Hartman’s “hierarchy” from this perspective.  However, instead of a lineal “hierarchy,” I am convinced that there are elements of the three perspectives running in and out of each other on a continual basis, and that our awareness is continually shifting between them.  What becomes most critical in day-to-day living is that the intrinsic is not overshadowed and marginalized by our society’s obsessive emphasis on transactional functionality and rational ideas.  

And yes, while it is important to be able to make intrinsic evaluations—my wife as “the love of my life,” the beauty of her magnolia, the building I live in as a “home”—it is vitally, vitally important to understand that the purity of the intrinsic is always going to be an experience, and ineffable experience that is more infinite than any words that might make an attempt to contain or explain it.  Our modern tendency is not to leave the intrinsic experience along and simply “let it be.”  Our modern tendency is to have to put the intrinsic experience into words, definitions, explanations, and all manner of “rational” constructs and transactional examples so that it can be “understood.”  We must always be cautious to recognize that the moment we move the intrinsic toward explanations and understandings that we reduce it

extrinsically and systemically, and—in doing so—make it something less than it actually is.  

Identifying vs. Experiencing

The distinction being made at this point is critically significant, and it is a point often missed by many people who have been introduced to Hartman’s axiology.  I may frequently identify—identify—some dynamic of life as being intrinsic-leaning or something encountered in  the general “arena” of the intrinsic.  I can probably talk in a substantial amount of detail about this “arena” than I am identifying.  I could talk about this intrinsic “arena” in intrinsic, extrinsic, and systemic terms, and this process of “talking about” could be useful.  However, I must be absolutely clear that such identifying is not the same as experiencing intrinsically.  The ultimate achievement of highest potential when there is utter fulfillment of possibility is the intrinsic experience where there is a ceiling on what “talking about” can do, what language can do, and—especially—what “rationality” can do.  The “coin of the realm” of our modern world is identifying, and in holding on to this priority we can miss experiencing.

Intrinsic Experience: Art and Music

In the 1990s, the iconic Picasso painting, “Guernica,” was about to be returned—fulfilling Picasso’s wishes—to Spain.  Before its return, the Museum of Modern Art in New York City had a major, Picasso retrospective, the last time “Guernica” would be seen in the United States.  I had to go.  Even photographs of the painting in books I had studied had “moved” me incredibly (intrinsic).  I was going to see a painting, and not a bridge, a baseball game, or a television show (systemic).  I knew a great deal of factual details about the painting—the period of Picasso’s work it had come from, what the scenes were depicting, even its overwhelming physical size (extrinsic.)  I could identify reasonable that the Museum of Modern Art could well be an intrinsic “arena.”  However, when I was suddenly, almost by surprise, standing in front of the painting and being totally overwhelmed by it, I cannot even come close to putting into words the experience.  Hartman’s axiology makes all kinds of room for systemic, extrinsic, and even intrinsic-leaning/pointing discussions/wordings.  But, beyond (meta) all of this, there is the ultimate emphasis on the non-languaged, non-rationalized, ineffable, existential, phenomenological experience.  Hartman covers the philosophical gamut of historical discussions, and then he transforms those discussions in a way that the fulness of human capacity has the chance to be seen.

Everyday Intrinsic Experiences

But, you see, I do not have to talk about museums or great works of art.  I can as easily talk about a man named Robert Earl Keen, a contemporary of the better-known Lyle Lovett (of married-Julia-Roberts fame), who is one of my most favorite singers.  REK is usually seen as an “Americana”  singer, a particular genre of music  (systemic).  I really like his portfolio of wonderful song: “Merry Christmas to the Family,” “The Road Goes on Forever,” “Front Porch,” all of which have different styles, instrumentation, content (extrinsic).  But, when he sings “Laughing River,” I am “moved” deeply in way I cannot explain (intrinsic).  I will go to hear REK’s next performance in Chattanooga, and when I go into the theater, I will acknowledge with expectation that I am in what I would identify as an “arena” of the intrinsic.  But, if he includes in his set “Laughing River,” I will be “taken somewhere else.”  I do not know why this experience “touches” me.  I am sure that my response says more about me than the song, and that “understanding” more about its impact on me would help me in my own Self-awareness.  In the meantime, I’ll just let the song create the experience it creates.   From “Guernica” to “Laughing River,” if we will stop and notice, if we will turn down the volume on the systemic and extrinsic elements of our lives, we are surrounded by the possibility of intrinsic experience.  Herein lies the “message” of Hartman’s transformative axiology.  This is the “message” that has so deeply touched my life and work, the early inspiration behind my dissertation, “Intrinsic Value and Play.”  This is the “message” that I saw so distinctively displayed in Sam Keen’s book, Apology for Wonder.

Hartman's Measurability and Practical Impact

It is very true that you have to get down into the “meat” of what Hartman has done here, and that my thoughts to this point have only scratched the surface of what I believe is a central issue.  The examples I have given are pretty simple and obvious—after you begin to see the accuracy of Hartman’s “lens.”  However, you cannot let the simplicity of examples which can be found in every dynamic of life lead to the conclusion that Hartman’s approach is so “simple” that it lacks for depth.  Hartman’s approach, articulated with precision and clarity, is actually—in my words—transformative of discussions of value and valuation within the context of the history of Western philosophy.  Therefore, his axiology extends the possibilities of the application of value-centric insights beyond the constructs that earlier philosophy advanced; early axiology is totally “ho-hum” compared to what Hartman does.  And then, moving beyond what by any estimation would be a set of “good ideas,” Hartman adds measurability, and suddenly you have what modern society finds to be indispensable—the ability to measure.  Hartman’s “measures” do not pretend to be the absolute logic and math of Russell and the early Wittgenstein.  Measurement, including mathematical and logical mechanisms of measurement introduce a further language that makes his conversation/talking about provide fuller meaning and credibility.  Add to his original conceptions over a half-century of our watching trending patterns with his assessment instrument, and there is insight every bit as compelling as any philosophy that wants to be “analytical.”

Bacon's Types of Philosophers

Francis Bacon was an English philosopher and political leader who lived in the latter part of the 1500s and the early part of the 1600.  His best-known work is entitled Novus Organum, and the title itself hints at its foreboding depths.  The most interesting consideration of his life, however, is the belief that he may have written parts of Shakespear’s plays or even all of some of them.  I like Bacon’s way of taking complex concepts and expressing them in simple ways that almost anyone can understand.  I have been greatly influenced by his idea that there are three types of philosophers.  First, there is an “ant type” who is always picking up the scraps of what someone else has said, a person very adept at telling you on tests or in conversations what any philosopher has said about any topic.  While the “ant type,” may never have had an original thought of its own, she/he could probably win a lot of money on “Jeopardy” if there was a game column devoted to philosophy.

A second type is, for Bacon, a “spider type,” and this philosopher is always spinning webs of increasing abstraction that traps them in an esoterica that is understood by few and of interest to even fewer.  There is a world of “spider type” philosophers who can spend a lifetime speculating on whether God can create a rock that He can’t move, or obsessing on how many angels can sit on the head of a pin.  “Spider type” philosophers, as teachers, writers, and academic specialists have done a great deal to not advance the study of philosophy as an important and useful discipline.

Then, there is the third type that fascinates and compels me—what Bacon called the “bee type” philosopher.  This “bee type” has the capacity—and it sometimes can look like high fun and happiness—to fly in an out of this matter or another, floating and darting around all kinds of possibilities, and then taking from the resources that are out there what seem to be the most attractive and most compelling.  Finally, the “bee type” processes what has been taken in through its own unique system, and produces a reality that is new, attractive in new ways, compelling and inspiring, something that is ultimately not simply different in degree from the original sources but different in kind.  The movement from pollen to honey is a movement from “difference in degree” to “difference in kind” that can be explained and understood—to some degree that may be useful both systemically and extrinsically, but no words or “rational” explanations can ultimately contain the wonder-full “taste” of new honey on a warm biscuit—the intrinsic.

Hartman as a 'Bee Type' Philosopher

Robert S. Hartman was a “bee type” philosopher.  He took in from all kinds of sources—philosophy, theology, economics, law, mathematics and logic, business, aesthetics—and then processed this through his own extraordinary historical and personal experiences.  The “new substance” that he uniquely created—like the bee’s honey—is an axiology, highlighted by the implications of his “Hierarchy” that transcends and transforms the old conversations and opens ranges of new possibility of insight that take both philosophy and psychology to new levels of application.

Visual Metaphors: Telescope and Microscope

In my own mind, I have gone searching for a graphic image that can capture what I believe Hartman’s axiology is trying to do.  I have been stimulated in my considerations by the insights of a young Hartman scholar, Trip Wilson, a colleague at Judgment Index USA.  When Trip talks about the “Hierarchy,” he describes a stereotypical, iconic pirate standing in his pirate hat, an eye covered by a patch, a swashbuckling sword at his side, and maybe a parrot sitting on his shoulder.  We’ve all been to “Pirates of the Caribbean” at Disney World.  In his hand and then to his good eye peering off into the distance, the pirate has his trusted telescope.  In Trip’s description, the telescope is made up of three metal tubes, and it can be expanded one tube after the next until a full extension is achieved.  Then, Trip says: “when the telescope is extended, with all three tubes fully engaged at their finest focus, the pirate will have greater clarity on his world.”  I am sure that an illustrative, connecting transition to Hartman’s “Hierarchy” and the systemic, extrinsic, intrinsic is easy to envision.  To me, I believe Trip has captured the Part 1/work side/world side of Hartman’s assessment, and then the need we have for integrative insight in all three areas, the need for the pirate’s greater clarity as we extend the “telescope” of our engagement with the world through systemic, extrinsic, and intrinsic valuation.

On hearing Trip and making these connections, my mind immediately when to the most modern laboratory and scientist doing the most minute investigations about the inner dynamics of life, the world of computer chip technology or the realm of genetic research.   The tool changes now as we move to sensitive microscopes instead of telescopes.  Now, with each adjustment of the microscope, we move to a deeper and deeper refinement.  My point should be obvious: the inward looking of Part 2/self-side/personal side of the assessment.  We must learn with Hartman’s axiology to look outwardly systemically, extrinsically, and intrinsically.  We must learn to look inwardly systemically, extrinsically, and intrinsically.  Here we will gain greater clarity, and thereby have an avenue to better evaluative judgment which may—if we are fortunate—create better actions and fuller realizations in and with our lives.

Pi and Pie: From Mathematics to Everyday Life

Now, in conclusion, let’s talk about a different kind of pi/π that has nothing to do with the world of mathematics.  Let’s allow our conversation—our talking about—to find its way into the very real world of pie—the stuff of excellent eating.  In creating this conclusion, I am trying to convey something of a “bookend effect.”  On one side, I want to convey how Hartman’s axiology—and especially as it is represented in his “Hierarchy”—can apply to the most complex of mathematical and logical approaches to existence, but on the other side how it can also apply to the most seemingly mundane dynamics of everyday, real life.  Very profoundly, we are seeing here in Hartman’s transformative axiology a new way of “looking at” and “talking about” life, and if we can see impact on what some might see as “mundane,” the spread of application and influence could be—to use a favorite word of Hartman—infinite.

So, I rationally understand very precisely what the word pie means.  I do not mentally confuse pie with other items on a menu, for example, which relate to drinks, entrees, or main courses.  I can rationally navigate a menu pretty well; I have learned to do this with “rational” precision—I know how to do this.  Additionally, if someone calls from the kitchen “come in and have some pie,” in my mind I am not expecting cake or roast turkey.  Over the course of many years of eating—moving from countless, inductive, singular experiences to deductive concepts—I feel confident in my conceptual intelligence as it relates to pies.  Therefore, I am able—in my evaluative judgment—to be systemic.  This ability can, in many various instances, prove to be useful.  I embrace this systemic capacity positively, and have no problem being rational, intelligent, or thinking in this manner.

On a whole, different level of consideration, I have been able across the years to make comparisons relating to many different kinds of pies, and I have developed by own, internal “hierarchy” of preferences based on my concrete, transactional and functional experiences with a wide variety of different kinds of pies.  Early on, my mother was a master at “cobblers.”  I have a rich memory of going to the “country” and picking wild blackberries which my mother always knew how to locate.  Then, in the evening as our family meal was being prepared, you could smell the aroma of the cobbler pie she was cooking.  I loved cobbler, but blackberry much more—for whatever “reason”—than strawberry or peach, her other possible ingredients.  When my wife and I married, I was joyfully surprised by her cooking abilities, an aspect of her life that had not previously been of highest value (axiology entering the picture yet again) up until that time in our relationship.  That being said, her pecan pies and especially her chess pie were unbelievable good (an axiological word?).  She also introduced me to “pizza pie,” and I had never had a taste of pizza until be started to date in high school, although it was decades later working in New Haven, Connecticut, and being asked out for “pie” that I understood that in the New York City area that “pie” was their word for “pizza.”  It is interesting, as a side note, to recognize what the uniqueness of regional, tribal language can bring to our value systems.

Living Between Pi and Pie

So, it is easy to see, even before I knew of Hartman and his “talking about,” that I had—and have—a capacity for extrinsic, comparative and functional valuation. It can also probably be noticed in the way I am talking about my mother’s cobblers and especially my wife’s pecan and chess pies that my extrinsic has a bit of an intrinsic lean to it.  I could have as easily given an intrinsic lean to the extrinsic example of my wife’s “tomato pie” which comes in the fall when  we go to a nearby mountain farming community where they let you pick the remnants of their remaining tomato crop fresh from the fields.  The tiny, blackish red tomatoes that are still left are especially sweet and make the best “tomato pies” imaginable.  I am still leaning toward the intrinsic in my fundamentally extrinsic valuation, and I am beginning to suggest that the experience of the mountain, fall picking and the expectation-producing aroma of my wife’s cooking open the door to a transcendence of the extrinsic.   I have, noticeably I hope, moved from being able to identify both the Museum of Modern Art where great art is housed and a farmer’s field on Dayton Mountain where late tomatoes can be picked as “arenas for the intrinsic.”

Finally, and of course all builds to this, there is the intrinsic experience—the existential and phenomenological experience—of enjoying the chess pie or savoring the tomato pie, and most particularly when this experience occurs with my wife.  Both enjoying and savoring are pointing words that can at least “talk about” the intrinsic experience that can never be totally captured in words.  Yes, the intrinsic experience points in the direction of saying something about the food, but—even more—points in the direction of saying something about me in my intrinsic uniqueness and the added value implicit in intrinsic relationships.  The possibilities of the alignment and inner-play of the systemic, extrinsic, and intrinsic—when I am conscious and aware of it—adds to the “richness” and fullest potential of my life.  Here, at the very minimum, are the edges, the horizons, the portals of what Hartman in his axiology called “goodness” or “concept fulfillment,” the epitome of engagement with the world, with others, and with Self that is achieved at its most pristine pinnacle in intrinsic experiences.

You see, we live our lives somewhere between the manifestations and expression of pi/π and pie.  We live, as the English axiologist Jeremy Bentham taught, somewhere between playing the esoteric game of chess and the typically-seen (by academics of his time) mundane game of shooting pool; pool shooters would doubtless see different priorities.  Bentham basically taught that when we focus on bringing the greatest happiness to the greatest number, we are nearing the core of what is right or wrong—all fundamentally axiological concepts.  He was touched by the insights of John Wesley, “doing the most good to the most people most of the time,” and he touched John Stuart Mill, a father figure of modern democracy.  In our “living between,” whether it is pi/π or pie, whether it is chess or pool, we should highly embrace the usefulness and value of the extrinsic and systemic, but never allow for a marginalizing in which the intrinsic is missed, not as just one formal concept among many, but as an experience that defies conceptualization and become the “ground” of highest Self-awareness and the fulcrum of a sense of personal uniqueness.  The experience of “goodness” probably is, as G. E. Moore, said and “ultimate simple” that defies rationalistic definition.  But, the experience of “goodness” is also an “ultimate intrinsic” that marks the “ground” of our highest potential—if our modern world will turn down that volume on the systemic and extrinsic that can so quickly fracture and marginalize our best selves.